No

“Get out,” Jon spat, holding Myrcella tightly to him. “ I have all I want right here,”

Cersei eyed him contemptuously, her sultry smirk devolving into a kind of restrained snarl. There was murderous intent in her eyes and more than a little madness, but she seemed to swallow it back. “As you wish,” she stood a little straighter, her composure returning, “I promise that you will never see me again, Prince.”

The Lannister melted back into the shadows, gone as quickly as she had come. Jon and Myrcella held each other for a long moment afterwards, both of them doubtlessly struggling to calm themselves. Eventually he looked back down at his betrothed, saw that there were tears in her emerald eyes.

“You needn’t worry,” He whispered to her, “I won’t let anyone hurt you again, I swear by every God in existence.”

Myrcella sniffled a little, but then smiled sadly up at him. Gently her lips met his and for a brief moment they enjoyed a kiss that was full of warmth and love. Afterwards Jon led her out, his arm still wrapped about her shoulders. “I don’t think I can sleep by myself tonight,” she said uneasily, “what if she comes back?”

Jon considered it, but quickly found a solution. “I’ll have Ser Oswell stand guard at your door tonight,” he assured, “he’s something of a grouchy uncle to me and he won’t ask questions.”

They found the Bat of Harrenhall in the chamber next to Jon’s, still awake despite the prince having given him the night off. He made a show of being annoyed, but gave Myrcella a wry smile and escorted her back to her chambers. Jon said goodnight to his betrothed, and promised her that the morrow would bring better things for her.

Once he returned to his own chambers, he took out the dragonbone dagger Aegon had given to him on his last name day and tucked it gently under his pillow before stripping himself naked, laying down and easing himself into a doze.

Jon awoke perhaps two hours later. His eyes blinked open into the darkness, darting about in the gloom for any sign of trouble or intrusion. All was still, all was silent, and there did not appear to be anyone else in the room with him. And yet something deeply instinctual twisted in his stomach alerting him of danger.

Then something stirred on his foot. Dozens of tiny legs began to slowly creep their way up his ankle and then up his shin. He could feel the small hairs of his legs begin to part as the tiny intruder slowly and ponderously worked its way up his body. Given the weight of the creature he judged it to be more than a mere spider, and sheer terror went through his body. His sister Rhaenys had dabbled in her Martel family’s use of toxins and was well educated on the variety of creatures which produced them. She had tried to explain it to Jon once or twice, but he had largely paid it no mind. What little that did stick, however, was that two of the deadliest creatures used for poison were the Dornish Scorpion, or the Manticore. Judging by the way the creature scurried, it could have been either and thus certain **** for Jon.

He remained deadly still, knowing that even the slightest move could provoke the creature into striking. It reached his knee, and then made its way up his thigh. Jon didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. His entire universe had been reduced to the pairs of crawling legs. It worked it’s way up and up, for a horrifying moment he thought that perhaps it might seek out his groin, but luckily it moved even further, up along his naked stomach and towards the hairs of his chest.

Jon got a look at it then, a Manticore. It’s horrible deaths head markings serving as a gruesome warning for what its sting could do. It’s tiny feet gripped tightly on the dark hairs of Jon’s chest as it settled over the area of his heart. It crawled up to his collarbone, and then to the soft, slick skin of his throat and then paused there. For the longest time it waited and Jon felt himself go made as he struggled to remain still. He felt it nuzzling into his flesh and it was an achievement to not scream. He quickly realised the little beast was lapping up his sweat, drinking it like the finest of wines. It crawled further north then, apparently sated, moving over his jugular and seeming to move towards his face. By a supreme act of luck, the creature instead veered to the side, ponderously moving over towards the nearby pillow and off his sweat covered form.

He sprang from the bed the instant that the creature was off and fumbled around in the dark for an implement. Eventually he settled on a boot and smashed it down on the unsuspecting creature. Once, twice, and then finally a third time until nothing was left but a very disgusting stain on his pillow. He looked down at the horrid mess in what light he had, and knew the creature’s intrusion for what it was: an attempt to kill him.

He cast the pillow aside, making sure to not touch any of the poisonous blood that now marred it and slowly dressed himself. His mind began to work as he considered the secret war he had found himself. Tywin was a proud man and would tolerate no besmirching of his children, even ones so clearly mad as Cersei, so Jon had to find out a better approach to dealing with such a woman. One thing was clear though, he had now found himself in a war over Myrcella.