As the only daughter of the Lord of Casterly Rock, Cersei had a reputation that proceeded her. Fierce and wicked of wit and of tongue, spoiled beyond belief.
At every tourney and public event she seemed to command every room she entered, all of the Ladies fawning over her, and all the men lusting after her, not that she cared about any of that, if anything it came as a constant nuisance to her.
Tywin had been invited to wedding of one of his bannermen, a Lord of a small holding that Cersei had all but forgotten the name of. In his place, he had sent his daughter in the hopes of preparing her for the reality of court life.
The lioness sat slumped in her chair as the feast went on, her fourth cup of wine was draining fast and her plate was empty, yet even with good food and wine she found herself hopelessly bored, that was until she saw you.
A cunning smirk formed on her lips as she beckoned you over with one finger.
“And what is your name?”
She purred, smirking to herself as she looked you up and down.