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The Royal Dining Room, Maegor's Holdfast.
Sunlight poured through the tall arched windows, casting long beams of light and shadow across the parquet floor.
High above on the vaulted ceiling was a mural: Aegon the Conqueror holding Blackfyre, flanked by his sister-wives, Visenya and Rhaenys.
They looked down on their descendants with painted, indifferent eyes.
The long dining table was covered in pristine white linen.
Silver candlesticks, polished to a mirror shine, held beeswax candles that emitted a faint, sweet fragrance even in the daylight.
On delicate porcelain plates, roasted lamb chops glistened with an enticing golden hue, accompanied by slow-simmered onions and mushrooms in a rich, dark gravy.
Summer Red from the Arbor shimmered in crystal glasses, its color deep as rubies.
Queen Alicent sat at the head of the table.
She wore a gown of deep green velvet, the hem embroidered with silver thread depicting the lighthouse sigil of House Hightower, the neckline adorned with fine pearls.
Nearly half a month had passed since their return from Driftmark, yet the dark circles under her eyes had not faded.
The silver fork in her hand hung in mid-air.
The tender lamb on her plate was cut into neat pieces and coated with honey and crushed almonds, one of her favorite dishes.
Yet today, she had no appetite.
"Aegon..." Alicent sighed, breaking the silence.
"I wonder if he is eating well on Driftmark. The sea breeze there is so damp and cold..."
She paused. She knew she was repeating these pointless worries every day.
Helaena, sitting to her right, put down her spoon. She wore a simple white linen gown, her silver-gold hair loosely braided and draped over her shoulders.
The sunlight caught the strands, giving them a pearly sheen.
She reached out and placed her hand over her mother's.
"Mother, brother will take care of himself. Aunt Rhaenys swore she would treat Aegon as kindly as her own children."
"Vows..." Alicent gave a bitter smile, squeezing her daughter's warm hand.
Helaena, my sweet girl. You are always so kind, so willing to believe in people's goodness. I believe in Rhaenys, perhaps. But I will not believe certain others..."
She looked up, her gaze falling on her second son to her left.
Aemond was focused on eating. He cut a piece of meat with precision, put it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
The sunlight cast a pale gold glow over his short silver-gold hair.
Compared to when he had returned from Driftmark half a month ago, his complexion was much improved.
Color had returned to his cheeks, and he seemed to have grown taller; his black velvet tunic now looked tight across the shoulders.
'I will have to commission new clothes for him,' Alicent noted absently.
"Aemond," she called out.
"Ser Criston says that for the past half month, you have been at the training grounds before dawn. Don't work so hard. Mellos says overtraining can damage your bones. You are still young, and your body is growing..."
Aemond put down his knife and fork. He looked up at his mother, the corners of his mouth curling slightly.
"I am fine, Mother. My body grows stronger by the day. Ser Criston says my swordsmanship is improving rapidly."
Looking at the confident young man before her, Alicent felt a moment of dazed pride.
She remembered her conversation with her father, Otto, last night. When Otto spoke of Aemond, it was with rare admiration.
He called the boy calm, calculating, and focused. The future of the Greens would likely fall upon his shoulders.
If they were to put Aegon on the throne, they would need Aemond and Vhagar to keep him there.
Just as Daemon had supported Viserys.
Her gaze swept over the empty seat where Aegon usually sat.
Her eldest son held hostage at Driftmark. Her daughter was forced into a betrothal with Rhaenyra's bastard.
She felt a sharp pang in her heart, and her fleeting appetite vanished again.
"She hates me..." Alicent muttered, staring into her wine glass.
"She must hate me to death."
Aemond glanced up. He knew the cycle: the complaints, the self-pity, the rehearsal of old wounds.
He lowered his head and continued to cut his steak, his expression unchanging.
"I once loved her so much," Alicent whispered, her voice distant.
"Like a blood sister."
"Mother..."
Tears welled in Helaena's eyes.
In her simple world, she did not understand such complex knots of love and hate, but she felt her mother's pain keenly.
Aemond put down his knife and fork and picked up a napkin to wipe his mouth. His movements were unhurried.
Alicent had chosen this path. She craved power; otherwise, she wouldn't have agreed to Otto's schemes, nor would she have fought for Aegon's inheritance.
Yet she was bound by her own morality and emotions. Indecisive. Soft-hearted.
'She wants the throne for her son but wants to keep her hands clean,' Aemond thought.
'She views Rhaenyra as a threat yet mourns their lost friendship.'
It was frustrating, but she was his mother, and she had been good to him.
"Just eat, Mother," Aemond said finally.
"The food is getting cold. You haven't eaten properly these past few days, and the Grand Maester is worried."
Alicent nodded, forcing a smile. She picked up the crystal glass and took a small sip of the Summer Red.
Just then, the oak door of the dining room was pushed open gently.
A maid walked in carrying a silver tray.
Dessert.
She was about fifteen or sixteen, slender and pretty.
Her light brown hair was meticulously braided into a complex Hightower-style bun, adorned with tiny pearls.
She had high cheekbones, large blue eyes, and full lips painted with a faint rose rouge.
She wore the uniform of the House Hightower maids, a light green linen dress with a silver chain around her waist.
But looking closely, the neckline was cut an inch lower than regulation, revealing the curve of her neck and a hint of collarbone.
"Your Grace, here is the dessert." The maid's voice was as sweet as honey.
She walked with elegant steps to Alicent's side and gave a slight curtsy.
On the tray was a dish of jelly drizzled with cream and jam.
As she set down the tray, the maid's right hand shook almost imperceptibly.
She deliberately tilted the silver tray.
The porcelain dish containing the jelly slid toward the edge of the table, looking as though it were about to fall.
"Oh my!" the maid let out a soft cry.
She scrambled to steady the dish, but her balance failed.
She tumbled toward Aemond.
Her blue eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted, a practiced look of shock and shyness.
She had calculated the angle perfectly. She was falling right toward Aemond's chair.
Her hand would brace against his armrest, her face would tilt up to his, close enough to mingle their breath.
A perfect accident. A perfect encounter.
However.
Aemond didn't even look up.
He continued to cut the steak on his plate as if everything happening before him was insignificant noise.
Just as the maid's hand was about to touch him, he pulled his left arm in half an inch, a precise, calculated movement to avoid contact.
Thud.
The maid's hand hit the hard wooden armrest. Her knuckles cracked against the oak.
She bit her lower lip to suppress a cry of pain and looked up, her blue eyes quickly welling with tears.
She looked like a pitiful, startled doe.
"I-I'm sorry, Prince Aemond!" Her voice trembled with panic.
"I'm so clumsy... P-please, forgive my rudeness..."
She remained in a half-fallen posture, leaning forward so her neckline opened further, her fair skin glistening in the sunlight.
She curtsied, exceptionally deep, almost kneeling. Another opportunity to display her figure.
A brief silence fell over the dining room.
The Queen frowned, scrutinizing the girl.
Helaena blinked in confusion, unable to understand why someone would fall so... elaborately.
Aemond finally looked up. His violet eyes were cold, bored.
"What is your name?" he asked.
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