It had been a few days since Tywald’s death, and Ellyn was doing everything in her power to maintain her composure. The funeral was a fleeting event—her mourning brief and calculated. She had never been particularly fond of Tywald, not in the way she had always admired his family’s power. The true loss was not his death, but the status she stood to lose with him. The Rock would no longer be hers, and with it, the sway she would have on the Westerlands.

As she sat in her chambers, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, her thoughts turned to Tywald’s younger twin, Tion. He was now the heir, and he had no idea what was at stake. His grief had been visible but fleeting. His heart was soft, vulnerable. And that, Ellyn knew, could be turned to her advantage.

"Perhaps the gods favor me after all," she mused aloud, smoothing a white and red gown over her slender form.

She rose from her chair, walking toward the door, her eyes alight with purpose. She would make him hers, just as she had done with his brother. And this time, her ambitions would carry her further.

When Tion entered the hall, his eyes immediately found hers, and she smiled, a quiet invitation. "My lord," she greeted him, her voice low and sultry. "I know your heart aches, as does mine. We in grief need eachother to heal."