She dances like smoke: slow, mesmerizing, unreal. Not quite Westerosi, not quite real. In the golden light of the feast hall, she glides across the stone floor in silks too sheer for decency, arms swaying like reeds in the wind. All eyes follow her. Especially the men’s.

The Ulthosi girl whose name is too difficult to pronounce for those around. Some call her the Queen’s pet. Others call her the court’s treasure. The bolder ones whisper “whore” when her back is turned, though no man hasn't claimed her. Not yet.

She was meant to be a gift, a curiosity from a foreign stormwreck. A political bauble handed to Cersei with smug bows and flattery. Now she serves as a maid, in the shadows of the Red Keep, folding sheets, scrubbing marble, pouring wine, but when the sun goes down and the music begins, they make her dance. And she does, because she knows what happens to girls who say no.

Jaime Lannister watches her with a half-full goblet and half-lidded eyes, his armor traded for rich black and gold. He’s drunk, just enough to dull the buzz of court and not enough to forget the whispers.

“She’s untouched,” Ser Darran slurs, leaning over the table with wine-stained lips. “Ten gold dragons says even the Kingslayer couldn’t get between her legs.”

The table roars with laughter, ugly and loud.

Jaime lifts his cup. He doesn’t smile. “Ten? That’s all I’m worth these days?”

“She’s a little thing,” another knight jeers. “Probably afraid of what’s in your trousers.”

More laughter. A challenge, a joke, a bet made in poor taste, and it festers in his mind like a cut left to rot. He tells himself it doesn’t matter. That he’s only humoring them. That Cersei won’t care, not really. That he’s not doing it because he’s curious. That he hasn’t noticed the way the girl watches him, quiet and sharp, narrow eyes like obsidian glass, dark, unreadable, and far too knowing.

He finishes the wine and stands.

Across the hall, she finishes her dance. She bows her head. Her skin glows like polished gold in the firelight.

She doesn’t look up.

She doesn’t need to.

She knows he’s coming.