"You man are a whore, you shall never touch my body."
"We will see."
House Velaryon survived the murder of Targaryen blood lines during Roberts Rebellion. The Velaryon name had long lost its luster with little to no wealth left to it. Monford Velary...
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Cersei made herself comfortable in the satin seat. A golden lions chalice filled to the brim with Arbor Red danced at her lips as Littlefinger stood before her in the chamber. His pepper and salt mustache clad atop a smirk. He would be leaving soon, but the Queen had called in a favor for him to be permitted leave with the royal wedding so soon. The request was a risky job that could cost him his head if any misstep arose. And to his dismay, one had occurred.
The sunlight poured in from the balcony, molding into the honey of her Lannister locks. Littlefinger often wondered how such a vile beast had been born into such a heavenly face. From the top of Cersei's head to her smallest toe, the woman held no imperfection...except for her wicked heart.
"I take it you have what I want?" She mused, a feline brow raising as she took another sip.
"Yes, my Queen." He bowed as he extended the lock of silver hair tied with a small ribbon.
Cersei leaned forward, the wine in her glass slightly spilling as she let her fingers touch the stolen braid. She trusted no word out of the mouth of that weasel of a man, therefore testing the authenticity of the white strands. The hair was real and as soft as a noble born woman's would be, Littlefinger had not deceived her.
"Where is she and what do the Martell's know?"
Her voice was soft and heavenly as she commanded. Her eyes narrowed as Littlefinger's eyes fell to his feet.
"The Martell's believe her to have been taken by poor merchants, holding the princess for ransom. Doran Martell has closed every entrance to Sunspear including their port. Prince Oberyn leads the efforts to find her along with a handful of his bastards."
Cersei hummed. Her eyes searched the room as she thought.
"Release her after I present this to Aurane Waters. The girl still needs to be here for the wedding. The longer she's withheld the more dangerous our identities are to being revealed. My Myrcella is in that den of vipers."
Cersei placed the lock of hair at her side. She couldn't bare to look at it any longer. The wine had brought her mind back to her children, to her marriage, to the prince she had wished she married instead. Her chest ached at the memory of her innocent love towards the kind Prince Rhaegar. What had her future held if she had worn a crown of wings instead of antlers?
Her eyes caught as Littlefinger placed his hands in the pockets of his tunic. A behavior she had learned provided insight that he was hiding something.
