Daenora, though a Velaryon in name, was born from seeds so tainted that even the blood of the dragon could not fully cleanse them.
As the issue of the affair of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Criston Cole she is the heir of a twisted legacy - of everything...
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CHAPTER 19 - GAMES IN THE DARKNESS -
127 AC
Daenora would envy Daeron for his nearing departure, if only his destination was not a pit greener than the capital.
The Red Keep may have been the heart of Westeros, enforcing some kind of order over the Seven Kingdoms, yet some valves were rotten with lies and ambition, allowing schemes into its very midst that could paralyze the entire realm.
Such intrigues and their masters emerged from every dark corner of the realm. An absurd amount, however, seemed to originate from Old Town.
Plotting seemed to be second nature to the Hightowers. They asserted to light the way with their beacon, and still one would be led astray if they believed a single word leaving their perfidious lips.
Mayhap Old Town bred such a treacherous disease in the citadel. No doubt, someone like Otto Hightower would slowly carry it all the way up to the crown, spitting poison into the king's ears. Why would they refrain from targeting less important figures as well?
Even a contagious guinea pig with ties to the throne would suffice, as they could wither away the defences Aegon the Conqueror had forged with fire and blood from within.
Hopefully, the youngest of Alicent Hightower's children would not get infected by this festering greed, being exposed to it like a convict on the block to the executioner's blade.
It would be the kind boy's death sentence.
"Daeron, how did you go down so quickly?" Aegon asked, taking a generous swig from his goblet. He shifted to lean more comfortably against the tree trunk behind him, careful not to disturb his wife reclining in his lap.
Daenora lifted her eyes from her embroidery to the board dividing her two younger uncles like a battlefield strewn with frustration and victory. The sun shining directly upon the gardens tickled her skin.
"Because his strategy is sacrificing pawns like lambs," she observed, jerking her head in the direction of Aemond piling up Daeron's ivory chess pieces at his side, "Why don't you hold a proper offering ceremony? Perhaps the gods will grant you victory then."
Aegon's chest heaved with giggles, pressing against her back. His free arm coiled around her waist, thumb stroking her side. Sometimes, his life was too generous. It had solely taken a week of patience and him fulfilling his duty for his wife to settle in his grasp, right where he needed her to be. "He'd have to sacrifice his entire camp for the gods to hear him over their laughter."
Despite moulding into his embrace, Daenora turned her face away. The wine on her husband's breath made her stomach churn. Revulsion flickering in the depths of her pupils, she eyed his cup. "If you vomit on my sheets tonight, I will personally drag you to the kennels."
