Mother," a sweet voice called as I felt a small, smooth hand tugging at my dress.
"Ugh," I grumbled, a dull ache throbbing in my head. Did it work? Did the transmigration succeed?
I blinked, my vision adjusting to the dim candlelight of a luxuriously decorated carriage. Plush red cushions pressed against me, golden embroidery glinting softly in the flickering glow.
BADUMP. BADUMP.
My heart pounded. It worked. It actually worked.
A shiver of excitement rolled through me, my ample chest rising and falling as I took it all in. The dream, the goddess—it was all real.
"Mother, are you okay?"
The voice pulled me from my daze. I turned, locking eyes with a little girl—wavy golden hair, bright green eyes, a delicate face furrowed with concern. Myrcella.
She squeezed my hand gently. "Are you feeling unwell?"
A slow smile curled my lips. "Don't worry, darling. Just a little tired from the travel."
She stared at me for a moment before nodding, then turned back to talk with her younger brother.
I exhaled, letting myself relax against the sift cushions.
So, to put it simply… I died.
A regular weeb who barely saw the sun, only to get hit by Truck-kun the one time I stepped outside. Next thing I knew, I was standing before a goddess—who, much to my delight, offered me three wishes.
And oh, I knew exactly what to ask for.
A perfect futa body. My scent should arouse men and women alike, my touch should drive them mad with lust, and my retractable cock should be able to dominate anyone I pleased. (Futa fetish supremacy!)
Reborn as Cersei Lannister, right at the start of Game of Thrones.
The more I fuck, the stronger I get.
The goddess had looked shocked at my decisiveness, but she granted my wishes without hesitation. And now, here I am.
I glanced down at myself. A tight red dress hugged my curves, golden embroidery tracing along the edges of my neckline. My hair had been styled into elegant braids.
But my attention drifted lower.
I could feel something resting dormant beneath my dress. Something heavy. Powerful.
A slow smirk curled my lips. If I wanted, I could summon a nine-inch dragon that would ruin anyone I pleased.
But not yet. Patience.
"Soon," I murmured under my breath.
Soon, the carriage came to a stop.
CLICK.
The door swung open, and a knight stepped forward, arranging wooden steps for me to descend. I met his gaze, and the moment my foot touched the ground, I felt it—his breath hitching, his pulse quickening, the subtle flush of red on his cheeks.
I smirked. Good.
Tommen and Myrcella stepped down beside me, their small figures bundled against the northern cold.
Then, I turned to face him.
Robert Baratheon.
Tall, broad-shouldered, his hair and beard unkempt, his belly barely contained by his tunic.
The king of Westeros. My husband and a cuck.
His blue eyes landed on me, narrowing slightly. He inhaled, nostrils flaring, and I caught the flicker of something in his gaze.
Lust.
"You smell different," he muttered, eyes scanning me like a man who'd just remembered his wife was a woman.
A glint of amusement sparked in my eyes. I stepped closer, linking my arm through his.
"It's a new perfume, my love. I was hoping you'd take notice."
Robert grunted, shifting slightly, his grip tightening around my arm.
Oh, I had his attention.
His death would truly start the game and the war to follow. But I wasn't sure if I wanted to follow the original script yet. Perhaps... I would play with my toy for a little while first.
Before I could push further, an irritated cough broke the moment.
Turning, I met the gaze of Lord Eddard Stark.
Tall, strong, with steel-grey eyes that held the weight of honor and duty. By his side stood his wife, Lady Catelyn Stark, her blue eyes sharp and assessing. Behind them, their children stood in a neat row.
Robert's face split into a grin as he looked at his old friend.
"Your Grace," Ned greeted, kneeling along with his family and the gathered northerners.
"Rise!" Robert bellowed, his voice filled with warmth.
As they stood, the two old friends exchanged words, their bond evident—but my attention was elsewhere.
I watched as Robert pulled Catelyn into an embrace, his hand lingering a little too long on her waist, fingers pressing just a little too tightly.
My smirk widened.
I had found my first target.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Stark." I purred, letting my voice drop just enough to make her shiver.
"You are as beautiful as a swan."
PS: I used a little bit of ai, but will reduce it's usage as the story goes on. This is purely wish fulfillment, so don't expect a lot of details.