SHARON’S POV The nursery smelled like warm milk and cedar. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows, turning the rug into a golden pool where Daemon and Daenerys lay on their stomachs, their chubby arms reaching for the same wooden wolf Morris had carved last winter. They babbled at each other in that secret twin language only they understood, their tiny fingers brushing, then tangling, then pulling apart with delighted squeals.I sat cross-legged between them, one hand steadying Daemon’s back so he didn’t topple sideways, the other smoothing Daenerys’s curls every time she lunged forward. Morris sprawled on his side next to us, propped on one elbow, watching them like they were the only thing in the world worth seeing.He caught my eye and smiled, a slow, real smile, the kind that still made my stomach flip after everything.“They’re plotting something,” he said, voice low and amused. “Look at that face.”Daemon had frozen mid-reach, staring at the wolf like it owed him money. Then
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