Jaime does not sit on the throne this time. No. Let Cersei rest there alone while she can. He finds a place at her feet instead, rubbing at his eyes. “The smoke,” he chokes. Even lies are empty now, as empty as Cersei’s eyes. Burn them all, the wind whispers, unnaturally hot. With no strength left, he watches the setting sun stain the sky with his sister’s blood, once again waiting to see who will come to claim the kingdom.
What’s left of it.
