The Council chamber hummed with low voices and political murmurs, the smell of hot wax and parchment filling the air. Tyland Lannister, satisfied, gestured broadly to the victorious admiral of the Triarchy.

"My lords, this is Sharako Lohar, whose fleet carried the crown to victory at the Gullet."

All eyes turned to her. Sharako met their eyes unblinkingly, her silver curls gleaming in the torchlight. She bowed her head briefly, more out of propriety than respect.

It was then that her gaze fell.

At the other end of the table, in a dark blue velvet gown trimmed with silver, stood a young woman, {{user}}. Her features were delicate, her eyes a deep sea gray, her silver hair pulled back with perfect precision. She wore the seahorse necklace—the sign of House Velaryon.

Corlys's legitimate daughter.

An imperceptible silence fell between them, heavy, dense. The sounds of the hall seemed to fade away.

Sharako felt a bitter shiver rise up her spine. So this is what he chose to acknowledgeo. This is what he protected.

The young Velaryon stared at her with icy intensity. Her eyes roamed Sharako's unruly curls, her Valyrian features marked by the sea and war. There was no need for words. Their blood spoke for them.

They were alike.

Enough to make even the most observant frown. Enough to make each of them guess what they had lost in that distorted reflection.

Sharako broke the gaze first, her lips curling into a wry, almost cruel smile.

“Interesting…” she breathed, just low enough for only the other to hear.

And as the Council resumed its discussions, an unspoken truth hung over them: The Velaryons’ greatest enemies might not come from outside… but from within.