𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 - 𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔

3

"What madness has taken you, brother?" Daemon Targaryen's voice cut through the stillness of the king's private chambers like a blade. He strode into the room, cloak trailing behind him, his eyes alight with indignation. "Sending Daenaera to wed some foreign prince you've never even met? You are not her only kin, Viserys."

"I did it to protect her," the king replied calmly, though he did not meet Daemon's eyes at once. Only after setting down his goblet did he turn. "I know his father. He is a noble man—King of the North."

"A Stark?" Daemon's brow furrowed in confusion.

Viserys shook his head and poured himself more wine. "No. Lothbroks. Vikings, Daemon. They rule from across the narrow seas and the ice-fanged winds. Fierce, proud, high-standing. An alliance with them may serve us well."

Daemon scoffed, but said nothing more. His silence, as always, spoke volumes.

⸻

Later that same afternoon, Princess Daenaera sat with her cousin Rhaenyra in one of the Red Keep's solar chambers. The two girls had been inseparable since they could walk, bound by blood, mischief, and shared secrets.

"You'll be leaving soon, won't you?" Rhaenyra asked quietly, her gaze lingering on Daenaera's face. "To wed the prince in the North."

Daenaera nodded, though her grin betrayed a touch of nervousness. "Aye. Do you think he'll love me?"

Rhaenyra reached over and tucked a strand of silver hair behind her cousin's ear. "Of course he will, sister. Just look at you. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

Though the realm had dubbed Rhaenyra The Realm's Delight, she never once begrudged Daenaera her beauty. In truth, she thought her cousin even more striking—those vivid green eyes and the boldness behind them.

"Thank you, Nyra," Daenaera said softly. Then her eyes lit with a different kind of excitement. "What should I wear for my eighteenth name day?"

"I'm sure Father will commission something splendid if nothing here pleases you," Rhaenyra mused aloud, moving to the wardrobe. She held up a gown of deep plum and black velvet. "What about this one?"

"Isn't it too dark?" Daenaera tilted her head. She could never decide on colors when it came to her name day—too much pressure, too many eyes.

"Nyra," she said suddenly, an idea sparking in her mind.

"Yes?"

"Want to go for a ride?"

A smile tugged at Rhaenyra's lips. "Yes, but let's check on my mother first."

"Of course. I've missed Aunt Aemma."

The girls made their way to Queen Aemma's solar. The queen, heavy with child, reclined against silk cushions, her face pale, her smile gentle but weary.

"Mother," Rhaenyra greeted, embracing her.

"My sweet girl. How have you been?" the queen asked, brushing a hand down her daughter's hair.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Rhaenyra quipped. Aemma chuckled.

"I'm fine, Nyra. And you, Daenaera? How are you, sweetling?"

"Better now, Auntie. Are you all right? You look paler than usual," Daenaera said with concern as she stepped closer. She was always more attentive with Aemma—the woman reminded her painfully of the mother she'd never known.

"This one's been a bit harder than I expected, but I'll manage," Aemma replied with a faint smile.

Rhaenyra leaned down to kiss her mother's cheek. "We're off for a ride. Look after yourself, sodjisto," she said warmly.

"You know I don't like it when you two go flying while I'm like this," the queen said, her voice laced with maternal worry.

"You don't like it when we go riding no matter your condition," Rhaenyra teased, rolling her eyes.

With that, the cousins turned and made their way to the Dragonpit, laughter echoing behind them as the queen watched them go with a mother's fondness—and fear.