The Red Keep. Throne room.
Robert Baratheon's roar nearly shook the twisted iron spikes off the Iron Throne.
"AN ASSASSIN?!"
"In MY King's Landing! In broad daylight! My son almost got nailed to a wall by a crossbow bolt?!"
He heaved his bloated body up. Kicked over the table in front of him.
Wine and shattered glass sprayed across the floor.
"Search the whole city! Drag that bastard out! I want him hanging from the walls for the crows!"
Joffrey stood nearby. Still pale.
But when he looked at Lynn, his eyes burned with worship.
"Father! Lynn saved me! You have to reward him!"
Robert's gaze landed on Lynn. The fury dimmed. Replaced by raw approval.
"Good lad!"
That massive hand slammed Lynn's shoulder again.
"You saved my son's life!"
"What do you want? Name it!"
"Gold? Swords? Whores? If I have it, it's yours!"
Lynn's face stayed blank. He bowed slightly.
"Your Grace, I only did what was necessary."
He paused. His face paled. His breathing quickened.
"To deflect that bolt, I used a... secret technique. It cost me. Greatly."
"I need to rest. Recover."
The explanation made sense.
That impossible sword strike—faster than human—had to be some kind of mystical art.
Easier to accept than the truth.
"Quick! Get him to a room!"
Robert's eyes lit up. He barked at the Kingsguard.
"Give him the best chamber! Post guards! No one disturbs him!"
Joffrey looked anxious. "Ser Lynn, please rest well!"
He'd already given Lynn the title. Unilaterally. But he had the authority.
Lynn nodded to the king and prince. Two Kingsguard "escorted" him out of the noisy throne room.
As he turned, his peripheral vision caught a figure in the corner.
Petyr Baelish. Littlefinger.
His face showed perfect concern. But Lynn saw the shadow beneath. The frustration of a plan gone wrong.
The game's just starting.
Don't worry, Lord Baelish.
The Red Keep. Lynn's tower chamber.
Lynn locked the door. Shoved a heavy chair against it.
Outside, King's Landing descended into chaos. Gold Cloaks searched house by house.
Lynn knew they'd find nothing.
The assassin was hiding in some filthy corner of Flea Bottom. Waiting for the heat to die. Then he'd flee the city. Never return.
Lynn sat cross-legged on the bed. His eyes rolled back.
The world went silent.
Twenty-five points of mental power surged through his consciousness.
He'd already locked onto the assassin's "coordinates" with his greensight.
Skinchanger. Master level.
HUMMM—
His consciousness ripped free.
Lynn's mental energy became an invisible thread. Pierced through the Red Keep's stone walls. Crossed the noisy streets. Stabbed into a stinking cheap inn in Flea Bottom.
Found you, little rat.
A scrawny man cowered under a bed. Shaking like a leaf.
Fear of failure. Resentment toward his employer. His mental defenses were tissue paper.
Lynn's consciousness crashed through.
The scrawny man's body went rigid. His eyes went blank.
Then that blankness filled with cold calculation. And madness.
Lynn opened his eyes.
He controlled this "new" body. Crawled out from under the bed.
He didn't run.
He walked to the mirror. Looked at the unfamiliar face. Smiled. Twisted.
Then Lynn turned. Pushed open the door. Strode toward one destination.
The Red Keep.
The throne room. Still tense.
Robert's fury hadn't cooled. He was grilling the Small Council about strengthening the city's defenses.
Queen Cersei Lannister had arrived.
Gone was her usual elegance. She spoke urgently to the king. Her face full of grief and rage. Then she soothed her frightened son with the gentlest voice.
Jaime Lannister stood in white armor. Silent. By the Iron Throne.
His golden hair gleamed in the firelight. But his green eyes—looking at Cersei and Robert—held something complex. Unreadable.
Then—
BANG!
The heavy oak doors burst open.
A ragged figure reeking of filth charged in like a rabid dog.
"ASSASSIN!"
The two nearest Gold Cloaks didn't have time to react. The figure shoved past them. Reckless.
Lynn held a dagger. Target clear.
King Robert on the Iron Throne.
The throne room erupted.
Women screamed.
"PROTECT THE KING!"
Barristan Selmy roared. Drew his sword.
But someone was faster.
Jaime Lannister.
He moved the instant Lynn burst in.
A golden blur. Lightning.
He blocked Robert's body.
Didn't even draw his sword. Just a clean sidestep. His vambrace deflected Lynn's dagger.
Then his right leg flashed out. Struck Lynn's knee.
CRACK.
Bone splintered.
Lynn screamed. Lost balance. Crashed onto the cold marble floor.
Before he could struggle, several blades pressed against his neck and back.
Crisis over.
The whole thing took seconds.
Robert still leaned forward. His rheumy eyes full of shock. Fear.
He'd been drinking. The alcohol had dulled him. He hadn't even reacted.
He'd almost been killed by a rat from Flea Bottom.
"Talk! Who sent you!"
A Gold Cloak pressed his sword to Lynn's throat.
Lynn lay on the floor. Body convulsing in pain. Blood poured from his mouth.
He lifted his head. His gaze cut through the crowd. Locked onto the golden-haired beauty in fine clothes beside the throne.
Cersei Lannister.
He used his last strength. Let out a shrill, rasping shriek.
"The... the Queen!"
"Queen Cersei sent me!"
"She told me to kill Joffrey too!"
"She... promised me... gold and land..."
"For... for Lannister!"
Before he finished, Jaime's sword plunged down.
Lynn withdrew his consciousness before death arrived. He couldn't risk mental damage.
The poor assassin never understood what happened.
The blade pierced his heart.
Blood stained the golden lion on the Lannister cloak.
The throne room fell silent.
Deathly silent.
Every eye turned to Cersei Lannister.
Cersei's elegant concern froze.
She stared at the cooling corpse. Then at the stares—shocked, suspicious, scrutinizing.
Her beautiful green eyes filled with confusion.
Her mind went blank.
The Queen?
Me?
When did I send someone to kill Robert?
How could I order my own son's death?
In the corner, Petyr Baelish's face—usually smirking—went white.
Cold sweat soaked his back.
He knew this assassin.
His carefully placed pawn. His brilliant scheme...
How did it turn into this?
Why did the assassin attack Robert?
Why did he accuse Cersei?
Impossible!
This makes no sense!
Like an invisible ghost was scrambling his chessboard.
A chill from his soul made him tremble.
Bran's fall. The attempt to lure Ned into investigating Jon Arryn's death. Why did everything go wrong?
No. This is too big. I need to destroy all evidence. Now.
"CERSEI—!!!"
A roar like a wounded beast shattered the silence.
Robert Baratheon's bloodshot eyes locked onto his queen.
The killing intent in that gaze was almost tangible.
In the tower, Lynn's eyes snapped open.
He heard the roar echo through the Red Keep.
He exhaled slowly. His lips curled up.
He'd wanted to control Jaime. Make him attack Robert.
But with his current mental power and skinchanger level, controlling Jaime would've been too difficult. He'd abandoned the idea.
Failure would make them vigilant.
And he didn't want the stag and lion at full war.
That would trap him. His forces were too small. He couldn't harvest experience. And Daenerys was waiting across the Narrow Sea.
Better to go to Essos first. Take Dany. Recruit an army. More stable.
Littlefinger, you played your cards well.
Now it's my turn.
You wanted the wolf and lion to fight?
I'll make the stag and lion distrust each other first.
Choke on that.
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