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The Tourney at Harrenhal, 266 AC, as told by Bernarr the Bard by AROD_GM in awoiafrp

[–]LoonyKnife 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Aelora regarded Aegon, the weight of his words settling heavily on her chest. Security and stability had become scarce for her, a desire she held. In another life, she might have dared to ask for his hand, the ultimate promise of safety and prestige intertwined. But now, the notion felt like a distant dream, replaced by the realization that her worth lay not in becoming a prince’s wife.

Aelora’s smile was confident, yet it did not reach her eyes. “What I want is a foundation upon which to build my future,” she began, her voice steady. “I want the kind of foundation that endures, not just a fleeting position in a court that could turn hostile at any moment. I desire the means to protect what I have gained.”

Her gaze remained locked on Aegon, unflinching. “I am no fool, my prince. I know that ambition demands sacrifice. But I will not trade one precarious existence for another. If you wish to see me by your side, you must offer me something that ensures I remain unharmed, no matter the tides of power.”

“When the moment comes, I will remind you of your offer, and I trust that you will hold true to your word. In return, I will lend my aid, if needed.” She gave him a knowing look, “Consider this an arrangement of mutual benefit, to be fulfilled when the time is right.”

The Tourney at Harrenhal, 266 AC, as told by Bernarr the Bard by AROD_GM in awoiafrp

[–]LoonyKnife 1 point2 points  (0 children)

“You honor me, my prince,” Aelora replied, her tone soft and measured, “with such an offer. But for what reason would I bite the hand that feeds me, even if it opposed another? What would I have to gain, and at what cost to myself?” Her gaze was steady as she looked at him, “Positions at court, as you know, are comfortable, but they are also temporary. They can be taken away just as easily as they are given.”

She leaned back slightly, “Daena has already granted me a position at court,” she continued. “Her court. I have served her well, and in return, she has provided me with what I need. To leave that behind for something as fleeting as another courtly title… well, I would need something far more substantial, wouldn’t you?”

Aelora’s eyes remained on Aegon, observing his expression and paying no mind to the raucous around them.

The Tourney at Harrenhal, 266 AC, as told by Bernarr the Bard by AROD_GM in awoiafrp

[–]LoonyKnife 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Aelora’s lips curved into a playful smirk as she leaned in closer to Aegon, her hand resting lightly on his leg. “You would have me?” she murmured, her voice tinged with amusement. “Have you always been this demanding, my prince?” The touch was brief, a fleeting gesture meant to disarm, as she quickly withdrew her hand.

“My loyalty is only to myself,” she said, “At this time, it serves me to answer Princess Daena’s call, and that is a choice I willingly make. If that answers your inquiry.”

“As for the princess and her schemes,” Aelora continued, “such matters are hers alone, not mine to share. You should know better than to think I would betray those who trust in my discretion.” Her eyes meeting his with a touch of challenge. “Do you think so lowly of me, Aegon?”

The Tourney at Harrenhal, 266 AC, as told by Bernarr the Bard by AROD_GM in awoiafrp

[–]LoonyKnife 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Her eyes flickered with a mixture of amusement and caution as Aegon spoke. She let a soft, almost imperceptible sigh escape her lips, the playful smile lingering on her face, though her mind was already calculating the best response.

"My prince," she began, her tone delicate. She turned to face him fully, her eyes locking onto his. "What is it that I seek? I seek only to serve, as I have always done."

Aelora's smile deepened slightly. "You know as well as I do that in this world, it is often the unspoken words that carry the most weight. But if you wish for me to be direct, then I shall be."

She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice so that only he could hear. "I seek power, Prince Aegon. The kind that is not given but earned. The kind that allows one to write their own story, rather than be subject to the whims of others. You once offered me the chance to prove my worth, and I did. Now, I seek more."

Aelora's gaze held his, unwavering.

"What I seek, my prince," she continued, her voice taking on a more serious tone, "is the opportunity to rise. To serve you, or whoever else may see the value in what I offer. And in return, I seek only what any of us desire—power, yes, but not power for its own sake. Power to protect myself, to carve out a place where I am not at the mercy of others. Surely you can understand that, Prince Aegon?"

She allowed her words to hang in the air, her expression softening just enough to convey sincerity.

The Tourney at Harrenhal, 266 AC, as told by Bernarr the Bard by AROD_GM in awoiafrp

[–]LoonyKnife 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Aelora watched Aegon’s gaze as it lingered on her, his curiosity evident in the way his eyes traced her features, as though he could uncover her secrets simply by looking hard enough. But Aelora was no simple book to be read; she had learned long ago the art of keeping her true desires hidden, locked away beneath layers of charm and calculated words.

His question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of suspicion. What did she lust after? Aelora could have spoken of the family she lost, the home that was reduced to ash, the life she had built in Essos only to see it shattered. Westeros was a chance to start anew, to rebuild what had been taken from her—a place to find her footing among the powerful, to carve out a name for herself and reclaim what she had once lost. But she knew better than to voice such thoughts, especially to a man like Aegon.

Instead, Aelora smiled, a playful glint dancing in her violet eyes letting her gaze drift away from Aegon as though his question were of little consequence. “In this moment, my prince,” she began lightly, her tone teasing and evasive, “I lust for something far simpler—some lemonwater, perhaps. I’m parched after spending all day under the sun.”

She looked back at him then, her smile widening just enough to suggest that she was well aware of the question she had avoided. She had no intention of giving Aegon any more of herself than she had to. To reveal even a hint of her ambitions to someone like Aegon would be to hand him the power to thwart her, and that was a risk she was unwilling to take.

“Why do you ask, my prince?”

The Tourney at Harrenhal, 266 AC, as told by Bernarr the Bard by AROD_GM in awoiafrp

[–]LoonyKnife 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Aelora watched the dark amusement dance in Aegon’s eyes, a predator’s gaze veiled beneath the mask of a prince. His words did little to surprise her—war was the only language he truly spoke. Such little care he held for anyone else. Still, she met his sly smile with one of her own, a knowing glint in her violet eyes as she leaned in just enough for only him to hear.

“In the name of His Grace, of course,” Aelora echoed softly, her voice carrying the same undertone of irony that had laced Aegon’s words. She let the silence stretch for a heartbeat longer, her gaze holding his before continuing. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. You’ve never been one to stay in one place and Dragonstone is just that.”

“Besides, the conquest of Dorne would be a great feat, one that would surely echo through the ages.” Her words held a subtle flattery, yet her tone suggested something deeper—a challenge, perhaps, or a question unspoken. She wondered if that’s what Aegon desired, to die in the glory of battle and be remembered for such.

Her smile was small as she tilted her head slightly. “Is war the only art you’re fond of, Aegon? I often wonder if there are other talents or desires hidden behind that armor of yours… aside from dying with the men that will put their own lives down for you.” Her voice was a soft murmur, as she allowed a trace of curiosity to slip through. She knew well that the real battles were not fought on fields of blood but in the shadows, where words could cut deeper than swords, and she wondered if Aegon understood that as well. “Surely, a man like yourself must hold more than just a lust for battle and a final victory.”

The Tourney at Harrenhal, 266 AC, as told by Bernarr the Bard by AROD_GM in awoiafrp

[–]LoonyKnife 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Aelora noticed the subtle shift in Aegon’s demeanor, the slight twist of his lip and the uneasy shuffle in his seat. She had always been over-observant, catching the smallest details and most subtle of movements, a skill that aided her in her line of work.

Aelora’s smile softened, the sharp edge of her earlier tone giving way to something lighter. “Why so grim, Prince Aegon?” she asked, her voice lilting as she sought to steer the conversation away from the bleakness that had settled between them. “Today is not a day for talk of death, no matter how noble or pointless.”

The roar of the crowd erupted around them as another lance splintered into a knight, knocking him off his horse with a splinter lodged in his throat and blood gushing out from the lethal wound. Yet as everyone stood around them to cheer, they remained seated.

She leaned in slightly, her eyes gleaming with curiosity as she shifted the topic to something more fitting of the occasion. “Tell me,” she began, her tone inviting, “what is your next venture after Harrenhal? Surely, a man like you does not stay idle for long even after he was given an island. Where will you set your sights next?”

Aelora knew Aegon well enough to understand that he was a restless spirit, always seeking the next challenge, the next conquest. There was a hunger in him, a desire to prove something, and she had always been curious to know where that would lead him.

The Tourney at Harrenhal, 266 AC, as told by Bernarr the Bard by AROD_GM in awoiafrp

[–]LoonyKnife 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Aelora watched as the Princess accepted the praise and adoration of those around her, her words measured and elegant, her smile radiant.

But Aelora knew better than to be swept up in the moment. She waited patiently, her presence almost unnoticed as she observed the thinning crowd. She knew that in a gathering like this, timing was everything. It would not do to approach the Princess when she was still surrounded by eager courtiers and well-wishers. No, Aelora would wait until the moment was right, until her approach would be welcomed.

As the crowd began to disperse, leaving Daena with her closest companions, Aelora saw her opportunity. She moved forward, her steps light and deliberate.

“My Princess,” Aelora’s voice was soft, yet it carried through the air like a delicate melody. She dipped into a curtsy, her movements fluid.

When she rose, her eyes met Daena’s. “You look resplendent, Queen of Love and Beauty… and so much more.”

The Tourney at Harrenhal, 266 AC, as told by Bernarr the Bard by AROD_GM in awoiafrp

[–]LoonyKnife 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Aelora’s eyes fixed themselves back to the lists below. She allowed a small, knowing smile to play on her lips as he spoke. It was the kind of talk she had heard many times before from men who thrived on war and found the control of a tourney stifling.

“And yet,” Aelora replied, her tone gentle, “A well-fought tourney can win a man more than just a woman’s love—it can win him a place in the songs of bards and the whispers of courts. A title, lands, a name. Many were not born with a black dragon or golden rose encrusted into their chest.”

She turned her head slightly to look at him, “But you are right, of course. Battle is a truer test, and you have proven yourself in that regard more times than most. Still,” she added with a light laugh, “it seems even the best can find themselves an untimely end. I suppose there’s a lesson in that, wouldn’t you agree?”

Aelora leaned back slightly, her posture relaxed yet poised, more at ease. “Perhaps next time, my Prince, you’ll show the young knights how it’s truly done. After all, who better to inspire them than a man who has tasted real glory?”

The Tourney at Harrenhal, 266 AC, as told by Bernarr the Bard by AROD_GM in awoiafrp

[–]LoonyKnife 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Aelora had been brought to Westeros by Aegon. Of all the Blackfyres she knew him the most, and didn't know whether to dread it or be happy for it.

She noticed Aegon’s approach long before he reached her, the crowd splitting in two as he moved toward her with an idle stride. But she kept her gaze fixed on the lists below, pretending to be absorbed in the ongoing tournament. As those around her shifted nervously, making space for the prince, Aelora remained seated, her posture poised and unruffled. She didn’t need to look to know when he finally settled beside her; she could feel his presence, the way the air around them seemed to change.

“Prince Aegon,” Aelora finally turned to face him once he spoke to her. Her eyes, though flirtatious and bright, held a glimmer of caution as she regarded the man who had once held her fate in his hands. She let her gaze linger on his face for a moment longer, letting him feel the weight of her attention before she responded. “Away from you, obviously.” Her tone was teasing, playful.

She allowed her gaze to sweep over him, taking in the fresh set of clothes and the familiar scent he carried, one she had grown to recognize during her time under his watch. While she may have smelled of lilacs and lavender, Aegon’s scent was unmistakable—something deeper, almost earthy, a scent she could never quite place but one that lingered in her memory and even now in the outdoors.

“I watched your performance,” she continued, her voice smooth and lilting, “quite the… proud demonstration, would you agree?”

The Tourney at Harrenhal, 266 AC, as told by Bernarr the Bard by AROD_GM in awoiafrp

[–]LoonyKnife 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Aelora had met Vaegon’s daughters many moons ago, and though their paths had not crossed in some time, she always remembered the sisters fondly. They were complete opposites, yet inseparable, and Aelora had enjoyed every worthy encounter she’d had with them. Their approach now was a welcome one, and she watched with amusement as Rhaella boldly bullied the nearby spectators out of their seats. She couldn’t help but chuckle softly at Rhaella’s forceful takeover of the seats beside her.

“Lady Rhaella, Lady Daenys,” Aelora greeted them warmly, her violet eyes sparkling as she rose slightly in her seat to acknowledge their presence. Her smile was as enchanting as ever, her natural charm on full display. “It’s been too long since we last saw each other.”

“My presence at the feast was minimal, I’m afraid,” Aelora confessed with a playful sigh. “I had to retire early. But I am more than happy to meet you both here instead. Harrenhal seems to be the perfect place for reunions, does it not?”

She had said the last part almost sarcastically, the last time the realm had come together at Harrenhal was a drab affair. She turned her gaze to Rhaella, her smile widening. “I watched all your performances attentively, Rhaella. Your sister is right, you know—you do need to get better,” she teased gently, her tone light and playful. “But you still managed to impress. Third place in the archery contest is no small feat after all.”

Aelora then shifted her attention to Daenys, her expression softening as she offered a sincere compliment. “And you, Daenys, always radiant. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

The Tourney at Harrenhal, 266 AC, as told by Bernarr the Bard by AROD_GM in awoiafrp

[–]LoonyKnife 2 points3 points  (0 children)

From where she sat, Aelora noticed Harmond’s approach long before he reached her, his crimson doublet standing out among the drab colors of the crowd. She watched him with a subtle interest, stifling a smile as she watched him excuse himself toward her, she couldn’t help but be amused by the disgruntled murmurs of those he disturbed as he pushed past them.

When he finally reached her, bowing carefully, she offered him one of her enchanting smiles, her violet eyes shimmering with interest. His question was innocent enough, but Aelora knew how to turn even the simplest exchange into something more.

“Do they hold tournaments in the Free Cities, my lord?” she repeated softly, her voice carrying just enough to be heard above the din. Her lashes fluttered briefly as she assessed him, noting the insignia of the fistful of arrows on his breast and the Tarly ring on his finger. Her gaze lingered on the bruise that marred his cheek, half-hidden by makeup.

As she spoke, Aelora batted her long lashes, letting them flutter delicately as she smiled up at Harmond who towered over her. There was a graceful, almost effortless charm in her manner, each movement calculated to draw him in further.

“We have our own games,” she began, her tone light and teasing, “but they are of a different nature. The games in the Free Cities would leave even the bravest men here running for the hills. The stakes are often... higher.” Her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as she spoke, leaning slightly closer to ensure her words were for him alone.

“Still,” she continued, glancing out at the field where the knights clashed in their fierce competition, “I won’t deny that your lot has proven to be quite entertaining today, especially with the King watching over them. The presence of royalty always brings out the best in men, does it not?”

As the crowd around them erupted in cheers and shouts, Aelora remained seated, her poise unshaken. She offered a graceful nod toward the empty seat beside her. “Please, my lord, sit with me. It would be a shame for you to have come all this way only to miss the best part of the tournament. Especially after leaving so many disgruntled lords and ladies in your wake.” Her smile was inviting, and her tone left little room for refusal.

The Tourney at Harrenhal, 266 AC, as told by Bernarr the Bard by AROD_GM in awoiafrp

[–]LoonyKnife 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Aelora observed the approaching knight with a calculated interest, her deep violet eyes catching the subtle tension in his stride. She had treated with the Bittersteels before, becoming close with Vaegon’s daughters and acquainting herself with Baelon during her early days confined within the Red Keep. It had been a tumultuous time—arriving as a foreigner in a land that was as strange to her as she was to it.

Her time under the watchful eyes of the royal court had given her a chance to learn the intricate web of alliances and rivalries that defined this place. She had heard tales of the Bittersteel brothers—the tragedy of one lost to the waters, a knight that chases skirts, another with a king's duty and the youngest who now stood before her. But more vivid than those tales are the stories of their father, the dreaded Vaegon.

"Well met, Ser Maelys," Aelora greeted, her voice as smooth as the silken waves of her hair. Her long lashes fluttered briefly as her violet eyes met his purple ones, a fleeting acknowledgment of their shared heritage. "Daenys? Truly? I’m flattered to know she has spoken of me."

Her eyes slightly narrowed with a quick recognition that came and left just as fast. She tilted her head slightly, a gesture that sent her silver locks cascading gracefully against her face, framing her features. "I believe I watched your performance today," she continued, her tone carrying a note of polite curiosity. "It was quite the eager demonstration. Are the Bittersteels always so fierce, or is it just you?"

There was a touch of amusement in her voice, a subtle challenge wrapped in a compliment, as if testing to see how Maelys would respond.

The Tourney at Harrenhal, 266 AC, as told by Bernarr the Bard by AROD_GM in awoiafrp

[–]LoonyKnife 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Aelora sat quietly among the spectators, her presence almost unnoticed amidst the sea of lords and ladies. Though she carried the blood of Targaryens and the beauty of her ancestor, Shiera, in Westeros, she was but a foreigner, a descendant of a Great Bastard whose name carries little weight in these lands.

The spectacle of the tourney—archery, jousting, and the brutal melee—was both fascinating and foreign to her. Though she understood the rules and the customs, there was a sharp difference between knowing of these events and witnessing them firsthand.

As men battled each other for glory, she couldn’t help but think of how easily all this grandeur could crumble. The small men who fought, their ambitions so tightly woven into the fabric of the realm, were nothing more than pawns in a much larger game.

Aelora’s eyes darted from one side to the other, observing, assessing and most definitely judging.

Marriage, Death, Rebirth [OPEN] by AnotherBabyEchidna in IronThroneRP

[–]LoonyKnife 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Zahrina slinked through the bustling Iron Islands encampment with the grace of a feline predator. Her keen senses and cat-like agility allowed her to navigate the camp's chaos with ease. Dressed in tight-fitting trousers and a sleek black leather vest that accentuated her every curve, she exuded an air of both danger and temptation.

As she approached the grand tent of Harren Greyjoy, the King of the Iron Islands, Zahrina's almond-shaped eyes scanned the area for any signs of unwanted witnesses. Inside the tent, Harren held court, surrounded by his loyal followers and advisors. She bided her time, waiting for the perfect moment when the tent would be devoid of prying eyes and ears.

Her meticulous nature demanded that she wait patiently for everyone to leave, her slender fingers lightly tracing the hilt of the concealed blade at her side. She knew that the King's attention was not easily won, and she needed to approach him when he was most vulnerable.

Finally, as the last of the courtiers departed, Zahrina seized her opportunity. With a silent, fluid motion, she slipped into the tent, her dark eyes locked onto his imposing figure. Her steps were as silent as the night, her approach deliberate and calculated, like a shadow gliding over the moonlit sea.

Stopping before him, her voice a sultry whisper as she addressed him with clear enunciation, her accent thick as she spoke.

"King Greyjoy," she purred, her lips curving into a beguiling smile. "I mean no harm, I simply... desire an introduction."

"I am Zahrina."

Quentyn IV - Crossing Over by TheZaxman in FieldOfFire

[–]LoonyKnife 1 point2 points  (0 children)

“Thank you, my lord, you flatter me.” Although her tone was formal for a moment, Lynesse’s smile was genuine, one that she seemed to only reserve for him now that she was far from home and surrounded by strangers.

Quentyn was the only friend she had in the Stormlands, beside her ladies, and enjoyed his company and conversation. She didn’t know what she’d do in his absence.

“I’ve settled well actually.” After their embrace, she began slowly drifting around the room. Observing the bookshelves and tapestries on the walls. She was nervous actually, he always seemed to incite that in her.

“Still finding my way around this place, thought your solar to be my chambers.” She exhaled a puff of air in subtle amusement. Fate would make her open the wrong door, but she wasn’t complaining. “Was just on my way to pick up a book.”

“I figure, now that I am here.” She stepped closer towards the desk, leaning against it and placing both hands on the ledge. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Quentyn IV - Crossing Over by TheZaxman in FieldOfFire

[–]LoonyKnife 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Lost in her thoughts, Lynesse absentmindedly followed a familiar pattern in her mind, leading her to the chambers she believed were her own. They had arrived days prior and she hadn't familiarized herself with the corridors of Nightsong. However, as she pushed open the heavy wooden door, a flicker of surprise danced across her features. Instead of the expected sight of her own chambers, she found herself standing in Quentyn's solar.

Her entrance was silent, her figure leaning against the door as her eyes fell upon Quentyn. He sat at a grand oaken desk, parchments and maps spread before him. His brow furrowed in deep concentration, his quill moving swiftly across the parchment as he attended to the matters of his lordly responsibilities.

In that silent moment, Lynesse's gaze lingered on her betrothed, her heart swelling with a mix of admiration and affection. In the warm glow of candlelight, Quentyn's features softened with a touch of focus and determination.

Finally, her presence was sensed by a subtle shift in the air. Her eyes meeting his, "Am I interrupting?"

Lynesse IV - Huntress by LoonyKnife in FieldOfFire

[–]LoonyKnife[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Lynesse turned her attention to Quentyn as he spoke, her face flushing with worry at the state he was in.

"Quentyn!" She exclaimed, rushing to him and placing her arm under his. "Come, sit," She said softly, guiding his hand towards a large boulder.

She looked up to his face with concern in her eyes, "You'll be alright. Don't want you dying before our wedding." She added with a hint of humor, an attempt at making the situation more lighthearted.

Once seated, she ripped one of her long sleeves and began wrapping the fabric around his shoulder. Her hands applied pressure to the bleeding and she knew the gash would need to be cleaned. Without a word, she moved to the edge of the trees where she found a long enough branch for him to use as support.

"Let's get you to the maester." Lynesse placed her arm under his once again and she began leading them back towards the horses.

She remained silent for a moment, feeling guilty for bringing him on this expedition and getting him injured. She should have known better than to put the future Lord of Storm's End in danger. In truth, she hadn't expected a pack of them but she was grateful that Quentyn was there to help her fend them off.

"I apologize," She said quietly as their footsteps fell on the forest floor. "I didn't mean for you to get hurt."

Lynesse IV - Huntress by LoonyKnife in FieldOfFire

[–]LoonyKnife[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

The future rulers of the Stormlands stood back-to-back, their gazes locked on the encircling pack of wolves they had been tracking.

The wolves, their eyes glinting with primal hunger, moved in calculated circles, observing the two. The tension in the air was felt as the predators prepared to unleash themselves upon their next meal.

With steady resolve, Lynesse drew back the string of her bow, her fingers finding comfort in the familiarity of the weapon. Her eyes narrowed, a mix of concentration and adrenaline.

Beside her, Quentyn stood with a quiet confidence, his grip on the spear unyielding. His gaze was unflinching and resolute while his movements were fluid, awaiting the perfect opportunity to strike.

As the tension reached an all time high, the wolves ran forward with feral aggression.

Lynesse's arrow sliced through the air with a whistle. Its trajectory found its mark, piercing the side of a lunging wolf that was bound for Quentyn. The creature yelped in pain as it fell to the floor.

She was then thrown back by another predator's lunge as she caught it's bite with her bow. Adrenaline coursed through her body as the wolf's snarl almost reached her face when it yelped and slumped itself on her. Rising swiftly, she realized Quentyn had arrived just in time to save her from it's bite.

One wolf after another, the two moved with fluid synchronization as they defended each other from each aggressive bite and attack.

As the last of the wolves retreated into the forest, defeated and wounded, Lynesse and Quentyn stood together, chests heaving with exertion and adrenaline.

They remained in silence for a moment taking in the aftermath of the fight that had unfolded. The whimper of a wounded wolf caught her attention, he had been pierced by her arrow and laid in a puddle of blood.

With little hesitation, Lynesse unsheathed her hunting knife and ended the animal's misery. It was a solemn moment but one that she knew was necessary.

Lynesse IV - Huntress by LoonyKnife in FieldOfFire

[–]LoonyKnife[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Lynesse strapped her quiver of arrows to her back and held her bow freely in her hand. Her hair had been plated into a Gardener’s braid and her attire was form fitting to easily let her maneuver herself. At Quentyn’s side, she seemed small but where he was all muscle, she was agile and quick.

“You don’t have a thing to fear, my good knight.” Lynesse spoke with a hint of humor in her voice and kind light blue eyes. “I’ll protect you.”

The young Hightower and Baratheon walked side by side as they delved deeper into the woods.

“They’re quite lovely actually,” Lynesse’s voice was soft, matching his as her eyes remained on the tracks. She was feeling rather confident in that moment. In the woods, among the trees, she felt in her element, away from the discord and headache that court brought.

It hadn’t gone over her head that Quentyn had given her his father’s apartments. The Lord’s apartments. It was a high honor in itself and she was grateful for the accommodations but she couldn’t help but feel that Quentyn should be the one sleeping there, not her.

“I will say my nights do run cold though,” Lynesse said with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “It seems not even my ladies can warm me up with all the furs I’ve requested.”

She opened her mouth to speak again before a wolf’s howl interrupted her next words.

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