King's Landing, The Red Keep - 125 AC
At ten name days, I was beginning to understand that power wasn't just something you wielded with a sword or a crown—it was in the whispers, the suggestions, the carefully placed words that could nudge the course of events in a direction you wanted without anyone ever realizing they'd been steered. And if there was one thing, I had learned in the chaos that was Westeros, it was that subtlety was often far more effective than force.
One day, I would have to step out of the shadows and take on more direct control, to wield that influence openly rather than from behind the scenes. But for now, I was content to watch and to learn, to bide my time. The world was a complicated place, full of dangers and uncertainties, but I was learning how to navigate it, how to turn those dangers to my advantage.
And I was learning that power wasn't just about strength or position. It was about knowing when to act, when to hold back, when to push, and when to let others take the lead. It was about understanding people, their desires, their fears, and using that understanding to guide them where you wanted them to go.
Take the North, for example. A harsh, unforgiving land, yes, but also a place with untapped potential. Most people in the South saw the North as little more than a frozen wasteland populated by grizzled warriors and stubborn lords. But I saw it differently. I saw an opportunity. All it needed was the right push, the right… investment.
Of course, I couldn't do much on my own. I was only ten, after all, and a girl at that—something that would have been a severe limitation if I'd let it be. But I had learned to use what I had, and what I had was a father who loved me, a grandsire who listened, and a mind that could see the connections others missed. It wasn't hard to plant the seeds of an idea, to drop little hints and let them grow until they thought the plan had been theirs all along.
The idea of revitalizing the North had come to me one day while I was spying on the council chamber through the eyes of a bird, listening to the lords drone on about trade routes and tariffs. The North had always struggled with population—it was a vast region, but its people were spread thin, clinging to the warmer coasts and valleys while vast stretches of land remained empty, wild. At the same time, King's Landing was bursting at the seams, its slums overflowing with people who had nowhere to go, nothing to eat, and no hope of a better life.
It seemed obvious to me: why not take those people, those desperate souls, and give them a new start in the North? The land was there, waiting to be tamed. And with the right incentives—land, safety, the promise of a future—they would come. They would build, they would grow, and the North would prosper in a way it never had before.
I didn't present the idea directly, of course. That would have been too obvious, too bold. Instead, I mentioned it casually to my grandsire. I framed it as an afterthought, something I had been pondering—a "what if" rather than a "we should." Corlys, thoughtful as ever, had nodded, saying it was an interesting idea, something worth considering. I knew then that he would take it to Laenor, and from there, it would only be a matter of time.
The plan unfolded just as I had hoped. My father and grandsire took the idea and ran with it, refining it, expanding it. They presented it to the king as a way to ease the burden on King's Landing and strengthen the North at the same time. Viserys, always eager to avoid unrest in the capital, agreed, and soon enough, the wheels were in motion.
And it worked. It worked better than I could have imagined. The North began to fill with new settlers—families who had once been crammed into the squalid slums of Flea Bottom now found themselves with land of their own, places to build homes, to grow crops, to raise children. It wasn't easy—the North was still the North, after all, with its long winters and harsh terrain—but the people adapted, and they thrived.
Wintertown, which in one lifetime would only ever be a little more than a cluster of huts clinging to the base of Winterfell, grew into a bustling market town, its streets filled with traders from across the Seven Kingdoms and beyond. The influx of people brought new life to the North, and with them came trade. Ships from Essos now sailed into White Harbor, their holds filled with goods that had once seemed out of reach for the northern lords. Driftmark played a crucial role in this, of course—our ships carrying goods to and from the North, our coffers filling with the profits.
The North, once seen as a cold, distant place on the edge of the world, was now becoming a hub of activity, a region that mattered not just for its warriors but for its wealth. The horse races and festivals that now lit up Wintertown in the warmer months were a testament to that change—a celebration of the North's new prosperity, and a way to bring the people together in a way they hadn't been before.
And I was proud. Proud that I had played a part in this, even if no one knew it but me. It felt good to see the North flourishing, to know that the people there had a chance at a better life because of something I had helped set in motion. I didn't need recognition; the results were enough. And besides, I wasn't done yet. There was still so much more that could be done, so many other ways to shape the world around me.
What excited me most about the North, more than the growing towns or the new trade routes, was something far more personal: Jacaerys. My brother had gone to foster with House Stark, and in the time, he'd been there, it seemed like the cold winds of the North had seeped into his very bones, changing him in ways that I both admired and missed deeply. From the letters we exchanged, you'd think the Starks had managed to turn him into a direwolf, just like them—tough, loyal, and with a heart as strong as steel.
I missed Jace more than I ever thought I would. The Red Keep wasn't the same without him. Sure, I had my aunt, uncles, and Joffrey was always around, but it wasn't the same. Jace had always been my partner in crime, the one who could make me laugh even on the darkest days, the one who would listen to my wild ideas and make them seem less crazy. His absence left a hole in our home that no amount of letters could fill, though the letters did help.
His missives were full of stories about the North—how he'd learned to ride a horse through snowdrifts taller than a man, how he'd watched the Northern lords pledge their loyalty to the Starks with a solemnity that was both intimidating and impressive. He wrote about the Northern feasts, where the ale flowed like rivers and the meat was seasoned with spices that warmed you from the inside out. He told me about the Stark children—Cregan, the brooding heir with a sense of duty as heavy as the Wall itself, and his cousins, who were as fierce as they were kind.
But what made me smile most were the parts of his letters where he let slip just how much he'd come to love it all. The North had claimed him, just as it had claimed so many before him. He might have gone there as a dragon, but he was coming back with a bit of direwolf in him too.
And now, he was finally coming home. House Stark was traveling south for the wedding between Aegon and Cassandra, and Jace was coming with them. I could hardly contain my excitement. My brother was coming back, and it felt like everything was falling into place again. The thought of seeing him, hearing his voice, and laughing together like we used to—it made me nearly giddy with anticipation.
That morning, as we broke our fast as a family, the excitement in the air was palpable. Mother was smiling more than I'd seen her smile in weeks, and even father, who was usually more reserved, seemed more animated, his eyes lighting up every time Jace's name was mentioned. Joffrey, of course, was practically bouncing in his seat, barely able to sit still as he shoveled food into his mouth between bursts of chatter about all the things he was going to show Jace when he arrived.
As I sat there, sipping from my chalice of juice, I couldn't help but smile behind the rim of the cup. This was how it was supposed to be—family, together, happy. And for once, the darkness of the world outside seemed far away, like a storm that had passed, leaving only clear skies in its wake.
But even as I basked in the warmth of the moment, there was something else that made me smile, something more private, more secret. I glanced across the table to where Ser Qarl was sitting, talking quietly with Ser Harwin. It was a small thing, just two men sharing a meal, but it made me happy. My parents were a good couple, and they cared for each other in their own way, but they weren't in love. Not like you read about in songs or stories. They were partners, yes, but their hearts had always belonged to others.
And that was okay. They had found their happiness elsewhere, even if it had to be kept in the shadows. My father had Ser Qarl, his steadfast knight, the one who had stood by his side through thick and thin. There was a quiet understanding between them, a bond that went beyond words, and I was glad my father had someone like that in his life.
My mother had Ser Harwin, and though their relationship was more complex, it was no less real. Harwin was her strength, her confidant, the one who could be there for her in ways that Laenor couldn't. I could see it in the way she looked at him, the way her eyes softened just a bit when he was near. It was a different kind of love, perhaps, but it was love all the same.
And I was happy for them. Truly. In a world as twisted and dangerous as ours, finding someone who could bring you comfort, even in secret, was a rare thing indeed. If they had to keep it hidden, so be it. What mattered was that they had found something real, something that made the weight of their responsibilities a little easier to bear.
As I looked around the table, at my family—my real family—I felt a swell of contentment. Jace was coming home, the North was thriving, and my parents were as happy as they could be, given the circumstances. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough. And in a place like Westeros, sometimes enough was all you could ask for.
"Lucerys," Rhaenyra's voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I looked up to see her watching me with a gentle smile. "Are you excited to see your brother again?"
"More than you know," I replied, my own smile widening. "It feels like he's been gone forever."
She nodded, her eyes softening with understanding. "He's missed you too. He talks about you all the time in his letters."
"I can't wait to hear all his stories," I said, setting down my chalice and leaning forward slightly, the excitement bubbling up inside me again. "And to see how much he's changed. From the way he writes, you'd think he's become a Stark himself."
Laenor chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "It's the North. It has a way of getting under your skin, of changing you in ways you don't expect."
"Do you think he'll come back with a direwolf?" Joffrey piped up, his eyes wide with excitement. "Or maybe he'll be wearing one of those thick furs, like the Starks do."
"Who knows?" I teased, ruffling his hair. "Maybe he'll bring you back one as a pet."
Joffrey's eyes lit up even more at the idea, and I couldn't help but laugh. It was moments like this that made everything worth it—the simple joy of being together, of looking forward to what was to come.
After we finished breaking our fast, I took Joffrey's hand and led him through the corridors of the Red Keep. It had become a bit of a routine for us—after our parents headed off to deal with the burdens of ruling and politicking, I would take Joff to meet up with the other Targaryen children. But today felt different. Maybe it was just the tension in the air, the way the servants whispered to each other as we passed by, their eyes darting back and forth as if expecting something to happen at any moment.
Joffrey, now seven namedays old, had grown so much in what felt like such a short time. I could hardly believe how tall he was getting, how his once-round face was beginning to lose its childish softness. It seemed like just yesterday he was small enough to carry on my hip, and now here he was, walking beside me, his steps full of that boundless energy that only children seem to have. He was all bright eyes and questions, his mind always whirring with curiosity.
As we made our way through the Keep, I couldn't help but notice how the tension hung in the air like a storm cloud waiting to burst. The division between those loyal to the Green Queen and those loyal to the Black Princess had always been there, but it felt sharper now, more pronounced. It was as if every whisper, every sideways glance, carried a weight that pressed down on all of us.
Much had changed since Jace left for Winterfell. The years had brought new challenges, new alliances, and new dangers. But this cold, veiled animosity between the two factions within the court had remained stubbornly in place. If anything, it felt like it was only a matter of time before it exploded into something much worse.
I'd tried, in my own way, to keep things from boiling over. I'd spent countless hours speaking with the servants, the guards, anyone who would listen, trying to ease tensions, trying to remind them that we were all supposed to be on the same side. But it was like trying to stop a river with your hands—the harder I tried, the more it seemed to slip through my fingers.
It frustrated me, but what frustrated me more was Alicent Hightower. I wanted to like her—or at least sympathize with her—but she made it so difficult. While I often found my mother to be childish in some ways, I could see that she was changing. She was growing, maturing with the support of House Velaryon, and becoming the queen she was meant to be. She didn't lash out at the Green faction, didn't stoop to their level. If anything, she barely reacted to the constant needling and barbs that Alicent and her supporters sent her way. My mother had learned the value of patience, of holding her tongue and biding her time.
But Alicent? She seemed to live in a constant state of paranoia, always seeing threats where there were none, always acting as if the world was conspiring against her and her children. And maybe, on some level, I could understand why. Alicent was a woman who had been shaped by fear and control, never truly free to make her own choices, always a pawn in someone else's game. It made sense that she would see enemies everywhere—that's all she'd ever known. But understanding it didn't make it any less infuriating, especially when it meant that I had to constantly put out the fires she started, fires that only made everything harder for all of us.
"Lucerys, what's wrong?" Joffrey's voice, small and concerned, pulled me out of my thoughts.
I looked down to see him peering up at me, his hand still warm and solid in mine. His dark, soulful eyes—so much like Ser Harwin's—were filled with worry. For a moment, I could almost see Rickon Stark in those eyes, or maybe Arya, that fierce spark of loyalty and determination that made the Starks who they were. It made Joffrey even dearer to me, if that was even possible.
I smiled at him, pushing away the thoughts that had clouded my mind. "It's nothing, Joff," I said, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "I was just lost in thought."
He seemed to accept that, his face brightening as he returned my smile. "You're always thinking," he teased, his tone light and playful. "But you should be excited! Jace is coming back soon, and he's bringing wolves!"
I couldn't help but laugh at that, the sound lifting some of the weight that had settled on my shoulders. "I don't think he's bringing actual wolves, Joff," I said, still chuckling. "But yes, I'm excited too. I've missed him."
Joffrey nodded, his own excitement palpable. "Do you think he'll tell us stories about the North? I want to hear about the wolves and the snow and the big castles!"
"I'm sure he will," I replied, giving his hand another squeeze. "And I bet he'll have a lot of new stories to share. Maybe he'll even teach us some Northern swordplay."
Joffrey's eyes widened at that, and I could see the wheels turning in his head, already imagining himself as some Northern warrior, fighting off wildlings alongside direwolves. It was a comforting thought, the idea that we could all just sit around and listen to Jace's stories, that the only battles we had to worry about were the ones fought with wooden swords in the training yard.
By the time we reached the gathering of royal children, Joffrey's face lit up, and before I could say a word, he tore his hand from mine and bolted across the room. "Daeron!" he shouted, his voice full of pure, unfiltered joy as he called out his favorite uncle's name.
Daeron, who had been lounging comfortably on a cushion, immediately brightened when he saw Joffrey hurtling toward him. His whole face seemed to light up, and he opened his arms wide to catch Joff in a warm embrace. "There's my little warrior!" Daeron laughed, scooping Joffrey up and spinning him around before pulling him close, their laughter mingling in a way that made my heart swell. The two of them were inseparable whenever they were together, and it always made me smile to see how much Daeron genuinely cared for Joffrey.
They quickly retreated to a corner of the room, where Daeron began to playfully poke and tickle Joffrey, both of them lost in their own world of inside jokes and whispered secrets. Seeing them like that, so carefree, so unbothered by the storm brewing outside the walls of the Red Keep, made me wish, just for a moment, that I could freeze time. But of course, time never listened to such wishes.
As my eyes scanned the room, I noticed that Aegon was conspicuously absent, which made my smile falter. Of course, he was absent. When was he ever not? No matter how much I tried to bridge the gap, no matter how many times I reached out to him or tried to involve him in the family's activities, Aegon was never interested. He was like a ghost, always lurking on the edges, always somewhere else in mind and spirit, even when he was physically present.
It wasn't just me who noticed either. The other children seemed to instinctively avoid bringing up Aegon's name, as if the very mention of him would summon his disinterest into the room. It was frustrating, to say the least. We were supposed to be a family, but it was clear Aegon didn't see it that way. He'd rather drink himself into oblivion or waste away in some dark corner of the Keep than spend time with us. Though, I could understand that this familiar tension was harder on Aegon than any of his siblings. He is the eldest living-son of King Viserys after all.
I pushed the thought aside and made my way over to where Helaena and Aemond were seated. Helaena was deeply focused on her latest fascination—a beetle she had found in the gardens. She was cradling it gently, her lips moving as she murmured softly to the little creature, her eyes wide with the kind of innocent curiosity that was so uniquely her. Aemond, in stark contrast, was immersed in a thick book about seafaring, his brow furrowed in concentration as he read.
I sat down beside them, offering Helaena a smile. "What have you got there, Aunt Lena?" I asked, knowing full well that she could spend hours talking about her insects if given the chance.
"A jewel beetle," she replied, her voice as soft as ever. She turned the beetle in her hand so I could see its iridescent shell, which gleamed in shades of green and gold under the light. "Isn't it beautiful? Jace will love it. He always liked hearing about the bugs I found."
My smile widened at that. "Speaking of Jace," Helaena continued, her tone shifting to something more conversational, "I received a letter from him this morning. He says they're about a fortnight away from King's Landing."
My heart gave a little leap at the news, and I could feel my smile stretch even wider. "That's wonderful! I can't wait to see him again." I was genuinely thrilled, and I knew Jace and Helaena had a special bond that only made his return even more exciting for her.
Helaena nodded, her eyes still on the beetle as it crawled across her palm. "He wrote that he's bringing something special for me."
I could hear the affection in her voice, the excitement she tried to keep hidden beneath her usual calm demeanor. Jace and Helaena were a perfect match, really. They both had that gentle kindness, that appreciation for the little things in life—whether it was the beauty of a beetle or the serenity of a snow-covered forest. I was happy they had each other, especially in a place like this.
Aemond, however, scoffed at the news, not even bothering to look up from his book. "They'll make it just in time for the wedding," he said, his tone laced with dry sarcasm. "Unlucky for them."
I shot him a look, one eyebrow raised in mild disapproval. "Aemond, that's no way to talk about your own brother's wedding," I chided gently. Though I understood where his irritation came from, I still felt the need to correct him. It wasn't like him to be openly bitter, at least not around me.
Aemond finally looked up, meeting my gaze with a half-hearted smirk. "I'm only saying what we're all thinking," he replied, though his tone lacked its usual bite. "The whole thing is a farce, and you know it."
I couldn't entirely disagree with him there. The wedding between Aegon and Cassandra was as much a political maneuver as it was a marriage—a way to solidify alliances and strengthen claims. But that was the way of things in Westeros, and we all knew it. What bothered me more was the tension the upcoming event had brought into our already fraught lives.
"You don't have to like it, Aems," I said, my voice softer now, more understanding. "But you don't have to make it harder on yourself, either."
He sighed, closing his book with a decisive snap and setting it aside. "It's not just the wedding, Lucerys," he admitted, his voice quieter, more resigned. "It's everything. The tension, the constant scheming, the way we're all pitted against each other like pieces on a cyvasse board. It's exhausting."
I nodded, my heart aching with sympathy. "I know," I said. "It's the same for all of us. But you know our mothers are trying to keep us out of it as much as they can."
Aemond's gaze hardened slightly, though I knew it wasn't directed at me. "Your mother tries," he said, his voice tight. "But ours… she doesn't. She lets it fester, lets it bleed into everything, even our chambers. Aegon might be the focus now, but it's only a matter of time before the rest of us are dragged into the fray."
I could feel the weight of his words, the truth in them. Rhaenyra did her best to shield us from the worst of the political machinations, to keep the tensions from spilling over into our lives. But Alicent was a different story. She was too deep in her paranoia, too consumed by the fear of losing what little control she had. And that fear had seeped into her children, poisoning their relationships, turning what should have been simple sibling rivalries into something far more dangerous.
It didn't help that Aemond and Aegon had never gotten along. Aegon's arrogance and Aemond's quiet intensity had always clashed, and now, with the stakes higher than ever, that animosity had only grown. Aemond might be relieved that Aegon was leaving King's Landing, but he couldn't show it—at least, not without earning a sharp rebuke from Alicent.
"I understand," I said quietly, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. "But you're not alone in this, Aems. We're all in it together, whether we like it or not. And no matter what happens, you have us. You have me."
Aemond looked at me then, really looked at me, and for a moment, I saw the vulnerability he kept so carefully hidden behind his cool exterior. It was a fleeting thing, gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, but it was there, nonetheless. He gave me a small, almost imperceptible nod, his tension easing just a fraction.
"Thank you, Lucy," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It means more than you know."
Helaena, who had been quietly listening to our exchange, glanced up with a small, serene smile. "We're all going to be fine," she said, her voice soft but firm. "The wedding will pass, and things will settle again. They always do."
I wanted to believe her, wanted to hold on to the hope that this would all blow over and that we could return to some semblance of normalcy. But deep down, I knew better. The storm was coming, whether we were ready for it or not. All we could do was hold on to each other and hope we could weather it together.
For now, though, I let myself bask in the quiet moment, in the small comfort of being with my family. The road ahead might be uncertain, filled with dangers we couldn't yet see, but at least we had this. At least we had each other.
And as long as we did, there was still hope.
After spending the morning with my siblings and cousins, I watched as Joffrey was escorted off to his training. He looked back at me, flashing a bright smile that showed off his missing tooth. I waved, feeling a pang of pride mixed with the usual twinge of worry. He was growing up so fast, and I knew it wouldn't be long before he'd outgrowing even me. The thought made me feel both old and strangely nostalgic, which was ridiculous, considering I was only ten name days myself.
With Joffrey off to his lessons, I had my own duties to attend to. My grandsire was waiting for me in his office, where we were to continue my education on matters of trade and the management of the fleet. While most girls my age might have found such lessons dull, I had always enjoyed them. There was a certain power in understanding the intricacies of trade, in knowing how the wealth of Driftmark flowed like the tides, influenced by the decisions we made. Besides, it gave me more insight into how the world worked—something I planned to use to my advantage.
As I made my way through the corridors of the Red Keep, the familiar scents of stone and seaweed in the air, I was surprised to see my father walking toward me. He looked as though he had a lot on his mind, his expression unusually somber. It wasn't often that I saw my father like this—he was usually so full of life, always quick with a smile or a laugh. Seeing him so downcast made something twist in my chest.
"Kepa!" I called out, quickening my pace to catch up to him. When he saw me, he managed to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. That was enough to set off alarm bells in my head.
"Lucerys," he greeted me, his voice warm, but with that same underlying sadness that was written all over his face. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm on my way to see grandsire for my lessons," I replied, then added, "Walk with me?"
He nodded, and we began walking together down the corridor. But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. I kept sneaking glances at him, trying to gauge what was going on in his head, but he seemed lost in his thoughts. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.
"Kepa," I began, trying to keep my tone light but failing miserably. "What's wrong? You look like you've just seen a ghost."
Laenor hesitated, clearly debating whether or not to share what was on his mind. But I wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily. I gave him my best hatchling eyes—wide, innocent, and just a touch of pleading. It was a look I had perfected over the years, one that usually got me what I wanted, whether it was an extra sweetroll or a confession from one of my brothers.
He sighed, clearly defeated, and I knew I had him. "You're too good at that," he muttered, half-amused, half-resigned.
"I learned from the best," I quipped, squeezing his hand. "Now, out with it. What's bothering you?"
Laenor glanced around to make sure we were alone, then lowered his voice. "It's the betrothals," he admitted, his tone heavy with guilt. "Jacaerys and Helaena. Aegon and Cassandra. I thought… I thought it was the right thing to do, politically. It made sense at the time. But now… now I'm not so sure."
I blinked, genuinely surprised by his confession. Of all the things that could have been weighing on his mind, I hadn't expected this. My father had been the mastermind behind the betrothals, carefully arranging them to secure the future of our family, to strengthen our position against Alicent's faction. And it had worked—on paper, at least. Jacaerys would have a Valyrian wife, keeping the bloodline strong, and Aegon's children would be diluted just enough to prevent any real challenge to our claim. It was a brilliant move, one that showed just how sharp my father's mind was.
But emotionally? Emotionally, it was a different story.
"I didn't think it would bother me," Laenor continued, his voice laced with regret. "I didn't think… Well, I didn't think about how it would feel to force that on them, just because I was angry with the Queen. It wasn't fair, was it?"
I stayed quiet for a moment, processing his words. I could see where he was coming from. It wasn't easy, playing this game of thrones, making decisions that affected not just our futures but the futures of those we loved. It was even harder when those decisions were driven by something as volatile as anger.
"You're right, Kepa," I said softly, not wanting to downplay his feelings. "It wasn't fair. But you did what you thought was best at the time. And… well, I think it's working out better than you realize."
He looked at me, a hint of hope flickering in his eyes. "You think so?"
I nodded, offering him a small smile. "Jacaerys and Helaena are happy with the arrangement. They get along well, and they respect each other. That's more than most betrothals have, and it's a good foundation to build a marriage on. As for Aegon and Cassandra… well, I don't know how Aegon feels about her, but I do know he's glad he didn't have to marry Helaena."
Laenor's expression softened, though the sadness didn't entirely leave his eyes. "I suppose you're right," he conceded. "It could have been worse."
"Much worse," I agreed, squeezing his hand again. "And besides, you can't carry the weight of every decision on your shoulders. You did what you had to do, and now we just have to move forward."
He sighed, a deep, weary sound that made my heart ache for him. "I know. It's just… I want what's best for all of you. For Jace, for you, for Joff. And sometimes, I wonder if I'm making the right choices."
"Kepa," I said firmly, stopping in our tracks and turning to face him. "You are. We trust you. I trust you. You've always done what's best for us, even when it wasn't easy. And we're all better for it."
Laenor looked at me, really looked at me, and I could see the pride in his eyes, mingled with the sadness that hadn't quite disappeared. "You're wise beyond your years, you know that?"
"I try," I said, smirking. "And besides, I've got good teachers."
He chuckled, the sound lighter than before, and I felt a sense of relief wash over me. He wasn't completely at ease—how could he be, with everything that was happening? But at least I'd managed to lift some of the weight from his shoulders.
As we reached the door to Corlys's office, Laenor stopped and looked down at me, his expression more at peace than it had been all morning. "Thank you, Lucerys," he said quietly, his voice filled with a warmth that made my chest tighten.
I smiled up at him, feeling that familiar surge of pride and love. "Anytime, Kepa," I replied, giving his hand one last squeeze before letting go.
He nodded, then reached out to open the door. "Ready for your lesson?" he asked, his tone lighter now.
"Always," I answered.
