Game of Thrones, 𝙤𝙣𝙚-𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙨

XXIII. JAIME LANNISTER (4)

His words felt like a slap across my face, and if I hadn't spent the previous night confessing every one of my sins to my mother, Fabian would have succeeded in not only striking me with his words but tearing me apart limb to limb with them.

"You're exactly like him." He spoke again with a stunned shake of his head. "It really should be no surprise that Lannister is your father."

I opened my mouth to voice my dissent, but Fabian's hard shoulder was already knocking into mine as he shoved past me, slipping out the tent before I could stop him.

My mouth hung open at the quickness of it all and just as I was about to chase him, someone else stepped into the tent and backed me further inside.

"Who are you?" I demanded to know, wide eyes flickering up to examine the stranger's face.

"A friend of Fabian's." He grunted. "You can call me Alfred."

"I do not wish anything of you, Ser Alfred—"

"'M no knight, m'lady. Just a squire."

I gaped up at him, eyeing his frightening height and stick thin arms. But then as my eyes scored further down his frame, I found something more appalling.

He had no hands. In their place were nubs of scarred skin.

"I can help you." He insisted and my wide eyes shot up to his youthful face. "I can take you to the prisoner. All I ask from you in exchange is for your services."

"Services?" My eyebrows furrowed.

"The services you provide for the King." He deadpanned making my face fall. "Your cunt, your mouth, your hand— anything will do."

No, I wanted to scream at him, but the taste of bile was so pungent in my mouth that my tongue forgot how to form the word.

"I will keep this a secret, m'lady." Alfred whispered coaxingly. "You have my word."

No, I wanted to refuse him with. I had no reason to trust him, and if it was anything I was taught before stepping foot in a camp of the Starks' bannerman, it was to never easily trust anyone.

There are very few honorable men left in this world, Robb had warned me. I don't even think I'm one of them. Not with the thoughts you evoke from me. Thoughts so vile your father wouldn't think twice that I'm his nephew before beheading me.

Every man had their vices, some far more dangerous than others. Asking me to pleasure him was one way the wicked monster inside Alfred showed its colors. But it would be in exchange for something I wanted. And he was lacking the parts necessary to give him the dexterity to hold the upper hand against me even with his astonishing height.

I did not trust Alfred, but he was a bee without its stinger. I could not trust him, but I could still use him. Fabian was right. I was best at bending men to carrying out my will.

Just like daddy dearest.

"You will take me to Lannister two hours after nightfall." I asserted calmly. "After I've successfully met with him, I shall give you what you want, but I shall only use one hand and nothing more."

❪ reila ❫

Howland's knuckles were still crusted with Jaime's blood. It was like he was parading around with the gore—that or he wanted me to see for myself what he'd done and how unapologetic he was about it.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the sight since the alternative meant looking up into his face.

Betrayal ate at our hearts like venom, killing everything we'd spent the past eighteen years building. Looking into Howland's eyes now meant remembering the day he fed our stillborn child to the lizard-lions of the Neck's swamps, depriving me entirely of any chance to grieve my babe's death. I hadn't understood his actions for fortnights until Howland himself finally decided to explain himself.