Book 1: Prints in the Snow

Chapter XIV • Murder and a Show

Lyon's talks with the queen had begun happening more and more, evening and morning. Wine for both, sometimes dinner, sometimes to break their fast. They would talk about things, marriage and economy and war. Subjects unbefitting of ladies to speak of, yet Queen Cersei spoke as though she was well versed in all. She never failed to impress Lyon, and her admiration for the queen grew.

And as she left the queen's quarters to stand at her father's dinner table, disappointed furrowed his brow.

"I've already broken my fast with the queen, I'm afraid." And would take her seat, book in hand. Something from the grand library, or of her own collection.

"Tomorrow then."

Yet most days she missed family meals. Then, as more visitors came to attend the Hand's Tournament, she missed much more as a terror seized her. Lyon would hide in her room, fingering the vial of poison in her fingers as she eyed the crowd of people. No familiar face stuck out of the crowd- no extravagantly fat man adorned in royal purple and deep blues, gold and gems adorning his coat and hands. No, she could not see the face of the man she was to kill.

But, she knew his name. And she knew how to get almost anything she wanted out of a man. His life would be added to that list of things in due time.

The tournament was a sight to behold. Decorations of every color flying high, flowers blooming blissfully in the sun. Horses whinnied from the stables as their riders suited them for the joust in an hours time. The hand-to-hand portion had come to a close in a bloody but brilliant mess. Injuries here and there- but a grand sight to behold all the same. As the event concluded, Lyon became another body amongst the horde of party-goers and feasters. Lord Barton was fat as he was extravagant, which seemed a common theme among the wealthy. His reputation for whoring, wining, and dining (sometimes all at the same time) preceded him. When Lyon found him in his tent, two of the three were present.

Through the folds, she could hear the giggling of prostitutes, could see his big black beard shaking as he chuckled and juggled his goblet of wine in one hand, and a woman's ass cheek in the other. She was naked from the waist down, her hair covering her tanned chest. Lyon was silent as she slipped into the tent, lingering in the shadows. She made quick work of her dress, letting it slip to the floor. Her heart hammered in her throat with each step. Toes anxious dug into the dirt.

With a light hand she touched the whore's shoulder, and let her hand trail across the woman's back. She lifted her head and moved to the side, allowing Lyon to place her legs on either side of the lord. A woman's hand ran across Lyon's back, eliciting chills that made her want to hurl her breakfast into one of the bushes outside.

"What's this?" Lord Barton's hand came to cusp her ass, squeezing and mangling the flesh there. His hand came back and slapped, and the sound startled Lyon against him. She could feel his bulge, and let a hand come to rest upon his thigh, stroking upward toward the groin with a terribly slow and faint touch. "This one knows what she wants... Leave us." He set down his wine and flippantly waved the other women off, tossing coins at their feet. The women picked their silken garments and payment and left quietly. Both hands came to Lyon's rear end, squeezing each cheek with hard and calloused hands. Her soft moans elicited more force from his hands until her rubbing against his manhood could be taken no longer. With clumsy fingers, he unfastened his belt and sprung free.

It looked simply like a whore's trick as she lifted her arms to run her fingers through her up-do, strands coming loose. He didn't notice the vial she snuck from the tangles of her hair as she braced both hands on the back of his chair, then swiftly emptied the vial into his wine. She ran her tongue along his neck, moaning quietly.

In his stillness, she returned her vial to her hair, running her hands down her bare throat and breasts. Her eyes contemplatively landed on the wine, and she took the goblet in hand and offered it to the Lord with a cheeky smile. He heartily drank from his goblet, tossing it to the ground with red nectar dribbling down his chin. He grinned for a few moments, then a knot in his brow came. He began to shudder in his seat, eyed popping wide as the trembling became frantic shaking. The Lord's mouth opened to scream in terror, but Lyon's hand slammed down on him, and her legs hooked the legs of the chair to keep him bound.

And just like that, he died beneath her.

She eased herself from the man's corpse and promptly took a swig of untainted wine from the decanter, stopping only when it had been emptied to dress and fix her hair. Lyon allowed herself to cry only briefly before she wiped her eyes, grabbed Lord Barton's signature ring, and fled.

A party-goer had donned her with a leafy flower wreath as she slipped through the crowd, not truly seeing those she passed. Her feet took her to the seats that presided over the joust, which was soon to begin. She found her sister Sansa and slipped into a spot next to her, squeezing her legs together and folding her hands over her lap.

"Lyon? Are you alright?"

"Yes, it's just... The heat is getting to me." Sansa held out of a fan, which Lyon took thankfully and began lightly fanning herself, fingering the ring in her other hand, and truly sick curling of her lip trying to form.

The joust went by at a slow crawl, and Lyon didn't truly pay attention to it all. She smiled and giggled with Sansa when Loras Tyrell presented her with a single red rose and a charming grin. Lyon watched the young man leave, squeezing Sansa's hand with a girlish giggle.

"You two seem to be enjoying yourselves. Where's Arya?" Ned Stark approached them both, taking a seat at Lyon's side.

Sansa answered. "At her dancing lessons." As she said it her eyes were upon the Knight of Flowers, never leaving as the young man bowed before his king, and mounted his steed.

Lyon's nails dug into the palms of her hands. That sick reek of bile pervaded her senses as she felt her morning meal rise up her throat. She covered her mouth with her hand, praying she would make it without vomiting across the stands. Gods- a sight that would be. The thought distracted for a moment and the fear of humiliation forced her to swallow the rising bile.

And it was, as the joust was just beginning to start, that there was a shriek of terror from the tents. Lyon's heart sunk deep into her belly. The urge to flee consumed her as an escort flew into the jousting. Tears strung down her cheeks. The poor woman was shaking like a leaf.

"There's- there's been a murder. Lord Barton has been murdered."

Lords and ladies rose from their seats. A murdered among them! Their frantic expressions bespoke their deep fears as havoc broke out amongst the stands. It was all so dizzying. The frenzy of it all. Lyon could hardly speak, could hardly stand as she only half feigned her fear. As she rose her hands to her breast in a gesture of shock, she dropped the Lord's ring between her breasts.

"Are we safe, father?" Sansa's tiny plea for reassurance struck Lyon. The elder sibling reached her hand and laid it on Sansa's.

"Don't fear, Sansa. We'll be fine. Father, perhaps Jory should return us to the castle. It.. it'll be safer there."

Ned Stark met Lyon's eyes for a moment, appraising the glossy sheen and the paleness of her complexion. His jaw clenched, and he quickly nodded. "Jory, return the girls to the castle. I'll be along shortly."

Jory Cassel had risen when the outcry began and turned to Lord Stark at his word. As commanded, he assisted the girls down from the stands as the ruckus suddenly died down from an outburst from the king. But Lyon could no longer hear her king. No, the blood was rushing through her body like rapids and sounded in her ears like great waterfalls, blocking out all sound and sense. She could only hold Sansa close and flee from the crime scene of her own doing.