TO LOVE A KING || Maegor II Targaryen [SLOW UPDATES]

026▪️OF SECRETS, SISTERS & CROWNS

ONE WEEK LATER......

When the final veil was lifted from the canvas, a hush fell over the royal gallery. The light from the tall arched windows spilled across the painting a majestic portrayal of King Maegor Targaryen and Queen Mellario Martell, rendered with such precision and soul it stirred something unspoken in the room.

Queen Mellario gasped softly, her violet eyes wide with wonder. "It's... exquisite," she whispered, stepping forward to admire the delicate strokes that had caught her likeness in a rare moment of serene regality.

"Lady Alicent, your hands were surely blessed by the Maiden herself."

King Maegor said nothing. He stood still before the portrait, his crimson gaze fixed on the painted reflection of himself. Though silent, the tightening of his jaw and the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes betrayed his approval. He didn't need to speak the weight of his attention said more than words.

Otto Hightower, standing just behind his daughter, allowed himself a subtle, satisfied nod. Pride, contained but potent, radiated from him. In that moment, Alicent had brought honor not only to herself, but to the House of Hightower.

Meanwhile, Naiomi had found her place in the Queen's inner circle. Her embroidery, elegant, inventive, and touched with the warmth of her personality never failed to draw a smile from Mellario.

So fond had the Queen become of her handiwork that Naiomi was now a regular guest at tea, often summoned to share in idle conversation or assist the Queen in weaving gold-threaded tapestries.

But not all hearts in the Red Keep were content.

Charlotte, the eldest, had grown distant, restless, even. Watching her younger sisters rise in favor had stirred something cold within her.

Her thoughts, once filled with dresses and courtly dances, now brimmed with complaint and comparison. She confided in Princess Rhaenyra often, lamenting their success in bitter tones.

Yet Rhaenyra, ever composed, only shrugged and said, "Ignore them, Charlotte. If you give them your attention, they'll win."

Still, the tides at court had shifted. Life in the Red Keep began to pulse with a rhythm the girls had never known invitations to banquets, whispered greetings from lords in the halls, nods of acknowledgment from passing septas and stewards.

They were no longer shadows trailing behind their father. They were young women of consequence now, introduced into society under the Queen's favor, bearing the dignity of Oldtown in every step.

Yet beneath the polished surface, a quiet fire smoldered.

Each of the Hightower sisters harbored her own ambition unspoken, perhaps, but no less fierce. And though the path ahead was paved with smiles and silk, all of them, in their own way, were already reaching for power, for love, for wealth for something more. Legacy.