ULF
The training yard baked under afternoon sun.
I stripped off my tunic, let the heat soak into my skin. The weighted bracers stayed on—fifty kilograms each now, a constant resistance that made every movement harder, every strike stronger.
Three knights waited across the yard. Ser Willis Fell, Ser Gwayne Hightower, and a young hedge knight whose name I hadn't caught.
"Three against one?" Ser Willis looked uncomfortable. "Seems unfair."
"It is. But probably not in the direction you're thinking."
I drew my practice blade. Wooden, dulled, but solid enough to bruise.
They came at me together. Professional. Coordinated.
Ser Willis led—thrust to my center. I pivoted, let his blade slide past, and tapped his ribs with mine.
"Dead."
Ser Gwayne swung high. I ducked, stepped inside his guard, and drove my elbow into his solar plexus. He doubled over.
"Dying."
The hedge knight hesitated. That was his mistake.
Soru. Not full speed—just enough to cross the distance faster than expected.
My wooden blade touched his throat before he could react.
"Dead."
Silence in the yard. Squires who'd been watching gaped openly.
"Again?" I offered.
Ser Willis rubbed his ribs. "I think I'll decline."
"Wise."
I collected my tunic. Started toward the gallery where Helaena sat with the children.
Jaehaerys scrambled down the stairs to meet me. "That was amazing! You moved so fast! Can you teach me?"
"Maybe when you're older."
"You always say that."
"Because it's always true."
He fell into step beside me, chattering about swords and fights and things six-year-old boys cared about. I let him talk, responding when appropriate, enjoying the normalcy of it.
This is what I'm protecting. This ordinary moment. This child's excitement.
We reached Helaena. She sat on a stone bench, Maelor on her lap, Jaehaera beside her cataloging flowers in a small journal.
"You've impressed the court again," Helaena said.
"I've made the court nervous. Different thing."
"Either way, they're watching." She shifted Maelor, who squirmed restlessly. "Here. He wants you."
She handed me the toddler. Maelor grabbed my face with sticky hands, laughing at nothing.
Two years old. The youngest. The most vulnerable.
I settled him on my hip, supporting his weight automatically. He babbled something incomprehensible.
"He's trying to say your name," Jaehaera said without looking up from her flowers. "It comes out 'Uff.'"
"Close enough."
Helaena watched us with an expression I couldn't quite read. Something soft. Something fierce.
"The godswood," she said. "The children want to walk."
"Then let's walk."
THE GODSWOOD
The heart tree's carved face watched our procession without judgment.
Jaehaerys ran ahead, swinging a stick like a sword, battling invisible enemies. Jaehaera walked beside Helaena, pointing out insects and explaining their behaviors with the intensity of a maester. Maelor rode my shoulders, hands tangled in my hair, occasionally shrieking with delight at birds passing overhead.
A family. Almost. Pretending to be.
"You're thinking too loudly," Helaena said.
"Am I?"
"Your face gets this look. Like you're calculating distances to threats."
"Old habit."
"There are no threats here. Not right now."
"There are always threats."
She touched my arm. Light. Familiar.
"Then let me pretend otherwise. Just for an hour."
I could do that. Or try.
We walked deeper into the godswood. The air cooled under the canopy. Birdsong replaced the distant clamor of the city.
Jaehaerys found a fallen log and declared it a castle. Jaehaera joined his game, providing strategic counsel about which imaginary forces to deploy where.
Maelor fell asleep against my shoulder, drool soaking into my tunic.
Helaena and I stood watching, close enough to touch, not quite touching.
"They trust you," she said quietly.
"Children trust easily."
"They trust you specifically. You saved their lives and they know it, even if we didn't tell them everything."
"Jaehaerys knows. He's too clever for his own good."
"Like someone else I know."
I smiled despite myself.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It was meant as one."
THAT NIGHT
My quarters. Maps spread across every surface. Intelligence reports stacked in careful piles.
The war was coming faster than I'd hoped.
Daemon remained at Harrenhal, gathering strength. Rhaenyra's dragons had been spotted flying patrols over Dragonstone. The Blacks' naval forces—the Velaryon fleet—controlled the Narrow Sea.
They'll move soon. Before winter comes. Before their coalition fractures.
I traced possible attack routes. Landing sites. Defensible positions.
King's Landing is vulnerable from three directions. The sea, the Kingsroad, and the air. We have ships, walls, and dragons. But not enough of any.
The door opened. Helaena entered, wearing a simple nightgown.
"You're planning again."
"Always."
She crossed to my desk. Studied the maps over my shoulder.
"You're expecting an attack."
"I'm expecting several. The question is which comes first."
"What does your... instinct tell you?"
My knowledge from another life. My impossible certainty about things I shouldn't know.
"Daemon will test us. Probe for weaknesses. He's patient when it serves him." I pointed to the Riverlands. "He'll consolidate there first. Build strength. Then strike when we're divided."
"And Rhaenyra?"
"She'll follow Daemon's lead. He's her sword arm."
"So we wait?"
"We prepare. There's a difference."
She rested her chin on my shoulder. Her warmth pressed against my back.
"Come to bed. The maps will still be here tomorrow."
"I should—"
"You should rest. You've barely slept since the assassination attempt."
Three weeks ago. It felt like three years.
"I sleep better when you're there."
"Then come. Let me help."
I set down my quill. Covered the maps.
Tomorrow. War can wait until tomorrow.
Tonight, there was warmth, and peace, and a woman who saw my monsters and stayed anyway.
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