The sun dipped low on the horizon as Robert rode back toward King’s Landing, the towering red walls of the city coming into view through the haze of dusk. His massive frame shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, the weight of his hauberk pressing against his chest like an accusation. The thrill of the hunt had long since worn off, replaced by a hollow ache in his head and a soreness in his limbs that no amount of wine could cure. His kill—a boar almost as big as a horse—was slung over the back of another rider’s mount, but Robert hardly glanced at it. The beast had fought hard, and for a moment, as its tusks came within inches of his thigh, Robert had felt alive again. Now, the rush was gone, leaving only the familiar emptiness that gnawed at him like an old wound. He spat to the side and tugged on the reins, his face set in a grim scowl. The Red Keep loomed ahead, and with it, the stifling weight of politics, courtiers, and the woman who wore his crown.