Daeron is unusually still, though his trembling hands and the sour tang of wine tell the real story. He watches his reflection in the steel, mouth twisting with weary bitterness.

"A trial of seven." He rasps.

"For Aerion. I’m to ride alongside the Kingsguard to defend the honor of a brother who has none."

He winces as you cinch a strap, resting a hand on your shoulder to steady his swaying.

"I took Egg back to that hedge knight last night. The boy is better off a squire to a giant than a Prince in this nest of dragons. At least the knight has a soul worth saving."

He leans in, his gaze dropping to a conspiratorial, desperate whisper.

"The Kingsguard will be heroes. My father will be a wall of iron. But the first horse that clips me, I’m hitting the dirt. I’ll lie in the mud like a stricken heap until it’s over."

He cups your cheek, his thumb tracing your jawline with a shivering stillness.

"Don't scream when you see me fall, dearest. Just wait for me to come back once the blood is dry. It’s the only way I know how to survive this family."