Night fell.
Viserys threw a grand feast in the Red Keep.
Rhaenyra wore a black gown and sat beside him.
When the doors opened again, Alicent entered in a green dress, leading Aegon by the hand.
He wore a gold tunic.
The hall quieted for a beat.
The sharper guests had already spotted the currents running beneath the surface.
Viserys was no fool.
He could feel the rivalry between his wife and daughter growing sharper by the day.
But he wanted to make things right with Rhaenyra without wounding Alicent.
So he shuttled between them, handing out gold, jewels, gifts.
Keeping the peace on the surface.
Alicent approached Viserys and kissed his cheek.
Then she turned to Rhaenyra.
“My dear daughter.
Today is your father’s and my wedding anniversary.
Perhaps you might offer us your blessing.”
Rhaenyra’s face darkened.
But she forced a smile and gave it.
“Happy fifth anniversary.
To you and Father.”
A flat, polite nothing.
Viserys beamed anyway, looking deeply pleased.
Aegon watched from the side and nearly laughed.
His father had a real gift for lying to himself.
“Father, I hope you and Mother are happy together for a hundred years,” he said, and produced a small box.
Inside lay a gleaming black gemstone.
“This obsidian is for you.
The moment I saw it, I thought it suited you.
Mysterious and powerful.
Like Balerion.”
Viserys lit up at the words.
Balerion was one of the legendary dragons House Targaryen brought out of Valyria.
The greatest of the three conquerors’ dragons.
He lived two hundred years.
Men called him the Black Dread.
And Viserys had been his last rider.
One of the few achievements Viserys took real pride in.
A pity the beast was already dying when Viserys mounted him.
He carried Viserys three circles over King’s Landing, then died of old age in the Dragonpit in 94 AC.
“I love this gift.
On your nameday, I will prepare something just as fine for you.
Thank you.”
Viserys kissed Aegon’s cheek, then scooped him up and settled him on his lap.
Aegon pointed at the eel pie on the table.
“Father, I want some eel pie.
Will you get me a piece?
Please?”
Viserys liked being needed by his family.
It gave him the warm illusion of harmony.
He carefully lifted a piece of pie to Aegon’s mouth, clearly intending to feed him himself.
Lost in fatherly affection, Viserys did not notice the shift in Rhaenyra’s expression beside him.
Rhaenyra was the only surviving child of Viserys I and Queen Aemma.
She had been the center of attention since birth.
She claimed a dragon at seven.
The realm showered her with love.
They called her the Realm’s Delight.
She was used to everyone orbiting her.
And they had.
Until Aegon was born.
The same nobles who once flattered her had turned to Alicent without a second thought the moment Aegon arrived.
As if Aegon were the heir Viserys had always meant to name.
But she was the true heir.
The Princess of Dragonstone.
The future ruler of the Iron Throne.
She glared at Aegon.
And found him already looking back at her.
The instant their eyes met, Aegon gave her a strange, cold smile.
Then his face crumpled.
He tugged gently at Viserys’s collar, the picture of wounded innocence.
“Father, maybe you should hold my sister too.
She looks angry.
It’s all my fault.”
Viserys blinked and turned.
He caught the dark look on Rhaenyra’s face before she could smooth it away.
His brow furrowed.
Years ago, Queen Aemma had suffered in childbirth.
He had chosen to cut the child from her body over losing both.
Aemma died.
The babe lived only a day.
Out of guilt, and fury at Daemon, he had named Rhaenyra his heir.
She had not disappointed him.
Not for a long time.
But after Aegon was born, she changed.
Almost overnight.
She grew jealous.
She could not stand to see him show warmth to anyone else.
Insecure, thin-skinned, always sulking.
And then there was Aegon.
Still a child.
Sweet, innocent, always making him laugh, always asking after his health.
Viserys’s expression hardened.
He pinched Aegon’s soft cheek.
“She’s fourteen.
She doesn’t need me to hold her.
Forget her.
What else do you want?
I’ll get it for you.”
The doting tone made the veins in Rhaenyra’s forehead stand out.
She stared daggers at Aegon but said nothing.
Not that it would have mattered.
If she told Viserys that Aegon had just flashed her a nasty smirk, he would never believe her.
But the hall was full of guests.
In a corner, a lean young man watched the whole brief clash between Aegon and Rhaenyra, his eyes sharp with interest.