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Chapter 63

Chapter 63: The Queen's Pregnancy

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Rhaella POV

It was afternoon as I sat on an armchair, gazing out at the sea from the window of my chambers in the Red Keep.

The sun sat high in the sky, its golden light shimmering over the waves.

From where I sat, the sea seemed endless — a vast, unbroken expanse where the deep blue of the water bled into the pale sky at the horizon.

A soft breeze stirred the gauzy curtains, bringing with it the faint scent of salt and brine.

But it was not the sea that held my gaze — it was the doves. A small flock of them soared through the air, white feathers bright against the blue backdrop.

Their wings caught the sunlight as they glided with effortless grace, drifting higher and higher until they were little more than pale shadows.

Their feathers combined with the sunlight were the same shade as my hair, pale silver-gold, the mark of Valyria's blood.

How I envied them. Free to drift on the wind, unburdened by duty or expectation.

A queen is supposed to stand above such things — a mother of the realm, strong and steadfast — yet I felt more like a prisoner in a gilded cage.

My hand drifted toward my stomach, and I sighed.

For days now, a nausea had lingered, a dull queasiness that crept over me in the mornings and left me listless in the afternoons.

I had suspected the truth, but this morning the maester had confirmed it.

I was pregnant.

I should have felt joy. I was a queen, a Targaryen — it was my duty to provide heirs for the realm.

But instead, all I felt was fear. Cold, paralyzing fear.

I curled my fingers into the soft fabric of my white dress as the memories crowded in — the cold silence of the birthing chamber, the maesters' grim faces, the lifeless bodies wrapped in silk.

Shaena. Daeron. Daemon. Aegon. Jaehaerys. Five babes in the past seventeen years, gone before their lives had even begun.

Some had come too early, too small and fragile to cling to life. Others had lived only for moments, their breaths shallow and weak before the Stranger claimed them.

Only two — Daeron and Jaehaerys — had lived long enough to open their eyes and look at me with soft violet gaze before death stole them away.

Jaehaerys... I had dared to hope for him. He had been strong — or so I had thought — his tiny fingers curling around mine as he suckled at my breast.

But the gods are cruel. Last year, his strength failed him, and I watched helplessly as his breathing grew shallow, his little body trembling as the maesters whispered useless prayers.

Only Rhaegar had survived, my golden boy, my hope.

But I could not stop wondering if that had been luck — if the gods had given me one child and meant for me to have no others.

"Will this child suffer the same fate?" My hand lingered on my abdomen as the thought sank in, cold and heavy.

My gaze drifted to the sea again. The doves had disappeared, lost beyond the towers of the keep. I envied their freedom — not just their ability to fly, but the lightness of their existence.

They were not bound by blood or legacy. They would never have to bear the weight of the Iron Throne.

My thoughts darkened as they often did when I allowed them to linger too long on the past. I had long regretted my marriage to Aerys — how could I not?