Chapter 458: The Storm Rises

Although it was only just past noon, King's Landing was shrouded in darkness.

A violent storm swept through the city, engulfing everything in its path. Occasional streaks of dark red lightning etched themselves against the window panes, leaving jagged arcs that seemed to tear the sky apart.

Thunder followed, deafening and unrelenting.

The Red Keep, situated at the storm's heart, seemed to bear the brunt of the tempest.

The endless lightning strikes and ferocious thunderclaps felt as though they could obliterate this mighty castle—the symbol of the Seven Kingdoms' power—at any moment.

"Miss Sansa, there's no need to be frightened. It's just an ordinary thunderstorm," the maid attending her bath said comfortingly.

Whether it was the bathwater being too hot, the maid scrubbing too vigorously, or Sansa's own delicate skin, her entire body was tinged with a faint blush.

"I'm not frightened," Sansa retorted. "It's just... this storm feels strange. It was sunny just a moment ago."

"Blackwater Bay's weather can change in an instant," the maid replied, rinsing Sansa and carefully combing her auburn hair into soft curls that draped over her shoulders. "Would you like to choose a perfume?"

Sansa glanced at the silver tray the maid held up. It was filled with a dozen intricate glass bottles, their craftsmanship as refined as any noble decoration. For a moment, she felt dazed—she hadn't experienced such noble luxuries in what felt like an eternity.

"This one," Sansa finally decided, pointing to a bottle with a sweet, intense fragrance laced with hints of lemon.

"Of course, my lady." The maid applied a dab behind Sansa's ears, beneath her chin, and along the nape of her neck.

Next came the dressing.

Sansa donned a silk undergarment herself before the maid presented a gown crafted from ivory satin and silver-threaded embroidery.

It was clearly an adult's court dress, not a young girl's attire, Sansa noted.

The tight bodice's plunging V-neckline dipped daringly close to her stomach, adorned with intricate Myrish lace. The gown's waistline was so slender that Sansa had to hold her breath while the maid tightened the sash.

Her new shoes, made of soft gray deerskin, were snug yet comfortable.

"You look breathtaking, my lady," the maid exclaimed, unable to contain her admiration.

"Do I?" Sansa laughed softly, twirling with excitement. The gown's hem swirled like blooming flowers, framing her as though she were dancing in a dream.

"You'll captivate every young man in King's Landing!"

Including Caesar? Sansa wondered fleetingly, unsure why the thought crossed her mind.

Because he's the savior of House Stark, she reasoned quickly.

But alas, he was already married.

A rosy flush crept onto Sansa's already radiant face, adding to her allure.

"Wow! Why do you look like Mother?" Arya suddenly burst into the room, her voice loud and teasing.

"Mind your own business!" Sansa puffed out her chest, glancing at Arya's plain gray tunic. "Didn't they prepare any new clothes for you?"

"I'm not wearing anything from the Lannisters—it reeks!"

"We're about to meet the Storm King. We need to dress properly!"

"Sam won't care," Arya said confidently, as though she and Samwell were old friends.

"This is proper etiquette for a lady!" Sansa scolded. "And don't you dare address His Grace like that in person!"

"I'm no lady." Arya grinned cheekily.

Frustrated, Sansa gave up trying to reason with her unruly sister.

The two sisters left their chambers together. Outside, the wind howled and the rain lashed against the castle. Lightning crawled across the blackened sky like a herald of the apocalypse.

Sansa clung to the corridor's inner wall, careful to avoid the wind-driven rain. Even so, the hem of her gown was soon dampened, much to her irritation.

Arya, on the other hand, seemed unfazed, her thoughts turning to the storm outside.

"Sam's going to get soaked when he enters the city. Do the gods not welcome him to King's Landing?"

"Stop saying such nonsense!" Sansa shot her sister a glare. If Arya could just hold her tongue, Sansa thought, she might actually be adorable.

"I think it's quite the opposite," a soft, lilting voice said from ahead.

"Lord Varys." Sansa curtsied, lifting her damp skirt slightly.

Arya, however, was her usual blunt self. "What do you mean, opposite?"

Varys smiled smoothly.

"About whether the gods welcome King Caesar to King's Landing. I believe this storm is their ceremonial greeting. After all, he is the Storm King."

"That makes perfect sense," Sansa quickly agreed.

"Come now, my lovely ladies," Varys said, gesturing for them to follow. "Let us await His Grace in the throne room. He and the lords should arrive shortly."

"Of course."

When the three entered the throne room, they found it already filled with noblewomen, their husbands and sons presumably off surrendering to Samwell.

At the center stood Queen Cersei Lannister, though her complexion was ashen. Her pale skin now resembled a corpse left too long in water. She wore a crimson velvet gown with gold trim, but its elegance couldn't mask her aura of decline and despair.

Beside her, the High Septon, crowned in crystal, whispered urgently, his face glistening with sweat despite the cold.

The other noblewomen murmured anxiously among themselves. Though their expressions weren't as dire as Cersei's, worry clouded their eyes.

Sansa observed them all, her heart swelling with a sense of vindictive satisfaction.

If only she could strike down the traitors who had betrayed House Stark.

When she and Arya entered, the hall fell silent.

Lady Rhea Manderly, wife of Ser Wylis Manderly, was the first to greet them, warmly kissing both sisters on the cheek.

Other northern noblewomen soon followed.

Sansa forced herself to smile until Lady Barbrey Dustin of Barrowton approached. At that point, she could no longer contain her emotions and confronted her:

"Why did you betray House Stark?"

Barbrey paused, locking eyes with Sansa. After a moment of silence, she replied evenly:

"Betrayal needs no justification. Loyalty does. If you have the chance, you should ask Eddard Stark whether he truly gave the North no reason to turn against him."

"The gods will punish traitors!" Arya shouted.

"But King Caesar will pardon us," Barbrey said, turning to leave.

The atmosphere grew tense, but a low horn suddenly sounded, its deep, resonant tone cutting through even the thunder.

Everyone froze, their bodies stiffened by the horn's ominous call.

"What's happening?" Arya asked.

Sansa, sensing the shift, turned to Varys for answers.

The spymaster's usually composed face was marred with a rare frown, his disbelief evident. Yet, seeing the sisters' questioning looks, he explained:

"It's a battle horn."

(End of Chapter)