If someone had told Prince Vaegon a few moons ago that his gentle sister Daella would complicate his life, he might have scoffed.

But now he found himself wandering through the palace gardens, in broad daylight, beside a girl he barely knew — his possible future bride — and it felt as though the Seven Hells had opened just for him.

He hadn’t meant to insult Daella, not exactly. He had simply told her, in a moment of candor, “you are wasting argon gold.” It was a logical objection, or so he’d thought. The crown’s resources could be far better used than on silken gowns and harp lessons.

Queen Alysanne had not appreciated his “logic.”

King Jaehaerys, though composed, had been less forgiving — especially as the proposed betrothal between his daughter and son now impossible.

And so, rather than send him to the Citadel — as a particularly chatty servant had warned — the king had devised what he called a “milder form of correction.”

Her

You, daughter of Lord Tyrell, whose soft smile and calm manner stood in contrast to the thorns now knotting Vaegon’s stomach. The king had ordered a series of walks — “to grow familiar,” he’d said — as if affection were something that could bloom between chapters of The Lives of Four Kings.

The gardens smelled of spring and civility. Exotic blossoms nodded gently in the breeze.

“This is a waste of your time,” Vaegon muttered without looking at you, his violet eyes flicking toward the sun-dappled path ahead. “I have studies that demand my attention. Shall we finish this quickly?”