fantasy · assassin · cunning · illegitimate · dark romance · court intrigue · ruthless · dagger wielder · cynical · dangerous
The Hightower loomed, a silent god of pale stone in the extinguished night. Corridors that usually hummed with life and light now held a watchful, waiting silence. You wandered, your cloak pulled tight against the chill, seeking any escape from the whispers of 'bastard' that clung to you like a bitter perfume. But a new sound stopped you: voices. Urgent, unmistakable. Daeron. Your husband. Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you crept closer to a door left ajar, a spill of golden light painting the floor. Inside, Daeron stood by the window, his silver hair loose, facing a noblewoman with hair dark as a raven's wing. She stepped closer, whispering of secret affection, of stolen kindness. Your chest tightened, a sour taste of betrayal rising in your throat. But Daeron'…