A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

twisted little
valonqar
will be short a head and rotting.
    Jocelyn Swyft was at her elbow, pressing a cup on her. Cersei took a sip: water, mixed with lemon squeezings, so tart she spit it out. She could hear the night wind rattling the shutters, and she saw with a strange sharp clarity. Jocelyn was trembling like a leaf, as frightened as Senelle. Ser Osmund Kettleblack loomed over her. Behind him stood Ser Boros Blount, with a lantern. At the door were Lannister guardsmen with gilded lions shining on the crests of their helmets. They looked afraid as well.
Can it be?
the queen wondered.
Can it be true?
    She rose, and let Senelle slip a bedrobe over her shoulders to hide her nakedness. Cersei belted it herself, her fingers stiff and clumsy. “My lord father keeps guards about him, night and day,” she said. Her tongue felt thick. She took another swallow of lemon water and sloshed it round her mouth to freshen her breath. A moth had gotten into the lantern Ser Boros was holding; she could hear it buzzing and see the shadow of its wings as it beat against the glass.
    â€œThe guards were at their posts, Your Grace,” said Osmund Kettleblack. “We found a hidden door behind the hearth. A secret passage. The Lord Commander’s gone down to see where it goes.”
    â€œJaime?” Terror seized her, sudden as a storm. “Jaime should be with the
king
. . .”
    â€œThe lad’s not been harmed. Ser Jaime sent a dozen men to look in on him. His Grace is sleeping peaceful.”
    Let him have a sweeter dream than mine, and a kinder waking.
“Who is with the king?”
    â€œSer Loras has that honor, if it please you.”
    It did not please her. The Tyrells were only stewards that the dragon-kings had upjumped far above their station. Their vanity was exceeded only by their ambition. Ser Loras might be as pretty as a maiden’s dream, but underneath his white cloak he was Tyrell to the bone. For all she knew, this night’s foul fruit had been planted and nurtured in Highgarden.
    But that was a suspicion she dare not speak aloud. “Allow me a moment to dress. Ser Osmund, you shall accompany me to the Tower of the Hand. Ser Boros, roust the gaolers and make certain the dwarf is still in his cell.” She would not say his name.
He would never have found the courage to lift a hand against Father,
she told herself, but she had to be certain.
    â€œAs Your Grace commands.” Blount surrendered the lantern to Ser Osmund. Cersei was not displeased to see the back of him.
Father should never have restored him to the white.
The man had proved himself a craven.
    By the time they left Maegor’s Holdfast, the sky had turned a deep cobalt blue, though the stars still shone.
All but one,
Cersei thought.
The bright star of the west has fallen, and the nights will be darker now.
She paused upon the drawbridge that spanned the dry moat, gazing down at the spikes below.
They would not dare lie to me about such a thing.
“Who found him?”
    â€œOne of his guards,” said Ser Osmund. “Lum. He felt a call of nature, and found his lordship in the privy.”
    No, that cannot be. That is not the way a lion dies.
The queen felt strangely calm. She remembered the first time she had lost a tooth, when she was just a little girl. It hadn’t hurt, but the hole in her mouth felt so odd she could not stop touching it with her tongue.
Now there is a hole in the world where Father stood, and holes want filling.
    If Tywin Lannister was truly dead, no one was safe . . . least of all her son upon his throne. When the lion falls the lesser beasts move in: the jackals and the vultures and the feral dogs. They would try to push her aside, as they always had. She would need to move quickly, as she had when Robert died. This might be the work of Stannis Baratheon, through some catspaw. It could well be the prelude to another attack upon the city. She hoped it was.
Let him come. I will smash him, just as Father did, and this time he will die.
Stannis did not frighten her, no more than Mace Tyrell did. No one frightened her. She was a daughter of the Rock, a lion.
There will be no more talk of forcing me to wed again.
Casterly Rock was hers now, and all the power of House Lannister. No one would ever disregard her again. Even when Tommen had no further need of a regent, the Lady of Casterly Rock would remain a power in the land.
    The rising sun had painted the tower tops a vivid