A storm raged on Dragonstone, lashing the curtain walls with howling gales and battering rain, plunging the dreary castle into near total darkness. Viserra barely heard the knock at her door as thunder and sea alike rumbled in tandem.

"Enter," she called when Elodie Fyshe had finished knotting the back of her gown.

Ser Lorent opened the door and offered a short bow. "A page, Princess."

"So early?" The dark clouds made it almost impossible to tell the hour, but she was certain it was only just past dawn. "No matter. Send him in."

A page dressed in red and black livery entered and handed Viserra a sealed message. "From Prince Daemon, Princess." He ducked out, bowing, as she broke the seal and scanned the parchment quickly.

"Shall I call for breakfast, Princess?" Elodie asked, oblivious to Viserra's sudden stillness and the blood that had rushed to her face.

Without a word, Viserra crumpled the parchment and fled her chambers, ignoring both Elodie's and Ser Lorent's shouts of surprise as she stormed off into the castle's belly. She had not even bothered to put on shoes, such was her need for urgency.

A short time later, she burst into the Chamber of the Painted Table with a snarl.

"The Stepstones?" she said savagely. "The fucking Stepstones?"

"Good morn to you, too, Princess," said Daemon pleasantly. He sent off the same page that had visited Viserra with another scroll clutched tightly in his hand. The poor boy all but fled before her wrath.

She slammed the doors in the worried faces of Ser Lorent and Elodie Fyshe, who had followed her helplessly from her chambers, sealing her inside with Daemon. She crossed the damp floor in sure strides despite her bare feet, her hair streaming behind her.

Daemon stood near one of the open arches, limned by firelight from the sconces on the walls, seeming wholly unruffled. She was of the mind to shove him through one of those arches and leave him to the rocks and tumultuous sea below as she raised the fist clutching his message.

"Give me a reason," she hissed, "one good reason why I should not throw you from this tower and have the sharks eat your lying fucking corpse."

His eyes sparked, a smirk stretching his mouth. "Careful. Words like those only excite me."

She uncreased the parchment. "I am to depart from Dragonstone at once for the Stepstones. Lord Corlys shall follow once he has returned you safely to King's Landing. You leave on the morrow," she read. Her voice trembled with suppressed fury. "When was this decided? Why did you not inform me until now?"

He shrugged, resting his hands on Dark Sister's pommel. "You were abed already last night."

His flippant tone only angered her further. She chucked the parchment at his smirking face and was frustrated even more when her mark fell short, but nothing matched her fury upon the realization that this must have been the plot hatched during all the late-night dinners Daemon and Lord Corlys had shared since their arrival at Dragonstone.

"All your talk of negotiations." She pushed against his chest, her rage overwhelming in the face of being painted the fool, again. "Your poison of claiming to want me, to take me to wife." Another push. "How much more humiliation am I meant to endure at your hand? Answer me!"

She braced for another shove, but he captured her wrists and held them in an iron grip. She fought against him, her fury rearing and spitting, her grief trembling and wailing. He was to leave her again. He was to spurn her and mock her, again and again, and she did not know how much more of it she could bear.

"Release me," she spat. "Release me before I pry your fucking eyes from your skull."

She could not remember the last time she had spoken so violently, without decorum, to anyone—if at all. It felt good; it felt shameful.

"Do not accuse me of humiliating you, Viserra." Daemon's voice had lost all its humor; in its place was a dangerous lilt. "If I wanted to do that, I'd return you to King's Landing with my bastard in your belly."

Her heart leaped and twisted in a way she had no name for. "Father would kill you," she said, "if I did not cut you down first."

He tugged her closer, so they stood nose-to-nose. "Is this not a solution to those ridiculous terms of Otto Hightower? He wanted me to vacate Dragonstone, he and the king both, did they not?"

"Going to war is not a solution!" Her hands, still imprisoned by his own, curled into fists. "You would defy my father further and leave me, all to chase after pirates and some vain notion of your own glory—do not disagree, that is precisely why you would consider it!" she shrieked when he opened his mouth. He closed it and scowled at her. "It's his favor you seek above all else—yes, I understand now..."

She trailed off, her mind working at a furious pace. Daemon merely watched her; he had lowered their hands from his chest, but he kept her wrists in a slightly gentler grasp, as if loath to release her.

"Yes, it is my brother's favor I seek," he said calmly. "Surely you can fathom why I would need it again?"

She refused to meet his gaze. "You would still flout it first to wage war. Hardly sensible." She should have expected such an ill-gotten scheme, however; Daemon was not known as the Rogue Prince for nothing.

He reached up to nudge her chin, so she was forced to look at him again. A crooked smile played on his lips. "If it is my safety you fear for, I think Caraxes would find that quite insulting. Do you really think a rabble of filth is match for a dragon-rider?"

"You would still leave me behind," she said, sullen. Her face warmed at the admission, but Daemon's smile grew to a smirk again as his thumb traced her bottom lip.

"Not for long," he promised. His pale brows furrowed as if a troubling thought had occurred to him. "But if it were, would you wait for me?"

"I wouldn't have a choice." Her voice was miserable. "Father could marry me off to whom he chose in the meantime, but I would kill whichever man stood in my way to return to you."

"Hm. There is that." His thumb moved to caress her cheek, and she leaned into his touch despite the roiling rage still simmering beneath her skin. "Would you marry?"

There was something that snagged on the question, a note of...worry? Wariness? She could not pinpoint exactly what it was, but it gave her an idea. A childish one, perhaps, but one that could potentially give him a matching bruise on his heart as he had done to her so many times before.

"If Father decreed it, then I would have to." She shrugged lightly. "It would be a duty I must fulfil to the realm." She placed her own hand over his heart. He looked down, surprised, and glanced at the ring on her finger, the one he had given her. His eyes darkened. "I am of age. I am a Targaryen princess. My list of suitors will be endless. Should you be gone for too long..." She dug her nails into the fabric of his doublet. "Then I will take a husband. I will not wait."

He raised his eyes back to hers; the violet looked black. His thumb, so gentle before, suddenly dug into her cheek with force. She suppressed a wince. "You know how dangerous it is to present me with such a challenge, Viserra. I could raze the Stepstones and the Free Cities both just to return before that could happen."

"So do it," she breathed. Unconsciously, she had leaned toward him during their conversation, and the front of her body now pressed into his chest, eradicating any space between them. "Destroy them with fire and blood and come back to claim what is already yours."

Daemon made a low noise in his throat. "Sometimes I swear that the gods made you for me. It is only a shame that they took so long."

"Swear to me you will come back," she whispered. "I will fight you on this no longer if only you swear that when you return, you return for me."

His hand reached back to tangle in her hair, anchoring her head so she could not look away from him even if she tried. With a gentleness that surprised her, he rested his forehead against hers. "I swear it. On all those bloody gods, the old and the new, I swear."

Their lips were a hairsbreadth apart; she could practically taste the shape of his vow. Her heart had leaped into her throat, but with every shred of her will, she neglected it. She would have one last victory.

She slipped the ring from her finger and held it up. When his eyes flickered to it, she pried herself from his grip and pressed the ring into the hand that had been in her hair a moment ago.

"Bring it back," she said. His face hardened in response, but his gaze was solemn as she backed away.

"Consider it done," he promised, a trace of his usual arrogance returning when he grinned at her. "Until my return, then, Princess Viserra."

She turned away despite the pain carving another fissure into her heart, another crack to join all the others she had received after all the times she had been left before. "If you die, I will raise you myself to kill you again. Goodbye, Daemon."

Without another glance, she departed the chamber.

xx

Although her greensick was not so severe on the return journey, Viserra was overly grateful for land once her boots touched the royal docks of King's Landing again.

"Never again am I traveling by sea," she grumbled to Ser Lorent as he removed his shining white helm beside her. He had been the first to disembark from the longboat that had carried them to shore as a precaution, and had perceived no threat, but she noticed the tight corners of his eyes and wondered if he had ever viewed the world without the mantle of a knight. "I'd sooner spend a night in Flea Bottom. I travel by wheelhouse or Abraxas alone from now on."

Despite having listened to the same complaints the entire journey, her words coaxed a smile from the Kingsguard. "I would be hard-pressed to figure out how to guard you whilst on dragonback, Princess. Traveling by horse while you're hundreds of feet in the air seems a dereliction of my duties."

"Nonsense. We would simply strap you in on Abraxas like a saddle blanket."

He laughed throatily, and she flushed in pleasure. How easy it was to make him laugh. Seldom did others find her humor, well, humorous.

"As you say, Princess." He glanced over her shoulder. "It seems you have a welcoming party."

Viserra followed his gaze. At the end of the dock stood Rhaenyra, her white-blonde hair giving her away instantly. Rhaenyra raised her hand in greeting, and Viserra copied her, uncertain why her sister would meet her at the docks rather than the Red Keep. Next to Rhaenyra was another Kingsguard, but the man seemed too short to be Ser Harrold Westerling. It must have been the new one Rhaenyra had chosen, Ser Criston Cole. A gaggle of servants waited behind them, prepared to unload the longboats and bring Viserra's luggage, among other things, back to the keep.

She turned back to the longboat as Ser Lorent helped Elodie Fyshe onto the dock, the latter unable to tear her awed gaze away from the towering spires of the Red Keep. It had not taken much coaxing on Viserra's part to persuade Dragonstone's steward, Ash Fyshe, for Viserra to take on his granddaughter as her new—and only—lady-in-waiting; indeed, she thought she might have caused a stroke in the man when she broached the subject. But Elodie Fyshe had proved prudent and helpful, and more to the point, she had not been raised in court. She had no allies or ulterior motives lurking within King's Landing and would depend entirely on Viserra and her favor. It would make for a fruitful arrangement.

"It's beautiful," Elodie breathed. Her gaze alighted upon Rhaenyra, and if possible, her eyes got even wider. "Is that the Princess Rhaenyra? Oh, goodness—" She began tucking back her brown hair and smoothing her skirts, but Viserra scoffed.

"My sister oft skips around court with tangled braids and charred coats from dragon riding," she said. "Your appearance won't matter much to her, Elodie."

Elodie blushed. "Of course, Princess."

"Best not keep her waiting, though." Viserra waved her hand. "Come; let us greet her."

She strode to the end of the dock, the wind catching on her hair and clothes, but it was mild and pleasant, matching the calm sky and sea. Rhaenyra reached for her when she came near, clasping her hands in her own.

"Serra." She kissed Viserra's cheeks warmly. "Welcome home."

Viserra could not help her face twisting; she was not used to such open affection from her sister. "Are you feeling all right?"

Rhaenyra laughed, but it sounded hollow. Before Viserra could study her further, Rhaenyra turned toward Ser Lorent and Elodie.

"Ser Lorent," she said in surprise. "Who is this?"

"Elodie Fyshe, if it please you, Princess," Elodie said, dropping into a passable curtsy. "Princess Viserra has so graciously offered me a place at court as her lady-in-waiting."

Rhaenyra had the audacity to look utterly gobsmacked. Viserra bit the inside of her cheek.

"You chose your own lady-in-waiting?" she asked Viserra. "I thought you were just moving on to human experimentation."

"Amusing," Viserra muttered. "At least Father will be pleased now."

Rhaenyra's smile vanished instantly. This time, Viserra saw plainly the tension in her sister's shoulders and the furrow in her brow. Viserra stepped closer and dropped her voice before Rhaenyra could turn away again.

"Did something happen?" she whispered. "Father, is he...?"

She could not finish the question; her throat had seized shut. Rhaenyra shook her head quickly.

"He's fine," she murmured. "But it's..." She scowled, then raised her voice. "Shall we ride, Viserra? I know Abraxas has missed you terribly."

"Very well," she said coolly. "It will give us time to catch up, I suppose."

She was hardly dressed for a ride, but the opportunity to stretch her legs and see her dragon made the state of her attire a nonissue, and Rhaenyra clearly had something she wanted to talk about away from any witnesses. It worked out well; Viserra still was not exactly sure how she was going to inform her father or the small council of Daemon's plans in the Stepstones. Perhaps this was an opportunity to stall.

She gestured for Ser Lorent. "Show Elodie to my chambers and acquaint her to the Keep. I will return later."

"Shall I not accompany you to the Dragonpit, Princess?" he said.

"Ser Criston and I came in a wheelhouse," Rhaenyra said, giving the Kingsguard a reassuring smile. "He will be escort enough for us, Ser."

At her words, Ser Criston stepped forward and inclined his head; he still wore his helm. "The princesses will be safe in my charge. I have sworn the same vows as you, brother."

Ser Lorent gave a curt nod and moved off; Elodie followed him shyly after two more curtsies for Rhaenyra and Viserra. The sisters and Ser Criston walked in the opposite direction toward the wheelhouse Rhaenyra had mentioned.

Rhaenyra stayed a few paces ahead of Viserra, denying her the chance to ask any questions until they were in the wheelhouse alone. Only when it began to rumble over the uneven stones of the road, followed by Ser Criston ahorse, did Viserra loose her tongue.

"What's happened?" she asked lowly. "If Father's fine, then what is going on? Did one of the councilmembers die?" She brightened. "Ser Otto?"

A spark lit in Rhaenyra's lilac eyes, setting them ablaze.

"No," she said stiffly. "No one's died."

She refused to elaborate and stared out the window, ignoring Viserra's probing look. They rode the rest of the way in stony silence, allowing Viserra time to put her thoughts in order and ponder on Rhaenyra's tension. Had their father and the council already received word on Daemon's and Lord Corlys's movements? It could be possible; she had departed from Dragonstone three days ago, and ravens flew faster. The thought made her uneasy; she had hoped to speak with her father alone, to soften the blow, as it were—convince him that Daemon was, technically, obeying his wishes upon leaving Dragonstone, and helping the realm by dealing with the attacks in the Stepstones. But if the small council had gotten his ear first, then her hopes were for naught.

When the wheelhouse trundled to a stop and the driver announced they had reached the Dragonpit, Rhaenyra exited swiftly. Viserra followed less quickly, frowning at her sister's back. Syrax already awaited her rider outside of the large, domed building, saddled and impatient, shaking her golden head at Rhaenyra as if to say What took you so long? A handful of Dragonkeepers kept a wary eye on her, diverting their attention from the stoic pale dragon that rested calmly beside the entrance.

Viserra broke into a smile upon seeing her dragon. She would have jogged the rest of the distance were her legs still not so shaky from the ship, but she crossed the pavilion quickly, calling "Abraxas, issa prūmia! Nyke kesīr!"

Abraxas lifted his neck at the sound of her voice and made a lowing noise in his throat. She bypassed the Dragonkeepers and placed her hands on either side of the dragon's scaled maw. It burned hot on her skin, but the warmth felt like home. She met his jeweled gaze and rubbed the spot between his nostrils.

"Did you miss me, my dear?" she said. "You must have been so bored with only the lady-dragons to keep you company."

He snorted in agreement, puffing smoke into her face. It smelled of burnt meat and brimstone, but the scent was as familiar as the lines on her palms. After kissing his snout, she hefted her skirts and climbed into the saddle. She secured her hair with a strip of leather and nodded at Rhaenyra atop Syrax. As one, the princesses nudged their dragons, and the beasts lunged into the air with snapping wings and a rush of wind.

The Dragonpit shrank to the size of a pinhead, and the sprawl of King's Landing toy blocks as the dragons ascended higher and higher. The muggy air turned frigid in a matter of moments as they streaked toward the clouds, and though her lungs burned when she inhaled, Viserra felt as if it were her first true breath in weeks. She glanced to her right and saw Rhaenyra with her head tilted toward the sun, her eyes closed and the worry on her face wiped away for the moment. As if sensing her rider's mood change, Syrax keened, a high-pitched, happy noise that was quickly snatched away on the wind. Not one to be outdone, Abraxas bellowed, and the roar made Viserra's bones vibrate. She laughed and only wished she could roar as well.

They circled out over Blackwater Bay, eventually finding a spit of rock jutting out of the surging waves big enough to host both dragons. Abraxas and Syrax touched down, and the princesses slid out of their saddles to stand upon the damp stone. Viserra kicked a clump of seaweed out of the way and sat near a shallow pool to examine the snails poking about. She decided to wait for Rhaenyra to speak; her sister had gone to the edge of the rock to stare out at the glimmering sea, the tension returned to her tenfold.

Viserra had collected five wary snails in her palm by the time Rhaenyra broke her silence.

"I assume you left Dragonstone before receiving my raven?" she asked, turning to face Viserra and kneeling by the edge of the pool. Her eyes were dark and serious. Viserra nodded slowly.

"No raven reached me." She examined Rhaenyra's tight expression with a frown. "Seven hells, Rhaenyra, just tell me what has happened."

Rhaenyra looked down at the pool and wrapped her arms around her knees. "Father has decided to take a new wife."

Viserra blinked. A lick of rage flashed through her, but she fought it down. "We knew the council had been pressuring him. The day would have come." She scowled. "I don't fancy calling Laena Velaryon my stepmother, however."

"He's not taking Laena to wife." Rhaenyra's voice was anguished. She clenched her teeth and turned away from Viserra's probing stare. "He chose Alicent."

It took a long moment for the words to set in. When they finally absorbed, Viserra heard a sickening crunch and looked down. She had crushed all the snails in her hand; their broken shells and slimy viscera coated her palm. She flung their remains into the pool and shot to her feet.

"Alicent Hightower?" she demanded. "Alicent fucking Hightower?" Her voice had risen to a scream at the end, and Rhaenyra winced.

"Yes," she said quietly. Pain and sorrow were threaded through the word, but Viserra's sympathy was dampened by her fury.

"That scheming whore," she said, voice ragged. "She and her cunt father both."

Rhaenyra's misery was evident when she looked up at Viserra. "Do you really think they plotted it? I don't want to believe it, but—" She broke off, her eyes welling with tears. Viserra watched her struggle before she choked out, "She was my friend, Serra."

"Well, it is obvious to see where she placed her loyalty to you," Viserra said coldly. "Nyra, no, do not shed a tear for that wretch," she snapped when Rhaenyra opened her mouth. "Do not weep. This is a betrayal, and we must deal with it as anyone would when treachery takes root. We burn it out."

Rhaenyra let out a noise somewhere between a groan and a sob. "We are not killing the future queen, Viserra."

"We must," she said. "This has been Otto Hightower's ploy from the beginning. He and all of House Hightower must be dealt with, swiftly."

"Gods, Viserra." Rhaenyra shook her head. "You are still a child."

"Then you will allow this?" she hissed. "You will watch your lady, your friend, bind herself to our father in marriage? Will you also help to undress her when she goes to be bedded by him? Swaddle our half-brother when she gives birth? Stand aside when that half-brother is named heir over you?"

Rhaenyra's lip jutted out, and Viserra was sorely tempted to ask who was the child then. "Father would not do that. I am his heir. He named me before the entire realm. The kingdoms bent the knee to it!"

"Say it for what it was, Rhaenyra." Viserra yanked her sister to her feet and forced her to meet her gaze. "You were the last choice. A desperate measure. Once there is a son, you will be nothing. We will be nothing."

Rhaenyra wrenched out of her grasp. "Of course, you think only of yourself!"

"Because this affects the both of us! Our positions at court—our role in the realm! Or are you so blinded by personal insult that you cannot see how this jeopardizes us? You?" Viserra gripped her shoulders, tightening her hold when Rhaenyra attempted to shrug her off. "You asked me to be by your side when you became heir, and this is me holding to that. I want to help you, Rhaenyra, and myself. Do not be naïve."

The fight drained from Rhaenyra abruptly, and she slumped under Viserra's grip. "Why do I believe you?"

"I am your sister," she said simply. "We are Targaryens. I will not let us be usurped by any half-breed Alicent Hightower and Father birth—if we cannot convince him to change his mind before then."

"Do you think we can?"

"We've done it before."

Rhaenyra nodded. "Very well. We'll try." She glanced up and smiled softly. "Thank you, Serra. Sometimes I forget that your cleverness extends beyond a maester's training."

"That almost sounded like praise."

"Don't let it inflate your head any more." She linked her arm through Viserra's and grinned. "Race you back to the Dragonpit?"

Viserra bared her teeth. "Are you sure? Abraxas will settle for nothing less than total victory."

"And Syrax is the swiftest dragon in the realms. She welcomes a challenge."

But as Viserra climbed back into her saddle, she could not help reflecting on her conversation with Rhaenyra. She and her sister still seemed to be in step, united in their belief that Alicent Hightower would not become their new stepmother, nor the queen, but Viserra wondered how long it would be before Rhaenyra outpaced her again and left her behind.

And she wondered why, when she had renewed her vow to stand by Rhaenyra, it had felt like such a lie.