In the King’s chambers, the air was thick with the scent of burning candles and the heavy weight of death. King Viserys I Targaryen lay still upon his bed, his chest no longer rising. His hand, once strong enough to hold a kingdom, now rested cold and pale upon the silk sheets.

Queen Alicent Hightower stood at his bedside, her green gown stark against the gloom. Her face was composed, but her hands trembled as she clutched the edge of the bed. She had heard the words. The broken, fevered words.

Beyond the walls of the Red Keep, the city of King’s Landing slept. But in the shadows of the throne room, a war was already being born.