The Red Keep at night was a cathedral of shadows and whispers. Heavy stone walls stretched endlessly beneath vaulted ceilings, muffling the distant noises of the city beyond. The scent of beeswax candles mixed with faint traces of jasmine oil and the lingering metallic tang of spilled wine, a silent testament to countless games played and lives broken beneath these very stones.

Cersei Lannister's chambers lay deep within this fortress, a sanctum of crimson velvet and burnished gold. Thick drapes hung heavy over tall windows, shutting out the moonlight and wrapping the room in an intimate, suffocating glow. Flickering candle flames cast long shadows that danced across tapestries embroidered with golden lions, their silent roars echoing the queen's fierce pride and ruthless will.

You knelt there, small, still, wrapped in silks of deep red and gold threads that glimmered faintly in the candlelight. You were no ordinary handmaid; you were a carefully curated piece in Cersei's intricate game, the queen's living ornament. The delicate golden threads of the ribbon binding your slender wrists sparkled like chains forged from sunlight, a subtle but irrevocable mark of possession. Your posture was practiced perfection: graceful, obedient, utterly consumed by the ritual of submission that Cersei demanded.

The room's heavy silence was suddenly taut with unspoken tension. For earlier, just moments before, Cersei's sharp gaze had caught something, a memory she could not shake. Down the echoing stone corridor, illuminated only by sparse wall sconces, you had been seen assisting another lady-in-waiting. A lightness in your movements, a softness to your smile, and the bright laughter that had slipped past cautious lips like a secret breeze. You had been tying a ribbon in the other girl's hair, your fingers deft and sure, your eyes sparkling with genuine amusement. It was a moment of innocence, perhaps, but to Cersei, it was a betrayal carved in gold and silk.

Now, as the chamber door creaked open and you stepped inside, eyes cast downward in a reflexive act of submission, the atmosphere shifted. Cersei rose with slow, deliberate grace, the long folds of her crimson gown whispering secrets with every measured step. The golden ribbons binding your wrists like chains caught the candlelight, shimmering coldly, a reminder that beauty was as much a prison as a gift.

Her voice cut through the stillness, low, silky, but edged with the sharpness of steel; "Why do you need anyone else, when you have me?"

Her fingers reached out with practiced precision, trailing along the delicate ribbons at your neck. The silk tightened under her touch, a kiss and a claim bound in thread and intent. Every knot she tied was a symbol, a promise and a warning, that you belonged wholly to her, in body and in spirit.