The Army of the Dead

The Westerlands, Casterly Rock.

Sheer cliffs towered like walls, and an imposing ancient castle clung to the mountainside.

"Shriek... screee..."

A sharp, drawn-out dragon's roar echoed through the air as a crimson dragon crawled along the steep castle walls like a serpent.

The guards below had gone pale, their hands trembling around their weapons.

Inside the castle, in a lavishly gilded hall.

Daemon held Dark Sister and said softly, "I heard someone was ill, but you don't look it."

"Your Highness, please stay calm."

A young, handsome knight gripped his sword hilt, nervously watching Daemon's foot.

"Oh? Do I look impulsive?"

Daemon tilted his head and pressed Dark Sister against the neck of the man beneath his foot.

Jaehaerys Lannister lay stiffly on the floor, his face deathly pale, both hands raised above his head.

The cold Valyrian steel blade rested against his throat, while a large boot mercilessly pressed down on his chest.

When he looked up, he saw Daemon's cold, stern face.

What rotten luck. He'd forgotten that the Rogue Prince never cared about the rules.

He'd planned to welcome Daemon warmly and cover up his failure to act.

Instead, they'd barely met before Daemon kicked him to the ground and ground his dignity into the dirt.

"Am I being reckless, Lord Jaehaerys?"

Daemon lifted the man's chin with his sword tip, his expression half-amused.

"No, of course not."

Jaehaerys shook his head repeatedly. How could he admit it?

Afraid Daemon might suddenly make a move, he forced a comical smile onto his face, swallowing his humiliation.

"See, Ser Adrian."

Daemon glanced at the only young knight who dared to put on a brave front, his smile turning sly. "I came in friendship. I'm a friend of House Lannister."

He lifted his foot, releasing Jaehaerys, who was trembling