ONE HAND on her throat, one on her thigh. Aside from rage, this was all Lera felt. She stared up at her assailant, her ashen hair a mess in front of her sight. His blackened, soulless eyes would haunt her for years to come, and the sound of his rugged breaths would stalk her into her nightmares. "Come now," he sputtered through intoxication, "won't you be good for me? Stay quiet, and there won't be a fuss."

The small dark room seemed to close in around her as bile threatened to climb her burning throat, her mind screaming for clarity. Her hand was pressed against the cold stone wall behind her, anchoring to some form of stability. The back of her jaw clenched as she swallowed, fighting against her reflexes. She couldn't hurt this one, not again.

The man grinned, his teeth coated in stench. "There's a good girl. Keep this between us," he trailed a fat finger over her cheek then over her lips, "and you'll be kept safe." He tapped his finger against her mouth and she tightened her grit. "Open," he growled.

She forced herself to pry open her mouth, barely, and his finger slipped past her defences. Until, of course, she bit down hard, breaking skin and causing him to jump back. "Wicked bitch!" he cursed, shaking his hand to ease the searing pain shooting up his arm. "You'll fucking pay for that, whore." He lunged for her again but she stepped to the side, allowing him to crash into the wall. He cried out in frustration as he hit solid stone and he stumbled, landing on the damp floor.

She tossed her hair back, letting a blade slip into her hand from within her sleeve. "I am not your whore," she spoke. She spun the knife over her finger before gripping it tight. "Now, keep this between us," she echoed, "and you'll be kept safe."

He looked up, spitting onto the floor next to him. "Safe?" he chortled. "From whom? You?"

She grinned. "You should've held your tongue." She stepped forward, towering over him as he nursed his wounded leg. "Shall I hold it for you?"

"You can hold something else, bitch."

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Why do you all make this harder than it has to be?" She swung down, shoving her blade into the soft flesh of his thigh and he cried out again, swinging a fist in retaliation. The force took her by surprise and she was thrown back, her knife still sticking out of his bloodied leg, its jewelled handle glinting in the dim light.

Lera groaned, her teeth clenched once more. She scrambled to her feet and gripped the fabric of his undershirt, using it to pull him from the wall before forcing his head back into it. His eyes rolled back, but he wasn't dead. Not yet.

She retrieved her blade and grabbed for his rotund face, squeezing at his stubbled cheeks. "Open, you vile fuck," she ordered, but even in his almost unconscious state, he wouldn't budge. She cried out and forced him back again, kneeling on his torn leg and tearing into his chest with her knife. She carved into the flesh, sullying the already dirtied fabric of his clothes with his blood. "Never," she cursed, "again." She stood back, marvelling at her masterpiece.

What was left of the once yellowed undershirt was now tainted with deep crimson, and his flesh displayed the lines and curves of a sigil she had learned when she was a child. A wheezing breath escaped his lungs. "Witch," he spluttered, blood pooling at the corners of his mouth, his eyes too weak to even open.

Lera shrugged. "I've been called worse," she commented before pressing her hand against the bloodied sigil and stepping back, letting the body burst into flames as her knife slipped back into its home within her sleeve. She stared immobilised until the smell of scorched flesh overpowered her senses and she finally grabbed for his coin pouch and sword, both of which lay discarded by the door. Lera tossed the hefty bag upwards before catching it again, a sly smirk weaving its way onto her pale face. She tugged her cloak around her shoulders, lifting the hood over her hair and concealing the new blade within the folds of the fabric.

The door creaked as she pulled it open and the gust of wind that came forth threatened to douse what was left of the flames engulfing her attacker. She stepped out before hurriedly closing the door again, checking that nobody had spotted her. The crowds concealed her appearance and she smiled to herself, making her way through the people and the streets to where she knew her oldest friend lay waiting.

Her footing slipped on the damp sea stones that bridged the city to the port and Lera quickened her pace, whipping her sights behind her for a moment to ensure she wasn't followed. One glance at the shade of her hair within Gulltown would have her captured and traded, she was sure of it. Her left hand gripped tightly around the newly acquired weapon on her hip until she finally reached the edge of the land, lifting her fingers to her mouth and releasing a sharp whistle.

She leaned over the ridgeline, her reflection dancing in the creases of the sea. She grimaced at the sight of the fat lord's blood splattered over her face. Had she really made that much of a mess? She reached her hands into the water and muddied it with the evidence of her destruction, painting its cold depths with crimson red as she wiped her face. The earth rumbled beneath her and ripples formed above those of the gentle lapping waves.

Glancing to her right as she shook the water from her hands, she saw her beast bow its head as it ducked under the encroaching port, emerging from its hiding place among the stones. The she-dragon's cool grey scales were half caked in mud, aiding in her disguise. A low growl reverberated from the dragon's throat as she saw her rider's bloodstained hands as they washed over her face.

"Don't ask," Lera muttered, drying her hands on her cloak.

The dragon cooed again as Lera stood.

"He deserved it," her rider argued, striding over to wipe the mud from her dragon's scales. "Norsaerys, you've made such a mess of yourself."

The dragon huffed a warm puff of air that forced Lera's cowl to fall back.

Lera smiled as she pulled the hood back up to cover her hair. "I must get it from you then, hm?" She stroked the dragon's muzzle, who responded by closing her golden eyes and pressing closer into her master's touch. Lera in turn rested her forehead to the dragon's, closing her identical honey-toned eyes in synchronicity. "Let's go home," she whispered, kissing Norsaerys's smooth stone snout.

NORSAERYS LANDED with a low grunt at the clearing before Mount Haeberon, the cavernous cliffside that housed the remaining few Praenomen dragons. The she-dragon lowered her head to the snow-covered ground, allowing Heliyra to unbridle herself and slide down. She smiled at her dragon, resting her hand against her muzzle again in gratitude.

"My Lady," Wilfrey, Lera's Fyretamer spoke, extending a gloved hand to her.

Lera beamed, steading herself with his aid. "Wil," she greeted. "Any news?" Her golden eyes were hopeful at the prospect of the newborn dragoneggs that the Tamers were currently attempting to hatch.

Wil shook his head, his dark curls swaying as he released her hand. "Not yet, m'lady. We've kept them on coals in your absence, but Nyfarae may too remain hatchless."

Lera sighed, glancing back as her own dragon was led towards the cavemouth by three other Tamers. "We're losing them, Wil," she whispered, looking up at him. "Nyfarae, Helfyre, Norsaerys, they're the only ones left, and if neither of Helfyre's studs are fruitful, we're ruined. Myranis needs its dragons for even the slightest chance of survival."

"We know," he nodded solemnly. "All attempts to find and recapture the Wilds have failed, m'lady. Once the Riders Bond is broken..."

"It forever remains as such," Lera finished, exhaling, folding her arms over her bodice. "Does Helios know?"

Wil shook his head again.

"Good. Let's keep it that way."

Tilting his head, Wil finally spotting the sword that glinted in the misty sunlight, attached to his Lady's hip. His forest green eyes flickered up to hers again. "Spoils of war?"

Lera grinned, running her hand over the silver hilt. "You could say that." She glanced up at him, her sights hovering for a moment too long over his thin lips. "And... where is my dear brother?"

Wil cleared his throat, bowing his head slightly to tip the power in their exchange back to her hands again. "The councilroom, m'lady." He looked up beneath his dark brows. "He has not left since news of your return."

"Mm," Lera hummed, tossing her head back before releasing a short laugh. "I'll ensure to avoid it then." She tugged at the fingers of her gloves one by one to remove them before handing them to her Fyretamer with a wink. He bowed his head again, murmured a word of gratitude before she made her way towards the castlegrounds that loomed before her. Cracks and ice had crept over the chipping stones, the cold taking its toll on the build earlier than anticipated, as the structure was constructed less than a hundred years before.

Myrani Keep had been all Lera had known. She was born within its halls, and if Helios had his way, she would grow old and meet her demise in the very same room, never calling another place home. Yet, walking under its drawn iron gate, a nagging tug on her heart confirmed that she never felt home, not even here. This was her father's land, now her brother's, and unless Helios and their younger cousin Lithaeres passed before her without issue or heirs, it would never be hers.

She stepped into the grand entrance foyer, immediately spotting Lithaeres leaning with his forearm against one of the polished pillars, towering over a blushing handmaiden, a boyish grin toying at his lips. He was whispering something to her, no doubt promising her a night of passion that he'd unlikely follow through on. His sight was then caught by Lera and his head turned as he straightened, his white hair almost illuminated by the sun soaking in through the ornate glass ceiling above them.

The girl noticed her Lady's presence and quickly curtsied before hurrying off. Lith's grin widened. "Back so soon?" he taunted, one brow cocked upwards, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Fuck off, Lith," Lera spat, handing the collections of her travels to the guard on her left.

Lithaeres unfolded his arms and walked over to her, marvelling at the polished steel of the newly acquired sword. "And who, pray tell, did you kill for this one?" he asked, taking the sword from the guard and turning it over in his hands.

Lera waved a hand dismissively. "Some lord. He never revealed to me his name."

Her cousin's white-blue eyes widened as he turned to her. "You killed a lord in the Vale?"

"He tried to stick his tongue down my throat."

Lithaeres sighed. "Your brother will kill you for that." He placed the sword back into the guard's awaiting upturned hands before facing her again.

She shrugged once more. "Have him take my head when his schedule allows." She looked up with a playful smile. "Do excuse me, cousin. I have pressing matters to attend to."

WITH HER index finger between her teeth and eager moans escaping her parted lips, Heliyra writhed in pleasure. Her free hand found its way under her skirts and into her lover's hair, her nails raking over his scalp. She gave a whine of encouragement before biting down on her bottom lip. "You're so good at that," she breathed.

"Lady Lera!" A familiar voice rang through the hall outside her chambers, as loud footsteps echoed against the walls, causing Lera to hurriedly cover her exposed breasts with her chemise and unlaced corset, stifling a giggle. She pushed her partner away with a hurried kiss, who hid behind the door as it opened, catching in Lera's free hand while the other held together her remaining modesty.

"Volodymyr," she spoke sweetly upon seeing her brother's advisory, "were you not taught to never enter a woman's chambers unannounced?"

"Your brother wishes to speak to you," Vol deflected her comment, to which Lera rolled her eyes.

"Well, my brother can go and--"

"Now, Lera."

A small sigh passed her lips as she pursed them. Vol had always had an authoritative and paternal quality about him, even while her own father was still alive. He had been an exemplary advisory to Lord Baelys before his untimely death and stayed within his role while her brother ascended as Lord of Myranis, barely older than fifteen at the time. Knowing her and Helios since before they were born had its advantages, and being able to influence the defiant Lady's behaviour was one of them.

"Fine," she answered.

"And tell Wil to return to Mount Haeberon," Vol added. "He's neglecting his duties."

The door closed and her eyes swept over to Wil, his torso bare as he gripped his white tunic in his hands, and his dark curls a mess from where her fingers had toyed with him. She grinned. "I'd say you were attending to your duties well enough." She swiped her thumb against his glistening chin, slick with the evidence of their activities.

"Thank you, m'lady," he teased, and her lips pursed slightly into a smirk.

"In fact," she whispered before kissing him again, "I may have a few more duties for you to partake in before you depart."

"I shall not dare face the wrath of Lord Vol," he murmured against her lips as his hands found her waist again. "I must leave you," he kissed her sweetly, "my Lady."

She hummed as a smile found her. "I do love when you call me that."

"And I shall call you that again," he promised, "but later." He quickly pulled his undershirt on, and Lera watched with intrigue as his fingers intricately tied the chords of his collar into a loose bow. "Farewell, Lady Lera."

"Wil," she started, and he turned, noticing her hand outstretched to him. "What you came here for?" His gaze darted from her palm to her honey-toned eyes as she smiled. "My gloves?"

He cleared his throat bashfully, quickly digging into the back waistband of his trousers to retrieve them. "Forgive me, I must have... come across them in the mountain. I thought you may want them back."

Lera giggled, taking them from him as she whispered, "Nobody can hear you."

"Then I simply remain your humble subject, m'lady."

"Farewell, Wil."

He lowered his head with a wink as he opened the door to exit. "Farewell, my Lady."

"A TARGARYEN heir, my lord," the lean messenger spoke, wringing nervously at his hands in the attention of the Myrani council. "Said to be born w-within the next moon." Lord Helios's dark amber eyes looked at his subject, who he knew to be named Justyn, in a combination of contempt and intrigue, as Justyn continued. "The King holds a tourney for the coming birth, prays it's a son."

The looming wooden doors to the councilroom creaked open, and all heads turned to face the newcomer. Lera, now dressed in an ice-grey gown that almost swept the floor, locked her identical golden eyes with her brother, an unimpressed frown across her brow. "You wished to see me?"

From his place to the left of Helios, Volodymyr leaned in, whispering to the Prae Lord.

The back of Helios's jaw tightened as his teeth clenched before he addressed the remainder of his council. "That will be all." The half-dozen men of the Myrani council hurriedly bowed their heads to Helios as they all stood, then to Lera as they filed out of the room, the last of which was Vol, whose cold eyes glanced over Lera's change in attire before closing the doors behind him. She remained standing, not taking a single step closer, avoiding even to blink in her brother's presence.

"What did you find?" Helios finally broke their silence as the doors closed, still standing at the head of the polished timber table. He straightened, his hands lifting from being pressed flat against the surface to now clasp together behind his back.

"Nothing," she lied.

"Is that so?" One of his brows cocked upwards in amusement. "I wasn't aware that a hefty purse of gold and an almost pristine, unmarred sword classified as nothing."

Lera swallowed, tearing her eyes away.

"Did you burn this one too, Lera?" he asked, tilting his head, encouraging her to make another attempt to defy him. His sister simply expelled the air from her cheeks, yet to meet his gaze again.

"Heliyra," Helios repeated.

She inhaled, dropping into the seat closest to her and finally looking at her twin, but still not responding.

Her brother sighed, tossing his head back in defeat as his hands freed themselves, clenching into fists in frustration. "Why do you insist on wreaking havoc everywhere you go? Is it not enough to be Helborn?"

Helios managed to pluck a nerve and Lera couldn't stop herself from spitting her retort back at him. "Maybe I create disaster and taste ruin because I am Helborn, Helios."

"You will learn to control yourself, Heliyra," he warned, pointing a finger at her. "I will not have our family found and targeted because you can't deny yourself a flame."

"It's not much of a family anymore," she muttered, rolling her eyes and folding her arms over her chest.

"That's enough." His eyes narrowed. "People die, Lera, but you would do well to bear children and be a part of this again."

"In the same way you and Khestri are?" The words left her mouth before she realised what was said and she quickly pressed her lips together.

Her brother scowled. "Khestri's shortcomings are not yours," he responded. "You still owe this family your duty."

Lera scrunched up her nose. "You would have my duty be to bear Lithaeres's babes. I would rather choke a vile death in the mountains than go through the torture of childbirth, especially not for the likes of him. He spends all of his time with Thylnah anyway."

"She's barely more than a whore," Helios scoffed at the thought of their cousin tampering with one of Lera's handmaidens. "You are Praenomen. Do not forget that. You have an obligation to your people."

"I don't have people, Helios," she emphasised, leaning forward. "You are their lord. I am just your burden."

He didn't deny it, nor did he even acknowledge the thought. "Go to King's Landing," he said, and she stared at him as he continued, "I need you there for the King's tourney."

"Why?"

"Because!" His voice boomed over the room and rattled the windows before he sighed again. "Because despite being able to breathe chaos into every task I set you, you are the one I trust the most."