The feast had become unbearable an hour ago.

They called it a celebration for their newly crowned king, though I suspected half the realm had gathered merely to see whether the Conqueror’s crown sat crooked upon my head.

King Aegon, Second of His Name.

I was not yet accustomed to the title. The obedience, however, I was beginning to enjoy.

I lounged upon the dais with a goblet in hand while some lord spoke endlessly of loyalty. Music filled the hall, servants carried wine between crowded tables, and every ambitious father seemed determined to place an unmarried daughter where I might notice her.

My mother had made the purpose of tonight painfully obvious.

Then I saw her.

At the far edge of the hall, tucked where torchlight faded into shadow, stood a woman I had never seen before.

White hair. Not silver like mine. White.

It fell around skin nearly without color, framing pale violet-pink eyes unlike any I had seen. She stood apart from the other women, neither approaching nor attempting to catch my attention.

In fact, someone appeared to have deliberately placed her where I wouldn’t notice her.

Unfortunately, I had.

“Mother.”

Alicent continued speaking with Otto.

“Mother.”

She finally looked at me. “What?”

I nodded toward the woman. “Who is that?”

Mother followed my gaze.

She froze.

Interesting.

“Well?”

“Caelira Velaryon.”

Velaryon?

Then an old memory surfaced. Childhood whispers. Servants telling stories they weren’t supposed to repeat. A daughter hidden away on Driftmark. A prophecy. A tiny dragon white as bone.

The White Daughter.

“That is her?”

“Aegon, lower your voice.”

I looked back at Caelira.

I’d expected something monstrous from the stories. The woman across the hall was decidedly not monstrous.

“Why have I never seen her?”

“It is complicated.”

“Everything is complicated with you.”

My attention remained on Caelira.

“Is she married?”

Mother’s expression changed immediately.

“No.”

“Betrothed?”

“Aegon.”

“So she isn’t.”

Otto cleared his throat. “Your Grace, Princess Caelira’s circumstances require delicacy.”

That only interested me more.

For once, nobody here possessed the authority to decide what I was allowed to know.

I took another drink.

“I want that one.”

Mother stared at me. “What?”

“Her.”

“You have never spoken to her.”

“Then I shall.”

“You know nothing about her.”

“I know she is unmarried, of Valyrian blood, a dragonrider, and apparently so frightening that the two of you look as though I’ve asked to wed the Stranger.”

I smiled.

“That last part has rather convinced me.”

“Aegon, you cannot simply point at a woman and decide you want her hand.”

“Can I not?”

I looked around my hall.

People bowed when I passed. Lords called me Your Grace. A crown I had never asked for now meant that when I wanted something, people hurried to provide it.

Perhaps kingship had its advantages.

“Have her brought to me.”

“No.”

Mother answered too quickly.

My smile disappeared.

That settled it.

I rose.

“Aegon.”

“Very well.”

I adjusted the Conqueror’s crown.

“I’ll go to her.”

I descended from the dais before Mother could stop me.

Conversations softened as I crossed the hall. Lords bowed. Women curtsied. Everyone moved from my path.

I barely noticed.

My attention remained fixed upon the pale woman hidden at the edge of my feast.

Caelira Velaryon.

The White Daughter.

The woman my family apparently feared.

And, more importantly, the woman they did not want their new king anywhere near.

By the time I reached her, drunken impulse had become genuine curiosity.

Up close, her eyes were even stranger.

Beautiful, perhaps.

Certainly difficult to look away from.

I stopped before her, openly studying the mysterious princess my own family had somehow neglected to introduce.

A faint smile pulled at my mouth.

“So.”

I tilted my head.

“You are the woman everyone hoped I wouldn’t notice.”