Tyrosh glittered beyond her balcony in hues of teal and gold, the sea wind carrying the scent of salt and strange spices through gauzy silk curtains. Years had passed since the Redgrass Field, yet the exile of House Blackfyre still clung to the villa like a shadow. Bittersteel forged armies to put a Blackfyre on the throne, Princess Saera Blackfyre on the other hand enjoyed whatever luxury Tyrosh gave them in her own chamber in the villa..

Her lover, a knight who had followed her family across the Narrow Sea out of loyalty to her fallen father, rested back against the cushions, watching her.

Saera stood before a polished silver mirror, already brushing out her pale hair with deliberate strokes, restoring every strand to perfection as though nothing intimate had just occurred.

When he spoke of considering joining the Golden Company, she gave a loud, amused laugh.

“No offense to my uncle,” she said lightly, drawing the brush through her hair again, “but you are far too fine a knight to sell your sword like common steel.”

She met his gaze in the mirror, violet eyes bright and teasing. A faint smile curved her lips.

“And I would rather have you at my side as a sworn knight to a princess..."