Joffrey did not dare disobey Lynn's order.
He did not even dare entertain the thought.
Stiffly, he stripped off his filthy clothes and entered the bathroom, letting the cold water soak his body.
He washed for a long time. Only when his skin had turned pale and wrinkled did he climb out of the water.
The attendants were already waiting outside the door.
They kept their heads lowered, not daring to look at the king's hideously battered face, and swiftly dressed him in the golden robes that symbolized his royal majesty.
Once everything was ready.
Joffrey looked into the mirror again.
A monster dressed in splendid robes, its face swollen like a pig's head, stared numbly back at him.
No, he was that monster.
The Small Council Chamber.
The moment Joffrey entered, every minister instinctively lowered his head.
They did not dare look at the king's face.
It was so swollen that his eyes were barely visible.
Who did this?
Who dared strike the king?
The same questions rose in everyone's minds, but not one of them dared ask aloud.
Joffrey ignored their gazes.
He walked straight to the Iron Throne and sat down.
Lynn, the newly appointed Hand of the King, stood beside the throne.
Dressed in the black uniform of the Hand, he watched everything calmly, the faintest hint of a smile on his face.
Cersei had come as well.
She had changed into black and abandoned her usual exquisite makeup. She looked just haggard enough to pass for a mother devastated by the loss of her beloved son.
Yet whenever her gaze swept over her numb son on the Iron Throne, a flicker of satisfaction flashed deep in her eyes.
"My lords."
Joffrey spoke.
"My brother, Tommen, is dead."
Silence filled the hall.
"He died in a