It had been a moon's turn since the funeral pyres. Since your mother's ashes had scattered on the wind. Since your brother's tiny cradle had been carried away, never to be filled again.

You stood at the window of your chambers, watching the sea churn grey and restless against the cliffs below. King's Landing sprawled beneath you, noisy and indifferent.

A soft knock came at the door. Then, before you could answer, it swung open.