Game of Thrones: Bastard? I’m the Damn Heir!

By the time twilight settled over the land, the courtyard of the Crossroads Inn was already crowded with two to three hundred people.

The sky had begun to darken. The golden crow set in the west, and the crimson glow of dusk cast a blood-red hue across the heavens and earth—strangely beautiful.

The fiery light mirrored the blazing wild cattle being roasted in the courtyard.

The charcoal flames beneath the roasting beast stirred as a breeze passed through.

Sparks rose with the wind, fluttering up above, drifting into the air, then vanishing into the breeze.

As if the red clouds in the sky were painted by the very smoke and fire of the mortal world.

And just then, as Kal Stone and Robert Baratheon suddenly emerged from the inn, the people who had been sitting around the campfires bragging and bantering instinctively turned to look.

The noisy chatter fell into a sudden hush.

In the vast courtyard, only the crackling of flames remained, the sound of the wind, and the quickening of breath—those who had already guessed what was about to happen.

[Ssshhk~]

A drop of fat, unable to withstand the heat of the fire, sizzled as it fell onto the coals.

"Kal Stone!"

"Kneel!"

Robert paid no mind to the gazes around them or the sudden, eerie silence.

His eyes were fixed only on Kal—who had followed him out with concern, thinking the king had had too much to drink.

There was a calm smile on Robert's face, but in his eyes—he looked as if he were anticipating what would happen next even more than Kal himself.

Kal stared at the open space toward which the tip of Robert's sword was pointing.

Under the gaze of hundreds of eyes, he found himself unexpectedly nervous.

Of course, he now realized what Robert intended to do—but he hadn't expected it to come this soon.

And now, every eye was fixed on this bastard from the Vale.

Perhaps it was the heavy breathing that stirred the campfire, causing the flames to crackle and dance.

Kal's throat bobbed involuntarily.

Even so, he stepped forward resolutely, slowly walking to the spot Robert had indicated with the sword.

Then he placed his left hand over his chest, his right hand behind his back, and as he gently stepped one leg back, both knees bent in unison.

Kal lowered himself, right knee to the ground, and bowed his head before King Robert.

At the same time, the tip of the longsword in Robert's hand touched Kal's right shoulder.

"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave."

The blade rose, circled Kal's head, and rested on his left shoulder.

"In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just."

As the calm words fell, the sword returned once more to Kal's right shoulder.

"In the name of the Mother, I charge you to protect the weak and innocent."

Repeating the motion, the tip again touched his left shoulder.

"In the name of the Maiden, I charge you to defend all women…"

The rest of the words, Kal didn't hear—because Robert abruptly stopped speaking.

Kal glanced up curiously.

He saw Robert frowning, visibly troubled, as if he'd forgotten the rest of the lines.

Maybe Robert really had finished all the formal words of the knighting ceremony—because as Kal looked up at him, he lowered the sword from Kal's shoulder.

Then his gaze met Kal's deep blue eyes, which reflected the glow of the crimson twilight sky above.

"Rise, Ser Kal Stone!"

"Knight of the Seven Kingdoms!"

The evening breeze swept through, lifting Kal's coal-black hair.

He looked at the king who had just knighted him, a faint smile forming on his face.

But just then—just as that harmonious atmosphere settled over the scene—

A shrill, venomous voice tore through the solemnity like a blade, forcing its way in with violent intrusion.

"You filthy, wretched bastard—what have you done?!"

At the sound of that sudden and all-too-familiar screech, Robert instinctively furrowed his brow and turned in the direction it had come from.

And when he caught sight of the person responsible, a deep, uncontrollable fury instantly flooded his face.

The crowd—who had just moments ago been quietly watching the knighting, their hearts filled with admiration—was startled by the unexpected shrill outburst, as crude and shrieking as a fishwife's brawl.

A ripple of confusion spread through them, a wave of hushed muttering—then all heads turned.

And when they saw who it was, people paused, stunned—then instinctively parted to form a path.

Down that opening marched none other than Queen Cersei Lannister herself, face twisted in fury, lifting her gown as she strode forward in haste. Behind her trailed three Gold Cloaks of the Kingsguard, and no fewer than twenty Lannister house guards.

With that kind of entrance—grand and domineering, her voice preceding her presence—it was impossible for even the most patient man to stay calm.

Let alone Robert, who was never known for patience.

The way Cersei had stormed in, clearly here to stir trouble, hit him like a wasp sting to the ass. The King immediately rose and stepped directly into her path.

With bulging eyes and seething rage, Robert glared at his queen.

"Woman, are you testing my patience?!"

As he spoke, Robert still held the longsword he'd just used to knight Kal, gripping the hilt tightly.

The look on his face made it all too clear—if this crazy bitch kept pushing her luck, he might just run her through on the spot. Let her feel firsthand that some things are better thought through before acted upon.

Noticing Robert's increasingly dangerous posture, Jaime Lannister, who had been following close behind Cersei, let out a resigned sigh—but had no choice. He stepped forward and positioned himself between the Queen and the King, intercepting what had instantly become a face-off as sharp as clashing blades.

But the moment Jaime made his move, Robert's eyes narrowed. Without hesitation, he raised the longsword and aimed it directly at the Kingslayer's throat.

"Kingslayer," Robert growled, "are you looking to spill the blood of yet another king you've sworn to serve?"

His voice trembled with suppressed rage—rage so close to the surface that it seemed if Jaime said a single wrong word, that sword would draw blood without hesitation.

Jaime caught the strong reek of wine on Robert's breath. Though humiliated by having a blade pointed at his throat, he remained still.

There was even a faintly awkward smile on his face as he lifted both hands slightly in a calming gesture.

"Your Grace, I'm sorry… it's not what you think—"

He tried to explain, but the sudden cold touch of steel against his neck silenced him.

"Not what I think?" Robert snarled.

He pressed the edge of the sword against Jaime's throat.

"If I were blind and drunk out of my damn mind, maybe then I'd take your 'advice.'"

"Maybe I'd listen once you actually became the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard!"

"Or is it that a certain lion just can't wait any longer?!"

There was venom in Robert's eyes, and his low voice carried both scorn and threat in equal measure.

The onlookers, who still didn't fully understand how the scene had come to this, began murmuring in hushed confusion.

A ripple of tension spread through the crowd.

No one could figure out why—out of nowhere—the King and Queen seemed to be at each other's throats. Or why the King had suddenly drawn a blade, ready to kill the Queen's twin brother Jaime Lannister on the spot.

The sharper observers, however, recalled the venomous curses Cersei had just hurled—and a few of them began to piece things together.

After all, this retinue had brought along nearly half the court. Naturally, there were some… attentive minds among them.

Now, those same eyes turned—strangely curious—toward the newly minted knight. Just moments ago, he'd been a nobody. A bastard sellsword. Now, he was Ser Kal Stone.

Kal, for his part, wore no expression at all. Head tilted slightly, he looked on as if watching a street performance—utterly unfazed, completely detached.

As the cold steel grazed his throat and Robert's barbed insults rang in his ears, Jaime Lannister—the one who had stepped up first to separate the two and stop this from escalating into an all-out disaster—now looked utterly troubled.

He'd only just returned after being sent by Robert to deliver word of Kal's reward. He had no idea what had transpired in the meantime.

But after finishing his errand, Jaime had figured Robert and Kal Stone would be drinking and feasting for quite some time, so he hadn't rushed back.

Instead, he'd taken the chance to check in on Joffrey.

And that, as it turned out, was a big mistake.

Because the moment he stepped into the Queen's chambers, things had started spiraling out of control in ways he couldn't even begin to understand.

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