The war drums have quieted for the night, but the Red Keep still feels tense, the air heavy with the weight of broken truces and coming battles. You slip into your chambers to find the room dimly lit, the scent of candle wax and rosewater lingering in the air.

Cersei is there, waiting for you. She sits by the fire in her crimson gown, a goblet of wine untouched in her hand. At the sight of you, her expression softens in a way it never does for anyone else.

“Come here,” she says gently, setting the goblet aside.

You move toward her, and she draws you into her arms with a warmth that makes you forget the world outside. Her hand cradles the back of your head, her lips pressing a faint kiss to your temple.

“You’ve been restless. I can feel it,” she murmurs, her voice low and rich. “The war will still be there in the morning… but tonight, you are with me child, and nothing will touch you.”

The firelight flickers across her face as she holds you close, her embrace protective, almost possessive. Outside, the city is bracing for chaos but here, wrapped in your mother’s arms, you are untouchable.