A few weeks after the tourney ended, Robert proposed a hunt in the Royal Hunting Grounds.
"I need to get out of this damned city for a few days. The whole place reeks of Lannisters," he told Eddard. "Come with me, Ned. Just like old times in the Vale-just the two of us and a few guards."
But Eddard refused. He had too much to deal with: Jon Arryn's death, the problems with the accounts, and the search for evidence.
On the night before the party departed, Cersei summoned her cousin, Lancel Lannister. The young royal squire entered the queen's chambers trembling, unsure why she had sent for him.
"Lancel." Cersei wore a silk nightgown, her golden hair loose over her shoulders. "How long have you served the king?"
"Three years, Your Grace," Lancel answered, lowering his head. He dared not look directly at Cersei dressed in nothing but her nightgown. The fabric was thin, and the candlelight outlined her enticing curves.
"Come closer, Lancel." Cersei beckoned to him, the neckline of her gown falling slightly open with the movement.
He obeyed, but every step was cautious. He stopped a few paces away from her, his head still bowed.
"The king will be in high spirits on tomorrow's hunt." Cersei came straight to the point, keeping her voice low. "He'll drink a great deal of wine. I need you to add something to it."
She held out her hand, revealing a small Glass Vial filled with an unknown liquid.
Lancel went pale and stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet.
"No, I can't. That would be an attempt on the king's life. Regicide." His voice shook with fear.
"Be quiet." Cersei rose and slowly approached him, commanding as a lioness advancing on a frightened cub.
"This isn't regicide, Lancel.