- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ CHAPTER FORTY NINE ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌
I WAS ALL OVER HER
❛ don't know what i wanted,
i have a memory
back at that party, i was all over her ❜

౨ৎ disclaimer
unedited! and hopefully it makes sense!

ALSO I JUST PUBLISHED A MODERN AU
FOR JACE AND EUDORA TITLED THE YELLOW
UMBRELLA! go check it out its all happy sweet
and sappy! and don't forget to follow my tiktok,
@/carollingdxnvers.wp (linked in my carrd), for
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JACAERYS.

The throne room was alive with the buzzing sound of the court, the air feeling different. Nobles and lords crowded the space, their faces alight with anticipation as they awaited the crowning of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. At the base of the Iron Throne, Alicent stood stiffly, her hands trembling as she held the crown of her late husband, Viserys– Rhaenyra's own birthright crown.

Jace stood to one side, his clothes polished and proper but his face shadowed. He made sure that Alicent was the one to put the crown on his mother's head– an obvious reminder that she has lost in this game of chess. He had insisted on this, it wasn't enough for Rhaenyra to ascend; the world needed to see the humiliation of the woman who had torn his family apart.

A hush fell over the room as Rhaenyra entered. Draped in black and crimson, her hair spun like silver, she walked with the calm grace of a dragon queen. Her eyes were steady, her chin held high, but those who looked closer could see the faint lines of exhaustion etched into her face. The war had taken its toll, and though the crown was hers, the cost was too much.

When she reached the front of the room, her gaze flickered briefly to Alicent. There was no malice in her expression, only a quiet triumph. The Hightower, on the other hand, looked pale and worn, her green gown hanging loosely from her frame. Her lips pressed tightly together as her eyes darted to Jace, whose dark glare seemed to pierce right through her soul. She did have to admit, it was her fault he turned to be as cold hearted as he was right now.

"Do it," Jace murmured, his voice low and sharp.

Alicent hesitated, then stepped forward. The crown felt heavier in her hands as she raised it, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. "For the realm," Alicent said softly, the words more to herself than to anyone else. The crown rested upon Rhaenyra's head, Alicent then stepping back quickly as though the weight of her actions might burn her.

The room erupted into cheers, the sound echoing off the stone walls. Lords and ladies bowed, their voices ringing out as they shouted, "Long live the Queen! Rhaenyra Targaryen, the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms!"

But Jace didn't cheer.

He stood still, his hands clenched at his sides, his jaw set tightly. The sight of his mother's victory did little to ease the pain that brewed within him.

As the court celebrated, Jace's mind was elsewhere. The flashes of memories hit him like a storm, Eudora's laughter as they walked along the halls of Winterfell, her fierce defiance when the world tried to break her, the softness in her gaze whenever she looked at him.

She wasn't here– their win against the Greens felt nothing more than another burden.

Daemon approached the boy quietly, his usual confidence tempered by some hint of genuine concern. "... You've done your duty," he began. "Your mother sits on the throne, and the realm will know peace."

Jace's laughter left a bitter sound in Daemon's ears. "Peace?" he said, his voice low but seething. "Is this what peace feels like? A crown on her head, but I'm in ruins?"

"Battles and wars take their toll, boy," Daemon replied. "We all pay the price."

"Tell me, who decides the price, Daemon? The gods? The Seven? My mother? Was it worth it?"

The Targaryen didn't answer, and the silence between them was deafening.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The coronation feast was a grand affair. Tables were filled with roasted meats, fine wines, and sweetmeats in the shape of dragons. The music played, the lively tunes carrying throughout the entire castles, and the nobility danced in their finest silks and jewels. Rhaenyrs sat at the head of the table, her crown gleaming in the torchlight. She smiled and nodded as nobles toasted to her rule, her composure impeccable.

Jace, however, continued to remain silent by her side. He drank heavily– something he hasn't done before, his cup refilled by wary servants who avoided his gaze. His presence was a massive contrast to the joyous crowd. Baela noticed him, her hand on his shoulder. "Jace," she said softly, trying to get him to talk.

"Just go and enjoy like the rest of them," he told her, his tone flat.

"But–"

"I said go," he snapped, sharper this time. Baela flinched, her hand dropping to her side. She glanced at Rhaenyra, who gave her a sad nod. Reluctantly, she left to converse with the rest of the court.

As the night wore on, the prince's anger grew more volatile. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was his honest feelings, but Jace wasn't himself. A noble from the Reach, drunk on wine as well, dared to make an offhand comment about the Starks being "a breed better suited for winter than politics."

Before the man could even finish his sentence, Jace stood abruptly, chair scrapping as loud to the point the whole room paused. His hand gripped the table as he glared at him. "Say that again," he said, his voice different– laced with something Rhaenyra couldn't tell.

Everyone fell silent, all eyes were on him. "I–"

"I said say that again!"

"I meant no offence, Your Grace!" The nobleman countered in fear. "It– It was only a jest."

Jace's hand swung to his hand to his sword, his breath coming in sharp. For a second, it seemed like he might draw his blade, but Rhaenyra's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Enough," she said firmly. "This is not the time, Jacaerys."

He could only watch as the noble quickly retreated, his steps hurried as he disappeared into the crowd. Slowly his eyes turned towards the rest of the guests, quiet murmurs and whispers as they discussed the scene that they just witnessed. Jace huffed, only muttering a small excuse before leaving– the sight of the festivities becoming a little too much for him.

🫗