"Your brother’s gone mad," Joanna says bluntly, her voice flat and cold the way Rhaenor’s never heard before. Joanna tugs the end of her sleeve; it just barely covers a darkening bruise, and Rhaenor’s heart twists at the sight.

He hesitantly catches her hand, rubs her wrist the way they used to when they playing together as children and she had taken a bad fall. "Jo, I’m - "

"I have no need for your pity," Joanna snaps, but and her other hand comes to cup his cheek. She leans in closer and whispers into his ear, "I only need to know if you’ll be a better king than Aerys."