THE SOUL'S EXCHANGE

Become his world.

As the heavy doors of Alicent’s chambers swung open, Rhaenyra followed closely behind her father. Her gaze sharpened the moment she spotted Alicent lying back on the pillows, looking both radiant and exhausted. Beside her, bundled carefully in blankets, were three newborns: two with the unmistakable Valyrian look and one with raven-dark hair. The sight ignited a simmering fire within Rhaenyra, and she struggled to keep her face placid.

Viserys approached Alicent, smiling widely as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and leaned in to kiss her forehead. “You have done well, wife,” he murmured tenderly.

Alicent resisted the urge to recoil, and she swallowed her irritation. This sudden surge of affection from Viserys was almost comical. What is wrong with this man? she thought to herself, biting back the laugh that threatened to escape. But her calm smile betrayed nothing, and she cast her gaze back down at her children.

Daemon entered quietly, lingering by the door, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he took in the sight of his newborns. He kept his head slightly turned, hiding his emotions from the room’s occupants. Daemon’s heart swelled with pride. A blessing from the gods, he thought. A true miracle. The bittersweet pang that followed, though, was hard to ignore. It was Viserys who had the privilege of holding his children first, even though they were, in truth, Daemon’s. He clenched his fists, forcing down the swell of anger that always came with such moments.

Alicent took up the firstborn, a boy with hair like freshly spun silver and eyes so violet they seemed to hold storms. He was breathtaking—strong, proud, with a Targaryen spirit that emanated from him even as a babe. She held the child out to Viserys, meeting his questioning gaze. “Aemond Targaryen,” she announced softly, her voice carrying a strange blend of pride and bitterness.

Viserys, oblivious to the layered emotions filling the room, took the boy in his arms. “A true dragon,” he murmured in admiration.

Daemon’s eyes flashed, and he struggled to keep a smirk from forming. Of course he’s a dragon, Daemon thought, because he is mine. He clenched his jaw, suppressing a sardonic laugh.

As Viserys returned Aemond to Alicent, she reached for the second child. This one was a girl, softer in her features but just as striking. Her hair was a shade lighter, almost silver-gold, and her eyes—amethyst ringed in a piercing blue—were mesmerizing, evoking images of Alyssa Targaryen, their mother. “Beautiful,” Viserys breathed as he looked at the child in awe. “What is her name?”

“Alyssane,” Alicent replied. “Named after the Good Queen Alysanne.”

For a fleeting moment, Alicent locked eyes with Daemon, a longing in her gaze that only he could understand. She wished more than anything for Daemon to hold their children first, to bask in this shared joy without the shadow of deception. But that was impossible. She masked her feelings, handing Alyssane to Viserys with a poised, almost regal composure.

Finally, Viserys returned Alyssane to Alicent’s arms, and she picked up the third and youngest. A girl again, this one with dark, raven-black hair and eyes so vividly violet they nearly glowed. The resemblance to Daemon was undeniable, but no one dared voice it aloud. Alicent held her carefully, a softness in her touch. “Visenya,” she said, looking up at Viserys, “I have named her Visenya Targaryen.”

Viserys took the infant from her hands, his face lighting up with pride. He was too wrapped up in his joy to notice the brief flash of annoyance on Rhaenyra’s face. Alicent turned toward Rhaenyra, a sly smile dancing on her lips. “Rhaenyra, I heard from Viserys that you had once wished to name your sister Visenya,” she said, her voice gentle but with a hint of mischief. “When Queen Aemma was carrying Baelon, may the gods give her peace. I thought… perhaps you would appreciate this gesture.”