Night fell over King's Landing.
The towers of the Red Keep blazed with torchlight, and the air within the Great Hall shimmered with music and wine.
King Viserys I Targaryen had ordered a grand feast to mark his fifth wedding anniversary with Queen Alicent Hightower.
The tables overflowed with roasted swan and spiced wine, the banners of red and gold fluttering in the torchlight.
At the King's right hand sat Princess Rhaenyra, clad in a gown of deep black silk, her silver-gold hair bound with rubies. She smiled faintly at her father's words, though her eyes seemed distant.
The great doors opened again with a creak, and a hush rippled through the hall.
Queen Alicent entered, robed in the Hightower's green, her hand resting lightly upon the shoulder of Prince Aegon, who wore a golden tunic embroidered with the three-headed dragon.
For a heartbeat, the music faltered. Courtiers exchanged glances, subtle and knowing. Beneath the glittering calm of the royal feast, the currents of rivalry ran deep and unseen.
Viserys felt it too... The growing strain between wife and daughter was no secret, not even to him. Yet he loved them both and could bring himself to wound neither. So he did what he always did, offered gifts and kind words, hoping gold and jewels could buy peace where affection failed.
Alicent crossed the hall, smiling sweetly as she leaned to kiss her husband's cheek.
Then she turned her gaze toward Rhaenyra.
"My dear stepdaughter," she said with studied warmth, "today marks your father's and my wedding anniversary. Perhaps you would bless us with your good wishes?"
A murmur passed through the guests.
Rhaenyra's smile tightened, her knuckles whitening around her goblet. But she inclined her head and spoke with careful grace. "Happy fifth anniversary to you and Father."
A simple, dutiful blessing, cool as winter wine. Viserys, oblivious to the frost beneath her tone, burst into hearty laughter. His delight was almost childlike.
From beside him, Aegon watched in silent amusement. Father truly excels at self-deception, he thought wryly.
Then, aloud, he rose and said, "Father, Mother, I wish you eternal happiness and long life together." He presented a small box, gilded and ornate.
Viserys accepted it with curiosity and opened the lid. Inside lay a polished black gem, gleaming darkly under the torchlight.
"This obsidian reminded me of you, Father," Aegon said softly. "Mysterious and powerful... like Balerion the Black Dread."
The King's eyes shone.
The name alone stirred old memories, his pride, his fear, his youth. Balerion had been the mightiest of the dragons that came from Valyria, the terror that burned a continent and forged the Iron Throne.
Viserys had been his last rider, if only for a single flight in the dragon's final days.
The memory had haunted him ever since, yet it was also his greatest boast.
"I like it very much," Viserys said, his voice thick with affection. "And on your next naming day, I shall have a gift made for you in return." He kissed Aegon's cheek and, with a smile, drew the boy onto his lap.
Aegon pointed toward a steaming pie on the table. "Father, I want some eel pie. Could you get me a piece?"
Viserys chuckled, pleased by such childish dependence. "Of course, my son." He carved a slice himself and lifted it toward Aegon's lips, delighting in the simple act. For a brief, blissful moment, he saw only a happy family- wife, daughter, and son united under one roof.
But the illusion was fragile. Across the table, Rhaenyra's smile had vanished.
Once, she had been her father's pride and joy, the daughter of Queen Aemma Arryn, the "Realm's Delight." At seven, she had mounted Syrax, her golden dragon, and all the realm had sung her praises.
And yet, after Aegon's birth, everything changed.
The same lords who once knelt to her now bowed to Alicent. The same courtiers who had called her "Your Grace-to-be" now whispered of the Queen's sons.
She was the Princess of Dragonstone, the named heir of the Iron Throne, yet every smile from her father toward Aegon cut her like a blade.
As her anger simmered, her gaze found Aegon's, and to her surprise, the boy was already watching her. For a heartbeat, their eyes locked. Then Aegon's lips curved into a small, knowing smile.
Rhaenyra's heart clenched, fury rising.
But before she could speak, the boy's expression changed as swiftly as a summer squall.
He tugged at Viserys's sleeve and said plaintively,"Father, why don't you hug Sister too? She seems upset. It's my fault, isn't it?"
Viserys blinked, caught off guard.
He turned toward Rhaenyra, frowning faintly. Her face was pale, her mouth tight.
Memories stirred, of Aemma, his first queen, dying in childbirth; of the stillborn son who had cost her life; of the grief and guilt that drove him to name Rhaenyra his heir.
She had been the light of his sorrowful days, his only comfort.
But in the years since Aegon's birth, that light had dimmed.
Rhaenyra had grown jealous, sharp-tongued, restless... forever bristling at imagined slights.
Aegon, meanwhile, was gentle, eager to please, and openly adoring of his father.
Viserys's sigh was weary.
He pinched Aegon's cheek with fondness. "She's fourteen now, my boy. She doesn't need to be held like a child. Don't trouble yourself. What else would you like to eat?"
Rhaenyra said nothing, though her nails bit into her palms.
Her father's words burned worse than open insult. Even if she had shouted that Aegon had mocked her only moments before, Viserys would never believe her.
The laughter, the music, the wine, all continued as if nothing had passed between them. But in a shadowed corner of the hall, a thin young man watched intently, his eyes reflecting the flicker of torchlight.
He had seen it all, the glance, the smile, the shift of power between two dragon heirs.
And though the feast roared on, the hall no longer felt merry.
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