Pinkmaiden’s hills trembled under dragon wings. A cold wind swept through the rebel camp, snapping the red dragon beside the bare maiden of House Piper. Day by day, more men arrived, grizzled hedge knights, petty lords with proud words and patched cloaks, even barefoot smallfolk with rusty spears—but still no word came from the great houses.

Melony stood on the battlements as Dreamfyre and Quicksilver circled wide and descended, their wings casting the camp into momentary dusk. Dust curled beneath their landing, far from the walls, where tents had begun to crowd the field like a forest of canvas. The rebels roared their welcome.

She descended the steps in chain and cloak. At the gates, she waited until the dragons settled and the riders dismounted. The prince and princess walked up to the gate. Rhaena’s silver hair gleamed in the morning sun, her face unreadable. Aegon’s jaw was tight, they had returned with an answer from Lord Lannister that was not what they had hoped for. She bowed to them as they approached.

"I welcome you back, Your Grace," she said, looking at the prince and then at the princess. "And you too, Princess."