Walder Frey's proposal had been a mockery, a bitter jest. The Twins were a strategic prize, but Robb knew that the North needed more than a bridge of stone. They needed a Queen, a powerful one, with blood as ancient as the Wall itself.

And so, he sought her—the dragon kissed by the sun. Guest, firstborn of Rhaegar and Elia. Her name whispered through the Seven Kingdoms like a prayer.

Rumors had whispered of her survival, hidden away in Dorne. Three full-grown dragons guarded her, the last remnants of the House’s power. Robb had heard tales of their majesty, their scales like burnished gold, their eyes aflame with ancient fire.

“Guest,” he murmured, testing the name on his lips. It felt right, like a promise.

He had ridden hard from Winterfell, leaving his people behind. The Northmen had looked at him with curiosity and concern. “Why Sunspear?” they had asked. “What business do we have with Dorne?”

But Robb knew. He had seen the maps, traced the lineage. Guest was the missing piece—the key to victory.

As he approached the Martell stronghold, guards eyed him warily. “I seek an audience with Princess Guest,” he declared. “Tell her that the King in the North has come.”