Time to think, time to prepare.

---

Night fell over King’s Landing like a shroud, the streets of the Street of Silk alive with the flicker of lanterns and the raucous laughter of drunken men.

The air was thick with the scent of perfume and sweat, the calls of prostitutes echoing from the doorways of the brothels that lined the cobblestone road.

Lyonel moved like a shadow, his cloak pulled tight around his shoulders, the hood obscuring his face. He kept his hand on the hilt of his dagger, his senses sharp, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of danger.

The women—some barely more than girls—called to him as he passed, their voices sweet and cajoling.

"Come in, love! I’ll show you a night you’ll never forget!" one purred, her hand reaching out to brush his arm.

Lyonel sidestepped her, his jaw tight.

Another leaned out of a window above, her breasts nearly spilling from her bodice as she blew him a kiss.

"A big man like you deserves a big welcome, don’t you think?"

Lyonel ignored them, his focus unwavering as he searched for the brothel marked by the black door with silver hinges.

The Street of Silk was a den of vice and desperation, a place where men came to lose themselves in flesh and wine.

It was no place for a lady like Catelyn Stark, and yet here he was, drawn into its depths like a moth to a flame.

He found it at last—a narrow building tucked between two larger, more garish establishments.

The door was black as pitch, its silver hinges gleaming dully in the lantern light.

Lyonel hesitated, his hand hovering over the knob.

What was he doing here?

What madness had led him to this place, to this hour, to this secret meeting with a woman who was once been his lover—

A burst of raucous laughter from a nearby brothel shattered his thoughts, pulling him back to the present.

He exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his dagger.

Then, with a final glance over his shoulder, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The interior was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of incense and something darker, something musky.

A woman—older than the girls outside, her face painted with artful precision—approached him, her smile knowing.

"You’re expected," she murmured, her voice like silk.

"Follow me."

Lyonel did, his boots silent on the plush carpets that lined the floor.

The woman led him up a narrow staircase, the walls adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of debauchery and desire.

At the top of the stairs, she stopped before a closed door, knocking twice before stepping aside.

"Go on," she said, her smile never wavering.

Lyonel pushed open the door, stepping into the dimly lit chamber beyond.

The room was small but lavish, the bed draped in silks, the air heavy with the scent of roses.

And there, standing by the window, her back to him, was Catelyn Stark.

She turned as he entered, her blue eyes meeting his in the flickering candlelight.

"Lyonel," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lyonel stood frozen in the doorway, his mind racing, his heart pounding in his chest.

What in the name of the gods was he doing here?

What madness had led him to this moment, to this woman, to this secret?

And yet, as Catelyn stepped closer, her hand reaching out to brush his cheek, he knew he wouldn’t—couldn’t—turn away.

Not now.

Not ever.

---

The dim candlelight flickered across Catelyn’s face, casting shadows beneath her high cheekbones and the delicate curve of her jaw.

She stood before Lyonel, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her breath coming in short, controlled bursts.

The swell of her belly was unmistakable now, the evidence of their secret pressed between them like a living, breathing accusation.

Ten moons had passed since Winterfell, since the stolen nights in the godswood, since the promises made in the dark.

And now, here she was—standing in a brothel in King’s Landing, her voice trembling with urgency.

"I know it was Tyrion," she said, her words sharp with conviction.

"I’ve found proof. He was behind Bran’s fall. He sent the assassin."

Lyonel’s jaw tightened, his fingers flexing at his sides.

"Proof?"

Catelyn’s eyes burned with a fire he recognized—the same relentless determination that had driven her to defy convention, to risk everything for the truth.

"A dagger. Valyrian steel. The same one the assassin carried. It belonged to Tyrion Lannister."

A cold weight settled in Lyonel’s gut.

The implications were staggering.

If the Lannisters had truly tried to **** Bran, then the fragile peace of the realm was already crumbling.

And Catelyn—the mother of his child—was standing at the center of the storm, her belly heavy with his child, her voice steady with purpose.

"I came to tell Ned," she continued, her fingers twisting together.

"To decide what must be done. But gods, Lyonel—"

Her voice cracked, just for a moment, before she stepped closer, her hand pressing against his chest.

"I didn’t come just for that."

Lyonel’s breath hitched.

He could feel the heat of her palm through the fabric of his tunic, the rapid beat of her pulse beneath her skin.

"Catelyn—"

"I want you," she whispered, her lips brushing against his jaw.

"Just once. Before I leave. Before everything changes."

Lyonel’s hands came up to grip her shoulders, his thumbs tracing the line of her collarbone.

He should refuse.

She was heavy with child—his child—and the risk was too great.

But the way she looked at him, her blue eyes dark with hunger, her body pressing against his—it unraveled him.

"You’re with child," he growled, his voice rough with conflict.

"I know," she breathed, her fingers sliding up to tangle in his hair.

"But I need you, Lyonel. Just once more."

And then her mouth was on his, hot and demanding, her tongue parting his lips as she kissed him with a desperation that left no room for refusal.

Lyonel groaned, his hands sliding down to cup her face, his body responding despite his better judgment.

The taste of her was intoxicating—wine and roses and the faint salt of tears.

He kissed her back, his lips crashing against hers, his teeth nipping at her lower lip as she gasped.

Her hands fumbled at the laces of his tunic, pulling the fabric apart to press her palms against his bare chest.

"Please," she whispered against his skin, her nails scraping down his torso.

"I’ve dreamed of this."

Lyonel’s control snapped.

He backed her against the wall, his body pinning hers as his mouth trailed down her throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

Catelyn arched into him, her breath coming in ragged gasps as his hands roamed over her—over the swell of her belly, the curve of her hips, the heavy weight of her breasts.

He could feel the heat of her through the fabric of her gown, the way her body trembled beneath his touch.

"Lyonel—" Her voice was a broken whisper as his lips found the neckline of her dress, his tongue tracing the edge of the fabric before he tugged it down, exposing the pale swell of her large breast.

He took her nipple into his mouth, his teeth scraping gently, his tongue swirling as she moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair.

"You’re so gods-damned beautiful," he growled, his hands sliding up to cradle her face as he kissed her again, deeper this time, his body pressing hers against the wall.

"Even like this. Especially like this."

Catelyn’s hands dropped to the fastenings of his breeches, her fingers fumbling in her haste.

"I need you inside me," she gasped, her voice raw.

"Now."

Lyonel groaned, his cock already painfully hard as she freed him, her small hand wrapping around his length.

"Catelyn—" He caught her wrist, his breath coming fast.

"We can’t. Not like this. Not with the babe—"

"Then let me taste you," she pleaded, sinking to her knees before he could protest.

Her hands slid up his thighs, her breath hot against the head of his cock as she pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin.

"Let me have this much."

Lyonel’s fingers tangled in her hair, his body tensing as her lips parted, taking him into the wet heat of her mouth.

"Fuck—"

The word was a broken growl as her tongue swirled around him, her lips sealing tight as she took him deeper.

His hips jerked involuntarily, his cock hitting the back of her throat as she moaned around him, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his core.

"That’s it," he groaned, his grip tightening in her hair as she bobbed her head, her hands gripping the base of his cock.

"Just like that, love. Take it all."

Catelyn hollowed her cheeks, her eyes watering as she took him to the hilt, her throat opening for him.

Lyonel’s breath came in sharp gasps, his body coiled tight as she worked him, her lips slick with saliva, her moans vibrating around his length.

He could feel the pressure building, the heat pooling low in his gut.

"I’m close—" he warned, his voice rough.

Catelyn didn’t pull away.

Instead, she looked up at him, her blue eyes dark with hunger, her lips stretched obscenely around his cock.

She wanted this. Wanted him.

With a groan, Lyonel spilled down her throat, his cum flooding her mouth in thick spurts.

Catelyn swallowed around him, her throat working, her hands gripping his thighs as she took every last drop.

When he finally pulled free, she licked her lips, her cheeks flushed, her eyes never leaving his.

But Lyonel wasn’t done.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands sliding up her thighs to bunch the fabric of her skirts in his fists.

"My turn," he growled, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee before pushing her skirts up, exposing the damp heat between her legs.

Catelyn gasped as his tongue dragged through her folds, tasting her, teasing her.

"You’re so wet for me, love," he murmured against her skin, his fingers spreading her open as his tongue found her clit.

Catelyn’s hands flew to his hair, her body trembling as he worked her, his tongue circling, his lips sealing over her as he sucked.

"Lyonel—!"

Her voice broke on a moan, her hips rocking against his mouth as he drove her higher, his fingers curling inside her, finding that spot that made her cry out.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice a dark purr against her flesh.

"Let me taste you."

And she did, her body shuddering as her release crashed over her, her juices flooding his tongue as she rode out the waves of pleasure.

Lyonel didn’t stop, licking her clean, kissing the inside of her thighs before pressing one last, lingering kiss to her swollen belly—their child, their secret, their sin.

---

When it was over, Catelyn sagged against the wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body trembling.

Lyonel rose, pulling her into his arms, his lips pressing against her forehead.

"We shouldn’t have—" he started, but she silenced him with a finger against his lips.

"I don’t regret it," she whispered.

"I never will."

Lyonel exhaled sharply, his hands framing her face as he kissed her one last time, slow and deep.

Then he stepped back, the reality of what they’d just done crashing over him like a wave.

"You need to go," Catelyn said, her voice steady despite the flush still high in her cheeks.

"Before someone sees."

Lyonel nodded, his jaw tight. He dressed quickly, his movements efficient, his mind already racing.

As he turned to leave, he paused, looking back at her one last time.

"Be careful with the Lannisters. Promise me."