Conquest Keep, the King's Bedchamber. Late at night.
All was silent.
Inside the vast chamber, soft candlelight and the glow of embers in the fireplace divided the space into pools of gold and shadow.
Lo Quen stood bare-chested before the towering window, wearing only loose silk trousers. Outside, silver moonlight spread across the distant, ink-black sea.
Then came a faint knock at the door.
Lo Quen's brows lifted slightly. So late at night—who would seek him out now?
"Come in," he said calmly.
Chai Yiq stood in the doorway, her heart hammering so fiercely it felt ready to burst through her thin garments.
She had bathed and dressed carefully for this night, anointing herself with rare oils traded from a merchant of Qarth. Most importantly, she had shed her usual leather armor and replaced it with a gown that made her face burn to even look at.
Candlelight outlined the long, graceful lines of her figure.
It was a nearly transparent black lace gown from Myr—a secret weapon the maids had pressed into her hands with knowing smiles. Beneath the gossamer lace mesh, two full curves stood proud and defiant.
Her cheeks flushed hotter, her breath came fast, and her fingers nervously twisted at the edge of the lace hem.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the King's bedchamber.
Lo Quen finally turned slowly toward her.
When his eyes fell upon Chai Yiq, a flicker of genuine surprise crossed them for the first time.
The exiled princess of Carcosa now stood before him, draped in shadow and seduction. Moonlight and firelight interwove across her form, the lace casting intricate, shifting patterns along her curves. Beauty and danger blended in a breathtaking, impossible harmony.
Chai Yiq felt his gaze steal the air from her lungs.
Summoning every shred of courage, she stepped closer.
"Your Grace, I know you will one day conquer the world. I have never doubted it. But I don't want to be only the sword that wins your battles—or just a displaced princess under your command, waiting for vengeance. I want to stand closer to you. In the long nights of your conquest, I want to be the one who warms you... and stays by your side."
Her confession caught Lo Quen off guard.
He thought for a moment. No doubt Lynesse's pregnancy had stirred something in her, pushing her to reveal her heart so suddenly.
He smiled faintly, walked over to close the door, then picked up a silver goblet from the wooden table. Pouring out two cups of fragrant pear brandy, he handed one to Chai Yiq.
Her gaze grew hazy as she looked into the amber liquid.
Lo Quen chuckled softly. "No need to be nervous. Drink."
Chai Yiq took a sip. The rich sweetness of the brandy lingered in her throat.
"Your Grace... do you mean..."
Lo Quen stepped closer, pressing a finger to her lips.
"I know what you wish to say. There's no need to hurry over Yi Ti. Once we've finished in the West, I'll take you East—to kill the yellow-robed sorcerer of Carcosa."
That sorcerer possessed a Black Stone like his own, a threat that would one day have to be eliminated. Once Yi Ti was united, Lo Quen intended to cross the Mountains of the Morn and erase that danger himself.
Chai Yiq threw herself into his arms, her words spilling out at last. "But I want to be like Sister Lynesse..."
Lo Quen thought dryly, Just as I expected.
Her scent filled his lungs; her body was warm and soft against his chest. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he leaned close to her ear and murmured, "Then are you ready?"
Her only answer was the press of her lips—hot, trembling, and flavored faintly with brandy.
"Mmm..."
The kiss struck like lightning—sudden and fierce—forcing Lo Quen backward until he stumbled onto the bed.
He tasted the sweetness and the clumsy urgency of her kiss, his gaze falling upon the shape above him: a body radiant with heat and shadow, every curve gleaming beneath moonlight and flame.
A fleeting, absurd thought crossed his mind.
The conqueror... being conquered by a woman?
With a low growl, he rolled, fast and sure, reclaiming the ground in an instant.
The soft, burning form beneath him—clad only in fragile lace—was pinned firmly under his weight.
"Princess, it seems I must teach you who truly rules here."
His voice was low and hoarse as he leaned down. The kiss that followed was no longer tender—it carried an edge of dominance, sweeping over her completely...
In the darkness, only muffled breaths, soft moans, and the sounds of bodies tangled together filled the air.
Within the chamber, heat rose like a tide—slow, endless, and consuming.
...
The next morning, in the dining hall of Conquest Keep.
The air was light and casual. The ladies of the Keep chatted in hushed tones about household matters, the soft clinking of cutlery punctuating their murmurs.
Then, Myrcella lifted her small, innocent face. Her wide emerald eyes blinked curiously as she interrupted the conversation around the table.
"Did anyone else hear that last night? It was so noisy! There were these strange sounds—it was like a kitten getting its tail caught in a door!"
The room fell instantly silent. Every woman froze mid-motion.
"Sounds?" Jaelena frowned.
She lived on the lower floors of the castle and had heard nothing.
Lynesse's hand, halfway to her lips with a cup of milk, stopped abruptly. A strange expression flickered across her face. She set the cup down and pressed a handkerchief to her mouth to hide a laugh, glancing at the little princess.
"My dear Myrcella, you must have misheard. That was just the night owls on the castle roof. Their cries can sound quite... sorrowful."
"Night owls?"
Myrcella tilted her head, still puzzled. "But it sounded like it was coming from His Grace's chambers..."
Only then did she seem to notice someone missing.
"Huh? Why isn't Sister Chai Yiq here for breakfast?"
Lynesse pinched her thigh beneath the table to keep from bursting into laughter.
Ynys glanced at Chai Yiq's empty chair, then at Lynesse's rounded belly. A thoughtful smile curved her lips. It seemed she would need to be a little more proactive herself.
...
That night, cold moonlight once again washed over the towering spires of Conquest Keep.
Lo Quen had just finished reviewing the final parchment detailing troop movements along the western frontier. Rubbing at his temples, he exhaled slowly. The embers in the hearth glowed faintly, casting the chamber in dim, red-gold light.
He was preparing to change for bed when—
Knock... knock... knock...
The sound came again, soft but deliberate.
Lo Quen's brow arched slightly. Who could it be this time?
He crossed to the door and pulled it open.
The sight before him made him pause.
Not one visitor, but two. Two silhouettes stood in the corridor, bathed in moonlight.
To his left stood Chai Yiq.
Her attire differed from the night before—now she wore a delicate lotus-pink lace gown, soft and shimmering under the torchlight.
But to his right stood Ynys, and she caught him entirely by surprise.
She had clearly prepared for this visit. Her hair, golden as molten sunlight, was no longer loosely tousled but woven into several soft braids, intertwined with fine pearl chains that draped over her shoulders. They framed her pale neck beautifully.
She wore a deep violet velvet gown—bold, sensuous, and impossibly well-fitted. The plunging neckline accentuated the full curves of her chest; her waist was so slender it could fit in a man's hand, and her hips curved with perfect fullness beneath the fabric.
The dark violet hue made her fair skin seem to glow, while her blue eyes—clear and deep as a Dornish summer sky—shone with fiery mystery.
"Your Grace."
Ynys stepped forward, her full chest brushing perilously close to Lo Quen's arm.
One—dark-haired and violet-eyed—was draped in lace, embodying the tender allure of the East.
The other—golden-haired and blue-eyed—radiated the wild, passionate heat of Dorne.
Lo Quen was no monk. When beauty came knocking, who was he to turn it away?
He smiled faintly and gestured for them to enter, inviting both ladies inside to "review state documents."
...
For the next half-month, the nights of Conquest Keep were anything but quiet.
Those peculiar "night owl" cries became more frequent—and far more spirited.
The castle maids, of course, knew exactly what kind of "owls" they were. They blushed and whispered about it among themselves, unable to keep their giggles at bay.
Only young Myrcella remained blissfully unaware.
On nights when she awoke to those strange, rhythmic "night owl" calls, she would rub her sleepy eyes and mumble in confusion, "Why don't the night owls ever sleep? So noisy..."
Then she'd roll over and drift peacefully back to sleep.