"Beast. Tyrant. Merciless. They whisper these names behind my back. But when I say, I love you, it is not out of desire, nor out of denial. It is not for my sake at all. I love you for what you are, for what you do, for how you fight. I have witness...
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The hallways of the Red Keep were dimly lit by the low flicker of iron sconces. Shadows danced on the stone walls, and every step echoed like a quiet threat. The air was cooler here, almost too still, as if the palace itself held its breath.
Behind them, distant laughter and music from the wedding reception throbbed like a heartbeat Maegor wished he could silence.
He marched forward with heavy strides, the silken train of his royal cloak dragging behind him. His jaw was clenched, the muscles tight. Fury simmered beneath his calm surface.
"He wasn't invited," he muttered, voice low and dangerous.
"How in the seven hells did he enter the palace?"
"I have no idea, Your Grace," Ser Harrold replied, trailing closely behind, eyes alert.
They reached the royal chambers. Two silent guards bowed and stepped aside, their faces unreadable.
"He said it was urgent, Your Grace," one servant ventured.
Maegor's eyes narrowed like a blade sliding into a sheath. Without another word, he pushed open the heavy carved doors.
Inside, the royal bedchamber glowed dimly with amber light from the hearth. The air smelled of myrrh and cedarwood, warm, solemn, familiar. Tapestries of dragons and Valyrian lore hung from the walls. Shadows gathered beneath the canopy bed, around the stone columns, as if even the room was cautious.
He followed the low murmurs behind a veil of silver silk, his boots soundless on the polished stone.
And there, in his study, Prince Daemon Targaryen stood.
Dressed in midnight black and silver trim, with his hair longer and curling at the nape of his neck, Daemon looked every inch the rogue prince he had always been untamed, wolfish, and smug. His beard was rough but groomed, and his eyes sparkled with quiet amusement.
"Daemon," Maegor said, his voice a cold iron drawl.
Daemon turned, offering a slow smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Brother," he said smoothly. "Congratulations are in order. The Realm sings for your wedding."
Maegor stepped closer, not returning the pleasantry. "Thank you. Now tell me why you're here..uninvited."
Daemon's smirk deepened. "I thought it only fair you learn of a... delicate matter, before the court learns of it for you."
Maegor's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
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