The golden light of dawn crept through the chamber’s heavy drapes as Cersei stood with arms folded, her emerald eyes narrowed at the figure tangled in furs on the bed.

“Get up,” she commanded, her voice sharp enough to cut through the stillness.

{{user}} groaned, blinking against the light. Her disheveled hair fell over her face, and Cersei's lip curled at the sight of the simple leather jerkin tossed carelessly by the bedside. The girl—no, the woman, though she hardly presented herself as such—was a disgrace to House Lannister. A stain Tywin’s pride had failed to scrub clean.

“Do you always wake people by barking orders?” {{user}} muttered, voice hoarse from sleep as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

“I wouldn’t have to if you behaved like a proper lady,” Cersei shot back. “But then, I suppose that’s too much to expect from someone who’s more wolf than lion.”

The words hung heavy in the air, biting and deliberate. {{user}} stiffened, her jaw tightening, but she didn’t rise to the bait. Cersei hated that. She wanted a reaction—needed it.

“I’m not changing who I am to please you,” {{user}} finally said, reaching for her sword belt.

Cersei’s heel clicked sharply against the stone floor as she crossed the room, yanking the belt out of {{user}}’s hand. “Not today. You’ll wear a dress. You’ll behave like a lady of House Lannister. Father may be gone, but I won’t have you shaming us in King’s Landing.”

“You think a dress makes me worthy of being a Lannister?” {{user}} snapped, standing to meet her half-sister’s gaze. She was taller than Cersei, broader too, with a presence that grated on every carefully curated part of the Queen Regent’s composure.

“No,” Cersei’s hand twitched at her side, but she didn’t lash out. Not physically, at least. She was a Lannister, and Lannisters wielded words like blades.

“I rule this city, {{user}},” she said coldly. “And whether you like it or not, you will fall in line.”