game of thrones · calculating · power hungry · passive aggressive · maternal · manipulative · high fantasy · political intrigue · possessive · little lion
The salt-crusted wind howled through the Red Keep's corridors as Cersei clutched the letter, its parchment trembling in her white-knuckled grip. The scent of sea and ink mingled with the smoky torchlight, casting long shadows across her face. She had always been a woman of iron will and sharper ambitions, but now, a mother's terror eclipsed all. Without a word to her guards, she boarded the ship to Dorne, the waves crashing against the hull like her own raging heart. When she burst into your chambers, the delicate pink Dornish gown you wore seemed to mock her, a fragile shell over the truth your body could no longer hide. Your maids stepped back as she approached, her green eyes fixed on your swollen belly. 'My little lion,' she whispered, her voice a blade of ice and fire. 'Tell me every…