Kapitel 35: chapter 35 gold or marriage you decide
A Reckoning in the Throne Room
In my chamber, I sit on the edge of my bed, my fingers intertwined as I stare at the floor. My body is still tense, the adrenaline from tonight's events refusing to leave me. The castle is quiet now, but I know better. The Red Keep is never truly silent—whispers slither through its halls, secrets move in the dark, and knives wait in the shadows.
I almost died tonight.
Because of arrogance.
Because of stupidity.
I should have remembered that this place is riddled with secret passages. I should have anticipated that Littlefinger and Cersei would take precautions. But I didn't. I had been so consumed by my own strength, by the fact that few men could challenge me physically, that I forgot—I am still mortal. I can be killed just as easily as any fool who underestimates his enemies.
A mistake like this should have cost me my life. Instead, it cost me a trump card. Killing Littlefinger would have been easy, almost too easy—but I held back. He's still necessary. The game must continue. For now.
Instead, I settled for his hands. They will heal, but they will never be the same. Let him see how much power his silver tongue has when he can't even write his deceitful letters.
But despite the misstep, there were gains.
First, the ruby worked.
I roll the blood-red gemstone between my fingers, remembering the way it pulsed with unnatural warmth. A theory, a gamble, a curiosity turned into a weapon. And it worked. I feel no regret for the hundred men who died fueling its power. More will die. It should be their honor to perish for my knowledge, for my survival.
Second, the Faceless Men will be mine.
I had considered creating my own assassins, but now, I don't need to. They made the mistake of coming for me, and now I have justification to break them. The Faceless Men will serve me. Or they will die.
Third, the fear.
The look in their eyes—Littlefinger's shrieks, Cersei's pale face as I crushed his fingers one by one. True fear. The kind that lingers. The kind that changes people.
A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.
The door swings open, and Sandor Clegane steps inside, his burned face unreadable.
"My lord, the king wishes to speak with you."
I exhale slowly, standing. Of course, he does.
"Very well. Let's not keep him waiting."
---
The Throne Room – The Lion's Den
The doors creak open as I stride into the throne room. The dim torchlight flickers against the high stone walls, casting long shadows. The Iron Throne looms ahead, a jagged monstrosity of melted swords, and seated upon it is Robert Baratheon. The king watches me with narrowed eyes, his fingers drumming against the armrest. The council stands beside him—Jon Arryn, Varys, Stannis, and Renly. The Queen is present, her usual mask of arrogance replaced with barely concealed apprehension.
And then there's Littlefinger.
His hands are bound in cloth, trembling at his sides. The pain must be unbearable. Good.
The moment I stop before them, Robert's voice booms through the hall.
"Caesar!" There's barely restrained anger in his tone. "Explain to me why I've heard that you broke into my queen's chambers and shattered my Master of Coin's hands!"
A silence follows. Tension thickens the air. I let it hang, let them wait. Then, slowly, I smirk.
I glance at Cersei first. She stiffens. I shift my gaze to Littlefinger, whose good hand clenches into a fist i shouldve been more rough with it it seems next time i tell myself.
"I don't recall," I say smoothly. "Cersei, Littlefinger, might you remember the reason?"
The blood drains from their faces. They freeze, panic flickering in their eyes as the king and council turn their attention to them.
Cersei swallows hard. Littlefinger's breath quickens.
Then, almost too quickly—
"No." Littlefinger's voice is strained, tight with barely masked pain. "I—I do not remember."
"Nor do I," Cersei adds, her voice quieter, almost a whisper.
I see the slight twitch in Robert's brow as suspicion takes root.
"Is that so?" Robert's voice is low now, dangerous. His fingers tighten around the armrest of his throne. "You expect me to believe that the three of you had a little sleepwalking adventure?"
I tilt my head, amusement playing at my lips. "You can ask them."
Robert turns to them, his glare sharp as a blade. "Tell me the truth."
Cersei lowers her gaze, her hands balling into fists. "I… I do not remember, my king."
Littlefinger hesitates. His body is trembling. "Nor do I, Your Grace."
Robert exhales sharply, frustration evident.
I turn to them again, this time letting my voice dip into something lower, something far more dangerous.
"Cersei. Littlefinger."
The entire room seems to hold its breath.
"Can you forgive me for my sleepwalking?"
The moment the words leave my mouth, their expressions crumble. Cersei flinches, Littlefinger stiffens—both realizing the trap I've set. If they deny it, they must reveal the truth. If they accept it, they admit defeat.
I watch as their pride is swallowed by fear.
"Y-Yes." The word comes from Littlefinger first, choked out in desperation.
"It was an accident." Cersei forces the words through gritted teeth.
Robert exhales heavily, rubbing his temples. "Seven hells, this is madness."
I turn to leave, satisfied, when Robert suddenly slams his fist against the throne.
"Stop!"
I pause.
"No one wants to tell the truth? Fine. Caesar, you will be held responsible for your actions." His voice is heavy with finality. "You have two choices: Pay a fine of ten million gold dragons to the crown…"
He lets that hang. Then he leans forward, a smirk creeping onto his lips.
"Or you will marry Princess Myrcella."
Silence.
The entire room stills.
I blink. Then slowly, I smile.
A wicked, bone-chilling smile.
Cersei's face drains of all color, her mouth parting slightly in horror. She knows what this means. She knows what I will do.
Her daughter will be mine.
"Any objections?" I ask, my eyes fixed on her.
Cersei sways slightly, her hands trembling. She tries to speak but no words come.
"N-no…" she finally chokes out.
I turn to Robert. "And you, Your Majesty?"
Robert waves a hand dismissively. "Take her. Do whatever the hells you want. At least this way, you'll be bound to the throne."
I chuckle. "Excellent. To ensure we form a proper bond, I'll be taking the princess with me to Essos."
Cersei snaps.
"No! She is too young—"
I turn to her sharply, cutting her off with a look.
"Are you sure, my queen?" My voice is smooth, but the threat is unmistakable.
She swallows, sweat beading on her forehead. She knows what I'm asking. What I'm warning.
She lowers her head. "No objections…"
I nod. "Good."
Then I smirk one last time, glancing at both her and Littlefinger.
"I shall be staying for a short while longer. I trust I won't be disturbed?"
Neither speaks.
I turn and leave, my mind already spinning with new plans.
Cersei tried to have me killed.
Now I own her daughter.
Let her agonize.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein