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Chapter Text

The word gets caught in his throat.

For an instant, Aemond seems unable to make a sound, unable to give the command and carry out the punishment.

But only for an instant.

When his gaze refocuses on those haunting green eyes that once spelled his world, the weight of her crime echoes in his mind.

And then he finds his voice.

 “Dracarys”

Screams. Screams are soon heard as Vhagar opens her jaws and unleashes flames from it.

But there hadn't been any screaming that afternoon, had there?

No. She hadn't screamed…why then…?

"Wake up, prince Aemond."

Small hands tentatively touch his shoulder, moving him gently and waking him, allowing his recollections to return to that hidden part of his memory as consciousness once again bathes his mind.

His bedroom. He is in his bedroom, not in Harrenhal.

Aemond grunts and fixes his good eye on the maid who, candle in hand, has awakened him. The poor girl backs up a couple of steps, startled, noticing the disgust in the expression of her master.

"What is happening?" he asks when the voice of a woman crying in pain reaches his ears

“It's the queen, my prince. She has begun with her labors."

Already? It is what he wonders internally, although he does not verbalize his doubt.

"My family?"

"Gathered in your mother's chambers"

Aemond nods and pulls back the sheets that cover him, sitting up on the bed and reaching for the leather patch he keeps on the nightstand.

"Go away, I can manage myself"

The young woman makes a quick curtsy before leaving the room.

Aemond sighs and drains the glass of water that is always by his bedside before washing and dressing.

When he is ready he emerges from his rooms in the Tower of the Hand, and strides down the dimly torchlit corridors, his sister-in-law's screams growing louder and louder as he approaches the royal family quarters.

It's going to be a long night, he thinks as he nods to Ser Arryk and enters his mother's chambers.

"Mother?" calls softly

"She is with Ellyn"

Aemond finds his younger brother sitting by the fire.

"What are you doing here alone?"

“I was not alone until a while ago,” Daeron replies, “Mother and I were praying, but the maesters came looking for her.”

The prince restrains himself from rolling his eye and concentrates on the last part of the information that his brother has given him, "I imagine the prognosis is not good"

Daeron shakes his head and drinks from the wineglass he is holding, “There were almost three moons to go before the baby came. The maesters do not believe that the babe will survive”

Aemond nods, though he isn't sure if his brother sees him. He had already imagined something like this when the maid had informed him that the queen was in labor.

“I really thought this time would be different”

The young prince's voice sounds pained, his gaze meeting Aemond's, who can tell how affected he looks. Sometimes when he gazes into Daeron's youthful face, he can still see the five-year-old version of him clinging to his mother's skirts in an attempt to prevent him from being taken to Oldtown.

"Our sister-in-law is still very young, they can try again." Words are more of an empty courtesy, a vain attempt to cover up reality. This was the fourth time Ellyn had become pregnant, the only time she had managed to keep the baby inside her long enough for her swollen belly to be displayed at court. "Where is Aegon?"

"He drank milk of the poppy before going to bed," Daeron pours himself another glass of wine and hurries it, "They tried to wake him, but he's fast asleep."

"Maybe it's better that way"

"Maybe"

“Stop drinking so much or you'll end up like our brother,” Aemond says, exasperated, as his younger brother pours himself another glass of wine.

Daeron gives him an embarrassed smirk and sets his glass aside, sighing as he returns to his place by the fire. Aemond sits in the front chair and a comfortable silence settles between the two princes, which is broken more than an hour later, when their mother returns.

"Mother!" Daeron immediately stands up and goes to Alicent, "What happened?"

Aemond turns to face his mother, examining her somber expression, the dark circles under her eyes, and how pale she looks.

"It was a boy. He had hair as dark as the Baratheons” The woman hugs Daeron and lets her son, who is already quite a bit taller than her, comfort her by running his hand on her back.

"How is Ellyn?"

"She is going to be fine, but she needs to rest," Alicent pulls away from her son's chest and cradles his face in her hands, "You should rest too, darling, it's still a while until morning."

“I want to be here, with you both,” Daeron replies, and Alicent tilts her face to her eldest son, as if realizing for the first time that he is there, too, “Surely there will be a council meeting to…”

“Mother is right, you better go back to sleep,” Aemond cuts him off, getting to his feet, “There is nothing we can do for now. The arrangements for the funeral and everything else will have to wait until morning."

Alicent nods and kisses a defeated Daeron on the forehead, who leaves without protest.

"Do you want me to stay? We could…we could pray, perhaps,” Aemond proposes as the door closes behind his brother.

Alicent glances at him briefly before smirking and shaking her head, “Maybe in the morning, Aemond. I would like to rest, you should do the same”

Her voice is not without affection, but the prince can't help but get the impression that his mother already wants to send him out of her room. The thought fills him with an unpleasant feeling in his stomach. "Of course, I'll see you in the morning"

However, upon returning to his quarters, it becomes clear that he won't be able to sleep, so he begins reading the many scrolls that require his attention until the sun begins to make its way into the sky, which is when he heads towards the training yard.

“I thought I wouldn't see you today,” Ser Criston greets as he removes his white cloak and chooses his usual morning star.

“You know me, Ser Criston, I never skip training,” he replies, taking his sword and moving into attack position in front of the knight.

Cole smirks and the fight begins. Despite years of arduous preparation, it is not easy for him to defeat the Lord Commander, but when he succeeds, an arrogant smile spreads across his lips.

“Well done, my prince,” Ser Criston congratulates him, and he seems to hesitate before adding, “I heard about the queen and the baby.”

Aemond nods. It wouldn't be long before everyone in the palace and the kingdom found out about his family's new failure.

"It was the will of the gods, we can only accept it," continues the knight. Aemond looks down to avoid making a face that betrays what he thinks about the gods and their designs, aware of how religious his old weapons master is, and not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable, “Does the king know?”

"No, I don’t think so."

Ser Criston leaves his morning star on the table with the other weapons, "I'll go see him after I freshen up, do you want me to talk to him?"

Aemond understands what Cole is offering, to take away the burden of having to break the news to Aegon, and is internally grateful for his proposal, though his face remains impassive and he simply nods, "Surely my mother will be there too.”

"Try to get some rest before the council meeting," says the knight, patting him on the shoulder, "The kingdom and your family will need you now more than ever."

Ser Criston bows before leaving the courtyard, his words following Aemond as he gets ready to meet the members of the Small Council.

"The king?" he asks as a servant helps him with the chair

"He is in no condition to attend this meeting," Alicent replies, her hands clasped in her lap, her voice thick with sadness.

Aemond just nods. Aegon might have many faults, but it couldn't be said that he didn't feel the loss of his children. His brother had mourned, in his own way, the death of his heirs with Helaena and those that Ellyn had not been able to keep in her womb.

"What about the queen?" Daeron asks

“In bed, too weak to get up. She lost a great deal of blood, and she was very close to sharing the same fate as the little prince,” Grand Master Orwyle replies and seeks the dowager queen's gaze. Aemond notices that his mother nods to him and the old man continues speaking, "Her grace may not be able to conceive again."

There is a moment of awkward silence among the members of the council, although the prince notes from their expressions that no one is really taken by surprise by the maester's diagnosis.

"Surely you can't say that for sure," Daeron says, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, "Ellyn is very young, she is strong, she will heal."

Orwyle smiles condescendingly at him, “Another pregnancy would kill her, my prince. It would not be advisable for the queen to conceive again."

Aemond tilts his face and purses his lips, his fingers drumming the corner of the table.

“I dare say that I speak for all the members of the council,” says Tyland Lannister, “When I say that we need to find a solution to the problem of the heirs”

Or to the lack of them, Aemond thinks, “What do you have in mind, lord Lannister, considering that my sister-in-law will not be able to bear my brother a child?”

"We could, perhaps, ask the Faith for an annulment of the marriage," the man looks at Alicent, tentatively.

"On what basis? The marriage was consummated."

“Her inability to give heirs to the king”

Daeron snorts, and Aemond looks at him, half exasperated and half amused. What the hell is his little brother doing here? Alicent takes Daeron's hand and squeezes his fingers, tacitly asking him to control his reactions. Their closeness stirs something inside the prince, who looks away, annoyed.

"We can hardly blame the queen for that," Alicent replies, "The gods blessed their union, we cannot simply break it, it would be improper."

“Not to mention that Borros Baratheon would not take such an insult lightly,” adds Aemond.

His mother nods and sighs, turning to him, "We'll have to resort to other alternatives."

Their gazes meet for long seconds, and Aemond is perfectly capable of reading what's in them.

Duty and sacrifice.

His mother's favorite words and those that have dictated her actions throughout her life. The words Aemond had followed since he was a boy… until the start of the war.

Now, he realizes, his mother appeals to them once more as she watches him, nervously fidgeting with the rings on her fingers.

"Who?" ask finally

"Rhaena Targaryen"

“No,” he says flatly.

Not her, he thinks as he lowers his head and can swear a pang of pain runs down the scarred side of his face. Any other but her. Not the girl for whose stupid accusations he had been scarred for life and accused of stealing a dragon.

Alicent sighs, "Lady Rhaena is best suited to be the mother of the future heirs."

“An alliance with any other noble house in the realm would be wiser,” he retorts.

His mother seems to look to the council members for support. Aemond wonders if they had been secretly planning this for a while. Most likely it was.

“Your cousin Rhaena is the best choice, prince Aemond,” Lannister tries to reason, “Her friendship to lady Arryn is well known, which would ensure an alliance with the Vale. You are well aware that Lady Jeyne was in favor of princess Rhaenyra and that…”

“I know all that, lord Lannister,” Aemond cuts him off. He doesn't need the man to remind him who their allies were and who were not during the war, “Even so, I don't think we should assume the Vale will resume good relations with the crown just because I marry my cousin. Why would they? She is just a guest there, a noble lady with nothing really to offer, no titles, no land…”

“Her blood is important,” his mother cuts him off, “Her blood would give more legitimacy to your children”

"Legitimacy?" he asks incredulously, astounded by the dowager queen's choice of word.

"Yes, legitimacy," Alicent seems reluctant to speak, tilting her face, but finally faces him, "Half the kingdom still calls your brother usurper, if a new war hasn't started it's because they don't have a male heir to place on the throne," a look of sadness appears on her features, "Lady Rhaena is the daughter of Daemon Targaryen. Like it or not, the prince was respected by many noble houses. Having his blood on the throne would appease the lords who only bend the knee in fear of your dragons."

Aemond makes an annoyed noise. He can't argue with his mother's arguments, because he knows they are true. It was fear, not loyalty, that kept his brother on the throne.

“Your mother is right,” the maester chimed in, “It is better for lady Rhaena to marry you than another high lord. If she or her sister had a male heir, the conspiracies would start again and King Aegon's throne would be threatened."

“We should have chosen her as Aegon's wife from the start,” Alicent sighs, “We should have convinced the king that she was the best choice. Maybe I would have my grandson by now if so”

Ser Criston, who has remained silent up to this point, cautiously approaches the prince, "Your family needs you, my prince," he says, repeating his words from earlier, "You must secure the future of the dynasty."

Aemond grimaces, "Baela would be a better choice," he proposes. If he's going to marry one of her cousins, it had better not be her.

“No,” his mother replies, alarmed, “Lady Baela's behavior is questionable. Reports say that she lost her virtue long ago and that she misses no opportunity to give herself to stable boys and servants. I will not have the lords of the kingdom question the paternity of my future grandchildren."

No. That wasn't their style, Aemond thinks with a cynical smile.

“Not counting her unfortunate temperament, let's remember that she tried to kill the king. In addition, her wounds could play against her at the time of delivery," says the maester

Lannister nods, “Rhaena is a gentle lady, and her demeanor has been faultless. She will be a good wife."

Aemond balls his hands into fists, "Hardly, lord Lannister, considering that she will be marrying the man who murdered her father."

“And her betrothed,” Daeron comments, earning a reproachful look from his mother, to which he just shrugs, “I'm just saying that, like Aemond, I think there's a lot of history between the two of them. It probably won't be a happy union."

Aemond is tempted to make a sarcastic comment at his brother's naïveté, but his mother's words stop him.

“It doesn't need to be. They just have to fulfill their roles and produce a royal heir. They can keep their daily activities separate”

Her voice denotes a shadow of sadness and bitterness, her gaze distant before resting on his eldest son's.

And there it is again.

Reproach.

There is so much reproach in her gaze. There isn't a day that he hasn't noticed the reproach in her eyes since he returned from his somewhat failed mission in Storm's End. Since his actions in the war had created an abyss between them, since his slip in Harrenhal had finished burying the unconditional affection that his mother had once harbored for him.

Affection that seems to have been transferred to his younger brother, the war hero, the Daring, the courageous young prince. Affection that he tries to recover every day, without success.

"Is this what you want?" he asks quietly leaning towards his mother

“This is what we need,” Alicent nods, “And what your reputation needs, too.”

Alicent's hand covers his and, it's been so long since she's willingly sought his contact, that he lets go of the momentary pain and embarrassment he feels at his mother's words.

If marrying Rhaena Targaryen is what he needs to cleanse his wrongs in Alicent's eyes, then it is what he will do.

“Fine,” he replies, “Make the necessary arrangements. I will marry my cousin as soon as you see fit."

Chapter Text

The mountains begin to turn red, orange, and lavender as the sun sets behind them. Rhaena, though used to the sight, finds it as breathtaking as the first day she watched the sunset from the grounds near the Eyrie.

"Beautiful, don't you think?" she asks her dragon, who, clinging to her shoulder, lets out a soft roar as a kind of affirmative answer to her question.

Soon she will no longer be able to support the weight of the creature on her body, but in the meantime, and although she knows that she will have to rub her shoulders with the maester's ointment later, she allows Morning to scratch her snout against her neck.

“The hunting party has returned, Lady Rhaena,” a servant informs her almost shouting from an exaggerated distance, afraid to approach the girl while the dragon is at her side.

Rhaena nods and giggles as the boy hurries away, then she tilts her face to look at Morning before hurried toward the castle courtyard, where knights, squires, and servants are shouting for stable boys to take care of the tired horses. Rhaena ignores them, and moves between the small crowd until she finds the figure she is looking for, a knight with his back turned stroking his mare.

“I hope the hunt has been successful"

The man jerks, clearly surprised by the sudden voice behind him, and turns, meeting the girl's smirk. “Lady Rhaena,” he greets with a nod.

“Ser Corwyn,” she nods as well, imitating his formal tone of voice and calling him by his title, though he is her closest friend in the Vale, and they often call each other on first names when they aren't surrounded by so many lords, “So any luck?”

“Lord Royce was the one who gave the deer the coup de grace,” he sighs, shaking his head, “Though I was the one who managed to track it down.”

"Bravo for you!"

Corwyn smiles shyly, and a blush that the girl finds adorable stains his cheeks. "I brought this for you"

The young man carefully removes a white handkerchief from one of the mare's saddlebags and approaches Rhaena, nervously eyeing Morning, who just looks at him disinterestedly, used to his scent and his presence.

“It is beautiful,” she answers, opening the handkerchief and looking at a deep purple flower. Flowers are rare to find due to the Eyrie's geography, the castle being the only place to have a garden with some specimens that are the pride of Lady Jeyne.

"For your books"

 “Thank you, Corwyn,” she replies softly, guarding the flower carefully, “I hope to see you at the feast tomorrow.”

"I hope I can have the honor of dancing with you," he nods, "That is if this time you manage to make room for me among the many dance requests that the other lords will surely make of you"

“I think I can save you a dance,” she says with a smile.

Ser Corwyn seems to want to say something else, but simply watches her, making Rhaena's heart skip a beat as he takes her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing her knuckles, "See you tomorrow, Lady Rhaena."

"See you tomorrow, Ser Corwyn"

Morning lets out a loud grunt and Rhaena withdraws her hand from the knight's, offering him one last smile before entering the castle and heading towards her room, where a delicious fire crackles brightly and a tub full of hot water is already waiting for her.

The young woman takes a bath and puts on a simple mauve dress because, although they are in the middle of the celebrations for the name day of Lady Jeyne Arryn's eldest son, there is nothing really important planned for tonight, so she pays not too much attention to her outfit as she heads towards the private room of the lady of the castle, who is already sitting at the table waiting for her.

"Oh! There you are,” she says when she sees her arrive, waving her hand and pointing to the chair next to her, “Come, let's eat.”

Rhaena seems to notice a hint of feigned calm in her voice, but doesn't comment on it because Lady Jeyne distracts her with comments about trivial matters that aren't usually part of their normal topics of conversation, which manages only to increase her concern. But it's not until she's eaten some of her treacle tart that she dares to ask, "Is everything okay?"

The older woman pushes her plate away and sighs, giving her a look that seems to be filled with compassion, "I didn't want to ruin your appetite."

“That's not exactly reassuring,” she replies, pushing her dessert aside as well, “What is it?”

"I received a letter this afternoon"

Her heart stops for a second and her mind seems to go blank until she manages to find her voice, “Is it Baela? Is she okay?" She hadn't heard from her twin in a while, her last letters had been terse and didn't give too many details of her life as a guest/hostage in Driftmark.

“It was not your sister who wrote,” Lady Jeyne shakes her head, “The letter came from the capital. Written by the Dowager Queen herself."

"Oh. And the queen wanted…?”

"To inform me that they require your presence in court… indefinitely"

Rhaena nods as she tries to understand what exactly that could mean. Why would the Greens want her back in King's Landing? What was the point for such request? She was just a noble lady with nothing to offer, living as a guest in the Vale, with no money, no land, nothing but her dragon and her name. Her name… Rhaena swallows hard and meets Lady Jeyne's gaze, who seems to be thinking the same thing as her.

"I suppose they plan for me to marry one of them?"

"They don't mention it explicitly, but it's the only explanation that makes sense."

"When am I expected to go?"

"Prince Daeron will arrive tomorrow to personally take you to King's Landing."

"Tomorrow?" Rhaena gasps, her breath quickening, her vision blurring at the information, “Why so soon? And why should the prince come for me?” She demands to know, even though she knows Lady Jeyne doesn't have the answers, “Oh, and the feast! What will happen to the feast?”

Her last question is silly, but she can't help but ask it. Rhaena feels her eyes fill with tears, but she takes a deep breath, calming herself down. There's no point in crying, there's nothing she can do to delay or dodge the plans they have for her. Even if she asked Lady Jeyne to try to put up a fight -which she would never dare suggest- the superiority of a dragon against the Vale's defenses had already been proven years ago by Queen Visenya and Vhagar. And it's not like she could be a match for Daeron and his dragon, not with Morning still so young and small.

“I think I know why they are acting so hastily,” Lady Jeyne leans closer to her, “I received information from the capital, the queen has once again lost the baby she was expecting. According to rumors that I haven't been able to confirm yet, but which seem to be true, she is not expected to survive for too long."

Rhaena sighs and closes her eyes, her mind briefly drifting back to the fateful night when she lost her mother. The blood, the desperate screams, the unborn baby…poor Ellyn Baratheon, she thinks.

“They are desperate,” the woman continues, “Almost four years on the throne and no heir. They need to cement their position now more than ever. And there is no better candidate than you to achieve it. If I'm being honest, I was hoping they would have sent for you as soon as they secured the throne. You would have been the most logical choice to be the Usurper's new wife. They surely intended to offend you and your sister by pushing you aside, although their plan did not turn out as they expected."

"It seems that, one way or another, I will not be able to escape that fate"

Lady Jeyne squeezes her hand, leaning even closer and almost whispering, “This is not necessarily bad news. You will be queen and you will have power."

"How much power can I wield surrounded by my enemies?"

“You don't just have enemies in King's Landing. There are those who do not forget that the Iron Throne belonged to Queen Rhaenyra, there are those who would help you because you are the blood of the dragon, the blood of Daemon Targaryen himself."

Rhaena winces at the mention of her father and tilts her gaze, “I don't want to know about conspiracies, Lady Jeyne, I just want a quiet life. That's all"

It is what she had always wanted.

She had wanted to live peacefully and happily with her sister and her parents in Pentos.

She had wanted to be able to marry Luke, with whom she was assured of a peaceful coexistence as husband and wife.

She had wanted to be able to stay in the Vale and dance with Corwyn Corbray.

She hadn't wanted deaths, or wars, or betrayals, but she had grown up in the midst of them.

Lady Jeyne places her hand lovingly on her cheek and looks up at her, her expression strangely soft and motherly. "I am so sorry, Rhaena, I know this is not what you expected."

“It is fine,” she shrugs, “It is what I was born to do, right? I always knew that I would have to marry a high lord and produce heirs. I guess… I guess it doesn't matter if that high lord is the king”

“A king who can barely walk, who gets sicker every day and who will hardly be able to hurt you in the marital bed. A king who is desperate for an heir, a man easily manipulated if you give him what he wants."

"I do not know what you mean"

"They are desperate, Rhaena." The woman says again, “And they chose you and not your sister, who is older than you and who should be the one to marry first. You know why?" Lady Jeyne doesn't expect her to reply, "It's because your sister is a troublemaker, while you are everything a future queen is expected to be."

Rhaena lets out a wry laugh at the irony of being chosen for once over her sister to such a disgraceful end as marrying an enemy.

“Be what they expect you to be. Be accommodating, be obedient, pretend that you agree with their dispositions, with their traditions and routines, be the queen that the people expect, win their hearts and win them all. It won't be hard for you,” the woman smiles fondly at her, “Make them trust you, get them to let their guard down until you can have real influence to…” Lady Jeyne smiles again and shakes her head, “I'm sure you can do it. It didn't take you too long to get everyone here to love you."

Rhaena is tempted to press for answers, for the information Lady Jeyne had so clearly chosen not to say, but a small voice inside her mind tells her that perhaps it is better not to know.

“I think I'd better go back to my chambers,” she says, “I've…I don't feel too well.”

“Of course,” the woman lets go of her hand and drinks from her wineglass before wishing her good night.

Rhaena walks slowly to her room, her steps almost dragging, her actions mechanical as she dismisses her maid, puts on her own night gown and fixes her hair.

She knows that sleep is going to elude her, so she tries to entertain herself by reading a book, but she can't concentrate on the words. Not when her noisy mind replays her conversation with Lady Jeyne of a while ago, not when her heart begins to ache at the thought that this may well be the last night she will spend in the castle she had come to think of as a home.

Why must everything be so unfair? She wonders as a couple of tears fall from her eyes. Why should she, once again, abandon a home? Why should she leave the people she esteemed so much? Why, for once, couldn't things be as she expected them to be?

Her life seems to constantly drift like a ship loose on the high seas. Just when it seemed that everything was going to be all right, a big wave came and made it change course. She must have been used to it by now, she must have known that her quiet life in the Vale would come to an end... but she had chosen to be an optimist. She had thought the worst was over, after all, what else did she have to lose? They were all dead. Her parents, grandparents, brothers, cousins... only she and Baela remained. And they had been ignored for so long that Rhaena had thought that at last, at last, she could start anew.

What a fool, she thinks as she wipes away her tears, her mind reproaching her for being so naive. Of course, there would be a bigger plan for her. Of course, she couldn't just marry Corwyn Corbray and live happily in some little fortress in the Vale.

No. That would not be her destiny. She was, after all, luckless Rhaena, as Baela used to called her when they were children. She was going to go to King's Landing and give heirs to the family that had killed hers. And there was nothing she could do to stop it. Not unless she decided to take a more tragic alternative and end her life, though she knew well she wouldn't get through with a plan like that. She had tried once, she had gazed straight into the void of the Moon Door, but she had been too cowardly to throw herself.

You don't have the guts.

Her father's voice appears so suddenly in her head that Rhaena flinches and hugs her arms, shielding herself from the memories that conjures up in her mind.

“Get a hold of yourself, Rhaena,” she says quietly as she pours a glass of water, “You are going to be fine. In the end, you are always fine."

Or so she likes to think because, after all, she had been able to deal with worse. And she had ended up adapting to every setback that life had thrown at her. This time it wouldn't be different, she wasn't going to let it be.

Rhaena repeats her words of encouragement so many times that they still echo in her mind as sleep overcomes her, dragging her into an uneasy slumber from which she awakens several hours later to the sound of a dragon's roar.

"Morning?" she asks, sitting up in a hurry on the bed

But no. It is not her dragon, still dozing in her cage on the other side of the room by the fireplace, the one that roars in the sky.

Her stomach clenches, and her bile rises up her throat as she realizes that sound can belong to no one but her cousin Daeron. How is he already here? she wonders as she gazes out the window at the dimly sunlit morning.

"Good morning, my lady," the maid greets from the door, "Lady Jeyne requests that you join her in the High Hall."

Rhaena nods and doesn't protest when the maid meticulously arranges her hair, managing to make an intricate design with her dreadlocks, or when she helps her into a gorgeous red dress laced with gold, no doubt suggested by the lady of the Vale.

Be what they expect you to be, she reminds herself as she walks into the hall where Jeyne Arryn and Daeron Targaryen are in animated conversation.

“Lady Jeyne, Prince Daeron,” she greets with a smile before curtsying to her cousin.

"It's nice to meet you, cousin Rhaena."

Daeron walks up to her and takes her hand in his to place a kiss on the back, a friendly smile gracing his handsome face. The young man is, like his brothers, tall and platinum-haired, with lively lilac eyes that stand out in a heart-shaped face that gives him the appearance of a big boy.

“It is my honor,” she replies politely.

“Surely Lady Jeyne has already told you the reason for my visit,” he says looking between the two ladies.

“Of course,” she nods, “I am excited at the prospect of returning to the capital and living among my family.”

If Daeron detects the lie beneath her words, he doesn't let it know, just widens his smile, “Good. We will leave as fast as we can, if we hurry, we can reach King’s Landing by late afternoon.”

Rhaena, bewildered, looks to Lady Jeyne for help.

"There is no need to be in such a hurry, my prince," the woman intervenes, "We are celebrating the name day of my son and heir, you would honor us with your presence during the festivities"

"I would love to, Lady Jeyne, but I am urgently expected in the capital."

"What about your dragon?" Rhaena asks, "Surely it would be excessive for her to make such a long journey with two people on her back?"

"My Tessarion loves a good challenge," he replies with a fond smile, "Fear not, cousin Rhaena, my Blue Queen will be able to carry us safely to King's Landing."

Rhaena can only nod at his words, feeling defeated.

“But first, perhaps we could have breakfast together,” Daeron proposes.

"Sure, come on, my prince"

Rhaena walks with them to the private parlor where breakfast is already set. Although Daeron begins to question Lady Jeyne about the Vale, the castle, and other political aspects, Rhaena tunes out of her conversation and tries to eat something, not really managing to finish more than a muffin.

"I'm afraid I can no longer enjoy your hospitality, Lady Arryn," says Daeron, "We must get going."

"What about to my belongings?"

"They will be shipped to the Capital," Lady Jeyne informs her.

"I should… I should put on something more appropriate for the trip, then," Rhaena says.

"Of course," Daeron nods, "I'll wait for you in the courtyard with Tessarion."

Lady Jeyne follows her to her room, where the maid helps her out of the dress into trousers and a long leather jacket.

“Leave us,” the woman orders the maid.

Once they're alone, Rhaena hugs the woman, who cradles her to her chest while stroking her hair, “You're going to be fine, princess. You are stronger than you think"

The girl is touched by her words, “I thank you very much for your kindness all these years, Lady Jeyne. More than an ally, you have been a good friend to me"

“And I always will be, no matter what,” she assures Rhaena.

"Could I ask you one last favor?"

"Anything"

"Could you... please tell Ser Corwyn that I was really looking forward to our dance tonight."

Lady Jeyne offers her a half smile and nods, “I'll let him know. Now go, write whenever you need to and be careful. The capital is full of spies, trust no one."

Her words fail to calm her, rather fill her with a sudden anxiety, but such is Lady Jeyne. Tough and suspicious. And loyal.

Rhaena gives her one last smile and takes one last quick look at her room before leaving and walking to the courtyard, where two maids hold Morning's cage, who lazily flies away as soon as the girl opens the lock.

“She's coming with me,” she says to Daeron, approaching cautiously, aware that the blue dragon is sniffing the air, her gaze locked on Morning.

“I would not suggest otherwise,” he nods, “Don't worry, cousin, my Blue Queen will behave,” he replies confidently.

And so it seems to be, because the dragon makes no move to attack them as she climbs on her back and settles behind her cousin.

Daeron commands Tessarion, and she soars into the sky, drawing a roar from Morning and a gasp from Rhaena. She has not ridden for years. She had done it with her mother, on Vhagar, but only a couple of times, so she had completely forgotten the feeling of soaring in the sky.

And it was a wonderful sensation, yes, although it was now overshadowed by the melancholy of leaving her home behind.

And for the fear of what the destiny holds for her.

Rhaena swallows and hugs Daeron's body. The prince tries a couple of times to start a conversation, but the young woman is too mortified to respond, so he eventually gives up.

Rhaena's mind is set on her memories of her cousin Aegon, her future husband. What did she know about him? Apart from the fact that he drank wine to excess, he liked to frequent brothels and that he had been seriously injured in the battle that caused the death of her grandmother, she doesn't know more. She had seen him only once and paid him little attention, excited as she was to be reunited with her sister and her impending betrothal to Lucerys.

He, for his part, had not even registered her. No. His attention had been focused on her twin, leering at her and whispering improper things to her ears, things that had sparked Jacaerys's rage.

"There's food and wine in the saddlebags," Daeron informs her after what seems like minutes to her, but from the numbness in her legs and the color of the sky, it must have been hours, "Though soon we will be in the city"

Rhaena hugs his waist as Tessarion speeds up and hides her face in his back, Morning clutching her shoulders tightly, never having detached from her throughout the journey. She doesn't think she can eat anything, so she doesn't look for the food the prince mentions, instead she loses again in her increasingly anxious thoughts, as the view changes from the royal forest to small villages that indicate that a large city is nearby.

"King's Landing," Daeron announces, turning to her and Rhaena can see the smile on his lips, "Hold on, cousin."

He doesn't need to tell her twice. The girl clings to his waist as the dragon, clearly excited to return to her home, begins her descent. The smell of the sea and rot washes over her as Tessarion finally lands near what used to be the Dragon pit.

“Let me help you, cousin,” Daeron offers his hand, and Rhaena allows him to help her down.

The girl slowly walks away from the blue dragon as she gazes at the ruins of what was once the home of the mythical creatures that gave her family so much power. A pang of sadness reaches her heart at the thought of all the pain, devastation, and death that has occurred in that place.

Morning claims her attention and Rhaena strokes her scales, “It's okay, dear. Everything is fine,” she tries to reassure her as two men help guide Tessarion to a new building.

"Shall we?" Daeron asks, looking at her tentatively and cocking his head toward a carriage that is already waiting for them.

Rhaena nods and climbs into the vehicle, tucking Morning into her lap as Daeron sits in the front seat. The carriage starts to move, and the girl is aware that her cousin seems reluctant to try once more to speak to her, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, leaving them both in awkward silence.

“I am sorry I haven't been a more pleasant traveling companion, cousin,” she says, trying to break the ice. Daeron seems to be kind and sincere enough, as well as being the king's brother, so keeping good relations with him seems to be the most advisable thing to do, "But all these changes were so sudden that I had many things on my mind."

"Of course, there's no need to apologize," he assures her, smiling, "I understand how difficult it is to leave our home behind."

Rhaena nods, "Still, I'm happy to be here and join your brother."

"I wish you and my brother Aemond a… joyful union."

Aemond.

He had said Aemond?

Rhaena blinks and stares at him for a few seconds as she tries to determine if she's heard correctly.

"Aemond?" she asks in a small voice. It couldn't be. It had to be a mistake. She was going to marry... She couldn't marry... "The kinslayer?"

“I would suggest not to mention that nickname in front of my brother,” Daeron shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Rhaena's expression must convey her shock because the young prince asks, “Are you alright, cousin? You turned pale and…”

"I think there's been a mistake," she says quietly, though clearly desperate, "I don't…can't marry him."

“I thought you knew about the betrothal,” the prince replies, clearly confused.

Rhaena opens her mouth, but closes it quickly.

Control.

She needs to remain calm. She can't – mustn't – let Daeron know what she really thinks. She must not allow him to see her deep revulsion at the prospect of marrying the man who is to blame for all her misfortunes.

"I am just a little nervous," she ends by saying

Control yourself, she thinks as the carriage stops and she gets out of the vehicle, finding two figures standing before the castle gates. Mother and son are dressed in dark green and, seeing them, everything seems to become terrifyingly real.

She is going to get married.

She is going to lose her freedom.

She is going to become in yet another hostage in this prison that they call a castle.

And though she tries not to look at him, though she tries only to focus on curtsying appropriately to the Dowager Queen, her eyes can't help but drift until they meet Aemond Targaryen's cold, hard gaze.

Chapter Text

“Welcome to King's Landing, Lady Rhaena,” the Dowager Queen greets politely.

Rhaena looks away from the stoic prince and clears her throat so she can reply, "Thank you, Your Grace."

“I trust you had a good trip”

"I had," she nods, "Although I admit it was a long one and I'm happy to finally be in my ancestral home, and to be received by such honorable company."

The words come out more easily than she expects, empty courtesies she's practiced all her life that seem to make a good impression on the queen, who looks at her in surprise at first, before finally offering her a smile.

“We were looking forward to see you”

Beside her, Aemond chuckles, and Rhaena can't help but glance in his direction, though his gaze is fixed somewhere in the empty courtyard.

“This is my son, Prince Aemond,” the queen continues, her posture anxious as she regards the man, her lips pursed into a snarl that seems to denote sudden nervousness.

At the mention of his name, Aemond tilts his face and his eye meets Rhaena's again. For a moment, a brief moment that fills her with terror, she thinks he's going to come over and say something, but in the end, he just gives her the slightest nod and refocuses his gaze in the courtyard. Rhaena sighs, relieved, and hears Alicent sigh as well, though hers seems to be more out of frustration.

"Mother!"

Daeron's interruption saves her from having to address Aemond. The young prince, indifferent to the tense moment shared, approaches Alicent and places a kiss on her forehead before standing next to her.

“My son,” the woman smiles at him with obvious fondness, “Thank you for bringing Lady Rhaena back safely.”

“My mother is relieved every time I return to land from riding Tessarion,” Daeron comments with amusement, looking at his cousin, “Are you feeling better?”

"Are you sick?" Alicent asks, watching her expression.

“I just felt a little under the weather because of the trip,” Rhaena is quick to reply, shaking her head, “I'm not as used to dragon riding as my cousin.”

"Probably you are just hungry," Daeron says with a shrug, "It is been many hours since we've had food."

"Yes, yes, you are right" Alicent nods, "It is pretty late, we should go inside and have a proper dinner."

“If I may,” Rhaena curtsies, and walks back to the carriage, opening the door and extending her arm to Morning, who deftly climbs up to wrap around her shoulders.

The young woman returns to her hosts and suppresses a smile at the stunned look of the Dowager Queen, who takes a couple of steps back, clearly avoiding getting too close to her dragon.

“This is Morning,” she says in an affectionate voice.

"I didn't... I was not aware that your dragon..."

The queen clearly doesn't know how to go on. Morning roars in her direction, barely a playful roar, but one that makes the woman close her eyes for a moment. The sound seems to draw Aemond's attention, who this time focuses his gaze on both the creature and its rider, gazing at their proximity with what appears to be a mixture of curiosity and disapproval.

“I couldn't leave her in the Vale,” Rhaena explains, “Do not worry, though, my queen. Morning knows how to behave"

“I vouch for that,” Daeron nods.

“Fine, then…” Alicent still sounds reluctant, but she finally makes her way up the stairs to enter the palace.

The place is still as foreign to Rhaena as it was the first and only time she had visited it. The many passageways, corridors, and stairways open before her almost like a stone maze, softly lit by the torches on the wall.

Perhaps because of the hour, few are the nobles they run into, though they all look curiously at Rhaena and the dragon. None, however, makes a move to approach the dowager queen and the princes, limiting only to greet the royal family silently and respectfully. Since her relatives don't stop either, the girl follows them until they pass a wide courtyard and enter even wider corridors that she thinks she has walked in her last visit.

 "You must excuse me," it is Aemond who speaks, when they stop in front of a double door, "Lord Lannister in waiting for me"

The prince offers no further explanation, just glances at his mother before turning his back on them, and walking the other way.

"My son is quite a busy man," Alicent says with a forced smile, "I am sure you know he is the Hand of the king."

“I am aware,” Rhaena nods, internally relieved by the absence of her betrothed.

"I am sure you'll have more opportunities to… get to know each other, later on"

The prospect gives Rhaena goosebumps, but she hurries to follow the Dowager Queen to the rooms.

“I thought that a family dinner would be the most suitable,” says Alicent

Rhaena briefly surveys the room, patting Morning, who growls at the smell of food.

"May I ask you, Queen Alicent, to bring appropriate food for my dragon?"

“Oh, sure, sure,” the woman frowns and calls out to one of her maids, “Raw meat, I guess?”

“That will do,” Rhaena nods.

The maid rushes to comply, and Rhaena decides to remain standing without approaching the table yet, afraid that her dragon will wreak havoc so close to the food, though she accepts a glass of wine from Daeron.

“I apologize, Lady Rhaena, for the haste with which we requested your presence in the capital,” Alicent begins.

"I admit it was quite a surprise when Lady Jeyne broke the news to me."

“I imagine so,” the queen nods absently, sipping from her own cup, “but keep in mind that we made this decision with your interests in mind, and the future of House Targaryens, of course.”

"Of course"

“After all, it is in the realm's best interests that the traditions be upheld,” Alicent continues, “You are a Targaryen, just like my children, it is only logical for you to join your lives and perform together your duty to the kingdom.”

Rhaena can't help but wonder if her words are meant to convince her or herself.

“I am honored to be able to join your… son,” she replies, hesitating at the last moment, not daring to say the kinslayer’s name out loud.

At her words, Daeron watches her with open curiosity and Rhaena thinks she sees the beginning of a smile on his lips. Her heart stops for an instant, scared that he'll mention his mother her outburst from a moment ago. Her cousin, however, lowers his gaze and remains silent.

"You must be aware of the painful circumstances that the king and his wife experienced just a couple of weeks ago"

“Tragic news for the kingdom”

“A loss we deeply feel. We hope that in the near future we will have more auspicious news to celebrate."

The queen doesn't say more, but from the way she looks at Rhaena, she can understand what Alicent isn't saying. The same thing Lady Jeyne had told her. That, from the moment she married the prince, it would be her duty to provide the kingdom with a royal heir.

The maid enters the room with a metal tray, and Morning appears to sniff at the food, for it flies off Rhaena's shoulder, who rushes over to the terrified young woman and takes the tray from her hands.

"Thanks," she says, offering her a half smile, "I'll take care of it from here."

The maid hands her the tray and quickly steps back. The dragon follows Rhaena to the end of the room, eager to eat.

“Here you go,” she tells her with a smile, whispering reassurances in High Valyrian.

"Please join us, cousin."

Daeron offers his hand, and Rhaena walks with him to the table. It is when she is finally sitting down that she realizes how hungry she is.

For several minutes they eat in a pleasant silence that is finally interrupted by the prince who talks to his mother about matters that Rhaena does not pay much attention to, her gaze going from her food to her dragon, who has already devoured all the meat and flies lazily in her direction.

“You must be exhausted,” Alicent says once they finish dessert.

“I am, Your Grace,” Rhaena admits.

“Cyndi, show Lady Rhaena to her rooms,” she orders the young maid who brought the dragon's food, “And don't worry, you will find there everything you need.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Rhaena stands up and curtsies, “Cousin Daeron”

"Cousin"

Rhaena calls out to Morning, who climbs onto her neck, then follows the maid down a long hallway to the last room guarded by a knight who bows to her before opening the door.

"Would you like me to run a bath for you, my lady?"

"Yes, please"

The young woman leaves, and Rhaena takes the opportunity to examine what will be her new room.

Your new prison, that little voice sounds in her head, but the girl ignores it as she walks through the huge space.

“It's a lot bigger than the one we had in the Vale,” she says to Morning almost in a whisper, “but not nearly as pretty.”

Rhaena goes to the only window and draws the curtains, being disappointed to find her new view will be that of a stone courtyard. Sighing, she closes them again and thinks bitterly of the beautiful mountains that were the first thing she saw every morning when she woke up.

As Morning flies to the comfort of the fireplace, Rhaena goes to the small sitting room, where a couple of sofas, and a small table have been placed. On top of that, there is an empty shelf except for a book which upon inspection turns out to be a copy of The Seven-Pointed Star. Rhaena stifles a giggle, wondering if the Dowager Queen had deliberately placed it there.

Cyndi, her maid, returns and helps her out of her riding clothes after setting everything up in the tub.

"That will be all, Cyndi, you can leave now"

Once alone, Rhaena lets out a soft moan of satisfaction as the hot water immediately relaxes her sore muscles after so many hours of travel. Closing her eyes, she massages her body and inhales the delicious fragrance of roses that perfumes the water.

For a few minutes, just a few minutes, Rhaena feels completely satisfied.

Until her mind – her treacherous mind – reminds her of her reality.

Her imminent marriage.

No.

It's not exactly the idea of marriage that she dislikes, after all, Rhaena had made the trip to the capital practically accepting the idea that she was going to marry her cousin. She just didn't expect said cousin to be… him.

Aemond Targaryen.

Your mother is dead. Vhagar has a new rider now.

The memory comes back to her as vivid as that night all those years ago, and Rhaena shudders.

Even at that time, when they were all children, the presence of her cousin had been frightening to her. The cruelty of his words, the clear satisfaction and arrogance on his face at having accomplished his feat, the ferocity of his attack… Rhaena shakes her head. She doesn't like to think about that night. She doesn't like to think about everything that followed. She doesn't like to remember her role in it.

Rhaena leaves the tub and dries her body with the linen towels Cyndi has left for her. In her bed, a simple white nightgown awaits her. The young girl rushes to put it on and crawls under the covers, wishing she could fall asleep right away, which of course she doesn't.

This could be one of your last nights sleeping alone.

The desperation is so great that she has to get out of bed and begins to pace the room, pacing back and forth as she contemplates her options.

Options. What options? A hysterical giggle leaves her lips. She has no choice but to comply. It's not like she can escape her fate. There is nothing waiting for her. She cannot return to the Vale and put Lady Arryn at risk. She can't go to Baela, who is just another guest of her cousin Alyn's. She has no other allies, only enemies surrounding her.

And the main of them all was going to become her husband.

The prospect terrifies her. Why him? Why precisely the source of all the misfortunes in her life? Why should she marry a criminal? Rhaena places her hand on her chest feeling her heart pound violently.

It had been all too easy to pretend to the others that she was the dutiful bride they expected her to be, but now, in the solitude of her room, she really begins to process what it will mean to marry the one-eyed prince. To marry the man who had killed Lucerys. And her father. The man that he had terrorized the Riverlands… to allow him to touch her

“Gods,” she whispers into the void as she thinks of what awaits her on her wedding night. The thought of a crippled Aegon sharing her bed had been tolerable. To have to let the kinslayer, violent as he was, take her, was repulsive.

“Don't worry about it yet,” she tells herself, looking at her reflection in the mirror. If the gods were merciful, she would still have time to enjoy her solitude, and get used to what would happen later. If the gods were merciful, her cousin's actions had only been motivated by the war between their families, “We are no longer at war. There is no reason to fear him. He's just a man."

A man who had simply ignored her and had not exchanged a word with her. Maybe he wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe…

She knows is just wishful thinking, but she clings to that idea to calm her mind and she returns to bed, forcing herself to repeat her thoughts like a prayer until she falls asleep.

***

A knock on the door wakes her up the next morning.

Morning, who has climbed onto her bed at some point, growls next to her.

“Come in,” Rhaena says hoarsely as she throws off the covers and stands up.

“Good morning, my lady,” Cyndi greets, “The queen has requested that you join her in the Throne Room.”

“Oh,” she replies, confused. She had hoped that the Dowager Queen would want to have breakfast with her, “Do you know what the reason is?”

"No, my lady, but…" she seems to hesitate, "The order was given to the entire Court"

Rhaena's stomach turns, and the girl bites the inside of her lip nervously.

"Thank you. Help me now, please”

The maid starts working on her hair while Rhaena eats some fruit from a tray Cyndi has brought with her.

"How early is it?"

"It's quite late, my lady," says the maid, "It's been hours since the royal family had breakfast."

Rhaena nods. She must have been a lot more tired than she imagined for her body, used to waking up at dawn, to lose track of the hours.

When the girl finishes fixing her hair, Rhaena goes to the closet and examines the dresses that have been left for her. To her relief, she discovers that none of them are green, but are all shades of red and black with House Targaryen motifs.

“This will do”

Once she's ready she goes over to Morning and pats her, “You stay here. It will be better not to terrify the entire Court”

The dragon snarls, but she makes no attempt to follow as Rhaena heads for the door.

As they proceed through the corridors towards the Throne Room, the young woman is aware of how different the Red Keep looks from the last time she visited it. On that occasion, almost all the decoration motifs had been related to the Faith. Now, different mats, paintings and the Targaryen emblem could be seen.

 “Lady Rhaena Targaryen”

The Kingsguard announces her arrival, and opens the doors to the Throne Room, the huge room that had made an enormous impression on Rhaena, especially with the crude sight of the Iron Throne.

The members of the Court seem to make way for her, and Rhaena strides forward to the foot of the throne, where the Dowager Queen stands once more with Aemond Targaryen.

“Lady Rhaena,” greets Alicent Hightower

"My queen"

The woman smiles at her before taking her hand and motioning for her to stand next to her son.

Rhaena swallows, feeling her breath hitch as she moves to stand next to the prince, albeit at a safe distance.

Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine, she repeats to herself as she clasps her hands over her belly. Against her better judgement, her eyes drift to her cousin and her heart skips a beat as she meets Aemond's piercing gaze. For a few seconds they both simply observe each other, her cousin's face a cold mask that she can't read. Even so, she can't break contact, though she doesn't know if out of fear or because an unexpected and rebellious little part inside her drives her not to show weakness in front of him.

"It is my great joy," Alicent begins, managing to release Rhaena from her momentary outburst, "to announce to you the betrothal between my son, Aemond, and the Lady Rhaena Targaryen."

A murmur of voices runs through the room, the many eyes of the noble lords and ladies focusing on the couple. Rhaena tries to keep her calm mask and continues to listen to the queen.

“The wedding will take place two moons from now. And although circumstances do not allow us to celebrate as expected, we will have a tournament in honor of the couple."

Rhaena can swear that Aemond tenses beside her, but this time she doesn't dare look at him, instead focusing her attention on the Court's reactions, who seem buoyed by at the prospect of a tournament.

“May the Gods bless this union,” Alicent finishes. The Court murmurs in approval and the Dowager Queen approaches them. “Well, now it's official,” she says with a smile, “I trust that…”

"If you'll excuse me," Aemond interrupts his mother, "The Council awaits me."

Her cousin, Rhaena thinks as she watches him stride away and without answering the congratulations of the noble lords, always seems impatient to get away from her.

And she can't be more than relieved for it.

“Did you have a good night sleep?”

"Yes, quite a restorative one."

"Good. Come, I want to introduce you to your new lady-in-waiting."

"Will I have a lady-in-waiting?" she asks, amazed.

Ladies-in-waiting were generally reserved for the queen and princesses. She had never had one. Not even in the Vale.

Of course,” Alicent replies as if it were obvious, “You can have as many as you like, but since you don't know anyone yet, I thought I'd select one for you.”

The dowager queen descends from the stairs of the throne and approaches a young woman with light brown hair and a heart-shaped face who is wearing a striking yellow dress decorated with seashells who is clearly waiting for them.

“This is Marianne Westerling,” says Alicent, “your new lady-in-waiting.”

“It is an honor, Princess Rhaena,” she greets, curtsying.

"I am not a princess," Rhaena corrects, causing her to blush and look down, "Call me Rhaena, please."

Marianne Westerling nods and Alicent chimes in, “Lady Westerling will help you adjust to Court. I trust that she will do a good job accompanying you”

"It is an honor, my queen," repeats the young woman

Alicent seems satisfied with her response, "Now I must leave you, other obligations require my attention."

Offering them one last smile she heads towards the double doors.

"I am sorry for the confusion with your title, Lady Rhaena," Marianne hastens to say, still flushed and clearly flustered.

“No, no, please call me Rhaena,” she says with a smile.

“Rhaena,” Marianne says with a smirk, “what do you think of the Court so far?”

"I haven't seen much," she admits, "and I haven't been here in years."

Last time, she thinks, she had been in this very room to defend Lucerys's claim to the throne of Driftmark. That time, her father had beheaded a man and they had all ended up participating in a dinner that had ended in a fight.

“Well, I think you are going to like it,” Marianne comments cheerfully, “Queen Ellyn has taken it upon herself to make Court quite enjoyable for all of us who live here.”

"Enjoyable?"

"Yes, there's always something to do," she replies, "Tea parties, dances, bards, the usual."

Rhaena, for some reason, thinks about her life in Pentos. The city, vibrant, colorful and full of spectacles, had been her home for the first ten years of her life. There, too, the girl had been happy with all those distractions.

"How is the queen?"

Marianne blushes again and Rhaena sees the sadness in her eyes, “I haven't been able to visit her yet. The maesters say that she cannot receive visitors and that she must rest, poor thing. Of course, there have been rumors about her condition, but I try not to listen to them."

Rumors? Rhaena is tempted to ask what those rumors are, but she holds back. Marianne, as friendly and sincere as she appears, has been appointed by Queen Alicent. Nothing assures her that she is not her spy.

"May the Gods give her a speedy recovery"

“That's right,” Marianne nods vehemently, “So, Rhaena, where do you want to start?”

It takes the girl a minute to realize that her new lady-in-waiting is waiting for her instructions on how to proceed, “Well, I wish I could get to know the palace better. I have no idea where each room is located”

“Yeah, sure, so…”

But Marianne doesn't go on because an elderly woman, amazingly holding a pug on her lap, approaches them.

“This will be fun,” Marianne whispers in her ear.

~~~

"So, how is she?"

“Surely, brother, there are more important matters to discuss than my betrothed's appearance,” Aemond replies dismissively.

“Surely,” Aegon agrees, “but such matters don't interest me at the moment. I try to remember our cousin, but I can't,” the king frowns, “I do remember her sister. A total beauty"

Aemond decides not to answer. He has no interest in starting a discussion about the physical appearance of his cousins.

“I think she is quite pretty,” Daeron chimes in, “and she's very nice and polite.”

Aegon chuckles and Aemond restrains himself from rolling his good eye at him, though he snorts in disbelief.

"Clearly our brother does not agree with you"

"I don't see why he would, he hasn't even crossed a word with Rhaena," the younger replies.

"What? None at all?" Aegon looks amused and orders the cupbearer to refill his wineglass, "Why not?"

“I am a busy man,” he answers simply.

Busy running your kingdom, he thinks sourly as he fiddles with his Valyrian steel dagger.

"Still, aren't you curious about your betrothed?" the king continues pressing for answers, even though he knows his younger brother doesn't enjoy the topic of conversation, "I mean… you're going to have to bed her."

Aemond looks at him scornfully. As if Aegon had ever really cared to know any of the women he shared his bed with, "You are well aware that this is a mere political union."

“One that might as well be pleasurable,” he retorts. When Aemond makes a dismissive gesture, the king laughs and adds, “Well, if you're not interested, you can always send her here with me. I will gladly fulfil my duty for you."

“That is a very tasteless comment,” Daeron retorts, “You are a married man.”

"Yes, with a woman I won't be able to touch from now on"

"You should show more respect for Ellyn, she is your queen and wife"

This time it's Aegon's turn to dismiss his words, “You spend too much time in mother's skirts, little brother. Tell me, have you already visited the Street of Silk? If you haven't, I can arrange that…”

"Enough," Aemond cuts him off, "He is just a boy."

“He is nineteen years old, he is no longer a child. He is quite a bit older than you were when I helped you solve your little problem."

Aemond's hand closes dangerously around his dagger, his gaze fixed on his older brother, who seems utterly oblivious to the enormous effort the prince is making to keep from throwing the weapon in his direction.

Luckily for Aegon, his mother enters the royal chambers at that moment, and he rushes to put away his dagger.

“Ah, dear mother, ever so opportune,” Aegon greets, “is it time to sedate me again?”

Alicent seems surprised to find all three of her children in the same room, her eyebrows raised slightly, as she makes her way to her eldest son's bed, tea in hand.

"Drink, Aegon," she commands.

The king doesn't even protest, but rather drains the contents of the cup and makes a face.

"What are you doing here?" she asks looking at her younger children

“We were discussing the matter of the betrothed,” it is Aegon who answers, though his voice begins to slur, the milk of the poppy clearly kicking in, “I was telling my brothers that…”

But he doesn't finish what he is going to say because he is overcome by sleep. Alicent signals for the maester to enter, surely to tend to his brother's wounds, and Aemond seizes the opportunity to leave the room.

"Aemond, wait."

His mother's voice makes him stop.

"Mother"

"Have you talked to her yet?"

Aemond does not have to ask whom she means.

"Why should I?"

"Because she is your betrothed," she replies as if it's obvious, "You can't just ignore her."

That is exactly what Aemond intends to do.

"Why not, mother? You said yourself that I wouldn't have to see her daily, that we could keep our activities separate."

Alicent shifts uncomfortably, fidgeting with her rings, “That's not what I meant. I didn't want to…” the woman sighs, “The Court has welcomed her with open arms, the noble ladies seek her company and…”

Aemond restrains himself from responding as he wishes. Of course, the Court loves her. They're all a bunch of hypocrites throwing daggers at each other's backs. Rhaena does the same with her polite words and her apparent compliance about their marriage, showing them just what they want to see.

"And what does that have to do with me?"

"It does not reflect well on your character that you do not show any consideration for her"

Oh yeah. Again, the mention of his character, of his damaged reputation.

“The entire court knows it's an arranged marriage,” he replies, “why should I pretend otherwise?”

"Courting her for bit wouldn't hurt," she replies, “She is a naive young woman and she is alone in the castle. The fortress can be quite a lonely place despite the many courtiers within it."

Aemond opens his mouth to reply, but catches himself when he takes in Alicent's expression, her brown eyes seeming to glisten with unshed tears and not looking at him, but lost in her memories. The prince wonders if perhaps his mother is projecting her own experience onto the figure of his wife-to-be.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks, defeated, when his mother finally looks up at him and places her hand on his chest.

“For you to try,” Aemond nods and Alicent takes his hand, squeezing it, “And Aemond? Do not disappoint me again"

***

His mother's words echo in his mind as he leaves his brother's room and walks without knowing exactly where.

Although he has promised to try, it is not in his nature to recite poems or offer flowers, so all he can think of is to talk to her. That will have to suffice. After all, it's what his mother has insisted for days that he do.

"Where is Lady Rhaena?" he asks a maid, who seems utterly terrified when Aemond stops her in the hallway.

"In the garden, my prince"

Aemond balls his hands into fists. Of course she is in the garden.

The young man walks towards it with a determined step, and paces through the corridors full of trees and bushes in which several noblemen walk. The prince ignores them all and is about to just give up when he finds her.

Rhaena Targaryen is sitting on the edge of a fountain adorned with the statue of the good Queen Alyssane, sheltered from the sun by numerous trees and, as always, in the company of her dragon.

The scene fills Aemond with sudden annoyance, his good eye once again observing the ease with which the creature coils around her neck. Rhaena lifts her hand to her muzzle and offers her an apple, giggling in amusement as the animal snarls.

Pathetic.

“You treat her like a pet,” he says disapprovingly once the distance between them is closed.

Rhaena tenses immediately upon noticing his sudden presence, and Aemond finds it even comical how she immediately stands up and takes a couple of steps back.

"I beg your pardon?"

“I said you treat her like a pet,” he clucks, annoyed at having to repeat himself.

"I am quite aware that a dragon is not a pet, cousin."

 "My prince"

“What?"

"You will refer to me as my prince, prince Aemond or my Lord"

Rhaena seems to take his words as a blow because a faint blush stains her cheeks and Aemond is aware of the angry glint in her eyes. Her dragon, who seems to notice her rider's discomfort, snarls in his direction. Aemond looks at the creature dismissively and chuckles.

"As you wish, my prince"

Her hostile tone of voice, so different from the one he has heard her use so far with his relatives, briefly surprises him and causes him even more dislike.

“You should leave her with Tessarion's caretakers. Keeping her by your side will only make her grow disobedient and not developing her abilities to the fullest."

“And I guess you offer your advice based on what? Your experience with the egg you had that never hatched? With raising a dragon since birth?”

Her answer hits him like a bucket of cold water. Her allusion to his incapacity for not having had a dragon linked to him from the cradle causes anger to flow inside him. Her smirk as she strokes her poor excuse for a dragon drives him crazy.

“I knew you were a fake,” he hisses, moving closer and glaring at her, “I knew all that kindness was just a well-trained mask.”

"Or maybe," she says, holding his gaze defiantly, "I am only kind to those who deserve it."

"And your betrothed is not worthy of your kindness?"

"No, not of my kindness"

"Of what then?" he asks, taking another step towards her, coming dangerously close to Rhaena and feeling her dragon's breath on his shoulder.

"My rage," she replies calmly, almost unruffled, though Aemond notes the rapidity in which her chest rises and falls from her labored breathing, "My revenge, even."

"Rhaena, I couldn't find the…"

A female voice interrupts them, breaking the tension between them and causing Rhaena to step back as a brown-haired young woman Aemond thinks he recognizes from Court makes her appearance.

“Oh, I…I'm sorry, my prince,” she says with a quick curtsy, “I didn't know you were here.”

“It is okay, Marianne,” Rhaena soothes her, “we should go, Lady Redwyne is waiting for us.”

Rhaena doesn't wait for the girl to respond, instead she grabs her arm and drags her in the opposite direction.

Chapter Text

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

What on earth had happened to her?

Why had she had to confront the kinslayer in that way?

Why hadn't she been able to contain her temper?

Rhaena keeps replaying their brief conversation as she walks in hasty strides still holding Marianne by her arm, dragging her out of the gardens and turning her head from time to time to make sure he isn't following them.

“Should I call the maester?”

The question from her lady-in-waiting takes her away from her thoughts. Rhaena frowns at her, “The maester? No, why?"

“Because you look like you are about to faint?” she responds, a clear expression of concern in her honey-colored eyes.

Rhaena stops walking and opens her mouth to respond, but she closes it immediately, preferring only to shake her head.

“I am fine, I was just…”

"Terrified?" Marianne proposes, “I would be too. Prince Aemond is intimidating. I swear to the Gods that I would definitely faint if I had his attention. I don't think I have even exchanged a word with him in these almost three years since I arrived at the Fortress, that of course until a moment ago, when I had to break all that tension between you two"

Rhaena decides to ignore that last part, “Have you never talked to him?”

“No, not really. I doubt he even knows my name,” she responds without giving it too much importance and adds, before Rhaena's amazed look, “He doesn't socialize with anyone. Well, just with his family and the council members. That’s good for me though, the prince terrifies me"

Rhaena can't deny that last bit.

“Is Lady Redwyne really expecting us? I don't remember her inviting us to tea this afternoon."

“No, no, I just said it to end the conversation with my betrothed.”

Marianne giggles and is about to respond when her expression abruptly changes, her cheeks turning a deep pink. Rhaena follows the direction of her gaze to the tall figure of her cousin Daeron, who walks down the corridor alongside the High Septon, an expression of polite interest on his face that gives way to a smile as he passes besides the girls, greeting them with a nod, but without stopping. Rhaena watches as Marianne follows the prince with her eyes until he disappears as he turns right into another hallway.

Marianne blushes even more when she looks back at Rhaena, who is watching her with raised eyebrows and trying to contain a smile. "What were you saying?"

Rhaena shakes her head, “Nothing, nothing at all.”

"I am sorry. I was…"

Her lady is clearly feeling embarrassed, so Rhaena interrupts her and takes her arm again, “Let’s go, my belongings finally arrived from the Vale and I would like your assistance to put everything in order”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Marianne agrees vehemently, clearly relieved by the change of topic.

Rhaena leads the way, pleased to finally be able to walk through the Keep without getting lost. When they enter their rooms, they notice two large trunks placed near the bed.

"This is all?"

“Yes, I suppose so,” Rhaena answers as she opens one of the trunks and smiles as she looks at her books, paintings, and other decorative objects that adorned her old room.

“These are pretty,” Marianne pulls one of her dresses from the other trunk, the mauve one she had worn the night she found out about her impending betrothal, “This color must look wonderful on you.”

Rhaena smiles wistfully as she takes it from Marianne's hands, “It is my favorite color.”

“It is a shame the dowager queen chose only the Targaryen black and red for you,” Marianne sighs, “Perhaps you could tell her you need new ones. These are too simple for life at Court,” she comments as she pulls another of her old dresses from the trunk.

“Perhaps… but it is not really a priority.”

Marianne snorts in disbelief, “You will be the prince's wife! Wife of the Hand of the King, surely Queen Alicent would not deny you something as trivial as new dresses. Plus, wouldn't it be wonderful to renovate your style? Personally, I love when I have the opportunity to choose new gowns.”

“I assume that happens often,” Rhaena replies as she thinks about the variety of outfits she's seen her wear.

“My father doesn't usually limit me in that way,” she nods with a giggle.

Marianne continues taking out the dresses, and they both place them in the empty space of the closet. There aren't too many of them, so the task doesn't take them much time.

“Do you usually read a lot?”

“Yes, whenever I have time,” Rhaena places the books on the shelf, feeling a warm sensation in her chest as she watches them once again occupying a space in her room. “My mother used to read frequently to me.”

Her voice, as always when she talks about her mother, sounds full of sadness. Marianne notices this because she takes her hand and squeezes it gently. Rhaena turns to her and smiles in gratitude.

"And what is this?" asks her lady releasing her hand and taking a silver chest.

“That is…” Rhaena rushes to take the chest from her hands.

"Private?" Marianne asks, clearly curious at her lady’s obvious blush.

Rhaena bites the inside of her lip, wondering how to respond. The girl looks down at her chest and sighs, opening the lid and showing her the contents.

"Flowers?" Marianne's tone of voice is almost disappointed.

“Gifts from a very dear friend”

“Oh,” Marianne nods and her eyes widen, “Oh”

“Just a friend,” she repeats, emphasizing the last word.

“Yeah, right,” Marianne smiles, “These are pretty.”

“They are not common in the Vale, so Corwyn used to search for them when he went hunting and gave them to me when he returned to the castle,” she comments almost without thinking about it, once again invaded by nostalgia.

“Corwyn?”

“Corbray. Sir Corwyn Corbray”

“I know that name,” Marianne frowns, “Is he a relative of Lord Leowyn Corbray?”

“His younger brother,” Rhaena nods.

“I met Lord Leowyn during his stay here. He was quite handsome and polite,” Marianne smiles with that mischief so common to her, “Does his brother look like him? Because I would understand the appeal if that were the case”

“He was just a friend,” Rhaena responds, trying to sound sharp, “Don't get ideas that are irrelevant.”

Marianne shrugs, “I was just stating the obvious. Were you…"

The girl falls silent and Rhaena sighs again, “You can speak freely.”

“Was he courting you? Were you expecting a betrothal? I think it would have been an acceptable option. The Corbray are an ancient and honorable house.”

“I know,” is all she answers, “But I have a duty to the realm and the crown has decided that I fulfill it alongside Prince Aemond.”

Mentioning his name makes her stomach twist once again as she remembers their conversation earlier.

“It's a shame, in any case,” Marianne replies, looking at the flowers, “Sir Corwyn seems to have been very attentive to you, while the prince usually acts as if you didn’t exist.”

Rhaena feels the discomfort in her stomach increase at the words of her lady, but she prefers to shake her head and change the subject.

“Tell me about your life in the Crag”

As Rhaena expects, Marianne launches into a lively story about her life and anecdotes from her childhood that manage to distract her while she arranges her ornaments and other belongings in her room.

“And the smell!” says Marianne, “So different than here. The city was clean and pretty, and the beach… I miss the beach so much”

“We could go to the beach one of these days,” Rhaena proposes, “It would be nice for Morning to fly freely.”

“That sounds lovely!”

“We could invite Daeron to come with us,” she proposes.

Marianne blushes intensely. “The prince? Yes, I suppose… I suppose he would be a suitable company”

“I think the same,” Rhaena agrees.

Her lady sighs and looks down for a few seconds, “You noticed, right? Back then, when we saw him”

“It was hard not to,” she responds with an apologetic smile.

“I think the prince is the only one who hasn't noticed it yet. But it is fine. We are finished here, right? We should go. Perhaps Lady Stokeworth still has those delicious cakes she always offers us."

Rhaena drops the topic upon hearing the sadness in her voice, so she simply accepts her suggestion and they leave her room.

***

Aemond drums his fingers on the table, eager to get the Small Council meeting over with.

“The royal fleet should also be repaired, my prince, their current state is pitiful.”

“Evaluate the costs, Lord Tyland, and let me know if it would not be more appropriate to simply replace them.”

“Of course, Prince Aemond,” the man replies.

“Well, if that's all…” he says, pushing out the chair and standing up.

“There is something else, my prince,” says Criston.

"What is it?" he asks, sitting back down and holding back a snort of annoyance.

“House Tully have not yet paid this year tribute to the Crown”

"Why not?" the prince frowns

“They say that the harvests have not been as expected after the last winter, my prince. And also…"

“Speak, Lord Hayford,” orders Aemond

“They say that the lands have not yet fully recovered after being devastated by the dragon fire,” the master of laws responds in a fearful voice.

Aemond grunts in annoyance and his hands clench into fists, “Are they still insisting on this matter? It is the most ridiculous excuse. I will not tolerate their insolence and disobedience. They are going to have to pay or I will go personally with…”

The prince cuts himself off before mentioning the name of his dragoness, a pang of sadness running through him.

“Perhaps we should go for a diplomatic route,” Lord Tyland proposes, “Your brother could fly to Riverrun. The arrival of the prince would remind them of their duty without being a… threatening sight”

Aemond directs his hard gaze toward Lannister, but lets his comment pass.

“I will consult this matter with the king,” he simply replies, a headache beginning to form in his left temple and near his scar.

Without further ado he leaves the room determined to go to his private housings in the Tower of the Hand and apply the ointment that usually relieves his pain.

The corridors of the Red Keep open before him, who ignores the greetings of the members of the court and simply advances in the direction of his destination.

It is when he is crossing near the double doors that lead to one of the smaller halls of the palace that laughter and the unmistakable sound of a roaring dragon make him stop.

What in the seven hells is she doing now? He thinks to himself as his curiosity takes over and he approaches the doors.

Inside the hall, Rhaena Targaryen is surrounded by a small group of ladies and lords who seem to be watching a show. Laughter rings out again as her cousin's pet dragon/pet lets out a ridiculous flame to char what appears to be a piece of meat.

The ladies do not hesitate to applaud the creature and Rhaena's smile widens as she caresses the dragon, whispering things that he cannot hear. Aemond narrows his good eye at the scene and lets out a disbelieving snort.

“She is quite the social butterfly.”

The sudden appearance of his mother at his side almost surprised him.

“It is not proper behavior for a Targaryen,” he replies, “To parade her dragon as if it were a spectacle for the masses. Ridiculous"

Alicent's expression twitches at his comment. “I hope you keep those opinions to yourself when you talk to her”

"Hmm"

“I found out that you talked a couple of days ago in the garden.”

Aemond raises his eyebrows at his mother, “I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you are following me. Or her”

Alicent has the delicacy to blush, “I simply wanted to know if you had taken my suggestion to court her seriously.”

“I assured you I would. Do you trust me so little?”

Aemond tries to keep his voice unaffected, but his mother's lack of response causes bitterness to once again flood inside him.

“I don't think you have much experience courting noble ladies,” Alicent replies.

He rolls his eyes at the clear allusion to his past slip and look away, already tired of the topic. Is it that everyone is willing to remind him of his mistakes this day?

“I assure you that I am perfectly capable of dealing properly with my betrothed”

Alicent sighs and moves a little closer to her son, placing her hand on her arm conciliatorily, “I wanted to ask you something.”

"What is it?"

“I want you to take my place as representative of the Crown during the Mother Festival.”

"Why?" he asks, amazed by the request. His mother is a devotee of the Faith of the Seven, and she has never missed the celebrations aimed at the gods, “You always look forward to the date.”

“I am more needed here this year,” she responds simply, although her hands move involuntarily and begin to injure the skin around her nails, “Ellyn continues to have complications with her health and Aegon requires care too.”

“The maesters can take care of both of them for a few days.”

“I know, but I'd rather do it myself.”

Aemond tilts his body towards his mother and dares to place his hand over hers, covering it completely and preventing her from continuing to hurt herself. Alicent raises her brown eyes to him and the prince can see the tiredness in them, as well as how nervous she seems, “Tell me why you really want me to go in your place.”

The dowager queen sighs and closes her eyes for a few seconds, “I think it is more appropriate for you and Rhaena to attend and receive the Mother's blessing.”

“Do you want me to go with her?” He can't help but sound half irritated and half mocking and grimace in Rhaena's direction.

“Please, Aemond, show some respect. This is important"

"How so?"

“Haven't you heard what the people say about us? What even members of the Court think”

“I do not waste my time considering unimportant opinions,” he replies dryly.

“Well you should!” Alicent replies, “It is rumored that we are cursed. That the Gods have punished this family with the death of the heirs for having usurped Rhaenyra’s throne, and having killed the boy Aegon.”

“My brother is no Usurper and you know very well that we had nothing to do with the death of Rhaenyra's son,” he replies sourly.

“But that is what everyone believes”

“Nonsense,” Aemond dismisses her comment with a wave of his hand, “Frankly, mother, I am amazed you pay attention to idiotic superstitions. I know our situation is not ideal, but you should not fear. I will do my duty and provide the realm with an heir as soon as possible."

His good eye cannot help but stray for a moment towards Rhaena, who, oblivious to the conversation between the prince and his mother, continues laughing alongside the nobles.

“I hope so,” the dowager queen places her hand on her son's cheek, and for a moment Aemond is so surprised by the sudden caress that he is left breathless, “Can I count on you then?”

“Of course,” he nods immediately, warmth flooding inside him as he hears his mother's voice so full of softness and hope, “I'll personally make sure everything turns out perfect.”

Alicent nods as well and with one last tiny smile, walks away down the hallway.

Aemond, for his part, looks back at his betrothed, who is now conversing animatedly with two young noble ladies he does not know. One of them offers Rhaena a bright smile before walking away towards the doors and where Aemond is.

When she passes by him, the prince notices how her smile disappears and how her eyes wander to the scar that adorns her face and the leather patch that covers it. The young woman, noticeably tense, bows and whispers a polite greeting. Aemond, annoyed, simply glares at her before turning and heading towards his room.

~~~

Strawberry tartlets are her favorite.

Rhaena takes one more from the tray that a servant offers her and chews it with relish while Marianne, next to her, continues talking about the lack of balls in the palace.

“I still can't believe there were masquerades in this place,” Rhaena says when she finishes the sweet.

“They are Queen Ellyn's favorites!” her lady answers

Rhaena nods. During the weeks of her stay in the capital she had come to form an idea of the young queen's character based on everything she had heard about her, about her love of dancing and puppeteer performances. As someone who enjoyed social entertainment tremendously, Rhaena hoped to meet her soon.

“Oh yes, the queen made a big deal of her famous masquerades,” it is Lady Blackwood who intervenes, “Not everyone at court got an invitation, only those important enough or those she found interesting enough to be around her.”

“Without a doubt, you, Lady Blackwood, belonged to the first group, being such an illustrious lady and such a generous hostess,” Rhaena responds, taking another strawberry tartlet and offering the older woman an adorable smile.

“You flatter me, girl!” she replies with evident satisfaction, “I won't deny that the queen and I have a good relationship, yes.”

Marianne holds back a giggle by covering her mouth with her hand and Rhaena avoids looking at her so as not to laugh too.

This afternoon, like the previous ones, she has also been invited to have tea in one of the castle's private rooms. Rhaena gladly participated in these meetings because they helped her discover interesting details about life at Court and, above all, because she loved how kind everyone was to her. The ladies had not hesitated to make her participate in the social routine of the Fortress and the lords always greeted her with a smile, eager to please her.

And although she knew that perhaps many of them came with the intention of ingratiating themselves with the prince's future wife, Rhaena was grateful for keeping her mind occupied and distracted from the anxiety that overwhelmed her when she was alone in her room.

Just one more moon and you will be the kinslayer's wife.

“What about you Marianne? Did you used to attend the masquerades?” she asks, pushing her betrothed out of her mind.

“Every once in a while, yes,” she nods.

“It's a shame we haven't had one in so many moons. The palace could do with being filled with music and laughter again,” says Lady Blackwood

“Although we will have a chance to celebrate when Rhaena gets married!” exclaims Marianne, excited

Rhaena forces a smile and takes another tartlet to avoid answering.

“Do you think they invite all the nobles in the kingdom, Lady Blackwood?” Marianne inquires.

“It would be the right thing to do,” the woman agrees, “Although with so little time, I don't think everyone will have the chance to get to the capital.”

“Anyway, I'm so excited for the tournament. I have never…"

Rhaena tunes out the conversation for a few minutes and snaps back to attention when Lady Redwyne's high-pitched voice interrupts them.

“What, may I know, are you talking so animatedly about?”

The old lady, helped by a maid, sits next to Rhaena, who greets her cordially and tries to keep her face impassive when her pug begins to lick her fingers.

“About the impending wedding of Lady Rhaena and the prince,” Lady Blackwood replies.

"It's not exciting? A banquet, a tournament, new clothes…”

“Well, child, you seem more cheerful than the bride herself,” Lady Redwyne cuts Marianne off and rests her gaze on Rhaena, her small gray eyes studying the reaction of the young girl, who cannot help but pale a little under her scrutiny, “Aren’t you happy to marry the prince?”

“Of course, I am,” Rhaena assures, “I am just feeling a little… nervous about the married life that awaits me soon,” she hastens to say.

Lady Redwyne still stares at her for a few seconds before snorting in disbelief, “I suppose as the daughter of a Targaryen prince it is fitting that you marry one, although a sweet girl like you would deserve someone better than the one-eyed prince.”

There is a sudden silence between them, and Rhaena looks in disbelief at the old woman, who seems to enjoy the reaction she provokes in the others.

“Oh, stop it, I know you share the same opinion as me,” Lady Redwyne continues, “It is no secret that Prince Aemond is…”

"Arrogant? Hostile? Violent?" Lady Blackwood proposes

“That's right,” the other old woman agrees.

“Surely the prince can’t be that bad,” Marianne tries to say.

“Oh, fool girl, the entire kingdom knows the prince's nature,” Lady Blackwood dismisses Marianne's comment, “His violent impulses ruined the Riverlands. He left devastation and death wherever he went. He wiped out the entire Strong line in a single day."

Rhaena doesn't miss the tone of pain and anger that hardens the woman's voice.

“Well, we could say that he did keep one Strong as his spoils of war,” Lady Redwyne retorts with an unamusing laugh.

“What a shameful matter.”

“What do you mean?” Rhaena can't help but ask without understanding the women's comment.

Lady Redwyne gives her a confused look, “Are you not aware of that?” when Rhaena shakes her head, the woman continues, “Oh gods, how could you not? It was a matter widely discussed by everyone."

“Prince Aemond,” says Lady Redwyne, “took a Strong bastard as a lover.”

Marianne lets out a gasp of disbelief and, if it weren't for the fact that the news takes Rhaena by surprise, even she would have laughed at the comicality of her lady's expression.

“A certain Alys Rivers,” Lady Redwyne holds her dog against her chest, a mischievous smile on her face, “They called her the Witch of Harrenhal.”

“And was she really a witch?” It is Marianne who asks

“Probably not,” Lady Blackwood replies, “Although she had gained some fame in those lands because they said she saw visions in the fire. She was beautiful, though. She tried to seduce Prince Daemon when he took Harrenhal, but she didn't stand a chance with him. Prince Aemond, on the other hand, was captivated by her charms and experience"

Lady Redwyne snorts indignantly, “What a shame that was for poor Queen Alicent! Her most beloved son involved with a bastard and putting aside all his responsibilities to simply enjoy of his love affair."

“Responsibilities?” Rhaena asks.

“He left her alone,” the old woman responds again, still indignant, “He lived peacefully in Harrenhal while the poor queen had to deal with Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, who came to take the capital. The queen believed that her son would return with his dragon to rescue her, but obviously that was not the case."

“He did come back for this Alys, however,” Lady Blackwood asserts, “When the Frey’s took Harrenhal, he personally went and rescued the bastard. She said she was carrying the prince child”

“Oh gods,” Marianne covers her mouth with her hands and exchanges a shocked look with Rhaena, “And was she?”

"No, I don’t think so. Those were just inventions of a gold-digger”

"What happened next?" Rhaena wants to know

“Well… Prince Aemond went to fight with your father,” Lady Redwyne nods at Rhaena, “And we know how that turned out. What is not very clear is what happened between the prince and his lover. They returned to Harrenhal, but soon afterward he returned to the capital. Some say he executed her, others say he simply abandoned her."

“But he loved her…” she says almost in a whisper, although Lady Redwyne manages to hear her and lets out a laugh.

“He was enthralled by her, yes. Maybe even bewitched, but in the end, he came to his senses and came back.”

Rhaena simply nods, trying to process all the information she just received.

“It's not a competition, my dear, you are a thousand times better than that commoner witch,” Lady Blackwood assures her, smiling appreciatively.

“Don't think about it, it's simply the nature of men and not even princes escape it,” Lady Redwyne rolls her eyes.

Rhaena thanks them and takes another tartlet. Marianne, who seems to notice how overwhelmed her lady is feeling, is quick to change the subject.

When both young women finally manage to leave the small room, Marianne intertwines her hands with Rhaena's.

“I think I'm in shock,” her lady assures in a low voice.

“They had a lot to tell, didn't they?” Rhaena tries to joke, although her voice betrays her nervousness.

“Do you… do you want to talk to me about it?” Marianne asks.

“I don't think there's anything really to say, I don't—” Rhaena is cut off when a guard stops before her.

“A message for you, Lady Rhaena.”

The knight hands her a sealed scroll, nods and immediately walks away from them.

Rhaena looks at the seal of House Targaryen and frowns, quickly breaking it and reading the contents.

"What does it say?" Marianne wants to know, curious

But it takes Rhaena a few seconds to respond because her eyes are still rereading the message, as if wanting to make sure that she has really read and understood the written message correctly.

“It's a…” she clears her suddenly dry throat, “It's an invitation from Prince Aemond.”

"What?!" her lady gasps

“He wants to have dinner with me tomorrow night in his private chambers.”

Chapter Text

“I am not going”

“But it is an invitation from the prince.”

"Exactly!" Rhaena says emphatically, crumpling the parchment and balling her hands into fists as she begins to walk again, “I can decline it if I wish so”

“Don't you think he'll feel slighted if you do that?” Marianne asks, rushing to stand next to her.

“I don't care if he does,” she says with a shrug.

Rhaena internally reproaches herself for having replied so lackadaisically and making evident her annoyance at the situation to her lady, but she simply sighs as she continues walking. To call an invitation to the words that the kinslayer has written is to be too lenient. The prince has practically demanded her presence, summoning her as if she were one of his servants.

Who does he think he is?

“Is it because of what Lady Blackwood and Lady Redwyne just told us?”

"What?"

“You know…” Marianne seems embarrassed, her cheeks turning red and her gaze unable to meet that of her lady, “About that woman… Alys Rivers”

“I am afraid I do not understand,” Rhaena frowns.

“I mean…” she sighs, “It must have been hard for you knowing that your future husband had a previous affair with a woman.”

Rhaena can't help but let out a giggle that turns into a laugh.

“Oh Marianne, no, no,” she replies, shaking her head and still laughing, “I don't care at all that my cousin had a mistress.”

Her lady's honey eyes widen comically, her expression of disbelief causing Rhaena much tenderness, “How come? I would be devastated if I found out about a scandal of such magnitude."

“You heard the old ladies,” she responds, “It is in a man's nature to have mistresses. Some are simply more… discreet about such matters.”

Her own father, Rhaena thinks, had had different affairs. During her stay in Pentos, even when she was a child, she had not been unaware of the flirtations between the rogue prince and his servants. And then, after his marriage to Rhaenyra, she knew that her father had not remained completely faithful to her stepmother.

“Well, yes, I know,” her lady admits, “But one can always wish that that wasn't the case, don't you think? Wouldn't you like, I don't know, for Prince Aemond to be devoted only to you?”

Rhaena gives a careless giggle, “No, not really. I don't care if the prince has his distractions. Our marriage is merely a political alliance, as you well know, so I have no expectations of any kind in that regard.”

Marianne seems to examine her expression for a few seconds, as if deciding whether or not Rhaena is being completely sincere. “Well, I hope I can find a husband who is totally faithful to me.”

Rhaena can't help but smile and take her lady's hand, caressing it gently, and nodding, “And so you will, I am sure. And I think I know who would be the perfect candidate for such a feat,” without waiting for the other girl to ask, she continues, “My cousin Daeron.”

“Oh no, don't start with this again, please,” Marianne asks, looking around her, as if she were scared that someone had heard Rhaena.

"Why not? I think you two would be a perfect union.”

“You just want to change the subject,” the brunette reproaches.

“Yes, and you will indulge me in that regard,” Rhaena replies. Marianne simply sighs and links her arm to her lady's, “I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll write a letter. If my betrothed can contact me and arrange a meeting through a message, I will do the same with Daeron and ask him to accompany us to the beach.”

"If you insist…"

“I do,” Rhaena nods and then her face widens with a smile, “Come on, let's go to my rooms and order wine and cake.”

***

Her sheets are soaked in sweat.

The next morning, Rhaena wakes up agitated and feverish, her nightgown clinging to her body and the images of the dream - nightmare - she just had still fluttering in her head.

The Gods Eye.

Her father and Caraxes. Falling down. How long has it been since she had that dream?

Years, probably. It had pursued her for several months after learning of Daemon's death, and the girl had managed to drive them away thanks to the relief of a minimal dose of milk of the poppy every night. Why did that dream have to return just now?

Of course, this time, she thinks as she throws back the sheets and sits heavily on the bed rubbing her eyes, the dream had changed. This time, the presence of her cousin and that of a mysterious woman with bewitching eyes had further darkened the atmosphere created in her mind.

Damn those gossip old ladies, mutters under her breath, standing up and calling for her maids. It is because of everything she had been told the previous afternoon that her mind was now punishing her by recreating situations that she had not witnessed and that had not bothered her in a long time.

“Prepare a bath for me, Cyndi, please.”

The maid prepares fills the tub, and Rhaena immediately immerses, closing her eyes and allowing the hot water to relax her muscles and free her mind.

“It was just a dream,” she says to herself quietly, “Just a dream.”

And repeating that, she dresses and spends the morning with Marianne, having breakfast in the gardens and practicing her embroidery. She even visits a couple of court ladies and has lunch with them, chasing away her worries and anxiety that builds as the hours pass.

But it is when her path crosses that of Aemond that her good mood finally fades. Although Rhaena tries to appear indifferent, and although he shows no sign of acknowledging her presence, she can notice his fixed gaze on her from the other end of the room. The girl bites the inside of her lip, suddenly nervous and hurries to leave the place, but the feeling of continuing to be watched persists.

Damn him, she thinks as she walks through the corridors without really paying attention to Lady Rosby's animated chatter, she had to find him precisely today, of all days.

Rhaena sighs and excuses herself to her companion, and makes her way back to her room.

It had been easy, the previous evening, to assure Marianne that she would not be attending the dinner. Only now, after thinking about it properly, she knows better than to simply ignore her betrothed. After all, she is supposed to play the role of a willing bride and, brushing aside the invitation from her future husband, doesn't agree with the role.

Still, she has no desire to spend an evening in the company of Aemond Targaryen. She knows that her cousin is spiteful and a part of her fears what he might do to her if they are alone, especially after the way she had treated him that time in the gardens. Letting out a moan, Rhaena covers her face with her hands.

No. Better not to go. Better to take refuge in the safety of her room.

Although he could come for you, thinks that unfriendly little voice in her head. As impulsive as the prince is, Rhaena doesn't doubt that he might as well send a couple guards to force her to attend the dinner.

He is the king's brother and his hand. He has all the power.

The thought frustrates and bothers her, but she knows there is nothing she can do about such an imbalance of power between the two. At least not yet. Maybe, just maybe... as Lady Jeyne had told her at the Eyrie, she might at some point have enough influence to counteract the prince's. But not now. And it's better, Rhaena knows, to just play along. At least this time.

“There you are,” Marianne's voice brings her out of her thoughts, “I thought we agreed to go to the library together.”

“Yes, well, it will have to be another day,” she responds with a sigh, “I decided to attend the dinner.”

Marianne looks surprised, but she just nods, “I think it is the most sensitive thing to do.” Rhaena doesn't answer, she just shrugs, “Do you want me to help you select your dress and accessories? Maybe we could even do something different with your hair, we still have some time.”

“It won't be necessary. I will just use what I am wearing now”

"But…" The lady frowns, “It is a pretty dress, yes, but this is a dinner with your future husband. Surely the occasion merits something more… elaborate”

“I have no intention of getting dressed specifically for this dinner.”

“But Rhaena!” Marianne looks frustrated, “Let me help you, please…”

“I am not going to make an effort to look good for…” Rhaena stops her words, breathes and gives her a forced smile, “I mean it is a rather informal occasion, what I am wearing now is more than adequate.”

Marianne sighs, “I wish that, for once, you would speak your mind to me”

"I do"

“No, no, you do not. Every time you are going to say something related to the prince, I can tell that you are not being completely sincere. Don't you trust me?” Her lady looks at her with a hurt expression on her face.

“It's not that,” she is quick to respond, although she knows it's just that, “I was only…” Rhaena bites the inside of her lip, a small wound starting to form from having abused the gesture in a while.

Did she trust Marianne? She knew that Alicent had appointed her, but she had proven to be sincere and discreet in these weeks of living together. Besides, Rhaena thinks, there's a certain innocence in her disposition that doesn’t seem fake.

“I don't want to make efforts for him,” she ends up saying, deciding to give her lady in waiting a vote of confidence, “I don't want to think about looking good for him or making him find me attractive.”

“Because you don't love him,” Marianne agrees.

“I could never love him,” she says, her voice harsher than she wishes, “I can barely tolerate his presence.”

“But you are going to marry him…” her lady looks at her with confused eyes.

“What other option do I have? It's not like they asked my opinion on it. And if they had done it, never, ever, Marianne, would I have accepted him to be my husband."

“But maybe… maybe if you give him a chance, the prince won't turn out to be as bad as he seems.”

Rhaena can’t help but laugh bitterly, “There is too much history between us. Even though I only saw him a couple of times before arriving at the Red Keep, Aemond Targaryen ruined my life in many ways.” Rhaena breathes and tries to control herself, but the words come out of her mouth, “He is a kinslayer, he murdered my betrothed, Prince Lucerys. He and his brother killed my grandmother and then he ended my father's life. And there is also the whole thing with Vhagar. My life would have been so much better if he hadn't interfered and taken everything I hold dear from me."

There is a moment of silence in which they simply look at each other, Marianne's expression becoming even more saddened. The lady takes a couple of tentative steps towards Rhaena, sitting next to her and holding her hand.

“I am so sorry, Rhaena. Gods, I am such a fool! I spoke without thinking and didn't even consider the fact that you and the prince were on opposite sides during the war,” she says quietly.

She shakes her head, “It is fine. It's been a long time since that happened."

“That doesn't make it any less painful.”

“No, it doesn't,” Rhaena replies, squeezing her hand and offering her a reassuring little smile, “But I learned to live with that”

There is another moment of silence before Marianne speaks again.

“The prince Lucerys… did you love him?”

No. The answer immediately comes to her mind. She had never loved Lucerys, at least not in the romantic way that her lady was referring to.

“I cared about him,” she replies, “I grew up with him and Luke was… he had a sweet heart. He would have been a good husband. Kind and considerate”

Her life would have been much calmer with Lucerys. She would have continued living near her family, in Driftmark. In her mother's ancestral home, surrounded by her memories, her presence... a lump form in her throat at the thought of this and she breathes deeply, determined not to cry.

"Do you hate him?" asks Marianne, “Prince Aemond, I mean, do you hate him?”

Did she? Rhaena bites her lip and thinks about the contempt she usually feels whenever she is around her cousin. Was that hate?

“I resent him,” she finally responds.

Marianne nods and seems to hesitate before asking, “Do you want me to go to this dinner with you?”

Rhaena looks at her surprised, “What?”

“I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone with the prince. After everything you've told me, I think he might... might be unpleasant to you."

Rhaena's stomach clenches as she hears her verbalize the fears she herself had recently harbored.

“Would you really go with me?”

“Yes, of course” she nods vehemently, “He'll have to behave if I'm there, next to you, right?”

There is a note of hope in her voice and it is to it that Rhaena clings as she nods and leaves her room with her lady, walking down the long corridors and stairs until they reach the Tower of the Hand.

“He could have chosen a more suitable place,” Marianne murmurs almost breathless after finally reaching the prince's chambers.

Rhaena just smiles at her friend, her own chest rising and falling rapidly. Her lady smiles back and squeezes her hand before walking the last few steps to the double doors where two knights guard the entrance.

“Prince Aemond is waiting for Lady Rhaena,” Marianne says to one of them, who nods to them both and opens the door, announcing their presence.

The two young women enter the large room and Rhaena observes her surroundings feeling curious. There is not much furniture or excessive decorations on the walls, just some Targaryen symbols and a huge fireplace with a lively fire that bathes the room in a warm light. The windows are covered and she can't take in the view, although she assumes it's much better than the one in her room. Rhaena walks towards the table that is already set and the smell of the food almost makes her smile.

Until the figure of her cousin, walking with determined steps from somewhere at the other end of the room, appears.

Aemond Targaryen stops before them and places his hands behind his back, a look of genuine surprise in his good eye. Marianne, next to her, bows and Rhaena simply nods.

“Cousin,” the prince greets in his usual tone of voice between bored and annoyed, “And…”

“Marianne Westerling,” Rhaena says, introducing them, “My lady-in-waiting.”

A haughty little smile appears on the prince's face, “Lady Westerling, of course. Well, you can leave now. I want to have dinner alone with my betrothed."

“My prince, I…”

“You heard me, leave.”

“Marianne is not leaving,” Rhaena replies, frowning, “It would not be appropriate for us to dine alone, we are not married yet, so she will be my companion tonight.”

“That's right, my prince, I will act as chaperone. Surely Queen Alicent…”

“My mother is aware of my invitation,” Aemond cuts her off again, “And fear not, Lady Westerling, your ladyship's virtue is in no danger.”

His last comment is delivered with such disdain that Rhaena can't help but feel offended, her cheeks reddening violently from the rage she feels at hearing the mockery in Aemond's voice.

“I don't like to repeat myself, leave us alone,” the prince fixes his good eye on her lady-in-waiting, whom Rhaena feels tense next to her.

"My lady?" Marianne turns to her, looking at Rhaena with clear nervousness, her hands trembling.

Rhaena looks at her friend, and then at her cousin, who frowns and raises his eyebrows, as if daring her to oppose his order. The girl clenches her hands into fists, pressing her nails against her palms, and looks back at Marianne, offering her a little smile that doesn't reach her eyes, “It is fine, Marianne, you can go.”

The young woman nods and bows to both of them before leaving the room.

“There was no need to be so rude to my lady.”

“There was no need to bring her here in the first place,” he retorts, and adds, “And I seem to remember telling you to refer to me as my prince, my…”

“Lord or Prince Aemond, yes, right,” Rhaena interrupts, “Well, I am here. Is there anything you wish to discuss with me, my lord?” she asks, mentioning the last part almost under her breath.

Aemond watches her for a few long seconds, as if he were internally debating whether or not to respond to what he considers clear insolence on her part. In the end, he simply turns his back on her and walks over to the table.

"Sit. We'll eat and then I'll let you know why you are here."

He doesn't wait for Rhaena to take her place, but rather he motions to a servant, who appears out of nowhere to help him move the chair and settle into it. Rhaena stops herself from rolling her eyes and takes her place at the table, across from him.

“Pour us wine and then leave,” he orders the servant, who hurries to comply, filling both of their glasses with a drink that emanates a delicious sweet smell.

Once they are alone, it is obvious that the prince has no intention at the moment other than focusing on his dinner, as he fills his plate with a portion of the pheasant and vegetables that have been placed on the table. As Aemond begins to eat, Rhaena sighs and decides to do the same. The truth is that she is really hungry, having not properly enjoyed her lunch feeling to nervous about the prospects of that night.

And now you are here, she thinks as she cuts a piece of the soft meat, Dining with the kinslayer.

Despite the apparent calm, there is tension in the atmosphere, the room enveloped in an uncomfortable silence that is only broken by the eventual sound of cutlery and the fire in the fireplace.

It had been good, Rhaena thinks as she watches her cousin drink his glass of wine out of the corner of her eye, to have released to Marianne what she had kept in her chest for a long time. For years she had simply endured every blow that life had thrown in her direction, having no one to complain to, unable to lament her fate except alone. Not even at the Eyrie had she been able to speak so openly to Lady Jeyne. She didn't like being the object of anyone's pity, she preferred to try to put aside the losses of her past and focus on the positive of the present, of the good things that surely waited for her later. Clearly, that was not an option in the Red Keep. While she had been able to hope for a happy future in the Vale, here she could only resign herself to the life that had been chosen for her. And although she convincingly disguised her unease, it was clear that it had been building up inside her. And it had been better to let Marianne listen to her rather than, for example, losing her temper again in front of her husband-to-be.

Rhaena shakes her head and focuses back on her food, enjoying the savory seasoning of the meat, drinking the wine that she finds as exquisite as it smells. When she has finished her plate, she delicately wipes the corners of her mouth and looks once again at her cousin, who is still eating.

After a couple of minutes, however, she begins to feel anxious again. Why does it take so long for him to finish his dinner? Is he doing it to anger her? She didn't doubt that would be the case. And, furthermore, what does he want to talk to her about? Rhaena had been dreading spending hours at his side so much, that she had not thought about what his reason would be for summoning her to his private chambers. He certainly wasn't looking to befriend her or get to know her better, not when he had spent weeks simply ignoring her and not even making a kind gesture toward her. No, Rhaena doubted that was the reason. Also, based on his statements from a while ago, he was not seeking to be intimate with her either.

Thinking about that possibility, Rhaena can't help but blush again, her eyes instinctively landing on her cousin, who – as per usual - looks tremendously stoic and imperturbable, an expression of cold serenity on his face that irritates her.

How could a man like him have lost his mind to a witch of the forest? The impertinent question suddenly appears in her mind, surprising her, but at the same time awakening her curiosity as she remembers everything she had heard the previous afternoon. How is it that this Aemond Targaryen, who looks as cold as the northern snow, had practically abandoned his family to live a love affair with a low-born woman? He, who didn't seem to have any consideration for anyone, who seemed to think that everyone was inferior to him... Could it be that his love for her had been so strong that he had been able to overcome every prejudice? Had Alys Rivers seen a more… warmer side of him? That idea seems improbable to her.

And what had that Alys person been like? How had she invited the man who had slaughter her family into her bed? And more importantly, what had she seen in him? Rhaena frowns and takes a sip from her glass of wine as her eyes look at her cousin, trying to unravel the mystery of what that woman might have found attractive about Aemond Targaryen.

If she was objective, she assumed that the prince was not unpleasant to look at, his Valyrian features giving him that alluring aspect that most of the kingdom considered special. And then there was the poise and confidence with which he carried himself and that aura of mystery and seriousness that he exuded. That probably attracted the ladies too. Not that it worked on her, of course. To her, the presence of her cousin only seemed violent and exasperating.

He may be an attractive man, she thinks, but it only takes a moment in his presence for that to not be enough.

“Stop looking at me”

Aemond's voice jolts her out of her thoughts, her violet eyes meeting the sapphire blue of her cousin's.

“I wasn't looking at you,” she lies, breaking eye contact and bringing the wine glass to her lips.

“Yes, yes you were.”

“No, I was not”

 “Mmm”

Rhaena shifts uncomfortably in her chair, “Are you done with your dinner yet? I would prefer not to extend our evening any longer than necessary.”

Aemond does not respond, but rather he stands up surprisingly and for a moment, the girl is sure that he will approach her with less than gentle intentions. Her cousin, however, turns his back on her, and heads towards the other room where he had appeared. Rhaena breathes a sigh of relief and stands as well, smoothing the folds of her dress and nervously toying with the strands of her hair.

Barely a minute later the sound of boots on the tiles alerts her of the return of her cousin, who walks directly towards her, extending a couple of books in her direction.

"Here. Take these to your room and read them”

Rhaena blinks several times, genuinely surprised by what she just heard. Books? Is her cousin giving her books? When he makes an annoyed noise with his mouth, she realizes that he still has his arm extended toward her.

“To what purpose?” she asks, finally picking up both volumes and reading the titles, “These are books about the Faith.”

“You will attend and participate in the celebrations for the Mother Festival,” Aemond agrees and adds, “With me.”

Rhaena can't help but giggle, “Thank you, but I have no interest in taking part in religious celebrations, much less by your side.”

“I didn't ask you if you wanted to participate or not, I'm just letting you know you will,” he replies dryly as he takes a step closer, glaring at her. “Do you think I want to spend more than the necessary time with you?”

“Then why insist that I accompany you?”

“Because it is our duty,” he responds simply as if that settles the matter, “We will do what is expected of us and I will not tolerate any more insolence from you, Rhaena.”

A chill that manages to gives her goosebumps runs through her body when she hears him say her name for the first time and in that threatening tone of his voice.

“Do you enjoy being so infuriating all the time?” The question escapes her lips almost in a whisper, her eyes again meeting the prince's.

“Almost as much as you enjoy strutting around Court, I imagine,” he replies with a cold, sideways smile.

"I don't…"

“I don't care,” he cuts her off, “Read the books and don't embarrass me during the Festival or I assure you that you will regret it dearly”

Chapter Text

 “Did you understand what your purpose is?”

“Yes, brother, for the umpteenth time, I understood you perfectly.”

Aemond narrows his good eye as he watches Daeron's apathetic expression. The prince had preferred to meet his younger brother in his chambers, away from the ears of the council members and the excessive concern that Alicent would surely show upon knowing that he would send him to the Riverlands.

“You must know how to impose your authority”

“You do remember that I led our armies in the Reach during the war, right? Quite successfully, if I may say so."

“Daeron the Daring,” Aemond responds with a lopsided smile, “I hope then that this mission will be a piece of cake for you.”

“It will be, brother, trust me.”

Daeron offers a huge smile on his youthful face and Aemond simply sighs, “When will you be ready to leave?”

“Probably tomorrow afternoon, it is not a long flight,” he responds, “I hope I don't extend my stay too much, I want to arrive in time for the tournament for your wedding.”

The one-eyed prince begins drumming the table with his fingers at the mention of the tournament. A ridiculous thing, in his opinion.

“I do not want you to participate in the jousts, it could become…”

His words are interrupted by the arrival of a messenger boy, who bows to both princes and hands Daeron a scroll. His brother immediately breaks the seal and, as he reads the contents, an expression that Aemond interprets as pleasant surprise appears on his face.

"Good news?" he can't help but ask

Daeron folds the scroll and looks up at him, “It is from Rhaena.”

“Our cousin Rhaena?” Aemond raises his eyebrows, surprised.

“Yes, obviously our cousin Rhaena,” his brother nods, smiling, “She is inviting me for a walk on the beach this afternoon.”

"Hmm"

The prince maintains his mask of neutrality, although internally he wonders why his betrothed contacts his brother and dares to invite him to spend time with her.

"Does it bother you?"

“Of course not,” he replies coldly, “Attend if that is what you wish, you will be the one who must endure her presence.”

Daeron's infuriating smile widens a little, and he even dares to chuckle, “You must be the only one in the castle who finds her unbearable.” When his older brother does nothing but glare at him instead of answering his comment, Daeron sighs, but continues, “She is a beautiful young woman and she will be your wife very soon. It wouldn't kill you to give yourself the opportunity to get to know her, and enjoy her company. Unless you prefer to be miserable sharing your life with someone to whom you barely speak a word”

Aemond makes an indeterminate noise with his mouth and stands up, “Focus on your mission, that is what is expected of you.”

***

“Aren't you planning on reading the books?”

Marianne's skillful fingers move along the long row of little buttons on Rhaena's back, bringing them together to close her dress. The young woman's gaze briefly wanders to the heavy tomes that Aemond had given her the night before and that remain on the table in the anteroom, where she had left them when leaving the Tower of the Hand, "No."

“But maybe they will be useful now that you will have to attend the Festival with him”

“Maybe,” she admits, “But they are huge. "I am not going to spend my days cooped up here memorizing books about the Faith," Rhaena clicks her tongue, "Besides, I know enough and doesn't the High Septon do most of the work? Above all, I will have to stand and endure the sermons, right?”

“I guess so,” Marianne nods, “It is done.”

“Thank you,” Rhaena admires her figure in the mirror, “Have you ever attended the ceremonies?”

“Yes, but not all of them. I usually go only the last day to the Major Ritual and then to the fundraiser and the banquet”

"What is that about?" she asks, curious, turning to Marianne.

“Ah, you know, basically a dinner to allow the Court to clear their conscience before the gods by making donations to the Faith,” she responds with a giggle and a mischievous look.

“Marianne Westerling!” Rhaena exclaims with false reproach.

"What? I'm just repeating what I once heard my aunt Johanna say."

They both laugh and Rhaena applies drops of her rose perfume before looking at herself one last time in the mirror, “Tell me more about that fundraiser.”

“Well, this year Lady Blackwood is in charge of organizing it. I imagine it will be a grand event, I heard that she had hired a company of puppeteers from the other side of the Narrow Sea to liven up the afternoon.”

"Really? Puppeteers? That doesn't sound very...religious."

“Oh, the high septon loves that kind of spectacle,” Marianne assures, “Anyway, it will be something more exclusive this year. Lady Blackwood will invite only a few select members of the court.”

Rhaena smirks at him, “I hope she doesn't send Aemond an invitation.”

“Even if she does, I doubt the prince will attend,” Marianne replies, “Not even Queen Alicent makes an appearance. She usually fasts after the celebrations."

"Good. It will be the perfect occasion to put some distance after all the days I will have to spend next to him,” Rhaena laments, shuddering.

Morning suddenly flies across the room and tangles around her neck, growling as she slams her tail into Rhaena's shoulder, clearly impatient to leave the room.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” the girl is quick to say, calming the dragon with her touch, “We are leaving now”

The dragon roars again, and Rhaena and her lady go in the direction of one of the exits of the Red Keep.

“This was a bad idea,” Marianne comments, visibly pale, rubbing her hands and looking at the empty courtyard, “I don't know why I let you talk me into this.”

“No, it is not a bad idea,” Rhaena assures, taking her friend's hands to stop her from moving them and suppressing a grimace when she finds them cold and sweaty, “Just breathe and be yourself.”

“Yeah, right,” Marianne huffs.

"I mean it. You are lovely, Marianne, my cousin would be a fool if he didn't see it.”

Whatever her lady is about to respond is cut short when Daeron rushes in, heading straight up to them and smiling politely, “I am sorry for the delay, cousin, Lady Marianne.”

“No problem, cousin, we've barely arrived, shall we?”

The three get into a carriage that transports them through the crowded streets of the city towards the beach.

“I am glad you could join us,” Rhaena says after a short silence, “Marianne and I are very excited to leave the palace.”

“Thank you for inviting me, it is always good to get some fresh air.”

The young woman makes a subtle signal to her friend, raising her eyebrows and inviting her to speak.

“Indeed, my prince,” Marianne says after clearing her throat, and when Rhaena subtly squeezes her hand between the skirts of her dress, she adds, “Are you… are you excited about the festivities of the Faith?”

“Not particularly,” Daeron admits, “Besides, I won't be able to attend the Festival, I'll be flying to the Riverlands tomorrow.”

"Pleasure trip?" Rhaena asks, curious.

“Crown affairs, boring matters to your ears, surely”

“Surely,” Rhaena nods and looks at her friend, “Did you not visit Riverrun on the way to King's Landing?”

“Oh yes, briefly…”

The conversation continues until the carriage stops and Daeron helps them out.

Rhaena smiles as she feels the sea breeze full on her face and takes a few steps away from Daeron and her lady, who continue their conversation.

“Come on, fly and be free,” she says to her dragon, who makes a satisfied noise as she untangles from Rhaena’s neck and spreads her wings, “Just don't get too far away.”

“I remember when Tessarion was this little,” Daeron comments.

“It must have been very exciting growing up with a dragon,” says Marianne, looking at Daeron enthralled, her honey color eyes fixed on the prince's every gesture, who smiles at her frankly, as if thinking about the words she just said.

“Well, yes, I remember that I had a hard time learning the orders in High Valyrian. It was very natural for my siblings, but for me…”

Rhaena tunes out their conversation as she watches Morning walk further away than she deems necessary.

“I'll go after her,” she announces, although Marianne and Daeron are already several steps ahead of her and don't seem to hear her.

“Morning, wait,” Rhaena asks, almost running to where her dragon flies. A smile appears on her face as she watches her so relaxed. Although the creature had flown between the halls and gardens of the palace, it must definitely feel much better to be in an open-air environment. The girl gives the order again and this time Morning returns to her side, “I know, I know, I am very happy too,” she tells her in a low voice, “It is good to be able to go out for a while, right? I was already bored in that palace as well”

Morning lets out a flare next to her and Rhaena sighs. At times like this, she really missed the Vale more than ever. She had had so much freedom in the Eyrie that she had taken for granted the most routine activities like taking a simple walk outdoors that now, in the capital, were so rare.

A roar-like noise brings Rhaena out of her thoughts. Her dragon coils tightly around her neck as the girl examines her surroundings looking for the source of the sound.

"What do you think…?"

Her question dies on her lips when the noise is heard again and this time accompanied by a movement of what Rhaena had taken to be a dune near the beach.

“Vhagar”

The girl whispers the name into the wind and takes a few steps back, alarmed, before realizing that the enormous dragon is not moving or following her. In reality, she realizes after a few seconds, Vhagar seems to be sleeping and the sounds she has heard are probably her snoring or her labored breathing.

Rhaena turns in the direction of Marianne and her cousin, but she can't see any of them. She apparently had gotten further away from them than she thought.

“We should go back,” she tells Morning, although her feet don't move.

Her eyes return to Vhagar, who sleeps peacefully among the sands of the beach, to the magnificent creature that had once been Laena Velaryon's mount. Rhaena closes her eyes for a few seconds and tries to remember the time when her mother had taken to the skies with her, the power of her flames, her roars that could be heard throughout Pentos when Laena rode on her back.

Vhagar had been part of her household. And then she had become an enemy of her family. The old dragoness had destroyed her allies and changed the course of the war. Although now, she realizes, there is almost nothing left of that.

She agrees that it is a bad idea, but unable to help herself, she takes a few steps towards the dragon, wanting to examine her. Her wings, even from a distance, look more broken than they had ever been, and her body riddled with more scars than she remembered. Maybe it had been her...

"What do you think you are doing?"

A hand closes tightly around her arm, slowing her progress and turning her so violently that she staggers and it takes her a few seconds to find her balance again.

“What do you think you are doing approaching my dragon?” Aemond asks once again.

"Why are you here?" Rhaena asks in turn, bewildered.

“Do you think Vhagar is like the pet you like to show off and will let you get close to her?” The prince ignores her question, his good eye fleetingly turning to Morning.

“I am not a fool, cousin,” she replies, moving her arm, trying to get out of her grasp, “I wasn't going to get close to Vhagar, I know her temperament very well, I just wanted to see her closer. It took me by surprise to find her here and…”

“Come, we shouldn't bother her, she does not like to be interrupted when she sleeps,” the prince cuts her off.

“I know, I remember,” she replies, annoyed, “I knew her long before you did.”

She knows she's struck a chord with the prince when he tightens his grip on her arm, forcing her to hold back a pained moan, and his icy gaze focuses on her.

“Do you think because she was once linked to your mother that you know her well enough?” he asks in an almost terrifying whisper, “How about we test her loyalty to you? Maybe I should wake her up and find out if she still remembers you.”

Rhaena can't help but wince and Aemond lets go of her arm, although his gaze remains fixed on her.

“I know well that Vhagar's loyalty is yours,” she finally responds, “As I said, it just took me by surprise to find her so…” Rhaena bites her tongue to hold back her words, “Different from the last time I saw her.”

Aemond, however, seems to understand exactly the girl's comment, because his gaze goes to his dragon, who spreads her wings in her dreams, further evidencing her deteriorated appearance. Rhaena seems to notice a hint of sadness in his expression, though it passes too quickly.

“I imagine that the war also left its scars on Vhagar.” She knows that perhaps it is not wise to insist on the subject, but she really wants to know, “Is she like this because of… because of the Gods Eye?”

Had it been Caraxes and her father who caused such a level of damage to the creature?

Aemond stops looking at his dragon, and looks at his cousin for a few moments before lowering his face, “She just needs to rest.”

But Rhaena knows that is not true. She hasn't seen Vhagar fly over the city even once since she arrived in King's Landing. And besides, her cousin's somber expression says it all. For a moment, just a brief moment, the girl feels sorry for the clear pain that the prince is experiencing at seeing the state of his dragon.

“Come, I don't think I can deny Vhagar dinner if she wakes up and finds you and your creature here.”

Rhaena rolls her eyes and starts walking in the opposite direction of her cousin, who, to her surprise, follows her.

“You shouldn't be wasting your time on walks on the beach when you should be catching up on the reading I gave you.”

“Oh, your books,” Rhaena smirks, “They were such an inspiring reading that I finished them just yesterday.”

Aemond makes a disdainful noise and glares at her, but Rhaena just keeps walking. Morning leaves her shoulders and flies a few meters away from her.

“The festival is not a joke, it is a solemn occasion, I think I was very clear when I said that…”

“I will know how to live up to it, my prince,” she cuts him off.

Aemond clicks his tongue, “Where is Daeron? I thought you came here with him.”

How the prince knows that his brother is here, Rhaena neither knows nor asks. She simply turns her face towards the place where Marianne and Daeron had left, “I did, but I kind of lost them while following Morning. Oh, there they are,” she points to the two figures beginning to approach in the distance.

“Who accompanies my brother?” Aemond asks, frowning.

“My lady-in-waiting”

Rhaena tries to mask her excitement at observing how good they look together and how pleased Marianne seems.

“Hmm,” Aemond tilts his body toward his cousin, “Are you returning the favor to your lady by being her chaperone today?”

"What do you mean?" Rhaena blushes and looks at him.

“You are not subtle at all,” Aemond responds, “Did you get bored so quickly with Court entertainment that you are now trying to find a wife for my brother?”

“And what if that were to be the case?” She retorts defensively, “Marianne is more than suitable to be a prince's wife.”

“What is her name again?”

“Westerling. Marianne Westerling,” she replies, annoyed, “I introduced her to you yesterday before dinner.”

“Niece of Lord Tyland Lannister,” Aemond seems thoughtful, “Her house was an important and loyal ally to us during the war,” he doesn't give her time to reply, “I will consider it.”

“It is not like they need your permission to marry,” Rhaena retorts, “And I didn't ask you to intervene in any matter”

The girl is cut off when Daeron and her friend arrive next to them.

"Brother!" The young prince seems genuinely surprised to see his older brother, “I didn't know you would join us.”

“I had some business to attend here,” Aemond replies, “You should be preparing for your mission. You don't need distractions right now."

Marianne blushes violently and Daeron simply smiles, looking at them both, “Excuse my brother's abruptness, my ladies. “Aemond thinks of nothing but the kingdom these days.”

Rhaena bites her lip to keep from saying something that might upset her betrothed, and Marianne simply nods.

“I assure you, brother, that I am well aware about my commitments and responsibilities.  I was just telling Lady Marianne that we should go back because it's getting late and the sun is starting to set."

Aemond nods and they return in silence to the carriage. The trip back to the castle is nowhere near as entertaining as before now that the one-eyed prince sits next to them and his presence seems to discourage any hint of conversation. Rhaena simply ignores him as she watches Morning fly out the window, very close to her.

When the carriage stops in the castle's entrance courtyard and they get out, the girl is surprised to find Queen Alicent waiting for them.

“There was no need to come here, mother,” Daeron immediately approaches her, hugging her affectionately, “You could have waited for us in your chambers.”

“I thought it would be a good idea for Lady Rhaena and Lady Marianne to join us at dinner tonight.”

“We would love to accompany you, Your Grace,” her friend is quick to respond, clearly excited by the invitation and not waiting to consult with Rhaena, who simply smiles and nods.

“My son will take on his first official role as a member of the royal council,” Alicent explains, her voice full of pride.

“It is just an errand in Riverrun,” says Aemond.

Rhaena looks up at him as she hears the clear note of bitterness in his voice.

“He will represent the Crown. And I know that he will know how to fulfill his duty and honor his house."

For some reason she doesn't fully understand, the queen's words seem to have an effect on her eldest son, who tenses beside her and clenches his hands into fists.

Rhaena looks at her lady, searching for her knowing look, but she seems oblivious to everything, her eyes fixed on Prince Daeron who has linked her arm with that of his mother and escorts her into the castle.

Aemond, however, does not move. His gaze is still fixed on Alicent and his brother. And Rhaena, who does not fully understand the tension between the dowager queen and her eldest son, manages to recognize the emotion that Aemond's face reflects because she had seen it reflected in herself the numerous times that her father had preferred her twin, leaving her always on the side.

Pain. Rage. Envy and resentment.

Chapter Text

The bells ring in the city every hour from dawn, marking the beginning of the Mother's Festival.

Rhaena, who has spent another night plagued by nightmares, is already tired of the din they cause, but she forces herself to put on a cordial expression as she smiles at every noble she meets on her way to the throne room.

“It is a splendid day,” Marianne comments as they cross the patio, the incipient sun warming them deliciously to counteract the strong wind that is beginning to be felt now that the days are getting shorter and shorter.

“If you say so,” Rhaena sighs, wanting just to go back to bed.

They make the rest of the journey in silence, the lady being aware of how tired her lady seems.

When both are announced in the Throne Room, Rhaena is surprised to find enormous tables filling the space.

“It is tradition that the Crown offers the first meal,” says Marianne, “Come on, I will accompany you to the table of honor.”

Rhaena sighs again, but she walks purposefully to the head table under the throne, where Queen Alicent and the kinslayer are already seated side by side. Even though the feast hasn't started yet, they don't talk to each other. The prince plays with the knife he has next to his plate while the dowager queen seems deep in her thoughts.

“Good morning, Your Grace, my prince,” Rhaena greets with gentle courtesy and a polite smile.

“Lady Rhaena,” Alicent reciprocates the gesture and points to the seat on the other side of her, “Come sit, we will begin soon.”

The girl smiles at Marianne and says goodbye with a smile before taking her place next to the dowager queen.

“It is a very beautiful morning, don't you think, Your Grace?” She comments remembering her lady's words from a while ago.

“Very auspicious,” Alicent nods, “I take it this is your first time attending the Festival?”

“It is, my queen.”

“I trust that you will be able to fully appreciate everything it means.”  

“I am very excited to hear the sermons of the High Septon,” she lies easily.

Alicent seems pleased because she smiles genuinely and turns to her, taking the young girl’s hands. Rhaena tries not to flinch at the sudden gesture and holds her gaze. The woman's eyes travel over her face, examining her hairstyle and the dress she is wearing, “It is a beautiful dress, very appropriate for the occasion.”

Rhaena nods. The dress had arrived the previous afternoon along with six others, presumably for each day of the festival. They were all black and, the one that had indicated the note that she had to wear today, had gold dragons embroidered on the sleeves and part of the skirt. Ostentatious without being vulgar, Marianne had commented, examining the discreet neckline. “I appreciate your generosity in sending me such beautiful outfits, Your Grace.”

Surprise appears on Alicent's face, who frowns, "I did not send you the dress, Lady Rhaena."

"No? But I thought…” She stops talking, internally wondering who would have an interest in her wardrobe. The only answer that comes to her mind is the kinslayer, as controlling as he had been about her participation in the festival. But it certainly couldn't have been him.

Alicent, who seems to have had the same idea, turns to her son, who had apparently been paying attention to their conversation as he simply nodded at his mother.

Rhaena can't help but widen her eyes and feel her heart flutter, her face paling as she notices that Aemond's jacket has the same designs as her dress in the same color tone.

A septon cuts the tense atmosphere as he addresses the Court and Rhaena looks away. Alicent, who immediately closes her eyes concentrating on the man's prayers, releases her hands and she clenches them into a fist, furious at the stupid dress and at having to participate in the whole pantomime of faith.

The septon continues his words, and Alicent gives a short speech before everyone begins to eat. Rhaena just nibbles on a fruit, having lost her appetite and eager to get it all over with.

And the day hasn't even started, that little voice in her head says as everyone stands up to head towards the carriages that will take them to the Great Sept.

Rhaena, like the Dowager Queen and the Kinslayer, remain at the head table until the room is cleared of most of the attendees, which is when Alicent stands and signals to them both.

“It was a lovely detail you had with Lady Rhaena,” Alicent takes her son's hand and offers him a cordial smile.

The prince seems amazed by his mother's gesture and, although he does not show much with his expression, Rhaena can notice that he seems pleased and that the beginning of a smile seems to appear on his lips.

“You should take the opportunity to ask the Mother to bless you with a child as soon as possible once the wedding takes place,” the words are directed towards Rhaena, who feels color filling her cheeks.

Oh. So, this is was why they wanted her to participate, she thinks. She had had to realize before that, for Alicent -a woman raised in a city that was at the center of the Faith in Westeros- an occasion like the mother's festival presented an opportunity for the gods to intervene on behalf of the heirs of the crown.

“I will do the best I can, Your Grance,” she says in a small voice.

Alicent bids them farewell, and for a moment, Rhaena doesn't know what to do, her gaze meeting Aemond's.

“It is time,” he says simply, starting to walk.

This time, however, he does not advance with his usual long strides, but - to Rhaena's horror - he follows in her footsteps, practically staying at her side, although without trying to start a conversation.

When they get into the carriage the silence hangs over them and not in a pleasant way. Alicent Hightower's words resonate in her mind like a shock of reality for Rhaena who, suddenly, seems fully aware that in a couple of weeks she will have to marry Aemond Targaryen. She will have to share a bed with him. How had time passed so quickly? A cold sweat run through her body and Rhaena squeezes her hands trying to calm her nerves, although she finds them sticky and tries to dry them in the folds of her skirt.

"Enough"

Aemond's commanding voice breaks the silence, his hard gaze focused on her.

"What?"

“Stop squirming in your seat. Can’t you sit still for a few minutes?”

Rhaena clasps her hands in her lap and holds his gaze, “Couldn't you take another carriage if you can't stand my presence?”

“From now on and for the next seven days we will be together most of the day,” Aemond replies after a few seconds, “And you will have to sit for long periods during prayers. Do you plan to continue acting so inappropriately on all those occasions? The council had told me that, unlike your sister, you did know how to behave like a lady."

His comment manages to annoy her, but she tries to keep a neutral expression, “I know well what is expected of me, my prince.”

"Good"

Aemond cocks his head and Rhaena continues to glare at him. The nerves from a while ago, lack of sleep and hunger coming together inside her.

“Can't you look away?” the prince asks under his breath

“Why did you send me new dresses?” The question just falls out of her mouth.

“Because the ones you have didn't measure up”

His answer and his arrogant tone infuriate her, “My dresses are all appropriate. This one, however…”

“Dignify your house and the position you will soon assume”

His voice is sharp and it is the first time that he openly refers to their upcoming marriage, so Rhaena is left for a few seconds without knowing what to respond.

The carriage stops near the sept, and the girl stands up, ready to get out of there as soon as possible, but Aemond basically pushes her without much gentleness against the seat so that he can get off first.

Rhaena mutters a curse under her breath and stands up again, only now, when she peeks her body out of the carriage, she finds the prince standing offering her his hand to get off.

“Take my hand at once,” he orders when she does nothing but look at him.

Rhaena considers to be rude towards him, but in the end, she realizes it is not worth it. Not when she is going to have to spend the next few days by his side. It is better not to contradict him and try to be on his good side. If there is one.

“Thank you, my prince,” she responds with an adorable smile.

The prince's long fingers take her hand more gently than she expects and, as soon as she gets out of the carriage, they let go.

Fortunately, Aemond does not insist on taking her arm as they walk, although he does move closer than usual to Rhaena as they climb the stone stairs to the sept's entrance.

The smell of incense is the first thing that greets her upon entering and it takes a few seconds for her eyes to get used to the dim lighting of thousands of candles that are lit throughout the premises. Seven enormous statues line one of the walls, but one of them is more ornate than the others. Several worshippers are there kneeling before the representation of the Mother, while hundreds of others are already crowded in the atrium.

Rhaena looks quickly at everything before following Aemond towards the chairs placed under the main altar, where the High Septon already stands. Behind the chairs set aside for the Crown, there are dozens of others that have been occupied by courtiers and knights. Rhaena smiles warmly at them before sitting down on the velvety cushion next to her betrothed.

Just as Marianne had said, it was all extremely tedious. The high septon reads long passages from the Seven-Pointed Star and reflects on them, before continuing with the hymns, special requests and other rites.

The hours seem to pass stormily slowly and, when the religious says goodbye, Aemond makes no move.

“Why should we stay here?”

“As an act of respect and atonement”

“I have no sins to atone for,” Rhaena replies, “Now, if you are going to remember yours, I imagine we'll be here for a while.”

Aemond's hand takes her by surprise by closing around her wrist and squeezing. Rhaena turns to look at him, outraged, but he continues with his eyes closed in false prayer.

"Let go!" she whispers, “It is not my fault you have so much to confess.”

He lets her go, but the look he throws at her warns her that it's best to stay quiet.

Rhaena bites her tongue and looks away to inspect the sept, taking in the details of the wall decorations, murals, and stained glass. It is all very beautiful, majestic even, although she lacks the closeness to Faith that would probably make her appreciate the place even more.

You used to pray to these gods, remembers the voice in her head, the image of a girl in a white nightgown and an egg that didn't hatch painting in her mind.

“Come on, it is time to go back to the Fortress.”

Aemond's voice cuts through her memories and Rhaena feels her legs go numb as she stands up, having to flex them a couple of times before following the prince.

A small crowd stands outside the sept, gathered and apparently waiting to watch the city's nobles and princes. A little girl points her finger at her and says something to her mother while touching her hair, excited. Rhaena smiles at the child, and walks down the stone stairs as several people happily chant her name.

Aemond is at her side immediately, “What do you think you are doing?”

“I am greeting the people, obviously,” she replies, “They are calling my name.”

“That doesn't mean you should go to them.”

Rhaena stops herself from rolling her eyes, smiles at him with false tenderness, and continues walking towards the people. She knows that Aemond won't try anything against her in front of the crowd, so she approaches the little girl.

“It is for you, princess,” the girl says happily, handing her a flower.

“It is beautiful,” Rhaena smiles at her, “Thank you so much.”

Rhaena shakes her hand and also her mother's, the other people extend theirs to do the same.

“You are very beautiful, Lady Rhaena” “Your father was a great man, my lady” “May the gods bless you.” These are some of the praises she receives before saying goodbye to the people and returning to Aemond, who has not moved from his previous position.

"Shall we go now?"

Rhaena goes to the carriage in which they arrived and sits, feeling the prince's penetrating gaze on her.

“I didn't do anything wrong,” she comments after several seconds of suffocating silence.

He doesn't respond and only speaks to her again when the carriage stops in the castle courtyard, “Wear the red dress tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

Ser Criston is waiting for him at the entrance to the great sept.

“I didn't know you were coming today,” Aemond says as he joins his master-at-arms, “You should have joined us in the seats of honor.”

“Thank you for your consideration, my prince, but I preferred to say my prayers in private this time.”

Aemond simply nods and places his hands on his back, walking slowly alongside Cole, the aroma of the incense beginning to suffocate him after the long hours that have passed.

“Where is Lady Rhaena?”

“Outside, I presume, entertaining the people.”

Once again, he thinks to himself.

“That is a smart move on her part.”

Aemond snorts, “She loves being the center of attention.”

“Maybe my prince should be next to her. After all, she is your betrothed and you should share together every activity of the Festival”

Aemond tilts his face to look at the warrior, “You are starting to sound like my mother.”

“You know that I take that comment as the greatest of compliments, my prince.”

"Hmm"

The young man observes his former master for a few seconds. Had it been his mother who had sent him to the sept that afternoon? Did Alicent want to make sure everything went as she expected? He did not doubt that Cole would accept the mission, the man lived to please the dowager queen. A part of his mind, the one that felt great appreciation for ser Criston, internally scolded him for thinking that. The man was a great believer in the Faith, he accompanied Alicent every year during religious ceremonies, it was not surprising that he was here now.

“Did you see my mother today?”

“After breakfast,” Cole nods, “I escorted her to Queen Ellyn's chambers. The midwives agree that she is healing as expected, so she joined your mother in the gardens now that she can walk almost unassisted."

Aemond just nods again, not really knowing what to say. He had never thought much about his sister-in-law, his relationship with her had been rather limited and the size of the Fortress had ensured that he only crossed paths with her on the required occasions. He assumed the news Cole was giving him was good, although that didn't change the fact that he had still to sacrifice himself in an arranged marriage because Ellyn hadn't been able to live up to what was expected of her.

The sun shines dimly in the sky when they leave the sept, even so, he squints his good eye for a few seconds to acclimatize it to the change in light. Aemond spot his betrothed in the crowd – much larger than the day before – that has gathered around her.

“She is giving money to the poor”

Aemond notices the bag of gold in the girl's hands and internally wonders where she got it from. She doesn't really have anything to her name, and she shouldn't have funds for charity either.

“Of course she is,” he replies with almost a growl.

Criston Cole smirks, and Aemond crosses his arms behind his back, somehow feeling annoyed by the situation.

“Go, my prince, your duties are not over yet.”

The man bows and disappears among the people. Aemond, however, still stands by the stairs for a while longer, his gaze fixed on the scene before him, Rhaena delicately extracting the coins from the red velvet pouch and walking among children, mothers and old people with different ailments who extend their hands and look at her with reverence. Pathetic. Still... he knows what is expected of him, so he crosses the distance between them with long strides, the guards not needing to make a way for him as people stumble aside when they see him approach, few of them daring to greet him.

Aemond can notice the change in the girl's relaxed demeanor at hearing his name being called, her posture tensing, her face quickly turning to meet his. For a few seconds distrust and antipathy are reflected in her violet eyes, though she quickly masks her feelings and softens her face, her lips forming a sweet smile as she approaches him, and bows.

“Cousin,” she says, as if they had not spent the last few hours together and this was their first meeting of the day, “I did not expect you to join me here”

Aemond takes a step closer to her, takes her elbow and, not wanting the others to hear what he is going to say, lowers his head, bringing his lips closer to her ear. “Where did you get the money for this new show of yours?”

Rhaena shivers under his touch, but makes no move to push him away. Instead, to Aemond's surprise, she lifts her face and looks directly at him and says under her breath, "I doubt helping those in need is considered a show."

The tone of her voice invites confrontation, but Aemond prefers to maintain his cool, “Who gave you the money?”

For a brief moment, her cousin looks like she wants to respond with one of her usual scathing comments, but she changes her mind and sighs, “If you must know, it was Lord Jason who gave me the money at the request of the queen Alicent”

"On my mother’s behalf?"

Rhaena nods, “She, like me, thought it would be a good idea for the Crown to support those who need help.”

“Have you seen my mother?”

The question practically escapes his lips. The prince had not seen Alicent since the banquet in the throne room on the first day of the festival. The tone of his voice must give something away, because Rhaena looks at him curiously before answering, “I dined with her last night.”

Aemond receives the information with annoyance and a mixture of pain. His mother, who said she preferred to dine alone every night, had sought her company and not his. Why? To spy on her? To get to know her more? To spy on him? His thoughts are lost for a few seconds, and he almost loses his composure when he suddenly feels his cousin's hand on his, still holding her elbow. Her touch is warm, too warm for a late fall afternoon. Rhaena's delicate fingers take his, releasing her from his grasp and he allows it.

“Now, if I may, my prince,” she says, “There is a special function I must attend.”

As she leaves his side, leaves behind a subtle trail of rose perfume that is a more than welcome change after hours of inhaling incense. Aemond closes his eye for a few seconds and, when he opens it again, his cousin has begun to walk alongside a pair of septas, and several children.

Your duties are not over yet, Cole's voice echoes in his mind.

Suppressing a curse Aemond walks towards the small group. He doesn't have much trouble catching up with the women, and a hint of satisfaction runs through his body as he sees Rhaena's annoyed expression when he comes to stand next to her.

“I will walk alongside Lady Rhaena,” he says to the septa, who immediately understand his words and wait for them to take the lead, leaving them alone.

"Why are you doing this?" She asks, almost in a frustrated whisper, “We both know you don't want to be here. Can't you just let me enjoy something just once?”

“No,” he answers easily, smiling sideways, though looking straight ahead at the narrow, smelly streets of King's Landing.

The people happily greet Rhaena, who hands out more coins, tossing some into the air and giggling.

“This is a game for you, is it not?” comments the prince, “I hope you know that, if it weren't for the presence of the royal guards, these people would not hesitate to kill you to steal your gold.”

“I see that you have a negative impression of everyone and everything around you”

“I am just trying to open your eyes, cousin,” he looks at her harshly and then his gaze wanders to the crowd, some walking alongside them and others going about their daily activities, “I don't understand how you put up with it.”

"With what? Walk alongside the common people?”

“Being kind to those responsible for the death of our dragons.”

It is clear that she didn't expect him to bring that up as Rhaena stops abruptly and her gaze connects with Aemond for a few brief seconds before she looks away and walks back to his side.

“The children and women who received the gold hardly participated in that atrocity,” she finally replies.

“Still, they probably celebrated as much as the others when they destroyed the dragon pit.”

There are a few seconds of silence before she speaks again.

“They also suffered during the war”

“Do you justify their actions?”

“By no means,” her voice and look show here indignation, “I only understand the reasons that led them to confront the crown.”

Aemond snorts, “What could you know about such reasons? You hardly suffered the worst of the war, hidden in the fortress of the Valley, reading only through scrolls what was happening in the kingdom.”

“I could say the same about you,” she responds and walks with more firmness and long strides, obviously angry, “I doubt that the prince regent was cold and hungry during the military campaigns.”

“Still, I fought and…”

“It is not the same,” she cuts him off, “These people depend on the Crown, on our family. Neither of the two sides knew how to guarantee their safety and basic needs, it was more than obvious that they were not going to be happy with us if they died of hunger, diseases and were violated by the soldiers"

“War is brutal for everyone”

“For some more than others”

Aemond wants to reply, but the truth is that he has no way of denying what she says. He had seen with his own eyes the crimes committed by soldiers on both sides of the war, he himself had been cruel and indifferent to the Riverlands.

“And giving them gold is going to remedy that?” he asks, mockingly, “Or are you doing it just to ease your conscience?”

“At least I try to help take care of the town that, soon, will be in some way my responsibility,” her voice sounds full of bitterness, “You should try to do the same, for a change, my lord.”

“And what do you think I have done since I have been part of the royal council?” Aemond begins to lose his temper, annoyed by the clear tone of indifference and the comment that sounds almost like a reproach, “I am the hand of the king, every day I make decisions to govern the kingdom. I contribute much more than you with your false charity."

Rhaena smiles, mockingly, “What a good job you do!” Her hand points to the beggars gathered outside the bars, cantinas and the dirty streets, full of waste and with half-naked children running through them, “My lord.”

The girl turns to the septas, and exchanges a few words with them. The women point to a building at the end of the street and Rhaena, ignoring him, goes with them towards the place.

Aemond follows them and enters what appears to be a very old house with a large patio where several children are gathered. A feeling of strange familiarity overcomes the prince as he observes the oaks growing in the courtyard and the small pond between them. It is not until an elderly septa joins them that he recognizes the place.

“Lady Rhaena, my prince,” the woman's wrinkled eyes rest on him, “It is a pleasure to have you here again after all this time.”

His betrothed's curious gaze rests on both of them for a second, but when Aemond does not respond and the old woman says nothing else, she is the one who speaks, “It is our pleasure to be here. Septa Elaine mentioned that the children prepared a…”

Aemond disconnects from the conversation and walks towards the neglected pond where Helaena had spent hours playing with the insects and small frogs that lived there, much to the frustration of Alicent, who would have liked her to participate more actively in the games with other children, even if these were orphans of the city.

How long ago was that? Many years now, even so... if he closed his good eye he could see his sister's platinum hair sparkling in the sun while she caressed the creatures and whispered words incomprehensible to them. A lump form in the prince's throat, and he looks away and studies his surroundings. The place, which he had visited quite frequently during his childhood, had not changed much. Alicent had dragged them into her charity work from a very young age, at least him and his sister, since she had never gotten Aegon to participate in her activities. How comes he hadn't thought about this place again? When was the last time he had visited him?

Probably after what happened in Driftmark.

Yes, it had to have been around that time. Alicent had had to take over the government of the kingdom with Viserys being so ill. Helaena had married Aegon and Aemond... Aemond couldn't stand the looks of sadness and revulsion that people at court and in the city throw at him. Instinctively, his hand goes to the leather patch covering his wound, caressing it briefly before placing them together on his back.

He shouldn't be in this place. He doesn't like to remember the past. He doesn't like to think about Helaena.

But the memories come to his mind anyway. Helaena as a girl with her green velvet dresses accompanying Alicent through the city. Helaena entering the great sept to marry Aegon. The entire town had come that day to celebrate and congratulate his sister, chanting her name and asking her to fly with Dreamfyre. Helaena cradling the twins. Helaena broken after Jaehaerys' death. And the letter. The letter telling him about her fate. That had been his fault too. He had been distracted from his most important mission, and had left his fragile sister at the mercy of her enemies.

Aemond lowers his head as he feels the lump in his throat once again. He doesn't like this place. Deciding to leave, he walks in the direction of Rhaena, who is sitting in a rickety chair listening to children dressed in extravagant clothes reciting things that Aemond makes no effort to listen to.

“It's time to go,” he says with a hard voice.

“My prince, we are…”

Rhaena's voice cuts off as her gaze meets Aemond's. His violet eyes stare at him and she must see something in them, because she simply nods and makes an excuse to the septa, who don't try to hold them back either. The girl hands the woman the bag with what's left of the gold, and silently follows Aemond, who gets into the carriage that the royal guards have already brought.

The return trip passes in silence, although he hardly notices it, still tormented by memories that he has kept deeply repressed for years. When the Red Keep appears before them and the carriage stops, he makes to leave immediately, but Rhaena's voice makes him stop.

"Wait!"

Aemond, irritated, fixes his gaze on her and raises his eyebrows in an unspoken question.

“What color should I wear tomorrow?”

The question catches him off guard and seems to surprise even Rhaena herself.

Aemond doesn’t think about it too much, the memory of the girl still in his mind, “Green. Use green tomorrow”

Chapter Text

“You seem awfully pensive.”

Rhaena raises her eyes to the mirror and meets the curious and worried gaze of her lady-in-waiting, whose hands are skillfully braiding her hair.

“I am just exhausted,” she says with a half-smile. Her answer is still true, although there are other reasons that occupy her mind that morning.

“I thought maybe it was because of the color of the dress.”

Rhaena's gaze drifts to the dark green gown on her bed. The truth is that she hasn't thought about it too much.

“It is a color like any other,” she shrugs, “It does not matter anymore.”

The war had ended years ago. There were no more sides, no one else referred to her family's factions as the greens and the blacks. It didn't matter if Rhaena decided to wear a dark green outfit to listen to the sermons. They probably wouldn't even notice that detail.

At least that's what she wants to think.

“Still, it must be shocking,” Marianne insists.

“I hadn't even thought about that,” Rhaena admits.

“What are you worried about then?”

“Strangely… the kinslayer”

“But there is nothing strange about that,” Marianne finishes the last braid and applies rose oil to her lady's hair, “It is to be expected that the prince will cross your mind more frequently these days and, considering his peculiar personality, it's normal that you worry about having him by your side for much of the day."

“I guess,” she replies with a sigh.

Marianne raises her eyebrows and stands in front of her, “Did something happen? Has the prince been cruel to you? Did he do something to you?”

Rhaena hesitates, not sure how to explain the reservations she feels. Her mind still returned to her cousin's strange behavior during their visit to the orphanage. The expression on his face as he observed the place, his eye tormented almost... sad as he ordered the visit to end. That was surely not just due to thinking about the poor creatures that lived in that sad place.

There must surely have been another reason, but of course Rhaena hadn't pressed for answers.

“He behaved very strangely yesterday,” she finishes, “he was terribly quiet when we returned to the castle.”

“I thought that was usual for him.”

“Well, yeah,” Rhaena sighs again. The prince had spent the first three days of the festival in silence next to her, but it had been a different type of silence. Rhaena knew that, although not overtly, he was watching her and judging her every action. She could feel his hard gaze at times, and his exasperation every time she mixed up the prayers or forgot the words to one of the hymns (which, by the way, didn't happen often.), “Maybe I am just being terribly exaggerated. Maybe I am seeing things where there aren't any because I can't stop time and I'll have to marry him in two weeks."

Marianne takes her hand in hers and gives her a sad smile, “It is not fair.”

“The world rarely is,” Rhaena shrugs again, determined not to let herself be depressed – at least for the moment – by the upcoming wedding.

"But you know? Something is strange,” Marianne frowns, “We know almost nothing about the wedding except that there will be a tournament prior to the ceremony, has the prince told you anything else?”

“Of course not,” Rhaena giggles, “Neither of us mentions that topic, I think we'll both just accept our fate and appear that morning at the great sept.”

“And what will you wear? Who will be by your side to accompany you to the altar?” Her lady sounds upset, “All those details should be consulted with you, it is not fair for them to leave you aside.”

“Maybe he'll send me another dress,” she laughs again without giving it too much importance.

“But it’s your wedding!” indignation bathes her voice

“It doesn't bother me, Marianne, I didn't choose this union,” she responds quickly, though her mind can't help but think of her last question. She had no living male relative to take her to the sept. The thought makes her feel terribly sad.

“I know you didn't, and you'll be one of the most powerful women in the kingdom anyway. The wife of the prince, wife of the hand of the king and the mother of the future heir to the throne. You will perhaps have more influence than the dowager queen,” her voice drops as she says that last bit, as if someone could hear them despite being in the privacy of her room, “You could use that to your advantage.”

“Use it how?”

“My aunt Johanna, for example. She is the head of House Lannister, and she rules the Westerlands only by her marriage. She became very powerful because she knew how to use her influence properly."

“Yes, but it is also because Lord Jason died during the war, and their son was too young to succeed him.”

“Still, my uncle Tyland could have taken possession of Casterly Rock or sent someone to rule in his place.”

“But your aunt defended her lands against the Greyjoys, bravely, I might add, she showed her ability and she earned her position.”

"Exactly! She knew how to make herself indispensable, as she herself told me before sending me here. You could do the same”

 “I don't know,” Rhaena remembers Lady Jeyne's words, so similar to those of her friend, “In theory it sounds logical, even ideal, but your aunt Johanna surely shared with Lord Jason a certain affection, if not love, that contributed to get his household’s support. I have no allies here. I mean, I know I have you,” she is quick to say when her friend opens her mouth to protest, “But I am afraid it wouldn't be enough. The kinslayer doesn't like me, doesn't respect me, and would probably limit my attempts to make any decision on any matter."

“Then maybe… maybe…” Marianne seems hesitant, “Perhaps it would be good if you tried to gain his favor.”

"How?" Rhaena questions her with her eyes.

“I don't know,” her friend moves her hands nervously, “I know it's not easy for you, I know all your reasons for not wanting to be nice to the prince, but if you manage to establish some familiarity with him, I think your life here would be much easier."

“In the event that I tried,” Rhaena entertains the idea, “I don't think we have anything in common. I also have nothing to offer him, no land, no titles, he is only going to marry me because…” her eyes meet the honey-colored eyes of her friend, “Oh”

“Men have too much power over us, that is what my aunt told me,” Marianne replies, “I've heard horrible stories about some lords, noble men who should be examples of virtue and good behavior, who behave like savages in the marital bed. I don't want you to suffer the same fate with the prince."

Rhaena bites her lip, “Don't think I haven't thought about that. I will be at his mercy once we get married.”

“But if you become his friend or if you don't act so hard on him, maybe he'll be… kind.”

Rhaena’s eyes fill with tears that she fights not to shed, “Do you think he will call me to his chambers often? Does he have lovers who can free me from the torment of sharing his nights? Do you know something?"

“If he has them, he hides them well. There are no rumors about him at court, as far as I know he doesn't even visit the brothels on the Street of Silk. The prince is usually very reserved in that regard, unlike the king."

“This is a nightmare,” Rhaena sighs, trying to contain the tremor in her hands, “I know that it is in my best interest to fall in his favor, I am not stupid, but he is not easy to live with. I try not to fall for his provocations or provoke him myself, it's just that every time I hear his arrogant or condescending tone, my temper brings out my more rebellious side. That's the effect he has on me.”

Marianne smiles sadly, “But there must be something the prince wants that you can help him with.”

“Besides a son?” She shudders, “I am not going to seduce him, if that's what you are suggesting.”

“No, no, of course not. I did not mean that. The heir is what the entire kingdom, especially the queen dowager, is waiting for. I was wondering if maybe…”

Rhaena stops listening to her friend and thinks about her words. The queen Alicent was expecting an heir. The queen would be pleased if they conceived a child soon. And, from what she had been able to observe of the interactions between Aemond and his mother, he sought to please her.

“Marianne,” Rhaena cuts her off, “What do you know about Queen Alicent and my cousin’s relationship?”

"Their relation?" Clearly her lady finds the question strange, “I don't know, they are close in their own way, I guess.”

“She doesn't seem very close to him, at least not these days.”

“Since I arrived at the Fortress it has been like this. The queen usually spends more time with Prince Daeron or tending the king. I know she is very compliant to her youngest son, several times I have seen them together in the sept or the gardens, but I have never seen her alone with Prince Aemond, now that I think about it. Of course, they spend moments together, but especially during official meetings I believe"

“Funny,” Rhaena smirks, “If you asked me before I came to live here, I would have said Aemond was her favorite child. It was the impression I had when I was a girl and visited this place before the war.”

"Really?" Marianne is amazed, “I can't imagine it. The queen always seems…uncomfortable when she is with the prince.”

“I had the same impression,” she agrees.

Maybe, after all, there is something she can do to help the kinslayer and start to gain his trust.

“It's not surprising, after all. The other ladies told us how upset the queen dowager was with the whole Prince Aemond and the Witch of the Woods thing. Furthermore, he is not well liked by the Court, everyone comments on his cruelty especially towards the Riverlands. He earned the dislike and fear of most of the lords during the war."

Rhaena nods thoughtfully.

It was clear, as Lady Arryn had told her, that the crown - at least the queen dowager and the council- sought to project a cleaner image and demonstrate the stability of the kingdom, as well as the legitimacy of their government to those who still called them usurpers. Aemond, with his attitude, was surely not contributing as the dowager queen expected him to. Daeron, on the other hand, was the prince who clearly won the hearts of everyone at Court. Wasn't that what she had been advised to do? She was doing it to some extent, but, perhaps, she could do it now to help the kinslayer? If Rhaena could get him into his mother's good graces, something he clearly wanted, maybe he would trust her. Perhaps that could guarantee her some security and freedom.

It is a long shot, but there is no harm in trying. And it is not like she has many other options. She was going to get married whether she liked it or not, she was going to have to fulfill her role and obey him or pay the consequences for her outbursts. And once she was his wife, no one was going to defend her or oppose if the kinslayer decided to use force on her because he would be in his right.

The thought makes her shudder.

Marianne and Lady Arryn were right. She had to change her relationship with Aemond Targaryen one way or another.

***

He's starting to get impatient.

Aemond plays with the ring on his finger, his gaze fixed on the other end of the corridor where his betrothed should have already appeared. Why hasn't she arrived yet? They had met in the same spot every morning for the last four days to attend the sept and he had made it clear to her from the beginning that he hated being late anywhere. Why then…?

His thoughts are cut off when Rhaena's figure finally appears.   Only she doesn't come alone this morning, but she is accompanied – of all people – by his mother.

Aemond's posture tenses. The prince stops playing with his ring, and folds his hands behind his back as he walks towards the women. What was she doing with Alicent? What was she telling her?

“I am so sorry, my prince,” Rhaena says once he stops at her side, offering him a sheepish smile as she bows briefly in greeting, “I was talking with your mother and I lost track of time.”

“Were you two together?” asks without managing to hide the harshness of his voice.

“Yes, we had breakfast in her chambers because I… I just had to tell the queen that we used the funds that she so kindly gave us yesterday for charity.”

“Lady Rhaena told me that you visited the orphanage in Flea Bottom” Alicent’s gentle voice and her chocolate eyes so full of emotion and wonder take him by surprise.

He doesn't know what to say. His good eye holds his mother's gaze and finds written in them probably the same nostalgia that had passed through him the previous afternoon.

“In fact, it was my cousin who told me about the place. He had the wonderful idea of providing a little comfort to the children who live there.”

Aemond tilts his face towards Rhaena as he frowns. What is she playing at by telling all this to his mother? He questions her with his gaze, but she simply ignores him, her eyes focused on Alicent.

The dowager queen takes a step towards her son, “Is it true? Did you go back there?” Her voice sounds almost like a whisper as her hand rests on Aemond's, and a sad smile forms on her lips.

For the second time this morning, he doesn't know what to answer. Alicent seems to be aware of what is happening to him, because she just looks at him and Aemond's heart pounds when her hands rub the top of his arms the same way as when he was a child and she sought to comfort him. Her contact, so sudden and so longed for by him, causes him to lower his gaze, embarrassed by the desire he feels to hug her like he did before so normally.

“I was planning to visit the city fair this afternoon, after the sermons,” Rhaena's voice cuts through the moment, but Alicent gives him one last smile before turning away, “The septas told us yesterday that the local markets will be full of delicacies for tasting"

“That is a lovely idea,” his mother seems delighted with the idea, “Will you accompany her, Aemond?”

Alicent's gaze is full of expectation as it settles on him.

"For sure!" Rhaena giggles and approaches him, linking their arms. Her daring gesture takes him so by surprise that he can't do anything but look at her with confusion on his face, “He hasn't left my side for the last few days.”

“I am glad to see that you're getting along better,” his mother sounds pleased to see them.

“My prince has been nothing but kind to me,” Rhaena has the audacity to look up at him, an amused glint in her eyes before she smiles at him, “And generous. The dress I am wearing today, for example, is another one that he sent me.”

Aemond's eye first settles on Rhaena's outfit. Green. She was actually wearing the green dress he had ordered for her.

Alicent meets his gaze and looks as surprised as he is. Aemond hadn't really thought that she would dare use it. If he had chosen that color it had been more like a mockery towards his cousin, a challenge even, to test to what extent she would obey.

“You look as beautiful as ever, Lady Rhaena,” says the dowager queen.

Rhaena smiles at her and adds, “I was thinking, my queen, I know it is not traditional, but perhaps we could take care of the Mother's dress ceremony this year.”

“You and Aemond?”

“Well yes,” the girl nods, “I think it would be a great honor and it would serve to offer the final prayer. It is a popular belief among all that the maiden who receives the mother's blessing also receives fertility from her. And, in the case of men, her compassion. Doesn't that seem appropriate to you?”

“It seems to me… that it shows great devotion on your part, Lady Rhaena,” Alicent smiles, clearly pleased, “Surely the high septon will not object to the idea. Who better than the future parents of the royal heir to fulfill such a task this year?”

"I thought the same"

Aemond watches the exchange between them and suppresses a growl of exasperation. He doesn't like the complicity that seems to exist between his mother and his cousin. And he doesn't like the false docility Rhaena is showing.

“We must go,” the prince cuts in.

The women nod, and his mother leaves after giving them a quick smile. Rhaena immediately lets go of his arm and begins walking towards the opposite side of the corridor when the queen leaves their sight.

"What are you playing at?" he asks when he reaches her

“What do you mean, my prince?”

She stops and looks at him with feigned ignorance.

“Don't play dumb with me,” he takes her arm, squeezing her tighter than he should, he knows, but unable to contain himself, “What was that all about? Why did you sweeten my mother's ear with all those lies?”

“I just did what you asked, cousin,” she responds calmly, her hand coming to rest on his grasping hand, causing him to let go. He’s had enough of her touching this morning.

“Rhaena,” the warning is clear in his voice.

“I'm taking my position more seriously, isn't that what you wanted?” Her violet eyes look directly at him, “As I told you before, I know what is expected of me. And, as your future wife, I thought it would be a good idea to show a united front to your mother.”

Aemond clicks his tongue, incredulous and dissatisfied with her response, “For what purpose?”

“To support you, my prince.”

“Hmm, I am not as gullible as my mother,” he says, “Do you expect me to believe that you just woke up one day and radically changed your attitude?”

Rhaena seems to hesitate before answering, and Aemond moves a little closer to her, making the difference in height between them more visible and looking down at her.

“Whether we like it or not,” she says, “We are going to get married soon. I would like to…"

“What are you really after with this farce?” he cuts her off

Rhaena takes a step back and clears her throat, “I already told you, I simply take my duty more responsibly. Isn't that what is expected of us? You've told me so over and over again."

“And you think you're doing your duty by lying to my mother?”

“I want to get in her good graces,” she admits.

"Why?"

"Why not?" She shrugs and adds, “It feels good to receive compliments from her, don't you think?”

Her voice sounds softer than he's ever heard, her violet eyes are fixed directly on him, and when she takes a step toward Aemond, her rose scent washes over him.

“I don't need compliments from anyone.”

His voice doesn't sound convincing, and Aemond can swear that Rhaena knows as well as he does that he's telling a lie, which makes him angry.

“As you wish, my prince, but I think it would be best for both of us if we just pretend to get along. We have been doing it all these days before the eyes of the kingdom, why not do it before your mother too? The queen looked so pleased to see us so… united.”

“I do not trust you,” Aemond growls, “There is something you're after with this radical change in your attitude.”

“Maybe,” Rhaena smirks, which adds to his annoyance, “Or maybe I just like pleasing people and having their approval.”

“Why would you want my mother’s approval?”

“I think it is something we both need,” she responds simply and adds, “We should get going or we'll be really late.”

And without waiting for him to respond, she turns her back on him and walks towards the carriage.

Chapter Text

The carriage moves slowly through the streets, which look more crowded than in the previous days of the festival.

“Everyone seems very cheerful today.” Rhaena's voice cuts the tense silence that has settled between them. The prince doesn't respond to her comment, he just continues glaring at her, “It's probably because of the fair, don't you think so, my prince?”

Once again, silence is his response.

Rhaena begins to grow impatient and drums her fingers on the leather edge of her seat. When she opens her mouth to make another comment, Aemond speaks faster than her.

“If you say just one more thing about this day…”

“Just trying to lighten the mood a little,” she shrugs, cutting him off.

“I am going to find out what your real intentions are”

Rhaena can't help but let out a giggle that manages to annoy him even more, “Why do you assume I have some secret agenda? Simply, as I assured you a while ago in the Fortress, I am trying to get along with you.”

“You can't stand my presence.”

“That is not true, we've been practically together the last few days, have we not?”

“Not by choice”

Rhaena bites her tongue, forcing herself to breathe and calm down before giving him what she hopes is a sweet smile, “I will soon be your wife, my only interest is that we can both find some… contentment in this marriage.”

Aemond gives her a cynical smile, “Well, cousin, I don't share your interest.”

Rhaena sighs, frustrated again. She knew that it was not going to be easy not to annoy the kinslayer, but containing her desire to simply be as insolent as him is even more difficult.

“As you prefer, my prince,” she finally says.

Aemond raises his eyebrow in her direction, but Rhaena ignores him until they stop at the great sept.

Like every morning, the girl waits for him to help her get out of the carriage. Like every morning, they climb the stone stairs together. Only this time, Rhaena notices, the murmurs of people and courtiers pointing to her with interest.

It is not until she hears the word “green” whispered that she remembers that she is wearing a dress of such color. Aemond seems to have heard it too, because she feels her cousin's gaze in her direction for a few brief moments.

“I was beginning to believe that you would not come today, Lady Rhaena.”

It is Lady Redwyne who addresses her as they walk to their usual seats. Rhaena stops to greet her and listens to the impatient clicking sound that Aemond makes by her side, surely annoyed with her for taking the time to stop next to the old women.

“The streets were unusually crowded this morning,” the girl responds with a smile, “It took us longer to get around them.”

 “Interesting choice of outfit today,” Lady Blackwood says at her side.

“I think so too, my lady,” Rhaena knows that the woman did not mean it in a mocking tone, especially since her dark eyes trace her gaze with concern, “Prince Aemond was the one who gave me this beautiful dress"

She turns to face her cousin, who looks more exasperated than before. He bows his head slightly to the old women when he feels their gaze on him.

“Of course he did,” Lady Blackwood replies harshly.

Rhaena smiles at them once more, “We should probably go to our seats, I think I see the High Septon back there.”

Aemond strides forward and she follows him, sitting down in the now familiar chair and sighing.

It's just a color, Rhaena, she says to herself, it doesn't really matter. It doesn't mean anything that you wear it, just as it wouldn't mean anything if you wore black dresses every day.

The girl drums her fingers again, suddenly feeling anxious, until Aemond's hand rests on hers. The touch is not gentle or comforting, but rather an unspoken order for her to stay still, which she ends up doing when the septon begins reading the Seven-Pointed Star passages for that morning.

Several hours later, Rhaena finally manages to stretch her legs, the sermons having ended and almost everyone having already left the sept.

Her silent companion walks with her to the street, where the carriage is already parked. Rhaena, tired as she feels, entertains the idea of just returning to the castle, but she remembers her words to the queen that morning and knows that she must keep her promise.

“I guess I'll have to visit the fair”

Aemond raises his eyebrows again at her cousin as he hears her voice devoid of any excitement, as if the idea didn't thrill her, as if she didn't want to take advantage of one more opportunity to boast with the admiration of the common people.

“Be free to return to the castle, I can tour the fair on my own.”

“So you can then run and tell my mother that I left you alone?”

Rhaena stops herself from rolling her eyes, “I wouldn't do such a thing because, like I said, it's good that we appear to be a united front.”

She's already tired of repeating herself since the morning, but she keeps her temper under control.

"Anyway, if you insist on going with me…”

Her mood improves as she notices the first stalls at the fair. The nice mood of the city is also contagious, with children running around and street artists playing their music. She also notices that the streets do not smell as bad as other days.

“Oh that is nice.”

Her eyes focus on a jewelry stall. Without thinking much, she heads there and looks at the pieces on display. Of course they are not made of real jewels or gems, but the craftsmanship is quite elaborate. Rhaena picks up a delicate necklace with a butterfly pendant.

“It is a work of art,” she says to the stall attendant, “Did you make it?”

“Yes, Lady Rhaena,” the man is quick to respond.

“Excellent job,” Rhaena smiles at him, “I should keep it, don't you think?” The question is directed towards Aemond, who has already approached her and has his face in a haughty grimace, with his chin slightly raised, as if everything around were beneath him. “Cousin, what do you think?” Aemond looks at her indifferently and she smiles internally, insisting, “It looks perfect with the dress you gave me.”

He offers her the slightest nod and she turns to the seller, “The prince will buy it for me. And I'm sure he will pay generously."

Aemond's irritation is clear, his good eye glaring at her, and his thin lips set in a tense line. Rhaena knows he won't be rude to her, not with so many people around them. She raises her eyebrows at him, and as the vendor looks at him expectantly, the prince places several gold coins into his hands.

“Thank you very much, my prince, may the gods bless you.”

Her cousin rolls his eye and Rhaena decides to annoy him a bit more. After all, he had insisted on following her, so now she would have to put up with her shenanigans.

“Help me put it on, cousin.”

The surprise on Aemond's face is almost comical. Rhaena holds back a smile as she takes a step towards her cousin and offers him the necklace, “Hurry! Help me put it around my neck.”

“I don't remember agreeing to play your little games,” he hisses.

“People will love to see a couple in love,” she responds quietly, “And nothing will please the queen more than her son having another kind gesture towards his betrothed.”

Aemond watches Rhaena's hand holding the necklace for a few seconds before taking it between his fingers. With a triumphant smile the girl turns around and brushes her hair to the side, exposing the skin of her neck and tilting her face.

Muttering angrily, Aemond slides the necklace over her head and places it in the crook of her throat, his fingers lightly brushing Rhaena's skin. He notices her cousin's body shudders as she feels his touch and hurries to fasten the pendant to secure the necklace, only with one eye it's not so easy.

Seven hells, he thinks while his fingers, so skilled with the sword, fail to hold the piece. Not wanting to give up, Aemond takes a step closer to his cousin, his body coming very close to her and her rose scent once again filling his nose. Her aroma is pleasant and increasingly familiar, which annoys him even more. Rhaena shudders again when the knuckles of his fingers brush against the back of her neck, and fortunately, Aemond manages to secure the brooch.

“It's done,” he says after clearing his throat and taking a step back.

When Rhaena turns around, she doesn't meet his gaze, her violet eyes fixated on her shoes and then examining the rest of the stalls at the fair.

“Thank you, cousin, we should… let’s go…” she also clears her throat, “Look! Orange tartlets, come on, you have to try them”

Rhaena advances almost in leaps to where a woman, clearly foreign, displays some familiar desserts. After greeting her, she takes a tartlet in her hand and approaches Aemond, ready to leave behind whatever it is that happened a few moments ago. “Here, try one,” she says, trying to sound nonchalant.

“We shouldn't eat anything that hasn't been prepared by the royal cooks.”

The arrogance in his voice exasperates her, but Rhaena smiles, “I do not think they are poisoned, if that is what you are afraid of,” she replies and puts the pastry in her mouth, closing her eyes and making a noise of pleasure as she tastes the once familiar flavor, “As delicious as I remembered”

Aemond just stares at her.

“Oh, come on, cousin, you should try them too!” she insists taking one more

“I've never heard of them,” he replies, shaking his head.

“Oranges are common across the narrow sea,” she explains, and on impulse, takes Aemond's hand and places the tartlet in his palm.

With a sigh of relief Rhaena realizes that her body feels nothing when she touches his hand. Surely what happened a while ago had been a lapse, she had only been caught off guard by the touch of is hand, just that.

For a second, Rhaena fears Aemond will throw away the tart, but in the end, he brings it to his mouth and takes the tiniest bite.

“And the verdict?”

“I've had better”

“Rude,” Rhaena responds quietly, before turning her back and paying the woman with gold.

Rhaena continues walking through the stalls, finding more novelties and making Aemond pay for other treats like bracelets, scarves, and hair ornaments.

“You know, cousin?” she says, unable to help herself when they are back in the carriage, “You boast about your duty and wanting to be a good prince, but you don't like mixing with your people.”

“I see no reason for it”

Rhaena holds back a snort, “Considering that they offer everything they have for the crown, I would say yes, it is your duty to at least be nice to them.”

Not that he cares too much considering his past atrocities in the Riverlands.

“And the court as well, since we are talking about this”

Aemond begins to fiddle with the Valyrian steel dagger he always keeps on his  belt and Rhaena chooses to drop the subject, aware that she has already irritated her cousin enough for one day.

“As you prefer,” she whispers.

And they make the rest of the journey in silence.

***

Marianne is waiting for her in her room.

“I have a surprise for you,” she says excitedly as soon as Rhaena closes the door.

“I love surprises,” she responds with enthusiasm as well as she goes to her friend, who takes a large box and hands it to her, “Should I open it now?”

"Of course!"

Rhaena goes to the bed, places the box on the mattress and removes the lid from it. A gorgeous mauve dress lies inside.

“Marianne! It's lovely!" she comments in amazement as she takes it out of the box and looks closely at the exquisite embroidered golden dragons.

“I am so happy you like it,” the girl smiles, “I rushed the court seamstress to have it ready as soon as possible, it is your favorite color so…”

Rhaena cuts her words off by giving her a hug, which Marianne is quick to respond, “Thank you so much, Marianne, really.”

“I figured you'd need something new for Lady Blackwood's party. It will… it will be the perfect opportunity to enjoy, dance and have a good time”

Before the wedding, Rhaena finishes the idea of her friend in her head.

“But it must have cost a fortune!” she responds after watching the dress again, “I hope you haven't…”

“Oh don't even think about that,” Marianne cuts her off, “My father was delighted to finance this gift for the future most important lady of the realm. My Aunt Johanna even wrote to me congratulating me for being your friend,” she rolls her eyes, dismissing the idea, “Besides, this is the least you deserve, Rhaena.”

She pouts before merging into another hug with her friend.

“Thank you again, Anne. Now I have one more reason to want these last days to pass quickly so we can have proper fun at the party.”

“I wrote to Lady Blackwood this morning thanking her for our invitations. And I heard that a famous bard will sing for us."

“I love bards,” Rhaena smiles.

"What is this?" Marianne touches the butterfly pendant on her neck

“Oh, this,” Rhaena giggles, “I made the kinslayer buy it for me.”

Marianne demands details and Rhaena tells her of her efforts to try to get a little closer to him.

“At least today I found the situation a little more… tolerable,” she sighs, “Of course it won't be the same once we're married, but… what about you? Has Daeron wrote?” she asks, not wanting to talk about her older cousin anymore. She had had enough of him on this day.

“No, it is not like I expected him to either,” Marianne flops onto the bed.

“Why don't you write to him?” Rhaena also lies down next to her.

“That would not be proper, don't you think?” The girl shakes her head, “Besides, the prince is on a crown mission, I don't think he is… I don't know… I hope there is no other reason to have sent him to Riverrun.”

“It must have something to do with the Riverland's problems with the royal family,” Rhaena takes her hand, “Lady Arryn used to say that they had bent the knee out of obligation and that they were not Aegon's supporters.”

“Yes, maybe you are right.”

“Don't fill your head with meaningless ideas. Daeron will return soon and you will have another chance to get close to him. Maybe he’ll even ask your favor during the tournament!”

Marianne squeals with excitement at the idea and she and Rhaena spend the rest of the afternoon in her room, eating cake, drinking wine and allowing themselves to forget their reality for a few moments.

~ ~ ~

Aemond finds his brother drinking a glass of his favorite wine.

“I need your royal seal,” he says in greeting, extending some scrolls toward the king.

“Hello to you too, little brother,” he replies, yawning.

Aemond gives him a disapproving look as he studies how pale and weak his brother looks.

“New royal fleet?” Aegon asks after reading the contents of the scroll.

“The current one was severely damaged during the war. Lord Tyland studied the costs and decided to make new ships”

“As you wish,” Aegon yawns again, but he removes his royal ring from his finger and Aemond helps him melt the wax so the seal is ready.

There are a few moments of silence until the king speaks again.

“News from Daeron?”

“A crow arrived a couple of days ago. The Tullys will send the rest of the tributes and promised not to make more excuses next time”.

“Bravo to Daeron the Daring!” Aegon chuckles, ending in a fit of coughing.

Aemond shakes his head, but goes to the nightstand and pours him a glass of water, “Here. You shouldn't drink so much wine, you should take better care of yourself…”

“Enough, I have enough with mother reminding me of all those things,” he makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “And speaking of mother,” an amused smile appears on his face, “I heard that you are attending the Festival in her place,” the king laughs again, “Are you so desperate to have her full attention and devotion again?”

Aemond just stares at him, although his words corrode him like poison, he is not willing to fall for his brother's provocation.

“Always the obedient son,” Aegon continues, mockingly, “You even take our cousin to the great sept, tell me brother, have you gotten to know her better yet? Have you taste her yet?”

His mind suddenly conjures up the scent of roses, stunning him for a moment, so Aemond tilts his head, “I have no interest in doing so.”

“I want to meet her properly,” says the king, “Too bad I can't get out of this damn bed yet. But I won't miss your wedding feast, of course I will not..."

His brother continues talking and he takes advantage of those moments to look away at his scars. Some of his wounds did not heal properly, probably due to the monumental efforts made in fighting again on Sunfyre's back at Dragonstone and returning to the Keep. Pinkish scabs cover his legs and part of his side. The pain must still be unbearable. Aemond notices that the king seems to be withering faster than before. The thought, contrary to what he expected, does not bring him any satisfaction.

"When was the last time?"

The expectant look of his brother takes him out of his mind.

"What are you talking about?" He asks without having the slightest idea what the king was mentioning a few moments ago.

Aegon makes an impatient noise, “When was the last time you shared a bed with a woman, brother?”

"That's none of your business"

“Come on, Aemond!” the king smiles, “You can't tell me you don't think about that, you are a man after all. And after your affair with that Alys…”

“Don't mention her,” he hisses instantly.

“Ah! I see that talking about her still affects you,” the king laughs again and begins another coughing fit, “Well, it's been a long time now, don't you think? And now you will have sweet Rhaena, surely our cousin will make you forget the witch of Harrenhall, if you have not already tried to do so with others."

Aemond's hands curl into fists at his sides. Giving Aegon a look full of contempt, he turns around and leaves the room without saying anything else.

His words, however, haunt him, repeating themselves in his mind.

Yes, after Alys, he had succumbed to loneliness some nights and had resorted to a discreet pleasure house on the Silk Street. He didn't really like visiting that place, much less the grotesque spectacles of women showing off their bodies to attract men, so he had simply chosen a young woman whom he visited quite frequently.

Aemond didn't even know her name, he hadn't cared to ask her, he'd just made sure she didn't entertain any more men and that she was discreet.

And that she looked like Alys, of course.

The thought fills him with bitterness, but he cannot deny that it was true.

Even though, deep inside, he knew that he felt nothing but contempt for Alys, he still hated himself for having been so weak, so easily fooled, for allowing himself to be so easily distracted from his duty to his family by the promise of…

What?

Caresses and false love.

Had he always been that needy, as Aegon had told him a while ago?

Vhagar roars somewhere, surely sensing his unease, and Aemond stops a servant passing by in the hallway.

“Get my horse ready”

***

Aemond finds her in the usual place, although this time accompanied by two maids, who stand keeping their distance from the dragon who breathes out fire and plays on Rhaena's shoulders.

“Good morning, cousin,” she offers him a polite smile as he stops beside her.

“I see you arrived early this time.”

Rhaena's smile widens. “Morning resents us being apart for so long,” she explains, “So I thought I'd be with her for a bit before attending our last morning at the Sept.”

It's not lost on Aemond how pleased her betrothed sounds at the prospect of the festival ending.

“You should leave her with the dragon keepers.”

“Maybe soon I will,” Rhaena shrugs and holds Morning, who looks at Aemond indifferently before letting out a grunt as her master leads her towards the cage the two maids are holding. The dragon seems to resist until Rhaena takes a piece of meat from a handkerchief and throws it into the cage, convincing her to enter, “Take her to my chambers, please.”

The girls nod and start walking immediately.

“As spoiled as you are”

Rhaena decides to ignore his comment, “Shall we leave, my lord?” she asks, approaching her cousin. As she does so, a familiar scent reaches her, “You were with Vhagar recently.”

Aemond raises his eyebrows in her direction. Rhaena again breathes in the once familiar scent she associated with her mother, fleeting memories coming to her mind.

“I visited her before coming here”

Rhaena nods and pushes the memories aside, preferring to focus on her cousin, who despite looking as neat and elegant as always, has dark circles surrounding his good eye. Her curiosity rises again, especially when he seems to get lost somewhere in his mind.

She is about to call him when he seems to snap back into the moment and starts walking to their carriage.

The routine, so well known, is as tedious as ever. The sermons go on even longer and, more than once, Rhaena has the feeling that her cousin is dozing next to her.

“To have been raised in the Faith,” she whispers as the citizens of King's Landing line up to the High Septon to receive his blessing, “You look awfully bored.”

“Be quiet,” he whispers with annoyance.

Rhaena holds back a giggle and joins in with the sept choir's singing, until they are finally free to leave.

They are both beginning to descend the stairs of the sept, when the high septon stops them.

“I found out from the dowager queen,” says the man, “that you both wish to participate in the ceremony of the Mother’s dress.”

“It would be a great joy for both of us,” Rhaena agrees, smiling at him.

“And quite an honor to the Faith,” the septon seems pleased, “Lady Redwyne donated some wonderfully embroidered gold cloaks for the ceremony.”

"That's perfect!" Beside her, Aemond begins to grow impatient, Rhaena can tell by the way his fingers drum against his thighs. “I look forward to serving the Mother. I mean, we both are."

Rhaena smiles at Aemond and the prince simply nods.

“I'll see you tomorrow at the Fortress then.”

"The Fortress?" Rhaena asks, “I thought the ceremony took place here.”

“Usually, yes, but this year Lady Blackwood has been so generous to the Faith that she insisted that we perform the honors during the party she will host at Court.”

Rhaena tries to hide her disappointment. This party was going to be the only time she would have to get away from Aemond before starting the wedding celebrations. And now she would have to share it with him too.

“Of course, Lady Blackwood is quite devoted, I expected nothing less from her.”

“I thought the same,” the high septon smiles again, “I will see you tomorrow, my lords, now I must continue with the labors of faith.”

Rhaena tilts her head and inhales slowly before facing her cousin.

“Let's go back to the castle, I don't really want to walk around the city today.”

“What party were you referring to?” Aemond asks when they are in the carriage.

“The party the court throws when the festival ends,” she explains while fiddling with his butterfly pendant, “It is all they've been talking about for the past few days, don't you know?”

Aemond grimaces. He has better things to do than pay attention to the whispers of the court.

“I received my invitation a few days ago”

The prince clicks his tongue and tenses. No invitation had come for him.

"Did you not?" press Rhaena

“I don't need one,” he replies, “I am the prince and Hand of the king, I am expected to go.”

“No, not really,” Rhaena denies, “Only some courtiers are invited, a select group who…”

“What are you implying, cousin?” He hisses, his temper starting to rise.

“That perhaps Lady Blackwood had no interest in inviting you.”

Her words fall like a bucket of cold water because Aemond knows they are true. The old woman did not like him, she resented him for his participation in the war, and because Aemond had preferred to offer a position as a knight at court to a Bracken rather than one of her grandsons.

“I care very little what that old hag is interested in,” he replies, “I am the prince and I have the right to attend any gathering of the court. Not having invited me is a direct affront to the royal family."

“I am pretty sure she did invite your mother and prince Daeron,” Rhaena's face looks more pleased than she should, “Even the king and queen Ellyn were invited”

So only he had been excluded. Discontent settles inside him and he grunts.

“Does it bother you that she didn't invite you?” Rhaena's voice is almost a whisper.

“You must be really enjoying this, right?” he asks with almost a growl.

Rhaena doesn't stop facing him, “I can participate in the ceremony alone. Your presence is not necessary."

She leaves her suggestion hanging, but knows he won't accept it. Not when Alicent had been delighted to learn that her son would be accompanying Rhaena at the ceremony. He must be thinking the same thing because he shakes hid head.

“No one is going to deny me entry”

“But everyone will know that you were not invited, that you impose your presence and, frankly, that's beneath you,” she continues, “Queen Alicent will be upset to know that her son caused such a scandal.”

Rhaena enjoys the effect her words have on him.

Aemond can't stop thinking that his mother will be disappointed again. He had promised to do his duty, and make everything perfect at the festival. And this was just a setback. He wasn't going to just let a bitter old woman rob him of his chance to please his mother.

Rhaena watches her cousin debate his options internally and an idea arises in her mind. Without much thought, she speaks, “I can help you.”

"What do you propose?"

“Lady Blackwood thinks highly of me,” she says, “If I ask her to extend an invitation to you and allow us to perform the ceremony, I am sure she will accept.” Aemond fixes his gaze on her violet eyes, studying her, “We can fulfill the ritual, enjoy the banquet, and look good in the eyes of everyone at Court.”

There is a moment of silence as he thinks about her proposal and Rhaena speaks.

“But I will want something in exchange for helping you.”

“Hmm,” he smirks cynically, “I knew there would be a condition.”

“Just a little favor,” she says, “I think I deserve it if I keep my end of the deal.”

“I can't cancel the wedding, believe me, I've tried.”

She feels like laughing, but she doesn't, “I wasn't going to suggest that.”

“What do you want then?”

She had thought of the idea a couple of days ago, after that conversation with Marianne about family.

“I want to visit my sister”

"No"

“Please, Aemond,” Rhaena is quick to say, her heart pounding, “You need me, you have no choice but my suggestion.”

 "Not true"

“I know you will not subject your mother to new shame.”

Her words fall like the edge of a sword.

“Please,” she continues, “I want to see my sister.”

“She has been invited to the wedding, you can see her then.”

“There will be too much to take care of, I won't be able to enjoy her presence as I should,” she stands up and sits on the empty side of the seat next to him, her scent of roses intoxicating him, “Let her spend a few days with her”

“There is no way they will let you leave the Fortress.”

His words are harsh, but Rhaena knows they are an ultimatum. In a way she is a hostage. Her eyes shine with unshed tears.

Her chance to get the upper hand on the prince fades. He will probably find a way to attend the party, perhaps by forcing Lady Blackwood or…

“I suppose I could write to Allyn Velaryon ordering him to allow your sister to come before the wedding.”

The suggestion sounds strange to his ears even though he is the one who made it.

But trusting Rhaena to help him in his only chance to get out of this social mishap, right?

When Rhaena looks back at him, a sincere smile spreads across her face and a tear rolls down her cheek, but he knows it's not sadness she's feeling.

“We have a deal then.”

She extends her hand towards him, as if they were two men making a deal. He looks at her, exasperated, but reciprocates her gesture, feeling her hand warm and soft in his.

"Deal"

Chapter Text

Rhaena finds Lady Blackwood in one of the largest ballrooms of the Keep, surrounded by servants as she points with her hands and examines something one of them shows her.

Breathing in and out slowly, she encourages herself to accomplish the task before her. Despite having assured her cousin that she could easily get him the invitation to the party, she is not entirely sure that she will.

But she has to try.

Her feet, however, don't seem willing to move.

You can do this, you can do this, she repeats to herself as she bites her lip nervously before shaking her head, as if clearing her mind and beginning to walk into the room.

“Lady Blackwood!”

Her voice sounds exaggeratedly squeaky, so she clears her throat when she reaches the old woman, who smiles kindly at her.

“Lady Rhaena, I did not expect to see you here.”

“I hope I am not bothering you, but I could not contain my curiosity to get a glimpse of what awaits us at the banquet tomorrow.”

The old woman giggles and orders the servants to leave them alone.

“Your presence does not bother me, dear girl, since I’ve nearly finished the preparations here,” the woman takes her arm and they walk slowly through the room, “But it is always good to make sure one last time that everything is settled as I like, the servants are not always reliable.”

“Well, everything certainly looks splendid,” Rhaena gives her one of her biggest smiles after admiring the curtains, chandeliers, and the layout of every ornament in the place. A stone image of the Mother is placed on an altar right in the center of the room. Rhaena looks at it for a few seconds before speaking again, “Surely you know by now that I will participate in the ceremony tomorrow.”

“The High Septon mentioned it to me, yes.”

"And surely you already know that you have placed me at a crossroads, Lady Blackwood," Rhaena pouts and stops walking, although she does not let go of the old woman's arm.

“How could I?”

“I am supposed to dress the Mother with the help of my betrothed,” she calmly replies, “But you did not grace him with an invitation. Do you understand my predicament now?”

The woman smiles sideways and pats Rhaena's hand, "The prince never showed interest in my parties, I did not imagine he would have a desire to attend this one in particular."

“Well, now he has a very important reason to do so. And I think we both know that he would not dare show up here without the hostess's approval."

“Are you sure about that?” The old woman raises her eyebrows, clearly not believing her words.

“Well… the prince can be impulsive.”

“We know his character well in the Riverlands,” Lady Blackwood grimaces.

“But he thinks highly of you, and doesn't…”

“Oh, my dear, we both know that is not true,” the old woman cuts her off, “I have never hidden my disdain for Aemond Targaryen and I know the feeling is mutual.”

“I can assure you, my lady, that I have not heard a discourteous word from the prince towards you,” it is not entirely true, but Rhaena tries to keep her face cool as the elder stares at her for a few moments before sighing. Rhaena takes advantage of that moment of hesitation, “I know your house is loyal to the Crown. And I know that all the other members of the royal family are invited, ignoring the prince, the Hand of the King, seems more personal."

There is another moment of silence before the woman responds, “You know well that House Blackwood supported Rhaenyra's claim during the war. We fought alongside her and when all was lost, we accepted the new king,” she tilts her face, “Despite the terrible havoc caused by Prince Aemond throughout our lands, we helped the capital recover and unite the kingdom.”

“And the Crown appreciates your support,” she is quick to say.

“Even so, when I requested that my grandson be trained as a knight here in the Red Keep, the prince forgot about that alleged appreciation, and favored a Bracken over my blood.”

The old woman does not hide the displeasure in her voice. Rhaena sighs, finally understanding the woman's motives a little better. The ancestral enmity between both houses was well known, so Aemond preferring a son of the Brackens was not going to be to Lady Blackwood's liking.

“The prince surely had his reasons for making such a decision.”

“Only if these were to continue punishing my house for not having supported the greens since the beginning of the war,” the woman seems to want to say something else, but she restrains herself and adds, “It was a terrible rudeness for him to reject my request. I am an old woman, Lady Rhaena, I was counting on having my grandson near me. Besides, the little guy was so eager to start with his training.”

Rhaena bites her lip again. She cannot think of but one way to fix this, although she doesn't know if she's in a position to actually offer the woman anything. But she doesn't have too many options, so she decides to talk.

“Allow me then to reverse such an affront,” she says in a soft voice, “Call your grandson to Court, Prince Aemond will be pleased to offer him a position in the City Guard.”

“Lady Rhaena…”

“Come now, Lady Blackwood, surely your grandson still holds the desire to become a knight. Nothing better than starting his path here, in the capital”

The woman seems to be about to smile.

“Also… I know that Lord Benjicot has a younger sister.”

“My granddaughter Agnes, yes.”

 “I will need new ladies in waiting after I get married. “I would be honored if a young woman from house Blackwood were to become one of them,” Rhaena smiles candidly at her, “And surely you would be much more comfortable here with another member of your family at your side.”

“I admit that Agnes was my comfort after Aly decided to leave for the North.”

"See? It is a very convenient solution for both of us”

“I do not know, Lady Rhaena, if the prince were to attend tomorrow, I would have to find another lady to have the necessary number of partners during the ball.”

“I am certain that there are several ladies still waiting with hope to receive an invitation to the banquet, I am sure it will not be difficult for you to choose one.”

The old woman nods and Rhaena says no more, leaving Lady Blackwood to decide.

“Very well then, the prince will be welcomed and treated accordingly during the banquet,” the old woman finally says.

Rhaena holds back a squeal of excitement, and simply lets out the breath she was holding and smiles at her with genuine joy, “I greatly appreciate your willingness to help me, my lady.”

“Let it be clear that I do this for you, dear child,” the woman smiles, and her hand caresses Rhaena's cheek, “You have your father's charisma. Prince Daemon was as charming as you, and he also knew how to get what he wanted."

Her comment gives Rhaena a bittersweet feeling, but she simply thanks her.

“The crown is lucky to have you, my girl,” the woman continues, “You are not married yet and you are already helping them”

Once again, the words leave an unpleasant taste inside her.

“Thank you, my lady. You have been very kind,” she smiles and bows her head slightly, “Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go share the good news with the prince.”

The old woman smiles, and Rhaena hurries out of the room.

Her thoughts haunt her as she makes her way to the Tower of the Hand.

Yes, she was helping Aemond, but that was not a bad thing, right? After all, she had to make him believe that he could trust her, that she was his ally. She was to be his wife in a few days, she could not afford to have the prince's anger directed at her.

Besides, what exactly had she done? Just get an invitation to a banquet. Nothing too…she doesn't even know what word she's looking for. Disloyal? Who would Rhaena have to be loyal to now, with all her family dead? She only had Baela left. And it was because of her that she had come in search of Lady Blackwood.

The guards at the door announce her presence and open the door for her. Rhaena walks into the room, and finds Aemond sitting at his desk near the window, writing on some scrolls.

“I do not remember having sent for you.”

“Hello to you too, cousin.”

Rhaena sits in the chair across from him and Aemond looks up from his scroll, noticing her for the first time.

“It seemed appropriate to come here to let you know that you are officially invited to tomorrow's banquet. "I managed to get Lady Blackwood to relent on her decision not to invite you to the party."

Aemond looks at her disdainfully before returning to focus on his scroll, “Congratulations on your feat.”

Rhaena rolls her eyes, “Do you have the letter? For Alyn, I mean”

“I sent the letter a few hours ago.”

The girl receives his words with surprise that must be evident in her lack of response, because Aemond sighs and speaks, “I am true to my word.”

“I am glad to know that,” Rhaena admits, sighing, half relieved and half bewildered by Aemond's attitude. And, furthermore, she is a little suspicious thinking that perhaps he is lying, "Although I would have liked to have been able to read the letter before you sealed it"

“Do you doubt that I sent for Baela? You fear that I am lying so I am the only one who gets what I want?”

“No, I never said that,” she denies quickly. Too quickly.

"Hmm"

There is a moment of awkward silence before Rhaena speaks again, trying to lighten the mood.

“Anyway, it was not easy to get Lady Blackwood's help.”

Aemond ignores her and doesn't respond, the sound of his quill tearing through the paper the only thing filling the stillness of the room.

“I had to offer certain concessions to get her to agree to receive you tomorrow.”  

“What concessions?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows and finally looking at her again.

“Repair the rudeness you made, basically”

Aemond tilts his face, his sky blue eye glaring at her.

“I assured Lady Blackwood that her grandson would be welcomed here and that he would take a place in the city guard.”

“Hmm,” a clear sound of annoyance leaves Aemond’s mouth, “You weren’t in a position to offer something like that.”

“Maybe not, but it was important to get you the invitation, so I did it.”

“So you did,” he retorts sarcastically, “Do you think the appointment of a new knight is something to take lightly?”

“Surely welcoming the boy here is not something extremely complicated either, after all he is a young man from a noble house,” Rhaena shifts in her seat, uncomfortable under his gaze, “He will be just another knight, it is not the end of the world. It's not like I have guaranteed him a seat on the king's council."

Aemond continues to glare at her, “What else?”

"What?"

“You said concessions, what else did you offer?”

“Oh, yes, of course, one of her granddaughters will be my new lady-in-waiting.”

“Ah! So the Fortress will welcome more Blackwoods, fantastic.”

Rhaena rolls her eyes, “Again, cousin, it seems to me that you are exaggerating with your disdain for one of the oldest houses in the kingdom.”

“This is all your fault,” Aemond crosses his arms in his lap, “If you hadn't volunteered for that damn ceremony, I wouldn't have to waste my time at a banquet tomorrow.”

“I do not see it that way,” Rhaena crosses her arms as well, “From my perspective, cousin, all of this would have been avoided if you were more courteous to your subjects, as I have previously suggested you be.”

“That is beside the point.”

“Lady Blackwood, whether you like it or not, has social influence in this Court. And that is a kind of power that you do not have because you ignore everyone all the time."

“Again, none of this would happen if it weren't for you.”

“It was you who insisted that I participate in the Festival, I was simply doing my duty rigorously, just as you would do, I am sure.”

There is a moment of silence in which they simply stare at each other. Aemond, with disdain, annoyance, and a note of impatience. Rhaena, internally enjoying being able to have a certain advantage over her cousin.

“Anyway, there is more,” she says, “Lady Blackwood wishes you to dance at least once with her and three other ladies of the Court.”

“That is out of the question,” he says in a harsh voice.

Rhaena tries to keep her face impassive, but her cousin's suddenly pale and almost fearful expression in contrast to his words does not make it easy for her, "It is usual for the guests of honor, us in this case, to dance with the attendees."

“You dance, then, I don't…”

Finally, she can't control herself anymore and a giggle escapes her mouth. Aemond's expression returns to an angry mask, “If you are done teasing, I have many other things to occupy myself with, cousin.”

“Sorry, cousin, I just could not help it. I admit that was not one of Lady Blackwood's conditions."

Aemond doesn't respond, just goes back to writing on his papers, so Rhaena stands up ready to leave his chambers.

“Rhaena.”

His voice makes her stop and turn to him.

"My prince?"

“About tomorrow's ritual,” he says, his voice calmer than a few moments ago, “What exactly will we have to do?”

Rhaena raises her eyebrows at him, “You don't know?” He looks at her listlessly at her obvious question, “Maybe I should give you back the books you lent me. I think you need them more than I do."

“Rhaena,” there is a warning in his voice.

She sighs, “It is nothing too complicated. We will simply do what the name says, clothe the Mother with robes of gold.”

There are a few seconds of silence in which he just looks at her, “And what is so special about that?”

“Tradition demands that the Mother to be dressed by a maiden, and then we can say prayers and receive her blessing. Some believers think that the Mother responds directly to the request of the person who dresses her.”

“And you plan to ask for fertility?” he asks, remembering what Rhaena had told his mother.

“Perhaps,” she nods.

“You lie,” Aemond replies.

Rhaena smirks, “Whatever I ask, cousin, it will be between the Mother and me.”

"Hmm"

“Maybe I'll ask her to be a young widow.”

For a moment, Rhaena has the impression that a smile appears on Aemond's face, but he lowers his gaze and she is not sure if it was just her imagination.

“Do you need anything else, cousin?”

“No, you can leave.”

“I will make sure to return the texts of the Faith to you as soon as possible. Clearly you must catch up with your studies in this matter”

Rhaena turns around hastily, but he stops her again.

“How do you know all this?”

When she looks at him blankly, he adds, “I know well that you did not read the books, how did you learn about those matters of the Faith? I highly doubt that your father or mother has told you about the Seven”.

In that, he was right.

“Maybe one day I will tell you how I know so much about them.”

Aemond seems to consider her response, and in the end just nods. Rhaena is about to leave when she decides to push her luck a little more.

“Cousin… now that I no longer need religious books,” she says, taking a few steps towards the table full of books, “Maybe I could exchange them for some books of… diverse topics.”

Rhaena had tried to take some from the castle library, but the maesters only allowed her to read boring essays on religion or the customs of the houses of Westeros. And she didn't want to reread the ones that had come from the Vale.

The girl looks at the cover of one book that seems particularly worn, “Tales of the Long Winter Night.” It certainly promises more entertainment than what she had on hand.

“What about this one?” She asks, taking the heavy volume and showing it to him.

He seems to hesitate for a moment and purses his lips, “Perhaps it is not suitable for a lady's sensibilities.”

Rhaena raises one of her eyebrows, intrigued, “I think I will be fine. Can I borrow it?”

Her voice can't help but sound hopeful. Aemond takes just a few seconds to respond.

“I guess my future wife must be an educated woman.”

His response frustrates her, and she prefers to smile rather than say something out of place, “Thank you, my prince. I will see you tomorrow"

"Tomorrow"

For some reason, his voice makes that word sound like a promise rather than a warning.

And when their eyes meet one last time, Rhaena feels her heart skip a beat.

So she clutches the heavy book to her chest and hurries out of the room.

Chapter Text

"It was during that darkness that the Others first appeared. They were cold things, dead things, who hated iron and fire and sunlight, and every creature with warm blood in their veins. They devastated villages, cities and kingdoms. They defeated heroes and armies. They were innumerable, always on the backs of white and dead horses, at the head of hosts of corpses. Not all the swords of men could stop their advance, nor did the maidens or the breast babies awaken their compassion. They hunted the girls through the frozen forests and fed the flesh of human children to their dead servants.”

The sudden sound of the door closing makes her gasp, and close the book. Heart pounding in her chest, Rhaena directs her gaze to the other end of the room.

“Rhaena! Why are you still in bed?” Marianne's voice is full of impatience. The lady frowns when she comes close to her friend, and observes her tired and haggard expression, “Are you feeling ill?”

“I was reading,” Rhaena shakes her head.

“Did you spend all night reading?” she asks astonished

“Not all night,” Rhaena blushes, “I slept for a few hours.”

Marianne sighs and closes her eyes for a few moments. “It is an important day, you should have gotten dressed by now.”

“Surely we still have a few hours before I have to…”

“No, no more reading for today,” Marianne walks around the bed until she reaches the book, quickly taking it in her hands as she guesses Rhaena’s intentions to continue with her favorite pastime, “Honestly, how interesting can this be? Boring fiction about the North”

“Not at all!” Rhaena is quick to say, “It is quite fascinating, actually, reading about the terrible winter that descended upon the entire continent. Did you know that the Others rode spiders the size of horses? They were death itself."

“Stop it, I have no desire for horror stories,” Marianne shudders.

“Oh no, Marianne, let me tell you about what I read, who else am I going to share all this new information with?”

“Prince Aemond, of course,” Marianne places the book on one of the tables, “Since he so kindly lent you the book, he might as well hear your opinions on it.”

Rhaena sighs and her gaze drifts once more to the worn cover of the book. Could it be that her cousin enjoyed the stories as much as she did? Was that the reason the book seemed so aged? Or was it just another copy already worn out by the passing of the years?

“Don't you want to know more about winter?”

“The only thing I know about winter is that it is cold, bad for crops and commerce. And, luckily it is not upon us yet,” Marianne approaches the bed, removes the covers from Rhaena's body and extends her hand towards her, “Otherwise the merchants of Lys would not have been able to bring this.”

The lady shows Rhaena a couple of small glass bottles.

"What are they?" she asks, curious, examining the content

“Face and lip powder,” she replies with a smile.

Rhaena's smile widens as well as she climbs out of bed. “You look beautiful today, by the way,” she says after really taking in the appearance of her friend, who is wearing a yellow, almost ocher dress, with delicate details of seashells, the emblem of her house, which accentuates her delicate figure. Her hair, loose in soft waves, falls to her back, framing her heart-shaped face. “Looking to impress someone?”

“You know who I'd like to impress isn't here,” Marianne responds in a discouraged voice, “But my uncle Tyland wants me to take the opportunity to meet future suitors.”

“Surely you already know all the courtiers who live here?” Rhaena takes off her nightgown and puts her hair in a high bun.

“Well…” Marianne interrupts her respond to give instructions to the maids who fill the bathtub, “Some of the guests to your wedding have already arrived at the Fortress and will attend the banquet.”

“Oh, I did not know that,” her stomach twists at the thought of the wedding. Rhaena steps into the tub, rejoicing in the hot water, which calms her immediately.

“Yes, maybe we will meet someone interesting today.”

"Maybe"

Rhaena quickly carves her body with the sponge while her friend prepares the dress, jewelry and shoes she will wear at the banquet with the help of the maids.

“You should have slept a little more, you look too tired,” Marianne says disapprovingly after Rhaena has already gotten out of the bathtub, inspecting the dark circles on her friend's face.

“Relax, Anne, I do not need to look especially put together today. I am already betrothed, remember?”

“Still,” the lady shrugs, “Come on, help Lady Rhaena get dressed,” she instructs the servants, who quickly place Rhaena inside the dress, their deft fingers buttoning the back buttons, “I would know it would fit you perfectly”

Rhaena walks to the bedroom mirror and observes her figure, “It is tighter than what I usually wear,” she comments as she moves from side to side.

“Nonsense, it looks perfect on you,” her friend repeats.

Rhaena offers her a smile, “Thank you, Marianne, I just hope it is discreet enough for the ceremony. The neckline is much more revealing than the ones I wore all week during the festival.”

“Right, I didn't particularly think about that,” Marianne observes her friend, “We could try putting down a muslin or…”

“No, no,  it is too pretty a dress to add anything out of place,” Rhaena denies, taking in once again her slim figure accentuated by the cut of the dress. The color, subtle and feminine, looks wonderful on her skin tone.

"Sure?" When Rhaena nods, Marianne continues, “Well, you will need an appropriate necklace.”

“I'll use the one Aemond bought for me.”

“The butterfly one? But it is…”

"Simple?"

"Yes"

Rhaena takes the necklace from her dresser, “It will be a sign of goodwill, in my opinion, that I wear something he gave me since I will not be wearing one of the dresses he sent for me”

“I guess you are right,” Marianne agrees, “Your hair then…”

Her friend spends the next few minutes skillfully braiding her hair and applying the Lys powder, which gives a pinkish touch to her cheeks and lips. Pleased with the result, Rhaena applies her rose perfume and links arms with Marianne.

"Ready?"

“Excited,” Marianne nods, “You know how much I enjoy dancing.”

“As do I,” Rhaena giggles, “And I have a feeling we are going to have a pleasant time today.”

***

Aemond plays with the hem of his doublet as he watches Rhaena and her lady-in-waiting advance slowly, laughing carelessly and unaware of his presence waiting for them at the end of the corridor.

When they finally notice the prince, it is almost funny how their expressions and postures change.

“Good morning, my prince,” it is Rhaena's lady who greets him, bowing appropriately.

“Lady Westerling,” he replies, nodding.

His greeting seems to astonish the young woman, who stares at him for several seconds before exchanging a look with her lady. Aemond raises his eyebrows in her direction, not understanding the reaction.

“Cousin,” Rhaena offers him a kind smile, “I thought we'd meet at the party.”

“I figured the most appropriate thing would be to arrive together, after all and as you reminded me yesterday, we are the guests of honor.”

“I guess you are right,” she admits, her smile widening.

“I'll see you inside,” the Westerling girl says to Rhaena, who takes her hand and squeezes it goodbye. She bows to the prince again and strides toward the double doors at the entrance to the hall.

“Your lady-in-waiting seemed a little…” Aemond leaves the idea hanging.

“I think she was just amazed that you remembered her name.”

“I am able to remember the names of the members of the court,” he replies coldly. If he was honest, he didn't remember the girl's name, but the seashells embroidered on her dress had been enough of a clue for him to remember her house.

“I never said otherwise”

Their gazes meet and Aemond stares at the violet tone of her eyes for a few moments before looking away to her cousin's outfit.

“That's not one of the dresses I sent you,” he comments disapprovingly.

"No, it is not. This is a gift from Marianne, beautiful, don't you think?”

"Hmm"

Aemond thinks he sees the beginnings of a smile on Rhaena's face, but he just turns his back on her and starts walking towards the hall.

The guards bow to both of them and announce their arrival as they open the double doors. Rhaena's perfume invades him once again due to her closeness, and Aemond is tempted to glance at her out of the corner of his eye, but she has positioned herself to his left, so he finds nothing but darkness.

The hall, one of the many in the Red Keep, looks splendidly decorated. Emblems of the Faith, House Targaryen and House Blackwood hang from the high ceilings. An altar to the Mother, decorated with numerous natural flowers, stands out in the center of the place. There is also a small stage on the other side of the room with several chairs in front of it. Aemond frowns, but follows Rhaena to the high table, where the High Septon and old lady Blackwood are standing, but before they get there, Rhaena's hand on his forearm stops their progress.

"What is it?" He asks quietly turning to her.

“Be kind,” she responds in a whisper.

Their eyes meet once again. She looks apprehensive, as if she's afraid of what he might say or do in front of the hosts. He finds her concern annoying and even insulting, but when Rhaena presses her gentle touch on his forearm and takes a step toward him, her scent enveloping him once more, the impulse to respond with a sarcastic comment suddenly fades away.

“Please,” she insists in a tone so low that he practically has to read her lips.

His gaze stays on her lips for a few seconds, finding them small and soft-looking. Were they perhaps…? Aemond stops his train of thought and tilts his head, removing his arm from Rhaena's grasp.

“If you insist,” he finally answers after clearing his throat.

She seems content with his response and starts walking again.

“Lady Blackwood!” She greets with a bright smile, “High Septon,” Rhaena nods to both of them.

“Lady Rhaena, Prince Aemond”

The old woman's hard gaze lingers on him for a moment before she bows.

“My lady,” he responds with a solemn voice and nodding his head respectfully.

“I appreciate the presence of both of you on this special occasion,” says the woman, “It is my hope that you enjoy this small ceremony.”

Aemond purses his lips and suppresses a snort of annoyance. He detests false modesty. The woman had clearly gone to great lengths with the preparations of every detail.

“Everything looks magnificent,” Rhaena smiles, “I am sure you'll be a wonderful hostess today, if your tea parties are any indication.”

They both laugh and the High Septon laughs with them. Beside him, Rhaena subtly bumps her foot against Aemond's.

“It is an honor for us to be here, Lady Blackwood,” he says finally.

The old woman smiles, half pleased and half arrogant. Aemond restrains his desire to roll his good eye at her.

“Please, my prince, Lady Rhaena, join us at the table of honor.”

Aemond walks after his cousin and sits at the table, relieved to not be next to the old woman or the High Septon. He couldn't feign goodwill all morning towards the former and he'd had enough of the latter all week.

Beside him, Rhaena chats with Lady Blackwood, but he does not listen to the conversation, his eye examining the place in detail.

“My prince,” Tyland Lannister greets him and takes the seat next to him, “What a pleasant surprise to have you here.”

“Lord Lannister,” Aemond nods.

Tyland smirks. Aemond turns to him, “I did not know you enjoyed these kinds of events.”

“Certainly not as much as my brother did,” he admits, “But we all have our responsibilities, as you well know.”

"Indeed"

They both talk for a few minutes about the last meeting of the privy council until the High Septon, who is now standing next to the Mother's altar, breaks the conversation, beginning the last ritual of the Festival.

Silence hangs over the room, the music that was playing softly in the background stops and everyone seems attentive to the religious man's words. Aemond glances over the guests, recognizing most of them as members of the kingdom's most prominent houses. A group of dark-haired women sitting at the end of the table to his right catch his attention. Surely, they couldn't be...

The applause of the guests brings him out of his observation and Aemond notices Rhaena standing next to him, and looking at him briefly. He imitates her action and follows her until they reach the Mother's altar.

“And now,” the High Septon seems more excited than the prince has ever seen him in his life, “It is time to adorn the kind Mother in her best finery and take her to the Sept, from where she will continue to watch over us and bless us with her mercy, until it is turn to worship her again."

They stand on either side of the statue and Aemond watches a page-boy hold a crystal box from which Rhaena takes out a golden cloak, clearly exquisitely crafted.

The music is heard again, the court singing the main hymn of the Mother. Aemond sings inertly along with them, his voice barely above a whisper, his eye focused on Rhaena and her task. Noticing her small hands as they place the cloak on the stone back of the statue, delicately securing it with the gold clasp and skillfully arranging the folds. When it seems to be finished, her fingers caress the edge of the cloak from top to bottom, as if feeling the softness of the fabric and the embroidery. Aemond is unable to look away, enthralled with the almost mechanical gesture of Rhaena's hand, with her pleased expression and the soft smile on her face.

“It is your turn, my prince.”

The High Septon gives him an encouraging smile and Aemond begins to say the prayer to the Mother. The words are so engraved in his mind that he recites them without problems, his gaze still fixed on his betrothed, who looks away from the Mother and looks at him too, with a neutral expression that is difficult for him to read.

When Aemond finishes, the page-boy hands him a parchment with special requests which Aemond reads in his most solemn voice.

“What an honor for all of us that the Crown has participated in this ritual!” the High Septon finally says, “May the Mother be generous to Lady Rhaena and the prince and grant them prosperity in their union. Now, all united with Faith in the seven, we raise our prayers to the kind Mother, knowing that she listens to us and grants what we need.”

The High Septon invites all those present to approach the statue and bow before the end of the ceremony. As the attendants advance in an orderly line, the old man urges Rhaena and Aemond to touch the Mother's mantle and offer their petitions.

“Remember that she will listen to you with special attention for having dressed her,” he tells them with a fatherly smile.

Aemond does not respond, just looks at the statue and frowns, not believing the man's words. Perhaps there had been a time when he had believed in the gods, but the war had changed his perspective on many issues, including the Faith. He was not going to ask for anything because he knew he would not get an answer.

In front of him, Rhaena touches the hem of the cloak again, her gaze fixed on the statue, her expression half curious and half ironic. When her gaze drifts back to Aemond, she raises her eyebrow in his direction and gives him a small smile. Aemond can't help but remember her words from the previous afternoon.

Maybe I’ll ask to be a young widow.

Was she also thinking about that? Would she have dared to make such a request? The prince feels the sudden urge to ask her, but he only holds back a smile and looks away.

When the line of ladies and lords finally ends, servants of the faith dressed in brown robes appear to carry the Mother's altar on litters to the sept. The statue is bid farewell to the Fortress amid applause and songs.

And Aemond feels a weight lift from his shoulders. The damned Festival was finally over. He had fulfilled his duty and could consider his participation a resounding success. Surely his mother would be pleased with his performance all week.

Rhaena's sigh brings him back to the reality of the party. The music changes to a much livelier one, and Lady Blackwood takes the floor, thanking and inviting everyone to enjoy and dance.

“Rhaena!”

The Westerling girl approaches them and links her arm with his betrothed.

“Marianne, finally,” Rhaena's voice sounds relieved.

“You have no idea who is here,” the lady's voice cuts off as she notices Aemond's gaze, her face turning red.

Rhaena looks at her curiously before turning to him, “Cousin. I would tell you that it is our duty to dance since we are the guests of honor, but since you have made your position clear about dancing, I will not insist on it.”

“Am I supposed to thank you for that?”

She laughs and rolls her eyes, “If you'll excuse me, I'll go greet the other guests.”

Without waiting for him to give his approval, Rhaena takes the arm of her friend and they get lost among the guests who have already taken the dance floor.

With a growl of dissatisfaction Aemond returns to the table, where Tyland Lannister joins him a few moments later. The conversation flows between them and the prince enjoys a glass of wine while his good eye scans the crowd from time to time looking for his cousin. It is not difficult for him to find her, and every time he does, she is surrounded by ladies and lords with whom she converses animatedly.

“I am sorry if I am keeping you here, my prince,” says Lord Tyland, “Perhaps you would prefer to be with your betrothed.”

Aemond turns his gaze to the man, feeling irritated by the comment, “I am right where I want to be, Lord Tyland.”

Lannister nods thoughtfully, “Have you already come to terms with the idea that Lady Rhaena will be your wife?”

“Mmm,” he makes a noise. He knows that the man is in no way trying to mortify him. He has known Lord Lannister since he was a child and is one of his greatest allies. He was loyal to Aegon's cause during the war and much of the kingdom's treasure was saved thanks to him. Still, he finds himself tempted to tell him to remember his place because of his bold question.

“I am sorry if I overstepped with my words,” the man seems to have guessed the course of his thoughts, “I simply thought it appropriate to emphasize that Lady Rhaena can be an important ally of the Crown.”

“Yes, I've heard that,” he responds almost with a growl.

Lannister does not give up. “Look at her, my prince,” the man points with his glass to the center of the dance floor, where Rhaena is dancing with a knight of House Whent, “Everyone likes her, they seem to want to please her and seek her approval.”

Aemond doesn't respond, just watches his cousin take the knight's hand and walk around him, smile wide and face clearly rosy.

“Did you know that Lady Blackwood is a Tully by birth?”

"Was she?"

“Now you are here, at her party, and this could be the beginning of a path of more… friendly relations between the Crown and the Riverlands”

“My brother Daeron has already managed to reaffirm our authority with the Tullys”

“Perhaps, and I hope his intervention has a lasting effect, but it doesn't hurt to cultivate this new connection with such an influential lady.”

Aemond's irritation grows. Rhaena had told him practically the same thing, as had his mother. He was a prince, he didn't need anyone's approval, everyone should rather seek his. Of course, he holds regards for the most noble and important houses, but their representatives, with few exceptions, were so boring or idiotic that he gave up maintaining any relationship with them.

And not to mention the ladies. Most of them seemed to shy away from his presence as they found him too intimidating. Or that's what he preferred to think. Sometimes it was better to convince himself of such reasoning rather than to face their curious or pitiful looks when they noticed the patch and the scar.

Vhagar. He has Vhagar. And he doesn't need anyone else.

“Lady Rhaena can be very useful. Your great-grandmother, Queen Alysanne, understood well the importance of sweetening the ears of certain relevant people in the kingdom. She and the old king found the charisma they possessed very advantageous because they knew that they could not conquer everything with fire and blood."

“Thank you, Lord Tyland, I know the history of my house well,” he replies coldly.

Lannister sips from his wine glass and nods, “Take advantage of what Lady Rhaena can give you, my prince. More than just heirs, benefit from her popularity and use it to help the Crown further cement its power. It is the smartest thing you can do, after all, why are marriages if not beneficial?”

Aemond ponders his words as he drinks from his cup. He must admit that Lannister's last point is valid. Their future union, like all of the noble houses of the kingdom, is one of convenience. He might as well use Rhaena to his liking. Use the… what had she called it? Social influence? Entirely for his convenience.

As his gaze searches for Rhaena again, his eye falls upon the dark-haired women. This time, however, he manages to see their faces without problem. A lump forms in his throat as he recognizes them, “What are they doing here?”

Lannister follows the direction of his gaze, “They are invited to your wedding, my prince.”

Aemond snorts indignantly, “Did you think it was appropriate to invite my former betrothed and her sisters to my wedding?”

Tyland has the grace to look uncomfortable and shift in his chair, “They are the queen's sisters, their father is the lord of the Stormlands, it would have been rude not to.”

Aemond empties his wine glass, his gaze turning away from the women. Their presence in the Fortress is already beginning to make him uncomfortable. Seeing Floris Baratheon was surely going to bring up the issue of the broken betrothal again, the disgrace he had caused by breaking his word and starting a relationship with the witch of Harrenhall. His hands clench into fists. The rumors would certainly start again. If they had ever stopped.

“Perhaps it would be prudent to converse with the Lady Floris and offer your apology, my prince.”

Prudent. Yes of course. Aemond makes a disdainful little noise, but deep down he knows that Lannister is right. And he knows his mother will probably ask him to do the same.

“Maybe later,” he replies simply.

Lannister does not insist because the music stops and Lady Blackwood speaks again, inviting everyone present to offer their donations to the Faith.

Several of the guests, most of them men who are heads of their houses, instruct their servants to leave valuable-looking chests on a long table placed on the other side of the room.

“Lady Blackwood chose the right moment to stop the music,” says Rhaena, who has returned to the table and sits next to him, grimacing, “These shoes are not comfortable at all.”

“Was there a need to dance with half the attendees?” he asks coldly

His voice amazes her, but Rhaena shakes her head, “I like to dance,” she responds simply before picking up a glass of wine and taking a few sips.

Aemond watches her out of the corner of his eye. Her heated cheeks, her heavy breathing and the droplets of sweat beading her forehead. The prince suddenly wonders if his skin feels warmer than usual to the touch.

“You are a great dancer, Lady Rhaena,” Tyland says.

“Thank you, Lord Lannister,” she smiles kindly at him.

“Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go offer my contribution to the Faith.”

The Master of Coin leaves them and Aemond shifts in his chair, moving a little closer to Rhaena, “You did not mention this part when you told me about the party.”

“I guess I forgot,” she shrugs, but giggles and then shakes her head, as if to clear her mind.

Aemond can't help but ask, “What is it?”

Rhaena bites her lip for a moment, “I just remembered something Marianne's aunt told her and she repeated to me,” Aemond looks at her expectantly, “Basically that this is just a show for the court to clear their conscience by offering money to the Faith in exchange for forgiveness”

“If so, the court has many sins to atone for,” he responds, looking at the long line of gifts.

“Oh you have no idea,” she repeats with another giggle.

Aemond raises an eyebrow in her direction, and Rhaena bites her lip again, as if debating whether to continue or not. At last her resolve gives way, and she moves closer to her cousin, speaking softly, “Lady Rosby, for example.”

“What about her?”

“Her dress is much looser than the ones she usually wears, they say she hides a growing belly under it, and that is why she and Lord Manderly's son had to rush the wedding.”

"That would be…"

“And Lord Fossoway,” she doesn't let him finish, “The entire Court whispers about his shameful behavior and his fondness for the establishments on the Street of Silk. And there is also Lord Grafton's youngest son, who has been squandering his fortune on gambling and dog fighting.”

“How do you know all this?”

“People tell me these things,” she responds matter-of-factly with a shrug.

Aemond remembers Lord Tyland's words from a few minutes ago. Maybe it is a good idea to use his cousin and all the knowledge she is clearly accumulating.

“We should contribute too,” he says after a few seconds, pointing to the table full of presents.

“Yes, probably so,” she admits.

“Take care to find something appropriate to offer to the Faith. I will let you search the royal treasury for something worthy of our family.”

His words have the desired effect on Rhaena, who at first seems amazed, but then clearly pleased with the task he gives her. Aemond congratulates himself internally. Putting his cousin's skills to work, subtly directing them toward appropriate and convenient causes, would surely be simple.

“Will you really let me take care of such matter?”

“If it's a lot of work and you're not willing…”

“No, no, I'll be happy to do it,” she is quick to respond, “Thank you, cousin.”

Her smile widens and her violet eyes shine with contained emotion. Aemond feels his heart skip a beat when she gently squeezes his hand for just a few seconds.

Lady Blackwood interrupts the moment by announcing that the performance of some famous puppeteers is about to begin. The guests then disperse, some heading towards the stage Aemond had noticed upon entering the hall, and others remaining in small groups as they chat.

“We should go, the show will start soon,” Rhaena tells him.

“Not exactly my kind of fun.”

“You cannot sit here for the entire party, cousin, it doesn't reflect well on the guests of honor,” she responds, standing up, “Come, they come from the free cities, I assure you they are better than the ones they have here.”

Aemond ends up accepting. Besides, Tyland Lannister still hasn't returned and he doesn't feel like talking to anyone else.

***

A renewed round of laughter and applause echoes through the room.

Rhaena also joins in the cheers for the comedians. Beside her, Aemond remains almost stoic. She gets the impression that he hasn't enjoyed the show too much.

And why would you care if such is the case? She wonders as the men come out from backstage and greet the attendees.

It is been a splendid afternoon. She has danced and laughed as much as she hoped to since she found out about the party. She has met new lords of Westeros, new ladies who would perhaps become future friends, and has shared slightly snide comments with Marianne about potential suitors and various ladies' dress choices.

“We should go listen to the bard that Lady Blackwood hired,” proposes her friend, who walks beside her.

“Will you come with us, cousin?” she turns to Aemond. He grimaces in her direction and Rhaena smiles, “Yeah, I figured as much.”

Aemond simply nods in their direction and she watches him return to the table, where he joins the conversation with Tyland Lannister and Lord Hayford.

Rhaena links her arm with Marianne and they go in the direction of where a group, mostly women, has gathered to listen to the bard.

“Lady Rhaena”

The voice of a tall young woman with very black hair and deep blue eyes stops her. Rhaena offers her a kind smile as they walk towards her.

“Lady Baratheon,” she greets.

“It is an honor to finally meet you, cousin,” the young woman offers a sideways smile, “I hope I can call you that, considering we share ancestors.”

“Of course,” Rhaena nods and continues, “This is Marianne Westerling, my friend and lady-in-waiting.”

“My pleasure, Lady Westerling. I am Floris Baratheon.”

“Lady Floris,” Marianne greets, “I thought I saw your sisters here as well.”

“Indeed,” Floris steps away for a few moments and returns with two other young women with similar features, “These are Cassandra and Maris, my older sisters.”

After the usual pleasantries, Rhaena doesn't know what to say. She is usually very good in social situations, but something in the look of the Baratheon girls does not offer her much confidence, “Cousins, I would like…”

“I am sorry, Lady Rhaena, we should have started our conversation by congratulating you,” it is Floris who speaks again.

“Congratulating me?”

“For your wedding to Prince Aemond,” Maris responds.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Rhaena nods, “Thank you.”

“I assume you are aware that he was betrothed to me at the beginning of the war,” Floris rests her blue eyes on Rhaena’s.

“I heard it, yes.”

“He made quite an impression when he arrived at Storm's End offering our father a betrothal.”

“I imagine so,” she responds, trying to sound curt. She doesn't know where this conversation is going.

“Of course, being four of us, he had a difficult choice before him,” Floris takes a step towards Rhaena, openly examining her figure from head to toe, “He kissed the four of us and choose me.”

"What?" Her question sounds like a gasp.

“Prince Aemond kissed the four of us on the lips,” Floris repeats, her eyes shining with malice, “My kiss clearly stood out above my sisters' because I was the chosen one.”

Rhaena does not know what to say. What is she supposed to answer? She is under the impression that the Baratheon girls are only seeking to torment her with their words. But she could not care less. What difference does it make if Aemond has kissed them all?

Despite saying that to herself, a bitter feeling runs through her body and her gaze wanders to the main table for a moment.

“You clearly didn't stand out too much if the prince ended up breaking the betrothal.”

It is Marianne who responds, squeezing Rhaena’s hand affectionately.

“That is not what happened!” Floris hisses.

“Cousins,” Rhaena cuts in, clearing her throat, “I am glad you could come in time for my wedding. “It will be a pleasure for the prince and for me to have you all here with us.” Her eyes land on Floris's.

“We came to see our sister,” Maris replies.

“But perhaps I will take the opportunity to reminisce about old times with the prince,” Floris smiles wryly, “After what I heard about him, I will surely be able to visit him tonight in his chambers and…”

“Enough, Floris,” Cassandra interrupts, “I am sorry, Lady Rhaena, excuse my sisters' impertinence.”

“Don't worry, Lady Cassandra, now, if you'll excuse me.”

Rhaena walks with Marianne until they make their way through the crowd and listens to the bard, although she cannot concentrate on the man's songs.

"Are you okay?" Her friend asks quietly, looking at her with concern.

“Yes, of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Her voice sounds squeaky, so she clears her throat.

“Those Baratheon girls were very rude,” Marianne snorts.

“They are just…”

Rhaena doesn't finish. She doesn't know what to say. What did Floris feel? Jealousy? Rage? Disappointment?

“I know, they shouldn't have talked to you like that anyway, they clearly don't know their place,” anger is clear in her friend's voice.

“It is okay, it does not matter,” she assures her, “Let's forget their words, they just said stupid things.”

But said is easier than done, and even though she tries to enjoy the bard's art, her mind keeps repeating the words of Floris Baratheon. Was it true that Aemond had kissed them? Contrary to her will, the image of the Baratheon sisters standing next to the prince, waiting to be kissed, appears in her mind. A shiver runs through her body and, angrily, Rhaena directs her gaze to the sisters, who are whispering across the room.

“Let’s just go, we should eat something,” Marianne tells her a while later.

Rhaena nods and they say goodbye near the high table. Sighing, she walks over to her seat and helps herself to pies and fruit dipped in honey, grateful that Aemond pays no attention to her and continues conversing with the other council members.

More harshly than she should, Rhaena spears a piece of fig and puts it in her mouth. Although it tastes good, she does not particularly enjoy the flavor, but instead eats mechanically until her appetite it’s settled.

"What is the matter?"

Aemond's voice takes her by surprise. Rhaena turns to him, who looks at her with a frown.

“Do not know what you mean”

“Did the bard perform so poorly that you are suddenly in a bad mood?”

Rhaena bites her tongue to avoid responding with a curse. And to avoid asking what she really wants to know. Was it true that he had kissed them all? Thinking about his kiss, her eyes drift helplessly to Aemond's lips. Long, thin lips, what would his lips taste like? The thought surprises her and she looks away from his face, drinking from her glass of wine and trying to push those thoughts from her mind.

Fucking Floris Baratheon, she thinks to herself.

Fortunately, the music resumes and Rhaena excuses herself to go dancing. It doesn't take long for her to find a dance partner, so she tries to focus only on the beat of the music, although she feels her cousin's gaze on her at times, watching her as is his habit.

The songs follow each other in a cheerful rhythm and she continues dancing and jumping, although her movements are rather mechanical, her good spirits from a while ago spoiled. Rhaena excuses herself and heads to the side of the dance floor, suddenly feeling dizzy and fanning herself with her hand, internally cursing her tight corset.

On the other side Marianne catches her attention and questions her with her gaze, so Rhaena makes an appeasing gesture with her hand, not wanting her friend to stop dancing with Ser Simon Dondarrion, the handsome knight who seems very fond of Marianne.

“May I, Lady Rhaena?”

The presence of Lord Tarly, who extends his hand toward her, is unexpected. Rhaena, still not having fully caught her breath, considers rejecting the man, but in the end gives up.

“With pleasure, my lord.”

The man smiles good-naturedly and guides her back to the dance floor, “What do you think of King's Landing so far, Lady Rhaena?”

“The city has a particular charm”

Lord Tarly widens his smile, “Yes, I agree, although the lands of the Reach are, in my opinion, the most beautiful in all of Westeros.”

Lord Tarly, who is not exactly an old man, but who does have a fairly prominent belly, moves slowly, so Rhaena keeps up with him and tries to calm herself while breathing slowly.

“I do not doubt it, my lord, although I could not say that I’ve been in that part of the realm.”

“You should visit us, my lady, it would be an honor to welcome you to Horn Hill.”

“Perhaps once my dragon is bigger, I will ride on her back and take upon your word, Lord Tarly.”

“You would do well, the Reach is your ally,” he replies, “You have many friends in our lands.” The man fixes his brown eyes on her and Rhaena has the impression that his words hide a greater meaning. “We loyal men do not forget that the iron throne belonged to Queen Rhaenyra and her offspring.”

A lump forms in Rhaena's throat, who just studies the man intently.

“Fear not, Lady Rhaena, as I told you, we are loyal to…”

“The crown belongs to my cousin,” she cuts him off, trying to measure her words, “Aegon is king and I am to marry Prince Aemond in a few days.”

“A true disgrace, if I may,” he replies, “Your father, Prince Daemon, would never have permitted such an affront to his daughter.”

“My father is dead, my lord. The war is over"

The man stares at her again before speaking, “As I told you, Lady Rhaena, the throne belongs to the offspring of Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

The girl wants to reply, she wants to tell him that such offspring does not exist, that her brothers are all dead... but she prefers to remain silent.

“Fear not,” Lord Tarly repeats, “Lady Jeyne is a good friend and ally. We are watching over you, don't forget it.”

Rhaena is grateful for the song to end and she gives a quick bow before turning her back on the man.

Her head begins to pound as hard as her heart as she makes her way through the guests. Her hands, suddenly drenched in cold sweat, are almost shaking. What had the man implied? What did he intend to achieve with his words? Was this perhaps a game played by the dowager queen to test her loyalty? Rhaena looks around her, but no one seems to pay her much attention. Not even Aemond, who continues conversing with Lord Lannister.

Her words sounded too much like Lady Jeyne's, a small voice inside her whispers.

She had not wanted to think more about her conversation with the Lady of the Vale before she left the Eyrie, Rhaena did not want to know more about wars or confrontations. She just wanted peace. She did not want…

“Cousin, wait, please.”

Cassandra Baratheon grabs her arm, stopping her.

“Lady Cassandra, please, I do not wish to continue our conversation from earlier,” her voice sounds harsher than she intended, but she does not care.

“Please allow me to apologize on behalf of my sisters,” insists the young woman, “The way they expressed themselves was embarrassing.”

“Even so, you let them expand as they pleased for a long time before shutting them up.”

“Excuse me, Lady Rhaena, I know I was wrong,” she admits.

Rhaena taps her foot on the floor, eager to get out of the conversation, “Very well, you need not say more, Lady Cassandra, I will forget your sisters' impertinence.”

“I would like to assure you that we have no intention of tormenting you, we came here not only for your wedding,” Cassandra seems not to notice Rhaena's unwillingness to continue talking, “But also to see our sister Ellyn. We have been very concerned about her health”

Her words manage to calm her down a little. She had not considered the young queen into the picture, “Of course, it is understandable. I hope that Queen Ellyn continues to improve, surely your presence here will speed up her recovery."

“This is what we hope for, Lady Rhaena.”

There is a moment of silence between the two. Rhaena nods and prepares to leave, when she speaks again.

“And furthermore, I assure you that I will keep a close eye on Floris. She won't dare visit the prince at all. My sister likes to talk, but she wouldn't dare disgrace our father's name in such a way."

Perfect, Rhaena thinks, just what she needed. Cassandra Baratheon reminding her of such an unpleasant comment.

“Or disgrace you, at the same time. It is punishment enough, I believe, having to marry the prince."

"I beg your pardon?" Rhaena can't believe her ears

“Don't get me wrong, cousin, I don't mean to offend you. I only verbalize what the majority in the kingdom think. Prince Aemond is hardly a good choice for a husband, a vow-breaker as well as a kinslayer.”

Rhaena knows that well, but at hearing the words from Cassandra Baratheon's mouth, it is not sympathy that is born inside her, rather suspicion and anger.

“You shouldn't say such things about the prince,” she replies.

She seems oblivious to her comment, “Plus there is the matter of his appearance. I know it wasn't her fault because he was just a child,” Cassandra smiles at her and Rhaena is able to notice the malice in her expression, “But that grotesque scar deforms his face. And that eyepatch is in such bad taste,” the girl shudders, “A shame that a beauty like you is wasted on Aemond Targaryen.”

For the second time that afternoon, Rhaena doesn't know what to say. She is not entirely convinced that she heard correctly the words that came out of her cousin's mouth.

“I see that you are as malicious as your sisters,” she finally says, her voice hard because of the displeasure she feels inside her, “Be careful, Lady Cassandra, control your tongue or you will end up facing the consequences.”

The Baratheon girl's expression falters for a few moments and Rhaena feels a hint of discomfort, but she simply glares at her before striding in the opposite direction.

Chapter Text

Blue is the collar of the shirt of the man I love
He's hard at work, hard to the touch
But warm is the body of the girl from the land he loves
My heart is soft, my past is rough

She dreams again about that night in Driftmark.

With the sound of the knife blade tearing flesh.

With blood bubbling and falling to the ground.

With young Aemond's cry of pain.

Aemond.

When she finally opens her eyes, tangled in the sheets and drenched in sweat, it is the prince's name that she still whispers.

Morning growls from across the room, clearly sensing her discomfort.

“It is okay, it is okay,” she says quietly. The dragoness flies to the side of her bed, snuggling next to her, calming her fluttering heart with her warm skin, and slowly fading the memories from years ago evoked in her nightmare.

Rhaena stands up and orders out the maids who appear a while later, wanting to get ready by herself that morning.

“Just prepare the bathtub and leave. Water as hot as you can get it.”

“As you wish, Lady Rhaena.”

Once she is finally alone, she enters the bathtub and delights in the warm water, closing her eyes and trying to clear her mind. Trying not to think about anything at all. Definitely not on that night of her mother's funeral and certainly not on Aemond.

If you hadn't fallen for his provocation and tried to push him, perhaps he would still have his eye.

The thought paralyzes her for a moment.

No. No. She will not feel guilty about that fight. It hadn't been her fault, she couldn't blame herself for that event.

You were the one who started the confrontation. If you had been braver like he told you...

Rhaena cuts off that line of thought and steps out of the bathtub, rushing to dry her body and dress in one of the more comfortable outfits she used to wear in the Vale. Morning flies to her shoulders as the girl heads towards the door, ready to take a walk to calm her still anxious state.

It's not so early in the morning, but there are few courtiers who have already woken up, most of them probably still in bed after the excesses of the previous night. Rhaena is grateful not to encounter familiar faces, preferring to spend some time alone.

Her feet guide her towards the castle's godswood, which looks deserted as always, the gods of the heart trees watching her as she sits on their roots.

“You are getting bigger and heavier,” she says to the dragoness, who flies around, sniffing the air, “Soon I will have to take you to the Dragon Pit,” she sighs and extends her hand, calling to Morning, who approaches and allows her to caress her pink scales. Rhaena lowers her voice until it becomes almost a whisper, “Do not tell anyone, but our cousin is right. You will be better attended with the dragon keepers than with me.”

The dragon growls, but Rhaena stops paying attention when the doors open to reveal Criston Cole. Astonished, the young woman watches the knight approach with reluctance, his eyes carefully watching Morning, who once again takes her place on her shoulders.

“Lord Commander”

“Lady Rhaena,” the man bows his head, “The queen dowager asked me to deliver this to you personally.”

The man extends a small trunk in her direction. Rhaena stands up and takes it, opening it and finding beautiful white linen fabrics inside.

“Her grace thought that you would want to personally embroider your bridal goods.”

Oh.

“Queen Alicent is very thoughtful, please, Ser Criston, convey my thanks to her.”

“Of course, my lady.”

The man bows again and leaves, allowing Rhaena to let out a breath and return to her heart tree.

The girl pulls out the scraps of fabric and feels the softness on her fingers, wondering what she could embroider on them. It is not that a task that particularly motivates her, but knitting is something she is quite good at, and will surely help clear her mind, something she desperately needs. Maybe she could…

"Cousin!"

Her thoughts are interrupted a second time, this time by Daeron Targaryen.

“Daeron?” Her eyebrows raise in his direction and a smile forms on her lips, “I did not know you were back already.”

“I arrived at the Fortress this morning,” the prince sits next to her.

Rhaena nods, “I assume you successfully completed your mission in the Riverlands.”

“It was nothing too complicated,” he shrugs, downplaying it, “I would have liked to return sooner, but the Tullys insisted that I make my way back to the capital with them.”

“They came here for the wedding, I imagine.”

“Indeed,” the prince smiles at her, “The most important celebration in the kingdom.”

Rhaena giggles nervously and her hands squeeze the fabrics. Daeron looks down at them, confused, “What is that supposed to be?”

“Part of my bridal goods,” she responds with another sigh, “It is customary for every bride to embroider the details.”

"Oh yeah? And what do you plan to embroider?”

“Well…” Rhaena tilts her face, “My initials and your brother's, for starters. It is the most classic pattern. I guess I could also embroider a green dragon similar to Vhagar”

"A dragon?" he lets out a whistle, “It sounds complicated. Are you good at embroidery?”

“Pretty good, modesty aside,” she responds with a smug smile.

Daeron nods, “If so, I am sure my brother will be pleased. He loves that old dragoness fiercely, besides…”

The prince seems hesitant and Rhaena rests her eyes on him, urging him to continue, “Besides?”

“Our sister Helaena used to embroider all the time,” he says finally.

The comment takes her by surprise. "I did not know that”

“Yes, she… she used to send me her elaborate designs all the way to Oldtown. They were usually bugs, or intricate but very detailed patterns. Most of the time I couldn't understand what they meant, but they were beautiful. I know she embroidered for Aegon and Aemond too.”

Rhaena simply nods, her mind conjuring up the figure of her late cousin, her face serene and friendly, her voice sweet. “I wish I had known her better,” she says candidly.

“Me too,” Daeron admits, “I wish I had spent more time with her. I wish I could have done more for her.”

She doesn't know what to say, but she doesn't have to think too much, because her cousin speaks again.

“Have you made your peace with the idea of ​​marrying my brother?” he asks, evidently wanting to change the subject.

“It is a great honor to marry Prince Aemond,” she responds mechanically.

“You can be honest with me, you know?”

“I am telling the truth,” she assures him, trying to sound as convincing as she can, holding her gaze and smiling, “I am glad I can join my life to the prince in marriage”

Daeron giggles and shakes his head, clearly not believing her, but he doesn't press her any further.

“Why are you here alone anyway? Where is Lady Marianne?”

She is… she is busy this morning”

"How come?"

Rhaena suppresses a small smile, “Ser Simon Dondarrion invited her to walk around the city.”

“Dondarrion? From the Stormlands?”

“That is the one,” she nods.

“I do not know him,” a look of confusion settles on his handsome face, “Is he new to court?”

“He arrived just a few days ago, but he got along very well with Marianne at the party yesterday. They danced together for a long time.”

Rhaena examines her cousin's face, looking for any sign of jealousy or discomfort, although hos expression remains somewhere between confused and thoughtful, which does not reveal much.

“Ah yes, Lady Blackwood's party, I heard it was splendid,” he finally responds after a few seconds of silence.

“It was…” Rhaena thinks of the right word, her brow furrowing as the events of the previous day flash through her mind, “it was full of unexpected things.”

“It is a shame I missed it, although I have the consolation of being able to enjoy the banquets for your wedding.”

“The most important celebration in the kingdom,” she responds sarcastically, using his words from a while ago. Daeron laughs and Rhaena rolls her eyes, although she ends up laughing too, “Speaking of my wedding, are you planning to participate in the tournament?”

“It is what I want, yes. Although my brother Aemond is not very pleased with the idea”

“Does he consider it very dangerous?”

“Which I consider an insult to my ability,” he responds with a confident smile.

“Well, my prince, I hope I can enjoy your talents in the jousts.”

“And I hope I can count on the favor of the bride of Westeros.”

“Oh that won't be possible for I must save my favor for my lord husband,” she responds in a solemn tone.

“My brother Aemond will hardly participate in a tournament in his honor,” he replies, “But I understand your refusal, my lady.”

Rhaena laughs before speaking, “You could ask Marianne to give you her favor.”

“Yes, I suppose I could,” he admits, smiling, “If she doesn't give it to Ser Simon Dondarrion first.”

After saying that, the prince stands up, “I must go, cousin, the council awaits me.”

“Of course,” Rhaena agrees and, at his cousin's request, extends her left hand so he can place a soft kiss on it.

Daeron smiles at her one last time before leaving the godswood. Rhaena hurries to put the fabrics into the chest and calls to Morning, who returns to her shoulders, “Come on, dear, we have things to do too.”

***

Rhaena follows the Keep's butler through damp, uncrowded, dimly lit hallways.

After having left Morning with her caretakers and the chest in her room, she has decided to carry out the mission entrusted by Aemond for the Faith. So, she had sent for the royal butler, who had quickly come to meet her, already instructed by the prince about her task.

“This place is pretty cold,” she comments, holding back a shiver.

“The temperature helps preserve the jewelry better, my lady.”

The man stops in front of a heavy iron door that is guarded by two guards. After letting them know of the prince's order, the men open the door and Rhaena can enter.

The place is huge, made up of numerous shelves and very long corridors full of objects made of gold, silver and precious stones, as well as tapestries, books and ornaments.

“Do you have any idea what you are looking for, my lady?”

Rhaena looks around again and shakes her head, “Jewels, maybe. Show me the jewels of the royal family”

The man guides her to the numerous objects accumulated by her ancestors and Rhaena spends a good time looking at them, calculating their value and choosing those she deems suitable to gift to the Faith.

“Separate everything I selected and wait for my instructions before sending them to the High Septon.”

After that, Rhaena returns to her room, where she finds only her maids.

“The lady Marianne has not returned yet?” ask Cyndi

“No, my lady, but she asked us to tell you that the Master of the Coin asked her to have lunch together.”

“Oh, right, I understand,” she replies and sighs.

Not knowing exactly what to do, not wanting to take a walk on the gardens or embroider, her eyes scan her room and land on the copy of “Stories of the Long Winter Night.” She had finished her reading the night before after returning from the party. The northern stories had managed to make her forget, for a long time, the words of the Baratheon sisters and the intrigues of Lord Tarly.

Without much thought, Rhaena stands up and takes the book, clutching it to her chest and leaving in the direction of the Tower of the Hand. She is not certain whether she will find her cousin there and it probably would have been more appropriate to return the book with a servant, but against her better judgment, she prefers to do so personally.

He gave you a responsibility to the Faith, you are expected to report to him.

Feeling more at ease with her reasoning, she announces her arrival to the guards, who let her pass.

“Cousin,” she greets, entering the familiar chamber, where Aemond is once again sitting at his desk, reading some scrolls.

“Rhaena.”

His eye takes off for a brief moment from the scroll and the young woman feels his gaze examining her up and down before landing on her face, causing her heart to suddenly skip a beat.

“I…uh…” she stammers, suddenly not knowing what to say.

Rhaena tilts her gaze and clears her throat before facing him again, although she prefers to focus her eyes on the scrolls on the desk, “I wanted to tell you that I visited the royal treasury and chose various silver embroidered tapestries to be given to the great sept.”

"Very well"

“Since I thought the Crown should be generous, I decided to also add four gold vessels and a necklace from the royal family.”

“What necklace?”

“One with a strange spider-shaped pendant, I found it quite odd so…”

“You can dispose of the vessels, but do not touch the necklace.”

His response, the harsh tone of his voice alerts her. Rhaena looks up at Aemond, but he is the one who refuses to look at her now. His expression, however, speaks volumes, his shoulders tense, his hand clenched into a fist, and his jaw clenched.

Rhaena wants to ask what is so special about that necklace, but she just stays silent and nods.

“Of course, there was a chandelier inlaid with rubies that the high septon would surely appreciate.”

"Hmm"

There is a moment of awkward silence in which she simply remains standing, shifting her body weight from one foot to the other, until her cousin speaks again.

“Did you finish your reading?”

“Ah, yes,” Rhaena sighs, “Actually, I also came here to return the book.”

Aemond nods and Rhaena walks over to his desk to place the book on the wooden surface, “I thought it would take you longer to read it.”

“The story completely grabbed me,” she admits, adding, “And no, it did not affect my sensibilities.”

“Mmm,” this time Aemond tilts his face and his good eye meets her gaze, “I did not take you for a lady who valued these kinds of lore.”

Rhaena smiles, “It was fascinating reading about the Others,” she bites her lip, debating whether to continue or not. The prince's gaze wanders to her mouth for just a few seconds, but enough to once again provoke that annoying feeling of electricity inside her. Her mind screams at her that it is better to leave, but her body is faster than her, making her sit in the free chair in front of him and speaking, “Do you believe it is true? That at some point there was that kind of magic and death?”

“Our dragons are essentially magic, right?”

“Well yes, but these ice demons…” she frowns, “They sound like a formidable threat.”

Aemond watches her with an expression that seems half fascinated and half amused, “Do not worry, cousin, our dragons can surely protect us from them, if they really exist.”

Rhaena rolls her eyes and slumps into the chair, her hand fiddling with the butterfly necklace. Aemond stares at her for a few seconds before standing up and walking towards one of the shelves in the walls. She follows him with her gaze and frowns as he pulls out another heavy volume, stroking the spine with his long fingers before turning and walking towards her, sitting on the edge of the desk by her side.

“So you can continue with your education,” he says in his whispery tone of voice, holding out the book to her

“The Mysteries of Skagos Island,” she reads aloud, noting the strange designs on the leather cover.

“Stories of a septon who tried to bring the faith of the seven to the inhabitants of the Bay of Seals”

“Did he succeed?”

“I guess you will have to read it to find out.”

The beginning of a smile appears on the prince's face and Rhaena suppresses one of her own, preferring to nod, "Very well, but I warn you that it will probably take me longer to finish this one."

"Why?"

“Your mother thought it appropriate to send part of my bridal goods so I could embroider it.”

 “Did she?”

“Yes, I am thinking about embroidering green dragons next to our initials.”

“How creative”

“Your brother Daeron thought it was appropriate.”

“Yes, I imagine so.”

“He asked my favor for the competitions, although he said that you did not want him to participate in the jousts.”

The prince just looks at her, “And will you give it to him?”

Rhaena ignores his question, “Are you afraid that he will overshadow you with his abilities?”

“I can beat my little brother without problems,” he replies after making a face.

“Does that mean you will compete?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

“Hmm, looking forward to becoming a young widow again?”

Rhaena can't help but giggle, “I would cry for you for a couple of days, if something were to happen to you.”

To her surprise, her cousin smiles and there is no trace of sarcasm in the gesture.

“It is a shame you are busy since I was thinking of asking you to supervise the accommodations of the guests.”

“I can take care of it,” she says, excited at the prospect of new responsibility.

“Perhaps it would be wise for someone else to take charge.”

“No, no, I can do it,” she nods vehemently, “In fact, I am best suited for the task. I will personally make sure the guests are comfortable.”

"If you say so"

Rhaena seems to sense a condescending tone in his response, but she decides to let it go. Pushing the heavy chair away, she stands, straightening the folds of her dress. Her cousin hasn't moved, so when Rhaena bends down to take the new book, her hand accidentally brushes against the prince's.

There is a moment of hesitation from both of them, who lower their gaze to where their hands remain next to each other. Their skins are barely connected, yet Rhaena feels a tingle where they touch. And neither of them makes any move to separate.

Wondering if he is experiencing the same thing, Rhaena meets his gaze, which is a mistake because she finds intensity in his bright blue eye. Her gaze goes down his straight nose to his thin lips whose arch forms a perfect v, how had she not noticed that before? Frowning, Rhaena restrains her sudden urge to raise her free hand and trace the outline of his lips. What would it feel like to touch them?

He kissed the four of us and chose me.

The memory of those words comes to her mind like a bucket of cold water, reminding her of yesterday’s conversation. Of her doubts. Her curiosity is once again powerful, because the words leave her lips before she has time to stop.

“I met your former betrothed yesterday at the party.”

It is clear that her sudden comment surprises him. Aemond pushes his hand away and tilts his face to the side, his expression once again a mask of impassivity, “Oh yeah?”

Rhaena nods, “I did not know they were invited to the party.”

"Nor I"

His curt responses are a sign that it is best not to push, but she can't help herself.

“I guess it is appropriate considering they are allies of the Crown.”

Aemond makes a small noise of annoyance, “Will you also insist that I apologize to her? My mother has already made my duty very clear to me, I do not need you to repeat it. I will speak to the Lady Floris when I see fit."

The prospect of the prince being alone with Floris Baratheon provokes a very particular feeling of displeasure within her. And although her rational side tells her that Queen Alicent's suggestion is the most appropriate, Rhaena finds herself wanting to side with the prince and assure him that this time it is not necessary to strengthen those social relations.

“The lady Floris had a lot to tell yesterday. In fact, she pointed out something quite interesting”

Aemond fixes his good eye on her again, “What did she say?”

“She said… she said you kissed them. That you kissed the four sisters to know which one to choose as your betrothed."

 “Well, I had to choose one of them.”

“And you could not find a more suitable method to do it?”

“I did not have much time to get to know them. And I did not want to snub them."

The snide tone of his comment lights a fire inside her, “Couldn't you walk with them? Talk to them even?”

“Walk with them? You have clearly never been to Storm's End,” he smirks, “Besides, I did not have time to waste on them.”

“I do not believe you,” she replies, smiling sideways too, “Surely you use that as an excuse to justify having taken advantage of four beautiful ladies.”

“That is debatable.”

"What? Your basic instincts?”

“That they are beautiful,” he replies.

“Ah no, cousin, do not be petty,” she shakes her head, “There is no denying that the Baratheon sisters are very attractive.”

“Hmm perhaps,” there is a moment of silence before he speaks again, “Or perhaps I just find Valyrian beauty more attractive.”

His words spread a warmth inside her that she has never felt before. And when their eyes meet, the tickling sensation runs through her entire body, lighting up her cheeks and causing her breathing to hitch. Rhaena tries to breathe to calm herself, but the prince's scent reaches her. A smell too attractive for her taste. A mix of something citrus and wood. And Vhagar. Rhaena closes her eyes for a moment and, when she opens them, she is closer to her cousin than before. Had he perhaps moved? Her thoughts stop when Aemond's good eye drops to her lips, resting on them as her own tongue bathes his thin lips. Their gazes meet again for a moment and something seems about to explode between them.

But then a servant interrupts them, almost running into the room and bowing before them both.

Aemond clears his throat and Rhaena steps back, allowing reason to return to her mind. What in the seven hells had happened to her? The girl takes the book from the desk and hugs it to her body, as if protecting herself, while she places more distance between them.

“A message for you, Prince Aemond,” says the servant.

He glares at the boy and sends him away immediately as he breaks the seal and reads the contents. Rhaena is about to leave when his words stop her.

“Your sister's ship has just arrived at the port.”

“That means she will be arriving at the Fortress any minute now,” she comments, a feeling of relief and happiness filling her chest.

Aemond simply nods.

“I uh… I'll go wait for her.”

He doesn't respond, just turns his back on her.

And Rhaena is grateful for that.

***

“Are you sure you want me here?”

Marianne seems nervous, her gaze fixed on the Fortress gate.

“Yes, of course, I want you to meet my sister,” she assures.

Her friend smiles and squeezes her hand.

Fortunately, after leaving the Tower of the Hand, she had found Marianne on the way to her chambers. Rhaena had not been slow to break the news of her sister's soon arrival, not wanting Marianne to ask her about what she had done in her absence. Not wanting to tell her either of whatever it was that happened between Aemond and her.

“Tell me about ser Simon.”

“Well… he is funny, kind, very gallant”

"But?" Rhaena looks at her.

Marianne shrugs, “I think I could be happy with him, although my uncle Tyland doesn't approve.”

"Why not?"

 “He says that ser Simon is just a third child with no major prospects,” her friend sighs, “My father and aunt hope I found a better match. A lord, preferably. If not…"

"What?"

“He will arrange a marriage for me with Lord Reyne's heir.”

“But you would have to return to the West!”

“I would be lady of Castamere and live near my father,” she nods and sighs again, “I know he wants to give me the chance to find a husband I like, but I also know that the prospect of having me around is attractive to him. Not to mention that the Reyne are wealthy and noble.”

“No, no, no,” Rhaena denies, “You are not going to leave me. I prohibit it”

Marianne smiles, “We are not there yet.”

“And we won't get there. My cousin Daeron returned today. And he asked about you”

"Really?"

“Yes,” Rhaena agrees, “And he is also a third son, but he is a prince. And a dragon rider. Your uncle Tyland and your father will have to accept your union."

Marianne bursts into giggles and they continue talking until a carriage stops in front of them. Rhaena's heart races when the servant opens the door and the figure of her sister descends from inside.

“Baela!”

Rhaena doesn't give her sister time to take a step in her direction as she runs up to her, wrapping her in a tight hug and reveling in the feeling of being next to her twin.

“Finally!” she hears Baela whisper against her ear, “Rhaena, my love.”

A few involuntary tears bathe her face, but she hurries to wipe them away before breaking the hug and looking at her sister.

Baela seems the same as always. Her voluminous hair full of silver curls, her frank smile and her curious eyes examining her too.

“I missed you so much, Baela,” she says, joining their hands.

“I am here, I am here,” she responds, hugging her once again, “How are you? Have they hurt you?” she asks in her ear

“I am fine,” she assures her.

Baela cuts off the hug and wrinkles her nose, “You stink of dragon.”

“Yes,” Rhaena giggles as she wipes away another involuntary tear, “It is from Morning, my dragoness.”

"Of course"

Her sister's expression darkens for a moment, so Rhaena rushes to say, "I am sorry about what happened to Moondancer."

 Baela nods, “We fought together until the end”

“What about your injuries? You did not give me any further details in your letters, but I knew that you were burned by the dragon fire."

“It was just something minimal,” she says casually, “The one who got the worst of it was the Usurper, tell me, have you seen him?”

“The king,” Rhaena points out, opening her eyes in her direction before looking around her, “is still suffering from his injuries. And no, I have not seen him,” when her sister's expression turns pointed, Rhaena takes her hand and makes her walk alongside her, “I want you to meet my lady-in-waiting and my best friend in this place, Lady Marianne Westerling”

“It is an honor to meet you, lady Baela,” Marianne bows perfectly.

“Westerling? Vassal of the Lannisters?” she asks

“That is right, my lady.”

“Your house supported Aegon during the war,” her sister's voice is hard and cold, her eyes looking at Marianne disdainfully.

“Baela!” her twin scolds her

"I don't…"

“I wish to speak alone with my sister, Lady Marianne,” Baela interrupts her.

Marianne looks at Rhaena, who sighs and looks at her with suppressed embarrassment, “Could you give us a few minutes, Marianne?”

“Of course, I will see you later.”

“At dinner,” she assures her, “The dowager queen requested our presence tonight.”

Marianne nods and walks away. Rhaena waits for her figure to disappear before she turns to her twin.

“You could have been nicer.”

“You call her your friend; do you trust her?”

“Yes, I do,” she assures, “Marianne is not to blame for the actions of her household. She was younger than us when the war broke out, and it's not like the men around her had listened to her opinions."

Baela seems to consider her words and then looks around her, “I hate this place.”

Rhaena sighs and links their arms, walking together and entering the castle, “Tell me about you. Tell me about Driftmark, about Alyn. I would have liked to meet him, although I trust that he will come to the wedding

At the mention of the wedding, her sister's expression is one of fury, but Rhaena subtly shakes her head and Baela seems to understand that a hallway full of servants and courtiers who observe them with open curiosity is not the right place to talk about it.

“Alyn is fine, he is easy to get along with,” she replies, “He doesn't limit me or prohibit my hobbies, and most of the time he is at his meetings or at the shipyard, so I have quite a bit of freedom on the island.”

Freedom. The word causes a bitter feeling inside her, but she is quick to suppress the feeling.

“He did not want me to come here without him,” her sister continues, “He did not trust me to control my temper enough not to do something foolish.”

Rhaena stops and Baela too, “I think we both know you are capable of it,” she says, “Especially since it would be unwise to try anything against our cousins ​​in their castle, surrounded by their guards and allies.”

Their gazes meet and, once again, Baela relents, although she rolls her eyes.

“Anyway, he couldn't refuse when the kinslayer wrote to order him to send me here.”

“Well, I am glad we are together again,” she says, affectionately stroking her arm.

Baela smiles and unites their forehead for a moment before walking again, “Where are we going?”

“My chambers. I thought you might want to take a bath and get ready before dinner.”

Her twin sighs, “Do we need to eat with them?”

“Yes, the dowager queen insisted,” she responds, opening the doors to her room, “I didn't arrange a room for you because I would like us to sleep together these days.”

“I think it is a splendid idea,” Baela smiles, “Oh, this room is depressing.”

"I know" Rhaena laughs, “In the Vale I had a window that allowed me to see the most beautiful mountains and sunsets.”

“Tell me about the Vale”

Rhaena does that, filling her story with the most mundane details of her life with the Arryn while Baela takes a bath, and changes clothes.

“I would have gladly agreed to never see you again if it meant you would be safe in the Vale and not here,” Baela says as Rhaena finishes braiding her hair.

She doesn't know what to answer, so she remains silent.

“Don't you wish none of this had happened? Don’t you think about what our lives would be like if they hadn’t usurped Rhaenyra’s throne?”

“I wish for many things, Baela, but there is no use thinking about things that will not happen.”

Baela snorts, “Do not patronize me, we are alone here. Surely you can't feel at ease in this place, surrounded by enemies?”

“Exactly, Baela, we are surrounded by enemies,” she responds, “Remember that when we enter the dowager queen's chambers and please remain calm.”

“I do not know if I can do it,” Baela bites her lip hard, “I do not know if I can contain my desire for revenge if I see the kinslayer.”

Her words, so full of hate, fill her with anxiety. And Rhaena has the impulse to want to say something in Aemond's favor, but she holds back.

“Well you will have to,” she replies harshly, “Come, they are waiting for us.”

Chapter Text

Queen Alicent Hightower's private hall is busier than Rhaena expects when she and her sister enter after being announced.

“I thought it was going to be a family meal,” she says, confused, looking at the least a dozen other people scattered around the room.

“Better this way. I do not wish to interact with them more than necessary,” Baela replies, taking a glass of wine that a servant offers and downing it in one gulp.

The dowager queen catches her gaze from across the room, where she is speaking with Lord Hayford. The woman seems to apologize to the man before heading directly towards them.

“Rhaena, Lady Baela,” she greets with a polite smile, “It is a pleasure to have you here in the Fortress”

“Queen Alicent,” Rhaena bows, “Thank you very much for inviting us tonight.”

There is a moment of silence in which they both look at Baela, who finally speaks, “Queen Alicent.”

“Welcome to the Fortress, Lady Baela. I trust that the trip has been pleasant”

“Not as much as it was to travel on the back of my dragon, I assure you.”

Her words convey bitterness and Rhaena observes the queen's suppressed reaction, so she rushes to speak.

“We are both very happy to meet again,” she says, “We will take advantage of these days to catch up and enjoy each other. My sister even offered to help me with the embroidery of the bridal goods.”

The queen raises her eyebrows and looks at Baela, who thankfully restrains herself, “That is a great idea. Enjoy, dinner will be served shortly”

Rhaena bows and sighs as the woman leaves, turning to her sister, “Well… it was better than expected.”

Baela rolls her eyes and takes another glass of wine. Rhaena is about to scold her when the door opens again and Aemond Targaryen appears. His tall, slender figure pauses for a moment while his good eye scans the room. Rhaena can swear his gaze lingers on her for a moment before focusing on his mother, and walking straight toward Alicent.

“The kinslayer,” Baela whispers, her shoulders tense and her eyes fixed on her cousin.

“The prince and hand of the king,” she says also quietly, looking at her, “Please, Baela, let's try to enjoy this night,” Rhaena takes her hand and squeezes her fingers, “Please.”

Baela does not look away from her cousin, and for a moment Rhaena fears the worst, but in the end Baela sighs and nods.

Rhaena, feeling relieved, links their arms and walks across the room to where Marianne and Lady Stokeworth are conversing near the fireplace.

“Oh! Lady Rhaena! We were just talking about your coming wedding,” greets Diane Stokeworth when they approach them.

A nervous giggle escapes Rhaena's lips, “Oh where you?”

“I mentioned to Marianne that my lord father arrived at the Fortress a few days ago and told me that the roads next to the Royal Forest is being arranged to house the tents of the lords who will participate in the tournament and the hunt.”

“How… good to know that everything is being prepared,” she responds, trying to sound cheerful.

“My lord father will participate in the hunt. He said it will be a good opportunity to try to find deer and…”

Rhaena tunes out her conversation when a head of platinum hair catches her attention out of the corner of her eyes. Slightly changing her posture, she observes her cousin, who is no longer conversing with his mother, but with Floris Baratheon.

“What is she doing here?”

She does not realize that she has asked the question out loud until Lady Stokeworth speaks, “Who? Who are you referring to?” she asks looking around her.

"What?"

“You said, Lady Rhaena…”

“Lady Diane, please do tell us more about your lord father's last hunt,” Marianne says, “He was out with a party of his men and there were footprints.”

“Ah, yes, yes, of course…”

The young woman begins her story again, and Rhaena meets Baela's gaze, who has her eyebrows raised in her direction. Rhaena gives her a nervous smile, and drinks from her wine glass as she tries to focus on the story.

Only her attention doesn't last long, her eyes drifting helplessly to Aemond, who is now walking with Floris across the room. A bitter feeling of displeasure spreads through her chest as she notices the Baratheon girl's clear attempts at flirting, her hand teasing the beginning of her cleavage. Why is Aemond talking to her? What issues in common can they have? Rhaena already knows the answer, but still... A simple apology doesn't take long to be offered, why is her betrothed still talking to her?

The two stops near the table, and Rhaena watches Aemond cross his arms behind his back, his right foot beginning to tap the floor, clearly fed up with whatever Floris is telling him. The realization of this pleases her and somewhat calms whatever she is feeling. Floris does not give up and takes a few steps towards Aemond, closing the distance between them and placing herself at a distance that is not decent for a lady. The prince seems to realize this because he subtly steps back, lifting his face and meeting Rhaena's gaze directly.

For a couple of seconds that seem like forever they simply stare at each other, until Rhaena raises her eyebrows in his direction, an amused smile on her lips. Aemond purses his lips at her, as if he is annoyed with her for finding the situation entertaining, though a smile finally appears on his face.

Rhaena notices Floris trying to approach Aemond again, but he finally looks down at the Baratheon girl, his face no longer smiling, and says something that seems to be the end of their conversation, because he turns his back on her and walks away, walking directly towards…

Rhaena.

Her heart begins to beat wildly as Aemond advances toward her, his strides long and purposeful. Does he perhaps plan to approach them and greet them? Join their conversation? Surely not. Those questions pass through her mind in just an instant and her eyes never stray from Aemond's.

When the prince is finally near them, the conversation stops and Marianne and Lady Stokeworth bow to him, but he ignores them, his one good eye looking simply at Rhaena, the corner of his lips curled into a smile.

“Rhaena,” he just says in that low yet firm tone, nodding slightly in her direction, as if the other women beside him do not exist.

She does not return the greeting, unable to say anything when he walks so close to her that she is suddenly invaded by his particular citrus scent that causes her entire body to shiver. Rhaena can swear their hands touch again as he walks past her. Unable to do anything else, her eyes follow the prince until he stops next to Lord Lannister.

When Rhaena tilts her face and returns to focus on her companions, she realizes that the conversation has resumed, although she meets Baela's eyes, her gaze hard and her expression a cold mask of reproach.

***

The wine tastes especially sweet.

Aemond takes a few more sips from his cup as his mother toasts Baela Targaryen's arrival at the Keep.

Sitting next to her sister, at the other end of the table, Baela gives her a tense smile. Rhaena, next to her, smiles genuinely as she squeezes her twin's hand in affection.

Or to restrain her actions.

Baela Targaryen. Aemond had never thought much of her. It had been another obstacle during the war, one that her brother had taken care of by leaving her without a dragon. She was now nothing more than another noble lady of the kingdom trapped in her castle.

Still... there's something about her that he does not like.

Maybe it is the clear anger that she feels and that she cannot hide. It is evident that she despises his family, her looks at his mother and Daeron make that evident. At him, she hasn't looked directly at… yet, although Aemond knows that she probably hates him more than his mother and brother.

“I hear you are good with a crossbow, cousin,” Aemond hears his brother say.

Complacent fool, he thinks as he drinks from his cup again.

“Do you want me to show you my skills, cousin?” she replies with a snide tone on the last word, her eyes conveying a malicious gleam.

“We could train together one of these days, yes,” Daeron proposes.

“I am afraid I will have to object,” Rhaena interrupts, letting out a giggle that pretends to sound carefree, though Aemond hears the nervous tone in it, “I want to have my sister next to me as much as possible. Therefore, I am not going to share her with you, Daeron, I apologize."

Daeron smiles and Baela rolls her eyes. Rhaena's hand caresses her sister's again. The prince wonders if his betrothed had also thought that this training between her sister and Daeron could end badly for him.

“I hear that the Tyrells are close to arriving at King's Landing,” Tyland Lannister interrupts his thoughts, drawing his attention.

“That is right, Maester Orwyle received a raven announcing their arrival.”

“That means that the most important houses, except for the Starks, will be present at your wedding. We could use the opportunity.”

Aemond does not respond, simply considering his words, his gaze fixed on Rhaena. The young woman seems to feel the weight of his scrutiny, because she lifts her face toward him, though she quickly lowers her gaze in shame, her body noticeably tensing and moving toward her twin.

“Tell me, Lady Baela,” Elder Blackwood says, “Will Lord Alyn be coming to the wedding?”

“Indeed, my lady. My cousin is looking forward to probe himself in the tournament.”

"Good!"

There is a general murmur of clear enthusiasm at the mention of the stupid tournament.

“I would like to see Prince Aemond participate,” it is Floris Baratheon who speaks. Aemond refrains from rolling his eyes at her, “Though I suppose it would be unfair to the other participants for such a good swordsman to take away their chance.”

Is through compliments that she thinks she will have his attention? Aemond gives her a brief, hard look.

“The tournament is in his honor,” his mother replies, “It would not be right for my son to participate.”

“That is why I will,” Daeron says, smiling.

“Daeron…”

Her mother stops talking, sighing, her beautiful face a mask of clear concern. Aemond is tempted to reach out and comfort her, but jealousy that this concern is directed toward his brother and not him restrains him from doing so.

“I wish they would let us women participate,” Baela comments, “We would probably do a lot better than some of the novice gentlemen.”

Her suggestion is received with laughter and some tense glances. Aemond notices Rhaena, whose gaze shifts between her sister and the dinner party, clearly anxious.

Maybe his mother had been right. Maybe he shouldn't have sent for Baela. The dowager queen had been enraged upon learning of the young woman's arrival, claiming that she was a bad influence on her sister.

“She was going to come here anyway,” Aemond had said.

“With Lord Alyn,” Alicent had told him, frustrated, “An ally. A legitimized bastard who knows that he has to control his cousin or he will not have the support of the Crown."

Aemond had ignored her, but now, seeing that she had only been in the castle for a few hours and was clearly making Rhaena feel uncomfortable, he wished he had not sent the letter to Driftmark.

But she had been so happy when you agreed to call her sister.

The thought crosses his mind as quickly as he dismisses it.

It does not matter how she feels.

Rhaena can feel and do whatever she wants, he does not care. He just needs to use her, control her, know how to use her influence for his political causes. Her happiness is optional, secondary, and he does not care about her in the slightest.

Or that is what he tells himself over the next few days when his betrothed continues to avoid his gaze whenever they meet at the Fortress.

Chapter Text

It had been the most intense dinner Rhaena had ever participated in.

Well…maybe not the most intense, but certainly the most uncomfortable.

Beside her, Baela walks in silence until they reach her chambers and are greeted by Morning, who flies to her usual spot on Rhaena's shoulders, growling playfully at Baela.

“What is she doing here?”

“Morning stays with me,” she responds, stroking her tail.

"Here? In your chambers?" Baela frowns looking at the dragon. Rhaena nods, “How strange.”

“We have not been apart since she hatched from the egg,” she comments as she follows her sister into the room. Baela is already taking off her jewelry and undoing the braids from her hair, “They did not have any appropriate place for her in the Vale, and no servant wanted to approach her,” she smiles at the memory, “So I am the one who always takes care of her.”

Her twin sighs and her gaze fixes on Morning. Rhaena is able to see the bitterness and pain in her eyes.

“Talk to me, Baela,” she asks softly, “Tell me what happened after I left Dragonstone.”

She needs the details. She needs to hear from her sister what happened during the war. Baela looks down and a silence settles between them. Rhaena fears that her twin won't talk, until she finally starts to.

“At first Rhaenyra was still hesitant about sending the dragons to fight, but that changed when we lost grandmother,” Baela's voice trails off and Rhaena walks over to her sister, sitting next to her on the edge of the bed.

“I so wish I could have spent more time with her,” she admits with a similar lump in her throat, “To have known her better, or at least said goodbye properly.”

“Everything happened too quickly after that,” her sister continues, “Jace had the idea of ​​​​start searching for dragon seeds to claim the ones on the island without a rider. We thought that it would work, for a while it seemed that way, we had more dragons than them, but then…” her voice falters again.

“The Gullet?”

“The Gullet,” she nods, her eyes filling with tears, “What should have been a peaceful and unnoticed trip turned out to be the opposite because no one was counting on the intervention of the Triarchy. Aegon managed to get back on his dragon, and Jace came back for Viserys, but we ended up losing them both.”

The fate of her little brother had been a hard blow to Rhaena. The letter had arrived with the news during the sunset, and she had not been able to stop crying for weeks remembering that little boy with platinum hair whom she had cared for with so much love since his birth.

“The queen was not the same after her loss. Jace's death plunged her into despair,” she shrugs, “She just wanted revenge and she got the chance when the kinslayer left the capital unprotected.”

“I still do not understand why he did such thing,” she says, “It was an obvious mistake.”

“The council believed it was another trap, like the one at Rook's Rest, that is why I stayed with our Aegon in Dragonstone,” her sister's gaze wanders for a few seconds, “About the other part of the story, I only know the same as you. The usurper managed to flee the city, and was hiding under our noses,” her expression hardens, her nostrils twitching, “Under my noses all that time.”

“I heard that the dragon seeds betrayed us.”

“Unreliable people,” she shrugs again, “Some changed to the usurper's side and others gave themselves pretensions that they did not deserve. In the end all of them died, including Addam and that made the queen feel more paranoid. The riots and the dragon pit…” they both shudder and sigh, “Maybe if I had been here I could have avoided so much misfortune.”

Morning interrupts with a growl and leaves Rhaena's shoulders, flying towards her usual spot by the fire.

“I heard people were angry. And hungry. They acted out of their desperation, it must have been terrible for them during the war”

Baela shrugs, “Savages, all of them. Our poor dragons,” her voice falters again and Rhaena notices her eyes watering.

“What happened in Dragonstone?” insist

“Aegon gained the trust of several noble lords who were dissatisfied with Rhaenyra. By the time I found out that the usurper was on the island, I went to confront him. I really believed I could kill him, that I could end the war. I did not expect for Sunfyre to appear,” Baela looks away and her hands touch her right side, “I managed to escape, although Moondancer was not as lucky.”

Rhaena wraps her arms around her sister, her hand caressing her back. Baela snuggles into her chest and a moment later she feels tears falling into her lap.

“I just wish her sacrifice wasn't in vain,” Baela whispers.

“I am so sorry, Baela,” she says softly, “I know how much you loved your dragon.”

The lump in her throat grows even heavier at the thought of having to experience something similar now that she has Morning.

There is a moment of silence until Baela pulls away from her arms, wipes her tears with her hands and sighs.

“Our grandsire got me pardoned, and for some reason the usurper did not execute our Aegon. After that I was sent to Driftmark to be Alyn's pupil. I was still recovering from the burns, my senses clouded by the milk of the poppy, so I learned later that Grandsire’s health worsened and that the shivers disease took him”.

“Just like it took our Aegon.”

Baela snorts, “Or so they say,” her gaze drifts to the door, “How convenient that our brother died so suddenly.”

“Little Jaehaera died too,” she says, shaking her head, “I do not think they lied about her death as well. Furthermore, there were several impartial lords here who assured that no harm was done to our little brother.”

Baela doesn't say more, but her look alone is enough to convey that she does not believe that version.

“Maybe it was for the best,” Rhaena continues, “Our little brother was a threat to them, he probably would have had a much worse fate if they had let him live. At least the illness was quick”

“And all this disgrace upon our family only because they decided to usurp Rhaenyra's throne. Because of their ambition and disloyalty,” the rage emanating from her sister's body is almost palpable, “I should be on Dragonstone now, being the crown princess, married to Jacaerys and perhaps mother of one or two already.”

“Baela…”

“Have you imagined it? Have you ever thought about how things must have been?”

Rhaena nods and sighs, “It is no use for such things. We gain nothing by living in fantasies."

“But we will have our revenge,” she assures, “We will just have to wait and our time will come.”

"Why you said so?"

Suspicions born in her mind when Baela looks at her and there seems to be indecision in her gaze, as if she is controlling herself from telling Rhaena about something.   

“Just trust me, sister. Our time will come."

“Whatever you are planning, Baela, stop. You cannot…"

“Shh, shhh, it is not what you think, I assure you,” she takes her hands and looks at her, “I know that the blood and fire of our family is not in you, after all you are not a dragon rider. Or not yet,” she repeats, giving Morning a furtive glance, “But we are going to be fine, we will just have to hold on a little longer. And remember who our enemy is.”

“Why do you say those things?” she asks again

“Remember our enemy,” Baela repeats, squeezing her hands.

“I know who the enemies are, Baela,” she replies, slipping out of her grasp and grimacing.

"Do you? Because in the queen's dowager salon I thought I noticed something else."

"I do not know what you mean"

“I think you know well what I mean,” Baela stands up, placing her hands on her hips, “I saw you looking at Aemond.”

"Nonsenses. I was just being nice”

“You do not have to be nice.”

“Yes, yes I have to,” Rhaena says with a harder voice and stands up as well, “I understand that you are angry, that you think it is a betrayal just to be in the same room as them, but I have no choice. Have you not thought about what may await me in a few days when I have to share a bed with Aemond?” her sister makes a disgusted face, “Because I have. And I am scared. I do not want to be violated, I do not want to have to experience terror every time he summons me to his rooms."

"So what? Does being nice to him changes something?”

“I am trying to be useful,” she explains, “I try to please him, help him in any way I can, earn even a minimum of his respect or consideration so that he does not see me as part of his property with which he can do whatever he wants.”

“He would not dare, if he were to do that I would…”

Rhaena laughs, although it is a humorless laugh, “You will do what? What could you do living so far from here?”

Baela does not respond. Rhaena takes a few deep breaths, trying to remain calm, “I know it is not the ideal situation, but I am just trying to do the best I can with what I have. Do not hate me for that, Baela.”

“I could not hate you,” she replies immediately and closes the distance between them, hugging her sister, “I just want it to be clear to you that you cannot trust him. None of them. They are our enemy,” she cuts off her embrace, taking Rhaena’s face in her hands and looking directly at her eyes, “They always will be.”

Rhaena just nods, although Baela does not seem to notice, because she immediately releases her and takes off her dinner dress to put on her nightgown. Rhaena stares at her, noting the scars left by the dragonfire on her right side.

A while later, when they both enter the bed snuggled under the covers, the conversation turns to more nostalgic topics such as their childhood in Pentos. But, although her sister falls asleep after a while, Rhaena cannot sleep.

Sitting on the bed, she watches her twin and Baela’s question from a while ago comes back to her. What would have happened if the succession that Viserys wanted had been respected? What would have become of her? What would be her fate? Would she be in Driftmark at this moment as Luke's wife?  Or would she have married someone else? Her mind had felt calm and grateful upon learning of her betrothal to Lucerys. He had been a kind and good-tempered boy, he would probably have been an ideal companion. Her heart, on the other hand…her heart did not feel for him what she was supposed to feel. They had spent many years together on Dragonstone, but that had only made her as close to him as a sister. And although it was in her blood to marry a relative, Lucerys awakened in her nothing but brotherly affection.

Still, she had felt grateful to have an honorable destiny that was in keeping with her birthright. Although a little part within herself, one that she tried not to listen to too much, longed to find someone who would make her experience what she had sometimes read in the books that the septa did not approve of. Or what her father used to say about feeling like the true “blood of the dragon”, with that passion that made him commit crazy things, that generated pain and desire in equal parts, that one that did not conform and that sought to find its other half. The one that was a fire that burned the insides from within, consuming everything and not caring about anything. The one that Rhaenyra had felt for her father.

The one who broke your mother's heart.

Rhaena sighs and rubs her eyes before pulling the covers back over her, trying to sleep. Only after several minutes it is evident that she will not be able to fall asleep, so she slowly gets out of bed and approaches the fireplace. Morning sleeps soundly and she does not want to disturb her by touching her, so since her mind is still too restless, she takes refuge in reading.

At some point she loses the sense of time, immersed in the stories as she is, and suddenly the first rays of sun begin to enter through the curtains.

“Rhaena?”

Her sister's voice startles her. Baela sits on the bed and rubs her eyes, yawning delicately, “You woke up early.”

“Apparently not before you,” her twin smiles, stepping out from under the covers and walking over to her, “What are you reading?”

“A gift from Lady Jeyne,” she lies, closing the book immediately and standing up to put it on one of the shelves, feeling a pang of guilt as she remembers that it was Aemond who gave it to her. “Should we eat?”

Rhaena orders the maids to bring food for them and they get ready in silence before eating.

“I would like you to accompany me in my tasks today,” Rhaena bites into her muffin, “I must supervise the castle apartments where the lords who will come for the wedding will stay.”

Baela raises her eyebrows in her direction, “Do you personally take care of those matters?”

“I like to keep busy,” she nods.

“It is better than being locked up all the time, I guess.”

“They do not keep me imprisoned in a room, if that is what worries you,” she clarifies, “I am free to meet with the ladies of the Court, attend theatrical performances or walk through the gardens and the city.”

Her sister makes a dismissive gesture, “It sounds boring.”

Rhaena sighs. Of course Baela found all of this very distasteful, considering that she had grown up spending most of her time with her dragon.

“What do you normally do in Driftmark?”

“Whatever I want, of course,” she shrugs, “I usually ride horses, swim, practice crossbow shooting or sword fighting. Alyn does not limit me. These last few months I have even been accompanying him to the shipyards to learn more about the ships”

“That sounds amazing, Baela,” she smiles and takes her hand, “I am glad you can pursue your interests freely.”

“Yeah, whatever, what are we supposed to do today? Not having to socialize too much with our relatives, I hope."

“No, I suppose not,” she replies, sipping her juice, “I will meet with the royal butler and visit the rooms of the Fortress. Although, if it gets too domestic or boring for you, you could stay with Marianne and join the other ladies.”

“I'd rather be with you,” she responds quickly.

Rhaena suppresses her smile, “Come on, then.”

***

Baela is clearly losing patience little by little.

“Is it really important that Lord Beesbury not cross paths with Alicent Hightower's brother?”

The butler glances between Rhaena and her sister, his eyes finally settling on her, “Ser Gwayne must stay in the chambers next to those of the royal family,” she instructs, “I am sure the dowager queen will appreciate having her brother close by. Place Lord Beesbury next to the Tyrells, it will surely be less complicated that way.”

“Of course, Lady Rhaena.”

“Likewise, instruct the servants to keep the fires lit constantly, it is too cold at night.”

Baela snorts and Rhaena sighs, “That is all for today, thank you.”

The man bows and leaves the room. Rhaena waits until they are alone before turning to her sister, “You do not have to follow me. Could you…"

"Do what? Socialize with the ladies of the court?” she rolls her eyes

“It is not that bad, it is actually quite fun if…”

“It is not my idea of ​​fun,” she cuts her off, running her hand over the velvet curtains of the room they are visiting, “Being polite and well-liked is your thing, not mine.”

Rhaena bites the inside of her lip, suppressing her response.

“Come on, we have done enough for today,” she tells her, although she knows that in reality she has only just begun to make the decisions she should. A part of her mind tells her that she should worry less about entertaining her sister, and more about doing a good job, as she had assured Aemond she will, but in the end, she decides to take her sister's hand, “Let's go see Marianne. “You owe her an apology and we can walk around for a while and drink wine and catch up on the gossip of the fortress.”

“Could we at least go into town?” Baela proposes, “Get out of this place for a while”

“Maybe that is not a good idea,” she replies, “We would probably have to get permission from the Dowager Queen or Ae… from Prince Aemond.”

At the mention of it, her mind recalls their fleeting encounter in the hallways that afternoon. She had felt her cousin's gaze fixed on her, but had kept her gaze downcast, her hand firmly gripped in Baela's.

“I guess it will be tea with the ladies,” Baela finally relents.

Only, after a couple of days, it is clear that Baela does not particularly enjoy those gatherings either, no matter how many bards, puppeteers, or dancers appear before her.

“Lady Manderly requested an audience with you,” Marianne tells her as the others applaud the bard singing the exploits of Aegon's conquest.

“I do not grant audiences,” she replies, amused.

“That is what they are calling it,” she smiles, “They all want the chance to meet you and build good relations with you now that it seems the Dowager Queen has handed over her duties to you.”

“You know that is not the case,” she shifts uncomfortably in her chair, aware that her sister is listening attentively to the exchange.

“I am just telling you what I hear,” Marianne takes her hand, “I have already received several letters from important ladies of the kingdom wanting to invite you to drink tea or take a walk around the fortress.”

“Well, they will have to wait, I still have a lot to do.”

“I did not know they would be here today.”

Rhaena follows Marianne's gaze to Lady Redwyne's front doors, where they are gathered this afternoon, to see the Baratheon sisters enter. The girl hadn't seen them much lately, which was a relief.

“Are they the daughters of Borros Baratheon?” Baela sounds curious next to her. Rhaena nods, “Interesting.”

Rhaena is tempted to leave, but eventually just returns to her conversation, joined by Lady Stokeworth and Lady Darklyn, who steal her attention by happily whispering about the wedding.

“Where is Baela?” she asks after a few minutes

“Over there,” Marianne points her face toward where her twin is conversing with the Baratheon sisters.

Rhaena frowns in her direction, but she tries to hide her displeasure at seeing them together and continuing the conversation with the other ladies, while she internally wonders what they could be talking about with her sister.

“Excuse me for a moment,” she finally says, unable to bear the uncertainty any longer.

Rhaena walks purposefully towards her twin, gently and firmly holding her elbow to get her attention. Baela turns and smiles widely at her, “Rhaena!”

“You were absent without warning,” she responds.

“I wanted to come and say hello to our cousins.”

“Of course,” Rhaena feels, “Cousins.”

“Cousin Rhaena,” they greet almost in unison.

“What were you talking about?” Rhaena asks without holding back

Baela opens her mouth, but Cassandra interrupts, “I do not think Rhaena would like to hear what we were saying about her future husband.”

"Oh no?" Baela continues smiling, “Why? We are not telling lies."

“Baela…”

“He's so presumptuous! He had the audacity to use a sapphire to cover his missing eye,” Baela giggles, “It does not do him any favors.”

“I share your opinion,” Maris replies.

“I think it gives him a certain air of mystery,” Floris says.

Rhaena finds herself agreeing with Floris. And she hates herself for that.

“Maybe when he was riding Vhagar, but now he is nothing more than a cripple who…”

“Enough, Baela.”

Her voice sounds harsher than she intends, “All of you, enough. I thought you came here to encourage your sister, not to spread mean comments.” Rhaena turns to her twin, “I would expect this from anyone but you.”

Without giving them a chance to respond, she turns her back on them, and leaves the room.

Baela reaches her without problems, holding her arm, “There was no need to get so angry, we were just joking.”

“It is beneath you to make fun of someone's appearance.”

“I wonder if you would react like this if it were someone else we were talking about?”

“You know I would,” she replies, “I do not like to be cruel. And neither are you."

"He…"

“Baela, stop it,” she asks, an ache starting to form in her head, “I do not want to fight. Let's just go. I still have things to do.”

Her sister relents again and they return to her chambers, where Baela entertains herself reading while Rhaena embroiders the bridal goods, her hands mechanically tracing the patterns of the prince's initials. Her eyes drift to the book she hasn't opened since that other morning, her insides feeling strangely empty at the thought of the prince.

***

It is amazing, Rhaena thinks, how she most often encounters her cousin when she tries not to see him.

At the beginning of her arrival at the Fortress, it was strange if she saw him once or twice during the same week. Now, however, she saw him repeatedly, always in the company of other lords. And he always looked for her gaze.

A look that she refuses because her relationship with her twin is increasingly unstable, and she knows that Baela does not take her eyes off her every time Aemond appears, waiting for Rhaena to react in some way that confirms that this supposed closeness between the two is more than a simple strategy on her part.

Which is totally false, she thinks. She was only nice to him because she had to be, not because she wanted to.

So why is it increasingly difficult to stop yourself from approaching him and finding any excuse to talk to him?

Rhaena bites the inside of her lip and looks at the scrolls the royal butler hands her. This afternoon Baela is not with her, preferring to stay in her rooms to write a couple of letters for Alyn.

“Lord Bracken requests an unusual number of candles,” the man comments.

“No less than Lord Blackwood.”

“That was to be expected,” she murmurs, “Put the same amount in both rooms. And make both of their servants to be housed at different ends of the servants' quarters, if possible, I do not want to give rise to possible altercations."

"Yes, my lady"

“What about the food?”

“The hunters got deer, pheasants and wild boar”

“Well, do not forget the lamprey pies, they are the queen’s dowager favorite,” she hands the scrolls to the man, “Once the food is ready, distribute some of it to the people of the city.”

“How come, my lady?”

“What you just heard,” she nods, “Breads, fruits and some meat. And wine. The people should also enjoy the royal wedding.”

“I don't know if the prince regent…”

“Prince Aemond will surely accept my idea.”

"Indeed"

Aemond's voice bursts into the room so suddenly that for a moment she thinks she is imagining it. But, when the royal butler turns his head toward the door, Rhaena does indeed find the figure of her cousin there.

“Do as Lady Rhaena orders.”

The man bows to the prince, who has approached them, stopping near Rhaena.

“The last guests of the Vale delegation also arrived, they are…”

“Enough for today,” Aemond interrupts, “Leave us.”

“Thank you, we will continue tomorrow,” Rhaena tries to smile at the man, although inside she is dealing with that annoying feeling of nerves that Aemond's presence produces.

Once they are alone, Rhaena begins to play with her hands, her throat suddenly feeling dry and she doesn't know what to say. What is Aemond doing here? He does not usually visit this part of the castle, surely he hasn't come expecting to find her.

Or had he?

“You have been diligently taking care of your tasks.”

Her cousin's voice breaks the silence. Rhaena nods, still not daring to look at him, “It is a welcome change to occupy my hours with activities beyond tea with the ladies of the Court.”

"Hmm"

Aemond does not say more, just takes a step towards her, coming so close that his knees touch the folds of her burgundy dress. Rhaena takes in the elaborate details of the dark green leather doublet he is wearing, trying to distract herself from the intensity of his gaze, not wanting to look directly at him.

But it is impossible not to do so.

Finally, sighing, she looks up and meets the prince's. Her husband-to-be. Is it her impression or does his face seem less severe? Rhaena digs her nails into the palm of her hands, trying to calm the palpitations of her heart and distract her mind.

“I am glad you accepted my idea of ​​distributing food to the people,” she ends by saying.

“It was a good idea,” he admits, tilting his head.

“Yes, yes, it was,” she nods.

Rhaena wants to say something else, but any coherent thought is lost when Aemond lifts his left hand and brings it to her neck. There is a moment of hesitation in the prince's gaze, as if he doubts what he is going to do, but finally his fingers close around the pendant he bought in the city for her. Rhaena closes her eyes as his fingers brush against her skin, his touch as delicate as…

"What is the meaning of this?"

Baela's voice cuts through the intimacy of the moment. And Rhaena is suddenly aware of how close she is to Aemond, so she immediately backs away from him.

“Bae…” she clears her throat, “Baela, I thought you were writing to Alyn.”

Her twin steps into the room, her wary eyes darting between Aemond and Rhaena.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“No, no, of course not,” she is quick to respond.

Beside her, Aemond purses his lips and glares at her before looking at Baela.

“Let's go, Rhaena, I do not want you near the kinslayer.”

“Kinslayer?” Aemond says sarcastically.

“That is what you are,” she spits, “A murderer, a violent villain, and a coward…”

"Coward? "I think you are confusing me with your father, cousin."

Rhaena gasps and is aware of her sister's self-control fading as she closes the distance between them, ready to attack Aemond.

“Stop, Baela, stop!”

Rhaena manages to place herself between them and take her sister's arm, trying to restrain her. Aemond, fortunately, does not move, although his expression remains one of mockery and clear satisfaction.

“Remember your place, Baela. You are nothing more than a guest here, totally at the mercy of my good will and kindness.”

“Usurpers! You and your family are traitors!”

“Sister, please, he is just provoking you,” Rhaena whispers in her ear, “Say no more and let's go, please.”

“You should listen to your sister and keep silent.”

"How dare you!"

“Aemond, please.”

Rhaena looks at him, imploring with her eyes for him not to continue with his bickering. Aemond grimaces and finally says, “Very well.”

Baela releases from her grasp, her chest rising and falling from her labored breathing. “How can you tolerate him?” she asks Rhaena

“I have already explained it to you,” she replies with a sigh.

“Well, I do not understand,” her furious gaze now turns to her sister, “What were you doing here with him before I arrived?”

“Not the things you are thinking.”

“I am not stupid, Rhaena.”

Rhaena hears Aemond mutter something, although she does not understand what it is.

“I thought you were here alone and… terrified… surrounded by our enemies, but… it seems like you are enjoying it.”

"What?" Rhaena gasps.

“Yes, yes, that is it,” Baela laughs gracelessly and a malicious glint settles into her eyes. Her sister has never known how to contain her impulses, but knowing that doesn't make her next accusations hurt any less, “You enjoy playing the grand lady of the castle, don't you? Clinging to any scrap of power they give you, to the scraps they throw at you."

"I do not…”

“Do you think I have not noticed? The importance you give to yourself with your ladies-in-waiting and with the invitations of the Court, walking with your dragon from one place to another, enjoying being the center of attention for the first time”

Rhaena doesn't know what to say.

“Is this your way of punishing us?” Baela continues, “Is this your way of punishing your family for exiling you to the Vale during the war since you were useless because you were not a dragon rider?”

Exiled to the Vale. Useless.

Baela’s words echo in her mind and her tears slide down her face, but she doesn't bother to hide them. Her eyes meet her sister's, but she only sees disappointment and anger in them. She wonders if Baela sees the pain she is causing her.

“Enough,” Aemond says, the soft tone of his voice not disguising the clear warning he conveys, “I do not want to hear another word from you. Leave the city, you have already extended your stay here for too long.”

Baela looks furious, but it is perhaps her survival instinct that makes her not respond. When Rhaena tries to approach her, however, her sister turns around and strides out of the room.

“Baela…”

Rhaena wants to go after her, but Aemond's arm on her elbow prevents her from doing so. Rhaena turns to him and looks at him still with tears in her eyes.

“You should not have told her those things,” she reproaches him.

“She should not have spoken to you that way,” he replies coldly.

Rhaena pulls out of his grasp and backs away as she shakes her head from side to side, “She is going to hate me now. She was so upset…she thinks…she…she thinks…”

“What difference does it make what your sister believes?”

“She is going to hate me!” she repeats, crying again, “And it is your fault.”

"My fault?"

“Yes, your fault!” Rhaena lets out a sob and tremors invade her body, “All because I tried to be nice to you, I explained it to her, but she does not believe me, she thinks I am a traitor and…” her ideas mix in her head, her mouth blurts out the first thing she thinks of. “I should hate you. I should hate you, I should feel sick every time you are near me."

"Oh yeah?"

“Yes, because it is all your fault,” Rhaena almost screams and approaches again, her eyes fixed on Aemond's, “Everything bad that's ever happened in my life is your fucking fault. You killed Lucerys, my betrothed. I was going to marry him, I was going to return home to Driftmark, to live close to the memories of my mother. I was going to be happy and you took this away from me. And you killed my grandmother and you even killed my father. You killed my father and now you take my future and join it to yours. Not counting the hundreds… or thousands of people you killed in the Riverlands. Innocent women and children. My sister is right, everyone is right… you are a kinslayer.”

Something changes in his expression when he hears her call him a kinslayer. His temper, under control until then, is unleashed and the latent rage that never quite goes away is released, “Yes, I am a kinslayer, and I enjoyed becoming one. Especially when I killed your father.”

“How can you be so heartless?”

“Heartless?” he hisses, grabbing her arms violently and shaking her, “It was not me who sent two murderers to kill a little boy. Your side likes to wallow in their false morals and forget about the crimes they committed. Tell me, Rhaena, as much as you like to mourn your loved ones, do you think I didn't feel the loss of mine? Do you think I didn't feel anything when I found out my nephew's head had been cut off?”

"That was…"

“Your father was a coward. He did not confront me, but rather he preferred to send two criminals to do his dirty work. Do you even know how they tormented my sister? Do you? Answer to me!"

“I don't know,” she answers honestly.

“They made my sister choose between her two children. And when she wanted to offer herself in their place, they threatened to assault my niece. And all under your father's orders. My sister had to live with the weight of her decision, of knowing that she chose one son to save another. That drove her crazy. I lost her at the same time as I lost Jaehaerys. And then when we lost little Maelor, she threw herself out the window. Do you know how that felt? To find out that my only sister threw herself from the tower until she fell on the stakes because she couldn't stand being alive anymore? My sister was innocent! Her children were innocent! Even so, Maelor was torn to pieces by the crowd because they all wanted to receive the reward that your queen placed on him. Did you know that, Rhaena? Do you still believe now that your side was the good and honorable one?”

Aemond releases her so violently that Rhaena stumbles and falls to her knees. The prince watches her for a few seconds before approaching her and offering his hand to stand up, but she rejects it, preferring to sit on the cold stone floor and hug her legs, hiding her face between her knees.

She doesn't know how much time passes, nor does she care. She just cries. She cries and thinks about everything Aemond just told her, her mind reliving every monstrous detail of the death of her cousin Helaena and nephews. And the Gods Eye. In her father flying over Caraxes, her father, a hard and cruel man. A…kinslayer. She feels sick. She feels… dirty. And she feels the nausea rise in her throat, but she breathes deeply until she manages to quell that feeling.

Finally, when she calms down, she lifts her face and is amazed to see that Aemond has sat down next to her, although at a safe distance. When her face seeks his, she seems to notice that he too has cried.

And although his face is a mask of coldness, Rhaena can see the tiredness and sadness in his eye. The same sadness that she had seen that afternoon at the orphanage in the city. The one that overwhelmed him every time he, surely, remembered his sister Helaena.

“I did not know the details of what happened to your sister and her children,” she says, her voice hoarse and weak, “I was angry and filled with indignation, of course, when I found out about Jaehaerys. It was not something Rhaenyra or anyone on Dragonstone wanted. By the time I found out that it was my father who gave the order, he had already left for Harrenhall without giving me the opportunity to confront him.”

As if you dared to do it, that voice inside her says, though Rhaena silences it immediately.

"That was the last time I saw him. I left for the Vale shortly after the attack on Rhaenyra and... the news I had of the war I heard through Lady Jeyne, who I believe was trying to protect me from the most grotesque and unpleasant details."

Aemond seems to consider her words for a long moment before simply nodding.

“Anyway, those crimes do not justify yours, not entirely,” she dares to say, “You hurt a lot of innocent people.”

“We were at war”

“A war that should never have started in the first place”

Aemond tilts his body towards her, “The throne was my brother's birthright.”

“And the king wanted his daughter to succeed him,” she replies, looking at him defiantly, “Does that count for nothing? Does the word of a king have no value?”

When he does not respond, she just sighs. After a few seconds, he finally speaks.

“I felt no pleasure in killing Lucerys. I lost my temper, I was impulsive and it was a mistake. I was sorry for what happened,” he admits.

Rhaena holds his gaze and, strangely, finds sincerity in his words, “And my grandmother?”

“We were at war,” he says again, “I had to protect my family. It was her or me."

And it ended up being her.

“About your father, I think I have already made my reasons clear.”

Rhaena nods, and bites her lip, contemplating whether she should continue. In the end she simply lets her heart speak, “He was not an easy man. Half the time I feel like I did not even know him. He and I didn't… I don't think we really connected. Daemon preferred to spend his time with Baela, teaching her to speak Valyrian and flying together. I was a…"

The girl leaves the idea in the air and shrugs her shoulders.

“My father did not have time for me either. In his mind, I am sure, he only had one daughter. My siblings and I never really counted. And even between them, I did not quite fit growing up. They had their dragons and I did not have Vhagar yet."

Rhaena agrees. She, too, had felt like an intruder among her family.

“That night in Driftmark I was so envious of you,” Rhaena admits.

“I did not steal from Vhagar.”

“No, not for your dragon,” she giggles, “For your mother. While the maester attended to you, Queen Alicent did not leave your side for a moment. And then she stood up for you and it became clear to everyone how much she loved you,” she smiles sadly, “I had just lost my mother. And I was alone, in a strange castle, and yes, in theory I had my grandparents, but it was the first time I had seen them and... I only wanted my mother. A hug from her, a caress, a word of encouragement. I saw you with the queen and that hurt a thousand times more than the fact that you claimed Vhagar."

 “Daemon…”

“He was there, yes, but he was more attentive to Rhaenyra's children than to me,” she recalls, “And then… once we returned to our rooms, he came to tend to Baela's wounds and I finally thought, ” she smiles, “He is finally here and he will comfort us and tell us that it was not our fault or that… I do not know, that everything was going to be okay, but instead he blamed me.”

“Why did he blame you?”

“He said it was my fault that you had claimed Vhagar. That, if I had been braver, I would have taken the opportunity to finally have a dragon.”

And that way the oldest beast of the Targaryen house would not have ended up in the hands of Hightower trash.

But she decides not to tell him that part.

Aemond just looks at her, as if he considers her words. Finally, he makes a face and speaks again.

“That night was one of the few that I felt my mother's loving touch. I know she cared about us, but it was not in her nature to show it with displays of affection. I was probably her favorite until before the war. When I became regent,” he tilts his head, “I felt that having her by my side was a weakness. And I had also disappointed and scared her after what happened in Storm's End. She looked at me with fear, as if she doubted me and I... I pushed her away. And then I disappointed her even more. Now she can barely look me in the eye or hold my hand. And it is now when I most seek her affection, her attention, but it is someone else who receives it."

“Daeron.”

“Yes, Daeron.”

“I noticed,” she finds herself saying, “It is obvious that you want to be her favorite again. Or maybe I just know what it is like to be in your position,” she shrugs, “The fact is, I have been using that desire of yours to cement my position here”

“Mmm,” he smiles sideways, “It is smart to use the advantages you have, which aren't too many.”

“I had to do something”

“Because, how did you say? I will soon take your future to join it to mine?”

“You cannot blame me for fearing being your wife,” she responds with her face up, facing him, “We have been in opposites side since the beginning, and I have heard terrible stories about what happens in the intimacy of couples.”

“Do not be afraid, cousin, I do not like to force women.”

“Can I trust you then?”

“Regarding what?”

“Regarding you won't mistreat me once I am your wife.”

“You have my word,” he says and adds, “If you trust it.”

“I trust you,” she replies.

And, for some strange reason, she is certain that it is true. That despite everything she knows and has seen of Aemond Targaryen, she trusts him to keep his word on that.

“How about a new deal, then? Or better yet, a truce."

"Truce?"

“Between both of us and with my sister too”

“She is annoying and she is also jealous of you. Baela resents everything you now have because she lost it.”

Rhaena ignores him and decides to think later on his words, “A truce, Aemond, to get along better. We will be one, in a way, in a few days. I really would like to at least be able to enjoy your company and have your friendship in this marriage.”

Rhaena extends her hand towards him and watches him consider her proposal. In the end, he takes her hand, the butterflies in her stomach reviving at his touch.

“Truce,” he nods.

And then he brings her hand up to his mouth and brushes his thin lips against her knuckles, causing a wave of pleasure inside her that makes her think that maybe he will get more out of her than a simple friendship.

Chapter Text

Aemond leaves first.

Having accepted her proposal for a truce, the prince is quick to rise and stand in a deft and graceful movement. Rhaena tries to do the same, but her knees feel sore after falling on them during their argument, so it takes her a little longer, but she eventually manages it too.

And, once they are both standing again, Aemond just nods in her direction and leaves the room, which Rhaena is grateful for, because truce or not, she needs space. She needs to think and clear her mind. She needs to calm her heart, still tormented by the fight with Baela.

She sighs and slowly walks out of the small hall, without any particular destination. Her twin probably fled to her room, so it is best not to go there. Not until she feels strong enough to face her sister. So Rhaena walks through the fortress, avoiding the main halls and corridors, instead walking through the corridors reserved for the servants and messengers who are clearly rushing from one place to another, all of whom are surprised to see her there. None of them, however, say anything to her. They simply greet her and go about their business, basically ignoring her. Which suits her just fine, because she cannot hold back her tears any longer. So, sitting on a windowsill, Rhaena cries. Her hands cover her face, but there is nothing she can do to hold back her sobs. Or to soothe the pain in her heart.

She had dreamed so much of her reunion with Baela. She had wished so many times to leave the Vale and go to Driftmark and see her sister again. But never in her fantasies had she imagined that she would speak to her with rage and disappointment. With so much indignation and reproaches. With so much pent-up resentment.

Did she say things that aren't true?

Rhaena wipes away her tears and bites her lip so hard that she ends up tasting the coppery taste of blood, shaking her head, even though there is no one around her. No. Baela is not entirely wrong, but things are not as she’s painted them either. Rhaena is not… she is not an opportunist looking to rise in society. She had not wanted any of this.

Standing up, Rhaena heads back toward the busiest parts of the palace. She needs to talk to someone. She needs to let out her feelings or she’ll continue to cry uncontrollably and drown in her thoughts.

“Where is Lady Westerling?” she asks a maid.

“In her chambers, my lady.”

Rhaena thanks her for the information and heads toward the wing of the castle that houses the highest-ranking nobles. She soon reaches her friend’s room and knocks on the door, hearing Marianne’s voice from inside asking her to come in.

“Rhaena? What are you doing here?”

Rhaena walks over to her friend, who is sitting on soft cushions directly under the sunlight streaming through her window, apparently working on some kind of ornament she has in her hands.

“What happened to you?” she asks with a gasp when she notices Rhaena’s expression.

“Do I look that bad?” she tries to smile. Her face must be a mess. Her bulging eyes tend to swell after crying.

“You look sad,” Marianne replies, pushing the object she was working on aside and taking Rhaena’s hand, who has sat next to her on the cushions, “Do you want to tell me?”

Rhaena nods. That is what she came for. To find a friendly shoulder, “Baela and I had a disagreement.”

“Oh,” Marianne squeezes her hand, “It must have been something serious for you to be in this condition.”

Once again, she agrees, “She accused me of betraying the… the memory of my family, I suppose.”

“Why would she say such a thing?” she asks, her expression clearly confused.

“Because she interrupted Aemond and I when we were alone in one of the halls.”

“Still, it seems like an exaggeration on her part.”

“I suppose, from her point of view, the situation seemed more… intimate,” Rhaena blushes at the admission, “We were… I suppose we were very close to each other and it seemed as if he…”

Rhaena tries not to flinch at the memory of his light touch on her throat, though her hands instinctively close around the butterfly pendant. Marianne follows suit, her eyes seeming to light up with the glint of understanding.

“It was nothing, not really,” Rhaena continues, “But Baela has the impression that I harbor… I don’t know… feelings or something similar toward Aemond.”

“And is she right?”

Her friend looks her straight in the eyes, waiting for her answer. Rhaena considers her question. Her mouth wants to say a resounding “no,” but her mind seems to have doubts.

“No, of course not,” she says finally, though her voice cracks, “You know I am only friendly with him out of convenience. And Baela knows it too, she just does not like the idea, she thinks it will not do any good and that I am a traitor for even speaking to him or saying his name.”

Marianne remains silent for a moment and frowns, “There would be nothing wrong with it if your feelings changed.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am not blind, Rhaena,” she replies with a sideways smile, “Certainly whatever the prince felt for you seems to have… transformed.”

“No, no, Marianne, surely you are not implying that he could…”

“I am not implying anything,” she tells her, “I am just stating what I observe. At first, the prince seemed very irritated whenever he saw you, clearly resentful of your presence. Like when he invited you to that dinner at the Tower of the Hand and was terribly rude. And after everything you told me, I was afraid he might be cruel to you. But now… there is something new in the way the two of you interact when you are together. I noticed it at Lady Blackwood’s dinner. Also, it is clear that Prince Aemond is looking for you more often now. I caught him staring at you several times these past days.”

“You are imagining things,” she replies, her face flushing.

“Am I?” she shrugs.

Rhaena feels the weight of her gaze and thinks about her friend’s words.

“We get along better, yes, but that is mainly because I try hard to tolerate him than because he is… I don’t know…” her mind goes blank momentarily, “I do not have feelings for him. I could not possibly have feelings for him, there is too much bad blood between us and…” she shrugs, “Most of the time he just infuriates me. He is arrogant, controlling, and has no sense of humor.”

Liar.

“I saw you two laughing during that last dinner.”

“Yeah, well, just an isolated incident,” she asserts, “Aemond is…”

Smart. He takes your suggestions into account and trusts in your abilities. Plus, he defended you from your sister.

“Seven hells. This should not be happening,” she ends up whispering, “I should not be feeling whatever it is I am starting to feel.”

Rhaena drops down and lays on her friend’s lap, Marianne’s hand stroking her hair, comforting her, “As I said, I do not think what you feel is wrong. The prince will be your husband in a few days and perhaps this is your chance to build something good with him.”

“But he is my enemy,” she retorts, “I should not even consider the idea.”

“And you did not, it was others who put you in this situation. And as you said, you should try to make the most of it. Does it change anything if, in the process, you find peace and happiness?”

Rhaena shudders at the possibility, “With Aemond?”

“You are both Targaryen, it is in your blood, is it not?”

“You know well that is not the only impediment.”

Marianne sighs and they both remain silent for a few minutes.

“I should go find my sister and make peace with her.”

“Surely she is eager to do the same.”

“I hope so,” she says fervently, pushing herself up to a sitting position again, “I would not want her to leave Kings Landing without having this resolved first.”

“She will understand your reasons,” her lady-in-waiting tries to soothe her, “She is your sister and she loves you, that is obvious, Baela will not want you to spend the rest of your days bitter and trapped in a hate-filled marriage.”

Rhaena bites her lip, but nods, “I hope she sees it that way too.” Except there are the other things Baela had said. And unable to contain herself, Rhaena continues, “She accused me of wanting attention all the time and feeling superior for being friends with most of the ladies at Court.”

“That is not fair!” Marianne looks indignant, “You are not doing such things.”

“She was angry,” Rhaena retorts.

“She should not have said that to you, anyway. If the ladies like you, it is because you are charismatic and a good person, Rhaena. Besides, you are funny, clever and graceful. And you will be the future princess of the Court, it is only normal that you receive praise and attract attention. Not because you seek it, but because it is what you deserve.”

“Aemond said… Aemond said my sister resents all these things because she lost them. She should have been the crown princess and reigned alongside Jace. And she lost her dragon too. Now I am here at court with a new position, and I have my dragon beside me.”

Marianne frowns, “I suppose it must be hard for Baela, when you put it that way, but it does not justify her words. You grew up without a dragon, did you envy her for it? Were you cruel to your sister?”

“No, never,” she replies, “Though there was some misgiving and envy. Perhaps a lot,” she admits, “I wanted my father to notice me too. I wanted to have something to contribute to Rhaenyra’s cause.”

“Still, you were never mean. You never acted on those feelings. So, you do not deserve to be the object of your sister’s bitterness now that she is in your place.”

Marianne’s words fill her heart with relief, though it hurts at the same time to think that her sister could actually feel such dark emotions inside. Rhaena prefers to believe that everything Baela said was out of anger at the moment. It is better to think that way.

“I think I’d better go see her. I won’t have that much time once the tournament starts.”

“Of course”

Rhaena is about to stand up when her gaze catches the object Marianne had been working on before she was interrupted.

“What is it?” she asks.

“My favor,” she admits taking the token, a headband made of delicate little flowers, and showing it to her friend.

“It is blue,” Rhaena answers, examining the elaborate work, “It is not the color of your house.”

“No, but it is the color of Tessarion’s wings.”

Her friend blushes and Rhaena suppresses her smile. “It is beautiful. And appropriate,” she replies, handing her the ornament, “Daeron is going to love the color.”

“If he asks for my favor.”

“When he asks for your favor.”

***

Rhaena returns to her room and finds it empty.

Where is her sister? She cannot be gone, can she? Aemond had technically expelled her, but she would not leave without saying goodbye.

With a heavy heart, Rhaena goes to the closets and exhales a breath when she finds all of her sister’s belongings there.

More relieved, she drops onto the bed and closes her eyes. Her body feels strangely heavy and her limbs do not respond when she tries to move them. She just needs to rest for a minute. Just a minute and then she’ll go after Baela. But when consciousness returns to her and she opens her eyes, the room is pitch black.

“Baela?” she whispers into the darkness

“I am here”

Her sister’s figure steps out of the shadows until she comes into her field of vision and sits on the edge of the bed.

“Where were you?” she asks hoarsely

“Walking around the keep. I needed to think.”

“Yes, me too,” Rhaena nods, “Are you still mad at me?”

Her sister gives her a sad smile, “No, of course not. Are you mad at me? I said some very harsh things, I regret losing my temper and accusing you of being disloyal.”

Rhaena moves closer to her sister, “I do not want us to fight anymore. Please,” she asks softly, caressing her twin’s hands, “You are all I have in the world.”

Baela nods, a tear rolling down her cheek and she quickly wipes it away, “I agree with that. We must stay together at all times,” she brings their foreheads together, “Forgive me, Rhae, this place brings back unpleasant memories and feelings.”

“I know, but…”

“That is why it is best for me to leave,” she interrupts her

“What?” Rhaena pulls away from her sister, “No, no, you cannot leave. The wedding is in just a few days and I need you here.”

“Do you really need me?”

“Baela, please, of course I need you,” Rhaena looks at her, confused, “I asked Aemond to bring you here early because I miss you every day and I need you by my side.”

Her sister grimaces at the mention of the prince, “Your betrothed ordered me to leave anyway.”

“That was out of line. He cannot do that and besides, he already agreed that you must stay here,” she clarifies.

“Oh, did he? Do I want to know how you managed that?”

Her sister’s voice has a distinctly accusatory tone. Rhaena’s stomach clenches in nerves, but at the same time, part of her mind experiences frustration.

“Do not make this any harder, Baela. Take my words, I explained to you that it is better to…”

“Yes, yes, I know all that. And you are right,” she admits, interrupting her again, “But do not ask me to stay here to witness it. It makes me physically ill to think of seeing you enter the sept and say the oaths. I thought I could bear it, but I cannot. I’d better go back to Driftmark and not ruin what you have built here.”

“You will leave me alone then.”

“Alyn will be here in the morrow. He will be the representative of House Velaryon at the wedding and he will help you.”

“But I do not know him.”

“He is kind and knows how important you are to me, he knows well that he must support you at all times. He will enter the sept with you and, whatever you need, anything, he will be able to help you. We can trust him”

“I do not care for Alyn, I wanted you to be with me,” she says in a sad voice

“Look, Rhae, you were right. Acting like none of this bothers you is the best action course you can take for now,” her sister takes her hands, “I have been thinking and it is good that we have you in a position of influence and power in Court. So, continue with what you have been doing so far.”

“I already told you that I do not do any of this in order to have power.”

“You have it anyway,” she shrugs, “Stack it up because the time will come when we will need it. We have allies and more will join us, but for now, we must be careful.”

“I do not like what you are implying.”

“Do not worry about it now. I will not involve you in anything yet,” Baela denies, “It will be better this way. Just… be careful. And protect your heart.”

“Baela…”

“He will give you attention, maybe he will be sweet and protective of you, I do not know, but you cannot let it become real. Promise me”

“Promise you what?”

“That it will all be a farce. That you won’t fall in love with him. That you will be careful not to give him your heart,” she explains, “You are fragile because you are sweet and think everyone has honorable intentions, but the world is not like that. Men only want…”

“I know what men want,” she interrupts, “I may not have your knowledge, but I am not a fool.”

Baela smiles. A smile that reminds her a lot of their father’s. Rhaena sighs and hugs herself.

“Promise me, Rhaena. Let me go in peace at least in that respect.”

Baela fixes her eyes on her, her gaze anxious and there is clear concern in them. If making that promise will put her at ease, then she will do it without any problem. Besides, she is not in any danger of falling in love with Aemond. Not really.

“I promise”

Baela sighs, relieved and hugs her.

“I love you, Rhae, never doubt that.”

Then, she leaves her side and calls a maid to help them get ready for the night.

***

Four gold cloaks and two white cloaks form part of the procession that accompanies them to the docks.

As the carriage makes its way through the increasingly crowded streets, Rhaena can't take her eyes off her sister. Baela, for her part, looks through the curtains at the bustle of the city, seemingly indifferent to the fact that in a few minutes they will be going their separate ways again. The thought tightens her heart.

“The city seems more orderly than the last time we were here.”

Rhaena does not answer, and Baela does not press any further, although she does occasionally make a random comment. Until they stop by the dock and one of the guards helps them off.

“What ship is Alyn supposed to arrive on?” she asks as they follow one of the stevedores.

“The Queen Rhaenys, I assume,” she replies as she adjusts her cloak. Despite the sun, the morning is very cold, “I will take the Lady Baela back home.”

“Did he name a ship after you?”

“It seemed appropriate,” she replies with a shrug, but a smirk, “I hope you can visit me sometime. I know it is unlikely, but I would like to.”

“Maybe later.”

The Lady Baela is a huge, clearly new galley. Rhaena does not know much about ships, but one look at it is enough to tell how ostentatious it is.

“I would like some privacy to say goodbye to my sister,” Baela asks the guards following close behind.

The men seem to hesitate for a moment, but considering that the ship is still firmly tied to the dock and that the only other option for them to escape would be to jump into the sea, they relent.

Once they are a safe distance away from them, the playful smile Baela has been sporting all morning fades and her face becomes serious again. “We do not have much time, so listen carefully,” she asks, “One of your maids will bring you moon tea in due time and whenever the kinslayer summons you to his chambers. If you need more, just ask.”

“What?”

“Moon tea, Rhaena, is the tea to avoid…”

“I know what it is,” she cuts her off, looking at her in shock, “What I do not understand is why or… how you’ll get someone to get it to me.”

“I have told you, we have allies,” she replies, “Just drink it and do not let his seed settle inside you. You cannot give him a child.”

Her words sound harsh and her eyes bore into Rhaena’s, making her insides turn.

“I do not know if…”

“It is vital that you avoid giving him a child at all costs, Rhaena. You know that as well as I do.”

“But they will want to get rid of me if I don’t…”

“No, no, believe me, we are close to finding… just trust me. We will be okay,” Baela hugs her tightly.

“Do not go, Baela,” she asks one last time, even though she knows it is useless.

“I have to,” she replies, breaking the hug, “Alyn will assist you in whatever you need. Now you just have to focus on keeping up the farce. I have been doing some research and apparently the kinslayer does not enjoy being violent with women. I learned that he frequents a pleasure house on the Street of Silk, but they were all very secretive, the only thing I managed to find out was that he always visits the same woman.”

Rhaena tries to remain impassive at that information, although her heart is beating fast and a lump form in her throat.

“Maybe it is not all that horrible for you,” her sister ends up saying and her expression becomes one of sadness, “Hold on a little, Rhae, I will come back for you.”

She does not quite know what that means or what she wants to say, and she does not intend to find out either. She just nods and gives her one last hug before watching her leave. Rhaena remains on the dock until her sister boards the galley and waves her goodbye from the bow as the men cut the lines and are lost at sea.

Even when the ship is barely a dot on the horizon, she does not move. Her mind is frozen, repeating the information she’s just received. Does Aemond make a habit of visiting a brothel? Does he have another mistress there? A new Alys Rivers?

For what other purpose do men go to brothels?

The idea disgusts her and also fills her with rage. How dare he? Does he have no regard for his betrothed? For her?

“It is time to return to the castle, Lady Rhaena,” one of the royal guards says

She nods once more and returns to the carriage.

Perhaps your sister only said that to play with your mind, she thinks. Perhaps she is just looking to harden your heart towards Aemond.

Hadn’t Marianne told her that there were no rumors at Court about Aemond’s habits?

Even if there were, didn’t you say a while ago that it is only normal for a man to have lovers? Why would it bother you now that Aemond had them too?

Rhaena crosses her arms, frustrated and angry with herself.

“It does not matter,” she says quietly to herself, “Baela did not tell you anything you did not already know. Not really.”

But even though she tries to rationalize her feelings, the bitterness inside her only grows and hurts.

***

Aemond fiddles with the marble sphere as he listens to the Master of Coin.

“The tents are set, the horses ready, and the arena prepared for tomorrow’s tourney,” Lannister says, “Over fifty knights entered for the jousts and nearly forty for the melee.”

“All surely seeking glory,” Lord Hayford comments.

“And the golden dragons that the victors will get.”

Aemond nods. “What about the mood in the city?”

“The city?” Tyland Lannister seems taken aback by his question.

“Yes, Lannister, the city. What do the common people think of the tourney?” the prince asks again.

“Well, my prince…” the man looks at the others on the council.

“The city is clean and tidy, my prince” it is Criston Cole who comments, “We have doubled security so that the wedding guests can move around without fear. There have been no disturbances detected in the last few days. The inns are full, the taverns sell more ale than ever, and the blacksmiths have almost as much work as during the war. The people benefit from the presence of the nobles and their men in the capital.”

“Good,” Aemond sets the sphere back down, “Lady Rhaena had the idea of ​​distributing part of the royal banquet for the people. An idea I approved of, so I will leave it to you, Cole, to ensure that the delivery of the food is peaceful and that they are satisfied.”

“Of course, my prince,” his master-at-arms says immediately.

“It is a… a noble intention of Lady Rhaena,” Tyland Lannister looks curiously at Aemond, “One more way to please the people.”

“Indeed, Lord Lannister,” he states, “Anything else?”

“The last gifts from the North arrived a few hours ago,” Maester Orwyle says, “Lord Stark regrets that he could not come, but he renews his oath of loyalty to the Iron Throne and King Aegon. And also…”

“Also?” Aemond stares at him intently.

“Gifts arrived from Pentos,” the maester shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

“I do not recall extending an invitation to the Free Cities,” Aemond frowns.

“We did not, my prince,” Lannister assures, “Our agreement with them ended when the Triarchy became engulfed in its civil war. Once again.”

“The Prince’s message said that he is pleased that the new princess is a daughter of Pentos.”

“Mmm,” Aemond stands and paces slowly around the long table. He tends to forget the fact that Rhaena was born in the Free Cities.

“It would not hurt to cultivate this relationship with Pentos,” Lannister says, “The city prospered greatly in recent years. It might be useful in brokering some agreement to keep the pirates at bay.”

“I will think about that,” Aemond finishes, “Anything else?”

“Lord Alyn Velaryon has requested an audience with the small council”

“Is he here already?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

“He is currently waiting outside for you to let him in, my prince” Hayford nods.

What could Velaryon possibly want with the council? Aemond wonders. They do not have much in common. After the war his house remained loyal, staying out of the politics of the Seven Kingdoms and contributing what was agreed upon on time. There had been no new conflicts in the Stepstones either, so what was the bastard doing here?

“Let us hear from Lord Velaryon then.”

The guards open the double doors and a young man, whom the prince has only met a few times, enters. Alyn Velaryon, heir to Driftmark, strides forward to the chair at the end of the table and bows. Aemond notices his fine clothing, embroidered with seahorses. Unlike the last time they had met, the man now looked like a true noble. He even had the confidence of one.

No one would guess that he was a bastard, he thinks.

“My prince, my lords,” Velaryon greets

“Lord Alyn,” Aemond replies, “You requested an audience with the royal council.”

“Indeed, Prince Aemond. I know we all have important matters to attend, so I will be brief. I wish to marry.”

“That is fitting given your position, Lord Alyn,” Tyland interjects, “Surely you know that you do not need royal permission to do so.”

“I thought it only right to request one considering I plan to marry Lady Baela.”

There is a moment of silence among those present.

“Taking my cousin Baela as a wife? How convenient,” Aemond says, his good eye fixed on Alyn.

“I feel the same, my prince,” the man nods, “Lord Corlys wished me to care for Baela. It seems to me that taking her as a wife is the best way to ensure her well-being. Besides, she is a Velaryon as well. Surely, my prince, you understand as well as I do the importance of keeping Valyrian blood and traditions alive.”

Aemond does not respond immediately, only stares at him.

“You did well to seek royal approval,” he says finally, “Baela is a Targaryen. I will raise this matter with the king and then give you his answer.”

“Of course, my prince. I hope the king and this council remember that House Velaryon is an ally of the Throne.”

With a bow, Alyn leaves the room. Grand Maester Orwyle speaks. “Would it be wise to allow them to marry?”

“We should have foreseen this,” Lord Hayford comments, “No one is more suitable than Lady Baela to be the new Lady of Driftmark.”

“What we must consider are the possible repercussions if Lady Baela has a child. There would be those who would consider the child as a possible heir to the throne.”

“Who would dare?” Aemond asks, annoyed, “Such a possible child would be just another distant relative.”

Everyone shifts uncomfortably in their seats. Aemond knows what they want to tell him, but no one seems to dare for a moment. Not until Lord Lannister speaks.

“You know, my prince, that some lords bent the knee because they had no other choice. A child of the blood of Prince Daemon, grandson of King Jaehaerys, could cause… confusion.”

“Ridiculous,” he mutters.

“Unless you and Lady Rhaena produce an heir first,” Lannister continues, “A child between the two of you would have more legitimacy, his claim would be greater, and it would quell any…”

“Confusion?” finishes for him.

“Indeed, my prince,” Tyland nods.

Aemond fiddles with the dagger at his waist.

“I will speak to my brother. Until then, you are excused”

***

His mother is waiting for him in his private parlor in the Tower of the Hand.

“I did not know you were coming here,” Aemond says, “I would have hurried if I knew you were expecting me.”

“It is fine, Aemond. I thought we could go to the banquet together.”

Aemond just nods and approaches his mother, offering her his arm, which she takes. As they walk forward, however, the prince cannot help but wonder why his mother has suddenly decided to come looking for him. Did she wish for his company? The thought gives him a hint of satisfaction.

“I hear Lady Baela has already returned to Driftmark.”

Aemond nods, “She decided to cut her stay in the capital short.”

He does not plan on telling his mother about the altercation with Rhaena. It is best to keep it between the three of them.

“It is probably for the best,” Alicent replies.

On that I agree, Aemond thinks. He had been relieved at the news of Baela’s departure. He did not like the version his betrothed portrayed when she was around her twin.

“Alyn Velaryon asked for permission to marry her.”

“What?” Alicent gasps, stopping and causing her son to stop as well, “You cannot grant it to her.”

“I see no reason not to do so,” he replies, “Technically they are our allies, and he could marry her without royal permission.”

“I do not like it,” the dowager queen replies, “It bodes ill right now. It reminds me… it reminds me of the start of the war.”

Aemond gently strokes his mother’s forearm, pleased that she does not pull away from his touch, “Fear not, mother. Rhaena and I will do what is expected of us.”

At his words, Alicent raises her face towards him and seems to search for something in her son, “You seem more resigned to your future these days.”

“I understand the sacrifice expected of me.”

“And the importance of such a sacrifice.”

“Of course.”

“Good,” she sighs, squeezing Aemond’s free hand, “It is expected of all of us.”

Without another word, they advance into the royal hall, where the banquet welcoming the nobles invited to the wedding is about to begin.

The dowager queen immediately releases her son and takes up her role as hostess, greeting men and women with a cordial smile.

Aemond walks to the head table and looks for Rhaena, finally finding her standing next to a small group of giggling ladies.

Without thinking too much, he walks toward them, simply nodding to those who stop to curtsy for him.

“Lady Rhaena,” he calls as he approaches the group of women.

She turns at the sound of her name, her violet eyes locking onto him and a good-natured smile appearing on her face.

“My prince,” she greets

“A few words, cousin.”

She frowns, but nods, excusing herself to her companions and approaching Aemond.

The prince takes those few seconds to examine her appearance. Her petite figure looks elegant in a tight red dress with black detailing that accentuates her cleavage. His good eye lingers a little longer than necessary on the rise of her breasts before moving up to her face. Is it his impression or do her lips look more rosy tonight? And her perfume… her perfume overwhelms him when she is finally at his side.

“Well, cousin?”

There is a hint of annoyance in her voice and the way she is looking at him tonight. Aemond feels curiosity rising within him, “You seem angry.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, “Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“I thought you enjoyed these kinds of events,” he retorts, “What is bothering you?”

“I do not know what makes you think something is bothering me,” she replies, trying to mask her clear annoyance, which amuses him. Aemond smirks and she narrows her eyes, “Why are you smiling?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Rhaena sighs and bites her lip, which distracts him for a few seconds, his gaze landing on her lips and causing that increasingly familiar feeling of desire he feels when he is in the company of his cousin.

“If that is all, I will rather go back to the ladies.”

“Were you aware that your sister plans to marry Alyn Velaryon?”

The question leaves his lips when he sees her back turned.

“What?” Rhaena turns back to him. From the look on her face, she clearly did not know either.

“What you heard. Your cousin Alyn asked the king’s permission to marry your sister.”

“Baela never mentioned,” she frowns, confused, “No, it cannot be true. My sister would have told me something”

“If they marry, it puts more pressure on us.”

“How so?”

Aemond does not explain his reasons because a voice interrupts them.

“Lady Rhaena.”

They both turn at once and are met by the figure of a tall man with light brown hair who is wearing a doublet with designs of three ravens holding hearts. Aemond does not recognize the emblem or the man, but clearly she does.

 “¡Corwyn!”

The prince watches a smile spread across Rhaena’s face. A genuine smile, not the forced smiles she reserves for him. Anger builds within him as she closes the distance between them, approaching the stranger and embracing him.

When he whispers something in Rhaena’s ear, his blood boils and his hand goes straight for his dagger. Who is this man who has such familiarity with Rhaena? Aemond glares at them both and she probably senses his scrutiny because she breaks the embrace and immediately steps away from him, moving her face between the prince and the stranger.

“Aemond, this is… this is Ser Corwyn Corbray, an old friend from the Vale,” Rhaena says.

“My prince,” the man greets in a respectful tone.

“Ser Corwyn, this is Aemond Targaryen, my cousin and…”

“Her betrothed,” Aemond states.

Chapter Text

“Ser Corwyn, this is Aemond Targaryen, my cousin and…”

“Her betrothed,” Aemond states.

A moment of silence follows Aemond’s statement, and he continues to glare at Corwyn.

“You are a very fortunate man, my prince.”

“Am I?” he asks in a false tone of interest.

“Indeed. To marry Lady Rhaena is a great privilege.”

Rhaena feels her cheeks flush at Corwyn’s words and looks down for a moment, then offers him a hesitant but kind smile. Beside her, Aemond makes a slight noise of displeasure and the girl has the impression that the prince looks tense and uncomfortable with the conversation.

“I uh… I did not know you were coming to the capital,” Rhaena interjects, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

“I admit it was almost a last-minute trip,” he nods, “The tournament being held in honor of your wedding ultimately tipped my decision to make the journey to King’s Landing.”

“Surely you do not intend to participate,” Rhaena comments, “It will be dangerous.”

Aemond feels a surge of hatred as he notices the girl’s worried eyes fixed on Corbray.

“Fear not, Lady Rhaena, I will be fine,” he assures her.

Corbray dares to take his betrothed’s hand and squeeze her fingers in comfort. And though Rhaena instantly breaks contact, her gaze shifting to the prince, Aemond is still tempted to take the dagger from his belt and…

“Jousting or hand-to-hand combat?” he ends up asking, interrupting his train of thought.

“Hand-to-hand combat.”

“Mmm,” Aemond nods, looking the man up and down, noting his bearing and build, wondering if he is any good with a sword.

“We second sons should seek glory however we can, don’t you agree, my prince?”

Aemond does not answer, though he finds his question bold.

“I think we should all take our seats,” Rhaena interjects, “The banquet is about to begin.”

“Of course,” Corbray agrees, “Lady Rhaena, my prince.”

After bowing, he leaves the two of them alone. Rhaena meets his gaze for a moment, but Aemond simply turns his face in the other direction and heads to the head table.

They are once again seated side by side. Two servants fill their wine glasses and Aemond takes a few sips. Rhaena, beside him, seems to shift nervously in her chair, her eyes scanning the room. Is she looking for someone? Aemond follows the direction of her gaze, his hands balling into fists as he realizes it is Corwyn Corbray she is looking at.

“Stop looking at him,” he hisses, furious.

Rhaena turns and looks at him in clear shock, “A whom?”

“You know who I talk about,” he replies and tries to mimic her tone from earlier, “An old friend from the Vale”

“If you mean Ser Corwyn…”

“Mmm is it Ser Corwyn now? You did not bother using his title earlier.”

Rhaena frowns and tries to take a deep breath to calm herself.

“Why are you being so insistent about this?” she asks

“Why did you have to hug him?” he asks in turn, “I thought you had more decorum than your sister. Clearly her habits seem to have rubbed off on you in these few days you spent at her side. Or were you already showing him that trust and familiarity while you were living in the Eyrie”

“I do not like what you are implying, my prince,” she retorts, furious.

“I do not like for my betrothed to display inappropriate behavior.”

Rhaena’s response is cut short as Alicent stands up to give the welcoming speech. Her expression changes, softening as suddenly everyone’s eyes are focused on them.

His mother offers the usual words of courtesy and gives a short speech about the new beginning his marriage to Rhaena represents for House Targaryen. The dowager queen’s words echo in his mind. Three days. Three more days and he will enter the sept with Rhaena.

His gaze drifts to the girl beside him, but now that everyone is focused on their food, she ignores him as well and fills her plate with slices of stewed duck. Aemond, having lost his appetite, watches her cut more furiously than necessary into her meat. The look of clear anger on her face stirs something inside him, but at the same time, pleases him.

The music begins to play once the desserts have been served. Aemond drinks some more wine and subtly turns his chair towards Rhaena, just as she stands up.

“Where are you going?” he wants to know.

“This is a celebration,” she says, her voice oddly calm, “Surely you do not expect me to just sit here the entire time?”

“Will you go after him?”

“I will go find Marianne.”

“I hope I do not see you dancing with Corbray,” he can’t help but say, the anger inside him fueling his impulsiveness

“I will dance with whomever I wish,” she retorts, finally looking at him

“That is an order, Rhaena, do not defy me,” he almost growls

“We are not married yet,” she smirks, “So I do not owe you obedience.”

“I mean it, I do not want to see you dancing with Corbray,” his hand closes on Rhaena’s wrist, though without hurting her.

“Do something about it then, if it bothers you so much.”

Their eyes meet for a moment, the challenge clear in Rhaena's violet ones. Aemond, however, does nothing, eventually releasing his grip and she takes the opportunity to get away from him.

***

“Did you and the prince fight?”

Rhaena brings her wine glass to her lips, “What makes you think that?”

“He keeps looking in your direction and seems… annoyed.”

She shrugs, “Nothing happened, he just did not like me greeting an old friend.”

“Who?” Marianne asks

“Corwyn Corbray.”

Her lady gasps, “Your suitor from the Vale?”

“Shhh, Marianne, do not say that,” Rhaena asks, looking around to see if anyone overheard her friend, though everyone seems busy with their conversations, “Corwyn is just my friend.”

“Yeah, right,” she nods, an amused smirk playing on her lips, “Where is he? I want to see if he is as handsome as his older brother. Wait, did his presence here upset the prince? Did you tell him about Corwyn?”

“There is nothing to tell,” she answers, shaking her head, “Who knows what put Aemond in such a bad mood. That is simply his way.”

“I do not think so,” Marianne clicks her tongue, her honey eyes sparkling with amusement, “He is probably jealous.”

“That is nonsense,” Rhaena retorts.

Aemond could not be jealous, she thinks. Still, the idea that he might be, ironically satisfies her.

“It is only my opinion,” her friend bites into her lemon muffin, “But erm… would the prince have reasons to be?”

Marianne waits anxiously for her answer, and Rhaena considers her question. What had it felt like to see Corwyn again? His presence had surprised and delighted her at the same time, but that was all. They were just friends. There was nothing more, no hidden feelings. Right?

“Perhaps it would be best if we talked more calmly in the morrow,” she replies, “I have much to tell you.”

“Oh Rhaena, do not do this to me! You cannot just say something like that and expect me to wait…”

“I am sorry to interrupt, my ladies.”

Both of them turn to face Daeron, who greets them cordially.

“Lady Marianne, allow me to take Rhaena away from your company for a moment.”

“Yes, yes, of course, my prince,” her lady readily agrees.

“Cousin, shall we?”

Daeron offers his arm and they walk together to the dance floor, where several couples are already moving to the music.

“May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“My brother seems particularly offended by something tonight, does that have anything to do with you?”

Rhaena rolls her eyes, “Have you and Marianne being talking about this?” she asks in turn before explaining, “She said basically the same thing.”

“Ah! I see I am not the only one who came to that conclusion,” Daeron smiles charmingly

“I do not know why you both think so. Your brother almost always seems offended or upset.”

To Rhaena’s surprise, Daeron’s face saddens, “Be patient with him.”

“More than I’ve had?”

“I know my brother is sometimes not easy to deal with,” he ignores her question, “But now that you are so close to being his wife, I cannot help but advocate for him. Aemond seems like a cold, hard fortress, but he was not always like that. There is a lot of pain in his past.”

“Daeron, I…”

“I know that is no excuse,” he quickly says, “But his childhood was not easy. Our parents did not pay him enough attention, Aegon was not kind to him, and Helaena…” he sighs, “Just keep that in mind. Growing up here may seem like a privilege to many, but the Keep is actually a gilded cage.”

As if I didn’t know that, she thinks bitterly.

“I heard your sister returned to Driftmark,” Daeron says, changing the subject

“Yes, yes, she had to leave before the wedding. Baela had… some business to attend to and…” Rhaena makes a vague gesture with her hand

“I understand,” Daeron nods, “I could tell your sister did not seem too comfortable here. I imagine it must not be easy for her to accept the union between you and Aemond.”

“She was quite upset,” she admits

“I am sorry you could not spend more time with her,” he says sincerely

“As am I, but I think Baela would be happier in Driftmark than being forced to be here. So…” She doesn’t elaborate and he doesn’t ask. A pang of unease settles inside her at the thought of her twin, but she ignores it. This isn’t the time for that. She can write to her later, demanding answers about her supposed marriage plans, “Will I see you tomorrow at the jousts?”

“You can count on that,” he smirks.

“I should not have favorites, but I will be cheering you on.”

“Thank you, cousin,” the prince kisses her hand just as the music ends, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will go secure a lady’s favor.”

Rhaena nods and watches him fade into the crowd. She fails to see, however, if he is going in Marianne’s direction because Corwyn’s voice calling her name distracts her. When she turns to him, she sees that he has his arm extended towards her, clearly asking to be his dance partner.

There is a moment of hesitation, but Rhaena finally takes the arm Corwyn offers her.

Part of her knows she should not have agreed to be his dance partner. She knows the best thing to do would be to simply not upset Aemond and find an excuse to reject Corwyn. It is the most logical thing to do, considering he holds all the power in their relationship.

But we supposedly have a truce, she thinks, and he is not honoring it.

Besides, there is that part of her that wants to provoke him. That rebellious side that enjoys defying him and that she has suppressed enough.

“You look very beautiful tonight, Rhaena.”

Corwyn’s praise brings her back to the immediacy of the ball. Her cheeks flush again and she does not really know what to say.

“I miss our days in the Vale,” he continues.

“So do I,” Rhaena admits.

“Your departure was so sudden.”

“I am sorry I could not say goodbye properly,” she says quickly, “But my presence was required here. I hope Lady Jeyne explained that to you.”

Corwyn nods, “Yes, she did.”

For a moment they simply dance, following the rhythm and choreography of the group. Rhaena dares to relax, smile, and enjoy the music. Corwyn brings her up to date on the affairs of the Vale, telling her about old acquaintances, about Lady Jeyne’s son, and the hunting parties.

“You stopped writing,” there is reproach in his tone of voice.

“I was not in a position to do so,” Rhaena replies, “Here… well, you know I am going to marry Prince Aemond.”

“I know and I am sorry,” his handsome face twists into a bitter grimace, “I am sorry for a lot of things, actually.”

Rhaena knows better than to encourage this conversation, knows she should not ask, but she eventually does.

“What things?” she asks finally.

“Not being able to dance with you that night in the Vale” he says, his hand taking hers and twirling it to the music, “I am sorry I could not do anything to get you out of here. I am sorry you have to be with the people who hurt you so much.”

“That is in the past,” she says quickly and swallows, “They are my… they are my family and I am quite well here.”

“Are you really? Are they treating you properly?”

“Yes, of course they are. It is all very different from the Vale, but I am happy. I have friends and things to do and my duty. I have a duty to fulfill.”

There is a moment of tense silence, where they just look at each other. Corwyn’s hand caresses hers, his fingers brushing the inside of her palm. Rhaena shivers.

“I am sorry most of all that I let too much time pass instead of simply confess what I felt. Letting you go will be the biggest mistake I ever made.”

“Corwyn, please…”

“I know, I know,” he says, nodding, but looking at her with pleading eyes, “I know this is not appropriate talk for a lady. I do not wish to offend you, believe me, but I need to know if you ever felt the same. Or if you still feel that way.”

“Corwyn I… I am getting married in a few days,” she answers, trying to sound firm.

“That does not answer my question.”

Thankfully, the music stops and Rhaena breaks free from his hold, suddenly overwhelmed by the conversation, by his questions, and by the situation.

“I will see you later,” she says, bowing politely and leaving the room.

***

“If it bothers you so much, you could just go over there and dance with her instead.”

Daeron takes the free seat next to him. Aemond tilts his head so he can see him.

“Mind your own business.”

His brother simply smiles, “I was merely offering a suggestion, brother.”

“Your suggestions are not required.”

Daeron lets out a cheeky chuckle, but Aemond just clicks his tongue and turns his attention back to Rhaena, who continues to dance with Corbray. Had his order not been made clear to her? Or did she really expect him to go over there and separate them himself? He would not give her that satisfaction. He would not stoop to that point, no matter how furious he felt at the sight of her twirling around him, smiling at him and whispering in his ear. Openly flirting. Openly dishonoring him.

“Who is he, anyway?” Daeron asks, taking some grapes from the fruit platter placed on the table

“Corwyn Corbray”

“Corbray,” the young prince looks thoughtful, “I met a Corbray when I came to the Keep. They are a noble house of the Vale, aren’t they?”

“Noble and ancient, but poor. Besides, Rhaena is way above his station. He is but a second son with no titles or possessions.”

Daeron raises his eyebrows in his direction, “How bold of him to dance with our future princess!” he comments, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Aemond rolls his good eye, “You know what I mean.”

“Indeed, brother, and thanks to the gods, our cousin Rhaena has you, prince and hand of the king, to save her from the misfortune of an inadequate marriage”

“Mmm,” Aemond makes a small noise with his lips and turns to his brother, though out of the corner of his eye he continues to watch his betrothed, “The grand maester told me you requested a squire.”

“I did, I will need one for the jousts.”

“Do you still entertain that foolish idea?”

“Third sons are also entitled to a little glory.”

“Competition in tournaments brings no glory, it is only…”

“Spare it, brother, please,” Daeron begs, “Do not take this from me. I wish to participate and prove myself.”

“And our mother?”

“I have already gotten her to accept my decision.”

Of course.

“As you wish. I hope you understand that it is an unnecessary risk.”

“I am old enough to take such a risk.”

“Very well, then,” he nods, and suddenly it occurs to him, “Since you claim to be old enough, you should think about taking a wife soon.”

“Believe me, I have considered it.”

His response surprises him, “Have you?”

“I do not shrink from the idea, if that is what you think I will do, I know I am expected to marry a noble lady. But, I think, we should first focus on your union with our cousin. Once all this tumult over your wedding is over, I can seek out a suitable lady.”

“It was suggested…that Rhaena’s lady-in-waiting be a candidate. I have not yet spoken to Aegon or our mother, but she is a good choice.”

“Lady Marianne?”

“Westerling, yes. Powerful allies.”

“I suppose so.”

A shadow of something that appears to be resignation and sadness passes over his brother’s face. Aemond wonders if perhaps he has someone else in mind, but he does not get to voice his doubt as he suddenly notices that Rhaena has turned away from Corbray and is heading for the doors.

“We will discuss this later,” he says as he stands. He has no trouble making his way through the crowd of guests, just as he has no trouble reaching Rhaena, who has barely made it to the end of the corridor.

“Where are you going?”

She stops at the sound of Aemond’s voice, though she does not turn around immediately.

“If you really must know, I am going back to my chambers,” she finally says, facing him.

“Why?” he asks, wary

“Do I need to have a reason?”

“Yes. You tend to strut at these events until the very end,” he replies, his voice harsher than he intends.

His comment stirs something in Rhaena, the prince’s words too similar to her sister’s. A lump forms in her throat, but she swallows before speaking, “I do not feel like dealing with you right now. I am tired and…”

“Tired of dancing with him.”

Rhaena sighs, frustrated. Aemond steps a little closer to her and grabs her elbow with more force than necessary, “I told you I did not want to see you dancing with him.”

“And I told you I intended to dance with whomever I wanted. And so I did,” she replies, looking directly into his eye.

Aemond’s free hand rises and Rhaena instinctively tilts her face, thinking he is going to hit her. Her heart races when she suddenly feels his fingers running down her cheek. She meets his gaze again, but cannot interpret what she finds in it. Only that the intense way he is looking at her causes warmth to run through every part of her body.

“You enjoy aggravating me, I can tell,” he says quietly. And they are so close, Rhaena can feel his breath reaching her, “But you should keep in mind that I am not someone you can simply defy, cousin. So, from now on, I expect you to do your duty properly and to stay away from Corwyn Corbray.”

Rhaena does not answer, she just stares at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Something inside her screams at her to try to calm Aemond's temper, but another part wants to know how far he will go.

“What if I don't?”

“Mmm,” he gives her a smug smile, “If you don’t, perhaps your old friend will discover that tournaments are more dangerous than he thinks.”

It takes Rhaena a second to realize the threat in the prince’s words.

“You would not dare,” she says in a small voice.

“Do you really think I wouldn’t?”

She flinches, “I do not understand. Why do you care so much whether I speak to him or not?”

“I do not like the way he looks at you. I do not like the liberties he takes with you"

"He hasn't taken any liberties with me," she assures immediately.

“And I hope it stays that way. It is up to you, Rhaena.”

His fingers trace her cheek again before straying to the corner of her lips. The touch lasts only a few seconds, but Rhaena closes her eyes, overwhelmed and frightened at the same time by the wave of pleasure he generates in her.

However, when she opens her eyes, she is alone in the hallway again.

Chapter Text

Marianne enters her room as the sun’s rays are just beginning to rise.

“Good morning, Rhaena,” she announces in a sing-song voice as she draws the curtains, “It is good to find you awake for a change.”

“Mmm,” she grumbles, still in the sheets, “Why are you in such a good mood? It is way too early!”

“It is a special day, don’t you think?” her lady walks to the edge of her bed, “It is not every day we get to witness a tournament. Besides…”

A lovely blush appears on her cheeks and Rhaena smiles from ear to ear, thinking she knows what it is all about.

“Daeron asked for your favor, didn’t he?”

“Yes, yes, he did,” she confirms, blushing even more.

“I knew it!” Rhaena crawls through the sheets, excited, until she sits beside her friend, “Did you dance with him? What else did he say to you?”

“Not much, we just danced a couple songs because then he excused and went to speak with Prince Aemond. And then Prince Aemond abruptly left and you mysteriously disappeared from the banquet, anything you want to tell me?”

“I was feeling overwhelmed, to tell you the truth.”

“Overwhelmed,” her friend repeats, looking at her.

Rhaena sighs and tells Marianne about her conversation with Corwyn and Aemond’s threat from the night before, though she leaves out the detail of how close their bodies had been, of his fingers on her lips and… Rhaena shudders, pushing that memory aside.

“Clearly the prince is jealous,” Marianne comments, her voice more excited than was appropriate for the situation, “He forbade you from approaching ser Corwyn. That is…”

“An overreaction,” she replies, frowning, “He basically implied that I take my virtue lightly and that Corwyn and I are closer than we should be.”

“Well, yes, that was very out of line,” Marianne admits, “The prince should know that it is not your custom to act in such a manner. Ever since you arrived, and even before, you have always maintained an impeccable reputation. His concerns are unfounded.”

“They are,” she asserts vehemently.

“Still… it seems that Ser Corwyn has not understood that very well.”

Rhaena flops down on the bed, closing her eyes for a moment, “I did not expect him to throw all those things at me yesterday.”

“Did you enjoy hearing them?”

Her lady meets her gaze and it takes Rhaena a moment to respond, “I do not know,” she admits.

“That is a problem,” Marianne sighs.

There is a moment of silence between them, until her lady speaks again.

“I think… I think you should not jeopardize what you have built with the prince for… for whatever it is you feel about Ser Corwyn,” she dares to say, blushing as much as before, “After all, the wedding is in just a few days. Ser Corwyn will eventually return to the Vale and you will be Aemond Targaryen’s wife. Nurturing your old friend’s hopes will not change that fact”

“I am quite clear about that, Marianne, believe me,” she assures her.

Still, a lump form in her throat. She had spent a good part of the night thinking about Corwyn’s words. How much she would have given to hear them when she was still a free lady in the Vale! How much could have changed if the knight had confessed his feelings sooner. It is not like Rhaena hadn’t suspected it before. She herself, she thinks, had contributed to the affection between them growing over the years and transforming into something more.

But none of that matters now. Your friend is right.

“There is more,” she says, sitting back down, “Aemond said that Alyn requested permission to marry Baela.”

Marianne widens her eyes comically, but her response is interrupted by the maids bringing in trays of food and the dress from that morning.

“Leave everything here, I will personally attend Lady Rhaena.”

The maids leave the room and the young women sit down at the table. Marianne wastes no time in bringing up the subject again, “That news is unexpected. I thought your sister would keep her… options open.”

“I thought the same,” she admits, “Though I assume it makes sense. One way or another, she has as much or more right to that inheritance than Alyn.”

Marianne nods and says after nibbling on her dates, “I met Lord Alyn yesterday.”

“Oh. Was he at the banquet? I don’t remember seeing him.”

“Perhaps because you left before he could introduce himself.”

“And what impression did he make on you?”

“He seemed… solemn. Quiet, serious.”

“Mmm,” Rhaena sighs, “Baela said he was a good person.”

“And during the days you two spent together, your sister never hinted at her plans to marry him?”

“Not at all,” she frowns, “Though perhaps I should have guessed. From what she told me of her life on the island, they clearly have a good relationship. Or I hope so, I wouldn’t want her to be forced into a union she does not desire, or for her to have made the decision hastily.”

“And what does the prince think of such a marriage?”

“I don’t really know, we didn’t have much time to discuss it,” she shrugs, “But I doubt the crown would object, I mean, what reasons would they have to do so?”

“None. It is just another union between houses, and we are in times of peace, right? There would be no point in refusing.”

Rhaena nods, though her lady’s mention of times of peace brings to mind Baela’s words about waiting for her chance for revenge. The girl watches her friend’s clear eyes, her expression relaxed and innocent as she sips her juice. Part of her wants to confess what her sister implied, to unburden some of her worries on a friendly shoulder, but she knows it’s better to keep quiet. And not because she doesn’t trust Marianne, but because it’s better not to involve her in whatever Baela’s plans are.

One more reason for you to have a serious conversation with Alyn Velaryon, she thinks.

“Rhaena? Are you listening to me?” The question snaps her out of her thoughts and she nods quickly, “We must hurry. We’ll have to take the carriage to the royal forest.”

Rhaena lets her friend take over, fixing her hair and selecting her jewelry, “I am sorry about the prince, but you won’t be wearing that butterfly necklace today,” she says as she puts a beautiful, albeit heavy, gold necklace with embedded rubies in her neck, “Yes, this is the one. It matches your dress.”

The chosen crimson and gold dress fit comfortably on her figure, leaving her shoulders bare.

“You look lovely today, by the way,” Rhaena comments.

“I hope Prince Daeron thinks so too,” Marianne ventures.

Rhaena links arms and they leave her room, “I am certain he will. Now, tell me, Daeron aside, who do you think will shine at the tournament?”

“Benjicot Blackwood is a strong contender.”

“Is Lord Benjicot here?”

“Lady Blackwood confirmed that to me yesterday,” Marianne nods. “Before I forget, we were invited to dine in her chambers today. Us, and Lady Redwyne, as well as my aunt, Lady Johanna.”

“I did not know your aunt was in the capital.”

“She decided to come and take the opportunity to find a husband for my cousin Tyshara. You will meet them tonight. My aunt is particularly interested in making your acquaintance.”

“No more than I am,” Rhaena assures, “Besides, I miss the conversations of the old ladies of the court,” she giggles

“You grow fond of them, don’t you?”

They both stop suddenly when a tall, burly man stops in front of them. It doesn’t take Rhaena long to guess who he is, and she doesn’t need to see the seahorse designs embroidered on the front of his doublet. The man is a younger version of her grandfather, Lord Corlys. The resemblance is so great that it astonishes her for a few seconds, leaving her speechless.

“Good morning, Lord Alyn,” Marianne greets with a kind smile

“Lady Westerling, Lady Rhaena,” he greets in a solemn tone

“Are you heading to the tournament, my lord?” once again it is her lady who speaks

“Indeed. And I was hoping to have my cousin’s company on the journey.”

His gaze falls on Rhaena, who had still been openly examining his appearance. Marianne strokes her arm and turns her gaze to her, who clearly wants to know if she will accept Alyn’s offer. Rhaena doesn’t particularly want to go with him, but she knows it would be rude to refuse, so she ends up nodding.

“Of course, my lord. If you both excuse me, I will find another carriage.”

Marianne leaves them alone and Alyn extends his arm to Rhaena.

“Thank you,” she says as they cross the courtyard of the Keep in silence and climb into one of the several carriages set to transport them to the tournament site.

“It is an honor to finally meet you, cousin,” Alyn says once they are comfortably seated.

“I say the same, Lord Alyn,” she nods, giving him a polite smile.

“I was hoping we could have a little chat alone,” he says as the carriage moves into motion.

“I hear you, my lord.”

“There is no need to be so formal,” he replies, frowning, “We are family after all.”

When Rhaena nods, there are a few minutes of awkward silence between them. She is aware that her cousin is watching her with apprehension, but she does not intend to say more. She does not know exactly why, and she does not like to think that she is being rude, but she prefers to let him make the effort to converse with her.

“I am sure you know that I will be the one to escort you to the sept on your wedding day.”

“I know that, and I appreciate your consideration.”

“Of course, it is my duty. Besides, it will be a pleasure to do so, of course,” he says quickly, frowning again, “I hope that these days can serve to get to know each other better, cousin. Surely your sister told you that you can count on me for whatever you need. Although you are a Targaryen, you are also part of the Velaryon family. And I want to make sure you are treated appropriately and befitting your position.”

Rhaena raises her eyebrows at him, fighting back the urge to ask where that sense of family was when he practically left her to fend for herself at the Eyrie even though, as lord of Driftmark, he could have welcomed her on the island as well.

Maybe Baela was enough for him, that pesky voice in her mind says.

“I appreciate your noble intentions,” she simply replies.

There is another moment of silence. Rhaena turns her face to look at the road and realizes that they have already left the city. The carriage sways as it makes its way through the rough stretches towards the royal forest.

“I would also like to take this opportunity to let you know that your sister and I…”

“Are you planning to get married?” she interrupts, turning to look at him, “I am aware.”

The shock is clearly reflected on his face, “Baela assured me that she had not told you about our plans.”

“Did you speak to her?” it is her turn to be surprised.

“We met during our journey on the Blackwater,” he replies, “She assured me that she had not been able to tell you about our coming wedding.”

“Was it really for a lack of opportunities or a lack of desire to convey the news?” she asks in a harsher voice than she intends.

“The circumstances of her visit were not appropriate. Your sister did not feel at ease in the Red Keep.”

“Yes, I noticed that,” she replies and then stares at him, “I want to believe that my sister is not being forced into such a union. I know that our situation is not ideal. We are nothing more than two young noble ladies with no parents and no other relatives, no lands or money. I hope you have not…”

“Taken advantage of the situation?” he finishes. To her surprise, a smile appears on his face, “I also know what it is like to be in a precarious situation. In a different way, of course, but I would not dare abuse my position to try to subdue your sister. I would not even try.”

Rhaena studies his expression for a moment, debating his honesty.

“I hope so,” she finishes by saying.

“We decided to marry because we feel a deep affection for each other,” Alyn says, “I assure you, cousin Rhaena, that I will make your sister happy, just as she makes me happy.”

His words ease her worries somewhat. She doesn't believe Alyn is lying to her, not when his voice sounds full of affection for her sister, but she intends to write to her anyway and ask for explanations.

“That is good to know,” she says simply, grateful that the carriage has stopped.

Alyn helps her down and Rhaena looks around at the numerous tents with squires, servants and grooms coming in and out to ready the horses. Everything is so colorful, everything seems so full of life and there is a clear excitement in the air that Rhaena can’t help but get excited. Maybe Marianne is right and the tournament will turn out to be more interesting than she imagines.

“Come, cousin, let me accompany you.”

Rhaena takes his arm and they walk over to where an oval stone structure, which she assumes is the arena for the jousts, stands imposingly. Several nobles are heading there as well, though Rhaena doesn’t stop to chat with any of them. And when her eyes meet Corwyn’s, she quickly looks away, remembering her conversation with her lady.

Rhaena bids Alyn farewell and walks up the stairs to the main platform. As she arrives, she notices that several members of the royal council, the high septon, and Queen Alicent are already seated. As is Aemond. Although his back is turned to her, nerves take over at the sight of him.

“Lady Rhaena, we were expecting you.”

“Queen Alicent,” she greets, walking up to the woman, “I am sorry I am late.”

The woman offers her a polite smile, “You are just in time, we have not even started yet.”

The Dowager Queen turns her gaze to the arena, where the banners of the contestant houses are already set up. Rhaena notices the slight tremor in the woman’s hands, who keeps fidgeting with her rings as she looks around apprehensively. The girl wonders if she is looking for Daeron.

“Surely Prince Daeron will show his talents this morning,” she is heard saying, “And the gods will watch over him at all times.”

Her words seem to surprise the Dowager Queen, who softens her expression and nods, “May the gods protect us all.”

Rhaena offers her one last smile before turning and finding her place. Though there are a couple of empty spots next to the council members, she knows she is expected to sit in the chair next to Aemond. So, ignoring the tingling in her stomach, she walks over to her cousin, sitting gracefully and smoothing out the folds of her dress.

“Good morning, cousin,” she greets politely, tilting her face toward him and offering a tentative smile.

“Rhaena,” he replies, looking back at her, “What caused you to be late?”

 “Lord Alyn Velaryon”

Aemond raises his eyebrows at her, clearly asking her to explain.

“My cousin wanted to introduce, and let me in on the news of his betrothal to my sister.”

“Did you question him about his motives?”

“I made my concerns known to him, yes,” she nods, “He assured me that they are unfounded. That he has under no circumstances pressured my sister into agreeing to marry him and what’s more… he told me that it is their affection for each other that motivates them to unite.”

“And you believed him?” he asks, curious, turning his body towards her.

“I found his words sincere, yes,” she admits with a sigh, “He takes it for granted that the wedding will take place, though I got the impression, from what you said yesterday, that the Crown does not seem to favor the union. You said that…”

“That it put more pressure on us,” he recalls, repeating his words from the banquet.

“How will…?”

Rhaena cuts off her question when a trumpet sounds, causing the arena to fall absolutely silent. Queen Alicent stands and walks to the edge of the platform, offering a smile to her subjects before speaking of the fortunate morning and the reason for the tournament. At the mention of their names, Rhaena and Aemond stand, taking a couple of steps to the edge.

“They are chanting our names,” she says with a smile, looking at Aemond.

He frowns, amazed to hear his name as the common people throw roses into the sand, smiling in his direction and shouting phrases that he can’t understand, but imagines are wishes for prosperity.

“Let us salute properly,” Rhaena whispers before clasping their hands and raising them, causing the people to cheer even more enthusiastically.

She waves with her free hand at each end of the arena, and although Aemond doesn’t imitate her, at least he doesn’t break contact abruptly, instead squeezing her hand gently, indicating that they should return to their seats.

Once seated, Rhaena tries to pull her hand away from the prince’s, but he doesn’t allow it. She looks up at him, amazed, but he ignores her, his gaze fixed on the sand and his fingers slowly caressing hers. The rough pads of his fingers forming patterns in the palm of her hand, sending a current of electricity to the rest of her body.

Rhaena swallows and tries to relax by looking at the tournament attendees. In the seats on the sides, the nobles are comfortably seated. She meets the gaze of Marianne, who is talking to a tall, attractive woman with dark hair whom she assumes is her aunt Johanna. Next to them, a young woman with blonde curls seems to observe everything around her with eyes full of wonder.

A little further on, Alyn Velaryon is talking to a man she doesn't know. A couple of steps down she finds Corwyn sitting next to Lord Tarly. Her heart skips a beat at the sight of them together and her suspicions increase when Lord Tarly appears to hand him a scroll which Corwyn quickly puts away in his doublet. Rhaena, who has not forgotten the insinuations the old man made while they were dancing, cannot help but wonder if they are partners in intrigue? Did they know each other? She does not have time to wonder more because she feels Aemond's penetrating gaze on her. “Who are you watching with such concern?”

“No one in particular,” she lies, turning to her cousin

“Mmm,” he narrows his good eye in her direction

“You didn’t answer yourself,” she says quickly, trying to divert his attention, “Why would Baela’s marriage mean more pressure on us?”

“Because if your sister has a son, a part of the kingdom would consider him the heir to the Iron Throne.”

His words take a few seconds to register in her mind. Finally, she makes a dismissive sound, “That is ridiculous. A son of Baela would have royal blood, sure, but he would be far below the line of succession.”

“Not to the noble houses who call my brother Usurper,” he replies harshly.

“Do you think they would rise up to place Baela’s son as king?” she asks in a small voice.

“It is a possibility,” he agrees, “At least the royal council thinks it is a risk we should not take.”

Aemond continues to speak, but she does not listen.

Was that what Baela intended? To marry Alyn Velaryon, a powerful and wealthy lord who would aid her cause in putting her son on the Iron Throne? Was that why she had insisted Rhaena to drink moon tea as often as necessary once Aemond started calling her to his chambers? Surely that was why she had arranged for a trusted servant to be placed in Rhaena's care. To ensure that she had no children. So that nothing would prevent her from placing her own on the throne.

The thought makes her sick. And, strangely, fills her with anger.

Why couldn’t Baela just accept her place? She was going to marry a noble and seemingly decent man. She could have a quiet, peaceful life, full of freedom and comfort. Why did she want to change it all? And especially, why did she want to take away her chance to have her son as the king?

You are being unfair, that little part of her mind says, but she ignores it. Her sister clearly believed her place was not in Driftmark, but in the capital, being the queen, as she had been urged to believe since her betrothal to Jace.

“Rhaena,” Aemond’s voice draws her from her thoughts, his long fingers squeezing her small hand and drawing her attention, “Do not be afraid.”

Their gazes meet for a moment, and unexpectedly, Aemond leans in. Rhaena’s heart skips a beat, and for a moment, she wonders if he is going to kiss her. For a moment, she wishes he would, even though she knows he wouldn’t dare. Not in public, not when… Her thoughts stop as she feels his lips settle near her ear, his warm breath brushing against her skin and causing it to tingle. Though it’s the words he whispers that truly make her heart pound with force, “It will be our children who inherit the throne.”

There is so much conviction in his voice that Rhaena closes her eyes. His lips brush her earlobe and a gasp leaves her lips, though thankfully there is so much noise in the arena that it goes unnoticed.

Aemond pulls away from her, and when he looks at her, there is fire in his gaze. And… desire. A desire that, she thinks, must be similar to what she is feeling. The one that makes her breath come fast and her lower belly seem flooded with a sensation she neither understands nor knows how to describe.

Rhaena looks away, embarrassed, though she notices Aemond’s smug smile. For once, she doesn’t care about his insolence. She chooses to take a deep breath and focus on the fight.

“It is Daeron,” she says suddenly, noticing the dragon-patterned armor of the knight advancing with his heavy lance to the platform.

“He will open the tournament,” Aemond replies with a frown, “Where is he going?”

“I think he is coming to ask a lady's favor,” she smiles

“Not yours, surely,” he mutters under his breath

Rhaena shakes her head and watches her cousin walk over to where Marianne sits. She can’t hear what he says, but she does not need to, because when he points his spear at his lady, she gives him a huge smile before taking the ornament she’s so painstakingly crafted and letting it fall to the base of the spear.

“That was lovely,” Rhaena sighs.

Clearly the people think the same, because they cheer with delight as the prince returns to his place, ready to face Lord Bar Emmon.

“I spoke to him about getting married,” Aemond surprises her.

“Did you?”

“I even mentioned your lady’s name,” he nods. “He seemed to favor the idea.”

“That is good news!”

The smile Rhaena gives him is so wide and sincere, the prince struggles not to return it.

“Do not get your expectations up yet just yet, I need to consult with…”

“Thank you,” she cuts him off, squeezing their clasped hands, “I appreciate the effort.”

The prince nods and watches his brother spur his horse to charge toward his opponent. There is a moment of tense suspense and he hears his mother’s gasp as lances ring out, a horse whinnies, and Lord Bar Emmon falls to the ground. Aemond turns to look at Alicent, who is pale and has raw fingers, but seems tremendously relieved. The people cheer as Prince Daeron emerges triumphant from the arena.

“That was intense,” Rhaena says from beside him

“He shouldn’t have participated,” Aemond grumbles

His betrothed watches him for a few seconds, “You are worried he might get hurt.”

He does not respond, but he does not need to, for Rhaena knows she is right.

The rest of the tournament passes between a succession of different knights, with Lord Blackwood and Lord Manderly standing out as favorites alongside Daeron.

When the last match is finally fought, Rhaena stands up, her legs feeling numb from sitting for so long. Aemond finally lets go of her hand, and follows her down from the platform.

After bidding farewell to the dowager queen, her cousin escorts her to the carriage where Marianne is already waiting.

“I did not expect the tournament to drag on so long,” she confesses as they walk, watching the sun already high in the sky.

“It gets tedious as the hours go by,” Aemond agrees.

“Well, we will just have to tolerate it for a couple more days,” she replies as she smiles at him, stopping near the carriage.

“Yes, just a couple more days,” he nods, looking at her and adds, “And then you will be my wife.”

***

Daeron is not looking for her.

At least not consciously.

Still, he is not surprised to find her in Maegor's Holdfast.

Hardly anyone visits the place anymore, not after what happened with Helaena, so it is the perfect spot to get away from everyone at Court for a while.

Ellyn Baratheon steps away from the windowsill and tilts her face toward him, her expression half annoyed and half relieved at the sight of the prince. Of all the members of the royal family, he was the only one she was glad to see. Though she knew better.

Daeron sits across from her, and the young queen chooses not to look at him, so she turns her gaze toward Blackwater Bay. For a long moment, a comfortable silence settles between them, until he breaks it.

“It is good to see you out of your chambers.”

Ellyn does not answer, she only nods and listens to him sigh before insisting.

“Are you hiding from the Court?”

The woman closes her eyes for a moment, “From my sisters, mainly. They are driving me crazy with their attentions.”

“I know well how it is,” Daeron smiles, “Your absence was felt at the tournament.”

“I doubt it,” she replies, shaking her head, “Lady Rhaena seems to monopolize the attention these days.”

The prince does not miss the bitterness in his sister-in-law’s voice, “You are the queen. We will always love…”

“No, please, Daeron, do not continue,” she cuts him off, finally looking at him. Her dark blue eyes two wells filled with impatience and pain, “You do not need to comfort me. I know well how things are.”

I know what a failure I am, she thinks, looking back at the river.

“I am so sorry about what happened, Ellyn,” the prince’s voice sounds genuinely sad, “I was hoping this time would be different.”

“You and the entire kingdom,” she replies once again, full of bitterness.

Ellyn closes her eyes and a tear rolls down her cheek, but she wipes it away quickly.

She does not plan on crying in front of Daeron. Or in front of anyone else. She’s had enough of that.

When she opens her eyes again, she examines the prince more carefully. He is still wearing his armor, which shows a dent in his thigh.

“Did you have any luck in the tournament?” she asks.

“I did.”

Her eyes drift to the crown of blue flowers in his hands, “Who?”

“Lady Marianne Westerling”

“Good choice,” she replies, feeling a strange lump in her throat, “She is a good girl.”

“I know,” Daeron admits, his voice filled with sadness

Her brother-in-law’s hand finds hers. It is barely a touch, an innocent caress, but Ellyn can’t bear it.

“Daeron, no,” she replies, pulling her hand away

“Ellyn I…”

Against her better judgment, she looks at the prince. His violet eyes look pleading and also helpless.

“Go tend to that wound,” she replies, pointing to his side, where a spear has clearly pierced the flesh and drawn blood.

Her voice is quiet enough that Daeron doesn’t insist.

Ellyn looks back at the bay and feels the prince’s gaze on her for long seconds, until she hears his heavy feet start moving and leaves her alone again.

***

She immediately takes a liking to Lady Johanna Westerling.

Rhaena is enjoying her conversation with the lady of Casterly Rock, who entertains everyone at the table with her anecdotes.

“I can tell my aunt likes you too,” Marianne whispers at her side as they eat dessert.

Once Lady Redwyne’s guests have dispersed into the drawing room, the woman approaches Rhaena.

“I admit I am pleased with you, Lady Rhaena,” she says bluntly, “You are exactly what people comments of you”

“I am glad to hear that, Lady Johanna,” she admits with a smile.

“And I am glad my niece has a fine lady to serve,” she comments as they walk around the room, “I was hoping the same might be true of my daughter.”

“I would be honored to welcome her as one of my ladies.”

“I do not think it would be the best fit for Tyshara,” she replies with a sigh, “Court would provide too many distractions for her, and I am sorry to say that she is not as sensible as her sisters. She needs a husband with character.”

“That is what you came for, is it not?”

“As well,” Lady Johanna admits, “Any suggestions in the matter?”

“Oh no, my lady, I dare not name anyone.”

“Well, you should. Soon the noble ladies of the realm will seek your counsel in that regard.”

“It seems to me that that falls within the queen’s duties,” Rhaena denies.

“Ah, our queen!” Lady Johanna sighs, “Such a young woman, and so unfortunate. The gods can be cruel in their ways.”

Rhaena does not know what to say, so she only nods.

“I hear that Marianne hopes to marry Prince Daeron.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“It was not necessary,” the woman smiles, “I only had to see her at the tournament this morning to see her obvious longing.”

“It is a match I would be pleased with,” Rhaena comments.

“It would please me as welI,” Lady Johanna nods, “It is good to strengthen ties between allies. The crown needs it.”

“Perhaps you should look among one of your allies for Lady Tyshara’s future husband.”

“I had thought of Lord Velaryon, but it seems he is already betrothed.”

“Yes, I found out recently.”

Lady Johanna examines her curiously, “Young Lord Royce is a good candidate.”

“Oh yes, Lord Robb, I know him,” she says quickly, “His father is a good man, honorable and…”

Rhaena begins to tell her about her experiences with House Royce during her stay in the Vale.

“Do you think your aunt would really send your cousin so far away?” she asks Marianne as they walk to her chambers.

“If she thinks it necessary, yes,” her lady replies.

“But the Vale?” Rhaena frowns. “The Lannisters aren’t very well liked there.”

 It doesn’t make much sense, she thinks. Great lords usually preferred to marry their daughters to their closest vassals, thus reinforcing the loyalty of lesser houses to their own.

“Well, nothing is set in stone yet, maybe not… Hey!”

Marianne lets out a little cry of protest as a small boy, clearly a servant, runs through their midst.

“How rude,” she comments, watching the boy walk away quickly. “Why would he do that?”

“Because he wanted to give me this,” she whispers, showing her the parchment the boy had skillfully placed in her hand. “Who is it from? Prince Aemond?”

Rhaena places her fingers on Marianne’s lips and they almost run to her room. Once inside, the girl opens the seal and reads the letter. The message is short, and as soon as she reads it, he crumples the parchment in her hands and throws it into the fireplace.

“Why…?”

“It is from Corwyn,” she replies.

“Why is he writing to you?”

“He wants to see me,” she explains, her breathing labored and her body shaking. “He wants me to meet him in the godswood at the hour of the wolf.”

Chapter Text

“You're not thinking about meeting him.” Marianne says, her voice a whisper even though they are in the safety of her room.

“It is a terrible idea,” she says, nodding.

Still…

Rhaena bites the inside of her lip. Why would Corwyn ask to see her so secretly? Why did he insist on them talking? Did it have something to do with his sister’s plans?

“No, no, no,” Marianne shakes her head, “I do not like what I see in your eyes.”

“I do not think it has anything to do with…”

“The prince will go mad if he finds out,” her friend interrupts, “He’s already threatened to hurt Ser Corwyn for his closeness to you, what do you think he will do if he hears you are meeting him in the middle of the night?”

“I know, believe me, I know,” Rhaena sighs, “But I doubt Corwyn would want to talk to me about feelings.”

“So why would he ask to see you?” Marianne asks.

There is a moment of hesitation.

“It is better for you to know nothing,” Rhaena finishes, “Believe me, it’s better for you not to get involved in this. If this is about what I am thinking it is, it will be better for you to have no idea at all.”

“Your answers do not reassure me, Rhaena,” Marianne takes her hands, pleading, “Please do not go.”

“I have to,” she says, “I will be careful, I promise.”

“I am going with you.”

“No, no, I cannot drag you into this.”

“Too bad,” her lady replies fiercely, “Either you go with me or you do not go at all”

“Marianne, this is not a game and it could be dangerous.”

“That is why,” she continues, “I will be your alibi. If anyone sees us, they will be less suspicious of two noble ladies. If they ask questions, we’ll say you couldn’t sleep because you were nervous about the wedding and that I accompanied you for a walk in the gardens.”

“Are you sure?”

“I told you. Either you go with me or you are not going”

Marianne’s honey-colored eyes meet hers, and Rhaena reads the decision in them. Finally, grateful and relieved, she accepts, “Thank you, Anne.”

Neither of them can do much after that.

As the hours pass, they are both too nervous to converse or distract themselves with any pastimes, so they simply pretend to get ready for the night when the maids come to help them.

In the end, Marianne blows out all the candles in the room and they wait until the noises of the Keep subside until only the chirping of the night birds can be heard.

“It is time,” Rhaena whispers into the darkness, pulling the sheets off her and getting out of bed.

Silently, they put the dark cloaks over their night robes and leave the room. Rhaena silently thanks that they never put guards at her door, which made it much easier to simply wander through the castle.

As expected, the halls are empty, but they move forward with extreme caution, taking care not to be seen by the eventual guards who guard some parts of the keep.

“Do you want me to come in with you?”

Rhaena considers asking her to, but knows it is wiser for Marianne to wait outside in case someone approaches. Besides, she cannot risk Corwyn being dishonest with her in case he distrusts her lady.

“I’d better go alone,” she says finally.

“Do not take tong. Please.”

Rhaena reassures her with a quick handshake and walks through the stone arches that mark the beginning of the godswood.

The place is absolutely silent, although the cold wind rustles the blood-red leaves of the weirwoods, which drag through the roots. If Rhaena hadn’t visited the place before, her heart would probably have stopped as she looks at the faces carved into the trees, faces that seem harder in the dark, as if they were frowning, as if they were judging her or…

“You came.”

Rhaena stumbles when the voice suddenly reaches her ears. Turning towards the sound, she sees a hooded figure also emerging from behind one of the weirwoods.

“It is I, do not fear.”

Corwyn closes the distance between them and Rhaena finally calms down as she looks at the familiar face.

“I can’t stay too long.”

“I know, I know,” he says, “But I had to talk to you.”

“What is it? Is it about…?”

“Do you love me, Rhaena?”

It takes a few seconds for Rhaena to register the question he just asked her.

“What?”

“I need to know, I need to know that I didn’t make up this feeling. I know that you love me too…”

“You asked me to come here to talk about your feelings?”

Her voice sounds full of disbelief, her face must show her shock and her words, harsh, cause Corwyn to blush.

“I cannot believe it,” Rhaena steps back, “I am here, risking the sullying of my reputation for… for you, because I thought we would talk about…”

“Is there anything more important than what we feel?” he interrupts her again, moving towards her and taking her hands in his, “Rhaena, I know we care for each other. I know it is something more, I can feel it and I can… I think I can get you out of here.”

“Get me out of here? Out of the Keep, you mean?”

“Yes, we can run away. Together.”

“What you suggest is madness,” Rhaena pulls her hands from Corwyn’s

“I have allies. People who want you well, they can help us escape.”

“No, Corwyn, no, you cannot be serious.”

“I have never been more serious, Rhaena, I cannot leave you here. I cannot bear the thought of you marrying the prince. He does not deserve you, he is a kinslayer, a man without honor.”

“And where is your honor if we escape?” she hisses, “Have you thought about it? The shame you will bring upon your house if you carry out such an absurd idea. The dishonor you would condemn me to. Not to mention that they would find us immediately.”

“Vhagar is no longer a threat.”

“But Tessarion is.”

“Rhaena, please, I only ask you…” Corwyn grimaces, “You cannot want to marry him.”

“It is not about what I want.”

“Then let’s leave, please, we would just have to hide for a while. Just until…”

Corwyn cuts himself off. Rhaena notices the indecision on his face and knows there is something he does not want to tell her. Something that, surely, is linked to the plans that her sister and who knows what other lords of Westeros are plotting. The voice, that little part of her that prefers to be careful and not find out anything, asks her to let it go. But she is too angry. Too tired of being in the shadows, so she pushes for answers.

“Just until…” she repeats, “Finish what you were going to say.”

“Trust me, Rhaena…”

“No, no,” she replies, “Speak, Corwyn, tell me what you and Lord Tarly are planning.”

Corwyn purses his lips and their gazes meet for a few seconds before finally relenting.

“Until the true and rightful heir sits on the throne,” he says, “Our allies will once again be the ones to take power and we can be together. It won’t be long, I assure you.”

The true and rightful heir.

The words echo in her mind. Is he talking about Baela’s son? There is no one else who can be considered as such…

She is so lost in her thoughts that she does not notice that Corwyn has taken her arm and intends to lead her to the other end of the godswood.

“If we hurry…”

“Let go of me,” she says quietly as she finally snaps out of her trance, breaking free from Corwyn’s grip. Anger grows even more within her, “I will not go with you.”

“Rhaena,” his voice is almost a plea

“No, Corwyn. I cannot go with you.”

I do not want to go with you.

That is what she thinks, but does not say.

“It will be best if we go our separate ways from now on,” she continues in a determined voice, “I will be the prince’s wife and you will return to the Vale. If you value your life and the peace of the kingdom, abandon the fantasies my sister and the other lords have impress upon you. You will gain nothing from that. At least nothing more than risking your life.”

“Risking my life,” he repeats in a pained and bitter voice, “Do you even care what happens to me?”

“I do care, of course I do. Maybe not to the extent that you wish, but I have a lot of affection for you, Corwyn.”

Rhaena does not expect him to reply, and he does not seem like he’s going to say anything else, so she turns her back and practically runs the other way, meeting Marianne under the stone arches.

“Oh, gods, finally,” her lady whispers, relieved.

“Let’s go. I am done here.”

***

Aegon cannot stand for more than a few seconds.

Aemond, standing near the fireplace, watches with impatience and pity as his brother tries to keep his balance while dragging his left leg.

“I assure you that your people will perfectly understand your absence.”

The king makes a noise of frustration and shakes his head. The maester rushes to help him when it is obvious that he cannot help himself.

“I already said that I will attend the damn wedding and I intend to keep my word.”

Despite his anger, he lets the maester guide him to the bed and apply ointment to the wounds that never quite heal.

If his brother’s condition had been bad before his confrontation with Moondancer, it is much worse now. His broken legs have not healed properly, so he constantly drags one of them and, even with the staff, he can only stand for a couple of minutes due to the terrible pain he experiences.

Nevertheless, Aegon insists on attending the wedding and enjoying the feasts and celebrations.

Aemond remains silent while Orwyle tucks his brother in and, once they are alone again, brings up the subject of his visit.

“Have you made a decision?”

“What? About Baela?” the king sips from his wine goblet. Aemond nods in his direction, “Let them marry. It is ridiculous to even consider that her son could take the throne,” Aegon lets out a dismissive chuckle.

“The council has this idea that…”

“Fuck the council,” he interrupts, “No one will think of Baela once you and her sister have a child. So, hurry up and fuck her and place a son in her womb, then we won’t need to discuss this matter any further.”

Aemond purses his lips at his brother’s words, contempt and annoyance flooding his body. These aren’t new emotions, exasperated as he almost always feels when he talks to the king, what is new is that it is not the idea of ​​having a child with Rhaena that bothers him, but the crudeness with which his older brother refers to her. “If you are sure, then I will make your decision known,” he finally says, “There is another marriage I wanted to tell you about.”

“Whose?”

“Daeron”

“Oh,” the king seems interested, “Who is the candidate?”

“Marianne Westerling. Noble, educated, heiress to a considerable fortune, a house loyal to us.”

“And Daeron?”

“I imagine he agrees, considering he made a spectacle of himself yesterday before he began his participation in the tournament by asking for her favor in front of everyone.”

“Did he do that? Hmmm,” Aegon laughs again, “I remember the Westerling girl. A petite, adorable little thing. If they want to go ahead with the wedding, that is fine by me.”

“Good.”

“Perhaps we could send him to Harrenhal with his new wife. He and Tessarion would ensure the Tullys remain loyal to the throne.”

Aemond grimaces, his hands fiddling with the hem of his doublet. He does not like to think of Harrenhal, or even hear the place mentioned. “That matter is settled, our brother's presence is not necessary so far from the capital”

“Harrenhal has been abandoned since the war”

“It is better that it remains that way. The income goes directly to the throne and, when it is convenient, it can be given as a reward”

“It is not a bad idea,” Aegon agrees

“Daeron could go to Dragonstone. The castle and grounds need repairs too. And it is our ancestral home.”

“Dragonstone,” Aegon nods, “So our dear mother does not lose her favorite son.”

His brother’s laughter fills the room, but Aemond ignores it.

“Rest. You need it.”

“Let me know who wins the tourney,” he replies when Aemond is close to the door.

***

The prince knows her well enough to know that something is bothering her.

Not just because Rhaena is unusually quiet this morning, her eyes seemingly fixed on the arena where Ser Simon Dondarrion is advancing against some knight from the Westerlands, though it is clear she is not following the fight. Her hands keep moving, fiddling with the folds of the light blue dress she is wearing.

It is not unusual, he thinks, that Rhaena cannot keep still. He's noticed it several times already during their moments of forced company. It is just that, usually, she is only this restless when she is trying to contain her temper so as not to say what she really thinks or when something bores her.

Now, however, there is absolute silence as her eyes scan the crowd and the nobles sitting in the adjacent stands. Looking for someone in particular? Corbray? The thought fills him with… Aemond shakes his head. No. He had been very clear with her. She was not to get any closer to Corbray.

The prince watches her for a few more minutes and considers asking her what is going through her mind, but decides not to. It is probably just nerves about the wedding, or the news about her sister or some other reason. Nothing that really matters. Nothing that should really matter to him.

Still, her hands that never stop moving are exasperating him, so he reaches out and covers hers. Rhaena immediately stills and jumps a little, surprised by his advance. His betrothed turns to look at him, questioning him with her gaze. Aemond meets her violet eyes and sees in them something that seems like hesitation and… fear? Anxiety? He does not know. He just caresses her hands until she visibly relaxes, her tense shoulders fall and the beginning of a smile appears on her thin lips.

Aemond cocks his head and looks back at the arena. Benjicot Blackwood has defeated his challenger and he and Daeron will face off for the prize of tournament winner. The prospect is not pleasant to him. He knows that his brother and the lord of Raventree Hall do not like each other. Both young men had been important during the war for their respective sides and Daeron resented the losses Blackwood had caused the greens.

On the other side, his mother seems to be thinking something similar, her expression pale and her fingers trembling as she nibbles from time to time.

“Blackwood would be a fool to seriously injure a prince of the realm, fear not, mother,” he says, leaning towards Alicent.

She offers him a nervous smile, “You may be right, but these fights are too violent and unpredictable to be certain of that.”

Still, Aemond is satisfied when the Dowager Queen reaches out to place her hand on his arm for just a moment, squeezing it affectionately, clearly grateful for his words and his attempt to comfort her.

The trumpet sounds again and Daeron Targaryen and Benjicot Blackwood enter the arena, being greeted by a crowd of excited cries from the common people. Both of their names are chanted, clearly both having enough support for the showdown that is about to take place. When they reach the middle of the arena, they both salute each other as a sign of respect and then guide their horses to their respective ends, where their squires rush to give them their lances.

His brother’s dragon armor gleams in the morning sun, and despite the distance, Aemond can tell he’s concentrating hard. When the signal is given, both lords spur their horses forward and come together. The prince holds his breath as Blackwood’s lance hits Daeron in the right shoulder, causing him to stagger dangerously from his horse.

Beside him, Rhaena shifts nervously in her seat, and his mother looks close to tears. His brother manages to stay on his mount, and the attack resumes. Aemond moves to the edge of his saddle when, the next time they meet, it’s Blackwood who is struck in the hip. Still, the lord of the Riverlands does not fall. And the crowd cheers, all wanting to continue watching the tourney.

“I do not like this,” his mother says, her voice full of panic.

Neither does Aemond. Because it is clear, when the weapons clash again, that his brother has lost. Benjicot Blackwood's spear hits him in the stomach, causing the breastplate of his armor to hollow out and the crowd to hold their breath as Daeron moves just a few meters and ends up falling.

Rhaena, like the Dowager Queen, stands and clings to the edge of the platform, wanting to make sure Daeron is okay. Servants rush to his brother, tending to him. At the other end, Blackwood celebrates his victory, smiling at the common people and his hateful grandmother, who applaud him proudly. Aemond glares at them for a moment before turning his gaze back to Daeron.

A shadow suddenly crosses the sky and Tessarion's roar paralyzes the crowd's yells. His brother's dragon circles the arena and roars once more. The prince also approaches the edge of the platform and raises his good eye to the sky, watching Tessarion, fearing for a moment that she might come down to the arena. The people seem on the verge of panic, but when Daeron manages to stand up and walk a few meters to his opponent, everything returns to normal. The dragon walks away and the mood returns to the tournament.

When it comes time for Benjicot Blackwood to crown the fairest lady in the tournament as Queen of Love and Beauty, the man trots his horse up to the royal platform. Blackwood moves his horse forward slowly and toys with the crown of roses in his hand, bowing to Alicent and then to Rhaena. For a moment, as Aemond and the lord of the Raventree Hall meet in their gazes, the prince feels as if he is about to stop in front of his betrothed and bestow the honor upon her. Which would be no surprise, considering that the tournament was held for their wedding. Still, he resents the thought and follows Blackwood's progress intently.

But, against all odds, the man continues to the other courtiers' stands and, to everyone's surprise, stops in front of Marianne Westerling. The girl, clearly as astonished as everyone else, receives the crown with trembling hands. And though a polite smile and courteous words fall from her lips, her eyes quickly travel to Daeron, still standing in the arena, who observes the scene with a seemingly impassive expression.

Aemond knows his brother and knows that he hides his annoyance well at what he must clearly consider a bold move on Blackwood's part. And the rest of the kingdom, including the common people, must be thinking something similar because the murmurs soon begin. Whispers about how Lord Blackwood has chosen to name the lady who gave her favor to Prince Daeron, his rival, as queen of love and beauty.

His mother, pale but relieved, immediately leaves the royal box, presumably to go to his younger brother.

“That was strange,” Rhaena stands and walks beside Aemond

“It was an affront.”

Aemond expects Rhaena to say something contrary to his impression of Blackwood’s actions, but to his surprise, his betrothed says nothing. Her thoughts clearly still elsewhere.

“Let me know if Daeron is okay,” she comments when they reach the carriages

“Will you be returning to the castle?”

“Yes, I think I should lie down for a while, I do not feel so well.”

The prince examines her closely. She certainly looks tired, her eyes lined with dark circles and her expression clearly exhausted.

“Of course.”

“Let Daeron know that it was a good fight.”

Aemond just nods and watches her board one of the carriages without waiting for her lady-in-waiting, who is also nowhere to be found.

For a few seconds, he watches the carriage drive away back towards the city. Then, he makes his way to the participants’ tents, having little trouble finding his brother’s.

“How is the prince, grand maester?”

His mother’s impatient and nervous voice reaches him as he pushes aside the cloths and enters inside. Alicent stands watching a clearly upset Daeron being examined by Orwyle.

“I told you, mother, I am fine.”

“Hush, Daeron, let the grand maester examine you properly.”

Aemond discreetly stands beside his mother, observing the bruises that are beginning to form on his brother’s body. The young prince also has a few scrapes on his cheek and the knuckles of his hands.

“Well, the prince is right, your grace,” Orwyle finally speaks, “There are no broken bones or wounds to worry about. Just bruises that will heal in a couple of days.”

The relief is clear in Alicent, who seems to finally let go of all the worry of the last few days.

“I told you I was fine,” Daeron replies, though he lets the maester apply ointments to his body.

“You need to rest. Let’s get back to the castle as soon as possible.”

“I do not think that is necessary. Besides, Tessarion needs my attention.”

“Your dragon will be fine,” his mother cuts him off.

Daeron insists, but his mother’s resolve is greater, so the three of them return to the Red Keep together, and though Aemond prefers to return to the peace of the Tower of the Hand, he knows it is best to make sure his brother goes to his chambers.

“She treats me like a little boy,” Daeron comments with a note of bitterness when they are alone in his chambers.

“She cares for you.”

His brother grimaces and drinks the milk of the poppy the maester has left behind.

“Rhaena wanted me to tell you it was a good fight.”

“Yeah, well, I lost,” he grimaces again as he gets into bed.

“Tournaments are not important,” he says dismissively.

“Winning was important to me,” Daeron meets his gaze and seems to hesitate before adding, “Besides, I would have preferred to lose to anyone else.”

Aemond nods.

“Blackwood is arrogant, but he is just another noble lord, you are a Targaryen prince.”

“He challenged me by naming Marianne Queen of the Tournament,” he frowns.

“He used your evident interest in the girl to his advantage.”

“He made me look like a fool.”

His words begin to slur, clearly the milk of the poppy taking effect.

“Rest. We will speak of his affront later.”

His brother nods, his eyes already closed.

Aemond watches him for a few seconds before exiting his room, his thoughts quickly leaving his brother behind and focusing on the tasks as Hand of the king, on the meetings with the council and on…

The prince stops when Rhaena’s voice reaches him. Aemond, who is about to turn into another corridor, stops. His betrothed is not alone, a male voice -which he does not recognize- reaches him. Who is it? And why are they speaking in a tone that sounds confidential right in the corridors of the wing of the royal family's chambers? Carefully, the prince advances to the edge of the wall, peeking out his good eye to observe the scene before him.

Rhaena is there, alone, with Corwyn fucking Corbray. And they are close. Too close. He can’t see his betrothed’s expression, but he can see the man’s. His eyes are full of love and desperation as he takes his cousin’s hands. And she lets him. What shamelessness is this? The jealousy that floods inside him, the anger that invades his body hits him like a wave of fire that makes his hand go instinctively to his Valyrian steel dagger.

“I feel ashamed of my behavior”

“There is no need to talk about this anymore”

“No, no, Rhaena, please forgive me,” Corbray insists, “It was a mistake to ask you to meet me last night.”

“I know, but it was not just your fault, it was me who willingly went to see you.”

Aemond’s heart skips a beat at Rhaena’s words, a lump forming in his throat.

“I know I should go, but I just want you to remember that everything I said was real. I…”

“Please don’t,” Rhaena places her fingers over Corbray’s lips, “Do not say it again.”

“I will wait for you. As long as it takes, Rhaena, I will wait for you because I know we will meet again.”

When Corbray starts to lean towards her, clearly intending to kiss her, he can’t hold back any longer. Unsheathing his dagger, Aemond closes the distance between them in two long strides and carelessly pushes Rhaena away from Corbray and to the other side as he grabs the man by the arm and places the dagger beneath his neck.

“The only thing you will meet is your death for daring to touch my betrothed.”

“My prince?”

“Aemond!”

They both speak at once.

Corbray tries to break free from Aemond’s grip, but he doesn’t let him, and as he struggles, the Valyrian steel blade cuts his throat, which, though minimal, gives him satisfaction at the sight of the blood flowing.

“No, no, no, Aemond lower the dagger,” Rhaena has moved closer to him, placing her hands on his arm, her voice desperate, “Aemond, please…”

“I warned you. I told you I didn’t want you to even look at him,” he spits in her direction

“I don’t…”

“It is okay, Rhaena, I deserve it,” Corbray finds Aemond’s good eye, “I admit I overstepped my bounds and…”

“Do you confess to touching her?” Aemond asks

“No!” Rhaena gasps, her eyes fixed on her cousin, “It is not what you think, Aemond, please, please let him go.”

The prince growls. Rhaena’s concern for his lover driving him mad.

“Think of what the other lords will say if you kill him here, please, Aemond, please. Think of your mother, you are a prince, you cannot act like this.”

It is not her words that stop him from slitting Corbray’s throat, but her hands on his face, the softness of her touch on his cheeks. The contact is so unexpected and bold that he steps back, allowing Corbray to do the same and escape his grip.

“Do not touch me!” he hisses in the girl’s direction

And, if Aemond weren’t so furious at having caught them in the act, he would have felt a pang of guilt at the tearful, hurt expression in Rhaena’s violet eyes.

It is concern for his lover, not for you, he thinks.

“Do not talk to her like that!” Corbray takes a few steps in his direction, indignant

“Stop talking!” Rhaena's words are directed at the knight, the desperation in her voice evident. “For the gods, Corwyn, just do not say anything else.”

“I will not let him talk to you like that.”

“You won’t let me?” he says with violence and false amusement, walking towards him again

Rhaena stops his advance, ignoring his warning not to touch him and placing herself between them, turning her back to Corbray.

“Go, Corwyn, go now”

“No. I won’t leave you here with him”

Aemond can’t help but recognize Corbray’s guts. Anger still flows inside him, but when his eye connects with Rhaena’s, the pleading request in them and her small hands on his chest, trying to calm him, make him hesitate. He knows his betrothed’s words are true. He can’t, as much as he wants to, kill Corbray right now.

“You are lucky I won’t turn you into food for my dragon,” he says, tearing his eye away from the girl’s and looking at the knight, “But tomorrow, I will personally kill you at the tournament”

“Aemond, no, please”

He does not listen to her. Corbray holds his gaze and nods, accepting his fate.

“May the gods judge my cause and be with me tomorrow.”

“No, no, please,” Rhaena turns to her old friend, her eyes darting between the two men, “There is no need to…”

“Yes, there is,” Aemond cuts her off, “I warned you. Everything that happens from now on, is your fault. Now, go, before I change my mind and kill you right here.”

Corbray looks back at them both. His eyes connect with Rhaena’s, but he eventually walks away down the hall, leaving them alone.

Tears flood Rhaena’s face as she faces him again, “Please, Aemond. Please do not kill him, he is just a friend, nothing more.”

“You met him in the middle of the night,” he hisses, cutting her off, “I heard you. Will you deny it?”

She shakes her head, “I do not deny it, but nothing happened, believe me.”

“I cannot trust you.”

Rhaena shudders, “I assure you, cousin, we were just talking.”

He snickers, “You expect me to believe that? That you ran into each other in the night and he didn’t take liberties with you? That he didn’t touch you?”

“He did not touch me,” she states vehemently, “I am offended that you even think I would have let him touch me.”

“And what would have happened if I hadn't interrupted you just now? Because you seemed very comfortable having him so close to you.”

“I assure you that was not the case.”

“I do not believe you.”

Aemond turns his back on her and begins walking in the opposite direction, not wanting to listen to her any longer. Not trusting in his impulsiveness if she keeps talking.  

Rhaena doesn’t give up. Walking up to him, she takes him by the arm until he stops. And when the prince faces her, she is no longer crying.

“Then make sure I am telling the truth,” she says, “My virtue is still intact. If that is the doubt you have, take me to your chambers right now.”

“How dare you suggest such a thing?”

“You will do so in a couple of days anyway,” she interrupts, “What is the point of waiting if it will only increase your doubts and bitterness towards me? Take my body and see for yourself that I did not give myself to him.”

The challenge in her voice is clear. As well as her own anger, pain, and desperation.

“Come on, take me,” she repeats, this time punching him in the chest.

And Aemond knows it's better to walk away, knows not to even consider her words.

But he is too frustrated and filled with jealousy.

“Fine, if you insist on acting like a whore, then I’ll treat you like one.”

He quickly grabs her by the arm and Rhaena lets out a gasp as he practically drags her into the first room he finds, ushering her in and guiding her to the bed, where he tosses her carelessly before walking to the door and shutting it behind him.

Chapter Text

“Fine, if you insist on acting like a whore, then I’ll treat you like one.”

The words Aemond just told her echo in her mind as she watches her betrothed step away from the door he just closed and walk purposefully towards the bed.

Towards her.

The mattress dips as the prince climbs onto it, advancing on his knees towards his cousin, like a predator stalking his prey.

This is what you wanted, isn't it? She wonders internally, her eyes unable to tear themselves away from Aemond, who is soon on top of her, though not crushing her with his weight.

Rhaena opens her mouth to say something. What? She does not know. And besides, she cannot manage to verbalize anything, not when Aemond's hand suddenly lifts the skirt of her dress and begins to slowly move up her leg, his knuckles reaching her knee and back down again.

His touch is electrifying, the feel of his warm hand on her skin sending shivers down her spine, and as the prince basically lies on top of her, the feel of his body weight, his heat, and his breath almost on her lips, creates a sensation of pleasure that travels throughout her core, focusing especially somewhere between her legs.

You should not be enjoying this, the rational side of her mind thinks. Not when he's said such horrible things, accusing her of acting like a whore and threatening to murder…

The thoughts leave her head as Aemond buries his face between her neck and shoulders, nuzzling her exposed skin as if he were breathing in her scent. Rhaena's hands grip the sheets as she feels her cousin's lips place short kisses along the edge of her cleavage, and she closes her eyes, pressing her lips together to keep herself from being heard. What is this pleasure she is feeling? How could it all be so…? An involuntary moan escapes her lips as the prince's lips suckle the swell of her breasts.

And that's when Aemond pulls away from her.

It takes a few seconds for Rhaena to process the loss of his warmth and closeness, her eyes fluttering open to see the prince now standing, though still by the bed, watching her in anger and… pain? Rhaena gulps, suddenly ashamed for even suggesting to her cousin the foolish idea of ​​testing her chastity for himself.

“Did you make those sounds for him too? Did you enjoy his hands touching you too?” he asks, contempt evident in his voice.

“I’ve told you, he did not touch me.”

“How foolish do you think I am to believe that?” Aemond’s voice rises again, his good eye glaring at her and his hands, which just a few minutes ago were caressing her, are now clenched into fists, clearly trying to contain his temper, “You were together all night.”

Rhaena walks to the edge of the bed and stands up before answering, “It was not like that, I only agreed to see him because…” she trails off. She can't reveal to him the suspicions that motivated her to meet Corwyn, not without involving her sister and basically accusing her of treason, “I left the Vale so suddenly that we did not get a chance to talk, and he was my friend, just my friend, we wanted…”

“To talk,” Aemond finishes for her, letting out a mocking chuckle, “And you had to do that alone and in the middle of the night?”

We were not alone, she wants to scream, but she is not about to drag Marianne into this.

“We just talked, Corwyn is an honorable man,” she repeats, even though she knows it is pointless

“How honorable could he have been to dare suggest a clandestine rendezvous with a lady who was meant to be a princess of the realm? With a lady who was to be the mother of the future king.”

“He is…” Rhaena cuts off her words abruptly, “Why are you referring to me in the past? You cannot…” confusion clouds her brain, leaving her for a moment at a loss for what to say, “You cannot break the betrothal.”

“Of course I can,” he replies with malice in his eyes

“No, no, the kingdom would not accept it.”

“Everyone will understand if I repeat what I just heard,” his voice sounds hard and pleased at the same time, clearly reveling in Rhaena’s desperation, “Do you think anyone will plead for you knowing you meet with men in the middle of the night? Your reputation will be destroyed.”

“Nothing happened,” she shakes her head, “My virtue remains intact, I am a maiden.”

“Even if that were true, it would not matter. Your name would be sullied by your brazen actions, you would be unfit to be the mother of the royal heir.”

No. No. No. That could not be true, could it? The kingdom was not going to turn against her, they could not… Rhaena gulps, her eyes beginning to fill with tears at the prospect Aemond is laying out for her. They could not call off the betrothal. They could not take this away from her as well. They could not just take her away from Aemond. She could not lose him. She didn’t want to lose her future with him. She was going to be his wife. Her heart races and a sick feeling settles in her throat as panic takes hold. Panic at being called vulgar, and panic at the realization that what she fears most is losing her cousin.

Breathe, Rhaena, breathe. She forces herself to repeat and inhale slowly until she calms down again.

It is not going to happen. She is not going to lose Aemond. Especially since, as her mind reminds her once the panic has passed, they can't afford to lose her.

“You need me,” she retorts, suddenly emboldened by her reasoning, “You and your family cannot simply cast me aside no matter how much you wish to. I am the daughter of Daemon Targaryen, granddaughter of King Jaehaerys, and the only chance all of you have of reuniting this country and having the support of the noble houses that stood by my side of the family during the war is if you take me as your wife. Peace will only be achieved when our sides unite, you and I, producing a legitimate heir for both blacks and greens.”

“That is not true,” Aemond retorts, his face pale and his nostrils flaring from what he surely considers an audacity on her part.

“Oh, but it is,” Rhaena takes a step towards him, anger welling up within her as well, “You need me. And whether you like it or not, we are in this together and you will not get rid of me so easily. You say the realm would cast me aside, do you really believe that? They love me, while they barely tolerate you out of necessity”

Rhaena knows she must measure her words. She must not play with her cousin, not when he clearly feels hurt and betrayed, but her anger is greater and clouds her better judgment.

Aemond clenches his hands so tightly that he feels his nails digging into his palms, surely leaving marks. His cousin’s insolence seems to know no bounds. And the worst? Although her words leave him with a bittersweet feeling, he knows they are true.

“It seems I will have to bear with you then,” he finally answers, almost spitting out his words in anger, “One more sacrifice for the realm, sharing a bed with a used good.”

Rhaena acts instinctively upon hearing the insult, her hand rising and crossing his face with a slap. The sound brings her satisfaction, as does the livid expression of clear surprise on Aemond’s face.

“I will not tolerate your offenses,” she warns. And, although she fears for a moment the prince's reaction, she continues speaking, unable to contain herself, “You, of all people, what right do you have to insult me ​​when you dishonored yourself by keeping a mistress at Harrenhal throughout the entire war?”

“Do not talk about that again,” Aemond hisses.

“No? Then let’s talk about the whore you visit regularly at a brothel on the Street of Silk.”

Clearly her cousin isn’t expecting this turn in the conversation, because he takes a couple of steps back, though he continues to stare at her, “How do you know about that?”

“People talk, Aemond. Your affairs are not as secret as you imagine. Don’t I have the right to be angry that my future husband prefers the company of whores over his future wife? Huh?” Rhaena walks back until they are very close once more. She raises her face to his, her index finger digging into his chest, pointing at him, “Is that who you spent your hours with while ignoring me? Do you not dishonor me by not having regards for my…?”

He doesn't let her finish and grabs her by the arm, "What about you? You speak so easily of dishonor when it was you who ran into your friend's arms," ​​he spits the word out mockingly, "You say you two only talk, what did you have to say to him? What conversation was that?" he doesn't let her answer, "Were you going to tell him how much you would have preferred to marry him? That you had hopes of being his wife? That you dreamed and hoped for that while you lived in the Vale?"

He looks at her, expectantly, and Rhaena doesn't deny his gaze. She wants to be able to deny it, she wants to be able to assure him that it wasn't the case, but she would be lying. She had, at some point, considered marrying her old friend. She had, albeit briefly, mourned the truncated future they would never share. She knows this is all reflected in her gaze and she knows that Aemond interprets her silence as confirmation of his suspicions. “I am going to kill him,” he replies, his face twisted in rage.

Aemond lets go of her arm and turns his back, walking to the door.

“If you do, if you hurt him in any way, you will lose me,” she dares to say, desperate.

The prince doesn't even turn to face her before replying, "You give yourself too much credit if you think that is going to change my mind."

***

Fool, fool, you are a fool.

Her heart aches as she walks through the halls until she is back in her room.

Marianne had warned her and she knew it too. It had been stupid to meet Corwyn. And it had been even stupider to stop and talk to him in the halls when she knew he wanted something from her that she could never give him.

You should have run in the opposite direction, you should have done something. Anything. And you wouldn't be in this mess.

Rhaena slams the door to her room hard, causing the maid, who is currently stoking the fire, to jump.

“My lady, I…”

“Call Lady Westerling immediately,” she orders.

The young woman, still frightened, just nods before taking the bucket at her side and leaving her room.

She had staked everything on maintaining a friendly relationship with Aemond, on getting her cousin to respect her and count on her, on making their future marriage not be a complete torture. She had put up with his arrogance, his slights and initial coldness until she had managed to get him, somehow, to feel interested in her.

And now you lost him.

She destroyed her only chance when she trampled on Aemond’s ego and pride. Because she knows that is what hurts the prince the most, the feeling that someone who belongs to him chose someone else.

You did nothing wrong. You did not…

It does not matter. She was a noble lady and there were expectations of her. Standards for her behavior. Decency and good manners. Was it unfair? Yes, but that was the world they lived in. No one would look kindly on a meeting between a man and a woman in the middle of the night.

“Rhaena? Did something happen? The maid seemed scared when she insisted that you wanted to see me.”

Her lady finds her pacing back and forth near the bed, clearly desperate.

“He found out.”

Marianne doesn’t need to ask what she means, “How… what did the prince say? What did he do?”

Rhaena proceeds to tell her about her encounter with Corwyn in the hallway and how Aemond had interrupted them. The threats, the insults. Her proposal and the conversation that followed after they had locked themselves in one of the rooms.

“He is going to kill him,” she ends by saying, her voice filled with fear and guilt, “And it will all be my fault.”

“No, you cannot blame you for this,” her friend takes her hand and leads her to the bed, both of them sitting on the edge, “Ser Corwyn should not have sent you the letter, he was negligent and…”

“That does not justify Aemond killing him. Nothing happened, you know that.”

“I know, but the prince is clearly hurt. He cares about you and…”

“Oh please, Marianne!” Rhaena lets out a humorless giggle, “All he cares about is his reputation. Plus, he is angry because he forbade me from getting close to Corwyn and I didn’t listen to him. There is nothing but pride involved.”

“I do not agree with you.”

“Well he basically told me so before he left me alone in the room.”

There is a minute of silence until she speaks again.

“What am I going to do?” she asks, “How can I fix this?”

“I suppose… could you speak to Queen Alicent?” she suggests, “If anyone can convince the prince not to participate in the tournament, it is his mother.”

“No, I cannot go to the queen and tell her that Aemond decided to fight tomorrow. She would ask too many questions, she would like to know what motivated him to do so, and I would have to tell her the truth. I could not bear it.”

And besides, she does not trust the virtuous queen dowager to take more drastic action regarding the betrothal It was better not to risk it.

“You are right, though…” Marianne bites her lip, “Technically you were not alone when you went to the godswood. I was with you, you can tell Queen Alicent that we both spoke with Ser Corwyn.”

“No, I avoided mentioning your name to Aemond because I do not want you in the middle of this mess.”

“But I went with you precisely to help you if something like this happened.”

“No, Marianne, no, your presence there will stay between the two of us,” her voice is almost an order, “I do not want your name associated with any suspicion, you do not deserve to have doubts cast against you or to be said to have been foolish.”

“But…”

“Nothing,” she repeats and adds, “Perhaps Daeron can help me.”

Marianne sighs, “He was injured during the jousts and drank milk of the poppy. I wanted to visit him, but the grand maester says he needs to rest and probably won’t wake until tomorrow.”

Rhaena holds back a moan and covers her face with her hands. Tears sting her eyes, but she refuses to cry.

There has to be some other way.

But really, who could help her? Her friends and connections in the Red Keep are not the same as the prince's. There are only a couple of people who might be able to change his mind, and none of them are a viable option at the moment.

Marianne keeps her silently company for a while until she excuses herself, saying she wants to be alone.

“What about tonight's banquet?”

“I cannot bring myself to go to any banquet.”

“What if the prince demands your presence?”

“Then let him come and force me to go,” she replies, “Make something up for me, please?”

“Of course.”

Her lady hugs her tightly before abandoning her to her thoughts and recriminations.

A maid enters a while later with food, but Rhaena doesn't touch it, too nervous to eat.

The hours pass and, although she tries to sleep, it is impossible. Her mind keeps creating scenarios where a bloodied Corwyn staggers in the arena while Aemond delivers the final blow with a Valyrian steel sword.

In the end, exhausted, she simply sits in front of the fire, watching the crackling of the flames as she waits for morning to come, her dragon curled up at her feet.

When the sun rises in the sky, she washes and tidies herself as best she can before stepping outside and walking in the direction of the Tower of the Hand. She does not go up, however, for fear that the prince will not want to receive her and avoid meeting her. So, she remains standing at the only entrance and the one that knows Aemond will have to go down at some point.

The soldiers guarding the Tower watch her curiously, but do not comment, nor do they offer to let Aemond know of her presence as the minutes stretch into hours.

He has to appear at some point, she thinks, fiddling with her rings.

And so, he does.

Aemond Targaryen seems mildly surprised to see her waiting for him, his neutral expression turning to one of indifference as he ignores her, walking confidently in the direction of the fortress courtyard.

Rhaena follows, hurrying to his side and trying to keep up with his long strides.

“Aemond, please listen to me,” she says quietly.

“I know what you are going to ask, and I have no intention of giving up on letting Corbray know his place.”

“I will do whatever you want, but please do not hurt him. Do not kill him.”

“Is that all you care about? His well-being?”

Rhaena thinks she can detect pain in his voice despite how harsh his words sound.

“It is not just for him,” she says quickly, “It is for you too. You cannot just kill a noble man.”

“It is a tournament, Rhaena, every knight knows what they are up against when they choose to participate.”

“But it will not look good on you,” she insists, “It is a tournament in your honor, there is no point in participating, it does not dignify you. The people still whisper about your actions during the war, do you want them to think of you that way again?”

“So what if they do? As you said, they will have to continue to tolerate me,” he retorts, throwing her words back in her face.

Aemond walks faster and heads towards one of the carriages. When Rhaena finally reaches him, he speaks again, “You can ride with me if you wish, but keep quiet. I do not feel like listening to you.”

Rhaena is tempted to answer and find another ride, but she eventually climbs in after him and sits on the opposite side. They make the journey in silence, the girl not daring to speak, and when they reach the arena, Aemond does not go up with her to the platform, but instead heads to the participants' tents.

Rhaena watches him until he enters one of them, and then makes her way to the royal box, slowly climbing the stairs, grateful to be the first one there.

The place is slowly filling up and, although she greets the dowager queen accordingly, as well as the members of the council, her mind is elsewhere.

“The Prince Daeron?” she asks Alicent

“Still recovering,” she replies, “I insisted for him not join us today.”

There goes your only chance to stop Aemond.

Rhaena nods.

“Lady Westerling said you had a headache yesterday, are you better this morning?”

“Quite better,” she replies in a small voice, “I needed to rest as well. All the hustle and bustle of the wedding left me a little…”

Rhaena leaves the thought hanging in the air and the queen seems to understand, nodding as well, “Where is Aemond?”

“I do not know,” she lies.

Alicent frowns, “It is not like him to be late.”

The girl does not know what to say and thankfully Alicent does not press her further.

Minutes pass and when the trumpet sounds, the arena falls silent to watch the entrants.

Rhaena spots him immediately. His armor, as ornate as his brother Daeron’s, stands out from the others. His hair is tied back in a braid and his expression is a mask of coldness as he takes a step ahead of the other men.

“Oh god,” Alicent speaks up from beside her, “What is he doing there?”

“It seems Prince Aemond intends to fight today,” Lord Lannister replies

“Did you know about this?” Alicent asks the man, who shakes his head. Her gaze turns to Rhaena, “Did he mention anything to you?”

“Nothing at all,” she lies again.

And her pale face, apprehensive expression, and teary eyes must be convincing enough because Alicent seems to believe her.

The Dowager Queen whispers something else that she can’t quite make out.

“There is nothing we can do now,” Lannister reasons, “Besides, I have confidence in the prince’s abilities. Nothing will happen to him.”

Lord Tyland’s words make her heart race. She has not considered, until this moment, that some other participant might hurt Aemond. What if, because of her lack of good sense, she ended up causing her cousin’s death?

The action begins almost immediately. The knights are split up and Aemond is paired with some northerner whose name escapes her.

When the fight begins, Aemond draws his Valyrian steel sword and circles around his enemy, examining him. The northerner eventually tires of his actions as he charges at him, but Aemond easily evades him. The fight continues for a couple of minutes until the prince has the opportunity to wound him, which he does with a quick swing of his sword, plunging it into his opponent's side. The crowd chants the prince's name and servants drag the northerner away, who as Rhaena finds, is still alive.

The fights follow one after another. Corwyn defeats a man from the Stormlands, and Aemond defeats another from the Reach. Swords clang, bodies fall, the sand fills with blood.

And then comes the moment she has been dreading.

By chance of fate or - surely - because Aemond has made sure of it, he and Corwyn are paired together.

They both stand in the middle of the arena, their armor showing some dents. Rhaena, unable to contain herself, covers her mouth with her hands to prevent herself from letting out a little scream, when Corwyn runs towards the prince sword in hand. Corwyn is not a bad warrior and his skill is palpable as the minutes pass, both of them hitting their swords and trying to knock the other down.

His old friend's sword passes dangerously close to his cousin's neck and Alicent gasps. Aemond quickly steps back and switches the sword from one hand to the other, holding it in his left and still wielding it with skill. This switch, Corwyn clearly doesn't expect, because the edge of the blade cuts into his side.

Corwyn staggers back and Aemond seems on the verge of winning. The prince advances on his opponent, standing in front of him and wounding his hand, causing him to drop his sword. The crowd shouts Aemond's name as Corwyn is left weaponless. Only, suddenly, Corwyn charges at the prince, using his body to push him and throw him to the ground.

The attack is so unexpected that it succeeds. Corwyn uses his good hand to throw Aemond's sword to the other side and begins to beat him with his fists. Beside him, Alicent seems on the verge of fainting. Rhaena wants to close her eyes, wants to look away, wants to do something, but she can do nothing but ask the gods to protect her cousin.

Please, please, don't let him die.

And perhaps they take pity on Rhaena, because when everything seems lost Aemond uses his strength to throw Corwyn off of him and roll him over, this time having the advantage and closing his hands around his neck, dominating him and clearly suffocating him.

The common people go wild with excitement. The nobles chant their prince's name.

And she... she knows this is it.

It is now that Aemond is going to kill Corwyn.

A tear rolls down her cheek and, unable to contain herself, she stands up and goes to the edge of the platform. The movement seems to catch the attention of her cousin, who looks away from Corbray to look up at her. Their eyes meet for a second and Rhaena does not know what she sees in them, only that Aemond has a moment of hesitation before his hands leave his opponent's neck, giving him one last blow to the jaw that manages to knock Corwyn unconscious before he stands up and leaves the combat arena.

Chapter Text

Aemond does not return to the arena.

It is obvious the prince has left the tournament as the minutes tick by and he doesn’t show up, so the competitions resume, and in the end a minor lord from the Riverlands is the winner.

Not that Rhaena has been paying much attention, her mind on the tents where Aemond and Corwyn are surely being tended to.

“Congratulations, ser, and good fortune,” she says mechanically as the knight approaches to pay his respects, thus signaling the end of the tournament.

Finally.

Rhaena doesn’t wait long to step off the platform and cross the grounds on her way to the competitors’ tents. Though the common folk call her name, wanting her attention, she barely raises a hand in their direction, uncaring of the snub. She has to…

She pauses.

Where should she go first?

The two directions open before her. She knows the prince’s tent is to her left, separate from the ones for the other lords’. Eventually, she takes the right direction, moving through the tents and checking the banners, in case any of them give her an indication of who are inside.

“May I help you, my lady?”

A young man looks at her curiously. Rhaena stops and looks at him, “Are you a maester?”

“Indeed, my lady.”

“Are you tending to the wounded knights?” When he nods, she continues, “Have you tended ser Corwyn Corbray?”

“Just recently, my lady.”

“And how is he?”

“He will survive,” the young man frowns, “The only serious wound is the one on his side, but it will heal well with proper care. Would you like me to take you to him?”

There is a moment of hesitation on her part, “No. There is no need, I merely wanted to hear from him,” she sighs, “I imagine he will be taken to the castle to continue his recovery.”

“When he awakens from the sleep of the milk of the poppy, yes, my lady.”

Rhaena nods, “Thank you, maester. You have been very kind.”

She is about to turn away, when the young man speaks again, “Should I… should I let Ser Corwyn know that you asked for him?”

“No, as I said, there is no need.”

Without waiting for an answer, she turns and strides to Aemond’s tent.

***

“At least you had the good sense to withdraw before killing someone.”

His mother’s voice – or rather her complaints – only worsen the headache he feels throbbing in his temples.

“We can still attribute your behavior to some sort of… need to prove yourself or your worth as a warrior in a tournament being held in your honor,” the dowager queen continues, looking at him with a mix of disapproval and anxiety.

“It is irrelevant what the Court think,” he says quietly, the pain in his jaw beginning to show. That fucking Corbray had managed to hit him hard before he could push him away, “They wanted a good show and that’s what I gave them.”

“And since when do you insist on pleasing the common people?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to get more involved?”

“Not like this!”

His mother sighs, clearly exasperated with his attitude. The prince thinks there is a certain tone of suspicion in her claims, as if Alicent somehow sensed that something else motivated him to participate in the ridiculous tournament, but she does not press for answers. Still, she approaches the improvised bed where he is sitting and takes the clean cloth that the maester has left while he prepares an infusion for Aemond, and wets it in water, approaching her son and delicately placing her hands on his cheek.

The prince wants to murmur a thank you as he feels the cloth clean his wounds, but he cannot. He only limits himself to observing his mother’s still beautiful face, expression concentrated, cleaning the traces of blood, dirt and sweat that are surely stuck to his skin.

“If only you could see yourself!” sighs the queen, “The bruises will soon appear, how will you enter the Great Sept tomorrow in this state? Your handsome face is…”

“You are the only one who finds me handsome,” he interrupts her.

His mother’s response is interrupted by the arrival of his betrothed.

“Queen Alicent,” she greets, walking to a stop a few feet from them. His mother puts aside her task to turn to Rhaena, “Cousin, how are you feeling?”

Their eyes meet for a brief moment, but he doesn’t respond. It’s his mother who speaks, “The prince only suffered superficial wounds, thank the gods.”

“Thank the gods,” Rhaena repeats.

An awkward silence falls between the three of them. Aemond, who can’t speak freely, not in front of his mother, is about to say something when Rhaena intervenes again.

“Your Grace, do you think I can talk to my cousin? Alone.”

His mother, clearly intrigued, looks at both of them, searching for an answer, “I don’t know how appropriate that is.”

“Mother, go find the maester. Our conversation won’t take long,” Aemond’s voice is almost an order.

Alicent grimaces, but doesn’t protest, “I will be back soon.”

Rhaena murmurs a thank you and watches the dowager queen leave the tent before turning to him.

“You took your time before coming and fulfilling your duty to ask for my health.”

The bitterness, much to Aemond’s irritation, is clear in his voice. So is the insinuation and suspicion in his words, which is not lost on Rhaena.

“I assure you cousin, I did not visit him, if that is what you imagine.”

“You did not? Were you not crying at the foot of his bed?”

Rhaena presses her lips into a thin line and tilts her face to the side, clearly annoyed, but ultimately just shakes her head.

“No, though I admit I did inquire about his injuries.”

“Ah,” he smirks at her, “Of course.”

Rhaena takes a tentative step toward him, her hands fiddling with the hems of her dress, “I wanted… I wanted to thank you for not killing him.”

“I was tempted to.”

“But you did not, and I appreciate that.”

Her voice sounds so full of relief, Aemond hates to hear it, so he looks away and down at his hands still red and sore from this morning’s effort, his knuckles cracked from the force with which he had delivered the last blow.

“I imagine you did not enjoy the show as worried as you were for the life of your lover?”

“He was never my lover. And my concern was not exclusively for him.”

“Was it not?”

“No,” she answers almost fiercely, taking a step closer to the prince

“Well, I do not need you to worry about me,” he replies harshly.

No. You don’t need it, but you crave it. You desperately crave for her to… care about you, that voice whispers in his mind.

“Too bad I do. I care what happens to you.”

Aemond only shudders at the words that until a moment ago echoed in his mind.

“Out of obligation?”

“No,” Rhaena takes another step and they are now very close, so close that her dress brushes the destroyed fabric of his pants. She positions herself between his legs and, since the prince is tall, their faces are almost at the same height, “Because I was beginning to enjoy your company and our time together.”

At that, Aemond does not know what to say. Their gazes remain locked for a moment, until Rhaena takes the cloth that Alicent has left, wets it and looks at her cousin, asking with her eyes if she can continue cleaning him. He nods, hating himself, but longing for her touch.

“Does it hurt?” her question is almost a whisper, her small hands delicately fulfilling their task.

“Nothing I cannot handle.”

He is tempted to make a sardonic comment about Corbray’s lack of strength, but prefers to remain silent.

Rhaena nods, and for a moment he closes his good eye and enjoys her ministrations, her fingers brushing the skin of his cheeks, her familiar scent washing over him as they are so close that if he leans forward a little further, he would be able to touch her lips.

“And here?” The prince opens his eye when he feels Rhaena’s hand rest on his chest, over his heart. He looks at her with a confused expression, “Are you happy after taking out your anger on him?”

It doesn’t escape Aemond’s notice that his cousin hasn’t mentioned Corbray’s name out loud. And that, in a way, pleases him, so he decides to be honest.

“Partly, yes,” he answers in the same low tone of voice, “Though I would have been more satisfied if I had gone all the way. At least he got what he deserved and paid for his crime.”

“There was never a crime to pay for.”

“Mmm,” Aemond watches her expression, trying to find some trace of a lie in her eyes, something to betray her words, “Even if I was tempted to believe you, you too must pay for your audacity in meeting him. And him for even suggesting it, for dancing with you, for wrapping his arms around you, for almost kissing you and touching you.”

Rhaena shudders upon hearing this, and the prince wonders if she can detect the possessive tone in his voice as he tells her all these things, “I apologize, cousin. I know I acted in a way that does not befit my position. I am aware of that.”

“Well,” Aemond places his hand over the one Rhaena still has on his chest, slowly stroking her fingers, “It’s good that you have that clear now that you will be my wife.”

“Your wife and therefore you are the only one with the… right to do all those things?”

“Mmm.”

Rhaena smirks, “Well, cousin, that remains to be seen,” she replies, surprising him by noticing her hardened gaze, “Tomorrow you too will become my husband. And I expect the same as you ask of me,” his cousin steps back so suddenly that he can do nothing to prevent it, and only their hands remain joined. She gives him a gentle squeeze before breaking free from his grip and standing at a safe distance, “You know what I mean.”

Yes, Aemond knows what Rhaena is talking about, but he doesn't say anything because Alicent returns at that moment with the maester and she takes the opportunity to leave the tent.

***

Lady Johanna's gaze is on her, watching her with a mix of curiosity and pity?

“I am sorry, my lady, I am afraid I am not the best company this evening.”

They're gathered alone in lady Lannister’s private chambers. Her invitation had surprised her, although she was grateful for the distraction considering that her mind was still returning to the conversation of a few hours ago with her cousin. Had she really given Aemond some kind of… ultimatum? And more importantly, was she even going to be able to fulfill it? It wasn't as if she could stop him from taking her by force or…

“I am perfectly capable of understanding you, Lady Rhaena,” the woman delicately wipes the corners of her mouth with the cloth napkin, “The day before my wedding I didn't eat a bite, I spent it in bed imagining the worst possible scenarios about my future husband and married life.”

“Were you not familiar with Lord Jason?” she asks curiously.

“He was our lord paramount, of course. I had seen him a couple of times when he visited The Crag, but not enough to really get to know him.”

Rhaena nods. She knows that this is how it usually goes in such unions, “Were you scared?” she dares to ask.

“Terrified,” Lady Johanna smiles wistfully, “That is partly why I took the liberty of requesting this meeting. I thought that perhaps you needed a voice with experience on the subject now that you are faced with the fate of every other noble woman in the realm.”

“And I appreciate your consideration towards me.”

“Surely you have doubts,” the woman continues, making a face very similar to Marianne’s when she is concentrating on something, “I imagine that Lady Laena did not have the opportunity to speak with you on these matters, considering that the gods took her when you were still young,” Rhaena simply nods, her heart filling with sadness at the mention of her mother, “And Princess Rhaenyra probably did not speak to you either since your engagement to Prince Lucerys never materialized and times were uncertain.”

Rhaena smiles vaguely, and lifts her teacup to her lips, “I know what is expected to happen tomorrow in the marital bed, my lady, my septas spoke to me of it.”

“Ah, the septas!” Lady Lannister sneers, “They know nothing of the subject. And, if they do know they never dare to speak.”

“Your words do not comfort me,” she lets out a nervous chuckle.

“It is not pleasant. At least, not at first,” she sighs, “But it is our duty, and, with time, it becomes more tolerable. Enjoyable, even, if you can get your future husband to stop thinking only of himself, and take more notice of you.”

“Oh,” is all she can say because the truth is, she has no idea what Lady Lannister is talking about. The woman laughs and sips from her wine glass, clearly understanding her silence, “Do not worry, remember my words and you will understand them as the days go by.”

“I will trust you, Lady Lannister.”

“What I’m really trying to tell you, my dear, is that you need to understand your future husband. Generally, all men like women to be obedient, accommodating, and to simply nod along with everything they say, but we can be more than that.”

“Was that the case with your husband?”

“My husband, gods bless him, loved to hear the sound of his own voice. He was not the brightest, but I learned quickly that he didn’t like being contradicted too much. I would pretend to agree with him, and simply whisper things in his ear, but I did it in a way that Jason thought the ideas were his own,” she smiles sadly, “I am not saying it will be like that with the prince, but you know him, you’ve spent time with him. Learn and observe, it will serve you well.”

Rhaena thinks about her words. She had had a similar thought, of course, but she knows that her relationship with Aemond has changed a lot since then. Weeks ago, when she had wanted to get along with him, it was simply to feel secure in her marriage. Now that there was, somehow, some attraction between them, as well as some sense of competition and battle of wills, everything was more complicated. She knew she should give in, but she didn’t want to. Just as she knew that Aemond showed some weakness towards her, but only at times, only when he was vulnerable, which wasn’t always.

“I’ve given you a lot to think about, it seems,” Lady Johanna’s voice brings her back to reality, “I know that too much is demanded of us, but it will all be worth it if you can earn his respect and regard. His heart, even. And when you give him a son, he will shower you with praise because he will see in him the continuity of his lineage, especially in the situation you find yourself in.”

“I know.”

“It will be worth it, believe me,” she repeats, “A child will change your life, your way of thinking and considering things. And that child will be for you too, especially at the beginning, it will be your world.”

Rhaena doesn’t know if that prospect terrifies her or makes her long for that moment.

“Thank you, Lady Lannister.”

“You are a clever and nice girl, Rhaena, use that to your advantage,” she replies and stands up, “I will not detain you any longer, I am sure you have many things to do.”

Rhaena exchanges a few last words with the woman, and goes straight to her room. When she arrives, she finds several maids packing her belongings into trunks and chests.

“What are you all doing?” she asks Cindy.

“Queen Alicent told us that we should move your things to the Tower of the Hand, my lady.”

The Tower of the Hand. Aemond’s chambers.

“Right, of course.”

Rhaena doesn’t interrupt them any further, she simply sits on the edge of the bed and watches them work, until other maids arrive to fix her hair.

Once again, she doesn't protest, she just lets them undo the dreadlocks from her hair, which takes hours, but she doesn't complain at all, she doesn't complain about the pain or even mention that she would have preferred to keep them. It doesn't matter. Not really.

When they finally let her alone, she lies down on the bed and tries to sleep. And the gods seem to take pity on her once again because she manages to do so without any problems.

***

“You look beautiful.”

The compliment comes from Marianne who, standing behind her, also looks at her reflection in the mirror.

The words of thanks stay in her throat, so she just reaches for her lady’s hand and squeezes it tightly.

It’s not that she doesn’t like what she sees. She knows Marianne is right, she looks good. The dress is a beautiful ivory shade with dark red sleeves that fall to her feet. The details embroidered in gold threads seem to symbolize the flames of dragon fire. The ruby ​​necklace at her throat exquisitely complements the outfit, as does the tiara that looks delicately placed on her mane of silver curls.

She looks more than good, if she is honest with herself.

And yet, she can’t help the feeling of fear and at the same time anticipation that runs through her body.

“Clearly Queen Alicent has good taste,” Marianne continues, “This dress is perfect for a royal wedding.”

Rhaena nods, “Remind me to thank her.”

She doesn’t think she’ll even be able to say anything coherent during the day.

She doesn’t even think she’ll be able to make it to the Grand Sept on her own.

“Come, we mustn’t be late.”

Her friend takes her hand and guides her into the courtyard of the Keep, where she expects to find a carriage, but instead she finds a beautifully decorated open carriage.

“The people will want to see you,” she explains before giving her a hug and saying goodbye.

She is not alone, however. Her cousin is waiting to help her up and make the journey together.

“Lord Alyn, good morrow.”

“Rhaena, you look lovely.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

She does her best not to damage her dress as she sits down. Her cousin settles in as well, and the carriage moves forward, weaving through the people outside the gates, calling out her name.

Thankfully the commotion frees her from having to converse with her cousin. So, she turns her attention to greeting the people, smiling as convincingly as she can and trying to catch some of the flowers thrown her way.

“The people love you.”

Her cousin helps her down as they stop in front of the Great Sept. “People love an occasion to celebrate,” she replies, smoothing the skirts of her dress.

Alyn smirks and offers his arm, which Rhaena takes, slowly moving alongside him.

“We haven’t had much opportunity to talk these days.”

“The wedding took up much of my time, surely you understand, cousin.”

“Of course,” he replies cordially, “However…”

“There is nothing else to discuss,” she replies as she begins to climb the many stairs, “You are to marry my sister, you have assured me that your intentions are the best, and I believe you. I hope your union will be one filled with joy and that, when we meet again, it will be under equally joyous circumstances.”

Alyn does not reply. Although Rhaena has not yet written to Baela, her mind occupied with more pressing matters, she does not tell lies. She believes the new lord Velaryon’s words. It is not her sister whom she is truly concerned about. At least not in matters of marriage.

The Great Sept is brighter than the other times she has visited. Hundreds of candles are lit beneath each altar. The nobles, already assembled, stand in front of the main altar of the Father's statue, and Rhaena notes that only a select group of them have managed to enter the ceremony.

When a trumpet sounds, all eyes turn to her. Alyn begins to advance along the path marked by brothers of the faith, who hold candles and look very solemn. Rhaena does not make eye contact with anyone, her eyes fixed straight ahead, focused on taking one step after another.

“Remember what I told you, cousin,” Alyn whispers when they are already reaching the point where the royal family is standing, “I am here for you.”

Rhaena offers the briefest of nods as she removes her arm from Lord Alyn and walks to where Aemond is waiting for her.

Although the journey is short, the seconds seem to drag on forever as she takes the final steps towards her fate.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection”

It is the High Septon who speaks, a goofy smile on his lips as he looks at her with fatherly affection. Rhaena bites the inside of her lip and kneels before the altar. Aemond walks slowly up behind her, and places a heavy black and red cloak over her shoulders.

Then, he offers her his hand to rise. Rhaena takes it, her heart pounding in her chest as she stands and stays beside the prince.

Has he worn the cloak before? She can’t help but wonder as his scent envelops her. Or maybe it’s just the fact that they are so close to each other.

“Your Grace, my lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of a man and his wife. In the presence of the Seven, I join these two as one flesh, one heart, and one soul for all eternity.”

The High Septon’s words take her breath away, causing her breathing to quicken and her legs to weaken. Aemond seems to notice, because his hand goes to her elbow, holding her. Rhaena doesn’t dare look at him.

“Look upon each other and say the words.”

This is it. The moment Rhaena has been dreading. Not only because the words she must speak next are the final hammer blow to the nail that is her sentence to join her life to Aemond's, but because she is not sure she can even speak. What if she can't make a sound and only manages to embarrass herself in front of the court?

Her thoughts are cut off when her cousin faces her, and she, instinctively, does the same.

Rhaena looks up at Aemond and holds her breath as she watches him.

The bruises that weren't quite as visible yesterday are now. A purple bruise covers the left side of his chin and another is noticeable high on his right cheekbone. The girl is tempted to raise her hand and cover his face, but stops herself, finally placing it next to Aemond's, now holding hands facing each other.

“Father, Smith, Warrior,” the prince begins, and instinct guides her, making her repeat the prayer as well. A prayer she has practiced and knows well, “Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine. From this day until…”

“Until the end of my days,” Aemond finishes for both of them.

The High Septon utters something else and the attendees break into applause and cheers, but Rhaena pays them no attention, her gaze still focused on Aemond.

And the way he is looking at her, with… possessiveness and desire all at once, his one good eye scanning her body up and down, making her blush when he finally meets her gaze again.

And though she’s dreaded this moment for the past few months, though just a few hours ago she was miserable about joining her cousin, now she can’t help but feel the same anticipation he seems to be feeling. And the thought sends a rush of pleasure through her body.

Because she is finally his wife.

And he is hers.

Until the last of their days.

Chapter Text

“The king has summoned you to his chambers, Your Grace.”

The young queen’s heart began to pound at the words her maid had just told her.

What could her husband want with her right now? He had not bothered to visit her – not that she would blame him considering he was bedridden – nor send a message after the baby situation. He had not asked her to see him when, surely, he had been informed that she could already take care of herself. So why call now? Just when she was on her way to the royal hall for the banquet after the wedding. Surely, he couldn’t want her to share his bed. Or could he? Not at this hour… not that that would have stopped him before, but… there was no reason for him to look for her anymore. She could not have children anymore, the maester and the midwives had said that the damage had been greater than they initially thought and she hadn’t stopped bleeding for weeks…

Ellyn clears her throat and closes her eyes for a moment to push those memories away. It is not worth thinking about. Not now. Not ever.

Taking one last look at the mirror and finding her proper appearance, she leaves her room and walks the few meters that separate her from her royal husband's. The guards greet her with a bow and open the doors, announcing her.

“Ah, there you are!”

To the queen's surprise, her husband is sitting on his wooden litter, wearing royal robes and his crown of Valyrian steel and rubies on his head.

“Your Grace,” she greets, approaching him, heart still beating strongly and trying not to make eye contact with Aegon. She does not know if she will like what she will find in them, “You sent for me.”

“Yes, I thought it best that we both enter the banquet together.”

“Will you go to the banquet?”

She cannot help but look up at the surprise she feels at the news.

“Did you not hear me?” the ever-present tone of exasperation in the king’s voice reaches her. His violet eyes scan her with an expression that is half frustration and half amusement, as if he does not know exactly what to make of her, “Of course I will go to the feast. It is my brother’s wedding.”

Ellyn does not answer, she simply nods.

“Were you in the Great Sept?”

“No, I felt a little under the weather this morning,” she lies. She does not like septs, the smell of incense, or the sermons of the religious. She’d had enough of them during her convalescence, she’d heard the repetitive words of comfort and resignation and she was sick of them.

“Of course,” Aegon grimaces, “Come on, then.”

The king gives an order and four guards take charge of lifting the litter. Ellyn stands beside him, walking at the same pace as them and trying to mentally prepare herself for what awaits her.

Her first time facing the court after the loss of the baby.

It is no coincidence that she chose this ceremony where, she hopes, all eyes will be focused only on the Lady Rhaena and Prince Aemond. Where she hopes to remain as unnoticed as a queen can be. It is a foolish idea, perhaps, but she cannot extend her absence from royal engagements any further, not unless she wants more rumors to start or to simply be relegated to being another figurehead in the Keep.

As if you weren’t already.

Ellyn sighs and raises her head as the double doors of the hall open, moving forward without looking at anyone in particular as they make their way to the head table. The bride and groom have not arrived yet, though the dowager queen is already in her place, as is Prince Daeron. Against her better judgment, her eyes meet those of her brother-in-law, who seems as surprised as everyone else to see her, though a smile spreads across his handsome face.

The young queen quickly looks away, and sits down in her assigned place next to her husband, who promptly orders wine. Ellyn sips from her goblet as well, and is thankful that it is not too long before the doors open again and the newlyweds enter the hall, walking close to each other but not touching.

Rhaena Targaryen is, the queen thinks, exactly as she imagined her. Slender and beautiful, with that Valyrian charm she knows well, and that seems to draw everyone in the hall. The court erupts in cheers as the newlywed couple walks to the center table to greet the king and queen.

“Cousin Rhaena,” Aegon smirks, “We finally meet again!”

Rhaena’s expression is one of calculated kindness and serenity, as Ellyn can tell.

“Cousin,” she greets, “It’s been a while, but I am glad to find you in good health and spirits.”

Ellyn raises her eyebrows at her, and if she notices, she says nothing, her gaze focused somewhere between the ground and the king.

“So… you are now husband and wife,” Aegon laughs and sips from his goblet, “The hope of the realm! I expect for you two to have better luck than my dear queen and I in that regard.”

Aegon pats his wife’s shoulder carelessly, pointing at her, and the gazes of the new princes focus on her, though Ellyn ignores them, trying to remain composed.

“Thank you for your good wishes, Your Grace,” Rhaena replies.

“Show your gratitude having a son to be my heir,” Aegon points out, adding sarcastically, “Since my wife was unable to do so.”

Do not let his words affect you, do not let his…

“Maybe you should stop drinking so much and watch your words, brother.”

It is not Aemond who speaks, but Daeron. His voice, lacking its usual gentle tone, leaves them all at a loss for words for a moment. Ellyn does not dare look at him, though she feels her brother-in-law’s gaze on her.

“Enough,” the dowager queen interjects, “Aemond, Rhaena, sit down, our guests surely wish to congratulate you. Daeron, you…”

Ellyn does not hear what the dowager queen says to her son, she only notices that, a few moments later, Daeron stands up and walks off somewhere.

Nobles begin to arrive like flies drawn to honey, reciting polite words to the kings before turning their full attention to Rhaena and Aemond. Mostly Rhaena.

“Aren’t they going to dance?” she asks Aegon when the greeting line finally ends, and the couple is still at the table.

The king lets out a mocking chuckle, “Have you ever seen Aemond dance?”

No. Of course not. Although she had thought that, since it was his wedding, the prince would make an exception.

Nonsense.

Illusions, like the ones she had had when her father had decided to marry her to the king. Foolish illusions that she had harbored in her heart because, arrogant as she was, she had believed herself superior to her sisters because she was going to get married. Because she would be queen. Because her children would sit on the Iron Throne while they remained single.

Stupid girl.

She had arrived in the capital and, although her husband bore the scars of dragonfire, she had found him handsome enough that she had not been disgusted on their wedding night. Besides, Aegon had been patient and, over time, she had even come to find a certain comfort at his side. He was not a terrible husband, he expected nothing more from her than an heir and he did not subject her to his presence continually. So, Ellyn had enjoyed her freedom and delighted in making the Red Keep her entertainment center, filling the nights with dancing, gatherings, puppet shows, and music. She was the queen, after all. She was young, beautiful, and entitled to enjoy her new position.

It hadn't lasted long. The novelty had worn off, and after losing her first baby, she had taken out her frustration on her ladies, forcing them to compete with each other for her attention, for her favors, alienating those who said something she didn't like or who were simply not worthy enough of her time.

It all seemed so ridiculous now. She had been so frivolous, so foolish... and what had she gotten out of it? Nothing but the false affection of the courtiers. Affection that had vanished when it became clear that she was now nothing more than a queen for show, with nothing to contribute or anything to benefit them. Would that happen to Rhaena too? Her blue eyes travel to those of the new princess, who delicately eats from the plate in front of her. The queen watches her for a few more seconds before turning her gaze to the rest of the room. Several nobles are already dancing in the center, including Lady Marianne Westerling and Daeron.

“They have my approval.”

Her husband’s voice makes her look away, “What?”

“My brother and the Westerling girl. They have my approval to marry,” he explains.

“Oh,” Ellyn tries to ignore the hollow feeling in her stomach that the news brings, “I did not know Prince Daeron had an interest in Lady Marianne.”

Liar.

“It is convenient, don’t you think?”

“Of course. A young, noble lady is just what your brother deserves,” she nods, looking away.

A noble lady. Untethered. Unblemished and unbroken.

The complete opposite of her.

The thought makes her heart ache and her eyes sting, but she forces herself to keep watching them dance because the next wedding she attends will probably be theirs.

And there is nothing she can do about it.

~~~

Rhaena doesn’t really know what to do.

If this were any other banquet, she’d probably be dancing already.

But this is her wedding celebration. And since arriving from the Sept, she’s done nothing but sit at the center table next to Aemond.

Her husband.

The thought still sends shivers down her spine, as if she hasn’t grasped what it means. And, really, she hasn’t. Not yet.

“I think I’ll go say hello to Marianne.”

Aemond meets her eyes for an instant before they drift to one of the nearby tables, where her friend is deep in conversation with Daeron.

“Are you looking forward to interrupting the happy couple?” he asks, raising his eyebrows and adding, “Or do you wish to get away from your husband’s presence already?”

Despite his question, there is a hint of amusement in his voice and Rhaena notices that the corners of his lips are turned up, as if he is struggling not to smile.

“Perhaps,” she replies, offering him a half-smile before standing up and walking around the table so she can reach her friend. Only, as she does so, she is interrupted by Alyn Velaryon.

“Cousin,” she can’t contain the look of exasperation she gives him, what could he possibly want now? But it’s not like she can just ignore him, such rudeness wouldn’t go unnoticed and she doesn’t want to give rise to any potential rumors or malicious comments.

“I know you are probably sick of seeing me already,” the man says, “But I was hoping you could dance with me considering I am leaving for Driftmark in the morrow.”

“You are leaving? So soon?” the amazement is clear in her voice.

“I’ve done what I needed to do here,” he nods, “The island needs me now. I will be leaving shortly for the Free Cities, and there are many details to sort out.”

“Following in our grandsire’s footsteps?” she asks as she takes his hand and leads him over to where the other guests are dancing.

“Not at all,” Alyn smiles, “It is purely a trade trip. With winter approaching, we need to stock up on supplies.”

“A most sensible plan,” Rhaena bows and they begin to dance.

“Rhaena I… uh…” Alyn clears his throat, “I have a message from Baela. She… asked me to remind you of the last conversation you two had, especially about her… recommendation and the directions she gave you for after your wedding night.”

The girl feels her cheeks heat up, “Do not worry, cousin, I remember my sister’s words well. Please let her know that I will act as I see fit.”

There are a few seconds of awkward silence until Alyn sighs, “I am sorry, Rhaena, please don’t be angry with Baela. Or with me. Your sister only wants the best for you, I know this situation is difficult, but we are both trying to protect you.”

“Oh is that so?” Rhaena raises her eyebrows at him, “I am sorry, cousin, it is just that all this sudden worrying takes me by surprise.”

“I made a promise to our grandsire, I swore to take care of you two.”

“You certainly took good care of Baela,” she points out, “As for me… I was clearly not your priority considering you left me as a guest in the Vale, exiled from the only family I had left in the world.”

 “Rhaena…”

“No, no, it’s fine,” she raises her hand to silence him, but he cuts her off.

“I tried, I really did,” he assures her, “I wanted to bring you back, but you should know that it was much more convenient for them to keep you apart, it was easier that way. Besides, I was in no position to make demands.”

Alyn is right. She knows that his reasons are justifiable, as a young lord of questionable origin, he did not have much influence at court even though he had been accepted by Lord Corlys, yet…

“It does not matter, really,” she answers, trying to calm herself, “You are going to return to Driftmark and I’ll be here, with my new husband. And besides, it is not that bad. He is not that bad, I know he doesn’t give that impression, but… I’ll be fine. I think I can be…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence, she just makes a vague gesture with her hand, and holds her cousin’s gaze. “Now I understand why Baela seemed so alarmed when she mentioned your feelings for the prince.”

“I have no feelings for the prince.”

Alyn sighs, and for some reason, that gesture irritates her.

“Just keep in mind that he is not a good man. He is not honorable and you cannot trust him. Aemond Targaryen will always look out for his own benefit, not yours. He will not support you or protect you if the… pieces on the board change. His priority will always be his family and you are not part of it, Rhaena. You are just a means to an end, that is how they all see you,” his gaze takes in the high table, “At the end of the day, remember that your true allies are Baela and I. Your true family.”

Her words cause his heart to sink and a bitter feeling to creep through her body.

“From your words, I see that my sister has clearly made you a party to her foolish expectations of a… resurgence of our side or whatever. Do not encourage her. If you love her as you truly claim to do, then put those crazy ideas out of her mind. We are not at war. We do not need war. Leave all that behind and just live in peace. I would not like to lose my sister because of her desire to pursue a utopia”

“You won’t,” he assures her, “And it is not a utopia. Just…remember our words. Don’t trust the prince, trust only yourself. It won’t be too long until you can be free of him, and when that happens, I truly hope that you can then find someone who will give you as much joy as Baela and I feel.”

As Baela and I feel.

The words echo in her mind, and far from cheering her up or relieving her, they only make her resent her cousin and sister more.

“Goodbye, cousin, I wish you a safe journey home.”

Without waiting for Alyn to respond, she turns her back and walks toward the central table.

Aemond meets her gaze as she climbs the stone steps, his expression quickly letting her know that he knows something has upset her.

“What is it?” he asks quietly when she reaches him.

“I’m just tired,” she shakes her head.

“Mmm,” the prince studies her for a few more seconds before turning to the king and his mother, “Rhaena and I will retire.”

“Good! We can begin the bedding ceremony,” Aegon chuckles.

Rhaena feels the color drain from her body and her hands begin to tremble slightly. She hasn’t thought about that part of the wedding. Was she going to have to endure the nobles stripping her and carrying her to the Tower of the Hand? The thought alone makes her gag.

“My wife and I will go alone to our chambers.”

Aemond doesn’t need to raise his voice for his words to have the desired effect and for his brother to give up on the subject. Relief spreads through her and Rhaena manages to breathe normally again.

***

Despite what Aemond says, they are not alone on their way to the Tower.

Guards, maids, pages, and noble ladies – Marianne among them – follow them.

Upon reaching the prince’s chambers, Aemond gives her a quick glance before entering them. Rhaena, meanwhile, is led down a different corridor to new rooms that will be for her use only.

“This is nice,” Marianne comments after examining the chamber

The girl nods. The rooms are spacious and she even has her own private room. Her eyes quickly search for her dragon, finding her sleeping near the fireplace, as is her custom. Morning’s presence eases her heart, so she goes to her and briefly strokes her scales, delighting in the warmth the creature gives off.

“We should not keep the prince waiting, my lady.”

Rhaena raises her face to a middle-aged woman she doesn’t recognize, “Are you my new maid?”

“Yes, my lady, I will assist you in whatever you need.”

“What is your name?”

“I am Nelly, ma’am.”

“Nelly,” Rhaena nods and stands up, approaching her new maid, who looks at Morning with a mix of fear and distrust, “Do not worry, you will not be tending her. I will personally take care of my dragon.”

The maid lowers her gaze and Rhaena enters the room, sitting in front of the dressing table and letting the women begin to work on removing the tiara from her head while others remove her heavy dress and help her cool down, as well as placing rose oil on her skin and hair before putting an ivory silk nightgown over her head that is quite a bit more revealing than what she usually wears at night.

When Rhaena looks at her reflection in the mirror, her hands begin to shake again and her expression must be one of terror, because Marianne rushes to get the maids out of the room.

“Out, all of you.”

Once they are alone, Rhaena turns to her friend, “Am I supposed to go to his chambers wearing this?”

“It is… different, but pretty,” Marianne bites her lip and sighs, “I guess it is normal for a married woman to wear this kind of attire.”

Rhaena gulps. Married woman. About to go on her wedding night. That’s just what she is.

“I can’t do it,” she says quietly, terrified, “I don’t think… I don’t think I can do… what I’m supposed to do.”

“Can we run away?” her lady’s proposal sounds more like a question, “The Keep is huge, we could try.”

Rhaena hugs her friend, allowing her closeness to reassure her. As scared as she is, she knows she will have to face what comes next.

It is just one night. Nothing more. How bad can it be?

She prefers not to think about it.

The knocks of the guards on the door separate them and one of them announces that he must take her to Aemond’s room.

“Rhaena”

“I will be fine,” she says, trying to sound convincing, “Everything will be fine.”

“Call for me if you need me. Any time. I will be here.”

“I know,” she assures her, and hugs Marianne’s one last time before following the guards.

The halls of the Tower of the Hand are narrow, cold, and unfamiliar to Rhaena. Her heart pounds as the man stops in front of a massive door and, without knocking, opens it for her to enter.

The guards say nothing more, just close the door behind her, and Rhaena stands by the door, motionless. Or perhaps waiting for Aemond to say something to her. But there is only silence.

“Aemond?” she dares to call out in a shaky voice.

She receives no answer.

He is not there. Or, at least, not yet.

Feeling calmer for having those few minutes of solitude, Rhaena walks deeper into the room. The fireplace is the only source of light, though she can see several details such as the massive stone walls filled with shelves of books and scrolls. Rhaena looks up at the vaulted ceiling that seems to be decorated with patterns that the dim lighting doesn't allow her to make out. There's also a huge tapestry on one of the walls that looks like a map, though she doesn't linger on it too long as she walks to the windows, marveling at the view of the Blackwater. Would the ones in her room have a similar view?

Her ramblings stop when the door opens and closes an instant later.

Rhaena swallows.

She doesn't have to turn around to know who it is.

Besides, she doesn't want to turn around.

The prince doesn't say anything, but it's not long before she can hear his footsteps approaching, stopping right behind her, his presence very close, so close that she can smell his perfume. Rhaena closes her eyes and breathes in his scent, trying to calm the violent beating of her heart and the nerves she feels at being alone with him.

Your husband.

The thought makes her shudder.

“Are you afraid?” Aemond’s voice is almost a whisper, but it sounds so close to her ear that she shudders again.

“No,” she lies, “Should I be?”

“Mmm,” the prince’s hands move up from her elbows to her bare shoulders, “Only if you have something to hide.”

Rhaena takes the implication in his words. Suddenly annoyed, she turns and faces him, glaring, “I have nothing to hide,” she retorts fiercely, “I am still a maiden.”

“I suppose I’m about to find out.”

Aemond shifts his gaze to Rhaena’s lips and lowers his face to hers, ready to kiss her. Rhaena places a hand on his chest and pulls back, “No. Not unless I get from you what you ask of me.”

Clearly her refusal irritates the prince, but she holds his gaze and takes a few steps back, moving away from his proximity.

“It was never serious,” he finally says, “I don’t even know her name. She was just some… distraction.”

“Yet you only visited her.”

It is not until she says it out loud and hears the reproach in her voice that Rhaena understands how much it really affects her to think that, perhaps, she will have to share the prince with this woman.

“I am selfish, I don’t like to share,” he replies, echoing her own thoughts from just seconds ago.

“Well, neither do I.”

A half-smile appears on Aemond’s face and Rhaena feels her cheeks flush. Still, it’s not enough. Not yet. “No more distractions from today.”

Just me.

For a moment, she thinks he won’t accept what her words imply.

After long seconds, he finally nods, “No more distractions.”

“Good”

“Good”

They both look at each other and, she doesn’t know who advances first, but they close the distance between them.

Rhaena feels Aemond place his hands on either side of her cheeks before his lips rest on hers. Closing her eyes instinctively, she feels the prince's mouth move over hers fiercely and determinedly, with a kind of hunger that she also feels and that leads her to move her hands and caress Aemond's torso, moving up to his shoulders and the back of his neck, tangling them in his silky platinum hair.

The prince breaks the kiss, but Rhaena doesn't dare open her eyes, she just lets him take her by the waist and lift her up, moving towards some part of the room that ends up being his bed. When she is finally lying on the soft bed, she dares to open her eyes, meeting Aemond's gaze. Meeting his blue eye that now seems almost black with desire. He doesn't give her time to say anything because he's kissing her again and any coherent thoughts leave her head when his lips move down her jaw to her neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses that only ignite the fire she feels inside her.

“Aemond,” his name slips from her lips as the prince’s hands caress her breasts over the fabric of her nightgown, circling her nipples as if playing with them, causing them to harden. His skilled fingers are quick to untie the knot of the garment, exposing them to his gaze. Rhaena tries to cover herself with one of her hands, embarrassed by her nakedness, but Aemond stops her by holding her arms above her head before bringing his lips to her nipples, licking them delicately and causing a renewed feeling of heat to begin to form between her legs.

Rhaena gasps his name again and Aemond lets go of her arms, bringing his free hand up to slip it under her gown, lifting it and moving up to reach her thighs, caressing the soft skin of her legs. Aemond suppresses a sound of satisfaction when his fingers move up to reach that wet place between her legs.

“No… I don’t think you should…”

Rhaena’s refusal is cut off as he strokes her intimacy, his long fingers working their way through her folds. What are these sensations she is experiencing? This kind of desire that builds as Aemond’s fingers move over her womanhood. Something seems to be building inside her, a kind of pleasure that builds up and threatens to explode.

“Aemond… no… I…”

A sigh of pleasure leaves her lips as the sensation reaches its peak, and she closes her eyes, breathing raggedly as she grips the sheets.

The prince moves away from her side and, fearfully, Rhaena watches him remove his pants until he is bare from the waist down. Although she tries not to, her eyes stray to his manhood, finding it large and terrifying.

“Rhaena”

There is something different about the way he calls her name. She watches him stroke his hand over his member as he stares at her, lying on the bed, her chest rising and falling rapidly and her lips swollen from his kisses. Reveling in her presence in his bed, he moves his hand up and down his length, before moving back to the bed and approaching her, this time placing his hands on her knees, gently parting them.

Rhaena swallows hard, but lets him position himself over her, feeling the heat of his body on hers.

“Finally,” Aemond whispers as he lifts the nightgown to align their bodies.

Rhaena closes her eyes as she feels the tip of his member brushing against her intimacy, biting her bottom lip to keep from letting out the sounds that struggle to escape her.

“Let me hear you,” the prince says, releasing her lip with his fingers.

The girl gasps and, unable to help herself, she kisses him, seeking contact with his lips, trying to let herself be carried away by his caresses, by his hands squeezing her breasts and his tongue exploring her mouth, by the way the heat of his body overwhelms her, by the wave of pleasure she feels when he brushes all her intimacy with his member.

Moans fill the room and, when he finally begins to enter her, a sharp pain runs through her interior. Aemond kisses her harder and stops, remaining still inside her until the expression of pain leaves Rhaena's face.

“I'm fine,” she assures with a gasp, “Just…”

Aemond nods and begins to move once more.

Her hands grip at his sides as she tries to move in time with him, trying to meet his thrusts, needing his touch. Aemond buries his face in her neck, nibbling at it, his thrusts becoming frantic. Their pleasure builds until finally, the climax overwhelms her again, causing her to arch off the bed as she feels Aemond still on top of her, repeating her name like a prayer.

For a few moments they stay like that, motionless, he still inside her, breathing raggedly. When the weight of his body on hers begins to become painful, the prince moves and slowly pulls out of her before dropping to the other side of the bed.

Silence falls between them and Rhaena, unable to say anything or even look at him, wonders what she should do. Will they spend the night together? Will he ask her to go back to her chambers?

In the end, they just stay like that, close to each other, although not touching or speaking, until Aemond's hand finds Rhaena's and intertwines their fingers, the gesture causing the beginnings of a smile to appear on the girl's lips.

***

Rhaena is alone in the room when she wakes up.

Confused and not quite recognizing the place, she sits up in bed and is aware of the burning between her legs.

Then she remembers the night before and, even though she is alone, she feels ashamed.

She had slept next to Aemond. Next to her husband. She had survived the dreaded wedding night and, if she was honest with herself, it had been better than she expected.

Still…

Waking up alone left a bad taste in her mouth.

“He probably had other obligations to fulfill,” she says quietly as she gets out of bed, trying to walk slowly despite the discomfort and pain.

Rhaena orders one of the guards to call her maid, and a short while later, the woman has a bath ready for her.

“Thank you, you may go,” she says before stepping into the tub.

The hot water relaxes her muscles, and Rhaena washes herself slowly, removing the sweat and traces of dried blood between her thighs.

As she finishes drying herself, there is a knock at the door and a maid – a different one than the ones who have served her so far – appears with a cup of tea.

“Your tea, ma’am.”

“I did not ask for an infusion,” she says, confused.

“It is from your sister,” the young woman hands her the cup.

There are a few seconds of hesitation on her part before she receives the cup. Rhaena sniffs the contents and grimaces.

“You should drink it as soon as possible, ma’am,” the young woman dares to say.

Rhaena nods, but still, she doesn't.

The maid looks at her expectantly, clearly not intending to leave, and Rhaena is starting to get impatient. Had her sister ordered her to make sure she actually drink the tea?

“Thank you, you may go.”

“Madam, the tea…”

“Go.”

Her commanding voice leaves no room for rebuttal. The maid, suddenly frightened, lowers her head and leaves.

Once alone, she looks at the cup again and wonders if she should drink its contents.

Baela seemed to think that she should do so. Baela simply assumed that she shouldn't give Aemond a child, not only because of her senseless plans, but because of the whole history of pain and death between them.

And she was right, wasn't she?

Sighing, she brings the cup to her lips and manages to take two sips before feeling she will throw up.

No.

She can't do it.

Without thinking too much, she stands up and throws the contents of the cup into the fireplace.

Chapter Text

“My prince, we were not expecting you this evening.”

Aemond walks with his usual determined stride to his place at the head of the table. A servant hurries to pull out his chair as he places the marble sphere in its place, “When have I ever failed to attend a council meeting?”

“Well, never, my prince,” Lord Hayford agrees, “But I thought, given the special circumstances, you would take a couple of days off to enjoy your recent wedding.”

“It is what most lords do,” the grand maester agrees.

“Mmm,” Aemond purses his lips, “Most lords do not have a realm to rule.”

There is a moment of awkward silence until the men agree with him, nodding vehemently, “Let us begin.”

“Yes, well…” Lannister clears his throat, “The Citadel sent a white raven that arrived this morning, officially announcing the beginning of winter.”

“It is believed to be a short one, though considerably colder than the last one we experienced.”

“Are the crops already being managed?”

“Yes, Prince, we have set aside an adequate amount to be stored in case of food shortages.”

“Good, what else?”

“News has arrived from Oldtown reporting that some nobles were surprised by outlaws on the kingsroad as well.”

“That is nothing new.”

“No, Prince, but it does not usually go beyond the typical thefts of belongings and jewelry. It seems that this time the bandits were more daring beating up servants and lords who accompanied the traveling parties”

“Mmm,” Aemond drums his fingers on the table, “What of Lady Tyrell? Has she done nothing about it?”

“We have received no word from House Tyrell in that regard, Prince.”

“Then write to Lady Tyrell, ordering her to investigate who is responsible and to bring justice as soon as possible. What of the city?”

“The people remain in good spirits,” the maester replies, “The food from the banquet was distributed, as Lady Rhaena suggested, and of course the common people flocked to benefit from your wife’s charity.”

At the mention of Rhaena, his mind involuntarily conjures up the vision of the girl sleeping peacefully in his bed, her platinum curls covering part of her face, her chest rising and falling. He had wanted to touch her again this morning, feel the softness of her skin on his, kiss her again… but he hadn’t dared.

“My prince?”

Lannister’s expectant look brings him out of his thoughts.

“What were you saying?”

“I was asking if you wanted to hear a more detailed report of the wedding costs to the Crown.”

Aemond nods and Lord Tyland begins to read the specifics from a thick parchment.

For a few minutes, the prince tries to concentrate on listening to the Master of Coin, only eventually his thoughts drift back to his wife.

Or more specifically, to the memory of their wedding night.

To that very different side that Rhaena had shown, that side where she was not the bold and confident young woman who liked to exasperate him, but rather that innocent, insecure young woman… the one who had been embarrassed by the reactions of her own body.

It had been an unexpected aphrodisiac to find her so naive, so submissive, so… surprised with what he had produced in her. And they were just beginning. There were so many other things he could do, that he could show her, so much to experience…

Aemond closes his eye for a moment and takes a deep breath to calm the wave of excitement he feels. The desire to run out of this cursed room, climb the Tower of the Hand and make Rhaena his again had been consuming him since morning. He had tried to push it away by training harder than necessary and for much longer with Cole, but it was not enough.

And he did not like that.

He did not like Rhaena being on his mind longer than necessary, although he attributed it to the novelty of what they had shared. Surely it was just that. Probably, as the days passed, he would no longer feel the same intensity of desire for her.

“In conclusion?” he asks, interrupting Lannister

“It was a modest celebration and, although I still need to calculate the amount of gold the tournament left for the city, it seems to me that the Crown did not suffer too much with the wedding, my prince.”

“Well, then,” he stands up, “If that is all,” he says before leaving the room.

***

“The Dowager Queen awaits you in your drawing room, princess”

Rhaena looks up from the handkerchief she is embroidering – Vhagar in green threads – her eyes meeting those of her maid.

“Is Queen Alicent here?”

“Yes, princess.”

She does not expect the woman’s visit, although she receives the news with enthusiasm. She knows that it is customary for newly married women to remain a few days adjusting to their new life and not being disturbed, so she is surprised that Alicent Hightower, always a follower of customs, has come to her.

Rhaena stands, adjusts the skirts of her dress and walks to the hall that has been assigned to her as part of her private chambers.

The place, large, airy, although austerely decorated, is comfortable and has a nice view of the sea. Queen Alicent, sitting on one of the sofas, waits for her with her eyes closed and her hands clasped together, as if she were praying.

“Queen Alicent,” she greets with a smile and a nod

“Rhaena,” the woman immediately stands up and walks over to her, looking her up and down, as if examining her with a critical eye, “I am sorry to interrupt you, I know it is not appropriate, but I thought it might be good for you to have someone to… talk to.”

There is a moment of silence in which she does not know what to answer, but finally she nods and looks at her maid, “Please, Nelly, bring tea and cakes for us.”

The maid goes out to get the food, and Rhaena sits next to Alicent, who continues to watch her.

“Are you feeling well?” The woman asks, frowning.

“I am fine, Your Grace.”

“The wedding night can be a… different experience.”

“It was.”

“My son, the Prince Aemond… was… was he…?”

The Dowager Queen doesn’t know how to continue, clearly uncomfortable with the topic.

“The prince was patient and attentive with me, Your Grace.”

Alicent is clearly relieved and pleased with her answer, because she sighs and offers her a small smile, “I am glad to hear that. I will ask him to refrain from calling you to his chambers for a few days, until you can feel more… comfortable with the changes you experienced.”

The maid arrives at that moment and serves them tea and sweets. Rhaena quickly takes her cup and takes a few sips of the hot infusion, trying to disguise her blushing expression, “Of course, that would be… very kind of you, Your Grace.”

“I know you probably need some time to yourself,” Alicent continues, “But there is something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

The girl raises her face again, intrigued, “I am listening.”

“Now that you have married my son,” she says, “It is time to put aside my responsibilities completely, and I would like you to be the one to take them on.”

Rhaena’s eyes widen, surprised by the queen dowager’s request.

“You showed a caring spirit while tending to the people, and charitable works are something I used to do frequently before…” Alicent looks away, “The people deserve that their rulers look after them. I think you are the right person to take up the Crown’s activities in that regard.”

“Shouldn’t Queen Ellyn be in charge of such matters?”

“She should,” Alicent nods, “I tried to get her to do so, shortly after she married the king, but she did not take much interest in these causes. And now… she needs to continue healing as well.”

“But she was present at the wedding yesterday and seemed fine.”

“Which was a surprise,” the queen dowager admits, “Still, I insist that you be the one to take over from me.”

Rhaena’s eyes meet Alicent Hightower’s, and to her surprise, she finds them tired. Only, she thinks, it is not a physical tiredness, but rather one that seems to spring from her soul.

“You honor me with your proposal, Queen Alicent, and I gladly accept.”

The Dowager Queen sighs again and places her hand on Rhaena’s, “Good. Thank you, Rhaena.”

Squeezing her hand gently in a farewell gesture, the woman stands up and leaves the room.

Rhaena finishes eating her pastries before returning to her room to continue with the embroidering. Once the handkerchief is ready, she decides to write a letter to Lady Jeyne Arryn and another to Baela, letting her know of her displeasure at not having confided in her on the subject of her betrothal to Alyn. After sealing them, she hands them to one of the maids to take to a maester, ordering them to be sent as soon as possible.

Morning lets out a growl and a flare of dragonfire, drawing her attention. The princess follows the direction of her dragon’s gaze, finding two of her maids there, terrified, not wanting to approach.

“Princess Rhaena, we… we…”

None of them can speak, their eyes fixed on Morning, who flies up to land on Rhaena’s shoulders.

“Do you need anything?”

“We brought… dinner for your dragon, ma’am,” one of them finally explains.

As it’s clear that none of them will come near, and that Morning hasn’t gotten used to them yet, Rhaena orders them to leave the food on one of the small tables and leave.

“They are just a couple of scared little girls,” Rhaena sighs as she goes to the tray of raw meat, taking a piece in her hand, “You shouldn’t be so angry with them.”

Morning ignores her words, flying off her shoulders and roasting the meat before attacking it with bites. Rhaena watches the scene enthralled, stroking her pink scales as she returns to her favorite spot by the fireplace.

“I am sure we will get used to this place soon enough, too,” she says, though she is not sure if she is trying to convince the dragon or herself.

Though she’s only been in the Tower for a few hours, the place is too lonely for her liking. The guards and servants do not speak to her except when necessary, and since she cannot openly invite visitors, she has done nothing but try to entertain herself all day.

And think about Aemond.

Rhaena looks away from Morning and watches the sun set outside the window. Night will soon fall and she cannot help but wonder if Aemond has returned to the Tower yet. Will the prince seek her out? Will he ask her to join him in his private chambers? Will they share another night together? Does she even wish for that to happen?

Yes.

The absolute certainty of her answer embarrasses her, but she cannot help but want to see him. To be in the same room as him. To hear him say her name.

Remember your promise, Rhaena, she tells herself, thinking of her sister and her warnings.

But her resolve is shaky when she hears voices and the sound of doors opening and closing somewhere.

Without thinking too much, she takes the handkerchief she has embroidered, and decides to leave her room, moving through the halls until she reaches what she assumes is Aemond's office. Since it is not guarded, she simply opens the door and enters a small private room that she recognizes as the one she had visited the time Aemond had summoned her to announce that they would participate together in the Mother's Festival.

 “¿Rhaena?”

The prince’s voice from the other end takes her by surprise.

“Cousin!” she replies, hand on chest, “I am sorry, I did not…”

“Were you looking for me?”

“No. I mean, yes, it’s just…”

She stops talking as the prince walks up to her, staring at her so intently that she has to look away, suddenly aware of everything that happened the night before. A blush floods her cheeks as she internally curses herself for coming to him. How has she not thought about how embarrassing it would be to face him after sleeping together?

“Dinner is ready, my prince,” a servant interrupts, freeing her from further conversation.

Aemond does not respond, his eyes still fixed on Rhaena, who is clearly uncomfortable and nervous, by the way her feet are swinging back and forth.

“Set a plate for my wife,” he finally orders, enjoying the startled expression on Rhaena’s face and wide eyes as she raises her face again, clearly surprised by the invitation.

The prince walks over to the table and waits for Rhaena, who takes a few seconds to react and walk, to sit down before taking her place as well.

The servant pours wine for them both, and his wife drinks generously from her goblet. Aemond begins to eat in silence, watching her out of the corner of his eye and waiting for her to calm down. He knows her well enough to know that Rhaena won’t be able to hold out for much longer before breaking the stillness of the moment.

“Were you meeting with the council?”

Aemond suppresses a smile and pretends to cut a piece of boar, “Yes.”

“Was it an… interesting meeting?”

“Mmm.”

His answer is short and doesn’t give rise to further conversation, so Rhaena looks at him expectantly, clearly wanting more details but not daring to press for them.

Aemond briefly considers exasperating her with more silence, but when his eyes meet Rhaena’s violet ones, finding them filled with genuine anticipation for a response from him, he sighs and puts aside his initial resolve, “Winter has officially begun and we must take steps to ensure we have provisions in case it extends longer than expected.”

“Oh,” Rhaena shifts in her seat, nodding in delight, “My cousin Alyn will do something similar. He mentioned that he would be traveling to the Free Cities to stock up on necessities.”

“I did not know he had business there,” he frowns.

“I assume he trades with them,” the girl shrugs and continues, “It makes sense to manage the resources now.”

“I know,” he nods, “We will store everything close to the capital, for when the snow falls, the kingsroad will be nearly impossible to traverse, and supplies will not arrive frequently. The city will certainly need extra food and we will need to ration it.”

“Yes, you are right,” Rhaena takes another drink from her goblet, and clears her throat, “And since you mention the city, there is something I wanted to consult with you about.”

Aemond nods, staring at her and letting her know he has her attention. Rhaena sighs and speaks, “Your mother came to see me this afternoon.”

The prince frowns. His mother had also approached him on his way out of the council meeting to ask him not to call Rhaena to his chambers until the discomfort of the first night had passed.

“She told me she plans to retire from social life and wanted me to take over her duties.”

Aemond raises his eyebrows. While he is not surprised that his mother has delegated the few tasks that kept her busy to Rhaena, he imagined that Alicent would wait a little longer before making official her release from her obligations to the Crown.

“And what did you say?”

“Well… I accepted, of course, it is an honor but…” she shrugs and frowns, confused, “I just don’t know if I should have. Wouldn’t it be more appropriate for Queen Ellyn to take her place? I do not want to cause any misunderstandings between the royal family."

Aemond snorts, "Ellyn Baratheon only has a head for parties and spending the crown's money. I do not think she is worried about you taking over my mother’s duties. She will certainly be relieved by the news.”

“You think so?” Rhaena still looks unsure, “It is probably wise to talk to her first before making a decision.”

“If it’s going to make you feel better, then do it,” Aemond brings the last bite of his dinner to his mouth, “But you shouldn’t waste the opportunity my mother is offering you. Weren’t you looking for more responsibility?”

“Yes, of course,” she nods.

“Besides, you are much more suited to this than our queen,” he comments without thinking much about his words, “You proved your efficiency before the wedding and the common people appreciate you.”

A genuine, pleased smile spreads across Rhaena’s face. A smile that makes his heart skip a beat, sending a warm feeling through his body.

“Thank you, Aemond,” his wife replies, lowering her gaze for a moment before facing him again, “I think I will take you at your word and move forward with this new position.”

The excitement is palpable in her voice and Aemond, still wanting to keep that smile on her face, continues speaking, “Lord Lannister said that the entire town came out to share the food after the banquet, your idea was very well received by the people of the city.”

“Really?” Rhaena jumps up in her chair, “Oh, I would have loved to see it myself. I know I still have to stay here for a few days, so I will use this time to think about…”

“You don’t need to be locked up here in the Tower,” he interrupts her, “If I am back to my duties, you can do so too. Feel free to continue your routine as normal as before.”

Rhaena feels her heart beat wildly with relief and joy at hearing his words. Restraining the sudden, crazy urge to leave her chair and hug Aemond, she simply settles for smiling and continuing to chat about insignificant details of her new quarters, too nervous to stop talking. When the servants clear their plates a while later, Aemond stands and she follows suit.

“I suppose I should be going,” she says, fiddling with the rings on her hands.

“It is late,” the prince nods, his good eye fixed on her.

Rhaena nods as well and bows, ready to leave the room. It is then that she remembers her initial intention of handing him the handkerchief.

“By the way,” she says, removing the item from the pocket of the skirt of her dress, “I wanted to give you this. I finished embroidering it a little while ago, and thought you might like to have it.”

Aemond reaches out to take the soft fabric from his cousin. Examining it, he finds the embroidery of a green dragon in flight.

“It is Vhagar.”

The prince nods, his thumb running over the fine detail created by his cousin, feeling once again overcome by that unusual warmth that rises in his chest. Aemond clears his throat, aware that he should thank her for the detail, but other words come out of his mouth.

“My mother said I should give you space after our wedding night.”

Rhaena parts her lips, surely surprised by his comment, “Yes, she uh… it was very thoughtful of her to think of that.”

Aemond watches her expression, believing – or perhaps imagining – the disappointment in her voice at the dowager queen’s recommendation.

“Mmm,” he looks back down at the embroidered image of Vhagar and then back at his cousin, “Are you feeling too sore?”

Rhaena bites her bottom lip and shakes her head, “No, not really.”

“Good.”

In one deft move he grabs her wrist, pulling her closer to his body and bringing their lips together.

Rhaena immediately melts into his kiss, closing her eyes and marveling at the sweet scent of wine on the prince’s breath. When Aemond’s tongue tentatively brushes her lips, she gasps and grants him the access he desires, allowing him to explore her mouth freely.

Aemond breaks contact after a few seconds, though his face remains very close to Rhaena's, their breathing still labored. When she opens her eyes, she meets her cousin's lustful gaze and swallows, though she instinctively presses herself even closer to his body. Aemond shudders and sighs before interlacing their hands and leading her to his room.

When the door closes behind them, Aemond kisses her again. Only this time his lips move down her jaw to her neck. Rhaena tilts her face so he can freely access her skin, gasping when her cousin's teeth nibble at the sensitive area. His name escapes her lips and suddenly Aemond is behind her, still exploring her skin exposed by the dress while his hands loosen the ribbons holding the garment together.

“Aemond…”

She is not sure what she is going to say, but her protests are silenced by another of his kisses as the heavy dress falls to her feet, leaving her in only her white undergown.

Feeling exposed once again, her hands settle on the prince’s chest, wanting to remove the black leather jacket he is wearing, but not daring to. Aemond, understanding what she is up to, helps her do so.

Rhaena steps away from the prince for a few seconds and looks at his bare chest, his thin but strong arms, his muscles marked on his abdomen. She hadn't been able to appreciate them the night before and now she is dying to touch them, but once again, she doesn't dare to do so.

Aemond pulls her back against his body and kisses her while forcing her back until they fall on the bed. Instead of placing himself on top of her, the prince kneels beside her and his hands hold her calves, moving his hands up her thighs, separating them.

Rhaena sighs and clings to the sheets when suddenly she feels the prince's lips on the inside of her thighs, kissing her a few times before his caresses rise until they reach the place that cries out for his attention.

Moaning at the intense sensation of Aemond’s tongue dancing at the center of her womanhood, she tries to simply relax and lose herself in his touch, in the climax building within her, in how good it feels when she opens her eyes and sees her husband’s head between her legs.

“Aemond!”

Her voice is broken and that's all she can say before she loses herself in pleasure again.

Aemond doesn't let her recover, but instead kisses his way up her body until he's positioned and buried inside her.

Rhaena closes her eyes and bites her lips to contain the uncomfortable gasp she feels at the still new sensation of invasion and being stretched.

Aemond takes one of her knees and bends it, changing the angle and reaching deeper inside her, managing to touch a place inside her that makes the pleasure start to rise again.

The prince thrusts into her harder and harder, and Rhaena tries to move with him, her hands wanting to explore his body, but content to place them on his shoulders as their mouths meet again.

It isn't long before she once again reaches that peak state of pleasure, moaning into Aemond's mouth, who seems to absorb her sounds of pleasure. A few seconds later, the prince clings tightly to her body as he spills inside her as well.

Once again there is a moment of awkwardness, of uncertainty as he pulls away from her body. Rhaena sits up in bed and hugs her knees. Aemond reaches out his hand to her and helps her up. A lump forms in her throat when she thinks he is going to ask her to leave, but the prince merely pulls the covers off the bed and blows out the candles that are still lit.

Hesitating for a moment, but finally gathering courage, she climbs back into bed and covers herself with the sheets. Aemond mimics her action and, feeling brave again, Rhaena reaches for his hand. The prince is soon lacing their fingers together and caressing the inside of her palm until, suddenly exhausted, Rhaena succumbs to sleep.

He, however, cannot sleep.

Turning to his side and taking advantage of the moonlight, he watches Rhaena sleep peacefully.

Part of him, one he is struggling to ignore, wants to come closer to the girl and hold her, breathe in her rose-like scent and bury his nose in her curls.

He does none of that.

He doesn't have to do any of that. He doesn't even have to want to do it.

Rhaena is his wife, yes, but nothing more. Their union is political and there must be no feelings between them other than respect. It is convenient to have her around, to make her the mother of the future heirs, and to use her political power. But to expect something more? To seek something more?

No.

That should be out of the question.

Rhaena Targaryen was only a means to an end and that was the way it had to stay. Allowing himself to have feelings for her is dangerous. It is unpredictable and it's backfired on him in the past. And he wasn't about to make a fool of himself again.

This is the last time, he tells himself. You won't call her to your chambers again until it's absolutely necessary.

So, summoning every ounce of willpower he has, he stands, dresses and finds another room to spend the night in.

Chapter Text

Three days.

Three days have passed since the second night they spent together.

Since she woke up alone in the prince's bed again.

And in those three days, even though she could have already started working on her new duties or visited the other courtiers, she preferred to stay in the Tower of the Hand, waiting.

Waiting for him.

Hoping he would call her back to his chambers, hoping to see him and share more moments with her husband.

But, in these three days, she hasn't even seen him.

If the prince has been coming and going from the Tower, he has done so in such a way that Rhaena has not noticed his presence. And though she mentally told herself that Aemond was probably busy with his many duties as Hand of the King, she could not help but feel ignored.

“The prince is not in his chambers,” the guard informs her as Rhaena stops near the door that, she now knows, opens directly into her husband’s chambers.

The girl ignores him and turns, suppressing the pang of disappointment and walking as quickly as she can toward the stairs.

She needs a change of scenery. She needs to get out of the Tower or she will die of boredom. She needs to clear her head, and re-engage her mind. So, she heads toward the gardens, toward the sea-view gazebo where she has arranged to meet Marianne.

“Rhaena!” Her lady runs the last few meters that separate them, melting her in an embrace that leaves her almost breathless, but she returns it with the same spirit. “I know it is only been a few days, but I felt your absence very much.”

“The feeling is mutual,” she assures her once they break the hug, following the girl to the chairs and the small table full of sweets and drinks that she has surely previously arranged.

“I would have gone to visit you days ago, but my aunt forbade me to do so. She said it was not appropriate to bother a newlywed,” Marianne makes a face and takes the teapot that is in front of them, pouring two cups of a sweet-smelling infusion.

“I figured as much,” Rhaena nods, taking the cup and drinking a couple of sips, grateful that the liquid warms her body as the days in the Keep are getting colder, “It does not matter, we are here now, I want to know everything I have missed in these days of absence.”

“Not much, actually,” Marianne sets her cup aside, “Several of the nobles have already left the castle, my aunt among them.”

“Oh, I wish I could say goodbye to Lady Johanna,” she says regretfully.

“She asked me to pass on her good wishes on your marriage. She could not stay because with winter so close, she wants to be at the Rock as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” Rhaena nods.

“The nobles who did stay are currently in the Royal Forest taking part in the hunt for your wedding.”

Rhaena had completely forgotten that a hunting party had been organized.

“When did the party leave?”

“A couple of days ago.”

A couple of days. She can’t help but wonder if, perhaps, the prince had decided to join the party. Maybe that was why he was absent from the Tower.

“Rhaena? Are you okay?”

Marianne’s voice breaks her from her thoughts.

“What?”

“You tell me,” her friend frowns, “You suddenly seemed… lost in thought. Is… is everything okay?”

“Yes, it is,” she says, sipping from her cup again.

Marianne meets her gaze, and when Rhaena sees genuine concern reflected in her friend’s eyes, her façade crumbles. “Was it really that bad?” she asks quietly, finding Rhaena’s hand and squeezing it in a comforting gesture.

Rhaena bites her lip and shakes her head, “It was not bad at all,” she admits, feeling her cheeks flush, “It was… Aemond was…” she does not know exactly what to say to Marianne or how to begin to describe in precise words everything she had experienced, “I really enjoyed it,” she finally says.

Her friend’s eyes widen in surprise, and after a few seconds, a small smile forms on her lips, “But that is good news!”

“I do not know,” she sighs.

“Why not? If you and the prince understand each other in the… physical sense, it will help your relationship to improve and become stronger, don’t you think?”

“I thought the same,” she admits, closing her eyes for a few seconds, “But Aemond…” Marianne does not press her, but waits for her to continue. “Aemond does not seem to like my company.”

“Nonsense!”

“Then why has he ignored me all these past days? He’s only summoned me to his chambers twice, and then nothing. Not even a polite word or a note explaining his absence from the Tower. I have been alone in that place, bored and… I do not know why I am so surprised, really. He did not pay me any more attention than necessary during our betrothal. I do not know why I thought that would change now that we are married.”

Rhaena shrugs, trying to downplay it, although the bitterness in her chest says otherwise.

“It is true that the prince is often cold and distant,” Marianne agrees, “But, Rhaena, he put himself at risk by participating in the tourney so that he could kill Ser Corwyn because he thought he had corrupted you. And before that, he could not stand the idea of ​​you getting close to him. I think that shows that, in some way, he cares about you.”

“Does he? Or was it just his wounded pride that caused him to act in such way?”

“No, I do not think so,” she repeats with conviction, “I don’t know to what extent, but I know that the prince shares your…”

“Do not say feelings,” Rhaena cuts her off, sighing, “I do not want to talk about this anymore. Aemond and I are married and I’d better put my… expectations aside. Besides, realistically, no couple is expected to share every night together or get along perfectly, right? I’d better focus on my responsibility, and for that, I will need your help.”

“Tell me then,” Marianne smiles, “What do we need to do?”

Rhaena fills her in on her conversation with Alicent, “I will meet with the royal butler tomorrow, he used to help the queen dowager, so now he will assist me and I’ll arrange my new schedule accordingly to my new position.”

“Sounds exciting!” Marianne squeals, “Do you think you’ll need more ladies in waiting? Because I have a suggestion or two. Oh, and we will definitely have new engagements! That means new dresses and jewelry.”

Probably,” she smiles, feeling further encouraged by her friend’s contagious cheer.

Their conversation is interrupted by the sound of a horn and the distant sound of dogs barking.

“I believe the hunting party has returned.”

“Should we go see them?” Rhaena asks, inwardly hopeful of meeting Aemond.

“They will probably appreciate your welcome,” Marianne nods.

Rhaena agrees and links her arm with her lady, walking merrily as they discuss how best to handle the commitments they will undertake from now on.

When they reach the courtyard of the Keep they are greeted by the sound of horses, dogs, and two carriages carrying three enormous stags.

Rhaena receives the greetings of the nobles, chatting pleasantly with them and smiling politely.

“Who shed the first blood?”

“That honor went to Lord Bracken.”

“But it was I who felled the largest of the stags.”

A voice unfamiliar to Rhaena reaches them. Beside her, Marianne suddenly seems nervous, moving closer to her as she lowers her gaze.

“Lord Blackwood,” Rhaena greets when the young lord finally reaches them, “Congratulations on your feat.”

“Thank you, Princess,” Blackwood bows before looking to her friend, “Lady Westerling.”

“My lord,” Marianne greets as well, smiling politely.

There is a moment of silence as Rhaena notices Lord Benjicot’s intense gaze on her lady.

“Was the hunt what you expected?” she asks, trying to break the tense moment.

“The royal woods did the trick, yes,” he nods, “Though the ones at Raventree are rather nicer, if I do say so myself.”

“I suppose we are all biased when it comes to our home.”

Lord Benjicot smiles and, looking away from Marianne, who remains silent, continues the conversation, exchanging the usual pleasantries with Rhaena and even mentioning his grandmother.

“I have tried to convince her to return with me,” he admits, “But she says her duties as mistress of the castle are over now and that I should find a Lady Blackwood soon if I need one so desperately.”

Rhaena giggles, but she doesn’t miss that Marianne is looking increasingly nervous. So, after entertaining the nobles a little more, she makes an excuse for them, and begins the journey back to the Tower with her friend.

“Should I be worried?”

“Why?”

“Because you acted very strangely while we were talking to Lord Blackwood,” Rhaena stares at her, “You seemed… I do not know… uncomfortable,” Marianne does not deny it, she just sighs and there is a pained look on her face, “What is it? Was he unkind to you?”

“Quite the opposite,” there is a moment of hesitation and finally, she adds, “I think he wants to marry me.”

“Excuse me?” Rhaena gasps

Marianne clears her throat, “Lord Blackwood has been corresponding with my father, showing interest in me,” she explains, “My aunt thinks… she thinks that if Lord Benjicot were to ask for my hand, it would be a good idea to accept his proposal.”

“But… what about Daeron? Lady Johanna is aware of your feelings for my cousin.”

“She is, but she thinks choosing Lord Benjicot would be more suitable because we do not have too many relations with that part of the realm and…” she shrugs, “We were on opposite sides during the war. It would be a way to continue to strengthen ties of peace.”

“That is totally unacceptable!” her indignation causes her to stop in her tracks, “My cousin is a Targaryen prince.”

“I know, I know,” Marianne tries to appease her, “It is not me you have to convince,” she lets out a nervous giggle, “I just wish… I hope Prince Daeron really thinks of me as a possible bride, and shows his interest soon. I do not think I can oppose my father if he decides to betroth me to Lord Blackwood.”

“Fear not, it won’t come to that,” she assures, “I will not allow it. I am a princess now,” this is the first time she refers to herself by her new title, “Wife of the Hand of the King. If I decide that you will stay by my side as my lady-in-waiting, your father won’t be able to refuse. You will stay here with me and of course you will marry Daeron. He is clearly interested,” when Marianne looks at her, honey eyes full of hope, she continues, “He danced with you several times during the wedding. No gentleman goes to such lengths if he is not courting a lady.”

Marianne does not say anything, simply squeezes her hand and encourages her to continue walking.

***

“The hunting party has returned, my prince.”

“Mmm,” he nods without looking up from the scroll he is reading.

The news of new robberies against the nobles on the Kingsroad, this time closer to the Stormlands, creates a feeling of anxiety within him.

If only Vhagar were able to fly, he thinks as he puts the scroll aside. If his dragon were whole again, he could fly to those lands and ensure that the attacks were nothing more than isolated accidents committed by peasants desperate for gold.

“What beasts did they manage to capture?”

“Deer, my prince. And boars.”

Aemond raises his face to the maester, nodding again, “See that the trophies are delivered to the nobles before the beast meat is distributed among the people of Flea Bottom.”

“My prince?” the surprise is clear in the man’s voice

“Did you not hear me, maester?” Aemond replies, irritated, “I ordered the deer and boar meat to be distributed throughout the city.”

“Yes, yes, of course, as you command,” the man responds quickly

Aemond stands and leaves the room, heading towards the Tower.

The guards greet him and, as he enters his chambers, giggles reach his ears from the small private parlor. Rhaena’s he manages to identify immediately, the other sounds strange to his ears.

Stopping to try to listen to what they are saying, he debates whether or not he should get closer so he can discover who is accompanying his wife. The past few days he has managed to get in and out of the Tower without running into her, determined as he is to remain steadfast in his resolve to avoid her as much as possible. But now…

The laughter resumes and he falters at the melodic sound. Closing the distance to the small hall, he enters unannounced, watching his wife and her lady-in-waiting sorting through the contents of several chests.

There is a moment of silence as both women watch him, clearly in awe, until Lady Westerling clears her throat and curtsies.

“My prince.”

Aemond takes a few steps further into the room, “What is all this?”

His good eye is trained on Rhaena, who raises her eyebrows in his direction, her face denoting a mix of indifference or disdain.

“These are my belongings,” she explains finally, “I am arranging them in my new hall.”

Aemond nods. Silence falls over the room again. He and Rhaena stare at each other for a moment before she takes a book from the chest and places it on one of the rows of shelves.

“I was helping my lady,” Marianne interjects, “But it is getting dark now, so I should better get back to my chambers.”

“No need, you could …”

“Good idea, Lady Westerling,” Aemond interrupts.

Rhaena rolls her eyes and purses her lips, though she does not protest. Westerling bows goodbye to her, whispering words he can’t understand from the distance.

Aemond looks around. The room isn’t too different from the ones he uses, and yet this room feels more homely to him than the dreary surroundings he lives in. Probably, he thinks, because of the splashes of color from the flowers Rhaena has surely arranged. Or the tray of steaming tea and cakes served on the table.

The prince turns his study back to Rhaena, who picks up another book and reaches out to put it back in its place. A grimace of pain appears on her face as she does so.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, frowning.

“It is just a passing ache,” she replies, shaking her head.

She does not elaborate further and basically ignores him as she continues with her work, the mask of indifference still painted on her face. Aemond begins to grow impatient as the silence lengthens, and he drums his fingers on the surface of the small table louder and louder.

Another minute passes until Rhaena sighs and speaks, “It is Morning. She continues to curl around my shoulders, only she is not as light as before.”

“Mmm,” Aemond takes a few steps towards his wife, “The Tower is no place for your dragon, she will grow larger and…”

“I know your position on the matter,” she cuts him off, her violet eyes suddenly serious, “I will not send her to the dragon pit. At least not yet.”

“Mmm.”

Rhaena slams the book she has been examining shut and faces him, “Stop making those sounds and just say what you want to say!”

Her anger amuses him. Aemond smirks and pulls a book out of the chest. “These are in High Valyrian,” he observes.

“Most were purchased in Pentos,” she explains, taking it from his hands and placing it on the shelf.

Aemond stares at her. He has never heard her speak High Valyrian, not even to her dragon. He wonders what her voice sounds like when speaking her native tongue.

“Are you listening to me?”

His wife’s voice brings him out of his reverie, “No, what were you saying?”

Rhaena rolls her eyes again, “I said there is a matter I wish to speak to you about.”

“I hear you.”

“It is about Daeron,” she begins.

Aemond raises his eyebrows at her, “What about him?”

“Well,” his wife looks down for a moment and frowns, clearly considering how to continue, “Is about him and Marianne.”

The subject seems to make her somewhat self-conscious, because she fiddles with her rings, as if she doesn’t know how to continue. Aemond remains silent, although he has an idea of ​​where Rhaena is going with this. Finally, and after long seconds of silence, she sighs and faces him.

“Last time you told me that your brother seemed to like the idea of ​​marrying Marianne.”

“Indeed.”

“And that is why I thought he would soon speak to my friend about the matter, but he hasn’t yet. I know you said that the king had to…”

“The king approved the idea,” he cuts her off, “Your lady-in-waiting can marry Daeron.”

“That is good to know,” the corners of Rhaena’s lips lift in a small smile.

“Is that what you wanted to ask me about?”

“No, not exactly,” she denies and bites her lip nervously. Aemond’s good eye flicks to her mouth at the gesture and a sudden urge to lift his hand and free the lip from the prison of his teeth surges through him, but he suppresses the desire and folds his hands behind his back. “I wanted to know if there was anything you could do to speed up the betrothal.”

“Why would I? Those matters are not of my concern.”

His voice sounds sharper than he intends and Rhaena’s face takes on a look of dismay, her eyes suddenly bright.

“Yes, of course, I understand.”

Aemond, expecting more insistence from her, is surprised when she simply accepts his answer and continues with her work. A feeling of guilt and bitterness rises in his chest at her lack of usual vehemence.

“Why would you want me to intervene in the matter?”

“Nothing, really,” she answers quickly and shrugs.

Aemond grimaces, annoyed by her words and annoyed because he wants to know the real reason for her request. And, especially, annoyed that he feels affected by having brought her to the verge of tears.

The voice inside him, the one that has guided him the last few days and that advises him to stay away from Rhaena as much as possible, tells him to simply accept her words and leave her alone in her chambers.

But he cannot do it.

“I want to hear your reasons,” when she doesn’t respond, he steps closer to the girl and places his hand on her chin, turning her face towards him, “Rhaena,” her name sounds almost like a warning.

“I do not want to lose my best friend,” she finally admits

Aemond frowns, “Why would you lose her?”

“Because her father is going to marry her off and send her away if she does not have a marriage proposal that will keep her here in the capital,” her voice breaks and, without thinking much, Aemond moves his hand to her cheek, gently caressing his thumb along her jaw. Rhaena tilts her face, leaning into his touch, closing her eyes for a moment. When her lips brush the inside of his palm, an electrifying sensation runs through his entire body, so she breaks contact instantly, and crosses his hands behind his back once again.

Aemond clears his throat before speaking and looks away from Rhaena’s already wide eyes and flushed expression, "Why are you afraid of that just now?"

“Lord Benjicot has been sending letters to Marianne’s father.”

“Blackwood?” Rhaena nods, “Do you think he is interested in marrying your lady?”

“Yes. And surely Lord Westerling will accept his proposal if no other that would outdo her comes along.”

“Mmm,” the prince mulls on her words, “His affront at the tournament was not enough for him, apparently. Now he wishes to marry the lady my brother showed interest in.”

“Well yes, but this goes beyond…”

“I know,” he nods, suddenly annoyed, “We must remind the noble houses of the Crown’s influence. Aegon and I will speak to our brother to have him do his duty as soon as possible and take your lady as his wife.”

Rhaena frowns, “Daeron agrees, though? You said he was open to the idea. Do you think… do you think he actually likes Marianne?”

Aemond raises his eyebrows, “Does it really matter?”

Rhaena opens her mouth to respond, but he cuts her off.

“My brother will make a fine husband for your lady. And she is everything one would expect from a future wife of a Targaryen prince. You should not be concerned about the rest.”

Rhaena nods slowly, “I suppose you are right.” His wife offers him a half-smile before continuing, “Thank you, Aemond. I know I should not ask you, but I would not want to lose Marianne.”

“You won’t,” he assures her.

“She is the only true friend I have here,” she continues, “Her company has made life in the capital much more bearable. The Keep, and especially this Tower, can be very lonely and sad”

Rhaena meets his gaze as she says this, her expression filled with reproach. Reproach towards him or towards their situation? Aemond swallows and shakes his head. Is this her way of telling him that she desires his company? That she… misses him?

No.

No.

Surely it has nothing to do with that.

“Of course,” he says simply, “But you do not have to worry about it anymore.” Rhaena seems to want to say something more, but he turns his back on her, “It’s been a long day. Best leave that to the servants and get some rest.”

Without waiting for a reply, he strides across the room and closes the door behind him, needing to keep his distance to continue his resolve to get away from Rhaena.

Chapter Text

King's Landing is not exactly a beautiful city.

Although, during his childhood away from the capital, Daeron had often romanticized it mainly due to the nostalgia he felt towards his mother and siblings, he had encountered a disappointing reality upon returning to the city after the war.

King's Landing was dirty, messy and smelly.

The complete opposite of Oldtown.

Oldtown and its eternal charm, its mix of tradition and modernity. It had been a good place to grow up. A place that, since a few days ago when his older brothers had told him that he should formalize his betrothal as soon as possible, he has been thinking about more and more frequently.

Although, if he is honest, it is not exactly his maternal family's ancestral city that he misses, but rather his uncle. Ser Gwayne had been a father to him since his arrival at the Hightower. He had taught him to fight, to hunt, to write... and it was precisely his advice that he wants now more than ever.

As if you didn't know what he was going to tell you.

His uncle, an honorable knight, would surely tell him that a betrothal with Lady Westerling is an excellent choice for a third son like him. That, in addition to being beautiful, the young woman is kind, educated and of noble birth. That her dowry will be more than enough to increase his personal reserves, which would never be as large as those of his older brothers. That, by joining one of the oldest houses in the West, he will have more influence in the kingdom. Not that he needs it, he doesn't mind not exercising political power, he is more than happy taking care of practical matters than dealing with tedious issues like Aemond.

Daeron is aware that marrying Marianne Westerling is the best option. Still…

His gaze shifts to the young woman who silently walks beside him through the gardens.

“I am sorry, Lady Marianne, I probably should have suggested we talk in one of the drawing rooms,” he says after watching her shiver for the third time.

“It is fine, my prince, I do not mind the cold,” he assures her, though her red nose and cracked voice say otherwise.

Daeron simply nods, and they resume their walk in silence. It is not an awkward silence, and though he knows what he’s expected to say, he can’t do it. At least not yet.

“I did not get a chance to tell you,” Marianne’s voice cuts through his thoughts, “But I did enjoy watching you compete in the tournament, my prince”

“Thank you,” he replies with a smirk, “I would have preferred to win, though.”

“You were the winner in my heart.”

Marianne seems to register her words a second later, because her cheeks flush and she looks down, clearly embarrassed.

Daeron finds the gesture adorable.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” he replies.

It takes Marianne a few long seconds to face him again, and when she does, the prince is once again struck by how pretty she is.

And by how little effect that beauty has on him.

You are a fool, he thinks as his mind conjures up the face of someone else. Someone he can never have.

“There is a matter I would like to discuss with you,” he finally dares to say, “It is my wish that we can unite our houses through a betrothal. The Crown agrees with my idea and the king, my brother, has agreed to our marriage. However, I would like to know what you think about the matter.”

His words sound formal. Too formal and rehearsed. And yet, the smile that appears on the young woman’s face is so wide that it increases the feeling of ingratitude he feels.

“I would like nothing more than to be your wife, my prince.”

Daeron struggles to offer her a smile, “It is decided then. The council will arrange the details with your lord father, so we can proceed.”

“I am honored, my prince,” she replies, bowing.

 “My brother will surely announce the betrothal soon, but I ask for discretion for now. It's wiser this way.”

“Of course,” Marianne nods immediately.

“And we should probably wait until winter is over before we get married,” he says more to himself, “Yes, I think waiting a while would be wise.”

Time. It's just what he needs. Time to get used to his future.

And time to banish ideas – and feelings – that are better left uninhabited.

***

His sheets no longer smell like her.

The scent of roses that always surrounds Rhaena has almost completely disappeared from his room, and as Aemond shifts in bed trying to find a comfortable position to rest, he can't help but grab the pillow at his side and inhale deeply, wanting to find a trace of his wife in it.

But he finds no comfort in the action.

Like the previous nights, he can't sleep either. His room is now a place that torments him. All he can think about every time he enters it is Rhaena's body lying between his sheets, her platinum hair spread across his pillows, the softness of her skin, her kisses...

Aemond growls, exasperated with himself because, no matter how hard he tries, he can't get her out of his mind.

Although he finds refuge in his daily work, forcing himself to focus on the affairs of the kingdom, on accounts, reports and inspections, the nights are torture. Every time he returns to the Tower he walks silently so as not to hear her, so as not to succumb to his desire to require her presence, to see her or to hold her in his arms. Only that his private rooms are living proof of what he tries to deprive himself of. And, although he knows that he could very well request new accommodations, that masochistic part of him does not wish to do so. No, that little part delights in sleeping in the bed he shared with her, where he felt her warmth…

The prince curses once more as his mind conjures the sensation of sinking inside of her, of her moans and the way Rhaena says his name when she explodes with pleasure. His body betrays him too, and he feels his cock getting excited, growing between his legs and screaming for his attention.

“Seven hells!”

Would it be so bad to summon her? To share her bed again? At some point he would have to, because after all, their union must produce an heir. So why not just give in to his desire? Why keep keeping her away? Wasn’t it easier to just…?

No.

He had done it once before. He had given in to his passions and it had brought him close to death. He had allowed someone else to control him and have influence over him. And he wasn’t going to do it again. He couldn’t show himself weak again. He had agreed to this marriage only to fulfill his duty to the realm, to please his mother and help in the survival of his house. Nothing more was required of him.

Aemond moves between the sheets again, but when the pressure on his cock becomes unbearable, he can’t help but slide his hand and stroke the length of it, moving up and down and imagining it’s Rhaena’s hand stroking him. Or her mouth. How would it feel to have her lips and tongue wrapped around his cock? The mere thought makes him explode, spilling his seed all over his stomach.

Defeated, though somewhat relieved, he cleans himself up and manages to sleep for a few hours. As the sun breaks dawn, he slips out from between the sheets and walks to the training yard, where he grabs a sword and begins to stab the straw man.

“Bad night?”

The question comes from Ser Criston, who joins him, also taking up a sword.

“I didn’t get much sleep.”

“Once again?” the knight faces him, tacitly challenging him to a duel, “What is troubling you, my prince?”

He does not answer immediately. Though he trusts Cole, he doesn’t dare discuss his situation with him. Or anyone, really.

“I think we should send Daeron and Tessarion to the Stormlands.”

“Is this because of the thefts to the nobles?”

“It is happening more and more often.”

“Your brother wouldn’t be much help, not on the back of his dragon,” Ser Criston replies, “The thieves probably set up camp deep in the woods, from the sky Daeron would not be able to see them. You know that as well as I do.”

“Mmm,” Aemond lunges at the knight, who deflects his attack with ease.

“Send me if you are so worried about the situation.”

“No, I need you here.”

The prince repeats his action and lets out a frustrated grunt when he fails to even touch his master.

“You are distracted,” Cole comments as they put down their swords and catch their breath, “What is it really bothering you?” When he gets no response, he insists, “The realm is at peace, the council follows your instructions and there is no sign of disloyalty on their part.”

Aemond takes his sword again and Cole his morning star, wielding it skillfully and making the young man concentrate to the maximum so as not to be hit by the weapon.

“Is it Lady Rhaena?” When the prince glares at him, a sideways smile appears on Cole’s face. “I imagine that living together is not proving to be an easy task.”

“Why do you assume that?”

“You have always been an independent young man,” Ser Criston dodges again, “Accustomed to your ways and routines. And now you have a wife to include in all of this. It must be… complicated.”

“I barely see her.”

“Why is that?”

Aemond shrugs, “I have no need to,” he lies, “She is just…”

“Your wife,” the knight cuts him off, “Who in the eyes of the gods you covered with your cloak and swore to protect.”

“She does not need my protection, she is safe here in the Keep.”

“That is not what I mean,” Ser Criston replies, shaking his head, “Lady Rhaena requires your attention and dedication as well.”

Aemond lets out a cynical chuckle, though internally, he feels a tug of guilt and bitterness at the knight’s words, “She receives enough attention from the Court. I do not think she desires mine.”

His words must convey something of what he feels, because Ser Criston stops his attacks and watches him with those shrewd eyes that detected his lies as a child, and made him confess his escapes from the castle to try to sneak into the Dragon Pit, “You can be gentle with her. There would be nothing wrong with getting along with your wife. I know you didn’t wish to marry her, but that doesn’t stop your feelings towards that union from changing over time.”

“We married to produce a royal heir,” Aemond retorts, “For the future of the dynasty. You told me that, remember?”

“I remember,” he nods and lets out a heavy sigh, “I just think there is nothing wrong with you feeling affection for your wife, my prince”

Aemond grimaces and looks away for a moment.

“It has nothing to do with that,” he finally murmurs, and when he faces Criston, it is with a harsh and cold look in his eye, “Let’s keep training.”

And although his words echo in his mind, he focuses only on the comforting sound of steel against steel, trying to forget his doubts and everything else.

***

“We are honored by your visit, Princess Rhaena.”

The orphanage is considerably larger than the one she visited last time. And it is filled with small children running around in torn shoes and scantily clad despite the cold. Seeing their little red noses and almost purple lips, Rhaena is suddenly embarrassed by the fur coat she is wearing.

The septa, an elderly woman, offers her a rickety chair by the fire.

“Thank you,” she replies with a smile, “I hope the provisions I brought are enough to ease your burden.”

“Praise the Mother,” the woman replies, “Our burden is great, as you can see, my lady. But we try to house all the children who are in need.”

Rhaena looks back at the many children of varying ages who are excitedly running around the carts filled with vegetables and wheat she has brought. This orphanage, one of the ones on the queen dowager’s list, is her first stop in Flea Bottom.

“The Crown appreciates your service, septa,” Rhaena clears her throat, “What else do they need?”

“There is never enough food, my lady, but we also require clothing and blankets. Last winter took more than half of the children in our care.”

Her heart sinks at the woman’s words, “I am very sorry to hear that.”

“It was a shame, really, but the Gods are probably taking better care of them than we could,” the woman sighs, “There are few who will grow up to be good men and women.”

Rhaena looks back at the children, and a lump form in her heart, “How long will they be under your care if they cannot find families to take them in?”

“A few years, until they can take care of themselves. We try to teach them practical things, but it’s hard to make a living in this city.”

The sound of a crying baby cuts off the conversation, and a young septa enters with a small child in her arms.

“One more?”

“I’m afraid so,” the young woman sighs and, seeing Rhaena, bows before leaving the small room.

“The arrival of winter makes the women simply abandon them.”

“Isn’t there some way to find their mothers? To help them so they can raise their children?”

“Babies are not welcome where they come from,” the septa explains, “Most of these children are the children of prostitutes on the Street of Silk. There is no place for these creatures in these establishments. And those that are kept are for a much worse fate.”

Rhaena pales and the septa apologizes for bringing up an inappropriate subject for her.

For the rest of the visit, as she oversees that the orphanage receives all that she has brought to offer, Rhaena wanders through the gloomy, cold rooms, promising to return with more help.

“I will return soon,” she assures the septa, “And I will bring more useful things.”

The children cling to her skirts, bidding her farewell, and Rhaena tries to contain her sudden urge to cry as she leaves the place.

“Shall we return to the palace, princess?” the royal guard asks.

“Not yet,” she sighs, “I want to walk around the city a bit.”

The man follows her silently and the girl tries to ease her heart as she thinks about the harsh reality she has just witnessed. She knew the city had many shortages, but she was not prepared to see them so directly. King's Landing had looked lovely on the occasions she had visited, although that was probably because they had embellished part of the city for the wedding. Now that she had ventured deeper into the heart of the town, she could see the reality.

“This place is not appropriate for you, my lady,” the guard warns her

“Why not?”

“Well it is… it is the Street of Silk, my lady.”

“Oh,” Rhaena stops abruptly and looks curiously at the establishments that, in the light of day, seem quite ordinary.

The famous Street of Silk. Women wearing the most revealing dresses she has ever seen emerge from one of the houses, laughing and holding glasses while hugging a clearly drunk man. The man touches them shamelessly and they do not protest, rather they respond to his caresses while they continue laughing and then enter another of the houses.

“We should go back to the palace, princess”

Rhaena nods and they return to the carriage. During the ride, her mind can't help but return to the scene on Silk Street. And the many establishments she had seen. Were they all brothels? Were they all packed at night, offering forbidden pleasures to men? Had Aemond frequented any of these places? Did he still frequent them even now?

Doubt grows inside her like poison ivy. The prince had assured her that distractions were things of the past, but was he keeping his word? Or was that why he no longer called her to his chambers? Perhaps he preferred the more experienced touch of his lover. Rhaena feels her heart race as she considers the possibility that she had been a disappointment to Aemond in the marriage bed. Was that why he avoided her? Had the novelty of possessing her been so dull after a couple of times that he needed something more? Had she failed?

“We are already at the Fortress, Madam”

Rhaena gets out of the carriage and advances through the castle without even looking where she is going.

“There you are!” Marianne’s arms suddenly encircle her and her friend’s squeal of excitement stops the thoughts that are gnawing at her insides. “I was looking for you,” her lady continues, “Oh Rhaena! The prince Daeron asked me to be his wife.”

“What?” she gasps, surprised, “How… how did it happen?”

Rhaena tries to act surprised even though she expected it to happen because, after all, Aemond had assured her that she didn’t have to worry about it anymore.

Just as he assured you that there would be no one else but you, she thinks.

And, if he had kept his promise to Daeron and Marianne, why wouldn’t he also keep his promise to never visit his former lover again?

Yes, her doubts were unfounded. They had to be, she thinks as she watches her friend’s smile, pleased by the betrothal, and making plans about the wedding, the dress and the decoration of the sept. “Prince Aemond will announce our betrothal soon,” Marianne beams, “But you mustn’t tell anyone until then.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Rhaena beams back, “I am so happy for you. And that we can still be together.”

“It is amazing, is it not?” Her lady’s honey-colored eyes fill with unshed tears, “And we will be family! Our children will be cousins ​​and grow up together.”

Rhaena giggles and tries to push her doubts aside, letting herself be carried away by the idyllic picture her lady paints for her.

Chapter Text

“I must say, I have missed your company, Princess Rhaena.”

“The feeling is mutual, my lady,” Lady Redwyne seems pleased with the reply, her smile spreading across her elderly face before she sips from her wine goblet. “I would have liked to meet you sooner, but my new duties take up most of my day.”

“Oh yes, I hear you have been visiting the city and frequenting the Flea Bottom.”

“Do you disapprove of my acts of charity to the poor?” she asks after observing the older woman’s expression.

“I think it is a bit much for a noble lady to have to do them herself,” she nods vehemently, “Surely you could limit yourself to ordering that the common people be properly cared for.”

Rhaena hides her smile as she sips from her own goblet, “I prefer to go myself and see that help reaches where it is needed. Besides, I like doing it. It makes me feel…” the girl cuts her words off quickly. Better to measure her words. While she does not distrust Lady Redwyne, it is preferable not to give too much of herself to the Courtiers, “I like to spend time with orphaned children. And I only follow the example of the Dowager Queen.”

“Mmm,” Lady Redwyne smirks, “I remember Queen Alicent when she was first married. A young girl with her head in the right place. Yes, I imagine she will be pleased that you follow in her footsteps. For as long as it is possible for you, of course.”

“What do you mean?”

“That once you have children, Princess, you will not have as much free time as you do now,” the old woman lets out a giggle, “I hope we have news on that matter soon. I would not want to go to meet the Stranger without having met the royal heir.”

Lady Redwyne’s words, though well-intentioned, leave a bitter feeling inside her. It has been weeks since Aemond has required her presence in his room. The few times they see each other in the Tower are usually just short seconds of awkward interactions. And, if she had any hopes of being with child after their wedding night, they had vanished a few days ago after she woke up to find droplets of blood on the sheets.

“The gods will surely grant us the delight of having you with us for many more years, my lady,” she replies politely.

“Not if the winter continues like this,” the old woman complains, demanding more wine from the maid, “My bones cannot bear it…”

Rhaena tunes out of the conversation.

With each passing day it is impossible not to feel more like a failure. Though she often told herself that she shouldn't have expected to maintain a close relationship with her husband, that it was unrealistic; that dreamy, idealistic part of her still held out hope that the prince would care a little more for her. That he would seek her company, whatever the form.

You are better off this way, she tells herself. Remember the promise you made to your sister.

Rhaena tries to think about the promise every day. Not just out of loyalty to her sister, but because she must remind herself that whatever she feels towards the prince, it is clearly not reciprocated. Aemond only sees her as a means to an end. Nothing more.

And maybe not even that.

If he doesn't seek her to produce an heir and doesn't want her as a companion, what purpose does she really serve? It is ridiculous to entertain such thoughts, she knows. She herself had reminded the prince that she was needed. That only she would give future children the legitimacy they need. Still... negative thoughts could resonate loudly in her mind from time to time. Perhaps, because of that, she has clung to her new duties with determination. Only then does she feel useful and feels that she contributes in some way.

“Where is Lady Westerling, by the way?”

The question brings her out of her thoughts, “Walking around the gardens, with my cousin Daeron.”

The betrothal, which had been announced a few days ago, had been received with approval by the Court. Supported by Marianne's father, they had begun to make wedding plans, although they would not take place until the weather improved.

Her friend was overjoyed and Rhaena was happy for her. Besides, unlike his older brother, Daeron sought out his future wife's company more often, and showered her with attention.

Lady Redwyne and the other women gathered there begin to talk about the wedding, and Rhaena tries to participate as much as she can before excusing herself and returning to the Tower.

A burning smell greets her as she enters her chambers, followed by screams from women. Confused, Rhaena moves quickly until she reaches her private chambers, where two maids are hugging each other and crying.

“What is happening?”

Rhaena looks from the women to the other end of the room, where a furious Morning struggles to get out of her cage while throwing out flames of dragon fire.

“Prince… princess…” one of the maids whimpers, “We just… we just wanted…”

Morning growls again and Rhaena sighs. Judging by the trays of raw meat lying at the maids’ feet, they had tried to reach out to feed her dragon. To no avail.

“Leave the food for Morning?”

Both of them nod. Rhaena approaches the tray, and when the women realize what she is trying to do, they snap out of their stupor and quickly pick up the meat.

“I will do it, you may leave,” she orders.

They look terribly relieved when they are finally able to leave the room.

When the door finally closes, the dragon stops growling and Rhaena slowly approaches her, comforting her with phrases in High Valyrian.

“I imagine you are lonely here too,” she whispers after letting her out of her cage, “But you should not be so harsh on the maids.”

Morning sniffs at the meat and scorches it with her fire before taking bites.

As Rhaena watches her feed, she notices how large she is. The cage, increasingly limiting for her, is not helping Morning cooperate.

“I will take some time to get you out of this room, I promise,” she says, “So you can fly free and…”

The dragon moves closer to her neck, and Rhaena suppresses a wince. Morning’s growing horns scrape her neck as she playfully tries to nuzzle her. Her weight continues to bother her as well, but she endures the sensation for several minutes until a draft of cold air blows through the open window, causing the dragon to fly into the fireplace, curling up next to the fire and growling again.

Sighing, she goes to the window, closing and locking it before leaving the room and going in search of the guards, whom she finds at the entrance to the Tower.

“I am going to give you some instructions that you must follow from now on.”

“Yes, princess.”

“No one, not even the maids, is to enter my private chamber if I am not present.”

“As you command, princess.”

“I need you to be vigilant about that,” she presses, “I do not want my dragon disturbed. If the maids need to clean, they will have to wait until I am present to do so and if…”

Rhaena stops talking as the guards bow, looking at someone behind her. When she turns, she is met by the tall figure of Aemond, who is looking at her with a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Was I clear?” Rhaena ignores his question and looks back at the guards, who nod instantly, “Good.”

“Rhaena,” her name is spoken with his usual impatience.

“Cousin,” she greets, facing him again. Aemond raises his eyebrows, clearly waiting for an answer to his question. Rhaena bites the inside of her lip and simply holds his gaze for a few seconds, saying nothing.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Absolutely nothing. I was just giving the guards some instructions.”

“Regarding what?” The prince’s expression suddenly changes as he takes a few steps to her side, “Why are you bleeding?”

“I am not…” Rhaena is cut off when Aemond raises his hand and takes her by the chin, gently tilting her face to the side and exposing her neck.

“What happened?” Aemond’s tone of voice is low, but it conveys his obvious anger. His good eye flicks from her to the guards before returning to Rhaena, “I want to know what happened to you.”

“It is nothing, just a small cut,” she replies as she steps back, breaking free from his touch.

“Tell me what happened,” he demands and then says, “Call the maester. Have him come immediately.”

“Do not call him,” she orders in turn. The guard, who had started to move, stops, “There is no need to bother the maester over a trifle.”

“Let him judge that,” Aemond replies.

“Aemond,” Rhaena tries to sound as authoritative as he is, “I am fine. It is nothing. I can take of this for myself.”

The prince meets her gaze upon hearing it, and his expression -a mix of annoyance and concern that causes Rhaena’s heart to race for a moment- finally seems to relent. He nods and then says, “Come with me.”

Rhaena berates herself for feeling that glimmer of hope at his words. She doesn’t want to feel so eager to follow him, to stay a moment by his side, but she can’t help herself. So, she follows him to the room where he usually takes care of his daily chores.

“How did you get that cut?” he asks as soon as they are alone

“It was Morning,” she replies with a sigh, “She didn’t mean to do it, she is just growing and getting stronger. She probably didn’t notice that she hurt me. I didn’t even notice.”

Aemond makes a grimace with his lips as he listens to her. Rhaena goes to say something else, but he reaches for his doublet, where he pulls out a handkerchief that he holds out in her direction.

“Thank you,” Rhaena takes it in her hands and, before putting it around her neck, she looks at his initials on it. It is one of the ones she embroidered for him. The idea of ​​him wearing them, perhaps daily, brings an involuntary little smile to her lips.

“Does your dragon have anything to do with you giving instructions to the guards?”

“Yes,” she nods as she wipes her collar with the soft linen, applying pressure, “The maids are afraid to get close to Morning, and she doesn’t seem to like the maids either. I found them screaming in a corner of my room, totally terrified of my dragon, although she remained in her cage”

“I can bring new maids, if you prefer”

“No, no, it is not necessary,” she replies quickly while removing the handkerchief, fleetingly observing the drops of blood on it, “It would not be fair to the ones we have. They just… I know it can be complicated, not everyone can get close to a dragon”

“So that is why you ordered the guards…”

“Not to let anyone into my chambers unless I am present,” Rhaena finishes, “I don’t want them to disturb Morning.”

“Mmm,” Aemond purses his lips once more and stares at her intently.

Rhaena knows her cousin has an opinion when it comes to her dragon’s presence in the Tower, so she challenges him with her gaze, wanting to know if he’s going to voice it again despite knowing the princess’s position on the matter.

“And I assume you will feed her yourself in the meantime?”

“I will.”

“You will be going back and forth to the Tower several times a day?” he asks sarcastically, “Don’t you think it would be easier…?”

“I don’t mind doing so,” she points out.

Aemond looks like he wants to push for a moment, but ultimately just sighs, “Very well, if that is what you prefer.”

Rhaena nods and an awkward silence stretches between them for a moment.

“What are you doing here anyway?”

“I work and live here,” the prince replies, raising his eyebrows.

“I mean, what are you doing back in the Tower at this hour?” she explains, “The sun is still shining in the sky. You don’t usually return until well into the evening.” Her words, which she tries to express in an ordinary tone, contain a hint of reproach.

Aemond feels a pang of guilt inside him, but he suppresses it and pulls a piece of parchment from his doublet pocket, “We received a letter from Driftmark.”

“From my sister?”

Rhaena takes a few steps towards him with her hand outstretched, Aemond hands her the scroll, the seal already broken, “Why didn’t I receive it directly?”

“Because it is not addressed to you.”

Rhaena frowns and opens the scroll, quickly reading the message. Aemond was right. The letter had been addressed to the Royal Council informing them that…

“My sister is already married to Allyn.”

The news takes her by surprise more than she expects. Her hands, suddenly shaking, crumple the piece of parchment and her eyes begin to sting.

“They wanted to share the happy news with the king,” the prince answers nonchalantly. Rhaena just nods.

Her sister had gotten married. And she knew she would, but she didn’t expect it to be so quickly. Or that Baela wouldn’t even let her know through a letter. Or that…

“You seem upset by the news.”

The girl looks up at Aemond, who stares at her with open curiosity.

“I am not upset.”

“You seem so.”

“No, no, far from it, I am happy for her,” she answers so quickly that her words sound rushed, “I am. I just wish…” her voice breaks off.

Aemond watches her lower her head once more, his stomach churning with a mix of worry and anger at Rhaena’s obvious sadness. He shouldn’t push for answers. He knows he shouldn’t. But he wants to know what’s bothering her so much. “Speak,” he orders, though it sounds more like a request with how low his voice is.

Rhaena fiddles with her rings before doing so, “I wish I could have been there for the wedding. I always thought we’d be standing next to each other when we got married,” the girl watches Aemond’s expression, hoping to find a hint of mockery, but finds none, “It is silly, I know.”

“It is not.”

Yes, it is. He thinks. Weddings are just formal ceremonies with no real appeal. He hadn’t particularly enjoyed Helaena and Aegon’s.

Rhaena’s lips part in surprise. “I… uh… it doesn’t matter anyway. I know I wouldn't have been able to attend, I know my life is here now and I most likely won't be allowed to leave the Fortress”

“I would have let you go”

The words are out of his mouth before he can really think about it. Even though he knows it’s a lie. That Rhaena is right in thinking she wouldn’t have been able to attend, he’d rather not agree with her. He’d rather lie to her and make her feel better. Or look better in her eyes.

“You would?”

“I would have sent you with Daeron and Tessarion.”

Another lie.

But the genuine smile his words elicit from Rhaena keeps him from feeling too bad about it.

“Thank you, Aemond. Knowing that… means a lot to me,” she sighs, then, after biting her lower lip for a moment, adds, “Though it wouldn’t have done any good because, clearly, my sister didn’t want me there.”

“Is that what you think?”

“What else can I think? She didn’t write to tell me about the betrothal, nor did she mention the wedding taking place so soon in her last letter. What would you think if Daeron did something like that to you?”

“Mmm,” so that was really what was bothering him. Not the wedding, but having been, once again, ignored by her twin.

“Maybe I am being unfair,” she sighs, “Maybe I am just being too emotional about this. After all, I already knew they were getting married, didn’t I? There’s not much point in telling me more considering she surely thought I wouldn’t be allowed to attend,” Rhaena continues, unable to stop, “Yes, that must be it. Baela… surely… she will explain her reasons to me in the next letter”

“Or maybe she simply didn’t want to be overshadowed at her wedding.”

“Overshadowed?”

“By the presence of the most important lady in the realm.”

Rhaena lets out a chuckle that wipes the melancholic expression off her face, “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“I think it makes a lot of sense,” Aemond smirks, pleased to see her more cheerful, “Surely the nobles of Driftmark would have been more impressed with you than the bride.”

“They wouldn’t have to,” she replies, “And I don’t think Baela cares too much about that.”

“You know she does,” Aemond shakes his head, “It was pretty clear when she was here that she would have preferred to have your place under other circumstances. You know I’m telling the truth,” he points out when she tries to interrupt, “By your side, your sister feels diminished. And, she was probably used to it being the other way around.”

Rhaena nods mechanically, “All the attention used to be hers.”

“And now it’s yours. Lady of the Red Keep, while she barely has a small island to look after”

“You make my position sound much more important than it is”

“Your responsibilities are much greater than Baela's, you know that well”

“She doesn't care what I do here”

“Because she lacks the ability to flourish at Court the way you do,” once again his words flow out without him being able to contain them, “You are clever, bold, and…”

Rhaena seems caught up in his words, as if drinking in every compliment he says. Without thinking much, he takes a few steps towards her, getting closer and closer. Feeling, once again, her perfume overwhelming him.

“You are capable of being of great help to the crown.”

“Still, I would trade all that for another chance to spend time with my sister.”

Aemond doesn’t take her comment well. He doesn’t like the ease with which Rhaena chooses Baela over her current life. Over him. Which is irrational, he knows, but still…

Rhaena knows she has annoyed him with her answer. She notices it in the bitterness in his expression. Although she doesn’t quite understand why it would bother him to hear her say that when all he does is ignoring her. Her hand automatically rises to place on the prince’s arm, but before she can do so, he speaks again.

“I need your assistance with a matter.”

“Oh,” Rhaena clears her throat and drops her hand, interlacing it with her other free hand, “What matter?”

“The High Septon intends to build a sept outside the city, in one of the most fertile farming areas of the Crownlands. I need you to dissuade him from that idea.”

“If they are part of the Crownlands, why does the septon have access to them?”

“My father gave them to him during his reign,” Aemond rolls his good eye, “I want to take them back into our custody and use them. These resources should directly benefit us, not the Faith.”

“I assume you send me because you wish to apply a more… subtle method rather than force.”

“It is good to have the Faith on our side,” he nods, “But without giving them too much freedom. Request a meeting with the High Septon. Offer him something he might want in return. Something he wants that won’t put us in a compromising position.”

“I’ll think of something that might work.”

“The High Septon likes you. I trust you can do it.”

The smile returns to Rhaena’s lips. “Do you trust me?” Aemond doesn’t answer, he just tilts his face to the side and the girl’s smile widens, “Thank you, Aemond. It means a lot to me.”

That brings him back to face her. The prince’s expression, lacking his usual frown or coldness, is instead oddly soft. “I wanted to thank you for taking care of Marianne’s situation as well.”

“I told you I would.”

“I know,” she whispers, and, emboldened by the closeness and the way he’s looking at her, with that intensity from their first nights, she places her hand on his face, “I really appreciate you doing it.”

Aemond closes his eye at her touch and Rhaena traces his cheek with her thumb, moving down to his jaw and reaching the corner of his lips. The prince shudders, and his breathing starts to come out ragged.

“I should… I have to go to…”

Aemond suddenly opens his eye and steps back.

Rhaena tries not to feel so disappointed at losing contact, “Of course.”

“You should go.”

She just nods and turns her back on him, walking to the door. As her hand closes on the doorknob, she turns and sees the prince staring at her.

He wants to ask her to stay. She is sure he wants to ask her to stay, but even though they look at each other for a few seconds, he ends up looking down.

And she opens the door and leaves him alone.

***

His mother is waiting for him outside Aegon’s chamber.

“Aemond, I need to speak with you.”

“If it is about Daeron’s wedding, then you arrange as you see fit.”

“It is not about the wedding. It is about the fact that you have given Lady Rhaena the freedom to deal with matters of the Crown.”

Aemond stops in his tracks and his mother, lagging behind him, almost runs into his back, “I do not understand.”

“Neither do I. It was a lack of judgment on your part,” she replies in an exasperated voice.

“Mother…”

“She is a noble lady. She should not be dealing with financial matters and alliances.”

“You did,” he retorts, “In fact, it was you who handed over your responsibilities to her not long ago.”

“I passed over the charitable work I was handling to her. Matters of little consequence to keep her busy.”

“Matters she has performed efficiently.”

“That does not change the fact that she should not be meddling in the running of the kingdom. Frankly, Aemond, I am surprised that you would entrust her with something as important as this.”

“It is merely a barter with the High Septon.”

“It is the Crown’s relationship with the Faith.”

“You are always saying that Rhaena knows how to function socially. It seemed appropriate to give her this task,” Alicent does not respond immediately, simply observing him, as if trying to decipher something in him. Her scrutiny is so annoying, it forces him to look away, “Mother…”

“You cannot trust her.”

“She is my wife. A wife you insisted I take,” he retorts scathingly, “I did not want to marry her. But the council and you pushed me to. Ever since she came here you have told me I should be more attentive to her and now that I am you tell me I am acting wrongly. Honestly, mother, I do not understand.”

“I told you to pay attention to her and be polite to keep up appearances with the Court and because it was the right thing to do. Lady Rhaena came here because her blood is important, her name is needed. But you cannot trust her.”

“What exactly do you think Rhaena gains from all this? Do you think she and the High Septon will raise an army against Aegon?”

“No, of course not. But she is not one of us. Not yet. Not until she bears you a child,” at the mention of an heir, Aemond lowers his gaze, “Once she bears you a child, preferably a son, who is named heir to the throne, only then can you be sure she will be loyal to us. No mother would ever act against her own child.”

His mother’s words sound almost bitter. Aemond watches her eyes fill with something he can’t quite place, a melancholy he doesn’t quite understand. Though he can’t help but think that perhaps it’s because Alicent is speaking from her own experience when referring to the matter.

“Focus on your real work, Aemond. Summon her to your chambers and produce an heir as soon as possible,” she orders. “Afterward you can, if you wish, get closer to your wife.”

“I’m not too concerned with that.”

“Are you not?” His mother steps up to him, placing her hands over his and staring at him, “Do not act so lightly. Do not let her will win over yours. You are a prince. Act with the dignity of one.”

His mother leaves his side and Aemond is left alone with his thoughts, walking automatically until he reaches the courtyard of the fortress and orders his horse to be brought to him.

Vhagar is awake and hears him approach, growling at the sight of him and covering him with her warm breath as he comes closer to caress her tanned skin. The prince lies down on her, matching his breathing to the heavy one of his dragon.

He tries to tell himself that Alicent's words are meaningless, but he knows that they are not.

His mother has done nothing more than verbalize the fears he feels. His fear of letting himself be carried away by what he feels towards Rhaena. Hadn't he already started to do so? Wasn't it because of the weakness he felt for his wife that he had offered to take part in the affairs of the kingdom? He hadn't been able to bear seeing her so defeated, so hurt by her twin's attitude. He had had to do something to make her the smiling Rhaena she always was.

But that was dangerous. Even his mother knew that.

Vhagar roars, perhaps sensing his inner conflict, and Aemond closes his eye and wishes to soar through the skies with her again. Though it is nearly impossible now.

The prince stays with her until she falls asleep again, then returns to the Tower of the Hand. As he enters his room and takes a bath, he repeats his mother's words once more.

An heir. That is what is expected of him. Of him and Rhaena.

Not a relationship, not a union beyond one that produces a male child. He cannot wish for anything more. He does not want to wish for anything more, even if his heart says otherwise.

He cannot have Rhaena completely. But, at least he can have her in his nights. So, he calls one of the maids and orders her to summon his wife.

Chapter Text

“The prince requires your presence in his chambers as soon as possible, princess.”

Rhaena looks up from the book she is reading and glances at the maid, who is watching Morning warily from her place in the doorway. Before she can ask if she knows the reason why Aemond has called her so suddenly, the maid curtsies hastily and leaves.

Suddenly feeling anxious, she climbs out of bed and pulls her velvet robe over her long nightgown. Has something happened? Has Baela already started to put her plan into motion? Is that why she had married so quickly? Her heart flutters as she walks the few meters to the prince’s chambers, which she enters unannounced, as the guard immediately opens the door.

“Aemond? Is everything all right? Did…?”

Her words stop when she sees her cousin sitting on the edge of the bed, covered only by a white linen towel tied around his waist. His bare torso is beaded with a couple of droplets, as if he had recently stepped out of the tub. Which, judging by the aroma that fills the room, seems to be the case. Rhaena’s eyes scan his torso eagerly, her heart fluttering again, although this time for an entirely different reason.

“I want you to spend the night here,” Aemond’s voice reaches her almost as a whisper.

When she understands the meaning of his words, she swallows. Spend the night with him? It hadn’t occurred to her that this was the reason for his call, practically accustomed to spending her nights alone.

Her violet eyes open wide as she looks at the prince again, the defined muscles of his arms and shoulders, his broad back and narrow waist. His hair like two silky silver curtains that frame his face. When the prince stands up, a whiff of his masculine perfume reaches her, disturbing her and filling her body with desire. Holding back a moan, Rhaena takes a couple of steps back and lowers her gaze, not wanting him to notice how excited she is.

As she does so, her eyes fall on her robe, which suddenly feels dull. Why hadn’t she worn anything more striking before coming here? And the nightgown beneath it. White and plain. Not a hint of the lace and silk he usually sees her in. Then there was the matter of the bath. She’d taken one this morning, but was it enough? Tired as she was, she’d only washed before putting on her robe. Did she smell nice? She hadn’t applied her usual oils to her curls, either. What if Aemond found her appearance lacking and lost interest in her? The thought makes her mouth dry, and feeling anxious, she rubs her clammy hands over the robe.

“Rhaena?”

It’s not until the third time he calls her name that she reacts.

“Yes?” she asks, finally snapping out of her thoughts and looking up at him.

“You seem… scared,” Aemond frowns and purses his lips into a thin line, “You dislike the idea of ​​being my company tonight.”

It takes Rhaena a few seconds to register his words. “No, no, of course…”

“Don’t go on, you do not need to explain yourself,” he cuts her off, “Go back to your chambers.”

Go back to your chambers.

Her suspicions from a few seconds ago come back to eat at her, stoking her fear.

“Aemond, I…”

“Go back to your chambers,” his voice is an order this time, “I will not force my presence on you.”

“But I am your wife.”

The prince chuckles gracelessly, his cold gaze glaring at her. There is something else though. Something she cannot fathom.

“I do not understand,” she says, still not moving, “You called me here. You wanted me to spend the night here. With you.”

“And you clearly have no desire for it to be so.”

It is the bitterness in his voice and the grimace of sadness that so suddenly crosses his face that encourages her to speak.

“What makes you think that?”

“Rhaena. Go away. I have no patience to…”

“No.” This time she cuts him off, “You cannot simply throw me out of your room.”

“Yes, I can. I am your husband.”

“It does not work like that,” she shakes her head, taking a tentative step towards him, “Not with me.”

Aemond glares at her again, but Rhaena holds the eye contact as she feels her anxiety being replaced by something else. By rage. By the pent-up anger of all these weeks of indifference.

“I have been patient. All my life I have been patient. And I have been patient with you, but no more. You are not going to play games with me, Aemond. We had a deal. We were going to try to be…” Rhaena measures her words, “We were going to try to enjoy this marriage.”

“Enjoy?” he replies sarcastically, his gaze hardening, “Do not try to sweeten me with your words now. You do not need to pretend that you are excited about sharing my bed.”

“I do not pretend, not with you,” she retorts. And she takes a breath before continuing, trying to be brave. Trying to put into words what she feels, even if it means baring her heart to him, “I have been waiting for you to call me back to your chambers. Eager and ready to be your wife again. I have been alone for over a month, waiting. And when you finally do, you discard me in mere minutes? As if… as if I meant nothing?” Her voice breaks and Aemond’s gaze falls on her. Even though her cheeks flush, and she feels her eyes sting, she cannot remain silent. Not now. “Am I not what you expected? Is that it? Was I a disappointment? I know I am not as experienced as the women you met before, but I thought we were getting to know each other. Maybe I was naive to think I could replace their memory in your bed and…”

He doesn’t let her continue. Crossing the distance between them in two long strides, he puts his arms around her, holding her close to his body, “What you say is absurd.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” he replies, almost like a growl, “How can you even think of comparing yourself to them? They are nothing.”

“And what am I?”

“You are my wife,” he replies possessively.

“A wife who spent night after night alone. Knowing no reason for your coldness, for your indifference. None other than your past. And it made perfect sense to assume that was why you didn’t call me anymore.”

“Ridiculous.”

Aemond replies with such confidence, that Rhaena feels even more emboldened because of it. And that is why she dares to place her hand on his chest, slowly caressing his smooth skin until she rests it on his heart, which is beating as fast as her own. The discovery gives her satisfaction.

Rhaena says his name softly before replacing her hand with his lips, kissing the skin over his heart, “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

There is a beat of silence before he answers.

“Did you want me to?”

“I did,” Rhaena raises her gaze to Aemond, “Why don’t you believe me?”

The prince looks away and wets his lips with his tongue. His fingers, still encircling her, dig into her skin. The gesture doesn’t hurt her, but it lets her know that he is nervous. That he clearly does not want to admit the answer to her question.

Rhaena wants to push. But she knows is better not to. And, right now, she doesn’t need any more answers. She just needs him. And, if he doesn’t believe her, she’ll convince him that she wants him too.

“I want to spend the night with you, Aemond. I want to stay here with my husband. With you.”

Rhaena's lips move up his collarbone to his neck, leaving small, wet kisses before rubbing her nose on his skin to breathe in his scent. The prince shivers under her caresses and Rhaena places her hands on his back, caressing the length of him, wanting to trace every muscle with her fingers.

Aemond's hands leave her waist to untie the knot of the robe, freeing her from the heavy garment before pulling her back towards him, pressing their bodies together in such a way that she can clearly feel the bulge of his arousal against her stomach.

Still full of courage and desire, she unties the knot of the towel, letting it fall at the prince's feet. Aemond says something unintelligible and Rhaena, instinctively, places her hand on Aemond's cock, stroking it up and down as she had seen him do before. Only he lets out a curse and, frightened, pulls her hand away.

“I am sorry,” he says quickly, “Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to…”

“No,” he almost growls, taking her hand and placing it back on his cock, “You didn’t hurt me, it’s just…” Aemond closes his good eye as Rhaena wraps her hand around it again, squeezing the length of it, familiarizing herself with its shape and caressing the veins that pulse under her touch, “Rhaena…”

He is unable to say anything coherent. She seems to understand that her touch does not bother him, so she continues with her action, feeling his cock harden under her hand and grow even more. Rhaena swallows when a few drops wet the tip and…

“Enough,” Aemond gasps, one hand over Rhaena’ while the other holds her by the chin. “Bed. Now.”

She nods quickly and allows the prince to take her in his arms, carrying her to the edge of the bed, where he sits and places her astride him. Their faces are at the same height and their sexes are so close that she cannot help but rub against him, needing the contact. Aemond smirks as he tangles his hands in her hair, tilting her face so that he can attack her neck with his lips, sucking on the sensitive skin and surely marking her.

Rhaena's moans begin to fill the stillness of the room and the prince places his hands under her robe, slowly lifting the fabric. Rhaena's body tenses as she understands what he wants to do. Aemond, sensing her nervousness, pulls his lips away from her neck and meets her gaze. Rhaena holds eye contact for a moment, blushing. She hasn't been naked in front of him yet. He hadn't removed her nightgown the previous times. The prospect fills her with shame, but seeing the anticipation in the prince's gaze, his chest rising and falling, his skin burning with desire, is enough to push her fears aside. Nodding slightly, she raises her hands for Aemond to remove the garment.

Once the prince discards the nightgown somewhere in the room, he is quick to kiss her. His thin lips capture hers in a desperate kiss, full of hunger and desire. It isn't until Rhaena allows their tongues to merge that she realizes how much she's missed Aemond's kisses.

“I missed this,” she is heard saying as they part for air.

Her words seem to awaken something in the prince, who pulls her even closer to his body, causing her breasts to rub against his torso. Rhaena’s nipples harden and Aemond’s hands move down her back, caressing her waist and thighs before kissing her again, nibbling on her lips.

Their bodies align in such a way that Rhaena ends up rubbing herself on his cock, her wet sex sliding easily over the prince’s length, who gasps in pleasure. Aemond takes her by the waist and, lifting her, positions her on top of him. Rhaena swallows as she slowly sinks into him. The sensation is similar and at the same time completely different from what she has experienced.

“Is it too much?” the prince asks when she stops, a grimace of pain on her face.

“Yes,” she gasps, “But I am fine,” she assures before continuing to sink into him, feeling her insides being stretched by his member as a pang of pain runs through her intimacy.

Aemond squeezes her waist and tries to remain still until she finally takes him completely. They both gasp at feeling completely joined and he kisses her, wanting to distract her. It seems to work because Rhaena responds to the contact eagerly, placing her hands on his chest as she instinctively moves on top of him.

The prince lets out a grunt of pleasure and helps her move up and down. Rhaena closes her eyes and, still clinging to his chest, impales herself on him again and again, marveling at the pleasure that is growing inside her, at how full she feels and at the way Aemond’s cock seems to rub against something inside her that promises to bring her to ecstasy.

Aemond arches Rhaena’s back and kisses her breasts, sucking on one nipple while teasing the other. The girl begins to move faster and it doesn’t take long before the bubble of pleasure bursts inside her. Hearing her scream his name as she cums on him, the prince thrusts hard into her and spills inside her a minute later.

“Rhaena”

Her name sounds almost like a prayer on his lips. Rhaena, who has had her eyes closed, still invaded by the sensation of bliss, opens them to find him looking at her with an intensity that makes her blush. They both look at each other for a moment longer, their breathing normalizing.

“Are you okay?”

She just nods, unable to say more.

After a moment more of just watching each other, she realizes they are still joined, so on shaky legs she pulls out of him. As she moves to her knees beside him, she feels his seed sliding down her thighs. Aemond follows her gaze and without much thought, takes the liquid between his fingers and slides it back between her legs. Rhaena shivers as she feels his fingers brushing her sex, which is still very sensitive from their encounter.

“Lie down.”

Rhaena settles herself on the bed and watches him stand up, walk over to the washbowl and wet a rag with water before returning to her side.

“Let me,” he asks before wiping her thighs with the rag.

Rhaena feels her heart fill with an inexplicable feeling as he pushes the rag aside and lays down on the bed beside her, pulling the covers over them.

“Thank you,” she whispers as she tries to find a comfortable position.

She wants to move closer to him. She wants to lie on his chest and wrap her arms around him. But she doesn’t dare. So, she settles for clasping their hands together and looking at him.

He imitates her, lacing their fingers together and turning on his side, watching her intently in the silence of the room. Rhaena’s eyes grow heavier and heavier, and when Aemond brings her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles, she smiles contentedly and drifts off to sleep.

Before she falls asleep, however, she thinks she hears him say, “I missed this, too.”

***

“Lady Rhaena, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Lord Lannister,” she gives the man a charming smile as she enters his study, a room close to the royal council chamber, “I was hoping you could spare me a few minutes of your time.”

“Of course,” Lannister stands up with some difficulty and waits for Rhaena to take a seat in front of him before returning to his chair.

“I do not know if you are aware that Prince Aemond left me in charge of recovering some Crown lands ceded to the Faith.”

“I heard about that,” he nods, his curious green eyes settling on her

“I have a proposal that I think might satisfy the High Septon, and convince him to return the lands, but I would not like to present it to him without first making sure that I will not cause loss to the Crown.”

“A sensible action on your part.”

“That is why I need your help,” Rhaena clasps her hands together, suddenly nervous at the prospect that Lannister might dismiss her idea. Or find it ridiculous, “I heard that the High Septon plans to build seven septs in important cities for the realm. I thought he could be exempted from building taxes as an incentive. I know… I know it is not something that is usually done,” she says quickly and clears her throat before continuing, “I hope I am not mistaken, I am not an expert in accounts and numbers, but in general it seemed to me that it would not be too much of a loss for the realm. I do not know if I am right.”

Rhaena blushes and looks down for a few moments. Lord Lannister observes her with greater curiosity before extracting some scrolls from a heavy chest near him, “Let us verify.”

Without questioning her idea further, Tyland Lannister spends the next few minutes explaining to Rhaena the system of building taxes in the realm.

“Of course, each feudal lord has his own taxes,” he says, frowning, “But it wouldn’t be difficult to get the Faith exonerated if the order came from the king. Do you know which lands the High Septon plans to build the septs on?”

“No, not yet,” she bites her lip, shaking her head, “But I am friends with several noble lords, surely I could contact them if it becomes necessary.”

“We will take care of that later.”

Lannister does the math, and Rhaena watches him curiously, waiting for the verdict.

“I think it would work,” he finally replies, “The Crown would recover the exonerated taxes with the proceeds of one harvest from the lands they seek to recover.”

“Just with one harvest?” she asks, confused, “It would surely take a little longer.”

“We are talking about highly productive lands, Lady Rhaena, hence it is of vital importance that the Crown regain possession of them.”

His words add more pressure to the one she already feels. She knew Aemond had wanted to make her feel better after the matter with her twin, but she had no idea that her mission could represent significant losses for the kingdom if not deal properly.

"I assure you, Lord Lannister, that I take my task with the seriousness it deserves. I will do my best to see that the realm regains those lands.”

“I do not doubt it, my lady.”

For a few more minutes, they discuss the crown lands. Rhaena asks him to show her the exact location, and Lord Lannister helps her with the information she needs.

“I do not understand why give them up in the first place,” she sighs, “They are located in a strategic storage point. Surely my uncle understood this as well as I did.”

“It was shortly after Queen Aemma’s death,” Lord Tyland answers as if that settled the matter.

Rhaena just nods, “I thank you, Lord Lannister, for your assistance. I hope I have not interrupted your work too much.”

“On the contrary, your presence was most welcome,” he says, offering his hand to stand, “I wish you the best of luck on your mission, Lady Rhaena.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

There is a moment of hesitation on Lord Tyland’s part, who looks at her as if he is debating internally whether to say something. Rhaena remains silent, allowing him to escort her to the door. As she is about to leave, Lord Tyland seems to decide to speak.

“If I may, Lady Rhaena, I wanted to thank you for your attentions to my niece.”

“You have nothing to thank,” she says, surprised by the comment, but smiling, “Marianne is a very dear friend.”

“She is a good girl. She may not be my niece by blood, but I care deeply for her and her well-being. I have grown accustomed to her presence these past few years. I don’t know if you know this, but Marianne looked after me during my convalescence after the war.”

Rhaena does not respond immediately, considering Lannister’s words. She knew that the Master of Coin had been tortured by Rhaenyra and her subjects during the time they had remained in King’s Landing, venting on Lord Tyland the pent-up rage over the death of the princes and the disappearance of the royal treasure. Although Lannister seemed more recovered now, Rhaena had noticed his slowness in walking and had seen him leaning on a cane a few times.

“I know she is happy with her betrothal to Prince Daeron. And I am glad to see her happy.”

“As I am, I assure you,” she finally replies, squeezing the man’s arm with her free hand.

“My niece can be very naive at times, but she is loyal.” Lord Tyland doesn’t need to voice his request out loud, his wish for Rhaena to take care of her, especially now that she holds a higher position in the kingdom. “Loyalty is not something that is easily found.”

“I agree with that.”

Rhaena says no more, only bidding Lannister farewell with a nod.

***

“It seems to me, High Septon, that I am being quite reasonable with my request.”

The priest wipes his wine mustache with a napkin before smiling at her. It has not cost her much to arrange a meeting with the man or to sweeten him with polite words while offering him cakes and good wine.

“Lady Rhaena, you know that I appreciate you, but my main duty is to the Faith and the gods.”

“Of course.”

“Then you will understand that I must refuse your offer. The lands you speak of were a gift from the late king. I could not…”

“Return them to the current king?” she finishes for him, sipping her wine as well, “The Crown needs those lands. With winter so close, surely a man as pious as you will understand that we must use them to make the most of their resources and distribute them among the congregation of the kingdom.”

“That is a noble task, of course,” he admits, “One that the Faith can also accomplish.”

“Surely,” Rhaena smiles at him, “But the Faith should focus on opening the hearts of the common people to the gods. And it can do that with the septs I know you wish to build.”

“I plan to build one right on those lands.”

“Or you could build many more elsewhere in the kingdom without having to pay the taxes that come with it.”

There is a moment of silence before the septon speaks again, though his lively eyes rest on her. “Is that possible?”

“It is. The Faith can build seven more septs without paying anything to the Crown.”

“We are talking about a considerable sum, my lady.”

“A sum for which you could surely find another equally… suitable purpose.”

Rhaena smiles sweetly at him. The High Septon seems to be pondering her words, and the girl can swear that he is internally delighting in the possibilities of getting his hands on that money. She knows the religious man’s appetites well.

“If the lands return to the Crown, you could build your sept near the Stokeworth lands. The lady of the castle is very pious, she would be more than happy to serve you properly during the construction period. Surely you have tried her famous cakes?”

“A delight. A real delight,” he replies as he takes one of the tarts in front of him.

“I think the deal would be more than ideal,” she continues, “I know it would be… inconvenient for you to change your plans right now. But my name day is coming up and I plan to throw a party,” Rhaena stares at him, “I have no need for so many jewels and gifts, surely the Faith would appreciate them after gifting me the land exchange.”

The idea seems to amaze the High Septon, who does little to try to hide his excitement at the proposal.

“Very well, Lady Rhaena, you win,” he finally replies, “The lands will return to the Crown’s control if you assure me that we can build the septs without… er… needing to contribute taxes.”

“Of course.”

“And about your name day…”

“I will personally send the gifts as donations to the Sept.”

“If that is your will, my lady, surely the Gods will know how to reward you,” the man replies, pleased, “Let it be all for them.”

Rhaena simply smiles at him and continues to converse with the man, though it is mostly the Septon who does all the talking and talking for a long time. Still, she gives him her full attention until she sees fit to excuse himself.

As she rides the carriage back to the castle, she can't help but feel contradictorily relieved and anxious at the same time. Though she savors her triumph and can't wait to share the news of her success with Aemond, she feels the pressure of having been able to ruin everything. What would have happened if she hadn't been able to convince the High Septon? The prince had trusted her. And Rhaena wants him to continue to do so. Just as she has managed to have his company again in her nights, she wants him to be able to continue to consider her his support, his equal.

And there is something else. She wants to be able to contribute. To be of help not only to her husband, but to the kingdom. To do more than her duties as a simple wife who spends her days embroidering or painting. There is something too exciting about being able to make decisions, to be involved in matters that can make a difference. To be truly important. And Rhaena does not want to stop experiencing that feeling.

With that idea in mind, she gets out of the carriage and heads immediately to the Tower of the Hand. It is already dark and she knows that he is waiting for her. He has called her to his chambers without fail for the last week. And not once has he pressed her for news about the matter with the Faith. But now that she has something positive to share, she hurries up the steps of the tower, eager to see Aemond's pleased expression upon receiving the news. Eager to please him and to be in his arms again.

In wonder, she realizes as a smile naturally appears on her lips, that she feels happy for the first time to be in King's Landing.

Chapter Text

Rhaena wakes up surrounded by his scent. A smile forming on her lips, she spreads out her hands trying to reach the prince, but only finds cold sheets and an empty bed. Sighing, she rubs her eyes and steps out from under the covers, drawing the curtains to watch the faint rays of sunlight filter through the cloud-covered bed.

“Your breakfast, princess.”

The maid’s voice takes her by surprise, but she only nods as she goes to the small table where the young woman has laid out the tray.

“And your tea.”

Rhaena looks at the cup of steaming moon tea. She has continued to request it from the maid appointed by her sister, but has not even attempted to drink it.

“Prepare my bath and then ask Lady Westerling to come.”

The maid nods and leaves the room. Once alone, she takes the opportunity to throw the tea into the fireplace, causing a hiss from the flames.

“Lady Westerling is already waiting for you in your drawing room, my lady.”

Rhaena rushes to change into one of her favorite mauve dresses before joining her friend, who happily nibbles on a raspberry pastry while waiting for her.

“Oh there you are,” Marianne stands up and sets the pastry down on the tray, offering her a smile.

“My dear Marianne,” Rhaena comes to her side, “I am glad you are available this morning.”

Her lady’s cheeks are tinted with blush, “Prince Daeron has gone to tend to Tessarion.”

“Then I must make the most of his absence and with it the opportunity to have you by my side again.”

“What an exaggeration!” Marianne smirks, “I know I have been distracted, but I have fulfilled my duties. I have already answered all of your correspondence, and selected two new ladies to handle…”

“You know I am only joking,” Rhaena takes her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, “I am glad you and my cousin are still on good terms.”

“Me too,” her friend sighs, “I imagine your marriage is on the right track considering your smile and attitude this morning”

Rhaena nods vehemently and lets out a giggle, “I gave him good news yesterday regarding the High Septon.”

“I knew you’d do well with that matter!” Marianne lets out a squeal, “Was the prince pleased?”

“Very much so. And frankly, I am too. I had to sacrifice my name day party, but it does not bother me too much.”

“Oh no,” Marianne widens her eyes, “You cannot not throw a party, I was already taking care of the details.”

“We will host the party, though the gifts will be offered to the Faith.”

Marianne rolls her eyes and grimaces, “I imagine the High Septon was delighted to hear the news. I will not allow you to deliver mine to him, though. I will have it delivered to these rooms personally.”

“Thank you, Annie,” she replies with a wide smile, “We will have time to think about the party later. For now, tell me, what do we have pending for this morning?”

“Lady Massey and Lady Dustin wish you to mediate a domestic matter. I do not have the details, but they requested an audience with you.”

Rhaena frowns, “Audience? I thought I was clear about that. I am not the queen, I have no authority to mediate about anything.”

“Well, the Dowager Queen certainly won’t help them. And Queen Ellyn has not made a public appearance since your wedding, so who else would they turn to?”

Rhaena knows the obvious answer is her, but she does not quite like the idea. Even though her position in the castle is one of the highest ranking now that she is a princess, she still feels it is not her duty to act in a position that clearly belongs to someone else.

“Queen Ellyn has not responded to our invitations?”

“No, not even to decline,” Marianne sighs.

“It is strange,” the girl bites her lip, “Do you know if she’s met with any of her ladies?”

“Most of them have returned to their home for the season, the others… I do not think they made much of an effort to look for the queen.”

Rhaena understands what Marianne doesn’t say. Ellyn Baratheon had failed in her duty to produce an heir. She had neither the affection nor the support of the king nor the royal family. The Court and its shifting loyalties had abandoned her as well.

“Perhaps you should write to her personally,” Marianne suggests, “Perhaps that will encourage her to meet with you. Her situation is not ideal, and she must still be mourning her baby. I wish I could have done more to help her, but…”

“You two used to be close?”

“I was not in her inner circle, but she was always kind to me,” she admits and sighs again, “Perhaps I should have done more for her during her convalescence. She surely needed a friend back then, and now resents us for wanting to get close to her.”

“Don’t think that way,” Rhaena reassures her, “Perhaps she just needs a little more space. I will write to her anyway. I do not want her to think I want to take her place or her responsibilities.”

Marianne nods, “In the meantime, will you be meeting with Lady Massey and Lady Dustin?”

Rhaena considers the matter for a moment. While she does not wish to overstep her functions, she finds the idea of ​​exerting her power directly at court, of demonstrating authority over the ladies, exciting. And if she doesn't have many opportunities to do so later, she might as well take advantage of the ones she has now.

“I will send for them immediately and receive them in one of the rooms near the throne room.”

Marianne claps her hands excitedly and they continue to feast on the desserts before leaving the Tower.

When they finally reach the room where the audience will be held, Rhaena is surprised to find both ladies standing at either end of the room, staring at each other with open dislike.

“You said this was about a domestic matter, didn’t you?” she whispers to her friend.

“It is what they mentioned, yes”

The women, along with other courtesans who seem to have come to support Lady Dustin and Massey, bow to her.

“Lady Massey, Lady Dustin,” she greets as she sits down on the chair set up on a platform, “You have requested an audience with me. I am listening.”

Both women begin to speak at the same time, their voices escalating to shrieks that make it impossible to understand any of their words.

“Enough,” Rhaena has to raise her voice as well to make herself heard, “I fear I won’t be able to understand what you are saying if we continue this way. Lady Dustin, you begin.”

The woman, a few years older than Rhaena, smirks at her rival, clearly pleased to be able to speak first, “That woman stole my maid.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Lady Massey, you will have your turn to speak, allow Lady Dustin to continue,” Rhaena rushes to say while trying to keep a neutral expression when she considers it an exaggeration to have requested an audience for such a seemingly trivial matter.

“She stole my maid! My personal maid, I might add, a maid whom I personally trained and who served me for the past two years. Yet, she dared to remove her from my service and take her away, it is unheard of!”

While Rhaena knows that it is not proper or polite in high society to interfere in the matter of servants, much less remove one from the service of another, she is disappointed to have to mediate such a petty matter.

“Lady Massey, I hear you.”

“Princess, I am sorry that you have to waste your time listening to Lady Dustin’s complaints. I never stole a maid from her, the young lady was retired from her service when I decided to take her under my wing. Lady Dustin seems to forget, or prefers to omit, that it was she herself who expelled the maid in question, accusing her of having taken one of her sapphire rings, and then being quite cruel to the girl.”

“And it turned out to be true?”

“The matter of the theft? A mistake on Lady Dustin’s part.”

“Lady Dustin?” Rhaena turns to her, though the red cheeks of her expression are all the answer she needs, “What about you being cruel to your maid?”

“I am simply demanding, Princess, I imagine you know how difficult it is to find capable servants in the capital.”

Rhaena raises her eyebrows at her, “So you want her back in your household despite distrusting her enough to accuse her of taking your personal belongings.”

“It was just a misunderstanding,” the woman gives her a smile that she finds false

“What is her name?”

“Pardon me?” Lady Dustin looks at her blankly

“The young lady in question, your former servant, what is her name?” she asks again

Lady Dustin frowns and opens her mouth again and again, though she does not know how to answer.

“Her name is Asha, Princess,” Lady Massey interjects, “She is a young lady, basically a child, who is much better off in my service than she was in her previous job.”

“What are you implying?” Lady Dustin glares at lady Massey again

“You know very well what I mean.”

“Enough!” Rhaena sighs, “I want to speak with Asha. Lady Massey, send for your maid.”

“Surely that is not necessary, princess,” Lady Dustin interjects.

“It is for me,” she answers simply. As they wait for the maid, Rhaena looks for Marianne, who climbs up to her side, “They do not seem to get along too well.”

“I believe this is not the first time the two ladies have had problems with each other. I heard something about some dresses and the royal dressmaker. Would you like me to find out more about that?”

“Yes, I need to know those kinds of details.”

Marianne returns to her place just as the doors open to admit a rather young maid, who curtsies as she arrives before Rhaena, keeping her gaze on the ground.

“Are you Asha?” she asks. The young woman nods, “You do not need to be afraid, I just want to ask you a few questions.”

Lady Dustin makes a disgruntled noise and mutters under her breath, causing the girl to shudder.

“Out, everyone,” Rhaena orders, “I will listen to Asha and then give my decision.”

“But…” Lady Dustin wants to speak, but Rhaena silences her with a look.

Once they are alone, Rhaena steps down from her seat on the platform and walks over to the maid, who still keeps her gaze on the ground.

“Asha, right?” The girl nods, “I am Lady Rhaena Targaryen.” There is a moment of silence, but the young woman continues to look at the ground. Rhaena sighs and continues, “There is nothing to fear, I only wanted to ask you about your mistress.”

“Lady Massey is a good mistress,” she says quickly.

“Asha, look at me,” she orders in a firm voice. The maid seems to hesitate, and Rhaena wonders if she will have to repeat her order, but then the girl looks up, her brown eyes full of fear resting on hers. But it is her face, with her swollen lip and an ugly cut on her cheek, that draws Rhaena’s attention. “How did you get those wounds?”

“I tripped, ma’am, in the kitchen.”

Rhaena knows she is lying, “I want you to be honest with me, Asha. Did your lady do this to you?”

“No, no, princess, Lady Massey doesn’t hurt me.”

“Who then?” she asks, “You can tell me. Nothing will happen to you, I promise. I will make sure of that.”

“It was… Lady Dustin thought I had taken her ring, but I swear, princess, it wasn’t me. It had just fallen, when I found it… I explained it to her… but…”

“It is okay, I believe you,” Rhaena assures her, taking her hand and squeezing it, “Was that the only time Lady Dustin hit you?”

Asha swallows and doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t need to, her expression tells Rhaena everything she needs.

“How long have you been working here?”

“A couple of years, my lady. My mother… she used to wash dishes in the kitchens. When she died, I was able to take her place.”

“And you like working here?”

“I have food and shelter, ma’am,” she nods, “It’s much better than ending up on the streets.”

Rhaena sighs as she remembers the sad scene on the city streets. A part of her mind wonders what would have become of Asha if she hadn’t been accepted into the castle. She probably would have ended up like the other women on the Street of Silk.

“You do not need to fear, Asha. I will make sure that Lady Dustin does not attack you again.”

“Ma’am, no, I would not want to…”

“It is fine, do not fear,” she repeats, “You will remain in Lady Massey’s service. Just… carry on as normal with your duties and if anything happens, find me, I can help you.”

The girl’s brown eyes look back at her, widening as saucers and visibly holding back tears, “Thank you, ma’am, thank you very much.”

Rhaena offers her a smile before sending her back to her chores, and ushering the other women in.

“I have made a decision,” she says as she stands on the platform, “Asha will remain in Lady Massey’s service.”

“But, Princess, that is…”

“As for you, Lady Dustin,” she says, looking at the woman, “I suggest you act according to your rank, and remember that the servants work here under our protection, they are not our property to be abused.”

“Are you suggesting I abuse my maids?” the woman, livid, stares at her with wide eyes

Rhaena holds her gaze, “I hope this is the last time something like what I just witnessed happens”

“Nonsense,” Lady Dustin murmurs, “In the North I would never have had to…”

“I do not know how things work in the North,” Rhaena cuts her off, “But if you are so homesick, perhaps it would be best for you to leave Court and return to the North as soon as possible”

Lady Dustin doesn’t respond, just purses her lips and nods, curtsying as Rhaena, followed by Marianne, cross the room.

***

“Wait here.”

The soldier and her maid immediately stop at her command, though Ellyn can see the doubt on both of their faces.

“Your Grace, you cannot go alone.”

“I will not go too far,” she assures, “If I need you, I will call you. Wait here. I want to be alone.”

As the two of them nod, accepting her command, Ellyn sets off down the path into the Royal Forest. Even though it has yet to snow in the capital, the days are getting colder and the bearskin coat she is wearing is not entirely able to protect her from the furious wind that seeps through the trees.

Still, she doesn't dislike the feeling. Fresh air is just what she is looking for, the main reason to escape the suffocating Red Keep, and the pitying glances of her courtiers.

The lake appears before her at the end of the path. Although, unlike other times, she won't be able to enjoy its waters, she walks to the shore and brushes her fingers against the surface, shuddering at the contact, but smiling as she remembers the equally cold waters of Shipbreaker Bay. The comparison with her former home momentarily comforts her heart.

Ellyn finds a rock and sits on its surface, her blue eyes observing the tranquility of the lake for a long time, delighting in the stillness and silence, in the birds that fly through the skies and their low songs.

Until a much larger shadow crosses the royal forest, momentarily surprising her.

Tessarion's roar shatters the peace of the forest, but it soon becomes clear that the dragon poses no danger as she disappears into the trees, oblivious to her presence. Perhaps that is why she does not hear the approaching hooves of a horse until the rider is practically behind her.

“Ellyn?”

Daeron’s voice makes her jump. With a hand on her heart, she turns quickly and watches the prince dismount from his horse and look at her with an expression half curious and half wary.

“Are you following me?”

“Are you here alone?”

They both ask at the same time and neither responds for a few seconds.

“You go first,” Ellyn steps away from the lake’s edge, though she keeps her distance from Daeron, who holds the horse’s reins to a nearby tree.

“Of course, I am not following you. I was as surprised as you were to find you here. Your turn.”

Ellyn sighs, “I am not here alone. My maid and a royal guard stand guard at the start of the path.”

“It is not wise to walk away from them,” Daeron frowns, “You are the queen, someone might want to…”

“Hurt me?” Ellyn finishes, “I doubt it. These are times of peace and this is not the first time I’ve come to this place.”

“Still, I do not like to think of you leaving the castle without proper company. If you feel the need to return here, let me know beforehand and I will accompany you.”

“Yes, perhaps next time you and Lady Westerling could keep me company.”

The prince’s cheeks flush at her words. “Ellyn, I…”

“Congratulations, by the way, on the betrothal,” the young queen looks down at her rings, fiddling with them for a moment, “Lady Marianne is a very…”

“Let us not speak of her. Please,” Daeron’s voice suddenly sounds very close, and when she looks up, she realizes that the prince has closed the distance between them until he is only a few steps away.

“Why not?” She asks, trying to sound firm, though her voice is more of a whisper.

“You know why,” Daeron’s voice is a whisper as well, and as he takes a step closer to her, his scent fills her senses, causing her to close her eyes for a moment, her mind recalling dimly lit halls, masquerades, and subtle caresses offered during balls.

But it is when his hand rests on her cheek, the contrast of his warm skin against her cool one, that she’s aware of the moment, and she quickly backs away, “No, Daeron, no. This isn’t right.”

“Ellyn…”

“Don’t say my name like that,” she cuts him off, turning her face away for a moment before facing him again, her heart clenching at the sight of the pain on the prince’s face, “I am your brother’s wife.”

“He does not make you happy.”

“As if that matters,” she retorts sarcastically, “Besides, you are getting married.”

“A betrothal I only agreed to because I cannot have the one woman I truly want.”

Ellyn shudders and bites her bottom lip hard, but just shakes her head in denial.

“I do not know… I do not know what I did to make you think this… is mutual, I am sorry if I gave you that impression,” she cannot look at him. She does not want to look at the pain she knows she is causing him, because if she looks at him, she knows Daeron will realize she is lying. That she wishes she could just forget everything and be guided by her feelings, but they can’t, “I must return to the castle. And you should do the same.”

The prince doesn't answer, and though a part of her, the one that makes her heart pound every time she sees Daeron, wishes he would say or do something more, she chooses to listen to reason and walk down the path without looking back.

***

Rhaena watches the dragon fire scorch the meat and her dragon eagerly launch herself into devouring the huge chunks.

“She’s grown quite a bit since I last saw her.”

Aemond’s voice snaps her out of her thoughts. Rhaena looks away from her dragon, and watches the prince walk over to sit beside her on the couch in her private drawing room.

“Yes, the cage she came from the Vale in won’t hold her much longer.”

“Mmm,” Aemond glances at the dragon before turning his study back to his wife, “She hurt you again.”

“It is nothing to worry about,” Rhaena is quick to shrug, though the movement causes her pain as Morning had been coiled around her neck until not long ago.

The prince doesn’t answer, but his long fingers brush over the small wounds caused by the horns and claws, frowning and clearly showing his annoyance in his expression, although he doesn’t dare to voice his opinion out loud so as not to upset Rhaena.

“I heard you had an interesting afternoon.”

“Oh yes,” she nods, pleased with the change of subject, “Two ladies of the court came to me to mediate their problem. The matter itself wasn’t too interesting, but I ended up finding out that Lady Dustin was beating one of her maids, which outraged me and made me think that we should put more interest in that subject, don’t you agree?”

“What subject specifically?” Aemond raises his eyebrows.

“To take better care of the servants who work here,” Rhaena rolls her eyes, “They do not deserve to be treated so cruelly. I was clear with Lady Dustin on that matter.”

Aemond smirks and nods, “She probably was not pleased.”

“Of course not, but it is not really relevant what she thinks. It is not right to abuse our power,” she replies firmly, “I’d like to make sure that nothing similar is happening with the other ladies of the court. Would you mind if I took it upon myself to find out?”

“Not at all. It is within your duties, you don’t need my permission to do so.”

Rhaena smiles, feeling inwardly pleased and relieved by his words. The urge to close the few inches between them and hug him grows within her, but she controls herself. Even though they spend their nights together, it is much easier to simply dare to physically show their affection when they are in the darkness of his room.

“What about you? How was your day ruling the kingdom?” Aemond seems to hesitate for a moment, his gaze darkening, “Did something happen?”

“No, not really. Or I don’t know,” he finally replies, “Reports keep coming in of a group of bandits committing crimes on the Kingsroad.”

“What kind of crimes?”

“Robberies, mostly against nobles. They started out as simple muggings, but lately they have been getting more violent.”

“And the noble lords haven’t been able to catch them yet?”

“Apparently they don’t stay in one place for too long,” Aemond frowns, “Either that or there are different groups in different parts of the kingdom, though I doubt it.”

“But it is nothing to worry about, right? With winter coming, the people often resort to desperate measures to stock up and not go hungry. Something similar used to happen in the Vale. The mountain clans would attack the nobles all the time, I remember Corwyn mentioning…”

Rhaena cuts herself off abruptly, her cheeks flushing at the mention of her old friend. Feeling the prince’s scrutiny on her, she sighs, “I am sorry, I spoke without thinking and… I know you don’t like me mentioning him.”

Aemond doesn’t answer immediately, just stares at her, moving closer to Rhaena and placing his hand on her neck, his fingers encircling the butterfly pendant he bought for her in Flea Bottom. “Corwyn Corbray is but a shadow of the past, his name is inconsequential,” he answers in that low, whisper-like tone of his. And though there is no hint of annoyance in his voice, his good eye scans Rhaena’s expression and there is possession in his words when he says, “You are my wife now, that is all that counts.”

“Indeed,” Rhaena answers with a small sigh. The prince makes a small noise of approval and his hand moves up to her cheek, caressing it with the pads of his fingers, “I was just… comparing the situations because it does not seem like anything out of the ordinary that there are robberies on the Kingsroad.”

“Maybe not,” he admits, “Though something tells me it could be something more. I will probably have to make inquires as soon as possible.”

Rhaena gulps as she understands the implications of his words, “Surely you are not planning to personally go after those bandits?”

“Why not?”

“Just because,” she frowns, “We are barely married, you cannot just go looking for criminals. Something could… could happen to you.”

Aemond smirks, “Worried about me?” His fingers brush the corner of her lips, “I thought you wanted to be a young widow.”

Rhaena rolls her eyes, though a smile forms on her lips as well, “I never said that. You assumed,” she retorts, adding, “Send someone you trust. Ser Criston, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” Aemond nods, “I had thought of Daeron, but my brother wouldn’t be much help with his dragon in this occasion, and I wouldn’t dare send him without Tessarion. As for Ser Criston…”

“You do not trust him?”

“Of course I trust him,” Aemond quickly states, “But I need him here to protect the city.”

“Well, I think Cole would be the perfect candidate for this mission, besides…” Rhaena ventures closer to Aemond, her knees brushing against the prince’s legs, “Perhaps without ser Criston in the city, I can finally wake up without the sight of an empty bed.”

The insinuation doesn’t go unnoticed by Aemond, and though Rhaena’s cheeks are tinted with an annoying blush, she holds his gaze and giggles when the prince’s hands settle on her waist, pulling her towards him and placing her on his lap.

“Is that your way of telling me that you would like me to abandon my morning training to stay with you in bed?”

“Surely your old master has already taught you everything he knows.”

“Mmm,” Aemond’s smirk causes a fire to flare in her lower belly, “You are probably right. The problem is,” he says as he kisses the exposed skin of her chest, “I’d be too tempted to not leave the room if I allowed myself to wait for you to wake up. And then the kingdom would suffer without its ruler.”

“I think the kingdom will be fine if its prince takes a few days to spoil his wife,” she replies, encouraged by his touch.

Rhaena feels him smile against her neck, and as his hands cup her face, she closes her eyes at the feel of Aemond’s kiss. The prince’s lips capture hers in a fervent kiss. Rhaena moans against his lips, and as Aemond’s fingers begin to work at the lacing of her corset, they are suddenly interrupted by a servant.

“I am sorry, Prince Aemond, but it’s urgent.”

Aemond growls, clearly angry, and helps Rhaena sit beside him before looking at the servant, who doesn’t dare look at the prince.

“What is it?”

“The queen dowager sent for you urgently. She wants you to meet her in the king’s chambers.”

Rhaena, who has been re-lacing her corset, looks up at Aemond. The prince looks at her with the same confusion that her face surely reflects, although there is something else, a sense of alarm, of fear, that makes the girl’s heart race.

The servant bows and leaves the small room. Aemond does not move immediately, his gaze resting on the fireplace, as if he needs a moment to himself.

“I will return as soon as possible,” he says, finally standing.

“Aemond,” Rhaena stands as well. He looks at her and she takes his hand, briefly linking it with hers, “I hope all is well.”

He nods and leaves the room.

Chapter Text

A powerful sweet smell that barely manages to hide the stench of putrefaction greets him when he enters his brother's chambers.

“Mother? Did you send for me?”

When he finally reaches the bed, he finds Alicent accompanied by Grand Maester Orwyle watching over his brother's sleep, who seems to complain while a pained expression crosses his face.

“I assume this meeting has something to do with Aegon's health?”

His mother closes her eyes and it is the Grand Maester who speaks, “The king’s wounds and pain have worsened over the past couple of days. In addition, there are other worrying signs.”

“What kind of signs?”

“Fevers, palpitations, and the color of his skin that indicate something is not working properly, my prince.”

Aemond focuses his attention on Aegon, on his sallow skin that can be seen despite the dim lighting of the room, on the spaces on his head where his hair seems to have fallen out, on the wounds on his leg that seem darker than usual and raw. He does not remember exactly the last time he saw his brother, but he did not seem to be this bad.

“Is there something you can do?”

“Not much. I am afraid the usual remedies are not working,” the maester looks with pity at Aegon’s figure, “The king is relying more and more on milk of the poppy, and wine to numb his pain.”

“It is a divine punishment,” Alicent murmurs, but Aemond decides to ignore her comment, although an idea suddenly pops into his head.

“Is this all part of the process of his illness? Couldn’t it be caused by something else?”

The Grand Maester seems to understand his concern immediately, “It does not seem to be related to any poison, Prince. At least no known poison.”

His mother gasps, clearly frightened as she looks at her two sons, “It’s not possible, they couldn’t…”

“It is unlikely,” Aemond interrupts, “But perhaps we should increase security measures. A new royal cupbearer, as well as an additional servant to taste Aegon’s food.”

“I will oversee everything personally,” Alicent lightly pats Aegon’s hand, “Your brother cannot die, the gods cannot take him away.”

“He is in constant pain, mother, he cannot even walk.”

“He doesn’t have an heir,” Alicent looks at him, frowning.

“I am next in line to the throne, I am the heir,” Aemond replies mechanically.

“Which changes nothing, you do not have a son either,” his mother shakes her head and purses her lips, “The kingdom will remain in uncertainty as long as you and your wife fail to produce an heir.”

Aemond grimaces and looks away so as not to let his mother know how much her comment bothers him.

“The prince and Lady Rhaena have been married for barely two moons, my queen, usually these matters take a little longer. Or perhaps, if the gods are merciful, Lady Rhaena might already be expecting.”

“But she is not, her moonblood arrived without delay.”

Aemond can't contain the displeasure in his voice, "Have you been spying on my wife?"

"Don't take it so personally, Aemond, the life of a royal couple is in the interest of the realm. Especially when said couple has such an important task to fulfill."

There is a moment of tense silence in which the prince tries to contain his temper, and mask his expression in his usual indifference. Once again it is the maester who intervenes.

"Time will tell, Your Grace, surely Lady Rhaena will give us positive news soon."

"I am afraid we do not have much time, Grand Maester," Alicent replies, turning once more to look at Aegon. A sigh escapes her lips before she speaks again, "Perhaps it would be a good idea to rush Daeron's wedding. Lady Westerling could be the answer to our prayers."

Her mother's words burn inside him like acid, causing a bitter feeling of jealousy and anger to mix. Glaring at her, he clenches his hands into fists, and speaks to the maester, “Let me know if there is any change in the king’s health.”

Orwyle bows, and Aemond gives a last resentful look to a seemingly unfazed Alicent, who has returned to sit near Aegon, before leaving the royal chambers.

The cold night air that seeps through the corridors of the Keep is a welcome change and gradually clears his mind. Although he should be used to his mother's comments by now, having grown up hearing her be dismissive and harsh towards anyone who does not behave or act as she expects or considers appropriate, he cannot avoid the pain and bitterness that being the center of such comments produces in him.

As he crosses one of the inner courtyards, he cannot help but look up at the sky. The full moon shines brightly overhead, bathing everything around him in a ghostly glow. A sad smile crosses his lips as he thinks of similar nights on the back of Vhagar. His dragon, so huge that it could cover the silhouette of the moon. If only he could fly through the skies with her again…

A shadow crossing the courtyard, seen out of the corner of his good eye, snaps him out of his thoughts. Aemond turns to where he noticed the movement and brings his hands to his knife, suddenly feeling anxious. Moving forward silently, he examines the hallway where he thinks the shadow disappeared, but finds nothing but silence.

An owl sings, breaking the stillness of the night, and Aemond puts the knife back in his belt.

It was probably nothing, he tells himself as he resumes his walk to the tower. Yes, it must have been nothing. The Keep is well guarded, and his mind is most likely playing tricks on him.

Still, he cannot shake the anxiety he feels as he climbs the stairs of the Tower. The guards greet him, and the stillness of the place fails to comfort him. Aemond first examines Rhaena's drawing room, but finds it empty. For a moment he considers calling a servant and asking for his wife, but when a sharp pain appears in the scar on his eye, he desists. Perhaps it would be best to spend the night alone. The discomfort of his scar usually prevents him from sleeping, so it is best not to condemn Rhaena to a sleepless night as well.

The prince undoes the buttons of his doublet and pulls it off as he enters his room, the pressure on his eye increasing. Cursing under his breath, he tosses the garment carelessly onto one of the pieces of furniture, wanting to get under the covers. But when he reaches the bed, he finds Rhaena quietly reading one of his books.

“You are here!” A smile lights up her face. Aemond simply nods, the pain causing him to close his eye. His expression must discourage her, because when she speaks again, there is hesitation in her voice, “I can… I can leave if you’d rather be alone tonight.”

“No, no,” his response is immediate despite his previous intentions of not having her by his side tonight, “I want you to stay.”

Relief is clear on his wife’s face, as she pushes back the covers and approaches him. Aemond can’t help but glance at her despite the pain, taking in the way the silk of her nightgown flatters her curves.

“Are you okay?”

Her voice is barely above a whisper as she helps him place the knife on the nightstand and hands him a long nightgown.

“It is just an old pain on the scar,” the prince nods.

Rhaena’s worried gaze immediately shifts to the wound and the patch. Aemond steps away from her, escaping her scrutiny.

“Should I call Maester Orwyle?”

“I know what he is going to tell me,” he replies, shaking his head as he pulls on his nightclothes, “I have an ointment for nights like this.”

“And where is it?”

Aemond hesitates for a moment before moving his head to the nightstand, “In the drawer.”

Rhaena goes to the drawer and opens it, finding a small glass bottle that fills the room with an herbal scent as soon as she removes the cork that seals it, “Smells nice,” she comments as she climbs onto the bed and extends her arm to Aemond, “Come here.”

The prince watches her for a few long seconds. Despite the smile on her face, Aemond can tell how nervous Rhaena is as she waits for him to do as she asks.

“I just want to apply the ointment,” Rhaena’s voice is a thread of indecision as he does nothing but observe her, still standing at the end of the bed.

Aemond does not want to make her feel bad, but the idea of ​​closing the distance between them and allowing her to tend to him seems too intimate. And unfamiliar. When was the last time he had allowed someone to take care of him? He did not even like being examined by the maester. And then there was the matter of the scar. He does not want to get close to her and watch her eyes fill with pity or disgust as she looks closer.

Rhaena sighs and lowers her hand with a defeated expression. And it’s that hint of pain that she can’t seem to diminish and that appears on her face that makes him discard his worries from a few moments ago, and simply climb into bed.

Aemond moves to stand beside her and frowns, “It is not a pretty scar.”

“I have seen it before.”

“The patch hides the most grotesque part of the wound, but without it…”

“I have seen you with your sapphire too,” she assures as her hand tentatively caresses his cheek. Aemond nods against her touch, “Come, lie here.”

The prince settles his head on her legs, his platinum hair spreading over her thighs as he removes the patch from his eye. Rhaena gives him a sideways smirk before pouring a few drops of the ointment onto two of her fingers and delicately smearing the scar.

“How frequent are these pains?”

“I used to get them all the time after the attack,” Aemond watches her face, not wanting to miss any expression, part of his mind still hoping to see some hint of displeasure in her expression, “They became less frequent over time.”

Rhaena nods, her fingertips gently massaging the surface of the wound from top to bottom, a steady motion that relaxes him, and makes him close his good eye.

“Can’t the maester do anything to prevent them?”

“No. I do not think so,” he replies with a shrug, “They are nothing to worry about. I just get them very occasionally, usually when I cannot sleep well.”

“But you were fine this morning.”

Aemond nods and opens his eye again. Rhaena looks thoughtful as she continues her massage. Aemond reaches up, and tangles his fingers through his wife’s curls, bringing a lock of hair to his nose and breathing in her rose-like scent.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Much better,” he replies, overcome by her scent, “Thank you.”

Rhaena smiles and joins her hand with the prince’s, “If it happens again, let me know. I want to be able to help you.” Aemond nods and they look at each other for a moment before she speaks again, “Are you hungry? Or did you have dinner with your mother and brother?”

“No, but I do not think I can eat right now.” She frowns and watches him. Aemond explains, “Pain takes away my appetite.”

“Oh, I understand.”

Aemond gets up from her lap, and lies down beside her. Rhaena mimics his action, though she turns around and props herself up on her elbow so she can watch him.

“My brother’s health has taken a turn for the worse,” he finally says, knowing she must be curious about the reason for his mother’s call.

“Is it bad?”

“I don’t think he has much time left,” he admits. Because, although the maester hadn’t dared say it in front of his mother, Aemond remembers the helpless look on his face. The same one he’d had when his father was close to death.

“I am so sorry, Aemond.”

Her words surprise him. The prince turns to her, frowning, “Why?”

“Why? Because he is your brother,” Rhaena looks at him, confused, “It must be hard for you to see him so ill.”

“Mmm,” Aemond looks away, “He’s been badly wounded for many years.”

“That does not mean it gets any easier for you or your mother.”

Aemond mulls over her words, his memories returning to that fateful afternoon on Rook’s Rest. He had tried to protect his brother, had done his best to keep him and Sunfyre from taking the brunt of the battle, but Aegon had insisted on provoking Meleys. In the end, he had to take down Rhaenys, and put his brother on the back burner.

“It is funny,” he finds himself saying, “When I think of Aegon, I always imagine him with his dragon or running through the halls of the Keep. Always on the move.”

“Were you two close?”

“We are too different to be close,” he shakes his head

“Not even as children?”

“As children, his playmates were Rhaenyra’s boys,” he admits. “My brother found it fun to exert some influence over them. They formed a small group that I could not join because I did not have a dragon. That made me the frequent butt of their jokes.”

Rhaena takes his hand again, caressing the palm with her thumb, “What did you do if you weren’t with them?”

“I trained with Cole or read in the library. If I didn’t have lessons, I was usually with my mother.”

A smile appears on Rhaena’s face, “I think I can picture you as a child next to Alicent.”

Aemond smirks, “She didn’t have much free time, but she let me hang around her, except when she was tending to my father. I couldn’t enter his chambers. He was either always busy or too sick.”

The prince closes his eye and remembers afternoons spent with his mother in the sept, the sound of her dark green dresses brushing against the floor as she gave orders to the servants, her bored expression when she listened to Helaena talk about her bugs.

“Sometimes I would sneak out to the dragon pit and try to take a Dreamfyre egg, too.”

“I do not believe you!” Rhaena gasps, “You could have died!”

“I came close a couple of times,” he smiles at the memory, “They were the only times my mother ever lost her temper with me.”

“Rightly so,” she replies, “It is awfully dangerous to get close to a dragon bonded to another rider. Especially a full-grown dragon with eggs, surely you knew that. What about Helaena? Didn’t she mind your adventures?”

“Not at all. My sister was a gentle soul, not bothered by my attempts.”

Nostalgia washes over him as he thinks of Helaena. The mental image of his sister soaring through the sky alongside her dragon fills him with sadness, so he quickly changes the subject.

“What about you? What was it like growing up in Pentos?”

“Oh well, Pentos is such a vibrant, colorful city. There was always something to do, something to distract yourself with, but my favorite place was the bay. I could escape and dip my feet whenever the heat was stifling,” a wistful smile appears on her face.

“Did your family live in a palace?”

“Yes, the prince of the city showered my parents with praise and gifts, he wanted the protection of their dragons. There was almost always a party or dinner with important guests at home. My mother was very good at entertaining her visitors.”

“You learned from her, I suppose.”

“I used to follow her around whenever I could, too,” Rhaena smiles, “And, when Baela wasn’t with her dragon or at her lessons with father, we used to play around the house.”

“Mmm,” Aemond tangled his finger in her curls again.

“At night, though,” Rhaena continues, “I would take my dragon egg, the one that had been mine since the cradle, and place it by the fireplace in the hopes that it would hatch.”

“On your own?” he asks, raising his eyebrows, amazed at the unusualness of the situation.

“Yes, on my own,” she nods, “The Guardians had long since given up on my egg. My mother told me that it would be best to find a dragon to bond with when we returned to Westeros, and Baela wanted me to find another egg, but I could not just let go the one I had. It was my egg, so I would sit by the fireplace and pray to all the gods that I would have a dragon so I could be worthy of my name, and my father.”

“Including the Seven?”

“Including the Seven,” she says, “That is why I know the prayers and chants. I used to think that one of them had to listen to me and help me. I stopped doing that after my mother died.”

Aemond sees the pain in her expression and caresses her face. She smiles and continues, “In the end, it turned out that I was right about my egg, I just had to wait.”

“Your patience was rewarded.”

“And now I have Morning. And you have Vhagar.”

“In my case… I knew I had to act at the first opportunity that presented itself. When I saw Vhagar sleeping among the dunes on the beach at Driftmark, I didn’t think about it too much. The largest dragon in the world.”

“Being claimed by a small child,” Rhaena retorts. Aemond watches her expression, expecting to find bitterness or anger, but she simply sighs, “I would not have admitted it then, but you were very brave in facing Vhagar.”

“The timing was not ideal, though.”

Rhaena nods, and closes her eyes briefly. When she opens them, her gaze goes to his scar, “Another thing I did not say then, I am sorry, Aemond. I never wanted that night to end so bloodily when I woke my cousins. If I hadn’t involved them, if we hadn’t waited for you in the tunnel, perhaps everything would have been different.”

“The only thing different would be that I would have kept my eye,” he replies, “War was inevitable.”

“Perhaps,” Rhaena nods.

“I… uh… regret my words that night too,” he says without much thought, “I was cruel to mention the loss of your mother.”

“You were. Although I did get a little bit of revenge while I was beating you up when you were on the ground.”

“Four against one!” Aemond growls and then asks “I seem to recall pushing you?”

“I still have a scar on my knee from your attack!” she retorts with mock indignation.

 “Unacceptable,” Aemond murmurs, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips, brushing her knuckles, “Though you were the one who attacked first!”

Rhaena giggles and shakes her head, “I wish none of that had happened. Can you imagine? If we had lived in peace, without wars and family feuds.”

“I doubt that would have been possible.”

“Oh, come on, humor me,” she gently pats his shoulder, “Your sister would be with us. And her children”

“Mmm,” Aemond smiles, though he prefers not to think about it, even if it is just a fictional scenario.

“And my sister would be married to Jace. And I would marry…”

Rhaena pauses and Aemond raises his eyebrows at her, “Me. I would have needed a Targaryen wife too.”

“It’s true,” she nods and lets herself fall onto the mattress, “Maybe we would have ended up married as well in that other reality.”

Aemond doesn’t answer, but he pulls her closer to his body, holding her by the waist. Rhaena hides her face in his chest, and her hands hug the prince’s body.

“I am glad to be here with you,” he hears her say.

The prince breathes in her rose scent, and feels his body relax.

“Me too,” he admits quietly.

***

Ellyn Baratheon gracefully steps out of the carriage that has stopped in front of the Great Sept. Her presence astonishes Rhaena, who has come to the temple at Alicent’s urging.

“Your Grace,” she greets with a curtsey as she reaches her side.

“Lady Rhaena,” the young woman nods, “I did not know you would be joining us this morning.”

“The Dowager Queen was kind to invite me.”

A lopsided smile appears on her face, and Rhaena wonders if Ellyn detects the false complacency in her voice.

“Of course,” Ellyn lifts the skirts of her sky-blue dress, and begins to climb the temple stairs, “We should hurry. The service will begin shortly.”

Rhaena follows silently, wondering how to bring up the subject of her unanswered invitations.

“I am glad to find you here, Your Grace. It is good to see you in good spirits and…”

“I am sorry if I gave you the impression I was avoiding you, Lady Rhaena,” Ellyn interrupts, stopping outside the sept, “I wasn’t ready to see anyone. I am having a harder time returning to court life than I expected, I hope you can understand.”

“Of course, Your Grace, it is more than understandable,” she says quickly, “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable or make any claims, I merely wished to offer my friendship.”

Ellyn does not respond, only nods and points to the Great Sept with her head. Seeing them walk together, the courtiers and townspeople who have attended also kneel, greeting them. The queen does not stop for any of them, so Rhaena does her best to greet them with a smile before making her way to where Alicent is already seated.

The service begins punctually, and Rhaena does her best to appear interested, although inwardly she wishes she could have stayed in the Keep deciding with the royal steward what was necessary regarding the nobles’ meals now that they must enter a more austere period.

When the High Septon finally finishes his sermons and the ritual ends, he approaches her to talk. Rhaena entertains him for a few minutes, listening patiently before greeting some of the other nobles gathered there. Eventually, he goes in search of Alicent, finding her kneeling at the Mother’s altar.

“It is her custom to light candles for her relatives who are no longer here,” explains Ellyn, whom she has not heard approaching, but who is now at her side.

Rhaena wonders if the Dowager Queen will light any in memory of her cousins ​​or Rhaenyra.

“I imagine she finds comfort in it,” she replies, watching the queen murmur prayers with her eyes closed.

“I suppose, though in my experience, it did not comfort me in the least,” the young queen sighs and turns to look at Rhaena, “Queen Alicent insisted on bringing me here to pray for the babies I lost.”

“I did not know,” Rhaena admits, “I am sorry.”

Ellyn looks down and Rhaena thinks she sees her eyes watering as she faces her again, “It was not my destiny to be a mother, I hope you have better luck than me in that regard.”

Rhaena doesn’t know what to answer, so she looks back at Alicent. Is that why she has insisted for them to come to the Sept? Does Alicent hope that her gods will grant the Targaryen the long-awaited heir?”

“Will you come with me?” Ellyn asks, drawing her out of her mind, “I will go to the Father’s statue to pray for my husband. I don’t know if you are aware, but his health is not the best.”

“I know,” she nods and follows the queen to the most illuminated altar of all. Ellyn takes one of the straws and lights a candle, kneeling down and raising her eyes to the statue. Rhaena imitates her, although she does not light any candle, “I hope the king finds relief from his pain.”

Ellyn offers her a smile that seems sincere and joins her hands in prayer. Rhaena waits by her side, silent, until the queen finishes her prayers. As she watches, she can't help but wonder if Ellyn Baratheon has genuine affection for Aegon or if this is just an expected act of her position. Or perhaps a mixture of both.

“Thank you, Lady Rhaena, for waiting with me,” Ellyn replies, standing up and offering her a hand to help her up.

Rhaena walks beside her to the exit of the Great Sept. The people gathered outside call out their names. The princess goes up to them, offering them gold coins and receiving flowers from a small boy with an adorable smile.

“You are good to them,” Ellyn comments as they return to the carriage.

“It is part of our responsibility as their rulers.”

“I suppose so,” she admits, “Though I was never very good at dealing with the common people. Or with many of the nobles, if I am honest. I have heard that you are far better at it than I was.”

“I try to do my best, though the courtiers surely miss their queen at Court.”

“I doubt it, Lady Rhaena,” she sneers, “And, if we are honest, I do not miss Court either. As far as I am concerned, you should continue to handle the ladies' endless hearings and complaints."

“I would not wish to occupy a position that is not mine, my queen.”

“You are not doing so. I assure you that you are doing me a favor by taking my responsibilities under your charge.”

“Are you sure? We could perhaps divide up the duties, surely you will want to occupy your time and mind with your previous duties now that you are well again.”

Ellyn Baratheon places her blue eyes on Rhaena’s, “I do not know if you are aware, Lady Rhaena, but my last child lived in my womb for almost seven moons. When he died, while still inside me, I had to birth him and watch him come lifeless into this world. I do not know if I will ever fully recover from that experience, but I know that dealing with the problems of the kingdom again will not bring me any relief.”

Once again, Rhaena does not know what to say, although she tries to mask her expression and avoid shedding the tears that she feels stinging in her eyes.

“I do have one request, however.”

“Of course, whatever you wish, my queen,” she replies, clearing her throat.

“I heard that you are helping an orphanage in Flea Bottom. Sadly, I didn’t usually care about such causes before, but I would like to be able to visit them and see that they receive what they need. I think my heart will feel a little better surrounded by motherless children.”

“Of course,” Rhaena nods immediately, “If I am honest, I do not have much time for charity now that I have other obligations, I am relieved to know that you will take care of that matter.”

The queen smiles at her and, when the page announces that they have arrived at the Keep, they walk together to one of the courtyards.

“Thank you for the company, Lady Rhaena. I see that people were not exaggerating when they spoke of your charm.”

“Thank you, my queen. I am glad that I could have been of your pleasure and help.”

Rhaena curtsies and watches her walk away, sighing when she is finally alone.

Since she has no commitments scheduled, she decides to go up to the Tower to rest before dinner, and wait for Aemond. Still remembering her conversation with the young queen, she slowly climbs the steps, lost in her thoughts. But she is abruptly pulled away from them when she walks through the front door and is greeted by screams and the roar of her dragon.

Rhaena stops for a moment and watches the guards running, so she follows them and notices that they are heading to her room. A maid is crying in the hallway, desperate and shaking with fear.

“What happened? Why…?”

“Ma’am, your… your dragon…” the girl shudders, “She didn’t know… she shouldn’t have come in…”

Rhaena, aware that she won’t get any answers from the maid, rushes into her room when she hears Morning roar again.

A blast of dragon fire greets her, though it is not directed at her and is barely larger than the fire in the fireplace, it manages to fill the room with warmth.

“Lykirī,” she calls out as she enters the room, “Dohaeras, Morning.”

The guards advance towards the dragon, swords in hand, clearly intent on taking down the creature.

“Stop, do not go any further,” she orders, “You will not come near my dragon.”

“Princess, the creature attacked a maid.”

“What do you mean?”

Rhaena falls silent as her eyes scan the room, finding the figure of a maid, a young girl surely younger than her, bleeding profusely from wounds on her neck and arm.

“Help her!” she orders.

“It is pointless, princess,” the guard replies, “She’s dead.”

Chapter Text

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

The guard's words echo in her head as her mind refuses to process what her eyes show her, the maid's lifeless figure surrounded by a pool of blood.

“Stay back, princess.”

One of the guards pushes her aside at the precise moment that Morning launches another flare of fire towards the body.

“We must contain the creature,” she hears one of the guards say, before they look at each other with swords in hand, although clearly hesitant to advance towards the dragon.

Morning growls and throws fire again, spreading her wings and wanting to fly towards the dead maid, but the chain attached to one of her hind legs prevents her from doing so. The dragon roars, furious, and the new flare of dragon fire falls dangerously close to the curtains.

“She will end up burning the entire Tower if we do not capture her,” she hears the guards say.

As Rhaena watches them walk towards her dragon, armed, and clearly willing to subdue her by any means, she finally snaps out of her stupor and stands in front of them.

“I will calm her down,” she replies, trying to sound firm, though her voice wavers, “Stand back.”

“But, princess…”

“I said stand back.”

There are a few seconds of clear doubt on the guards’ faces, and Rhaena gets the impression that they won’t comply with her order, but they finally lower their swords and back away. Heart pounding, Rhaena faces Morning, who struggles against the heavy chain to get closer to the maid’s body.

To her prey, she thinks and swallows.

Rhaena takes a deep breath and takes a tentative step towards Morning, who watches her for a moment before continuing her efforts to break free.

 “Lykirī, Dohaeras, Morning”

The dragon looks back at her, but doesn’t slow down her attempts to be free, instead growling in her direction. Rhaena repeats the order again, and takes a few more steps towards the dragon, trying to hold the iron chain to draw Morning to her side. The creature responds by flying higher and away from Rhaena.

“Please, Morning, it’s me… just…”

The dragon lets out another burst of dragon fire and her hands begin to shake. Desperation begins to take hold of her as the minutes pass and her orders are empty words that have no effect.

Think. Think, Think, she orders herself, trying to contain the trembling of her hands and the tears that cloud her eyes.

Inspiration comes to Rhaena in the form of a memory. Of a familiar melody but almost forgotten over the years. Will it work? She doesn't know for sure, but she has no other idea, so she steps forward and sings. Her voice, shaky at first, begins to sound more determined and the melody fills the room.

Morning turns to her and stops furiously beating her wings. For a moment, Rhaena thinks she's going to cover her in dragonfire, but she doesn't stop singing or looking at her. The words in High Valyrian seem to intrigue her dragon, so Rhaena tentatively raises her hand and signals for Morning to come closer. The creature's gaze falls back on the dead maid before it looks back at Rhaena, and flies towards her, coiling around her neck.

Relief hits her body so hard that Rhaena stumbles, though she manages to grab hold of one of the walls before falling. Morning rubs her snout against her neck, nausea running through her as she smells the blood on her dragon's breath.

“Keep singing.”

Aemond’s voice reaches her and makes her jump again. She hasn’t noticed the moment her cousin has entered the room, though she finds him standing next to the guards, watching the scene before him with a frown.

“You have to calm her down, Rhaena.”

She nods and resumes the song, her fingers tentatively stroking the creature’s spiked tail. Morning doesn’t protest, so the girl continues her caresses while she watches Aemond speaking to the guards in a voice so low that she can’t hear them. The men nod and quietly leave the room.

Rhaena raises her gaze to the prince, who holds hers, though he doesn’t move from his position or make any attempt to approach them. The girl focuses her gaze back on her dragon, who seems to calm completely under the melody and her touch. She doesn't know how much time passes, although it's probably just a few minutes, but when she hears footsteps outside her room, she sings louder so as not to disturb her dragon.

Aemond nods in her direction, and heads for the door, returning a few moments later with a cage similar to the one Morning uses. Rhaena understands what the prince wants to do, so she nods as well and looks down at her dragon.

“Lykirī, Morning”

Aemond tentatively moves toward the two, walking slowly and keeping his eyes on the dragon. Morning grimaces and wags her tail, but shows no signs of aggression, so the prince walks over to Rhaena and sets the cage down on the floor.

Rhaena slowly kneels and opens the cage door. Her dragon, accustomed to action, enters without making much fuss, though she growls again when her gaze drifts to the body across the room.

“It is okay, Morning, everything is going to be okay,” she whispers as she closes the cage.

Aemond helps her to her feet, and when their gazes meet, Rhaena can clearly see the annoyance and reproach in his expression.

“I didn’t think that…”

He doesn’t give her time to finish speaking as he crosses the room in a couple of strides and returns to the guards, who are carrying a metal litter of sorts, which they set down on the floor.

“What is this?”

Aemond grimaces before answering, “This is what I should have done since your dragon arrived at the castle.”

Rhaena understands the meaning of his words a moment later as the guards rush to place Morning’s cage inside the litter, immediately closing it.

“Where do you think you are taking my dragon?” she asks, outraged.

“Where do you think they are taking her?” Aemond growls back, his voice full of sarcasm.

Rhaena glares at him, but as the guards begin to advance with the litter, she goes after one of them, grabbing his arm and trying to stop him.

“No, you can’t do that, you can’t…”

The guard breaks free of her grip with ease and abruptness, pushing her away and elbowing her side. Rhaena makes a pained noise, and Aemond is at her side instantly, sword in hand and pointing at the guard, “Hurt the princess one more time and you will lose your hand,” he threatens, furious.

“It is okay, I am fine,” she rushes to tell him, placing her hand on Aemond’s arm to lower his sword. The prince turns to look at her before doing so, putting his weapon away and allowing the guards to continue their advance, “Please, Aemond, order them to stop, they cannot…”

“Follow your orders,” the prince interrupts, looking at the guards.

“No, no…” Rhaena tries to follow them, but Aemond holds her arm, preventing her, “Let me go, Aemond. Now”

“Your dragon cannot remain in the Tower,” he ignores her

“Morning didn't mean to kill her,” her gaze falls on the corpse across the room, “She didn't… she didn't know”

“A dragon is not a pet, I told you that several times,” he hisses

“The maid wasn't supposed to be in my room, I forbade them entry, you know that,” tears stream down Rhaena’s face, “This shouldn’t have happened.”

“But it did! And now a maid is dead,” Aemond curses under his breath, “I should have sent your dragon to the Dragon Pit as soon as she arrived. I didn’t do it out of consideration for you, but we can’t continue to deny the obvious.”

“The obvious?”

“Morning is out of control. She barely obeys you, you had to repeat your orders dozens of times and she wouldn’t even come near you,” his voice, full of fury, strikes her insides, “By insisting on treating her like a child she hasn’t bonded properly with you.”

“That’s not true! Morning obeyed, she was just… What about you? Hasn’t Vhagar attacked someone who didn’t deserve it before?”

Aemond lets go of her arm and glares at her before turning his back and walking towards the door. Rhaena reacts immediately, following him.

“I am going with you.”

“It’s best you stay here.”

“I must go with Morning.”

“She doesn’t need you now,” he replies, stopping at the door to the room, “Stay in the Tower until the situation is sorted out.”

“No! I’ll go with you or…”

“Guard!” Aemond calls out and the man appears immediately, “The princess is not to leave her chambers under any circumstances.”

“This is ridiculous!” Rhaena protests as she takes a step and is intercepted by the guard, “You cannot do this!”

The prince looks at her one last time before disappearing down the hall without another word.

***

“The dragon will be protected as per your command, prince.”

Aemond nods as he watches Morning’s litter fade into the darkness of the Dragonpit.

It has been years since he visited the place. The last time had been the day he had inspected that it had been properly rebuilt to house Tessarion and hopefully any other dragons that might be born later. After that occasion, he had not needed to return. Vhagar had always preferred to seek shelter near the beaches, so that was where the prince visited her since he claimed her.

“I want a couple extra guards watching the entrance to the cave,” he orders, “With orders to attack if they see suspicious activity. Also, no new servants or strange people are to enter, only the designated caretakers and my brother.”

“As you command, prince.”

He doesn't plan to take any chances with the safety of the last dragons of House Targaryen. The news of the servant's death would surely be public knowledge soon enough, and although the people have not rebelled or attacked a dragon again since the days of the war, he prefers not to assume that they will remain as peaceful after what happened.

Aemond returns to his horse and rides quickly to the castle, wanting to go directly to the Tower, but having to go to the Council instead.

"My prince."

The members of the council stand as he enters, sitting immediately as he takes his place at the head and places the marble sphere on the table..

"I assume you heard what happened to Rhaena's dragon," he says, addressing no one in particular.

"Very unfortunate news," Tyland Lannister comments.

“Indeed,” the Grand Maester agrees, “Poor girl.”

“Did she have family?”

“A brother. He works as a blacksmith’s apprentice in the city.”

“Has the news reached him?”

“Not yet, Prince.”

“Mmm,” Aemond looks up at Tyland, “It would be best for him to know at once. Rumors will soon spread.”

“Of course,” the Lannister nods, adding, “It would probably be a good idea to offer him some monetary compensation for his loss.”

Aemond nods.

“The silent sisters have already taken care of the body,” the Maester continues, “It appears it was a quick death and the girl did not suffer too much.”

Aemond does not answer, but instead fiddles with the marble sphere as he listens to the exchange between the two men about small mercies, feeling inwardly annoyed with the situation with each passing moment. Although he knows that no member of the council will directly say to him, they probably internally blame him for having allowed the dragon to live in the Court when never, in the history of his house, had a dragon remained in the halls as if it were just another pet.

“Shall we assume the dragon is already at the Dragonpit?” Lannister asks

“I gave orders to tighten security,” Aemond nods and then glances at Ser Criston

“I will see that it is carried out as instructed, my prince.”

“Keep an eye on the city as well.”

Tyland Lannister shifts uncomfortably in his chair, “I doubt we have another mutiny on our hands, my prince. I am sorry to say, but the lass was a young girl of no great importance, it would be a stretch to think the common people would rise up over an accident.”

“It cannot be ruled out,” Ser Criston replies

“Any other news?” Aemond asks

“A raven has arrived reporting Ser Adrian’s arrival at Maidenpool.”

“Maidenpool? They left days ago, how come they are only just at Maidenpool?”

“The snow, my lord. It hasn’t fallen on the city yet, but it slows the advance of the party.”

“Mmm,” Aemond grimaces. He had sent Ser Adrian Celtigar a few days ago in command of a group of men to gather information on the attacks on the nobles.

“Ser Adrian is a capable warrior,” Cole interjects, looking at him and surely aware of the prince’s reservations, “Surely he will be able to make up for lost time quickly, and we will have news soon.”

“Good. Inform me as soon as anything is known,” he says, turning to the maester and standing up, ending the meeting and heading straight to the Tower, where he is greeted by a strange aroma similar to the incense of the Great Sept, “What is that smell?” he asks his servant.

“The incense of the silent sisters, my prince,” the man informs, “The body was taken a few hours ago.”

“Right,” he nods, “My wife?”

“In her chambers, my prince.”

Aemond sighs and debates whether or not to go meet her. Rhaena had been very agitated after the incident, and had not taken kindly to the idea of ​​parting with her dragon, which was ridiculous considering the circumstances. She was probably still angry with him, although perhaps the hours had allowed her to think more calmly about the situation.

“Go and tell her that I wish her to dine with me.”

The servant bows and goes to carry out his orders while Aemond sits at the table set in front of him. The man returns a moment later.

“The princess… she said…” the man looks down, “The princess says she does not wish to dine, my prince.”

“Mmm,” Aemond fiddles with the dinner knife, “Go again and tell her I insist she join me.”

The servant leaves again, but when he returns, the answer is the same, “The princess says she will remain in her chambers, my lord. As… as you ordered.”

Aemond slams the knife down on the table, his temper beginning to flare. Standing up so abruptly that he knocks over his chair, he strides toward Rhaena’s room. The guard steps aside immediately, letting him through.

“I said I did not want to dine with you,” Rhaena’s words greet him, though she is facing away from him and looking out the window at the view of the Bay.

“Are you going to spend the whole night locked in here?” he asks, his voice oddly calm despite the anger he feels.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Rhaena turns to face him, “You locked me in here, didn’t you?”

“Because I needed you to stay here for a while, not because…”

“I am not interested in your explanations,” she retorts, cutting him off, “Or in your company. “Go away, Aemond.”

“Rhaena,” the prince threatens, moving closer to her, “You are my wife. I wish to dine with you tonight. Put this charade aside and come with me.”

“I do not want to,” she replies once more.

“You do not wish to know about your dragon either?”

His wife’s face betrays her, her interest and hunger for news clearly visible in her expression. The prince thinks she will relent, but ultimately Rhaena just shakes her head, “I wish to be alone.”

Aemond clenches his hands into fists and bites back his words, though he glares at her, “Fine. If you wish to be treated as a prisoner, then so be it.”

The prince leaves the room and again orders the guard not to let his wife out. Still, he calls for a maid, and orders her to bring a tray of food for Rhaena before locking himself in his own chambers.

***

The night passes slowly in a state between wakefulness and sleep. As the sun begins to rise on the horizon, Aemond gets out of bed and dresses for training. As he gets ready, his gaze wanders to the empty side where Rhaena's figure should be. After spending the last few weeks sleeping next to her, waking up without finding her or feeling the warmth of her body hugging his own, had been strange and depressing.

After leaving his room, he can't help but pass by Rhaena's. The guard greets him with a bow and Aemond is tempted to enter, to see her for at least a few minutes, perhaps to persuade her to... The prince tilts his head. No. He hasn't done anything wrong. It's she who is behaving in a reprehensible and capricious manner.

Aemond leaves the Tower and focuses his mind on his training. If Ser Criston notices his disquiet, he doesn't say anything, they just fight side by side until it's time to go to the council room. As he heads there, he encounters Daeron and his betrothed. Although he hadn't planned to stop and talk to them, he finds himself approaching them both.

“Good morning, my prince,” the young woman greets.

“Brother, Lady Westerling,” he flicks his eye to the lady, “I assume you’re on your way to see Rhaena?”

“Indeed, my lord, Lady Rhaena has an… an audience this morning, but after what happened, I wasn’t uh… I wasn’t sure she would go through with it.”

“We heard about what happened with the maid,” Daeron chimes in.

“Indeed,” Aemond grimaces, “It’s best that you, Lady Westerling, go to the Tower. Rhaena is… confined to her chambers.”

“Confined? Why?” Marianne pales, “Is she ill? Did something happen to her? They said she wasn’t hurt, I thought…”

The girl trails off at Aemond’s displeased expression. Daeron rolls his eyes at his brother and places his hand on his betrothed’s shoulder, “Surely Rhaena can explain the situation better.”

Marianne nods, “With your permission, I will go see her.”

Aemond nods, and watches her offer a smile to his brother before disappearing into the halls. When they are alone, Daeron speaks again.

“Confined?”

“Rhaena didn’t take too well to her dragon being moved to the Dragonpit?”

“And so, you locked her in her chambers?” There is a note of amusement in his brother’s tone.

“Of course not,” he replies, “Not permanently. I just want to keep her from going after Morning, you know she must learn to obey the caretakers before she begins to bond with Rhaena. She won’t be able to if Rhaena interferes in the process.”

“Of course,” Daeron nods, “It’s a shame the incident with the maid happened. Mother told me she was a young woman who had only just begun working at the palace. She and Lord Lannister met with her brother yesterday to let him know the news.”

Aemond snorts, “I thought Mother was too busy with Aegon to take care of other matters.”

“You know her, she couldn’t just stand aside,” Daeron walks beside him, “Still I think it was appropriate for a family member to show concern for what happened instead of just trivializing the fact.”

Aemond nods and they walk in silence for a few moments, “Did Mother tell you about your betrothal?”

“What would she have to say to me?”

“The idea of advancing the wedding date was discussed,” explains the prince

Daeron stops and looks down for a moment, when he turns back to face his older brother, there is a shadow of apprehension on his face, “For what reason?”

“The usual reason. Heirs.”

Aemond seems to notice his brother’s expression darken briefly, but it passes so quickly that he may have just imagined it, “Of course. The heirs,” he sighs, “Did she mention when I should be married?”

“No. Though I doubt it will take too long,” he replies and, because he can’t help but be curious, comments, “You seem to be getting along well with your betrothed.”

Daeron smirks and nods, “She will be a fine wife.”

The prince narrows his eye and examines his younger brother, but in the end simply lets his suspicions go. He has enough to worry about without adding Daeron’s possible displeasure at the idea of ​​marriage, “We will speak later. The council awaits me.”

***

Rhaena wakes up drenched in sweat, with the sheets tangled at her feet.

A nightmare. It had only been a nightmare.

Not really, though.

Her eyes immediately drift to the spot where three days ago she had found the corpse of the poor maid Morning had attacked. Even though the silent sisters and other maids had thoroughly cleaned her room, she can still see the scene clearly, she can smell the blood on her dragon's snout, the heat of the dragon fire…

Rhaena sighs and walks around the room. It's barely dawn, and it's very cold, but she wraps herself in her coat and drops onto one of the sofas, hugging her legs, unable to sleep. The sound of footsteps, like the days before, warns her of the prince's presence outside her room. And, like the days before, he stays there. Without entering. Just like her, who has refused his invitations to dine together, preferring to stay in her chambers. At least at night, because during the day she walks around the Tower with Marianne, unable to spend too much time in her own room surrounded by the memory of the crime.

And then there’s Morning. She hasn’t seen her dragon in days and hasn’t pressed for information because she knows that, despite their argument, Aemond is taking good care of her. She knows the prince won’t let anything bad happen to her. Still… the urge to go to the Dragon Pit was latent inside her. She hadn’t left her dragon’s side for a single day since she hatched from the egg, and being separated now causes her pain and anguish. Her dragon had been her company, her friend, her…

Rhaena closes her eyes at the sight of Morning roaring and wanting to get closer to the corpse. Maybe – although deep down she’s sure – the prince was right. Her dragon was out of control, it wasn’t sustainable to have her by her side or in her day to day life anymore, but… she had wanted it to be her decision to send her to the Dragon Pit. She hadn’t wanted…

“I hadn’t wanted her to kill someone,” she whispers to the darkness, a tear rolling down her face again. Rhaena takes a deep breath before calling a maid to take a bath. After eating something, Marianne joins her in her private parlor, just like the other days.

“What do the Court rumors say?”

“They think you’re still processing what happened,” her lady replies, “I explained to them that you were taking a few days off from engagements for personal reasons,” when Rhaena snorts, asking, “Did I do wrong?”

“No, no, of course not,” she is quick to reply, taking her lady’s hand, “I just do not want to give the wrong impression. I do not want them to think I crumble easily.”

“It is not an easy situation. I don’t think anyone see it that way.”

“There is not much I can do, anyway.”

“Have you spoken to the prince? Have you asked him how long this situation will continue?”

“I don’t want to speak to him,” she replies, stubborn.

“I think he is genuinely sorry,” Marianne smirks, “He seems more irritable than usual these days. He surely misses you.”

“He should have thought of that before confining me to my chambers.”

Marianne clicks her tongue, “I know it wasn’t right of him, but the situation got out of hand, Rhaena. Morning…”

“I know,” Rhaena cuts her off, “I know I should have sent her to the Dragon Pit a long time ago. “I know it is basically my fault what happened.”

“I never said that!” Marianne retorts, “You were clear with your orders, it is not your fault that the young lady was not properly informed by the other maids. It was not your fault either that the cage gave way and Morning escaped.”

“I just… don’t understand,” she drops down onto the couch, defeated, “I locked her cage tight, I know I did, how could that happen?”

“She is a wild creature, Rhaena. And powerful. She broke her chains and the poor servant was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Rhaena tries to make her words lessen her guilt, though they have little effect. Deep inside, she knows it was her negligence for her desire to have Morning by her side.

“Let us talk about something else, please,” she finally asks.

“Of course,” Marianne takes some scrolls she has brought in a chest, “I have the guest list for your name day party and also possible menus, as well as some activities we could do on those days. Nothing too extravagant…”

Rhaena concentrates on approving Marianne’s ideas, making changes where she deems necessary, and helping her assign seats to the noble guests. The task takes up a good part of the day and, when evening comes, her lady takes her leave to go in search of her uncle. Rhaena remains in the parlor until night falls, knitting and focusing on intricate embroidery patterns to keep her mind off Morning, so she is unaware of the prince’s presence until he is almost in front of her.

“I see you decided to leave your room.”

“Do not worry,” she replies, standing up, “I will return to my confines right away.”

“I’d rather you stayed here.”

Rhaena thinks she detects a note of hope and vulnerability in Aemond’s voice, but when she looks at his expression, she finds it as serious and indifferent as ever, “And I prefer to return to my solitude.” Pushing her embroidery aside, she stands up and begins to walk to the door.

“Rhaena,” the prince’s voice makes her pause, “How long will you continue to behave like a spoiled child?” She bites her tongue to keep from responding and falling for his provocation, walking again. His words make her pause again, “You are my wife. You owe me obedience.”

Rhaena turns to look at him, “Are you going to order me to spend time with you now?”

Aemond glares at her, “Of course not. I simply meant that I… I…”

The prince stops talking and Rhaena watches how nervous he seems, drumming his fingers on his thighs. She waits for him to finish what he was going to say, but it is clear that he will not. Part of her feels disappointed, as she would like to know what it is that is so hard for him to admit.

“Then, unless you are going to take by force what you want from me, I prefer to go to my rooms.”

***

Aemond has a budding headache as he enters the council chamber.

“What is it?” he asks without wasting any time.

A servant had interrupted his inspection of the new weapons acquired for the Kingsguard, informing him that the council was urgently awaiting him.

“Ser Adrian Celtigar, my lord,” the Grand Maester speaks, “We received a raven from Lord Darry. They found the bodies of Ser Adrian and the entire party you sent… slaughtered.”

Aemond’s fury is palpable, his hand involuntarily going to his Valyrian steel dagger as he processes the news.

“Are you telling me that common bandits managed to kill trained knights?”

“We have no certainty that it was the bandits, my prince,” Lannister interjects.

“That’s even worse,” Aemond hisses, “Who would dare assassinate envoys of the Crown? That affront is reason enough to call to arms.”

The men look at each other, but no one says anything for a few seconds until the Grand Master dares to extend another piece of parchment towards Aemond.

“My prince, this… this was stuck in Ser Adrian’s head.”

Aemond takes the scroll and opens it, finding a drawing of a familiar banner he thought he would never see again.

“This is treason,” he retorts, tossing up the drawing of the coat of arms used by Rhaenyra during the rebellion, “We must act immediately. Prepare my departure as soon as possible, I will go myself.”

“My prince, no, it is not wise,” Lord Tyland says quickly, “You are the regent, you cannot be absent…”

“This could mean war,” Aemond interrupts, “And I clearly cannot send other soldiers because they do not seem capable enough to fulfill their duty.”

“Send me, my prince,” Ser Criston proposes, “I can go with a few men, and gather information on the situation.”

“No, I prefer that you remain here.”

“Prince Daeron, then,” the grand maester says, “Along with his dragon, he will surely be of help in deterring the rebels.”

“My brother will remain in the city,” he answers flatly. He had already erred in trust once and left King’s Landing unprotected. His foolishness had brought terrible consequences for his family. He did not intend to repeat his mistake and leave his family, leave Rhaena, in the care of simple soldiers, “Daeron will act as regent on my behalf. Ser Criston, I want your best men ready to leave this very afternoon.”

“But, my prince…” the maester intervenes again, “With winter beginning, you cannot simply leave the city. The provisions…”

“I suggest you take care of that immediately, then,” his tone lets the man know that it is not a simple suggestion, but an order. After that, no one else dares to dissuade him or suggest otherwise, “One more thing. My wife will participate in the council meetings during my absence.”

“My prince?” Tyland Lannister looks at him, astonished.

“What you heard, Lannister,” he replies abruptly, “Lady Rhaena must be informed of the situation of the city and the kingdom, as well as being able to decide with you on whatever is necessary.”

“But, my prince, your brother Daeron will be the regent, I do not understand.”

“You do not need to understand, only obey,” Aemond says.

And with that, he leaves the council room with Ser Criston.

***

The door to her private parlor opens to allow her cousin to enter.

“Daeron?” Rhaena smiles at him as she stands, “I was not expecting you.”

“I am sorry if I interrupt your activities,” the prince takes her hand and brings it to his lips, brushing her knuckles, “I thought you might want to get out of the Tower for a bit.”

“Oh, well…” Rhaena sighs and looks away, “I do not know if you are aware, Marianne probably mentioned it, but I am currently confined to the Tower.”

“Yes, I heard,” he nods, “Though my brother assured me it wasn’t permanent.”

In that, Rhaena thinks, he was right. She had heard Aemond inform the guards that Rhaena could leave if she so wished, but she had wanted to irritate him a little more by staying a few more days in the Tower.

“I thought we could visit the Dragon Pit.”

“Really?” Rhaena looks at him, amazed

“Yes, of course I can’t guarantee that you will see Morning, but I think you’d feel more at ease if you knew more about the place where she is staying.”

Rhaena smiles at him, grateful. Apart from having seen the building in passing during her arrival in the city or her walks, she hadn’t explored it inside.

“Do you think it is wise?”

“It is now,” her cousin assures, “Dragons are usually accustomed to the presence of caretakers from birth. Yours didn’t have that experience, which is why Aemond insisted you not see Morning for the time being. My brother didn’t mean to take you away from your dragon, I promise.”

Rhaena knows that. She had let herself be blinded by grief and guilt the first few days, but she knew that the best thing for Morning was to remain in the Dragonpit, and be treated and trained like the other dragons in her family.

“I am ashamed, to tell the truth,” she admits as she takes the arm her cousin offers her as they leave the Tower, “I was too stubborn to insist on having Morning with me, even when I knew I couldn’t control her. We cannot deny her instincts.”

“It is true,” Daeron nods.

“And a young girl paid for my mistakes. Her name was Betsy, she had just started serving at the castle,” Rhaena had finally dared to make inquiries about the maid, “Have you heard anything about her family?”

“My mother met with her brother to give him the news.”

“Do you know where I can find him? I would like to speak to him, I would like to…”

“Offer your condolences?” Daeron looks at her sympathetically, though his expression hardens, “It is not a good idea, Rhaena. As much sympathy as we have for the servant, you are a princess and the wife of the Hand of the King. To visit or summon this man would be to give the matter more importance.”

“But it is important!” she replies, “She was a young girl, an innocent life.”

“I know, I am aware of that,” his cousin assures, “But you must understand that the accident happened in the castle, in a place where she should have been safe. If we cannot guarantee her safety within our own keep, they will begin to perceive us as a weak family. We cannot afford that now, just as we cannot afford you to show too much sympathy towards the young girl. There is a reason we are the royal family and they are…”

“The common people,” Rhaena finishes, feeling inwardly sickened by his words, “It is not fair.”

“No, it is not.”

They remain silent for a long moment as the carriage takes them to the Dragonpit. When Daeron helps her down, he speaks again, “Don’t let yourself be consumed by grief, Rhaena. It was an accident, you never wanted it to happen. You must put it behind you and move on.”

Rhaena wants to tell him that it's not as easy as he thinks, but she knows he's right. She knows that, as harsh as reality is, there's not much she can do to change it.

“I'd like to at least be able to help her brother, even if it's anonymously.”

“We've already taken care of that, don't worry.”

Rhaena gives him a sad smile, and allows him to lead her into the building, which is bathed in shadows and barely lit by a few torches on the walls. Six golden cloaks greet them, and a moment later, the dragon keepers appear to inform her about her dragon, who they say has adapted quite well to her new home.

“This place is very well guarded,” Rhaena comments as they leave.

“My brother ordered security to be doubled when Morning was brought in.”

Daeron's words manage to form a knot in her stomach. She knew Aemond was protecting her dragon, but seeing firsthand that he had done everything he could to ensure Morning was safe warms her heart.

“I have been a fool,” she admits as they walk back to the carriage. Daeron simply looks at her, raising his eyebrows and tacitly asking for an explanation. “I took my guilt and pain out on Aemond. I knew he was right about this whole matter, and that he was looking to resolve it in the best way possible, but I chose to be angry with him instead. I owe him an apology.”

A smirk appears on the prince’s face, “Funny.”

“What is it?”

“I just… remembered the first time we were in a carriage, when you had just arrived in the city,” he explains, “I remember your expression when you found out you were to marry Aemond. You seemed horrified at the prospect, and now… a lot has changed between you two since then.”

Rhaena blushes and looks down, though a small smile appears on her face. Fortunately, the carriage stops in the courtyard of the Keep, and her cousin helps her out.

“What’s all the hustle and bustle?” she asks as she watches soldiers giving orders, and servants placing different objects on carriages.

“Let’s find out,” Daeron proposes, and heads over to Criston Cole, “Ser Criston, what is happening here?”

“My prince, princess,” the knight greets them, “The royal council urgently requires both of your presence.”

“Now?” Daeron frowns, confused.

“Yes, my prince, troubling news has arrived from the Riverlands.”

Rhaena receives his words with a jolt in her heart, “What kind of troubling news?” she hears Daeron ask, but she looks to Ser Criston instead and asks, “Where is Aemond?”

There is a moment of confusion and hesitation in his expression, but finally the knight answers, “The prince insisted on personally taking care of the matter, and leaving to Maidenpool.”

“When will he leave? How come I didn’t know about this? Where is he?”

Rhaena scans the courtyard with her gaze, trying to find Aemond’s platinum hair, but without success. It isn’t until Ser Criston gently places one of his hands on her shoulder, that she faces the knight again.

“The prince is not in the castle, Lady Rhaena. He left a few hours ago.”

Chapter Text

“Rhaena? Are you okay?”

Daeron’s worried voice brings her back to the reality of the moment. Rhaena looks away from the door of the Keep, and blinks rapidly trying to hold back the tears that threaten to fall from her eyes after hearing the words of the lord commander of the Kingsguard.

“The prince’s departure was very sudden, Lady Rhaena,” the man comments staring at her, as if he understands the mortification she feels, “There was no time for goodbyes.”

“Did he leave a message for me?” she can’t help but ask, hopeful. Cole’s expression is all the answer she needs. Of course, Aemond hadn’t left a message, why would he? She had ignored him for the past few days, scorned his attempts at civility, and instead chosen to behave like a spoiled child. Why would he bother to let her know he would be absent from the castle if, surely, he thought she wouldn’t care about his departure?

The thought of Aemond thinking that way brings a renewed wave of emotion to her heart, and she fights back tears again. There is no point in crying. At least not here, in front of them.

“The council awaits you,” Ser Criston reminds them.

Daeron nods and meets Rhaena’s gaze, who nods as well and walks with her cousin to the council chamber, where the members are already seated, waiting for them. It is not until the doors close behind her that Rhaena wonders why the council requires her presence.

“Prince Daeron.”

The men of the council stand and bow to their cousin, who frowns as he approaches them, “Mother,” he greets Alicent, who has remained seated, “My lords, what is the reason that requires my urgent assistance?”

“You have been named regent in the absence of your brother Aemond,” Alicent explains as she takes Daeron’s hand and offers him a fleeting smile.

Daeron’s frown deepens even further, his gaze shifting to the head of the table, whose chair remains empty. “I understand,” he answers simply, “Ser Criston said there was troubling news.”

The Grand Maester is about to speak when the Dowager Queen interrupts him, her gaze fixed on Rhaena, “Why is Lady Rhaena here?”

It is Lord Lannister who answers after a few seconds of tense silence, “Prince Aemond appointed Lady Rhaena as a member of this council before he left.”

The news clearly takes Alicent by surprise, who looks at the other men on the council as if expecting them to deny what Lord Tyland has said.

“That makes no sense,” the Dowager Queen glances briefly at her before looking back at the members, “Aemond cannot simply impose his wife’s presence on this council. She is a girl with no experience in governing the realm.”

Alicent’s words, though true, leave a bad taste inside her. Rhaena tries to maintain her mask of composure, though internally she is as surprised as everyone else that Aemond has appointed her to such an important task. She knew her cousin valued her opinion and trusted her judgment, but there was a difference between performing charitable work and handling domestic aspects of the Household and castle, and being directly involved in the administration of the kingdom. A big difference.

“I am afraid Prince Aemond was quite clear with his order, my queen,” the Grand Maester interjects.

Alicent seems to want to continue arguing, but Daeron is quicker, “Then there is no need to continue this debate. Come, Rhaena, let us begin this meeting at once.”

The Dowager Queen does not dare to contradict her youngest son. Rhaena glances at Daeron for a brief moment. He nods and she gratefully offers him a fleeting smile as she sits next to the Grand Maester.

Lord Tyland Lannister explains Lord Darry’s message, and when the man shows the drawing of Rhaenyra’s banner, nausea floods through her. Feeling herself go pale, Rhaena digs her nails into her palms hard, concentrating on the pang of pain to try and stop the flow of her thoughts. Thoughts that make her imagine the worst-case scenarios.

“Why was ser Adrian in the region?” Alicent wants to know.

“He was looking for information about some crimes that have been happening in the kingdom.”

“About the bandits on the Kingsroad, I imagine,” she hears herself say.

“Uh, yes, Lady Rhaena, about the group of bandits that have been attacking the nobles,” Lord Tyland looks at her with clear astonishment. He is not the only one. The other lords look at her with similar expressions as well.

Rhaena stops herself from rolling her eyes when she sees the suspicion on Alicent’s face. “My husband mentioned that their attacks had become increasingly aggressive,” she continues, trying to keep her voice neutral so as not to give away her nervousness, “I doubt that peasants, barely armed, could overcome trained knights.”

“That is the worrying thing, my lady,” Lannister nods, “The death of Ser Adrian and his party, along with Princess Rhaeny…”

“It is treason,” Alicent interrupts vehemently, “My son is king.”

The dowager queen’s declaration is followed by a short silence that Daeron dares to break.

“Could we be living the beginnings of a rebellion?”

“It is possible, prince,” the grand maester nods.

Alicent hides her face in her hands as Rhaena lowers her gaze. A rebellion? That was Baela’s plan, right? But why now? Why…?

“What would be the point?” his cousin continues, “Even if there were lords who still resented the outcome of the, war and supported my sister’s claim, what would they gain by starting a rebellion? There are no heirs on their side who can take the throne.”

“Perhaps they have another intention,” Lord Hayford interjects, “They probably want to destabilize the peace of the realm.”

“By assassinating royal envoys? A bit exaggerated start, in my opinion,” his cousin looks thoughtful for a few seconds.

“Wasn’t there some other message where the bodies were found? Some kind of… declaration?” Rhaena asks, her mind reminding her of the time when Rhaenyra and her court sent ravens to all corners of Westeros declaring her queen, and openly announcing the betrayal of Aegon and her half-brothers.

“No, at least, not that we know of.”

“I suppose that is why my son decided to rush to Darry,” Alicent fiddles with her rings.

“Indeed, my queen,” the Grand Maester nods.

Rhaena sighs. Of course, Aemond had wanted to act immediately. He had already been thinking about doing so weeks ago, and now, with tangible evidence that there was a larger plan in motion, he had immediately sprung into motion.

“He should not have gone alone,” she shakes her head, “The situation could be more dangerous than it seems.”

“When will reinforcements join him?” Daeron asks

“In a few days, Prince. With winter upon us, preparations become even more complicated. Only a few men managed to leave with Prince Aemond, and with the snow falling further south, they will surely not advance as quickly as they wish.”

The men continue to discuss preparations, but Rhaena tunes out their conversation, her mind abuzz with suspicion. Despite her sister’s hints, despite knowing that she had been up to something, there was a world of difference between what she had thought were Baela’s wishful thinking, and actually acting against the Crown. And worse, how had she managed it? How many other lords in the realm thought like her and wanted to dethrone Aegon? How many would be waiting for Aemond to kill him in an ambush on the Kingsroad? The thought conjures sudden images of the prince's body lying lifeless in some remote place, his blood staining the snow red… Nausea hits her so hard that she grips the table and closes her eyes, trying to breathe slowly to push the feeling away.

When the meeting finally ends, she quickly excuses herself and strides off in the direction of the Tower of the Hand. For some reason, despite knowing that Aemond is no longer in the castle, it is not until she enters his chambers and sees the maids packing away his belongings into some trunks that she is truly aware of his absence.

“Out all of you. Right now,” she orders.

The women quickly comply, and when she is alone, she flops down onto the bed and clings to Aemond’s pillow, breathing deeply the remnants of his scent. Tears, half guilt and half regret, are soon falling, and she does not bother to wipe them away.

***

“I assure you, my prince, that House Darry is loyal to your brother.”

Lord Darry’s shaky voice can be heard from the other end of the table.

Aemond has been in the castle for two weeks, being Lord Darry’s guest and conducting investigations into the murders committed by the rebels. And, so far, he hadn’t a fucking clue as to what was going on.

The bodies of Ser Adrian and his group, although well preserved by the temperatures, had not been of much help nor had they contained any clues about the possible attackers. As had happened in the other parts of the kingdom, the culprits seemed to have vanished into thin air.

But he was not going to give up.

“If everyone was loyal, Lord Darry,” Aemond says after taking a sip of his Arbor wine, “we would have found the assassins by now. But there is clearly someone around helping them hide.”

“The Riverlands is loyal to King Aegon,” the man repeats.

Aemond rolls his good eye and stares at the snow piling up on the windowsill. Fucking snow. His progress was slowed too much by the amount of snow piling up on the roads, and making the horses uncooperative. Men also did not like to ride or advance long distances when they could barely keep warm.

Everything would be different if I had Vhagar with me, he thinks bitterly as he takes another drink from his cup. On the back of his dragon he would have been able to advance without problems, he would have been able to observe the rebels’ camp from above. Because they had to be somewhere. His instinct told him that they were close, that he should continue investigating. And if he had Vhagar, he could more easily persuade the villagers and lords to hand over the rebels. He trusted no one in the bloody Riverlands.

“Let me know immediately if any ravens arrive,” he says finally, standing up and going to his chambers.

The bed, though comfortable and spacious, only adds to his bitterness. As he settles under the sheets, his face drifts to his side. To where Rhaena should be. With the time it took him to get to the castle and the argument they had before leaving, it's been almost a moon since they slept together. Since he felt her petite figure curled up beside him, her scent of roses. and her soft hands drawing circles on his chest as she fought sleep. Cursing under his breath, he removes his eye patch and prepares to sleep.

***

“Perhaps we should continue the meeting another day, Princess,” the royal butler says.

“No, no, I am fine,” she says quickly as she stifles another yawn, “I am sorry if I seem distracted, I have just been very busy these past few days.”

The man nods, and Rhaena takes a sip of the tea in front of her, but the familiar taste of chamomile tastes bitter in her mouth, so she grimaces and pushes the drink aside.

Fighting the urge to yawn and close her eyes, she listens to the butler and lays out with him what she needs for her name day party. Rhaena had had every intention of cancelling it and letting the royal council know, but they had insisted that it was best to continue with the celebration, and pretend that everything was as normal as ever.

And, in a way, it was.

There had been no further news of attacks on the Kingsroad, but there had also been no news of Aemond and his inquiries. The few times the prince had written it was only to report his whereabouts. There was, apparently, no news of the rebel criminals, and word of a possible resurgence of the black faction did not seem to have spread through the kingdom yet.

“Two bards are more than enough,” she tells the butler, “I do not wish for any other kind of entertainment than music.”

The man writes down her directions, and bids Rhaena farewell with a bow.

Once she is alone, Rhaena briefly closes her eyes, and decides to rest her head on the arm of the sofa. Just for a moment. Just…

The soft touch on her shoulder and Marianne’s voice reaches her, awakening her.

“Rhaena? Are you okay?”

“What? Where…?” Rubbing her eyes, momentarily disoriented, she looks around, realizing she is still in her private parlor in the Tower of the Hand, “Oh, I must have fallen asleep after the meeting with the butler.”

“You look very tired,” her friend sighs, “Are you resting well?”

“As well as I can, given the circumstances.”

Which wasn’t much. If it wasn’t the images of Aemond being ambushed by an army that haunted her, it was the images of her sister being accused of treason and hanged like a common criminal. Both scenarios terrified her, and worse, she couldn’t share her worries with anyone. At least, not the ones concerning Baela, not without betraying her trust or putting her in danger.

As if you weren’t betraying Aemond by staying silent, her mind reminds her. Shaking her head and pushing those thoughts away, she stands up and looks at her friend, “Do we have an engagement this afternoon?”

“An invitation from Lady Mallister to hear a new bard, but you do not need to attend. You could use the time to rest. You need it.”

“No, no way,” she replies, walking over to the table and taking a raspberry muffin. After taking a bite, a strange feeling of unease rises inside her. Rhaena sniffs it and finds it unpleasant, so she puts it back on the tray, “House Mallister is one of the oldest and most influential in the Riverlands, now that Aemond is in the region, I prefer to maintain friendly relations with all the lords of those lands who are in the Court. I do not want to risk them not supporting him just because I had a snub towards one of them.”

“I highly doubt that will happen,” Marianne comments

“But it is not impossible,” Rhaena goes to Aemond’s room, which is where she has been sleeping for the past six weeks, and looks for a dress for the occasion, “The ladies of the Court are very proud and… this will do,” she interrupts herself, taking out one of her favorite pink dresses with gold details.

“It is a little tight,” Marianne comments as she tries to button the last few buttons on the back

“Tight? How so?” she replies as she sucks in her stomach, “I wore it recently and it fit perfectly.”

“Well, now it does not fit,” her lady sighs

“That’s strange.”

Marianne tries once more but fails to close the garment, so Rhaena opts to wear one of the black and red dresses with House Targaryen detailing, and they hurry down the Tower stairs to Lady Mallister’s private chambers.

Although the bard is quite entertaining, Rhaena must fight her eyelids, which feel increasingly heavy. Still, she manages to stay awake for the evening and chats with the other invited ladies.

“When will the prince return, Lady Rhaena?”

“Surely he won’t miss you name day?”

Rhaena smiles but avoids answering, though she does notice a couple of ladies, Lady Dustin among them, exchanging knowing glances. Ignoring them, she spends the rest of the evening listening to the women and, when it is finally time to return to her chambers, she doesn’t even bother with dinner, simply entering the room, and calling one of her maids to help her out of the dress.

“You are Dalia, right?”

The young maid, who brought the moon tea for her, nods. Rhaena hadn’t bothered to speak to her directly or ask her name, but she dares to do so now.

“Yes, princess.”

“You have…” Rhaena turns to look at her and hesitates for a moment, “Do you have any way to communicate with my sister?”

“No, ma’am, I’ve never seen your sister,” she says quickly

“But you work for her.”

“A man came to give me your sister’s orders, ma’am, he’s the one…” the maid lowers her gaze

“You can speak.”

“He’s the one who gives me some gold coins, ma’am.”

Rhaena nods, “And this man? Do you know his name?”

She shakes her head and Rhaena sighs, defeated. She is about to tell her she can return to her duties, when she speaks again. “But I could… I could send a message through him,” Dalia looks nervous, “I know… I know he works at the docks.”

The docks. Probably one of Allyn’s men.

“Next time you see him, tell him to let my sister know that I need to speak to her. Urgently,” she adds. She doesn’t dare send her words in writing, not when they might be intercepted by someone.

The maid nods and leaves her room.

***

“Here, my prince!”

One of the soldiers places a middle-aged man in front of him, who falls to his knees, whimpering.

Aemond looks up at the guard, tacitly questioning him.

“He had this in his possession,” the knight explains as he extends an object towards him.

The object turns out to be an emerald ring. Aemond examines it and turns his gaze to the man, “Why did you have this in your possession?”

“I did not steal it, my prince, I swear,” the man whines once more, “I swear.”

“Where did you get it?”

The man seems to hesitate and the knight jabs him in the belly with his sword.

“I do not like to repeat myself,” Aemond says.

“I found it, prince, on the road…”

“I do not like liars either,” he interrupts and looks at the guard. “Cut off his hand.”

“No, no, please,” the man tries to run, but it’s no use, “It was payment, my lord, I swear.”

“Payment?”

“For the fish, I swear…” he replies as he looks warily at the guard, who has his sword in hand, “I’m just a fisherman… they asked me… they asked me to give them all the fish I had and they gave me this in return… I didn’t know…”

“Who were they?”

“I don’t know, my prince, I swear.”

At a new signal from Aemond, the guard hits the man, knocking out a couple of his teeth.

“I swear! I just wanted to sell the fish, sir, I swear.”

“And do your buyers usually pay you with emerald rings?” he asks, bored.

Gesturing to the guard, he steps aside so the knight can continue questioning him. A few minutes later, the man lies barely conscious on the snow.

“He keeps claiming he is just a fisherman who received the ring as payment. I doubt that is a lie.”

Aemond nods. The man is just an unimportant fellow, “Did he say anything else?”

“That there were around thirty of them and they didn’t seem to know the area well. He overheard them talking about heading to Harrenhall.”

Harrenhall. The information does not surprise him, though it does make a lurch in his stomach. Of course, it makes sense to seek refuge in a place like Harrenhall. Despite the years since the war ended, no lord was in direct charge of the castle. It was the perfect place to hide and regroup.

Fucking place.

“My prince.”

The guard looks at him, clearly waiting for orders.

It’s been almost two moons since they’ve been going from village to village investigating and checking inns, mills, houses and barns. This is the first real lead they’ve had, even if it seems to be a stroke of luck.

Or a trap.

Still, it’s better than nothing. And, although the idea of ​​having to return to that cursed place full of memories does not please him, he cannot simply let this information pass without verifying it.

“Go to Lord Darry and tell him to send a raven to the Red Keep. We are going to Harrenhall.”

Chapter Text

“It’s time, princess.”

“Is it dawn yet?” Rhaena mumbles, her voice still thick with sleep. “It feels like I only went to bed a few minutes ago,” she sighs as she slips out from under the heavy covers.

“Maybe you should sleep a little longer, my lady,” the maid comments as Rhaena stands, stumbling momentarily from a sudden feeling of dizziness.

“No need,” she says quickly. “I am fine, I am fine,” she repeats to herself, breathing in a lungful of cold air and shivering at the change in temperature. “Is the carriage ready?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Good, help me dress, will you?”

“Which gown will you wear today, my lady?”

“The mauve one, I have a long day ahead and I need to feel comfortable,” she replies. The young maid nods and rushes to bring the garment, helping Rhaena into the skirt. Only, as the fabric slides over her stomach and chest, the dress feels tremendously uncomfortable. “It feels… tight.”

“I can’t close the buttons, my lady.”

“What? But…” Rhaena stares at her reflection in the mirror, shifting to examine her silhouette in profile. Had she gained weight? This was the third time one of her old dresses hadn’t fit her. “Maybe I should stop eating so many pastries,” she comments as she looks at the tray of food on the table.

The maid says nothing, just helps her out of the dress and brings one of the ones Queen Alicent had sent for her a few days ago. After a frugal breakfast, she hurries down the steps of the Tower of the Hand to the fortress courtyard, where the guard greets her and helps her into her carriage.

The streets of King's Landing, covered in a thin layer of snow that had finally fallen a couple of nights ago, were as crowded as ever. And, if possible, dirtier than usual. The snow, which Rhaena had thought would add a touch of charm to the city—as it did in the Vale—had mixed with the filth of the capital and did nothing to improve its appearance.

When the carriage stops a short time later at the Dragonpit, Rhaena has to hold onto the guard's arm to move across the slippery surface. "Wait here," he orders once they are at the doors of the enormous structure.

The man nods, and Rhaena closes her eyes for a moment, trying to calm her nerves. This is the first time she will see her dragon in the two months since it was moved to this place. The caretakers had sent a message telling her she could begin her lessons, and, not wanting to waste any more time, she had arranged for the visit to take place early in the morning. She hadn't wanted to share the moment with Daeron either, a part of her mind fearing that, in the intervening time, her connection with Morning had weakened.

Don't overthink it, she tells herself as she crosses the hallway and heads toward where one of the caretakers is waiting for her.

The man greets her in High Valyrian and bows. Rhaena responds in the same language, her native tongue flowing as naturally as it had when she was a child navigating the city of Pentos.

Morning's sudden growl makes her tilt her head and abandon the conversation. The sound of heavy chains dragging echoes between the stone walls. Rhaena tilts her face toward the guardian, who nods and moves alongside her until he is a safe distance from Morning.

"Hello, my sweet girl."

"ȳzaldrīzes isse valyrio eglie"

The dragon keeper reminds her to speak in High Valyrian. Rhaena nods, but for a few moments she says nothing more, amazed at the changes in Morning's appearance. In just a couple of months, she had doubled in size. Her horns and spikes, which had been adorable when she was a hatchling, now looked menacing.

“Come closer, Morning.”

The creature obeys and pulls on its chains, taking a few steps toward Rhaena, who blinks back tears when her dragon’s head rubs against her thighs. Memories of the days when she flew freely toward her shoulders come flooding back, so she kneels down to be closer to her.

“Calm down, Morning, it’s me. I am here,” she says, tentatively stroking her neck and letting out a sigh of relief when the dragon allows it.

The caretaker gives her a brief account of her training, the food she receives twice a day, and how well she seems to get along with Tessarion. Rhaena listens raptly, her hands still caressing her dragon, who is now gently rubbing her snout against her stomach.

“I am also very sorry for your absence,” she whispers.

Alba growls softly, and Rhaena smiles. The caretaker lets her know that their time for visiting is over, and the girl, though reluctant, offers one last pet to the creature before standing up.

“At the rate she’s growing, it won’t be long before you are soaring through the skies above her, Princess.”

Rhaena nods, “Perhaps when winter is over.”

The man bows, and the princess leaves the Dragonpit, fresh snowflakes falling on the bearskin coat that covers her body. The palace guard helped her back into the carriage, and upon returning to the fortress courtyard, she found it already filled with the usual commotion of errand boys, servants, and stable boys tending to the horses and hounds.

The sound of clashing swords and lances also echoed among the chaos. The gold cloaks and Hightower soldiers trained despite the chilly morning, reminding Rhaena of the threat that seemed to loom over them and dashing her good mood after seeing her dragon.

Heading toward the Council Chamber, she meets Daeron, who offers his arm as they enter together. Rhaena offers her a weak smile, and they each take their places.

“Good morning, my lords. What's the news in the kingdom?”

Rhaena listens to the reports from the masters of coin, the master of laws, and the ships' struggles to navigate the increasingly turbulent waters of Blackwater Bay.

“Any news from Prince Aemond?” she finally asks, her voice impatient.

“None, Princess,” Lord Lannister regards her with something close to pity in his expression, “Though we know Ser Criston is getting closer to joining the prince.”

“That is something,” she murmurs, lacing her fingers together under the table to stop herself from fidgeting anxiously, “Have there been more attacks on the nobles?”

“With winter approaching, there aren’t many nobles crossing the Kingsroad,” the grand maester explains, “And I doubt the bandits would be bold enough to attempt an attack against the keeps.”

“I do not know, maester, they might…”

“We will know if anything happens,” Daeron interrupts, “And we will act as the situation demands.”

Rhaena nods and doesn’t press the issue. The men continue conversing for what seems like an eternity, but she doesn’t pay much attention. With each passing day, her anxiety increases. The inner voice whispering that something bad will happen becomes increasingly difficult to ignore, and without any correspondence from Aemond or her sister, she spends her days frustrated. Just like during the war.

“I’m sorry I cannot offer any reassuring news.”

Her cousin’s voice snaps her out of her reverie. Rhaena raises her head to meet Daeron’s worried gaze.

“It is not your fault,” she retorts.

“My brother should have written to you by now.”

Rhaena scans the room, not wanting to discuss her marriage in front of the other lords, and notices that everyone has already left the room. “I do not blame him for not doing so.”

Daeron snorts. “He is stubborn, that is for sure.” Rhaena sighs, and he continues speaking. “You look tired. Perhaps you should…”

“Please do not suggest to take time for myself,” she says quickly. “I’d rather be here and keep up with the news of the realm.”

“I’d still keep you informed without you having to attend these tedious meetings,” her cousin shrugs. “I don’t understand how my brother endures this every day.”

“He takes his responsibilities seriously,” she admits, unable to contain the affection in her voice.

Daeron offers her a sideways smile and nods, “Anyway, I do not like seeing you so discouraged. Tomorrow is your name day, and you do not seem particularly enthusiastic.”

“At having to play the role of the happy hostess? No, I am not. Perhaps before all this… alarming news, I would have been. It is no secret that I enjoy a good celebration, but now I honestly find the prospect of pretending to the kingdom that everything is fine dull.”

“Everything is fine, Rhaena,” Daeron takes her hand in his, “This is not the start of a rebellion. I am sure the attack on Ser Adrian was an isolated act. My brother and Ser Criston are capable warriors; they will surely take down the person responsible.”

Rhaena doesn't know if Daeron is saying this just to comfort her or if he truly believes it. She doubts her cousin is so naive, not after having fought skillfully during the war. Although, after years of apparent peace and prosperity in Westeros, perhaps it was easier to believe that everything would continue that way.

"I hope to see you at the feast," she finally says.

"I would not miss it," Daeron assures vehemently, "Now go and enjoy the rest of the day."

"I will try."

Rhaena says goodbye to her cousin and leaves the council chamber. Marianne is waiting for her in the Queen's Ballroom, where tomorrow's feast will be held. The princess had been reluctant to use the space, but Ellyn Baratheon had assured her that she was not at all bothered by Rhaena having the space for the feast.

As she walks through the fortress's corridors, fatigue creeps in again, so she slows her pace and stifles the yawns that fill her. Perhaps she should return to the Tower of the Hand and...

"I heard Prince Aemond is at Harrenhall."

Rhaena stops walking and pauses near the door of one of the small chambers usually used by the ladies to gather and have tea.

"Harrenhall? But what could he be doing there?"

"I don't know, crown business, perhaps."

"Phew," a mocking voice she can identify as Lady Dustin's says, "No Crown business. He traveled to be reunited with his lover, the wood witch."

"I thought she was dead?"

“No, she is not, that was just a rumor,” Lady Dustin chuckles. “Besides a servant told me the prince didn’t share Lady Rhaena’s bed, and didn’t call her to his chambers either. He probably grew tired of her.”

“This quickly? Poor thing.”

“I highly doubt this,” one of the women chimes in, though she can’t recognize her voice. “Lady Rhaena seems to be…”

“Don’t be fooled by her smiling appearance,” Lady Dustin interrupts again, “She clearly enjoys her new position. Now that she has all the power, she thinks she can simply do whatever she wants. I don’t understand how Queen Ellyn allows it. If I were her, I’d put her in her place.”

“Still, going all the way to Harrenhall just to get away from his wife seems excessive, doesn’t it?”

“Prince Aemond has always been impulsive,” a new voice chimes in, “And the wood witch surely makes a better intimate partner than Lady Rhaena.”

The women laugh, and Rhaena, having had enough, turns away and strides toward the Queen's Ballroom. As she walks, she tries to compose her expression, hold back the tears that are trying to escape, and tune out the women’s voices openly mocking her. But she must be doing a poor job because, when Marianne sees her, she clearly senses her agitation.

“What happened? Is it Prince Aemond? Something…?”

“No, no, Aemond is fine. Or so I think… it’s… it’s nothing,” Rhaena looks down for a moment and bites hard on her lower lip, “It is nothing,” she repeats.

Marianne shakes her head. “I don’t believe you,” she replies, “What happened? What put you in this state?”

Her friend’s honey-colored eyes stare at her so intently and with such concern that Rhaena can’t hold it back any longer, and a stray tear trickles down her cheek as she confesses to Marianne what she heard.

“Those vipers!” Her lady retorts at the end.

“I do not know why it affects me so much. It’s ridiculous, really,” Rhaena sniffs, “I know that real friendships are few and far between in this place, but I thought…”

“They owe you respect and obedience,” Marianne vehemently states, “You must punish them.”

“I don’t even know who they were. I only recognized Lady Dustin’s voice.”

“That…” Marianne bites her tongue, “How dare she make up such rumors? We all know her husband sent her to the capital because he can’t stand her. And now she thinks she can say whatever she wants about your marriage? She’s probably still upset about the affair with the maids.”

“Does not matter, I shouldn’t take her words so personally. I know the things she said about Aemond aren’t true.”

Her voice must convey her insecurity because her lady is quick to respond, “Of course they’re not true. The prince traveled because he had to, not because he wanted to be away from you. It’s clear to anyone who’s observed you two together how much he cares for you, truly.”

Rhaena thinks her friend is probably exaggerating in her last statement, but doesn’t contradict her. She just smiles at her, and holds her hand, squeezing it. “Thank you, Annie.”

“Now, we must find a way to punish those women.”

“I told you I don’t know who they were.”

“That’s easy to find out,” Marianne says dismissively. “You should withdraw their invitation to tomorrow’s banquet. And their participation in future celebrations at the Keep. Let them feel the consequences of antagonizing the lady of the castle.”

“I won’t do that,” she retorts. “I don’t want to conduct royal affairs the way Queen Ellyn did. I won’t withdraw any invitations or play favorites.”

“But Rhaena…”

“No, Marianne, it’s not wise to stir up conflict among the nobles right now. Not when we might need allies in the future.”

Her friend frowns, clearly wanting to ask and learn more about what Rhaena is not fully revealing. Although the princess hasn’t revealed the reasons for Aemond’s expedition, nor has she told her about the banner bearing Rhaenyra’s crest discovered with the bodies of Ser Adrian and his men, Marianne knows something seems to be happening in the kingdom. But she doesn’t press for answers, and Rhaena is grateful for that. She doesn’t want to tell her friend the details, not because she doesn’t trust her, but because she doesn’t want to put her in danger should the situation escalate and a conflict ensue. It’s better for Marianne to remain ignorant, at least for now.

“Come, come back with me to the Tower. Let’s talk about your wedding. Did your father write?”

The topic seems to cheer Marianne, who is about to tell her about her father's response now that Queen Alicent had announced that her wedding to Daeron would take place in three moons.

"I only hope this winter ends soon. I would hate for my father to miss my wedding."

"We can always send Daeron on his dragon to bring him here."

Marianne laughs, and Rhaena joins her, forgetting her worries for a moment.

***

He can't stop staring at her.

Even though his betrothed is smiling at him and chatting animatedly with Rhaena, he can't help but occasionally shift his gaze to the figure across the table.

And more than once their gazes have met briefly, the deep blue of Ellyn's eyes colliding with his own.

As if she can sense his scrutiny despite the distance, the queen catches him looking at her once more and frowns for only a few seconds before returning her attention to whatever Lord Hayford is saying.

Marianne's giggle snaps him out of his stupor, and he looks back at the young women at his side. Rhaena, eyeing her best friend suspiciously, asks, "Why did Lady Dustin leave the feast in such a hurry?"

“I couldn't say,” his fiancée replies, “Although I get the impression the food seemed to upset her.”

“Marianne,” there's a tone of reproach in her voice, “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I assure you.”

Daeron, though he doesn't fully understand the exchange, chooses not to ask. He looks back at Ellyn, who is now dancing with Lord Hayford.

"Let's dance," he says, offering his hand to Marianne, who takes it instantly.

Leading her to the dance floor, he gives her a friendly smile as he twirls her to the music. He has no trouble following the choreography and tries to focus on what Marianne is telling him about the bard's earlier performance, but his eyes betray him, and he looks back at Ellyn, now dancing with a young knight who seems entranced by her.

A surge of jealousy washes over him, and although he knows it's absurd, he wants to approach the man and separate him from Ellyn.

"Is everything all right, my prince?"

His betrothed's voice brings him back to the reality of the moment.

“Yes, I am sorry, what were you saying?”

“Nothing important,” Marianne replies, her cheeks flushed and her gaze lowering.

Daeron sighs, immediately feeling guilty for paying so little attention to the woman who will be his wife in a few months. Marianne is beautiful, not lacking in intelligence, and kind. Why couldn't she spark the same interest in him as Ellyn Baratheon?

She is your king's wife. Your brother’s wife.

Still, he can't get her out of his thoughts. And when the music stops for a few moments and he watches her leave the banquet hall, the instinct to follow her is so powerful that he excuses himself to Marianne, and pushes his way through the hundreds of guests to try to find Ellyn.

It doesn't take long for him to find her, her tall figure disappearing down the corridor, unaware that he is following her.

For a moment, he thinks the queen is heading to her chambers, but she turns into one of the passageways and enters a ladder toward one of the fortress's balconies. There are no soldiers on guard or other people in sight, so he waits a few seconds and enters after her, finding her leaning against the stone wall, her gaze lost in the horizon of the Bay.

“Tired of the party?”

His voice, barely a whisper in the wind, manages to startle her. Ellyn turns, alarmed, and her expression relaxes when she realizes it's him.

“I needed a moment,” she replies, then immediately frowns and adds, “Alone.”

“Is the party not what you expected?” He continues, dismissing the queen's unspoken request, "I thought you were enjoying yourself, I saw you dancing quite happily with that knight."

Ellyn, who had turned her back on him, faces him with a look of open disbelief, "Don't you dare."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Daeron sighs and leans back against the wall, though at a safe distance from her.

“I danced with the knight the same way I might dance with any other lord in the court, even with you.”

Daeron nods. "You have no idea how much I would love to dance with you. Though I'm afraid if I did, everyone would realize my feelings for you."

“You don’t have feelings for me, Daeron,” Ellyn vehemently denies, “It is just a… a momentary fixation. You are going to be married soon, your betrothed…”

“I wish I felt for her a fraction of what I feel for you,” he retorts, closing the distance between them with each word, “It would be easier if I did.”

Ellyn tilts her face, avoiding his gaze. Daeron takes a step closer to her, and their bodies touch, her scent overwhelming him and clouding his senses. His hand moves without his permission, his knuckles brushing the young queen’s cheek, and she shudders at his touch.

“Daeron, no,” she replies, though, far from pulling away, she closes her eyes and leans into his touch, “We mustn’t…”

“Just once, Ellyn, please,” he begs. “Just once. I know we can’t have more.”

The prince’s hands cup her face, his thumbs gently caressing her cheeks as he presses their foreheads together.

“Just once,” she repeats, almost a plea, her blue eyes shifting to his lips. “May the gods forgive us,” he hears her say before he covers her lips with his own.

***

“Send this note along with the gifts to the Great Sept,” Rhaena instructs the royal steward two days after her Name day feast, “The High Septon expects you this afternoon.”

After overseeing other matters with the steward, she decides to head back to the Tower of the Hand, looking forward to a long, relaxing bath. She hasn't been able to sleep well the last few nights, and although she tries not to feel discouraged because there's no news about Aemond, her mood worsens with each passing day.

“Dalia, draw a bath for me, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The young woman, however, doesn’t leave the room to carry out her orders. Instead, she closes the door and approaches Rhaena, whispering, even though there is no one else there. “The man from the docks gave me this for you,” she says, offering her a piece of parchment.

Rhaena instantly takes it from her. “Thank you, Dalia, you may go.” The maid nods and, before she leaves, Rhaena adds, “Forget the bath. I want to be alone.”

Once the door closes behind the maid, Rhaena breaks the seal on the parchment and rushes to read the words written in her sister’s unmistakable handwriting.

My dear Rhaena, I regret not having been able to write to you sooner. Winter is slowing my efforts to secure a better future for us, but fear not, I have not forgotten the promise I made you. You will be freed from your chains sooner than you think; your captor's impulsiveness has proved to be a stroke of luck for us. Our friends near the Gods' Eye will see to it that you are freed from him. Fear not. Do not reply to this letter.

A ringing fills her ears as she finishes reading the letter, her heart racing in her chest. Rhaena crumples the parchment only to smooth it out once more and reread it, as if by doing so she could change its contents. As if, by merely wishing it, she could change what's written.

"She is going to kill him," she whispers in a choked voice, "She is going to kill Aemond."

The reality of her sister's threat hits her hard, causing a sob to escape her lips and tears to flood her face. Baela was going to kill her husband. Aemond was going to die. He had come South to meet his death.

Rhaena violently tears up the parchment and throws it into the fire. The pain that overwhelms her at the news she's just received mixes with the anxiety she's felt for weeks, ultimately bringing her to her knees.

He was going to die. Aemond was going to die.

“No, no, no,” she repeats, “I have to do something, I have to stop it, I have to…”

She stands up immediately and almost runs to the door, but stops at the last moment.

What was she going to do? What could she do? She couldn't alert anyone to what she'd just read, not without exposing her sister's plans and condemning her to death. And even if she did, what good would it do? Aemond was miles away; no one could reach him quickly enough. Morning was too small to bear her weight. That left only one option, Tessarion.

She could go to Daeron. She could trust him, couldn't she? Could she tell him about the letter she'd just received? Surely her cousin wouldn't betray her confidence, would he?

Do you think he'd choose to save Baela after learning she wants to kill Aemond?

She knew the answer with certainty. She wasn't going to save her sister from execution. Not unless she kept quiet about her plans.

But that meant letting Aemond die

Fear gives way to rage. Rhaena lets out a cry of frustration and throws her vanity items to the floor, managing to break the glass containers of perfumes, essences, and makeup.

Why? Why did Aemond have to leave the Keep? And why was Baela determined to destroy the peace in the kingdom? Why did she have to choose a side? It was an impossible choice. Did the gods have no mercy? How could she choose between her sister and the man who…?

Her thoughts are interrupted by a terrible wave of nausea. Rhaena barely manages to reach the basin before she throws the contents of her stomach into it.

At that moment, the door to her chamber opens, and two guards enter with a maid, surely alerted by the noise. The men see the mess on the floor and rush to her side to try to help her to her feet.

"Are you all right, princess?"

Rhaena doesn't respond, she can't because she collapses again and vomits one more time.

"Call the maester right now!" she hears one of the guards shout.

She doesn't know when she closes her eyes or how much time passes, only that when she opens them again, she is lying in her bed.

"What... what happened?" she asks softly as she tries to sit up.

"Don't move, you need to rest."

It's Alicent who answers. Rhaena notices the queen sitting at the foot of her bed. Standing beside her is the grand maester.

"Drink this, princess, it will help with the nausea." The man hands her a cup, and Rhaena sips it.

The drink clears her mind enough for the consciousness of what happened to return to her. Oh no. Baela's letter, the threat to Aemond...

"I have to..."

"You need to rest," Alicent insists. "You fainted, and the guards say you were vomiting before the maester arrived."

“I feel better now,” she replies.

Alicent signals to the maester, who asks Rhaena for permission to examine her. Knowing she cannot refuse—that there is nothing to be gained by it—and that she will not find in Alicent an ally in her dilemma, she holds back her tears, and bites her tongue to prevent her body from showing signs of the despair she feels.

The maester asks her a few questions and takes her pulse, frowning for a few seconds. “When was the last time you had the lunar blood, princess?”

“The maids haven’t changed her moonbloods sheets in over two moons,” Alicent answers.

Rhaena looks at her in confusion, but says nothing, focusing her gaze on the maester. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, princess,” the man smiles kindly and looks at the dowager queen before looking back at Rhaena. “You are with child.”

Chapter Text

“You are with child.”

“Are you absolutely certain, Maester?” It is Alicent who breaks the silence with her question, her gaze fixed on Orwyle.

“I am, my queen,” the man nods, smiling once more. “The changes in the princess’s body are unmistakable, in addition to the symptoms she is experiencing.”

“I thought… I thought I was overindulging,” Rhaena admits, her gaze instinctively dropping to her belly. “I did not think…”

“This is wonderful news!” The emotion is almost palpable in the Dowager Queen’s voice, as she looks up at Rhaena with teary eyes. “The heir. The gods are merciful and have heard my prayers.”

Alicent closes her eyes and murmurs something under her breath that Rhaena cannot hear, but assumes are words of thanks to the gods.

“We must, however, be cautious before communicating the news,” the maester advises. “The princess is still in the early months of pregnancy, and it would be wiser to wait before making a formal announcement to the Court.”

“Of course, of course, obviously,” Alicent agrees. “Although we must write to Aemond immediately, he must return to the capital as soon as possible.”

“I would prefer that you not write to him, my queen,” Rhaena says. “I would not wish for him to learn this news through a letter.”

“Why not? It is good news.”

Rhaena feels a lump in her throat. She knows that producing an heir is the goal of their marriage, perhaps even the reason why her cousin summoned her to his chambers more often than other lords called their wives, though a small part of her can't help but wish it was simply because he liked her presence and company. Things between them had been progressing fairly well before the incident with Morning and their stupid argument.

However, Aemond's sudden departure had filled her with uncertainty, and while she understood the prince's reasons for leaving the capital, she did not know where that left their relationship. She did not know if her cousin would be genuinely pleased to learn of Rhaena's pregnancy and the prospect of having a child together, or if he would prioritize his sense of duty and simply express his pleasure at having fulfilled his obligation to provide the realm with an heir.

"I wish to break the news to him in person," she finally replies. I want to see his expression when he finds out about this baby, she thinks.

"Nonsense," Alicent smirks. "My son has the right to find out as soon as possible."

"I know, Queen Alicent, I know, but it is up to me to break the news. I am his wife." Her voice does not sound as confident as she would like, but rather cracks toward the end, and she feels her eyes suddenly fill with tears.

The dowager queen seems ready to respond, but the maester, observing the princess's expression with sympathy, adds, “If I may, Queen Alicent, it would be best to respect the princess's wishes in this matter. Sending a raven with such important news could be counterproductive in the current climate. It is best not to take any chances.”

“Perhaps you are right, maester,” Alicent finally admits, “It is best not to take any chances. That should extend to you as well, Rhaena. You will need to rest more from now on, and it would be wise to reduce your activities to better care for the baby.”

“I feel well,” she says quickly, having an idea of ​​what the dowager queen is getting at. “It is true that I've felt more tired these days, but I do not think I should abandon my responsibilities completely. I would like to continue my routine as it is.”

Alicent purses her lips and looks to the Grand Maester for help. Rhaena hurries to follow.

“If I stay in the Tower all the time, the Court might speculate that something is wrong with me. It is better to leave things as they are, to continue projecting an image of stability to the courtiers and the kingdom. I know better than to overdo it,” she says when Alicent wants to speak again, “And if I feel any discomfort, even the slightest, I will call the maester. I promise.”

“I think it will be good for the princess to continue her normal activities,” the man replies, “Although I would prefer that she not be constantly commuting up and down the Tower.”

“I can arrange one of the Keep's rooms to my liking should I feel too tired during the day,” Rhaena suggests quickly.

“Good idea,” Maester Orwyle offers her a smile.

“Fine,” Alicent finally replies, standing, “I will respect your wishes in both matters, though the members of the Council must be informed of the news.”

“I understand,” Rhaena agrees, “Thank you, my queen. I appreciate your consideration.”

Alicent nods and sighs before calling her maids and offering recommendations on food, drinks, and activities for the princess. Rhaena listens without interrupting, and waits patiently until they have both left her room before getting out of bed.

Removing her heavy gown and hairdo, she slips on her nightgown and lets her curls loose before walking to the mirror.

You are with child.

The maester's words echo inside her, causing an involuntary smile to spread across her face. With Orwyle and the Dowager Queen present, she hadn't been able to truly grasp the reality that she was going to be a mother, that she had a baby growing inside her.

"A little baby," she whispers, opening the gown and gently cradling her belly. Of course, there is no bump yet, but still... "You are already in here," she whispers, smiling once more.

She was going to have a baby. A baby with Aemond.

As soon as the prince's name and image appear in her mind, a darker one also conjures up. One that appears painted thanks to the threats in Baela's letter.

The fear and pain of a few hours ago violently re-emerge. With trembling hands, she knots her nightgown and goes to the window, opening it just enough to catch a bit of the icy night wind to counteract the sudden feeling of breathlessness she feels.

She has to save Aemond. She has to free him from whatever it is her sister is planning to do.

Or she has to convince Baela to give up her revenge once and for all. Perhaps, if she wrote a letter telling her the news of her pregnancy… wouldn't that make her sister reconsider her plans?

The same sister who made sure you received moon tea regularly? the voice inside her asks.

Baela had been very clear the last time they had spoken. It was necessary for Rhaena that nothing bind her to Aemond; her twin had been very emphatic about it. Still, Rhaena had consciously made the decision to do just the opposite, to let everything take its course without taking precautions. Now that she was with child, could she appeal to her twin’s mercy by using her unborn child? She didn't like the answer that came to her mind to that question.

“Maybe Baela was right and I am luckless,” she whispers to the wind, cradling her belly once more. “The gods sent you to me, but perhaps they will take Aemond from me at the same time.”

A tear rolls down her cheek as she thinks of the baby who will be born in a few moons. A baby who could very well be the royal heir, and who could enter this world without ever knowing its father. Without ever hearing his voice or experiencing the warmth of his embrace. She knew well what it was like to grow up without a father’s affection, and the thought that this might also be the fate of her child is unbearable.

She had to do something, but would she be able to do it? Could she choose to prioritize saving Aemond over his twin?

Closing the window, she returns to bed, and, tired as she is, has little trouble sleeping.

When she wakes, several hours later, she feels more tired than ever. Her sleep has been plagued by nightmares, by dark corridors she's walked through, not knowing exactly where to go, only feeling the need to make a choice without knowing exactly which would be the right path.

Drenched in sweat, she allows the maids to help her in and out of the tub, and eats everything the Dowager Queen has prescribed for her, almost mechanically. When she finally leaves the Tower of the Hand, she heads not toward the Royal Council chamber, but toward the royal rooms.

"Good morning, Princess."

One of the white cloaks announces her presence and immediately steps aside to let her pass.

The room she enters is large, airy, and bathed in a natural light that she would otherwise find idyllic. But now, as she moves forward on shaky legs, her heart pounding in her chest, trying to convince herself she's doing the right thing, she notices nothing but the figure of her cousin.

"Rhaena!" he greets with his usual kind smile, "I was not expecting your visit."

"I know, and I am sorry. I did not mean to interrupt, but…" Rhaena stares at him when she is finally in front of him, "Daeron, I need your help."

"Of course."

"I need you to fly Tessarion to Harrenhall as soon as possible. Go and save Aemond, please, bring him back here."

Daeron must sense something in her tone of voice or her expression, because he frowns in confusion. “Why would my brother need saving? Have we received any new news? No one informed me…”

“There has been no further news,” Rhaena interrupts, taking a deep breath before continuing, “But I need you to trust me, please. Go to Harrenhall.”

“Rhaena,” her name sounds like a sigh, “I can’t simply abandon the city. Aemond left me here because our family comes first; there must always be a dragon protecting the capital. The last time we left King’s Landing unprotected…”

“I know what happened last time! But nothing bad will happen now. At least, not to us. It is Aemond who needs your help. Please, trust me,” she pleads again, her voice sounding weaker and more desperate. “Save him, please.”

“Save him from what exactly?” Daeron's frown deepens.

"Something bad will happen."

"Yes, you keep saying that, but I do not understand why you are so sure of it," her cousin narrows his eyes. "Why do you think Aemond is in danger? Do you know something I don't?"

Rhaena swallows and feels her heart beating so violently that she's sure it will stop at any moment.

It's now.

This is the moment.

The moment to choose.

Her husband or her sister.

Aemond or Baela.

"Rhaena? What's going on?" Daeron insists.

Aemond or Baela.

Aemond or Baela.

Aemond or Baela.

Who was more important to her?

Who could she condemn to death?

Rhaena opens her mouth to answer, ready to confess, but she can't make a sound. And though she tries once more, she only manages a sob as she shakes her head from side to side and hugs her cousin, seeking comfort.

Daeron's arms immediately surround her. "Are you all right? Should I call the maester?"

"I am with child."

"What?" the prince gasps, breaking the embrace and pulling away so he can look into her face.

“I found out only yesterday,” she continues, “The Grand Maester and your mother already know. They wanted to tell Aemond, but I wouldn't let them. I want him back, Daeron, please. Bring him back.”

“Rhaena, it is not as simple as that…”

“I am scared. I keep having nightmares and imagining horrible things.”

Her cousin sighs, “Is it because of these nightmares that you want me to go to Harrenhall?”

Daeron's violet gaze, full of understanding and compassion, focuses on her.

Be honest. Confess. Tell him about Baela's threats. He will understand, Daeron will understand…

“Yes, that's why,” she finishes, her stomach tightening and nausea rising in her throat, “I am sorry for worrying you unnecessarily.”

“Hmm,” Daeron nods slowly. “You would tell me if there was anything else, wouldn't you, Rhaena?”

Her heart leaps, but she takes a deep breath and quickly curls her trembling hands into fists. “Of course.”

Daeron narrows his eyes for a moment, and Rhaena thinks she detects suspicion in them, but his expression changes so suddenly that she is not sure. “Good. You know what I think? That you should write to my brother. A letter from you will surely be a better form of persuasion than my presence on the back of my dragon. Come, I’ll help you write to him once we finish the council meeting.” Her cousin hands her a handkerchief, and gently helps her wipe her tears.

It will be your fault, that voice inside her tells her as she walks arm in arm with Daeron through the halls of the Keep.

If anything happens to Aemond, it will be your fault.

***

“Fucking snow!”

Aemond plunges his knife into the surface of the ancient wooden table. He hates having to return to Harrenhall. He feels physically sick from walking once more within the walls of the place that had witnessed his weakest and most foolish moments.

The fortress, which they had barely reached after weeks of slow progress, had greeted them with a more sinister aura than ever. The castle seemed more destroyed and haunted than during the war. The days were cold, the nights long, the walls offered little shelter from the wind and snow.

“Supplies are dwindling rapidly, my prince,” the castle steward dares to say. “Hunters find no prey, and cold wood provides no fire, the…”

“I am aware of the situation we are in,” he replies in a harsh voice, glaring at the man.

Once again, he wonders if it had been a mistake to return to this cursed place. There seemed to be no clue that it had been used as a rebel headquarters, no trace of treason had been found, and after thoroughly questioning the few servants and townspeople who lived here, they had discovered nothing new.

The surrounding woods offered no clarity either. If the rebels had left any traces behind, they had been erased by the snow that fell every fucking day.

A damned waste of time, he thinks as he retrieves his knife from the table.

Or so his enemies wanted him to think. What if they were out there, hiding, waiting for him to let his guard down so they could kill him?

"My prince," one of his guards enters the room, "Men from the capital have arrived."

Aemond immediately stands and strides toward the main courtyard. The gust of wind that greets him as he steps out is so strong it almost makes him stumble, though he grabs onto one of the walls to regain his balance.

"My prince."

The figure of Criston Cole, hidden beneath a heavy white cloak, approaches him to bow and offer his sword.

“I thought I ordered you to stay in King’s Landing protecting my family.”

His old weapons master responds with a smirk, indifferent to the harsh tone in the prince’s voice. “I’m glad to see you are okay.”

Aemond rolls his good eye and reenters the ruined castle, hearing Ser Criston's footsteps behind him.

"Find Ser Criston something to eat and bring us some wine," he orders the steward.

"Yes, my prince, but…"

"We still have some provisions," Cole replies, clearly understanding the man's reluctance. "Ask the servants to help my men ration what's left."

The steward bows his head and leaves them alone.

"You shouldn't have come all the way here," Aemond chides. "My family…"

"Is sufficiently protected by your brother and his dragon," Ser Criston assures him. "You, on the other hand, wandering the Riverlands with a limited number of men during the winter… you couldn't expect your mother not to pressure the council at every turn until reinforcements were sent."

Aemond tries to maintain his expression of disinterest and not show how pleased he is to know his mother had been worried about him.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt it, but we shouldn’t take lightly what the presence of a rebel banner could mean,” Cole pauses as a servant returns bearing a flagon of wine and a tray of bread and stew. “Any news abouth that?”

“None,” he replies, angrily, his face twisting. “The snow complicates all my attempts to gather information.”

Ser Criston nods and quickly devours his plate of food. Aemond, toying with his knife in the meantime, looks down, considering how best to phrase the question he most desires an answer to.

“Is… is there any news in the city?” he finally says. “A message? From Daeron, or perhaps Aegon?”

The knight takes a sip of wine before setting aside his cup and looking at him with those shrewd dark eyes that seem to understand him more than he cares to admit. “Your younger brother has lived up to the responsibility you entrusted to him. The king spends his days anesthetized with milk of the poppy. He is still unaware of what has happened. He is in great pain, and your mother and I think it best not to disturb him yet.”

“Mmm,” Aemond nods.

“And your wife,” Ser Criston pauses, “She asks the council every morning if there is any news about you, if you sent any messages or letters. I get the impression she feels your absence greatly.” There is a moment of silence in which the prince does not comment, so the knight sighs and continues, “It seems to me that ordering her to sit on the King’s Council was a good idea; it certainly eased her distress somewhat after you left the castle without saying goodbye.” Aemond thinks he hears reproach in his tone of voice, but he doesn’t interrupt Ser Criston. “Though your mother did not agree to the princess serving on the council, she certainly has a good mind for the matters of the kingdom. You will surely be pleased with how she has performed her role thus far. You should write to her. Or better yet, we should return to the capital before winter worsens.”

Aemond takes a moment to absorb Ser Criston's words before replying. He isn't surprised to learn that his cousin has proven her abilities to the Royal Council. Her insights and suggestions on matters of the realm, which they often discussed together during the nights they spent in his bed, had shown him that she possessed an intelligence and a mind as sharp as the other council members. But knowing that Rhaena was waiting to hear from him, that she was visibly shaken by his departure, did delight him. A delight that didn't stem particularly from her experiencing sorrow, but from knowing that his memory was passing through her mind.

"You've been here only a few hours," he finally replies, "Do you intend to return so quickly?"

"It would be foolish to remain here with winter upon us. Food will soon be scarce, the forests will provide no sustenance, and this place is in ruins. You will have no way to survive here... unless you intend to ask or demand aid from the nearby houses."

"No," he replies flatly. He wasn't planning on asking for help from the fucking lords of the Riverlands.

"I imagined," Ser Criston sighs, "My prince…"

"I know," the prince interrupts immediately, "I know it's wiser to return to the capital. I haven't learned anything new here; I've basically wasted the kingdom's time and resources on an expedition doomed to failure."

Ser Criston raises his eyebrows, looking as astonished as the prince at the sincerity of his words, "But…"

“I feel like I'm missing something,” he replies, “I don't have a good feeling about this whole situation.”

“I agree with you. There's clearly something brewing in the kingdom, but until we have accurate information, there's not much we can do. We're exposed here, far from our forces.”

“Do you fear an attack?”

“It's unlikely. Only a madman would choose to fight in the dead of winter. More likely, they'll wait for the weather to improve before acting however they intend, which gives us time to properly prepare, gather intelligence, and anticipate any rebel moves.”

“I still don't understand what the point of raising my half-sister's banner once again would be.”

“I suppose only time will tell,” Ser Criston says.

“Hmm,” Aemond nods, “It's late. Go rest, Cole; it was a long journey. We'll talk in the morning about our course of action over the next few days.”

The knight bids farewell with a bow, and Aemond is soon on his way to his chambers as well.

Only part of the castle is fit for habitation, and they had tried to offer him the most comfortable room, but since the prince had demanded that it not be the same one he had occupied the last time he had lived at Harrenhall, he had finally settled for a smaller one with a window overlooking the godswood. Aemond hated the sight of the weirwoods and the memories they evoked, so he kept the curtains closed at all times and spent no more time in his chambers than necessary.

"Damn cold," he mutters under his breath as he covers himself with a bearskin cloak.

Aemond curls up in the covers, removes his eye patch, and tries to get warm. The silence that hangs over the castle is unsettling. It's not complete, but there's something unnatural about it. In Harrenhall, he thinks, even the sounds of night animals and the rustling of the nearby woods are eerie.

Rubbing his forehead and trying to push aside the sensation of a looming headache, he closes his eye and tries to relax. He knows he needs to rest, but he doesn't like sleeping. Which means, he doesn't like sleeping in this place. Besides, every time he falls asleep for short periods of time, strange noises and murmurs wake him up. Or else, his memories.

Green eyes, fire, and promises in the wind.

A few minutes—or a few hours—later, Aemond wakes, his clothes sticking to his body with sweat. Throwing back the covers, he sits up in bed and pours himself some water from the jug. The liquid, though too cold for his liking, clears his head and brings him back to the reality of the moment. He had fallen asleep and dreamed of Vhagar and Rhaena. He dreamed of being back on his dragon and his wife calling to him from below. It had been so real…

Aemond.

The voice reaches his ears so clearly that he has no trouble recognizing it as Rhaena's. But it was impossible. He was in Harrenhall, and she was miles away.

Aemond.

"Rhaena?" he whispers into the darkness.

Driven by a sudden urge to follow the voice, he stands and bundles up as best he can before grab one of the torches and opening the door to his chamber.

It's madness, he thinks. It can't be Rhaena. It isn't. But still, he heads deeper into the corridors.

Aemond.

The sound of feet on stone and the rustle of a gown reaches him. At the far end of the corridor, a silhouette disappears. Aemond strides forward, trying to follow it. When he turns in place, he suddenly finds himself in the godswood, among the weirwoods.

"Rhaena?"

The icy wind stirs the red leaves. The carved faces on the trees look more mysterious and sinister than ever as he walks through the snow toward them.

A silhouette appears at the back of the forest. The figure walks slowly toward him, and when the fire illuminates its face, Aemond immediately backs away.

“It can't be. You are dead,” he shakes his head.

Alys's dark hair flies in the wind, unruly and wild. Her green eyes stare at him.

“You are dead,” he repeats, “I killed you. It can't be you…”

Aemond tries to back away, but he can't. His body doesn't respond no matter how hard he tries to move away from the woman who, with each step, moves closer to him.

“You're not here, you're not real,” he says desperately as Alys's icy hands rest on his throat, “You're not real.” Her hands encircle his neck and squeeze tightly. And he's powerless to do anything. He can't move, he can't push her away…

The loud cry of a crow brings him back to the reality of the moment.

When he opens his good eye, however, the nightmare isn't over.

If anything, the nightmare was only a reflection of his reality.

A burly figure looms over him, its hands as heavy as two boulders, violently encircling his throat and making it impossible for him to breathe.

Desperately, he tries to gasp for air, but it's impossible. When he tries to move his arms to defend himself and get the attacker off him, he realizes a second figure has him pinned to the bed.

I'm going to die. This is the end, he thinks as the last breaths of air are extinguished from his lungs and his vision blurs.

He will die without ever seeing Rhaena again, without ever feeling her warmth and her scent of roses.

He will die far from his family and Vhagar.

He will die like a fool, ambushed during the night, in the very place that had been his downfall.

It's that last thought that sends a surge of fury coursing through him. A fury so intense that he jerks his head up and punches his attacker in the nose with such force that he staggers and loosens his grip on his neck.

Aemond inhales a great gulp of air and uses his legs to strike at the other man still holding his arms. The attacker, clearly not expecting to be surprised like this, loosens his grip enough for Aemond to strike at him and reach for the knife he keeps under his pillow, skillfully drawing it and plunging it into his chest.

"You bloody kinslayer," the first man bellows as he watches his companion fall from the bed, clutching the bleeding wound.

Aemond scrambles to his feet just in time to deflect the man's attack. Struggling to maintain his balance, his head throbbing, he punches his attacker in the face.

"Who sent you?" he asks in a hoarse voice.

The man doesn't respond, just struggles against Aemond, who quickly overpowers him and places his knife against his throat.

"You better talk. Who sent you?"

"Kinslayer," the man repeats, spitting blood onto the ground.

Aemond is about to tighten the knife's grip when the chamber door opens, revealing Ser Criston and a pair of guards, all swords drawn and wearing stern expressions.

"My prince? Is everything all right? I thought I heard…" The knight stops speaking as the scene dawns on him.

"They tried to kill me in my sleep," Aemond explains, his throat raw, "Cowards."

The man he's holding seems about to insult him again, but Aemond pushes him away and lands a blow to his head, knocking him unconscious.

"Are you ok?" Ser Criston asks, walking to his side. "Were you hurt in any other way?"

"Nothing serious," he assures him.

"Traitors," Cole says angrily before turning to the soldiers. "Take this scum to the dungeons. Have the maester tend the wound on this one; I want him alive for interrogation."

His men carry out his orders, and when they are alone, Ser Criston brings him a glass of water, though he only manages to take a few gulps before giving up, his throat still too sore.

“I’ll see to it that they talk,” Ser Criston assures him. “Get some rest. I’ll leave a couple of guards at your door. I should have done that from the beginning.”

“It’s not your fault,” Aemond manages to say. “They clearly had this attack planned and knew the castle well, otherwise they would have gotten lost within its walls.”

“That may be, but they shouldn't have reached you so easily,” the knight's face bears a look of weariness and deep sadness. “An assassination attempt on a member of the royal family after years of peace in the kingdom. I didn't think I'd see war again.”

“We have traitors to deal with,” the prince nods.

Ser Criston sighs and searches through his robes. “A raven arrived recently. The maester woke me with the news, that’s why I heard noises and came to inspect.” He hands her a piece of parchment. “It's from the capital and is addressed to you.”

Aemond takes the parchment and, with a pang of heart, notices the seal of his house. Tearing it open, he approaches the fireplace to read its contents.

 “Dear Aemond,

I know you once assumed I wanted to be a young widow. And I also know I once joked with you and said I'd cry for a couple of days if something were to happen to you, but the truth is, nothing would be more devastating to me than knowing you have been harmed in anyway.

Please don't punish me with your absence anymore. I need you. Now more than ever. Come back to me.

Your wife.”

As he finishes reading the letter, he has a wistful smile and a feeling of apprehension inside. He's pleased to know his wife misses him, but the fact that Rhaena mentioned the possibility of something bad happening to him, and that the letter coincidentally arrived the night of the attack, sends shivers down his spine.

"Is this bad news, my prince?" Cole's voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

"No. No, it's a letter from Rhaena."

"I understand," the knight replies, and when the prince doesn't say anything else, he adds, "I will go deal with the traitors. Try to sleep, Aemond, tomorrow..."

"I want to leave for King's Landing as soon as possible."

Aemond turns to look at Ser Criston, who clearly looks relieved by his words. "I will arrange for the return journey as soon as possible, my prince."

Aemond nods, rolls up the parchment, and steps away from the fire. He's had enough of this place, its ghosts, conspiracies, and bad memories. It was better to return to the capital, organize a course of action with his allies, and nip the betrayal in the bud.

"Wait a little longer, Rhaena," he whispers, caressing the scroll, "Just a little longer, and I'll be back with you."