That airy greeting pierced the thin, fragile veil of intimacy in the room.
Sansa Stark's body went rigid as stone.
She was still perched on the arm of Lynn's chair, her fingertips almost touching his lips.
The pretty face that had been flushed with excitement and anticipation moments before now drained of all color, leaving only a deathly pallor.
Shame, embarrassment, and the panic of being caught red-handed.
She felt like a thief caught stealing sweets by their owner.
No, this was ten thousand times worse.
Because the person who had caught her was no stranger.
It was Myrcella Baratheon.
The princess of House Baratheon who would soon rightfully become Lynn's wife.
And her romantic rival, at least in name.
Sansa's mind went blank. She did not even dare look at Myrcella's expression.
Like an ostrich burying its head, she could only remain frozen in that mortifying position.
Yet Myrcella seemed not to have noticed the awkward scene.
The sweet smile on her face gradually stiffened.
Myrcella had come to have a heart-to-heart with Lynn.
She had wanted to persuade him to stop being intimate with Cersei.
After all, Cersei's position was rather unusual.
Ygritte was one thing. She had looked after Myrcella often during her time in the North, and Myrcella understood her feelings for Lynn.
As for Arya, she had been betrothed to him long ago. Strictly speaking, Myrcella herself was the interloper.
But one or two women were one thing.
What was Sansa doing joining them now?
Just how many women did Lynn have?
This time, she was truly furious!
Furious enough never to forgive Lynn for the rest of her life!
Myrcella gently set the fruit basket on the table, then elegantly lifted her skirts and gave them both an impeccable curtsy.
Every movement seemed measured