The throne room of the Red Keep was unusually quiet that afternoon, save for the soft sounds as Daena shifted lazily upon the Iron Throne. She lounged sideways in the jagged seat of kings, now it had a queen, one leg draped over the armrest, a goblet of Arbor red dangling from her fingers. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, catching the sheen of her black outfit and her silver-blonde hair.

She did not rise when the doors creaked open—only tilted her head, smirking faintly as her nephew strolled in, all princely confidence, but he wasn't pleased to see his usurper-aunt at all.

Daena raised her goblet in greeting, eyes glinting with amusement as her gaze landed on her nephew-consort.

“Tell me, darling… do I look good on your throne?”