The Hidden Heir (ignore the cover)

The Final Breath

  Chapter One: The Final Breath 

The small chamber was dimly lit, the flickering candles casting long shadows against the cold stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense, meant to mask the odor of sickness that clung to the room. In a corner, a lone figure lay motionless on a narrow bed, her breath shallow and labored, a far cry from the vitality she once possessed. She was a woman of humble origins, her life unremarkable to all but the one secret she carried—Lyanna Targaryen, her newborn daughter, who now slept soundly in a wicker cradle by her side.

Alayne had never imagined she would be at the heart of such a dangerous secret. Her life had been simple, rooted in the rolling hills of the Riverlands, far from the intrigues of the court. But fate had drawn her into the orbit of Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince of the Targaryen dynasty—a man as infamous as he was captivating. Their meeting had been chance, a fleeting encounter during one of Daemon's many travels, but the connection between them had been instant and undeniable.

Daemon had seen something in Alayne that he had never found in the highborn ladies of King's Landing—an authenticity, a warmth that melted the ice around his heart. He was a man of contradictions: fierce in battle, yet tender in love; loyal to his blood, yet disdainful of the politics that bound him. His marriage to Rhea Royce had been a cold and loveless arrangement, a union born of duty rather than affection. But with Alayne, he had discovered something real, something that made him want to defy the world's expectations.

Their love had been a passionate affair, one that defied the rigid social boundaries of Westeros. Alayne had known that it was dangerous to love a man like Daemon—a man whose every move was watched by enemies and allies alike—but she had been unable to resist the pull of his charm, the intensity of his devotion. And when she had found herself with child, she had been both elated and terrified. She knew that their daughter would be born into a world that could not know the truth of her parentage.The birth had been difficult, more so than anyone had anticipated. Alayne's body had not been strong enough to withstand the ordeal, and as she lay on her deathbed, she knew she had little time left. Daemon had been forced to return to the Red Keep, summoned by the ever-pressing demands of his position, but he had left her with a promise—a vow to protect their child at all costs.

The door creaked open, and Alayne turned her head with the last of her strength. A figure entered the room, shrouded in the black robes of a maester. He approached her with quiet steps, his face a mask of sorrow. He had seen death many times before, but the sadness in this room was palpable, a tangible weight that pressed down on them both.

"Alayne," the maester said softly, his voice gentle but firm. "You have but a few moments left. Is there anything you wish to say? Any message you wish to leave for Daemon?"Alayne's eyes fluttered open, her vision blurred by pain and the approach of death. Her voice was weak, barely more than a whisper. "Tell him... tell him to keep her safe. She must... she must live. No one can know the truth."The maester nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of her words. He knew of the precarious position this child would hold in the world—a child of Targaryen blood, yet born of a woman with no noble ties, no grand lineage to shield her. Her survival would depend entirely on the secrets they could keep, and the lies they would have to tell.Alayne's breath became more labored, each exhalation a struggle. The maester reached out, placing a comforting hand on her brow. "She will be safe, Alayne. I will see to it."A tear slid down Alayne's cheek, her body shuddering with the effort of her final breaths. "Daemon... tell him I loved him... and our child. Always."With those last words, Alayne's eyes closed for the final time. Her body stilled, the life leaving her in a quiet, sorrowful surrender. The maester bowed his head, whispering a prayer to the gods for the departed soul.The room fell silent, the only sound the gentle breathing of the infant Lyanna, unaware of the world she had been born into, or the burdens she would one day bear.---Far from the modest chamber where Alayne lay, Daemon Targaryen paced restlessly in the Red Keep, his thoughts a storm of worry and regret. He had never wanted to leave her side, not when she was so close to giving birth, but the demands of his position had forced his hand. His brother, King Viserys, had summoned him back to King's Landing, and Daemon could not afford to defy him—not when the delicate balance of power within the Targaryen family was at stake.Daemon was a man who thrived in the chaos of battle, who found joy in the thrill of danger, but nothing had prepared him for the vulnerability he felt now. He had fought in wars, slain enemies on the battlefield, but the fear that gripped him now was unlike anything he had ever known. The thought of losing Alayne, of their child growing up without a mother, was a wound deeper than any sword could inflict.He had always been a man of action, a warrior first and foremost, but here in the Red Keep, he was powerless. All he could do was wait for word from the maester he had entrusted with Alayne's care, praying to the gods he scarcely believed in that they would spare her life.But the gods were cruel, and their answer came not in the form of salvation, but in the cold, emotionless words of a raven's message. The missive arrived late in the evening, brought to him by a steward who could not meet his gaze. Daemon took the parchment with trembling hands, his heart pounding in his chest as he read the words that confirmed his worst fears.Alayne was gone.

The pain that tore through him was as fierce as dragonfire, a raw and searing agony that left him gasping for breath. He had known loss before—friends, comrades, even family—but this was different. This was the woman he had loved, the mother of his child, taken from him far too soon. He had not been there to hold her hand, to whisper words of comfort in her final moments. He had failed her, and the guilt of that failure would haunt him for the rest of his days.

But Daemon was not a man who wallowed in grief. His sorrow quickly turned to resolve, a burning determination to fulfill the promise he had made to Alayne. Their daughter, Lyanna, would be protected, no matter the cost. She would be raised as a Targaryen, with all the rights and privileges that name bestowed, even if it meant weaving a web of lies that could never be unraveled.He would claim her as the daughter of Rhea Royce, his late wife, and no one would dare question it. Rhea had died without bearing him a child, and her family had long since withdrawn from court, their influence diminished. It was a plausible lie, one that would ensure Lyanna's safety within the treacherous halls of the Red Keep. And as for her true lineage, it would be a secret known only to a select few—a secret that would die with him if necessary.Daemon's thoughts turned to the future, to the life Lyanna would lead. She would grow up amidst the grandeur of the Targaryen dynasty, surrounded by dragons and the trappings of power. But she would also be isolated, kept at a distance from those who might uncover the truth. It was a lonely existence, one that Daemon knew all too well, but it was the only way to keep her safe.

As he stared out at the darkening sky, the weight of his decisions pressing down on him, Daemon made a silent vow. He would ensure that Lyanna would never want for anything. She would have the best tutors, the finest clothes, and all the love he could give her. But most of all, he would ensure that she would never be a pawn in the deadly game of thrones.

She would be free to choose her own path, to forge her own destiny, just as he had done. And when the time came, he would tell her the truth—about her mother, about who she really was. But that time was not now. For now, she was safe, and that was all that mattered.Daemon's grief remained, a shadow that would follow him for the rest of his days, but it was tempered by the fierce love he felt for his daughter. Lyanna was his legacy, the last gift Alayne had given him, and he would do everything in his power to protect her.The storm had passed, leaving behind a man more determined than ever to defy the odds, to protect what was his, and to shape the future of the realm in ways that no one could foresee.And in the cradle where she slept, Lyanna Targaryen, the hidden heir, began her journey into a world that would one day tremble at the sound of her name.