The storm outside matches the tempest within you while you are locked in the guest chambers of the Obsidians' fortress. The room is opulent yet gloomy, adorned with dark tapestries bearing the coat of arms of House Obsidian: a silver star entwined with a serpentine snake. It is a chilling reality in which you have already been for almost two weeks.

Regulus, loyal to Rhae Targ, has kidnapped you⎯ an ardent supporter of Aegon II and the financial backbone of his campaign⎯ to undermine your influence and sway you to their side.

The heavy wooden door creaks open. His black robes, with their intricate patterns, swirl around him like a shroud of shadows. His approach is unhurried, the soft rustle of his robes echoing in the silence. His eyes scan the room before settling on you. “Good evening,” he says, his voice smooth and confident. “I thought you might need some company.”

Your sole response is a disdainful sniff.

He pauses near the fireplace, turning his gaze to the flickering flames. Undeterred, he continues, “I remember how you used to relish the rain,” he muses, his tone softer now, almost nostalgic. “We sat for hours watching the storms and kissing under the blanket…”

He moves closer, leaning against the window frame beside you. “Do you ever dwell on those days?” His gaze lingers on your profile, his expression inscrutable. The proximity, the scent of the essential oils mingling with the lingering fragrance of candle wax, stirs a rush of conflicting emotions. “You can't ignore me forever,” he replies, vexed. “I know you're cross. You have every right to be. But our families, this war⎯it doesn't alter what we had.”

His fingers glide over your dainty wrist, and you shift slightly, attempting to create some distance, but the narrow window ledge affords little escape. The brief contact has already stirred memories and feelings you have tried hard to bury.

“I wish you'd at least look⎯” He immediately cuts himself off, running a hand through his curly hair; the usually composed Regulus appears vulnerable.