"Beast. Tyrant. Merciless. They whisper these names behind my back. But when I say, I love you, it is not out of desire, nor out of denial. It is not for my sake at all. I love you for what you are, for what you do, for how you fight. I have witness...
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After the small council meeting, Rhaenyra walked briskly through the passageway, her protector, Ser Harrold Westerling, following closely behind. The hidden corridor led directly to a secret entrance near the antechamber outside the throne room.
The massive double doors to the throne room stood closed, flanked by two members of the Targaryen household guard, each stationed on either side.
"He passed through the gates at first light," Ser Harrold muttered, his tone tight with displeasure. It was clear that the arrival of Prince Daemon irritated him, and he halted with the princess before the great doors.
"Does the King know he's here?" Rhaenyra asked, tilting her head slightly.
"No." Ser Harrold's jaw tightened, his distaste for the rogue prince evident.
Yet, his answer brought Rhaenyra a mischievous smile. "Good. Let's not tell him."
Ser Harrold scowled. He was not one for secrecy, much less deception, but he was sworn to obey the princess. With a reluctant sigh, he pushed open the heavy doors and held them as she stepped inside.
The throne room remained as grand and imposing as ever, though now it bore the distinct mark of Maegor's reign. Crimson banners bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen hung from the towering ceiling.
Around the chamber stood five larger-than-life statues, monuments to the kings who came before. Aegon the Conqueror, his sons Aenys and Maegor the Cruel, their successor Jaehaerys the Old King, and Viserys the Conciliator.
The Iron Throne loomed at the room’s center, an unforgiving seat of power forged from the swords of Aegon's vanquished foes, tempered in dragonfire. Rhaenyra’s gaze lingered on it, her father’s seat, the heart of the realm’s rule.
And sprawled across it, as though it were nothing more than a common chair, was Prince Daemon Targaryen.
The rogue prince lounged on the Iron Throne with utter disregard, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, his posture one of pure insolence. He was thirty now, his sharp features and striking presence undeniable, though even in his infamous handsomeness, he did not match Maegor.
His absence from court had been long, but now he had returned, bathed and changed from his City Watch armor. Ser Harrold stiffened beside Rhaenyra, his face pale with shock. To sit upon the Iron Throne unbidden was an act of bold defiance, one that, in the wrong eyes, could be seen as treason.
"Gods be good," Ser Harrold muttered, appalled as he stared at Prince Daemon.
"It's all right, Ser," Rhaenyra reassured him, her tone calm but firm. Reluctantly, her protector withdrew, stepping out of the throne room and shutting the door behind him.
Rhaenyra descended the steps swiftly, striding purposefully into the vast chamber. Her gaze flickered briefly toward the statue of her father before she pressed forward, her attention fixed on the Iron Throne.
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