Protruding lights illuminated the room through a large window, the brightest sun since Queen's Mellario's untimely death.
Dressed in black, King Maegor sits at the head of the small council table, looking stronger, more alive than he did the day before.
Rhaenyra dutifully delivers a cup of wine to the king as he smiles at her. "Thank you."
The princess returns the gesture. "You're welcome Your Grace." She smiles back sheepishly, her orbs gleaming with joy, glad her uncle is coming out of his shell gradually.
Maegor shifts in his seat as all balls were now in the dish to discuss politics and state matters.
Ser Otto takes his seat with a grim look about him. "Before we begin, Your Grace, I have a report I feel compelled to share." He paused.
"I'm listening." Maegor rested his hands on the table, red orbs staring at Otto.
"I hope this report won't make you distraught Your Grace..."
"For fuck sakes Otto. Gossip on." Maegor insisted as Rheanyra tenders to the other members of the small council, filling their cups.
"Last night, Prince Daemon bought out one of the pleasure houses on the Street of Silk."
Rheanyra stood straighter, curious to hear what her uncle did, her purple eyes rimmed like glass.
"For what purpose?" Maegor questioned, leaning forward on the table.
"To entertain officers of the City Watch and other friends of his, to celebrate.." Otto narrates and there was a pregnant pause.
Maegor sipped his wine and swallowed gently, composing himself, looking over at the Hand. "So what were they celebrating?" He demanded.
Otto paused.
Maegor inclines. "Carry on Otto. What did Daemon do?" He urged with a half smile, mixed with frustration.
The Hand skeptically looks in-between the King and the princess. "Prince Daemon toasted to Her Grace, especially.... Prince Baelon.....styling him, "The Heir for a Day." Otto's words cracked a whip.
Maegor's face pinched at his brother's declaration. "What?"
"Merciful Seven." Lord Lyman Beesbury sighs and takes a drink of wine.
"This is an insult to the crown Your Grace. Sedition." Maester Mellos backs the Hand.
Lord Strong sighs, bereaved.
"I corroborated this report with three separate witnesses. The evening was, by every account, a celebration of his reinstallment as the heir apparent, Your Grace."
Rhaenyra is crestfallen to hear this. She can't believe it.
Maegor balled his fist, his eyes narrowed bitterly with rage. Here he was trying to defend his brother, but he goes to merry with whores and commoners mocking his late sister in-law and his nephew. Who does that?
The room holds its breath. Lord Lyonel Strong, Lord Corlys, and the King's Hand look to him for a reaction. But Grand Maester Mellos and Lyman Beesbury cannot bear to make eye contact with him.
Maegor turned to stone, his breath shakes, causing his blood to run hot like lava. He simply stares ahead, looking at no one. A small eternity passes him like brimstone.
Suddenly Rhaenyra is also startled by an outburst of violence. Her uncle swats the flagon of wine sitting in front of him, sending it to shatter on the floor of the council chamber.
"Ser Ryam."
"Your Grace." the commander stood at attention.
Maegor stood up as did his small council follow this. "Send word to my brother. Tell him to meet me in the throne room." he pushed out his chair, rounded the table and storms out the chamber seething in anger and betrayal.
YOU ARE READING
To Love A King || Maegor Targaryen || ON HOLD
Fantasy"Monster, Tyrant, Cruel and Ruthless, they whisper behind my back, but when I say 'I love you', it's not because I want you or because I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I've seen your kind...
