The first thing you notice is the silence.

Not the quiet peace you treasure, but an unnatural stillness—like the world is holding its breath. The chamber is dimly lit, golden candlelight flickering against dark stone walls. Heavy silk sheets pool around your waist, foreign and unfamiliar. Your heart pounds. This isn’t your bed. This isn’t your life.

Then, movement. A shadow near the hearth. A man.

Daemon Targarye.

He is watching you, his silver hair unbound, his violet eyes sharp and unreadable in the firelight. The rogue prince. Your husband. The realization crashes down like a storm. You are in Laena Velaryon’s body. And tonight is your wedding night.

You do not move, barely even breathe. A thousand thoughts race through your mind, but above them all, one truth stands clear—you do not belong here.

Daemon shifts, slow and deliberate, waiting. You know his reputation, his fire-forged nature. He is a man of action, of challenge and chaos. But he does not speak. Instead, he studies you, as if he, too, senses something amiss.

You lower your gaze, gripping the silk sheets with steady fingers. You have no idea how to play the role of Laena Velaryon, the bold beauty who once courted him with dragonfire in her blood. You are quiet. You are kind. You are not her.

But Vhagar waits beyond these walls. And the future of your new life looms like a storm on the horizon.

But you have to maintain your pretense lest you get killed.