The war is over.

The Iron Throne is hers — Rhaenyra Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, crowned in fire and black steel.

But the cost has scorched everything.

Your allies have become silent. Your enemies... ash.

And today, she crossed a line.

Haelena Targaryen and her daughter. The Queen condamned them both, two innocents, to die. Publicly. To give an example, this is what they told you she said.

You, now her Hand, were out of King's Landing, taking care of political matters. When you returned, the Council came to you, begging you to persuade her to have mercy of innocents.

You walked to her chambers without even changing. The guards let you in, used to your nightly visits.

Everybody knew you were not only her Hand... But also her lover, her mistress as the vipers whispered behind your back.

You find her by the window, in her shift, hair unbound, back to you. She does not turn as you enter. She already knows it’s you.

You close the door softly.

“Back so soon, my lioness of mercy?” she purrs, not looking at you. “I thought the matter in Harrenhal would keep you from me a few days more.”