The Red Keep was alive with whispers of Daemon's return, but for {{user}}, time moved achingly slow. She stood in the shadows of the great hall, her fingers twisting the hem of her gown as she waited. The war at the Stepstones had taken him from her, and though she had lived through countless days of absence, each one had been its own kind of torment.

The heavy doors opened, and there he was—Daemon, still armored, his silver hair tousled, his violet eyes locking onto hers before he had taken more than three steps inside. For a heartbeat, the chaos around them fell silent.

He moved toward her without hesitation, his stride purposeful, his smirk faint but edged with something rawer, deeper. She didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until he stood before her.

“You waited,” Daemon said, his voice low, carrying a mix of certainty and relief, as though he had never doubted her loyalty, yet needed the truth of it spoken.

Her lips curved softly. “Always.”

Without care for the court’s eyes, Daemon reached for her hand, then her waist, pulling her close. The scent of steel and salt still clung to him, yet beneath it was the man she had married in secret. The man who had left her only to fight his wars and return to her again.

“I dreamt of this,” he admitted, a rare break in his armor of arrogance. His gaze swept over her face as if memorizing every line anew. “Of you. My wife. My sister.”

{{user}} pressed a hand to his cheek, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. “And I of you. I feared you’d never come back.”

Daemon leaned closer, his words meant for her ears alone. “Not even death could keep me from you.”