The battle must have ended by now, but she still did not know the victor. It has to be the Stark bastard who fell.
If the Targaryen bitch emerged victorious from the battle, she would lock the Riverlands and make life harder for her to pass. If the Starks won, she would siege Winterfell before their return. Four kingdoms on my side already. The tide is turning, and the spoils are coming my way. Even Father could not achieve what I have.
Despite her impatience, Cersei felt pleased with herself. No one in the Seven Kingdoms would have given her a chance at winning this war, but she had done well for herself. Quelled the riots at the capital, allied with Euron Greyjoy, sacked Highgarden, and soon the Tullys would fall.
Thoughts of war stirred her blood, and Cersei felt in the mood for fucking, but Jaime was not around. Recalling her brother made the arousal die down, however. The coward. She hoped he had now learned his lesson.
Bronn entered her chambers at her request. She considered making do with him, then decided against it. It was time to be queen. “Ser Bronn,” she said, “how do things fare with the local rebels?”
“They hide in the shadows. If I knew them, I doubt they would tell me.” He grinned, pleased with his own japes.
Cersei would need to be more direct with the man. “Perhaps you will find some in Flea Bottom. That is where Qyburn believes the last of them remain. Go find them, discreetly, and chop off the remaining heads.”
“What better way is there to crush rebellion?” he said, grinning. It was only after Bronn left the room did it occur to Cersei that he may have been snide.
*
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