Chapter 121: Real or Trap!

As the feast came to an end, Lord Tywin stood, commanding the attention of the entire hall with his mere presence. The murmur of voices faded, and all eyes turned toward the head of the high table.

"It was an honor to host Damian Solstark, Lord of the Iron Islands," Tywin began, his voice measured and firm, carrying easily across the room. "I was quite surprised by his dancing skills, and I am sure each of you was as well." A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it was a fleeting thing—Tywin Lannister was not one for mirth. "Here's to the Swift Wolf," he said, raising his cup in a formal toast.

The guests quickly followed suit, raising their goblets with enthusiasm, the room echoing with the clink of fine silver and glass. Damian, seated at the high table, lifted his cup as well.

The toast passed, the feast began to wind down, and soon enough, the guests started making their way out of the hall. Damian moved with purpose, aiming to slip away into the night with as little fanfare as possible. But before he could reach the exit, a familiar figure blocked his path—Lady Genna.

Her sharp eyes sparkled with amusement, and there was a hint of something else—something unreadable—in her gaze. She approached with her usual confidence, her husband trailing behind, oblivious to the subtle tension between his wife and the northern lord.

"Lord Solstark," Genna began, her voice soft and smooth, yet carrying an underlying tone of playfulness. "I simply came to say good night." She smiled, a sly curve of her lips as she took his hand, holding it for a moment longer than was proper. "Your dances tonight have left quite the impression. You move with remarkable grace—unexpected for a northerner, I must say."

Damian returned her smile with a polite one of his own, though his senses were alert, aware of the eyes that might be watching them. "You flatter me, Lady Genna," he replied smoothly. "It was an honor to share the floor with you."

As they spoke, Genna's fingers lingered against his, and before Damian could react, she discreetly slipped a small, folded parchment into his hand. Her gaze locked with his for a fleeting moment, and in that instant, an unspoken understanding passed between them. The gesture was subtle, hidden beneath the guise of a formal farewell. She squeezed his hand ever so lightly, signaling him to keep the exchange quiet.

Then, as if nothing had happened, Lady Genna turned away with a final, lingering smile. She rejoined her oblivious husband, slipping back into the role of the dutiful wife as they exited the hall.

Damian remained standing for a moment, feeling the weight of the crinkled parchment in his hand. He glanced around, making sure no one had noticed the exchange, before tucking the note into the inner pocket of his coat.

Whatever Lady Genna had passed to him, it could wait until later, when prying eyes and curious ears were no longer a concern. For now, Damian maintained his composure, slipping away from the hall and into the cool night air, already wondering what secrets the parchment might hold.

. . .

Damian tossed the parchment into the fire, watching as the flames consumed the message. The words had been cryptic, but the meaning was plain enough—Lady Genna's room and an invitation to "discuss" the dance further.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Lady Genna's boldness amused him. If she was this keen, then he was more than willing to meet her halfway. But this was Casterly Rock, not the Iron Islands, and he had to tread carefully. What if this was a Lannister ploy? Unlikely, but in a place like this, one could never be sure.

Damian took a moment to consider, then made his decision. Opening the small portal to his space world, he released a raven into the room. Warging into the bird's mind, Damian felt the familiar shift of senses as he took flight, gliding smoothly out of the window and into the cool night air.

He flew low, keeping the general location of Genna's chambers in mind. When he found the first likely window, he peered inside, but it wasn't Genna who greeted him—it was her husband, snoring loudly in the bed. Damian let out a mental sigh and wheeled away, searching for another window.

And then he found her.

Through the glass, he saw Lady Genna standing by the fireplace, wrapped in a red silk robe, a goblet of wine in her hand. She stared into the flames, her movements slow and deliberate. From time to time, she touched her neck, where he had kissed her, and then slid her hand over her breast, a subtle, sensual gesture. Every now and then, she glanced at the door, as if waiting for someone.

So, the invitation was real.

Damian withdrew his warged consciousness from the raven, returning to his body in his room. His smile returned, wider this time. If Genna was willing to take this risk, so was he. But he would still be cautious. This was a dangerous game, after all, and in Casterly Rock, every step needed to be taken with care.

. . .

A shadow quietly treaded through the dimly lit hallway of Casterly Rock, making no sound as it moved closer to its destination. Damian, ever cautious, paused at the end of the hall, waiting for his scout's return. He felt the familiar fluttering presence of Lily, his ever-loyal pixie companion. She whispered in his ear, her voice light as the night breeze, "The next hallway's clear, my lord. No guards in sight."

Damian nodded in silent thanks, appreciating her diligence. "Stay outside and keep an eye out. Let me know if anyone approaches."

Lily nodded with a seriousness that would have been comical had it not been for the gravity of the situation. She puffed out her chest, patting it as though to assure him. "Leave it to me, my lord. May you ruin her for other men."

Damian's mouth twitched at the boldness of her words, but he let it slide. Now was not the time for corrections.

The hallway before him was empty, the only sound the distant crackling of torches mounted on the stone walls. Damian made his way to Lady Genna's room with practiced ease. There were only five rooms in this secluded wing of Casterly Rock—one belonging to her husband, two for her children, Genna's own, and an unused guest room. Damian's steps were silent as he approached her door.

Rather than knock, he gently nudged the door open, slipping inside with practiced stealth. The soft click of the latch was the only sound, and it was so quiet that it blended with the faint crackle of the fireplace.

Inside, Lady Genna was standing by the hearth, sipping her wine, lost in thought. She didn't notice the shadow that had slipped into her chamber. Her silk robe had loosened, slipping off her shoulder, revealing the pale curve of her skin and the deep ravine of her chest.

Damian approached silently, his eyes drawn to her bare skin, the flickering firelight casting a soft glow over her form. He stood just behind her, close enough that he could feel the warmth of the fire and her body, and then, gently, he let his breath fall upon her exposed shoulder.

Genna gasped, startled, and turned quickly—only to be met by Damian's lips, cutting off any sound she might have made. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against his chest as he kissed her deeply. The shock of his sudden presence melted into something else as she leaned into him, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders.

In her haste to react, the goblet she had been holding tipped, spilling wine across her chest. The dark liquid trickled down, soaking into the loosened fabric of her robe, staining her breasts, but neither of them cared. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, as if time itself had stilled for this stolen moment.

Genna's initial surprise gave way to something more fervent. She pressed herself closer to Damian, her body yielding to his as the fire crackled softly behind them. The spilled wine cooled quickly against her heated skin, but the warmth between them only grew, fueled by the hunger in their kiss and the shared secrecy of the night.

When their lips finally parted, her breath was ragged, her chest rising and falling beneath the soaked silk of her robe. Damian's gaze lingered on the wine-stained fabric clinging to her skin, clearly being able to make out her hard nipples, his fingers tracing the edge of the robe as he met her eyes.

"Bold of you, my lord," Genna whispered, her voice breathless but filled with a hint of amusement. "I hadn't even heard you enter."

"I move quietly when there's something worth waiting for," Damian replied, his voice low, matching the moment's intensity.

For a moment, they simply stood there, the heat of the fire at their backs and the tension between them thick enough to cut. Whatever boundaries had once existed between them had now been crossed, and neither seemed in any hurry to return to them.