It was late afternoon in the gardens of the Red Keep, the air warm with summer and heavy with the scent of roses. The court still buzzed with talk of the day’s spectacle, of a bastard girl knighted before the realm, of a king placing Blackfyre in her hands, but she went somewhere more quiet to celebrate. She had gone to the Red Keep gardens along with her trueborn brother. Daena sat close to the prince, the sword bare between them, as she proudly displayed it to him. Its valyrian steel catching the light as he traced the fuller with careful fingers. She watched his face more than the blade.

“Careful,” she said quietly, her thumb resting on the steel, “The last thing I want it to cut is you.”