✶|𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺|✶ 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘐𝘐𝘐 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯

✶𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 42✶

――✴✯✴――

Let It Go With The Wind

――✴✯✴――

✯Unknown P.o.v✯

Year 134 A.C

Westeros

Somewhere in the Kingdom....

"The plan didn't work." The man hissed, pacing furiously across the room, a glass of dark, burning liquor in hand. "The damn serving girl, or whatever she was, drank the tea meant for her..."

He tossed the shot down his throat in one gulp, slamming the empty glass onto a nearby table with a sharp clink. 

The plan, months in the making, woven through whispers and bribes, had crumbled in a single careless moment.

"I should've had that rabbit-hearted girl dealt with the moment she stepped into the castle.." The muttered to himself, reaching for the decanter again. 

The amber liquid shimmered in the dim candlelight as he refilled the glass, raising it to his lips once more. 

"We'll need to buy new hands... Twist new tongues... The longer this drags on, the worse it'll get."

From across the room, a figure lounged in the shadows, sitting at the edge of a heavy oak table, fingers idly tapping against the wood. They had said little all evening, content to watch their companion spiral into frustrated rage.

"Calm yourself." The seated figure spoke at last, voice smooth, unhurried, a faint hint of amusement curling at the edges. "It's just a matter of timing. A little patience. That little Dornish bitch won't last long."

The man by the window shot a glare in their direction, his knuckles white against the frame as he stared out into the fog-laden night beyond. 

The city stretched below like a dark, sleeping beast.

"You'd better be right." He growled. "If this falls apart, we're all dead men."

The other figure chuckled under their breath, leaning back with a smug tilt of the head. 

"Don't worry. My brain has more sense than your fly-swarmed one. And unlike you, I know how to wait for the storm to pass before I strike."

The room fell into a thick, heavy silence, only the distant sound of waves against the shore and the occasional creak of wood in the old chamber filled the space. 

Outside, the clouds hung low, blotting out the stars.

"Besides." The seated figure added, a glint of dark promise in their voice. "There's more than one way to bleed a crown..."

――✴✯✴――

✯Serena's P.o.v✯

The air was hot. Not the humid, stifling heat of Dorne, but a dry, searing heat, the kind that clings to your skin like the breath of a towering bonfire at the height of summer.