OTTO
The small council chamber felt smaller every week.
"We're losing ground." Otto spread the latest reports across the table. "The Blacks control the Riverlands, most of the Vale, and the North has declared for Rhaenyra. Our territory shrinks daily."
"Then we attack." Aegon's voice slurred slightly—wine at breakfast again. "Burn them out."
"Attack where? With what? We have four dragons. They have more. We have one army. They have three."
"Then we use what we have better."
"That's what I'm trying to explain." Otto's patience frayed visibly. "Strategy requires resources. We're running short."
Ulf sat in his corner, listening. The queen's representative in military matters—a title that gave him access without giving him a vote.
They're panicking. Otto sees defeat coming and doesn't know how to stop it.
"What about Daemon?" Criston Cole asked. "He's the key. Kill him, and their command structure collapses."
"Daemon is at Harrenhal, surrounded by armies, defended by Caraxes." Otto shook his head. "Attacking him directly would be suicide."
"Then we lure him out." Aemond spoke for the first time. "Give him a target he can't resist. An insult he can't ignore."
"What kind of insult?"
Aemond's smile was cold. "Me. On Vhagar. Burning everything he holds dear. Let him come for me."
Silence.
"That's... risky," Otto managed.
"That's war. Risks are required." Aemond stood. "I'll plan the operation. I'll execute it. All I need is your approval."
Otto looked around the table. No one objected.
"Approved. But take backup. Don't face Caraxes alone."
"I don't intend to." Aemond's single eye found Ulf. "The White comes with me. Silverwing can handle what Vhagar can't."
Of course I do.
"As my prince commands."
FLEA BOTTOM
The streets hadn't changed.
Same narrow alleys. Same stench of too many people in too little space. Same desperation written on every face.
But there were more faces now. Refugees from burned lands, fleeing dragon-torn territories. The population had doubled in weeks.
"They're starving." Ulf's old contact—a tavern keeper named Marsh—gestured at the crowds. "Food shipments can't keep up. Prices triple every day. People are dying."
"How bad?"
"Bad enough that riots are coming. Bad enough that the Gold Cloaks are scared." Marsh lowered his voice. "Bad enough that people are starting to say the old queen was better. That Rhaenyra would fix things."
Dissent. Growing.
"I need food distributed. Can your network handle it?"
"With what money?"
Ulf pulled a pouch from his belt. Half his remaining gold.
"This. Buy what you can. Distribute to families with children first."
Marsh took the pouch. Weighed it.
"This'll help. For a week, maybe. Then what?"
"Then I'll find more."
Somehow.
THE POOR DISTRICT
Helaena insisted on coming.
Guards surrounded them—nervous, scanning for threats in every shadow. A queen shouldn't walk Flea Bottom. A queen shouldn't see this.
But Helaena had never been a normal queen.
"They're suffering." Her voice was soft. Sad. "All of them. And we're the ones causing it."
"The war is causing it."
"The war we're fighting." She stopped at a corner where a woman sat with three children, all thin, all hollow-eyed. Helaena knelt, pulled bread from the basket she'd brought, handed it over.
"Thank you," the woman breathed. "Gods bless you."
"What's your name?"
"Morra, Your Grace."
"Where's your home, Morra?"
"Gone. Burned. We came here hoping..." The woman's voice broke. "We didn't know where else to go."
Helaena took her hand. Squeezed.
"You're safe now. I'll make sure of it."
They moved on. More bread distributed. More names learned. More promises made.
She's too good for this world, Ulf thought, watching her. Too kind. Too caring.
But that was why he loved her.
THAT NIGHT
She came to his chambers.
Locked the door behind her.
No words needed.
After months of building trust. After surviving assassination attempts. After his departure to war and return. After everything they'd shared, the final boundary felt arbitrary.
She kissed him. He kissed back.
Hands found skin. Breath quickened.
"Are you sure?" he murmured.
"I've been sure for months."
They moved to the bed. Slow. Careful. Two people who'd learned each other's minds now learning each other's bodies.
When they finally joined, she gasped—not pain, something else. Recognition, maybe. Completion.
"I see you," she whispered. "All of you. Everything you are."
"I see you too."
Afterward, she lay against his chest, silver hair spread like a river, her breathing slow and steady.
"I've never felt this before," she said. "Safe. Whole. Like I belong somewhere."
"You belong here."
"With you."
"With me."
She smiled. Closed her eyes.
Sleep took her quickly—the deep, peaceful sleep of someone finally at home.
Ulf lay awake longer, watching her.
The war continues. Enemies circle. Death waits in countless forms.
But right now, Helaena slept in his arms.
Right now, that was enough.
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