Maegor's Hall — also known as the Queen's Tower.
After another ten minutes of silent walking, they finally reached their destination.
At Jaime's glance, Gawen offered a polite nod of thanks before stepping inside.
Jaime's figure had already vanished, and Gawen found himself in a hall where small groups of people stood scattered about.
A quick count put them at roughly a dozen in total.
Those who noticed Gawen gave courteous nods in greeting.
Observing them without expression, Gawen soon noticed they all shared a few common traits.
They were all young and handsome, most likely around twenty years old.
Judging from the heraldry on their clothing, they were all nobles from the Westerlands and the Crownlands, with the former in the majority.
Don't tell me all these people are Queen's Officers.
With faces like these, they could stir up rumors even if they did nothing—at least outwardly, they truly looked like a retinue of royal consorts.
And with Jaime around every day… surely Queen Cersei couldn't be that starved for attention?
In the hall, a familiar voice reached Gawen's ears.
A head of golden-brown hair, light green eyes, and a handsome face—similar to Jaime's by six or seven parts, though lacking a bit of his martial vigor.
Kevan Lannister's eldest son, Lancel Lannister, known as the cupbearer.
"Lancel, congratulations!"
"Lancel, I'm a little jealous of you!"
"Yes, yes!"
"To serve as squire to His Grace, your future is boundless!"
"Yes, yes!"
"Shh—Duke Arryn's health is failing. Perhaps Lancel will be the future Hand of the King."
"Yes, yes. Only the most trusted man can serve as squire to King Robert."
Lancel met their flattery with a perfectly measured smile, full of poise and elegance.
Gawen rubbed his chin—Lancel, soon to serve King Robert, was at this moment brimming with youthful confidence, far removed from the meek, chastened figure he would later become under Robert's drunken tirades.
Ordinarily, serving as the King's squire should guarantee a smooth career in the Red Keep.
Unfortunately, Robert Baratheon was a man who defied ordinary logic, turning what everyone saw as a brilliant position into little more than a cupbearer's post.
At the right moment, Gawen stepped forward. "Good day, Ser Lancel."
Lancel's gaze landed on Gawen, and he tilted his head slightly. "Good day, and you are…?"
Noticing the golden marigold-on-green crest of House Crabb, realization dawned. "Baron Gawen Crabb of the Crownlands?"
Gawen nodded. "A pleasure to meet you. I happened to overhear your conversation and couldn't resist offering my congratulations."
Thump. Gawen's heart gave a little jolt.
With his words, a faint blush touched Lancel's cheeks. "Thank you. I heard you had arrived in King's Landing and had long wanted to pay my respects.
"I've read the Citadel's raven reports several times—your command in battle was truly brilliant."
"I've always dreamed of leading men into battle, but alas, my family's strength lies in governance."
"When I was young, I even hid from my father…"
Gawen relaxed—so, just a young admirer. That earlier look had been a misunderstanding.
Lancel, shedding his earlier reserve, began eagerly recounting Gawen's campaigns to the surrounding group.
Buzz!
Those who knew or didn't know the details alike gasped with astonishment at Lancel's words.
Their admiration wasn't really for Gawen.
At this moment, no matter what Lancel said, they would dutifully offer praise.
Tch. Gawen had no desire to linger among such sycophants and quietly slipped away.
Just as Gawen was beginning to grow bored, a loud voice rang out: "Her Grace, the Queen!"
Following the flow of the crowd, Gawen took his place.
All eyes soon turned toward the staircase.
Queen Cersei's figure had appeared, descending step by measured step.
She wore an off-shoulder gown, her golden curls cascading naturally over her collarbones.
Delicate golden embroidery and dazzling gemstones spoke of unmatched wealth.
At the Queen's first appearance, Gawen sensed the respect—and perhaps even admiration—in the eyes turned toward her.
No one here was likely to be of humble birth.
The gaze of a lover? Gawen shook his head.
Such emotions were far removed from his usual manner—he could never play at them convincingly.
Cersei reached the base of the stairs and came to a halt.
Jaime stood faithfully behind her, every inch the dutiful protector.
"Good day, my officers."
The group placed hands to their chests. "Good day, Your Grace."
Cersei dipped her elegant chin ever so slightly, her emerald eyes shifting. Her voice was cool. "Baron Crabb."
At her words, Gawen stepped from the crowd and bowed deeply. "Good day, and an honor to meet Your Grace for the first time. I thank you for elevating me to serve as your officer."
His usually steady voice carried just a trace of excitement—enough to be convincing, but no more.
Cersei studied him for a moment. A glint of satisfaction flickered in her green eyes as she extended the back of her hand toward him.
Gawen stepped forward, lightly clasping her pale, slender fingers.
Bending, he brushed his lips in the faintest symbolic kiss over her flawless skin.
Cersei lifted her chin slightly, a faint curve at her lips.
.
.
.
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