A knife at his throat

Mere steps away from his room, Bran feels something tug at the back of his collar. With a yelp, he is pulled into a supply closet. Before he can even process what is going on, he feels a blade at his throat.

"Close the door," a familiar feminine voice orders, pressing the edge against the soft flesh of his neck. Bran does so without hesitation, locking him in the room with the assassin. Luckily, the closet had a window, so a bit of light still filtered in.

"Now, that wasn't very nice, running out like that," the woman mocked. Finally recognizing the voice, Bran realized it was Myrcella who was holding him at knifepoint. "You really upset my brother."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Bran pleaded, having a hard time processing what was going on. "It was just... too much!"

"I know, don't worry, I'm not gonna bring you back," she reassures Bran, lightening the pressure of the knife. "Tommen shouldn't have shown you all of that. He is... a bit too trusting."

"Then why..."

"Why the knife?" Myrcella laughs, though her tone is still dead serious. "Well, there's an issue. It would be extremely damaging to me and my Brother, and more importantly my family, if our little secret got out. Incest is not exactly celebrated unless your last name is Targaryen. So, I just wanted to have a little chat to make sure we keep a few key details to ourselves."

"What do you mean?" Bran asked, the adrenaline of the situation stopping him from thinking clearly.

"Northerners," she sighs, renewing the pressure on the blade. "I mean that I can't have you telling anybody about me and Tommen. Now, you didn't do anything wrong, so would be very... very... grateful if you didn't tell anybody." As she said very, she seemed to press her body against Bran.

"So, Brandon, what will it be?"