Blood Upon The Snow ||| Cregan Stark

forty-three

Jacaera wondered if this had been how Rhaenyra felt. Very terrified, ready to jump out of her own skin. But ready. She knew that the seat belonged to her.

It was daunting from the bottom. But it would only get better if she climbed. So Jacaera did.

She focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Not anything happening behind her. Not more screams from Aegon as Cregan gelded him in front of the entire hall.

Everyone knew what kind of man he was. The kind that groped and raped as he saw fit. There were vindicated servant girls, girls who never got their justice.

That was why Cregan did it. For everything he'd done to those poor girls, to his wife. What he planned to do to her. He didn't deserve to keep a cock that had enjoyed those crimes.

Jacaera didn't even turn them. Not as people gave offended gasps, almost called Jacaera cruel. Alicent was held back by guards and couldn't bear to look at her son.

She focused on none of it. Simply ascending her throne. Step by step. The weight on her head becoming easier to bear.

Until Jacaera arrived at the top of the throne. The neglected seat only men had sat permanently. Jacaera would be the first fully recognized Queen, long-sitting. She swore it.

With grace, Jacaera turned back to the throne hall, a different view of things. She was higher than everyone else. Looking down upon them. Her subjects.

And despite the bloody show, they were looking up at her. The last Targaryen with a dragon that could fly and fight. The daughter of the woman they wronged.

She sat. Confidently. Jacaera sat like she'd sat that throne a thousand times before, like she owned the seat. The girl rested her arms upon the sides of the throne and held her head high.

It was hers.

Cregan walked to the back of Aegon's wooden chair.

"Is this your King?" He asked, grabbing the top of it. "A craven, stupid boy who enjoys little girls? Mangled, unable to sit the throne he claims to own?"

No one replied to him. But it wasn't an open-ended question.

"No," Cregan said. He pushed the chair, shoving it forward and sending Aegon sprawling to the ground at the base of the throne. He cried out, his broken hand and bloody groin the cause. Aegon made no attempt to stand. "He is nothing but a pretender."

"This is a ruler. This is your Queen." Cregan tossed the chair to the side, cushion and all, and got up onto the bottom step of the throne. "Queen Jacaera of House Targaryen, First of her name. Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

Hearing her name like that, like she'd heard Rhaenyra's and Viserys', was surreal. It made it all the more true for her. She let it settle, let the room, and herself, digest it.

Somewhat suffocating. But Jacaera had never felt more right.

One breath. She grabbed at the end of the armrests of the throne.

"Come now and swear fealty to her. Right your wrongs. And swear yourself to the service of the rightful Queen."

There would be those who refused to bend to Jacaera. And those who were desperate to save their own skin and willing to do anything.