The taste lingered on his tongue for a long time.
Joffrey rinsed his mouth with wine again and again, yet that pleasant, sweet flavor seemed to have seeped deep into his soul, rich and intense.
And yet he would rather have tasted something sour, bitter, or spicy.
As far as he knew, people could not eat people—at least, not in the literal sense.
It was all the Lizard-Lion's fault. That thing should never have had a sense of taste.
The feeling was far too strange.
He had never imagined that his final impression of the king would be so... delicious, so temptingly corrupting. It was almost as if he were gnawing at tangible power from the king's body, both real and surreal.
Power had acquired a taste.
Perhaps because of that association, he could not even make the Lizard-Lion restrain itself in the slightest. He could only watch it frantically tear apart the king's body.
There was no longer any turning back from the king's death.
From that moment on, he knew with perfect clarity that he had completely transformed.
No matter how the future unfolded, once he stepped onto the stage, he had lost all retreat. Once he put on the crown, he would never again be able to take it off in peace.
A king...
"Robert I of the Baratheon family has passed away. May he rest in peace."
Everyone, beginning with Queen Cersei, wore expressions of grief. Many servants and retainers who loved the king wept aloud.
A golden banner covered the king's corpse, blood soaking through it in dark red patches. There was no doubt that the king had not died peacefully.
Eddard stared blankly, feeling as though he were trapped in a nightmare.
It had been the most ordinary of days. A moment ago, Robert