Lynn just stood there, completely blocking the doorway.
He quietly watched the two Gold Cloaks preparing to drag Cersei away.
But under his dead-calm stare, the guards instinctively loosened their grip on Cersei's arms.
They weren't idiots. They knew exactly who the real master was.
The smug smile froze solid on Joffrey's face.
He had just finished bathing in the sick euphoria of dictating his own mother's fate, and now, this man was suddenly back.
"Lord Lynn, what is the meaning of this?"
Joffrey tried his hardest to sound like a King, projecting absolute authority.
But even he could hear the pathetic, undeniable tremor in his own voice.
"No meaning at all."
Lynn's gaze drifted off the Gold Cloaks and locked onto Joffrey.
"I'm taking her with me."
His voice was light, casual, like he was discussing the weather.
But to Joffrey's ears, those words hit harder than a thunderclap.
Taking her?
Again?
Who the hell gave him the right?!
A toxic wave of rage ignited in the pit of Joffrey's stomach.
I am the King!
I am the King of the Seven Kingdoms!
I just passed judgment on her, and you think you can just waltz in and take her away?
What the fuck do you think I am?
"No!"
Joffrey blurted out before his brain could even process the word.
The second the word left his mouth, he instantly regretted it.
He saw Lynn's eyes shift, flashing with a dark, predatory amusement.
It was the exact look you'd give a toddler throwing a harmless tantrum.
Joffrey felt his cheeks flush with burning heat.
He remembered the secret.
The lethal secret that could instantly strip him of his crown and expose him as a filthy bastard.
He remembered that the man standing right in front of him only needed to speak a single sentence to condemn him to absolute, permanent ruin.
"I..."
Whatever pathetic surge of courage Joffrey had mustered instantly evaporated into thin air.
His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides in a frantic, nervous rhythm.
He wanted to fight back. He desperately wanted to protect his fragile, pathetic pride.
But he didn't dare.
Compared to the freezing, absolute death Lynn represented, his "pride" was a total joke.
"Your Grace."
Lyanna, standing quietly off to the side, chimed in at the perfect moment.
Her voice was as soft and soothing as ever.
"Lord Lynn must have urgent state business to discuss with the Queen Mother."
"After all, Her Grace governed the realm for years. She possesses a far deeper understanding of certain political intricacies than we do."
"Lord Lynn has only just taken up the mantle of the Hand. He requires the Queen Mother's vast experience to properly assist you, and to serve your reign more effectively."
Lyanna's words acted as the ultimate lifeline—a flawless, gold-plated excuse handed directly to Joffrey on a silver platter.
Joffrey's breathing instantly smoothed out.
Yes!
That was it!
Lynn wasn't challenging his authority; he was just doing his job!
He needed Cersei's political experience to help manage the kingdom for him!
Joffrey aggressively latched onto the excuse.
He cleared his throat, forcing himself back into the posture of a magnanimous, untouchable monarch.
"I see. So that's how it is."
"Lord Lynn truly works tirelessly for the realm."
"Since this is a matter of official state business, you may take her for now."
"Once you have finished questioning her, see that she is returned."
After delivering his little speech, he even threw in a dismissive, arrogant wave of his hand, completely pretending he was the one actually calling the shots.
Lynn watched the boy's pathetic, hollow posturing and felt a dark surge of amusement.
He didn't waste another word on him. He simply closed the distance and naturally took Cersei by the hand.
Cersei's body stiffened for a fraction of a second, but she compliantly let him interlock their fingers.
Her skin was freezing cold.
Lynn pulled her along, turning on his heel and walking straight out the door.
From start to finish, he never gave Joffrey a second glance.
It was as if the "King of the Seven Kingdoms" was nothing more than an irrelevant piece of background furniture.
Joffrey stared at their retreating backs. He stared at that man's hand firmly gripping his own mother's.
His teeth ground together so hard they audibly cracked.
The toxic humiliation he had just barely managed to swallow down started violently mutating and spreading through his chest like wildfire.
Why?
Why did he always do this?!
Why did he always make Joffrey look like an absolute, pathetic clown?!
Joffrey's chest heaved violently; he felt like his lungs were about to physically rupture from the rage.
He had to know!
He had to see exactly what the hell Lynn was doing with Cersei!
Discussing state business?
Bullshit!
"Everyone, get out!"
Joffrey roared at Lyanna and the remaining Kingsguard.
"Yes, Your Grace."
Lyanna offered a compliant, graceful curtsy and led the guards out of the chamber.
The second the room was completely empty, Joffrey slipped out through a concealed side door.
Like a pathetic, creeping phantom, he silently stalked Lynn and Cersei through the corridors.
He was going to see with his own two eyes exactly what kind of sick game Lynn was playing.
...
The Tower of the Hand.
Lynn pulled Cersei into his bedchamber and finally released her hand.
"You did flawlessly."
Lynn casually poured himself a glass of wine, his tone completely flat.
Cersei leaned heavily against the heavy doorframe, her heart still hammering against her ribs.
The pathetic, groveling performance she just put on for Joffrey had practically drained every last drop of her psychological energy.
"What happens now?"
She asked, staring blankly at Lynn's back, her voice laced with heavy exhaustion.
Lynn smirked.
"Now, we wait for a certain peeping King to show up."
The second those words left his mouth, the atmosphere in the room plummeted into a suffocating, heavy silence.
Cersei's face instantly flushed a violent, burning crimson.
Wait for Joffrey to spy on them?
Was... was this seriously Lynn's endgame?
Right at that moment, Lynn's gaze drifted, casually locking onto a specific patch of shadows lurking just outside the window.
Then, he turned on his heel and slowly closed the distance between him and Cersei.
Watching him approach, a sudden, inexplicable wave of pure nervous tension gripped Cersei's chest.
Lynn stopped right in front of her. He didn't say a single word. He just reached out and effortlessly scooped her up into his arms.
"Ah!"
Cersei let out a sharp gasp of surprise.
She was tossed effortlessly onto the massive, sprawling bed.
A second later, the man's heavy, dominating silhouette descended, completely blanketing her.
...
Inside another tower just a short distance away.
Joffrey was huddled like a rat behind a stone pillar, his bloodshot eyes locked dead onto the first-floor window of the Tower of the Hand.
He saw it.
He saw Lynn sweep his mother up into his arms.
He saw them crash down onto the heavy mattress.
Even though he couldn't make out the explicit, graphic details, the violently shifting, tangled silhouettes painted a perfectly clear picture!
"You bastard!"
Joffrey hissed viciously under his breath, his eyes rupturing with bloodshot fury.
He actually... he actually had the balls to do it!
He was treating the Queen Mother of the Seven Kingdoms like a cheap brothel whore!
Joffrey felt like his lungs were going to literally explode from the rage.
He wanted nothing more than to kick down that door and drive a longsword straight through Lynn's black heart.
But he didn't dare.
All he could do was cower in the shadows like a pathetic, impotent creep, watching another man absolutely defile and conquer his own mother.
But right in the middle of his impotent, psychotic breakdown, the scene shifted.
He saw Cersei—his own mother—actually leaning into the assault.
She arched her back, wrapping around the man's body like a desperate, clinging water snake.
Her movements were incredibly aggressive. Experienced. Almost... completely eager to please?
A high-pitched ringing exploded in Joffrey's skull, wiping his brain completely blank.
What... what the fuck was she doing?
Wasn't she being forced?!
Why the hell was she...
Suddenly, an absolutely unhinged, delusional thought violently hijacked his brain.
Could it be...
Is she doing this for me?!
Is she sacrificing her own body to completely sedate Lynn? Turning herself into his personal whore just to guarantee his absolute loyalty and military backing for my reign?!
The second that insane justification took root, it spread like wildfire.
Joffrey flashed back to the Great Hall, picturing Cersei kneeling at his feet, delivering that fanatical, borderline-religious confession.
"You are a born King!"
"Under your rule, Westeros is destined for unparalleled glory!"
She had been completely, utterly conquered by his absolute royal majesty!
She knew that he was the ultimate future of the world!
And because of that, she was completely willing to sacrifice absolutely everything for him!
Even her own flesh! Even her ultimate dignity!
"Mother..."
Joffrey muttered under his breath.
He felt a sharp, bizarre twisting sensation in his chest.
It actually hurt a little.
He stared through the window at the two silhouettes violently grinding together on the mattress.
He felt completely sick to his stomach. He thought it was absolute, filthy degradation.
And yet... he felt profoundly touched.
It made perfect sense.
Keeping an apex predator like the Hand of the King on a leash required a heavy, bloody price.
Lynn had overwhelming power and bottomless ambition.
If Joffrey didn't find a way to chain the beast down, Lynn would eventually turn around and rip his throat out.
But now, his mother was using her own body to forge the strongest, most unbreakable chain imaginable!
Joffrey suddenly felt like he had achieved complete enlightenment.
This was nothing but a political transaction.
A filthy, under-the-table trade that was absolutely vital for preserving his absolute power.
His mother was absorbing this horrific, unnatural humiliation solely for his sake, purely to protect his absolute grip on the Iron Throne.
Was it worth it?
It was more than worth it!
Joffrey slowly stood up straight, the rabid fury and toxic humiliation warping his face rapidly replaced by a sick, twisted, psychotic calm.
He stared deeply at the Tower of the Hand, his eyes shifting into a complex, hardened resolve.
Mother.
Don't worry.
Your "sacrifice" won't go to waste.
I am going to take Lynn—this rabid, bloodthirsty attack dog—and use him to rip out the throats of every single enemy standing in our way!