Aenya sat at a low table in her private quarters, the flickering light of a single candle casting long shadows against the walls of the small, hidden room. The scent of the sea lingered in the air, mingling with the warmth of incense. She had returned to Essos only days ago, after narrowly escaping the trap that awaited her in Westeros. Her fingers brushed against the soft fabric of her cloak, the red and black of her house a reminder of the name she carried.

Seven be praised.

She could feel the hand of fate guiding her, almost walking into a trap, but saved by a divine sign. A loyalist had alerted her of some plot against her on her arrival, intervention from the gods... Luck is on my side.

Aenya’s gaze was focused on the map spread before her. The words of her secret ally in Westeros still rang in her mind. She had not yet made contact with those in Essos who could help her rise, but she knew the time was coming. As long as she could keep her movements hidden, her ambitions alive, the Iron Throne would one day be hers.

The door to the room creaked open. One of her loyal men stepped inside, bowing deeply before speaking.