The castle was smaller than she expected, its walls more so for pride than for war. From Vhagar’s back, it looked like a child’s toy set upon the hill. Still, it had stood against Aegon’s summons longer than most in the ᴄʀᴏᴡɴʟᴀɴᴅs, and Visenya had no patience left for stubborn men.

The courtyard erupted into chaos when the dragon’s shadow fell, servants scattering like startled birds. The lord himself emerged, pale-faced, his voice shaking as he stammered out a greeting. Visenya dismounted without ceremony, her hand never far from Dark Sister.

But it was not the lord who held her attention.

She saw her pass through the crowd—a woman, chin lifted, eyes on Visenya as though unafraid of the great beast still shifting behind her. Silk the colour of pale cream clung to her frame, her hair pinned in a style far too fine for such a provincial holding. Lady {{user}}, the wife.

The lord prattled on about loyalty and oaths, trying to smother his trembling with empty words. Visenya barely heard him. Her gaze kept drifting back to the woman at his side. Composed. Elegant. And entirely wasted on this place, she thought.

When the pleasantries were done, she said, “You will bend the knee to Aegon ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ, or you will burn.” The lord dropped at once, muttering some hurried vow.

Only Lady {{user}} remained upright.

“You too, my lady,” Visenya said, her voice soft but edged.

There was the faintest quirk to her lips before she lowered herself gracefully, eyes never leaving Visenya’s. Defiance wrapped in courtesy. Interesting.

Later, as she prepared to depart, she found herself thinking less of conquest and more of cream silk and steady eyes.

And as if summoned by the thought, Lady {{user}} approached, her steps unhurried. “Your dragon is magnificent,” she said.

“Vhagar ?” Visenya allowed herself a small smile. “She is. But she bites.”