-77- The little rose

King Robert's Warhammer Was Indeed Intimidating.

Queen Cersei's solution was to keep Robert Baratheon perpetually drunk; if he couldn't stay on his feet, how could he wield his warhammer?

Jaime's repeated admonitions had some effect on Cersei.

This time, Queen Cersei was willing to be patient. This waiting, like a gamble, made her heart race, perhaps one day bringing her an unexpected surprise.

Queen Cersei was immensely proud of herself; in House Lannister, apart from Tywin Lannister, only she could devise such a flawless plan.

...

Queen Cersei stepped towards Lancel, who couldn't help but face her, retreating step by step.

Soon, Lancel's back hit the wall; he had nowhere left to retreat.

There was only a fist's distance between Queen Cersei and Lancel, who wished he could meld into the wall.

Queen Cersei first lowered her gaze, then looked straight at Lancel: "Lancel, what you need to do is simple. Replace Robert's drink with what I've prepared. That drunkard might even praise you."

Lancel's pupils contracted, his teeth chattering: "Yo-Your Grace, a-are you poisoning him?"

Queen Cersei furrowed her brows, raising her voice slightly: "Lancel, use that little brain of yours? Do you still consider yourself a Lannister?"

Lancel paused, the family honor seemed to bring him back to his senses: "Your Grace, what is it you want me to switch?"

Queen Cersei nodded slightly, a satisfied smile curling her lips: "I've prepared a large quantity of high-proof wine. You need to get him to like it. He might become addicted without you having to lift a finger because he is, after all, a filthy drunk."

Is it just about switching to high-proof wine?

Queen Cersei's words made Lancel breathe a sigh of relief. He had been terrified by Queen Cersei's earlier jest.

Lancel, previously sweating profusely, ignored the beads of sweat rolling down his face and smiled naively: "Your Grace, you nearly scared me to death. I'll take care of switching to the high-proof wine. I think King Robert might actually like it. If he's happy, he might even curse me less. Thank you for your trouble; why didn't I think of this…"

Lancel trailed off.

Queen Cersei was smiling, but the smile seemed increasingly strange to Lancel, making him feel like an idiot.

Queen Cersei patted Lancel gently, her voice soft: "You're adorably foolish."

Lancel's body stiffened; he felt an unfamiliar, soft hand moving around below him.

"There are two types of wine: one is twice the usual strength, the other three times…"

"Your Grace… your hand…"

Queen Cersei lowered her eyes, her voice cold: "Lancel, don't move… Tell me, how should the wine be arranged?"

Lancel's breathing was heavy, but he retained a sliver of clarity: "I… think… the double strength should be for the King's usual drinking, the triple strength… I can't think of a use."

"What else does Robert like besides drinking?"

Women!

Lancel, his brain in overdrive, swallowed the immediate answer: "Hunting?"

Queen Cersei raised her eyes, staring at Lancel: "Do you know what to do now?"

Lancel swallowed, nodding silently.

"Well then, my dear Lancel, would you like your reward from the Queen now or after the job is done? You seem overly excited; I can make an exception this once."

Lancel swallowed hard, his gaze involuntarily lowering and then quickly shifting away: "Your Grace....I....I...."

Queen Cersei merely curled her lips, looking at Lancel without replying.

No, perhaps Queen Cersei is drunk; I need to leave immediately!

Everyone in the Red Keep knew Queen Cersei's goblet was never far from her hand.

Lancel took a deep breath, freeing himself from Cersei's grasp, straightening his clothes: "Your Grace, rest assured!"

With that, Lancel hurriedly left the room without bidding farewell to Queen Cersei.

After Lancel left, Queen Cersei hummed a little tune, picked up a goblet, and took a sip of Summerwine.

Queen Cersei had achieved her goal through cunning means, and she was in a delightful mood.

...

...

Evening, Gallan's Tent

"Good evening, Lady Margaery."

"Good evening, Lord Gallen."

Having just finished dinner, Gallen was visited by the Little Rose of Highgarden.

After inviting Margaery Tyrell to sit, Gallen instructed his servant to light more candles in the tent.

Gallen, observing the smiling Margaery, thought to himself that the Little Rose was much more pleasing to the eye than the hypocritically kind Willas.

Compared to her understated elegance last time, Margaery Tyrell's attire tonight was much more luxurious.

Margaery Tyrell's light brown hair was gathered to one side, lazily draping over her beautiful collarbone.

Margaery Tyrell sat upright, hands folded, with a very graceful posture.

From the moment Margaery Tyrell entered the tent, her attire, posture, and demeanor clearly indicated that tonight she was the Lord of Highgarden's daughter, not the approachable noble lady from their first meeting.

Hm, a lord's daughter… This thought brought to Gallen's mind the image of Littlefinger, Petyr Baelish.

It seemed that Littlefinger only have eyes for daughters of great lords....

...

Margaery Tyrell's eyes glinted with a smile: "I heard in Highgarden that Lord Gallen was injured, and I was very concerned, so I came to visit you."

In such a situation, an ordinary person might feel a bit awkward, but Gallen was not an ordinary person.

Gallen furrowed his brow slightly, placing one hand on his chest, speaking in a feigned weak voice: "Thank you for your concern, Lady Margaery. I am fine."

The air in the tent seemed to freeze for a second.

Margaery Tyrell covered her mouth and laughed lightly, her eyes forming crescents: "Lord Gallen, I admire… your swordsmanship."

Gallen spread his hands: "I must thank you again for your kindness, Lady Margaery."

After a pause, Gallen continued: "Lady Margaery, I am a swordsman, lacking in subtlety. If there is anything you need help with, please speak directly. I am happy to serve you."

Margaery Tyrell's delicate hand curled slightly before relaxing: "Lord Gallen, I was indeed worried after hearing of your injury. After all, you are our guest, and House Tyrell must ensure your safety in the Reach. It concerns our family's honor."

Gallen's eyes flickered as he politely placed a hand on his chest and bowed.

Margaery Tyrell smiled: "To show our concern and to ensure you can rest and recover with peace of mind, my grandmother sent me with some gold dragons for you."

The Little Rose's grandmother? The so-called Queen of Thorns, Olenna Redwyne?

The mother of the Lord Puff Fish… Gallen's expression turned slightly strange: "Pardon me, Lady Margaery, may I ask how much your grandmother sent?"

Margaery Tyrell blinked, pausing briefly before responding softly: "Three thousand gold dragons."

As expected!

Gallen raised his gaze to the tent's ceiling.

Take the money an stay away from my son....huh?