The sun dipped behind the jagged walls of King’s Landing, painting the sky a bruised purple. In the shadowed halls of the Red Keep, where the air hung thick with incense and whispered betrayals, Cersei Lannister stood alone by a towering window. Her sharp green eyes were narrowed, fixed on the sprawling city below—a kingdom teetering on the edge of chaos, and hers to rule soon.

She was draped in deep crimson silk, the gold lion sigil of House Lannister shimmering faintly on her clothes. The weight of the crown she would soon claim was heavier than any iron circlet—because it came not with glory, but with prophecy.

“The prophecy,” she murmured to herself, voice low and venomous, “Maggy’s curse... ‘a younger and more beautiful queen shall come to cast you down and take all you hold dear.’”

She clenched her fists. That prophecy had haunted her since childhood, the words seared into her memory like wildfire on dry grass. A rival, a shadow, a threat born from nowhere yet destined to unravel everything. Her father’s cunning, her brother Jaime’s reckless loyalty, even her own ruthless ambition—none could shield her from the truth whispered by the crone’s cracked lips.

“I will not be broken,” Cersei said, voice trembling only with cold fire. “No one will steal my throne. No one will take Tommen from me.”

A soft knock interrupted her, and the heavy oak door creaked open. Qyburn stepped inside, his eyes gleaming with unsettling loyalty and hidden knowledge.

“Your Grace,” he said quietly, bowing his head. “There are troubling rumors at court. Whispers of a new player, one who draws favor with the smallfolk and the Lords alike. They speak of her as ‘the younger queen.’”

Cersei’s smile was sharp and cruel. “Let them whisper,” she replied, her tone mocking. “They will learn the cost of defying a Lannister queen.”

But beneath her defiance, a flicker of doubt gnawed. Was this shadow already taking shape? Had the prophecy begun to move against her like a serpent in the grass?

Her mind raced back to every betrayal, every secret she had uncovered, every dagger aimed at her back. The same city that bent its knee today could rise against her tomorrow. She had clawed her way from the ashes of a broken House, but the fire was far from quenched.

That night, as the moon cast pale light through stained glass, Cersei summoned her closest allies. The tension was palpable—loyalty strained by fear, ambition sharpened by desperation.

“The game is not over,” she said, eyes blazing with regal fury. “They think to topple me with shadows and lies. But I am the queen they will remember.”

As the meeting adjourned, a raven arrived—black wings flapping against the cold stone. Cersei broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. Her eyes skimmed the words and then widened, just for a moment.

The message was brief but chilling: “The younger queen moves. Tommen is no longer safe.”

Her breath hitched.

The queen’s smile faded. Somewhere in the darkness, the prophecy was unfolding. And for the first time in her life, Cersei Lannister felt truly hunted.