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The great doors of the throne room slammed open so hard they crashed against the stone walls. Crows perched on the high windows exploded into the air in a flurry of black wings.
Cersei stood in the doorway.
She wore a deep crimson velvet gown, her golden hair freshly brushed and styled. Her face was painted with careful precision. But anyone looking closely could see the truth beneath the paint.
She looked terrible.
Dark circles shadowed her eyes. She had barely slept. Osney Kettleblack had taken something last night—some filthy concoction that had turned him into a wild animal. For a few hours it had felt good, almost like being young again with Jaime. Then, sometime before dawn, he had let out a strange, strangled sound and gone limp on top of her.
Adam Marbrand had moved quickly after that. He dragged the body away and got her back to the Red Keep before anyone could ask questions.
She hadn't even had time to rest before Tyene came to tell her the Small Council was meeting in the throne room.
Now she stood there, listening to her father hand down her sentence like she was some common criminal.
Three months in the Great Sept under the Silent Sisters.
Bullshit.
"This is not a real meeting of the Small Council!" Cersei's voice rang out, sharp and furious. It echoed off the high ceiling and made the colored glass tremble.
She strode into the hall, heels striking the stone. The silk of her skirts whispered angrily behind her.
"Because the one person who actually matters isn't here," she said, lifting her chin. "Me. The Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms."
Tyene hurried in behind her, slightly out of breath, one shoe missing. "Your Grace, please slow down—"
Cersei ignored her.
She was halfway to the table when Tyene's foot came down—hard—on the trailing edge of her skirt.
There was a loud, ugly rip.
Cersei lurched forward. Her arms windmilled for balance. For one horrible second her carefully painted face twisted in pure panic.
Then she went down.
Thud.
The sound of the Queen Regent's face hitting the stone floor was loud and final in the silent hall.
Cersei lay sprawled on the cold flags, crimson skirts spread around her like a broken flower. Golden hair spilled across the stone. For a heartbeat no one moved.
Pycelle's fake snoring stopped dead. Varys's smile froze on his face. Even Olenna's fingers twitched on the arm of her chair.
Only Corleone's eyes moved—to the piece of deep red velvet still clutched in Tyene Sand's hand.
He was certain the Dornish woman had done it on purpose.
Cersei pushed herself up slowly. Her palms were scraped and bleeding. Her knee throbbed. The fall had been hard. But she bit down on the pain and forced herself to her feet.
She didn't look at Tyene. She simply reached back, yanked the torn piece of skirt from the girl's fingers, and tossed it to the floor like it disgusted her.
Then she smoothed her hair, lifted her chin, and faced the table.
"I am the Queen Regent," she said, voice shaking with rage. "No one judges me. Not even the Hand."
The silence that followed was heavy and ugly.
Kevan was the first to speak, his voice tight. "Given what happened last night, the Small Council has already reached a decision. Even the Queen Regent cannot overturn it."
Cersei's eyes flashed. "I don't accept it."
Varys tried his usual soft approach. "Your Grace, this is only temporary. A few months in the Great Sept under the Silent Sisters' care. No one will even remember—"
"Shut up, you fat eunuch," Cersei snapped. She turned on the whole table. "You all sat here and decided my fate without me? Without the king? This isn't a council meeting. It's a conspiracy."
Olenna's voice cut in, sweet and poisonous. "My dear, if even my idiot son in Highgarden tried to stand in the throne room and declare that no one could judge him after being caught with his cock in someone else's wife, I would have strangled him with his own umbilical cord the day he was born."
Cersei's face went red. "You old bitch—"
"Enough."
Tywin's voice cracked through the hall like a whip.
Everyone fell silent.
He stood slowly, tall and cold in his crimson cloak. His green eyes were empty of anything resembling mercy as he looked at his daughter.
"You are the Queen Regent," he said. "That much is true. But because of that title, you have responsibilities. A queen regent may be hated. She may be feared. She may even be a fool. But she cannot be a whore."
Cersei flinched as if he had struck her.
"I am a widow!" she screamed. "I can fuck whoever I want! The law allows it! The gods allow it! You have no right to sit here and judge me like some common slut!"
She swept her gaze across the table, voice rising into something close to hysteria.
"Robert fucked half the whores in King's Landing while he was alive. He had bastards scattered across the realm. Did any of you drag him to the sept? Did any of you strip him of power? No. Because he was king. And now you want to punish me for doing far less?"
She pointed a shaking finger at Olenna. "And you—don't pretend you haven't spread your legs for every handsome knight who smiled at you since your husband died. I'll wager more men have been inside that dried-up cunt of yours than I've ever touched."
Olenna's eyes went flat and dangerous.
Tywin didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"Robert was king," he said coldly. "No one judges a king. You are the Queen Regent. Your power comes from your son. From your name. From the fact that you are a Lannister."
He looked at her like she was something foul he had stepped in.
"You shame that name. You shame this family. And I am tired of it."
Cersei stared at him, chest heaving.
Tywin turned to the rest of the table.
"From this day forward, Cersei Lannister is no longer Regent of the Seven Kingdoms. She will go to the Great Sept of Baelor and remain there under the supervision of the Silent Sisters for six months. When that time is over, she may return to the Red Keep."
He looked back at his daughter one last time.
"This is not a request."
Cersei's face had gone white.
"No," she whispered. Then louder. "No! You can't do this! Only the king can strip the regency, and Tommen would never—"
"The king will sign the decree," Tywin said. "Immediately after this meeting ends."
Cersei looked around the table wildly, as if someone—anyone—might still save her.
No one met her eyes.
She was alone.