THE HOUSE OF DRAGON: THE FIRST AGE OF TARGARYEN

CHAPTER 12

In the dimly lit chamber, Prince Erreyk lay entangled with a whore, their bodies moving rhythmically.

"Ohhh, my prince, that's grown big... Ahh ughhh," the woman moaned, lost in their passion.

Erreyk smirked, replying with a grunt, "Yes it's squeezes insides you, is this what you want huh? Uhmmm urgh..." Their movements intensified, "Ahhh sure does you know how to fuck like a me—uhhh" and then until—

Suddenly, the door burst open, slamming against the wall with a thunderous crack. Standing in the doorway was Queen Rhaevenya, her presence freezing the room.

"Get dressed," she ordered sharply.

Erreyk, stunned, scrambled for a cloth, hastily covering himself. "What brings you here!" he shouted, a mix of shock and anger flooding his voice.

Rhaevenya's voice trembled with rage as she stepped forward. "What brings me here is your stupidity! I know what you did—how you lied about Aēlena and everything else!"

Erreyk scoffed, eyes narrowing. "So what? She deserved it. There's no place for a bastard here."

The sound of Rhaevenya's slap echoed throughout the chamber as her hand struck his face, hard. She stared him down, fury blazing in her eyes. "I will not have you sit on that throne in the name of our family unless you fix this mess. You will not disgrace us further!"

Erreyk rubbed his reddened cheek, a smirk curling his lips. "You seem afraid, Rhaevenya," he said, his tone mocking. "You're the one who wants me on that throne. So deal with it."

Without another word, Erreyk turned and stormed out of the chamber, leaving Rhaevenya standing there, seething in silence.

"One, two, three, go!" a commanding voice echoed through the training grounds, urging Prince Aenar to run down the field, preparing for his sword training.

"Grab the sword, grab the sword!" the voice shouted again. Aenar, still young but eager, reached for the wooden practice sword and swung it at his trainer, Ser Alan. Ser Alan deftly parried the strike, and their sparring began in earnest.

Above them, standing on a raised platform, the king observed the session while speaking with Lord Samuel. "I've seen potential in that child," Lord Samuel remarked, watching Aenar's movements carefully. "Wielding a sword at such a young age with such precision."

The king nodded but his expression grew more serious. "How was it?" he asked quietly, shifting the conversation away from the training.

The air grew tense as Samuel responded, "It has just arrived. Maester Salasar is already at work on it." Their words seemed cryptic, yet full of gravity.

From below, Alhar silently watched the exchange, his eyes f licking between the king and Lord Samuel.

Suddenly, Ser Alan turned his attention to Alhar, tossing a wooden sword in his direction. "Come, show me some of your skills, my prince. Your brother has already proven himself—says he can, says he would. Now, let's see what you can do."

Alhar, unenthusiastic and clearly uninterested, caught the sword but didn't take up a stance. He met Ser Alan's eyes and calmly replied, "Sir Alan, I do not bear the sword as my weapon of choice. Yet, when the hour of reckoning draws nigh and the shadow of war looms over our land, each of us shall find our rightful place astride the back of the dragon. For now, let us restrain ourselves, that the fires of destruction may not prematurely consume the realm"

Without another word, Alhar turned and walked away, leaving Ser Alan and the training grounds behind him, as the tension between the king and Lord Samuel lingered in the air above