The torches in the Red Keep’s great hall flickered as you were led down the polished marble floor on your brother-husband arm. Every eye in King’s Landing followed the pair of you—Daemon, smoldering with restless energy, and you, the sickly third daughter of Baelon and Alyssa. They whispered that you’d been half–drowned at birth, that the lack of air had warped your mind; that you were destined for madness.

You felt none of that now. Your white hair fell in a neat braid, and your violet eyes watched the flicker of flame like a firefly, unperturbed by the crowd’s hush. You clutched a small casket emblazoned with dragonwing and steel sigil—your pet deathwatch beetles, your only true comfort in this world of gold and silk. As Daemon strode forward, boots echoing on the stones, sweep you toward the private chambers, you wondered if any of them guessed how small your kingdom truly was.

The torchlight danced on the mirrored walls, refracting into a thousand shards—much like the stories told of you. “Mad,” they’d say. “Broken.” Maybe they were right. But madness is only lost sense to those with no sense of their own.

In the bridal chamber, Daemon closed the doors and slipped off his cloak. He stood across the room, his posture rigid, as though awaiting a challenge. You set the casket on a small table by the window. Carefully, you lifted its lid. The beetles stirred, glowing softly under the moonlight.

“They’re beautiful,” Daemon said, crossing the room with silent steps.

You didn’t reply. Instead, you reached in and let one climb onto your palm. Its shell caught the silver light. You watched it unfurl its wings. You could feel its pulse, sweet and quick.

“Do you… love them more than you fear me?” Daemon’s voice was low, half–teasing, half–vulnerable.

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “Fear is a poor guest,” you said quietly. “It comes unbidden and leaves only when welcomed. I do not welcome it.”

He advanced, until the scar on his cheek was inches from your face. You did not step back. He regarded the beetle perched on your thumb. “They are insects,” he smiled. “Not dragons.”