The arena in King's Landing was bathed in morning sunlight.
Stalls overflowed with goods, nobles sat under canopies, commoners crowded the open benches, and a few clever street vendors weaved between rows to sell their wares.
The air was thick with sweat and horse manure, and the crack of every strike set off a wave of cheers and gasps.
For a moment, the crowd fell silent.
Then applause erupted like a powder keg igniting.
Prince Aemond Targaryen stood in the center of the field, holding the edge of a broken shield in his left hand and a snapped spear in his right.
Beside him, his steed—a tall, black mount—snorted, its front hooves restless in the sand, its dark coat dusted with earth.
"Prince Aemond!"
"Prince Aemond!"
The cries came from every side.
The common area shouted loudly.
In the noble stands, small children clapped, older lords rose to applaud, and the women half-shielded their faces with fans, eyes fixed on the silver-haired prince in the field.
Aemond released his grip, and the broken weapon clattered to the ground.
He did not leave immediately. Instead, he turned toward the royal box and spread his arms wide.
Even louder cheers followed.
In the sunlight, his eyes glimmered like violet flames.
In a few months he would turn sixteen. His frame had shed the gangly shape of adolescence—broad shoulders, a firm waist, and specially crafted mithril armor emphasized his stature.
Servants rushed onto the field. One removed his helmet, revealing the young, sharp features of his face to the sun, eliciting gasps and exclamations from the female spectators.
Another brought a fresh horse, and a third handed him a water pouch.
Aemond drank, his gaze sweeping past the cheering crowd toward the royal box.
Princess Helaena stood there, hands resting on the railing beside the box.
She was not overly excited, only smiling proudly at him with violet eyes.
Then he left the field, surrounded by his attendants.
Inside the royal box, Queen Alicent watched the scene. She turned to King Viserys and whispered,
"You mean what you said to Aeryn that day…"
"No," the king interrupted.
He sighed and continued,
"Now you should support Aegon a little more, and let him balance the two of them."
Queen Alicent nodded. She was regent now, though the army answered to Aemond.
She did her best to keep Aegon involved in politics.
She loved her firstborn, Aegon, and her second, Aemond, but she feared thinking too much about what she said to Aeryn that day.
Viserys I silently watched the field—the straight-backed second son leaving, the cheering crowd, the open admiration in the eyes of young nobles from across the Seven Kingdoms.
Nearby, the atmosphere was entirely different.
Aeryn Rogar stood at the railing in a pale-gold gown, her silver hair carefully braided into an intricate Rise-style bun, held with a delicate pearl net.
Her hands rested over her slightly rounded belly, her posture elegant.
She watched Aemond leave, watched the crowd go wild, and observed the blushes of noble girls.
Then she turned toward her husband.
Aegon Targaryen reclined on a soft bench, head in the lap of a young chambermaid.
She had curly brown hair and a full figure—the type Aegon preferred.
She fed him grapes with delicate jade fingers, one by one slipping them into his mouth.
Aegon chewed with eyes closed, a pleased smile playing on his lips, the other hand resting idly on a tulle-clad thigh.
"Sweet, Your Grace?" the chambermaid asked quietly.
"Sweet," Aegon murmured vaguely, "but not as sweet as you."
She laughed while eating.
Aeryn, watching the pretense, felt a surge of irritation in her chest.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm.
Years of training in control came into play.
A hint of a smirk appeared on her face.
"Aegon," her voice low, yet the box fell silent.
The chambermaid froze mid-action.
Aegon opened his eyes to see his wife standing at the railing, the setting sun casting a golden outline around her.
Beautiful—but cold.
"Ah," Aegon straightened, waving the chambermaid away.
"Step down."
The girl hurried, curtsying, leaving the box as if fleeing.
With the door closed, Aegon's expression turned serious.
He knew Aeryn's critique would come again.
Since marrying her, he had grown to love her, and though she occasionally criticized him, she always cared deeply.
Like a stern mother—but one who truly cared.
Aeryn rarely envied. She managed the servants tightly, even though Aegon could not control her lower temper, she still strove to make Aeryn less distressed.
"My dear," Aegon said teasingly,
"What's the matter? Tired from standing so long?"
"Sit, you're carrying a child."
"I'm not tired." Aeryn turned to him, hands still guarding her lower belly.
"I just thought these cheers should have been yours."
Aegon's expression froze for a moment. He scratched his head and gave a dry laugh.
"Well… you know I'm not good at it.
Jousting, swordplay… it's exhausting.
And I have dragons—why waste attention among these knights?
Aemond likes the spotlight—let him have it. I, the elder, released him."
"Released him?" Aeryn's voice remained calm.
"Aegon, there are things you cannot allow or retreat from.
Now the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms are watching.
The brave, warrior second son shines—and… the first son does nothing?
What will they think?"
Aegon's face darkened. He approached his wife and lowered his voice.
"Aeryn, don't do this.
It's a celebration today, a tournament—everyone is happy."
"Happy?" Aeryn interrupted, holding her husband's face in both hands.
"Tell me, Aegon, how do you plan to inherit the Iron Throne?
By making everyone happy? By hoping your brother will step aside?"
Aegon opened his mouth but said nothing, choosing silence rather than anger her.
Aeryn spoke softly, almost sadly.
"Dragons are important, but so are the hearts of people.
Your father has not officially named a successor.
If, in the future, all nobles align with Aemond, what prestige will you have?"
She saw the panic and struggle flash in his eyes, and her tone softened.
"Aegon, I am not forcing you.
I am helping you—for our children."
Her hand rested on her belly.
"I do not want… I do not want our child to grow up in the shadow of his uncle.
Do you understand?"
A new round of applause rose from outside, and the next event began.