THE IRON THRONE OF ICE AND FIRE

The warm glow of candlelight flickered across Kalea's olive-green dress, but Greene's heart barely stirred.

A year ago, she had been a girl trailing timidly behind her mother. Now, she stood before him, her dark curls framing a face that had lost its youthful roundness, her figure no longer that of a child. Time moved fast in this world.

Yet Greene's mind was elsewhere.

No, he wasn't thinking about Kalea. He was thinking about how easily she had reached him.

Security within Whispering Castle needed to be tightened. No matter how sharp his instincts, no man could remain on guard every hour of the day. Even the keenest blade dulled from overuse. One lapse, one moment of weakness, and a dagger would find his throat.

Important places needed protection. Trusted men at the doors. In time, when coin allowed, perhaps even a few Unsullied. Unlike the mercenaries and sellswords of Westeros, the Unsullied could be counted on. A lord's sleep should not be so easily disturbed.

But for now, he forced a smile.

"Kalea," he said, his voice smooth. "It has been some time. Did your mother send you?"

The girl lowered her gaze, feigning modesty. "She believes I am not yet ready to serve as your maid. I am still in training. But… I grew impatient and sought you out myself. Please forgive my boldness."

It was a clever answer. Sulana played her role well, setting expectations while keeping her own hands clean. And Kalea—she had played her part, appearing eager yet deferential. Neither could be faulted.

Greene made no comment. Instead, he stepped from the bath, allowing Kalea to drape his night robe over his shoulders. She poured him a goblet of red wine, and he took a sip. His face twisted in distaste.

Sour.

The vineyards of his lands produced only bitter, sharp vintages. The good wines—the rich reds from the Arbor, the spiced Myrish blends—those were for men who had the coin to afford them.

Still, he swallowed. In time, he would drink better. In time, his table would hold only the finest things.

For now, he would endure.

Morning Orders

The next day, Greene sent Kalea to Maester Al.

The old man could barely walk, and Greene had little faith in his remaining years. His death would leave Whispering Castle without a maester, cutting them off from the city's raven network for months. That could not be allowed. Kalea would learn to tend the ravens.

She was literate, a rarity among smallfolk. More importantly, she was trustworthy.

For now, that was enough.

The Forge and the Meeting

By midday, Mason had returned. His reports were promising.

The territory boasted thirteen blacksmiths and thirty-two carpenters. More were expected to arrive, bringing their families in response to the lord's call. If Greene had his way, they would be organized into workshops, each apprentice mastering a single step before moving to the next. Efficiency over tradition.

Hershel, the city steward, would handle their settlement.

But for now, there was war to prepare.

In the lord's solar, Greene sat with his knights—Pell and Mason—alongside Maester Al, poring over maps and reports.

The mountain clans had grown bolder. Raiders struck at villages, disappearing into the hills before retribution could find them. This had gone on long enough.

"Sir Pell," Greene said, tapping the table to draw his attention. "I will see Hershel provides you with arms and armor. Shields, swords, bows. You will have ten of my sworn men and may recruit ninety more—hunters, scouts, men who know the land."

Pell straightened.

"When you are done, you will command a hundred men under my banner," Greene continued. "You will be the first Captain of the Survey Corps."

The knight exhaled sharply. It was an honor, and he knew it.

Greene leaned forward. "While Mason and I deal with the savages in the field, I want you in their homes. Burn their food stores. Kill their hunters. Give them no shelter, no peace."

Pell gave a sharp nod.

"I want captives," Greene added. "A territory without people is worthless. The more prisoners you bring me, the greater your reward."

Maester Al cleared his throat, his voice thin with age. "My lord, I have kept a record of their movements. The clans' lairs are marked on my maps, though there may be some discrepancy." He hesitated, then slid a parchment across the table. "I hope this helps."

Greene placed a hand over his chest. "Your service will not be forgotten, Maester."

King's Landing, Red Keep

Far away, beneath the red banners of House Lannister, Cersei held a letter between her fingers, rereading its words by candlelight.

A strong hand slid along her bare skin, but she paid it no mind.

"Still reading that?" Jaime's voice was warm, teasing.

Cersei set the parchment aside, rolling onto her side to face him. Even in her thirties, she was still the most beautiful woman in the realm, her golden hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders.

Jaime smiled. "That one's a sycophant."

The corners of Cersei's lips curled. "You don't understand him, but he understands me."

Jaime exhaled through his nose, rolling onto his back, exasperated. "That boy is as slippery as a snake."

Cersei slid closer, tracing a nail down his chest. "Jealous, brother?"

Jaime scoffed. "Of a child? If I were any more jealous, you'd have me wearing your skirts."

She laughed and poured herself a glass of wine. "Shall I bring him along for the hunt?"

Jaime arched a brow. "And why would you?"

Cersei's smile deepened.

"He's charming, isn't he?"