Queen Rhaella steadied herself and beckoned. "Let me hold Rhaenys for a bit."
"Careful, Your Grace," Ashara said. She checked with Elia first, then set the toddler down on the soft cushion beside the queen.
Rhaenys was a year and a half old now—walking, talking in broken sentences, and full of energy.
"Hold… hold me," she said, arms out, looking pitiful.
"Come here, sweet girl." Rhaella pulled her granddaughter into her arms and gently stroked her soft cheek. The queen's hard heart softened just a little.
The little girl was growing into her looks. Black hair, olive skin, but with her parents' strong genes she was still adorable—round-faced and sweet.
Elia watched, a flicker of relief on her face. Her husband had disappeared again, the king openly hated Dornish people, and at least her mother-in-law seemed to love her granddaughter. It was a small mercy in a hard situation.
Gradually Rhaenys drifted off to sleep.
Rhaella laid her down carefully and turned back to business. "Shaena, how are things between you and Daeron?"
Shaena looked up, confused. "Huh?"
"You're a dragonrider now. You fought in the war. You're a grown woman."
Rhaella rubbed her temple. "You're old enough to marry."
The rest didn't need saying. It was time to set the betrothal and hold the wedding.
Shaena opened her mouth, then closed it again without a word.
Her mother wasn't wrong.
"Damn it," Cersei hissed. Her smile vanished and she twisted her handkerchief so hard the silk frayed.
Rhaella turned back to her daughter. "Once you're married you'll have children of your own."
She touched her own swollen belly, expression complicated.
Shaena looked at her mother, then at the sleeping Rhaenys. She wanted to speak but held back, face tight.
Something felt off. Beneath the "I'm only trying to help" tone, her mother wasn't being kind at all.
Her instincts were usually right.
Rhaella laid the groundwork, then dropped the real point. "After the wedding, I want Rhaenys raised by you—as your goddaughter."
Shaena blinked. "What?"
Elia froze. She hadn't heard a word about this. "Your Grace… Rhaenys is still so young."
Rhaella's voice turned sharp. "Elia, Rhaegar is never around. Rhaenys needs a father's influence. Letting her uncle and aunt raise her would be better for her future."
She was still partial to her eldest son. Knowing Rhaegar had no real chance at the throne anymore, she wanted to protect her granddaughter.
A child's upbringing made all the difference.
"Your Grace, she's my daughter," Elia said firmly. "She belongs with me."
Rhaella's brows drew together. "And teach her all those Dornish ways? You think that's good for her?"
"In Dorne, no one can take a mother's child away from her," Elia shot back. She might seem soft, but not when it came to her children.
She stood, lifted her sleeping daughter, and held her close. "Rhaenys is mine. I will raise her."
Shaena stared, stunned.
Cersei, catching every word, looked positively thrilled. Court intrigue at last.
"Handing the Dornish princess's child to the Dragon princess to raise… are they after dragon eggs?" Cersei thought, mind racing.
She'd studied House Targaryen history while chasing Daeron. Dragons were genderless; every one could lay eggs. The three they had weren't full-grown yet, but one day they would. A clutch of eggs would be priceless.
Elia wasn't stupid. She saw it too.
The Dornish princess might seem gentle, but losing her husband hadn't broken her. She refused to lose her daughter. She hugged Rhaenys tighter and stood her ground.
Rhaella's temper finally snapped. "Fine. You refuse to listen too."
Elia turned her head and covered her daughter's ears.
"Shaena," the queen said, looking at her daughter. "You're my most obedient child. I want you to raise Rhaenys as your goddaughter. What do you say?"
Shaena had been quiet the whole time.
"Daeron is Regent Prince now," Rhaella continued. "When your father is gone, he will be king."
She was openly backing her second son for the throne.
But the way she said it sounded like a transaction.
Shaena took a deep breath, as if steeling herself, then hurled her half-full teacup across the room.
Crash!
The cup shattered. Tea splashed everywhere.
Shaena's face was stone-cold. "No. I refuse."
Rhaella flinched, staring at her daughter in shock.
Cersei, sitting closest, got soaked. Her pretty face twisted in fury.
"Waaah—" Rhaenys woke up crying and buried her face in her mother's chest.
Shaena stood. "Mother, I know exactly what you're trying to do. Stop it. You will not use me against Daeron."
Right now she looked every inch the fierce dragonrider protecting her own.
Rhaella's face went from pale to purple. She opened her mouth to argue, but the baby kicked hard inside her. Pain flashed across her forehead.
"I'm leaving. Enjoy your tea," Shaena said coldly and walked out.
She wasn't the meek girl anymore. She was a dragonrider—Tessarion's rider, a true Targaryen. No one, not even her parents, got to bully Daeron.
Elia ignored the queen and followed her sister-in-law out.
Ashara stayed a moment longer, watching the mess. She had known the royal family was complicated, but this was worse than she'd imagined.
"Princess Elia's position is impossible," she murmured.
Cersei stood, lifting her wet skirt. "I'll go change."
In seconds the girls were gone.
Rhaella sat fuming, gently patting her unruly belly.
The other ladies in the room heard the crash and fell politely silent. What had started as a pleasant tea gathering had turned sour.
When Daeron heard what happened and found Shaena, Elia was sitting with her, arm around her shoulders, speaking softly.
Shaena was quietly embroidering, calm again. She wasn't the type to stay angry long. Today's outburst had simply been her drawing a clear line.
"Daeron, you're here?" Elia said, looking up.
He nodded.
"I'm sorry about today—"
Daeron waved it off. "Not your fault. Mother overstepped."
Elia lowered her eyes. "Any word from Rhaegar?"
Daeron told the truth. "Not much. Last I heard he was in Lys treating Lyanna."
"Thank you," Elia said softly and left the room.
"Shall we go to Dragonstone?" Shaena asked once they were alone.
Daeron smiled. "Absolutely."
He was impressed. She had actually stood up to their mother. Good for her.
Shaena set her embroidery aside and patted the seat beside her. "Elia is so pitiful."
She'd never had a child, but she could imagine how terrifying it would be to have one taken away—even if the attempt failed.
"It looked like she was comforting me, but I was the one comforting her," Shaena said.
"We'll see how Rhaegar handles it," Daeron replied.
He truly didn't know. He had asked Varys to dig for information, but the Spider could only confirm Rhaegar's location in Lys. Getting close enough to learn more was impossible.
"East of the Narrow Sea."
In Lys the weather was bright and mild, the air scented with salt and tropical flowers. Seagulls wheeled overhead and the streets bloomed with color. It was the kind of place that made you want to stay forever.
Inside a quiet rented manse, Rhaegar sat in the dim study, curtains drawn, a single candle burning. Books covered the desk—histories of Valyria, biographies of dragonlords, everything he could find.
"The old Valyrian nobility lived better than we do," he murmured, turning another page, searching for something—anything—to anchor him.
Two weeks ago Daeron had told him the truth: the Prince That Was Promised was not Rhaegar. It was Daeron. The words had shattered everything Rhaegar believed about himself. His whole life felt like a joke. Prophecy, duty, love—none of it mattered anymore. He had dragged the realm into war for nothing.
"I never want to go back to Westeros," he whispered, closing the book. Fresh despair washed over him.
In the long gallery overlooking the garden fountain, Lyanna sat alone in a simple blue gown, face pale as ash.
Robert was dead. Her brother Brandon was dead.
At least Eddard and Benjen were still alive.
She clung to that small comfort while guilt ate her alive. She regretted everything—the Knight of the Laughing Tree, the elopement, the war. She had cost her father and brother their lives, cost Robert his, and dragged thousands more to their graves.
She didn't even know who to hate anymore. It all traced back to her.
Night fell.
Rhaegar stayed shut in the study, skipping supper.
Knock-knock.
The door rattled. Rhaegar tensed and reached for his sword. "Ser Arthur, come in."
The door opened and shut fast—too fast for a Kingsguard.
"Who's there?" Rhaegar asked, voice sharp.
Oberyn Martell pulled down the cloth covering his face, revealing a cold, furious expression. In his hand glinted a dagger already wet with poison.
"It's me, Rhaegar Targaryen."