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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋, as if winter had settled into the stones of King's Landing. Darkness enveloped the city, pierced only by the steady footsteps of Aenya. Beside her, Aerion, her sworn shield, followed silently. Their steps echoed through the corridors as they approached the council chamber. Aenya loathed that place—not for its stone walls, but for what it represented: the seat of power, shaped by men who believed they could dictate her fate.
As she entered, her silver eyes found King Jaehaerys seated at the long oak table, a place long used for political maneuvering and harsh decisions. At thirty years old, he remained a formidable figure, his silver hair braided and flowing to his waist, while his thick beard lent gravity to his features. But it was his eyes that held Aenya's gaze—deep purple, darkening with age, as if the weight of the crown was draining his vitality.
To Aenya, Jaehaerys was not a cousin but merely the king. Unlike Alysanne, who sometimes showed empathy beneath her royal demeanor, Jaehaerys was a statue—unyielding. In his presence, Aenya felt the weight of his crown, an unbreakable barrier.
Her eyes scanned the room. All council members were present, their cold stares betraying their intent. They were powerful lords, now her judges. Their presence signaled a serious meeting, not a discussion but a verdict.
Jaehaerys raised his hand, beckoning her to her place at the far end of the table—a cruel symbol of her exclusion from power. His voice resonated in the chamber:
"Good evening, Princess Aenya. Please take your seat. Today, we shall discuss your future."
Aenya curtsied gracefully, the formality ingrained in her after years of courtly training.
"Your Grace," she replied with practiced politeness, her smile sharp and measured. "It is a privilege to attend your council."
Every movement was deliberate, her hesitation hidden beneath a mask of indifference she had perfected. Her gaze met those of the men surrounding her, revealing no weakness. She took her seat, chin raised, regarding them as equals—or less.
Jaehaerys inhaled deeply, the air thick with gravity, as if the fate of the realm hinged on his words. His purple eyes fixed on Aenya with authority and expectation.
"Aenya," he began, his voice firm and resonant, echoing off the stone walls, "after long deliberation and counsel from my advisors, I have reached a decision. This matter is of great importance to both you and the kingdom."
