Glimpses of faces, tiny caches of voices, whispers, some secrets—everything ran through my memory, eyes dead and tired, arm aching with a pang of burn, my mind recollecting the dream as much as it could. Sansa's quivering lips, her fingers brushing through my snow white mane, whispering a secret that I couldn't recall, Samwell's yelp when I brushed past him, and Rheanys, the sister that I'd never spoken to, looking regal with a golden circlet framing her rich dark hair, a hooded black cloak tied to her heart with a three-headed dragon brooch with ruby eyes. She was tall and slender like me, towering over the bed, standing still as a statue, and the only whisper I remembered of hearing from her lips was, "You should stay away from him."

From whom? I'd meant to ask, but the memory didn't last longer, and I kept wondering what these dreams meant, or if it was even a dream. Ghost licked my palms, and I pushed myself from the layered feather bed, taking in the almost pristine bedchamber.

"Thank the Seven! You are awake."

The Tarly boy moved towards me, and my left arm hurt to even shake. Hair bedraggled, lips chafed and dry, and worst of all, with a hungry stomach, I found hard to find my bearings. "How long did I pass out?"

"A day." Lord Samwell answered with a tentative tone, and I freshened up, managing to recall the night when Aegon had been here in the same chamber. "A tourniquet would have been better. Of course, the Maesters advice that fire is immediate, and clean, and prevents infections, but there is really no proof for that fact except that it burns the skin, and sometimes a good portion of it—"

The Tarly boy went on, nervous fingers shivering, needing to fill the silence between us with so many words. I might have felt entertained had I not regarded my position there more precarious at best, perilous at worst. "Who sent you here?"

He seemed to be on the verge of crying at my question, and perhaps, I was trying to find an enemy in a boy who was merely showing gratitude, because Ghost was sniffing his fingers, and he gently rubbed her furs.

"That was improper of me, my lord." Truce—I'd settle for a truce over war. "Let us conclude that you are not seeing me at my best—neither my manners, nor my presentation." Lord Tarly simply shook his head, tears almost blinding his eyes, and I gave him privacy to compose himself, checking on the Northern guards at the door, who were absent and Daenerys's maid—Brella, barged in with two pails of hot water, rushing to the bath chamber. How did she know I was awake?

"Your household guards have been summoned by my father."

"Will there ever be a time when the lords of King's Landing stop poking their nose in my matters?" Swallowing almost a jug of water, dismissing Brella's service, I sat on a couch, trying to swipe away the headache of having to speak with Lord Randyll Tarly.

"Theoretically, he isn't a Lord of King's Landing. No one is, in fact. The tax of King's Landings' wealth directly goes to the King's treasury. And, my father is the—"

"—the Master of Laws, serving my father." The Tarly boy was amusing. "Do you speak a lot when you are nervous?"

Samwell Tarly merely shook his head, and within moments they both began to chuckle, and when I patted the seat next to me on the green couch, he reluctantly complied. "I do. Which means that it's the only thing I do, because I'm mostly nervous. My father calls me a garrulous girl, fit for wearing garbs. In that matter, the Prince Viserys and my father agree."

We didn't speak for a while and his silence spoke a thousand words that he left out. "Then your father seems to be a bitter fool, just like Prince Viserys."

"Oh, you should not be—" Finding the empty chamber, he simply swallowed his words, lowering his voice. "You should not call the Prince Viserys a fool, so openly. He is someone you should never cross. Also, my father would not take kindly if he hears you insulted him. Since even the walls of King's Landing have ears all over."

There was rationale in his words, and I'd have taken to caution if I wasn't already planning to leave this wretched place. "Then better they both learn that the feelings are mutual. What has your father meant by taking my guards?"

"To have a word with them." Samwell flinched at my narrowed gaze. "He thinks they have failed to do their duty by not even accompanying a Princess to a common inn." That made my brows raise to my hairline. "Of course, he also suggested the King to punish both Ser Aurane, and Lord Gerold for raising their sword against a girl."

"Strangely, I am offended by the reasoning behind that suggestion."

We both chuckled, and I speculated on my father's response, which could have gone in many ways, but I only saw his unperturbed silence, in which he was wishing that Gerold had done a clean job at that. It only brought a disturbing temper. Samwell picked three vials from his pockets, and offered it to me with tenderness. "Black viper and white lily salve for the cut. Lather it as much as you can. It might itch, but that means the cut is curing fast. Bachelor's buttons potions for the ache, and for a dreamless sleep."

"And what is this?" I shook the flaming orange and red liquid in the third vial—bigger size than the rest.

"Scent taken from the fire lilies, from Horn Hill. One of the rarest flowers. My sister gave it to me, so I can woo the Lady Desmora Redwyne." His cheeks grew beet red, looking at my gaping jaw at the possible implications. "Oh, no! No." He plucked the vial from my fingers. "That is not why I gave you. I mean, the fire lilies represent fire, and fiery, like you, when you defended me, which no one has ever done, and I just thought if I could—"

I pried away the vial from his grasp, ignoring his ramblings, praises of valor and courage, and I popped the stopper open, the chambers filled with its aroma. Samwell Tarly was good, not just good at heart, but at skills, especially since he gave me Bachelor's buttons for ache rather than milk of the poppy. Rather than asking about his possible infatuation with me, I inquired about his stay in King's Landing, and the court and court fools. Lord Randyll Tarly might not see the gold mine he was sitting on, but I could use a friend in the boy.


There was a bounce on Sansa's steps, a feather light jump on the balls of her heels, her auburn tresses combed to perfection, plaited to gather it away from covering her reddened cheeks. With a gown of golden cream, her perceptible happiness jumped at viewing the court, where we were invited by the King. Since I'd once been the subject of the same court, on my first day, I only felt dread at seeing my father on the top of the barbed throne.

I was dressed in black, like my sire, if that could be counted as a proof of our kinship, apart from the somber eyes, pursed lips, and distant gazes that Sansa insisted to be counted in resemblance. My hair was left free, a few tendrils framing my face, the rest going till my waist, and my fingers were irritated at the loss of the sword on my hips, grudgingly gratified to run it frequently between the strands. Rhaenys and Daenerys were not on the throne, but with the small counsel, at the foot of the iron throne, busy and substantial, their greetings and curtsies observed with an awe from the courtiers.

"The Grand Maester Pycelle is missing from the counsel." Sansa noted, and I hoped Aegon took care of the man. "The Princesses are everyone's envy. Do you know that neither holds any position in the counsel?"

"How come that is possible?" Didn't I hear Rhaenys speaking about ledgers and numbers with the King? Wasn't she officially on the counsel?

"The King entertains their presence and they say he even prefers them over the crown Prince. The Princesses have the ear of the King." Something similar Margaery had mentioned. Speaking of whom, the entire retinue of Tyrells stood on the opposite side, but my eyes strayed to the other faction—Prince Oberyn Martell at the center with the Prince Quentyn Martell, but that was not who I was focusing on. It would be a silly lie if I told otherwise. Taking away my breath, standing to the left of his uncle, indulging in what seemed to be an aggressive disagreement, Aegon stood in his armour of red plates with scales like a dragon's, his demeanor a call for war, his presence an authority entrancing the attention of the crowd on him rather the King on the throne, and he halted all of that spectacle, turned in my direction, staring at me for a sharp moment, and even Sansa gave a gasp. "The Prince has—"

"I know." I cut her off, uninterested in boosting his overly inflated ego. Lady Margaery had no such qualms as me, her curtsies going too low, eager, welcoming smiles adding to her charm and, like a practiced mule, Aegon responded, and I had to appreciate him for following the rules, with no rhythm missing in his movements, his bows and smiles, greetings and appreciation an exercise of his memory. Suddenly, the air felt thick and hot, fingers gauging into my palms, a moment of insane thoughts drenching my mud head. It only worsened when I met Prince Oberyn Martell's knowing eyes, and the daring smile, my cheeks burning at his wink, and I forced myself to see the iron chair unwilling to fall prey to a malign deception of their games.

"Where is Ser Jaime?" It had been two weeks since the last I saw him, and that was concerning. Every Kingsguards surrounded the King, except for Ser Jaime and the White Bull, who Samwell mentioned having taken frequent illness rest in the recent times.

"Why are you concerned about him? Shouldn't you be happy that he is out of sight? He was always mean to you in Winterfell. Actually, he was rude and hostile to everyone in the North. Do you remember the times we prayed to the Stranger to take him away?"

I swallowed thickly at my own shameful memory and gripped Sansa's arm. "We did that when we were stupid children. He has his faults, but at the core of it, he is a good person and a valiant knight. Didn't you find any changes in him?"

My cousin's ocean blue eyes blinked several times before coming to a conclusion. "No, I didn't. Most likely that he is not the changed one between you two."

What was that supposed to mean? It was getting long due for us to sort out whatever anger she held in heart, and I'd to put an end to it. We simply couldn't go on like this, fighting among ourselves, holding useless secrets. Not now, though. Not with the court prying to find the crack in our family.

With the court assembling at the herald's cry, I momentarily focused on the iron chair and the lords and ladies standing before their King, ignoring his hot, firing gaze that was soon feeding to the court gossip, with murmurs and giggles aiming all around me. Sansa gripped my fingers, and I held her tight, till her own knuckles grew white.

"The Lady Stokeworth, and her Lord husband, Ser Balman Byrch is here to settle down the dispute of succession of House Rosby." Lord Varys, the eunuch announced, and the crowd calmed down, giving ears to the new entertainment. "Let the Father above judge the late Lord Gyles Rosby, justly."

The Lady Falyse cleared her throat, dragging her boney body and her heavy gown forward, curtseying low to the King, and needing her husband's hand to raise back up. "The Lord Gyles did not leave a true born child of his own. And we are the only remaining rightful heir to the lands of Rosby. Unlike some ill-born wretches." Her glance darted to a young boy, who had a lazy smile and quavering chin that was failing to conceal his nervousness.

The counsel traced the bloodline through which Lady Stokeworth could inherit the lands, and which, in my opinion, was horseshit, what with the number of marriages they were tracing it back.

"Does the court have any other claimants who think worthy of the succession to the lands of Rosby?" King Rhaegar asked, and like ants to sugar, five lords came forward. A Frey, a Staunton, a Rykker, a Hogg, and finally the bastard boy who received the ire of rest of the claimants.

Each traced back their line, and the Lord Staunton even went to the time of Aegon the Conqueror, which the King immediately dismissed. Each of their motives was plain as water—a simple hunger for wealth and power, and even if some of them held closer ties to the Lord Rosby, none was as worthy as that of the bastard boy, who the lord had raised himself. He might be without support and strength, but he was of the Lord's blood. Wasn't that enough? And how would he become any lesser to these lords and ladies, even if his ambitions were high?

I could be partial here, and I was aware of my own shortcomings when it came to bastards, but there was nothing that could stop me from rooting for him. King Rhaegar had legitimized me before the court, and gave me his name to carry. He could do the same for the bastard boy, and raise his status, and award him the Rosby castle and its wealth.

A sudden twist of events happened, where the lords began to bicker among themselves, and with a fist connecting to the boy's jaw, the bastard fell down, crouching and holding his face. Ser Balman—Lady Stokeworth's husband stood over him, unsheathing his sword, but it was useless when Aegon's own connected with the useless knight's and the King's raging voice silenced even the whisper of winds in the Hall.

"Was there any misunderstanding that the court held a duel to see the winner, Ser Balman Byrch?" At King Rhaegar's iron clad tone, the man fell to his knees, but there was no shame, just a false pretense of the traces it left. "Leave before I decide that your head could decorate the walls of King's Landing. And take your lady wife with you. You will not be inheriting even a copper coin from the House Rosby."

I yearned to be a part of this folly of court games, to have the power to choose what would happen to whom. Even if I detested my father's power, I wasn't impervious to the allure it held. Aegon helped the bastard boy to his feet, and with his hand on the boy's shoulder, he murmured words of comfort, and that singular sign of his kindness brought a sting to my eyes. Aegon didn't have to do that. Fighting Ser Balman Byrch was chivalrous—yes, helping the boy to his feet was noble—yes, but there was no need for him to give words of comfort. No one in the court cared for a bastard boy's feelings.

"My noble lords and kind ladies! I listened to all of your claims and verified its authenticity with the help of my counsel. The closest claimants to the lands of Rosby were Ser Perwyn Frey, and Rayford Waters—the late lord's natural son. With the power possessed in me, as the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I award the inheritance to Ser Perwyn Frey, and in his demise, to his respective heirs, the castle of Rosby and its wealth."

So, that was that. In the end, a bastard could not hope to raise high in the courts of Kings and lords. If so, what was I doing here? Would I ever stand where Rhaenys, and Daenerys stood in the counsel, shoulder to shoulder with my brother? Would I ever be knighted, or given a white cloak to carry? What would my father offer me if I asked for more? I already knew the answer to that question.

The herald cried my name with the title of Princess, and I tried to keep my sour face neutral. Neither did I bow, nor did I curtsy the King, and the Lord Gerold arrived to the court, standing next to me, maintaining his jaw-tightened grim face, aiming at the King on the throne with tripping anger. The King was mine to hate. Not Gerold's. Like a benevolent daughter, I fell to my knees, my head held down, and even if that was the last act of duty I would do for my family, I did it, just so Gerold would be forced to comply with me.

Both the court and the King observed that transaction, owing to the fact that the ladies preferred to curtsy than to dirty their skirts. A skirt was the last thing I would worry about muddying, though.

"Lord Gerold Dayne, you have been accused of assaulting my daughter, Princess Visenya, in a common inn. What have you got to say about that?"

Gerold stared at me, like I was the filth he ought to have destroyed in his first strike. "I do not deny the claim."

"Striking against the royal blood will not go unpunished." The King declared. "Although, if there is anyone else who'd been behind the cause of your motive, I am willing to hear their name."

My father wanted to hear Viserys's name, and Rhaenys moved to the iron throne and if my assumptions were right, she was not pleased with his turn of inquiry. There were no second thoughts when I interrupted the court's silence, not like the ones that I had in the week before. I needed that leverage that my brother promised to reward me with. He might've his motives, but I was safer to deal with him, over the King, who I'd even fewer reasons to trust.

"The Lord Dayne must have not healed from the gash that I awarded him in our last tilt." I turned to Gerold, pasting a lovely smile. "Did the Maester give you the milk of the poppy, my lord?" The Darkstar simmered, but I ignored him, taking a few steps towards the throne, my father inspecting me, like I'd grown horns or perhaps scales. "There is a falsity in this accusation. I have no reasons to complain against Lord Gerold."

My sister, Rhaenys, addressed me for the first time, eye to eye, her bollixed brown orbs dissecting my intent. "There is no reason for you to be scared of the Lord Gerold or anyone for that matter." She seemed to be of the belief that I was threatened. Why would she concern herself in my matters, though? "There are witnesses who had seen the both of you fight."

"They have?"

"Ser Arthur." For Rhaenys's word, the knight removed his helm, and I willed myself to not worry on disappointing people I'd the least affection towards. "Will you explain to the court of what you'd witnessed in the inn?"

"There is no need for that." I denied making a fool of the knight, who simply wanted to do the right thing. But I was the wrong thing. The wrong party he chose to support and cheer. I needed power over fickle justice. Lord Gerold could be chained in the dungeon, or sent to the narrow seas in exile, or decorated the spikes of King's Landing, but what would that award me with? "Ser Arthur only saw the fight, not the challenge of duel I asked in the name of Seven."

A gasp, a snicker, a few chuckles, and some bouts of laughter went behind the closed fist of the courtiers. Either they assumed I was a nitwit to have asked for a duel, or simply that the idea of me, a girl, fighting amused them. My sister parted her lips to refuse my claim, but she held her tongue.

Lord Randyll Tarly towered over my sister, raising to the occasion to prove his place in the counsel. "Duel?" The abject derision in his tone tingled in my skin. "My lady, the court isn't gathered to entertain your fanciful dreams. Even if we assume that you'd called for a duel, what reasons could there have been for such a dastardly decision?"

For the life of me, I couldn't admit that it was to defend his son, Samwell. I was sure he would whip the boy for letting a girl to defend him. "Of course, to defend the honor of the King." I'd promised Aegon to not allow Gerold to be punished, but I hadn't promised to let him go unscathed. "The Lord Gerold was concerned about the innocent poor lives of all the babes that my father had abandoned, after he had taken their mother's honor. Neither would he accept that my Kingly father wouldn't sire a bastard of his own, nor that he was capable of abandoning his own blood to the vultures. It was my due as his daughter, to fight for his honor." The court went silent at that. Lord Tarly bristled, Dany gave a polite gasp, Rhaenys bit the corner of her lips, while my own curved in delight, and if I was going to be true to myself, it wasn't Gerold I was aiming to let go unscathed.

"And did you successfully defend my honor, Visenya?" My father rose from his throne, and I wondered if I burned the bridge between us. I humiliated him in his own court, before his own subjects. The nobles pretended that bastards never happened. What I did was beyond court etiquette. It was plain degradation. And the worst part was, I enjoyed holding that power over the King. If he had no love for me, then I wanted him to feel hatred for my being, the child he wanted to be glad to get rid of.

"Of course, your grace. Lord Gerold begged on his knees to forgive him after my sharp lesson. Didn't you, my lord?" Gerold seethed, but he acknowledged, falling on his knees before my sire.

"If what you told is true,—" Lord Tarly sneered at Gerold, standing next to the King, his stature disapproving of everything that I represented. Of course, he'd not accept that girls should defend their father's honor, especially the King's honor. "—loosing his tongue would teach him never to speak ill of the crown."

"That won't be necessary." My father ground his teeth, face red in anger, his fingers wiggling to let the Lord Gerold raise. "My beloved daughter had called for a duel. The court of men and Gods mandate that a duel, as unorganized as it is, must be recognized as Gods' own judgment. Even a King is not above the law." Dismissing the court, not willing a moment longer to anymore damage his reputation, with swift long strides, he marched out of the throne room, followed by his white knights, and the counsel dispersed after him, Rhaenys leaving the last, a reluctance in her swaggering steps, her gaze affixed on me, in both wonder and disgust.

Sansa stood among the dissipating crowd, averse to my adverse behavior, a tight lip and a shake of her head to let it known that I was the miscreant, the fool to shun away my father's favor. I wanted to confess to her that we didn't need his lackadaisical favor. Or the truth that my sire would never favor me. And that thought strengthened my will. Her Tully eyes focused on Aegon, who admired me with a passion, an adulatory smile on his lips, and I felt both shame and pride surging in me at his assessment. I needed to make good of his promise. But we both were halted by two Daynes, the noble one at Aegon's side, instructing him to join the courtyard for training, and the evil one at my side.

"You should not have dared to humiliate me this way. I heard from Aegon that you will take care of the trial. And you presented me as a fool to the court." Gerold whispered, his fist caressing the hilt of the sword that drank my blood.

"Better a fool than being dead. Don't you agree?"

"There are a very few things I entertain." His words blew out with vengeance. "And the least of which is a woman who makes a fool out of me. Mark my words. You will know your comeuppance for daring to lift a steel against me."

"Gladly." I answered in the same breath, although a part of me was unnerved by his threat, of his gall to deliver it in the middle of the court, where my family still lingered. "Let the best of us win, if the day comes." Hopefully, it wouldn't! The cut in my arm still burned, while Darkstar's retreating steps were firm and sturdy. I needed Jaime. I'd my own conceitedness when it came to swordplay, but I also knew a true threat when I heard one.

"And that is how you earn the contempt of a Dornishman." Prince Oberyn offered his arm, his eyes honey brown like my sister's. With Sansa already gone, Aegon engaged with Ser Arthur, I was left to deal with the Red Viper, with little excuse to escape. "If you asked for my counsel, I'd warn you of the dangers of the court, especially for a girl who has lost her favors of her father."

"Is one of the dangers of the court entails being entertained by a Dornish Prince?"

"Not even close." He faced me then, brows pulled in a crunch, a sinister smile on his lips, reading my body that made my insides uncomfortable. "When you get entertained by me, you will hold no uncertainty after I'm done with you. Although, I have no taste for girls of your age, or especially towards someone who looked like you." There was no way I was going to let him feel powerful over his humiliating words. "But, let us speak about the Prince who matters now. Can we?"

"And what makes you think that I'm interested in this conversation?" I'd done nothing to deserve his belittling. In fact, my discord with the King should give him gratification, considering I'd have no allies in this forsaken place.

"Your interest doesn't concern me, Princess. Should I remind you of your position here? Or my position here?"

"And how would you do that, my lord?" It seemed to me that I was collecting the contempt of Dornishmen. "Is it with your poison or with your spear? Neither of these threats would falter me, just so you know."

An approving smile broke out of his face, my spine relaxing at the gesture, and I realized why Jaime had called him dangerous. Or that I'd to get better than to seek approval from men of my father's age. "You'd do well with my daughters. More the shame. You are not of my brood or my blood. Tell me the truth, when it comes to that, to choose, who will it be that you choose to spare, Eddard Stark, or Rhaegar Targaryen?"

They'd often asked about my loyalty, and over and over I'd proclaimed that I harbored no ill intention to my family, but no one had put it this way. It never truly occurred to me that I'd put myself in a position as that to choose between my uncle and my father. Why would I? "You must've not known my uncle—Lord Stark, enough to ask such a question. He would never put me in that position." That answer must have stung the man's ego, as though I'd questioned his own morale. "What is it you want from me, Prince Oberyn?"

"Stay away from Aegon." He answered nonchalantly, a refrained tone in his reply. "You can warm his bed, if that is all you wish for. You can be his mistress, like your mother was to your father." Whatever warmth I'd felt for him scattered away in his cold, cutting jabs. Of course, it all came to my mother in the end. "Never try to raise above your station. You will then truly see what I'm capable of, and it won't be pretty. This time, there will be a bloodbath if Rhaenys gets disgraced on your behalf."

I'd assumed he was warning me because of the war and destruction that my mother's elopement with my father had caused. Or because of my own presence, a clear evidence of my father's indiscretion, the insult upon Queen Elia's wedded position. The insinuation that I was going to come between Aegon and Rhaenys had never occurred to me.

"You should stay away from him.", Rhaenys had warned in my dreams. What if that wasn't a dream, just a replay of Rhaenys actually being in my chambers? I didn't want to retrospect Aegon's behavior in any of this. Oberyn Martell almost left me to my devices, his job to threaten me being completed with perfection, as he sauntered across the empty throne hall, where there were no Kings or no subjects to judge.

"And here I thought Prince Oberyn Martell would never threaten little girls and children." At my words, he halted, nose flaring fiercely at my callousness. "Aren't those the same words that you'd used to rescue me from Lord Connington, my lord?"

"I would do it again in another heartbeat, but not at the expense of my own blood." There was a change in his expression, a forlorn thought, and a considerate kindness at the debate he was trying to win against himself. "You do not understand, little dragon. There are some mistakes that can be paid only in blood. And there are some mistakes that can never be paid." This wasn't a warning. There was grief in it, a plain regret, followed by a resolution, a firm one. "Tell me again, who would you choose?" I refused to answer, and he snickered. "Let me put it this way. I saw you with the Kingslayer the other day. Aegon thinks you are in love with him. A human madness, after all, to chase what shouldn't be chased. Your father had it. Aegon has it. Do you have it?"

My heart leapt like a fish out of water, blood rushing to my cheeks, a sting in the back of my eyes. I had a queer feeling that I was being played by someone, or by everyone.

"What if I told you the choice is between the Kingslayer and your father?" I balled my fist, the nails digging into my skin.

"It will never come to—"

"Are you really sure about your father?" I had to shut my mouth. I willed to keep it shut, just in case telling it out made it real. "Because this time, when someone steps into Dorne, they will stay in Dorne, dead or alive. And you don't even get to choose. You will remember that well." I'd no idea where he was getting at, but once again, the threat was real. My stomach coiled at the fact of not seeing Ser Jaime for a fortnight now.


I thought I had been clever when I humiliated my father. I assumed I was smart to have provoked his wrath. Of course, I wanted him to see me, acknowledge me, treat me the same way he treated my other siblings. Or that hate me with a passion, that I always remained a thorn in his side, the sin that he could not wipe clean off.

I was proved wrong, though.

No one knew the whereabouts of Ser Jaime.

I could march to my father's solar and demand an answer from him, but I was sure he would give me none, or that relish in the power to see me weak and under his mercy.

I wasn't going to give him the pleasure of it. At least try to avoid it, if I could.

Pushing myself on the oak beam, raising with a light huff, I tried to balance myself to cross the huge Hall of White Sword Tower, where there were too many knights for my taste. I wasn't subtle. With all the huffs and whimpers I made, the guards were moving even more frantically, looking everywhere, searching all the nooks except to look above.

I waited for them to leave, which I knew they'd do eventually, because I wasn't leaving before seeing Jaime sane and healthy. Sitting on my haunches, listening to the knights' general gossip, especially about the Lord Commander's ill health, or about the time they'd gotten themselves almost killed in a spar or a duel, I felt my resolve weaken. What if Jaime was never there? He would never have left me on his own will. He would have reached me out if he'd been aware of my duel with the Lord Gerold. I was an embodiment of his duty as a knight. For as much as he had proclaimed to have saved me in Winterfell, I was coming to a realization that the other way around was true, too.

One by one, the guards disappeared, and when I was about to get down, two heavy Valyrian tongued voices drafted towards the entrance of the Hall.

"What have you come for, Viserys? No one is going to believe that it is to pay last rites to a dying Kingsguard." Dany entered the Hall, her posture rigid and angry.

"And they will believe in your innocence?" Dany bristled at Viserys's boring, arrogant, cruel smile. "I suppose that could be true. Even I was fooled. How long will you carry on with this pretense?"

"Stop with your filth!" Dany ordered, her voice iron-clad strong. "It is true. You have gone mad. Just like our father. Just like how Rhaegar had predicted." The ethereal face of Viserys turned sinister at that comment, a snarl escaping his angry lips, and his nostrils flared, eyes darkening.

"Oh, you realize I'm mad now?" He cocked his head to one side. "Did you not realize that when you fucked me?" There was a longing hurt in his voice, and even I felt that quiver in his voice. "I thought I was saving you, helping you. Perhaps you both deserve each other."

I wouldn't have believed a word said by Viserys. Not even if he promised on his life. But then, Dany stood there, her palms closing to a fist, angry tears in her eyes, a soft gaze raking over Viserys, like she wished she could take away his pain, comfort him like a lover. Every ounce of her wanted to move towards him, but it was Viserys who moved away.

"Fine." He said with a resolve. "I will not stand in your way. Fuck anyone you want to. Kill anyone you are angry at. Do not come to me when you realize the game you created has played you."

"Do not tell me you came here to irk me with your petty jealousy."

Viserys was about to tell something important, an air of seriousness in his tone, but I must've moved a bit, as his eyes landed on me, sitting like a ghost in the beam. For a moment, I was shaken, worried that I'd been a spy here, anxious that no matter how I'd explain, Dany might never trust me, what with her personal secret having a witness. Although, the next moment, Viserys went on to speak with his same arrogant tone, making me wonder if he really didn't see me and I was beginning to hallucinate.

"Rhaenys informed me that my brother wants my blood for that bastard." He continued. "Gerold promised me that he would never take my name in the court, even if Rhaegar cut off his dick." Dany was chagrined at his comment. "But here is the thing." He gave a long pause, wanting each word to be heard. "I never wanted him to kill her. Hell, I never even asked him to fight her."

There was a silence between them that stretched forever, and I wondered if Dany thought what I thought. He was bullshitting her. He must be too desperate to win her love back, for which he was lying about his involvement in the inn. Dany walked away, furious in her steady steps towards the Ser Gerold Hightower's chamber, while Viserys left the tower. I waited till Dany returned, until the sun set down, until Ser Arthur and Prince Lewyn arrived, exchanging their duties with Ser Oswell, and Ser Richard, and I heard everything I need to know about Jaime.

The bed was soft, feather light, unused for years, and I stared at the gilded suit of golden armor by the fireplace, and thought of the warning the Prince Oberyn Martell had issued. This time, when someone steps into Dorne, they will stay in Dorne, dead or alive.

With a gust of wind, the chamber door creaked with its dusty hinges, and I lurched to the fireplace, withdrawing the long sword from the suit, expecting Jaime to have raised his own. He did not disappoint, and our steel clanged louder in the chambers, but when he realized it was me, an annoyance flitted over his once charming face.

"Oh, well, who would have dared to enter my chambers, if not for my useless little pet?"

"Self-deprecation doesn't suit you." I was angry at everyone, at Jaime himself, but I also felt a sense of peace seeing him whole and alive. It seemed the feeling was mutual, his face lightening at my presence. "Neither does acting like a prick by not even visiting me, all these days."

I hadn't been too observant of Jaime when we were in the North, but I knew him enough to know when he would be angry, when he'd want to rip out the hearts of people rather to sit and have a rational conversation with them. He processed everything in a courtyard. "Get out before I cut you into pieces and give it to your father as my parting gift."

"You will rather want me to leave than to speak about the problem?" I scowled.

"What makes you think there is a problem?" He snarled and cut his sword close to my space, pushing me, fighting me, cornering me towards the oaken door. "The way I see it, I only have a pest problem in my chambers. And I am getting rid of it."

"This is ridiculous." I stopped fending him off. "I haven't come here to humor you."

That seemed to irate him even more, and he knocked me down with the flat of his blade, giving a bruise that would soon turn purple. I was halfway out of his chambers, and he looked down at me with disappointment. "Whence, in all these years of training you, you realized I would find swordplay to be a humor? Was that how you ended up getting knocked down by a stupid green boy?"

That stung. His disappointment really hit something worse in me. Like I was a fucking failure. It also simmered a buried anger in me. "Like you fucking care." I rose, my black dress whirling with my anger, like a shadow cloak. "All those fucking promises were lies." I shoved his chest, every nerve of my body crackling with power. "Tell me. Tell me, I am wrong. Tell me, you are not leaving me here to fucking Dorne."

A tenderness rose in him and he was about to admit to something, before it became rigid and sharp, as he looked past me, and I turned around to find Ser Arthur, with ruffled silver hair, wearing a loose, thin cotton cloth of a fabric, his fist curling around Dawn, eyes alert even if he'd come out of a deep sleep.

"Will I now be punished for kicking out this pest?" Ser Jaime questioned with a cocksure mockery in his tone, aiming the question at Ser Arthur, challenging him, his voice tight with menace. "If so, I will hurt her enough to make it worth the punishment. Your cousin did a shoddy job, at best." He tore at the sleeve of my gown and inspected the healing scar with a scowl that heated up my face in more shame. "I know her shortcomings better than anyone in this world." My ears turned red, hurt by his vengeful words, but I'd lived with him too long enough to know that he was merely bluffing, putting up an act in front of Ser Arthur to not reveal his vulnerability, which obviously was me, and that was what I should've done, before letting them realize Jaime was someone that I cared for.

Ser Arthur did not respond to us. Everyone thought of us as lovers. My brother and Prince Oberyn were quite vocal about it. And I figured visiting a Kingsguard after the sun had set in the White Sword Tower was pretty much begging everyone to rumor about me as a defiled maid. I would've never done this even when I was in Winterfell. But then everyone knew who was Jaime to me in Winterfell.

"In fact—" Jaime shoved me, his eyes glinting with the knowledge of where my thoughts wandered to. "—her shortcomings doesn't end at the courtyard." He was going to humiliate me. "Even in bed, she is a lousy lover. Always pining after we—" It was my fist that connected his jaw, and he knew he deserved that. He wiped the blood from his lips with his thumb. "If it's only a broken lip for your broken heart. I must think it's a decent trade." He kept on with the charade.

It would reach my father's ears, and strangely, in all fucking ways, I wanted my father to be humiliated at the knowledge, hurt that the knight he'd sent to protect me had taken my honor. Perhaps that was what Jaime had wanted to. Perhaps we both shared that toxic inclination to goad our enemies till they confronted us. But this was madness. He was practically begging to be killed. Even if my father hated me to his core, he was the King, and to speak ill of my honor would have to be addressed. And I would never put Jaime in a dangerous position just to get back with my father.

"Of all the things I know of you, I never assumed you to be honorless, Ser Jaime." At my words, he shriveled, his face crumpled in the agony of ever hearing me utter those words. If there was one thing that could hurt Jaime, it was me calling him to be honorless. But I wanted to make sure Ser Arthur never told any of this interaction to my father. And the only way to do that was to make him believe that Ser Jaime was only being salty—which was the truth. "Begone to wherever the hell my father has sent you to. Else, the next time you see me, I will fight for my own honor."

I walked away, not willing to see how Ser Arthur had perceived this interaction. My heart was heavy like I carried a mountain. With no knowledge of when Jaime would be leaving, I was worried that this was how I was going to send him off, where he believed that I thought him to be honorless. Especially when this could be our last interaction. There was a burning in my chest, Prince Oberyn's words echoing with the threat, and I promised myself that I would find a way to make sure Jaime stayed safe. If they were anyway going to see me an enemy, then I would make sure that I was a wretch that they shouldn't have scorned.