The voice was sharp, mean, and full of that lifelong noble arrogance.
Bronn's cocky grin faltered for a second. He turned his head.
Ser Balman Byrch stood in the middle of the aisle in a fresh dark-blue doublet and sword at his hip, trying to look important. Sweat was already beading along his hairline.
Standing right beside him was Falyse Stokeworth.
Eldest daughter of the late Lady Tanda, older sister of Lollys, and the real power running Stokeworth these days now that her mother could barely walk.
Falyse stared straight at Bronn, eyes narrow and nasty.
"My dear brother-in-law," she said, walking forward with a sneer. "Did I just hear you calculating how many years my husband and I have left to live?"
Bronn looked at her. The brief flash of discomfort vanished, replaced by his usual lazy smirk.
"Lady Falyse," he said. "I was only stating facts."
"Facts?" Falyse stepped closer. "What facts? The line of succession for Stokeworth, or how long my husband and I are going to live?"
"Both," Bronn said, still grinning.
Falyse's eyes went cold.
"Ser Bronn," she said, voice turning serious. "Do you know the history of House Stokeworth?"
Bronn didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Falyse kept talking. "Stokeworth has stood for a thousand years. We survived the Blackfyre rebellions. We survived Summerhall. My father died fighting for Robert, but our castle was never taken and our line was never broken."
She took another step forward. "You're a sellsword, Ser Bronn. You sell your blade to the highest bidder. Before the Blackwater you weren't even a knight. You got lucky. You married my sister and became a Stokeworth by marriage. That's all you are—an outsider with a sword and a life that could end tomorrow."
She smiled, the same cold, beautiful smile Cersei had worn earlier. "So when you're counting the days until my husband and I die, maybe you should first count how long an outsider like you usually lasts in a Westerosi winter."
The nobles around them went quiet. This was better than the fights they'd paid to see.
Balman stood behind his wife, trying to look stern, but the sweat was pouring down his face now. He was terrified of Falyse and everyone knew it.
Bronn didn't look scared at all.
He was quiet for a few seconds, then let out a short laugh.
"Fuck," he said, loud enough for half the VIP section to hear.
People stared. A knight openly cursing a highborn lady in public like that was rare, even in King's Landing.
Bronn kept going, voice light and mocking. "You're right about one thing, dear sister. I am an outsider. But you know what the difference is between people like me and people like you?"
Falyse didn't answer.
Bronn didn't wait. "You nobles like to talk in circles. You wrap every insult in history and bloodlines so the other person has to guess what you really mean. I don't. I say what I want."
He looked her dead in the eye. "I wanted Stokeworth, so I married your sister Lollys. You want your mother to die so you can be the next lady of the castle, but you're too much of a coward to say it out loud."
Falyse's face went red.
Bronn kept talking. "You married some minor knight and got him into the Gold Cloaks. Now he's nearly fifty and still only makes ten gold dragons a month. You're sick of him. You want a divorce. But you're too scared to say that too."
He shrugged. "So don't lecture me about bloodlines and honor. You and Ser Balman don't even have kids. Accidents happen all the time in this world. If the two of you fall off your horses or die of something else tomorrow…"
Bronn smiled wide, showing teeth. "Then the castle, the lands, the title… they're all mine."
Falyse stopped talking. She just stared at him, face pale, like she was finally realizing this man wasn't playing by the rules she understood.
Bronn had just told her, in front of half the nobility of King's Landing, that he was perfectly happy to wait for her and her husband to die so he could take everything.
Balman looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him. Falyse's head snapped toward him, eyes full of disgust, silently demanding he say something.
Balman cleared his throat and tried to sound important. "Falyse, Ser Bronn comes from low birth. His manners are crude, everyone knows that. And this marriage was arranged by the Queen Regent herself—"
He was floundering. Falyse's stare was burning holes in him.
Before he could dig himself any deeper, Cersei's voice cut across the stands like a whip.
"Ser Balman Byrch!"
She was walking toward them fast, green eyes blazing.
Balman's face went white. "Your Grace, I was only—"
Cersei didn't let him finish. "Lollys Stokeworth has been a halfwit since the day she could talk. She's over thirty and still can't tell a silver stag from a copper. Two years ago during the riots she was dragged into an alley by a dozen men and came out pregnant with a bastard whose father could have been anyone."
She stared Balman down. "If I hadn't found you for her, do you really think any knight in Westeros would have taken her?"
Balman's mouth opened and closed. Falyse looked like she'd been slapped.
Cersei wasn't done. She turned on Falyse. "And you, Lady Falyse. You called Ser Bronn lowborn. Do you know who gave him his knighthood?"
She pointed at Bronn without looking at him. "My father. Tywin Lannister. Lord of Casterly Rock. Warden of the West. Hand of the King. You call that lowborn?"
Falyse's lips were pressed into a thin line. She was shaking with rage now.
Bronn just raised an eyebrow. He hadn't expected Cersei to defend him. For half a second he almost felt touched. Then she kept talking.
"You earned your knighthood at the Blackwater, Ser Bronn," Cersei said coldly. "Don't waste it standing next to a kinslayer and a murderer."
She glanced at Tyrion with open hatred.
Bronn sighed. There it was. Classic Cersei.
Falyse had been quiet during Cersei's rant, but now she turned on the Queen Regent, voice shaking with fury.
"I suggest you stop talking, Your Grace."
Cersei stopped mid-step and turned slowly. "What did you just say?"
"I said you should shut your mouth," Falyse snapped. "You're the Queen Regent. You have the blood of Casterly Rock. You were married to a king. You gave birth to a king. But maybe if you'd learned when to keep quiet, you wouldn't have killed two kings in a row."
The entire VIP section went dead silent.
Cersei's face went white, then flushed dark red. "You filthy bitch—what did you say?"
Falyse stood her ground. "I said Robert married you and then he died. Joffrey was your son and then he died. Doesn't that seem strange to you, Your Grace? Maybe you're cursed."
Cersei's voice cracked with rage. "You barren whore! You can't even have children, so you're jealous of me!"
Falyse's eyes flashed. "At least I don't murder my own husbands and sons!"
"You can't even get pregnant!"
"I'd rather be barren than a curse who kills every king she touches!"
The two women were screaming at each other now, right in front of the entire nobility. The crowd was eating it up, shouting encouragement like it was part of the day's entertainment.
"Take her skirt off, Your Grace!"
"Pull her hair!"
"Fight! Fight!"
Tywin Lannister finally started to rise from his seat, face like thunder, ready to shut it down before the royal family lost all dignity.
Then came the sound.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Steady. Rhythmic. Like the butt of a sword knocking against the railing.
The noise cut through the shouting. Heads turned. The crowd in the aisle parted without being told, people stepping back like they were making way for something dangerous.
Tywin looked toward the entrance.
Sure enough.