Ch. 15 Loyalty

As I approach the balcony over-looking a flower garden, I take note of Cersei's appearance. Her crimson gown loosely clung to her bare shoulders, exposing more flesh than decorum allowed. With her emerald eyes and golden curls framing her face, I couldn't deny the allure of the woman before me.

Her insanity almost feels like an injustice to the beauty Cersei was given.

"You wanted to see me, your grace?" I respectfully say with a slight bow.

With her lips forming a familiar smirk, Cersei stands from her chair and saunters towards me. The shifting of her shoulders and swaying of her hips feel almost predatory. It resembles a lioness on the hunt.

I remain calm and curiously look around the area. The two of us being the only occupants in the room is troubling. "I thought Myrcella would be with you this morning, your grace," I subtly ask Cersei. "I've not seen her since Lord Arryn's passing."

Cersei's steps pause for a moment before they resume moving towards me. The lack of sway in her hips and stiff smile are reassuring. Regardless of her shapely ass, that is one crazy-train I do not wish to ride.

"Myrcella is attending to her studies, as is Tommen," Cersei replied with a hint of affection in her voice. "Speaking of my children, where is Joffrey?" Cersei asked with undisguised interest.

"The prince is on his way to the Sept of Baelor," I dutifully inform the queen. "I have sent him to relieve the king in standing vigil for the former Hand, your grace."

Understanding dawns on Cersei's face at my unspoken explanation. That look in her eyes is the root of all Cersei's problems. She is intelligent, of that, I do not doubt. The trouble comes in the fact she overestimates her own genius. Or, more accurately, she mistakes herself for a genius.

There's not an ounce of modesty or humility in her lustful body.

"Robert will look favorably on that," Cersei murmured aloud. Spinning away from me, Cersei steps over to a small end table and reclaims her glass of wine. "Tell me, Ser Lancel," Cersei begins after a sip of wine, "how is Joffrey taking to his duties?"

I allow a bit of frustration to appear on my face. "The prince," I cautiously began, "is demonstrating a superb amount of... wariness... to my lessons, your grace," I diplomatically answer. "I have tried to build a rapport with the prince, but I believe my lack of experience is causing him to mistrust and question my lessons."

Cersei glides to the banister of the balcony and gazes down at the garden. "That is troubling," Cersei stated, but the pleased look on her face states otherwise.

Allowing her to believe I've not worked my way into Joffrey's circle of influence should keep her from interfering... too much. For awhile.

"It is probably for the best, your grace," I continue. "The Crown Prince must tread carefully and be wary of those that would try to influence him. You have done a spectacular job in teaching the prince, your grace," I blatantly lie.

Cersei takes a moment to bask in my false praise and makes no effort to hide her smile. I'm a bit shocked my obvious boot-licking was met with such a reaction. I refrain from further speaking and let the fool have her moment of glory.

"Thank you, Lancel," Cersei said after a moment. "I'm sure you will be able to serve Joffrey well, given time," Cersei encouraged as she turned to face me.

"However," Cersei began in a troubled tone, "I've summoned you here for another reason. These are treacherous times. The chaos caused by the murder of the Hand, and the betrayal of a member of the Small Council has bled out into the city," Cersei began before pausing. "Lysa and Varys' escape from justice is unacceptable. The unrest of the smallfolk is an additional threat we do not need," Cersei stated with authority.

"The smallfolk need someone just and honorable to ease their worries and bring peace to the city once again. They need you," Cersei said with a triumphant smile.

Uncertain of where the psycho is going with this, I decided to be blunt. "Your words honor me, your grace, but I do not know what you mean."

"I'm appointing you as the commander of the city watch," Cersei said with expectation.

With dread swiftly mounting, I begin to connect the dots. "The Gold Cloaks already have a commander..."

"Slynt is dead," Cersei smoothly interrupted. "Stabbed attempting to squash a drunken brawl at the docks last night."

Anger seeps into my stomach at that piece of news. To hear of such an unoriginal but effective plot, taken straight from my own prior plot is frustrating.

"It pains me to tell you, you will have to remain in King's Landing when the royal family journeys north," Cersei victoriously announced. "Slynt's greed and corruption ran deeper than expected. You will have your hands full correcting the wrongs of the City Watch."

Realization dawned on me at that moment. Slate.

Slate has been pushing me to take the role of watch commander since we arrived. Seeing how desperately Cersei wants to put distance between Joffrey and me, Slate wouldn't have any trouble convincing the queen to appoint me a newly vacant position.

"Do not fret, Lancel," Cersei soothingly said. "Jaime has already agreed to see to the training of Joffrey on our travels. You'll be able to fully focus on your new position, knowing your squire is receiving the best possible training. Aside from you, of course," Cersei reassuringly said.

Forcing a smile on my face, I give the queen a slight bow. "I am grateful, your grace," I said as I straighten. "I beg your leave, but I shouldn't delay on seeing to my new duties."

"Of course," Cersei graciously said. "We don't anyone claiming you negligent, now do we?" Cersei teasingly stated as she gestured her hand in dismissal.

With rage boiling in my stomach, I risk a brief smile at Cersei before spinning away from her. Thoughts of my traitorous captain running through my mind.

How deeply was Slate involved? I have no doubt he played a role in this? I just don't know if he used Cersei or allowed her to use him. Was Slate now an agent of the lustful idiot?

When I step out into the hallway, Captain Slate is standing there with a finely made gold cloak in his hands. As I close the door behind me, I take in my second-in-command. His eyes are filled with joy, and his posture screams of pride.

I guess that answers one question.

Without hesitation, I cease Slate by the throat with a single hand and lift him off the ground. Shock and fear replace the joy in my Legionnaire's eyes as I hold him in the air. Slate seizes my wrist with both his hands in an attempt to ease the suffocating pressure but refrains from lashing out in self-defense. The gold cloak lay forgotten on the ground.

"Do you think I could not have secured this post if I so wished?" I bite out in loosely contained fury. My gaze bores into Slate's grey eyes as he stares apologetically at me.

"Your little scheme has ruined weeks of planning and possibly disrupted an alliance that would have secured our dominance in the Seven Kingdoms," I continue with a noticeable amount of anger and disgust in my words.

Looking over Slate's face as it begins to turn blue, I take note of his regret-filled expression. With contemptuous ease, I bring the suspended man a bit closer. "Twice, you have defied me. I implore you, captain, do not attempt a third."

With my final warning delivered, I release Slate's throat and allowing the man to fall to the ground. I ignore Slate's hungry gasping for breath as I stare down at the man I've trusted for years. My curiosity is peaked when I watch Slate gingerly picks up the fallen cloak before climbing back to his feet.

Like a zealot with a mission, Slate boldly offers the golden cloak to me a second time. I'm unsure if I should strike him or praise him. Quickly deciding on neither, I take the mantle from his hands before I turn and stalk down the hall. I ignore Slate's presence as he obediently follows behind me.

This is a set-back, but a salvageable one. Fucking Game of Thrones.