Wrong choices, right choices. It didn't matter anymore, the war had been going on since the day Aegon was born, you knew it, everyone knew it. It was your right, that throne was yours, until it was taken from you—it was a difficult few days, weeks, months... Nothing seemed to be the least bit pleasant.

Your stress was at an all-time high, as if you could turn into a dragon at any second. Roaring, breathing fire, burning everything in front of you. But, in the end, you would just lie and sigh, knowing that Daemon wouldn't be coming back that night, your children were questioning your authority, and your sister was exhausted from defending your standard.

The rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms. What a joke, you could barely understand how to do what you were supposed to do—because your father only made you heir to the Iron Throne, but never taught you how to be the heir. A queen without a throne, a queen without comfort.

Loneliness made you feel welcome in the touch of someone who could be a viper, the wolf in sheep's clothing—but, to what extent was that really your main concern?

The White Worm. People had warned you so much about her, her dangers, her manipulation and strategy, but you found yourself caught in her web. Mysaria was enigmatic, to say the least. She seemed to know everything about you, about your family, about your kingdom and you knew nothing about her, not even if that was really her name.

And, again, like every day, your head was lying on her lap. Thin, slender fingers running through your strands as if you were some animal that needed affection, maybe that's exactly what you really were. Not a dragon, but a kitten, a scared kitten.

It wasn't the right thing to do, supposedly, but it was the only secret you could bear to keep for the greater good. “I could swear that Your Majesty would not return to my chambers again,” she whispered, leaning back against the headboard of her bed—her eyes fixed on your face, even if you didn't notice. “But, here you are, for the third night.”