Cersei's Needle: A Queen's Prickly Pleasure

The tapestry depicting the wolf-headed sigil of House Stark hung limply against the stone wall behind Cersei. It mocked her, she thought bitterly, with its implied innocence, its wildness tamed by threads and dye. Unlike that clumsy bastard Robb, who’d let his wolf run rampant across the land, her lion was caged now - caged within these high walls of the Red Keep, caged by this suffocating life she’d made for herself. But even a queen needed escape. And tonight, Cersei Lannister intended to find it. She found him in the small storeroom off the solar, surrounded by piles of velvet cushions and silken blankets. The scent of lavender oil hung thick in the air, mingling with something more primal - the musky warmth of Jaime’s sweat and the faint tang of his desire that always seemed to precede any encounter they had. “My lion,” she purred, letting her fingers graze the curve of his bare shoulder. His skin was warm beneath her touch, smooth except for a scattering of fine hairs al