What had she expected? The oaf was dead and buried, finally, after nine long years of marriage, and she was finally free. But it wasn’t the relief she had anticipated. Quite the contrary; she felt the same. Her days weren’t that different, besides the face that she had one less blundering idiot to entertain. Thomas was too young to know the difference really, which she supposed was sad in a way. She knew what it was like to lose a parent, but losing a mother is different to losing a father. Cersei had grown up more or less parentless; Joanna had died when she was very young and Tywin wasn’t exactly paternal.
She arose that morning, the morning of his funeral, and absently dressed in ordinary clothing; a red dress with her favourite Vivienne Westwood shoes. It was only when she noted the way
his side of their bed remained unmoved that she remembered and, sighing, changed into a more
formal black dress. How tedious was the tradition to wear black to a funeral; not that Cersei minded black, it was in fact one of her more favoured colours – 50% of her wardrobe was black. What Cersei loathed more than anything was being told what to do, even if it was by a voiceless social custom.
Cersei strode over to her window, looking out of her penthouse home at the city; she could see the strip from here. Robert had initially intended to live in the apartment above the Casino, but once Cersei had fallen pregnant, she’d put her foot down; the baby would get no sleep, living above the constant racket of the punters in the bars beneath them. The baby was just the excuse she had needed of course because, as she had anticipated, once they bought the penthouse, Robert still spent more time at the Casino, with one whore or another, than he did at home with her. She had the best of both worlds – she spent his money and lived the life of the wife and daughter of two of the most powerful and respected men in the country, let alone the state, and he was writing about on top of someone else every night. Domestic bliss,
Today, though, she would have to act like the devastated widow everyone liked to think she was. Anybody who knew Cersei would know better, but she let very few people under her guard and could have been an actress, if she had been so inclined.
So that morning, at 11am, she sat in the church, holding her
little boy on her lap, her tear-stained cheek resting on his angelic little head, and let everyone see how well the ice queen could melt.