THE cosmic whore

"You," Lyonel's eye twitches at the sight of Prue, "prudent Prue. My darling wife's handmaiden."

Prue stills in her spot, not daring to move when she ten paces away from with her clearly delirious master.

He was particularly erratic today, considering he barely slept after the vocal match with his fucking bride, who fucking threw him out of their— HIS chambers! He could not find sleep, not when the sheets in the guest bedroom where so tweedy and the cushion so cold. He couldn't even be grateful there was no blanket thief, hoarding all the velvet. He was miserable.

Poor Prue gulps as her liege lord beckons her over with an accusatory finger. She clenches her jaw and slowly approaches, hands tightening on the copper tray in her grip. "L-Lord Lyo—"

"You mean to feed my wife with this, yes?" his worn gaze locks on the bowl of oatmeal, mixed with cocoa, milk, cream, berries and apples. He knows it well; it was he that first fed his wife this concoction. Damn her unoriginality.

The woman hesitates, knowing surely that her response will dictate how quiet the next hours will be. Unfortunately, she hesitates too much, "s-se—"

"It's a question with a simple answer!" Lyonel snaps, causing her to flinch, "Is. This. My. Wife's. Meal? Yes?! Or NO?!"

Prue rapidly nods, "y-ye—"

"Gooooood," he slurs, nodding slowly whilst rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Mind you, he was stone cold sober.

A few servants find Prue as they hurriedly pass down the hall, sympathetic that she was the Baratheon's current hostage.

The head of the great house places a finger on his chin as he thinks of what he ought to do next. "Ah!" Lyonel perks, "tell my wife," he turns from the handmaiden to his wife's meal, "that I spit in her oatmeal."

Prue's jaw slacks and her lips quiver, "m-my lord?"

He takes the spoon, and a spoonful of gruel, tasting it, "fuck, that's good. I nearly have the mind to steal it, but the helpless girl will starve herself if I do."

Prue flinches at how he drops the spoon back on the tray.

"That's all," says Lyonel.

The woman stays put in her spot.

He shakes his head expectantly, gesturing with a dismissive wave, "go run to your woman."

Prue stares at the oatmeal, heart racing at the fact the man wanted her to lie about such a thing... or was he not meaning to? "T-the oatmeal..."

His brows furrow.

She slowly raises the tray, "s-ser—"

"W-" he starts but quickly realizes, "I'm not actually going to spit in her food!" Lyonel scoffs in offense, hand flying to his chest, "what do you take me for, some sort of degenerate?!"

"N-no!" she lowers the tray, pulling it close to her chest, "I don't—"

"Shit," he presses his pointer to his lips, "do you think she'll notice?"

Her brows quirk, "my lord?"

"I mean, she's well acquainted with my spit." He genuinely debates the thought, "maybe I should," he stares at the bowl, "it's not like she hasn't asked me to spit in her mouth before."

Prue cannot withhold her aghast expression.

"What say you, Prue?" he tilts his head, "ought I spit in my..." his gaze is torn away from her. He gulps, "... wife."

I approach my husband, brows furrowed at the sight of my handmaiden shriveling before him, "Prue?"

"My lady!" she gasps and flinches, immediately urning around.

Lyonel's lips are parted, eyes locked on my exposed arms and chest, glimmering in the sunlight. I had new body cream that had flecks of gold and I was also wearing the dress he had commissioned for me a few weeks ago. Both of them were from Dorne, so they were, needless to say, pointedly alluring.

She stammers, "I- I was on my way—"

"You needn't explain," I place a hand on her shoulder, turning to my oaf of a husband.

Lyonel's eyes are locked on my bosom.

Right where I want him. "Goat?"

He snaps out of his trance, "did you just call me a fucking goat?"

"No," I purse my lips and clasp my hands together, "I said the word goat and you merely responded."

Prue clenches her teeth.

Lyonel licks his fangs as he laughs dryly. I cannot help but catch the way his tongue traces his teeth, which is why I resort to berating him, "what have you done to my handmaiden?"

"Have I?" he gasps, steepling his fingers over his chest, "how do you know it is not she who—where are you going?"

After an eye roll and a grip on Prue's arm, I walk off, "to break my fast away from your wretched face, my lord."

"WRETCHED?!"

Prue flinches where I groan in irritation. I do not even look over my shoulder, "pipe down, goat."

"SO YOU DID CALL ME A GOAT!"

It was quiet after and I ate my first meal of the day in silence. But the silence, in fact, was too quiet. I found myself expecting Lyonel to break into solar each time I brought my spoon into my mouth. Of course, I should have known he'd be more devious than that.

I hear him before I see him. I, in fact, have to stand and look out the window to see him. And gods, my jaw slacks at the sight I see.

Lyonel is slashing a wooden dummy with his sword. He is red in the face, torso gleaming with sweat, and his torso, his torso was bare. Damn his lewdness.

It was not that I had eagle eyes, but the fact I've spent endless nights tracing the faint and dark scars all across his body that I could make them out from where I looked. The muscles on his arms were bulging from exertion and his eyes—

"Fuck," I whisper.

His eyes were on me.

"OH!" Lyonel shouts, brushing his sweaty hair away from his face, "DOES MY WIFE CONCERN HERSELF WITH ME SO SUDDENLY?!"

I clench my teeth and open the window, shouting back at him, "you train so early, yet I am certain you've not broken fast for you can seldom eat without my company!"

"SHE DOES CONCERN HERSELF!" Lyonel laughs, turning to the guards around him who do not share at all in his amusement.

"BE QUIET IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO UPSET MY STOMACH!" I bark at him.

"BUT I DO MEAN TO UPSET YOUR STOMACH!" he barks back, whipping his head up at me. He chucks his sword to the ground, "I'VE BEEN BEATING THIS DUMMY FOR HALF AN HOUR AND ONLY NOW HAVE YOU NOTICED!"

I roll my eyes, "So?!"

"SO, I COULD NOT SLEEP WITHOUT YOU, WOMAN!" his voice cracks as he shakes his hands, "YOU DESERVE INDIGESTION!"

I gasp before my nostrils flare, "YOU SHOULD HAVE APOLOGIZED THEN INSTEAD OF SLEEPING APART FROM ME AND WISHING ME ILL!"

"I?! TIS YOU WHO MUST APOLOGIZE!"

"I WOULD RATHER HURTLE MYSELF OUT OF THIS WINDOW THEN EVER DO SUCH A THING!"

"THEN, PRAY, DO IT!" Lyonel snatches the air roughly, "HURTLE YOURSELF OUT THE FUCKING WINDOW"

I swear, in that moment, I see red as the fucking GOAT taunts me. I rip my skirt up and bring my knee up to the sill.

"NO!"

The chorus of disagreements is instantaneous. Lyonel's voice is the loudest out of everyone else's. He immediately runs just beneath the window.

"I THOUGHT YO—"

He is red in the face as he screams at the top of his lungs, "DON'T FUCKING JUMP, YOU LOONY FUCKING— WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!" There is audible fear in his voice when he says the last part.

I walk off and return, sending my oatmeal flying out the window, hand gripping the bowl tightly as the semi-liquid descends.

Lyonel is not at all hit by the poorly thrown projectile, but he gasps all the same, clutching his chest yet again, "YOU WOULD BURN YOUR LIEGE LORD?!"

"IT'S BEEN TEPID!" I snap, slamming the windows shut as I did.

Lyonel immediately grumbles and storms off, muttering hotly under his breath that he was not going to allow any of this madness to continue.

All the witnesses to the onslaught; guards, servants and all else who dropped what they were doing to watch the incident, held their breath in fear that the day would only grow even more sour.

And just as most feared, another screaming match was had once Lord Lyonel made it to the solar. The minutes seemed to stretch into eternity at noise of their roaring quarrel. The sound was so terrible, most who had ears opted to cover them. Furniture was thrown around, nasty words were spoken freely, and then—

... And then—

"Mmm, just like that, you stupid fucking goat!"

Poor Prue was just outside the solar when she heard her lady... moaning. Was that— that was definitely a man grunting. Woe to her, who merely wanted to check up on what she thought would be her distressed lady.

"Fuckkk... tastier than oats and berries.—" the voice is muffled, but it is undeniably Lyonel.