~129 A.C~

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

~Dragonstone~

(NO SILENT READERS. PLEASE💗)

The sound of rushing waves and the distant cries of dragons filled the air as Meleys and Mirax descended upon Dragonstone. The wind howled as their great wings sent torrents of air spiraling across the castle grounds. Rhaenys and Jocelyn barely waited for their dragons to land before dismounting and striding toward the Great Hall with urgent purpose.

Guards stepped forward to intercept them, but one look from Rhaenys had them stepping aside. "We must speak with Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon. Immediately."

Within moments, they were led through the winding halls of the keep, their boots echoing against the cold stone. Servants whispered as they passed, sensing the urgency in their steps.

The doors to the chamber of the Painted Table were thrown open, revealing Rhaenyra and Daemon standing over the ancient carved map of Westeros. Rhaenyra, heavy with child, straightened as they entered, her violet eyes scanning their faces.

"Princess Rhaenys, Lady Jocelyn," Rhaenyra greeted with a warm smile and hope in her tone. "might we hope for news of Lord Corlys's recovery?"

Rhaenys took a deep breath. "Viserys is dead."

Rhaenyra's body went still. The words struck her like a blow to the chest, stealing the air from her lungs.

Rhaenys continued. "I grieve this loss with you, Rhaenyra. My cousin, your father... possessed a kind heart."

Rhaenys looked over at her daughter before speaking again. "There is more. Aegon has been crowned as his successor."

Rhaenyra whimpered clutching her belly. "They crowned him?"

Daemon, with rage written on his face, asked. "How did Viserys die?"

Jocelyn gulped. "We could not say"

Daemon asked again. "How long ago?"

Rhaenys answered this time "A day past, perhaps two. We were made prisoners in our quarters while the Queen made her preparations."

Daemon growled gripping the edge of the table. "Viserys has been slain"

Rhaenyra spoke weakly, her voice cracking. "Alicent demanded... you declare for Aegon..."

Rhaenys nodded. "She did. Both me and Jocelyn refused her"

Daemon growled again. "And yet you are alive"

Jocelyn spoke sensing the tension building. "The High Septon crowned Aegon in the Dragon pit. We witnessed it ourselves just before we fled on our dragons"

Rhaenyra swallowed, dread coiling in her stomach. "They crowned him before the masses."

Rhaenys nodded, her expression grim. "So that the masses would see him as their rightful king."

Daemon, however, did not hesitate. "That whore of a Queen murdered my brother and stole his throne." he snarled, his face twisting with rage. "And you could have burned them all for it."

Rhaenys spoke defending herself and her daughter in front of Daemon's foolish words. "A war is like to be fought over this treachery, to be sure. But that war is not ours to begin.
We only rushed this warning to you out of loyalty to my husband and to our house."

Rhaenys added before she and Jocelyn walked back towards the stairs. "The Greens are coming for you, Rhaenyra. And for your children. You should leave Dragonstone at once."

A sharp pain twisted in her belly.

She gasped, her hands flying to her stomach.

Then... warmth.

Too warm.

She looked down.

A crimson stain spread across the dark fabric of her gown.

The room stilled.

Rhaenyra's hands shook as she lifted them, staring at the blood now staining her fingertips.

"The Maester!" Jocelyn shouted, panic rising in her throat. "Fetch the Maester, now!"

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The quiet of the library was a comfort, wrapping Vellena in a cocoon of peace. She sat curled against the window seat, a heavy book on her lap, its pages only half-read as her mind wandered. Outside, beyond the high stone walls of Dragonstone, the sea stretched endlessly, silver and blue, meeting the sky at the horizon. Closer to the castle, on the beach below, she could see her brothers. Jacaerys and Lucerys trained with wooden swords, their laughter and grunts of effort muffled by distance. Jace, ever the diligent heir, moved with careful precision, while Luke—quicker and lighter on his feet—dodged and teased, always testing his elder brother's patience.

Lemoncake, her golden-orange cat, lounged beside her, a warm weight against her thigh. Her dark brown eyes were half-lidded, tail flicking lazily, but her ears twitched every so often, listening to the distant clang of wooden swords or the rustling of pages as Vellena absentmindedly turned them. She reached out, running a hand through her soft fur. The moment felt still, safe.

And then came the scream.

It was a sound that did not belong in the quiet sanctity of the library, nor in the halls of Dragonstone. A loud, wrenching cry, raw with agony. It came from above, from the royal chambers.

Lemoncake's head snapped up, his ears flattening. Vellena froze, the book sliding from her lap and hitting the stone floor with a heavy thud. Her heartbeat quickened, her breath catching in her throat. That voice—she knew that voice.

Her mother.

Rhaenyra.

Without another thought, Vellena shoved Lemoncake aside and leapt to her feet, nearly stumbling over the fallen book as she rushed toward the door. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and her legs carried her faster than she had ever moved before. The corridors blurred around her, the flickering torches lining the walls casting long, distorted shadows as she ran.

The stairs were steep, winding, endless. Her hands grasped at the stone walls as she climbed, her slippers barely making a sound against the cold floor. Another scream rang out—louder, filled with pain so deep it made her stomach twist.

Her mother was in pain.

The guards standing near the doors to the royal chambers turned as she approached, their expressions grave. One of them stepped forward as if to stop her, but Vellena didn't slow. She shoved past him, fingers grasping at the heavy wooden door.

She pushed it open.

The chamber was filled with chaos, thick with the scent of sweat and blood.

Rhaenyra paced restlessly, her shift clinging to her damp skin, her silver hair tangled and wild. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and every movement sent fresh pain coursing through her body, but she did not stop. She could not stop. The grief burned through her veins like wildfire, her mind drowning in agony and fury.

Vellena stood frozen near the doorway, her breath caught in her throat. She had seen her mother in pain before—but never like this. Never pacing like a caged dragon, fighting against an invisible enemy, trembling with exhaustion and rage.

The door burst open, and Jacaerys stormed inside, his jaw clenched so tight it looked as if he might shatter his teeth. Lucerys followed, concern written all over his face.

"Mother?" Luke's voice was soft, hesitant.

Rhaenyra cursed under her breath at the sight of them. "You should not be here," she snapped, pressing a hand against the pillar as she tried to steady herself. "Leave me be."

Neither of them moved.

Jace stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "Tell us what has happened."

Rhaenyra exhaled sharply, her whole body trembling. "Your grandsire has passed," she said, her voice rough, hollow. "And Aegon... Aegon has been crowned as his successor."

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Jace's hands curled into fists at his sides. His chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths, his anger barely contained. "What are we to do about it?" he asked, his voice tight.

"Nothing," Rhaenyra bit out.

Jace took a sharp step forward. "Nothing?"

"Nothing now." Her voice cracked.

Jace's nostrils flared. His mother was in agony, reeling from loss and betrayal, but his blood boiled with the need to act. He turned to the door. "Where is Daemon?"

Rhaenyra's face twisted with fury. Tears burned in her eyes as she spat, "He has gone to plot his fucking war."

Vellena flinched at her mother's words, but Jace didn't even blink. He turned on his heel grabbing Vellena's arm. "Then leave him to me."

"Jacaerys!" Rhaenyra called after him.

"Whatever claim remains to me, you are now its heir," she continued, her voice trembling but firm, "Naught is to be done but by my command."

Jace's shoulders tensed. He turned back to her, his expression stern. He gave a single nod, then marched out of the chamber.

Rhaenyra exhaled shakily and leaned her forehead against the pillar, her whole body shaking. Luke hesitated for only a moment before following his brother and sister, his heart heavy with worry.

As they walked Vellena stopped frozen on the spot, her entire body stiff, her hands clenched at her sides. Her mother's pain, her brothers' anger—it was all too much. Aegon had taken what was theirs. Her mother was suffering. The Greens would come for them next.

"They will kill us," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Jace turned back to her. "Vellena—"

"They will come here," she went on, her breath quickening. "They will come, and we will be slaughtered. Just like—"

Jace grabbed her shoulders. "Stop," he said, his voice firm.

But Vellena shook her head, her whole body trembling. "What if Mother dies?" she whispered. "What if—"

Jace silenced her with a kiss.

It was soft, slow, gentle in a way that contradicted the storm raging inside them both. His hands remained firm on her shoulders, steadying her, grounding her. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers.

"My sweet," he murmured.

Vellena's breath hitched.

Jace exhaled, his grip on her tightening for a brief moment before he pulled back. "Go to the nursery," he whispered. "Stay with Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys. Keep them safe."

She blinked up at him, still stunned, still reeling from the taste of his lips against hers.

Jace gave her a small nod, then turned and strode down the corridor, heading toward the Painted Table with Luke behind him.

"Took you long enough" Luke murmured as they took the left, Jace smirked shaking his head.

Vellena stood there for a moment, her mind spinning.

Then, without another word, she turned and made her way toward the nursery.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The nursery was warm, a quiet sanctuary away from the turmoil that raged through Dragonstone. A soft fire crackled in the hearth, casting a golden glow over the stone walls the sunlight was warm upon the room.

Vellena sat on the thickly woven carpet, cradling little Viserys in her lap. He was a tiny thing, barely past his first year, his silver curls soft against her fingers as he cooed and played with the edge of her sleeve. Aegon, a stubborn little boy, tugged insistently on her skirts, his chubby face scrunched in frustration as he demanded her attention.

"Not now, Aegon," she murmured, shifting slightly so she could balance Viserys better.

Joffrey, the wildest of the three, ran circles around the room, chasing Lemoncake, who darted between his feet with playful agility. The little orange cat let out a meow of protest as Joffrey nearly tripped over her, but the boy only laughed, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief.

For a moment, Vellena let herself forget.

Forget the storm raging beyond these walls.
Forget the grief hanging in the air.
Forget the war that would soon come to their doorstep.

Here, with her brothers, she could almost pretend things were still as they were before. Before they went to King's Landing. Before Aegon stole their mother's throne. Before the world shifted beneath their feet.

But then the door creaked open.

Vellena glanced up, expecting a nursemaid or a guard. Instead, she found Jacaerys standing in the doorway.

He didn't speak.

He simply stood there, watching her, his dark eyes filled with something painful. The sunlight flickered across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw, the way his lips were pressed into a thin line.

Vellena's heart skipped a beat.

Slowly, carefully, she placed Viserys back on the soft pillow on the floor, smoothing his tiny tunic with trembling fingers before rising to her feet.

She walked toward Jace, her steps slow, uncertain.

He didn't move, only watched her with that same expression.

Then, finally, as she reached him, he shook his head. A single tear slipped down his cheek.

Vellena felt her chest tighten.

No.

Her knees nearly buckled, and she stumbled, her breath catching in her throat. But before she could fall, Jace caught her, pulling her against his chest. His arms wrapped around her tightly, holding her as if she might shatter in his grasp.

Vellena squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. She didn't need to ask.

She already knew.

Their mother had lost the child.
The babe was stillborn.

Vellena let out a shuddering breath, her fingers curling into the fabric of Jace's tunic. She could feel his heartbeat against her own, strong yet unsteady, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to tremble in his embrace.

Neither of them spoke.

There were no words for this grief.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The cliffs of Dragonstone were silent, save for the howling wind and the distant crashing of waves against the rocks below. The sky was gray, the sea stretching endlessly beyond the edge of the island, mirroring the grief that weighed heavy on their hearts.

Before them, on the pyre, lay Visenya.

The babe was wrapped in a white cloth, small and fragile even in death. Smoke curled from the unlit wood beneath her, waiting for the flames that would carry her to the gods.

Rhaenyra stood at the front, her posture stiff, unmoving. Her face was pale, almost ghostly, and her violet eyes, so often filled with fire, were dull as they stared at the lifeless body of her daughter. The wind tugged at her silver hair, strands clinging to the dampness on her cheeks.

Beside her, Daemon stood in quiet agony. He did not cry, but the grief was there in the tense set of his jaw, in the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. His eyes, the same violet as his wife's, were rimmed with red, the loss of his child cutting deep.

Behind them, the rest of their family gathered in mourning.

Vellena stood close to Jace, his hand gripping hers so tightly it nearly hurt, but she did not pull away. She needed it just as much as he did.

Luke leaned against her shoulder, silent and still, his frame trembling with sorrow. He had always been the most sensitive of them, the one who felt everything too deeply. Vellena rested her head against his for a moment, grounding him.

Joffrey clung to her, his tiny hands gripping her dress as she stroked his dark curls. He did not fully understand what was happening, but he felt the sorrow in the air, and it unsettled him.

A few feet away, Baela and Rhaena stood together, their hands intertwined, mourning the half-sister they never got to know.

Behind them, Rhaenys stood tall, her expression unreadable, but the grief was there in the way her lips pressed into a thin line. She had lost too much already—her twins, and now another loss for the mighty House Targaryen.

Jocelyn stood beside her mother, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. She had seen death before, but never like this. Never so cruel.

The wind howled across the cliffs of Dragonstone, carrying with it the scent of smoke and salt. The flames of the funeral pyre crackled behind them, consuming the small, swaddled body of Visenya. But as the fire burned, footsteps echoed against the stone.

Ser Erryk Cargyll emerged from the path leading up to the cliffs, his expression solemn, his armor marked with the dust of his long journey. In his hands, he held something precious—a golden crown, plain yet regal, the same crown that once sat upon the head of King Viserys I Targaryen.

The guards meant to take out their swords before Ser Erryk shook his head. "I mean no harm, brothers"

He walked forward with measured steps before sinking to one knee, his gaze lowered in reverence. He raised the crown high, the metal gleaming in the dim light of the overcast sky. His voice was steady, yet filled with conviction as he spoke.

"I swear to ward the Queen... with all my strength... and 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."

The silence that followed was heavy.

Daemon, his face unreadable, stepped forward. His boots scraped against the stone as he descended toward the kneeling knight, his violet eyes fixed on the crown. Slowly, he reached out, taking the symbol of Viserys's rule into his hands.

For a moment, he studied it, his fingers brushing over the edges as if feeling the weight of history itself. Then, without a word, he turned to Rhaenyra.

She stood still, her face pale, her expression unreadable. There was grief in her eyes, but beneath it, there was something else—something unbreakable.

Daemon approached her, his gaze never leaving hers. When he reached her, he lifted the crown, hesitating for just a second before placing it upon her silver head.

As the metal settled, he bent the knee, lowering his head.

"My queen," he whispered, his voice for her ears alone.

One by one, those gathered began to kneel. The guards of Dragonstone bent first, then the handmaidens, then the lords and knights who had sworn themselves to House Targaryen. Jace, Luke and Joffrey followed, lowering themselves before their mother.

Vellena, her heart pounding, took a breath before sinking into a curtsy, her head bowed in silent loyalty. Beside her, Baela and Rhaena did the same.

Only Rhaenys and Jocelyn remained standing.

Their silence was not one of defiance, but of duty. They could not kneel, not yet—not until they spoke with Lord Corlys Velaryon.

Rhaenyra saw them, understood them. She did not need their kneeling to know where they stood.

As the wind roared and the fire behind them blazed, Queen Rhaenyra I Targaryen stood before her people, the crown of her father resting upon her head.

Visenya was gone.

But Rhaenyra was still here.

And war was coming.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The room of the Painted Table was heavy with anticipation. Rhaenyra Targaryen, the newly crowned Queen, entered the room with her guards surrounding her. Her silver hair flowed beneath the weight of the golden crown, her posture regal despite the anguish that weighed on her heart. She walked slowly, her gaze steady and calculating.

"Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

Daemon, her consort, was waiting at the head of the Painted Table, ever the shadow to her brilliance. The murmurs in the room faded as Rhaenyra approached the center of the room, standing on the other head of the table.

Rhaenyra, her eyes sharp and determined, surveyed the faces of the lords and ladies before her. She raised her chin and spoke, her voice steady yet filled with the rawness of what had just transpired.

"Tell me," she began, her voice cutting through the silence. "What is our standing?"

Daemon, ever ready, looked down at the table. "We have 30 knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and 300 men-at-arms." His voice was firm, but his gaze never left the Painted Table, where the future of their House would unfold. "Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend, but as an instrument of conquest, our army leaves a lot to be desired. We have sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch. I'll have some support there, but I cannot speak to the numbers. We already have declarations from Celtigar and Stant, Massey, Darklyn, and Bar Emmon."

"My lady mother was an Arryn," Rhaenyra continued, her voice gaining strength. "The Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin."

Her words seemed to offer some comfort, but only a little. The room remained tense, filled with a sense of urgency and anticipation.

Maester Gerardys, who had been observing quietly from the side, cleared his throat and spoke up. "RiverRun was always a close friend to your father, Your Grace. With Prince Daemon's acquiescence, I've already sent ravens to Lord Grover."

Rhaenyra turned her gaze toward the Maester, her eyes sharp. "Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed. He will need to be convinced of the strength of our position and that we will support him should it come to war."

Daemon nodded, his expression hardening. "I'm going to treat with him myself," he said, his voice filled with resolve.

As the conversation unfolded, Vellena stood quietly beside Jace, trying her best to remain composed, even though the storm inside her threatened to break. She glanced briefly at Jocelyn, who stood near her mother, her expression a mixture of concern and sadness. Vellena could sense that her aunt was struggling to process the weight of the situation, just as she was. But the both of them remained silent, understanding that their place was to stand by their mothers, their queen.

Ser Steffon spoke next, his voice breaking through the tense silence. "What of Storm's End and Winterfell?"

Ser Bartimos, an older man, answered with confidence. "There has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath. And with House Stark, the North will follow."

Rhaenyra nodded, but there was something pensive in her gaze. She turned back to the council, her mind working through all the possibilities. "Lord Borros Baratheon will need to be reminded of his father's promises," she said, her voice cold. "What news from Driftmark?"

Rhaenys, standing at the back with her arms crossed, answered firmly, "Lord Corlys sails for Dragonstone."

Daemon's voice was sharp as he added, "To declare for his Queen."

Rhaenys nodded in agreement. "The Velaryon fleet is in my husband's yoke. He decides where they sail."

Rhaenyra's lips pressed into a thin line as she tried to keep her emotions in check. "We shall pray for both you and your husband's support. Just as we prayed nightly for the Sea Snake's return to good health. There's no port on the Narrow Sea would dare to make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet."

Then, the conversation turned toward the Lannisters. Daemon's voice hardened as he spoke. "We have no friends among the Lannisters. Tyland has served the Hand too long to turn against him. And Otto Hightower needs the Lannister fleet."

Rhaenyra's words were met with murmurs of agreement from the others. The Lannisters were crucial to both sides of the coming war. Without them, neither the greens nor the blacks could hope to win the conflict.

Rhaenyra spoke up, "Without the Lannisters, we are not likely to find any allies west of the Golden Tooth."

Daemon nodded. The situation was becoming grimmer by the minute, but they couldn't afford to show weakness now.

"The River lands are essential, Your Grace," one of the lords offered, his voice filled with concern.

The tension in the room seemed to ease slightly, but only momentarily, as another lord spoke with a dangerous proposition.

"Pray forgive my bluntness, Your Grace," the lord began, his tone direct. "But talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that has not been seen in this world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons."

Rhaenyra's chin lifted in pride as she met the lord's gaze. "The Greens have dragons as well."

Daemon spoke up then, his voice filled with certainty. "They have three adults, by my count. We have Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys."

There was a flicker of surprise from Rhaenys, who had not yet declared for either side. But she said nothing, keeping her thoughts to herself.

Daemon continued, his eyes gleaming as he surveyed the room. "Your sons have Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes. Your daughter rides the third largest of the realm, Silverwing." Vellena's throat tightened at the mention of Silverwing, and she glanced at her mother. Daemon continued without a pause. "Baela has Moondancer. Jocelyn has Mirax."

Rhaenyra raised a hand, silencing the room with a single motion. "Daemon," she began, her voice steady, "none of our dragons have been to war."

Daemon, unfazed, added with a grin, "There are also unclaimed dragons. Sea Smoke still resides on Driftmark. Vermithor dwells on the Dragonmont, still riderless. Then there are the three wild dragons, all of whom nest here."

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. "And who is to ride them?"

Daemon's smirk deepened. "Dragons are the strength of House Targaryen. We have thirteen to their four. I also have a score of eggs incubating in the Dragonmont."

He moved around the Painted Table, his eyes alight with the fire of strategy. "Now... we need a place to gather, a toehold large enough to house a sizable host. Here, at Harrenhal. We cut off the west, surround King's Landing with the dragons. And we could have every Green head mounted on spikes before the fucking moon turns."

Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed, her gaze moving from one lord to another. But before she could respond, Ser Erryk approached her side, his voice urgent.

"Your Grace," he said quietly, "a ship has been sighted offshore: a lone galleon, flying a banner of a three-headed green dragon."

Daemon's temper flared instantly. He stormed toward the door, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. "Alert the watchtowers. Sight the skies."

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Vellena stood near the sun in the library with her hands folded on her front, staring out of the large arched window overlooking the bridge of Dragonstone. The candlelight flickered beside her, but her eyes were fixed on the figures standing in the mist, their voices too distant to hear, but their body language speaking volumes.

On the bridge, Otto Hightower stood with a host of green-cloaked knights at his back, his posture straight, his hands folded neatly over his chest, as if he were above all of this. In contrast, Daemon stood before him, sword at his hip, his stance aggressive, exuding barely contained rage. Rhaenyra was in the center of it all, standing tall, her golden crown gleaming even through the misty gloom of the storm-lit sky. Even from this distance, Vellena could see the tension in her mother's shoulders, the way her hands curled slightly at her sides. She was holding herself back, and that made Vellena uneasy.

The weight of the moment sat heavy on her chest. This was no longer just a conflict of succession—it was a war brewing right before her eyes.

Then, she felt it.

A familiar warmth wrapped around her from behind, strong arms encircling her waist, pulling her against a firm chest. She tensed for a moment before the scent of sea salt and dragonfire filled her senses. The warmth, the scent, the presence—it was him.

Jace

His lips brushed her temple in the softest of kisses, sending a shiver down her spine.

Vellena's heart raced, though she had no idea why. The sensation of the kiss lingered in her mind longer than it should have. It was just Jace, her older brother—her protector. It had to mean nothing. Perhaps it was just the tension of everything happening around them, making her overthink things.

She decided to let it go.

Jace's voice was low, gentle against her ear. "Have you eaten anything today?"

Vellena shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm afraid."

Jace chuckled softly, a deep, warm sound that made her stomach flutter. "Afraid to eat?"

Vellena rolled her eyes, feeling a ghost of a smile tug at her lips despite everything. "You know what I mean."

Jace tightened his hold around her, his chin resting lightly atop her head. His voice was quieter now, soothing. "Nothing will harm you while I'm alive."

She exhaled, leaning further into him, allowing herself a moment of peace in the chaos. But the peace was short-lived.

Down on the bridge, a sudden movement caught her eye.

Daemon and his guards unsheathed their swords in a deadly, synchronized motion, steel glinting in the stormlight.

Vellena shivered involuntarily at the sight, fear creeping back into her bones. Jace, sensing it, held her tighter. His arms around her were strong, protective, but they could not shield her from what was coming.

Together, they watched as Rhaenyra and Otto exchanged words—words neither of them could hear, but that would shape the future of the realm. Rhaenyra's expression was unreadable, but there was a fire in her eyes, a silent storm brewing beneath the surface.

Moments later, she turned away, her cloak billowing behind her as she strode back toward the castle. Her face was paler than before, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Daemon lingered, watching Otto with an intensity that made even the men on the bridge uneasy. He didn't move for a moment, as if contemplating something—then, finally, he turned, sheathing his sword, and followed Rhaenyra back toward the castle. The guards followed closely behind him, their hands still resting on their hilts.

Vellena let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

She tilted her head up, looking at Jace. His jaw was tight, his dark eyes fixed on their mother as she disappeared into the castle. He was tense, his mind likely racing with thoughts of war, of duty, of everything that was now resting on his shoulders.

Then, as if sensing her gaze, he looked down at her.

The hardness in his expression melted away, replaced by something else—something softer, something only meant for her.

Without a word, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead.

Vellena closed her eyes.

For a moment, she allowed herself to feel safe.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

ONE MORE CHAPTER AND ACT I WILL BE FINISHED 🙈🙈🙈