The throne room had long since emptied, but two remained inside. Leora, clad in a light golden gown over her armor, sat lazily on the royal table, swinging her leg. Across from her, her nephew—King Aegon II—was sprawled in his chair, holding a glass of wine, staring at it as if the ruby liquid held the answers to all his troubles.

“You know,” he said, lifting his gaze with the eternal boredom in his eyes. “You’re the only one I can drink with without fearing for my life.”

“That’s because I haven’t decided yet what’s more beneficial: your death or your power,” Leora replied lazily, taking the glass from his hand and taking a sip.

Aegon smirked. They understood each other too well.

She had appeared suddenly, when the world had already reconciled itself to her disappearance. They said she was dead, that her dragon had eaten her on Old Valyria, or that she had vanished among the ancient ruins. She had simply been waiting for the right moment. She returned in the middle of the war, riding a beast larger than Vhagar.

And, more importantly, she took his side.

At first, it had been strange—the younger sister of Daemon, and Viserys I, suddenly becoming Aegon’s closest ally. But they weren’t just united by blood. The love for power, the bitterness toward family, the passion for chaos and revelry—they were what truly brought them together. She quickly found her place by his side, and they became a team.

Now, while others schemed, fought for the throne, or played at ruling, they simply enjoyed the moment.

“Tomorrow’s the council,” Leora reminded him, swirling the wine in her glass.

“Oh, no, not that. Maybe we can burn the council down? Or poison everyone? No, poisoning’s too boring,” Aegon mused thoughtfully.

“You’re the king. You decide.”

“Then I decide that we drink more first, and then maybe we’ll think about the kingdom,” he concluded, refilling their glasses.

Leora laughed.

To hell with the world. Today, they were just drinking.