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A meek cry disrupted her slumber. Yet, she was too tired to open her eyes. Myrcella needed to be fed, she could feel it, but Cersei needed five more minutes of rest. Just five more minutes, and she would get up to tend to her daughter’s needs.
The hinges of the door creaked, followed by a pitty-patter of footsteps echoing down the room.
Alert, Cersei opened her eyes, and in the candle glow of her bedchambers, her vision slightly blurry from her sleep, she watched a slender silhouette moving toward the cot where Myrcella was resting. As Cersei braced herself on an elbow, the silhouette extended a hand toward her daughter, and something primal bubbled inside Cersei’s guts. The need to protect the little life she and Jaime had created.
“What are you doing?” Cersei snapped.
The silhouette turned around. Now, Cersei could see the intruder perfectly fine. A servant girl dressed in pale pink, with blonde hair cascading down her back. An innocent lamb.
“Your Grace, I… I’m taking the Princess to the wet nurse.”
“No,” Cersei said as she shifted to sit up on the mattress. The moves made her wince, her womb and limbs still sore with a dull ache after the long hours of labour she had endured today.
“But King Robert said—”
“I don’t care about what Robert said,” Cersei snapped again, now irked that her foolish husband had a thing to say on the matter.
It seemed to startle the girl. Good.
She pulled the furs away from her body, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. With one hand, she pushed herself to stand up, the other hand coming to rest on the swell of her stomach. Her head spun for a minute, or two, as she could feel the blood dripping from her womb in her thick smallclothes.
“This is my child, and I will feed her like I did with her brother,” Cersei intoned.
“But Your Grace, you’re still exhausted from the labour. A wet nurse could help you—”
“No,” Cersei insisted.
“What's the matter?” a voice cut through the shadow of the night. The silhouette of a man stood near the open door, tall and valiant. A silhouette she could recognize anywhere as her eyes had mapped those broad shoulders countless of times since childhood. Jaime.
He stepped further into the room as the girl turned around to face him, bending her head.
Relief flooded Cersei at the sight of her twin, her knight, golden mane shining in the candlelight, but he wasn't wearing his armor, as he was off duty for tonight.
He had been in the birthing room, with her, all day, holding her hand and whispering encouraging words. His presence had soothed her fears, until their daughter came into the world. He had stayed with her until she had been cleaned up, and then she had ordered him to get some rest. Despite not wanting to leave her side, he did, after pressing a strong kiss on her forehead. Cersei wasn't even sure anyone had noticed it, but if they did, the kiss had been chaste enough to keep a proper appearance.
Yet, against what she had expected, he was back, ready to defend her.
“Her Grace refuses to give the Princess to the wet nurse,” the girl eventually explained.
“I want to feed her myself,” Cersei said.
Jaime’s eyes went from the girl to Cersei, a thin line between his brows, and Cersei’s face turned into a pleading pout. Jaime’s expression slightly softened before glancing back at the girl.
“Listen to the queen,” he said.
“But the king said—”
“Who cares about what he said?” Jaime asked. “He is a drunkard.”
“Alright, ser,” the chastised girl whispered.
Fucking unbelievable — even if she was the queen, Jaime still wielded more power than her because of the cock dangling between his legs.
“Make sure no one disturb Her Grace’s peace,” he ordered.
“As you wish, ser.” The girl spun on her heels to face Cersei, curtsied. “Your Grace,” she said before fleeing the room, closing the door behind her.
Before she even knew it, Jaime was by her side, his hand resting on her forearm. “Here,” he said as he helped her to settle back in the bed. He pulled the furs over her legs. An act of unaltered devotion in each of his moves.
A small roar coming from the cot broke through the silence of the room.
“Let me give her to you,” Jaime told her before Cersei could protest.
Her brother stepped toward the cot, and lifted their daughter with his hands, carefully holding her head in his right palm while the left one held her bottom, the way Cersei had taught him. The cries dwindled, as if Myrcella had known who he was.
“Hey there,” he whispered.
Cersei couldn't see his expression as he stood his back toward her, but at the sound of his voice, she guessed a smile was dancing across his face.
“Oh, I know, you’re hungry,” he cooed as he turned around. He paused, and looked up at her with so much glee and innocence in his eyes that Cersei’s heart almost shattered in her chest.
It was the perfect image of a father holding his newborn daughter for the first time. It was how it should have been, if their life had been different. Jaime, simply holding their daughter. No secret, no stolen moments. Just the two of them with their cub. Alas, life had decided otherwise, and she could only dwell on moments of peace when her husband was away.
With careful steps, Jaime eventually walked toward the bed. He bent down, and with delicacy, nestled their little girl in the crook of her arm. Myrcella squirmed her tiny limbs.
“Thank you,” Cersei whispered, lifting her chin to seek for his lips.
Her brother pressed a chaste, quick kiss on her lips. “Always,” he said as he pulled away.
A faint noise coming from their daughter forced Cersei to look down at her, and while Jaime circled around the bed, she untied the lace of her nightgown with her free hand. Her breast exposed, she guided Myrcella’s little mouth to her hardened nipple. Her daughter began to suckle, purring little noises of contentment, which made Cersei smile, pride roaring inside of her at the fact Myrcella would never share that kind of moment with another woman.
She looked up at Jaime who sat over the edge of the bed, on the opposite side. “Robert is still hunting,” he affirmed, taking off his boots.
“Good,” she said. At least, she wouldn't have to deal with him for a few more hours. “Did you get some rest?”
“I did,” he replied as he settled by her side, under the furs. “And you?”
“I was sleeping when this little lady woke me up to be fed,” she said, glancing down at Myrcella.
Her daughter was looking at her in awe, with those big green eyes of hers, as if she was the most precious thing ever. Joffrey had given her the same look when he had been nothing else but a baby, as if she had been the only one he needed, and for a time, it had been so, but now he was a little boy who enjoyed running around the Red Keep and playing with cats.
She hoped Myrcella would need her a little longer.
“She’s going to have your sweet tooth,” Jaime chuckled.
“I don’t have a sweet tooth,” Cersei replied, mildly offended by the accusation.
“Yes, you do.” Before she could reply, Jaime buried his face in the crook of her neck, nudging her long braid aside with his nose. “And I love you this way,” he whispered.
The words, the little affection, soothed her.
Cersei briefly closed her eyes, savoring the moment as Jaime covered her hands with his warm palm. If they could stay that way forever, in this room, away from the tumult of their lives, she wouldn't mind. Unfortunately for them, there were forces against their love, and soon, they would have to dance again to simply steal a kiss.
“Are you planning to stay for the night?” she asked.
“I do.”
Her brother pressed a kiss against her pulse.
“You’ll have to leave before the sun rises,” Cersei reminded him.
An annoyed groan escaped her twin, and he untangled himself from her, their eyes meeting, defiance in Jaime’s look. “What if I stay a little bit longer?”
“Jaime, if Robert finds you—”
“He won’t,” he said, rolling his eyes.
It was a dangerous game they played, and if they weren't more careful, their heads and their children’s heads would be on a spike.
“I will fight him if I have to,” he added.
She knew he would. Oh, he would. A word from her, and Jaime would give his life for her. He would give his life against her husband too if he knew that, under the layers of clothes, she was hiding her bruised skin. Jaime had seen the purple stars Robert had given her once, on her elbow. He had questioned it, of course, and she had had to find an excuse; she had fallen in her bath. Jaime had seemed to believe her, but she also knew it was a matter of time before he would find out the truth if she wasn't more careful.
“I know you would,” she affirmed. “But we have to bid time. For ourselves, and for our children.” Cersei lowered her head, her eyes now fixed on the infant she was nursing. “She is precious, isn’t she?”
Hoping the change of conversation would prevent any reckless behavior from her brother, her eyes drifted on him. He was staring at Myrcella, his confused expression turning into a bright smile.
“She is,” Jaime murmured before planting a kiss on her lips, and eventually, he laid back against the pillows. “She’s going to ravish the most ruthless hearts.”
“She will.”
A smile curled up her lips, and she stared down at their daughter. Myrcella was still latching at her breast, her tiny fist writhing against Cersei’s skin. She was so sweet, so pure. How could they have created such a beautiful, innocent creature? She wasn't sure where to find the answer.
“Oh sweet Myrcella, you’re not a boy as expected, but you’re no less dear to my heart.” She paused, her smile expanding. “I would do anything for you, to keep you safe, and I promise you, I won’t let anyone take you away from me.”
The witch had warned her, warned her of her children’s fate, but Cersei had birthed two healthy children, she would rather not believe her. Myrcella was hers, and hers alone, and she swore to herself, if anyone dared to touch her, they would meet her wrath.