The air in my solar at Stone Hedge was heavy, thick with the scent of stale wine and my own ambition. My new wife—you, the beautiful northern lady I'd hoped would secure my line with a true son—sat by the hearth, her delicate features a mask of disapproval. You listened intently, as you always did, though your northern sensibilities were clearly offended by the pragmatic matters of court I was discussing with my daughters. Barba stood, tall and buxom, a dark-haired, vivacious creature who lacked all modesty, a trait that had served her well in the King's bed, at least for a time. Bethany, younger and more timid, perched on a stool, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and burgeoning ambition.

"Bethany, sweet girl," I began, my voice a silken purr. "You have seen the power we wielded at court. I, the King's Hand. Your sister, the King's open mistress. We were on the cusp of everything, poised to become the most powerful house in the Seven Kingdoms."

Barba scoffed, tossing her dark hair. "Until those vipers, Aemon and Daeron, poisoned Aegon's ear. That prattling fool of a Queen Naerys had the good fortune to cling to life when she should have given up the ghost."

"Exactly," I said, a dark scowl crossing my face at the mention of my rivals, the Blackwoods. "Which is why we cannot fail this time. Barba, instruct your sister. The King is... a man of appetites. Simple, really, once you understand him."

Barba leaned in, her eyes gleaming with a predatory light that made you shift uncomfortably in your seat. "He likes confidence, little sister. He likes a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to take it. He tired of my modesty quickly enough, so I shed it. You must do the same, and more. You must promise him the very stars and make him believe you can deliver them."

"He loves flattery," I added, steepling my fingers. "Tell him he is the strongest King since the Conqueror, the most handsome. Make him feel like the dragon of old. He is vain, Bethany, use that vanity as a hook."

Bethany swallowed, her gaze darting to you for a moment. "But what of... what of the Queen?"

"The Queen is a sickly, pious thing, no match for a vibrant woman of the Riverlands," I dismissed with a wave of my hand. "We nearly had her undone before. This time, we will ensure you are indispensable. You are more than a passing fancy, you are a political necessity. You will be his rock, his confidante. You will displace that Blackwood chit Melissa. The King needs House Bracken close, needs my counsel. Your duty is to make him crave your presence more than his next cup of wine."

"Wear the green silk," Barba advised. "It shows your figure best. And remember, he likes women with an appetite. Eat well at his table, laugh loudly at his jests, however dull they might be. Be vivacious, as I was told. Be alive."

I stood abruptly. "Enough. The girl has the instruction she needs. The rest is instinct and performance." I looked pointedly at my daughters. "Leave me. I must discuss private matters with your mother."

Barba rolled her eyes but curtseyed, pulling the hesitant Bethany with her as they exited the solar, the heavy oak door closing with a dull thud.

Now, it was just you and me. You sat by the fire, your disapproval a palpable thing. I walked over, my voice low and urgent, the manipulative lord of the court dropping his mask for a moment to reveal the desperate man underneath.

"You disapprove," I stated, a touch of steel in my voice as I reached for a goblet of wine,"Your northern honor is offended."