━━━━━━━━━━━🗡️━━
⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆
𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐈𝐍 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ 𝑯𝑶𝑻𝑫
⛧°。 ⋆༺ sᴇᴀsᴏɴ ᴏɴᴇ ༻⋆。 °⛧
━━━━━━━━━━ .°୭̥ ❁ ˎˊ˗━

𝔗he large windows of the chamber allowed the soft, amber light of the late afternoon to spill across the room, casting a warm glow on the rich stone walls. The scent of fresh flowers from the garden outside mingled with the heady aroma of the gown Saela was to wear.

Saela stood in the center of the room, surrounded by the soft rustle of fabric and the quiet murmurs of the seamstresses. Baela and Rhaena, her nieces-though they were more like sisters, considering how close in age they were-stood nearby, offering their company as she prepared for the fitting.

The dress she was being fitted for was a vision of intricacy, white as snow, its hem adorned with delicate jewels of red and blue that shimmered like tiny stars against the fabric. The design symbolized the merging of two great houses, her own Velaryon house and that of her betrothed, House Targaryen. The weight of the gown, both literal and metaphorical, settled heavily on her shoulders.

Baela, ever the tease, leaned against the wall, grinning widely. "You look so fancy," she remarked with a wink, clearly enjoying the rare sight of her aunt, usually so self-assured, in such a delicate and vulnerable position.

Saela couldn't help but laugh softly, a mixture of amusement and mild exasperation. "Oh hush," she replied, her tone light but with an edge of weariness.

Rhaena, who was standing on the opposite side of Saela, regarded her with a more serious expression. Her brow furrowed slightly as she studied Saela's face. "How do you feel about it all?" she asked, her voice soft and caring.

Saela's smile faltered just a little as she lifted her chin, looking at the reflection of herself in the ornate mirror. She didn't have to think long about her response. "It's what's expected of me," she said quietly, her voice distant.

Rhaena tilted her head, a knowing look passing between her and Baela. "That's not what I asked."

Saela sighed, shifting slightly in her stance as the seamstress adjusted the fabric of the gown. "It's overwhelming," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Though I'm sure all brides feel that way. Your weddings will be in a few months. I'm sure you'll feel the same way that I do now."

The thought of their upcoming weddings hung in the air like an unspoken weight, but Saela pushed it aside, feeling the familiar tension return. She shrugged slightly. "Anyways, enough of these droll conversations."

As the seamstresses finished adjusting the gown, they stepped back to take a final look. One of them, an older woman with graying hair, moved forward with another dress, a bold contrast to the white gown Saela had been fitted in.

Saela glanced down as the maid held up the new gown, a deep red and black design, clearly meant to represent House Targaryen. The heavy colors of fire and blood seemed to mock her as she examined the garment. She looked at it with raised brows, confusion etched across her face. "I prefer blue," she stated, her voice cool and firm, even though her heart wasn't quite so resolute.

The maid simply bowed her head and replied, "This is the house of your betrothed, my lady. It's what's expected of you."

Saela's nostrils flared as she took in the words. The weight of it all, the pressure, the expectations-it all seemed too much. She could feel the fire of rebellion stir within her, but she knew she had no choice in the matter. She clenched her jaw and resisted the urge to snap back.

"It will please them, my lady," the maid continued, her voice respectful but firm, as though she had said the same words many times before. "Just for dinner."

A strained breath escaped Saela's lips as she fought to calm the storm of emotions threatening to rise. Finally, she nodded, her voice tight. "Fine." She said no more as they began to dress her in the dark red and black gown.

As the gown settled around her, Saela's reflection was hardly the vision she had hoped for. Her heart felt heavy with the weight of the choice made for her.

Rhaena and Baela exchanged a glance, their expressions somber. Though they both smiled weakly at Saela, the smiles were strained, tinged with an understanding they knew Saela didn't need to voice. She was trapped in this world, just as they were, with no easy escape.

Rhaena stepped forward first, her voice soft. "You still look beautiful, Saela," she said, her tone full of warmth but also sadness.

Baela nodded, though the smile on her face didn't reach her eyes. "It's just a dress," she said lightly, though it was clear from her tone she didn't believe it.

Saela offered a faint smile, but it was a hollow thing, as she gazed down at the gown. "I know." She didn't add anything else as they finished adjusting it, feeling more like a stranger in the gown.

𝔗he air in the hall of Dragonstone felt thick with anticipation as Saela, flanked by Baela and Rhaena, descended the stone staircase that led into the great dining hall. The soft, echoing clack of their shoes on the stone was the only sound that filled the space, the murmurs of the lords and ladies already seated around the table dying down as they all turned their gazes toward the three women.

Saela, now in the dark red and black gown, felt the weight of the eyes on her, each gaze heavy with unspoken judgments and expectations. The gown, symbolizing House Targaryen with its deep red and black hues. The jewels embedded into the fabric glistened in the torchlight, catching the flicker of flames as they moved. Every step she took was as though she was walking through the eyes of a hundred strangers, each pair filled with curiosity, speculation, and silent judgment.

Baela and Rhaena were at her sides, their presence offering her some small comfort, but even they could feel the sharpness in the air as they approached the long table. The lords and ladies of Dragonstone had already taken their seats, the noise of the room dimming to a hush as Saela and her cousins entered.

At the head of the table, Daemon and Rhaenyra both looked up from their conversation, their expressions lighting up with pride. Their eyes met Saela's, and Daemon's lips curled into a proud, approving grin. Rhaenyra's face softened, her gaze full of warmth as she caught sight of her daughter-in-law-to-be.

"You look beautiful, Saela," Rhaenyra said warmly, her voice carrying through the silence. There was genuine affection in her words, a rare sincerity that made Saela feel slightly more at ease.

Daemon, leaning back in his chair, looked at Saela with a proud gleam in his eye. "The red and black suits you," he added with a slight nod. "A true Targaryen bride."

Saela offered a small, tight smile in response, her heart heavy but not entirely unwilling to accept the situation. She curtsied to both of them before taking her place at the table, between Rhaena and Baela, her gaze briefly meeting Vaegon's across the room. His look was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that made her heart flutter for just a moment, before she quickly looked away.

The conversation resumed after a moment's pause, though the eyes of the room remained on her for several long seconds before they finally turned back to their own meals. The tension in the hall hadn't completely dissipated, but the murmurs slowly started again, the gossip and intrigue already returning.

The weight of her choice, of the dress, and of the future she was about to step into, settled back down over her like a heavy cloak. Yet, even as the dinner proceeded around her, a small part of Saela couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging. Despite all the expectations and the constraints, Dragonstone was her home now-whether she liked it or not.

As the first course was served, Saela sat back in her chair, her eyes scanning the faces of the people around her. There was Daemon, ever confident and untouchable; Rhaenyra, with her quiet strength and knowing gaze; Baela and Rhaena, her closest companions; and then... Vaegon. He was seated beside Aeron, both of them engaged in quiet conversation, but Saela could feel the pull between them. She dared not meet his gaze again-she had learned long ago that when she did, she lost herself in it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Rhaena, who leaned slightly toward her and whispered, "What do you think of the gown now?"

Saela's lips twitched, and she glanced at Rhaena, then at Baela, both of whom were watching her intently. "It's still not blue," she replied softly, with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "But I suppose it will have to do."

Baela snorted softly, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Well, you don't have a choice, do you?"

Saela gave her a look, her smile turning more genuine this time. "True enough." She leaned back in her chair, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass absentmindedly, trying to quell the nervous energy building inside her.

As the evening unfolded, the sounds of laughter and polite conversation filled the hall, but Saela couldn't escape the feeling that everything was about to change. The weight of her betrothal and the life ahead of her was more tangible now, like the weight of the gown she wore-a constant reminder of the future she had no choice but to embrace.

As the meal continued, Lucerys, who had been quietly eating with a gleam in his eye, finally turned to his mother, Rhaenyra. His chest puffed out as he couldn't hold back the excitement from the dragon race earlier that day.

"Mother, you won't believe it," Lucerys said, practically beaming with pride. "I won. Arrax and I beat them-Aeron, Vaegon, ans Jace-all of them!" His voice was full of the thrill of the race, his enthusiasm palpable as he leaned forward, eyes wide with excitement. "It wasn't even close! Arrax is faster than any dragon I've seen, and he took us to victory. My brothers couldn't catch up!"

Rhaenyra smiled warmly at her son, clearly proud of his accomplishment, though her eyes held a quiet, knowing glint. "Well done, Lucerys," she said, her tone kind yet tempered with the weight of her thoughts. "You've made me proud."

Jace, sitting beside his brother, looked at him with a teasing grin. "It's true. Arrax did have the speed, but we all know he's got some pretty fine instincts."

Lucerys beamed at both his brothers. "It's more than instinct. It was all about speed-and you know I've always had the fastest dragon," he joked, his chest puffing out even more as he took another bite of his meal.

Rhaenyra couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of her son's pride. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Lucerys," she teased lightly. "Remember, it's not only speed that matters in a race; it's control, too."

"But I'm not worried about that, Mother," Lucerys retorted, his grin widening. "I know what I'm doing up there. Arrax is a perfect fit for me."

Vaegon chuckled softly, watching his younger brother, Lucerys, bask in the glory of his win. It was a rare sight-Lucerys so full of pride. It reminded him of his own childhood, the moments when victories were everything and the simple joys of being a child felt eternal. But now, that sense of pride seemed distant, replaced by the weight of his responsibilities and unspoken desires.

Rhaenyra's voice broke him from his thoughts, and he turned his attention to her as she looked to Saela. "How did the fitting go? Did you like the dress?" she asked with a warmth that made Saela smile.

Saela returned the smile with a gentle nod. "I did. It's wonderful, thank you," she replied, her voice soft yet filled with gratitude.

Rhaenyra's expression softened even more, her gaze filled with maternal affection. "Of course, anything you need-we can provide it for you. We want you to feel comfortable here. This is your home now."

Saela's smile widened at that, and something in her expression shifted-like the walls around her heart were slowly crumbling. It was clear the gesture meant more to her than she let on. Vaegon's chest tightened as he noticed the warmth in her eyes, but he quickly forced his gaze away, focusing instead on the half-empty goblet in front of him.

Daemon, ever the boisterous and larger-than-life presence, leaned forward with his usual enthusiasm. "And what better way to make one feel at home than with a gift?" He clasped his hands together, excitement practically radiating off of him.

Saela blinked in surprise. "A gift?" she asked, clearly intrigued but unsure of what to expect.

Daemon grinned broadly and, with a grand gesture, extended his hand toward Aeron. "Aeron, go on," Daemon urged, his voice filled with a playful excitement.

Aeron, who had been quiet up until this point, stood with a smile that softened his usually stern expression. He walked over to Saela, his movements graceful and assured, as though the weight of the moment wasn't lost on him. As he neared her, he extended his hand, revealing a beautiful necklace.

It was crafted with great care-a pendant shaped like a dragon, delicately set with blue and red jewels that caught the candlelight, the colors shimmering with a quiet, almost mystical glow. The necklace was unlike anything Saela had seen before, a symbol of both her betrothal and her new place among House Targaryen.

"This," Aeron said, his voice steady but warm, "was made especially for you. A reminder of your new family, and the strength that comes with it."

Saela's breath caught in her throat as she gazed at the necklace. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the cool metal, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and appreciation. "It's beautiful," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Daemon leaned back in his seat, watching the exchange with a satisfied smile. "Consider it a small token of our welcome," he added, his tone more serious now. "We want you to feel truly at home here, Saela."

Aeron's gaze lingered on Saela for a moment longer than necessary, before he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "If you'll wear it, it will be a symbol of our bond," he said, his voice quiet but sincere.

Saela hesitated for a moment, her fingers still resting on the necklace, before she met Aeron's gaze. There was a flicker of something in her eyes-something she couldn't quite place. She nodded slowly, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

"Of course I'll wear it," she said, her voice steady, though her heart beat a little faster. It wasn't just the necklace; it was the gesture itself, the weight of the moment, and the growing realization that this new life she was stepping into was no longer something to fight against, but something she would have to embrace.

She glanced at Vaegon for a split second, but he quickly turned away, his expression unreadable, and the tension that had been hanging between them seemed to tighten again. Saela quickly looked back at Aeron, feeling the faint stirrings of discomfort, but she pushed them aside.

As the conversation shifted to other matters and the meal continued, Saela felt the weight of the necklace around her neck, the jewels cool against her skin. Despite the warmth of the room and the smiles from her family, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was standing at the crossroads of something far greater than herself.

The atmosphere in the great hall shifted as Rhaenyra clapped her hands, signaling for the minstrels to begin their performance. The soft, melodic notes of a lute and the rhythmic beat of drums filled the air, bringing life to the evening. The tension that had settled in the room seemed to lift, replaced by an infectious energy that spread through the gathered guests.

Rhaenyra and Daemon, with their commanding presence, were the first to rise. With a graceful yet assured motion, they took to the center of the floor, beginning the intricate steps of a medieval dance-a dance meant for unity, a dance that invited every guest to join in, regardless of their station. It was a tradition of House Targaryen, where all would partake, strengthening bonds in both family and court.

Jace and Luke followed soon after, taking their places beside their parents, and the other guests followed suit, the dance forming a seamless circle that wound around the table. The steps were quick, the footwork intricate, requiring sharp coordination and balance. Smiles and laughter echoed through the hall as everyone moved together, twirling and stepping in time with the music.

When it was time to switch partners, there were no exceptions. Each participant had to dance with every other person at the table, creating a sense of unity and connection. Rhaena spun into Daemon's arms, laughing as they twirled, while Baela exchanged glances with Jace before linking arms and moving to the rhythm of the dance.

Saela had been enjoying herself more than she expected, the music, the movement, the laughter all melting some of the tension she'd been carrying. Her eyes scanned the floor, catching glimpses of the familiar faces: Rhaenyra's smile, Daemon's twinkling eyes, and Aeron, who seemed lost in his own thoughts as he danced with Rhaena. The way he held her hand, the quiet smile on his lips-it made Saela feel, for just a moment, as though she were on the outside looking in.

And then, it was her turn to change partners.

As the rhythm of the dance swirled around her, she found herself standing across from Vaegon, his piercing gaze meeting hers for a heartbeat longer than necessary. He had been watching her, she realized, in a way that made her heart skip a beat. There was something in his eyes-something unspoken, hidden beneath the layers of their interactions, a connection she couldn't quite name.

But before she could think on it further, Vaegon leaned in, his breath brushing against her ear, sending a small shiver down her spine.

"You look better in blue," he whispered, his voice low and smooth, just enough for her to hear above the music.

Her heart skipped. She blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. The words hung between them like a thread of tension, thick and undeniable.

Saela's mind raced as she tried to find her footing, both literally and figuratively. She had no idea how to respond, not when his words were so simple, yet carried so much weight. A glance at Aeron confirmed that he was too caught up with Rhaena to notice their exchange, his eyes not even flickering in their direction.

Saela took a steadying breath, giving him a small smile in return. "Blue suits me," she replied, the words escaping before she could stop them. It wasn't flirtatious, but there was a softness to her tone, a subtle acknowledgment that she understood the meaning behind his words, even if she didn't quite know what to do with them.

Vaegon smiled, the faintest hint of something unreadable in his eyes, before they both continued with the dance, each of them lost in their own thoughts. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of music and swirling steps, but Saela couldn't shake the warmth of the whispered words.

When the dance came to an end, everyone returned to their seats, and Saela found herself sitting between Aeron and Vaegon once more. The weight of the evening felt different now, charged with the electric tension that had sparked between her and Vaegon.

She couldn't help but wonder what Vaegon's words truly meant. She had always known that her betrothal to Aeron was an obligation, but now, with that single moment between her and Vaegon, she was beginning to question everything she thought she knew about her place here in Dragonstone.

And deep down, something inside her stirred-a feeling that perhaps this place, these people, weren't as foreign to her as she had thought. But that realization came with its own set of dangers.

𝔗he moon hung high in the sky, casting its silvered light over the ancient stone walls of Dragonstone. The air was heavy with the scent of salt and sea, the crashing of waves against jagged cliffs below reverberating through the halls like an ancient lullaby. Inside the castle, all was still-too still for Saela. She paced back and forth in her quarters, her thoughts swirling like the ocean tides outside her window. The fine lace of her gown brushed against the stone floor with each step, but it was the storm inside her that she could not escape.

Her mind lingered on the dance, on Vaegon's whisper, his gaze that had been both a fire and a cold winter's night. The way his eyes had lingered upon her, the words he had spoken-so simple, yet so laden with meaning. She could feel the weight of it all pressing on her chest, but she refused to acknowledge it, refused to admit to what lay beneath her irritation. She could not bear it, not yet.

The restlessness finally became too much. Her feet carried her, almost without thought, down the long hallways, past the darkened corridors, toward the room that had been the source of her turmoil. Vaegon's room.

With trembling fingers, she reached for the door and knocked-once, twice, each sound an echo of the chaos she felt within. The door opened swiftly, revealing Vaegon. Tall and imposing as ever, his deep violet eyes softened momentarily with surprise at the sight of her standing there. For a fleeting moment, neither of them spoke, the air heavy with tension so thick it was almost palpable.

"Did anyone see you?" His voice, smooth and measured, cut through the stillness like a dagger.

"No," she breathed, barely more than a whisper, as her chest tightened.

"Good," Vaegon replied, his eyes glancing over her with that cool, calculating gaze he always wore. He stepped aside, allowing her entrance. She stepped into the room, the familiar, rich scent of candle wax and the salty air of the sea filling her senses. Vaegon closed the door with a soft click behind her, the sound sealing them within the confines of the room.

He walked toward the window, his tall figure silhouetted against the light of the moon, the shadows dancing upon the walls like spirits of old. The sound of the waves below seemed distant now, lost to the quiet of the chamber.

Saela's eyes narrowed as she stood rigidly in the center of the room, her breath shallow as she gathered her thoughts. She had come here to speak her mind, to get answers, but her tongue tangled with every word she wished to say.

"Vaegon Targaryen," she began, her voice sharp, like the clash of steel. "I cannot stand you."

Vaegon's gaze flicked over his shoulder, brow furrowed in confusion. "What have I done to displease you?" His words were steady, yet a touch of amusement danced in his voice.

Saela's frustration bubbled over like a pot on the verge of boiling over. "Oh, don't you dare play coy," she snapped, her voice rising. "You know exactly what I mean." Her eyes blazed, a fire in her veins. "I know you are smarter than that, Vaegon."

He looked at her then, truly looked at her, a slow smile curving at the corners of his lips. "I'm sorry?" His expression was perplexed, but there was something else behind it. An admiration? Amusement? She wasn't sure, but it made her heart beat erratically in her chest.

"You should be!" Saela retorted, her words biting the air. She spun on her heel, her gown swirling around her as she made for the door.

Before she reached it, she threw one last defiant glance over her shoulder. "And I look beautiful in red!" she declared with such vehemence, her voice echoing off the stone walls.

With that, she slammed the door with a force that shook the wooden frame, leaving Vaegon standing in stunned silence, his brow creased in confusion. The echo of the door's impact rang in his ears as he slowly turned back to the window, the moonlight casting a ghostly glow over him. He stared at the door, as though waiting for it to open again, but it didn't.

He let out a soft chuckle, his breath laced with incredulity. "Gods," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "That woman..." His words trailed off as a small, amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips. There was something... captivating about her. Something wild and untamed.

In the silence of his room, the air seemed to shift. Something had changed, though he couldn't yet understand what. He ran a hand through his dark hair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he gazed out at the moonlit sea.

The night stretched on, and still, he stood there, lost in thought.

Meanwhile, down the hall, Saela was already halfway to her own quarters. Her heart pounded in her chest, the heat of her anger and embarrassment still rushing through her. She hadn't planned on doing that, not at all. And yet, she had.

Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, and her breath came in shallow bursts as she walked briskly, the weight of the evening's events crashing down upon her. She had meant to storm in, say her piece, and leave, but the moment she had locked eyes with Vaegon, she had been struck by something far more complicated than mere frustration. Something she wasn't prepared to confront.

And yet, despite her anger, despite the storm inside her, there was a part of her that... didn't quite mind the way things had unfolded.

She shook her head, trying to dismiss the thought. It was foolishness, she told herself.

And yet, as she disappeared into the shadows of the corridor, a soft, almost imperceptible smile played on her lips. Perhaps it was foolishness, but she couldn't deny the strange thrill that coursed through her veins.

𝔗he morning sun streamed through the high windows of the great hall, casting beams of golden light over the long wooden table where the family had gathered for breakfast. The stone walls of Dragonstone, ancient and weathered, seemed to hum with the silent weight of history as the room filled with quiet murmurs. The air was thick with the scent of saltwater and roasting meats, a blend that reminded everyone present of their isolation on this island of ancient power.

Saela sat near the far end of the table, her usual poise and confidence slightly waning under the weight of her own thoughts. She kept her gaze down, pushing a fork through the eggs on her plate, though she had no appetite. Her mind was still with the events of the previous night-the storm she had stirred within herself when she had stormed out of Vaegon's chambers.

Across the table, Vaegon sat as well, his posture straight, but there was a certain restlessness about him. He'd kept his gaze firmly fixed on his plate at first, pushing the food around idly, but that soon became too much to bear. His eyes darted toward Saela every few moments, his gaze lingering for just a second longer than necessary. Each time, she would glance away, pretending not to notice, though the tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Vaegon's hand clenched slightly around his goblet, the sound of the crystal against the wood echoing through the hall as he struggled to contain the pull of something he had not expected to feel. Something confusing. Something he could not name.

Across the table, Daemon sat watching this unspoken exchange with keen eyes. His sharp gaze moved over his son and then shifted to Saela, noticing the subtle shift in her posture-the way she seemed aware of Vaegon's glances, even though she refused to acknowledge them. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he caught the silent dance between them. The tension was unmistakable, and Daemon, ever perceptive, saw it clearly.

Jace and Luke were engaged in a quiet conversation, unaware of the silent tug-of-war unfolding between their brother and their betrothed. Rhaenyra, ever the poised matriarch, seemed preoccupied with the map in front of her, her fingers tracing the contours of it absentmindedly, though her eyes flicked from time to time toward her children.

Daemon, however, was focused on his son. Vaegon's subtle glances, the way his fingers twitched as if itching for something, the almost imperceptible way his breath hitched every time Saela moved. Daemon was a man who had lived long enough to recognize the signs of longing. And the look Vaegon was wearing-though he tried his damnedest to hide it-was unmistakable.

With a deliberate slowness, Daemon put down his goblet and looked directly at Vaegon, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied his son. He took a long, languid breath, as if savoring the moment, before his gaze shifted back to Saela, then back to Vaegon.

"Vaegon," Daemon said, his voice low but unmistakable in its command.

Daemon's voice cut through the soft murmurs of the room like a blade, and every eye at the table turned to him. His gaze was steady, sharp, and calculated as he addressed his son.

The table fell silent as Vaegon, caught off guard, lifted his head. The tension between him and Saela still hung thick in the air, but now, the attention of the entire room was squarely on him. His mouth went dry, and for a brief moment, he froze under the weight of his father's gaze.

Daemon continued, not waiting for a reply. "You'll be training with me after breakfast."

Aeron, ever the curious and observant one, blinked in confusion. He leaned slightly forward, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Just Vaegon?"

Daemon's eyes flashed with mild irritation, and he shot a pointed look at Aeron. The sharpness of the glance made Aeron quickly retract his question, but not before Daemon responded, his voice edged with annoyance.

"Did I say anyone else's name but his?" Daemon's tone was clipped, and the subtle smirk that usually accompanied his dry humor was absent. His words hung in the air, no room for interpretation.

Aeron opened his mouth to speak, but Daemon held up a hand, silencing him with a gesture that carried all the weight of authority.

"Just Vaegon," Daemon said firmly, his eyes locking with his son's. The unspoken message was clear: this was not a suggestion. It was a command. And Vaegon, though flustered, knew better than to argue with his father, especially in front of the family.

Vaegon gave a brief nod, not trusting himself to speak. His heart thudded in his chest, the sudden focus on him leaving him feeling exposed. The weight of Daemon's gaze felt heavier than the sword on his back, and the awareness of the tension between him and Saela made the air even thicker. He quickly returned to his plate, pushing the food around again, though his appetite had long since left him.

Saela, too, was now acutely aware of the eyes on her, her pulse quickening. She had been trying to ignore Vaegon all through breakfast, but with Daemon's words now lingering in the air, she couldn't escape the feeling that things were changing, shifting beneath the surface. Her gaze briefly flicked to Vaegon, and for a moment, their eyes met-something unspoken passing between them. But before she could dwell on it, she quickly turned her attention to her plate, her appetite still a distant memory.

Rhaenyra, always the calm and collected matriarch, cast a fleeting glance at her husband, her brow slightly furrowed in mild concern, but she said nothing. She knew her husband's methods, and though she could see the subtle unease in Vaegon's posture, she knew better than to intervene.

The rest of the meal continued with muted conversation, though the tension between Vaegon and Saela hung heavy in the air. Finally, Daemon, seemingly satisfied with the order he'd given, picked up his goblet again and took a sip.

𝔗he morning mist still clung to the rocky expanse of the training yard as Vaegon stepped out into the cold, damp air. His boots echoed on the stone as he made his way toward the familiar silhouette of his father, Daemon, who stood waiting near the weapons racks. The sun had barely begun to rise over the horizon, casting the sky in shades of pale gold and violet, the sea whispering against the cliffs below.

Vaegon, still feeling the remnants of the tension from breakfast, squared his shoulders, trying to push aside the weight of his thoughts. The feeling of being watched-of Daemon's quiet scrutiny-lingered in the air between them, thickening the space as he approached his father. Daemon's gaze, however, was fixed ahead, his expression unreadable.

When Vaegon drew near, Daemon didn't acknowledge him immediately. He simply continued to stand there, his cloak billowing slightly in the early morning breeze. The faint sound of waves crashing on the rocks below was the only sound in the air.

"Vaegon," Daemon finally said, his voice deep, the command in his tone unmistakable. "To the beach. I want to go for a walk."

Vaegon blinked, momentarily thrown off guard by the request. A walk? The beach was a long stretch from the yard, and this wasn't the usual kind of training his father had in mind.

"Go for a walk?" Vaegon asked, his brow furrowing in confusion, his voice barely above a whisper. He wasn't sure if his father was testing him or if he simply wanted to speak in private. Either way, something about this felt off.

Daemon didn't turn to face him, but his voice was as steady as ever, the edge of his authority clear. "Don't make me repeat myself, son."

The words hung in the air, and Vaegon could feel the weight of them press down on him. It wasn't a request-it was an order. And Daemon's orders were never to be questioned.

With a quiet sigh, Vaegon nodded. "Of course, father."

Without another word, Daemon began to walk, his pace deliberate and measured, as though he had all the time in the world. Vaegon followed closely behind, the air thick with the sound of their footsteps on the stone path. They descended from the training yard, the scent of saltwater growing stronger with each step, until they finally reached the beach below, where the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks was louder, more visceral.

Daemon's eyes scanned the horizon for a long moment before he finally spoke, his tone softening ever so slightly, though the gravity of his words remained.

"I've been watching you, Vaegon," he began, his voice almost distant as his gaze shifted to the crashing waves. "Watching how you carry yourself. How you lead your brothers. You've done well... but there's more to being a Targaryen than simply wielding a sword."

Vaegon's pulse quickened at the mention of his brothers, at the quiet weight of his father's words. He knew he wasn't just speaking of swordplay. This was something deeper. Something that reached into the core of his identity.

"I know you've been struggling with... certain things," Daemon continued, his voice tinged with a trace of amusement that Vaegon couldn't quite read. "It's not just the sword, is it? You've got something more to figure out."

Vaegon bristled at the implication. He didn't want to discuss it, not now. He wasn't ready. Not when the storm between him and Saela still hung unresolved in his heart, not when his own feelings confused him more than anything else.

"I don't know what you mean, father," Vaegon replied stiffly, trying to keep his voice neutral, but Daemon's sharp eyes caught the hesitation in his words.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Don't lie to me, Vaegon. You may be good at hiding it, but you're not as subtle as you think."

For a long moment, the two stood in silence, the wind carrying the scent of the sea, the world around them seeming to pause in the tension between father and son. Daemon's gaze never left him, steady, unwavering.

Finally, Vaegon let out a frustrated breath, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I don't need to be lectured about it."

Daemon's lips curled into a smile, though there was no humor in it, only the steely understanding of a man who had walked these paths before.

Daemon's gaze remained fixed on his son, his eyes steady and calculating, as the wind tousled his silver hair, making him appear every bit the Targaryen lord. For a long, tense moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, the only sounds the rhythmic crashing of the waves against the rocks below.

Finally, Daemon's voice broke the silence, low and unyielding.

"She is promised to your brother."

Vaegon tensed visibly, his body stiffening as if he had been struck. His breath hitched for just a moment, but he quickly masked his discomfort with a stoic expression, though his fists clenched at his sides.

Vaegon's voice was low, but edged with confusion and defensiveness. "I do not know what you are-"

Daemon's words were like a whip, cutting him off before he could finish. "Oh, do not play stupid. I am a man of many years-and I know that look, more than you can understand."

Vaegon's breath caught in his chest at the certainty in his father's tone. He wanted to argue, to deny it, but the words seemed to stick in his throat. Instead, he turned to face Daemon, meeting his piercing gaze, his eyes unwilling to yield.

Daemon's eyes darkened, a flash of something knowing in them. "You love her."

The words hung in the air like a heavy weight, pressing down on Vaegon's chest. His heart skipped a beat, and for a brief moment, he was paralyzed, as if his own emotions had trapped him. He had never admitted it to himself, let alone anyone else.

Vaegon finally found his voice, though it was strained, almost desperate. "It doesn't matter. I would never do that to my brother."

The words tasted bitter in his mouth as he spoke them, and yet, he meant them. He had sworn to never cross that line. She was promised to Aeron. She was his brother's betrothed.

With that, Vaegon turned sharply on his heel, walking away from his father, determined to put distance between them. The weight of his emotions-the guilt, the confusion, the desire-threatened to swallow him whole.

Daemon's voice, cold and commanding, stopped him before he could take more than a few steps. "I didn't dismiss you."

But Vaegon didn't stop. He ignored his father's words, his body rigid as he continued his walk away, each step echoing in the vast emptiness of the beach. The path back to the castle was long, and though his legs moved mechanically, his mind raced, tangled in the storm of his own heart.

The sound of Daemon's voice faded behind him, but the weight of the words-and the truth in his father's knowing gaze-remained, pressing down on him like the endless tide against the shore.

No matter how far Vaegon walked, no matter how much he tried to outrun it, there was only one thing that remained. And that was the undeniable truth that he could no longer deny. He loved Saela Velaryon.