The heavy scent of incense clung to the air in Bethany’s chambers, an attempt to mask the cloying smell of the king’s sweat that seemed to linger on her despite how many times she washed. She sat by the open window, staring out at the Red Keep’s sprawling gardens below. Her green eyes were distant, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. This was not the life she had imagined.

She had been told she would be adored, worshipped even, as a king’s mistress. Her father had promised wealth and influence, and her sister had whispered of power in the shadows. But no one had spoken of the dread she felt each time Aegon summoned her, or the shame that gnawed at her when she caught the disapproving glances of the courtiers.

A soft knock at the door broke her reverie. She turned as Ser Terrence Toyne entered, his white cloak gleaming against his armor. He bowed slightly, his expression warm but respectful. “My lady,” he said, his voice steady and kind.

“Ser Terrence,” she replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips. He had been a rare comfort in this gilded prison, a knight who treated her as a person, not a pawn or a trophy.