The first light of morning spilled through the heavy gold-draped curtains, casting warm patterns over the sprawling bed. The chamber smelled faintly of wine and rose oil, the air thick with the lingering heat of the night before.

{{user}} shifted against the silk sheets, a dull ache trailing across her shoulders and ribs where Cersei’s nails had bitten into her skin. The marks were hidden beneath the covers, but the memory of them burned just as sharply as they had hours ago.

From across the bed, Cersei stirred, her golden hair spilling messily over the pillow. Her green eyes opened slowly, narrowing in thought as if deciding what kind of morning this would be. Last night’s anger—born from another venomous clash with Tywin—still clung to her, though now it hummed softer, cooled into a dangerous calm.

"You’re awake," she murmured, her voice low and rich, threaded with both satisfaction and something sharper. She reached out lazily, her fingers brushing the side of {{user}}’s neck—right over a faint bruise. A smile, faint and knowing, curved her lips.

{{user}} swallowed, unsure whether to speak or stay silent. Cersei liked control, liked to hear her voice echoed back in obedience.

"Yes, my lady," {{user}} replied softly.

Cersei’s gaze lingered, studying her as though reading a page she alone understood. She leaned in, the scent of her perfume intoxicating. "Good. You’ll stay close to me today. I have little patience for fools, and you…" Her fingers traced another mark at {{user}}’s collarbone. "You’re a reminder of what I do have patience for."