THE SOUL'S EXCHANGE

Dead Dragon roars

As Viserys Targaryen neared his daughter’s chambers, his mind was clouded with unease. He swung open the doors, stepping inside, and froze. There, before him, was Rhaenyra, a goblet of moon tea in hand. The sight hit him like a blow, confirming his worst fears. Fury surged through him, cold and undeniable.

“Get out!” he roared at the Maester, his voice like thunder. The older man flinched and quickly scrambled out. “And if you breathe a word of this to anyone, heads will roll,” Viserys added, his tone a deadly promise. It was a rare moment, one where his mask of patient kingly composure slipped, leaving only a father betrayed.

As the door shut, Viserys turned his gaze back to Rhaenyra. She was staring at him with wide, fearful eyes—the kind of fear that came not from anger but from realizing she was seeing her father truly angry for the first time in her life. He took a step closer, his voice low with a mixture of anger and heartbreak. “What have you done?” His voice broke, heavy with resignation and disappointment.

Rhaenyra’s spine stiffened. She tried to keep her gaze steady as she met his eyes. “I have done nothing wrong. I am a dragon, Father. I am privy to my pleasures.”

Viserys’s hand shot out, gripping her shoulder and shaking her with an intensity that startled her. “Nothing wrong?” he seethed. “You were drinking moon tea in front of your father, Rhaenyra. Do you know what that means? It means you’ve lost your maidenhead.” His grip tightened as he continued, a dark promise in his words. “And I swear to you, the one who has taken it will lose his head.”

He released her with a frustrated push, and Rhaenyra stumbled backward, landing on the bed. She blinked back tears of shock and anger, barely able to process her father’s words.

“Have you no shame left in you?” he demanded. “Did you think, even for a moment, of the realm, of your duties, of what your mother, Aemma, would have thought if she were here?”

That struck a nerve, and Rhaenyra’s eyes blazed as something inside her snapped. She sprang to her feet, her voice filled with venom. “Don’t you dare bring my mother into this! The same mother you slaughtered like a pig for an heir, only to replace her the same year she died—with my best friend.”

Viserys’s face twisted in anger, and he spat back, “It was the demand of the realm. You know how much I loved your mother. I don’t feel a fraction of that for Alicent.”

“Bullshit,” Rhaenyra sneered. “Four children, three sons and a daughter, all in the span of four years. Don’t insult my intelligence, Father.”

He gave her an incredulous look, his face lined with weariness. “That is not love, Rhaenyra. That is duty. It was my duty to provide the realm with heirs.”

Rhaenyra’s fury was barely contained as she shot back, “I am your heir! Why should you need more?”

Viserys’s tone softened, though frustration still laced his voice. “Child, you must understand. The Lords would not have stayed silent until I had a male heir. Women do not sit comfortably upon the Iron Throne. Even my own claim was stronger than Rhaenys’, though she had every right by blood. The realm is harsh to women who seek power, yet you will always be my heir, my sweet daughter.”

“You say that,” Rhaenyra retorted bitterly, “yet Alicent continues to bear sons. It’s an insult to my mother’s memory.”

Viserys pressed a hand to his forehead, fighting the urge to shout. “This isn’t about Aemma, or me, or Alicent. This is about you, my princess. You are my heir—none can dispute that. But you are no longer a child, Rhaenyra. nearly a maid of 15, it is time we consider a husband for you, someone who might be willing to overlook… your state.”