Chapter Text
Now I'm running with my dress unbuttoned
Screaming, "But Daddy, I love him!"
I'm having his baby
No, I'm not, but you should see your faces
I'm telling him to floor it through the fences
No, I'm not coming to my senses
I know he's crazy, but he's the one I want
— Taylor Swift
“Enora,” the Princess asked, putting down her hairbrush. “May I ask you something?”
The maid appeared startled — it was not often that the royals asked for the common folk’s permission to do anything, let alone to ask a question.
“Of course, Your Highness.”
The Princess took a deep breath and met her maid’s gaze in the reflection of the mirror.
“How long does it take for a woman to learn if she is with child?”
***
She was not surprised when her father summoned her — quite frankly, she was wondering what had been taking him so long to send an order. At some point, she heard the screech of a dragon and sighed — yes, this was probably what had kept him so occupied.
Exiling her uncle over nothing.
She had endured the conversation with Alicent — honestly, it was insightful, the revelation they had been spied upon making her blood boil. But this information she, too, would use — and if she were to serve a punishment for overstepping, Otto Hightower would, too.
Her former friend made her swear Daemon had not fucked her — and the vow flowed off Rhaenyra’s lips easily, even if the acerbic taste of such an oath annoyed her and served as a reminder of what she had been denied. Her conscience did not trouble her, and Rhaenyra cared little for what her stepmother would think of her eventually — because she had not lied, and it was the only thing that mattered to the gods, if they did exist.
The day passed in nervous anticipation — and plotting, and dreaming. Deep inside, she worried her bluff would be uncovered very quickly — after all, who could conceal such a condition, such grave truth?
But as the King kept muttering that appearances were the only thing that mattered, not the truth, whatever it might be, Rhaenyra had to chew on her lower lip and keep her eyes down, lest her father noticed the flickers of devilish fire in her eyes.
The perception of reality was what mattered when they were royalty, when she was a woman — unlucky to be born without a cock between her legs that somehow seemed to magically grant absolution of all sins.
Her reputation was of paramount importance, and even though her uncle did not have the stomach to finish the deed and tarnish it fully, she would see to the end of this plot.
***
When the maester brought a cup into her apartments, she raised an eyebrow. Then, she waited for him to leave, looked inside, at the milky-looking but foul-smelling liquid, and spit in the cup before emptying it into her chamberpot in an act of petulance and defiance.
***
“It depends, Princess. Sometimes it may take moons for a woman to learn of her condition, especially if she does not expect the news. But if you know what to look for, you can hope as soon as you miss your courses.”
***
Getting ready to sail to Driftmark took a week — the King, his heir and his Hand travelling was no small feat, and the chests had to be prepared, the affairs of the state brought into order, the guards and the sailors alerted.
It was a family matter — for now, at the very least, for her father feared the Sea Snake might refuse, even if he strove not to show it. Rhaenyra could see it in the way he moved, could hear it in the way he talked — the deep, underlying anxiety that she, Rhaenyra, had ruined everything.
Yet he kept true to his promise — he did not disinherit her, and the scandal had not escaped the family circle.
For now.
She would make sure it did, of course. She would light a candle and let it burn, carelessly — somewhere too close to the thin fabric of the curtain, perhaps, ensuring everything around her caught fire, fanned stronger quicker than the King threw buckets of water in desperate attempts to quell the blaze.
He might disinherit her then, but she would think about it later. If everything went according to the plan, she would not have to think about it alone, too — her uncle would be by her side, and she would not have to plot alone.
Rhaenyra often thought about Daemon, lying on the bed and clenching her jaw in helpless fury. It was still a raw, fresh wound — the betrayal, the sensation of being tricked into something and then abandoned, just when she thought she finally had it all.
She hoped it fucking stung, once the news reached him. This hoax, he would be the only one to see through — and Rhaenyra liked to think he would be startled, crushed by the idea of it being the truth — but not his work, a stain on his pride he would have to accept in order to claim her as his.
There was a chance he would refuse her, unwilling to raise another man’s child — she knew her uncle well enough, knew how spiteful and vindictive he could be. Rhaenyra had no doubt he would run a list of possible suspects in his head, but she also knew that he would most likely take the opportunity rather than throw it away — especially if it ended up with her father coming to him and not the other way round.
Rhaenyra dutifully boarded the ship with her small retinue — Ser Criston and Enora, other servants and guards coming from the King’s household. She did not yearn for more company; the fewer eyes there were on her for now, the better.
On the ship, she was pale and sick — quite easy to explain and understand, considering the sea was rough and the journey took three full days.
***
“What are the signs, Enora? Tell me more.”
“It might be barely distinguishable from your moon blood approaching at first, Your Highness — only it does not come, and the sensation does not wane; instead, it grows stronger. Your breasts — they grow and become tender. You feel nauseous — some women cannot contain it at all. As a rule, a woman knows, or at least suspects, before any signs become visible to others.”
***
Her father told her to go to her rooms and refresh herself — he had noted she looked frazzled and unwell, so she had better change and get some rest while he did all the negotiations.
She doubted they would be settled in one short conversation — the Velaryons were rich and prone to showing off, so there certainly would be dinners and talks lasting for days. They did not travel here for three days just to leave without a proper welcome and royal treatment.
Her father might want to reach the agreement as soon as possible, and he might even succeed, but she would also have time to play her part.
Once inside her room, she complained about a strong headache and general weakness and sent her guard to inform the King that she would not be able to come to the luncheon, being, unfortunately, indisposed.
Her sworn shield furrowed his brows, but obeyed, leaving Rhaenyra with her maid, allowing them to scheme and plot further.
She could not simply come to the dining hall and announce the news — no, her hoax would have to be more subtle, planting suspicions first and then offering confirmation after some more time had passed. After all, she was a Princess who was not supposed to know the secrets and sensations of motherhood, and it would be strange if she could discern the signs within weeks of the incident happening.
But Enora reminded her that the servants talked — a maid confiding in a laundress, a laundress snickering with the kitchen help, the kitchen help going to bed with a stable boy, the stable boy talking to the guards. At every step, there would be more details added to the story, and soon enough, the whole Driftmark would be whispering about the Princess’ bizarre ailment.
Rhaenyra smiled — she could not quite hide in the room for the entirety of their visit, but she could plant the seed of her intrigue and alleged treason. They would bloom into flowers soon enough — and then even bear fruit.
When it was time for dinner, Rhaenyra decided that it was the right moment to come out of her voluntary confinement. She was dressed in fine, rich silk, her gown fully black to accentuate her pale complexion and draw attention to how tired she looked, but it still reminded everyone she was a Targaryen Princess.
Once escorted by Ser Criston to the dining hall, she greeted her father and the hosts with all the politeness she could muster, apologising for being absent earlier. Quickly, she took her seat next to the King, keeping her eyes down but scanning the room for reactions.
Lord Corlys did not seem to care at all, looking content and rather happy — the negotiations must have succeeded, then. Her father gave her a disapproving look, suspecting she was simply seeking to avoid her duties and talking with the Velaryons.
But Rhaenys looked at her attentively, her stare making Rhaenyra almost uncomfortable, and she had to fight the urge to smirk. If she managed to convince her that something was wrong, the success of the whole mission would be basically guaranteed.
The Sea Snake was prideful, even more than her uncle — he craved the crown for his family and his descendants, no matter the price. Laenor himself was a good lad, she had no doubt of it, but he was a dutiful son, doing what his parents wanted him to do, and she could not expect him to put his foot down and protest the match.
The weakest link in this chain was Princess Rhaenys — a mother herself, a woman, someone who was wary of the court intrigues and the danger looming over the shoulders of reckless players.
The dinner itself was uneventful — apparently, she was betrothed to Laenor now, the primary agreement had been reached, and the details would be finalised in the King’s Landing, where the Hand would draft the marriage contract for the council to review and discuss. The wedding would be grand and expensive, with the guests flocking to the capital from every corner of the realm.
Rhaenyra nodded and forced smiles, raising her cup but not really drinking. She nibbled on some food before pushing her plate away, withdrawing herself from all the conversations.
Even without her scheme, she did not see the point of pretending she was happy about the match. Her father gave her a choice of a husband and then snatched it away — granted, her uncle had played his part in it, but Rhaenyra did not consider it fair to endure the consequences of his wrath this way.
Her plan would not leave anyone unscathed — and her father would suffer, too, for he should have known better than to punish her for things she never did.
The next day, she had to decline Laenor’s invitation to walk along the beach together. She knew it was customary and entirely proper for them to have some time together — under other circumstances, she might have wanted to talk to her cousin, to confide in him. Rhaenyra had heard rumours, had learned that his tastes lay elsewhere, that he, too, was suffering under the yoke of his family’s ambition.
In some other life, they might have been a successful couple, withstanding storms together, standing tall and proud and finding some odd comfort in each other.
But now, Rhaenyra was not sure what it could get her — pretending was easier behind closed doors, and when no one saw her, the rumours travelled faster. They were sought; they were necessary — the Princess, the heir to the throne, troubled by something so much she did not leave her quarters.
Enora reported the gossip to her, and Rhaenyra giggled like a child, enjoying how the tale was spun. It reminded her of a ball of yarn that rolled down the stairs, unstoppable and unwinding.
It would only keep going before the skein of her lies inevitably landed at Daemon’s feet.
The next knock on the door was not from a servant or a guard, though.
It was from Princess Rhaenys herself.
Rhaenyra took a deep breath before allowing her entry — she supposed she could not really refuse to see the lady of the castle and the Targaryen Princess. Still, it was the most important step of her plan to date, and Rhaenyra felt anxiety pool in her gut.
It was for the best, though, for it added realism to her symptoms — colour did leave her face, and some sense of uneasiness crept in.
Rhaenys would not be easily gullible — but if Rhaenyra managed to convince her, everyone else would be in her pocket, too.
Princess Rhaenys entered the room with remarkable ease and grace. All these rooms must be familiar to her — High Tide had been her home for so long that she must have learned every alcove, every corner and every flight of stairs.
Her cousin looked at her attentively, but Rhaenyra made no effort to rise from her bed. She sat there, prompted on numerous pillows, and offered Princess Rhaenys a weak, almost apologetic smile.
“Princess,” she greeted the older woman, unsure of who should be the one to speak first — perhaps, in any other circumstances, she surpassed Rhaenys in the rankings, having a higher station than the cousin of the King, but she was in the woman’s home, declining her son’s polite invitations to stroll and drawing a lot of attention by her feigned weakness.
Rhaenyra was not exactly in a position to demand reverent treatment.
“Your Highness,” Rhaenys said, bowing her head. Perhaps she, too, was unsure how to approach her — there was certainly a lot of tension in the air between them.
Who were they to each other? Cousins? Something more? Targaryen’s family tree was a complicated thing to comprehend, and should Rhaenyra marry Laenor, this woman would be her goodmother — that implied some authority over her, even if it was faint and barely visible.
Still, the disposition was not necessarily pleasant — far from hostile either, but doubts lingered in the air.
“I hear you are unwell,” the lady of the castle said politely, coming closer. Rhaenyra fought the urge to flinch — she had not touched her yet, but Rhaenyra was afraid that if the more experienced woman looked at her, she would see the truth for what it was.
Was it possible to fool someone who had two children, who had gone through pregnancies herself? Certainly, Princess Rhaenys had endured all those symptoms herself — and this poor affectation might not be enough.
Rhaenyra clung to Enora’s words — the maid had explained to her that every woman was different, and where one could be riddled with persistent morning sickness, another could carry the burden for nine moons completely unbothered and smiling widely.
She aimed for something in-between — not enough to alert all the maesters of the Crownlands, but enough to make it look plausible and prevent it from being mistaken for something else.
She licked her lips before answering. “Unfortunately, I have been rather unwell, yes, Princess. It saddens me that I cannot properly enjoy your hospitality. Your shores are surely welcoming.”
Princess Rhaenys regarded her with an attentive gaze, examining her from visible under the blankets. “Is there anything in particular that troubles you? Perhaps our maester could be of assistance.”
Rhaenyra shook her head. “I appreciate your care, cousin, but it is nothing serious, really. I believe it should pass soon.”
She remembered she had to appear clueless to an extent — she had to look like it was surprising to her, too, that she could not expect any symptoms of what surely did not happen out of the blue. Rhaenyra was confident her father had managed to quell the scandal of her adventure in Flea Bottom, and the news surely had not reached Driftmark — Rhaenys would not suspect her ruination, would not know her reputation might have been compromised.
She needed to leave just enough doubts for it to be plausible — but not enough to dismiss the matter as something completely inconsequential.
“You may be direct, Princess,” Rhaenys offered her a smile — Rhaenyra had no idea how sincere it was. Her cousin had always been an enigma to her, and right now, the stakes were too high. “Was it the journey that had made you so weak? The sea can be cruel even to dragonriders.”
Rhaenyra chuckled and then swallowed thickly, covering her mouth with the back of her palm, pretending to fight the wave of nausea. “Oh, it must be not just that. If I may be very direct and earnest — ”
“Of course.”
“I expected my courses to arrive right before departure here,” Rhaenyra said with a heavy sigh. “But they still have not come. Instead, there is this queasiness and soreness… But I think it must be the combination of this and the sea, really. I do not have much experience with ships — skies are easier for me to conquer, you know.”
A shadow appeared on her cousin’s face — and Rhaenyra wondered what had been going on in her mind when she decided to pay her guest a visit. Certainly not that — she doubted Rhaenys had the slightest suspicion that the offering the King came bearing might come with hidden surprises.
Rhaenyra fought the urge to smirk, choosing to look at her hands instead, appearing shy and meek. Talking about such things with a woman, with her kin, was not shameful, but it was still unusual for her to so openly discuss such intimate issues.
Her mother had died years ago, and they were not granted enough time to properly talk about such things — Rhaenyra could not remember whether she had ever spoken to someone about her body since flowering. That was the only time she looked at the older woman in her family and sought help and support — but her mother had little time for that.
Since then, she had grown to loathe the idea of being born a woman — it seemed like a gilded cage. Womanhood prevented her from being seen and treated as an equal; it seemed to restrict her from the moment she learned to walk.
Boys studied weapons and battle tactics. They were granted the opportunity to strike when it was necessary.
Rhaenyra used to mourn the lack of training in arms — but for the first time, she thought that perhaps she did not really need a blade or a bow. Her body, feminine and weak, was a weapon in itself.
Finally, her cousin seemed to recover. “Are you often late, Princess? You are young, it may happen like that.”
“I have not been late in all the years since… Well, since it began. It had always been predictable and regular.”
That was not the truth — but Rhaenyra did not mind lying about this as well, especially when it came to her so easily. Rhaenys would not know this was deception, no one would — wielding secrets was surprisingly useful, and Rhaenyra could twist them however she wanted.
The lady of the castle narrowed her eyes and came closer. Her attentive stare was difficult to bear, but Rhaenyra did not waver, her gaze slightly lowered but not entirely meek.
“You do not need to concern yourself over it, cousin,” Rhaenyra said quickly before this could turn into a real interrogation.
“I believe I must,” Rhaenys hummed.
What would she do if the older woman demanded she see a maester? All her efforts would go to waste, and there would be no way to escape the marriage that had been all but finalised. Rhaenyra did not believe there would be much disagreement over the contract — her dowry was the Iron Throne, and Lord Corlys knew better than to cross a line with his audacity and greed.
No, she only had one shot, one try.
She hated that Daemon was somewhere far right now, probably half the world away, hiding from the King’s wrath. He always left when the words of exile were pronounced — he never fucking fought to stay, and Rhaenyra hated she had to do it for two.
She would not be going through all this trouble if it were only about sabotaging the match to Laenor, though. No, unfortunately for her, it seemed that there was something blooming inside her.
It was not a new life, as she was trying to make everything believe. Not yet, at the very least.
It was worse.
He had made her burn and then left — the annoyance and the sting of betrayal were not strong enough to fully overpower all the affection she had for him. It had taken years to grow, bit by bit, drop by drop — it was like she was covered in oil, and Daemon brought a lit timber stick to her.
She was set ablaze after one escapade in the city, after a few kisses, after a brief touch of his fingers on her skin.
If this were how he made other women feel, she would not share — and she also suspected that getting him back was the only way to extinguish the merciless blaze.
If she burned, he would, too — the whole dynasty, the crown, if they had to.
Rhaenys touched her forehead — but there were no signs of fever, of course. Rhaenyra was not sure if it was a good or a bad thing — Enora had said nothing about such a symptom, but what if the maid had not told her everything?
Her cousin’s brows were furrowed, and there clearly was a shade of surprise in her lilac eyes.
“Have you talked to someone about this, Rhaenyra?”
She shrugged. “Why would I? It should pass soon — I really hope to be in better spirits tomorrow, cousin. Truly, I am mostly embarrassed that this is ruining my visit, but my maid packed everything I might need for my courses. It will be fine.”
Her voice was not as steady as she wanted it to be — after all, she was hardly a cold-hearted liar. No, she was still clueless in many aspects, and her only reliable source of information was Enora.
It would have been better if she could speak to multiple women, combine their knowledge and craft a more convincing tale, but this was a battle against time.
“Does vomiting trouble you much?” Rhaenys inquired.
This, Rhaenyra knew how to answer. “It is worse in the mornings but allows me to breathe more easily by the evening.”
Her cousin hummed again. It was still quite difficult to tell whether her lies had been persuasive — but Rhaenys must be at least contemplating the possibility, for she appeared to be way tenser than she was when walking into Rhaenyra’s room.
“You should rest, Princess,” she declared, turning to leave. “Let us hope the sea air improves your condition.”
“Thank you, cousin,” Rhaenyra tried to smile. “I am truly sorry it is souring my visit, but we will soon be even closer family, will we not? I am sure a lot more joyful days await me on Driftmark.”
Rhaenys’ mouth twitched before forming a thin line — and Rhaenyra had to stifle her triumphant grin.
The lady of the castle did not seem pleased to have her for a gooddaughter.
“Certainly, Your Highness,” she said coldly before leaving the quarters.
***
In the evening, Rhaenyra turned to spying.
She knew little about High Tide and its layout, and the castle did not seem to be very welcoming, but she decided that without gathering information, her silence would be useless.
After attending dinner, where she tried to appear more cheerful and lively to alleviate her father’s possible worries, she pretended to retire for the night — only to set off on her explorative mission.
Rhaenyra was not sure what exactly she was looking for — but maybe she could catch a whisper, a rumour, a juicy part of the conversation. There were bound to be some talks even after the dinner was finished and the plates were cleaned — by the hosts or by the guests.
The King’s opinion mattered little to her in this endeavour — her father was often willfully ignorant and oblivious, and she doubted he had noticed something outrageous about her behaviour or demeanour.
But the Velaryons — this was more important to her. Rhaenys stared at her during the dinner, even though Rhaenyra did her best to be a perfect Targaryen Princess, dancing with her betrothed and smiling.
The woman must be suspecting something.
As she stalked through the halls of High Tide, a single candle in hand, she did not know what to expect from her little walk. Maybe she would not learn anything at all, maybe it was a waste of time —
But then, she heard her cousin’s voice.
“Why would he do it now? After all those years?”
Rhaenyra froze in her tracks, pressing her whole body to the wall, desperate to hear more. She had no idea who she was talking about, but her voice sounded serious and concerned.
“We do not know if it was him who did it, wife. The missive did not mention any suspects.”
This was Lord Corlys replying — his tone cautious, warning.
“Oh, please, Corlys. You know better than everyone how much he despised his wife. A fall from a horse? Laughable.”
“Perhaps he has grown tired of waiting for the King to grant him an annulment.”
Rhaenyra covered her mouth with her hand. They were most certainly talking about her uncle — who else?
So Daemon was not busy with being in his cups or fucking another whore of his. No, he must have paid the Vale a visit and killed his wife.
The thought was strangely unsettling. Rhaenyra welcomed the news with her whole heart — she could not muster sympathy for the woman she had never heard anything good about — but it also filled her with dread.
If he was caught —
Whatever the future held for them, Daemon was playing his own game, she could see it plainly. Rhaenys was right — he would not kill Rhea Royce without reason; he had been married for almost two decades and never bothered to rid himself of this manacle.
Until now.
She bit the inside of her cheek, realising how this knowledge only played into her hands. The Rogue Prince returned to the capital only to leave almost immediately, suddenly and abruptly — and proceeded to kill his loathsome wife while the Princess appeared ill and genuinely unwell, troubled by a mysterious ailment.
“Does the King know?” Rhaenys asked. “Is this why he is here in such an urgency, desperate to thrust his daughter into a marriage?”
“I do not think he knows,” the Sea Snake replied.
“Gods help us all,” her cousin said with a deep sigh — and with that, Rhaenyra scurried back to her room, having heard enough.
Whatever intent Daemon had when murdering his bronze bitch, he was helping her — and this was the most important thing she could learn tonight.
***
They left Driftmark the next day.
Rhaenyra left her rooms late, claiming she was slightly unwell but refusing any assistance. Rhaenys’ gaze lingered on her for too long, but Rhaenyra tried to hold herself with dignity despite the scrutiny. Soon, she would be away from them all — back at home, working relentlessly, like a spider weaving her web of lies.
“I shall fly to the capital, Your Grace,” Princess Rhaenys announced as they were about to board the ship. Rhaenyra froze and straightened her shoulders, sensing that her first victim was wrapped in the shroud of her deceit. “To add some… input to the marriage contract.”
Her father frowned, not having expected such a development. However, he recovered quickly, and his goodhearted nature got the best of him once again.
“You are always welcome in the Red Keep, cousin, business or not. We shall be waiting for you, then.”
There were some more goodbyes exchanged, with Laenor gallantly kissing her hand and expressing his besottedness with her — Rhaenyra found it to be excessive, but they both were pretending, playing the game neither of them enjoyed, so she did not want to be hostile to him.
Instead, she smiled and wished him to stay well and safe.
She truly meant it — in the storm that was about to sweep them all off their feet, she hoped for her cousin to come out with as few injuries as it was possible.
Rhaenys Targaryen watched her the entire time — how she asked her maid for water, how she turned away at some point and covered her mouth with her hand, how she grimaced and sighed.
Bolting the doors of her cabin on the ship, Rhaenyra breathed out. This exhausting, tiresome chapter was over — Rhaenys was on the hook, and she would not let her get off it.
Still, for now, she deserved some rest.
***
“How soon does a pregnancy become public knowledge?”
“Oh, that varies greatly, Princess. Some prefer to keep the knowledge to themselves for as long as possible, but some are so overcome with joy that they share the happy news as soon as they are more or less certain.”
***
Her father’s council gathered on the day of Princess Rhaenys’ arrival in the capital. They were supposed to convene and discuss the matters related to the marriage — the King would announce the choice of the husband for his heir, and they would ensure everything was ready for the royal wedding.
The coffers, the contracts, the invitations, the festivities — oh, her father would delight at all the preparations. It was probably his true calling — not the governance itself but the matters related to the revelry and celebrations. If he could devote his time only to merrymaking, he would gladly do so.
Sometimes, Rhaenyra looked at him and thought that being King could not be that difficult — he had his advisors who did the majority of hard work and Viserys Targaryen, the first of his name, appeared to be the King of tourneys and feasts more than wars and trade.
Some council meetings were plainly tedious, and Rhaenyra rarely looked forward to attending them. Today, however, everything would be different.
Her maids helped her into a simple dress — she often wore black now, abandoning bright, almost childish colours in favour of appearing more mature and composed.
She did not braid her hair today, letting it fall loosely on her back, a very light curl still present in it from the bath she took yesterday before going to bed. Rhaenyra looked at herself in the mirror — she looked beautiful, maybe even too beautiful for someone who was supposed to be in a delicate condition and completely distraught.
But she could not help but smirk, pushing the silver earrings through her earlobes. After all, to her, the news was not a tragedy — she should appear pleasantly surprised and extremely emotional, and it would be believable.
Her father would have no choice but to acquiesce — if he did not believe Daemon capable of actually sleeping with her, he would not have sent moon tea to her that night. No, despite what she had told both him and Alicent, they still thought she had been ruined — and they must have some reasons for it.
It did not really matter that they did not find her defence persuasive enough back then — the most important part was happening now.
Rhaenyra had never deemed herself a particularly good actress — she could lie, surely, but she rarely had to. As a Princess, she could just command things and be spoiled, and deception was rarely a necessary strategy for her.
She might be a Princess, true — but it still made her a woman first, and being sly and cunning was essential for them to stay alive and retain a modicum of control over their lives.
As soon as she opened the door of her room, she started walking briskly, forcing Ser Criston to take wider steps, too. Rhaenyra did not want to run , but she had to appear in a rush — some flush to her cheeks might also be beneficial for her cause.
The guard did not dare ask questions, probably suspecting she was simply late for the council meeting — which she was, to an extent. However, it was a rather calculated delay — Rhaenyra planned to speak her piece with everyone in attendance, unwilling to repeat the theatrics twice or thrice simply for the late guests.
As long as her father, his Hand, and Princess Rhaenys were there, she would not hesitate to speak up. The more pairs of eyes and ears there were, the better — but the key players must be present already.
Rhaenyra took a deep breath before pushing the doors of the council room forward.
She would either win today or lose miserably — there was no in-between, and balancing on such a tightrope was exciting and scary both.
“Ah, here she is!” Her father exclaimed when she entered, waving his hand at her.
Everyone was there already. Lord Strong, sitting over a pile of parchment. Princess Rhaenys, her face an unreadable mask. Lord Beesbury, no doubt anticipating the cost of the wedding and the strain it would put on the royal coffers. Grand Maester, Masters of ships, laws and whispers, Harrold Westerling — they were all looking at her expectantly as if she was an actress who finally appeared on stage.
She could not let the moment slip through her fingers — it had to be now, while the air was full of anticipation, while she could seize the opportunity to cause a proper scandal and confusion.
And yet it was not easy to actually pronounce the words — feigning nausea and avoiding conversations was simple, it was even fun. The direct lies, so grave at that, were difficult to voice out.
But hesitation was her enemy, so Rhaenyra exhaled the words:
“I am with child. Prince Daemon’s child.”
She could hear the hairpin drop — so silent was the council, all those wise men who were proficient in politics and intrigue. How much did they know about this kind of intrigue, though, something uniquely womanly, something they had never expected from her?
It was as if the air was sucked out of the room — and everyone seemed frozen in their shock and disbelief. Rhaenyra delighted at the sight, for she might be the lead actress, but the true spectacle was happening in front of her.
Gods, their faces.
Lord Strong exhaled loudly and covered his face with his hand, looking down and hiding his eyes. Harrold Westerling shifted uncomfortably on his feet, trying not to look at her. Lord Beesbury started coughing nervously, either having choked on the wine or trying to hide his stupor.
All this, she would remember her whole life. Men were supposed to rule the realm; they were supposed to be stronger and more fit to deal with serious matters, yet when it came to something like this, to something as simple and natural as pregnancy, as womanhood — they all averted their eyes, at a loss of words, suddenly meek and timid.
The King’s face grew pale — his mouth was a thin line, his eyes glinting with rare anger. Rhaenyra was not sure she had ever seen him so annoyed — he did not rage openly, not yet, but there were flickers of fire in his otherwise bright and kind eyes.
This was the moment of truth, Rhaenyra thought. He would either seek a way to aid her or banish her to join her uncle somewhere far away, stripped of all titles and allowances.
Either outcome would be a victory for her, she concluded. Everything that led her to Daemon would be a win, no matter how much lying it took to achieve this.
“Well, this brings the negotiations of the marriage contract to an end,” Princess Rhaenys was the first to speak, pushing her chair back and standing up.
Rhaenyra swallowed hard. Her cousin believed her.
They all did.
All these sagacious, prudent men — they did not doubt her words for a second, knowing full well what the Rogue Prince was capable of. They knew him, and they knew her — that she was besotted with her uncle, that she was easy to lure into his wicked traps. Rhaenyra wondered if they pitied her or despised her.
It did not matter as long as the outcome was her reputation being put to dust.
Her gaze slid to the side table, where the candles stood, unnecessary at this time of the day. Rhaenyra thought about fire gnawing on materials until nothing could withstand the heat.
Fires often started from one carelessly forgotten candle — and even the stones would crack in the face of the blaze.
First lies, first grimaces were her candle — a flicker of fire, really, a feeble flame that could have been easily extinguished by a strong gust of wind. But it was not — Rhaenyra had managed to preserve it, to nurture it, and now it was engulfing everything around her.
All these men would walk out of this room and speak further. Letters would be drafted; whispers would be exchanged — her pregnancy would be public knowledge by the time the sun rolled beyond the horizon.
Someone murmured something, someone grumbled something — but Rhaenyra looked only at her father, breathing heavily, her whole life gambled with, just for the sake of getting her uncle back.
“Silence!” The King roared — and everyone heeded, shocked at how loud and enraged he was. Even Princess Rhaenys froze, standing awkwardly by her chair.
Her father stared at her before wetting his lips and continuing:
“You will explain yourself at once, Rhaenyra. What kind of a jest is it?”
Out of them all, the King knew her best. Somewhere deep inside, he must know she was lying — there was something special about a bond between a father and a daughter, after all, and he had seen her grow, had seen her lie and throw tantrums.
And yet something was contradicting this feeling in him — there must be some evidence that spoke to him that she was not lying, that this was the uncomfortable, ugly truth.
“This is no jest!” Rhaenyra exclaimed and sniffled. Her tears could come on demand — a useful skill she used to need to demand more treats or time with Syrax or Daemon, but it came in handy right now, too. “You must let him know, Father.”
The King clenched his jaw. “I had the tea brought to you, Rhaenyra.”
“I did not take it!” Not a lie. “How could I? It is a sin, Your Grace, to kill an innocent child in the womb. Would you condemn me to Seven Hells just like that?”
Rhaenyra thanked Alicent for her love for the Faith and the religious texts — they had read tales about wanton women poisoning babes and burning in hells for such a deed, the details of such a punishment very graphic and descriptive. Back then, Rhaenyra laughed — who would know what hells were like? — but right now, it was useful knowledge.
Lord Beesbury, the pious and kind man, nodded. Someone else exhaled loudly, and the King seemed at a loss of words, too — who could blame the sweet, young Princess for her fear of the gods’ wrath? She was nothing but dutiful, seduced by a callous rogue, tarnished and disgraced.
They felt sorry for her, yes — Rhaenyra saw it in the eyes of Harrold Westerling and even Lord Strong. A humiliated Princess, a poor soul, used and discarded by Prince Daemon like one of his whores — just even more unlucky, all because of the tender and kind heart she possessed.
Rhaenyra wanted to laugh — but it was not yet time for that.
“How do you know?” Her father asked. “Grand Maester, have you examined the Princess?”
Before the old man could say anything, Rhaenyra sobbed.
“This man brought me the tea, he wanted to kill this baby. I would not let him touch me!”
The King rubbed his eyes. “Then how can we confirm your words?”
She trembled slightly, for it was the weak point of her defence. This was what they could utilise to uncover the truth and put an end to this plot. This was what could ruin the whole plan — and it was not surprising her father demanded proof, for the rumours could only sustain so much.
She thought about what she could do — which details would convince her father that she was telling the truth. She could proceed to share very uncomfortable descriptions of the act itself, forcing the conversation to turn sour and end abruptly, but it was not ideal.
Because she had not been actually deflowered and did not know enough to explain everything in a realistic way.
However, Rhaenyra received an unlikely help.
“I am afraid she is not lying,” Princess Rhaenys said dryly. She looked at Rhaenyra with coldness — it stung to be regarded like this. While the men averted their gazes and looked down, meek in the face of something like this sin, Rhaenys did not seem to fear the storm — there was steady determination in her voice.
Her marriage to Laenor was over before it could even be properly announced, Rhaenyra realised.
“Everyone but my family — out!” The King shouted, slamming the table with his hands.
The command came as a relief to many — the men hurried out, competing at who would be the first one to flee the scene, escaping the discomfort of being in the same room with a disgraced Princess, angry Rhaenys Targaryen and apoplectic King.
When there was no one but the three of them in the room, her father buried his face in his hands and groaned. Rhaenys stood tall and proud, unwilling to say anything — Rhaenyra was sure she wanted to leave, too, leap onto her dragon and return to Driftmark, declaring to her husband that the ambition for the throne was at its end.
But she dared not disobey the King’s command — so she stayed, looking ahead of herself, not deeming either of them worthy of her gaze.
“We will have to hasten the wedding,” the King muttered, looking at his cousin for help. “How soon can Laenor arrive at the capital, how soon can we finalise this?”
“Finalise this?” Rhaenys laughed bitterly. “There will be no marriage, Viserys. Are you out of your mind?”
Rhaenyra bit the inside of her cheek. It was not surprising that her father wished to carry on with this union as if nothing had happened — he had a tendency to overlook things, a tendency to willingly ignore them for the sake of maintaining peace.
But Princess Rhaenys was not going to let this slide — it was an offence to house Velaryon, surely, to be offered a ruined bride.
“We can cover it up, Rhaenys,” her father practically begged, his eyes fixed on his cousin, paying Rhaenyra no mind. “It is still not too late — ”
“Can you hear yourself, Viserys?! She is pregnant with Daemon’s child — not some stable boy’s, not by her guard or some bold lord. We are all going to burn if he learns of this.”
“Then he will not learn!” The King said angrily. “I have exiled him; he is not coming back.”
But Princess Rhaenys just scoffed. “He has killed his wife, cousin. Now. Not last year, not ten years ago. Daemon is coming back for your daughter, one way or another, and he is anything but stupid. If he learns my son is standing between him and his child, he will run Dark Sister through Laenor without second thoughts. Pardon me, Your Grace, for wanting to keep my son out of this.”
With that, she turned on her heels and walked out of the room, casting one last look at Rhaenyra. There was no disdain in her lilac eyes but no pity either — no, the whole debacle had only confirmed what she feared to be the truth already.
What Rhaenyra had made her believe.
She doubted Rhaenys knew that the potential child was Daemon’s when her first suspicions formed — and she was not wrong now, for her uncle was truly unpredictable and wild at times. He had no progeny yet, and his murdering Rhea certainly made it look like he was planning to do something about her.
This warmed Rhaenyra’s heart. They were working together, even without conspiring and discussing any plans. Their combined efforts were wearing off the King’s defences, alienating his potential allies and knocking arms out of his hands.
With Princess Rhaenys gone, the King exhaled loudly once again and threw his head back. Rhaenyra did not dare push her luck further, did not dare say anything — there was no doubt he believed her lies, but she was afraid to go overboard with her affectation.
“What have you done, daughter?” He asked, his voice tired.
Rhaenyra swallowed thickly. She had caught numerous people in the web of her lies — Princess Rhaenys, her whole family, the small council, even the King. They were all tangled in it now, blindfolded and led to accept her bent truth.
But she could not say that, could not relax until she was pronounced Daemon’s wife.
“Please, Father,” she pleaded. “Call him back.”
The King laughed. “Are you out of your mind? I should have killed him that day, should have fucking slashed his throat and be done with this plague tormenting my family.”
She had no idea what had happened between her father and her uncle on the day of his latest banishment, but she was sure no kind words had been exchanged. Rhaenyra shivered at the thought of Daemon losing his life at her father’s hand — she could scarcely imagine the King so wrathful as to cross the line of kinslaying.
It was perhaps for the best that her uncle was away for now — at least he would not be sent to the scaffold immediately.
Rhaenyra rushed to her father and dropped to her knees, hot tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Please, Father! He has the right to know, it is his baby, the only child he has! Please, call him back, let us marry — I love him, Father, I really do.”
For all her father’s shortcomings, he was a kind man — and he loved his family, even his brother. He loved children, too — surely, his heart would soften to his pregnant daughter pleading on her knees for a chance to be happy with the man of her choosing.
He had promised her that.
The King would not be able to resist her tears and desperate pleas. He would have to acquiesce, she knew, seeing her hug his knees and beg.
Rhaenyra hoped she resembled her mother right now — if the King still cared for his late wife, of course.
He might be angry with her for causing a public scandal, for ruining the alliance with the Velaryons, for not taking the tansy tea he had delivered to her — but he would always forgive her, Rhaenyra knew, no matter her insolence and audacity.
It was a weapon she could wield when nothing else was available to her — the mystery of her body, the fact that it could carry such precious secrets, that men knew so laughably little about women in truth.
“Rise, child,” he said. “I cannot allow him back at court, Rhaenyra, you know this. We will find you a suitable suitor, and you will be able to keep your child — ”
She had no desire to be transferred to another family — not at all. She did not go through all this trouble of making the Velaryons reject her for her father to simply offer her to someone else, someone less picky.
“I want Daemon,” she whispered, her lips trembling. These words were easy to pronounce — because they were the plain truth, and in another life, she would not have to come up with intricate and dangerous lies to achieve this.
She had to now, and she hated this — but her heart’s desire was true, it was not part of the game. No, she truly wanted him, needed him like air.
If her father did not grant her wish, the blaze would continue spreading.
“Enough!” The King said, urging her to stand up. “Go back to your rooms and do not dare say the traitor’s name again — or else I will have no choice but to ship you to the cold keep somewhere in the North. Do not make me do this, daughter.”
She sniffled. Well, perhaps this game would take a few more rounds to be won.
Rhaenyra stood up and hugged herself, turning to leave. She should count herself lucky as it was, she knew, for she had avoided the maester’s examination and the marriage to Laenor — step by step, she would win this battle.
She just needed to be patient.
“How are you feeling?” Her father asked with a sigh just as she was about to leave the room.
Rhaenyra froze but did not turn around. “Scared, Father.”
It was not a lie, not completely. She had to be very, very cautious with her every breath — lest the truth was uncovered, lest she slipped and allowed her defence to crumble. Rhaenyra had gambled with everything she had — her body, her hand in marriage, her inheritance — and losing would hurt badly.
Deciding she needed to add one more nail to the coffin of her lies, she breathed out some more words:
“Scared to die like mother, all alone and confused.”
Rhaenyra heard her father sigh. His next words were more gentle, full of some softness that was always reserved for her in his soul.
“We will figure it out, I promise. Now go.”
Once she was back in her room, she sent everyone away and wiped away her fake tears. In the privacy of her chamber, Princess Rhaenyra laughed.
It was so easy to lie when everyone already believed the worst about her and her uncle. It was so easy to lie when her voice was the loudest, when she did not allow any protest. The initiative was hers, and everyone was swept off their feet by her unwavering resolve and remarkable energy.
Men, Rhaenyra scoffed. Such cowards in the face of a woman being open about her body.
***
She obeyed her father’s command dutifully — stayed in her room, mostly abed, refusing the scarce visitors.
Alicent came and raged — shouting accusations at her, hurling curses, blaming her for everything. Rhaenyra did not think that the woman who had concealed her nightly visits to the King and might have got pregnant before her wedding herself had any right to be so full of disdain and ire — but Otto Hightower had been sent away, and apparently, the Queen saw it as a terrible slight.
It was incomprehensible for her that her father had been banished not for telling about their brothel escapade — but for spying on her, and that offence still stood.
The King visited, too — to tell her that he had to look for suitors within reach, somewhere in the capital or in the Crownlands, so the wedding could be quick. Rhaenyra nodded mindlessly, caring little for his efforts.
They all would refuse him, she knew. If Rhaenys was afraid of Daemon killing her son because of marrying her, Lannisters and Tullys, Masseys and Tarlys should tremble even more. Rhaenyra had no doubt their fear for their lives was stronger than their desire to wed a Princess, so she was rather confident her father’s efforts would be for nought.
What did trouble her, though, was how long he would needlessly prolong this humiliating suffering.
She would not be able to play this game for long — her breasts and belly were supposed to grow, and soon, the King and the court would look for visible signs in her. Rhaenyra assumed she could fake those, too, with the help of some garments and the extra layers, but she would rather not go through all this trouble.
Her courses came, too — and Enora had to wash her nightdress in the basin in the middle of the night, lest the laundress noticed the distinctive blood stains. Together, Rhaenyra and her maid burned the bedding that could not be easily washed inside the chamber — the secrecy was exhausting, and she had to tread really carefully.
At night, she played with the Valyrian steel necklace Daemon had given her years ago, wondering how long it would take them to meet again, their respective plans bringing them together.
***
“House Lannister shall not raise a bastard within their domain — even the one of the royal blood.”
“House Tyrell fears they cannot accept such an honour.”
“We must refuse, Your Grace.”
***
The three of them were sitting in the small council chamber — Rhaenyra, her father and his Hand, Lyonel Strong.
The King looked tired, stuck in his helpless pursuit of finding his daughter a husband who would accept her as she was and not fear the wrath of the Rogue Prince.
There was no news of Daemon himself, much to Rhaenyra’s dismay. He was lying low, whatever his intentions were, and she had to clench her jaw in silent anger — his help would be appreciated, but it seemed that he was content with being a widower and doing nothing more.
“Lord Strong,” the King began in an almost pleading tone. “Surely, your eldest son would be happy to wed the heir to the throne. He is in need of a bride — ”
Quite frankly, it was embarrassing how her father almost pleaded with every family to take her — the heir to the Iron Throne, a Targaryen Princess, a dragon rider. She was diminished to nothing, half of the realm expecting her disinheritance and the other one trembling in fear of Caraxes and Dark Sister.
Rhaenyra did not tremble, though — she hid her smiles and smirks, she sighed and stayed inside her rooms unless summoned by her father. It was amusing — to see how they all seemed to avoid her like a plague, the woman tainted by Prince Daemon’s lust and ambition.
She watched all this with a bizarre sense of impersonal interest. The blaze spread further and further, dragging every corner of the realm into it, and Rhaenyra could hardly believe one careful lie was the reason for it.
Lyonel Strong sighed. “Your Grace, with all due respect, it is more than the question of Her Highness’ marriage.”
“What do you mean?” The King furrowed his brows.
“This is not any child,” the Hand began carefully. “Pardon me, Princess, for being crass and direct, but this unwanted child has a father, someone we all know. Someone who will stop at nothing once he learns what is being kept away from him.”
Rhaenyra hid her smirk behind a goblet. That was exactly the point — Daemon’s greed was not subtle, not at all, and if he won a bloodied war all by himself, driven by spite, it was not difficult to imagine what he would do if he learned there was a living child of his blood walking someone’s halls.
They all were right to fear him — they probably underestimated her , but it mattered little as long as the outcome was all the same.
“Then he will not learn that it is his!” Her father exclaimed loudly, grimacing. “We will all come to an agreement that the child is trueborn, albeit born out of a… premature dalliance between the groom and the bride. It is hardly a crime, even if it is not a good look.”
“Do you want my honest advice, Your Grace?” Lyonel asked. The King waved his hand, urging the man to speak his piece. “Summon Prince Daemon back. He is a widower now and the father of the child. There is no need to add more deceit and let the scandal spread further. Contain it, give your daughter to him and let the rumours die.”
Rhaenyra did not dare look at the Hand of the King lest her violet eyes betrayed a glint of gratitude — but her heart was beating faster and faster, the premonition of something grand filling her veins. She trembled slightly in anticipation of her father’s decision — would he dismiss Lord Strongs’ counsel? Or would he be wise enough to heed it?
The King sighed and downed his goblet of wine, slamming it on the table with a loud bang. Then, he rubbed his eyes and muttered some quiet curses under his nose.
“Find Prince Daemon, wherever the fuck he is. Bring him here, in chains, if needed.”