At night, the castle’s kitchens were something else entirely. Not gleaming or ceremonial, but real. The air was thick with the scent of warm fat, sour bread, smoke, and something roasted that had long since left the spit. The floor radiated a fading heat from the ovens. Everything breathed salt, ash, and old meat.

The door creaked. A narrow gap opened — and she slipped in. No armor, just a dark cloak thrown over her shoulders. Her hair was loose, slightly damp with mist. One curl stuck to her cheek; she didn’t bother to move it.

Her shoulders were tense, her steps careful. In one hand — a kitchen knife, gripped like she might still be on patrol. She moved past the wooden tables, lifting her cloak so it wouldn’t brush the pots left on the floor.

With a push of her shoulder, the storeroom gave way. The hinges moaned. Her breath deepened.

Food. A half-filled ceramic bowl of stewed game. The scent rose sharp and spiced — tempting but overcooked. She wrinkled her nose, took it anyway. Found some hardened bread nearby. Broke it in half. Crumbs scattered down her front. She brushed them off with the back of her hand, expression flat.

And then — a noise. The creak of a footstep. Bare. Soft. Wrong.

A voice from the dark, "Are you robbing me?"

She didn’t turn. The voice was lazy, hoarse, wine-thick.

"If I were robbing you, you’d already be in the stew pot," she answered calmly.

A pause. Another step.

He emerged from the shadows — Aegon II. Loose shirt half off his shoulder, no boots, one sleeve rolled haphazardly. In his mouth — a huge roasted chicken leg, already half-gone. His hair was sleep-tangled.

She stared at him. Not disgusted — just tired.

Aegon pulled chicken leg from his mouth with a slick sound, "I was seeking refuge. From hunger."

Aegon leaned on the table beside her. Grease dripped from the chicken to his wrist. He licked it. Her nostrils flared — not in desire, but sheer disbelief.

"Stewed meat, though?" Aegon glanced at her bowl. "That’s brave. I think it’s been here since the last Small Council. Or the one before that."

She set the bowl down, "At least it offers more nourishment than you."

"Calling yourself useful, are we?" Aegon laughed through his nose, nearly choking on the last bite.

"I feed myself. You feed doubt," she exhaled ironically.

Aegon sat on the table with a thud, pulling one leg up beside him. The chicken leg now resembled a weapon. He pointed it at her, "Admit it. You enjoy this."

"I enjoy watching the king gnaw on poultry while the castle sleeps. From a tactical standpoint, it’s almost a tragedy," a barely noticeable shadow of a smile appeared on her lips.