Chapter Text
Never in the face. That was the rule. Their marriage was one that had few rules really. They’d all but spit on the typical rules outlined by civilized society, those things that married people were supposed to do or be. They paid lip service to convention in public, and in private, they had their informal rules. Robert demanded that Cersei not question him about his affairs. Cersei demanded that he never bring his bastards within her sight. Robert demanded that her legs open for him when the urge to fuck her struck him. Cersei demanded that he never leave a mark where someone could see.
Robert had broken the rules.
Trying to cover the bruise had only served to put her in more pain, but there was little that could be done about that. Cersei had started to grind her teeth until the habit reminded her of Stannis; Stannis was often times even less tolerable than Robert was with him grim and dour aura. Cersei would rather have choked than do anything that might resemble the behavior of one of her in-laws. Unfortunately, there was little else Cersei could do and she gingerly applied make up to the bruise that discolored the majority of her face.
She wouldn’t have bothered to cover the mark, but for the fact that it was necessary. Really, Cersei had gotten quite a lot of pleasure from the look on Robert’s face the morning after the incident, when he’d been forced to see his handiwork. The bruise was undoubtedly from his hand, even he could not deny it. His jaw had nearly dropped into his coffee, revealing the chip in his tooth. It was interesting: seeing the bruise on her face brought him shame, but seeing other bruises had done nothing to stop him from hitting her whereas Cersei took great pleasure from the sight of the chipped tooth that she’d given him, but had never raised a finger to inflict another wound upon him. Perhaps she would have if Robert had gotten the veneers that Renly was always urging him to get.
But Robert was gone for the day, and the man that Cersei would next see would feel neither pleasure nor shame at the sight of the purple mark across her cheek. No, Jaime would be furious. Cersei wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing that Jaime was a world away. If he’d been there, Robert would have lost a hand, if not more for striking her. For years, Cersei had barely been able to keep her twin from striking two blows for every one that landed on Cersei. A blow to her face would mean that Jaime would be on the next flight home, ready to kill Robert in brutal fashion.
And yes, Cersei wished for her husband to be dead, but what would be the point if Jaime ended up in jail? Lannister money could buy a great many things, but it wouldn’t be enough to buy Jaime out of a prison cell if he stormed back to her and slaughtered Robert the moment that he found him. It was a pretty picture though, and a familiar fantasy of Cersei’s. It was the sweetest of her dreams, after the ones where she and Jaime could marry, of course. Sometimes the two dreams merged. Jaime would arrive on a white horse and the sun would gleam off his golden hair, the same shade as his sword (no matter how outdated it was, Jaime always had a grand sword in her fantasies). Jaime would cut Robert to ribbons, and his blood, crimson as a Lannister banner, would decorate the feast for her wedding to Jaime. Not that such a thing could ever be. Even Lannister’s could not afford to marry their brothers.
So neither of her greatest dreams could come to be. She could not marry Jaime nor could Jaime kill her husband. That did not mean that Cersei could not, would not be rid of him. She merely had to be smart about it was all. The first step of that was finishing putting on her face and making the call to Jaime as was their custom. She needed Jaime well out of the way if Cersei was going to enact her plans.
Robert had broken the rules. She owed him an answer for the bruise to her face. Lannister's always paid their debts.