✦ New Faith ✦ Aegon Targaryen

○ twenty eight ○

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My body tensed, a cold wave of worry washing over me with every passing second. Each subtle movement around me—a whisper, a gust of wind, a shadow down the hall—made me tremble. My father’s letter had shaken me, its words lingering like a threat just behind my eyes. What could this mean? Who would actually seek to take the throne? Could Queen Alicent truly be plotting to place Aegon on it? It sounded impossible, absurd even, knowing Aegon’s disdain for responsibility, his open defiance of duty. Being a prince already seemed a burden for him; ruling an entire kingdom would surely break him.

I forced myself to walk briskly through the Red Keep’s winding corridors, trying to seem composed, though my every step felt heavier with dread. My shoulders hunched each time a lord or lady passed by, as though somehow they could see the letter I’d hidden in my cuff, as if the secrets it held could burn right through my skin. My only goal was to reach the safety of my chambers, where I could cast it into the hearth and erase any trace of its treasonous words.

Just as I turned a corner, my head bowed, I collided with someone, nearly losing my balance. I looked up, my heart catching in my throat as I met the cold, sharp gaze of Prince Aemond.

His face twisted into a smirk, a mixture of disdain and dark amusement. "You’re expected for dinner tonight in the Great Hall. Can you manage that?" he sneered, his voice as sharp as a blade.

His gaze bore into me, and a shiver crawled up my spine. Did he suspect something? Could he see through me, or worse, did he know about the letter?

I barely managed to speak. “Y-yes, my prince.”

His single eye narrowed with an unsettling glint. “Call me Aemond,” he corrected, his tone carrying an edge that left no room for warmth. “We’re family now, after all, aren’t we, good sister?”

"Yes…Aemond." The words felt foreign and heavy on my tongue, as though calling him by name would somehow draw me closer to his suspicion. His stare lingered, piercing and unforgiving, as though silently judging my very presence here, questioning the worth of my House in the Targaryen lineage.

Without waiting for his dismissal, I hurried past him, my pulse quickening as I put distance between us. Only when I reached my chambers did I let out the breath I’d been holding. The air felt thick, as though the room itself sensed the weight of my fear. I approached the hearth, pulling out the letter with trembling hands, watching the flame flicker hungrily.

For a moment, I hesitated. The words of my father’s warning seemed to whisper in my ear, cautioning, reminding, lingering. Then, with a final, resolute breath, I held the letter over the flames, watching it curl and blacken until nothing but ash remained. I could only hope I was burning away more than just ink and paper—perhaps the worry, the doubt, would fade too.

That evening, I dressed in muted silks and made my way to the Great Hall. The vast room was bright and noisy, lit with the glow of countless torches and buzzing with the murmurs of court. My heart thumped painfully as I took my seat beside Aegon, who was already slouched over his cup of wine, clearly in no mood for formalities. Queen Alicent sat with her usual steely poise, her gaze sharp and watchful, while Otto Hightower looked on with the cunning glint of a man accustomed to bending wills to his advantage.

At the head of the table sat King Viserys, his once-strong frame now frail and weary. His skin was pale, and his gaze distant, but a faint spark of warmth flickered when he looked around at his family. Helaena sat nearby, lost in her own thoughts, whispering cryptic phrases under her breath. Beside her, Aemond’s cold gaze swept over me, and I shifted uncomfortably.

As the meal began, Viserys raised his goblet, though his hand trembled slightly. "A toast to family," he murmured, his voice raspy. His gaze lingered on Rhaenyra’s empty seat, a sadness shadowing his features, but he quickly turned his attention back to us, the remnants of his smile fragile.

Aegon, already tipsy, leaned closer to me, his breath warm and tinged with wine. "They’re all playing a game, you know," he muttered with a lazy smirk. "Every one of them, vying for something or other. Do you think they care about loyalty?"

I didn’t reply, my thoughts too tangled and my worry too fresh. All I could do was cast a glance toward Alicent, whose gaze had sharpened, as though she’d heard him.