It was the dead of night. Even with the noble guests coming back late to the castle, the halls were silent as a graveyard. For the first time in weeks, I walked alone. I had no guards with me, no steel-plated knights or legendary swordsmen; and I would have no guards when I met Melisandre. They would be of no use against her, too. I had no doubt she had ways to sway men to her side, to whisper sweet words in their ears and reinvent the world as they knew.

I realized this was another unnecessary risk I was taking. This wasn’t a calculated move, contrived with days in advance and future knowledge on my side. But she had tried to kill me; she had almost killed my knight.This was vengeance, plain and simple. Sometimes a man had to take a stand to show he should not be fucked with—and I would break before I would bend to this demon-birthing sorceress.

Whatever Qyburn had unleashed on us all, I would deal with later. If what he said was true, if Ser Balon had become part man part shadow-demon with a penchant for blood-sucking, it would not change what I had waiting for me tonight.

When I arrived at my rooms, only two of the Lannister men had their swords drawn, and they were fervently praying to the Seven as if they were about to perform an exorcism. The other three men were staring into the hearth, their swords buckled and sheathed on their sides.

“I see it, my lady,” one of the fools said, still unaware of my presence. His eyes already shone with devotion. The others nodded around him. “I see my wife… and the children. Fields of amber and gold. Oh, it’s beautiful, my lady.”

The drawing room was dark despite the fire in the hearth, and the shadows seemed to come alive when Melisandre looked up at me. Her beauty was unsettling. She had pearl-white skin that clashed against her long auburn hair and blood-satin dress, and her red eyes came ablaze when they fixed on my own.

I bit the inside of my cheek and stared right back. “Any man who doesn't leave my room right now, hangs at dawn,” I said. Her heart-shaped face didn’t even twitch at my threat.

The two men with swords drawn barely seemed to realize I was the king and simply hurried out of the room. The others, however, turned to Melisandre instead of me. “My lady?” the same one from before asked.

I raised an eyebrow at her, and she answered with a coy smile. “Go on now, friends,” she said, still looking my way. “Go in the light, for the night is dark and full of terrors.” She shooed the three out then, but not before she had them kiss her hand. A power display, I knew, as if to show me she had been in charge of the situation the whole time despite her capture.

When the door clicked shut behind them, I moved to the other side of the room where I had a small wine cabinet I used with guests. I ignored Melisandre and sorted through until I selected a fine arbor gold vintage for her and a different one for me. I had two poisoned wine bottles here, but I knew they were of no use against the red priestess.

“So you’re Stannis Baratheon’s priestess, then?” I finally asked.

I had my back turned to her, but I could tell the words bothered her. “I’m no one’s priestess but my Lord’s, Your Grace,” she said. The words rolled off her tongue accented and sultry. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand.

I schooled my face and turned, wine jug still in hand. “But you are with Stannis, no? You proclaimed him the prince that was promised, Azor Ahai come again.”

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“You know of the prophecies?” She seemed surprised, but you never knew with her. If I remembered correctly, Melisandre was over a century old at the very least. You could not bandy words with someone like her and expect to come out the winner. Still, I had to play the game.

So I nodded, pouring her a chalice of wine. “From Eldric Shadowchaser and Hyrkoon the Hero, to Neferion and Yin Tar, and the last hero of the long night. Legends from all over the known world. Does that make it the inexorable destiny of the world, or the ravings of mad men thousands of years ago who happened to spread far farther than it should have?” I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, I think. Azor Ahai won’t just fall into the world’s lap. Someone has to go out there and become him—then the spoils will follow. All the gold and power and glory a man could ask for.”

I gestured her back toward the lounge area by the hearth, where we could sit opposite each other on plush, gold-lined sofas, separated only by a knee-height centre table. I waited for her to be seated and passed her a chalice.

She accepted the wine with a smile, letting her long fingers brush against my hand. The great ruby at her throat pulsed with light. “Indeed, the prince that was promised will bathe in glory, the world will kneel at his feet—at your feet, Your Grace.”

“Is it my feet now?” I asked, showing her an amused smile. “I thought we’d established I know of your allegiance to Stannis.” I rounded the table and relaxed back on the silks. The muscles at my back which had been aching the whole time since the feast seemed to unclench, and I sighed.

“The light of my Lord is never wrong,” she said fervently, hands clasped over her chalice. “Yet we priests and priestesses do make mistakes. I had tried to see his grace in the flames before, and your visage was always twisted and shrouded.” Melisandre shook her head, a wondrous look on her face. “But I saw you in the fires tonight, clear as day. My Lord must have been protecting his chosen, even from me.”

“And how do I know you’re not just saying this to trick me? You were wrong before, no? How do I know you’re not simply wrong again?” I sipped at my drink, finding the warmth that spread inside me comforting. “And you did just attempted to murder me tonight… via shadow-demon, too. Which even to me is a bit much.”

“I hail from Asshai, Your Grace,” she said. Her skin glowed with the fire of the hearth. “And there I learned the art of shadowbinding. The spell I used today is one such, reworked to be used in tandem with blood magic. Shadowbinding is a… necessary evil, as it represents the antithesis of the Lord of Light. They are creatures of the Great Other, birthed from the wrongness of the world. And you have survived it. A true victory against the Great Other, and I saw it with my own eyes, Your Grace. No, my prince. The prince who was promised.”

“My prince, huh?” My mind felt light at the image her words conjured. I gulped the wine down in one go and smiled at Melisandre. “That doesn’t sound half bad.” I reached for the side of the centre table, opened a drawer, and brought out a couple of sticks of incense kept there by my maids. They were from somewhere in Dorne, I believed, and smelled of the sea. I lit them both up and laid them against the table. “You don’t mind, do you? It’s been a long day, and I’ve been smelling of death for hours now.”

“Please, my prince. If it makes you more comfortable.” Melisandre put her chalice down and rose, slowly, lazily. Her long pale legs unfurled from under her and surfaced from the slit of her dress like moonflowers blooming. “It is my fault you went through such hardship today.” She moved around the table, seeming to glide over the floor, and stopped in front of me. “Allow me to help you relax.” Close as she was, her voice came as if played from harps, soothing and lyric.

My head spun. Words rose and melted in my tongue like sugar cubes when she knelt with both legs on either side of me. Heat radiated off of her in waves, and it washed me clean of thoughts. Her hands reached for my belt, and after unclasping it, I helped her set my sword down to the side.

Her dress rode up as she sank down on my lap, and my hands ran up the length of her legs to her thighs, enjoying the warmth of her smooth skin. “Make love to me, my prince,” she whispered.

I felt hands grasping the back of my neck, warm and tingling to the touch. Then her lips were on mine, kissing me fiercely, and I lost myself to her sweet taste.