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The Iron Throne was not meant to be restful. It was cold and hard and unyielding, thousands of blades melted together, overall truly unwelcoming. It was meant to be difficult to sit upon, as a way to remind one of their duty to the realm. 

It was the second greatest symbol of their dynasty, behind the dragons themselves. And yet Viserys had cut himself upon its blades time and time again. 

The duty of King was not meant for him; Viserys had never been truly content with it. The title should have gone to his beloved uncle, and if not then to his father. Perhaps Viserys had gotten the duty too early, or perhaps he was never meant for it.

Aemma’s death had made it all even more difficult. His desire for an heir had taken both his son and his wife, after many other unborn babes. And yet, Viserys still had a duty, to the realm and to the crown, and to his house. 

Perhaps Rhaenys should have ruled instead, or even young Ser Laenor. Perhaps Daemon. But as it stood, Viserys found himself on the throne, with the duty still upon his shoulders. Duty took no breaks because of grief. 

Through his anguish at losing both the loveliest woman there could ever be, as well as his much longed for son, there have been few lights that have chased away the darkness. Lady Alicent had been one. 

Her soft voice as she read to him was almost enough to soothe the guilt at having seen Rhaenyra’s tears. Her shining smile had almost chased away the agony of hearing Aemma’s screams in his nightmares. Sometimes, in the late hours of the evening as he could not find rest in a now cold and empty bed, he thought that perhaps with time she might even shine as brightly in his heart as Aemma had. As Aemma still did. 

Viserys understood why in his final moments his own grandsire had requested that the young lady read to him. Lady Alicent’s soothing voice and presence took one’s ailment away.

The council has been pestering him to consider remarrying since Aemma had passed, even after having named Rhaenyra heir instead of Daemon. Viserys had not wanted to consider it, but Lady Alicent’s warmth was almost enough to make him at least think about it, if only for a second. 

Beyond his grief, there was also the pain he was struck with whenever Rhaenyra or Daemon as much as looked at him with angry, heavy gazes. Rhaenyra resented him for having been named heir only after her mother had passed, and only so the realm won’t fall into his brother’s hands after one too many humiliations from him. 

As for Daemon, Viserys was sure he had more than enough reasons to be cross with him. His brother had never truly wanted the throne, that much he was sure of. Daemon was not suited for such responsibilities. He was brash and violent and had a ruthlessness that was unbecoming of a king. He was rude at the best of times, and half the council was scared he might turn into a second Maegor were he to ever ascend to the throne. 

And despite the many times Viserys had taken his side, his brother insulted him again on the night after losing his son, a pain so sharp he felt it even through the anguish of grief. And so he was stripped of his title. And his brother had not looked at him the same. 

Each and every stunt Daemon had pulled afterwards was nothing more than salt onto the wound. Stealing the dragon egg meant for the little prince, leaving for Dragonstone with half the City Watch, claiming to have taken a second wife, continuing his ruthless onslaughts on the city’s criminals and then having the audacity to claim he was doing it all for the good of the realm. 

He and Daemon had always been at odds, and Viserys hated nothing more than being cross with his brother. Especially when he needed him the most, as guilt and grief were eating at his heart every single second.

It all became even more difficult as Rhaenys and Lord Corlys had presented him with the offer of their daughter’s hand, young Lady Laena Velaryon. A girl that was not even four and ten yet. Younger than his Rhaenyra. 

It would be a good match, he thought. It would be a good match, Lord Strong had agreed. 

But she was not Lady Alicent, his heart whispered. 

Rhaenyra had reluctantly given him her blessing to take a new wife. And that evening, when Lady Alicent was listening with a smile as he went on and on about his model city of Old Valyria, he thought that the last thing Rhaenyra would want is for him to take her childhood friend as his second wife. 

So, reluctantly, his mind had been made up. He had decided that he would marry young Lady Laena, and listen to his cousin’s ultimatum that the marriage would not be consummated until the girl was at least six and ten. 

Rhaenyra would be pleased, he hoped. And he shall let her have a choice in her future marriage, he decided. Something he had not gotten, despite how wonderful his union with Aemma had been. Something Daemon had definitely not gotten. 

The situation with Daemon was still a problem. He missed their talks almost as much as he missed Aemma. When Daemon was in a good mood, Viserys could talk to him for hours on end, without tiring. And now when Viserys needed him, his brother resented him. 

There were many things Daemon wanted, and he was never shy to just simply go and take them. There were only a few things even his brash and reckless brother could not have, and one of them was an annulment from his marriage. 

His union with Lady Rhea Royce was so disastrous Viserys was sure it would soon become a cautionary tale for anyone trying to arrange any marriages in the future; make sure the couple can at least stand to be in the same room before rushing them to the Sept. 

Daemon was never tired of insulting his lady wife, and Lady Rhea was never shy of expressing similar feelings, albeit with much more tact. Viserys had attempted to encourage his brother to at least try and bridge the gap with his wife. Daemon would not even hear it. 

He’d only met Lady Rhea once, on her and Daemon’s wedding day, and the lady was forthright and outspoken even then, when she was just a young woman. Traits, Viserys learned over time, his brother despised. 

“She is simply not what I want in my woman,” his brother had frowned and scowled at him once, after another failed attempt from Viserys to convince him to treat his lady wife with respect. 

Their union was a complete failure, a marriage that Daemon was always eager to mention had not even been consummated. He’d begged Viserys time and time again for it to be annulled, but he had never even considered it. Perhaps he should have. 

Annulling Daemon’s marriage would surely sweeten his brother to him again, and Viserys would regain him by his side. 

Still, he knew Daemon well, and as much as Aemma often liked to jest about how Viserys could be blind to his own family, he could see things clearly. Daemon without the confines of a marriage would be dangerous. 

He was sure there were many ladies that would not mind being married to his brother, even with his reputation of infamy. Daemon was handsome and a widely respected warrior, as well as the realm’s only Prince. Finding a wife for him would not be difficult. Finding a wife that he would like was the true challenge. 

As he lays awake in his bed one night, Viserys debates the issue. Perhaps someone from Essos would suit his brother better; Daemon was fond of spending time in the east, after all. Perhaps some lady from Dorne, to try and foster that alliance. 

Daemon needs someone who could calm and settle his temper, but someone who could also keep him occupied. Someone soft and sweet who won’t argue with his whims, but who could also stand her ground were Daemon to go overboard. 

Perhaps someone he already knows. Someone whose dulcet voice had managed to soothe Viserys’ grieving heart, someone already used to Targaryen tempers from being around Rhaenyra. 

The more he thinks on it, the more ideal the match seems. Viserys remembers Daemon asking for the young lady’s favor on the tourney held in honor of his son. He is sure Daemon had done that to spite Otto, but perhaps there was some lingering affection he was not aware of. And even if not, perhaps affection would blossom soon after. 

House Hightower had been terribly insulted by his family before, so perhaps a new marriage would appease them if only a little. 

And Lady Alicent was beautiful and sweet, young and devoted, and she would be obedient to Daemon, always. Surely her warmth could melt even the coldness of Daemon’s heart. 

As if burned by fire, Viserys is out of his bed. He lights up a candle and before he can overthink it, he writes three letters. One to the Vale, for Lady Royce of Runestone, and the other two for Oldtown, one for Lord Hubert and the other for the High Septon. 

The ravens fly before the sun rises. The answers arrive quickly after. 

*

He decided to tell Daemon first, lest his brother has any choice words to say in front of Lady Alicent, which Viserys would rather avoid. 

“Has something happened?” his brother asks and eyes the goblet and pitcher of wine set on the table with suspicion. Viserys is already tired. 

“Sit down, brother,” he gestures with his hand, the one missing the tip of his smallest finger. He thinks the new remedy the Grand Maester has him on is working well. 

“Has someone died?” Daemon asks with just enough mocking to annoy him, but sits down nonetheless and pours himself some wine. Viserys refuses him when he offers him any. 

“No, nothing of the sort. I have some news for you.”

“Hmm.”

Viserys holds back a sigh at his brother’s cold demeanor. He wonders if Daemon knows how he hurts him so. “Perhaps you should see for yourself,” he says, and pushes the scroll from the High Septon towards his brother. 

He doesn’t watch as Daemon picks it up and reads it, settling his eyes instead on his model city. The small dragon statue Lady Alicent had so graciously gotten mended for him is still sitting there, no set place for it yet. Viserys considers throwing it away. Or perhaps giving it back to her, as a gift. Maybe gifting it to Daemon. 

“What is this?” his brother’s voice cuts through his thoughts, colder and more incredulous than Viserys had expected. 

When he turns to look at his brother, Daemon is frowning, staring at the piece of paper as if it is offending him. What doesn’t offend his brother, really?

“It is a message from the High Septon, informing me that he has approved of the annulment of your marriage to Lady Royce,” Viserys answers as casually as he can, trying to keep his emotions at bay, as it is wise to do around his brother. 

He feels slightly disappointed at Daemon’s reaction, and the news he is meant to react badly to have not even been shared yet.. 

“Is this some sort of jest, Viserys?” he asks with an even deeper frown. 

Daemon is the only one to say his name anymore, he thinks. Now with Aemma gone, Viserys is only referred to by his titles. He used to see it as disrespectful, another thing his brother had employed only to annoy him. Now, he is glad for it. He is sure Aemma would find that amusing. 

“You know me to make such jokes, brother? It is real.”

“Has the bitch died? Or has she finally found some blind fool to fuck her?” a ghost of a smirk finally takes over his brother’s lips, and Viserys tries not to cringe at his choice of words. His brother sure can be vexing. 

“No, Lady Rhea is fine. I can show you her message thanking me for granting the annulment, if you wish.”

“Ha!” his brother all but throws the scroll across the table, and grabs his goblet again, pouring more wine. Viserys’ own mouth waters, almost feeling the burn of alcohol down his throat, but the maesters have advised against indulging too much. “Well, good riddance. It was a long time coming. Now she can go marry some fucking shepard.”

Viserys thinks he was perhaps foolish to have hoped for any thanks from Daemon. 

“I suppose you have no complaints.”

“Far from it, brother,” and Daemon finally smiles, a sharp grin that stretches across his face, sure to scare anyone not used to seeing it before. Sometimes it makes even Viserys uneasy. “If anything, I could not be more grateful.”

“That is good to hear, Daemon,”

Viserys smiles at his brother. Daemon only grins back. “Why now, if I may inquire?”

“You’ve asked for an annulment for more than a decade, brother. There was no reason holding you hostage, as you used to say, in an unconsummated marriage that brought both of you no joy.”

Daemon snorts, his grin already gone. “That is a way to put it. It was fucking torture.”

Viserys keeps back from frowning. His brother sure loves to exaggerate. Daemon and Lady Rhea have never spent more than an hour in the same room. Hardly torture, of all things. 

“Now if you shall excuse me, I believe this calls for a celebration,” and he downs his goblet in one go, before going to stand up. 

“Wait a moment, Daemon,” Viserys says hurriedly. “There is something else I need to inform you of.”

His brother frowns, and looks down at him. “You sure have a lot of news today,”

Viserys only looks at him, with what he hopes is quite an unimpressed face. Finally, his brother sits back down.

“Perhaps you should drink some more wine,” Viserys says with a sigh. The scroll from Lord Hubert is all but burning form where it is hidden in his robes. 

Daemon sneers, but does pour himself more wine. “I suppose I am about to hear something I won’t like. Figures, you could not grant me my one wish without taking something away right after.”

Viserys feels his words stab through him like a cold knife. His brother knows so well how to hurt him. “Daemon, that is not-”

“Let me guess, brother,” and he grins again, nasty and mean and cruel in all the ways everyone says Daemon always is. “You’re removing me as Lord Commander? Was I too cruel again?”

His words are mocking, and the knowledge that his brother thinks so little of him is more saddening than it is vexing. “Brother-”

“Has that Hightower bastard been whispering in your ears again? You will never learn Viserys.”

“Enough,” he all but snaps at Daemon, but his brother looks unphased. “I have no punishment for you, or whatever you are imagining. It is another gift.”

“I can see from your demeanor just how much you think I shall enjoy this gift. Let me guess, you are marrying me off again to some other bitch,” he comments with disdain, drinking more wine. 

Viserys feels his mouth run dry. At his prolonged silence, Daemon only eyes him with more distrust. 

“You cannot be serious, Viserys.”

Viserys just slides the scroll across the table towards Daemon. His brother all but rips it out of his hand. 

The silence feels deafening as Daemon reads the message from Lord Hubert, giving his blessing for the union. Viserys just looks at his model city. 

“This has to be some sort of jest, now,” his brother finally says, his voice colder than ice, colder than Valyrian steel. Viserys sighs.

“It is not-”

“ This was meant to be a gift? Forcing me to marry Otto’s fucking daughter? Have you gone mad?!”

Daemon's voice has risen quickly, his anger lighting aflame in mere moments. Viserys tries to keep his calm. He doesn’t think he’s seen his brother more furious. 

“Daemon, please just listen-”

“What the fuck is there to listen to?” and his brother looks at him with ice in his eyes and fire in his voice, and when he smirks it is so, so cruel. “Don’t tell me you’ve fucked the girl while Otto was whoring her out to you, and now you’re trying to save face by marrying her to me.”

Viserys feels colder by the second, the horrifying image of impropriety and degeneracy Daemon is painting making his blood freeze. 

“No! I would never, I have never touched her, I-I-” he hurries to correct him, Daemon’s continuous mocking smile cutting into him worse than any blade on the Iron Throne could. “How do you even know-”

“Oh please,” his brother waves his hand and rolls his eyes, and looks every bit like the difficult man Otto paints him out to be. “People are not blind, brother. You’re the only one not seeing how the Hightower cunt’s plotting about. Do you think the girl was visiting you because she was just dying to be in the company of a grieving old man?”

Viserys shakes his head, as if the words would cut any less if he didn’t hear them. Daemon was just his usual cruel self. Even if Otto had sent Lady Alicent to keep him company, even if there were any ulterior motives, it did not take away from how much she had helped him. 

“Regardless, it does not matter. I have never laid a hand on her. That is not why I decided on a union between the two of you.” 

“Please, enlighten me then. Why did you think this could be a good match in any way?” Daemon sneers again, and drinks more wine. Viserys’ hand, the one with his ailed finger, burns in pain. 

“Alicent is a good girl,” he tries to reason with his brother, “she is virtuous and obedient. She will be devoted to you, brother.”

Daemon only rolls his eyes. “You marry her then, if you like her virtue and her obedience so much.”

“You complained about Lady Rhea,” Viserys continues, ignoring the pang of pain as his brother’s words remind him of his own upcoming marriage. “You said you hated how she was too outspoken, too forthright-”

“There were other things I hated about the bitch, her personality was only one of many reasons-”

“Lady Alicent is a good match for you,” Viserys says, trying to project some finality within his voice. He hopes it comes across. Judging by Daemon’s face, it does not. “And you will do right by her in this marriage.”

Daemon is quiet for a few moments, staring at Viserys with a look that would surely wither any other man. It almost withers Viserys too. Daemon has never liked being told what to do.

“Once again, if you like her so much you can marry her yourself. There is no reason to shackle both me and the girl into something neither of us want,” when his brother finally talks, his voice is even. 

“I have already decided on another match for myself.”

That makes his brother curious. “And who might be the lucky lady, if not Otto’s spawn that you’ve been hanging about for weeks?”

“Lady Laena Velaryon.”

That makes his brother laugh. “I didn’t know you liked your girls so young, brother. And they call me -”

“The marriage with Lady Laena is for the good of the realm,” Viserys interrupts him sharply, already dreading whatever Daemon was going to say. “And it will not be consummated until the young lady is at least six and ten, as per Rhaenys’ request.”

His brother shakes his head, and takes another sip of wine. “If it’s not the Hightower cunt, it is the Sea Snake. There is always some idiot pouring their poison into your ears and you just do not see it.”

Once again, Viserys brushes his words away. “Please try and see my side in this, Daemon-”

“And what side is that?” his brother interrupts him, his voice venomous and poisonous. “You just annulled my marriage, after years of me begging you, only to marry me off again, to the daughter of one of the most infuriating twats I’ve ever met! And you had no reason for it!”

“Once again, it was not meant as a punishment,” Viserys sighs, rubbing at his forehead as he can feel a headache come. 

“It sure feels like one. How is Otto alright with this? He would suck you off himself if it meant you would marry his daughter.”

Viserys ignores Daemon’s crude words, as he usually does. “Otto does not know yet.”

“And you think he won’t be opposed? He’ll throw himself off the Red Keep before he sees his daughter married to me.”

“It does not matter what Otto thinks,” and he fixes Daemon with his most solemn look. “The match has been approved by Lord Hubert Hightower already, as you have seen with your own eyes. The marriage will happen.”

His brother glares at him, a look holding so much anger and resentment and fury, it almost makes Viserys reconsider. Almost. 

But his mind is made up, and the match is already set, and even if Daemon does not see it yet, it is for his own good. 

“You’re a fool, Viserys,” Daemon finally says, and looks away from him in what Viserys hopes is not disgust. 

“House Hightower has already been terribly disrespected by our family in the past-”

“And you think me marrying Otto’s daughter will help mend such a thing? Wasn’t keeping that cunt around for decades enough repayment for their whole fucking family?”

Viserys’ hand continues to hurt him, almost as much as Daemon’s fury does. “It is an honor for anyone to marry within the Royal Family.”

Daemon just frowns at him. “Have you ever even taken a second to think what I would like, who I would want to marry? Why in the Seven Hells would you think I’d want that girl?”

“She is beautiful, and she is young and virtuous, as I have said. I believe it will be a good match for you.”

Perhaps if he repeats the words time and time again, Daemon will see it his way. His brother just shakes his head, and finishes his goblet of wine. By now the pitcher is almost empty as well. When he finally speaks, it is with the same coldness he’s seen from Daemon for too long now. 

“This is the biggest insult you’ve ever given me.”

The words cut Viserys again. Does he truly not see the offering Viserys is making him? How he’s given up what he wanted for Daemon, once again? 

“Daemon, please-”

“I will do as you say, Your Grace, but do not be surprised if the result of this union is not what you’re expecting,” and he gets up, and with one swipe of his hand he sends both the pitcher and the cup on the floor, clattering against the cold floor. 

His brother leaves without a word. Soon enough a servant comes and cleans up whatever wine had spilled on the floor. All the while, Viserys just stares at his model city of Old Valyria. 

Perhaps this has not been his brightest of ideas. At least he knows Otto will not react this wildly. 

*

Otto Hightower had learned early in life that not many opportunities presented themselves to second sons. Men in his position were forced to take fate into their own hands if they wanted a chance at a legacy. 

He had done his best to rise above his stature. He’d served his house, the Crown, and the realm as Hand for years on end. He had sons, knights to carry on his family name, and as the King had requested Alicent’s presence at the next council meeting, Otto thought that soon enough his own daughter might be Queen too. 

The road towards putting Hightower blood upon the throne was in sight. It had not been easy. Thankfully, the previous heir was foolish and reckless, and the current heir was a young girl. Targaryens did have quite the penchant for sabotaging themselves. The delusions of grandeur they lived with probably contributed to that.

To this day Otto could hardly believe just how horribly Prince Daemon had discarded his position. He was not one to easily hate people; it was a waste to spare mind to such thoughts. But Daemon Targaryen managed to make hating him incredibly easy. 

The man was everything Otto despised. Violent, degenerate, reckless and rude. He’d been gifted with everything he needed to rule the whole kingdom, from his charm and good looks and talent with a sword, to his flying beast, and had managed to spit on it all.

He could have had all the power in the palm of his hand, but his temper, rash and crass and only one hair away from madness, would not let him. Unlike other second sons Daemon had clear opportunities for greatness, yet did not seem to care. 

Daemon Targaryen just had to ruin his own chance at a legacy by insulting the King, and Otto had been nothing less than happy to have played a hand in removing him from the succession line. His Grace immediately appointing his daughter as heir was not something he had foreseen, but he was sure he would find a way around that issue too.

Before they depart for the meeting, he instructs Alicent to wear a nice dress, something she’d worn before when visiting the King. As Otto takes his seat at the council table, he schools his face to look as impassive as possible. 

As King Viserys expresses his intention to remarry, Otto holds back a smile.

When he announces his next marriage shall be with Laena Velaryon, Otto holds back a frown. 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Corlys Velaryon says, grinning from ear to ear. Otto feels sick. “You honor our House with such a decision. There have been nothing but fruitful marriages between the great houses of Targaryen and Velaryon, and surely this one shall be the same.”

The King just smiles, and Otto does as everyone else and gives him his congratulations. Disappointment and anger both swell up inside him. Had Alicent said something that had dissuaded the King from considering her for a wife? 

“There is more news I need to share with the council today,” His Grace says once the flurry of claps and congratulations stops. “A couple of days ago, Daemon’s marriage to Lady Rhea was officially annulled, by my decree and with the approval of the High Septon.”

That certainly gets Otto’s attention. He had not heard anything from Oldtown about Daemon’s marriage being nullified. As he looks at the Prince, he thinks it strange that the man does not look particularly pleased at the news. If anything, Otto cannot remember ever seeing the Prince so resigned. 

“Has something happened to Lady Rhea, Your Grace?” Lord Beesbury asks, and Otto briefly thinks that the man sure is foolish. Daemon would have drunk himself to death in every brothel up and down the Silk Street ten times over if his previous wife were to have fallen dead. Something else was clearly happening. 

“No no, Lady Rhea is alright. The marriage between them was never consummated, and there was no reason to keep them both in an unfruitful union.” The King looks around the room briefly, first as the Prince, then at Otto himself, and finally behind Otto, where Alicent is standing.

A cold shiver runs down Otto’s spine. Surely not…

“I have decided on another match for my brother, one I think will suit him far better.”

Otto thinks he hears Princess Rhaenyra mutter something from his right, but cannot will himself to care, his eyes firmly affixed on the King. Surely not. Surely-

“And who would that be, Your Grace?” some other fool in the room asks. His Grace smiles, shaky and unsure. 

“Daemon shall marry Lady Alicent Hightower.”

Otto feels his breath stop in his lungs, his blood turning to ice in his veins. Surely-

“You Grace, that is-” he attempts to argue, but the King only shoves a scroll into his hand.

“It has already been decided with your brother Lord Hubert. He was more than happy for the offer,” the King says, and for just a moment his smile turns sad. “I apologize for not informing you sooner Otto, but there has just not been any time. I received his response just a few days ago.”

Otto feels his throat run dry as he reads the scroll. It is indeed his brother’s handwriting. He feels Alicent’s gaze on the back of his head. Princess Rhaenyra gets out of her chair and leaves the room. Otto can only nod. 

“Of course, Your Grace. House Hightower thanks you for such an honor,” he finally mutters, words he would have liked to say in response to another marriage announcement for his daughter. 

As everyone else congratulates him and Daemon and Alicent on the future union, Otto finds himself looking at the Prince. His future good son. What a dreadful thought. 

Daemon’s face is impassive, and he has yet to say anything at all. He clearly knew of the news beforehand, and judging by his sour expression he is not pleased either. It was smart of the King, Otto thinks, to prepare the Prince in advance.

Otto wishes he hadn’t. He is sure to have had quite an explosive reaction, to have snapped and insulted both Otto and Alicent, and the Hand could have used such deplorable behavior to argue that the union was already doomed. 

Daemon stares behind Otto, most likely at Alicent, and Otto already wants to grind his teeth together. Lady Rhea was not ugly by any means, despite what the Prince frequently said about her, but she was no Alicent. 

Hopefully Daemon would not be interested in his daughter either. His tastes ran more towards blondes and silverheads, after all. 

The meeting ends quickly after. Daemon is the first one to leave, walking in long strides and slamming the door open as he exits, letting his displeasure be known. 

As Otto leaves with Alicent behind him, there is nothing but silence between them. His daughter walks with her head down, and says nothing either. Just what had happened? 

“I will try to persuade the King to change his mind. Perhaps he will see reason,” Otto finally says, the words sounding empty even to his own ears. 

Alicent nods. “Of course, father,” she responds, and Otto dismisses her quickly after. What else is there to say?

He writes a letter to his brother as soon as he is back to his chambers. What was Hubert thinking, agreeing to this? As lucrative as a marriage into the royal family was, a marriage to Daemon could be nothing more than a travesty. 

Before night sets, when Otto had gathered all his arguments, he goes towards the King’s chambers. He finds Viserys by himself, reading. He holds back a frown. Perhaps if he weren’t so foolish, he would’ve had someone else to keep him company. 

“Good evening, Your Grace,”

Viserys sighs, but looks up from his book and throws a small smile his way. It feels like an insult. “Good evening, Otto. Has something happened?”

“Your Grace,” he begins, his head already aching. “I understand and appreciate the honor you have bestowed upon my house and my daughter, but my King… Daemon of all people…”

The King sighs again and closes the book, as if he weren’t even reading it. “I understand your concerns, Otto, but I assure you there is nothing to worry about. I’ve already had a talk with Daemon, and-”

“Prince Daemon’s disdain for me, and for those of Andal descent is well known, Your Grace,” Otto says, interrupting the King before he can finish whatever rubbish he was about to spew. “I worry his anger towards me will eventually turn towards my daughter. Alicent is still young, she does not deserve a bad fate at the Prince’s hands.”

If his daughter were to suffer, she should suffer at the hand of the heir to the throne, or the King. Not some disgraced Prince that spent the most of his days going from one whorehouse to another. 

“I understand your worries, of course I do,” His Grace says, the same shaky smile on his lips. “But I have already warned Daemon against such things. He may be many things, but he is not one to hurt women. You’ve seen it yourself, despite how much he disliked his marriage to Lady Rhea, he was never one to be cruel to her.”

Otto holds back a snort. Lady Rhea did not live in the same palace as Daemon. Lady Rhea’s father was not the one that played a hand in stripping Daemon of his title of heir. Lady Rhea was not the one to have caught the King’s eye. And even beyond that, Daemon had dragged his previous wife’s name through the mud with every other occasion anyways.

“I understand he is your brother, Your Grace, and that you wish to see the best in him, but my worries remain. Daemon can be cruel, we’ve all seen that.”

Viserys sighs once again, and it’s as if he’s giving his last breath altogether. “I assure you, he will not hurt Lady Alicent.”

“Why even make such an arrangement, Your Grace?” Otto finally asks, the questing having weight on his thoughts since the announcement had been made. 

The King smiles, and looks away, towards his model city of Old Valyria. Otto wants to scream at him. 

“I truly think it will be a good match, Otto. Daemon needs someone to placate him, and I believe Lady Alicent will be just the one to achieve that. And she deserves a good marriage. Her and Rhaenyra are friends, so why separate them? Now they shall be family as well-”

The King rambles on and on, but Otto is too filled with anger to listen anymore. Why should Otto give his daughter to such a man, when there could be infinitely better matches for her? Why should Daemon receive one more offering, despite his continuous deplorable behavior? And why must that be at the expense of Otto’s plans?

Whenever the King stops talking, Otto puts on a slight smile. “I shall trust within your judgment, Your Grace,” he says, and thinks he shall perhaps save his arguments for later.

If Daemon turns out to be cruel to Alicent, perhaps that could win them an annulment. Or perhaps Daemon will ignore Alicent like he had done with his other wife, and this marriage will too go unconsummated. Then an annulment would be all but guaranteed. 

“I thank you for your trust, and I hope in time you will see my reasoning.”

“Hmm.”

“Now, I believe you shall want a hand in the wedding planning? Or should that be left to someone else?” The King asks, and Otto has to hold back another snort. He wants no part in planning this wedding that will only go to be forgotten. This marriage will be annulled, one way or another. 

“I have many other duties I must attend to, Your Grace. Someone else might do a better job than me,” he says through his teeth, and fakes another smile at the King. 

After more meaningless talk, Otto finally retires to his own chambers. He is not tired, anger fueling him like nothing else, so he does whatever work there is still available. Even still, his thoughts go back to the one issue that has been bothering him more than anything else.

If he had not been so adamant to remove Daemon from the succession line, his daughter would now be betrothed to the very heir to the throne. Everything he wanted would have been achieved.

Such a misstep by him. The humiliation at having all his hard work crumble before his eyes is all consuming. 

Otto just continues his work. Surely Daemon won’t consummate this marriage either. The annulment was all but guaranteed. Surely.

*

“A year won’t bring as much as a mere moment will,” Alicent had told her once, a line clearly taken from some philosophy book some maester or septon had written. Rhaenyra used to think it silly, another attempt of her friend to get her to pay more attention to her studies. 

In the past few moons, the words have floated around Rhaenyra’s mind often. In less than half a year she’d lost her dear mother, her uncle had lost his place in the succession line, and Rhaenyra had been made heir to the throne, her father finally noticing her after years, and placing the heaviest of burdens upon her shoulders. 

Too many things happening in too little time. A moment truly brought more than a whole year.

Then there came the whispers and the gossips. Whispers that Daemon was planning to usurp her when the time would come, rumors that the Velaryons were trying to marry Lady Laena to the King, nasty fabrications that Alicent was visiting Rhaenyra’s father late at night-

At least some of them were true. 

When she’d seen her father walk through the gardens with her much younger cousin, Rhaenyra had been at odds with what she should feel. Disgust? Marriages of young ladies to older lords were not uncommon. If anything, her and Alicent were the odd ones out in that regard. By any other custom, they would have already been married and nursing children. 

Sadness? She was under no impression that her father would not remarry. It was uncommon of a King to be alone, especially when he only had one living heir, and one disgraced one. Disappointed? Granted, she had thought her father might at least wait a full year since her mother’s passing, but by the time he were to get married enough time would have passed.

Anger at her family for chasing the opportunity as soon as it presented itself? Her uncle had mentioned it time and time again that there were nothing but snakes around them, so there was no surprise there. No use for Rhaenyra to be angry. 

She just felt… numb. She was Crown Princess, yet she felt numb. When she first hears the rumors that her good friend and (now former) lady in waiting was spending her evenings in her father’s chambers, she felt even more numb. The queen had passed and Rhaenyra was alone, yet everyone was chasing the King’s favor in any way they could.

And her uncle was not even around to share her frustrations. 

When her father asked for her permission to remarry, Rhaenyra hoped and almost considered praying that he shall choose Lady Laena. Perhaps then she and Alicent could be friends like they were before, and Rhaenyra could pretend that the Lord Hand had not tried to make his daughter Queen. 

When Rhaenyra saw Alicent behind Otto Hightower at the small council meeting, her blood ran cold. 

 And when the King announced the betrothal, Rhaenyra felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Having a stepmother younger than she was strange indeed, but with time she was sure she would not mind it anymore. Better than the alternative. 

And then came the worst news. 

“Daemon’s marriage to Lady Rhea was officially annulled-” her father had begun, and Rhaenyra felt her heart beating faster. She looked at her uncle, only to find Daemon unflinching. Not smiling in the slightest. 

“-there was no reason to keep them both in an unfruitful union-” not even that had gotten a reaction out of him. Rhaenyra should have noticed something was amiss then, but for a few moments she was filled with nothing but hope. 

“I have decided on another match for my brother, one I think will suit him far better.”

Rhaenyra had held her breath. “Who?” she’d whispered. Could it be-

And then her father looked at Alicent. 

“Daemon shall marry Lady Alicent Hightower.”

Rhaenyra’s world had shattered again.

She looked at Dameon, finding him just as unflinching as before, no expression to be found on his face. Stoic and cold like stone, like a chunk of ice. He’d already known, Rhaenyra thought, and he’d let it happen still. 

Her uncle looked at her for all of a few moments, before staring at Alicent too. Rhaenyra wanted to- what? To shout? To argue on behalf of Daemon, or Alicent? To demand the betrothal be dissipated after it had just been set?

Most of all, she wanted to run. And so she did, getting up and leaving without looking back. No one called for her, and no one followed. 

Minutes or hours could have passed since then, and Rhaenyra now finds herself staring at the God’s tree, wondering how it came to be like this. Her father marrying her cousin. Her uncle marrying her friend. Rhaenyra continuing to be all by herself. 

She does not hear the steps behind her, she is too lost in thought. And when she hears a voice, so familiar and once so beloved to her, she already feels a frown forming. 

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent calls to her, softly and with hesitance, and Rhaenyra’s anger burns. 

“There is nothing I want to hear from you,” the Princess says, her voice cold, foreign even to her. When she turns around she sees Alicent looking so, so sad. Rhaenyra almost wants to console her. The bigger part of her is still angry.

Why is Alicent of all people upset? She gets to have everything Rhaenyra wants. 

“Please listen to me-”

“What could you possibly have to say?” Rhaenyra all but screams, her fists clenched, fire in her voice and in her eyes. “Has your father sent you to seduce my uncle after you’ve failed to seduce the King? I would have never thought that you of all people-!”

“W-wait, Rhaenyra, that is not-” Alicent hurries to correct her, or to stop her. She looks scared, sad, more upset than she’s ever seen her. And yet, Rhaenyra cannot see beyond her fury. 

“Do not even try to explain yourself! I know, everyone knows! You Hightowers are nothing but snakes!”

“Rhaenyra, no, please, listen-” Alicent just shakes her head, over and over, but makes no attempt to approach Rhaenyra. She seems frozen in place. Rhaenyra wants to yell at her for that too. “I never wanted to visit the King, you have to believe me. It was all my father, he told me-”

“You could have just not gone!” Rhaenyra’s voice goes higher and higher, her anger burning brighter. “Or you could have told me! I would have helped you!”

“You know how he is-”

“And what of this new marriage? Is your family that desperate to get close to the throne?” Distantly, in the back of her mind, Rhaenyra thinks she might be misplacing her anger. Alicent could very well have no hand in her family’s plans.

But in that very moment it is as if everything, all the anger and confusion and grief over the past few moons is spilling over, hot molten fire of her fury, and it is all raining down on her once good friend. 

“I-I do not know why uncle Hubert agreed to this betrothal, I’ve never even spoken to Prince Daemon more than a few times, and you were always there.”

And for some reason, Rhaenyra truly does not like how her uncle’s name sounds like on Alicent’s lips. She does not deserve to speak his name. His name does not deserve to come from her lips. 

“Father said he will try to convince the King to change his mind, Rhaenyra, the marriage won’t happen-”

“Of course, more of your father’s involvement,” Rhaenyra says, venom in her voice. Alicent looks even more sheepish. “Because that was so very helpful.”

She wants to leave. She wants to hide in her chambers for ages to come, to miss both weddings, to never see anyone ever.

When she looks at her friend’s pale face, her eyes are almost drowned in tears. She wants to hug her, to shove her away, to take Alicent on Syrax and be done with it all, to never see her again-

“Rhaenyra-” Alicent calls her name once again. Her anger burns hotter. 

“Do not say my name again. It is Princess to you from now on,” Rhaenyra says without looking at her once friend, and the words burn her tongue as soon as they’re said. She wants to take them back. Her anger won’t let her, and neither will her pride. 

“Princess, please -” and Alicent grabs at her hand, her fingers cold as ice and rough. Rhaenyra has always hated it when Alicent would scratch at herself. When she feels blood on her friend's fingers, sadness almost breaks her. Almost.

The fury still burns brighter. 

“Do not look at me anymore. Do not talk to me unless we have to. Just let me be,” and she snatches her hand out of Alicent’s cold grasp. 

As she leaves, Rhaenyra almost wishes Alicent would call her name once more. She does not. Just like she’s asked. 

Rhaenyra stays in her chambers for the rest of the day. She thinks of her uncle, how Daemon had just sat there and said nothing as the betrothal was announced. Rhaenyra wants to think he argued against it to her father before, he must have. There is no way her uncle would accept a marriage with another Andal woman, Alicent of all people. 

He must be upset too, perhaps even more so than Alicent and Rhaenyra are. The marriage is already doomed. 

The storm of emotions inside of her is confusing. She is upset that Daemon, the one man Rhaenyra had ever spared thought of any sweet nature to, was to marry Alicent, her much beloved friend.

It should have been her betrothed to her uncle, it should have been her the one to be tied to Alicent for all time. It all feels wrong. 

There is still a chance, she thinks as the night comes and sleep doesn’t find her, that perhaps Otto Hightower might still convince her father to rethink the match. Maybe he will succeed. Even if not, perhaps her uncle will ignore this marriage like he’d ignored his previous one. 

Darker thoughts come to her, right before she finally falls into slumber. What if the Hightowers manage to poison her uncle’s thoughts? What if Daemon takes his frustrations about Otto on Alicent? 

With one simple decision, her father had done the impossible; made her already miserable mood even more dejected. 

A mere moment really could bring more sorrow than a whole year.

*

“The King has agreed! He shall marry our Laena!” her father bellows as he strides into their quarters. He’s smiling wide, and he gathers Laena in a hug before the words even settle into her mind. 

“That is wonderful,” her mother says, smiling tightly. She does not look happy, Laena thinks, but she smiles nonetheless. 

Laena herself does not know how to feel. When her father first told her of his intention to wed her to the King, she had just been confused. Princess Rhaenyra was already the heir, and she could not imagine why His Grace would want to marry again after losing Queen Aemma, who had been the most lovely. 

When her mother assured her that the marriage would not be consummated until she was at least six and ten, Laena had been even more confused. Why would that matter?

She remembers the walk she’d taken with the King through the gardens of the Red Keep, how she’d asked him about Balerion and Vhagar, and how His Grace had happily told her all she wished to know. It was like any other conversation she’d had with her uncle. 

Laena does not know what it was she’d said that made him think she would be a good wife. She could not imagine marrying him.

She should be happy, she knows. It is a great honor to just be considered for the title of Queen. Laena should be happy and fulfilled. She just feels… strange.

She’d never imagined what her husband would be like; unlike other ladies her age, she cared little for such things like knights and lords and romance. Laena was content to read old High Valyrian texts and dream of the day she too would take to the skies on dragonback. 

But now she is to be married. 

“The agreement is the same,” her father said, finally letting her out of his arms. He’s been the only man besides her brother to hug her. Would it be different when the King would hug her? It feels wrong just thinking of it. “The marriage will not be consummated until her name day, after she turns six and ten, just like we’ve agreed.”

“Good,” her mother responds, and this time her smile is a little less strained. “I suppose preparations will begin soon?” and suddenly Laena is filled with dread. Soon? The betrothal had just been decided. Surely they can wait-

“No,” her father answers with a frown. “There is another wedding that needs to take place before Laena’s,”

And doesn’t that sound strange. Laena’s wedding. 

“Whose?”

“Prince Daemon’s.”

Princess Rhaenys snorts. “What are you even saying? Daemon is already married.”

Lord Corlys smiles, but it does not feel genuine. “His marriage with Lady Royce got annulled.”

Laena looks at her father with surprise. “But why? Did something happen to Lady Royce?”

Marriage annulments were rare. It was no secret the Prince was not fond of his wife, but no one had ever thought there would be an annulment. People joked they might just end each other before that happened. 

“Not as far as we know. The union was never consummated, so His Grace annulled it. And he’s already arranged for another marriage for him.”

“With whom?” her mother asks hurriedly. “Surely not Rhaenyra,”

“No,” her father said, and regarded Prince Rhaenys with a look Laena could not decipher. “With Alicent Hightower.”

Laena frowns. She’s seen Lady Alicent before at court, of course, and had talked with her a few times. She was Princess Rhaenyra’s lady in waiting and good friend, as well as the Hand’s daughter, polite and pretty as a lady of her stature should be. 

And now she was to marry the Prince, apparently. Soon enough she would be Laena’s good sister. While Princess Rhaenyra would become her step-daughter. How strange. She was older than Laena. 

Princess Rhaenys almost laughs. “And Otto Hightower had agreed to it? After all the efforts he’d made trying to get his daughter in Viserys’ face?”

Laena had no idea what her mother was talking about. She’s heard them mention it before, how the Hand of the King was trying to get His Grace to consider his daughter for a wife. She did not know what they meant by it, or why it was apparently something bad. Wasn’t that what they were doing also? 

“He was quite angry, as you can imagine, but in the end there was little that could be done on his part. His Grace already settled it with Lord Hightower from Oldtown.”

“And Daemon? Was he alright with it?”

“No,” Lord Corlys answers firmly. “But he said nothing. It seems His Grace is set on this arrangement.”

Princess Rhaenys only hums and takes a sip of her wine. “Well that is certainly quite the match. Poor girl.”

Laena just watches on confused. Lady Alicent should be happy, she thinks. Prince Daemon is formidable, after all. The dragonrider of the famed Blood Wyrm Caraxes, renowned warrior, and a true Valyrian Prince. 

“What are the chances he consummates this marriage?” her father asks, and pours himself some wine as well. 

Her mother only shugs. “Who knows. The girl is comely, but this is Daemon after all.”

“Perhaps he hopes for another annulment and just leaves the girl be. That would be good for us,” Lord Corlys says. The Princess frowns and snorts. 

“Daemon poses no threat.” 

“As long as he is here, he is a threat. And any children he has will be a threat too. We should-”

“We should do nothing more,” her mother snaps, taking Laena aback. She has no idea when their conversation apparently turned so sour. “The betrothal is set. Laena will marry Viserys and the marriage will be consummated when she is of age, and not a moment sooner. Daemon can do what he wishes, and we should not concern ourselves with his marriage.”

“If he has a son- ”

“It is of no concern to us.”

They are silent after that, both of them drinking their wine. The room feels crowded and cold, and Laena feels like she should not be present. 

The silence stretches on until her father finishes his drink. He turns to Laena with a smile. “In any case, this is great news for our House. His Grace chose wisely today.”

Laena smiles back at her father, but she still feels uneasy.

“Indeed,” says her mother, stoically. 

“You should get close to the Hightower girl, after her and Daemon are wed. It would be good to know what comes about in their marriage, and she is to be your good sister after all.”

Laena only nods. “As you say, father.”

Her mother says nothing more, but as soon as her father departs she grabs Laena’s hand, gently as always, and regards her with sad eyes. 

“The bedding will not take place until you are of age, that much I can promise you.”

Laena nods at her mother’s stern tone. She thinks she should perhaps be soothed, but she is not. The consummation would not happen until she is at least six and ten. That is two years and a half away. She reckons she should not worry about it yet. 

*

The news of the upcoming marriages shake up the entire court. And to no one’s surprise, the betrothal between Lady Alicent and Prince Daemon is the one that has everyone talking. 

It makes enough of a commotion that it completely overshadows the news that the King shall marry young Laena Velaryon. Everyone was already expecting there to be a new queen. No one was expecting Prince Daemon to have his marriage annulled, only to immediately be betrothed again. 

Larys finds it quite amusing to listen to all the gossip. Every other lord and lady seems to have an opinion, and they are not shy to share them. Many all but mourn Lady Alicent for her fate of being tied to someone like the Rogue Prince.

“Hopefully he won’t hurt her, that man is violent and reckless.”

“This marriage will get annulled like his last one,” 

“She is too fair for that man,” 

“It will all end in ruin. What was His Grace thinking?”

Larys does not disagree, but he knows better than to say anything out loud. Prince Daemon is known for his short temper, and Larys had always done his best to remain unnoticed by those he could not predict.

Still, the news is quite surprising. Lady Alicent should have been queen, if it were up to him, but it seems that for once the King had put the betterment of the realm before his own pleasures. A wise decision for a King to make. Larys doesn’t know how he did it. Lady Alicent seems difficult to resist. 

While many wept and prayed for Lady Alicent’s fate, others were jealous. Prince Daemon was quite desired, after all, despite his less favorable qualities and his demotion within the succession line. Still, the predominant sentiment was pity for the Prince’s future wife. 

Larys, however, saw great opportunity. The Prince might be out of the succession line for now, but things might change. And even if not, it never hurt to be close to members of the royal family. 

Luckily for him, Larys had always gotten along quite well with Lady Alicent. She was kind; whether it was a facade dictated by her Faith, or her true sentiments, did not matter to him. He did not mind insults much, having heard them for ages now, but it was quite nice to have someone show even just a little decorum. 

And, of course, she was fair. Very much so, in his eyes. Larys almost admired the King for having been able to refuse her. 

Perhaps the King found the Velaryons’ large fleet and their heavy coffers more enticing than Lady Alicent’s smile and her red locks.

While friendship with a queen would have been better than friendship with a disgraced Prince’s wife, Larys is not one to shove away opportunities. So the one afternoon he catches Lady Alicent in the gardens, he hurries to walk by her side. 

“Good day, my lady,” he says, smiling at her, his hand gripping his cane. The young lady turns to look at him when she hears his voice. 

Her face is sullen, but she gathers herself and smiles politely. It is false and forced, but looks no less lovely. “Lord Larys. I hope you are well.”

“I am, the day is beautiful for a stroll. I suppose you agree, my lady. I have not seen you much in the gardens lately,” he says, and wills his smile to remain polite. 

Lady Alicent had not been out of her chambers much recently. She’s been moved from the Hand’s Tower closer to Prince Daemon’s usually empty chambers, and few have seen her since. The wedding planning was well underway, overseen by Lord Beesbury, with no input from either the Hand or Lady Alicent, much less the Prince. 

At the mention of her noticed absence at court she looks shaken, but recovers with a courtly smile. “I have just been busy, Lord Larys. Not much time for strolls, I am afraid.”

“Indeed, my lady. I have yet to congratulate you on your betrothal to His Grace. Prince Daemon is a much desired man. You are quite lucky,” Larys says, and watches her face closely for any reaction. There is none. 

“Thank you, my lord. It is a great honor,” she responds, her voice blank and empty, and were he anyone else he would not have noticed. 

“Please don’t mind my saying, but I believe he is no less lucky.”

Lady Alicent looks taken aback. “Ah, thank you, Lord Larys.”

“Even if his tastes are well known,” he continues, “I believe in due time he will see just what an honor he’d been offered with his marriage.”

“If you say so,” and her smile turns shaky, her hands coming up in front of her, her fingers intertwining. 

They take a few more steps in silence. There is much Larys could tell her, but he thinks perhaps Lady Alicent might enjoy the silence for now. When she finally takes her leave, it is with a smile and a courtesy, which by any societal norm she is not obligated to do. He appreciates it nonetheless. 

As he watches her leave, Larys indulges himself only briefly and rakes his eyes up and down her figure. The Prince sure is lucky. Too bad he won’t ever see it. 

But in the eventuality he does see it, Larys thinks it is good to have given Lady Alicent at least some small encouragement. Hopefully she will remember it when the time comes.

*

The news of a betrothal between Lady Alicent and Prince Daemon shake up the entire staff of servants in the Red Keep. Servant girls and guards gossip from dusk till dawn about the newly made match. Gilly cares little for the whispers. She had other things to care about.

After all, a new member of the royal family means new open positions for handmaidens for the Prince’s future wife. And Gilly is more than excited when she is chosen as one of Lady Alicent’s personal servants. 

She’s been working in the kitchens since she was a little girl, taking after her mother who used to work as a cook during King Jaehaerys’ time, before illness had stricken her. Gilly had desperately wanted to advance in the hierarchy of servants, and finally with Lady Alicent’s betrothal, her time had come! 

Her first task is to help move all of Lady Alicent’s belongings from the Tower of the Hand to the royal apartments. She’s never been in the Hand’s tower, let alone the royal apartments, and now she was to be there regularly! What luck she’s stumbled into, to serve the future wife of the Prince!

Lady Alicent proves to be very reserved. She does not call on the handmaidens often, dressing and bathing by herself. Her chambers are always incredibly clean, despite how much time she spends locked inside, and she never requests anything in particular for her meals. 

Gilly thinks with a heavy heart that her lady must be terribly sad. She had never seen Prince Daemon, despite working in the Red Keep since she was but a child, but tales of his bad temper and ill attitude towards his first wife frequently make the rounds of the kitchen’s rumor mill. Lady Alicent cannot be thrilled to soon be married to him. 

A fortnight after she’s been in Lady Alicent’s service, a fellow handmaiden approaches her into the kitchens. “There is benefits to telling others if you see anything, you know,” she whispers into Gilly’s ear as she prepares to bring Lady Alicent her supper. “There are many that would be interested to know if your lady does anything strange,” and she smiles, toothless and falsely, and Gilly pays her no mind. 

She’s grown in the Keep; of course she knows some servants share the secrets of their lords or ladies for coin. Gilly knows Dorotea, Lady Alicent’s oldest handmaiden, must probably serve the Lord Hand. She knows Leticia, a young girl brought to court once the Velaryons have arrived, probably serves them. 

Gilly has no intention on selling whatever secrets she finds of Lady Alicent’s. She likes her lady, and thinks it quite unwise to tell on her, especially considering who her husband is to be. If Lady Alicent would not enjoy having her privacy invaded, the Prince surely would not. 

So Gilly never tells anyone if sometimes she finds her lady crying just before supper, or if Lady Alicent spends too many moments just staring into nothingness, until Gilly herself shakes her out of it.

If Lady Alicent’s fingers are sometimes bloody, if she refuses the maesters until Gilly herself has to beg to patch her up, and if she eats less and less until Gilly once again begs her to finish just one small portion, she never tells. 

The day of the wedding arrives too quickly, in Gilly’s opinion. All handmaidens in Lady Alicent’s service help bathe and brush her long red hair, fawning over how the locks fall over her shoulders. They dress her, and Gilly is quite proud to be the one entrusted to arrange Lady Alicent’s hair. She’s been practicing the whole week on every single kitchen maid that would let her. 

Her wedding dress is simple, but Gilly thinks it is rather stunning. She has certainly never touched something so expensive. White lace falls over her, making her look like the very image of the Maiden. After Dorotea finishes with the lady’s jewelry they all step back to allow Lady Alicent to see herself in the mirror. 

She thanks them for their service as she always does, but Gilly finds her lady is not even looking at herself. It is as if she’s looking through the mirror, as if she does not see herself at all. 

Gilly cannot have that. Brides are supposed to be happy and smiling on their wedding day, even if who they are to marry might be less than desirable. Without thinking twice, she opens her mouth. 

“You look beautiful, my lady!” she says, spurring some of the other handmaidens to compliment her as well, while others glare at Gilly. 

“Thank you,”

“I am sure the Price will think so as well!” Gilly all but exclaimed. 

And silence falls over the room. Dorotea, for the first time since Gilly had met her, looks quite unsure and uncomfortable. Leticia looks at her with wide eyes. Every other servant girl watches her like she has lost her wits. 

Lady Alicent’s face becomes paler for only a second, before it is back to her usually resigned expression. 

“Thank you,” she says again, with even less emotion in her voice, if possible. Lady Alicent’s hands are clasped in front of her. Gilly really hopes her scratching habit won’t make itself known today. 

The heavy atmosphere is cut by a knock on the door, before the Lord Hand enters. Gilly, like all the other handmaidens, bows, and they all take their leave when they’re dismissed. 

Back in the kitchens, Dorotea smacks her across the head. 

“Ow! What was that for!”

The older woman frowns. “You fool! Why would you say that to her? You know no one is happy about this match, least of all her! You only made her even more upset!”

At her words, Gilly does start to feel a little guilty. “That was not the intention at all! I wanted her to be happy, to smile! It is her wedding day after all, she should be a little happy!”

Dorotea only continues to frown. “Foolish girl, you know nobles do not marry for happiness, especially not in this case. Be grateful she didn’t start crying as soon as you mentioned the Prince.”

Gilly says nothing more. She truly hopes Lady Alicent won’t be upset with her, but most of all she hopes the lady will find it within herself to feel at least a little happiness at her own wedding. 

She wants to help in the kitchens as the wedding is underway, but she finds there is little to do. There are few guests, way less than there were at the tourney half a year ago. The whole wedding feels more like a feast, or a name day celebration. 

Perhaps Lady Alicent will have a nice time regardless. If not, Gilly can only hope the Prince won’t be around too much. 

*

As Laena watches Lady Alicent walk through the Sept, the green Hightower cloak over her shoulders, she thinks she’s never seen so many people look so unenthused. The Lord Hand is not a particularly approachable or congenial person, but he does not look happy today. His eyes are cold and his face is ice, and he leaves his daughter next to the Prince and the Septon without another word or another look. 

The Prince himself does not look pleased either. He does not frown or sneer or even look down at his bride. He just stares ahead blankly, his usual handsome face impassive. It feels like any moment he might wake up from his haze and unsheathe Dark Sister on the very first person in his way, which would sadly be Lady Alicent. 

Lady Alicent, who keeps her head down. Laena can barely see her face, but from what she can tell her future good sister is not smiling or frowning, or even crying. Much like the Prince, her face is blank. 

The atmosphere in the Sept is tense. Laena feels uncomfortable just standing there. She is next to her parents with Princess Rhaenyra to her left, and she does not look towards the ceremony either. The King is smiling, but it feels forced. It is all very strange. 

Laena has to wonder what the purpose of this wedding even is. There aren’t that many guests, as most of Alicent’s family could not arrive in time from Oldtown to take part. It feels drab, the whole affair. 

Prince Daemon takes off Lady Alicent’s maiden cloak, and veils her in the Targaryen red and black. The colors look nice on Lady Alicent, with her white dress and her red hair. The moment should be impactful, a Prince taking his bride under his protection, shielding her in his colors. Instead it is just dreary. 

They say their vows, more of a murmur from Lady Alicent and a disinterested drawl from Prince Daemon. When they finally kiss it is quick and dispassionate, unlike the kisses Laena has seen her parents share before. As soon as they part, Lady Alicent’s head goes down again, and the Prince looks just as detached as before. 

When Laena turns towards the King and the Princess, she finds both of them looking away. 

As the two newlyweds depart the Sept to the monotone sound of applause, Laena wonders what her own wedding shall be like. Will the King be as distant as his brother? Will she be as sad as Lady Alicent? Will their kiss be just as dispassionate?

Laena does her best not to cringe. She’s never kissed anyone, and cannot imagine her first kiss being with His Grace. It does not seem right. 

She takes a good look at Lady Alicent’s wedding gown. It is plain white with lace, simple and modest and beautiful on her, and Laena thinks that there is no way anyone could look upon her and not be happy to have her as their wife. 

“No consummation, I’m assuming,” Laena hears her father whisper to her mother. Princess Rhaenys only hums.

*

The wedding is a disaster. Rhaenyra doesn’t think she’s attended an event more drab than this. 

The food is nothing special, the guests are few, the music is boring, and barely anyone is dancing. Rhaenyra had not gotten up since sitting down for the wedding feast. Her dress is plain, a simple red one she’s worn many times before. 

Daemon and Alicent, however, look presentable. If one weren’t to look at their faces, of course. Rhaenyra had been staring at them since the wedding feast had begun; neither had even bothered to meet her eye.  

Her uncle, handsome as always, has been drinking one goblet of wine after the other, barely touching his food. He is dressed in some of the finest clothes Rhaenyra’s ever seen him in, cutting the very image of a Targaryen prince. And yet, he’s never seemed more hostile. 

Rhaenyra had not thought about her wedding much. Those were problems for the future. However, if there was one man she could see herself tied in matrimony with, it would be Daemon. She wonders if perhaps he would have been happier at their own wedding than at this one. Her uncle always talked about how their bloodline should remain clean, not sullied with the blood of others. Yet here they were. 

Rhaenyra had thought even less about Alicent’s wedding, but she would have liked to see her friend happy on such a day, wedded to a good man that would treat her well. Despite how much she liked her uncle and how kind and generous he was to Rhaenyra, she doubts such sentiments will ever extend to Alicent. 

Her once good friend keeps her face blank, but Rhaenyra could read her well. Alicent is sad, afraid, tired. She has not drunk or eaten anything, and a small part of Rhaenyra worried she might faint later. She and Daemon have not spoken at all, have barely looked at each other aside from their one kiss in the Sept, which Rhaenyra had to avert her eyes from. 

They had not danced either. Perhaps the least surprising part, really. Daemon hates dancing, and no other man would dare ask Alicent for a dance when her now husband looked like he was one goblet of wine away from making a scene. 

How could her father have ever thought this would be a good idea? 

There would be no bedding ceremony, that her father had assured her of. Daemon could still consummate the marriage, of course, but Rhaenyra is quite sure he would not, just like how he’d infamously never consummated his first marriage either. 

That much she could bear, she thinks. One or two or five or ten years of this sham of a marriage until her father annuls it and frees both Daemon and Alicent. Perhaps by then Rhaenyra will make peace with her once friend, and perhaps Rhaenyra will get her own dream wedding after, with the only man she ever thought she’d be with. 

When enough time has passed, Rhaenyra is ready to leave. Were it up to her, she would not have shown up at all. 

“Father, I am not feeling too well. May I be excused?”

Her father regards her with a small smile, and nods. “Ah, yes, if you do not feel well, then you should not feel obligated to stay too long. I am sure Lady Alicent and your uncle would understand.”

Rhaenyra steals a glance at the newlyweds. Daemon is drinking another cup of wine. Alicent stays unmoving as a statue. 

“Thank you, father.” And with that she is gone. 

The halls of the Red Keep are almost empty, as if there is not a wedding happening just around the corner. Alicent deserved better for her wedding. Daemon deserved better for his second wedding. 

“Did you have fun, Princess?” Ser Criston, her ever present shadow, asks her. Rhaenyra cannot help but smile. She is glad for a distraction, if only for a short while. 

“Not much fun to be had at such an event, Ser Criston. But I suppose I had more fun than you. At least I was not stationed behind a bored Princess the whole evening,” she says and smiles at him over her shoulder. Ser Criston smiles back. 

“I take pride in my duty, Your Grace. It could never be boring.”

Rhaenyra chuckles. “Still, quite a drab event, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose some would find it nice still, Princess. Some people are not fond of big celebrations.”

There is silence between them, as Rhaenyra tries to look for any appropriate response. Ser Criston speaks again, instead. “But, and forgive my insolence at speaking freely, I suppose Lady Alicent and the Prince did not look… too happy.”

Rhaenyra snorts. “That is an understatement. They looked miserable. This whole marriage is already doomed.”

“I suppose we won’t know until we see, Your Grace. The Prince did ask for the lady’s favor at the tourney, did he not?”

Rhaenyra is stumped for a few moments. She’d forgotten about that. It was the same day her mother had perished. Perhaps more things have perished that day. 

“Daemon only did that to upset Otto Hightower, Ser Criston. I don’t think he was interested in Alicent,” she says, more so to reason to herself. 

Ser Criston says nothing more. Rhaenyra wishes he would. She’d rather listen to him talk than think about what may or may not occur at night. 

*

The wedding is a disaster. Otto curses his brother and the King ten times over.

It all feels like a huge insult. His family, his own brother that had approved of this marriage, is not even present. The food is bland and no one even bothers to try and appear as if they are enjoying themselves. Least of all the newlyweds.

Earlier that day, as he put the maiden cloak over Alicent’s shoulders, right before he walked her down the Sept, his mind was at odds. There were many things he wanted to tell her in that moment, words a father should perhaps speak to his daughter before he gives her away. 

“You look beautiful. Your mother would be proud.”

“Do not forget our House, and what we stand for.”

“You must do your duty as the Seven command it. He is to be your husband still.”

“You can refuse him. You can tell me if he hurts you.”

“He won’t consummate the marriage. We will be granted an annulment within the year.”

“Smile, you are my daughter, we will not look weak in front of the realm.”

“I did not intend for this to happen.”

In the end he said nothing. He only cloaked her and walked with her in silence. There was no use making any promises. Especially when it concerned someone like Daemon, perhaps the most unpredictable man he’d ever met. One of the many reasons Otto despises him. 

Since the wedding feast had begun Daemon had been drinking. A lot. So much so that Otto silently prays the man would get sick. The image of Daemon emptying his stomach across the feast table, embarrassing himself once more, is quite enticing. 

Sadly, the man is a degenerate, so he could most likely drink everyone in the room under the table. Still, it would be glorious. The only way this wretched day could become even slightly sunnier. 

Otto himself drinks more than he normally would. Usually he would like to keep a level head, his mind clear and sharp, but what good is that now? He wants to forget the whole day. It is nothing but a celebration to his own failure. 

His brother, of course, did not see things his way. Hubert had argued that it was better to have someone married into the royal family than to have no one at all. The King’s mind had already been made about his own marriage to the Velaryons, he’d written, so any marriage that would get them closer to putting Hightower blood on the throne was a beneficial one. 

Targaryens marry inside their family, the letter read, Alicent’s children could marry Rhaenyra’s. Daemon himself might sit on the throne one day. There is still hope.

Otto disagreed, but there was nothing else he could do other than grind his teeth. It was all a humiliating failure. 

The only thing he could wish for was that Daemon would continue to be his same disturbed and perverted self, and would not find his daughter appropriate enough for him to bed. No consummation would suit them all well. 

As Daemon drinks and drinks and drinks some more, Otto prays the man might be too drunk to perform that night. And the next day, hopefully, he’ll take off on his flying beast and save them all the trouble. 

He’s never been one to put his trust into Daemon of all people, but he does so now. Surely he won’t consummate the union. Surely he will find Alicent to not meet his tastes. Surely she will remain a maiden, and Otto might just find a better match once this sham is behind them and the union annulled. 

*

The wedding is not going as well as Viserys had hoped. Perhaps he’d been too naive to have imagined it going any better. 

Daemon is on as good of a behavior as he could be, he reckons. He hasn’t been fighting or yelling or mistreating his new wife. He’s been in his cups since he’d first sat down at the feast.

Viserys himself had indulged quite a bit in wine, disregarding Maester Mellos’ advice. He could indeed feel a horrible headache coming, and his missing fingers, another one having fallen off since the wedding was first announced, pained him even if they were not there any longer. 

There was still a chance, of course, that Daemon would eventually see thighs his way. That his brother might find that which will placate him within Lady Alicent’s company and, eventually, her affections. 

Or perhaps Viserys truly was as sightless as Daemon always claimed him to be, and he’s once again been blinded by his desire to get along with his brother that he’d doomed him to a second loveless marriage. This time however, he’d doomed Lady Alicent as well, the one young lady that had managed to pull him out of the depths of despair. 

Viserys starts to regret his decision more and more by the second.

Rhaenyra leaves the feast early, as she feels ill. Viserys himself feels under the weather, but the King cannot just up and disappear from his own brother’s wedding. Another instance in which his duty pains him, shackling him down to the chair and forcing him to witness the miserable picture Daemon and Lady Alicent make sitting next to each other. 

He’s decided early on that there would be no bedding ceremony. Daemon had not seemed to care when he’d told him, but Otto had breathed a sigh of relief. Viserys could understand that. Otto was already quite opposed to the marriage as it was; making him witness as men carry off his daughter to Daemon’s bed would only sour his mood even more. 

The night stretches on, and both newlyweds remain firmly seated. Some guests dance, but overall the atmosphere is very dull. Viserys thinks he’s seen Daemon more excited at his first wedding, the brightness of youth pulling at least one smile from him. None of that to be seen now. 

Perhaps it is time he puts a stop to it, and releases everyone from the event. He walks to the table where his brother downs another cup, while his new bride just looks at her still empty plate. 

Would Lady Alicent have been as unenthused if the wedding was between her and Viserys, he wonders? Perhaps it is better not to know.

“Quite a day it has been, wouldn’t you two agree?” Viserys asks with a small laugh, hoping to dispel some of the dejection between them. Neither even looks at him. 

Daemon throws back another goblet of wine. Viserys holds back a sigh. 

“As you both know, there will be no bedding ceremony. You two are free to retire to your chambers if you wish. The night has gone on long enough,” he says, smiling slightly. Lady Alicent does not meet his eyes. He wishes she would have at least given him a look of gratitude. 

Daemon, however, does look at him, and even through the haze of alcohol his eyes are cold. 

“Dismissing us from our own wedding? Can we not enjoy it more, brother? When it is so festive?” he snorts into his cup, his voice way more stable than it should be for someone who has been drinking as much as he had. 

Viserys’ headache is worsening. It is hard enough to deal with his brother these days; it is even harder when he is so drunk. 

“Of course you are free to stay and enjoy yourselves until sunrise. I did not mean-”

“I know what you meant,” Daemon says and finishes his drink. He waves his hand in Lady Alicent’s direction, and for the first time that evening she looks up, eyes immediately on her new husband.

Viserys holds back another sigh. Such devotion, and Daemon will never appreciate it. 

“Go to your chambers, wife. I shall join you soon.”

Lady Alicent shows no emotion. She only nods, stands up, courtesies only to Daemon, and leaves in a flurry of white lace. She does not look at Viseys even once. 

He had not spent too much time looking at her dress. Now as he sees her walking away, he wishes he would have admired it a little longer. Something else his brother will not appreciate. 

When he meets Daemon’s eyes again, the coldness in his gaze is replaced with burning hot anger. “Is that supposed to be another gift, brother? Not forcing a bedding ceremony on us? Is it for me, or for my new wife?”

Viserys does not know where his anger is from. “Daemon-” 

“And here I thought you would love to have a bedding ceremony. I assumed you were just dying to put your hand between her legs at least once before you throw her in my bed,” he says, not slurring his words once, leaving Viserys speechless. He thanks all the gods that there are no people around to hear them. 

When he finally gathers his wits, he tries to respond. “I-I what, that is not at all- why would you even think-”

“Spare me, Viserys,” and he throws back another cup of wine, before standing up. Daemon had always been taller, but he is towering over him now. “Did you pray I wouldn’t consummate the marriage you forced me in?”

“Daemon, please, that is not what I meant-”

“Fuck off, brother,” he growls, and with one more wave of his hand half the plates and goblets and cutlery on the table go flying. The loud sound of half the groom’s table ending on the floor immediately stuns the whole great hall into silence. 

“I hope you sleep well knowing I shall indulge myself in the virgin cunt of the girl you wanted for yourself,” Daemon all but snarls, his words more slurred by the second.

Viserys feels sick just hearing him talk. The images forming in his head make him even sicker. “Daemon,” he begins, not even knowing what he wants to say. Anything just to lessen his brother’s anger.

“Worry not, I have fucked enough maidens to know what I’m doing. But perhaps I will be careless, make my new wife really resent you for forcing us into this.”

Before Viserys can say another word, Daemon turns to leave. He stumbles only once as he walks out of the great hall in long strides. 

The wedding feast ends right after. That night, Viserys barely closes one eye. His hand with missing fingers, his back, his head, all hurt. His chest aches, and his bed is cold. Daemon’s nasty words still cut into his thoughts as if they’re blades. 

His brother sure could be cruel when he wished. Every single word he’d uttered that night was meant to hurt Viserys. 

He should have just annulled Daemon’s first marriage and be done with it. His brother would have smiled upon him again then, and Lady Alicent might have been married to some lord that would have treated her with the honor and respect she deserves. 

Viserys prays and hopes that Daemon will be too drunk to perform, or that his words were just to hurt him, with no true intention of actually hurting his new wife.

He does not sleep that night.

*

Gilly and all the other handmaidens in Lady Alicent’s service wake up early. They do not know what to do. Not even Dorotea knows. 

Whispers have been going through the keep and the servant’s quarters all morning. After a long and dull wedding feast, at which the Prince had shoved half the plates and goblets off the table, the marriage had been indeed consummated. Many are shocked. 

No one wants to approach the chambers. Would they spend the whole day locked in, like newlyweds sometimes did? Gilly doubts it. The door is constantly watched by every other handmaiden, ready to be of service if the lady or the Prince command it. 

Just as it is Gilly’s turn to be on watch, the door finally slams open. The tall figure of Prince Dameon emerges, making Gilly avert her eyes. He is only in his breeches and boots, shirtless, and he walks quickly to his own chambers just across the hall, slamming that door closed after him. 

She waits to see if he shall return, but as one moment after the other passes, he does not. Finally, with small steps, she approaches Lady Alicent’s chambers. 

Gilly finds her lady in bed, wide awake, hidden behind the sheets so only her red hair is seen. 

“My lady?” 

“Yes? Gilly, is that you?”

“Ah yes, my lady. Good morrow. Shall I prepare you a bath, o-or perhaps are you expecting the Prince to come back? D-do you want me to bring you something to eat first?” Gilly is rambling, she knows, but the last thing she wants is for her lady’s mood to sour further. 

Lady Alicent, however, seems alright. When she emerges from the sheets she does not seem distressed, or upset, or as if she had been crying. Gilly is glad for it. 

“A bath would be nice, please. I will eat afterwards.”

“Of course, my lady.”

“Ah, and the Prince will not be back, I don’t think. He did not say, but…” her lady looks away, a slight flush on her cheeks. Gilly does not know whether it is from embarrassment over being asked, or from their… activities the previous night. She does not ask. 

Gilly finds some of the servant girls, Dorotea included, waiting outside the door with baited breath. 

“Lady Alicent has asked for a bath,” she informs them, ignoring the curious looks. “And she will want something to eat afterwards.”

“Did she request for the Maester? Did she appear to be in pain?” Dorotea asks, as if she had not even heard Gilly. 

“Um, no, she did not. She seemed alright, I suppose.”

Dorotea only hums, and sends all the girls to do their duties. 

Later, as Gilly helps Lady Alicent into the hot water of her bath, she tries to discreetly look for any bruises or marks on the lady’s body. She sees none. She is relieved. 

“W-would you like for me to call the Maester, my lady?” she finally asks, echoing Dorotea’s question form earlier. 

Lady Alicent only flushes, and sinks further into the bath. “No need, thank you. I feel alright,” she says, and after a few moments opens her mouth again. “Um, the sheets… they should be… taken, I think.”

“Of course, my lady,”

Gilly leaves her to bathe by herself. Other servant girls tidy up the room, picking up Prince Daemon’s discarded clothes. Lady Alicent’s wedding dress is draped over a chair, intact. 

She sees Dorotea gathering the sheets off the bed, and among them she spots a few red drops. The surest sign that the marriage was consummated. 

At least the Prince seems to have been gentle, and Lady Alicent had not looked to be distressed or in pain at all. Well, that is good. Perhaps the marriage would not be as devoid of happiness as Dorotea had said. 

*

When Otto sees the sheets in the servant woman’s hands, he wants to burn them. The one time he put his trust in Daemon, the man had to go and ruin it all. 

If there was still hope, it is well and gone now. Otto might as well throw a funeral for himself. 

*

Viserys feels sick come morning. Very sick. Grand Maester Mellos and Otto both chastise him for drinking so much the night before. Otto looks rather rugged too, having drunk quite a bit himself at  the feats too. Viserys makes no comment on it. 

As Mellos treats his wounds, a soft knock is heard from his door. Viserys does not want to hear whatever it is that will be shared. 

Otto answers it. Talks a bit with whoever is behind the door, and then closes it. When he comes back to Viserys’ side, his face is stern. 

“The marriage has been consummated, Your Grace,” he says, voice calm and impassive. 

Viserys just smiles, shaky, through the pain in his back and in his heart. “Is that so? Good, good,” he mutters. 

“Shall I attend to Lady Alicent, my lord?” Mellos asks, and Viserys dreads the answer. Surely Daemon had not been cruel to his new wife to such a point. 

Luckily, Otto shakes his head. “She did not request any attending to, and the servants said she seemed… unharmed,” he answers in a clipped voice. 

It is as if a stone is lifted off Viserys’ heart. Good. It is the least he could have hoped for. 

“See Otto, did I not tell you Daemon will behave himself?” he says with a small laugh that quickly turns into a pained groan as Maellos treats a particularly deep gash into the flesh of his back.  

“I suppose you did, Your Grace,” is all he says. Silence falls over the room quickly after. At least the pain is distracting, Viserys thinks. 

*

Her father barges in as Laena and  her mother break their fast together.

“Daemon consummated the marriage last night,” he says with a frown.

Princess Rhaenys looks taken aback. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” her father answers, and sits down, the same frown on his face. 

“And? How is the girl?” Laena suddenly feels a wave of fear pass over her at the thought that her good sister might have been hurt. Her mother had avoided disclosing the details of a bedding, but Laena knows some things, from books and from whispers in the halls. And she knows it is supposed to hurt. 

Another wave of fear passes by her as she tries not to think about her impending wedding and bedding ceremony. It is still years away.

“I haven’t heard much. I suppose she is fine.” The Princess only hums. Her father turns to Laena with a serious look. “You should try and befriend the girl. See if you notice any changes.”

“Changes?” Laena asks, confused. 

“If she seems… different,” 

“If she seems to be with child,” her mother supplies with a cold tone. 

“Well, yes,” Lord Corlys continues, “if she falls pregnant, if she says anything about the Prince. And she is said to be a virtuous and educated young lady. Being close to her won’t hurt.”

The Princess frowns. Laena only nods. 

*

Rhaenyra is woken to whispers of the handmaidens. Through the fog of sleep, she can only hear a few words. 

“They said… the sheets were…”

“... did he… after the mess last night…”

“I heard from the kitchens…”

“...the poor girl…”

When she finally rouses out of the sheets, the servants go quiet. “What happened? What were you whispering about?”

The two handmaidens share a few hesitant glances before one of them finally answers. “A-apologies Your Grace, we regret to have woken you. We were just…”

“What were you talking about?”

“Ah, just some gossip, Your Grace. Nothing you should concern yourself with…”

“Tell me.”

Rhaenyra sees them share more glances. Finally, they yield. “Just some whispers from the kitchen, my Princess, that the marriage of last night has been consummated. We apologize for engaging in such foolish pastimes, truly, we meant no disrespect-”

They both start apologizing, but Rhaenyra cannot even hear them. She is stunned.

“It was consummated? My uncle’s marriage?” she asks, cutting off their continuous apologies. 

“Ah, y-yes, Princess.”

“With Alicent?” Rhaenyra asks, thinking, hoping, that perhaps they meant Daemon had been to a whorehouse.

Her heart sinks when the servant women both nod.

“It would seem so, Your Grace. They both went to Lady Alicent’s chambers, and the guards… heard them…”

By the gods, Rhaenyra feels… she feels…

“A-and some of the other servants said the sheets were bloody this morning…”

She feels rather sick.

“I see. That is…” horrible, incomprehensible, impossible, nauseating, simply terrible, “that is good, I suppose…”

Suddenly, she feels dread. Daemon was Daemon after all, and he had not been happy at the wedding. Would he have… surely he wouldn’t have hurt Alicent, right? Surely he was not so cruel. 

Right?

“A-and do you know if…” Rhaenyra begins, words and thoughts muddled in her mind. She shakes her head. “Do, um, do you know i-if Alicent is alright? If she was hurt, or…?”

The thought is just horrible. Rhaenyra wants to vomit just imagining her once good friend in pain, at the hand of her uncle. 

“The other servants said she was alright, Princess. She refused to see the maester.”

Rhaenyra feels like she can breathe again. Good. That is… good. 

“Well, wonderful then, I suppose,” she finally mutters, and lays back in bed. The handmaidens seem to catch on to her strange mood, and finally leave her chambers. 

Rhaenyra is both relieved and distraught. The marriage was consummated. The marriage was consummated . Daemon had consummated his marriage with Alicent . What in the world?

There was no chance for an annulment now. Daemon had made sure of that. 

Or perhaps Alicent really was just a minx, and she had somehow seduced her drunk uncle. Who knew anymore. It was all a disaster. 

Does Daemon find Alicent desirable, then? Had he been lying to Rhaenyra when he’d spoken about how their line should remain pure and not sullied with blood that was not of Old Valyria? Or did he consummate the marriage to spite Otto and the King? 

Would Alicent… would she be with child after this? Daemon’s child? The thought was just harrowing. 

She wants to go back to sleep. Hopefully, when she wakes up it will all have been a dream, and her beloved friend and beloved uncle will still be by themselves, with their only connection being Rhaenyra. 

She does not pray ever, but she prays now that at least Alicent would not fall pregnant. 

*

Moons pass. Nothing really changes. It is almost as if the marriage had not happened at all. Except, of course, it had, and Otto shall remember that as the day his life’s work had gone down in flames. 

Daemon, after sullying his daughter, had not visited Alicent even once. According to Otto’s servants, he had not even seen her again, completely ignoring her while sleeping in whorehouses. It was beyond despicable. 

Of course, what else could Otto expect from such a degenerate? The man simply had to defile his daughter and then continue the disrespect by not paying her any attention. 

At the very least Alicent had not fallen pregnant, a fact Hubert had not been pleased about, but Otto privately relished in. It was sinful to wish against the will of the gods, but Otto could afford a few sins. The last thing he needed was a grandchild by Daemon. 

If the cold marriage continues to be just as icy, Otto will be pleased. He could argue an annulment based on just that, he is certain. Perhaps he will be lucky and Daemon will mistreat his daughter at least once. An annulment would be all but guaranteed then, as Otto could echo his previous concerns over Daemon’s temper. 

But for now, things remain the same. Daemon continues to lead the Gold Cloaks and lop off the hands and tongues of small criminals in what he claims is justice, while Alicent spends her days with the Velaryon women.

Otto does not see her often. He doesn’t see her at all. What is there he could talk to her about? Just seeing his daughter would feel like another slap to the face, another reminder of just how badly he’s failed at his one opportunity to put Hightower blood on the throne.

Hubert had instructed him to get close to Daemon, to encourage Alicent to do the same, to get in the Rogue Prince’s good graces. For what might as well be the first time in his life, Otto ignores his brother’s wishes.

The marriage will be annulled, one way or another, and then he could find some better match for his daughter. It probably won’t be the King, and this generation will probably never achieve what Otto would want, but the next one might.

So for now he waits. A year or two he could wait, and then he will try and persuade the King again. The annulment will be granted.

*

Laena learns quickly that she hates all the planning that goes into a feast or a wedding. It seems never ending. It is all her parents talk about anymore. 

She also dislikes the constant chatter and boring drivel of the courtiers. Ladies flock around her at most times of the day, daughters and cousins and nieces and sisters of every other lord in the realm. They spew compliments and good wishes and gossips so easily, it quickly becomes tiring. 

Not all of them are bad, of course. Most are bearable and polite, but the only one whose company she actually enjoys is Lady Alicent, her future good sister. 

In the end, there has been no need for any effort on Laena’s part in order to get close to her. Lady Alicent was nice and personable, smart and bright and sometimes even funny. Laena could see why Princess Rhaenyra had enjoyed her company so. 

Weeks and moons have passed since her wedding to Prince Daemon, and Laena had done as her father had instructed. There was no change in her figure, and it seems that after their first wedding night Lady Alicent had not even been in the Prince’s presence again. 

Laena would sometimes ask her, and if not Laena then her mother or some other lady at court. And everytime the answer was the same. 

“I have not seen the Prince recently.”

The ladies of the court would frown and shake their heads and mutter amongst themselves. 

“Not at all? Not since the wedding?” one Lady Reyne asks, and Lady Alicent just smiles, polite as always. 

“The Prince is a busy man. He is Lord Commander of the City Watch, after all.”

For as sweet and polite as Lady Alicent was, Laena could not tell if she was happy or sad by the peculiar state of her marriage. Her soon to be good sister could put on quite the unreadable face. She never seems bothered by the words of the other court ladies, even when they are said to her face. 

Laena herself was quite disappointed; she wanted to know more about Prince Daemon, what marriage to him was like, what he was like in private, yet it seems not even his wife knew. 

“I suppose it is no surprise,” some Arryn lady mentions, “the Prince never liked his first lady wife either.”

“Ah, but his tastes are well known,” another lady says. Alicent says nothing. 

The first few weeks after her marriage court ladies used to flock around Alicent too, looking for her favor more than they were looking for Laena’s. When it quickly becomes clear that she had no interactions with the Prince and no answers to their many questions, they all but stopped. 

Laena remembers that Lady Alicent had been considered by His Grace as a possible match for himself before she was married to Prince Daemon, and Laena could see why. Lady Alicent is simply too practiced at court life. 

She always knows what to say and what to do. She speaks softly and politely and never badmouths anyone, not even her absent husband. She goes to the Sept everyday and is always more than willing to help Laena or her mother or any other lady with anything they might need. 

She braided Lady Florent’s hair when her courtship to some knight had begun, and she helps Lady Redwine with her needlework almost every day. She remembers everyone’s names and those of their parents and siblings, and whenever she engages in gossip it is always well mannered and civil. 

Lady Alicent is everything a young lady should strive to be, virtuous and dutiful even when her husband is the most infamous man in the realm. By all accounts she has all the makings of a Queen. 

Laena does not know how the King chose her over Alicent. Being like the late Queen Aemma was already impossible, but Laena felt like she would never amount to even her future good sister. 

She never tells her parents of this. Best for them not to know, she reckons. They already worry too much, and she is not eager to hear them debate about Prince Daemon and his intentions again. 

What Laena doesn't understand, however, is why the Prince has no interest in his lady wife. Any other man would slay thousands to have such a lady as theirs.

Perhaps it is for the best. Her father seems pleased by the coldness in the Prince’s marriage, and like any dutiful daughter Laena likes seeing him happy.

And if Lady Alicent ever looks sad or lonely when helping Princess Rhaenys with the guests’ list for the feast and the wedding, or if her fingers are a little too bloodied while working on her sewing, Laena doesn't mention it. She is sure her future good sister would appreciate it. 

*

Moons pass. Rhaenyra feels like she has been grieving for a lifetime. First for her mother, and now for what used to be cherished and beloved friendships with her uncle and her new… aunt, she supposes. 

Rhaenyra goes to the small council meetings regularly now, and tries to pay as much attention as she can. Sitting next to Otto Hightower is akin to sitting next to an icicle, and almost as painful as seeing Daemon from across the table and knowing they have not talked since the betrothal. 

Her uncle’s mood has only worsened since the wedding, if the frequent complaints Lord Hightower makes about his cruel and brutal treatment of the criminals are any indication. Daemon sometimes argues back with his now good father, but mostly he just keeps silent. Otherwise he is never seen in the Keep, having made the Silk Street more so his home. 

Which Rhaenyra is quite pleased by. Because if Daemon spends all his time in whorehouses, he spends none with Alicent, which is exactly what Rhaenyra had hoped for. She thinks herself silly now, to have worried over the consummation, as her uncle truly seems disinterested in his new wife. 

As for Alicent, Rhaenyra has not seen her at all. Her once good friend had listened to Rhaenyra’s words and has not shown her face since. For which she is happy. Truly. If only there was someone else that could fill the void she left. 

She could spend her time with Laena and Princess Rhaenys, but she would rather avoid seeing all the courtiers flocking around the future queen and ignoring Rhaenyra. And of course Alicent would be there, and Rhaenyra does not want to see her. Really, she doesn’t. As she’s said.

So Rhaenyra is mostly by herself, with Ser Criston as her ever present shadow. She has never been more glad for her sworn shield, as he proves to be just as good at engaging in conversations as Alicent had been. 

Still, it is not the same.

Rhaenyra remembers when she used to count the days until her beloved uncle would be back from his travels, when she would reread his letters ten times over until she had them memorized, when she would dream of what gifts he might bring her, what tales he might have to share. 

And now he is here, and Rhaenyra sees him every other day, yet he might as well be continents away. 

And there is no Alicent by her side to fill her thoughts instead. 

She wonders what they do. She’s heard from the servants that they do not speak to each other, that they never even see each other. Does Daemon just spend all his time drunk in brothels? Does Alicent just entertain Laena like she used to do with Rhaenyra? 

She wants to know, but has no way to find out. One of them won’t talk to her, and the other she’d commanded to never see again. 

Rhaenyra spends her days mostly in solitude. She flies on Syrax and she talks to Ser Criston, and she attends the small council meetings, while the impending feast in celebration of her father’s new betrothal looms over her head. 

And she counts the days until Daemon’s and Alicent’s marriage might get annulled too. Alicent is not pregnant, and Daemon seems to have no interest in her, so it is inevitable. 

“Patience brings many rewards,” Alicent had told her once, read from another book. “We gods always get our way,” her uncle said once, told from his own wisdom. 

So she will wait. So much time has already passed; she can wait a little more.

*

In the time he had served as part of the Gold Cloaks, Arlan had come to respect the Prince a great deal. He was sure there was no greater man in the whole kingdom. 

Their Lord Commander was the most skilled warrior he’d ever seen, besting any man with the sword, with the dagger, and even without any weapons. He had a strong sense of justice, and had no fear in exerting it. He demanded respect, and he gained it easily. And of course, he was a fearsome dragonlord. 

Arlan served the man as much as he was serving the King. Even more so, as he’d been one of the many that had followed the Lord Commander when he’d first been exiled to Dragonstone. Arlan had been ready to throw away his duty if it meant he could support the Prince. 

Despite how much everyone revered the man, Prince Daemon was still personable, mingling with them as if he were not royalty, the very blood of the greatest dynasty. He joked with all his men, he took them to brothels and taverns, and even let them indulge in his favorite whores. 

When he’d been stripped of his title of heir to the throne, it was a pain as deep as losing one’s sibling. Nothing but an insult upon their Lord Commander. But the man proved himself to be like no other, and held his head as high as before. Nothing could dim his fire.  

Except, of course, for his first marriage. Arlan had never seen the Prince’s wife; no one in the Gold Cloaks had, but they all knew the man was not fond of her. The Lord Commander frequently called her names, bronze bitch being his particularly favored insult, and always talked about how being shackled to her was a fate worse than any other. 

They all rejoiced when the marriage was annulled. They were all confused when the Prince had been betrothed again. 

Prince Daemon never talked about his second wife. No words of how the lady was unsightly, or how the marriage itself was torture. Nothing.

Many found it strange, as did Arlan himself. For a short while he’d even wondered if perhaps the Prince was more partial to this marriage than the last. But he still spent most of his days and nights in brothels, and his lady wife was left alone. Which of course only made the curiosity grow within the ranks. 

Curiosity often breeds jokes. Jests were not sparse among the Gold Cloaks, and while many tried to be respectful to the Prince and his wife, well, who could blame one man for one small joke?

“Good day, my lady,” Arlan says with a smirk as he spots Lady Alicent one day when she hurries to the Sept. Jon, his partner on patrol, gives him a wary look. 

The lady stops in her tracks. “Good day, ser,” is all she says, her pretty face devoid of any smile. 

He can see why the Prince never talks ill of his wife’s looks. Lady Alicent is quite the beauty.

“Going to the Sept, my lady?” Arlan asks, not wanting to stop conversation with her. There is quite a thrill to talking to noble ladies, even more so when said lady is married to the greatest man he’d ever known. 

“I am, yes,” she answers simply, looking between Arlan and Jon, hands folded in front of her. She is wearing a dark blue dress, and she looks quite lovely in it. But the Prince sure is lucky. Arlan does not know how he can stay away from her chambers. 

“Would you wish for us to-”

“We wish you a peaceful time, my lady,” Jon interrupts him sharply. Arlan holds back a snort. Lady Alicent still gives no reaction. “Seven blessings to you,” 

“Thank you, ser. Seven blessings to you,” and with that the lady is gone, walking with hurried steps towards the Sept. Arlan takes his time to run his eyes up and down her figure. Blue sure looks nice on her. 

“Are you mad?” Jon asks when they are alone again. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I was just offering to accompany the lady to the Sept, no need to be so scandalized,” Arlan answers with a chuckle, which turns to a laugh when Jon glares at him. 

“You should hope she didn’t think you to be the true pervert you really are,”

“I was just being courteous.”

Jon shakes his head. “If the Lord Commander finds out-”

“The Prince won’t mind,” Arlan says dismissively, waving his hand. “You know he never sees her. How he can stay away is a miracle, were I in his place-”

“Enough, you fool!” Jon chastises him, and Arlan can only laugh. “Such comments might be appropriate for whorehouses, not for the middle of the day by the Sept, where anyone can hear you!”

Arlan doesn’t bother responding. The Lord Commander would probably find it funny too, to see his pious wife attempt to deflect attentions from his men. 

A few days later, after one particularly bloody night, Arlan finds himself with the rest of his brothers at one of the nicer brothels on the Silk Street. Wine is flowing, women are draping themselves all over their laps, and the music is playing. Everyone is in high spirits, and quite drunk. 

The only one not as jovial is their Lord Commander. Whatever is troubling him is unknown. The Prince has one of his preferred whores over his lap, a woman Arlan had had at some point too, and she does her best to keep his temper at bay. 

Still, the night continues even without the Prince. Arlan finds himself at one of the tables, laughing and drinking with his fellow Gold Cloaks, eying up one girl he doesn’t think he’s had before. Even Jon, usually stoic and somber, is enjoying himself for once. 

“Let us play a game!” one of the harlots shouts, pouring more wine into the goblet of the Gold Cloak she’s entertaining. More laughter ensues. 

Another one of Arlan’s brothers slams his goblet on the table. “Yes, let us! Which lady at the court would you bastards rather take to bed? Whoever doesn’t want to answer, drinks!”

More laughter, more roars, more wine being poured. 

“I will drink for every name said, how is that!” Arlan finds himself saying, his mouth moving without his mind commanding it. More laughter, more joy, more jubilation. 

“Is that a game the Gold Cloaks partake in?” one of the women asks, faking shock and scandal, making them all laugh even harder. “Which lady of the court you’d like to bed? Is such a question appropriate to even ask?”

More laughter. Arlan almost chokes on his wine as he chuckles. “No one can touch such pious and pretentious ladies! We might as well dream of it!”

“Ah, but what is one pious lady compared to an experienced woman?” another one of the whores says, her red lips and open dress making it incredibly hard for Arlan’s head to keep straight. “Knowing how fearsome and strong and insatiable our Gold Cloaks are, none of those little noble ladies could match any of you!”

“Let us play, let us play!” someone else shouts. More laughter, more wine being poured into cups. 

Names start flying. Lady Redwine, Lady Reyne, Lady Casterly, Lady Arryn, and whores fawn over themselves, claiming how they resemble one lady or another. 

Before Arlan can open his mouth and announce who he’d choose, another Gold Cloak beats him to it. 

“Lady Alicent, of course! There’s no other lady at court I could even dream of fucking!”

Arlan laughs and nods, and even through the haze of alcohol quickly clouding his mind, he notices that not everyone joins in. 

“The Lord Commander’s wife?” asks Jon, and Arlan snorts as he pours himself more wine. Jon cannot even enjoy banter, it seems, without his stupid sense of duty. 

“Why, of course. She is by far the most beautiful lady there is! She’s as slender as a candle!” answers their fellow brother, and Arlan laughs again, nodding his head. 

An apt description, he thinks. He remembers catching a glimpse of her at the wedding, when her and the Lord Commander exited the Sept. In her white gown, she looked like the Maiden herself. 

“And,” the man continues as the whore Arlan had been eyeing, the one with red lips and untied dress, sits upon his lap, “the Prince never visits her chambers anyways! The lady must be lonely!”

The man stands up, as if he’s proclaiming it all, his goblet raised as if in a toast. Arlan laughs when the woman pours him more wine. 

“You must be out of your mind!” he says, laughs so loud that his head hurts.

And when he looks at his fellow Gold Cloak, behind him he spots a silver shadow. Arlan’s throat closes up, choking on his own laughter. 

Jon, seated by Arlan’s side, also freezes. One by one people notice their Lord Commander, and their laughter also dies. 

All the while, the man that had been making comments about Lady Alicent continues, unaware of the looming dragon. “I’d show her a good time. By the gods, what I wouldn’t do for just a moment in between her legs-”

The Lord Commander slams his face into the table. The whore on Arlan’s lap quickly leaves. He can only watch on, frozen. 

“Please do continue. What were you saying about getting in between my lady wife’s legs?” Prince’s Daemon’s voice is cold as steel, freezing the air around them. 

Arlan thinks he can see his fellow brother’s heart stop in his chest when he realizes just how badly he’s fucked it. 

The man apologizes, but Arlan already knows it’s futile. Their Lord Commander had never shown mercy before to criminals who begged; if anything, he hurt them worse. 

“Lord Commander, I’m certain he did not mean any insult to you or the Lady Alicent, the alcohol made his mouth work before he could stop it.” Jon of all people starts talking in favor of their fellow brother, and Arlan wants to hit him across the back of the head. 

It is already a lost cause. They should be praying the man makes it out alive, now. 

Distantly, through the terror and the fear and the shock, Arlan thinks it quite strange that the Prince seems so protective of his second wife. 

“Let this be a lesson then, for all of you, to perhaps think twice before speaking on my wife.” The Prince’s cold voice rings through the whorehouse. It is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Looking down at the man he still holds pushed onto the table, he says “Open your mouth. I’ll have your tongue for this transgression.”

Even as he was expecting it, Arlan is still shocked to hear it. 

The man starts to cry, to beg, to embarrass himself in front of the Prince. It is pointless. He should be grateful he gets to keep his head. 

“There’s no need to be hasty, my Prince-” some other man begs alongside. Arlan couldn’t open his mouth even if he wanted to.

“Lord Commander, this is too much, he’s just a dumb fool, there’s no need for this-” Jon of all people says, and Arlan bites his tongue. 

Their begging and pleading, as expected, gets them nowhere. The Prince plunges his dagger into the man’s cheek. His shriek of pain echoes in the brothel. 

Whores around them start yelling, flying in fear. The smarter ones just stay put. Arlan does not move. 

He watches the carnage as if he would any other day. He’s seen the Prince cut off tongues night after night, yet there is something different seeing him do so to one of their own. 

The sounds of slaughter are more unpleasant than ever. Their brother screams and chokes on his blood as the Prince cuts off his tongue, and Arlan remembers laughing when other criminals would behave the same. 

There is no humor in it now. 

Especially not, he thinks, as it could have easily been him in the man’s place. 

It does not take long, yet it feels like an eternity. The Prince works quick, his cut clean but not too much, and before long he lets go. 

Their brother falls down, cries and pained wails being all that is heard. Arlan feels sick, and not just from the alcohol. 

The Lord Commander cleans his hands and seathes back his dagger. He says nothing more; not that he needs to. He leaves the brothel, leisurely. 

As soon as he is gone, air returns to the chamber. 

Chaos follows. 

“Oh by the gods, by the Mother and the Crone-” one of the whores starts to stammer, as some of the Gold Cloaks help up their fallen brother. 

“Call some healers, anything! We need to clean him up!”

“Who will pay for all of this! This cannot stand-!”

“Could we get a maester?! Maybe a septon!?”

“Just bring us water! We need to clean the wound!”

“Use some fire! Cauterize it before long! We need to stop the bleeding!”

Among the chaos and the running and fleeing, Arlan remains seated. He thinks he’ll empty his stomach if he stands up. 

Their brother thankfully survives. They manage to bring him a healer, and he escapes death by a knife’s edge. He will never speak again, but has kept his head. 

No one brings up what happened.

The Prince’s message is clear; never talk about his wife.

*

Gilly wakes up just as the sun is rising. Lady Alicent had instructed her to arrive and help her get ready early.. 

In her hurry to attend to her lady, Gilly barely has time to talk to any of the other servant girls. As she sees the stormy faces of the guards outside the chambers, she wishes she would have spent at least a few more minutes catching up on court gossip. 

“Good morrow,” she greets them in a quiet voice, lest she wakes up Lady Alicent too harshly. 

“Good morrow,” one of them says, Gerald she thinks his name is. As her hand approaches the handle of the door, his voice immediately stops her. “I don’t believe you should do that,”

Gilly looks at him with confusion. Gerald’s face is in a grimace, like he’s been sucking on a sour apple. 

“And why not? Lady Alicent instructed me to wake her early.”

Gerald and the other guard exchange looks. Gilly does not know them well enough to read their faces, but she can feel the hesitance within them. 

“It is just that…” Gerald begins, looking more uncomfortable by the second. 

“The Prince is inside,” the other guard finally says, and Gilly feels like her eyes might pop out of her skull in shock. 

“The Prince… Prince Daemon?” she asks in disbelief. 

The guards both nod, looking only slightly relieved by having shared what is probably some great secret they’ve been carrying. 

“He came last night and has yet to leave, so I don’t believe you should… interrupt them, if they-” Gerald says, almost choking on his words. If the lighting in the halls were better, Gilly could swear he was blushing. 

She is not faring much better, though. Her own face gets just as flushed. “Um, they are not… right now they are not… right?” she cannot even say the words, but Gilly hears no noises from inside the chambers. Not that she wants to, of course. 

The two guards exchange another look. “I don’t think so,” Gerald’s partner says, his voice more steady and his face devoid of the embarrassed flush both Gilly and Gerald wear. “But they might be… you know, in bed, or…”

Gilly is once again at a loss for words. Since their first night of marriage, Gilly had not seen the Prince again, and as far as she knows (which she would know, as she spends most of her time around Lady Alicent) he had not visited her chambers again, either for conversation or for… other activities. 

A fact that had not failed to become the main gossip topic among the servants. Either that the Prince could not perform (regardless of his infamous reputation of running through all the women on the Silk Street thrice over), or that Lady Alicent had denied him access to her bed (her devout and duty-loving lady would never). 

“And you are sure they… you know…?” Gilly manages to stutter out after a few moments of very uncomfortable silence. 

Gerald looks even more flushed, while his partner only nods. 

“Most definitely. We, um… heard them…”

“But perhaps you heard something else, and not them…”

Gerald shakes his head. “No, it was most definitely them… together. There is no mistaking it,” he says with a confidence he had not shown even once today, so Gilly reckons it must be true. 

“W-well what do I do now?” Gilly asks, her thoughts running in circles. “Lady Alicent asked me to wake her early, she was to assist the Princess and Lady Laena-”

“You can go in, if you wish,” Gerald’s partner says, his tone finally losing some of the awkwardness. “But you shall deal with the Prince’s temper alone, if that is the case.”

Well, that did not seem particularly enticing. The last thing she wanted was to annoy Prince Daemon of all people. 

So she resigns herself to simply waiting. As the hours pass, one servant after the other passing by the hall where Gilly has decided to wait for now, she hears a hundred and one stories of what had transpired the night before. 

The Prince got into a fight, a fight in a brothel, a fight over a whore, a fight over someone insulting Lady Alicent, he cut off a man’s tongue, he killed the man, he fought half his Gold Cloaks, the man was a criminal and a thief, the man was a Gold Cloak, the Prince decapitated him with his Valyrian steel sword, Lady Alicent was having an affair with that man-

That is when Gilly stops listening, and all but snaps at the servant girl parroting the rumors to her. She knows her lady well. Lady Alicent spends hours in the Sept every day, prays and lights candles every night, she reads the Book of the Seven and wears the seven pointed star on her neck every other day. She would never be unfaithful to her husband, even if that husband was Prince Daemon. 

It is just before noon when finally the door to her lady’s chambers opens. Just like on the day after their wedding, the Prince walks out of the room wearing only his breeches. 

When Gilly finally goes to her lady’s chambers, she finds Lady Alicent hidden beneath her sheets, her hair a mess and her face flushed. Just like after their wedding. 

“My lady, good morrow. Shall I…” Gilly trails off, not knowing what she should offer in aid. Food? A bath? To call for the maester?

Before she can overthink it, Lady Alicent already answers. “Gilly. I need to get ready, I am already late to meet with Princess Rhaenys and Lady Laena,” she speaks, and while her voice is steady and sure, Gilly cannot miss the slight tremor among her words. Her lady seems a little frazzled. 

“Of course, my lady. But you should eat something first, at least a little. Or perhaps even a bath-”

“I do not have time,” her lady says, and is already out from underneath the covers and putting on her robe. In the few moments Gilly sees her body, she notices no marks nor any bruises. She breathes a small sigh of relief. At least the Prince’s taste for violence the previous night had not extended to his wife. 

“My lady, please,” Gilly all but implores her, dreading the thought that her lady might faint from lack of food or from exhaustion. “You can dress while I bring you something to eat.”

Lady Alicent nods, and hurries to brush her hair. Gilly all but runs down to the kitchens and back to her lady’s chambers, ignoring any questions or looks she receives from other servants or guards. 

Lady Alicent is already dressed when she arrives. She only picks at her food, just enough to not have Gilly pester her anymore. 

“I need to go now,” she says, and as she stands she is back to the very image of elegance she always presents. “Please prepare a bath for when I return.”

“Of course, my lady,”

“And,” Lady Alicent begins, looking at Gilly with a look she cannot decipher. “Please make sure the chambers are clean,” she says with a look at the fallen pieces of the Prince’s armor still littering the floor, his gold cloak crumpled. “The Prince said he shall visit again tonight.”

Gilly does her best to mask any shock she has at the news, and nods her head instead. “I shall, my lady.”

Lady Alicent leaves her rooms without another word, hurrying to meet with the Princess and the future young Queen. Gilly only sighs, and picks up the Prince’s golden cloak off the floor. 

*

Viserys does not think himself to be the most observant of people; perhaps one of his shortcomings as king. As such, he does not notice Otto’s mood being particularly sour that day. 

Daemon arrives late to the council meeting, as he does most days, and the rage building inside Otto bursts into flames of anger. Viserys feels a headache coming. For as brilliant as both men are, they sure act like children whenever they fight each other. 

Otto wastes no time describing Daemon’s transgressions from the previous night, complete with him torturing the petty criminals of the city, and ending with the unfortunate news that he’d mutilated one of his own men while in a brothel. 

Despite the nature of the accusations, Viserys is not surprised. Daemon has been in a horrible mood since his wedding, even before that. He’d all but made the brothels on the Silk Street his home now.

Viserys remembers with fondness when he and Daemon would visit them together in their youth, when they’d each brag about their conquests. Before either of them was married, before he’d had Rhaenyra. An easier time. 

But now Daemon could barely stand to look at him, his new marriage doing absolutely nothing to mend their broken bond. His brother clearly did not consider his union with Lady Alicent the gift Viserys had meant for it to be, and had no problems rebelling in the one way he still could; hacking off hands and tongues whenever he saw it fit. 

Still, he’d yet to mutilate one of his own Gold Cloaks. Viserys cannot help but ask for an explanation. When the answer comes it shocks him to his very core. 

“The man had made uncourtly and vulgar comments about my wife,” Daemon’s voice resounds, dripping with venom at Otto. The two of them continue to bicker and argue, and all Viserys can do is try to keep his surprise from showing too much. 

That was truly the last thing he’d expected Daemon to say, and part of him thinks his brother might be lying. Daemon is short of temper, but he’d never even chastised someone for speaking poorly on his first wife. Then again, Daemon himself was the one most likely to talk ill of Lady Rhea, insulting her for simply existing at every chance. 

Would he really be so violent just because someone spoke ill of Lady Alicent? It is more probable that Daemon was just looking for a fight.

“What did he say about your wife, Daemon?” Viserys asks, needing to know. Surely the poor man insulted them both, or had caught Daemon in a particularly nasty mood. Those seem more common these days. 

His brother does not repeat whatever it was the man said. He gives no indication of the words at all, continuing to argue with Otto instead. Viserys thinks of ways to dissipate the tension amongst them, but Otto is quicker. 

“You should not have been in a whore house to begin with. The only person disrespecting your marriage is yourself.”

His brother’s already bad mood only seems to sour further. Once again before Viserys can intervene and mediate their fight, Daemon speaks first. 

“Rest assured, I spent the rest of the night in my lady wife’s chambers. You can ask the guards, I am sure someone heard something.”

The words hang in the room, heavy in their implications. Viserys almost thinks he had misheard, but Daemon’s smug smirk makes him reconsider. 

He cannot hide the shock on his face. “Is that right?”

When Daemon looks at him, he’s smiling so wide it almost splits his face. “Indeed it is. Shall we ask my wife? Although she might be busy, I’m told there’s some feast planning and dress fittings she’s assisting your betrothed and her mother with.”

Viserys feels like he’s just been drenched in the coldest waters at the mention of the feast, and of Lady Laena. The feast is close, as is the wedding. He cannot imagine himself married again, laying with someone else, fathering children by anyone other than Aemma. 

Beyond all that, Daemon knowing Lady Alicent’s schedule means he at the very least talked to her. He most likely is not lying about laying with her either, which…

That is… well, it is precisely what Viserys wanted, is it not? For Daemon to find his peace within Lady Alicent’s arms. 

He gives his brother what he hopes is a sincere smile. “Well I am glad you and Lady Alicent are…” he trails off, looking for his words. His tongue feels strangely heavy in his mouth, his throat tight. “...getting along better,”

Daemon, if possible, smirks even wider, even nastier. “Thank you, Your Grace. Perhaps you were right. Marriage with Lady Alicent has yet to bring me something other than delight.”

Daemon’s words, sometimes, have this quality about them, where he manages to make them sound both truthful and incredibly insincere at once. 

Viserys only offers another smile, and the small council moves onto actual pressing matters of the realm. 

He finds it hard, however, to focus on any words of his advisors. Much to his shame, the only image in his mind is that of Daemon and Lady Alicent. 

Viserys’ smile wants to slip off his face, and his throat continues to feel so tight, like he’s being strangled by Daemon’s very presence. Viserys does not know why, or rather, he doesn’t want to think of the implications as to why . 

This is what he’d hoped for. Maybe from now on his brother will open his eyes and see that there is something other than blood and violence and recklessness, that he could build a life with a woman that will be devoted to him. What greater gift could there be for a man?

Despite his best efforts, Viserys knows he is not as pleased as he should be. Which only goes to drown his already sullen mood in even more sorrow. He should be happy, yet he is not,  

It is still too early, he thinks. Daemon had only spent one night with his new wife. Knowing him, he’ll get bored quickly enough. 

But, in case he truly comes to find some peace within his new marriage, then, well, wonderful for him, and for the realm. Viserys wants nothing but the happiest of outcomes for his brother, even if it is with the lady he would have wanted to spend the rest of his days with instead. 

*

Otto wants to leap across the table and strangle him. He wants to slap his hand away from his face, and then slap the grin off his mouth. 

Was it not enough that he’d embarrassed the Crown by behaving like a savage? Did he also have to soil his daughter again? After he’d already ensured that an annulment would be nigh impossible to grant after consummating the marriage? 

There would be no annulment now. The King was always stupidly endeared by such barbaric and feral displays of what he probably thinks to be Daemon’s affections for his daughter. It is one more aspect of the Targaryen malady, Otto is certain, to look for the impossible when the truth is right in front of their eyes. 

As if Daemon cared for anyone but himself. He’d mutilated that man not to fight for his daughter’s honor, but because he had an excuse to act like the degenerate brute he truly is. And then he’d sullied Alicent again just because he could, just because he knew it would anger Otto. 

The most infuriating matter, however, was that there was nothing he could do. It was Daemon’s right as her husband to do with Alicent as he pleased. Even if he were to be cruel or crude, it was still within his right, recognized by every law in the realm. 

His only hope for this sham of a marriage to eventually be nulled had just perished in front of his eyes. 

Otto has never been angrier, and all he can do is just stay put. 

*

Something has happened, that much Laena knows. Something concerning Prince Daemon. Whatever it is, however, remains a mystery still. 

The maids have been whispering about it since the sun rose in the sky.

“I heard he was in a whorehouse-”

“He killed one of his men-”

“He was drunk and slashed someone with his Valyrian steel sword!”

The court ladies had then continued the gossip. 

“They were fighting over a whore!”

“The Prince had slept with that man’s wife-”

“I heard they were fighting over Lady Alicent-”

Her mother instructed Laena not to listen to the gossip all that much. They were supposed to do dress fittings that day, for the wedding gown too, a task much too important to be delayed because of rumors. Or so her mother had said. 

Lady Alicent arrives late. She curtsies and apologizes profusely for her tardiness even after Princess Rhaenys assured her that all was well. As they look over all kinds of Myrish laces and dyed Tyroshi fabrics and pearls from who knows where, no one asks Alicent any questions. 

Her soon to be good sister is quiet and looks a little frazzled, but Laena cannot find anything else at odds with her. She wonders if whatever the Prince had done the previous night had concerned Lady Alicent in any way. 

Laena hopes not; the Prince’s short temper is almost as legendary as his fighting prowess, and she dreads the thought that Lady Alicent could ever fall victim to her husband’s anger. There are no bruises or cuts or marks she could see on the young lady, so perhaps her worry is unwarranted.

It is not until after noon, after Laena and her mother have eaten their lunch, that her father finally arrives. He slams the door as he comes in, and slams it shut after he’d entered. The maids and servants hurry to leave. 

“What has happened now? We’ve heard rumors all morning,” comments her mother, sipping some wine. 

Lord Corlys does not look pleased. He does not even look at Laena. “Daemon cut off the tongue of one of the Gold Cloaks,” he says, his fingers drumming onto the table. 

“Not unlike Daemon,” the Princess mutters. 

“Perhaps not, but the reason behind his outburst might be of concern,” her father says, and ignores the goblet of wine her mother places in front of him, staring intently at his fingers still drumming away on the table. 

Her mother frowns, only slightly, but Laena catches it still. “What do you mean?”

“Daemon said the man had to lose his tongue for speaking ill of his wife. And then he’d spent the night with her. In her chambers,” he says, more venom than Laena had expected dripping off his tongue. 

Both she and her mother are rendered speechless. 

Still, the shock washes away quickly off her mother’s face, and she drinks more wine, hiding her expression behind the goblet. “I doubt he was speaking the truth. Daemon must have wanted to upset Otto. He’s yet to show any interest in the girl.”

Lord Corlys frowns and snorts. “Was the girl with you this morning? Daemon knew where she would be, so at the very least they talked.”

Boh the Princess and Laena are quiet. Her mother does not meet her father’s gaze, and Laena cannot tell when the room has turned so cold. 

“She was with us,” her mother finally says, still without looking at Lord Corlys. “And she was late. But it does not mean Daemon told the truth. For all we know-”

“If he continues to visit her chambers,” her father begins, voice cold and his eyes focused, “sooner or later he will get her pregnant. Daemon has been in a sour mood since before his wedding, and if there is even the smallest chance that he could-” 

“We’ve talked about this before,” her mother interrupts, her voice even colder, “what Daemon does is of no concern to us. Let him mind his business, while we mind ours.”

They are both quiet after, neither of them looking at Laena. 

Laena doesn’t know what to think of it all, but neither of her parents seem happy about it. She knows her father does not like the idea that the Prince might sire a child, and her mother doesn’t like any talks of the Prince at all. 

“We have looked over several designs for the wedding gown today,” her mother says, breaking the silence. She still does not meet Lord Corlys’ eyes. 

Her father smiles and finally looks at Laena, for the first time since he’s stepped into the rooms. “Is that right? And what have you chosen?”

So Laena tells him, of the Myrish laces and the pearls, and pretends to be excited about it all as her father pretends to listen. 

They do no talk about Prince Daemon again that day, but Laena can tell that whatever issue they have, it still occupies her parents’ thoughts. Laena only wishes for Lady Alicent to be alright. 

*

Rhaenyra walks with hurried steps to her chambers as soon as the small council meeting is over. As always, her uncle was first to leave, all but strutting out of the room after successfully annoying both Otto Hightower and Rhaenyra herself, for she is sure she was not able to keep her face calm. 

Daemon and Alicent just seem like an impossibility, and Rhaenyra hopes against all odds that her uncle had been lying, and that he had not actually spent his night in his wife’s chambers. 

But then again, Rhaenyra remembers the whispers of the maids from that morning, and thinks that for once her uncle might have actually been truthful. 

Does he like Alicent? Does he find her pretty, charming, beautiful? She is, of course, Rhaenyra had always thought so, but did Daemon think so? She seems like the opposite of everything her uncle claimed to like in his women. 

“Of pure blood,” he’d said once, when Rhaenyra had asked what women he liked, after another long rant about his then wife Lady Rhea. “We are dragons, our line should stay pure. We shouldn’t mingle with the sheep,”

And yet he had mingled with his new wife, at least twice, which was way more than he’d ever done with Lady Rhea. Did he want to father a child, finally, after all these years? Did he want one with Alicent of all people?

Perhaps he’d forced her to drink moon tea, Rhaenyra thinks with some dread. She cannot imagine Alicent, faithful and devout as she was, agreeing to something like that. But it would be easy for Daemon to force her, to just hold her jaw open with one hand and pour the liquid down her throat with the other. 

The image is nauseating, and it won’t leave Rhaenyra’s mind. 

Perhaps he’d been drunk the previous night. No, he’d definitely been drunk, and had just lain with the first woman presented to him. Perhaps he’d gone to the wrong chambers, mistaking Alicent’s rooms for his. Surely that’s what happened. 

Or perhaps Alicent had seduced him, like Rhaenyra thought she might have done on their wedding night. Perhaps her father and her family had urged her to have a child by the Prince, though Otto Hightower’s distaste and disgust at the news of their coupling seemed to prove otherwise. 

But why would he lose his temper over meaningless comments made by random Gold Cloaks about his wife? Surely her uncle did not care. He insulted both Rhaenyra’s dead brother and her father with ease, not even a day after her mother had passed. He should not have cared for one simple comment made about Alicent, no matter how nasty it might have been. 

That must have just been a pretense, an excuse for his violent behavior. 

Rhaenyra all but slams the door to her chambers closed, not wanting to see anyone. She sits down in one chair, and immediately gets up. She walks around the room, sits down, gets up again. She is restless, and there is nothing she could do to be rid of such an annoying feeling. 

Her prayers were answered and Alicent had not been left with child after the wedding night, but would she be as lucky a second time? What if Daemon just continued to lay with her until she was with child?

There was a storm of feelings inside her, all of them battling over which one would squeeze at her heart the most. Jealousy over Alicent, sadness for her, anger at Daemon, resentment for her father and for Otto Hightower and his brother and-

With a tired sigh she sits down, looks at the sorry state of her jewelry, necklaces and bracelets all in disarray since Alicent wasn’t putting them away anymore, and the handmaidens wouldn’t touch them. Rhaenyra plucks the necklace Daemon had given her what feels a lifetime away. 

She remembers his burning eyes the day he gifted it to her. She remembers Alicent’s gentle hands as she put it around her neck at the tourney, and later when she’d been named heir. 

It is cold when Rhaenyra puts it on, unforgiving Valyrian steel, fit for a dragoness, as Daemon had said. 

At least this was a clear sign of Daemon’s affections, she thinks. He could lay with Alicent a hundred times over, and it would mean nothing. Alicent would just be doing her duty, and Daemon was just looking for the nearest woman available. 

Neither was for the other what Rhaenyra had been for each of them. 

*

The next day, Gilly walks early in the mornings to Lady Alicent’s chambers. She fully expects to wait for hours in the halls again for the Prince to leave, but she would rather wait about than leave her lady alone in case she needed tending to. 

Gerald and the other guard, Harold she’s learnt his name to be, watch her with just as much caution as they had the previous day. 

“Good morrow. The Prince is still in, I assume?” she asks.

“Ah yes, he is.”

“I suppose I will just have to wait again until he leaves,”

Gerald and Harold share another gaze, as if debating in silence among themselves which one would share whatever it is that has them so concerned. 

When neither of them says anything for moments on end, Gilly speaks instead. “What is it? Did something happen?”

Another long stare, before Gerald sighs and finally looks at her with what she thinks is quite a pained face. “Well, last night, The Prince…” he whispers, so low that Gilly almost has to strain to hear him. 

“What? Was he in a bad mood again?” she had not heard anything of any other fights, but then again, she had left before any rumors could spread. 

“I suppose, I don’t really know. But he…” he trailed off again, before finally saying with a sigh, “we heard the lady crying last night, so…”

Gilly felt her face pale, coldness taking over her. She’s seen Lady Alicent cry before, but never when it came to the Prince. She had endured both her wedding day and the following morning with grace and dignity, not one tear in her eye. 

Had the Prince been that cruel to her? Had he hurt her so badly the previous night that her usually composed lady had crumbled into tears? Were her sobs so loud that the guards had heard?

Had the Prince forced himself upon Lady Alicent? Had she refused him and he insisted anyways?

“To be fair,” Harold’s low voice finally cuts through, catching Gilly’s attention again. “She did not sound… hurt, for most of the night. It is only after they had, um, finished, that she cried.”

“You should not speculate on what the Prince and the lady do in the privacy of their chambers, and most definitely you should not gossip about it,” Gilly says with as much conviction as she can, staring daggers at both Harold and Gerald. “I doubt the Prince would appreciate it.”

The last thing she wants is for the whole keep to gossip that her lady had been hurt in her marital bed. Even though it would be the Prince’s fault, many thought it the wife’s duty to please their husbands despite their tears, and they would surely insult Lady Alicent’s good name. 

Gilly does not need the male guards, who gossip just as much as the kitchen wenches apparently, to spread any rumors. 

“No no, of course not, we would never share such matters with anyone else,” Gerald hurries to assure her, looking quite guilty. “We just thought you shall know, as the lady’s chambermaid. To tend to her appropriately, if she needs it.”

Just as Gilly opens her mouth to answer him, the doors to the chambers open, and she is frozen in place. 

Prince Daemon does not exit the chambers this time, staying inside instead. He only had his breeches on, as he always seems to do whenever Gilly sees him, and his hair falls over his shoulders, tousled as if he had just gotten out of bed. 

His eyes search for only a second before they land on Gilly, his violet gaze reminding her of a hunting dog, or a wolf. 

“You, servant girl,” he says in an even voice, but he might as well have shouted, for Gilly feels herself jolt upright at his words. 

“You Grace-”

“Bring us something to eat, will you? Hurry up.”

“Ah, yes, right away Your Grace-”

And he just shuts the door again in her face. Gilly only had time to spare a few glances to Gerald and Harold, who look as shocked as she surely does, before she hurries to the kitchens. 

She does not know what the Prince’s tastes in foods are, so she decides to bring them a little of everything. Of course, her preparing two servings does not go unnoticed, and in her hurry she barely has time to explain anything to anyone. 

When she returns to Lady Alicent’s chambers, in her hurry, she enters without knocking on the door. Thankfully, neither the Prince nor her lady say anything on the matter. 

They’re already seated at the table Lady Alicent usually takes her meals at. Prince Daemon is shirtless once again, and Gilly does her best to avert her eyes from him. Lady Alicent is wearing one of her usual night shifts, her red curls just as tussled as the Prince’s silver hair. 

There are no bruises on her that Gilly can see, and her lady looks just as calm as always. Perhaps Gerald and Harold have heard wrong the night before. 

She sets their table, and with a bow before them she asks, “Anything else Your Grace, my lady?”

Gilly expects to be dismissed, but much to her continuous surprise, the Prince talks to her again. “Go find my lady wife something appropriate to wear for dragon riding,” he says in a harsh tone, “riding breeches, something made of leather.”

She is stunned for a few moments, looking at Lady Alicent for any other indication, but her lady keeps her eyes on her food. 

“Um, Your Grace…?” 

Prince Daemon waves his hand in dismissal. “Go. Now.”

Gilly is out of the room before he can ask her again, shaking in fear. She wonders how Lady Alicent can stay calm around him. 

She has no idea where to go look for riding breeches. A young squire? Princess Rhaenyra or Princess Rhaenys? Before her thoughts manage to spiral, she bumps into Dorotea. 

“Gilly, I heard that-”

“Prince Daemon has ordered me to find some leather breeches for Lady Alicent, for dragon riding,” Gilly all but stammers, falling over her words. 

Dorotea looks positively shocked, her eyebrows halfway up her wrinkled forehead. “That is… I see…”

“So where do I get leather breeches for the lady? I need them fast, he was already in a mood.”

Dorotea thinks on it for a few moments. Gilly is about to tell her to hurry up, when the old woman’s mouth opens. “You could ask one of Princess Rhaenyra’s handmaidens if they can lend some to Lady Alicent.”

“Are you sure that would be wise? Are the Princess and Lady Alicent close anymore?” Gilly asks with slight worry. She needs to hurry so as to not anger the Prince any further, but the last thing she wants is for the Crown Princess to be cross with her as well. 

Dorotea looks unsure herself, but she nods nonetheless. “You can at least ask. If they refuse, we shall look for some young squire, I suppose.”

Gilly only nods, and is off with a run towards Princess Rhaenyra’s chambers. 

*

Rhaenyra is breaking her fast by herself, in her rooms. She used to have her meals with her mother, and sometimes even her father would join. Some days she would break her fast with Alicent, when Otto Hightower was not keeping her locked in the Tower of the Hand. 

But now she eats alone. Princess Rhaenys and Lady Laena have asked her to join them a few times, if not for a meal then for tea, but Rhaenyra has refused every time. She almost hopes they won’t take offense, but truthfully, she cares little. 

She could eat with her father, but these days Rhaenyra doubts she could hold her tongue enough for them to enjoy a proper meal together. So she eats by herself. 

The day is sunny and beautiful, the weather not caring one bit for her already sour mood. As she contemplates perhaps going on a flight with Syrax, a soft knock is heard on her door. 

“Enter,”

One of her handmaidens walks in meekly, her head held down. Rhaenyra is already suspicious. She does not think herself mean enough for her servant girls to act like this. 

“What is it?”

“Your Grace, one of Lady Alicent’s handmaidens has asked if you would be so gracious as to lend one of your old pair of riding breeches for the lady,” her maid says all in one breath, keeping her head down still.

Rhaenyra is stunned. For what purpose would Alicent need leather breeches? She hates horse riding. 

“Why does she need them?”

“Um, it was the Prince’s request, Your Grace. He wants to take the lady on dragonback.”

Rhaenyra is fortunate to not have been chewing or swallowing anything in that moment, for she is sure she would have choked to death. 

Daemon wants to take Alicent for a ride on Caraxes. She thinks she might faint. 

Rhaenyra might not have choked on her food or her drink, but she almost chokes on her words. “Y-yes, of course, just look for, um, for some of my old riding breeches. They should fit her.”

She watches as her handmaiden nods and starts to rummage through some of Rhaenyra’s clothes. When she finally pulls out a pair of riding clothes, she feels her throat close up. 

“Tell the servant girl that Alicent can keep them,” she says, her voice strained. She coughs once, and in a harsher tone adds “I don’t want them anymore.”

“As you say, Your Grace,” and her handmaiden scurries out of the room, leaving Rhaenyra in dead silence. 

Her thoughts are racing, and her appetite is all but gone. In a fit of rage she contemplates throwing the place of food at a wall, but decides against it. 

Daemon is taking Alicent flying. What is he thinking? Alicent is scared of heights, she didn’t even like riding horses, and sometimes even a carriage ride could manage to make her sick. 

Did he plan to finally be rid of her? Feed her to Caraxes and claim it to be an accident? Surely not, not even her uncle was that reckless. But everything was possible with him, especially after what he’d done just a night away. 

Did Alicent ask for it, begged him to take her on his dragon? The simple idea makes Rhaenyra want to shout with rage. Alicent would always vehemently deny all her requests to fly on Syrax, there was no chance she would ask Daemon to fly on his dragon out of her own volition. Unless, of course, she truly was the seductress Rhaenyra had accused her of being moons ago. 

Which one of them had thought to ask for Rhaenyra’s riding breeches? Was it Daemon? He dared not even look at her most days, and now wanted to clothe his wife in her garments?

Rhaenyra feels a nasty smirk begin to take shape over her lips. Were the rumors about her uncle perhaps true? Can he not perform unless the stars are aligned? Does he need to have his new wife dressed in Rhaenyra’s clothes to be able to bed her?

Perhaps it was Alicent that ordered her handmaiden to ask for Rhaenyra’s breeches. Did she want to spite her, rub it in her face that she’d married the one man Rhaenyra had wanted? Or did she want to be more like Rhaenyra, a true pureblood dragonrider, someone her new husband might actually respect and not just a wench to warm his bed? 

An anger, a nasty jealousy she’s never felt before takes over Rhaenyra. She wasn’t one to be mean, but she couldn’t help her spite filled thoughts. Rhaenyra had asked Alicent a hundred times over to fly with her, and she’d refused. Daemon asks once and she jumps into Rhaenyra’s clothes. 

She looks out her window towards the inner courtyard, and waits. They must take a carriage, she thinks. Unless of course Daemon takes Alicent on horseback all the way to the Dragonpit. 

Minutes or hours pass, Rhaenyra doesn’t know, but finally she spots the two of them in the courtyard. They’re both dressed in black, and Alicent’s long hair is tied back. Somehow that is more shocking to Rhaenyra than seeing Daemon help her into the carriage. Alicent never wears her hair like that. 

Rhaenyra can't see her face, and through the storm of her anger and her spite, she finds that she wants to, so very badly. She hasn’t seen Alicent’s in months. She misses her gentle smile and her big brown eyes and her laugh. And now when she’s before Rhaenyra, she can’t even see her face. 

She wants Alicent to look up to her window, see her watching them. Anything, any small reaction would please her. An angry frown, a small smile, a terrified expression, anything . Rhaenyra gets nothing. 

The carriage soon departs, and Rhaenyra almost wants to yell after it. She hasn’t seen Alicent nearly enough. She wants to stare more. 

Rhaenyra stays unmoving by her window. She wonders how Alicent feels in her breeches. They are similarly built, but there are a few differences. Alicent is just slightly taller, her bust a tad smaller, her hips only a bit narrower, her waist so small Rhaenyra would sometimes try and wrap her arms around her twice over. 

She’s given Alicent some of her dresses before, when they were younger. She always felt warm when she’d see her friend wearing them. Rhaenyra wonders when she’d stopped gifting Alicent things. 

Another lifetime later, she sees Caraxes ascend to the skies. Rhaenyra can’t possibly see if there are two bodies on top of him, but she notices the Blood Wyrm flying lower than usual. Another storm takes over her heart. 

Is Alicent scared? Is Daemon being cruel and forcing her to get on top of his dragon, knowing her devout ways would never allow her to refuse him? Did he even bother to strap her in, or is Alicent just holding on for dear life atop Caraxes?

The image of the two of them pressed together on top of the bloody dragon suddenly appears in her mind’s eye, and for whatever reason it leaves Rhaenyra breathless. Is Alicent behind him on the saddle, holding onto his back, her thin arms around his waist? Or did Daemon place her in the front, trapping her between the saddle and his own body, holding her from behind?

Rhaenyra had thought time and time again how she would fly with Alicent, if she’d like to hold onto her waist, or have Alicent’s breath tickle her ear from behind. So many times she’d asked, and every time Alicent refused. Yet there she is now, flying among the clouds with her new husband. 

Caraxes flies over the city slowly, languidly in a way she’s never seen him. Daemon is clearly being careful. Jealousy and anger burn her again. 

He’d never taken Rhaenyra on Caraxes; only his whores, and now his second wife. He’d said they were the ancient blood of Old Valyria, gods among men, more worthy than any other family, yet there he was now, flying his dragon slowly to accommodate his Andal wife. 

When Caraxes flies close to the Red Keep, Rhaenyra imagines opening the window, shouting for them to come and get her too. She imagines Caraxes’ head at her window, Alicent’s soft smile and Daemon’s fiery eyes as they welcome her on the saddle with them. 

But alas, the dragon keeps flying, slow circles over the city. Rhaenyra can only watch from her cold and empty chambers. 

She does not move, watching instead as Caraxes flies a few more laps, before he goes back down again. Minutes or hours pass, and she sees the carriage return. 

Daemon steps out first, and Rhaenyra only now realizes she barely spared him a glance when they left, her eyes having been solely focused on Alicent. He looks handsome as always. Rhaenyra wants to curse him out, and then beg him for his attention again. Her necklace feels heavy on her throat. 

When Alicent does not follow after him, Rhaenyra freezes in fear. Did he truly-

But Daemon only gathers his new wife in his arms, holding Alicent’s smaller body close to his, her head against his chest. Like grooms carry their brides, she thinks. 

Alicent looks so small in his arms, Rhaenyra wonders how it is even possible for them to have lain together. The image they make is surreal, her two once favorite people now closer than she’d ever wanted to see them, than she’d ever thought possible. 

Her legs must be tired, Rhaenyra thinks as Daemon carries her back inside the Red Keep. Even when tied up, Alicent’s fiery curls fall over Daemon’s shoulder. Rhaenyra watches them until they disappear inside, and even after she keeps watching the empty courtyard. 

She stays there for a few more moments, either minutes or hours. Her mind is both annoyingly loud and deafeningly quiet. 

She does not know what to think anymore. Perhaps she doesn’t know her uncle as well as she thought. Perhaps she doesn’t know either of them as well as she thought. 

*

Viserys hardly ever finds himself in the Tower of the Hand, Otto always being gracious enough to come seek him out in his own chambers when needed. Especially so after his health had started to decline. 

But Maester Mellos had advised that short walks every once in a while would do him good, and as such here he is, talking to his dear friend on matters of the realm. 

Otto’s mood, however, was rather poor, and while his Hand was not a man of immense joviality on most days, he seemed beyond upset now. Daemon’s behavior from the previous day was undoubtedly still fresh in his mind, as it was still fresh in Viserys’. 

So he does his best to keep his Hand’s mood from souring ever more. They talk of nothing but political and administrative matters, leaving any talks of daughters and sons in law and marriages out. 

But Viserys is not always lucky to have things go as he would wish, and soon enough the door to Otto’s office blows open, and a servant woman comes through. She stops in her hurry when she sees Viserys. 

“Your Grace-” she begins, offering a deep bow. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Otto asks harshly. Viserys hurries to calm him down. 

“No need to be so angry, Otto. I am sure there was no disrespect meant.”

His old friend’s already hard and scowling face deepens. “I apologize still, Your Grace. What is the matter, Dorotea?”

The woman, much to her credit,  does not wither under Otto’s harsh gaze. Viserys finds it quite admirable. He’s seen lords and knights all but wilt under the Hand’s cold eyes. 

“My lord, I just wished to inform you that Prince Daemon has taken Lady Alicent for a ride on his dragon. I thought you ought to know.”

Viserys almost chokes on his drink, and the goblet almost slips from his weakened grip. Thank the gods he wasn’t holding it with the hand that is missing fingers. 

His surprise is mirrored on Otto’s face, who pales in an instant. “What?” he spits the words out, and were he not frozen in shock in his chair, Viserys would tease his old friend for being so ineloquent. 

The woman only nods. Otto’s frown deepens further, showing all the years on his face. “Have they left already?”

“I believe so, my lord.”

A truly upsetting silence takes over the room, matching the coldness Viserys himself feels. Despite it all, he tries to offer his friend a smile. He hopes it comes across as true and honest. 

“This is good news, Otto,” he says, and perhaps if he speaks the words out loud he shall believe them too. “It shows Daemon cares for Lady Alicent enough to introduce her to Caraxes. Truly, it might be the height of his affections!”

His Hand is not convinced however, and fixes Viserys with quite the cold stare. “I understand what you mean, Your Grace, but Daemon is still violent and reckless. I simply worry for my daughter’s well being.”

Viserys tries to offer another encouraging smile. “It is quite normal to worry, but fret not. Daemon is a skilled dragon rider-”

“His one true quality, indeed-”

“-he knows not to put your daughter in danger’s way. On that, you have my word.”

Silence settles over them again. Finally, with a wave of his hand Otto dismisses the servant woman, who leaves with a deep bow. 

“Thank you for the kind words, Your Grace, but I worry still. Alicent is a sensitive girl. I fear she might faint and fall off the dragon.”

Viserys offers a chuckle. “I am sure Daemon will be mindful, my Lord Hand.”

Otto goes to look out the window, but Viserys does not feel like moving. The image of Lady Alicent atop Caraxes, Daemon by her side, is quite strange in his mind. 

He wonders if she will enjoy it. Viserys himself, despite having claimed a dragon, was not overly fond of flying. Perhaps because Balerion was so old and slow in his final years. 

He’d never taken Aemma on a flight. He tries not to dwell on that sadness. 

Instead, Viserys tries to focus on happiness. It seems Daemon likes Lady Alicent enough to take her flying. That is wonderful news. Exactly what Viserys had wanted. Perhaps with time his temper will be more manageable, and he will turn his attention from violence to his new wife. 

He does not look out the window when Otto informs him that Caraxes has taken off. For some reason he does not want to see it. 

Viserys thinks of how Lady Laena has asked him about dragons that one time they’ve taken a walk through the gardens. It had reminded him of young Rhaenyra, looking up at him with wide starlike eyes at the simple mention of Balerion. Hopefully, his future wife will not mind too much that he has no dragon to take her flying on. As if his health would allow him. 

He is happy for Daemon, he thinks, and for Lady Alicent. He knew they would get along well, that eventually Daemon would see what Viserys had seen in her. 

His hand and his missing fingers hurt quite badly. Perhaps coming all the way to Otto had been a mistake. He is so tired. 

*

A week has gone by since Daemon has once again proven to be an undisciplined savage and cut off the tongue of one of his men. A whole week since he’s proven to be the thorne in Otto’s side and had sullied his daughter again. 

Since then, Daemon has spent every night in Alicent’s chambers, a thought that is most nauseating. Otto ordered Dorotea to stop reporting to him about it. He does not want to know anymore. 

Any and all thoughts of an annulment are gone. Daemon made sure of it. In hindsight, it was foolish to begin with, to hope the man might do something to benefit Otto. 

Some days he swears the man grins smugly at him across the table of the small council. As if in mockery, as if he knows what Otto hoped for, and takes pleasure in destroying his every plan, as well as debasing his daughter. 

It quickly becomes the gossip of the Red Keep. Otto hates it, yet he cannot help but hear it. All his spies report it, and all he can do is grit his teeth. Daemon takes her flying once or twice more, and the petty idiots at court seem strangely charmed, saying how it shows the Prince is softening to his new wife and what not. 

But Otto knows the truth. Daemon does it just to spite him, to spite the King and the Velaryons. He plays around with Alicent like he’s done with his other whore, taking her on his dragon, letting the guards and the maids hear them in their chambers, any semblance of propriety well and gone. He is a disgrace to the very nature of man. 

And there is nothing Otto can do. Daemon is Alicent’s husband, and his word is law for her. Even if he wanted to, he cannot just order his daughter not to listen to her husband. Not to mention that to do so, Otto would have to summon Alicent to talk to her in private, and he has no desire to do that. 

He is not a coward, but he does not want to look upon the face of his own daughter after he’d managed to fail her and somehow keep her stuck to this brute. 

Some part of Otto dreads that he might not recognize Alicent anymore. He worries that he won’t find fear and terror and disgust and shame on her face when they talk about Daemon. He fears Alicent enjoys it all, the attentions her husband showers her in. 

So he does nothing. There is nothing he can do anyway but wait for the inevitable news of a pregnancy. 

Maybe Daemon’s seed is too weak. Otto snorts at the thought. As if he should be so lucky. 

He writes to Hubert, finally informing him of the strange interest Daemon had taken in his daughter. He has no doubts his brother will be pleased. At least someone will find something worth celebrating out of the current disaster he finds himself in. 

Otto consoles himself knowing that Lord Corlys and the Velaryons do not seem pleased by Daemon bedding his wife so much either. They have petitioned for the King's wedding to their daughter to take place sooner, for the celebration feast to be grander, for the King to accept Ser Laenor as a potential match for the Crown Princess. 

Sister and brother married to a father-daughter pair. Quite distasteful, if Otto were to say. 

He resents that Lord Corlys succeeded where Otto failed more, so he argues against it. The wedding would cost too much, it would be too soon, the lady is too young, and so on. Empty arguments when the King seems so disinterested in it all, but the scorn on Lord Corlys’ face makes it at least a little worth it. 

If only it wouldn’t make Daemon smirk in amusement so much. At least he shuts his mouth more often than not nowadays, his degenerate mind most likely occupied with something else. 

He can only hope Daemon becomes bored soon, if only so Otto wouldn’t burn himself in his anger. As he hears his winged beast fly over the city, slowly as it always does when Alicent joins Daemon on the saddle, Otto feels his headache worsening. 

*

Viserys looks out the window. Caraxes flies over the city, languid laps around the Red Keep. From time to time he roars, and Viserys swears he can also hear Daemon’s laughter paired with Lady Alicent’s soft giggles. 

Lord Corlys is talking to him. He’d requested a private audience after the small council meeting, the one Daemon had not attended, choosing instead to apparently take his wife flying. He knows it is rude to not look at the man currently speaking, but he finds he cannot take his eyes away from the Blood Wyrm. 

He already knows what Corlys wants to say anyways. 

“It would be beneficial for the realm, Your Grace, as well as for both our houses. Show the strength of the old blood of Valyria, of the crown-” and so on and so forth. 

Viserys nods mindlessly, barely hearing a word the man says. He’s heard them already. “ Let us hurry with the feast and the wedding, let us make it a grander celebration, let us show the power of our houses-”

He’d agreed, of course. It does not matter much anyways. It is not like he would suddenly come to feel affection for Lady Laena if they marry tomorrow or ten years from now on. It is not as if Aemma’s face stricken by fear and her wailing voice would stop appearing in his nightmares if he were to take a new wife. 

And, much to his shame, it is not as if he would feel better about the state of his brother’s marriage if he himself were tied in matrimony to someone else. 

He does not want to call it jealousy, for it is not, but he cannot help feel a slight hurt in his chest whenever he hears that Daemon spends time with Lady Alicent, that he visits her chambers every night, that some servants have found them reading together, that he takes her flying every now and then-

It had been a little over a week since he’d first taken her on Caraxes. Foolishly, Viserys had hoped it would be only the one time. Today is the third time. Much to his shame, he had been counting. 

“Have you given any more consideration to Laenor as a potential match for the Princess, Your Grace?”

At the mention of Rhaenyra, Viserys’ eyes shift quickly onto Lord Corlys. 

“Not much, to be truthful, Lord Corlys. Ser Laenor is a good man, and I am sure he would make a fine match, but I cannot help but think it might be too early. Rhaenyra is still young, and she still has much to learn.”

Not as young as Lady Laena, a treacherous voice whispers in his mind. The same age as Lady Alicent, who is already married and being bedded by my brother each and every night.

Lord Corlys frowns. Viserys hopes he won’t call him out on his hypocrisy. “The wedding does not need to happen immediately, Your Grace. A betrothal would be enough. It might strengthen Princess Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne.”

“There is no need for her claim to be strengthened, my lord. There is no other heir,” Viserys says, with what he hopes is some finality. Caraxes is still flying, he notes absently. 

“Of course Your Grace. I only meant in the eyes of the other houses. They might be more supportive if the Princess is betrothed.”

Viserys only hums. He thinks of Aemma’s face, of the few discussions they’ve had of Rhaenyra’s potential husbands when the time would come. 

“I wish for her to marry for love, not for duty. To find herself a husband of her own choosing, one that will cherish her and treat her kindly.”

Viserys had not disagreed with his wife, of course. He wished the same for Rhaenyra, after all. 

“Rhaenyra has been through so much already,” he says instead, and wills himself not to look out the window again. Lord Corlys does not make half an interesting picture as Caraxes flying over the city. “I do not wish to impose a betrothal on her.”

“Of course, Your Grace, as a father I understand perfectly,” the Sea Snake answers, and Viserys almost misses the gruff in his voice as Caraxes growls again in the skies. “But it might not hurt to consider it, or suggest it to her.”

Viserys only nods. He cannot make any suggestions to Rhaenyra, for he does not talk to her much these days. He could call upon her, but he doubts his daughter wants to spend time with her sickly father. 

“I also wanted to mention,” Lord Corlys continues, and Viserys remembers Daemon’s words, how he’d said the Sea Snake was dripping poison into his ears. “That perhaps it would be good, for both Laena and yourself if the two of you were to spend more time together.”

His hand and the sores on his back are starting to ache again. The pain is ever present, but now it burns. 

Viserys thinks of the days when Lady Alicent would come visit him in his chambers, and try as he might, he cannot imagine Lady Laena in her place. 

“I suppose it would do no harm,” he says instead, the words sounding hollow to his own ears. “Perhaps another walk through the gardens?”

Lord Corlys gives a tight lipped smile. “That would be most wonderful, Your Grace. Now, I wished to share some concerns over the feast. If we were to have it sooner, then perhaps the cost should also-”

Viserys nods absentmindedly, looking back out the window just as Caraxes descends to the Dragonpit. He wonders if this is how Daemon had felt, when both his betrothals have been announced. If so, then he truly had been cruel to force his brother into a second marriage.

*

Gilly does not know when it happened, but from one day to the other the Prince has become quite taken with his lady wife. He would visit her chambers every night nowadays.. 

At first the Prince would leave before Gilly would come to Lady Alicent's chambers in the morning, but soon enough Gilly had to bring breakfast for two every day. 

Their newfound closeness quickly became the main gossip topic among all the servants, and according to other handmaidens, all the lords and ladies at court too. “The Prince spent the night in Lady Alicent’s chambers again,” must be the most repeated phrase among all the servant women. 

After the novelty wears off, people start asking more questions. As no one dares question Lady Alicent, or gods forbid the Prince himself, servants and courtiers take to speculating amongst themselves. The more common sentiment quickly becomes evident. 

“The Prince wants an heir as soon as possible. He wants to usurp the throne from the Princess.”

Gilly disagrees, mostly. She does not know what the Prince’s intentions might be, but she doubts he needs to spend hours reading with Lady Alicent in order to produce an heir. Gilly herself has caught them like that, Lady Alicent with a book in her hands, the Prince’s head in her lap.

There are some who share another sentiment. Even with the Prince’s reputation and his tastes in women, some believe they are witnessing love blossoming between the Rogue Prince and his second wife. 

Much to her shame, Gilly believes this too. Maybe it is because she sees Lady Alicent everyday, and she cannot deny that her lady looks happier. Healthier too. 

There are no more cuts or scratches on her fingers, and she eats her meals fully now (Gilly shamefully wonders if she needs her energy, with how much the Prince must work her body every night. She flushes in shame and chastises herself for thinking such thoughts.)

They do not spend much time outside of Lady Alicent’s chambers though, but everyone knows that come evening, the two of them always find eachother entangled between the sheets. Some find it romantic, while others think it another affront from the Prince to his lady wife. 

“If he truly liked her, he would walk her through the gardens ten times a day!” 

“The Prince is not that kind of man, he does not like to show off. He would not spend so much time with Lady Alicent if he did not like her.”

“Bedding her is not the same as spending time with her.”

“I think it is quite romantic they’re not parading around holding hands for all to see, let their love be only for themselves!”

“He takes her to fly on his dragon so often, he clearly likes her!”

“He’s taken whores on his dragon before too, it means nothing.”

The feast celebrating the betrothal between the King and Lady Laena Velaryon has been moved to a closer date, only a few weeks away, and the castle has been in disarray since. 

Very few talk of Lady Laena, though, not unless it is to gossip about what her dress shall look like, or how her hair shall be done. All everyone seems to care about is whether the Prince and Lady Alicent will attend the feast together. 

As much as Gilly likes seeing her lady happy, she still remembers Harold and Gerald’s words, about how the Prince had made her cry that one night. Gilly always makes sure to discreetly check for bruises or marks on her skin, to keep observant if her lady’s mood is ever down. 

The Prince was very much a mystery to Gilly still. He might not be violent to Lady Alicent, but he was very fearsome to Gilly and all other servants, perhaps with the exception of Dorotea. He barely even spared a glance at any of the servant women, and when he did his eyes were cold and unforgiving. 

One particular morning he struck the fear of the very gods in Gilly. She must have been tired, for there was no other reason as to why her head was so lost in the clouds. What was she thinking, entering Lady Alicent’s chambers without knocking, early in the morning?

And oh, how foolish she had been. 

Gilly was carrying some sheets, intending to change the covers of Lady Alicent’s mattress after she’d brought her and Prince Daemon breakfast. But the sheets immediately find their way onto the floor as Gilly drops them in shock.

The image should not have mortified her so; she was no child, she of course knew what married pairs did, but it was one thing to know, and another to see it. Prince Daemon’s figure on top of Lady Alicent was something she was not meant to see. In her state of shock, Gilly barely noticed that both of them were clothed. 

A scream was out of Gilly’s mouth before she could even think to stop it. And in the next second, the Prince’s cold gaze pinned her in place. 

Gilly barely remembers what happened after that. Lady Alicent had taken to hiding in embarrassment under the covers, while the Prince all but growled at Gilly for what felt like an eternity. His words were more or less a warning to always knock, and not to come in unless called by the Prince or Lady Alicent. 

Much to her embarrassment, she had to then reiterate the warning to all other handmaidens in Lady Alicent’s service. Some took to laughing at her for being so careless, while others took pity on Gilly for her still frazzled state after being the victim to the Prince’s ire. Dorotea had just sighed and shook her head. 

As with most things about the Prince and Lady Alicent, the news make their way around the Red Keep immediately. Some gush over how romantic and passionate the couple are, others call them shameless, and many still question the Prince’s intentions. 

Gilly still doubts there is any ill plan forming in the Prince’s head. At the very least he seems to really enjoy Lady Alicent’s presence. 

She still does not like the man, but she’d rather her lady have a good marriage. Gilly can endure his cold gazes and occasional bursts of fury if he treats Lady Alicent well. 

*

Rhaenyra watches with a frown as her father and her cousin walk slowly through the gardens. Her father is all but swaying with every other step, and Rhaenyra almost wishes he would fall over, just so she could see Lady Laena try to get him up on his feet. 

She would feel terrible for having such thoughts, but she’d already had quite a bad morning. The sun was shining brightly, the weather beautiful and calm, just right for a dragon ride. Of course, her uncle seemed to think so as well, and when Rhaenyra heard the carriage pull into the inner courtyard, she already knew Daemon was taking Alicent on another flight. 

This was the fourth time. Soon enough Rhaenyra would have to stop counting. 

She would also have to stop avoiding going to the Dragonpit just because Daemon and Alicent were there. That might be harder. 

As it stands, she has nothing better to do but watch in restrained disgust as her father walks side by side with her future stepmother, who also happens to be her younger cousin. 

Rhaenyra has been so engrossed in Daemon and Alicent’s new marriage that she had almost forgotten her father will soon marry as well. His future marriage makes Rhaenyra just as distraught as Daemon’s, though for different reasons. 

“Good morning, Princess,” her aunt’s voice suddenly rings out, successfully dragging Rhaenyra’s eyes from the deplorable image her father and Lady Laena make side by side. 

“Good morning,”

“Lovely day today, is it not?” Princess Rhaenys asks, coming to stand by Rhaenyra’s side. The Queen Who Never Was wears a long red and black dress, her hair perfectly styled up. Rhaneyra almost feels inadequate next to her, her hair only barely tied away from her face. 

Alicent used to style her hair from time to time, and now Rhaenyra cannot find a handmaiden who does a job half as decent. 

“It is indeed. Perfect day for a walk, I suppose,” she answers, turning back to look at the betrothed couple walking through the gardens still. With a heavy heart she watches as her father starts coughing. He’s been sicker and sicker each time Rhaenyra sees him. 

Princess Rhaenys chuckles without any humor. “I suppose so. Perfect day for dragon riding as well,” she says, and as if on cue Caraxes ascends from the Dragonpit with a loud growl. 

Rhaenyra holds back a frown, lest her aunt thinks her childish. She says nothing. 

They both watch as Caraxes starts to fly slowly towards the Red Keep, doing his usual laps around the city, like he always does when Alicent rides on top of him. Rhaenyra distantly wonders if Alicent and Dameon could see them from the skies. 

“What do you make of it?” Princess Rhaenys asks, her voice cutting through the silence. There is no question as to what she is talking about. 

This time, Rhaenyra cannot hold back a frown. What does she make of it? Daemon is just doing this to spite Otto, and my father, and all of you. Alicent has seduced him. This is only a passing fad, he will get bored soon. Alicent is just doing her duty.

“Is there anything to make of it?” she asks instead, trying to sound nonchalant. “This is just another one of my uncle's pastimes. He is sure to get bored of it soon.”

Much to her continued annoyance, Princess Rhaenys only chuckles again. “Are you certain?”

“Yes I am,” Rhaenyra responds, perhaps too harshly. “Why do you ask? Do you make more of it?”

Her aunt only hums, and Rhaenyra contemplates just leaving altogether. The last thing she wishes for is to talk about Daemon and Alicent’s marriage. 

“Daemon is hard to predict and harder to read,” she says, her eyes still stuck on the flying figure of Caraxes above them. “But you have to admit it is rather strange for him to show so much interest in one girl.”

“My uncle is known to be interested in beautiful women,” Rhaenyra answers, keeping her gaze firmly locked onto her aunt. Better than seeing Caraxes, and certainly better than seeing her father with Lady Laena. 

“That might be so, but Otto Hightower’s daughter of all people? Curious even for Daemon. Though I suppose she is his wife, after all,” and Rhaenyra frowns again. As if she needed any reminders of their matrimony. 

“What are you getting at, Princess?” she asks, tired with the conversation already. 

“Nothing, Your Grace. Perhaps Daemon just likes the girl,” her aunt says, succeeding in sounding as disinterested as Rhaenyra had wanted to.

The words manage to cut Rhaenyra still. She does not like the thought that there might be actual affection between them.

“Or perhaps,” her aunt continues, finally turning to look at Rhaenyra. “Daemon might have other plans. Plans that might require an heir as soon as possible.”

Rhaenyra feels her face pale, her body going cold. It lasts all but a few seconds, before her anger returns burning hot. “I doubt it. There is nothing he has for his child to inherit.”

Of course, her aunt won’t let her live with her delusions, and immediately speaks. “There is something quite important that either he or his offspring could inherit, Rhaenyra,”

It is Princess to you, Rhaenyra wants to tell her, but holds her tongue. “Are you suggesting that my uncle covets after my throne? That he is secretly conspiring to usurp me one day?”

The thought that Daemon, the one man that held a place in her heart, the one she’d always wanted, the one she could probably never get now, possibly trying to steal the one thing Rhaenyra still held, is nauseating. 

“It is always a possibility,” Princess Rhaenys says, her tone still calm. “As I said, Daemon is an unpredictable man.”

“My uncle does not want the throne,” Rhaenyra says with conviction, ignoring as Caraxes growls in the skies. “He had his chance and he ruined it.”

“He did not have a child then.”

“He does not have a child now,” Rhaenyra answers with fire and fury. 

“Not yet ,” her aunt says with one of her ever present empty smiles. “But he will soon, if his newfound interest in his wife is anything to go by. Children often change one’s perspective on things.”

“Did they change your perspective, Princess Rhaenys? Is that why you have thrown your daughter at a man that could very well be her father?” she asks, and regrets the question as soon as it leaves her lips. 

The small smile on her aunt’s face quickly disappears, her expression suddenly stormy. “That was not my choice, but my husband’s. And even then, there is no higher honor for my daughter than becoming Queen,” she answers, and for the first time since they’ve started talking, her voice sounds hollow, almost unsure. 

Quite the honor, Rhaenyra wants to sneer, marrying a man more than twice her age, and sicker by the day. 

Instead, she says “You speak of my uncle usurping me, as if you are not planning to put whatever children my father will have by Laena on the throne first. Especially if they are boys.”

Princess Rhaenys’ face remains just as cold. “I am most certainly not planning such a thing. I am not planning anything.”

Rhaenyra wants to call her a liar, but Caraxes’ screech stops her. “If you say so, Princess.”

“And it will be quite a while before Laena and the King will have any children,” her aunt says, turning to look at the two of them walking slowly through the gardens. “There will be no consummation until Laena will be at least six and ten.”

Rhaenyra snorts. Her aunt can say whatever she wishes, but she’s already made it clear that her husband makes most decisions within their family. “Is that why the thought that my uncle might usurp the throne concerns you so? Because there will be years before Lady Laena has any children?”

“Whatever Daemon does is of no concern of mine,” Princess Rhaenys says, and Rhaenyra holds back from rolling her eyes. “I only wished to help you see the situation at hand clearly.”

“The situation is clear. My father has named me heir. Daemon can have ten children,” she says, and the words feel like venom in her mouth, poisonous and bitter, “for none of them will inherit anything.”

“Viserys can always change his mind,” her aunt mutters in a low voice, and the fuse to Rhaenyra’s anger is lit once again. 

“He won’t. ”

“He’s done it before,”

“He was never planning to make Daemon King,” Rhaenyra says, her tone sharp, her anger aflame. Despite it, her aunt smiles again, looking at her with something akin to pride. Rhaenyra is too angry to care. 

“Perhaps. But even still, your position is precarious. You are too young, and you lack support.”

“I have no need for anyone’s support. My father has named me heir,” she argues, and distantly thinks how silly life is sometimes. She’s never wanted the throne, but now it feels like the one thing she still has all to herself. Her one purpose, her only utility. 

Princess Rhaenys only shakes her head, amused, and chuckles. As if Rhaenyra’s ire is something funny, something to be laughed at. “You still have much to learn.”

“I thank you for your wisdom then,”

“The surest way,” her aunt continues, not phased at all by her words, “to ensure that your position is secure is quite simple.”

Rhaenyra snorts, already having an idea as to what her aunt might say next. “And what is it, pray tell?”

“An heir of your own, of course,” Princess Rhaenys says, her violet eyes sparkling. “Secure your bloodline. Put your own heirs before Daemon’s.”

“It always comes back to this, doesn’t it?” she mutters. Rhaenyra thinks of her late mother, of her words just before dying on the birthing bed. This is our battlefield, our duty. 

“Sadly, that is how things are,” Princess Rhaenys says, her voice sweeter now. She is looking back to Laena, who is standing patiently as her father has another coughing fit. “The lords of the realm have already chosen once, and they did not want a woman on the throne.”

They did not want you, Rhaenyra thinks, but does not say. They do not get to choose me. My father already decided.

“They might be more partial if you have heirs, that is just the reality.”

“And I suppose you wish to suggest your son as a possible suitor for me?” Rhaenyra asks. Distantly she notes that Caraxes has flown back to the Dragonpit. Soon enough they will return, and Rhaenyra wants to sprint back to her chambers to hopefully catch another glance at them through her window. 

Princess Rhaenys smiles, watching Rhaenyra with that same look of pride. “Laenor is a good man. He is an accomplished knight, a dragonrider of Valyrian descent, and he will inherit Driftmark after his father. You will hardly find a better match.”

“Of course,” she says with a sneer, her uncle’s words echoing in her mind. Nothing but snakes at this court. “And the fact that he is your son surely helps.”

“I only wish the best for my children.”

“And either way, Velaryon blood will sit on the throne.”

They are quiet for a while. Rhaenyra continues to watch as her father walks with Laena, but it is as if she doesn’t even see them anymore. Her thoughts are nothing but a mess, her heart filled with equal parts anger and fury. 

“If you shall excuse me Princess, I wish to return to my chambers now,”

“Of course, Your Grace,” her aunt says, the very picture of poise and elegance, as if she hasn’t just turned her world upside down. “Please do consider joining us for tea one of these days. I am sure the other ladies of the court will be delighted to see you.”

Not as long as Alicent is there. “I shall see when I have the time.”

She leaves without another word, faintly hearing Ser Criston’s steps behind her. Normally she would chat with him, but she does not want to talk to anyone.

Rhaenyra does not know which thought upsets her more; that Daemon is planning to usurp her throne, or that he might actually be fond of Alicent. 

Daemon does not want the throne, she thinks to herself. He only spends time with Alicent to spite Otto and the Velaryons. Perhaps if she thinks the words enough times, they shall become true. 

When she reaches her rooms, she goes straight to the window. Almost as if on cue, another nasty jest by the gods, the carriage pulls into the inner courtyard. She holds her breath as Daemon exits first. He holds the carriage door open for his wife. 

Rhaenyra gasps when she sees Alicent. She is no longer wearing the old riding breeches Rhaenyra had given her handmaidens, being instead clothed in soft-looking black leather. Her eyes might be playing tricks on her, but Rhaenyra swears there is an embroidered red dragon across Alicent’s waist. 

Has Daemon ordered for new riding breeches to be made for her? Has Alicent asked for them? Rhaenyra’s mind was storming with questions. 

Daemon does not carry her anymore, Alicent having perhaps gotten more used to flying on Caraxes, and isn’t that just another horrid thought. But he does still put an arm around her shoulders, pulling him close to his body. It feels surreal to see this. Rhaenyra might as well be stuck in a dream. 

They leave the inner courtyard soon after, but Rhaenyra is stuck in place, still watching. 

Daemon does not want the throne, she repeats again in her mind. He does not want the throne. He does not want to put his child on the throne. He only spends time with Alicent to spite Otto and the Velaryons. He does not want the throne. He is not fond of her-

*

“The wedding has been pushed up. As has the feast. It will be a fortnight away instead of a moon,” Princess Rhaenys says one day as she and Laena take their meal together. She sounds nonchalant, but Laena thinks she might be upset. 

“Oh. Why is that?”

The Princess shrugs and takes a sip of wine. “Your father wanted it that way.”

Laena nods, and takes a sip of water herself. She doesn’t know how to feel. The feast, the wedding, it all seems surreal still. 

“Do not worry dear,” her mother says after a while, breaking the silence. She touches Laena’s hand and smiles softly. “The consummation has not been pushed up. It will still happen only after your name day.”

Laena smiles too, but does not feel soothed in the slightest. She used to think two years were an eternity when the betrothal was first decided, but a half a year has already passed. Would she feel more secure by the time of the wedding, or at least the bedding? Will she feel more like a woman, someone fit to be the king’s wife by the time she is six and ten? More like a Queen?

Laena thinks back to the walk in the gardens they took only a few days ago. It was proposed by the King himself, her father had said. Not that Laena would have been able to refuse regardless of who had proposed it. 

The King had walked slowly, and was coughing every ten steps. Just like the first time they walked together, before the betrothal had been set, they talked about dragons and Old Valyria. It was like talking to her teachers, or to her mother and father. Certainly not like speaking to her future husband. 

Caraxes had been flying that day, undulating like a ribbon in the wind above them. Laena had stared at him for what felt like hours, as had the King. 

“Daemon must be flying with Lady Alicent,” the King had said, his voice low and with a tone she did not recognize. 

His Grace had then told her stories of Caraxes and of Prince Daemon when he was young, how their mother had taken them flying on her dragon, how the Prince had claimed the Blood Wyrm when he was just a child. 

“He must really like Lady Alicent, to take her flying so often,” Laena had said, staring above them as Caraxes growled in the skies. She wondered if Lady Alicent liked flying, if she found the same freedom among the clouds as Laena did whenever her mother took her. 

In that moment, Laena would have rather been on Caraxes herself with the Prince. She even imagined being on her own dragon with Lady Alicent. Truly, just being elsewhere.

The King had not answered her, nor did they speak another word the remainder of their walk. 

The feast preparations increase tenfold the following days. Everything from the guest list to the choice of foods, to the arrangement of music, and of course the cost, have all increased. Laena already dreads the feast. 

While she is present for all the preparations, she is not involved at all. Her mother never asks for her opinions, and the ladies of the court seem more interested in talking about their dresses or who shall attend. Laena hadn’t even heard of half the names listed. 

“I have finally decided on what dress to wear at the feast!” Lady Redwine says, smiling behind her fan. Laena does not like fans, she’s decided; half the time they hide their faces, and seeing every other lady want for one is annoying. Perhaps they are more common in the Reach. Then again, she’s never seen Lady Alicent use one. 

Lady Redwine goes on a long description of her gown. Laena’s own dress had been chosen as soon as the betrothal had been set. It was a great monstrosity of white and pale blue silks and satins, with large sleeves trimmed with Myrish lace. Laena does not like it. Everyone else had swooned when she’d first tried it on. 

The fitting for the wedding gown will begin soon. She dreads that too. 

She remembers Lady Alicent’s wedding dress, modest and simple and beautiful. She already knows hers won’t be like that. With dismay Laena imagines another monstrosity of a dress, with lacework and nettings and ribbons and pearls and gods know what else. 

“Have you chosen a gown yet, Lady Alicent?” another courtier asks, some daughter or cousin or sister of Lord Reyne. Laena never remembers all the ladies' names. Alicent, of course, knows them all. 

Her future good sister smiles politely like always. “I have, yes.”

“And?” Lady Redwine insists, leaning in her chair, the lemoncakes on her lap all but forgotten. 

Lady Alicent smiles still. “It is a simple gown with flared sleeves.”

Another court lady frowns. Is she the Arryn cousin, or the Baratheon cousin? Her hair is black so Laena thinks it must be the latter, but at the moment she cannot remember. “That feels a little too bland, does it not? What color?”

“Black and red,” Lady Alicent answers, and all the other ladies make eyes at each other. 

“The Targaryen colors?”

“Why of course, it only seems appropriate!” Lady Redwine offers, hiding her smile behind her fan again. “Wives should wear their husband’s House colors after all!”

“And the Prince approves of it?” Lady Reyne asks, leveling Laena’s future good sister with a curious glance. Laena feels as if she is not even present. 

“Ah well, he is the one that suggested it,” Lady Alicent answers, smiling softly before she takes a sip of her tea. Laena takes a sip of her own cold tea as well. Lady Redwine beams and laughs as she fans herself. 

“That is quite romantic of him, is it not? Who would have thought the Rogue Prince would be one for such gestures?”

“It is only a dress,” another lady mutters from Laena’s side. No one pays her any mind as Laena tries to remember her name at all. Is she the Baratheon lady?

“I am sure you shall look lovely in it, Lady Alicent!” someone else says, and the Hightower lady (or is it now Targaryen?) smiles again, sweet and polite as always.

Laena doesn’t know how she does it. She just gets bored most of the time listening to such constant drivel. 

“I am sure everyone shall look lovely, most of all Lady Laena,” and she turns to her with an even brighter smile. Laena smiles back as all the other ladies take turns showering her in praises now, but she barely hears them. 

All she can think of is that the feat is quickly approaching, and after it the wedding. And after that the bedding. Laena begins to dread it all. 

*

Otto sighs as he holds the letter from his brother. He can already feel a headache coming. 

He supposes he cannot blame Hubert for his enthusiasm. His vision for their house is one step closer to becoming a reality. Beisedes, he is not the one that has to be subjected to the embarrassment Daemon is continuously putting him through. 

It has been a fortnight since Daemon’s interest in his new wife has made itself painfully known, but for Otto it feels like a whole year. He is certain he’s gathered more gray hairs in such a short time than in his entire tenure at Hand, and Daemon’s name is etched on each and every one of them. 

But, as always, he is powerless when it comes to his brother’s wishes. And Hubert has been more than explicit. 

This is our chance to make it right by our House, he’d written in his clear and concise penmanship. Do whatever it takes to make it clear to the Prince we are on his side. 

Otto can feel his headache worsening just thinking about it. He rips apart the letter before he forgets, and throws it into the unlit fireplace.

He cannot imagine trying to be civil to Daemon of all people, especially with how he’s constantly degrading his marriage to his daughter. Even though Otto seems to be the only one to think his behavior deplorable. 

It would all be easier, he thinks, if Otto himself weren’t the one that had suggested Daemon’s removal from the succession line. He is working against his own machinations, and it is beyond infuriating. 

Much to his dismay, he has to finally accept that Daemon’s interest in his new wife is perhaps going to play in his favor now. Hubert had been beyond happy, and had even mentioned that Otto should not write to him again unless he has news of a pregnancy. Otto believes he shall be nauseous soon. 

He will give it more time before he will approach Daemon. Distantly he thinks that maybe he’ll be bored of his new wife by the feast, and Otto won’t have to approach him with any proposition at all. Even as he thinks it, he knows it is but hollow hope. 

Just as he is ready to start working on actual matters of the realm, he hears a knock on his door. He holds back a sigh. 

“Enter,”

Dorotea soon stands in the room, wearing a face of both worry and embarrassment. She bows weakly. 

“What is the matter?”

“My lord, I wished to inform you… that…” she stammers, her mouth twisting as if in search for words. 

Otto snorts, his impatience rising. “Well, out with it. What happened?”

The old woman sighs, and averts his eyes. “I wished to inform you that the Prince and Lady Alicent have been… engaged in… activities, this morning. M-Many people heard them. They were, um, very loud and, ah, p-passionate I would say, my lord,”

Otto closes his eyes, and rubs with two fingers at his forehead, his headache all but splitting. 

Dorotea must take his silence as indication that she needs to pour salt into his wounded pride. “I-I know you’ve said not to tell you anymore of their, um, private matters, but this seemed rather severe, my lord. A-almost all the servants are talking about it…”

Otto takes in a long, deep breath. Finally, after a long silence, he speaks. 

“Good. That is… good, I suppose. Very good,” and the words feel like dirt in his mouth, and his tongue burns saying them, as does his pride. 

But he must put his pride aside for now, for the future of his house, and focus on what he needs to do. How he can turn this disgraceful information to his favor. 

“My lord?” Dorotea asks, confusion in her voice, and Otto finally turns to look at her. 

“It shows the Prince is very much enamored with his new wife,” Otto says through gritted teeth. “It is how Targaryens show their passion and affection,” the words sound venomous as he says them. “It is reminiscent of the late Prince Baelon, once heir to the throne, and his wife Princess Alyssa. The couple that raised our King.”

Dorotea looks at him in question. “My lord?”

“Make sure that is what the servants are saying. Those should be the words being whispered to other courtiers.”

Recognition quickly comes over the woman’s face. She quickly nods. “Of course, my lord.”

“Good. Now go. Make sure to frame this… encounter , and any other that might follow, in this way.”

Dorotea leaves with another nod and a bow. Otto is beyond infuriated. 

How shameful, how humiliating, how disgraceful and deplorable. Once again, for the thousandth time, Daemon proves to be just a degenerate, a disgrace to his royal blood. As if the whole marriage was not already an insult to Otto. 

And of course he chose the moment when the Red Keep is filled with lords from all over the realm to act on his disgusting impulses. 

But, as much as he hates it, it might turn in his favor. The King is still reminiscing about his late wife, and if the rumors of Laenor Velaryon turn out to be true, there will be little affection in Princess Rhaenyra’s potential marriage. All the eyes will turn to Daemon and his wife then. 

He might hate it, despise the situation to his very core, but the greater plan of his house is more important than Otto’s wounded pride. As such, he has work to do. 

He will call his spies at court, and will reiterate the words to them. By the time the feast comes, everyone shall know the narrative. Prince Daemon and his wife will be the talk of the celebration, and for once Otto knows he can count on the man to make some sort of scene. The support of the courtiers will be all but ensured. 

He hates it, he doubts there will be a time when he will not hate it, but he can survive with hatred in his heart if it means Hightower blood will sit the throne. 

At the very least, Otto thinks with only mild disgust, the man is not hurting his daughter. Small, small mercies. 

*

Larys tries to hold back a grin as he slowly walks through the Red Keep’s gardens. They have been unusually crowded for the past few days as people from all over the kingdom have gathered for the feast. Today they are even more so. 

Everyone is talking, everyone is whispering and gossiping, and Larys finds it endlessly entertaining. The topic that has everyone occupied today is, as always, the marriage between Prince Daemon Targaryen and the young lady Alicent Hightower. A topic Larys himself was rather interested in, for various reasons. 

This morning, if any servant or courtier had been so lucky as to pass by Lady Alicent’s chambers, they might have just been graced with the faint sounds of the lady’s gasps and moans as the Prince was pleasuring her. 

Or so the rumors said. Larys, unfortunately for himself, had not been one of those lucky ones. What misfortune had fallen upon him, for as many times as he’d passed by the lady’s rooms, he’s never heard anything. 

But he could make do with the simple image, and so could most of the court it seemed, as they have talked of nothing else. As he walks slowly, he hears all they have to say. 

“How shameful, how disgraceful, even for a married couple-”

“The Prince must have forced her-”

“How romantic, like something out of the novels-!”

“The Prince must really love her-”

“The Lord Hand must hate it, he is a man of the Faith-”

“The Lord Hand must be so grateful, the Prince seems to treat his daughter so well-!”

“I’ve heard he’s taken Lady Alicent on his dragon-”

“They truly are Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa come again-!”

“The Prince must truly want an heir-”

“The Prince is surely planning to take back his throne.”

It was quite amusing, how people could come to such conclusions from so little information. Larys could not blame them, for it works precisely in his favor. 

Since her marriage, Larys had tried to maintain a small friendship with Lady Alicent. He would greet her whenever they crossed paths, he would sometimes accompany her on walks through the gardens, and always made sure to mention that he was available for a chat. 

After the Prince had taken interest in his second wife, Larys had wisely kept his distance from Lady Alicent. The Rogue Prince was an unpredictable man, and the last thing Larys needed was another bad leg as a result of the man’s ire. 

And after seeing Lady Alicent’s cousin, Wylan Tyrell, being followed through the Red Keep by some Gold Cloaks, Larys knew it was by far the smartest choice he could have made.

When the time will be right, he shall approach Lady Alicent again, feed her small information and gossip. And, if everything shall go according to how he foresaw things, he might one day become quite the indispensable ally for the Queen herself. 

And of course, perhaps even higher than that. If the rumors were true and the Prince truly was as enamored by his wife as many said, Lady Alicent might even suggest Larys for a higher position. Prince Daemon never did like Lord Otto Hightower, and surely if he were to ascend the throne he would want his good father out of his sight. 

But Larys should not think so far ahead yet. It was unwise to not keep his ambitions in check. For now, all he needed to do was make sure their marriage was seen in a favorable light by the court and the realm. Then, in time, he will solidify himself as the useful ally he knew he could be. 

So he engages in gossip among the courtiers in the busy gardens. Many disregard him, so whatever he whispers in their ear they think it to be their own thoughts. Foolish idiots. They don’t even know they’re being played with. 

He offhandedly mentions the King’s declining health when talking to some lords form the Reach, he wonders out loud over the potential match between Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor Velaryon, barely holding back a grin when some ladies silently wonder if the rumors about the Velaryon heir might be true or not. 

He talks about Princess Rhaenyra's cold attitude and her much preferred pastime of hanging about her Dornish sworn shield, of the two years that have to pass before the King can even consummate his marriage, may the gods help him to regain his health by then.

Larys does not even need to sing any praises to the Prince and Lady Alicent, for the resemblance many find between them and the late Prince Baelon and his wife Princess Alyssa takes root at court without him having to move one finger. 

A much better narrative, he has to admit, than the one where people call the Rogue Prince a second Maegor. It certainly did not help that he is married to the Hightower maiden. 

It is just the beginning, but Larys is certain things shall work in his favor. He is a patient man, and he can wait. 

And when his time finally comes, he will be sure to reap all the fruits of his hard labor. 

*

Like most days, Rhaenyra wakes up in a bad mood. Her servant women have been pestering her all morning that she needs to see the royal tailor for a new gown for the feast. Rhaenyra had rolled her eyes.

The feast, how could anyone forget? It was all that was being talked about at the small council meetings anymore. 

After she breaks her fast, one of her handmaidens comes to pester her again. Rhaenyra does not care about the feast, so she will ignore whatever preparations she needs to do for it for as long as she can.

She plans to go for a ride on Syrax first, and maybe later, maybe tomorrow, maybe in two days, she might start thinking about the feast. Might. 

But her handmaiden does not pester her like she’d expected. The woman is quiet, lost in her thoughts almost. Not sad, not happy, but contemplative, almost distant. 

“Has something happened?” Rhaenyra asks, and it seems to snap the servant woman out of her thoughts. 

“Ah, n-nothing of interest to you, Your Grace. Nothing at all.”

Something about the phrasing makes her frown. Rhaenyra is the Crown Princess, even if everyone else seems to have forgotten. Everything that happens in the Red Keep concerns her. 

“Tell me anyways. What is it that has you so captivated?”

The servant woman, despite being a few years older than her, flushes slightly. “Your Grace, i-it is quite… inappropriate. Just some salacious rumors, nothing you should concern yourself with-”

“I said tell me.” Rhaenyra says firmly, trying to emulate how she’s heard her uncle talk before to those that would not listen to his orders. Her voice is nowhere near as authoritative as Daemon’s, nor does she have his presence, but it works all the same. 

The woman averts her eyes, looking anywhere but at Rhaenyra. “I-it was just some rumor I heard, about the Prince and his lady wife. Some other women were talking in the kitchens. I apologize, I did not mean to be distracted by mere gossip, I don’t-”

Rhaenyra snorts. Of course it is a rumor about Daemon and Alicent. What else would it be? 

“What is this rumor, this gossip? Tell me already.”

Her handmaiden, still keeping her eyes anywhere but on Rhaenyra, finally says, “J-just that some have heard them this morning while they were… e-engaged in… activities… like those between married couples…”

Rhaenyra is sure she has a headache now. Her mind is racing. 

And her handmaiden keeps talking, stuttering and stammering. “I-I promise I did not partake in any gossip, Y-Your Grace, I-I would never disgrace your family, it-it is just what I’ve heard… it might not even be true…”

Rhaenyra snorts at that, as if broken out of a spell. “I would not be surprised if it were true,” she says, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears, as if it is not herself talking. Her mind is still racing, her ears ringing. “My uncle does have a reputation, after all.”

They are both quiet after a while. If she’d thought before that Daemon puts on such a spectacle to annoy Otto Hightower, she is more than certain now. He has to know such rumors would travel all over the Red Keep, especially as half the realm had just arrived for the King’s feast. 

There is no chance Alicent would have agreed to something like this, Rhaenyra thinks. Daemon has to have forced her. Her pious ex-lady-in-waiting would never in a thousand years act in such a disgraceful way. 

But then again, what did Rhaenyra know? Daemon was already surprising her just by taking an interest in Alicent. For all she knew, her once friend could enjoy this depravity just as much as her new husband. 

“What else were the servants saying about them?” Rhaenyra asks, a sudden anger taking over her. 

Her handmaiden looks taken aback by her question, but answers nonetheless. “Ah, just a-about how the two of them seem close, and p-passionate,” Rhaenyra did her best not to cringe at the words. “Some are saying they are akin to the Prince’s late father and mother…”

At this, Rhaenyra frowns. She’s heard stories, of course, of her late grandsire and grandmother, Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa. How they were brave and fearless dragonriders, beloved by the whole kingdom and, of course, she’s heard of their love and their passion. 

Well, she was certain there was little of that to be found here. Passion perhaps, but she doubted there could be any love . Daemon could not love someone with no Valyrian blood, and Alicent could not love a man so wicked and wild. 

This was nothing more than Daemon killing time, and taking advantage of his particular position to annoy Otto Hightower in a way no one else could. Rhaenyra was certain of it. She could see no other answer to whatever he was doing with Alicent. 

“I have changed my mind,” she says suddenly, immediately gathering her handmaiden’s attention. 

“Your Grace?” the woman asks curiously as Rhaenyra takes off her riding jacket. 

“I need you to do my hair,” she sits down at her dressing table, her jewelry still scattered around. 

“Um, of course Your Grace. How should I…?”

“Just some formal hairstyle, like something I might wear at the feast.”

The feast suddenly feels immensely important in her mind. Daemon is sure to make some sort of scene. The Velaryons will want all the eyes drawn onto Laena. Rhaenyra cannot let anyone forget about her. She will make herself noticed, as Crown Princess, as the Realm’s Delight. 

Her handmaiden starts brushing her hair, her hands slow and soft and gentle. If she closes her eyes she might even fool herself into thinking they are Alicent’s hands. She wills those thoughts away. She won’t waste any more time on either of them. 

She watches as the servant woman does her hair, braiding it, putting it up in the proper style worn by the ladies at court. 

“Afterwards, I will go to the royal tailor,” Rhaenyra says, putting any thoughts of flying on Syrax away. She will have time later. Maybe. Unless Daemon and Alicent take that away from her too. 

“I shall let the other handmaidens know, Your Grace. Any particular styles you’ve thought about for the gown?”

She thinks quickly through what she might wear, styles of dresses and colors. “Red,” she finally says. The color of blood, of fire, of her House. Of Caraxes’ scales. “And white,” like her hair, the Valyrian silver her uncle must still love. White like a bride’s dress. 

Later that day, as the royal tailor has her stay unmoving as he takes her measurements, she hears the faint growl of Caraxes as he flies away from the city, and to the bay. It seems she will not go flying on Syrax, after all. 

*

The day of the feast arrives too quickly. Laena barely sleeps the night before. In the mornings, she is woken before the sun is even up. 

She is bathed and washed, and rinsed, and bathed again. Her hair is brushed so much, Laena wonders if there will be any left by the end of the night. The handmaidens use oils on her skin and on her silver tresses. She smells like fruits and flowers, so much so that it starts to bother her nose. 

Before noon, she is already shoved in her gown. The monstrosity is not as uncomfortable as it looks, but she would still rather wear something else. The servant women gasp and awe and shower her in praises. They fawn over how lovely the white Myrish lace looks against her skin, how the soft blue silk brings out her eyes, how she looks like a Princess, like a future Queen. 

Laena smiles and nods and thanks them, but she feels hollow. She most certainly does not feel like a Princess, let alone a Queen, and distantly wonders if she ever will. Perhaps by the time of the wedding. Or perhaps by the bedding. 

At the very least she can find solace in her father’s smile, as she’s never seen him grin wider. Lord Corlys hugs her, calls her beautiful, tells her he’s proud and he shall always be, and it succeeds in warming Laena’s heart. 

Her mother’s happiness is more muted, but Laena basks in it still. Her smile is tight, and her eyes almost sad, but she hugs Laena with just as much, if not more vigor than her father had. Laena wants to jest, wants to say she is not going anywhere, not getting married yet, but her throat will not open to let the words out. 

Laena thinks it silly that she needs to be ready hours before the feast is even set to begin. Her and her family are the first to arrive in the great hall, and when she lands her eyes on the table for the royal family, she almost trips over her dress. 

That is where she shall sit, by the King’s side, as his betrothed and his future Queen. Everyone will see her, everyone will know they are to get married, everyone will expect her to eventually bear his children. She suddenly feels sick. 

But Laena continues walking, her arm intertwined with her mother’s, holding onto her like an anchor. 

She already feels tired, and she has hours upon hours to spend sitting in a chair. The King arrives later, his Whitecloaks behind him. He walks slowly, slower than that time they’ve taken an awkward walk through the gardens. 

He does not greet her first; he greets her father and her mother, and when he finally looks at her it is not with the warmth she would expect from a betrothed. It is the same look he’d always given her, casual affection for a member of his family. 

But Laena smiles at him, sweet like her handmaiden had taught her, and then finds great interest in staring at her empty plate. 

Guests start to arrive soon, one after another. Lords and ladies, some of which she’s heard of, most of which she hasn’t, congratulate them on their betrothal. It quickly becomes tiring thanking them all, but Laena reckons she will have to get used to this if she is to spend a lifetime entertaining nobles at court. 

When the Lord Hand approaches the royal table it is with sure steps, looking every bit as intimidating as he always does whenever Laena sees him. 

“Congratulations Your Grace, Lady Laena,” he says, his voice steady and calm. “Seven Blessings from myself, and from the House Hightower,” and he does a small bow. Laena swears she can hear her father snort by her side. 

There had been a long and tedious talk between her parents of whether Lord Otto Hightower should be seated at the same table with the royal family or not. Her mother had argued that he should, as he was father to Lady Alicent and good father to the Prince, and of course Lord Hand. Her father had been against it, as there was no direct bloodline between him and the Targaryens, and surely Prince Daemon would not want to be seated by him.  

Princess Rhaenyra arrives soon after, and Laena has to hold back from gasping.

The Crown Princess -her future stepdaughter, she reminds herself- wears a white and red gown, with a low neckline and her hair styled up, leaving much of her pale neck exposed. She looks beautiful, and while Laena has not felt comfortable even once since being put in her dress, she feels particularly unsuited now. 

Her cousin (future stepdaughter) curtsies before her father and Laena, and offers her congratulations with a serene smile. Laena barely even remembers the last time she’s seen Rhaenyra. She and her mother have been sending word to her every so often, inviting her for tea or lunch. Rhaenyra had never responded, and never showed up. 

Now Laena thinks she should have perhaps been more demanding. Rhaenyra barely spares her a glance. 

It cannot be easy, she reckons, to see your father betrothed to someone younger than oneself. She’s heard Lady Reyne and Lady Redwine talk about it once, muttering “imagine just how dreadful that would be, your father married to someone younger and prettier. I would not be able to take it.”

Laena might be younger, but seeing Princess Rhaenyra shine like a jem in the sun, she certainly is not prettier. Or at least she does not feel it. Countless courtiers have said it all evening, but the King not even once. 

If her betrothed could not be bothered, was it even true? 

The Princess does not even sit at the table, turning back and mingling with the crowds. Laena hears the King chuckle, the biggest reaction he’s given all night. When she turns to look at him, she sees him drinking from his goblet, probably wine. 

And the longer she looks, the wider her eyes become. She stares in shock at the King’s hand. 

Half his fingers are missing on his left hand. The smallest, the ring finger, and half of the middle one. The other two are somehow both pale, both rotten black at the same time, and his hand is shaking so violently, Laena wonders how he even manages to hold his goblet. 

She feels herself turn sick, and has to look away before anyone notices just how horrified she looks. She hides her own face behind a goblet filled with cold water. 

Just what is happening to the King? Her future husband?

Now that she thinks back, Laena has not seen his hand at all during their previous walk through the gardens. He’s kept it away, tucked into his robe. The very first time they walked together, moons and moons ago, both his hands were fine. 

Was he sick? Did her parents know? Was it contagious? Would she catch whatever had struck him if he were to touch her? 

Suddenly, Laena thinks she might become nauseous. She’s barely eaten anything all day, so nothing would come out, but she feels it still. 

The simple thought that the King would hold her hand, touch her body, kiss her, bed her, is beyond horrifying. Will he even be able to have children anymore, the only purpose of their union? 

Laena wants to leave, to beg her mother to call off the entire feast and then the wedding, to run to the Dragonpit, claim the first one that has no rider, and fly across the seas and continents. 

But she stays put. She cannot go anywhere, cannot even be caught looking as horrified as she feels, for some other lord and lady come to greet them. She smiles again and thanks them, and keeps her eyes well away from the King. 

By now the great hall is full. Laena hears her father mention proudly how at the wedding it shall be even fuller. The King chuckles again, and Laena wills her sickness away. 

After what feels like hours of staring at her empty plate, she hears another call. 

“Prince Daemon Targaryen and his wife, Lady Alicent of house Hightower!”

Laena’s head snaps up before she has time to think. And if she was able to restrain a gasp when seeing the Princess, she cannot restrain one now. 

She has not seen Prince Daemon since his wedding. Laena almost forgot how handsome he is. He’s wearing all black, with just a little bit of red at the cuffs of his jacket. His hair shines like moonlight, and he towers over everyone in the great hall, most especially over his wife. 

Lady Alicent she sees almost every day, yet Laena is sure she’s never been more beautiful. Her dress is also black, the sleeves lined with red fabric, and her hair a sea of fire behind her, loose curls draping over her shoulders unlike every other lady at court who wears their hair pinned up. 

Alicent holds onto her husband’s arm, looking every bit like a true royal couple. The Prince walks tall, with confidence, not stumbling over his steps like his brother. Lady Alicent has always looked most comfortable in her elegant gowns, as if she was made to strut in them through the halls of the Red Keep. 

They simply cannot be the same couple that had the most dreadful wedding just half a year ago. 

When they reach the royal table, Lady Alicent curtsies and gives her congratulations, and for once they do not feel like simple hollow words. Laena actually knows Alicent, knows her to be kind and polite, and thinks she can actually spot when her smiles are genuine.  

“Thank you Alicent. You have always been most kind,” The King says, and Laena has to refrain from cringing. She does not like his tone, and most definitely does not like that he’s using it to refer to her friend. “I hope my brother has not been giving you a hard time,”

“Never, Your Grace,” Lady Alicent answers, with far more conviction than Laena has ever heard from her. 

Before Prince Daemon and his wife go take their seats, he puts one arm around her shoulders, and pulls her close to him. Laena tries again not to gasp. 

“I wish for you to find as much happiness in your second marriage as I have found in mine,” the Prince says, his eyes affixed onto the King. Laena is speechless as she watches them depart to their seats, away from her view. 

The King mutters his thanks while her father snorts from her side. Laena, however, feels rather saddened to not see Lady Alicent and the Prince anymore. She is only left with the image of his arm around her, like a dragon taking a maiden under his wing. 

Laena continues to look at her empty plate, lifting her eyes only when the King announces the beginnings of the feast. 

*

Rhaenyra thought the feast would be more bearable. She’d spent the last few days thinking of it, what she might tell Daemon when she sees him, what she might tell Alicent if she dares look her way. 

She was not, however, prepared for how she would feel seeing them both together so close.

Rhaenyra’s seen them many times together already, from her window on their way to and from the Dragonpit, but this is different. They can now see her too. 

When she finally goes to take her rightful place at her father’s side, she does not greet either Daemon nor Alicent. She notices them holding hands, on the top of the white cloth covering the table, and cannot help but roll her eyes. Her uncle is dead set on this charade, it seems. 

“Where have you been, Rhaenyra?” her father asks.

“Just around. I was talking to the guests,” she responds, and immediately grabs herself a goblet of wine. 

As much as she wants to ignore Daemon and Alicent, Rhaenyra cannot. Through the noise of the guests she can hear them talking at her side. If she focuses enough, she can hear Alicent’s words. 

“That is Lady Reyne, daughter of the lord of the house. She is to be married to Ser Tarly, second son of his family. But some whisper that he might be interested in Lady Florent, that they have been exchanging letters-”

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes again. Alicent and her stupid gossips, as if Daemon would care. 

But, much to her surprise, she hears Daemon’s chuckle, low and gravely. Rhaenyra almost thinks her ears must be deceiving her. 

She wants to turn and look at him, but does not. Rhaenyra drinks more wine instead. Being this close to them proves to be more difficult than she’d thought. 

They continue talking, gossiping like some stupid court wenches. Daemon truly is trying his hardest to sell this farce, for there is no other reason for him to act so much unlike himself. The Daemon she knew would never entertain such foolishness. 

Thankfully, or perhaps not, the dreaded feast begins soon after. Her father has a clumsy speech that Rhaenyra tries to pay attention to, until she hears a brief mention of her mother. Then she stops listening. 

The music begins immediately after, and Rhaenyra wants out of her chair and away from the table as soon as possible. 

When Daemon stands up a small, foolish part of her heart hopes he might turn to her, hold out his hand, and ask her for a dance. Rhaenyra can even imagine him in her mind’s eye, looking down at her with his violet gaze and barely there smirk. Her heart beats faster just at the thought. 

But of course, he does not. He stays turned to his wife.

“Shall we dance, dearest?” Rhaenyra hears him ask, and she cannot stop herself from turning to look towards them in shock. 

Dearest. He’s never heard Daemon say such words, at least not outside of another cruel joke at the expense of his first wife. “My dearest bronze bitch,” he would say sometimes, to the amusement of some and the disdain of many. 

His voice does not sound mocking now, even to her trained ear. 

“It would be my pleasure,” Alicent answers, and Rhaenyra can hear the smile on her lips, the happiness in her voice. She’d almost forgotten how nice her voice sounded. 

Rhaenyra is shaken out of her trance by a hand on her shoulder. It is Laenor, of course, who smiles kindly down at her. 

“Would you do me the honor of a dance, Princess?” he asks, his voice friendly, and not at all like Daemon’s tone.

“It would be my pleasure,” Rhaenyra answers, and wills on a smile too. Both her father and Lady Laena remain firmly seated. 

Laenor proves to be an adequate dancer. He is gallant and good company. Rhaenyra had always gotten along well with him, even before the ideas of a marriage between them had been planted.

As they dance, Rhaenyra tries to look across the room. It is not hard to spot Daemon and Alicent. They’re both wearing black, as if they’re at a funeral. She wonders whose idea that was. 

“Quite the feast, wouldn’t you say? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the Red Keep so full.”

Laenor’s voice pulls her attention to him. He is still smiling, his violet eyes more of a lavender color. Nothing like Daemon’s darker gaze. 

“We’ve had no other occasions as important as this one,” Rhaenyra answers, and looks from the corner of her eye at her uncle and his bride. Their wedding had been shamefully small in comparison. She doubts Daemon cared. 

The two of them are dancing slowly, one of Alicent’s hands on Daemon’s shoulder, his hands on her waist. It’s their first dance, Rhaenyra thinks absentmindedly. The thought makes her want to frown. 

“There was your coronation, Princess,” Ser Laenor says, and this time it is not enough to drag her eyes away from the other pair. “Perhaps the most important event there could have been.”

“Many would disagree with you, cousin,” Rhaenyra answers, only half listening. She is too busy watching as Daemon and Alicent talk. 

She wants so badly to know what they’re saying to each other. Gossiping again? She cannot see Alicent’s face, as she is turned away from her, and Daemon’s face gives little away. 

“They sure seem close,”

Rhaenyra frowns at his words. “I suppose.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Prince Daemon dance. He never really attends such events.”

Rhaenyra snorts. Daemon, indeed, did not attend such events often. She faintly remembers begging him for a dance when she was but a small girl, pulling on his arm until her mother had told her off. 

“He said he did not like dancing,” Rhaenyra says, more to herself than to Laenor. 

Suddenly, the frown on her face is gone when she sees Daemon bend down and kiss Alicent. On the lips. Rhaenyra’s jaw all but hits the floor. 

All she can hear is her heart pounding in her ears, and the symphony of gasps around her. 

The kiss is short, but feels like it goes on for an eternity. Daemon smiles afterwards. 

“Well, I suppose the rumors are indeed true,” Ser Laenor says, and Rhaenyra thinks she would have tripped over her feet if not for his hands around her waist. 

She cannot answer. What would she even say? That the rumors are on her mind every waking moment? That she spends more time thinking of her uncle’s marriage than she does anything else? That she feels like a fool for both craving to see them, and wanting them both to disappear? 

Rhaenyra just stays quiet. Ser Laenor, thankfully, keeps talking, telling her of his training, of flying on Seasmoke, of how beautiful Driftmark would look this time of year. All Rhaenyra can do is nod, while her eyes are still stuck on Daemon and Alicent dancing. 

They kiss again when the dance is done. Rhaenyra watches as if under a trance.

“Thank you for the dance, Princess Rhaenyra,” Laenor says, and when she finally turns to look at him, she finds him smiling softly. 

Sadly, it does not make her feel better. It makes her feel nothing, really. 

Rhaenyra smiles at him too. “It truly was my pleasure, Ser Laenor. Perhaps we shall dance a few more times tonight.”

She looks on as Daemon and Alicent are still talking. They’re approached by some other lord, and she frowns in confusion as Daemon offers Alicent’s hand to him. 

When he starts to walk towards the royal table, Rhaenyra all but runs to him. Before she can overthink it she grabs at his arm, her grip tighter than she’d intended. 

“Uncle. Would you care for a dance?” Rhaenyra asks, and hopes and prays to all the gods that he cannot hear the tremor in her voice. 

Her mind is racing. She’s been planning to approach him, but not like this, not now. Rhaenyra had imagined talking to him later tonight, under the cloak of darkness, perhaps on the balcony, or even outside. 

He answers with a simple “I cannot just refuse the Crown Princess,” said with such nonchalance that she wants to scream at him. 

Dancing with Daemon feels surreal. His hand burns where it rests against Rhaenyra’s back. It is our first dance too, she muses, and then feels like a fool for thinking it. 

Rhaenyra had rehearsed for hours in her head what she might say, but now she cannot remember anything. Finally, after an eternity in her mind and just a few moments in reality, she asks in High Valyrian “Are you enjoying the feast, uncle?”

But Daemon does not even look at her. His gaze is searching for someone else. She already knows who, and her throat feels tighter for it. 

“It is quite the spectacle,”  he asswers, and Rhaenyra swears she’s never heard Daemon sound more disinterested, not even at the small council meetings. 

Rhaenyra wants to scream. She wants to cry, and yell, and demand his attention. She wants to hide away and never have to see him or Alicent ever again. 

But most of all, Rhaenyra wants answers. Her aunt’s words about Daemon secretly coveting the throne suddenly come to haunt her thoughts. 

“You’ve made quite the spectacle already,” Rhaenyra almost snarls the words out, and regrets them immediately as Daemon’s disinterested gaze turns back to her. 

His anger, she could take. His teasing, she would love. But the indifference is beyond hurtful. 

Rhaenyra tries to ask him, What are you doing, what is happening, and Dameon only acts like he has no idea what she’s saying, while his eyes search for Alicent. She’s not going anywhere, Rhaenyra wants to yell in his face. I’m right under your nose and you’re not seeing me. 

“Why are you parading her like that?”

The words hold little venom, but Daemon must hear it still. His eyes are darker when he looks at her, but she barely minds. For only a second, Rhaenyra is glad to have his gaze back onto her. 

“She is my wife, in case you’ve forgotten. Who else would I attend the feast with?” 

He is toying with her, he must be. Daemon is determined to see this charade go through, and Rhaenyra wants him to just be honest, with her at least.

If he wants the throne, at least have the courage to say it. 

“How could anyone forget? The whole Keep talks about the two of you.” and Daemon grins, like it is funny. To him it must be. His plan is working, his reputation turned from shit to gold, and everyone around him miserable. 

Rhaenyra asks about taking Alicent on rides on Caraxes, and grits her teeth as her uncle smirks again. He proudly proclaims that Alicent just does whatever he asks, that she would never refuse him. 

She’d refused Rhaenyra plenty before. Another wave of that strange jealousy takes her over. 

Rhaenyra wants to ask a lot, but she can hardly focus. Whenever she is not talking, Daemon looks for Alicent. It is pathetic, both of them are, and Rhaenyra even more so for entertaining any of this. 

She smirks too. In disgust, or in shame at herself for how foolish she feels. In mockery at Daemon and Alicent and their farce of a marriage, or in amusement that her uncle seems determined to continue playing the good dutiful husband. 

Perhaps she smiles simply so she won’t start yelling. Like with everything else, Rhaenyra has no answer for it. 

“You do it to spite Otto, do you not? My father too, I imagine. Who else? The Velaryons? Me? Is that why you do this?”

She regrets her phrasing the second Daemon’s eyes turn cold. 

“Watch your tone, girl.” he says, like she is some child and not the same age as his wife. Anger lights up within her, overshadowing any other feeling. 

“Don’t tell me the Hightowers are messing with your head, Daemon. You of all people-”

“There is no one messing with my head, least of all my wife.” and he laughs, like not only is she a child, but a joke too. Rhaenyra can only look at him in disbelief. 

“What happened to you? You used to tell me that we are dragons, that we take what we want, however we want.”

“I already have what I want, Rhaenyra,” 

Rhaenyra cannot believe him. He must be lying. She feels a pressure behind her eyes, and has no idea why. 

“And you want her?”

Her voice is too loud, and too strained, her throat almost closing in her anger and desperation. Daemon, again, looks for Alicent across the room. She distantly wonders if Alicent looks for him too, if their eyes are meeting right now, if she sees them dancing. 

“Is that so hard for you to believe? That I am pleased with my wife?”

Yes, she wants to yell in his face. It is beyond unbelievable. Rhaenyra feels her face shifting into a nasty frown. 

“She is not what you like. You always said we need to keep the blood strong, keep the Valyrian lineage.”

Those words she’s practiced. Those words she heard Daemon say before. Surely that much will make him break this facade. 

But they do not. Daemon, like Otto Hightower had said many times before, is very adept at being annoying. He turns it onto Rhaenyra, asks her about Laenor, calls her blind for thinking he would ever be interested in her, and he might as well have called her stupid. 

Rhaenyra’s mind is spiraling. This is not at all what she’d imagined. 

The more optimistic side of her was hoping Daemon would admit to it all being a farce, just a spectacle to annoy Otto Hightower and the Velaryons. The more rational part of her was expecting for him to yell, to be angry, to ask how dare she question his intentions. 

And another, more delusional, truly foolish side of her was hoping for him to propose they leave together. “ The dragonlords of Old Valyria would steal their brides,” he’d told her once, and some nights she was still dreaming he’d come steal her too. 

This might be the last chance she gets, Rhaenyra realizes as Daemon once again looks for his wife. Wife. A wicked, truly mad thought forms in her mind. 

Rhaenyra steps closer to him. Her mouth is moving without her mind guiding it, her tongue forming the words and her lips letting them out. All the while Rhaenyra is lost in Daemon’s eyes. 

“He might not be what I want,”

Look at me, she wants to say. Her hand drops from his shoulder to his chest. She cannot feel his heart under her hand. 

“But I am willing to look elsewhere.”

See me. Rhaenyra steps closer still. She wants them glued together. She wonders if Alicent is watching now. 

All she can hear is her own heart drumming away in her chest. Some part of her mind whispers that she’s gone insane. Rhaenyra ignores it. 

“I do not mind your affections for Alicent,” she says and wants to spit out afterwards, her mouth dried and sour.

She minds it, more than anything.

“ If you like her so much, you can keep her,” Rhaenyra would rather he didn’t, but she will take anything she can get. Anything she can offer Daemon to hopefully keep his attention for one more second, anything to make him remember her, see her-

“You can take two wives, like the Conqueror did-”

“Enough, Rhaenyra,”

Rhaenyra does not hear him. “I mean it uncle, you cannot tell me you have never thought about us-”

“I said, enough.”

Rhaenyra feels the air knocked out of her. Daemon talking in the common tongue instead of High Valyrian breaks the spell of her insanity. 

He calls her foolish again, calls her father the same. Rhaenyra thinks she wants to cry. The humiliation burns as much as dragonfire. 

Through the pain in her chest she can only whisper his name. 

“Enjoy the rest of the feast, Princess. I wish for you what I wished for your father; may you both find happiness in your marriages as I have found in mine.”

Rhaenyra’s hands fall off him like they’re burned.

And Daemon just turns to leave. He leaves her in the middle of the great hall, by herself. 

Rhaenyra’s legs carry her outside. Her thoughts are racing, her mind a mess and a half. The urge to cry had not subdued. 

“I already have what I want,” Daemon had said. “May you find happiness in your marriage as I have found in mine,” he’d said, and he’d meant it too. His tone left no room for any lies. 

The realization is painful, slashing through her heart like Valyrian steel. Daemon was happy with Alicent. He was, for once, happily married. 

It could still be a charade, a mask, a lie he’d practiced. But even then, would it matter? His words have been no less unkind even if they had been lies. 

Humiliation, Rhaenyra finds, burns quite painful. 

Everything she knows about them is rushing through her mind. The dragon rides on Caraxes, Daemon carrying her like husbands carry their brides, the whispers and the gossiping of the servants, even the worries of her aunt. 

The kiss they have just shared in front of half the kingdom. 

Akin to Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa, her handmaiden had said. Perhaps those hadn’t been just empty words. Perhaps there was something more, something genuine there. 

Rhaenyra truly is a fool then. 

The answer to Daemon’s behavior might just be more simple than she’d thought. Perhaps he truly was just enamored with Alicent. 

*

Despite himself, Otto has to admit the feast is rather beautiful. The food is good, the wine is nice, and the music is lively. And, unlike Daemon’s wedding, people actually seem to be enjoying themselves. 

However, just like Daemon’s wedding, the couple being celebrated remain seated, and look quite miserable. Good, Otto thinks. More eyes on the Prince and his wife. 

And, for once in his life, Daemon had not disappointed him. The feast has just begun and he’s already made sure he and his wife are the only subject being discussed. 

While kissing Alicent in front of the whole realm is, like any other action the man takes, disgraceful and shameful, it had a very desired effect. 

“You must be quite pleased with the match now, Lord Hightower,” Lord Beesbury says to him, his gaze locked onto the dancing couple. “Prince Daemon, despite himself, has proven he can be quite a good husband.”

Otto nods. “Indeed. He has exceeded my expectations, I must admit. I am glad to see my daughter smile.”

He is not, however. While Otto is rather relieved Daemon had not been violent and cruel to Alicent, he’d rather not see her beam like a foolish girl. And, seeing as the rumors depicting their passion filled nights seem to be quite true, he’d rather not know how cockstruck Daemon gets her. 

But he can ignore that. It does work very well in his favor. Everyone else is quite smitten by the pair. 

Otto had not planned for tonight to be the night he approaches Daemon with a proposition, but he can plant a little seed in his mind still. Let him think it over. A public environment while Daemon is in a good mood will be hard to stumble upon again. 

When he actually gets to talk to Daemon, he remembers why he was so hesitant for so long. By the gods, is the man annoying. 

“She is my wife now before she is your daughter. You best remember that, Hightower,” says the Prince, and gives him one of his infamous cold and barely restrained glares. 

It does not phase Otto much. If anything, it is a good sign. Daemon truly seems to care for Alicent. He shall be more reluctant with carrying out his many threats then. 

No conversation with Daemon can remain civil, of course, as he immediately accuses Otto of having tried to marry his daughter to the King. The Lord Hand wants to snort, and he almost would have, if not for trying to remain in Daemon’s good graces. 

He does not appreciate the reminder that his plan had failed spectacularly, but ignores that too. He has new schemes to carry out now, and Daemon proves very uncooperative. 

Otto invites him to share a meal, making sure his true intentions are clear behind his words. Daemon, of course, has a very expected negative reaction. 

“I think you should let me and my wife be,” the Prince says, threatens really, and Otto wants to roll his eyes. Daemon sure can play the image of a petulant child even at his big age. 

They trade jabs for a few moments. Trying to be civil with the Rogue Prince is a monumental task, and whenever Otto thinks he’s doing a half decent job Daemon says some other inane thing. 

He supposes this is a humiliation in itself, trying to persuade the man in order to offer him something. What does Otto have to gain from this but the potential chance that his grandchildren will sit on the throne or that his daughter might be Queen? 

But it is his duty, and he shall carry it out.

So he insists, he takes on Daemon’s insults without visible offense, and grits his teeth through it all. His brother better be grateful. 

“Truly, Prince Daemon. Consider my offer.”

The man rolls his eyes, again like a petulant child, and Otto already dreads the possibility that he might say yes. If he succeeds, trying to work with the man will be the true challenge. 

“If it will make you shut up and let me be, I might.”

Oto almost smiles. Having one victory over Daemon, however small, is just enough for now. “As you wish, Your Grace,” he says, and his mouth finds the words quite uncomfortable. He does not enjoy calling Daemon of all people that, but he supposes he shall get used to it. “Just let me know.”

The man leaves without another word. Always so rude and annoying. But Otto got what he wanted, and he is pleased. 

He hopes Daemon will actually remember their talk come morning. If not, Otto will just have to approach him again and again, until he agrees to it. 

For now though, it is enough. As the night goes on, Otto finds he can actually enjoy a feast when things go his way. Hopefully, Daemon will not get too drunk this time. 

*

The night is harder and harder to endure as it goes on. Sitting next to Daemon after that humiliating conversation they’ve had is grueling. Of course, her uncle pays her no mind. 

Hearing Alicent’s voice and not being able to look at her proves to be a challenge too. Rhaenyra hasn’t been in the same room as her since the wedding, hasn’t talked to her in even longer, and now here she is. One seat away from Rhaenyra, Daemon in between them like a wall. 

She hears Alicent’s voice and her laugh, and has to pretend like she did not miss her with almost as much fervor as she missed Daemon. 

They keep talking, laughing, jesting and gossiping like newlyweds are probably supposed to, and it eats away at Rhaenyra’s heart. 

She strains her ears, despite her better judgment, and tries to catch only a little of their conversation. Rhaenyra must have a penchant for being miserable, for there is no other reason for subjecting herself to more heartbreak. 

“I spend all my time with you nowadays,” Rhaenyra hears Alicetn say, and swallows her food like it’s bitter medicine. 

“I was thinking that we don’t spend nearly as much time together as we ought to. Perhaps I should move to your chambers for good,” Daemon responds, and this time Rhaenyra cannot stop herself from turning to look at them. 

She is met with Daemon’s back. He’s turned all the way towards Alicent, giving her his full attention. They are right in front of her, but there is a sea of distance in between them. 

Rhaenyra cannot believe what is transpiring right under her eyes. 

The second she can leave her chair, she does. Rhaenyra dances with each and every lord that asks her, and even does the un-ladylike thing of inviting some men herself. All the while, she does her best to keep her eyes away from Alicent and Daemon. She fails, of course. 

She ignores it when the crowd gasps as they kiss again, this time at the royal table. She ignores it when Daemon dances with Lady Laena, and she ignores it when Laenor tells her of the new golden necklace adorning Alicent’s pale neck. 

“It was quite beautiful, it had a flower as a pendant, with rubies I think. I do not know flowers all that well, but the craftsmanship was beautiful. I hope the lady was not offended when I could not hide my shock at hearing it was a gift from the Prince. I just did not expect him to be the kind to make such gifts, is all-”

Rhaenyra can only nod as Ser Laenor talks. Her necklace, her own gift from Daemon, starts to feel unbearably constricting. If she talks, she thinks she might choke on her own words. 

Alicent does not look her way once the whole night, and if she does, Rhaenyra does not catch her. 

She cannot even be upset. Alicent is just doing what Rhaenyra asked of her, all those many moons away. 

Unlike at Daemon’s wedding, Rhaenyra cannot just leave the feast whenever she wants to. She should mingle, talk to the people, engage, live up to her name as the Realm’s Delight. How is she expected to do so, when just smiling takes so much effort?

Late in the night, just as the guests finally start to leave, Daemon and Alicent dance once more. If Rhaenyra could hurt any more, it would feel like a dagger through her heart. 

It is a slow song on the harp, something only married or betrothed couples dance to, and of course Daemon would not let such an opportunity escape him. 

Rhaenyra looks at them while they dance, pressed together in quite the inappropriate embrace, so unlike anything she’d ever expect from someone as pious as Alicent. She has her arms draped over Daemon’s shoulders, and they’re looking at each other as if there was no one else in the room. 

They kiss again at the end of the song. Daemon never cared for decorum, but for Alicent to be so careless means only one thing. 

Her once friend must be quite enamored with her husband. 

A small part of Rhaenyra is happy. She’s always wanted Alicent to be in a good marriage with a good man. She’d just never thought that man would be the one Rhaenyra herself had always wanted. 

Rhaenyra finally looks away when Daemon bends down to whisper something in Alicent’s ear. It feels like she’s intruding, like she should not be watching. Daemon had already made it clear there was no place for Rhaenyra anywhere near them. 

Still, the image of the two of them, pressed close together and kissing is etched in her mind. 

*

Viserys would always disregard Daemon’s complaints about his first marriage to Lady Rhea. In his mind, Daemon had nothing to complain over. He never talked to the lady, never spent time with her, never even bothered to try. How can he complain about being married to a person he barely knew?

But now, as he spends a whole night next to Lady Laena, he thinks he might finally understand his brother. There is something quite powerless about having to marry someone you are not in love with. 

Viserys’ situation, even now, is different from Daemon’s. He has no ill feelings towards Lady Laena. He even likes her. She is a smart young woman, educated and well read, and she shall only grow to be more beautiful. Any man would be lucky to have her as wife. 

And yet, Viserys feels nothing for her. Just some small, far away affection. 

It is painful, knowing they shall be married. He shall spend the rest of his olden days with a girl he cares not for, while subjecting her to spending her youth shackled to an ailed king. 

All those times Daemon complained about his marriage might have not been so unwarranted. 

It is even more painful seeing just how happy his brother seems to be with his new marriage. And isn’t that just a horrible thought to have about one’s brother? To be upset that he is happy, for once?

Viserys feels horrible, but he is just a man, and feels and hurts like any other. And seeing Daemon barely able to keep his hands off of Lady Alicent hurts like a dagger through the heart. 

They’ve kissed all night. They’ve held hands. Daemon had even gifted Lady Alicent a golden necklace, if Lord Corlys’ word were to be believed. The very image of a couple in love. Everything he had not expected from his brother. 

It makes Viserys miss Aemma all over again. He misses the closeness they had, the affection, the unconditional love and support he got from her. 

Viserys should be happy that Daemon has now found a similar love. If only it was not with Lady Alicent. If only he did not have to see it. 

They dance once more as the night ends. Viserys had not stood up even once, certain that he would end up a mess on the floor at Lady Laena’s feet if he tried. His health has not been too good recently. 

They kiss again, in a close embrace, Daemon’s hands all but engulfing Lady Alicent’s small waist. They seem happy, truly happy, and Viserys should be glad. 

He can see Daemon whisper something into his wife’s ear. Something salacious, he thinks, knowing his brother. Or something romantic, perhaps. He reckons Daemon could be rather charming when he wants it. 

Whatever it is, it leaves Lady Alicent with a flushed face to match her red hair, and Viserys feels… all too much, and all too little. 

Jealousy, perhaps. Sadness, just a little. Longing, for what he’d had with Aemma, for what he never quite got with Alicent. Just a little anguish, for what he will never have with Lady Laena. 

Daemon and Alicent, most likely just the latter, have just enough decorum to come and announce their departure. 

“It has been a most wonderful celebration, Your Grace, but my Lord Husband and I wish to retire for the night,” Alicent says with a small courtesy, Daemon’s hand still around her waist. Like a brand, or a chain. A clear display of his intentions. 

It helps form just enough of a bitter taste in Viserys’ mouth. He smiles at the two of them nonetheless, and tries not to cringe as he answers. “Of course, Lady Alicent. We thank you both for your attendance tonight. Such matters are always more enjoyable when shared with family.”

Viserys hopes Lord Corlys and Rhaenys, or gods forbid Lady Laena, won’t hear the hollowness in his voice. He feels none of the words he’s saying truthfully. 

“Thank you, Your Grace. And congratulations once again to you and Lady Laena. Seven Blessing to you both-”

Lady Alicent barely finishes her words as Daemon guides her away, his hand still around her waist. 

Viserys hears Lord Corlys snort. “Quite ungracious,”

“It is Daemon, after all,” Rhaenyrs responds. Viserys says nothing. 

The feast ends soon after. There is nothing else that seems to interest the guests. Viserys should be angry, but he is not. He just feels tired. 

To add to his already sour mood, he can barely walk all the way towards his chambers. His legs too have been getting more tired recently, some spores having taken over the skin of his left shin.

Despite the pain and the tiredness, and the milk of the poppy that Mellos has given him, sleep hardly finds Viserys. All he can think of is Daemon and Lady Alicent. He can imagine they’re having quite an eventful night. 

At the very least he can console himself with knowing he’s made one good decision. His brother’s marriage is a true success, even with the few months of no contact between them. 

At the very least, now Viserys knows he would have been quite a disappointment to Lady Alicent if they were to be married. If she likes Daemon as a husband, then she would not have liked Viserys at all. 

*

The day after the feast turns out to be very hectic for the servants of the Red Keep. There is cleaning to be done all around the castle and the inner courtyards, and there are guests still mingling in the gardens and in the sun rooms and the large sitting rooms.

Gilly has her hands full the whole day. Thankfully, her main responsibility of tending to Lady Alicent (and Prince Daemon, since he is always in her chambers) does not take too much of her time. 

Her lady and the Prince spend the whole day inside the chambers, enjoying their time together. Very loudly, according to the guards. 

They only call on Gilly in the late afternoon to bring them something to eat, and once again in the evening. She does not even get to enter the rooms, Prince Daemon just takes the trays from her hands and shuts the door in her face. 

Between all the work they have to do, gossiping is the only thing keeping servants entertained. And, as is now expected, the Prince and his wife are everyone’s favorite topic. 

Everyone wants to see Lady Alicent’s necklace that the Prince had gifted her, and all handmaidens and kitchen maids swoon when Gilly and Leticia reiterate to them how the Prince had put it around Lady Alicent’s neck. 

The second day after the feast, Prince Daemon orders all his belongings brought from his chambers to Lady Alicent’s. 

Most servants are shocked. Gilly, not so much. The Prince already sleeps there every night. He might as well move in. The two of them offer no help. They leave it all to Lady Alicent’s handmaidens and the Prince’s servants. 

Whatever had transpired at the feast or after seems to have impacted their marriage in the most positive manner. Gilly tries not to stare as she sees Lady Alicent seated on Prince Daemon’s lap, her arms around his neck and both her legs over the Prince’s thigh. 

It is an intimate image, one everyone tries to ignore, but they all take just a few more seconds staring than they should. After all, it is not every day you see nobles, much less the Rogue Prince and his lady wife, in such a romantic posture. 

Gilly hides a smile as she remembers how cold and distant their marriage was just a few moons ago. She would have never thought her pious and devout lady would be so openly affectionate with her husband. 

It seems love can melt even such hangups. 

*

With the feast now behind her, Laena expects a few moments of tranquility. She does not get any. 

If anything, she is even more stressed. She is now betrothed. To the King. In less than a year, she shall marry him. Laena shall become Queen, wife, and stepmother all at once. It sounds dreadful. 

The image of the King’s fingerless hand is forever etched in her mind. When she closes her eyes, she sees it. When she cannot sleep at night, Laena can almost feel what it would be like to be touched by it. It’s sickening. 

Laena had not brought that up to her parents, her concerns over the King’s health. They have to know. Her father sees the King almost every day at the small council meetings, yet he’d never even mentioned his illness to her. 

It feels like some sort of betrayal, and Laena feels like a fool. 

Her father had been upset after the feast. Lord Corlys had ranted about the Prince and his “disgraceful behavior” for what felt like hours. When he was done with that, he’d ranted about the King, and his apparent disinterest in Laena. Which suited her quite fine. 

“He could have at least given you a gift,” he’d told Laena, frowning. “Even the Prince had the foresight to get something for his wife, and the King pays us dust.”

Laena has seen Lady Alicent’s necklace a few times since then. She wore it whenever she joined Laena and the other ladies of the court for tea or for talks and needlework, which was a rare sight these days. 

She starts to miss her. Lady Alicent was always a calming presence, even when she had an aura of sorrow around her in the first few months of her marriage. Now, as she sees her less and less, Laena feels lonelier and lonelier. 

Whenever Lady Alicent does join, she is as polite and pleasant as always, but perhaps just a little more radiant. Lady Redwine and Lady Reyne are certain she is with child already. 

“It is just gorgeous!” Lady Baratheon exclaimed once as she looked at the necklace around Lady Alicent’s throat. “Would you mind letting me try it on?” 

Lady Florent frowned at her. “Do not be silly now! It was a gift from her husband, she cannot just let whoever wear it!”

“If the Prince gifted me a necklace, I would never take it off!” Lady Redwine sighs and fans herself. “No wonder Lady Alicent does not want to let anyone else touch it!”

Laena thought the necklace to be beautiful too, but she was more than glad to never receive anything similar from the King. 

Now, if the Prince had given her a necklace, she would gladly wear it everyday just like Alicent does. 

Truly, while most of the feast was dreadful, dancing with Prince Daemon had been the best moment of her night. 

He was the very image of a Targaryen prince, of true Valyrian royalty, like the dragonlords she’s read about in her books. Dancing with him, talking to him about dragons was just magical, and for just a few moments she had felt like she was truly celebrated. 

That is how a feast in honor of her betrothal should have felt like. 

But Prince Daemon was already married, to someone she considered a good friend. 

Still, Laena could not help how her heart beat just a little harder when looking at the Prince, how her cheeks felt warmer when she saw how he held Alicent by the waist, how he kissed her in front of the whole realm. 

Just thinking of it makes her flush and want to hide under her covers. 

There will never be a fire between her and the King like there is between Lady Alicent and the Prince, Laena already knows. When she looked at her betrothed she only felt disgust. Shameful as it might be, it was the truth. 

But perhaps there was hope. Perhaps Laena could come to love him, and they could grow closer like Lady Alicent and Prince Daemon had. 

Even if the King looked older than her father. Even if he had no dragon for her to ride alongside him on the saddle. Even if just the thought of touching him made her feel sick. 

Even if, when she falls asleep, it is to the thought of dancing with the Prince. 

*

Hubert had been more than happy at the news of Daemon’s behavior at the feast. Otto does not think he’d ever gotten a letter so complimentary from his brother. He threw it in the fire with a roll of his eyes. 

His brother had mentioned wanting to reach out to Daemon himself, to invite him to Oldtown with his wife. Otto almost laughed at that part. Inviting a dragon into his home, what could go wrong? 

Trying to approach Daemon after the feast has been a challenge, for multiple reasons. For once, the man barely ever left his chambers now. His and his wife’s chambers, rather. Daemon’s moved into Alicent’s rooms, sparking a new wave of gossip from the servants and the courtiers. 

Otto, despite the disgust, was pleased. He mentioned to Daemon, through the bile in his throat, that he could get him and his wife a bigger apartment, fit for a royal couple. The Prince, of course, had waved him off. 

A second reason for his difficulty in making any meaningful progress on his plans was the Prince’s own aversion to Otto. Which he’d expected, of course, but it was very much infuriating still. 

Otto tries talking to him after every small council meeting, but Daemon would leave too quickly. He sent some servants with invitations for tea or lunch, only for them to return without having even delivered the message, the guards turning them around. 

He’d even contemplated going to the Dragonpit to talk to him in privacy, but being close to his flying beast felt unwise. 

Otto had debated summoning Alicent instead. The idea was gone as soon as it formed. Daemon had been more than clear that he did not want Otto involved in their marriage, and it still felt humiliating having to look at his own daughter after moons of not even talking to her. 

So his only option was to wait for the day Daemon would come talk to him. Which, judging by how much time the Rogue Prince spent with his wife, might not be soon. 

But that was fine. Otto could be patient, as could Hubert. What mattered was that Daemon was very much taken with his wife, and sooner or later they would have a child. Whenever Otto prayed, he prayed it would be a boy. Unless, of course, Daemon proved once again to be a disappointment and his seed was too weak to take. Otto chose not to dwell on that thought. 

In the meantime, while Daemon continued to play dutiful cuntstruck husband, Otto kept his eyes close to the King’s health, and his ear open to the gossip of the Red Keep. Rumors that the King’s marriage with Lady Laena was already doomed to fail had started to appear. From where, Otto does not know, but he is shamelessly glad.

With Viserys’ declining health and the two years waiting period before the consummation, who knows if there would even be a successor. And with the rumors of Ser Laenor, the Princess might find herself without heirs either. 

So Otto is glad. Things might be moving slowly, but they are moving nonetheless. Perhaps he will even live enough to see Hightower blood on the throne. 

*

After the feast, things are mostly unchanged. And yet, to Rhaenyra, it feels as if a second life had begun. 

She tries to spend more time with the courtiers and the guests, at her aunt’s advice. “It would be good for your position,” Princess Rhaenyrs had said, and while she might be right, it is also a horrid hassle. 

All everyone wants to talk about is marriage prospects for her-

“Have you chosen a husband yet, Princess? My son would-”

“A beauty such as yourself should not be alone for too long! If Your Grace would like to meet my cousin-”

“I have always admired your beauty, my Princess! Might I be so bold as to suggest we start exchanging letters-”

Or the upcoming marriage between her father and Lady Laena-

“Lady Laena is so beautiful, but so young! Would she be a good fit for His Grace?”

“I heard there are complications with your father’s health, Your Grace. Hopefully nothing too serious-”

“But it takes time for love to blossom! I am sure His Grace and Lady Laena shall get along splendidly when she grows up in a few years!”

“It must be hard to have your future stepmother be younger than oneself. Good thing you and our future Queen already know each other so well!”

And, of course, the most dreaded subject of them all, the union between Daemon and Alicent- 

“I have never seen the Rogue Prince like that! My, but of course his lady wife could not keep her hands off him!”

“I suppose it must be in the blood, Prince Baelon and his wife were just as passionate!”

“Oh, if the Prince looked at me like he looked at Lady Alicent, I would not know what to do with myself!”

“But how lucky they both are, young and in love! Soon enough you shall have a new cousin Your Grace, you must be so happy!”

Rhaenyra is tired of it. And most certainly not happy. 

But she talked to the lords and ladies and their cousins and their sons, and smiled wide and tried her best to remember everyone’s names. 

If her uncle is too busy with Alicent to chase the throne (“I already have what I want,”) , then Rhaenyra shall ensure it will be hers, when the time comes. And it never hurts a monarch to have good relations with the lords of the realm. 

But still, much to her shame, Rhaenyra finds herself thinking a lot of Daemon and his wife. How could she not? His words from the feast still ring in her ears. 

“I already have what I want,”

Rhaenyra does not believe him. She did not believe him then, and doesn’t now. She simply refuses to. It must be just a passing fancy. 

Daemon is a dragon, he simply wants to keep that which he considers his close. It does not mean he is in love, nor did it mean he’d always be so bewitched. 

She usually avoids them in the castle. They never cross paths. But one day she sees them, walking out of their ( their, now ) chambers and down the hall, both clad in their riding breeches, and something in Rhaenyra snaps. 

Why should she always avoid them? If Daemon and Alicent don’t want to see her, they can move to some other part of the Keep. 

Alicent holds onto Daemon’s arm with both hands, hugging it to her chest. Daemon is looking down at her, smiling, laughing, like a simpleton and not at all like her fearsome uncle. 

It is Alicent who notices Rhaenyra first. She lets go of Daemon’s arm and curtsies to Rhaenyra, and then keeps her head down like a chastised child. It makes anger prickle under Rhaenyra’s skin. 

“Taking your wife for another flight on your dragon, uncle?” She asks in High Valyrian, knowing Alicent would not understand. Rhaenyra cannot help but smirk at Daemon’s frown. 

“Yes, and you shall do well to leave us be,” Daemon answers, sharp like a knife, his voice only a little deeper in their mother tongue. 

As if possible, Rhaenyra’s anger burns brighter. Leave them be? Does he have any idea how much they’ve tormented her with their constant parading of their marriage? 

How dare he tell Rhaenyra anything, and then act angry, as if he hadn’t torn her heart out and dug his heels into it?

She wants to hurt him back, if only a little.

“You told me you have everything you want, uncle-”

“I do have everything I want-”

“-but are you everything she would want?” Rhaenyra asks, her smirk threatening to slip off her face into a frown. 

Daemon does not look pleased in the slightest, his eyes almost as cold as they have been at the feast. Rhaenyra feels just enough satisfaction to make the whole exchange worth it. Knowing Alicent has no clue what they’re saying makes it better. 

“You shall hope that by the time you get married, you will lose some of this foolishness.”

Rhaenyra snorts. Daemon sure is one to talk, what with his infamous temper. “Like you have? To me, it looks like you have lost your bite. Did she manage to defang a dragon?”

“Mind your tone, girl,” Daemon all but growls, and Rhaenyra ignores the shiver that runs down her back. Alicent continues to keep her head down. 

“Not going to deny it?”

“There is no use denying baseless accusations.”

“They are not baseless when I see proof of it with my own eyes. She’s turned you into her dog, and you are more than happy to take your new position.”

Daemon’s eyes are all but burning holes into her. Rhaenyra looks beyond her own anger, and only finds excitement at being the sole focus of his attention for just a few moments. 

“You must be truly upset, Princess, to throw such insults. Do you have no one else to listen to your drivel? Let us be.”

Anger burns anew within Rhaenyra. How dare he? 

“You are foolish yourself, uncle. Have you forgotten everything you said to me? How we are not supposed to mingle with the sheep, how we are gods and they are mere worms? She cannot even understand what I am saying!”

Daemon only stares at her. Slowly, second by second, Rhaenyra begins to regret her words. 

She does not truly think of Alicent as a sheep. But she was sure Daemon did. 

The coldness of his gaze tells her otherwise. 

He grabs Alicent’s hand, and drags her away. He does not look at Rhaenyra even once as they pass by her. She can only watch in shock. Daemon was never one to allow anyone to insult him. 

Rhaenyra thinks on that interaction for days. The more she thinks on it, the more confused she is. 

Even with Daemon’s words, his proclamation that he is happy with Alicent and that he has everything he wants, she just cannot comprehend it. It is so different from everything her uncle had said to her over the years, it might as well come from a different man. 

Alicent too, who had always been so pious, so prim and proper, simply could not be so charmed by Daemon, the man with a reputation so depraved many thought he would end up burning half the realm with his sins. 

Yet she had looked at him like he was hanging the moon and the sun both. 

Many nights when she cannot fall asleep, Rhaenyra wonders how it could have happened. What did Alicent do to have him so enraptured? What did Daemon do to make her act so shameless? 

Rhaenyra knew, of course, of laying with a man. She only knew the very basics, what the Septas would teach. Duty, to the Faith and to one’s husband and to their houses. Sacrifice, like her mother had endured. 

But she’s heard there was more. Other things couples did, other things men like in bed, for which they would go to whore houses. There simply had to be more than duty for Alicent and Daemon to act the way they had. There simply had to be more than what she knew, and wasn’t that just a humiliating thought?

Rhaenyra feels again like a foolish girl, just like Daemon had said. She does not know all there is about how married couples spent their nights. Of course, why would Daemon be interested in her anymore when he has a wife that, apparently, he enjoys bedding already? What could Rhaenyra offer that he didn’t already get from Alicent?

The thought begins to linger in her mind. She finds herself thinking about it all too often, and it brings her nothing but shame and frustration. 

One night, when she finds no rest, after a particularly long and annoying small council meeting, she thinks of it again. Of them two. Laying together. 

Rhaenyra is much too annoyed to focus on the shame of it all. So she lets her mind wonder. 

How do they lay together? Like the Septas said, the woman on her back and the man over her? Rhaenyra thinks Daemon would get bored if it was only that forever. 

Was it like how she’s heard the handmaidens whisper about, with the woman on her knees and the man behind? She cannot imagine Alicent liking that. 

Was there more to it, things she hadn’t heard of and that the Septas hadn’t mentioned? Alicent surely couldn’t have known more than her when she first got married. Did Daemon show her? Was that why he liked her so much?

Rhaenyra remembers being little, perhaps only eight or nine, asking Daemon to help her with her High Valyrian. He’d said yes, and seemed to enjoy teaching her, correcting her, letting her have some cake whenever she got something right. 

It is a juvenile comparison, but could it be true? Could Dameon perhaps just enjoy teaching Alicent whatever else there is to know about laying together? 

With only half a mind, Rhaenyra gets up from bed. It is dark outside, and the whole Keep should be asleep but the guards. And, according to the rumors, Alicent and Daemon. 

She does not think much as she lights up a candle and puts on her slippers. Rhaenyra grabs a robe she keeps around but never wears, and opens the door to her chambers before she can think twice on how mad she’s acting. 

“Princess? Did something happen?” Ser Criston asks, alarmed, his hand already on the pommel of his sword. 

“No, nothing of the sort. I just wanted to take a walk, is all,” Rhaenyra whispers back in response, as if anyone else might hear her.

Her sworn shield looks at her, confused. She cannot see his face well with only a candle, but Rhaenyra Ser Criston has never been more bewildered. 

“A walk? At this hour?”

“Yes,” she simply answers, and steps out of her rooms. The door closes with a screech that sounds painfully loud in the dead of the night. 

“Your Grace-”

“I am just going to walk through the halls, Ser Criston, nothing more. No need to be so alarmed,” Rhaenyra chuckles, hoping her voice does not sound too shaky. 

The idea is terrible, but now that she is out of her rooms, she finds she does not want to turn back. She might not hear anything, after all. 

“I shall accompany you then, Princess.”

That… she had not accounted for. “There is no need, Ser,” Rhaenyra says, trying to mask her nerves with a chuckle once more. “I will not step outside the keep, and I will be back soon.”

Ser Criston, however, looks determined. “I apologize Your Grace, but it is my duty to accompany you always, especially at times like these. If you were to encounter someone who meant to do you any harm-”

“Ser Criston, that will not happen, the keep is well protected.”

Her sworn shield only shakes his head. “Even still, I would not be doing my duty if I left you alone. I shall accompany you.”

Seeing as he is determined to not relent, Rhaenyra begrudgingly nods. “Very well. Let us go then.”

They walk through the empty silent halls, neither of them saying a word. Rhaenyra tries to walk as softly as she can. Hopefully the slight rattling of Ser Criston’s armor is not too loud. 

Ser Criston lets her lead the way as always, but he does make a confused sound when they reach the hall closest to Daemon and Alicent’s chambers. Their shared chambers now. 

“Um, Your Grace, are you sure we should be walking down here?” Ser Criston whispers, his voice only slightly wavering. 

Rhaenyra smiles to hide her nerves. “I don’t see why not?”

“It feels unwise, Princess. We might wake the Prince and his wife, and-”

“Then we shall be careful and quiet.”

Rhaenyra had not thought about how to deal with the guards stationed outside their chambers. If they are posted outside, she doubts she will have enough courage to approach them. Partly because of shame, partly because she dreads the thought that they might report seeing her to Daemon or Alicent. 

Thankfully, as they approach their chambers, there is no one posted outside. Rhaenyra sighs in relief. 

Ser Criston, however, only frowns. “Where are the guards?”

Rhaenyra knows, logically, that she should be worried there are no guards posted outside. While the keep is secure, there could always be threats afoot. Now, however, she is grateful. 

“I am sure they are around, probably just taking a break. They might-”

“Please!” 

Rhaenyra freezes, her words suddenly caught in her throat. That was most definitely Alicent’s voice, muffled, coming from her chambers. 

For a second, Rhaenyra wonders if she is begging for mercy, if Daemon is perhaps hurting her. 

Ser Criston freezes by her side too. “Um, Princess, we should leave, this is not…” he trails off, awkwardly, and through the mess in her head Rhaenyra tries not to think of how handsome he might look with a flushed face. 

She, of course, does not listen. She approaches their chambers slowly, with small steps. 

“Your Grace-”

“Shhh,”

“Yes, yes, Daemon,”

Rhaenyra feels her face flush. That is surely Alicent’s voice, no mistaking it, and definitely not begging for mercy. 

She cannot believe she’s here, actually hearing them, approaching their door to hear more. It feels like Rhaenyra is outside her body, watching as someone else puppets her around. 

“My Lord Husband, yes-” Alicent’s voice rings again, her words breathy between a litany of moans. 

Rhaenyra reaches the door, and contemplates putting her ear to the wood to listen better, but does not. Her legs are already too shaky and her head feels light from the adrenaline and the embarrassment. The last thing she needs is to stumble and fall onto the door.

Closer as she is, she thinks she can hear Daemon’s voice between Alicent’s whimpers. “You’d let me do what I wanted-” she thinks she hears “my sweet little wife,” and if possible, Rhaenyra flushes even deeper. Hearing Daemon’s voice like that, dark and deep and clearly pleased-

“You love this, you love being mine-”

It ignites a new fire within her, something she’s never felt before, burning bright and hot and warm-

And paired with Alicent’s moans-

“Did you love it when I fucked you in the morning, when I let the while Red Keep hear your pretty voice, calling for me-”

Rhaenyra has to cover her mouth with her hand, lest her breathing becomes too loud. Behind her, she swears she hears Ser Criston cough, as if he’s choking on something, and Rhaenyra has half the mind to shush him again. 

“I love doing things for you-”

Alicent’s voice like this is almost unrecognizable. At the feast, she had been her usual prim and proper self, and yet here, now-

“My darling, my sweet Alicent,”

Daemon’s voice, more of a growl, alongside Alicent’s breathy gasps of pleasure, and the shameful way Rhaenyra is acting by eavesdropping on them like the foolish girl Daemon accuses her of being, it is all too much. 

She turns to leave, almost crashing into Ser Criston. Rhaenyra has to go, now, before she feels even more foolish. 

Her sworn shield seems to be more of a sound mind, for he grabs gently at her arm and guides her away. His touch burns in a way she’s never felt from anyone before, and it feels especially pleasant with how flushed her whole body is. 

As he walks Rhaenyra to her rooms, she thinks with a humorless laugh that she understands why the guards were not at their post. Having to sit through that every night would drive anyone mad, either with lust or with anger or frustration. 

“Good night, Your Grace,” Ser Criston says when they arrive back to her rooms, but Rhaenyra cannot answer with words. She only nods, and closes the door in his face. 

For just a split of a second, she imagines what it would have been like kissing him, like Daemon and Alicent had kissed at the feast. 

Rhaenyra lays in her bed, under the covers despite how hot her body feels, and just… stays there. Sleeping now feels almost impossible. 

All she can think of are Daemon’s words-

“-my sweet little wife, you love being mine, my darling, my sweet Alicent-”

The few words Alicent had sais between her labored breaths and whimpers-

“Yes, Daemon, my Lord Husband-”

She must have been wrong. Perhaps they truly cared for each other. And wasn’t that just a revelation to be had this late at night?

Sleep does not find Rhaenyra until the early morning. 

*

Not much changed after the Prince moved into Lady Alicent’s chambers. Gilly already brought two meals for them, she was already used to cleaning up after the Prince, and she was even better at navigating his moods. Thought that might be because the Prince was much less irritable these days. 

Speculations over Lady Alicent’s potential pregnancy had been around since the first night of their marriage. Now that the two of them spent everyday together, it was more of a waiting game than a guessing game. Any day now they expected confirmation. 

As she attends to Lady Alicent everyday, Gilly could not help but notice that her lady had not gotten her moon blood since the Prince had started visiting her. 

That was a little over a moon now, she thinks. Perhaps two. And, as far as she knows, no official announcement has been made. 

One day, when the Prince was away and Lady Alicent was in her rooms by herself, Gilly wonders if she should ask her lady. It would do no harm just asking, after all. 

Lady Alicent is diligently working on embroidering a three headed dragon onto one of the Prince’s old leather jackets. She’s been practicing for weeks on scraps of leather and fabric, wanting to get the design just right before she finally stitches it on the jacket meant for the Prince. 

“Gilly, do you think this looks right?” her lady asks, showing her handmaiden her needlework. 

Gilly is nowhere near as good at needlework as her lady, a fact Lady Alicent knows well. She’d even offered to teach Gilly a few times. 

“It looks really good, my lady!” Gilly almost exclaims. 

The design looks as if it were made by the royal tailors, every line perfect and carefully stitched. Gilly is beyond impressed, especially since both Lady Alicent and Dorotea have mentioned that it is harder to embroider on leather. 

Lady Alicent seems to have an easier time embroidering since her fingers are not bloodied anymore. Before, she would take days to make just one flower. Now, she almost finished the Prince’s jacket in only a couple of days. 

The lady frowns still. “Are you certain? I think the third head is a little crooked. It is not at all accurate to the sigil.”

Gilly cannot spot the mistake, her eye nowhere near as trained as her lady’s. “I don’t see any flaws in it, my lady. I am sure the Prince will think the same, that it looks beautiful!”

Lady Alicent hums, turning her attention back onto her work. “I hope so. I’ve never given him a gift before, so I don’t know how he will react. Hopefully he’ll like it.”

She always found it interesting when the lady talked about the Prince. Gilly wonders if Lady Alicent is aware of how her eyes shine when just mentioning his name. “I am certain he will.”

A comfortable silence settles over the chambers as Gilly continues cleaning while Lady Alicent continues on her needlework. 

“Oh, Gilly, I meant to ask you,” her lady calls to her after a few moments, making her look away from her task. 

Lady Alicent’s face is flushed slightly. “What is it, my lady?”

“Do you know where my wedding dress might be?”

Gilly frowns, confused. “I believe so. It must be in one of the wardrobes, I am sure. Shall I look for it?”

Lady Alicent nods, looking rather relieved. “Yes, please, if you will. Please clean it as well.”

“Of course, my lady,” and before she can overthink it, asks “Might I know why? Do you wish to have some modifications made to it?”

Common women did it often, modify their wedding dresses so they can wear them for other occasions. If they even had wedding dresses, of course, as most common folk just married in whatever more elegant garbs they had. 

But she’s heard of noble ladies doing it too. She could imagine Lady Alicent would want to wear such a beautiful dress for other feasts or parties. 

Lady Alicent flushes further. “Ah, Daemon has mentioned wanting me to wear it again.”

Gilly does her best to hide her surprise, at both the information, and at Lady Alicent referring to the Prince only by his name. “Well, it is a very beautiful dress after all. Is there another occasion you two must attend?”

And Lady Alicent only flushes even redder, as red as her hair. “N-no, no other occasion. He just wanted to see me wear it, in our chambers,” she answers, her eyes firmly set onto her needlework, even as her fingers are not moving anymore. 

Gilly flushes too, already imagining what Lady Alicent must be referring to. She should have known, really. “I-I see. Well, I shall look for it as soon as I can! No worries, my lady!”

Her words earn Gilly a small smile, but a genuine one. “Thank you. And please, could you keep this between us?”

“Of course! I would never even think otherwise!

Silence settles over the room once again. Gilly gulps once, twice, and finally opens her mouth. “My lady, might I ask you something?”

Gilly does not look away from where she is cleaning, but she hears Lady Alicent making a questioning hum. “Of course. What is it?”

“Y-you care deeply for the Prince, do you not, my lady?”

“I…” Lady Alicent begins, trailing off, and as much as Gilly is curious what expression she might wear on her face, she keeps her eyes away. “I do, yes,” she says finally, with quite a lot of conviction. 

Gilly gulps again. “A-and, um, and please excuse my rudeness, I mean no offense, but are you… does he know…”

“I… am not sure what you mean to ask,” Lady Alicent says, her voice only a little shaky, surely to be missed by anyone that does not know her. 

Already having started this conversation, Gilly cannot back away now. She looks back at Lady Alicent, and sees her face impassive, not one emotion on her. 

“My lady, I only wished to know in case I have to congratulate you and the Prince if you two are… expecting-”

“No,” her lady interrupts her in a sharper tone than she’s ever heard. “That is not… why would you even think that?”

Everyone thinks that, Gilly almost says, but thankfully holds her tongue. Instead she tries to keep her calm as she answers. “My lady, I have just noticed that… your moon blood…”

Lady Alicent’s stern face drops, and leaves way to a more concerned expression. “That does not mean anything,”

“Of course not! I just thought… since you and the Prince are… close, and since he has moved here, that the two of you were at least planning on-”

“No, that is not-” Lady Alicent begins, and cuts herself off immediately. She seems more troubled by the second. “We have not talked about anything like that.”

Gilly does not know what to say next, and Lady Alicent does not meet her eye. In a small voice, she asks “Have you talked to the Maester? It could be something else, missing one’s moon blood, not necessarily… you know…”

The Prince’s jacket lays forgotten on Lady Alicent’s lap. “I have not talked to the Maester, no. But I am certain it is not… anything else but what you already think it is,”

Gilly, very much aware of the tense atmosphere in the room, asks the one question that has been rolling around in her head for a while. “And… does the Prince know?”

The silence that follows is enough of an answer, but her lady speaks nonetheless. “No, I have not told him yet,” 

“My lady…”

“I will, do not worry. It is just that…” she begins in a small voice, reminiscent of how she used to sound in those few months before and after her marriage, when her fingers were bloodied everyday and she barely ate. 

When Lady Alicent does not continue, Gilly tries to reassure her. “I am sure he will be more than happy, my lady. He already adores you,” and that gets a small smile out of her lady, which in turn makes Gilly smile, “there is no way he would not adore having a child with you,”

“He has never said anything about it, is all. No questions, not even one mention. I… I suppose I worry that he will not be pleased,”

Gilly attempts her hardest to hide her surprise. She thinks of all the rumors that the Prince was desperate for an heir and that his interest in Lady Alicent had been born from that desire, when in reality it seemed that His Grace had not even talked to his wife about it. How… curious. 

“My lady, please excuse my impertinence, but I really think you should tell him…”

The last thing Gilly wants to see is the Prince being upset that he wasn’t made aware of the news regarding his wife’s condition sooner. 

“I will, I swear it, but just… not now. Soon,”

Gilly nods, and says nothing more. She turns back to cleaning, and Lady Alicent turns back to her needlework. When the hour the small council meeting should end approaches, her lady hides the Prince’s jacket into the back of her wardrobe. 

“Gilly, one more thing…”

“Yes, my lady?”

Lady Alicent looks at her with soft eyes, almost pleading. “Please do not tell Daemon of… well, you know. O-or anyone else. I will tell him soon, truly-”

“You do not need to worry, my lady! I won’t say a word to anyone!”

Gilly thinks of all the times one handmaiden or guard had approached her with a golden coin or two and asked some question about the Prince or his wife. Gilly always turned them away. 

Her lady smiles, only a little. “Alright then. Thank you.”

“Of course!”

Gilly looks for the wedding dress the next day when the Prince and his wife go dragon riding. She mentions it later, after they’ve returned, when she draws a bath for Lady Alicent. 

She smiles wide, almost child-like. “That is wonderful. Have you found everything? The shoes, the stockings, the slip I wore?”

“Yes, my lady,” Gilly whispers, not wanting to alert Prince Daemon, who was currently not even in the chambers, of their conversation. 

“Good. How long will it take for them to be washed and dried?”

“One or two days, my lady.”

Lady Alicent nods, and sighs happily as she gets into her bath. Gilly expects to be dismissed soon. Lady Alicent usually likes to bathe alone. 

“Two days, then. Can you do my hair like it was done for my wedding? I think you are the one that styled it back then, too.”

Gilly cannot hide her excitement at being remembered for her work. “I did, yes! And of course, I can style it just like it was that day.”

Just like Lady Alicent plans, two days later Gilly helps her into her wedding dress. 

“Daemon ruined the surprise,” Lady Alicent says, a frown on her face. She looks the opposite of upset. “He made me tell him what I was planning.”

“I am sure His Grace will be delighted either way,” answers Gilly, and ignores the flush threatening to overtake her face. She tries not to think of the true reason her lady has for wearing her wedding gown again. 

“I hope so,” her lady says as she lathers lavender oil onto her red tresses. 

Lady Alicent has a truly complicated routine for her hair. She washes it three times a week at least, oils it once during the bath, washes it again, and oils the ends once more after the bath. She doesn’t even let anyone else brush it for her (current instance and other royal occasions notwithstanding). 

It is a new routine, one she’s developed during the time Prince Daemon started visiting her. 

“Mixing the oils, my lady?” Gilly asks as she notices Lady Alicent alternating between rose and lavender oils.

“I find they smell nicer like this,” she answers, and Gill tries to ignore the redness that blooms on her lady’s face. The Prince must like those scents then, she reckons.

“They do, indeed.”

Gilly starts working on her lady’s hair as soon as she is done with her maintenance. When they are done, Lady Alicent looks just like she did on her wedding day, if not for her bright smile. 

“You look so beautiful, my lady!”

“Thank you. This is how I looked on my wedding day, yes?” she asks, eyeing her image in the mirror. 

No, Gilly almost says, you looked truly miserable then, and now you cannot stop smiling.

“The very splitting image, my lady!”

If possible, Lady Alicent’s smile gets wider. “Wonderful. Thank you for your help, Gilly. Here,” she reaches for her hair oils, two small bottles colored pink and lavender respectively, and hands them to Gilly. “You can have those, as a token of my gratitude.”

Gilly’s eyes almost pop out of her skull. She catches herself in her shock before she drops the bottles. “My lady, I could not accept these. I-I have no use for them, I couldn’t-”

Lady Alicent waves her hand and her worries. “I have others, and you are always so helpful. You deserve to know my appreciation. You said you liked them, yes?”

“Well yes, of course, b-but I wouldn’t even know how to use them!” Gilly avoids the mention that two bottles of rich oils would be more than her pay for a whole moon, and Lady Alicent is just giving hers away. 

“You use them however you wish. Please take them.”

Lady Alicent does not allow her to refuse, and Gilly is left bowing and curtseying in front of her lady until she laughs. Gilly takes her leave with a shaky smile and a heart full of gratitude. 

She only trades a few words with the guards, some pleasantries with Gerald and slight jabs with Harold, before she hears the Prince’s loud steps. Gilly bolts upright when she sees him. 

“You Grace,” she says with a half bow-half courtesy. 

Prince Daemon is wearing the jacket Lady Alicent had embroidered for him. “Is my lady wife-”

“Lady Alicent is inside, yes!” Gilly hurries to say, the oil bottles suddenly incredibly heavy in her pockets. 

“And is she-”

“She is… dressed,” Gilly says, interrupting him again. 

The Prince hums in response. She’s never really seen the Prince smirk, that roguish grin half the servant women fawned over, but she thinks she can imagine it. 

“Thank you for your services,” he says before finally entering the chambers. Gilly leaves in a hurry, not even realizing how it might be the first time the Prince had ever thanked her for anything. 

The next day, Gilly gathers the dress and the rest of Lady Alicent’s clothes to clean them. She leaves Prince Daemon’s jacket over the back of his usual chair, where he’d left it. 

A few days after that, Lady Alicent falls ill. Prince Daemon is beside himself with worry. Gilly says nothing, and her lady avoids her eyes when she comes to tend to her. 

A couple of days after that, Prince Daemon calls for the Grand Maester Mellos. 

*

Despite what many believe, Otto does not like small council meetings. They are just part of his duty, he is always present and punctual, but he does not enjoy them. 

He always arrives first, unless otherwise occupied, not wanting to miss anything. There is much that can be gathered by simply observing the other lords coming in. 

Daemon, unsurprisingly, is usually the last one to arrive, and more often than not he arrives after they have already begun. It used to annoy Otto beyond belief. It still does, but now he argues that the Prince is busy with his duties as Lord Commander instead of chastising him. 

Another humiliation to add to the others, he supposes. 

When he sees Daemon walk in early, however, he is shocked. When he sees his wife walking behind him, it takes everything in Otto not to gawk like a simpleton. 

“Prince Daemon. Lady Targaryen,” he says, the words assured, but tasting of poison. 

He’d been repeating them in his head for weeks now, and as much as he hated referring to his daughter like this, it might just be enough to warm Daemon up to his proposition. 

Daemon only spares him a nod of his head, while his wife spares nothing. Not that Otto expected much, but it still irks him slightly. 

His mind is racing. He thinks he knows why Daemon brought her, and does his best to hold back the grin that wants to take over his face. 

*

Viserys wakes up tired, and as the morning draws on he only becomes more and more exhausted. Grand Maester Mellos has suggested a new treatment for his hives. Viserys thinks it might work, if only it did not make him so nauseous. 

He meets Rhaenyra in the halls as he walks to the small council meeting. His daughter, diligent as ever, walks by him. It is almost enough to make the pain of his affliction subdue. Almost. 

The ache comes back tenfold when he sees Lady Alicent standing behind his brother in the small council chamber. 

He hears everyone sans Daemon give their greeting, yet all he can see is Alicent dropping into a courtesy before him. 

Viserys is reminded of the day he made the announcement of her and Daemon’s marriage, when she’d been standing behind her father. Always away, always another man in between them. 

Viserys could have gotten her then. Otto would have been more than willing to give him his daughter’s hand. A part of him still grieves for what could have been. 

Now, with Daemon like a wall between them, Lady Alicent has never been more unreachable. Truly lost, forever someone else’s. 

“Lady Alicent, it is very good to see you. Is everything well?”

She lays a hand on Daemon’s shoulder, only for his brother to take it into his. They hold hands easily, so naturally, so used to touching one another. Viserys fights through the nausea to keep on a smile. 

“All is well, Your Grace.”

Viserys hadn’t realized until now just how much he’d missed her voice. 

Daemon looks at him with fire in his eyes. “We have news to share, brother,” his voice is steel and coal, cold and charring hot at the same time. 

“Only good news, I would hope,” Viserys chuckles, the words like gravel in his throat. His hand had never hurt more than it does now. 

Daemon grins, sharp as a dragon, wide and nasty and cruel in that way only his brother can. “Wonderful news, of the most joyous kind.”

“Well please go ahead brother-”

“My lady wife and I just confirmed it yesterday. Alicent is with child.”

The words ring in Viserys’ head. 

There is little shock in Daemon’s declaration, of course. If anything, Viserys is shocked it had taken them so long to have a confirmation, seeing as they even share their chambers nowadays. Something Viserys didn’t even do with Aemma, and is certain he won’t do with Lady Laena. 

There is little surprise, but his heart still hurts. He doesn’t know if the pain is from his illness, or from something else. 

Grief for what could have been and never was; jealousy over his brother, always better at most things than him, and now married to the girl he once held dear; misery over how low he’s fallen, a man his age, a King leading a kingdom and spending his days envious of his brother; most of all guilt that he cannot be as happy for Daemon as he knows he should be. 

Viserys smiles through it all. Despite everything, he is happy for Daemon, at least a little. His brother, finally, after years and years of being a lone flying dragon, has found someone to have a family with. Just like Viserys had wanted for him. 

And he is happy for Lady Alicent too. She looks at Daemon like he hangs the sun, a look he’s never seen on her face before, certainly not one directed at him. 

It seems he’s made the right choice, at least in this. 

Congratulations pour after. Viserys joins in, and does his very best to focus on the joy at his family growing and not on the storm of miserable feelings inside him. 

His brother has moved on, as has Lady Alicent. Viserys should too. 

And yet, his hand still throbs, and his heart still hurts. 

*

Rhaenyra is not surprised. At all. How could anyone be, with how shameless these two have been in their affections. 

She whispers her congratulations along with everyone else. She hears them argue and bicker and discuss, a feast to celebrate such a joyous occasion, the royal wedding, the future wedding of Princess Rhaenyra, all meaningless words that barely register in Rhaenyra’s mind. 

She feels like she is outside of her body, watching as Daemon and Alicent look at each other in that love struck way they had at the feast.

Love.

There is no mistaking it for Rhaenyra now, they must be in love, or at least lost in infatuation and lust. 

She looks at them, lost in their own world even though the storm surrounds them, and Rhaenyra wonders how it all began. What was the moment that made Daemon fall? What was it for Alicent? 

They look the same as she knows them, and yet they might as well be different people. Alicent smiles bright like the sun, and Daemon looks calm and composed in a way Rhaenyra has never seen him. 

She hears everything like she is underwater, lost in the sea and all by herself. 

“-perhaps it would be best to ask Rhaenyra, she is the Princess of Dragonstone after all,” her father says, and when Daemon turns to her with a gaze so cold and so disinterested that he might as well be looking at a worm, Rhaenyra feels even more lost. 

“Ah, yes, of course,” Rhaenyra answers, not even knowing what she is agreeing to. It seems to be the right answer, as Daemon turns to the King, impatient. 

“Ah, there you go! When did you two plan to leave?”

“Well if it were up to me, right now. But I suppose we shall need a few days to get everything in order-”

They’re going to Dragonstone, Rhaenyra thinks. They asked for my permission. I could have said no.

She thinks Daemon would have taken Alicent there even if Rhaenyra wouldn’t have given her permission. Otto Hightower surely would have argued in their favor, and her father always tried to do good by Daemon, whether he deserved it or not. 

Married, awaiting a child, and now they shall reside in her keep, her birthright, for however long. Do they even know how much they hurt her, she wonders? 

Rhaenyra doubts they even think of her at all. 

Perhaps it is time she stop thinking of them too. 

*

Laena thought working on the guests’ list for the wedding would be easier. Just invite the whole realm. Seeing as they’ve spent a whole day already, she was proven otherwise. 

Her father wanted to invite people even outside of the kingdom, the Sealord of Braavos, some magisters and merchants from Pentos, all suggestions that Lord Otto Hightower had been against. The King had given no input, which only irked Laena more. 

As it stood, they have decided to send invitations anyways. Laena desperately hopes they won’t attend. 

She and her mother work in silence, which persists until her father bursts into the chambers, all but kicking open the door. 

Princess Rhaenys only regards him from the corner of her eye. “Something the matter?” she asks, more disinterested than anything. Lord Corlys snorts. 

“Daemon-” Princess Rhaenys sighs, already tired, “had announced his wife’s pregnancy at the small council meeting.”

That gets Laena’s attention. “Truly?”

“Yes,” her father answers, spitting out the word. 

Princess Rhaenys only hums. “Well, it was to be expected, with how much time they have been spending together.”

Lord Corlys scowls. “You should have seen the way he announced it. He dragged the girl with him,” he fixes Laena with something akin to a glare. Laena is unused to being on the receiving end of such a look from her father. “Did you not notice her being pregnant? Did you not keep your eyes on her, like I asked you to?”

Laena feels a pang of anger through the shame of being chastised by her father. Other ladies had been discussing Lady Alicent’s potential pregnancy, but no one knew for sure. 

On the other hand, her father expects so much of her, and for nothing. Work on preparations for the feast, entertain the courtiers, attend her studies, and keep her eye on Lady Alicent? And he could not even inform her the King was so sick half his hand was missing?

Thankfully, her mother answers before she can. “We have not seen the girl in days, maybe weeks. Daemon keeps her locked in their chambers.”

“Did you not call on her?”

“Daemon just sends any servants away before they get to ask.”

Lord Corlys continues to scowl. “Well, they shall be gone from the keep soon. Which might be a good thing for us.”

Laena looks at her father with wide eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Daemon is taking her to Dragonstone, with the King and the Princess’ permission,” he answers, his tone angry and upset. Lena feels her face fall. Alicent is leaving?

“Is that so? For how long?” Princess Rhaenys asks, finally taking a break from writing invitations. Laena has the sudden urge to shove all of them off the table. 

“Who knows with him. I imagine they will be back for the wedding,” Laena lets out a relieved breath. She does not have many close friends, and getting married while Alicent is away feels wrong.

“But perhaps we shall be lucky and they will miss it,” her father continues, and Laena’s relief is gone in an instant. She would most definitely not feel lucky if Alicent and the Prince are gone while she is to get married. 

“I doubt that would work in our favor,” her mother responds, both her parents going back to their two favorite pastimes of arguing and ignoring her. “It would look horrible for the King’s brother and the Hand’s daughter to miss the wedding. They have to be present.”

“And steal all of Laena’s attention again?”

Laena wonders what her father would think if he knew she’d rather not even be at her own wedding. She’ll gladly let the Prince and Lady Alicent steal all the attention. 

Princess Rhaenys snorts, and glares at her husband. “No one will steal anything from anyone,” and with a soft smile, she looks at Laena. “It shall be Laena’s big day. No one will look anywhere else but at her.”

Laena smiles back to her mother, but it feels hollow. If only they knew how much she dreads her big day. 

Her parents continue to discuss, in that tone between an argument and a civilized conversation. Laena just continues to write the invitations. If she gets one or two wrong, so be it. 

The next day she sends another servant to call on Alicent. She wants to congratulate her, hug her and perhaps beg her to still attend her wedding, even if she will be heavy with child by then. 

As always, the servant returns dejected, having been turned away by the Prince before having asked anything. Her mother scowls, but Laena thinks she understands. She’s seen how close and affectionate Lady Alicent and the Prince had been; it figures they would want some time alone to enjoy the news. 

That particular thought makes Laena blush; as much as she would rather deny it, she’s been spending an embarrassing amount of time wondering about matters of the bedchambers. Certainly not things a lady of her stature should think of. 

She knows, of course, how children come to be. If she hadn’t known before, Laena would definitely know after almost a year at court. The other ladies would sometimes whisper and gossip and jest about it, whenever her mother wasn’t around, and usually out of Laena’s earshot. 

Laena had little curiosity about such matters; for the longest time she didn’t even care much about marriage. Not until she’d been betrothed, and suddenly her innocence was starting to be stripped away layer by layer. 

Now, even as the marriage would not be consummated until she was six and ten, she could not help but start to wonder. What was it truly like? 

The other ladies would giggle about it behind their fans, but some would frown and mention how there was little joy to be found in the marriage bed. Her mother and the Septas have refused to tell her much more than the basics, and even her old book in High Valyrian were quite vague to someone that knew nothing of the topic. 

With Lady Alicent’s and the Prince’s departure approaching day by day, Laena thinks she will never have another chance to get an accurate answer about what she should expect from her own wedding night, whenever that would come. 

Another day passes, and when her father leaves for the small council meeting, Laena turns to her mother. “Could I visit Lady Alicent, perhaps? In her own chambers?”

Her mother had frowned, but did not seem upset. “I suppose, if she will receive you. Send her my congratulations, dear.”

They send a servant to inquire over it, and for the first time in weeks the servant is not turned away. Laena tries to hide her grin as she marches all the way to Lady Alicent’s chambers. 

They’re a few halls down from hers, yet she’s never seen them before. Laena wonders if they will move to a bigger royal apartment once the babe is born. Hopefully one closer, so Laena can visit more. 

“Lady Laena,” Alicent greets her softly, curtsying even though she is in her own chambers. “It is good to see you. I am so sorry we have not seen each other much recently.”

“Not a problem,” Laena answers, and doesn’t bother with a courtesy. She hugs Alicent, and ignores the way her body tenses before she relaxes. “I understand wanting to spend time with your husband.”

Laena chuckles as Alicent flushes. “Ah, yes, I suppose-”

“And congratulations! I have only just heard the news!”

Her friend smiles, wide and happy in a way Laena had never seen her before. “Thank you, my lady. I appreciate it deeply.”

They sit down at Lady Alicent’s table, and her future good sister calls one of her handmaidens to bring them tea. 

“Have you decided on any names yet?” Laena asks, not even bothering to mask the excitement in her voice. 

“Not yet, no. I suppose we shall think about that when I am further along.”

“Would you want a boy or a girl?” and even as she asks it, Laena already knows that she should be praying that Lady Alicent will have a daughter. She is certain it is what her father wishes. 

“I don’t care either way, as long as the babe is healthy. Daemon said the same,” Lady Alicent replies with a smile that Laena can’t help but reciprocate. 

“Ah, I am sure everything will be alright. I will even go to the Sept and light up a candle to the Mother to watch over you and your child,” and Alicent laughs, making Laena smile into her cup of tea. 

“Since I have known you I have never seen you in a Sept once!”

Despite her mother’s advice that she should be seen going and praying in the Sept, Laena was not overly religious, most certainly not to the degree that Lady Alicent was. Perhaps she will find more solace in prayers, she thinks. Maybe that is part of the reason Lady Alicent is always so calm and reserved. 

“I heard you are going to Dragonstone.”

Lady Alicent’s face lightens up. “Yes! Daemon mentioned wanting to take me there before. He suggested we go now, before it becomes too dangerous for me and the babe to fly on Caraxes.”

“I think you will like it! It is beautiful, and quiet. It shall do you good, I heard pregnant ladies need all the calm and quietness they can get.”

“Is it cold there? Daemon said something about it being a little more chilly on Dragonstone,”

The way Lady Alicent calls the Prince by his first name comes so natural to her. It is clear to Laena that she always refers to him like that when they are in private. They must be rather close then; she hardly hears her parents refer to each other by their first names, at least not in front of her.

Laena wonders if she will ever be so close to the King to call him Viserys. The thought makes her want to spit out her tea. 

“It is a little cold, being so close to the sea, but I am sure you will be fine. I don’t know how the nights are there, we never stayed that long,” Laena answers, remembering the first time they visited Dragonstone, a few years ago. She had flown with her mother on Melys, while Laenor had taken Seasmoke. Her father had not joined them. 

She wonders if she will ever see it again. She would have much rather lived there than in King’s Landing. 

“That is good to hear, I do not like the cold much.”

“I am sure the Prince shall keep you warm, my lady,” Laena says with a smile and a slight flush onto her cheeks, almost not believing the words that leave her lips. 

When Lady Alicent flushes too, she laughs. 

The talk for a few moments, about how Lady Reyne had complained her betrothed was paying her no attention, or how Lady Redwine’s needlework had gotten worse since Alicent wasn’t helping her as much anymore. 

It feels lovely, talking to someone close to her age with no restrictions, someone that had been put in a similar situation to Laena’s and had made the most of it. 

Of course, Prince Daemon was nothing like the King, and being his wife was nothing like being the new Queen, but Laena was happy for just a little solidarity. She thinks that if Lady Alicent continues to be at court, life will be just a little more bearable. 

“You will be back before the wedding, right?” 

Her heart feels lighter, if only slightly, when Lady Alicent nods. “Of course. We will be back by then, I am sure.”

“Perhaps it will be pushed back again,” Laena mutters, more to herself than to Alicent, and tries not to let hope catch root in her heart, “so you can have the babe on Dragonstone. And then you can come for the wedding.”

Lady Alicent looks at her, a slight bit confused. “Have there been talks about the wedding being delayed?”

“Oh no, nothing of the sort. I am just being hopeful,” Laena answers, her tone jovial and in jest, but she knows well her words are true. She wonders if Lady Alicent can tell. 

And perhaps she does, for she smiles at Laena, kindly, like how one would when trying to approach a child or a small animal. Laena does not like pity, but it feels nice now. “I am sure everything will be fine with the wedding, my lady.”

“Of course, I know, I know. I just…” she trails off, not even knowing what to say. 

Laena contemplates telling Alicent about her concerns over the King’s health, asking if she’s heard anything about it from the Prince, if there is any way she could get out of the marriage-

“I-I am just nervous, is all. I cannot imagine being married yet,” she finally says, and drinks down the rest of her tea. Lady Alicent pours her another cup. 

“That is normal, my lady. I was nervous before my wedding too,” Laena does her best not to snort. The Prince was not like the King. As far as she knew, only one of them was missing fingers. Lady Alicent continues, “His Grace shall treat you well, I am sure.”

Laena nods, and sips more of her tea. 

After a few more moments of silence, Laena speaks again. “Lady Alicent, I was wondering…”

“Hm?”

Laena looks at her intently, already feeling her face heat up. “What shall one expect from the wedding night, from laying with a man?” she asks, the words all but tumbling out from in between her lips. 

Even through the nerves, Laena can’t help but think that the way Lady Alicent’s face flushes immediately is quite amusing. Were she not so nervous herself, she would definitely tease her over it. 

“Ah, my lady, t-that is not-” Alicent stammers and stutters, her hands grabbing tightly onto her tea cup. “I don’t think we should t-talk about something like this, you are still so young-”

Laena grunts in frustration, and while she is fully aware that she is acting like a petulant child, she cannot help it. “Everyone says that, but they expect me to marry in just a few months!”

Lady Alicent offers a shaky smile. “No one wants to scare you, or worry you. There are still two more years until the marriage will be consummated.”

Laena frowns and pouts. “Everyone keeping it away from me scares me more. I just want to know… I am just curious, is all. Were you not, before you got married?”

“Of course I was. A Septa did tell me some things before the wedding night, but…” Lady Alicent trails off and looks away, as if contemplating if she should share whatever is on her mind. 

Laena encourages her. “But what? Did she lie to you?”

She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t say she lied, but it was not… it was not like how she’d said. I was quite confused when… well, you know…” she trails off again, her face flushed. 

Laena’s eyes shine with curiosity. “Then you understand how I feel! How scary and annoying it is when no one will tell you what to expect!”

“I suppose…”

“So just tell me a few things!”

Alicent eyes her with slight suspicion. “I believe it might be more curiosity than fright that makes you insist so much on this, Lady Laena,” she says, her tone accusatory, but still light. 

It makes Laena smile. “Perhaps just a little, but I am truly nervous and worried about it too.”

“You needn’t worry, His Grace will know what to do.”

Laena can barely keep a grimace off her face at that. “That is the problem, he knows what to do and I do not. Please just tell me,”

Lady Alicent smiles, and Laena thinks she has her all but convinced. “There are still two years, my lady. I will have time to tell you later.”

Laena pouts again. “But you will have children by then to occupy your time with! Who knows when we will get to talk again?” and she reaches over the table, cupping Lady Alicent’s hands with hers. “ Please just tell me now.”

Lady Alicent shakes her head with a smile. “What is it with you Targaryens and your insistence on winning every single argument?”

Laena smiles wide, “I am not a Targaryen, I am a Velaryon.”

“Still,” and her friends sighs before settling her tea cup down, and grabbing one of Laena’s hands. “Alright, but I will only answer questions. I am not telling you anything too vulgar,” and the way Alicent flushes at her own words is almost enough to make Laena burst into laughter. 

“Understood, my lady.”

“Well, ask away then. I suppose you know the, um, the mechanism of it?” Alicent asks, the flush not leaving her face.

“I do, yes. Um, I suppose I want to know…” she trails off, not knowing where to start. “Does it hurt?” Laena finally asks, worry already laced in her voice. 

“No,” Lady Alicent says with conviction, and it lifts a weight off of Laena’s heart. “Or, rather, not like you imagine.”

Laena cocks her head, confused. “What do you mean?”

“It only hurt a little at the beginning, the very first time. It is not supposed to hurt any other times after that,”

For a second Laena thinks Lady Alicent is lying. Were it anyone else, she would be certain a cruel joke was being played on her. 

“That is… not what I heard from other ladies, when they talked about it.”

Alicent nods. “I know, I thought the same, but really, it is not meant to hurt.” Laena cannot imagine how it wouldn’t hurt, with the logistics of it. Lady Alicent continues, “Daemon said that as long as the man knows what he is doing, it should not hurt. So you have nothing to worry about,”

Laena nods, but does not understand. She reckons Alicent would not lie to her though, so she does feel slightly reassured. “I see. And is that… all there is to it? Just… the man… inserting inside…”

Lady Alicent flushes a deep red, and Laena is sure her face is just as warm. “Um, I suppose there is… more, um, other things…”

Despite the embarrassment, Laena’s curiosity gets the better of her. “Such as?”

Alicent does not meet her eyes. “Um, kissing, and touching, and, um, you know…”

Laena thinks of some of the more salacious passages she’s read in some book in High Valyrian, some words she did not understand at the time. She feels her cheeks flare up even more in embarrassment, if possible. 

“And it feels good? The kissing and touching?”

Lady Alicent nods, her face still flushed. “And, sometimes…” she begins and immediately trails off, embarrassed. 

It only makes Laena more curious. “Sometimes?”

Alicent clears her throat, and does not meet her eyes. “Sometimes the man needn’t… insert himself… for it to count as, um, laying together. You understand?”

Her friend’s face is as red as her hair and her dress. Laena, once again, thinks back on those passages in High Valyrian. “I suppose that makes sense. I read something similar, in some book.”

“I don’t believe you should be reading such a book, my lady,” even through her embarrassment, Alicent manages to maintain her penchant for modesty. It makes Laena smile in amusement.

“It was a book in High Valyrian-”

“Of course it was-”

“-and I did not think much of it, at the time. I didn’t understand what it meant. But it said that sometimes lords would, um…” Laena trails off, not knowing how to word it. “Would kiss their ladies, um… down there… is that something that happens?”

Alicent’s face gets even redder, and she finally lets go of Laena’s hand to cover her face with her palms. 

It is as much of an answer as any other, but Laena insists. “Does it? Truly?”

Lady Alicent nods, her face covered still. Laena smiles, feeling just a little bit more enlightened. She had not been completely clueless then. “And did the Prince ever-”

“I am not answering that,” Lady Alicent says, and finally uncovers her face to frown at Laena. 

Laena only smiles wider. “But did it feel nice?”

“Lady Laena!” Alicent whisper-yells, and gives her a glare that feels just as threatening as a small puppy. 

Laena only laughs, and reaches again for her hand. Finally, Lady Alicent begins to smile too, before finally giggling. 

“So, did it feel nice?”

Among the giggles, Alicent nods, so small and soft that Laena almost misses it. When she begins to chuckle, Lady Alicent hides her face again. 

“Well, I am glad the Prince is treating you well.”

“ Never tell anyone about this, or I shall never speak to you ever again, Queen or not,”

The mention of her future position as Queen almost snaps Laena out of her gleeful giggling. “I will not, don’t worry. Everything you have told me will remain between us. Even as the other ladies at court would be dying to know what you and the Prince do.”

“By the gods, you remind me so much of Rhaenyra sometimes.”

It feels nice, Laena thinks, to have someone close to her age she could talk about such things. She does not feel any of that pressure she always gets when talking to the other ladies at court. 

Laena will gladly take being compared with Princess Rhaenyra in this instance. She and Alicent used to be close, after all. 

They talk for what feels like hours, more gossiping, more giggling, before Laena finally takes her leave. “Please let me know when you two depart for Dragonstone, I need to give you my goodbyes.”

As Laena walks back to her chambers, the bleakness starts to quickly replace the giddiness that has been overtaking her. 

It was nice to see Lady Alicent so happy now, so pleased with the Prince, especially after the first few horrible moons of her marriage. 

Normally, Laena would hope she would someday be just as happy in her marriage, but she doubts it. The King is nothing like Prince Daemon, after all. 

*

The day when Lady Alicent and the Prince are meant to leave arrives quickly. Whatever belongings they’re taking on however long their stay on Dragonstone will be have already been packed and shall be sent by boat immediately. 

Gilly helps Lady Alicent into her riding clothes in the early morning. Her and the Prince had barely had any breakfast before they got ready. Prince Daemon said he wanted to leave before the weather got bad, but Gilly suspected he wanted to leave as soon as possible. 

“Are you good with children, Gilly?” Lady Alicent asks as Gilly buttons up her jacket. 

“I believe so, my lady. I used to care for my younger siblings when they were babes.”

“Ah, that is good to hear. I suppose we won’t need too many midwives then.”

Gilly tries her hardest to keep the shock and happiness off her face. “If you say so, my lady.”

When Lady Alicent is finally dressed and ready to go, Gilly holds back the urge to hug her. It would be inappropriate, and she would rather not upset the Prince, who’s been pacing the room for quite some time. 

“Are you ready yet?” he asks, and it will never cease to amaze Gilly how different his voice is when talking to Lady Alicent, compared to when talking to anyone else. 

It is almost enough to take a bit away from the Prince’s intimidating figure. Almost. 

“Yes. We can go now.”

“I wish you both a good time on Dragonstone, my lady, my Prince.” Gilly says with a low courtesy, and beams at Lady Alicent’s smile. 

“Thank you, Gilly.”

“Shall we prepare larger chambers for when you return?” she asks, a question that had been on everyone’s mind since the Prince had moved in. Their chambers were already larger than most, of course, but there were still greater royal apartments they could get. 

“I suppose we wouldn’t mind some bigger chambers,” the Prince says, and takes Lady Alicent’s hand in his. “We’ll need the room for the child,”

Her lady smiles at her husband, sweet and love struck. “Children are usually held in their own nurseries, you know?”

“There are royal apartments that have nurseries attached to them, my lady,” Gilly adds, and has to hide her surprise at the Prince’s laugh. 

“Those might be nice. We’ll think on that while we’re away. But look for a suitable one anyway, will you?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“The farthest away from anyone else, the better,” he adds, much to Lady Alicent’s amusement. 

“I shall do my best and look for one, Your Grace.”

Finally, they take their leave, Lady Alicent holding onto the Prince’s arm. Gilly watches them walk down the hall. She cannot imagine not seeing them again for months. 

“Finally, some peace,” Gerald whispers. He and Harold must be quite glad to have some calm and quiet for a while. 

Gilly laughs. “Until the babe arrives, of course.”

*

Viserys cringes in pain as Maester Mellos cleans the hives on his back. They’ve been getting worse and worse, so much so that it hurts Viserys to sleep on his back. 

Sleeping on his front is not much better either. He feels like he cannot breathe more often than not. Sleeping on his side is ideal, unless it is the left side of course, in which case the pain flaring up his arm makes it almost impossible. 

Maester Mellos said they shall try a new treatment soon. Viserys hopes it will help him sleep better, or at the very least stop the incessant coughing that has started to haunt him. 

There is a soft knock on his door that he almost misses. His trusted Hand comes in. 

“Your Grace,” he begins, and Viserys is past the point of feeling any humiliation at his continuous ailment. “I hope you are feeling better today.”

“Barely, Otto,” he manages to utter in response. His sounds out of breath, and had barely taken two steps. 

“I wished to inform you that Prince Daemon will be leaving soon,” Viserys already gestures to Mellos to step away so he can put his shirt back on. “If you do not feel well, I can-”

“Nonsense, nonsense,” Viserys says among the breaths, sighing in relief when his servant steps up to lace up his shirt. “I can wish him and Lady Alicent good travels, at least.”

I cannot be that weak, he thinks. Who knows when I will see them again?

“It might not be wise, Your Grace,” Maester Mellos tries to reason, but Viserys waves his worries away. 

“I will just walk a few steps. I will be alright.”

They relent to his wishes, even Otto. If his Hand is against it, he does not say. 

It takes way too long to get to the inner courtyard. Thankfully, at Maester Mellos’ insistence, he’d taken to using a cane recently. 

Daemon and Lady Alicent are just about to leave. Viserys smiles through the exhaustion at having caught them before they’re gone. 

“Leaving so early, brother?" 

If Daemon is annoyed, he does not show it. He and Lady Alicent are holding hands again, something Viserys now thinks might be a common occurrence between them. 

“What can be better than an early flight?”

There are many things he wants to say to his brother that he feels he might never get to say again. 

Viserys wants to apologize, for not annulling his first marriage sooner, for forcing him into a second one, for not understanding the agony of having such a choice taken away from you. 

He foolishly hopes for some gratitude from his brother, a thank you for arranging him a much better match. Just as he thinks it he knows it is futile. 

So Viserys says nothing that might get any ill reaction out of Daemon, and keeps his face as devoid of shock as possible when his brother mentions wanting to look for a dragon egg for his future child. 

The grief of having lost both Aemma and his much longed for child stabs at his heart once again. 

One of those horrible coughs catches on his throat again. He feels like he might lose his lung right in front of his brother. 

As soon as Lady Alicent departs to greet some other court ladies, his brother deigns him important enough to pay attention to. “Are you alright?”

Viserys hurries to reassure him, even as he feels like he’ll crumble on the ground. “Perhaps the weather isn’t agreeing with me,” he manages to say in between heavy breaths, holding onto the cane for dear life. 

Daemon looks far from convinced, but also far from worried. 

“You should rest, Your Grace. I am sure Prince Daemon appreciates you coming to bid him good travels,” he hears Otto say, but all Viserys can focus on is the way the sun almost burns at his skin. 

Ah, but how far he’s fallen. He feels like a walking corpse. 

As he looks at Daemon, he smiles, genuinely. Despite it all, it is good to see Daemon so happy, so excited about having his own family. He can only hope his brother will never know the grief he’s felt. 

“Well Daemon, I hope you and Lady Alicent enjoy Dragonstone. Your presence here will surely be missed,” he says, and distantly hopes he’ll live long enough to meet Daemon’s children when they are all grown up. 

That might make all this suffering worth it, he thinks. 

“We shall. Take care of yourself, would you? You still have a realm to serve, brother.”

A realm to serve he has indeed. Daemon’s words might have been meant to sound kind, as much as they could when uttered by Daemon, but they feel like a death sentence. 

Viserys takes his leave, holding onto his cane. As soon as he is out of Daemon’s view, he would have met his end on the floor if not for his White Cloaks holding him up. 

He can only hope Maester Mellos’ new treatment will help, if just a little. He cannot imagine being able to bear more of this suffering. 

*

Laena all but runs down the halls of the Red Keep, a few of the other court ladies right behind her. Laena paid them no mind. 

Alicent is leaving. The sun had just risen, Laena had barely awakened, and Alicent and the Prince were already leaving. 

Laena felt just the slightest bit betrayed that Lady Alicent had not told her when they would be leaving, like she had begged her. But, right now, she was simply desperate to see her just one more time before she leaves. 

She bursts into the inner courtyard and yells for Lady Alicent before she even takes time to see who else is present. Laena almost pales when she sees the King and the Lord Hand standing by her friend and the Prince. The last thing she wants is to talk to the King. Who now has a cane.

Were she not so out of breath from running up and down the halls, she would cringe at the image. 

But, Lady Alicent saves her from having to even see the King, as she comes to Laena all by herself. 

Laena hugs her tightly. Lady Alicent hugs her back. 

“I thought you would be leaving later,” she tells her when they finally break away from the embrace. 

Lady Alicent just offers one of her ever present polite smiles. “I thought so too, but Daemon wanted to leave before the weather gets bad and it is harder to fly. I apologize for not telling you sooner.”

“No no, that is fine. I just wish…” Laena trails off, not knowing how to word what it is she is feeling. 

I wish I had someone else to talk to while you’re gone. I wish I could leave King’s Landing on dragonback too. I wish it was me in your place.

“I just wish I knew a day beforehand, we would have thrown you a small gathering!” she says instead, and smiles, albeit a little forced. Laena feels all too aware of the other ladies staring at them, like they’re some jailmasters and Laena is their new prisoner. 

“That is very kind of you, my lady.”

“Perhaps we shall still hold that gathering when you return, Lady Alicent!” one of the other court ladies that had followed after Laena supplies. 

Laena nods, but knows it is futile. Alicent will be too busy with her child and the Prince when she returns; she won’t have any time for Laena or for the boring court. 

“That would be most lovely,” she says still, and Laena wonders if she believes it. 

“Will you write to me while you’re gone?” Laena asks, the sudden thought that she will have no one to talk to being rather upsetting.

She still remembers sitting in Lady Alicent’s chambers, having tea and talking to her about everything and nothing, and Laena is desperate for just a little bit more of that solidarity she’s found in her soon to be good sister. 

Lady Alicent laughs, soft and airy. Even dressed in her riding breeches, she still looks elegant. “We will only be gone for a few moons, my lady.”

A few moons might not mean much to Alicent; time flies when you spend it with the one you love. But for Laena, every day that gets her closer to her wedding passes like a year. 

“Still, will you? If you find the time?” she asks again, and hopes her voice does not sound too desperate. 

But Lady Alicent smiles, and takes her hand in hers. “I will, do not worry.”

It settles Laena’s nerves just a little, but she is grateful. She wants to talk more, talk about whatever before Alicent has to leave, but one of the court ladies pulls on Laena’s sleeve. 

“My lady, we should go soon. You have yet to break your fast, and you have your studies after…”

Laena holds back an annoyed sigh. She wants to snap at them all, but she cannot.

She smiles instead. 

“Of course, you are right. Safe flight and safe travels, Lady Alicent. Enjoy Dragonstone,” she says, and hugs her again. 

Lady Alicent is taller than her, and when they hug Laena can rest her forehead against her neck. 

“Thank you, my lady. I shall write to you when I can.”

The other ladies give their goodbyes as well before leaving with Laena, trailing after her. 

Later, when she hears Caraxes growl in the skies, she does her best not to look out the window. She already wants to write to Alicent. 

*

Larys usually wakes up early in the mornings, before the sun is even up. He never needed much sleep, even when he was a child. 

It proves especially useful when he hears that the Prince and Lady Alicent will leave for Dragonstone early in the morning. 

He waits until Laena Velaryon leaves and Lady Alicent is alone to finally approach her. Might as well do so before the Prince finishes whatever conversation he has with the Lord Hand. 

“My lady, good morrow. Leaving so soon?”

She smiles, polite as always. Larys remembers just how upset she was before and after the wedding. Who would have thought Prince Daemon could actually be charming? 

“Lord Larys. Yes, Daemon didn’t want to waste much time.”

Larys does her best not to grimace at the mention of the Rogue Prince. He’ll have to get better at keeping his aversion for him at bay if his plans are to succeed. If the Lord Hand can do it, Larys shall try as well. 

Still, he cannot blame the Prince for wanting to whisk Lady Alicent away to Dragonstone. He bites his tongue, lest he make a comparison on how the Rogue Prince took his other whore there too, once before. 

“Yes, I have heard that it might rain today. Better to leave while the weather is still amiable.”

“Indeed.”

“And,” Larys says, leaning in to get closer to her. Lady Alicent always smells like lavender and rose. “Congratulations, my lady. May the Seven look upon you and your child.”

Larys had not spoken to her since the feast, had barely seen her in small glimpses across the halls and the gardens whenever the Prince left her out of their chambers. It was like those few weeks before their wedding, when she’d never leave her chambers. 

She seems like a different person now, Lady Alicent. He’d almost find it foolish, if he weren’t trying so hard to be kept in her good graces. 

“Thank you, Lord Larys.”

“Also, my lady, if you wish for me to keep you up to date with anything that happens at court while you are gone,” he begins, trailing off, leaving his words hanging. 

A small frown forms on her face. “Thank you, my lord, but I don’t believe it will be necessary. We shall only be away for a few moons. How much can happen?”

“Oh, I am sure much could happen in those few moons, my lady,” he answers, and fakes a smile. Lady Alicent must have forgotten while being lost in between the Prince’s sheets, that it took but one month for her and the Prince to become different people. 

He does not get to say much more, as the Rogue Prince comes to her side immediately. Larys makes himself smaller, as one is supposed to when in front of a dragon. 

He gives his congratulations to the Prince too, who very much does not care, and only guides Lady Alicent away. Larys watches them as they get into the carriage. Soon enough, they are gone. 

The Red Keep will surely be more quiet without them around.

*

When he hears that Daemon is planning on leaving the capital early in the morning, Otto has to take a few moments to reel in his anger. 

The man can be so infuriating. He wouldn’t let Otto organize a feast in honor of his firstborn child, and now he wants to leave without as much as a goodbye. It is beyond rude and disrespectful, but really, perhaps it is Otto’s fault. He should know by now to expect the worst from Daemon. 

They talk just a little before they leave. Daemon delivers his threats once again, insults him and his brother, a gesture Hubert is sure to not enjoy, and has to make some more crude comments about his daughter. 

And, of course, rejects any of Otto’s comments relating to the succession line. He cannot be that stupid, Daemon surely catches the implications in Otto’s words. It seems he just does not care for that. Too busy acting like a dog over his wife. 

Otto does not mind. There is still time, he thinks. Daemon can change his mind and decide to pursue the throne any second, and Otto will have to be ready. If not soon, then perhaps after the child is born. If not the first child, then second or the fourth, for he is sure to father many more. 

And if he does not want it even then, perhaps one of his children will be more ambitious. Especially if they are raised around Otto himself. He shall see how to plan for that. 

There is still time, he thinks as he writes a letter to Hubert. There is still opportunity. Hightower blood will sit on the throne, and Otto will be there to witness it. 

*

Rhaenyra spends all her morning in her chambers. She thinks she’ll spend the whole day inside. 

Today is the day Daemon and Alicent leave for their retreat. To Dragonstone, Rhaenyra’s keep and her birthright as Crown Princess.

But, before it was hers, it was Daemon’s, and it seems he still has some fondness towards the place. When she was younger she’d been there many times. She used to imagine moving there one day, maybe with Daemon, maybe with Alicent. 

When Daemon’s been stripped of his title, he went there with his whore. Now, he goes there with his wife. Both times he’s left Rhaenyra by herself, forgotten in the Red Keep, discarded like a sick dog that wasn’t fun to play with anymore. 

She feels nothing as she watches the carriage leave for the Dragonpit. She feels nothing as she watches Caraxes fly, screeching and growling through the skies. 

Perhaps it will be better without them. Rhaenyra might finally have the peace of mind to focus on something else rather than dwell on her misery. 

There is much for her to learn still. There are many nobles still at court that she could sweet talk, strengthen her position, as her aunt has said. 

Perhaps she will do as her father had recommended and will go on a tour to seek a husband. Maybe she will find herself someone who looks at her like how Daemon and Alicent look at eachother. 

And, perhaps, with time, she will stop feeling like she’s being stabbed through the heart whenever she thinks of them.

They have already begun their new life. So shall Rhaenyra.