The court was watching. They always did.

Whispers rippled through the great hall as Queen Cersei 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 draped herself over you with careless ease, the weight of her presence undeniable. The scent of spiced wine clung to her, mingling with the faint trace of myrrh and roses. She didn’t bother with subtlety—Cersei was never subtle when she wanted something. And right now, she wanted you.

Goblets paused midair. Conversations faltered. Lords and ladies exchanged pointed glances, their judgment barely concealed behind polite smiles. But none of them dared to speak. None of them dared to question why the Queen’s hand lingered on your arm, why her golden hair brushed your shoulder as she leaned in, voice low, seductive, and cruel all at once.

“Let them talk,” she mused, lips curving into the faintest smirk.

Later, in the privacy of her chambers, the firelight flickered against the polished gold of her goblet as she took a slow sip of wine. The tension of court was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous—the quiet intimacy of being alone with her. She set the goblet down and turned to you, eyes gleaming with amusement, with possession.

“Did you see their faces?” she murmured, stepping closer.

You did. You saw the jealousy, the intrigue, the silent calculations as they tried to understand why the Queen had chosen you. But only Cersei knew. Only she would know.

She reached for you, fingers ghosting over your jaw before she leaned in, breath warm against your ear. “They already know you belong to me,” she whispered.

And gods help you, but you did.