Lynn watched Myrcella flee in panic, until that flash of white disappeared around the corner of the corridor.
He withdrew his gaze, looked down at the front of his clothes, soaked with her tears, then glanced at the basin of bloody water on the table that he had used to clean his wounds.
All right. Now he needed a few props to utterly destroy the fragile defenses Cersei had just built around Myrcella.
If he waited too long, Cersei would completely ruin the girl!
There was no time to lose!
Lynn went to the desk, spread out a sheet of parchment, dipped a quill in ink, and swiftly wrote several lines.
He was about to launch a precision strike on Myrcella.
Rather than use Varys's intelligence network, which spread throughout King's Landing, he summoned the captain of his own guard.
"Find me a little curly-haired dog, white all over. The gentlest, most affectionate one you can find."
"It has to have curly hair!"
"Then go to the Red Keep's kitchens and have them bake a Lemon Cakes with the finest ingredients. Tell them to sprinkle twice the usual amount of white sugar on it."
"Finally, go to the best musician in the city and find me a lute. I want the finest one."
Though puzzled, the captain accepted his orders without hesitation and left.
With all that done, Lynn sat down in a chair and closed his eyes.
In his mind, the melody of "The Last Kiss," an ancient song from the Summer Isles, echoed again and again.
He had no Harmonic Magic, but he did have greensight.
The day before the wedding.
The atmosphere in Myrcella's room was as oppressive as the sea before a storm.
The maids hardly dared breathe.
They walked on tiptoe.
They feared making