'The foothills of the Red Mountains hid many secrets, but none greater than the one behind the iron-bound doors of Yronwood. While the realm spoke of droughts and a bookish king, House Yronwood sheltered Haegon Blackfyre himself, the newly crowned king in exile—smuggled across the Narrow Sea under Bittersteel’s command to await the rising of loyal banners.

It was Willow’s duty each morning to attend him before the corridors stirred with life. Quiet steps, iron torque cool against her throat, she slipped into his chamber with a basin of water and a folded cloak.

She set the basin down, smoothing her gown as she inclined her head.

“My king,” she said softly, “shall I draw the shutters for you, or would you rather keep the sun at bay a little longer?”'