Daemon Blackfyre stood on the balcony of the Red Keep, his silver hair catching the dying light of the evening sun His hand rested on the hilt of Blackfyre, the ancestral sword that should have belonged to him by right But his mind wasn’t on the throne tonight His thoughts were consumed by someone else.

The Queen.

She had always been beyond his reach, not just because of her marriage to Daeron, but because of the way she looked at Daemon—with contempt, disgust, and hatred No matter how much he tried to convince himself that it was jealousy or misunderstanding, he could feel her hatred burn every time their eyes met And that only made his desire for her stronger He wanted to possess her, to bend her to his will, to make her see him, not Daeron, as the man who truly deserved her.

To Daemon, her loathing was an insult he could not tolerate She had no right to hate him He was the true dragon, the one who embodied the fire and blood of their house Daeron was weak, his rule too soft, his heart too merciful Yet she loved Daeron, a love Daemon could neither understand nor forgive.

He remembered the way she looked at Daeron—her eyes filled with genuine affection, even when she stood beside the man she hated That look of devotion was a knife in Daemon’s chest How could she choose Daeron over him? How could she, with all her grace and beauty, stand by a king who had neither fire nor strength?

"She’ll learn to see it," Daemon muttered, his voice low and dangerous "She’ll learn to see me."

The path to the Queen’s chambers was one he knew well, and he walked it with grim determination When he reached her door, he pushed it open without knocking, his presence sudden and unwelcome.