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ASELEANOR and Lord Fionn Tyrell approached the gates of Lys, the city seemed to shimmer like a mirage in the dying light. The marble towers glowed with a soft, golden hue, their elegant spires reaching toward the heavens. The streets, paved with white stone, glistened as though kissed by stardust, the vibrant silks hanging from balconies swaying gently in the warm breeze. It was a place of beauty, of luxury, but beneath the surface, Eleanor could feel the pulse of ambition, the hunger for power that beat in time with her own.
She was welcomed back with open arms, the people of Lys lining the streets as her procession passed through. Soft voices whispered her name, respectful nods and admiring glances cast in her direction. The Lyseni were beautiful—strikingly so. Their hair, pale as spun gold, cascaded in waves down their backs, their skin porcelain and untouched by the harshness of war. But it was their eyes, piercing and blue like the deepest reaches of the ocean, that caught Eleanor's attention most.
They were the blood of Old Valyria, their heritage flowing strong through their veins, untainted by the centuries. The blonde hair, pale skin, and regal bearing could have marked them as Targaryens from afar, but the blue eyes were their distinction—icy, calculating, and far removed from the burning violet that marked her own bloodline. As Eleanor moved through the crowd, she couldn't help but feel the weight of their stares, as though they were studying her, sizing her up, as much a curiosity to them as they were to her.
She caught glimpses of their faces in the shadows—smirks half-hidden behind jeweled fans, gazes full of intrigue and calculation. These were no mere subjects; they were players in the same game of power and deceit that Eleanor had mastered. The Lyseni were beautiful, yes, but they were not to be underestimated. Beneath their silken exteriors beat hearts as cold and ruthless as the dragons of her ancestors.
"They're watching you closely, my lady," Lord Fionn Tyrell murmured, stepping up beside her. His armor clinked softly with each step, but even in full battle gear, he moved with the grace of a predator—alert, calculating.
Eleanor smirked, her violet eyes drifting over the faces in the crowd. "Let them watch. It's all they know how to do." Her gaze flickered to a group of Lyseni women draped in translucent silks, their blue eyes locked on her with a mixture of fascination and wariness. "They think themselves masters of this game."
"They are, in their way," Fionn said, his voice low, but edged with warning. He glanced around, his emerald eyes sharp, taking in every detail of their surroundings. "Lys has power—different from ours, but no less dangerous. They fight with their beauty, their wealth, and their charms. They won't underestimate you."
Eleanor's smile widened, a hint of madness flashing behind her calm exterior. "Good. I prefer an enemy that knows the stakes." She met the gaze of a Lyseni lord, his golden hair flowing down his shoulders like a lion's mane. He gave her a slight nod, his blue eyes glinting with something unreadable. She returned the gesture, her eyes daring him to challenge her. "But they forget," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper, "I didn't come here to play by their rules."
