TO LOVE A KING || Maegor II Targaryen [SLOW UPDATES]

07▪️ LADY OF THE REALM

Queen Mellario Martell, the First Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and wife to King Maegor II Targaryen, was in the twilight of her late years: twenty and eight.

For ten long years, she had failed to produce a living heir, yet now, against all odds, the gods had seen fit to bless her womb once more.

This child was conceived after desperate efforts, herbal remedies, saltwater baths, raw eggs at dawn, and the unyielding devotion of her royal husband.

Whispers echoed through the Red Keep, cruel and relentless. They called her barren. Cursed. Though she had endured miscarriages, stillbirths, and children who did not live to see their first moon, Mellario would not accept such a fate. The absence of a child haunted her, an ache deeper than any wound.

Over a moon ago, King Maegor had silenced his wife's detractors with a swing of his sword. Three servants and two nobles lost their heads for daring to gossip about the Queen's infertility.

Their severed remains were displayed on the ramparts as a warning. Mellario had pleaded for mercy, but the King's justice was swift and unforgiving.

Yet even with her husband's unwavering support, she would not rest until she bore him an heir. Daemon Targaryen had been named as Maegor's successor, but Mellario found the notion unacceptable. She would give the King a son, her son, the true heir to the Iron Throne.

Now, heavy with child at seven moons, the Queen reclined in her chambers, breath shallow, her swollen form making even the smallest movement a laborious task. Her black hair, thick as midnight, clung to her damp forehead as a handmaiden fanned her fevered skin.

The room was alive with quiet industry maids bustling about, a Septa lighting candles, and a Maester scratching notes at his desk.

In the doorway, Princess Rhaenyra lingered, hesitant, her best friend Charlotte at her side.

Mellario's sharp gaze found her niece at once. "Ah, Rhaenyra. I sent Jeyn to fetch you for breakfast, yet your chambers were empty. Where have you been?"

Rhaenyra shot a look at Charlotte, silently begging for aid.

"I can't help you," Charlotte whispered with a smirk.

Suppressing an eye roll, Rhaenyra straightened her posture and stepped forward, her movements measured with the practiced grace of a princess.

"You know I dislike it when you go flying while I am in this condition," Mellario chided. "I need you by my side, sweetling."

"You dislike me flying in any condition," Rhaenyra countered, arching a brow.

"You are just like your uncle."

A grin tugged at Rhaenyra's lips as she bent to press a dutiful kiss to her aunt's forehead.

Charlotte curtsied. "Your Grace."