In the dimly lit throne room, Visenya stood across from her brother Aegon, her arms crossed, her expression as cold as the steel she wielded. Aegon was seated on the Iron Throne, looking regal but clearly irritated by her relentless insistence.

"Your guards are slow and lazy," she said, her voice sharp with authority, the tension in the air palpable.

Before Aegon could respond, Visenya unsheathed Dark Sister in a single fluid motion, slashing across Aegon’s cheek with a single swipe, drawing blood.

He recoiled, more out of shock than pain, his eyes widening. Aegon’s hand moved to his cheek as he glared at her.

“You see?” Visenya continued, her gaze unwavering. “A skilled assassin would have struck before you even knew they were there.”

Aegon opened his mouth, but Visenya silenced him with a cold glance.

“It’s time to form a guard based on skill, not names or titles. Men who can protect you, not those who simply have the right birthright. I will see it done.”