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Jaime Lannister stared at the plate of delicacies on the conference room table. There were cupcakes, cookies and some chocolate-covered somethings, but there, just to the right, one little cake was left—one delicious bit of heaven wrapped in baking paper. Emmon Frey's right hand reached for it, attempting to steal it. In one fluid motion, Jaime kicked his uncle under the table and grabbed the cake just before it was befouled by the Frey touch. Emmon yelped and glared at his nephew. Jaime grinned as he peeled back the paper and shoved the entire mini-cake in his mouth. He let out an inappropriate moan of pleasure.
Tywin paused his presentation to glare. Tyrion rolled his eyes. Pia stifled a giggle. One side of Uncle Kevan's mouth quirked up. Jaime chewed and swallowed. His victory was short-lived. That was the last of the little cakes, and the presentation was sure to go on another hour.
--
"Where did we get them?" Jaime asked as he slammed his hand down on Tyrion's desk. "I have to know."
Tyrion looked up at his brother before picking up his phone. "Do you really fucking think I personally order the baked goods for our meetings? I mean, Father thinks I'm incompetent, but even he knows I'm above putting in the food orders."
Jaime ran his tongue over his teeth, searching for the last bit of cake flavor, but none was to be found, only the memory of the perfect blend of butter and sugar and whatever hell else was so addictive. He waved his hand around in desperation. "If you don't know, can you tell me how to find out?"
Tyrion spoke into the phone. He wrote something down on a sticky note and handed it to Jaime.
Honorcakes Bakery, 123 Silk Street, King's Landing.
Jaime was out the door. He had to have more of those cakes. He had to have them now. He craved that flavor. He was addicted.
--
Brienne heard the banging at the front door of her shop. She'd closed fifteen minutes ago but hadn't yet left for the day. The banging didn't stop. She walked out from the back to see a gorgeous blond man standing at the door. His face lit up at the sight of her. She wondered if he were one of the local homeless. She often donated her day-old wares to them and had already boxed up most of the day’s leftovers. She took in his appearance. Homeless men didn't dress that well. Nor did they have hair that shiny, skin that perfect, eyes that green… She shook her head. It shouldn’t matter that he was gorgeous.
She pointed to the sign and mouthed, "We're closed."
The blond man shook his head vehemently.
She shook hers, not sure if they were agreeing or disagreeing.
He pulled out his wallet and pressed seven hundred-dragon notes to the window. She drew back. He mouthed, "Please."
She walked to the door and yelled through the glass, "We're closed."
He waved the notes at her and yelled back, "I have to have another of those mini-cakes. Please."
She furrowed her brow and looked at him again. She did have a few mini-cakes left in the case, and she could always use extra money. She’d been wanting to add another oven, and Podrick deserved a bonus.
Brienne looked the blond man over. Yes, he was gorgeous, and almost as tall as she was. He looked decently fit, as if he worked out on a regular basis, probably just to look good. And he did look good, like one of those models in WesterMen’s magazine—all perfect muscles and razor sharp jaws. Only he was better looking. Brienne shook her head to clear her thoughts. She worked out, but her muscles weren’t just for show. It was still daylight. She could take him. She felt safe enough.
She unlocked the door.
--
Jaime sighed in relief as he pushed his way inside the shop. The bakery...woman was tall and unsightly with smears of some white powdery substance all over her twice-broken nose and plush red mouth.
"Those mini-cakes, what are they? I'll take all of them,” he said desperately. “Every single one you have. And I want to place a standing order."
"You mean the honorcakes?"
She went behind the counter and pulled one out of the case. Jaime dropped the notes on the counter, grabbed the cake, and shoved it whole in his mouth. He moaned. It was perfection. He stared at the bakery woman— Brienne, the embroidery on her shirt read—as she watched him chew. Her eyes were remarkable. And what was that on her face?
"What do you put in these things?" he asked, the delicious flavor of cake still in his mouth. "These...honorcakes."
She turned an unsightly red and answered begrudgingly. "It's a special secret recipe, handed down in my family for generations."
He placed hand and stump on the counter and leaned toward her. "Is it some addictive drug? Sugar crusted crack? Buttercream heroin? What is it?" He slapped his good hand against the glass. “I have to know!” He had to know more about her.
She walked from behind the counter towards the door. "I think you should leave," she said warily.
Though she’d not looked twice at his stump, his insistence seemed to unsettle her. He should probably move slower, but the heavenly smell of Brienne and her bakery was fogging up his brain.
He shook his head. "Not until you give me every honorcake in this place." He licked his lips. "And some milk to go with them." And maybe her phone number.
She put her hand on the door. "I really think you should go."
He advanced on her. He licked his lips again, tasting the sweet remnants of cake there. She noticed the movement and blushed even harder; it made her ridiculous blue eyes even bluer. He pulled his eyes away from hers to stare at her mouth, at the white powder there.
"Honorcakes? Is that what you call them?"
She nodded shyly and bit her lip. He wondered if she could taste the powder. He wondered what it tasted like on her tongue. He took a step closer. "Honorcakes. Like the bakery. It's my specialty,” she replied with pride.
"Is it, bakery wench? Your specialty?" he teased.
"My name is Brienne." She narrowed her eyes. "And yes, they are."
"My name is Jaime, and I think you're putting some secret ingredient in those things because I crave them. I need them. I have to know what it is."
She shook her head, her blond hair falling from the pins that held it. "It's nothing special," she replied, back to being shy and failing to meet his eyes.
"I think it is." He took another step closer and stared at her, at that dusting of…something. That's what it was; he was certain. That secret ingredient was there, on her ridiculously large red lips.
She shook her head again this time looking at him, her blue eyes wide. So blue, so… honorable.
With one more look at her, he knew what he had to do. He wrapped his arm around her waist, giving her the chance to move away. She stood her ground. He pulled her to him. She didn’t resist. Her pupils dilated. She moistened her lips. He angled his head, and she looked down at him. He slowly rose up on his toes and kissed her softly, tasting the powder, the sugar and Brienne. Oh, there was no doubt in his mind. He was addicted to honorcakes, and addicted to the woman who made them.