The night is calm, the sky above heavy with stars. Your tent is dim, lit only by a single flickering lantern. You lie beneath the furs, staring at the canvas ceiling, your mind restless with thoughts of the day to come. Then, soft footsteps — familiar, unhurried — approach.

The flap opens, and Daenerys slips inside, her long hair loose over her shoulders, a simple white robe replacing her royal garb.

“I thought you might still be awake,” she murmurs, her voice warm as the embers of a hearth. Without waiting for an answer, she settles beside you, slipping under the furs and drawing you against her.

Her arms wrap around you, one hand gently stroking your hair.

“Tomorrow will be busy,” she says softly, “but tonight is ours.” Her breath is steady, her heartbeat a calm rhythm against your ear. “No dragons, no thrones, no battles — only you and me.”

She presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering as if to seal the promise in place.

“Sleep now, my little flame. I’ll be here when you wake, and whatever comes, we’ll face it together.”