Dong... dong... dong...
Each chime of the bell felt like a blow to Renly Baratheon's heart.
He knew exactly what the bells meant—his brother, King Robert Baratheon, had died.
He hadn't expected to feel sorrow. He'd thought the news would pass over him like a storm that was over just as quickly as it came. But now that the moment had arrived, he was filled with grief that he hadn't anticipated—and something darker. Fear.
Dressed in a splendid velvet cloak with a gleaming golden sword at his hip, a large ring of office on his thumb, and every hair perfectly set, Renly looked the very picture of a nobleman of stature as he entered the throne room. Today, he was supposed to preside over the trial for Jon Arryn's death. Instead, he found the hall deserted.
The "Red Viper" had escaped, "Littlefinger" was dead, and Grand Maester Pycelle had been murdered as well. And now, even the king was gone.
It should have been a day of triumph. Instead, it felt as if death itself had swept through and crushed it all to pieces.
Renly stood alone beside the Iron Throne. The throne's jagged edges and twisting spikes, forged from the blades of enemies, seemed somehow more menacing than ever.
"Lord Renly," came the quiet reminder of Loras Tyrell, his squire. "It's time for the small council meeting."
Yes. The council meeting.
Renly shook himself from his daze. The king was dead, which meant the council would soon convene to hear Robert's last wishes.
This was it, he thought, lifting his head with a renewed sense of purpose. I will be named Regent and Protector of the Realm.
The country would be his to rule until Joffrey came of age. Just imagining the power to come lifted Renly's spirits, and he strode forward with new confidence, his heels sinking into the plush red carpet that felt as though he were walking on clouds.
But his ascent was halted as a procession approached from the opposite end of the hall.
Queen Cersei led the way, draped in a black gown adorned with a teardrop-shaped ruby at her throat, her golden hair cascading around her shoulders. Her green eyes were alight with a faintly mocking gleam.
At her side walked Prince Joffrey, while behind them marched the Kingsguard, all seven White Cloaks in perfect formation, followed by Ser Janos Slynt and a cluster of gold-cloaked city guards.
The procession was as formidable as it was calculated.
"Lord Renly," Cersei's voice was smooth as she spoke, "where are you off to?"
"To the small council meeting." Renly forced himself to keep his tone polite. "The king has died, and his will should be read to the council immediately."
"Well then," Cersei replied with a serene smile, "we should go together."
That smile stirred Renly's anger.
"Your Grace," he said, his voice cooling, "if I may remind you, the queen does not have a seat on the council."
"But the king does," she countered, stepping closer with Joffrey in tow, "and my son is king now."
Renly's voice grew strained. "There is no seat for the widow queen."
"But there is for the Queen Regent."
Renly clenched his fists, but he knew he couldn't win this confrontation—not with the White Cloaks standing directly behind her. After a pause, he forced a smile. "That depends on what the king's will says, Your Grace."
"The king is dead," Cersei corrected him without a hint of warmth. "Joffrey is the new king."
"But Joffrey has not yet come of age—"
"I am the king," Joffrey cut him off with a sneer. "You should call me Your Grace."
Renly met Joffrey's gaze, seeing in the boy's eyes nothing but thinly veiled contempt. The cold feeling in Renly's chest deepened.
"Joffrey, do not speak so harshly to your uncle," Cersei chided softly before glancing back at Renly. "Let us speak in private, Lord Renly."
With a sway of her hips, Cersei moved toward the throne room.
Renly hesitated, but after a moment, he followed her in.
Cersei said nothing as she walked, her heels tapping against the floor as she made her way to the Iron Throne.
"Would you like to sit here?" she asked, the words echoing off the stone walls.
Startled, Renly glanced up. She was looking straight at the throne.
He didn't answer.
"Oh," she laughed softly, the sound thick with mockery, before she hiked up her skirts and took a seat herself, settling into the Iron Throne as if she belonged there.
The image was jarring, and a flash of anger surged through Renly.
"Do you want this seat, Renly?" she asked, looking at him with open disdain. "You're too afraid to take it. But I am not."
"You're a madwoman, Cersei! No lord of the Seven Kingdoms would bend the knee to you!" Renly shouted. "They'd laugh you off the throne."
She gave him a sly smile. "Oh, Renly, you're so naive." She rose gracefully from the throne, her skirts swaying as she descended to meet him eye-to-eye. "But don't think for a moment that I don't know exactly what you're after."
"And don't think that I don't know your secrets, Cersei!" Renly fired back.
"Do you now?" She raised a brow, amused.
"Your sordid affair with your brother!" he snarled. "Those three children—they're not Robert's, are they?"
If her calm wavered, it was so brief he couldn't catch it. "Where's your proof, Renly?"
He fell silent.
Cersei descended from the throne's dais, her gaze locked on his as she stopped inches away. She lifted a hand, letting her fingers brush his face. "Without proof, you'll achieve nothing. Now tell me, Renly, did Robert's will truly name you as Regent and Protector?"
Renly's eyes narrowed as realization dawned—someone had betrayed him.
But who?
"Somehow," she continued, "you managed to convince Robert to entrust you with the realm. But I'll see to it that error is corrected. Joffrey will have that will voided."
"He has no authority to do so!" Renly shouted, his voice echoing around the chamber. "Not until he comes of age!"
"Authority?" She laughed. "Do you think a piece of parchment gives you authority?"
"It's the king's will!" Renly argued, his voice almost a plea.
"A scrap of paper," she countered coolly, gesturing toward the hall's entrance. "Look, Renly. Look at who stands behind Joffrey and me. That is authority."
He didn't turn; he already knew.
Ser Barristan Selmy. Jaime Lannister. Meryn Trant. Janos Slynt.
The forces loyal to Cersei had assembled, each a symbol of power at her back.
And he, Renly, had… nothing. House Tyrell had backed out, Reachmen nobles had abandoned him, and Dorne was a failed endeavor. He was alone.
"Renly," she said, her hand resting against his chest in a subtle but possessive gesture, "don't let a piece of paper make you delusional. It would be a pity if your ambition brought you nothing but ruin."
The flicker of fear in his eyes was unmistakable, but he stood silent. Cersei's fingers trailed down his chest, her touch a mockery of comfort. "Step aside, surrender the Regency, and I'll see to it that you keep your seat at the council and the title of Lord of Storm's End. I'm being generous, Renly. Perhaps you could be generous in return?"
Renly recoiled from her touch, his expression one of distaste.
"Oh, dear," she smirked, laughing at his reaction. "So it's true, isn't it? You truly have no taste for women."
With a satisfied sway, she moved toward the exit, calling back to him. "Come along, Lord Renly. We have a council meeting to attend, and I'm certain you'll make the wise choice."
Face pale and fists clenched, Renly hesitated, then reluctantly followed her like a servant trailing his queen.
When they reached the council chamber, only Eddard Stark and Varys were present. The absence of others—the Master of Ships, Master of Coin, and Grand Maester—spoke volumes.
Ned Stark's eyes narrowed at Cersei's presence, but he remained silent.
Taking her place at the head of the table with Joffrey, Cersei turned to Ned. "Lord Eddard, shall we proceed with reading the king's will?"
Eddard Stark nodded, producing the sealed document. He held it up for the room to see, then broke the seal and began to read:
"Herein lies the final will of Robert of House Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. I name my brother, Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, as Regent and Protector of the Realm until my son Joffrey comes of age…"
All eyes turned to Renly as the words echoed through the hall.
Cersei's eyes, however were sharp as daggers, watching him with unveiled menace.
Renly took a deep breath. When Eddard finished reading, he cleared his throat and forced himself to speak with as much authority as he could muster. "Lords and ladies, I am deeply honored to be chosen by His Majesty Robert to guide the realm. However…" He hesitated, gritting his teeth before continuing, "I fear I may not be the best man to carry this burden. Therefore, I hereby relinquish the title of Regent and Protector of the realm. I leave it to you to choose another."
Cersei's lips curled into a satisfied smile. "Very well, then. We shall hold a vote," she announced, her tone mocking.
Joffrey's voice rang out, impatient and shrill. "I nominate my mother!"
A hushed silence fell over the room, tension thick as steel.
"Come now," Joffrey demanded, his gaze fierce as he looked around the room, "what do you all say? Ser Barristan?"
The aged knight bowed his head. "I shall serve whomever His Grace commands," he said, his words cautious but clear.
Joffrey nodded, pleased, and turned to Varys. "Lord Varys?"
The Spider's thin smile did not reach his eyes. "The Queen Regent seems most suited, Your Grace," he said, his voice honeyed.
Finally, Joffrey looked to Ned Stark. "Lord Eddard?"
Ned met Cersei's gaze, which was as unyielding as steel. After a beat, he lowered his eyes and murmured, "I agree."
Sorry, Robert, I can only deal with one enemy at a time.
A triumphant gleam flared in Joffrey's eyes. "Then it's settled!" He declared loudly. "Mother, from this moment, you are the Queen Regent!"
The smile that spread across Cersei's face was as cold and fierce as winter.
(End of Chapter)