If you want to read Advance chapters you could take a visit on my patreon Or check it out.
http://patreon.com/SageOf016
99+ comments on the latest chapter = 1 Extra Chapter.
———
He hated being second best, especially to a brother who didn't seem to care about dressing the part of a prince
…
That jealousy inside Joffrey had been bubbling away for years, like bad stew left too long on the fire. It only got worse the older he got.
No matter what he did, how well he dressed, or how much he tried to act like a future king, he always felt like he was stuck standing in Tytan's shadow.
His older brother, the heir, the one everyone seemed to like without even trying, the one who got nods of approval while Joffrey often got sighs or eye-rolls. It wasn't fair.
Joffrey's lip curled into an even deeper sneer. He puffed out his chest, ready to spit back some nasty reply to Tytan's crack about the kitten he knew exactly what Tytan meant by that, remembering a rather embarrassing incident from years ago.
But before he could get the words out, their mother, Cersei, spoke up again. Her voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the tension between them like a sharp knife.
There was a hard glint in her green eyes as she looked from Tytan to Joffrey and back again. Her gaze flickered for just a second towards the watching Starks and the other northern lords standing nearby, a silent reminder flashing across her face.
They had an audience. Appearances mattered.
"Boys," Cersei said, her voice smooth but with an unmistakable edge of command beneath it, "let's remember we are guests here. In Lord Stark's home."
She paused, letting the warning sink in. Then, she turned her gaze fully onto Tytan, her expression softening just a tiny bit, though still looking tired. "Tytan, darling, the journey was quite long. I am feeling rather drained."
Tytan immediately understood the unspoken message: 'Stop bickering with your brother and get me out of this muddy courtyard.' He nodded smoothly. "Of course, Mother." He offered her his arm, bending it slightly at the elbow in a polite gesture.
Cersei looked at his offered arm for a moment, perhaps noticing the dust still clinging to his leather sleeve, but then looped her own hand through it. It felt small and delicate compared to his.
She allowed Tytan to start leading her towards the main doors of the great keep, away from the lingering stares of the crowd.
As they began to walk, Ser Jaime Lannister fell into step just behind them on one side, his golden armor gleaming.
Another Kingsguard knight, silent and watchful in his white cloak, took up position on the other side, creating a protective bubble around the Queen and Crown Prince.
Just as they were about to pass through the heavy oak doors into the relative warmth of the keep, Tytan heard a clear, curious voice pipe up from the group they were leaving behind.
It was the youngest Stark girl, the fiery one with the messy hair Arya, he remembered her name briefly from the quick greetings earlier.
"Where's the Imp?" she asked loudly, her head tilted, obviously genuinely wanting to know. She probably pictured someone truly strange-looking and was eager to see the famous short Lannister uncle they all talked about.
The question hung in the air for a second, drawing Tytan's and Cersei's attention just as they stepped over the threshold.
"Arya!" Catelyn Stark hissed immediately, her voice sharp with embarrassment. She shot her youngest daughter a stern, scolding look that promised trouble later. Then, she quickly looked up at the Queen and Prince, her face flushed, offering a silent, apologetic plea with her eyes.
Cersei, however, didn't even blink. She simply ignored the girl's blunt question completely, her face a perfect mask of regal indifference as she continued walking, her chin held high.
Tytan, on the other hand, couldn't help but let out a small snort of amusement as they passed into the slightly darker entrance hall of the keep.
'The Imp'. It was a cruel nickname, sure, but Tytan had to admit his uncle Tyrion hadn't exactly spent his life trying to make people think better of him.
Tyrion seemed to almost enjoy leaning into the reputation, mocking and outsmarting people between his endless cups of wine and visits to whorehouses.
Tytan smirked inwardly. Not that he could really judge Tyrion too harshly for some of that, not without being a massive hypocrite himself.
As the heavy doors began to close behind them, muffling the sounds of the courtyard, Tytan felt Cersei looking over at him, her steps slowing slightly on the stone floor inside.
"Speaking of that little beast," she said, her voice low again now that they were relatively alone with their guards, "do you happen to know where your uncle actually is?"
Tytan rolled his eyes dramatically. He still couldn't quite figure out the deep dislike, almost hatred, his mother had for her own younger brother.
"Where do you think he is, Mother?" he replied casually. "He probably found the nearest brothel the moment we got within sight of Winterfell. Where else?"
"And how, exactly, would you know that?" Cersei asked suddenly, her voice turning sharp again. Her green eyes narrowed, studying Tytan's face with sudden suspicion, like she was looking for signs of guilt.
Tytan just shrugged, a lazy, indifferent motion. Beside them, he heard Jaime let out a quiet snort of amusement, which Tytan ignored with the ease of long practice.
"Experience, of course," Tytan said simply, meeting his mother's gaze with a look of pure innocence that he knew probably didn't fool her for a second.
Cersei cocked a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at that, her lips thinning slightly. But she didn't press him further right then.
She just gave a tiny, frustrated sigh and allowed Tytan to continue escorting her deeper into the keep. Catelyn Stark and a few other key members of the Stark household hurried to follow them, ready to show the Queen to her prepared chambers.
Behind them, back out in the cooling air of the courtyard, the royal siblings were left behind. Myrcella and Tommen looked likely to hesitantly start mingling with the Stark children Bran, Sansa, and the blunt Arya.
Joffrey, however, had already stalked off towards the edge of the yard, shoulders hunched, kicking moodily at a loose stone, no doubt sulking about his brother, his father, and the fact that he wasn't the one everyone was paying attention to, the one who would someday be king.
——
Every 300 Power Stones = 1 Extra Chapter.
If you want to read Advance chapters you could take a visit on my patreon Or check it out.
http://patreon.com/SageOf016