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𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐈𝐍 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ 𝑯𝑶𝑻𝑫
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━━━━━━━━━━ .°୭̥ ❁ ˎˊ˗━

𝔗he morning light had barely begun to filter through the heavy curtains of Saela's room when a scream pierced the air, sharp and unrelenting. She jolted upright in bed, her heart racing as the sound echoed down the stone corridors of Dragonstone. Another scream followed, more frantic this time, and Saela's breath caught in her throat.

She scrambled from her bed, her bare feet rushing across the cold stone floor. The panic in her chest matched the growing crescendo of screams that seemed to come from deeper within the castle. As she reached the door and flung it open, she was immediately enveloped in the arms of her mother, Rhaenys, who had appeared as though from nowhere.

"Mother?" Saela whispered, confusion and fear flooding her voice as she tried to make sense of the chaos around them.

Rhaenys held her tightly, her hands smoothing over Saela's hair with a comforting yet hurried motion. "It is I, my pearl," Rhaenys said softly, kissing Saela's forehead before stepping back slightly, her gaze heavy with concern.

But before Saela could respond, another scream echoed down the hall-this one more guttural, full of pain. Saela's head snapped toward the sound, her body frozen for a moment as the reality of the situation began to settle in.

"It is Rhaenyra," Rhaenys said, her voice tinged with an emotion Saela couldn't quite place. "She has begun her labors."

"Rhaenyra?" Saela echoed, her mind reeling. "But-it's too soon. N~no no-She can't! Not now."

Rhaenys's expression softened, her eyes filled with both sorrow and concern. She pulled Saela into another embrace, her hands stroking her daughter's back. "I know, child. I know."

Saela pushed herself back slightly, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Mother, what is happening?"

Rhaenys held her daughter at arm's length and led her gently into her chambers. The familiar scent of lavender and incense filled the air as Rhaenys guided Saela to sit on the edge of the bed. The warmth of the room was a sharp contrast to the cold dread that settled in Saela's chest.

Rhaenys knelt before her, taking both of Saela's hands in hers, her grip firm yet tender. There was something in her gaze-something heavy, something solemn-that made Saela's heart ache with the sudden knowledge that whatever was happening was far worse than she could have ever imagined.

"Saela," Rhaenys began, her voice low and full of quiet sorrow. "King Viserys is dead."

Saela's breath caught in her throat. She stared at her mother, her mind struggling to process the words. "What?" she whispered, the sound barely leaving her lips. "W-what do you mean? He... he was just ill, wasn't he?"

Rhaenys's face darkened, and she shook her head slowly. "He passed, my dear. And in his stead, they crowned Aegon. They did it in front of the masses, in the sight of all the realm."

A sick feeling twisted in Saela's stomach, her thoughts spiraling into a haze of confusion and disbelief. "Aegon?" she breathed, her mind unable to make sense of it. "But... he wasn't supposed to..."

"The war, my child," Rhaenys interrupted, her voice almost a whisper now, as if she feared the very words she was about to say. "It is starting."

Saela's eyes went wide, the weight of her mother's words sinking in with the finality of a stone being thrown into a still lake. Her chest tightened, and before she could stop it, a terrified sob broke from her lips. The sound was foreign, so full of dread and helplessness that it seemed to pierce the very air around them.

She threw herself into Rhaenys's arms, clutching her tightly as if holding onto the only anchor in a world suddenly tipping into chaos. Rhaenys's arms closed around her, pulling her daughter close as she stroked Saela's hair, murmuring soft words of comfort.

"It will be all right, my love," Rhaenys whispered, her voice full of a quiet, stoic strength that Saela could not find within herself. "We will face this together. But you must understand that there is no going back now."

Saela's breath came in shallow gasps, her mind a whirl of panic, confusion, and fear. The war her mother spoke of was a threat to everything she knew, everything she had hoped for. It was not just a battle for the Iron Throne-it was a battle that could tear apart the very fabric of the realm. And now, it was real. It was happening.

And she had no idea what her place was in it.

"Rhaenyra..." Saela murmured, her voice barely a whisper as her thoughts turned to her now Queen, who was in the throes of labor, suffering alone in the next room, fighting for the life of her child as war loomed outside the walls of Dragonstone.

"She is strong, Saela," Rhaenys said softly, as though reading her thoughts. "But this is not just about her, nor about any of us. This is about the realm. This is about the blood of the Targaryens, the future of House Targaryen."

Saela nodded slowly, still holding on to her mother, the sobs coming in ragged gasps. She felt so small, so helpless in the face of it all. And yet, somewhere deep within her, there was a flicker of resolve. The realm was changing. A new war was upon them.

And whether she was ready or not, she was a part of it.

Rhaenys held her tight, whispering soft reassurances, but Saela could hear the fear in her voice too. They both knew that this was just the beginning.

Rhaenys moved swiftly, her hands working with practiced grace as she helped Saela into a dress.

"Come," Rhaenys urged, her voice soft but firm. "We need to gather Rhaenyra's sons. They do not yet know."

Saela's eyes narrowed as she heard her mother's words. "They would be training right now," she said, her voice strained. "On the beach. They do it every morning."

Rhaenys nodded. "Then let us go to them."

The two women made their way swiftly down the castle halls, the tension in the air palpable as the uncertainty of the situation weighed heavily on them both. They descended the stairs and stepped into the cool morning air, the salty scent of the sea mingling with the scent of the wet stone beneath their feet. The sound of swords clashing and the grunts of exertion met them as they neared the beach, and soon the sight of the four young men came into view.

Jace and Luke were sparring, their blades flashing in the sunlight, while Vaegon and Aeron stood on the sidelines, calling out instructions and offering advice. Jace's movements were sharp and calculated, but his frustration was evident as Luke struggled to keep up. His strikes were wild, and his form faltered.

"Go easier on him, Jace!" Aeron called, his voice calm yet firm.

Jace gritted his teeth, his blade cutting through the air with a frustrated hiss. "He needs to keep up," he snapped.

But before any more could be said, Rhaenys's voice rang out across the beach, cutting through the sounds of battle. "Your lady mother needs to see you! All of you."

The four young men froze, and without another word, they hurried toward Rhaenys and Saela, their faces a mixture of confusion and concern. As Vaegon passed Saela, he caught sight of the tearstains on her cheeks, his expression momentarily faltering before he picked up his pace and rushed toward the castle.

The walk back to the castle was quick, but each step felt like an eternity. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, and Saela's mind raced with the mounting dread she had felt since Rhaenyra's screams had first reached her ears.

Once inside, the group moved swiftly through the halls, the distant sound of Rhaenyra's agonized cries growing louder as they neared her chambers. The moment the door swung open, the scene before them froze them all in place.

Rhaenyra was standing near the wall, gripping it for support. Her face was pale, drenched in sweat, and her nightgown was soaked with blood. The blood was pooling beneath her feet, staining the floor with its dark crimson hue. She turned toward them with a strained expression, and though she tried to hold herself steady, it was clear that the pain was overwhelming.

Aeron's breath caught in his throat at the sight, his eyes widening with shock. Jace's face drained of color as he took in the horrific scene, and Lucerys's hand began to shake, his fingers twitching as if unsure of what to do. Vaegon, ever the pillar of strength, moved to his brother's side, his hand resting protectively on Lucerys's shoulder, though even he couldn't hide the fear in his eyes.

Rhaenyra's voice was strained, her words coming out in a rasp. "Your grandsire, King Viserys, has passed," she said, her voice breaking as she forced herself to speak.

Lucerys's voice trembled as he repeated the word, as though he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "V-Viserys?"

Rhaenyra nodded, her eyes clouded with grief. "The greens have repudiated the succession and claimed the Iron Throne. Aegon has been crowned King."

Jace's jaw tightened as he looked toward his mother, his frustration and determination rising. "What is to be done about it?" he asked, his voice firm despite the rising tension in the room.

Rhaenyra's gaze was cold and hard, her will clear in the midst of the pain. "Nothing, not yet."

Vaegon's eyes flicked to the blood staining the floor, his expression hardening. "And where is my father?" His voice was low and urgent, his gaze seeking out Rhaenyra as though she might have an answer.

Rhaenyra, gritting her teeth against the pain, met his gaze. "I don't know. He's gone mad. Gone to plot his war."

The room fell silent at her words, the weight of her statement settling heavily upon them all. Vaegon exchanged a look with Jace, their unspoken understanding clear. The madness of Daemon would not be allowed to spiral out of control.

Jace's voice broke through the silence. "Leave Daemon with me," he said, his tone resolute.

Without another word, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Vaegon rushed out of the room, their footsteps quick and purposeful. Rhaenyra called after them.

Aeron remained frozen in place, his wide eyes not on Rhaenyra, but on the blood-stained floor, as memories of Laena, his last stepmother, flooded back. He could hardly breathe as the past and present collided in his mind, a haze of grief and terror settling over him.

Rhaenyra's voice broke through his haze. "Jacaerys!" she called again, her tone urgent. He turned back to her, his gaze softening as she gave him her final command.

"Whatever claim remains to me," Rhaenyra said, her voice shaking, but resolute, "you are now its heir. Naught is to be done but by my command."

Jace gave a solemn nod of respect before leaving her quarters, his figure disappearing down the hall, leaving the weight of responsibility squarely on his shoulders.

Once Jace was gone, Rhaenyra groaned in pain, and her body began to sway, as if the weight of her grief and labor were finally too much for her to bear. She collapsed toward the floor, but Aeron was quick to move to her side. He caught her before she could fall, his hands gentle as he supported her fragile form.

"Daemon," Rhaenyra whispered, her voice strained, the word coming from her lips like a prayer. "Get Daemon."

Aeron nodded without hesitation, his expression hardening. "I will."

He rose swiftly, moving with purpose as he left the room in search of his father, knowing that the world had just shifted in ways no one had anticipated. The war had begun. And no one would be untouched.

The stone chamber of Dragonstone was dimly lit by the glow of scattered torches, the flickering light casting long shadows over the faces of the men gathered around the carved table of Aegon the Conqueror. The air was thick with tension, the only sound the low murmur of voices and the scratch of quills against parchment as orders were hastily written.

Daemon stood at the head of the table, his hands braced against the worn stone, his silver hair spilling over his shoulders in wild disarray. His gaze was sharp, filled with a dangerous, restless energy as he looked to the men around him. His voice, when it came, was steady but laced with barely restrained impatience.

"I will fly to the Riverlands myself and affirm Lord Tully's support," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.

A new voice cut through the chamber before anyone could respond.

"You will do no such thing." Vaegon snapped.

Daemon's jaw tensed at the interruption. Slowly, his eyes lifted, cold and calculating, to the doorway where Vaegon stood. Jacaerys and Lucerys flanked him, their expressions a mixture of urgency and defiance.

Jace took a step forward, his shoulders squared, his tone resolute. "My mother has decreed no action be taken while she is abed."

The silence that followed was deafening. The gathered lords shifted uneasily, their gazes darting between Daemon and the young men who had just entered.

Daemon exhaled slowly, his lips pressing into a hard line. He stared at Jace for a long moment before his eyes flicked to Vaegon, then Lucerys. His gaze darkened, unreadable.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, and a moment later, Aeron entered, his violet eyes scanning the room before settling on his father.

Daemon tilted his head slightly. "It's good you're here," he said, his tone cool, measured.

His eyes moved between his sons and his step-sons, calculating. His voice remained steady, but there was something almost fevered in the way he spoke next.

"You're needed to patrol the skies."

Jace clenched his fists, his frustration evident. "Did you hear what I said?"

Daemon did not so much as flinch. He turned back to the table, his fingers drumming against the stone in thought.

Aeron stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "Father," he said, meeting Daemon's gaze directly. "Your wife has requested your presence."

A scream echoed through the corridors, Rhaenyra's anguished cries breaking through the thick stone walls. It was the sound of a woman in agony, in the throes of a labor that should not have come so soon.

Daemon did not react. He did not even turn his head. His jaw tightened, his fingers curling against the table's edge. But still, he did not move.

Instead, he turned toward Lord Bartimos, his voice clipped and controlled. "The ravens, Lord Bartimos."

The lord of Blackhaven hesitated for only a moment before nodding swiftly. "I shall see it done, my prince."

Daemon nodded once, then turned sharply toward another man standing nearby. "Summon Ser Steffon. Our Kingsguard are needed on the Dragonmont."

Vaegon stiffened, his frustration growing with each passing second. "Father, this is madness-"

Daemon brushed past him as if he hadn't spoken, his mind already elsewhere. His strides were purposeful, his hands flexing as if itching for action.

He reached Aeron and Lucerys first, placing a firm hand on each of their shoulders. "Aeron, Lucerys," he said, his voice soft yet commanding. "You are needed in the skies. Mount your dragons. Fly over the Narrow Sea, ensure there are no ships coming from King's Landing. We will not be caught unaware. Do not engage in any fighting."

Lucerys hesitated, glancing toward Jace, but Aeron gave a slow nod, his face unreadable. "As you wish."

Daemon released them, already moving, already planning. His eyes found Jace and Vaegon next, a small, knowing smirk flickering at the edges of his mouth.

"Jacaerys. Vaegon." His voice dropped lower, quieter. "Come with me. I'll show you the true meaning of loyalty."

And with that, he strode from the chamber, his black cloak billowing behind him.

Jace hesitated for only a moment before following, his jaw set in grim determination.

Vaegon exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Seven hells," he muttered under his breath before stepping after them.

Behind them, another scream tore through the castle.

Rhaenyra was breaking, and her husband did not care.

Aeron lingered for a moment, his fists clenching at his sides as he stared at the empty space where his father had stood. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away.

He had a dragon to mount.

And a war had begun.

The wind howled through the barren hills outside King's Landing, the distant roar of the Blackwater rushing below. The two Kingsguard stood motionless, their pristine white cloaks billowing, the only contrast to the bleak gray of the rocky outcrop where Daemon had led Jacaerys and Vaegon.

Daemon stepped forward, his dark gaze fixed upon the knights. "You swore an oath as knights of the Kingsguard."

One of the men, a seasoned knight with a weathered face, lifted his chin. "As do all who wear the white cloak, my prince."

Daemon tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "To whom?"

The same knight did not hesitate. "I swore first to King Jaehaerys, my prince. Then to his grace, King Viserys, when he succeeded him."

Daemon's violet eyes gleamed in the dimming light. "Do you acknowledge the true line of succession?"

The second knight, younger but no less steadfast, gave a firm nod. "Yes."

The first knight echoed him, though his voice was quieter. "Yes, my prince."

Daemon let the silence stretch between them, watching, waiting. Then, he took a single step closer. "Do you recall who King Viserys named as heir before his death?"

The first knight did not hesitate. "Princess Rhaenyra."

Daemon exhaled, slow and deliberate, the ghost of a smirk touching his lips. "I am grateful for your long service to the crown. So I am presenting you with a choice."

A guttural growl rumbled through the air, deep and resonant, the ground trembling beneath their feet. From the darkness, a monstrous shadow slithered over the craggy rock behind Daemon, the sound of claws scraping against stone.

Caraxes emerged, his elongated body curling over the ridge, his massive wings tucking against his sides. His forked tongue flickered, his blood-red eyes burning with a predatory glint as he crept closer to the knights, his maw parting just enough to expose jagged, glistening fangs.

The younger knight stiffened, his hand instinctively moving toward his sword before he stopped himself. The older knight swallowed hard, his throat bobbing.

Daemon's voice was quiet but absolute. "Swear anew your oath to Rhaenyra as your queen... to Prince Jacaerys as the heir to the Iron Throne." His eyes flickered between them, unreadable, unwavering. "Or... if you support the usurper, speak it now, and you will have a clean and honorable death."

The knights stood frozen, the weight of the moment pressing upon them.

Daemon took another step forward, his tone darkening. "But if you choose treachery-if you swear fealty now only to later turn your cloaks-know that you will die." His gaze burned into them. "Screaming."

Caraxes loomed closer, his breath a steady gust of heat, the scent of ash and blood hanging in the air.

The knights hesitated for only a heartbeat longer.

Then, one by one, they dropped to their knees.

And swore anew.

𝔈lara's eyes snapped open at the soft, deliberate click of the lock turning.

She sat up abruptly in her bed, heart hammering, the morning light filtering weakly through the high windows of her chamber. A chill crept over her skin as she hurried to the door, reaching for the handle. She twisted it sharply.

It did not budge.

Frowning, she rattled it again, more forcefully this time. The wood did not give, nor did the iron bolt securing it from the outside.

Her pulse quickened.

Elara pounded against the heavy door. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. "Open the door at once!"

Silence.

Her breath came quicker, her mind racing. She turned, searching the chamber for another means of escape, but there was none. The windows were too high to reach without assistance, and even if she could, the sheer drop beyond them would be a death sentence.

She banged against the door again, harder this time. "If this is some kind of jest, I warn you, I am in no mood for it!"

No answer came.

Minutes bled into hours.

Elara paced, anger rising with each passing moment. The stillness beyond her chamber was suffocating. She tried again, calling out, but her voice was met with nothing but emptiness.

Then-finally-just as her frustration reached its peak, the lock turned once more.

The door creaked open.

Elara surged forward, intent on shoving past whoever had dared imprison her. But as soon as she reached the threshold, hands seized her shoulders.

Strong hands. Unyielding hands.

Vaegon.

His grip was firm but not cruel as he blocked her path, his body barring her escape.

Elara struggled against him. "Let me pass, Vaegon."

His expression was unreadable, silver hair disheveled as if he had been up all night. "You cannot leave this room."

She stilled, the weight of his words settling over her.

Her breath came in sharp bursts. "What is the meaning of this?" she hissed. "Why have I been locked away like some-some prisoner?"

Vaegon exhaled, releasing her, but he did not step aside. "Because you are one."

The room seemed to close in around her. "What?"

His jaw tightened. "Everything has changed."

Elara swallowed hard, her pulse thrumming in her ears. "Tell me what has happened. Now."

Vaegon hesitated only a moment before nodding. His voice was steady, but there was something else beneath it-something she could not yet place.

"King Viserys is dead."

Elara stiffened, her fingers curling into fists.

"Aegon was crowned in his place," he continued, watching her closely. "Your family stole the throne from Rhaenyra. They lied. They schemed. And they usurped her birthright."

Her chest tightened. "No..."

Elara's breath came shallow and uneven, her mind racing to grasp the enormity of what Vaegon had just said.

War. Treason. Usurpation.

It was as if the very ground beneath her had shifted, and she was left scrambling for footing.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No, you're lying."

Vaegon's expression remained cold, unreadable. "I have no reason to lie to you, Elara."

She took a step back, feeling the wooden frame of the bed press against her spine. "My uncle-he is Visery's first male. It is his birthright-" she insisted, grasping onto the words like a lifeline-as if she were trying to convince herself of something that had been drilled deeply in to her mind.

"His birthright?" Vaegon's voice cut through hers like a blade. "You speak of birthright while denying my mother's? King Viserys named her heir. He reaffirmed it, again and again, in the sight of the realm. Your family knew it. And still, they stole the throne."

Elara shook her head again, but her conviction wavered.

She had heard the whispers in court, of course. The tensions. The doubts. But she had never thought...

Her mouth was dry. "There must have been reason," she said, but the words felt weak even as they left her lips.

Vaegon scoffed. "Yes. Greed. Fear." He took a step toward her, closing the distance between them. "You do not see it yet. Perhaps you do not want to see it. But your family has made themselves traitors."

She clenched her jaw. "And what does that make me?"

His violet eyes darkened.

"A hostage," he said simply.

A tremor ran through her.

Her gaze flickered to the door behind him, the hallway beyond it-freedom, blocked only by the man who had once been her betrothed.

The man who now held her prisoner.

Elara forced herself to stand taller. "If you mean to keep me here like some war prize, then let us not pretend we are anything but enemies now."

Vaegon's jaw ticked. He was silent for a moment before speaking, his voice low.

"The only thing standing between you and my father's blade is me," he said. "And my word to him that you would bend the knee."

Elara's throat tightened.

"Will you?"

Silence stretched between them.

Elara looked at him-the sharp planes of his face, the weight of expectation in his eyes. Once, she had thought she knew him. Once, they had been promised to one another, bound by duty and politics, but there had been something else, too. A quiet understanding. A familiarity.

Now, he was a stranger.

Her voice was steady when she spoke.

"I will not."

A flicker of something-disappointment, frustration, she couldn't tell-flashed in his eyes before it was gone.

Vaegon exhaled sharply, then nodded once. "Then you will remain a prisoner of this war. I'll do my best to keep you alive." He said simply.

He turned and strode toward the door.

Elara swallowed the lump in her throat as she watched him go, her heart pounding in her chest.

The door shut behind him with a final, echoing thud.

Vaegon turned the heavy iron key in the lock, the mechanism clicking into place once more. His hand lingered on the cool metal, fingers tightening around it as if the pressure might steady the unease twisting in his gut.

Elara's refusal echoed in his mind. I will not.

He had expected her defiance. She was proud, stubborn-a daughter of the Hightower. But some part of him had hoped, however foolishly, that she would see reason. That she would yield.

Now, he would have to face his father.

Vaegon exhaled sharply and slipped the key into his belt. He would lie if he had to. Tell Daemon that she only needed time to think, that she was considering bending the knee.

It would buy her time. It would buy him time to convince her.

Because if Daemon believed she was lost to their cause, there would be no mercy. He'd kill her and be done with it, no debate.

Vaegon set his jaw and turned away from the door, his stomach churning as he made his way down the dimly lit corridor.

Vaegon's boots echoed in the empty hall as he walked, his mind heavy with the lie he would have to tell. He'd already imagined the conversation with his father-how Daemon would demand answers, how he would press for her submission, how he would see this as one more battle to win.

Before he could take another step, a door swung open, its hinges groaning softly in the silence of the stone corridor. Without thinking, Vaegon's hand shot to the hilt of his sword, ready for whatever threat might be lurking.

But as the figure stepped out of the room, his grip faltered.

It was Saela.

She stood before him, her face pale, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion. The weight of the day's events had clearly taken its toll on her, her usual strength and confidence nowhere to be seen.

For a brief, painful moment, they simply stared at each other. Vaegon's heart churned, guilt twisting in his chest. He wanted to protect her, to shield her from all the horrors that had suddenly been thrust upon them, but the weight of his family's expectations kept pulling him further away.

Before he could speak, before he could even find the words to explain the unexplainable, Saela's hands reached for him.

He didn't think-he just reacted.

He pulled her into a hug, his arms wrapping around her tightly, instinctively seeking comfort in the warmth of her presence. She melted against him with a quiet sigh, her body trembling slightly in his embrace as if she, too, had been holding herself together all day only to fall apart in his arms.

The chaos, the war, the lies-it all seemed to fade into the background as he held her close. For a moment, there was only the steady rhythm of their breathing, the quiet reassurance that, despite everything, they were still here, still alive.

They stood there in the embrace for what felt like an eternity, neither of them speaking, both finding solace in the other's company. In the midst of the turmoil, in the midst of everything falling apart, this-this moment-was the only thing that made sense.

Finally, Saela whispered, her voice soft and fragile, "Vaegon... what are we going to do?"

Vaegon closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to hers, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on both of them. "I don't know," he admitted quietly. "I don't know what's going to happen."

But for now, in this moment, he knew one thing for certain. He would do whatever it took to protect her, even if it meant lying to his father, even if it meant betraying everything he once thought was right.

Vaegon's gaze flickered down the hall, his senses sharpened as he checked for any signs of movement. The weight of the situation still bore down on him, but in this fleeting moment, with Saela in his arms, he almost forgot the world outside. His heart raced, his breath quickened.

He couldn't help himself. His hand cupped the back of her head, and before his mind could fully catch up to his actions, he leaned down and kissed her. It was quick, desperate-more of a release than anything else-but in that brief contact, he felt the world stop spinning. Her lips were soft, warm, and for a heartbeat, he allowed himself to forget the lies, the war, the pain.

But the moment was over far too quickly.

He pulled away sharply, his heart pounding, knowing that he couldn't afford to be caught here. He couldn't let this slip. Not yet. Not like this.

Saela looked up at him, her expression a mix of surprise and something deeper-something more vulnerable. But before she could say anything, Vaegon turned away, a tightness in his chest as he forced his feet to move.

"I'm sorry," he murmured under his breath, barely loud enough for her to hear.

And with that, he continued down the hall, his mind clouded with uncertainty. The kiss lingered on his lips, but there was no time for it. He had to act, had to play the part. But in the back of his mind, one thought remained: How long could he keep lying to himself and to her?

𝔗he scent of burning wood and death mingled with the salt-laden air, the waves crashing against the blackened cliffs of Dragonstone as a funeral pyre crackled and roared. The flames licked hungrily at the small, lifeless bundle laid atop the pyre-a babe never given the chance to draw breath.

The would-be princess. The daughter of the queen.

Rhaenyra stood motionless before the inferno, her face carved from marble, cold and unyielding despite the streaks of dried tears upon her pale cheeks. The wind tugged at her loose hair, silver strands whipping about her face, but she did not stir. She simply watched as the fire consumed what remained of her child, her grief held taut within her like the string of a bow drawn too tight.

Beside her stood Daemon, her husband, her consort, her ever-loyal shadow. He said nothing, for what words could be spoken that would not sound hollow in the face of such loss? His violet eyes burned as fiercely as the pyre, his grief masked beneath the steel of his countenance. His fingers flexed at his sides, the only outward sign of the storm raging within him.

Behind them, their kin bore witness.

Jacaerys and Lucerys stood at the front, their faces solemn, their hands curled into fists at their sides. Behind them, Vaegon and Aeron stood shoulder to shoulder, their gazes dark and distant. To Aeron's right, Saela Velaryon lingered, her hands clasped before her, her expression unreadable.

Baela and Rhaena stood further back, their grandmother between them. Rhaenys, still clad in the leathers of her riding attire, had yet to remove her armor, as if she anticipated war would come for them before the day's end.

Then, a rustling of fabric. The shift of metal. The faintest sound of boots upon stone.

A white cloak moved through the gathered mourners, approaching with slow, deliberate steps.

The two knights guarding the queen stiffened, their hands flashing to the hilts of their swords. With a sharp scrape of steel, they bared their blades, barring the stranger's path.

Daemon turned, his hand already gripping Dark Sister's pommel, his gaze locking upon the man beneath the white cloak.

"I mean no harm, brothers," came a steady voice.

The knight's hood fell away, revealing the face of Ser Erryk Cargyll.

Gasps rippled through those assembled. The fire crackled. The wind howled.

Daemon did not loosen his grip on his sword, but he did not draw it. He studied the man before him, his sharp eyes weighing his intent.

After a long pause, the Kingsguard stationed before Rhaenyra exchanged glances before stepping aside, though their hands remained poised to strike should treachery rear its head.

Erryk advanced, his boots scuffing against the stone, and as he neared, he fell to one knee before his queen.

From the satchel at his side, he withdrew a crown-not the misshapen monstrosity they had placed upon Aegon's head in King's Landing, but a golden circlet, simple yet regal, the crown of King Viserys I Targaryen.

Lifting it high, his voice rang clear, unwavering despite the heavy air of grief and loss that pressed upon them all.

"I swear to ward the queen with all my strength, and to give my blood for hers. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side, and defend her name and honor until my last breath."

For a long moment, there was only silence, save for the roaring flames of the funeral pyre.

Then, Daemon stepped forward.

The firelight cast long shadows upon his face as he reached out and took the crown from Erryk's hands, his fingers curling around the familiar weight of it.

Turning, he faced his wife.

The woman who had been robbed of her father's throne.

Slowly, carefully, Daemon raised the crown and set it upon Rhaenyra's head.

The weight of it settled upon her, but she did not move.

She did not weep.

She did not speak.

She merely stood, tall and unbowed, the flames reflecting in her violet eyes.

Then Daemon, the Rogue Prince, bent the knee before her.

And one by one, the others followed.

Jacaerys and Lucerys fell to their knees before their mother.

Vaegon and Aeron lowered themselves, their heads bowed.

Saela Velaryon curtsied, her silver hair gleaming in the firelight.

Baela and Rhaena, daughters of the late Laena Velaryon, bent as well.

Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was, did not bow, but dipped her head in solemn reverence. A proud smile upon her lips.

The knights of the Kingsguard, those who had remained loyal, sank to one knee, their white cloaks pooling around them like snow.

All of them, kneeling before the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Before Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Their queen.