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

068▪️OF CANDLES, CROWS & CRACKS

Night had swallowed King's Landing whole, and the only light within the royal dining chamber came from a golden chandelier strung above like a skeletal crown, torches flickering against the polished stone walls.

A dusky hush blanketed the royal dining chamber, thick as velvet and oppressive as memory

Outside, crickets chirped in harmony, their chorus mingling with the occasional chime of silver cutlery against ceramic plates. It was a silence steeped not in peace, but in tension, an eerie accompaniment to the scratch of knife on porcelain.

Candlelight from the ornate chandelier above flickered gently, casting gold shadows that danced across Maegor Targaryen’s face as he dined in silence.

Across the long table, Princess Rhaenyra sat with her back straight, regal and unreadable. The physical distance between them was vast, as was the emotional one. She felt it like a weight in her chest.

Between them lay a feast untouched by warmth, roasted meats, honeyed fruits, and spiced wines a banquet made cold by unspoken grievances.

Occasionally, Rheanyra dared to glance up at her uncle, catching the sharp lines of his jaw, the firm set of his mouth as he focused on his food. He didn’t look at her. His mind, it seemed, was elsewhere.

She wondered where he had drifted to—perhaps to the past, or to someone he missed.

“It is nice…” Maegor finally broke the silence, his voice low and deliberate.

Rhaenyra smiled softly, surprised by his attempt to bridge the silence.

“That we could spend time together like this… as a family. Just the two of us.” his voice coarse but calm.

Rhaenyra tilted her head slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A start. “I agree,” she said softly with a smile. “We haven’t had dinner together in… a year and seven moons.”

She offered a small smile, half-forced, half-hopeful.

Maegor nodded faintly, still not meeting her eyes. “A lapse I deeply regret.” He took a slow drink of wine, its dark stain blooming on his lips before he continued cutting the meat before him, methodical and tense.

She let the sentence drift, and Maegor gave a small, remorseful grunt. "How was your day?," he murmured, lifting his cup to drain the last of his wine. He resumed slicing a piece of beef with surgical precision.

“Splendid, I went to the Streets of Flour,” she added before he could respond, lifting her own cup as a servant came to pour more Arbor red.

Maegor glanced at her at last, arching a brow. “Mmmhmm… And what business does a princess have in the Flour District?" Maegor raised a ringed hand to beckon a servant for more wine.

“To see a modiste from Pentos. She’s the finest in silkwork. She showed me new fabrics, silks dyed with myrrh and saffron.” She placed a bite of beef in her mouth, chewing delicately, as the servant arrived to pour the dark liquid into her goblet. "And you uncle, How was your day?" She asked, more out of duty than interest,