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    "You should be so mad at me."

    "Oh, furious," he panted, drawing her body closer to his. Beneath pretty blond lashes, his eyes were bright and twinkling. "Can't you tell?"

     

    Daeron knew he meant to go down in history as another fail son of the Targaryen line—knew he’d die young, knew he’d do the same in life as he did in death: disappointing his father, his family, his name. He knew he’d never know love or passion unless it came out of the bottom of a cup or the skirts of a whore. He’d seen it all in his dreams.

    He didn’t see Mariyam Storm and all that she’d be to him, until she shot him with her crossbow.

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    03 Mar 2026