Chapter 73 – Odin's Invitation
At night, Stokeworth Castle was nothing like the noisy splendor of the Red Keep.
Instead, it exuded a faint sense of decay and oppression.
Ever since the former master of the house—Ser Manly Stokeworth, once commander of the Gold Cloaks—had died in the war more than a decade ago, this family, once prominent in King's Landing, had been steadily pushed to the margins, slowly fading from the center of power.
In a bedroom that was at least passably tidy, Shae was carrying out her duties as a maid.
Holding a comb, she was "patiently" brushing Lady Lollys Stokeworth's tangled hair.
Lollys sat on a high-backed chair, giggling vacantly, her mouth producing meaningless, childish sounds.
"Oh dear, there's a knot here, my lady~"
Shae's voice was syrupy sweet, but her hands were anything but gentle. She gave a sudden, violent tug—the comb scraping across the scalp and tearing out several strands of hair.
Lollys cried out in pain and shrank her neck instinctively. She didn't resist. She didn't even understand. She only turned back with a dull, confused look—meeting a face full of concern on her maid's features.
Next, Shae grabbed a soaking-wet cloth and began scrubbing Lollys's face with brutal force, as if she were trying to peel off a layer of skin.
"It has to be cleaned properly, my lady," she muttered.
"Otherwise, you'll get worms."
Whether frightened by Shae's movements, or simply unable to control herself due to pregnancy and her damaged mind, Lollys suddenly lost control of her bowels.
A foul stench slowly spread through the room.
"Damn it—again?! You stupid bitch!"
Seeing the dark yellow stain spreading across Lollys's skirt, Shae felt bile rise in her throat and cursed aloud.
Yet even so, she had no choice but to suppress her nausea and clean her up—gritting her teeth as she did so.
"Look at you."
As she worked mechanically, Shae vented her rage in a voice so low it was almost a hiss.
"A brainless idiot ruined by mobs… a useless thing that can't even control her own filth."
"Why should I have to serve you like a queen? Wipe your ass, comb your hair, endure this disgusting body of yours!"
The more she spoke, the angrier she became. Finally, she flung the cloth aside and roughly tore open Lollys's dress, exposing her bloated figure.
"So fucking ugly."
Lollys only giggled foolishly, unaware that she was being humiliated.
That empty smile pushed Shae's resentment past its limit.
She hated this.
She, Shae—who had once moved freely through countless military camps, dealing effortlessly with soldiers like wolves. Even when facing several men at once, she had always known exactly how to handle them.
She knew how to read expressions.
She knew how to please men.
She had trained her manners and posture until they surpassed those of noble ladies.
And yet she was worth less than this idiot—this woman who had nothing but a noble title!
It was that dwarf who had pulled her out of the camp whorehouses.
That same dwarf who gave her hope—
and then personally shoved her into a deeper abyss.
He promised warmth.
He promised protection.
And what did she get?
At first, she was hidden like a songbird that could never see daylight.
Now, she had been dumped into this gloomy, decaying castle to act as a nursemaid for a fool.
She hated it.
What she wanted was so simple.
So painfully simple.
She only wanted to stand openly beside Tyrion, even if he was a dwarf.
She wanted to wear beautiful silk gowns, dazzling jewelry—to let everyone know she was a woman of House Lannister.
But even that small dream was unreachable.
Even after coming to the King's Landing she had longed for, she had merely traded one hell for another.
She felt like an object—passed around, used at will—never treated as a real person.
Then—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound echoed softly against the door.
Just as Shae was cursing silently with the vilest words she knew—while roughly helping Lollys change into a clean underskirt—there came a knock at the door.
Shae jumped.
She hurriedly straightened Lollys's clothes, kicked the torn-out hair under the bed, shoved the chamber pot into a corner, and made sure everything looked normal.
Then, with practiced ease, she wiped all resentment from her face, replacing it with meek obedience, and gently opened the door.
"You're too slow."
A sharp, unpleasant face greeted her—Falyse Stokeworth, the eldest daughter of House Stokeworth and Lollys's sister.
Shae feared this woman.
Those narrow eyes always seemed filled with resentment toward the entire world, as if everyone owed her several million gold dragons.
Falyse stepped inside without sparing her sister so much as a glance, instead openly raking her gaze up and down Shae's body.
"Take off your clothes."
Shae froze.
"M–my lady… what do you—"
"Take. Off. Your clothes. Maid."
The command was colder, harder.
Gritting her teeth, Shae had no choice but to untie her gown.
Soft fabric slid from her shoulders, exposing a slender, well-shaped body to the chill air.
Falyse circled her slowly, her gaze scraping across Shae's bare skin like she was inspecting merchandise.
The humiliation burned.
Shae had once sold her body for survival, yes—but ever since following Tyrion, she had tried desperately to separate herself from that past. She copied noble manners, trained her posture, dreamed of becoming a proper lady one day.
Yet Falyse's eyes stripped her back to what she once was—effortlessly, cruelly.
Time dragged on in silence.
When Shae finally began to shiver from the cold, Falyse spoke again, her tone mocking.
"Pretty, indeed. No wonder men can't stop thinking about you."
Men?
Tyrion?
No—their relationship was hidden. Even Ser Jaime knew nothing. In the Red Keep, only that secretive spymaster seemed aware, and even helped arrange their trysts.
A sudden, daring thought surfaced.
A calm, elegant face with deep, unreadable eyes flashed through her mind.
Could it be him?
To her own surprise, Shae felt a flicker of anticipation.
Before she could think further, Falyse turned and walked toward the door.
"Get dressed. You're coming with me."
"Or don't. If you'd rather, I'll sell you to the Silk Street tomorrow."
Shae didn't hesitate.
She grabbed her dress, pulled it on messily, and followed.
---
The Hall of Council
Lake Rykker lounged arrogantly in a chair, looking every bit the important man.
He wore clean silk, his hair carefully groomed. Five Gold Cloaks stood behind him like bodyguards—one might've mistaken him for the commander himself.
Who would've guessed he'd been sitting in a cell just that afternoon?
"All this fuss over a maid," Lake muttered, tapping the table lazily, glancing at the Dothraki warrior nearby.
"More extravagant than my brother's engagement to the Stokeworth girl."
"What—does she have gold between her legs?"
To his surprise, the usually silent Iggo answered flatly:
"I don't like her."
"She's too thin. Too short. She probably can't even mount a horse."
"In Dothraki lands, women who cannot ride cannot bear strong children. They are usually abandoned."
Lake shot him a sideways look, his mouth twitching.
Talking to this man was exhausting. Every conversation veered into a world he didn't understand.
Thankfully, they didn't wait long.
Escorted into the hall, Shae scanned the room—only to find not the man she hoped for, but a flamboyant young noble. Disappointment flickered across her eyes.
Then she saw Iggo.
Her heart tightened. She instinctively clenched her skirt.
"I've brought her," Falyse said curtly. "Lake—you'd better keep your promise."
Since her father's death, Stokeworth Castle hadn't seen Gold Cloaks in years. Her useless husband had squandered the family's remaining influence.
The Rykkers, on the other hand…
Even as a second son, Lake was favored. Duskendale's taxes were among the lowest in the Crownlands—yet the family's wealth was immense.
What a waste… to give Lollys to such a fate.
"Tsk, tsk…"
Lake rose and circled Shae, eyes roaming freely.
"Face is decent. Figure's acceptable."
His tone matched Falyse's—if anything, worse. Like appraising a broodmare.
Shae stood stiffly, powerless as her fate was discussed over her head.
She steeled herself: if Lake tried to take her by force, she would scream. Tyrion had guards hidden nearby—she'd have them run to the Red Keep.
But Lake only shook his head.
"Too small."
"I really don't see why Lord Odin values you so highly."
Odin.
Shae's heart lurched. She stared at Lake in disbelief.
Seeing her reaction, Lake finally inclined his head politely.
"Lake Rykker," he said.
"By Lord Odin's order, I'm here to invite you to dine with him this evening."
For a moment, Shae nearly leapt with joy.
All the humiliation, fear, and disappointment vanished—replaced by a rush of exhilaration.
So that elegant, mysterious man hadn't forgotten their brief encounter.
Not only that—he'd sent a true noble and Gold Cloaks to escort her away from this disgusting place.
House Rykker.
She knew that name well—a powerful family in the Crownlands.
That Odin could command such a man… and the city watch…
His influence was terrifying.
Shae forced herself to remain composed, though her trembling fingers betrayed her excitement.
Tyrion hid her like shameful trash.
Odin invited her openly—and with extravagant respect.
"I'll take that as a yes."
Lake clapped his hands. A lavish litter was immediately carried in.
Turning to Falyse, he grinned.
"Thank you for your generosity, my lady. Lord Odin asked me to pass along word—your husband's appointment to the City Watch will be arranged."
"At once."
Falyse finally smiled.
She didn't know who this "Lord Odin" truly was, but Lake had produced a letter bearing Lord Tywin's personal seal.
It clearly stated:
Appointment of Odin as Chief Special Attaché to the Small Council.
An unfamiliar title—but an intimidating one.
"So—"
Lake turned back to Shae, spreading his hands.
"Please, Miss Shae. Don't keep Lord Odin waiting."
At last, Shae could no longer suppress her longing for power and elevation.
She cast Tyrion's warnings from her mind, smiled brightly, and stepped into the litter.
Running her hand over the soft, gold-embroidered cushions, she felt—just for this moment—like a true noblewoman.
The procession departed Stokeworth Castle, heading toward King's Landing.
Only after the Gold Cloaks vanished through the gates did a servant sweeping the courtyard quietly drop his broom—
and follow after them.