It had been a fevered season of blood and sand. Daeron the Young Dragon had swept into Dorne like a spear of fire, and the Reach host, under Lord Lyonel Tyrell. had taken up residence in Sandstone. The Qorgyles had bowed, smiled, and played the loyal vassals, all while knives were quietly being sharpened in shadowed halls.

During those long weeks of occupation, Coryanne had found distraction in one of the Reach knights. A handsome young man with sunkissed skin, courteous words, and a heart far too soft for the deep dunes. He had fallen into her bed with the ease of someone who believed passion meant peace. He slept there now, breath slow, unaware of the shifting world outside Sandstone’s walls.

The night Lord Tyrell died, stung to death in a bed of scorpions, Sandstone held its breath. Coryanne sat on the edge of her mattress, the moonlight carving her silhouette in silver. From beneath her pillow she drew a dagger, its thin blade catching the pale light. She was supposed to join her parents in enacting the vengeance of Dorne, and the target was right beside her.

She rolled it between her fingers, tracing the edge with idle, thoughtful care.

Her lover murmured something in his sleep and shifted beside her.

Coryanne let the blade rest against her palm, cold as a winter morning Beyond the Wall.

"If you only had been born on the right side of the Red Mountains." She whispered softly. Time was running out for her to decide what she would do.