Saerra does exactly as she's told. She sits in the back of the box with the royal family, but far enough away that it's obvious that she's not with them. It's obvious she's not part of the family. It's obvious she's not one of them. She tries to care, she truly tries to pay attention to the tourney below, but she cannot fathom even an ounce of interest in the games. It's dreadfully boring, especially when Saerra is sat against her will. She isn't considered her father's daughter, yet has to listen to his every word. Saerra snickers as the Baratheon knight asks for the favor of the Queen Who Never Was. She finds it hilarious, but pulls herself together as Corlys eyes her from his chair.

The drums beat in rhythm as a new banner is placed, representing a new house as their contender is introduced.

" Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent!"

Saerra's eyes light up as the silver-haired Prince rides up on his horse, covered in armor with a lance and shield in hand. Finally, something interesting.

Prince Daemon aims his lance at the man carrying a Hightower shield, sure meant to be a jab at Otto, especially when the Prince emerges victorious. Saerra gasps as she watches the horse's leg get sliced. Her hand covers her mouth in shock, yet feels compelled to clap along with the rest of the crowd.

" Now, I'm fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it," The Prince remarks as he holds his lance up to the balcony.

The Lady Alicent blushes, but goes to give him her favor under her father's hardened gaze. But the next opponent will not be defeated as easily. Criston Cole has proven himself to be a fine fighter, and even more so as he faces off against the Prince. The Dornish man nearly defeats him at every given moment. It has Saerra at the edge of her set as she watches the two men fight each other on the ground, which only ends with a yield.

" I was hoping to ask for the Princess's favor," Ser Criston Cole utters as he stands before the royal.

The Princess gladly gives him her favor with a smile, but catches the eye of another as she turns to get back to her chair. For the first time in her entire life, Saerra sees Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen with her own eyes. Her breath is caught in her throat. Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head as her jaw goes slack. Rhaenyra is among the most beautiful women Saerra has ever seen, if not the most beautiful. Saerra mindlessly claps with the crowd, but her eyes are not on the tourney.

They're on the Princess.

But Otto comes with somber news. He's responsible for telling the Lords and Ladies about the passing of the Queen. Rhaenyra is no fool and is able to figure out something is amuck as the box begins to empty. Even Saerra is ushered out by Corlys, where she, unfortunately, must leave the Princess, only to be right with her again at the funeral.

Saerra, as usual, is not part of the Velaryon circle. She stands next to them but not with them, and as a result, stands before Princess Rhaenyra once more. Saerra can only see the back of her head as her beautiful silver hair billows in the wind, where she is joined by another with equally beautiful hair.

Daemon attempts to console his niece in a time of need,  where he tries to give her the strength to be there for King Viserys, who has become a shell of himself. The King will forever carry the guilt of this day with him, for not only is his wife burning on the pyre... but his son as well.

All mourn in their own ways, and Daemon's ways happen to lead him to a pleasure house, and since Saerra truly had no love for the Queen, she ends up in the exact same pleasure house without knowing who had bought it. She never questioned it. To her, it was just an excuse to have a fun night, and maybe one where she could find a woman whose features resemble Rhaenyra, for she knows a bastard will never have a chance with a Princess. While the whore on Saerra's lap doesn't have beautiful silver hair, she does possess a soft round face and plump lips, which will have to suffice. And it does, up until the pleasure house goes quiet and all eyes turn to someone she never expected to see.

The Rogue Prince.

" King and Council have long rued my position as next in line for the throne. But, dream and pray as they all might, it seems I am not so easily replaced. The gods give just as the gods take away. To the King's son. Baelon Targaryen, the short-lived Prince... my nephew."

The patrons all raise a glass in a speech that will be dubbed as the 'heir-for-a-day', seeing as words always have a way of being twisted.

Saerra's eyes are still stuck on the Prince, watching as he downs his cup of wine, giving pause to the whore on her lap, who gently grabs Saerra's face and makes her look straight at her.

" If you ask nicely... the Prince may join us," The girl offers.

To which Saerra's eyes go wide as saucers as her cheeks flush.

" N-No, " The bastard stutters, " I couldn't."

" He'll like you," The girl continues, smirking as she pulls down the straps of her dress to reveal her breasts, " I know what he likes."

" What does he like?" Saerra curiously asks.

" Mmm, he likes girls. Ones slim and slender, skin silky smooth and soft to the touch. And he's been known to prefer only two kinds of hair. Silver... and black."

Targaryen customs are known throughout the realm. It is no surprise that Daemon may prefer women who share his blood, but the whore's words give the bastard a sliver of hope. Hope that the Prince may be interested after all.

There she sits, pondering over whether her wants and desires could possibly come true. Perhaps someone will view her as something more than a bastard, someone who doesn't need a handful of gold beforehand. Saerra's eyes stay steady, begging to be met by Daemon's, but the moment never comes. Instead, the Prince just drowns himself in cups of wine. He's a mere spectator. He doesn't wish to dip his finger into the pie of the pleasure house, for even if he enjoys watching, they all seem quite boring in his eyes. There's nothing in the pleasure house that he hasn't had already, and the one thing he hasn't had ends up departing before the night is even over.

But word reaches the Red Keep about the night. Word reaches the King about the actions and words of his little brother, prompting the Rogue Prince to be brought into the Grand Hall to stand before the Throne.

" Did you say it?" Viserys asks.

" I don't know what you mean," Daemon shrugs.

" You will address me as your grace, or I will have my Kings guard cut out your tongue," The eldest brother corrects, sitting with a crown on his head and a sword in his hand, "The Heir for a Day. Did you say it?"

" We must all mourn in our own way, Your Grace," The Prince utters.

" My family has just been destroyed. But instead of being by my side, or Rhaenyra's, you chose to celebrate your own rise! Laughing with your whores and your lickspittles! You have no allies at court but me! I have only ever defended you! Yet everything I've given you, you've thrown back in my face.

" You've only ever tried to send me away. To the Vale, to the City Watch, anywhere but by your side. Ten years you've been king, and yet not once have you asked me to be your Hand!"

" Why would I do that?"

" Because I'm your brother. And the blood of the dragon runs thick."

" Then why do you cut me so deeply?"

" I've only ever spoken the truth. I see Otto High tower for what he is."

" An unwavering and loyal Hand?"

" A cunt," Daemon seethes, though his words ring true, " A second son who stands to inherit nothing he doesn't seize for himself."

" Otto High tower is a more honorable man than you could ever be," Viserys defends.

" He doesn't protect you. I would," The younger brother proclaims.

" From what?" The King asks.

" Yourself. You're weak... Viserys. And that council of leeches knows it. They all prey on you for their own ends."

" I have decided to name a new heir."

" I'm your heir."

" Not anymore."

" You are to return to Runestone and your lady wife at once, and you are to do so without quarrel by order of your King."

Prince Daemon's lady wife is not a woman he is fond of, nor is she a woman he has fucked. Daemon wants nothing to do with Lady Rhea. Their marriage was a sham, and they both now it. They don't love each other, in fact, they may hate each other. Daemon's heart is a mysertious thing, but it knows for certain what it does not want.

But Viserys's heart knows exactly what it wants. And the day soon comes where he names his heir.

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, his eldest and only child. Born a woman, marking history as the first heir without a cock. She stands before the realm, watching as each Lord and Lady from all houses across the realm bend the knee and swear fielty to the Princess, in which the day is cemented.

The Realm's Delight is next in line for the throne, but by now it is known that men would sooner put the realm to the torch than have a woman sit the Iron Throne... because that is the order of things.

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[ tempted to make this a slow burn, but i'm a whore for the targaryens, so maybe not ]