The sun had barely begun to set over the Red Keep, casting a soft golden hue across the stone walls of the garden where Prince Aegon, a book open in his lap. The young prince, now fourteen, was absorbed in his studies, his brow furrowed as he attempted to understand the complex politics of Westeros. The delicate sound of footsteps approached, light and deliberate.

Falena Stokeworth, clad in a flowing gown of green, her golden-brown hair cascading around her shoulders, appeared from the shadows, a smile playing at her lips. She knew this was the perfect moment, prince Aegon was alone, vulnerable to the charm of a woman who knew how to wield it.

"Your Grace," she said, her voice sweet and melodic, "I do hope I'm not interrupting. It’s such a pity that such a handsome face should be buried in those dreary books. The world beyond those pages is far more exciting, don’t you think?"