"Essos," Cersei said, too fast, like she was trying to get ahead of him. "That's what he told me. Said some contact there gave it to him." She shook her head, eyes darting. "He never gave a name. I swear. Just said it was… a failsafe. Told me the words. Said it would wake the dragon. Burn my enemies."
Alaric watched her for a beat. Then, quieter, sharper: "And that didn't bother you?"
Cersei blinked. "What?"
"You didn't think to ask who this 'contact' was?" His voice stayed level, which somehow made it worse. "You just took it. From a man who deals in corpses and rumors. From across the sea."
Her breath hitched. "I didn't have time for questions."
"You always have time for questions."
"I didn't," she snapped, and then her voice broke. "I was alone."
The word hung there.
She dragged a shaky breath. "They all left me. Varys vanished. Littlefinger ran. My father—" She cut herself off, swallowing hard. "None of them stayed. None of them helped. Qyburn was the only one who came back with anything."
Alaric tilted his head slightly. "Where is he now?"
Cersei gave a weak, humorless laugh. "Gone. Of course he's gone." She wiped at her face with the heel of her hand. "Packed everything. Books, jars… all that filth he keeps. Took a wagon and slipped out before dawn. Three days ago." A pause. "He knew you were coming."
Alaric said nothing.
He just stood there, watching her fall apart. Listening. Measuring.
Her breathing was uneven. Her hands wouldn't stay still. No hesitation in her answers—just panic, raw and ugly.
Not a liar. Not this time.
He straightened. The dagger in his hand dissolved into nothing, the cold pressure in the cell lifting with it like a storm passing.
Cersei folded in on herself, shoulders shaking, face buried in her hands. No pride left. No mask. Just a woman who'd pushed too far and couldn't pull back.
Alaric looked down at her, thinking.
Killing her would be simple. Quick.
Too simple.
And handing her off? That opened doors he didn't feel like dealing with.
"…You're not dying tonight," he said at last.
Cersei froze. Slowly, she looked up at him, eyes red and searching, like she didn't trust what she heard.
He didn't explain.
Just turned and walked to the door.
Two knocks.
The hinges screamed as it opened.
Cold air rushed in. The tunnel beyond was dim and still. One knight hadn't moved an inch. The other stood with Tommen slumped against his shoulder, dead asleep.
Myrcella was awake.
Pressed to the wall. Arms wrapped tight around herself. Watching the door like it might decide everything.
When Alaric stepped out, she flinched. Tried to look past him—just a glimpse, just enough to see—
He stopped in front of her.
Opened his mouth—
—and she dropped.
Not running. Not fighting.
Just… gave out.
Her knees hit the stone hard. She grabbed onto his tunic like it was the only solid thing left in the world.
"Please," she said, barely getting it out. Her voice shook so badly the word almost broke apart. "Please… don't hurt them."
Alaric looked down at her. "Get up, Myrcella."
"I'll do anything," she rushed out. The tears she had been holding back finally spilled over her dirty cheeks. She held onto his clothes tighter, completely desperate. "Whatever you want from me, I will do it. Just please don't kill my mother. Don't hurt Tommen. I'll do whatever you say. I'll be your servant. Just let them live."
Alaric stared at her. She was terrified, but she was brave enough to trade her own life to save her family.
It made things very simple. He didn't have to force her or play any games. She was offering herself to him directly, which was exactly what the System and Margaery had suggested.
"Anything?" Alaric asked, his voice steady and quiet.
Myrcella nodded quickly. "Yes. Anything you want."
Alaric reached down. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her up from the wet floor. She was trembling under his hands, but she didn't try to pull away.
Alaric held her steady on her feet. She felt small and fragile, but she forced herself to meet his eyes.
"You don't just get to ask for their lives once," Alaric told her, his voice low and serious. "You are going to have to earn their freedom and their safety. Every single day. Are you truly willing to do that?"
Myrcella swallowed hard. A fresh tear slid down her cheek, but she didn't look away. "Yes," she whispered fiercely. "I will earn it."
Alaric watched her for a second. He nodded slowly and let go of her shoulders.
But he didn't step back. Instead, he took a slow step forward. Myrcella instinctively retreated, her shoulders hitting the cold, damp stone of the tunnel wall.
Alaric kept moving until he was right in front of her. He raised his hands and placed them flat against the stone on either side of her head, completely trapping her. He leaned his head down, bringing his face just a few inches from hers.
Myrcella's breath hitched. Her chest rose and fell quickly. She remembered what she had just agreed to. Anything.
She squeezed her Emerald eyes shut tight, tilted her chin up just a little, and waited for him to take what he wanted.
Several seconds passed. The tunnel was dead quiet, except for the faint, metallic breathing of the Blood Knight standing nearby.
Nothing happened. He didn't touch her.
"Why are your eyes closed?" Alaric asked. His voice was entirely casual.
Myrcella froze. She slowly opened her eyes, blinking in the dim torchlight. Alaric was just staring at her, looking completely unbothered, with a faint, amused smirk on his face.
The blood rushed straight to her cheeks, burning hot beneath the dirt and soot. She quickly lowered her chin, suddenly feeling very foolish.
"I... I thought..." she stammered, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
"You thought what?" Alaric prompted, his tone perfectly flat.
Myrcella swallowed hard, nervously picking at the dirty fabric of her dress. She forced herself to look back up at him. "I thought you were going to kiss me. Because... because I told you I would do anything."