Maekar made his way toward the commander's quarters, a small parcel carried carefully in his hands. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside to find Lord Dickon, as always, bent over a mountain of parchment, quill scratching as he worked. One might have thought the Lord Commander of the City Watch spent his days patrolling streets and swinging a sword, but in truth, the man was buried in endless reports, petitions, and orders.
Looking up, Dickon's tired eyes settled on the young prince. He gave a small nod.
"My prince."
Years of Maekar's constant presence had stripped the formality from his tone. He was long accustomed to that placid, expressionless face. But his gaze did shift curiously toward the parcel in Maekar's hands.
"And what is that, my prince?"
Maekar returned the nod in greeting before answering, voice even as ever.
"My sister, for whatever reason, chose to gift me with a lemon cake today."
He moved to his own desk, unwrapping the parcel with care. Inside lay a spongy rolled cake, its surface brushed with lemon juice and topped with thin slices that gave off a sharp, sweet scent.
Without hesitation, Maekar raised his voice slightly.
"You there. Jon, Step inside."
The door creaked open as the man outside obeyed.
The guard stepped inside and bowed first to the prince, then to the Lord Commander.
"If you would, bring me two plates and some silverware," Maekar said evenly.
The gold cloak nodded and turned to go, but Maekar's voice halted him.
"In fact, make it three, good man."
The guard's face lit with a small smile. He bowed deeper than before, almost grateful, then hurried off toward the kitchens.
Lord Dickon leaned back in his chair, eyeing the parcel still open on Maekar's desk.
"My prince, there is no need to waste the princess's gift on us."
Maekar shook his head.
"She gave me far too much, as you can see. And besides, our relationship is strong enough to share a lemon cake at least."
A genuine smile tugged at the commander's lips.
"Aye, my prince. That it is."
Before long, the guard returned, balancing three metal plates stacked on top of each other, with cutlery clinking atop them. He set them down on the nearest table, waiting.
Maekar drew his dagger with steady hands and began cutting the cake into neat thirds. The leftmost piece he slid onto the plate nearest the guard, who accepted it almost reverently. The middle portion he placed on his own plate, while the final piece was set on the last plate, which the guard quickly laid before the Lord Commander—right atop his parchment.
The commander chuckled, lifting his plate.
"Ha! Jon, this must be your greatest day yet—sharing lemon cake gifted by the princess herself to the prince."
The guard flushed red, lowering his head in embarrassment.
"Let the man enjoy himself, Lord Commander," Maekar interjected coolly, before lifting a slice of the soft cake to his lips.
The Lord Commander did the same, and soon after, the guard eagerly followed suit.
Soon, the last crumbs of cake had been eaten, and the guard carefully collected the plates, looking genuinely satisfied. Maekar returned to his work, focusing for another two hours before finally rising.
"Well, Lord Commander, I will have to take my leave for now," he said, stretching slightly. "I need to assist the Queen with preparations for the royal wedding."
Lord Dickon nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Ah, yes, Prince Aegon and Princess Haleana. I'm certain they will make a fine match."
Maekar inclined his head. "Let us hope so... farewell, lord commander."
lord dickon looked confused by the prince's tone, as if this would be their last meeting, but shrugged, knowing the prince is a bit weird sometimes.
He left the barracks and rode toward the Red Keep. Once inside, he made his way to his mother's chambers. After a polite rap from the guard and receiving permission, he entered.
Alicent sat near the balcony, a glass of wine cradled in her hand. The sunlight streamed over the city, glinting off the glass, as she sipped calmly—a ritual she had seemingly adopted over the past two years.
"Mother," Maekar said, approaching, "I've come early today."
Alicent turned to him, a faint smile gracing her face. "Yes, Maekar, I know. The wedding preparations have been distracting you from your duties with the Gold Cloaks."
Her eyes carried the weight of the past months—the fury she had felt over Maekar joining the Gold Cloaks to root out gangs. She had confronted her father, nearly striking him in a rare outburst, secretly blaming Otto's ambition for putting her children in perceived danger. On that day, she had sent two Kingsguard to bring Maekar back and held him within the Red Keep, overriding even the hand's objections.
The King, preferring to immerse himself in his replica of Valyria rather than intervene, had allowed her to act as she wished, considering Maekar is her son.
Maekar had been patient, waiting for his mother to calm, intending to explain that he was in no danger. Yet even after a week, she had vehemently refused to allow him beyond the Red Keep walls.
By then, Maekar's patience had grown thin. With a subtle gesture and focus through his link with Morghul, the dragon emerged from the pit and glided across the sky, landing gracefully in the sprawling gardens of the Red Keep. Without a word to anyone, Maekar climbed atop Morghul's saddle and rode out, returning directly to the Gold Cloaks and his duties.
Alicent, witnessing the feat yet powerless to intervene, seemed to finally surrender to his determination, allowing him to act as he wished.
Word of the unprecedented display spread quickly through both nobles and smallfolk alike. A prince who could command a dragon with such precision and bond—bringing him directly from the Red Keep itself—became a very hot topic, especially since no rider had been observed to have been capable of that. Many whispered that Prince Maekar was not only the finest dragonrider of the age but also the one with the strongest connection to his beast.
Alicent smiled genuinely as she looked at her son, who had grown taller than her and most men. Unlike his siblings, Maekar, nearing sixteen, had already reached six-foot-two, with many more years likely to add to his stature. His broad, solid back, hard jawline, and hollow, seemingly unforgiving eyes gave him a rare masculinity within the royal family.
Unfortunately, the wound on his neck marred the perfection of such a presence. Alicent sometimes teased him about it, joking that many women admired a scarred husband. Trying to not make him self-conscious about it.
She cupped her son's cheeks, her gaze softening. "You've grown, Maekar… into such a wonderful man. I am proud of you."
Maekar nodded, a very small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. "Thank you, mother."
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