As Rhaenyra approached the Red Keep, a cough echoed from the shadows of a nearby house.
Criston Cole raised his longsword.
The guards tensed.
A figure emerged from the darkness, sunlight carving sharp lines across his chiseled features.
Silver hair marked his lineage.
“Uncle…” Rhaenyra recognized him and gestured for the guards to stand down.
“My dear uncle would never harm me.
Lower your weapons.” Cole regarded the newcomer with suspicion and barely concealed hostility.
Daemon Targaryen responded with a smile.
“My little pearl…” Daemon had always favored his niece.
He brought her gifts from beyond the Seven Kingdoms, told her tales of his adventures, and treated her with a tenderness that was rare for him.
In the grim tapestry of Fire & Blood, he had been one of the few bright spots in Rhaenyra’s life.
“I didn’t see Caraxes at the Dragonpit.
Where have you hidden him?” “My blood wyrm was hungry.
I sent him farther afield.” “Father is furious.” “I know.” Rhaenyra did not cling to him as she once had.
Daemon found the change unsettling.
“Uncle, you should drink less.” She wrinkled her nose at the wine wafting from him even from a distance.
Silence stretched between them.
Daemon was a proud man, and no one ever heard him soften.
But for a moment, guilt flickered across his face.
Then it hardened again into resolve.
Rhaenyra turned away and walked toward the Red Keep.
Daemon opened his mouth to speak, but she was already gone.
By the time she stepped into the Red Keep’s great hall, night had crept across the sky.
Servants lit candles infused with spices, filling the vast, empty chamber with a warm, quiet glow.
Myrish carpets covered the floor.
Morning-picked roses and honeysuckle adorned the vases along the walls.
Elly poured Rhaenyra a cup of sweet mead she had brewed herself.
Rhaenyra took a sip, just enough to wet her throat, then set it down.
Other handmaidens helped her change into a fresh gown.
The Red Keep was so peaceful now.
If only it could stay this way forever.
The clank of armor sounded from beyond the door.
“Princess,” Criston Cole announced, “His Grace wishes to see you.” The door swung open.
Rhaenyra emerged, weariness shadowing her face.
“I understand, Ser.” Cole nodded and turned, though his steps seemed less steady than before.
Handmaidens carried lamps, guiding Rhaenyra through the corridors.
“Father.” King Viserys, reading by lamplight, did not look up from his book.
A long moment passed before he spoke.
“I heard you saw Daemon today.” Rhaenyra nodded.
Viserys slapped the book onto the table.
“He has the gall to show his face?” Rhaenyra remained silent.
The king had loved his queen deeply.
Rhaenyra had grown up in a happy home, though the question of succession had always haunted her parents.
When the pains of childbirth threatened to take Queen Aemma Arryn, Viserys had chosen to cut the child from her womb.
Between being a husband and being a king, Viserys had chosen the latter.
But fate seemed to mock him.
Her brother, Prince Baelon, had died within a day.
“Rhaenyra, my child.” Viserys’s eyes were full of tenderness.
“I have made my decision.
In three days, there will be a ceremony.
I will name you my heir.” “Not even the gods can change my mind.” His gaze softened as memories of her childhood flickered before him.
His love for her hardened into iron resolve.
Between being a father and being a king, he chose the former.
Viserys’s entire reign had been defined by the burden of succession ever since the Great Council of 101 AC.
But he had never wavered in his choice of Rhaenyra, not until his dying breath.
“Father…” Rhaenyra stepped forward, allowing him to take her hand and lead her toward the hearth fire.
This was the secret passed down to every heir of the family.
“Our house words are Fire and Blood.
Since Daenys the Dreamer guided our family to Dragonstone, since Aegon the Conqueror united the Seven Kingdoms, House Targaryen has kept this secret.
The Long Night will come.
The cold winds of the far north will sweep across the land.
And a Targaryen savior will rise to banish the darkness.
Do you understand?” “Our dragon dynasty is destiny’s design…” Viserys spoke with grave earnestness.
“There is more.
Your great-grandfather issued a command: if anyone outside our bloodline hatches a dragon, we must destroy their entire line.
Leave no survivors.” “The Braavosi stole three dragon eggs during his reign.
It was always a wound upon his heart.” “Of course, no one but a Targaryen can hatch dragons or become a dragonrider.
That is written in our blood.
The Free Cities, Volantis, they are full of Valyrian descendants.
They covet dragons as well.
But the dragons are ours alone.” “Father…” “My child.” Viserys patted her head.
“My heir is you.
And only you.” “See that you fulfill your duty.” “Your father will always stand behind you.” That night, Rhaenyra could not sleep.
Lying on her silk sheets, she turned over the history of Fire & Blood in her mind.
Why was Viserys so haunted by the succession?
Because his own crown had come through a narrow path.
It all came down to the conflict between Targaryen bloodline succession law and the Andal tradition of primogeniture.
His ascension had been decided by the Great Council of 101 AC, called by the Old King Jaehaerys.
The candidates were Princess Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was, daughter of Jaehaerys’s eldest son Aemon, and Viserys, son of his second son Baelon.
The Old King chose the latter.
It was a capitulation to the great Andal lords, a concession that blood right was secondary to the law of primogeniture.
In the original history, after Rhaenyra was named heir, the new queen would alter the king’s final wishes and place her own son on the throne.
The bloody civil war that followed, the Dance of the Dragons, would end with Rhaenyra’s son Aegon III on the throne.
The laws that followed would ensure that Targaryen women would forever be placed below men in the line of succession.
Primogeniture would become the permanent law of the realm.
There had never been a ruling queen of the Targaryen dynasty.
Even Daenerys, the Mother of Dragons, never sat the Iron Throne.
In the end, she gave her life to the savior’s cause.
There were other turning points in Fire & Blood that echoed through history.
Maegor’s war with the Faith after taking a second wife had shattered the church’s power over the crown, but it had earned him the name Maegor the Cruel.
Just as the lords had favored Viserys at the Great Council, so too would they resist his choice of Rhaenyra as his heir.
And so Viserys would call a grand ceremony, making all the lords of the realm swear fealty to Rhaenyra.
Only then would her claim have true legitimacy.
But the moment her half-brother Aegon II appeared…
The lords would rise up once more.
If not Aegon, there would be another.
Aemon.
Daeron.
The name did not matter.
So Viserys would also court House Velaryon, betrothing Rhaenyra to their bloodline.
And so began another tangled tale of love and war.
Rhaenyra flopped onto her back with a groan of frustration.
Why did being queen have to be so difficult?
Beside her bed, Elly, who had been dozing while keeping watch, jerked awake as Rhaenyra sat up abruptly.
She rubbed her eyes and yawned.
“Princess, do you need water?” Rhaenyra shook her head.
“Take a blanket and get some proper rest.” The two women fell back into sleep, and nothing more was said.