The night at the Red Keep grew deeper amidst the revelry. The clamorous feasting continued all night long, showing no sign of stopping.
Cersei had long since left the suffocating noise, returning to the bridal chamber prepared for the King and Queen deep within Maegor's Holdfast.
Unable to bear the stench of wine and sweat on her skin, she ordered her handmaidens to prepare a warm bath.
Beside the massive marble tub, twenty candles made of precious whale oil were lit simultaneously. Their steady, bright flames illuminated the room like day, casting a soft glow over her perfect body.
Rare perfumes from Lys, rumored to incite desire, and a pinch of priceless ambergris were added to the bathwater. A strange and seductive fragrance wafted silently in the steam.
Several handmaidens attended to her bathing with utmost care, wiping her with the softest silk, constantly and sincerely praising her beauty—golden hair flowing like molten gold, skin smooth as the finest silk, curves enough to drive any man mad...
Cersei closed her eyes, leaning lazily against the edge of the tub, a smile on her lips. She accepted all these compliments completely, believing them deep in her heart without a doubt.
Today was her wedding night, the first day she truly became wife to Robert Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms.
Cleansed of all adornments and dressed in the thinnest, form-fitting silk nightgown, Cersei sat on the edge of the vast bridal bed draped with crimson curtains.
She dismissed all her handmaidens, waiting alone in the flickering candlelight. Her heart held a hope mixed with pride, anticipation, and a trace of control, waiting for her King husband to arrive, to complete the final and most important ritual, to embrace and sleep together for the first time.
Time flowed slowly in the silence, marked only by the occasional soft crackle of a candle wick and her own gradually slowing breath.
When heavy, chaotic footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor, mixed with slurred drunken words and gibberish, Cersei took a deep breath. She stood up, smoothed her already flawless nightgown, and opened the door.
What met her eyes was her groom, the King—Robert Baratheon—being supported by Eddard Stark and Euron Greyjoy, one on each arm, practically dragging him forward. His massive body was limp as mud, his legs refusing to cooperate, dragging on the floor with every step.
Behind them, Kingsguard Barristan Selmy and Jaime Lannister followed dutifully like two white shadows, their faces expressionless.
Seeing Cersei, a helpless, bitter smile appeared on Ned's face. He explained in a low voice, "The wine His Grace drank tonight could probably fill half a room."
Euron added with his signature, slightly mocking smile, "I highly doubt he can fulfill the groom's duties tonight. He just shoved an entire roast chicken into his mouth at the feast and didn't even spit out the bones."
Just then, Robert seemed to hear something. He lifted his head with bleary eyes, muttering incoherently, "Listen... it's Lyanna... she's singing... hehehe... hehe..."
"Shut up, Robert!" Ned and Euron hissed almost simultaneously, their faces turning exceptionally grim as they tried to stop this extremely inappropriate drunken talk.
They staggered to the door.
Cersei heard that name, and a wave of displeasure washed over her. She hesitated for a moment before finally speaking. Her voice was calm, but cold as an icicle, devoid of any warmth. "Leave him to me."
She reached out, intending to take Robert, to support him like a virtuous wife.
However, Robert shoved her hand away drunkenly, muttering, "I... I can do it..." He broke free from Ned and Euron's support, swayed violently, then stumbled over the threshold, crashing into the fragrant, candlelit bridal chamber.
Ned's face was full of bitterness and apology, while Euron shrugged indifferently. They exchanged a look, seeing the same understanding and helplessness in each other's eyes. Without further words, they silently retreated to the sides of the corridor, leaving the noble couple—whose relationship was overshadowed on their wedding night—behind the closed door.
As Ned and Euron prepared to return to their rooms, they saw Barristan Selmy and Jaime Lannister hadn't left. Instead, the two took two steps forward, standing like white-armored sentinels on either side of the bridal chamber door, upright and motionless.
Euron raised an eyebrow, a teasing look appearing on his face. He addressed the two white knights, "I say... on a night like this, a moment of spring is worth a thousand gold. You two aren't really going to guard this door all night and listen to the wall, are you?"
Barristan's weathered face showed no extra expression. He merely turned his head slightly, looking at Euron with firm, clear eyes. His voice was steady as a rock. "Protecting the safety of the King and Queen is our duty."
Thinking of the bride inside—wearing a nightgown, full of expectation—who was this man's own sister, while the brother, a Kingsguard, had to stand outside listening to whatever sounds might come... Ned's face turned ashen instantly. He pressed his lips tight, as if suppressing a surge of discomfort and anger.
Euron's gaze swept back and forth between Ned's ashen face and Jaime's emotionless back. Finally, he couldn't help it; a playful smirk curled his lips. After all, the awkwardly situated bride inside was the sister of the white knight outside.
This situation was truly... amusing...
Ned couldn't bear to stay a moment longer. He turned abruptly, walking toward his room with a chill about him. Euron chuckled lightly, shook his head, and left with leisurely steps. In the empty corridor, only the two white, lonely figures remained.
---
The carved wooden door of the bridal chamber closed, shutting out the last noise from the outside.
Cersei reached out to support the teetering groom. The moment her fingertips touched his burning wrist, a thick stench of cheap wine and fermented stomach acid hit her face. She frowned sharply, instinctively taking half a step back.
Robert was oblivious. His heavy body lost balance, falling forward like a felled tree—his forehead narrowly missing the hard doorframe with a dull thud.
Suppressing the urge to retch, Cersei reached out again to steady him.
The next moment, her wrist was suddenly seized by Robert's thick hand. With a bang, he slammed her heavily against the cold stone wall. His scorching,酒-stinking breath sprayed on her ear and neck, shockingly hot. His slurred mutterings stabbed her heart like poisoned ice picks.
"Lyanna..." Robert's cloudy eyes reflected her golden hair, but he saw another shadow through her. Though drunk, his voice was full of love. "Your hair ribbon... is loose... let me help you..."
"Your Grace," Cersei forced the corners of her mouth up, trying to show a proper queenly smile, but her emerald eyes were frosted over. "I am Cersei. Your Queen."
"Cer... sei?"
Robert's pupils contracted suddenly, as if doused with a bucket of ice water. The feverish intoxication receded instantly, leaving only naked, embarrassing reality. He let go of her hand as if burned, staggering backward. His heavy body crashed unexpectedly into the exquisite bronze candelabra by the door.
CLANG—!
The candelabra fell with a harsh noise. Unextinguished candles rolled, scorching black marks onto the carpet.
Robert's stomach finally couldn't withstand the violent stimulation and churning drunkenness.
"URGH—BLAAARGH~~~~"
He bent over suddenly, vomiting all the luxurious food and wine he had consumed that night onto the expensive carpet in a single heave.
A pungent, indescribable sour stench exploded instantly, rapidly permeating every corner of the room. It tore apart the romantic atmosphere created by ambergris and Lysene perfume, thoroughly defiling this wedding night that should have been filled with vows and tenderness.
The door was yanked open. The thick, nauseating sour smell rushed out first.
Cersei stood in the shadows of the doorway, covering her nose and mouth tightly with her hand. Behind her, in the candlelight, her golden hair seemed to burn with cold flames.
Barristan, alert outside, had been fully focused since hearing the crash of the candelabra. Now that the door was open, his sharp gaze cut through the dim light, instantly spotting the unconscious King lying beside his vomit.
Without hesitation, the aged but agile white knight and Jaime beside him moved almost simultaneously, rushing into the mess like two white lightning bolts. Ignoring the filth underfoot and in the air, they lifted the limp Robert from the floor, steady and strong.
Cersei's voice came from the doorway, cold and devoid of ripples, as if stating a matter unrelated to her.
"Someone come."
Handmaidens waiting in the distance trotted over fearfully.
"Bring a tub of hot water. Clean His Grace."
Her command was concise. She stepped aside to clear the path, no longer looking at the room defiled by her nominal husband, nor at the man who had called another woman's name and vomited all over on her wedding night.
The chaos lasted a long time. The sour smell in the air was stubborn. It took several buckets of water to barely clean the disgusting filth and wine stench from Robert after his stomach was empty.
When the dead-drunk King was finally wiped relatively clean and placed on the wide bridal bed like a heavy trophy by Barristan and Jaime, beads of sweat covered the foreheads of both Kingsguard. Their white armor inevitably bore stains. They exhaled simultaneously, not from fatigue, but from the temporary relaxation of an indescribable tension.
Cersei watched coldly throughout. Her gaze swept over the unsightly stains on their armor, her voice flat. "There is nothing more here. You need not guard this place. Go back and clean yourselves."
Barristan and Jaime exchanged a glance, quickly scanning the King snoring on the bed and the bridal chamber that, though hastily cleaned, still bore traces of the mess. Confirming the King was temporarily safe, they bowed slightly, accepting the Queen's order.
Carrying the embarrassment of fatigue and foul smells, the two quietly withdrew from this wedding night destined to be filled with unbearable memories.
Cersei stood alone by the bed, looking out at the heavy night, finally letting out a barely audible sigh.
She sat back on the edge of the bed covered in crimson brocade, her gaze falling on her husband—Robert Baratheon—the man who was now her husband in the eyes of the law and the world.
She reached out, her fingertips hesitating imperceptibly, and gently untied his nightshirt. A solid bronze chest was exposed, covered in thick black hair, exuding a strong, unrefined masculine aura. Cersei frowned slightly; this was vastly different from the elegant, refined beauty of Prince Rhaegar she had imagined.
In fairness, though lacking the poetic beauty sung by bards, Robert possessed an aggressive masculinity like a lion or beast.
Perhaps disturbed by the touch, Robert moved in his drunken sleep. A burning hand suddenly grabbed Cersei's wrist with painful force. The next moment, the world spun, and she was pinned firmly to the bed by his heavy body. He buried his face deep in her neck and hair, his scorching breath spraying on her sensitive skin, bringing a shudder.
This brief, seemingly intimate contact was like a fleeting bubble.
"Lyanna..." He murmured a blurred, affectionate whisper, like a red-hot dagger stabbing Cersei's ear unexpectedly. "Do you know... how much I miss you... I love you... I would give my life for you... give my everything..."
The blood drained from Cersei's face instantly, as if all warmth was sucked away. She began to struggle hard, trying to push away the mountain of flesh named "husband," but Robert's weight and strength were far beyond hers. All her resistance was like an ant trying to shake a tree.
A flame mixing extreme humiliation and rage flared in her heart. Her voice trembled, asking coldly as if to confirm the cruel truth with her own ears, "What about Cersei?" She asked word by word. "Your bride, me, what am I?"
In his drunken dream, Robert let out an unconscious scoff, filled with undisguised contempt and cruelty.
"Her...?" He muttered vaguely, every word a poisoned icicle. "She is just your replacement... a... a tool to bear my children..." He seemed eager to prove his loyalty to the person in his dream. "Lyanna, believe me... I love you, only you... forever..."
"Replacement"... "Tool"...
These words were like a final judgment, instantly shattering all of Cersei's reason and endurance. "AH—!" She didn't know where the strength came from—perhaps extreme anger granted her body temporary divine power—but she kneed him violently and used all her strength to shove Robert's mountain-like body off her!
Robert rolled to the inner side of the bed, oblivious to everything, still immersed in his illusory dream, repeatedly murmuring that cursed name: "Lyanna... Lyanna... my Lyanna... without you, this kingship is tasteless to me..."
Cersei sat up abruptly. Her face was no longer pale but a terrifying ashen color. Storms raged in her emerald eyes, along with a near-destructive coldness.
She didn't look at the dead-drunk man again. Getting off the bed, her steps slightly unsteady but exceptionally firm, she walked to the door, pushed it open violently, and stepped into the cold night and endless humiliation outside without looking back.
---
The night was deep. Most lights in the Red Keep's windows were extinguished. Euron wasn't sleepy yet. His tall figure stood by the window, letting the cold night wind brush his face.
Euron's thoughts were like the pitch-black sea outside—calm on the surface, but churning deep below. He silently reviewed the recent heist. Every detail, from raising the storm to "Thousand-Eyes'" precise strike, to the destructive finale of the tornado, replayed in his mind like fine patterns. Finally, he confirmed the operation was clean, like a sand painting wiped away, leaving no loopholes to trace.
His thoughts then turned to the future.
The massive banking plan was like a nascent giant—bones set, but needing flesh and blood. When his thoughts touched upon the crucial selection of the fourteen branch managers, he felt a thorny difficulty, like facing a tangled mess with no loose end. He subconsciously rubbed his brow.
Irritation lingered. He opened the door and strolled toward the terrace of the Red Keep facing Blackwater Bay, hoping the cold sea breeze would clear his mind.
However, at the end of the terrace, by the stone railing gilded with silver moonlight, Euron saw an unexpected figure.
A nightgown red as blood fluttered in the salty wind, outlining a slender but tense silhouette. Golden hair flowed like molten gold, blown wildly by the wind.
It was the newlywed Queen, Cersei Lannister.
She stood alone in the deep night and the endless sound of the sea, back to the castle's noise and filth, like a red idol carved from rage and pride, abandoned on a cliff.
Euron approached slowly, asking with a hint of surprise, "Eh? Your Grace, why are you here alone? At this hour, shouldn't you be..."
Cersei didn't turn, but the sea breeze carried her nasal, slightly hoarse voice over. Moonlight faintly illuminated the wet tear tracks on her cheeks. "You mean with that boar you all carried back like cargo?"
Euron smiled awkwardly, trying to ease the tension. "Hehe... Is His Grace feeling better now?"
"Better? He's wonderful!" Cersei whipped around. Flames of humiliation and anger burned in her emerald eyes. Her voice seemed squeezed through her teeth. "Thanks to you 'good brothers,' he vomited all over our bridal chamber! Now he's snoring like thunder, sleeping like a dead pig!"
Euron maintained his poise, persuading gently, "Today is a day of double joy. His Grace was crowned King and married a Queen of such beauty and standing. Joy filled his heart; it's inevitable he drank a few too many..."
"Joy?" Cersei interrupted him with a sneer, her voice shrill. "I heard him drunkenly calling 'Lyanna'! He said he only loves that dead woman! And I, Cersei Lannister, am just a tool for him to breed heirs!" Her words carried an unconcealable tremor.
"His Grace values emotion and loyalty. From a certain angle, that isn't a bad thing," Euron chose his words carefully. "In time, feelings will naturally..."
"Enough!" Cersei shouted sharply, waving her arm. "Don't mention Robert again! At least tonight, I don't want to hear that name!"
Facing her near-explosive emotions, Euron remained unhurried. A mysterious smile appeared on his face. "Since Your Grace isn't sleepy, and the night is long... I know an interesting place that might change your mood. I wonder if you... dare to come see it?"
Cersei lifted her chin, looking straight at him with eyes still red but full of arrogance. "In this world, there is nowhere Cersei Lannister dares not go!"
Euron nodded without speaking. He simply led the way silently, guiding Cersei through the Red Keep's intricate, little-known deep passages.
The surroundings grew darker, so silent that only their light footsteps and the rustle of clothes could be heard.
At a nearly pitch-black turn, the distracted Cersei was caught off guard and slammed into Euron's suddenly halted, hard back.
"Ah!" She cried out softly, stumbling back.
Euron reacted extremely fast. He turned quickly, extending a hand to steady her arm, stopping her fall.
"You... where are you taking me?" Cersei stabilized herself, suppressing the palpitation in her heart. Her voice carried an imperceptible tension in the narrow passage.
The dim light reflected the calm smile on Euron's face. He winked, his tone holding a hint of mystery. "You'll know when we get there."
Cersei hesitated whether to follow, but seeing Euron walking further away and not knowing the way back, she stomped her foot and quickly followed.
They continued forward, winding constantly through the maze-like corridors, stepping down endless stone stairs, down and further down.
The air became increasingly cold and damp, carrying the earthy smell of the underground and a scent of decay, as if stepping away from the human world into a domain forgotten by time.
After a long while, Euron finally stopped before a seemingly ordinary stone wall. He reached out, taking a prepared dry torch from a metal bracket on the wall. Then, a tame, steady flame leaped from his empty left palm, easily lighting the torch.
The dancing firelight instantly dispelled the thick darkness, illuminating a massive, seemingly naturally formed cave entrance ahead.
Euron stepped aside, extending the torch forward. "We're here. Look."
Cersei looked in the direction of the light. The next moment, her emerald eyes widened abruptly, pupils contracting in extreme shock.
She saw a sight that made her soul tremble—an incomparably huge, unimaginably large dragon skull stood quietly in the center of the cavern!
Even after ages, the hideous cranial structure radiated a terrifying pressure. The hollow eye sockets were deep as wells, seeming to retain ancient rage. The jagged teeth were like broken spears, speaking of its terror in life.
"Uh! Seven save us..." Cersei gasped, stumbling back, her feet slipping on the damp ground. If Euron hadn't been quick to grab her arm firmly again, she would have collapsed to the floor in weakness.
Her voice trembled with extreme horror as she pointed at the massive skull. "This... this is...?!"
"Balerion," Euron gave the answer. "Known as the Black Dread."
Cersei stood frozen. It wasn't that she hadn't seen dragon bones—on sigils of King's Landing families, or small pieces made into decorations—but a dragon skull so massive, so complete, so... soul-shaking, she had never seen in her life.
The hollow eye sockets were like two entrances to the realm of death, staring grimly at the uninvited guests.
She saw Euron casually reach out and rap his knuckles gently on the pale bone, a motion as frivolous as stroking a lover's cheek. The expected curse or retaliation didn't happen. The dragon bone remained silent; only the dust of history fell from his fingertips.
Euron's action gave her a shred of courage. Cersei forced herself to take a step forward, reaching out. Her fingertips finally touched the rough, cold bone surface. A deathly silence spanning centuries spread from her fingers. No miracle, no illusion, only stone-like hardness and cold.
"Come," Euron smiled. "There are more 'surprises' ahead."
He held the torch and walked deeper. The firelight swayed, casting larger shadows on the walls. Cersei followed, and then, her breath caught again.
In the center of the cavernous hall lay a shockingly complete dragon skeleton. Its ribs spread to the sides like giant, pale wings. The massive skull was embedded obliquely in the rock wall in an impact posture, empty eye sockets staring stubbornly at the eternal void, as if issuing a silent roar before death.
Scattered around were bone fragments: vertebrae like millstones, tibias like spears planted in the ground, curved claws like poisoned daggers. Some bones still had dark brown dragon scale fragments attached, gleaming with a strange metallic coldness in the dim firelight.
In an inconspicuous corner, several smaller, entangled skeletons were piled up—hatchlings or drakes. Their twisted postures suggested not natural death, but remains discarded after being torn apart by irresistible violence.
Even more heart-pounding, Cersei glimpsed something else in the shadow of the dragon skull—several human skeletons. Their postures were twisted; some reaching out, some curled up, as if trying to steal something but instantly claimed by deadly dragon fire or ancient traps, becoming eternal sacrifices in this dragon bone graveyard.
Cersei approached the most striking complete skull again. Its lower jaw was large enough to bite a bull in half. Dagger-sharp teeth were tightly arranged, and between them, half a piece of charred scale armor was stuck dead—the final mark of some unfortunate opponent. As if possessed, she reached out toward the massive eye socket.
A cold touch instantly shot up her spine from her fingertips, as if a pair of invisible, ancient eyes were staring dead at her, the intruder, through time and space.
"This is Meraxes," Euron's voice sounded at the right moment, like a narration for this pantomime. "The mount of Queen Rhaenys, wife of Aegon the Conqueror. Legend says it was shot down by a Scorpion bolt to the eye in Dorne, crashing from the sky to destroy the Hellholt."
"This is Vhagar," Euron corrected himself (or continued). "Visenya's mount. It grew almost as large as Balerion."
His words permeated the cold air, injecting the soul of past fire and blood into this room full of dead bones.
"Ah—!"
A short, sharp scream suddenly tore the silence of the crypt. Cersei jerked her hand back, stumbling away as if bitten by a viper.
This sudden movement startled even the composed Euron. He turned quickly, the torchlight swaying, casting their shadows like dancing demons on the wall. "What is it?" His voice held an imperceptible tension.
Cersei raised her hand. By the flickering firelight, a bright red bead of blood could be seen gathering rapidly on the tip of her slender, pale index finger. Pain twisted her beautiful features slightly. "I don't know... something pricked me." Her voice trembled with lingering shock.
Euron frowned slightly. He stepped forward immediately, taking her cold hand gently but firmly. His movements were surprisingly steady. With his rough thumb and forefinger, he pinched her fingertip where a bone splinter was stuck. He pulled it out, then carefully squeezed out the drop of blood, as if expelling potential poison. Then, he cleanly tore a strip of clean silk from the lining of his opulent tunic, deftly wrapping her injured finger and tying a tight knot.
"Thank you," Cersei whispered, her tone complex, feeling the rough texture of the cloth and a slight pressure on her finger.
Euron smiled. "A small matter, my dear Queen. If something truly happened to you here, I wouldn't be able to explain it to King Robert."
Cersei's face turned icy instantly. She yanked her hand back from his palm, her voice like a poisoned blade. "I said, don't mention Robert in front of me!"
Euron hit a wall but didn't get angry. He touched his nose nonchalantly, then spoke in a reminding tone. "It's late. We should go back. His Grace might be awake and looking for you everywhere."
This sentence was like a fuse, instantly igniting all the suppressed anger and humiliation in Cersei's eyes.
Her expression shifted, finally congealing into a twisted look of thick hatred. "Let him go bed that dead woman Lyanna!"
Euron was momentarily speechless: "..."
Just then, Cersei made a shocking move. She turned abruptly, her hands awkwardly but resolutely hooking around Euron's neck. She pressed her body close, looking up at him, her voice carrying a desperate madness. "Take me."
"Don't be foolish," Euron said calmly, trying to push her away.
"Or I will tell everyone," dangerous and paranoid light flashed in Cersei's eyes as she said coldly, "that you, Euron Greyjoy, tried to seduce the Queen!"
A helpless, bitter smile appeared on Euron's face. He saw through her intent. "You want revenge on Robert."
"Yes!" Cersei almost growled, her voice trembling with agitation. "Since he holds another in his heart, I can give my most precious thing to someone else!"
Before she finished, summoning strength from nowhere, she pushed Euron back against the cold stone railing. Events spiraled completely out of Euron's expectation, happening in a way he hadn't foreseen.
Flickering torchlight cast two overlapping shadows on the stone wall.
Golden hair flowed like a waterfall; emerald eyes flashed with complex light in the dimness. Cersei dominated everything with an attitude of near self-sacrifice. Euron could clearly feel her body trembling—not from passion, but a mix of anger, humiliation, and a destructive pleasure. Mostly revenge.
Euron endured silently, his eyes boldly observing her body and expression.
After an unknown amount of time, Cersei seemed to run out of strength. She collapsed softly onto his chest, her golden hair spreading over him like expensive silk, her breathing rapid and hot.
Euron laughed. "Done already? Then... now it's my turn."
...
A long time later.
Cersei, moving with obvious difficulty, tidied her messy robes alone. She didn't look at Euron again. Like a priestess who had completed a bloody ritual, she left the terrace decisively, disappearing into the deep shadows of the Red Keep.
She returned to the bridal chamber still faintly smelling of sourness and wine. Robert still lay on the bed, snoring like thunder, oblivious to everything that had just happened.
Cersei walked to the bedside, looking down at the sleeping King. A cold, mocking curve lifted her lips. She extended a slender finger, using her nail to gently scratch the wound on her fingertip. She squeezed out a bead of fresh red blood, dripping it precisely onto the snow-white satin sheet.
Done with this, she didn't even change her nightgown. Fully dressed, she lay down beside her snoring husband and closed her eyes.
The bloodstain on the sheet was like a silent mockery, branded onto this broken wedding night.