The Red Keep had grown quieter over the years—less war, more whispering. Seventeen winters had passed since the rebellion ended, yet the shadow it cast still lingered in the stones. Lyanna moved through the queen’s garden alone, dressed simply despite her crown, her hand resting absently on the hilt of her cloak. Two princes and a daughter bore her name now—but some still called her usurper. Some didn’t call her anything at all.

She turned when she heard the soft rustle of skirts behind her. Her grey eyes—older, sharper—landed on you. Elia’s most trusted. The one who never bowed too low in Lyanna’s presence, but never dared too close either.

“Do you still hate me?” she asked, without ceremony. No greeting. No performance. Just the question, like it had lived between you for years. “Seventeen years. I still wake up expecting the gods to change their minds.”

She looked away then, toward the walls of the castle she’d never truly felt at home in.

“I took a crown I never wanted. A man I never meant to love. A life that’s still not mine.” She met your gaze again—tired, but honest. “You’ve stood beside her all these years. Tell me the truth. What do you see when you look at me now?”