For all the limitations imposed by a severe hunch, Laena perked up at Vaemond’s question, almost sitting straight in her chair. She was flabbergasted that the first place Vaemond suggested she reside in was not Driftmark, toiling over the children in relative isolation as was the duty she thought he always wanted her to fulfill. Perhaps he believed in her literary ambitions, at least enough to offer her the chance to pursue those ambitions from the island on which most dragons would reside at some point in their lifetimes. Or perhaps it was the lesser evil for him, the easy compromise, not that it mattered to her – she was happy either way. In addition to the Dragonmont’s practical benefits, there were few libraries that matched Dragonstone’s on the subject of dragon lore, and fewer places more symbolically appropriate from which to publish her first works.

Of course, there were the children and Vaemond to cherish anew. ‘Start again’ was perhaps too idealistic. He wants to forget the last thirteen years as if they never happened. Enough had been said and done between them that it would take divine intervention to unburden their marriage entirely, to wipe the slate clean and start over. But Laena had not been the only one to change over the last few moons. Vaemond had seized the political initiative at the Grand Council in a manner that had impressed Laena and probably the realm as well. With only minimal contributions from her, he had elevated the Velaryon name to an unprecedented status. Here they were: the caretakers of Dragonstone. He had proven her and his father wrong, and in so doing, Vaemond intrigued her like a mystery knight might his queen of love and beauty, having just dominated the lists despite having had no stock in his name. Looking over him now, she rediscovered a previously dormant attraction in his freshly proven prowess.

Instinctively, her hand moved towards his, stopping on the table next to him as if to invite him to grab it. Deepened by the light she now saw him in, her smile was far from awkward, for its upward curve bore the promise of happiness and the anticipation of something more.

“If you’ll truly have me here,” she said tentatively, as if fighting her own eagerness, “then I’d like to ‘try.’” She had to look away from him as her cheeks reddened with embarrassment, “I’d really like to.”