A man lunged through the line of Faith Militant. His breath was sour wine. He grabbed her breast, squeezed hard, and laughed before a gold cloak shoved him back. Cersei staggered. For a moment, her composure cracked. A sob—raw and animal—escaped her throat. But she swallowed the next one.
As she steps out onto the streets of King's Landing, she is met by a wall of noise. The Septa Unella follows closely behind, ringing a bell and chanting a single, rhythmic word: cersei shame episode
Not as a queen. Not as a supplicant.