No matter how beautiful a woman was, when she let out a piercing shriek, nothing remained but ugliness, making her look more like a degenerate monkey.
Her affected screaming was cut short by Robert's roar:
"Shut up, woman!"
Queen Cersei stopped screaming and cast a cold glance at her husband, an imperceptible trace of venom and disgust flashing through her eyes. She said icily:
"Your Grace, House Stark has trampled on guest right. They deserve to be cursed!"
The queen had clearly learned to summarize very well, and was particularly adept at seizing only the key points, but this was a charge no one could bear, nor could it possibly stand.
A bewildered Duke Stark froze for a moment. Just as he was about to speak, Robert slapped Cersei hard enough to send her stumbling, utterly unconcerned about how this slap would make others view the royal couple.
"Don't give me that nonsense about guest right! Did Tywin never teach you how to speak?!"
The king wanted to berate her further, but Duke Eddard stopped him.
"There is no need, Your Grace." He glanced at the royal guards standing there dumbfounded. At last, someone reacted and helped support the queen as she held her face.
Robert no longer wanted to stay, but Cersei blocked his path, anger gleaming in her emerald eyes.
"Your Grace, my father will never allow a Lannister to be murdered while the killer goes unscathed!"
"Don't try to threaten me with that old lion Tywin!" the king growled angrily. He glanced at Clay, who stood there in silence, and gave an irritable order. "Then lock him up until I leave. Remember, I want him alive. Ned, you're responsible. That's final!"
The king had given his command, and no one could object. His corpulent figure disappeared, and the queen gave a cold laugh before leaving with her guards. From beginning to end, she never looked at Clay again.
Everyone's eyes settled on Duke Eddard, who remained behind. His expression grim and stern, he sighed softly and walked over to Clay.
"Boy, you didn't have to kill him."
"Don't trouble yourself, my lord. Just do what you must."
"The Lannisters won't play by the rules."
"Rest assured, my lord. They can't kill me."
Looking at Clay's broad grin, Eddard Stark had no idea where his confidence came from, but things had reached this point, and there was no other way.
The Duke of Winterfell felt deeply helpless. He could not protect his own vassal, even on his own lands, and this made him resent House Lannister all the more.
He instructed Ser Rodrik to take Clay to the dungeon and look after him, while also having Wylla and everyone from White Harbor brought into the main keep. In all the vast North, that was the place that truly belonged to him.
He specifically instructed Ser Rodrik to inspect every one of Clay's meals personally and to post guards day and night.
Across two lifetimes, this was Clay's first time in prison. Honestly, it was not much different from what he had imagined.
Although he was a noble, and the jailers of House Stark sympathized with and supported him, a prison was still a prison. Ser Rodrik led Clay to a dim, somewhat spacious room.
"Stay here. This is already the best cell in Winterfell. Fucking Lannisters." Rodrik did not forget to throw in a curse before carefully explaining some details about the prison.
He could not stay here all the time. If something really happened, Clay would have to rely on his own judgment.
Clay carefully committed Ser Rodrik's words to memory. As a witcher, even witcher potions could not poison him to death, let alone ordinary poisons. Even if the Lannisters wanted to assassinate him, they probably would not use something as expensive as tears of Lys. To put it bluntly, Clay was not worth it yet.
If an assassin came at him directly, Clay was not afraid of that either. Although his sword-the weapon used in the crime-had been confiscated, Ser Rodrik had slipped him a dagger.
As long as they did not use a crossbow or a pitchfork, Clay thought he should be fine.
And all of this depended on that woman Cersei actually sending someone to kill him.
Clay did not think Cersei was that stupid. Though she was hardly brilliant, if she did something so obvious, Clay could not understand how she had managed to sleep with Jaime for so many years without Robert discovering a thing.
Clay spent two quiet days in his cell. On the second night, as he lay dozing on the bed, he suddenly heard faint footsteps coming from outside the door.
The footsteps drew closer. Though already very soft, to Clay's witcher senses they sounded like someone goose-stepping.
Clay was instantly awake, but he did not move. Lying on his side on the bed, he narrowed his eyes to slits in the darkness and stared fixedly at the door.
Before long, a thin figure dressed entirely in black quietly unlocked the door in the flickering candlelight. Clay recognized the key. It should have been hanging at the jailer's waist. Unless that jailer of House Stark had turned traitor, he was probably unconscious by now.
She really sent an assassin? How does Cersei's brain work? Is this all she's capable of?
Seeing that the assassin intended to kill him at close range, Clay felt relieved, while countless questions arose in his mind.
Wait, what if this assassin wasn't sent by the Lannisters?
The thought flashed like lightning, and Clay instantly abandoned his plan to spring up and kill the man. Then he heard the assassin whisper:
"Lord Clay, the Lannisters send their regards!" A blade whistled through the air, and Clay suddenly rolled hard to one side, evading the fatal strike.
The assassin froze for a moment. He had never expected his sure strike to miss. Clay had actually dodged it!
There was no time to remain stunned. His orders were that Clay must die, so he immediately raised his blade to pursue him. Just as he lifted his head, a hand appeared before his face.
It formed a strange gesture, thumb spread, index and middle fingers held together, ring and little fingers bent.
For a fleeting moment, the assassin seemed to see a pale green inverted triangle flash past.
Axii, Clay recited silently.
The assassin's descending blade abruptly stopped in midair. His dark yellow pupils dilated, his eyes went vacant, and he stood there without a word, like a zombie.
Good, it worked. Clay had actually been ready to strike with his dagger immediately if Axii failed.
The reason he had done this instead of simply killing the man with his dagger was that a possibility had suddenly occurred to him:
Almost everyone would assume the Lannisters were responsible for his assassination. But what if someone wanted everyone to think exactly that?
Killing him on Stark territory and framing the Lannisters was not out of the question.
Clay leaned against the wall and asked:
"Your name?"
"Hall Lyko."
Clay could not recall who this man was. Perhaps he was only a minor figure.
"Who sent you?"
The question seemed to cause the assassin immense pain. Beneath his black cloth mask, his features twisted together, but in the end, he still could not resist Axii's magic.
And so, Clay heard a name:
Petyr Baelish!
The way the assassin is dealt with in the next two chapters may surprise you a little. (If it doesn't, then thank you, dear readers.) Please be a little patient. I have a key use for this character in the war later on. It may not be entirely clear for now, but I will explain it properly later.