Chapter 152: The King Robert Could Never Command
The ten soldiers disappeared into the camp.
That should have ended the demonstration.
Instead, their departure made the silence surrounding Winterfell even heavier.
The knights and nobles gathered outside the walls continued staring after them, attempting to distinguish the ten fighters from the hundreds of identically armoured soldiers moving between the tents.
They could not.
The men who had defeated Jaime Lannister, Barristan Selmy, Sandor Clegane, and seven experienced warriors in forty-seven seconds had already vanished among the ranks.
That realization frightened them more than the battle itself.
There were no songs celebrating those men.
No elaborate armour identified them as champions.
No servants hurried forward to praise their victory.
They had returned to their duties as though defeating the greatest warriors in Westeros was merely another morning exercise.
Whispers spread across the training field.
"Did you see how that one stopped the Hound?"
"He did not even move backward."
"Ser Jaime never touched them."
"Barristan Selmy lasted longer."
"Longer? The entire fight ended before a man could finish pissing."
A northern lord looked toward the camp.
"How many of them can fight like that?"
Nobody answered.
They all remembered Jon's response.
Enough.
Robert remained in the centre of the training field.
The king stared at the soldiers of Winter's Heaven with an expression rarely seen upon his face.
He was not laughing.
He was not drinking.
He was thinking.
Jon stood nearby with Alex and Ned. Ghost rested behind them, his red eyes following every unfamiliar movement.
The enormous direwolf appeared less unnatural now.
At least Ghost's danger was obvious.
The soldiers looked like ordinary men until they moved.
Robert finally turned toward Jon.
"Come with me."
Jon glanced at him.
"Where?"
"My chambers."
Robert looked toward Ned.
"You as well."
Ned's expression became guarded.
Robert noticed.
"Gods, Ned. I am not planning to arrest him."
"That would be unwise," Jon said.
Robert stared at him for a moment.
Then a rough laugh escaped him.
"Aye. I believe your men made that sufficiently clear."
He started walking toward Winterfell.
Ned followed.
Jon exchanged a glance with Alex.
"Remain with the soldiers."
Alex inclined his head.
"Yes, Your Grace."
Jon turned toward Ghost.
"Stay."
The enormous direwolf lowered his head upon his paws.
Several southern guards visibly relaxed.
Jon entered Winterfell beside Robert and Ned.
Behind them, the whispers continued spreading.
By nightfall, everyone within the castle would know what had happened.
By the time the royal party returned to King's Landing, the story would have grown into something even more terrifying.
For once, the truth required no exaggeration.
Jaime flexed his right hand.
The numbness caused by the soldier's first block had faded, but the memory remained.
A simple collision between two blunted swords had nearly torn the weapon from his grip.
Jaime had fought stronger men.
Sandor possessed greater raw power. Robert in his youth could strike with the force of a charging bull. Greatjon Umber could overpower most men through size alone.
But none of them moved like Jon's soldiers.
They were not merely strong.
They were fast enough to use that strength before an opponent could react.
Barristan stood beside him, examining the field where the demonstration had occurred.
Sandor had already left.
The Hound possessed little interest in discussing his defeat before an audience.
Jaime looked toward the camp.
"I could defeat one."
Barristan turned toward him.
"One soldier?"
"In a proper duel."
"Perhaps."
Jaime raised an eyebrow.
"Only perhaps?"
"You remain more skilled with a sword than any individual man we faced."
"That sounded almost like praise."
"It was an observation."
Barristan looked toward the camp.
"But their physical abilities surpass ours. They are faster, stronger, and capable of maintaining that speed without exhausting themselves. Against one, your skill might decide the outcome."
"And against two?"
"You already discovered the answer."
Jaime's mouth tightened.
He remembered the soldiers working together.
One had presented an opening deliberately. Jaime had seen it, attacked, and discovered too late that he had entered precisely where they wanted him.
"They did not fight for themselves," Jaime said.
"No."
"Most knights would have attempted to claim the victory personally."
"They are not knights."
Jaime looked toward Barristan.
"What are they?"
"Soldiers."
The simple answer disturbed him.
Knights sought glory, reputation, position, land, and recognition. Even members of the Kingsguard carried pride in their individual skill.
Jon's men had discarded all of it.
They fought as extensions of one another.
"The technique they used was called Basic Breathing," Jaime said.
Barristan nodded.
"And the thirty royal guards Jon fought aboard the Titan possessed more advanced training."
Jaime remembered Tyrion telling him the complete account.
Thirty elite royal guards.
Thirty masters of breathing techniques.
Thirty Valyrian-steel swords.
All attacking Jon simultaneously.
Jon had defeated them untouched.
Jaime had once believed the story contained northern exaggeration. Perhaps the guards had attacked individually. Perhaps the northern lords had failed to understand what they witnessed. Perhaps the soldiers had not truly attempted to injure their king.
After today, none of those explanations seemed convincing.
"The men we fought were ordinary soldiers," Jaime murmured. "The thirty he defeated were his personal royal guards."
"Yes."
"And he defeated all of them at once."
"Yes."
Jaime looked toward Barristan.
"Do you believe it?"
The old knight's answer came without hesitation.
"I do."
Jaime's gaze moved toward Jon's commanders.
Alex stood among several officers near the camp entrance. None appeared impressed by the morning's result.
To them, the victory had been inevitable.
"If ordinary soldiers are stronger than our greatest knights," Jaime said, "what are his elite soldiers capable of doing?"
Barristan watched the doorway through which Jon had disappeared.
"That is not the question which concerns me."
"What does?"
"The man who trained them."
Jaime remained silent.
For most of his life, he had desired worthy opponents.
He had imagined fighting Arthur Dayne at his greatest. He had challenged men stronger and older than himself merely to discover whether his skill could overcome them.
Even after hearing that Jon defeated thirty elite guards, part of him had wanted to test the young king.
That desire had not vanished completely.
But it had changed.
Fighting Jon would not be a contest between two great swordsmen.
It would be an ordinary man stepping before something he did not understand.
Robert's chambers were warm enough to become uncomfortable.
A fire burned heavily within the hearth. Wine, bread, cheese, and cold meat rested upon a table near the window.
Robert dismissed every servant and guard.
When the door closed, he crossed the chamber and poured himself wine.
He stared into the cup for several seconds.
Then, with visible effort, he placed it back upon the table without drinking.
Ned noticed.
Jon did as well.
Robert turned toward him.
"Could I defeat your army?"
Ned's expression hardened.
"Robert—"
"I asked him."
"And it is a dangerous question."
"It is an honest one."
Robert looked directly at Jon.
"If every ordinary soldier in your kingdom fights like those ten, could the armies of the Seven Kingdoms defeat yours?"
"No."
Jon's answer came without hesitation.
Robert's fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
Ned stepped forward.
"Jon."
"He asked for honesty."
Robert gave a short laugh.
"That he did."
He walked toward the window and looked down upon the camp outside Winterfell.
Ten armoured giants towered above the tents. Fifty enormous direwolves moved between disciplined formations. One thousand elite soldiers had accompanied Jon merely as an escort.
Beyond them, somewhere off White Harbor, waited the Winter's Titan.
A ship large enough to carry a city.
"How many men would you need?" Robert asked.
"To accomplish what?"
"To defeat every army currently gathered in the North."
Jon said nothing.
Robert turned.
"That is not a question you intend to answer?"
"No."
"Why?"
"If I intended to conquer you, Uncle Robert, you would not learn my plans through a friendly conversation."
Robert stared at him.
Then he barked out a laugh.
"You have a talent for making threats sound reasonable."
"It was not a threat."
"That makes it worse."
Ned stepped between them slightly.
"Jon has repeatedly stated that he has no intention of attacking the Seven Kingdoms."
Robert's laughter faded.
"I know."
His voice became quieter.
"That is why I asked whether I could stop him."
He returned his attention to Jon.
"Do you want the Iron Throne?"
"No."
The answer came so quickly that Robert appeared surprised.
"Not even slightly?"
"I possess my own throne."
"Mine commands seven kingdoms."
"Does it?"
Robert's expression darkened.
Jon continued before Ned could intervene.
"The North resents southern control. The Iron Islands rebel whenever they believe the crown is weak. Dorne has not forgotten Elia Martell. The Reach and Westerlands compete for influence. The Vale isolates itself while the Riverlands suffer whenever another lord begins a war."
Jon gestured toward the untouched wine.
"Your throne does not command seven kingdoms. It prevents seven kingdoms from openly fighting one another."
Robert's jaw tightened.
"And you believe your kingdom is better?"
"Yes."
Ned closed his eyes briefly.
Robert stared at Jon.
Jon remained entirely calm.
"Winter's Heaven possesses more land than I can currently populate," Jon said. "My people are educated. My roads connect settlements instead of becoming mud after rain. Our granaries contain enough food to survive failed harvests. Our healers prevent diseases which regularly kill thousands here. Our mines, farms, factories, and shipyards produce more every year."
He looked directly into Robert's eyes.
"Why would I sacrifice the lives of my people to acquire your debts, corruption, starving villages, arrogant lords, and endless political quarrels?"
Robert's anger slowly disappeared.
The truth left little room for it.
"You make the Seven Kingdoms sound like a diseased animal."
"I have seen healthier animals."
Ned gave Jon a warning look.
Robert laughed despite himself.
"Gods, you truly are Ned's son. He also finds the least pleasant way to tell me the truth."
"I normally attempt to be polite," Ned said.
"No, you attempt to look constipated while judging me silently."
Jon's lips curved faintly.
Robert looked between them.
For a moment, some of the tension left the chamber.
Then Robert's expression became serious again.
"I want an alliance."
Ned looked toward him.
"Between the Iron Throne and Winter's Heaven?"
"Yes."
Robert faced Jon.
"I will recognise Winter's Heaven as an independent kingdom. No taxes. No oaths of fealty. No southern lord will possess any claim upon your territory."
"They possess no claim now."
"Then putting it upon parchment will cost you nothing."
"What do you want in return?"
"A defensive alliance. If a foreign enemy attacks the Seven Kingdoms, Winter's Heaven assists us. If someone attacks your kingdom, the Iron Throne assists you."
Jon raised an eyebrow.
"You believe the Iron Throne can offer my kingdom military protection?"
Robert scowled.
"I am attempting to be diplomatic."
"You should continue practising."
Ned interrupted before Robert could respond.
"An official agreement could prevent future conflict. It would also establish rules for trade, movement between the kingdoms, and treatment of each other's citizens."
Jon considered it.
He had no need for Robert's protection.
But official recognition possessed value.
A written treaty would reassure northern lords and reduce the likelihood of ambitious southerners declaring his trade or presence an act of invasion.
"I will consider the terms," Jon said.
Robert exhaled.
"Good."
"However, any agreement will remain valid only while you occupy the Iron Throne."
The relief disappeared from Robert's face.
"And after me?"
"I will judge your successor."
They all understood whom he meant.
Robert moved toward the wine again.
This time, he poured a full cup and drank half of it.
"You do not believe Joffrey will honour an agreement?"
"I do not believe Joffrey is capable of honouring anything which does not immediately satisfy him."
Ned stepped forward.
"He is still young."
"He is only one year younger than the age the realm believes me to be."
Robert examined Jon's fully grown appearance.
The strange passage of time surrounding Jon's hidden years remained difficult for outsiders to understand. The realm counted the years since his birth, but Jon had lived far more time than those years suggested.
Joffrey possessed no such excuse.
Robert set down his cup.
"You dislike him."
"No."
Robert looked surprised.
"I do not hate him either," Jon continued. "Hatred requires more importance than I give him."
Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Robert nearly smiled.
"Then tell me what you truly think of him."
Ned looked sharply toward Robert.
"That may not be wise."
"I did not ask for wisdom. I asked for truth."
Jon studied Robert for several moments.
"Joffrey mistakes cruelty for strength. He enjoys frightening servants, children, animals, and anyone incapable of resisting him."
Robert's expression hardened.
"He insults dangerous men while standing behind guards, then retreats when asked to face the consequences. He believes obedience proves respect. He wants praise but rejects correction. He desires the authority of kingship without accepting its responsibilities."
Jon's voice remained calm.
"If he inherits your throne without changing, he will create enemies faster than the crown can kill them."
Robert looked toward Ned.
"Do you agree?"
Ned remained silent for several seconds.
"Joffrey requires discipline."
"That was not my question."
"He is not ready to rule."
Robert laughed bitterly.
"That is Ned's way of saying yes without condemning a child."
He picked up the wine again.
"Ned raised Robb. Honourable, dependable, already capable of commanding men."
Ned said nothing.
"He raised Bran, who spends every waking moment attempting to understand the world. Arya possesses more courage than half the squires I knew in the Vale. Even Sansa recognised Joffrey's nature and rejected a future most girls would have accepted merely to become queen."
Robert's gaze settled upon Jon.
"And then there is you."
Jon met his eyes.
Robert drank.
"Ned raised two sons capable of ruling. I raised none."
"Then stop mourning your failures and correct them."
Robert froze.
Ned's face tightened.
"Jon—"
"No."
Robert raised one hand.
His eyes remained upon Jon.
"You believe Joffrey can still change?"
"Perhaps."
"How?"
"Begin by ensuring his actions have consequences."
Jon stepped closer to the table.
"When he strikes a servant without cause, punish him. When he humiliates someone weaker, make him apologise. Remove the men who obey his cruelest orders merely because he is the crown prince. Place him beneath someone he cannot frighten or manipulate."
"Barristan?"
"He would be suitable."
Robert considered it.
"And Cersei?"
"She will protect him from every lesson which threatens her pride."
Robert's mouth twisted.
"You do not soften your words for anyone."
"Would softer words make them less true?"
"No."
Robert glanced toward Ned.
"Gods, I truly do envy you."
Jon shook his head.
"You should not."
"Why?"
"My father did not receive me as a finished king. He raised me, corrected me, and gave me a family. You could have done the same for Joffrey."
Robert's expression became defensive.
"I was ruling seven kingdoms."
"You were drinking while other men ruled them."
Silence filled the room.
Ned stepped forward.
"That is enough."
Robert's face darkened.
For several heartbeats, the Demon of the Trident appeared beneath the weight, wine, and years.
Jon did not move.
Then Robert looked toward the half-empty cup in his hand.
His anger slowly collapsed.
"Aye," he said quietly. "Perhaps it is."
He placed the cup down.
"Will you train Joffrey?"
"No."
Robert stared at him.
"You just told me he might change."
"Training only works when the student accepts that he has something to learn."
"He witnessed what your soldiers can do. He fears you."
"Fear would make him imitate strength. It would not teach him discipline."
Jon looked toward the door.
"Correct his behaviour first. If he demonstrates genuine change, I will reconsider."
Robert remained silent.
Coming from anyone else, the conditions would have angered him.
But the memory of Joffrey tormenting the serving boy at the feast remained fresh.
So did the sight of his son retreating from Torghal after insulting the giant.
"I will speak with Barristan," Robert decided.
Ned inclined his head.
"It is a beginning."
Robert glared at him.
"Do not look so surprised."
"I said nothing."
"You possess an extremely judgmental silence."
Robert looked toward Jon again.
"Consider the alliance."
"I will."
"And do not conquer my kingdoms while I wait."
Jon opened the door.
"Improve them enough that they become worth conquering."
Robert stared after him.
Then he began laughing.
Ned rubbed his forehead.
The first consequence came before midday.
Joffrey stood in Winterfell's main courtyard with two royal guards beside him.
A stable boy knelt in the snow before the prince.
The boy had failed to prepare Joffrey's horse quickly enough.
Joffrey held a riding crop.
"Remove his tunic," he ordered.
The guards exchanged uncertain looks.
Joffrey's face twisted.
"Did you not hear me?"
One guard reached toward the boy.
"Enough."
Robert's voice crossed the courtyard.
Everyone turned.
The king descended the stone steps with Barristan behind him. Ned and Jon followed more slowly.
Joffrey lowered the crop.
"The boy disobeyed me."
Robert looked toward the terrified stable boy.
"What did he do?"
"He made me wait."
"How long?"
Joffrey said nothing.
The stable boy swallowed.
"Less than a minute, Your Grace. The saddle strap had twisted."
Robert's expression darkened.
"You intended to have him beaten for that?"
"He should obey immediately."
Robert remembered Jon's words.
He enjoys frightening anyone incapable of resisting him.
"Apologise."
Joffrey stared at him.
"What?"
"You heard me. Apologise to the boy."
Cersei emerged from the Great Keep at that moment.
"Robert, what is happening?"
"I am teaching our son that the world does not exist solely for his amusement."
Joffrey looked toward his mother.
"He is humiliating me before servants."
"You humiliated yourself," Robert said.
Cersei's face tightened.
"He is the crown prince."
"He is behaving like a spoiled cunt."
Several nearby soldiers suddenly found the ground fascinating.
"Robert!" Cersei snapped.
Robert ignored her.
"Apologise."
Joffrey's face turned red.
"I will not."
Robert stepped closer.
For the first time, the prince appeared uncertain.
"You will apologise, or Barristan will take your sword, dismiss your personal servants, and supervise every moment of your day until we return to King's Landing."
Joffrey stared at him in disbelief.
"You cannot—"
"I am the king. According to you, that means everyone obeys immediately."
Joffrey's mouth opened.
No words emerged.
Robert pointed toward the stable boy.
"Apologise."
Joffrey's eyes moved toward Jon.
Jon stood beside Ned, watching without visible emotion.
Hatred burned in the prince's face.
He understood who had changed Robert.
"I am sorry," Joffrey forced out.
The stable boy looked terrified to receive an apology from the crown prince.
Robert turned toward Barristan.
"Take his sword."
Joffrey recoiled.
"I apologised!"
"And now you will spend the remainder of the day learning why it was necessary."
Barristan stepped forward.
"Your sword, my prince."
Joffrey looked toward Cersei again.
She could do nothing without openly challenging Robert before the entire courtyard.
With trembling hands, Joffrey removed his sword belt and thrust it toward Barristan.
Then he stormed into the Great Keep.
Cersei followed him with her eyes before turning upon Robert.
"You did this because of him."
She glanced toward Jon.
Robert did not deny it.
"I did it because I finally saw what a man one year older than the age Jon is believed to be has become—and what my own son has not."
Cersei's face became cold.
"Jon is not your son."
"No. That is the problem."
Robert walked away.
Cersei remained in the courtyard.
Her gaze shifted toward Jon.
He held it for a moment.
Then he turned and followed Ned into the Great Keep.
Once again, he looked away first.
Cersei hated how much that affected her.
Night settled over Winterfell.
The royal court gathered for another meal, but Jon left the Great Hall early.
He had no desire to spend every evening answering the same questions about his kingdom.
Instead, he climbed the western battlement.
The cold air cleared the noise of the hall from his mind.
Below, the camp remained active.
The soldiers changed patrols with silent efficiency. Direwolves moved between the perimeter posts. The giants rested farther away, their immense armoured forms visible even in the darkness.
Jon sensed Cersei before he heard her.
Her footsteps were measured and unhurried.
He did not turn.
"You have developed a habit of finding me alone."
"Perhaps you have developed a habit of waiting for me."
Jon glanced over his shoulder.
"Have I?"
Cersei stopped beside him.
She wore a crimson gown beneath a heavy fur cloak. The garment's neckline remained low enough to reveal the generous curves of her breasts.
Jon noticed.
Cersei noticed him noticing.
Neither pretended otherwise.
"Your soldiers provided an impressive performance," she said.
"They followed their training."
"Jaime and Barristan are among the finest swordsmen alive."
"And?"
Her green eyes narrowed.
"And ten of your ordinary soldiers defeated them as though they were inexperienced boys."
"That was the purpose of the demonstration."
"To humiliate Robert's court?"
"To educate it."
Cersei's lips curved slightly.
"There is another story circulating among the northern lords."
"Men spread many stories after drinking."
"They claim you fought thirty of your elite royal guards at once."
"They witnessed it."
"Northern lords are easily impressed."
Jon looked toward the camp.
"Then do not believe them."
"Perhaps your guards allowed their king to win."
Jon said nothing.
"Perhaps the northern lords exaggerated what they witnessed."
He continued watching the soldiers below.
"Or perhaps the entire fight was a lie."
Jon finally turned toward her.
"I do not care whether you believe it."
The dismissal struck her pride precisely as he expected.
Cersei was accustomed to men seeking her approval. Jon's refusal to defend himself ensured she wanted his attention even more.
"Then prove it to me."
Jon raised one eyebrow.
"Why should I prove anything to you, my dear, lovely aunt?"
It was the first and only time he called her that.
The deliberately teasing warmth in his voice affected her. Cersei's composure slipped for the briefest instant before she recovered.
She stepped closer.
No one else stood upon the battlement. Even so, she looked toward both stairways before lowering her voice to a whisper.
"Because I will give you something if you win."
"What?"
Cersei's eyes descended briefly toward his lips.
"You truly want me to say it?"
"I prefer clear agreements."
Her smile became seductive.
"Very well."
She raised one hand and touched the golden chain resting above her cleavage.
"You are always looking at my bobs."
The blunt word sounded almost indecent coming from a queen.
Jon's eyes immediately descended.
Cersei's smile became triumphant.
"You are looking at them now."
"You mentioned them."
"You required very little encouragement."
"Can you blame me?"
Cersei deliberately straightened, pressing her breasts more prominently against the low neckline of her gown.
"No," she whispered. "I would be insulted if you did not look."
Jon allowed his gaze to remain there.
Most men stared at Cersei like hungry fools or looked away in embarrassment when caught.
Jon did neither.
He appreciated her openly and saw no reason to apologise.
"You stare at my boobs whenever you believe no one is watching," Cersei continued.
"I know when someone is watching."
"Then you have been doing it deliberately?"
"Perhaps I wanted you to notice."
Her breathing changed slightly.
Jon heard it.
"What exactly are you offering?"
"If you defeat thirty of your elite soldiers tomorrow, I will give you a private show."
"A show?"
Cersei's fingers traced the edge of her neckline.
"No gown. No shift. Nothing hiding them."
"You will show me your boobs?"
"Yes."
"Only show me?"
Her smile widened.
"If your performance impresses me, I will allow you to touch them."
Jon stepped closer.
"You will place your bare boobs in my hands?"
"If you win."
"You already know I will."
"Confidence is not victory."
"No. But thirty soldiers are hardly an obstacle."
Cersei drew back enough to study his face.
"They will be elite warriors."
"I know."
"They will possess advanced breathing techniques."
"I trained them."
"They will attack you simultaneously."
"That is the purpose."
His certainty excited her.
Jon could see it in her widened pupils, hear it in her breathing, and smell the subtle change in her scent.
"You appear very interested in collecting your reward," Cersei whispered.
"I never refuse something beautiful when it is freely offered."
"Then earn it."
Jon moved closer until barely an inch separated them.
Cersei lifted her chin.
"You should be careful what you promise me."
"Are you frightened that I will win?"
"No."
"Then perhaps you want me to."
Her smile faltered for half a heartbeat.
Jon saw it.
"You never doubted the story," he murmured. "You believe I defeated those thirty guards."
"I believe northern men enjoy exaggeration."
"This challenge is merely an excuse."
"An excuse for what?"
Jon looked down at her cleavage.
"For you to show me what you repeatedly catch me admiring."
Warmth spread across Cersei's face.
She refused to retreat.
"Perhaps I simply wish to expose a liar."
"Then you will be disappointed."
"I will survive."
Jon leaned toward her ear.
"But will you survive fulfilling your promise?"
His breath touched her skin.
A slight shiver travelled through her body.
Cersei turned her face toward him. For one dangerous moment, their lips were separated by almost nothing.
Neither crossed the remaining distance.
"Win first," she whispered.
Jon withdrew slowly.
"Tomorrow morning."
"Who will choose the thirty?"
"I will."
Cersei raised an eyebrow.
"You could deliberately select weaker men."
Jon laughed quietly.
"What is amusing?"
"You watched ten ordinary soldiers defeat the finest fighters in Robert's court. There are no weak men among the thousand elites I brought."
Cersei could not deny it.
"I will select thirty royal guards of the same rank as those I fought aboard the Titan," Jon continued. "They will attack together and make a genuine attempt to defeat me."
"And when you lose?"
"I will not."
His eyes descended once more.
"And when I win, you will keep your promise?"
"I am a queen."
"That was not an answer."
Cersei held his gaze.
"Yes. I will show you my boobs and allow you to touch them."
The words hung between them.
Jon smiled.
"Good."
He turned toward the stairs.
"You have not won yet," Cersei called softly.
Jon stopped and looked back.
"You should decide where you intend to give me my private show."
Her lips curved.
"You should defeat your men before planning how to enjoy your reward."
"I will."
There was no boastfulness in his voice.
Only certainty.
Jon descended the stairs.
Once he moved beyond Cersei's sight, the amusement in his expression became colder.
He desired her. There was no reason to lie to himself about that. Cersei Lannister was every bit as beautiful as the woman he remembered from the show—perhaps even more so in person.
But beauty did not make him blind.
There she is, Jon thought. The Cersei I remember. First, she would seduce a man with her beauty.
Then she would convince herself that his desire gave her control over him. After that would come the requests, the manipulation, and the expectation that he use his power to solve her problems.
That was Cersei's style.
Jon's smile returned as he descended toward his camp. She believed she was drawing him into her game.
She had yet to understand that Jon had recognised the game before she made her first move.
End of Chapter 152
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