Red Keep, the Queen's Solar.
Golden-embroidered white curtains swayed gently in the breeze.
Cersei Lannister lay in a golden bathtub, her shoulders exposed above the water. Beads of water shimmered on her collarbone under the sunlight.
Tap, tap, tap.
Jaime made no effort to muffle his footsteps, stepping openly into Cersei's line of sight.
Queen Cersei tossed her silky golden hair with a lazy flick, radiating allure.
"So, have the heartwarming chats between big brother and little brother finally come to an end?"
Jaime frowned slightly. "Cersei, he's worried about you. You should be grateful to him."
He didn't say Tyrion's name in front of her, only referring to him as he with a resigned tone.
Cersei scoffed, mocking him. "I am the daughter of the Old Lion. I am the Queen! You two are arrogant fools. I have my own judgment. I don't need anyone telling me what to do. You need only bow your heads and obey."
Splash.
Cersei rose from the tub, lifting her chin as she stared down at Jaime.
Jaime sighed inwardly, unwilling to repeat the same argument for what felt like the thousandth time. He reached for a deep red robe and stepped forward to drape it over her shoulders.
Only then did Cersei curl her lips in satisfaction. Barefoot, she walked over to the side, picked up a goblet, and took a sip of red wine.
Holding the cup with elegance, her eyes gleaming with sharp light, Cersei asked,
"That useless thing—did he manage to uncover anything of value?"
Jaime spread his hands. "Not bad. He might be worth drawing in."
Cersei sneered again. "Hmph. And for such a scrap of information, you two talked for that long? I truly worry for the future of House Lannister. You're both far too slow. Things like this—"
"I already learned everything through Baron Green's letter. And yet, I've wasted so much of my time because of this."
Jaime would sooner die than relay Tyrion's original words to Cersei—doing so would only make things worse.
Out of knightly honor, Jaime also didn't want to fabricate malicious lies about anyone. Saying "not bad" was already the highest praise he could muster under the circumstances.
He shrugged. "Shall I arrange a meeting right away?"
Cersei, annoyed, snapped, "Jaime!"
"Alright, alright, I haven't forgotten. You reminded me—everything must be done properly, with appearances in mind. I'll go see if there's a suitable position for him at the Red Keep."
"What was supposed to be a simple audience turned into something far more complicated because you chose to meddle after listening to someone's slander. I've only gone to all this trouble to change the form of the meeting because of you, Jaime!"
King's Landing – Hookport, Green's Study.
Over a week had passed since Green had left Whispering Town. Today, Herschel's raven brought the first report from the Claybo lands.
A thirty-man Thorn Legion squad was ambushed at night by a small group of wildlings during an independent operation. Twenty-three casualties.
Green put the letter down and rubbed his temples.
He didn't need to manage everything personally, but such a loss was alarming. Still, he trusted that the seasoned Ser Pell would make timely adjustments.
It wasn't just the Thorn Legion—none of the longbowmen had been equipped with melee weapons due to Claybo's lack of resources.
Green's preferred weapon was a short sword: no longer than 50 cm, no wider than 5 cm, optimized for thrusting with some capability for slashing.
These short swords were light, didn't interfere with archery or long marches, and were still effective in close combat—ideal for addressing melee threats.
But the problem was money.
Claybo was simultaneously fighting and absorbing the mountain wildlings—its development depended on plundering them to stay afloat.
With no other sources of growth, Claybo's development was like a fully drawn longbow: stretched to its limits, with a ticking clock. Unsustainable.
The number of longbowmen was also increasing.
Mermaid Port's current income was barely enough to keep the port running. Relying solely on the lordship's regular revenue, and without compromising the rest of the army's equipment, it would take at least two years just to arm every longbowman with a short sword.
Sulana pushed open the door and greeted Green with a bow.
"My lord, this just arrived from the Red Keep. You've been appointed Queen's Affairs Officer, and are to report for duty tomorrow morning."
Queen's Affairs Officer?
For some reason, Green immediately thought of a eunuch.
His expression turned odd as he took the letter of appointment from Sulana.
There were no details about the actual responsibilities of the post, but Green did notice the salary—200 gold dragons a year.
He stroked his chin.
Could I maybe get ten years' pay in advance for emergencies?
.
.
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