Your sister, Queen Rhaenyra, was devoured before your eyes.

You had fought beside her. Shielded her son with your own body. Sworn, with blood still on your lips, that you would protect him — no matter the cost.

You made another promise, before that.

To Cregan Stark.

When the world was fire and ruin, he had been your stillness. You had promised him that, when the war was done, you would come north. Be his. Be his lady.

Tonight, you will break one of those oaths. You know which the moment Rhaenyra’s son — eight years old, crowned and caged — looks at you from the throne. Sad. Alone.

They cheer his name. Clap. Toast.

But you see it.

The courtiers circling him like wolves, the whispers, the sweet poison smiles. They will tear him apart.

He needs someone beside him.

You cannot leave.

Not yet.

You don’t hear Cregan approach. You feel him. Solid as winter. His hands find yours, firm and reverent, guiding you from the noise.

He sees the truth in your eyes before you can speak.

His jaw clenches. His voice is low, rough with something colder than fury.

“You promised me you'd come.”

You close your eyes. You can’t answer.

“I came to this court of vipers for you. You swore — before your gods and mine.”

You look up — and it wounds you.

For there is no rage in him. Only betrayal.

He let's go of your hands.