Chapter Text
The door slammed behind the guards, the screams of the girl they dragged away still echoing through the cramped stone room long after her heels stopped scraping the floor. They could all hear her cursing the name of the king, a final desperate rebellion.
Mia stood rigid beside her straw pallet, hands clasped as meekly as any lowborn laundress. Her face wore the same mask of wide‑eyed shock the other serving girls clung to… but her heart was a burning pit.
As soon as the footsteps faded, the tension broke, and the whispering began.
“Did you hear? She tried to slip something into the king’s supper, Seven save her.”
“Near killed the poor taster instead!”
“Must’ve been one of them Faith Militant!”
“Or worse… maybe she hated the king enough to try it for free.”
The giggles, the gasps, the exaggerated shudders fluttered through the room like startled birds. Mia murmured something appropriate: shock, sympathy, anything to stay invisible. The girls believed it. They always did.
She had made sure of that.
But inside?
Inside Melony Piper was seething.
Too slow, she cursed herself. Too godsdamned slow.
She’d spent weeks studying guard rotations, the kitchens, Maegor’s Holdfast itself: learning the habits of the king, the weaknesses in his armor, the tastes of his temper. But every plan she crafted frayed at the edges. Every opportunity dissolved before she could seize it. The problem wasn’t even that she might die, Melony had accepted long ago that might happen. The problem was that she wasn’t certain it would work.
And now another girl, some poor, desperate creature clinging to a lost cause, had tried to do what Melony had sworn to do.
And failed.
The other servants whispered blessings for the taster. Melony only felt nausea.
A failure like that didn’t make Maegor cautious. It made him crueler. It made him watch. It made him kill. Worse, it made him paranoid. Now he’ll be expecting something, she thought bitterly. Another plot. Another knife.
He would be right.
Melony moved to her pallet, pretending to smooth the blankets. Her fingers trembled, not with fear, but with frustration. A few moons in the Red Keep had earned her nothing but rumors, sweat, bruised hands, and a growing sense of futility.
She had not expected it to be easy.
But gods… she hadn’t expected it to feel impossible.
Stabbing him?
She’d never get close. His Kingsguard were always near; Ser Harrold and the others, grim as ravens. He was tall and always armored; that made it even harder.
Poison?
Tyanna had made Maegor fear everything in his cup and dish; his tasters were replaced frequently, his food tested daily. And now, after tonight… it would be harder than ever.
Fire?
Laughable. Balerion’s rider feared no flame but his own.
Melony breathed through her nose, steadying herself. No. No giving up. Not now. Not ever.
Because she hadn’t come here for heroics.
She had come here for vengeance.
For her brothers: cut down like dogs for daring to stand up against the king.
For the Harroways: deceived, betrayed, butchered.
And most of all…
For Rhaena.
For the girl she had loved more fiercely than life.
For the princess whose heart had beat against hers as they whispered futures stolen by fire and steel.
Melony’s throat tightened.
She folded her hands, bowed her head, and let the mask of meek little Mia settle over her features once more.
No. She wouldn’t give up.
She wouldn’t falter.
If someone else’s failure made things harder, then she would simply have to be smarter, quieter, deadlier.
Maegor the Cruel still breathed.
And until he didn’t…
Mia would live.
Melony Piper would wait.
The air in the quarters was heavy with tension and candle smoke, whispers still buzzing around the edges of the latest arrest. But it was the girl, the youngest of them all, who spoke next, her voice tight with fear.
“What if they try to poison Princess Alysanne next?”
Melony turned her head. The girl’s name was Taliya, if Melony remembered correctly. Thin, dark-haired, eyes too wide and too honest. She wrung her hands as she spoke, her eyes darting between the others, seeking reassurance.
“I mean… the Faith Militant hates the Targaryens, right? What if- what if they try something? She’s not safe!”
Several of the other girls scoffed or waved the concern away.
“Don’t be foolish.”
“She’s just a girl. A child.”
“No one’s trying to hurt her. Everyone likes the princess.”
“Everyone except her uncle, maybe.”
“Poor thing: lost her siblings, her dragon, her whole family. Her mother married him, and now she’s going to Dragonstone?”
Melony said nothing at first. She watched the girl, Taliya, carefully. Her cheeks were red with frustration, her eyes glassy with emotion.
Too open, Melony thought. Too raw. That kind of devotion gets people killed… or turned into martyrs. It could also be useful.
Melony stepped forward, voice mild, deferential, with just enough curiosity to seem harmless.
“I’m Mia,” she said, offering a small nod. “New to the castle. I don’t know much about the princess… but she must be something, for you to worry so much.”
Taliya looked surprised, then softened, grateful to be taken seriously.
“She is. She’s- she’s the kindest person I’ve ever known. She remembers our names. Asks after our families. When my parents wanted to sell me, she gave me refuge here without me even asking.”
Taliya’s voice lifted slightly, her fear momentarily forgotten.
“She’s clever too, loves books, knows everything about the history of the dragons and the gods. And she’s brave. You should’ve seen her after that brute of a squire beat her… she didn’t break. She’s a survivor.”
The other girls rolled their eyes or muttered that the princess was still a Targaryen, but Melony kept nodding, her expression warm. Inside, though, her thoughts were sharpening.
Kind. Brave. Smart. Loved.
She wondered, not for the first time, how much Alysanne resembled her sister. Rhaena had burned like a wildfire: defiant, furious, passionate. But this one… this one sounded like stone warmed by sun. Patient. Still dangerous. Still a dragon. But slower to wrath.
Melony caught Taliya’s last words:
“Maegor’s taking her to Dragonstone soon. I heard it from the Hand himself. Said it’s to ‘train her with her dragon.’ But what if he hurts her again out there? Away from the court. Away from everyone.”
Melony’s pulse quickened. Another reminder. Dragonstone. Soon. It wasn’t just talk anymore. He was moving. And when Maegor moved, he would be out of Melony’s reach. Time was narrowing like a hallway, and Melony knew one thing beyond doubt: if she didn’t act before the king left the Red Keep, she might lose her only chance.
She looked again at Taliya.
So soft. So lowborn. So stupid. So loyal.
Or perhaps, Melony mused, not stupid at all. Perhaps perfect.
“Do you serve the princess directly?” she asked lightly, as if merely making conversation.
Taliya nodded. “Most days. I help her with her dresses. Her books.”
Melony smiled faintly. Her next words were simple, pleasant.
“Tell me more.”
Taliya did, and Melony listened.