Dragonstone, the Painted Table Chamber.
In the vast stone chamber, an obsidian table carved with the terrain of all Westeros occupied the center of the hall.
Stannis Baratheon sat upright on the throne at the head of the Painted Table.
His expression was stern, his jaw tight.
His two most important advisers stood beside the table.
The Onion Knight, Davos Seaworth, and Cressen, Dragonstone's aged maester.
Worry was written all over Davos's face, while Cressen looked even older and more exhausted.
At that moment, every eye in the Painted Table Chamber was focused on the woman standing on the other side of the table.
Melisandre.
A deep crimson robe, smooth as blood, wrapped her tall, shapely body, tracing breathtaking curves.
Thick, long curls as black as night fell over her shoulders, framing her exquisitely beautiful face.
Her eyes were dark red, burning with a strange fire, like two rubies buried deep beneath the earth. Now they stared unblinkingly at Stannis on the throne, as though they could pierce his hard shell and look straight into the deepest desires and struggles of his soul.
The enormous ruby pendant at her throat gave off an uncanny glow in the dim light.
"Your Grace..."
Melisandre's voice echoed through the empty stone hall. "The Long Night approaches, and the ancient Cold God is sharpening his claws and fangs, but the light has never given up. The legend of Azor Ahai is no mere song. The prince who was promised, the master of Lightbringer, has been reborn in the Land of Smoke and Salt. He will rise from the deepest despair, wielding a burning holy sword to drive away the darkness and end the Long Night!
"Your Grace-you are the prince who was promised! R'hllor's flames have revealed your destiny to me. Only you can