Duskendale, Brown Castle.
The castle that had once held a king prisoner had now become the Iron Throne's temporary royal residence.
Tommen Baratheon had just been crowned king in a hurried ceremony, his young face filled with bewilderment.
Immediately afterward, the Small Council convened in the castle's cold main hall.
At the long table, Tywin Lannister sat upright at its head.
Cersei sat to his right.
Grand Maester Pycelle leafed through documents with trembling hands.
Varys quietly watched the tabletop, while Littlefinger wore a smile.
Tyrion was absent. Tywin had personally ordered him thrown into the dungeon.
Tywin's voice broke the oppressive silence. His cold gaze turned toward his daughter, his tone thick with suppressed fury. "Cersei. Hundreds of thousands of lives in King's Landing, Renly, the Tyrells, the Stormlands, the Reach-the cream of nearly half the kingdom's nobility, reduced to ashes. Tell me, why?"
Cersei jerked her head up and spoke venomously. "Those filthy, lowborn rioters insulted me! They spread rumors, saying Jaime and I... And Renly, that hypocrite, and House Tyrell! They wanted to depose me, and now they wanted to steal my son's throne. They all deserved to die! Every last one of them!"
She seemed to see again the faces of those who had humiliated her during the riots in King's Landing, and the smug expressions of Renly and Margaery. The emerald light of wildfire flickered madly in her eyes.
"Wildfire was what they deserved! It was punishment the gods delivered through my hands. I wanted them all reduced to ashes, their ambitions screaming in the green flames!"
"Punishment?!"
Tywin slammed his hand on the table. The tremendous bang made Pycelle shudder with fright.
"You fed the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, the order of the entire realm, and hundreds of thousands of lives to wildfire!