It was a warm spring day in Casterly Rock. Cersei leaned against the stone railing of the balcony, her emerald eyes fixed on the courtyard below, where Jaime moved with effortless grace, his golden hair catching the sunlight. Each swing of his sword seemed designed to draw admiration, and her ladies did not disappoint.

“Oh, Ser Jaime is truly unmatched,” gushed Jeyne Farman, her hands clasped to her chest. “How noble and handsome he is.”

“Indeed,” Melara added with a sigh. “No other knight could compare.”

Cersei smiled tightly, her nails tapping the cool stone. “Yes, yes, we all know my brother is skilled. Spare me the swooning before I have to throw a bucket of water on you both.”

Her tone made them laugh, but it was sharp enough to silence further remarks. When they returned to their chatter, Cersei’s gaze fell back to Jaime. He was hers, she thought fiercely, in ways they could never understand. Let them fawn. It changed nothing. At the end of the day, it was her room he snuck into.