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

063▪️A THRONE FOR NO MAN'S MERCY

ONE WEEK LATER

The throne room of Maegor's Holdfast sweltered with spring light streaming in like golden spears through stained glass. Though the weather was fair, the air inside simmered with tension.

It was judgment day, and King Maegor Targaryen sat upon the Iron Throne, a jagged, twisted mass of swords that seemed to sneer at those who dared draw near.

So smitten was Rhaenyra by her "white knight," Ser Criston Cole, that she had tearfully begged her uncle to name him her personal protector.

Her plea had been soft and laced with affection, but it held the weight of a royal's desire. And Maegor who, like most men, had a soft spot for his niece's charm relented.

Thus Ser Criston took his place by her side, proud in his gleaming armor, her favor pinned over his heart like a promise.

Now knighted and recently installed to the Kingsguard after the death of the storied Ser Ryam Redwyne, Ser Criston quickly caught the eye of the court.

Women whispered about his Dornish grace, his brooding intensity, and the shadowed smile that seemed always on the verge of blooming. But it was Rhaenyra who had his attention, and she knew it.

On this day, Ser Criston stood with the six others of the Kingsguard beneath the high windows, silent and vigilant as Maegor dispensed justice.

The king's bandaged finger curled around the pommel of Blackfyre. It bled still, a quiet reminder of how cruel the Iron Throne could be to those unworthy of its weight. Yet Maegor looked as if he belonged there more than any man alive.

Alicent stood among the nobles near the right of the hall, her eyes drawn to the king's injury. She wondered how many times had the throne cut him? And yet he remained unbending, whole, fierce.

And yet, to Alicent, Maegor looked perfectly cast for it. Regal. Grim. Almost godlike in his resolve. The throne could wound him a thousand times, and he would still rise, iron inside and out.

Where others saw the throne's cruelty, Alicent saw its judgment. And in Maegor, she saw the one man truly worthy of bearing its bite.

Her gaze drifted reluctantly across the hall to her half-sister, Charlotte. The girl stood proudly beside Lady Gianna Strong, dressed in a navy gown embroidered with silver flowers, smiling as if the entire court were her stage and she its star.

Charlotte's laugh, too refined to be genuine, floated on the air like perfume. Alicent clenched her jaw. She hated how composed she was.

Her thoughts were broken as Maegor's crimson gaze swept across the hall and landed on her. That stare cold and crimson, as if blood had pooled permanently in his irises sliced through her like a blade. Alicent too stared back at him sharply, almost punishing.