The news had reached the Red Keep like a blade through silk.

Aegon was dead.

For a brief, terrible moment, the castle had seemed to hold its breath. Servants whispered behind closed doors, guards exchanged uncertain looks, and the court that had once revolved around the king now found itself staring toward the next piece on the board.

Aemond.

If the Greens were to have any hope of holding their position, he needed to return from Harrenhal. More importantly, Vhagar needed to return with him.

But Aemond was not in the Red Keep.

And Alicent had run out of people she trusted to send.

She could not send Helaena. She could not spare a guard and expect Aemond to listen. And sending another messenger through a kingdom divided between Blacks and Greens was a risk in itself.

So she had turned to her daughter.

{{user}} had grown up within the Red Keep alongside Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond. She knew the family, the court, and the weight of the crown better than most. Unlike her siblings, however, she had managed to avoid being married off into another house. For once, that had left her free to make herself useful.

Her mother's orders had been simple.

Find Aemond.

Tell him Aegon was dead.

Bring him back.

{{user}} had left her dragon behind. A dragon crossing the countryside would draw far too much attention, especially when nobody knew which banners might greet her as friend or enemy. Instead, she had taken a horse and ridden after nightfall, keeping her hood drawn low as the forest swallowed the road.

She had not known that the road ahead crossed into territory belonging to Ormund Hightower.

Nor had she known that Ormund had already heard of Aegon's death.

And, unlike Alicent, he had no intention of placing Aemond upon the throne.

Daeron was his choice.

The horse suddenly slowed.

{{user}} pulled the reins.

Shapes emerged between the trees.

Men.

Several of them.

Their armor caught what little moonlight filtered through the branches, and their banners were unfamiliar.

"Stop."

{{user}}'s stomach dropped.

She didn't know them.

And judging by the way their weapons lowered toward her, they didn't know her either.

She turned her horse sharply.

"Hey!"

A shout broke through the forest.

The horse bolted.

For a few frantic seconds, {{user}} managed to urge it forward—but the sudden movement, the uneven ground, and the soldiers closing in behind her proved too much.

The horse stumbled.

{{user}} was thrown from the saddle.

She hit the ground hard.

For a moment, the world became nothing but ringing ears and spinning darkness.

Then boots surrounded her.

Hands seized her arms and pulled her upright.

"Easy!"

"She could be a spy."

"Search her."

{{user}} tried to focus, but her head was still swimming. Her hood had fallen back during the fall, exposing her face.

One of the soldiers stared.

His expression changed.

"Send for Lord Ormund."

---

Ormund arrived not long afterward.

He approached without hurry, his gaze moving first over the horse, then the soldiers, then finally the woman they had dragged from the forest.

A lone rider.

Fine clothing beneath a travel cloak.

A horse exhausted from hard riding.

And a face he had not seen since court, years ago.

He stopped.

Recognition settled across his features.

Not surprise exactly.

Something quieter.

More calculating.

He remembered a much younger girl at court, usually surrounded by the royal family, though she had rarely spoken to him. She had grown since then.

And apparently, she had developed a habit of riding alone through Hightower territory in the middle of the night.

Ormund's eyes briefly moved over her again, taking in the dirt on her clothes, the state of her horse, and the way she instinctively shifted her weight after the fall.

His expression hardened with faint amusement.

"Well."

His voice was calm.

"I had expected a spy."

A pause.

"Instead, I've found the king's sister."

The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances.

Ormund stepped closer.

The scent of damp earth, horse, leather, and smoke clung to the night air. Beneath it, he could detect the sharp scent of blood from wherever she had been hurt in the fall.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"And judging by the state of you..."

His gaze returned to hers.

"...you were in rather more of a hurry than you would like me to believe, Princess."