Chapter Text
The queen had been in labor since before dawn.
By late afternoon, the birthing chamber smelled of blood, hot water, and the bitter herbs the maesters had ordered burned near the windows. The midwives had stopped offering cheerful reassurances, and Grand Maester Mellos no longer told the king that everything was proceeding as expected.
Viserys had not left Aemma's side.
Her silver hair clung damply to her face, and every contraction seemed to leave her with less strength. Months earlier, she had told him that this pregnancy would be her last. She had buried too many children and endured too many pregnancies that ended in grief.
Viserys had agreed, though he had also convinced himself that this time would be different.
For months, he had dreamed of a son. He had not merely hoped for one; he had dreamed of the boy so often that possibility had slowly hardened into certainty in his mind.
Now Aemma lay exhausted before him, and certainty seemed like a particularly cruel thing.
"Your Grace."
Viserys looked over his shoulder.
Mellos stood several paces away, and one glance at the old man's face was enough.
Viserys carefully released Aemma's hand and joined him.
"What is it?"
"The babe is badly positioned. We have tried to turn it, but the queen has lost too much strength."
"What are you saying?"
Mellos lowered his voice.
"There is a way we may still save the child."
Viserys stared at him.
"And Aemma?"
The hesitation answered before the maester did.
"Mellos."
"The only way to reach the child is to cut into the queen's womb. She will not survive it."
Viserys looked back toward the bed.
Aemma was still conscious.
Still breathing.
"Then find another way."
"If there were one, Your Grace, I would use it."
"There must be."
"I am sorry."
Viserys kept his eyes on his wife.
"If you do nothing?"
Mellos followed his gaze.
"I fear we will lose them both."
Viserys closed his eyes.
"You are asking me to choose."
"I am telling you the choice that remains."
For one brief, vicious moment, Viserys hated him for saying it so calmly.
"Viserys?"
Aemma was looking for him.
He returned to the bed immediately and took her hand.
"I'm here."
"I cannot do this anymore."
"I know."
Her eyes closed again.
"The babe?"
Viserys looked toward Mellos.
The Grand Maester waited without speaking.
There would be no different answer if he waited another minute. No miracle would suddenly present itself because he lacked the courage to decide.
Viserys bent and kissed Aemma's forehead.
Then he stood.
"Do it."
Mellos bowed once.
The attendants began to move.
Aemma opened her eyes when several men approached the bed.
"What's happening?"
Viserys sat beside her again.
"They are going to help the babe."
She looked beyond him, confusion quickly giving way to unease.
"Viserys?"
He held her hand.
"It's all right."
One of the attendants reached for her arm.
Aemma pulled away.
"No. What are you doing?"
"Aemma—"
"What are they doing?"
Another man moved to restrain her.
Understanding came at once.
Her eyes snapped back to Viserys.
"No."
He tightened his hold on her hand.
"Aemma, please."
"No, Viserys."
She tried to push the attendants away.
"Stop them."
Viserys could not answer.
"Viserys!"
The attendants held her down as Aemma fought them with what little strength remained.
"Please! No!"
Viserys stayed beside her and did not release her hand.
But he did not tell them to stop.
---
Rhaenyra knew something had gone wrong before anyone came to tell her.
The tournament continued beneath a bright afternoon sky. Men crashed into the dirt to cheers from thousands, horses screamed, and lords laughed over wagers as though nothing beyond the lists could possibly matter.
Her father's seat remained empty.
So did her mother's.
Alicent sat beside her.
"You should eat something."
Rhaenyra kept watching the entrance to the royal box.
"I'm not hungry."
"You haven't eaten since this morning."
"I wasn't hungry then either."
Alicent glanced at the untouched fruit between them.
"I could ask for something else."
Rhaenyra finally looked at her.
"Do you truly believe the problem is the selection?"
"No."
"Then stop trying to feed me."
Alicent did not take offense.
"Very well."
Rhaenyra returned her attention to the lists.
Daemon was riding again.
Her uncle had always known how to make a tournament look as though it had been arranged entirely for his amusement. His armor gleamed beneath the sun, and the crowd followed every arrogant turn of his horse.
Normally, Rhaenyra would have watched closely. Today, she barely noticed who he was fighting.
Alicent touched her arm.
"Rhaenyra."
"What?"
"Ser Harrold."
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had entered the royal box and was looking directly at her.
Rhaenyra stood before he reached them.
"What happened?"
Harrold hesitated, and her stomach tightened.
"My princess—"
"My mother?"
Alicent rose beside her.
"Rhaenyra..."
"Tell me."
Harrold's face softened.
"The king has asked that you return to the Red Keep."
Rhaenyra stared at him.
"Is she alive?"
The silence lasted too long.
"Ser Harrold."
"I am sorry, Princess."
For a moment, the noise of the tournament seemed to disappear.
Alicent reached for her.
Rhaenyra did not remember leaving the stands.
---
Aemma died before sunset.
Her son survived her for less than a day.
They named him Baelon.
Viserys held the boy once.
He was impossibly small, wrapped in cloth prepared months earlier by women who had expected him to grow into it.
By the following morning, the son Viserys had imagined for years was another body waiting to be burned beside his mother.
---
The funeral pyre stood beneath a grey sky.
Rhaenyra stood before her mother's body. Beside Aemma rested a bundle small enough that she could almost pretend it contained something else, but she refused herself even that small deception.
Baelon had been her brother.
She had never held him, never heard him cry, never learned anything about him except how desperately everyone had wanted him before he was born.
For months, Rhaenyra had resented a child who had done nothing to her because the court spoke as though his birth would finally correct the mistake of hers.
Now he was dead too, and there was no satisfaction in it. There was only shame that she had ever resented him at all.
Viserys stood several steps away, dressed in black, with Otto near him.
Alicent stood among the mourners.
Daemon remained beside Rhaenyra.
He had said little since Aemma's death, and she was grateful for it. Everyone else seemed determined to fill the silence. Septons spoke of mercy, ladies whispered about the Seven, and men offered condolences to Viserys that all sounded the same after the first dozen.
Daemon offered none.
When the dragonkeepers signaled that Syrax was ready, Rhaenyra remained still.
Her dragon waited beyond the pyre.
Daemon leaned slightly toward her and spoke in High Valyrian, keeping his voice low enough that the exchange belonged only to them.
"They are waiting."
"I know."
Rhaenyra looked at Aemma.
"I cannot do it."
"You can."
"That is easy for you to say."
"No. It isn't."
She turned toward him.
Daemon's voice remained low.
"Giving the command does not mean you are the one taking her from this world."
Rhaenyra swallowed.
"I don't want this to be the last thing I do for her."
"It isn't."
"What else is there?"
"Remembering her."
Rhaenyra's eyes burned.
Daemon glanced toward Syrax.
"Your mother deserves a dragon's fire."
Rhaenyra drew a slow breath and faced her dragon.
"Dracarys."
Syrax obeyed.
Fire swept across the pyre, and Rhaenyra watched until the flames hid both her mother and the brother she had never known.
---
Alicent found her that night sitting beside her bed.
Rhaenyra had removed most of the pins from her hair but still wore her black mourning dress. The servants had been dismissed, yet Alicent entered anyway.
Rhaenyra glanced at her.
"I did not invite you."
"I noticed."
"And yet here you are."
Alicent closed the door.
"I thought you might be lonely."
"I told everyone I wanted to be alone."
"Those are not always the same thing."
Rhaenyra studied her for a moment.
"You have become very wise."
"My father would be pleased to hear that."
"Your father is pleased by very few things."
Alicent smiled faintly.
"That may be the wisest thing either of us has said."
She sat beside Rhaenyra, and for a while neither spoke.
Eventually, Rhaenyra said, "Everyone keeps looking at me."
"They always look at you."
"Not like this."
"How are they looking at you?"
"As though they are waiting to see what happens next."
Alicent lowered her eyes.
"People did that when my mother died."
Rhaenyra turned toward her. Alicent rarely spoke about her mother.
"What did they say?"
"That my father would eventually have to remarry. That my brother needed more guidance. That I would have new duties."
Her mouth tightened slightly.
"I remember thinking that she had not even been buried and everyone was already deciding what to do with the space she had left."
Rhaenyra looked toward the dark fireplace.
"My father wanted Baelon so badly."
Alicent considered her answer.
"He wanted a son."
"He wanted one more than anything."
"That doesn't mean he didn't want you."
"I know."
Rhaenyra drew her knees closer.
"I just don't know whether knowing that makes it better."
Alicent could not think of an honest answer, so she did not offer one.
After a moment, Rhaenyra looked at her.
"Am I terrible for being angry with him?"
"No."
"He lost her too."
"That doesn't mean you have to stop being angry."
"At the king?"
Alicent almost smiled.
"I would advise against announcing it during court."
Rhaenyra laughed quietly.
"That sounded almost rebellious."
"Please never tell my father."
"I might."
"Then I shall deny everything."
The amusement faded, but some of the tension had left Rhaenyra's face.
Alicent reached for her hand, and Rhaenyra held on.
"Don't leave yet."
"I won't."
"Even if I fall asleep?"
"Especially then."
Rhaenyra rested her head against Alicent's shoulder.
"Promise?"
"I promise."
---
Four days later, Viserys summoned Daemon to the throne room.
Daemon expected Otto Hightower to be there.
Instead, Viserys waited alone beneath the Iron Throne.
Daemon stopped several paces away.
"Brother."
Viserys did not return the greeting.
"Did you call my son the Heir for a Day?"
Daemon's expression changed.
So Otto had already spoken.
"Is that what your Hand told you?"
"Do not make this about Otto."
"You summoned me because of something Otto carried to you."
"I summoned you because my son is dead."
Daemon fell silent.
Viserys stepped closer.
"My wife is dead. My son lived for less than a day, and while I was preparing to burn them together, men in your company were drinking and laughing about how briefly Baelon had been my heir."
"I did not laugh at him."
"Did you say it?"
Daemon looked toward the throne, then back at his brother.
"Yes."
Viserys stared at him.
"I should not have."
"Why did you?"
"Because I was angry."
"At Baelon?"
"At this court."
Viserys shook his head.
"My son dies and somehow you still find a way to make it about your grievances."
"You think I wanted him dead?"
"I don't know what you wanted."
The answer struck harder than Daemon expected.
He folded his arms.
"I have spent years listening to men speak about the son you would eventually have as though he already existed. Every pregnancy was treated as the moment I would finally be moved aside."
"This is about your place in the succession."
"It is about my place beside you."
Viserys frowned.
"Those are not the same thing."
"They have always been the same thing to everyone around us."
"Not to me."
Daemon laughed bitterly.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Then perhaps you might explain why every time Otto whispers that I am unsuitable, I find myself given another office, another duty, or another reason to leave King's Landing."
"You failed in those offices."
"I hated those offices."
"You threatened men as Master of Laws."
"They were corrupt."
"They were lords."
"One does not prevent the other."
Despite himself, Viserys almost smiled, though the expression disappeared quickly.
"And the City Watch?" Daemon continued. "You sent me there expecting it to occupy me."
"I sent you because it needed someone willing to impose order."
"And I did."
"Yes."
The answer stopped Daemon briefly.
Viserys stepped closer.
"You think I do not see what you have done with the Watch? I do. I also see every other thing you do, Daemon. I defend you, and then you give every man who fears you another reason to say he was right."
"Especially Otto."
"Otto did not make you say those words."
"No. He didn't."
Daemon did not attempt to avoid the truth this time.
"I was wrong."
It was not an admission Daemon offered easily, and Viserys knew it.
But it was not enough.
"When Aemma died, I thought I would have time before I was forced to think about the succession again."
Daemon's expression grew wary.
"What are you saying?"
"Rhaenyra will succeed me."
Daemon stared at him.
"What?"
"I will name her Princess of Dragonstone. The lords of the realm will be summoned to swear to her."
"You have already decided."
"Yes."
Daemon drew a slow breath.
"And you called me here afterward."
"I wanted you to hear it from me."
"How thoughtful."
"Do not."
"What would you prefer? Gratitude?"
"I would prefer you to understand why."
Daemon looked toward the throne.
"Then explain it."
Viserys did.
"Because I trust her."
Daemon became very still.
"You trust her."
"Yes."
"And not me."
Viserys held his gaze.
"No."
The quietness of the answer made it worse.
Daemon looked away.
"At least now we have stopped pretending."
"Daemon—"
"No. You wanted honesty."
He faced his brother again.
"I was your heir."
"You were my heir because I had no son."
"And now you still have no—"
Daemon stopped before he could finish.
Viserys's face changed.
The unfinished words hung between them.
"Viserys..."
"My son is dead."
"I know."
"You always know after the words have left your mouth."
Daemon lowered his eyes.
Viserys turned from him.
"You will leave King's Landing."
"For how long?"
"Until I decide otherwise."
"And the Watch?"
"Your captains will manage it."
Daemon gave a humorless laugh.
"Another decision Otto will enjoy."
"This is my decision."
"Of course."
Viserys closed his eyes.
"Must every conversation between us end with one of us trying to wound the other?"
Daemon looked at him.
"You are the king. You have more power than I do to change the ending."
Viserys said nothing, and Daemon did not wait for an answer before turning and leaving the throne room.
---
Rhaenyra found Daemon near Caraxes the following morning.
The Dragonpit was already awake around them. Dragonkeepers moved at a careful distance from the Blood Wyrm while the morning air carried the familiar mixture of ash, smoke, leather, and the heavier scent of dragon.
Daemon was checking the saddle when she approached.
"You were going to leave without speaking to me."
He recognized her voice but continued adjusting one of the straps.
"I assumed your father had spoken enough for everyone."
"Do not do that."
He looked at her.
"Do what?"
"Speak to me as if I have suddenly become one of his councillors."
"Rhaenyra."
"Father told me."
Daemon's hand stopped.
"Then you know."
"I know he intends to name me heir."
"Congratulations."
She stared at him.
"That may be the least sincere thing you have ever said to me."
"I am capable of worse."
"I know."
For the briefest moment, his mouth almost curved.
Rhaenyra did not smile.
"Are you angry with me?"
"No."
"Look at me."
Daemon did.
"I am not angry with you."
"Then why does it feel as though I have done something to you?"
His expression tightened.
"Because I am angry with your father."
"He chose me."
"Yes."
"Above you."
Daemon did not answer immediately.
Rhaenyra stepped closer.
"Do you think he was wrong?"
"I think I was his heir."
"That is not what I asked."
"You have become annoyingly persistent."
"You taught me."
Daemon looked at her, and that silenced him more effectively than anything else she had said.
Rhaenyra continued.
"Do you think I should not inherit the throne?"
"I think the throne was mine to inherit yesterday."
"And today?"
"Today your father has decided otherwise."
She looked away.
Daemon sighed.
"I do not think you are incapable."
"What comfort."
"That was not meant as an insult."
"It sounded remarkably like one."
"Most things I say eventually do."
Rhaenyra almost smiled, but the hurt remained.
"The lords are being summoned."
"I know."
"Stay for the ceremony."
Daemon looked toward Caraxes.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I cannot stand in that hall and pretend this costs me nothing."
"I am not asking you to pretend."
"You are asking me to watch men swear themselves to you in a place where, until four days ago, they expected to swear themselves to me."
"I am asking my uncle to be there."
Daemon's gaze returned to her.
Rhaenyra's voice softened.
"You stood beside me while I burned my mother."
"That was different."
"Why?"
"Because you needed me."
"I need you now."
Daemon's expression changed, and for a moment Rhaenyra thought he might agree.
Then he shook his head.
"I cannot."
"Cannot or will not?"
"Does it matter?"
"To me."
Daemon looked away.
Rhaenyra waited.
Finally, he said, "If I remain, I will resent your father with every oath I hear."
"Then resent him."
"I already do."
"Not me."
Daemon met her eyes.
"I am trying not to."
Rhaenyra froze.
Daemon regretted the answer as soon as he saw her face.
"That is not what I meant."
"Trying?"
"Rhaenyra—"
"You said you were not angry with me."
"I am not blaming you."
"But you resent me."
Daemon exhaled.
"Feelings do not become reasonable simply because we know they should."
She stared at him.
"At least that was honest."
"You asked me to be."
"I think I preferred you when you lied."
"So did I."
The bitterness between them settled into something quieter.
Rhaenyra's voice softened.
"If you leave now, things will be different when you return."
Daemon knew she was right.
"Things are already different."
Her eyes shone, but she refused to let the tears fall.
"Go, then."
"Rhaenyra."
"You have already chosen."
"So has your father."
"I am not him."
Daemon looked at her.
"No. You are not."
There was more he wanted to say, but he could not find a version that did not sound like another wound.
Rhaenyra stepped back.
"Goodbye, Uncle."
The formality hurt more than anger would have.
Daemon mounted Caraxes, and Rhaenyra turned away before the dragon took flight.
---
For the following weeks, ravens left King's Landing almost every day.
The king's decision traveled across Westeros while Rhaenyra learned what being his heir actually required.
She began sitting regularly at the small council. Some men welcomed her presence; others spoke to her with exaggerated patience, as though seventeen years of being a princess had somehow left her unable to understand numbers, alliances, or law.
Alicent heard most of Rhaenyra's complaints afterward.
"Lord Beesbury explained the same levy to me three times."
"Perhaps he wished to be certain."
"He asked whether I understood how the figure was calculated."
Alicent failed to hide her smile.
"You find this amusing?"
"A little."
"You are a terrible friend."
"I stayed beside you all night after the funeral."
"One good deed does not purchase a lifetime of forgiveness."
"Then I shall have to perform another."
Rhaenyra smiled.
The easy familiarity between them remained one of the few things in her life that had not changed.
---
Daemon stayed away from the Red Keep for several weeks.
He remained in the Crownlands, close enough that Viserys always knew where he was and far enough that neither brother had to decide whether their quarrel was finished.
Eventually, the City Watch made the decision for them.
Reports reached the small council of captains contradicting one another, neglected repairs, and old habits returning in Daemon's absence.
Otto suggested naming a new commander.
Viserys refused.
"My brother built the Watch into what it is."
"Your Grace, given recent events—"
"I removed him as my heir. I did not suddenly forget what he is good at."
Otto's mouth tightened.
Viserys's order reached Daemon that afternoon.
He returned before the first moon had fully passed.
There was no reconciliation. Daemon simply resumed his command, and Viserys did not ask to see him.
The Gold Cloaks, however, welcomed their prince enthusiastically.
On his first morning back, Ser Lorent placed a map across the table.
"Three robberies near the Mud Gate this week."
"Same men?"
"We think so."
"When do your patrols pass?"
"Second bell."
"Every night?"
Lorent hesitated.
"Yes."
Daemon looked up at him.
"And you wonder how the thieves know when to disappear?"
"We doubled the patrol."
"Excellent. Now they know when twice as many fools will arrive."
Lorent frowned.
"You think someone is warning them?"
"I think you are warning them by doing the same thing every night."
Daemon moved two markers across the map.
"Change the routes. Different times. No bells announcing departure."
"That makes it harder for us."
"Which makes it harder for them."
Lorent considered the map.
"Fair."
"And feed the night patrol."
"They receive meal coin."
"They spend it."
Lorent gave him a knowing look.
"On things that are not meals."
"Precisely. Hungry men accept bribes."
"I'll arrange it."
Lorent gathered the reports.
"The men are glad you're back."
Daemon looked down at the map.
"They have poor judgment."
Lorent laughed and left.
Daemon returned to his work.
Otto could call him reckless, and dangerous was not entirely inaccurate. Incompetent was another matter.
---
By the middle of the second moon after Aemma's death, the last of the great lords summoned by Viserys had reached King's Landing.
The court was still in mourning, but it had resumed its usual rhythm. Petitions filled the king's days, servants hurried through the Red Keep, and conversations that had once revolved around Aemma's death now increasingly turned toward Rhaenyra.
At seventeen, she stood before the Iron Throne dressed in black and red as Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne.
One by one, the lords knelt.
Some had attended the Great Council of 101. Others had inherited their seats since.
Each swore to honor the king's decision and defend Rhaenyra's rights.
Rhaenyra listened carefully and watched their faces.
Alicent stood with her father.
When their eyes met, Alicent smiled proudly, and Rhaenyra returned it.
Then her gaze moved elsewhere.
Daemon was not there.
She had known he would not come, but knowing it did not make his absence hurt less.
---
Corlys Velaryon watched the last of the lords leave the throne room.
"They swore."
Rhaenys stood beside him.
"They did."
"That should settle it."
She looked at her husband.
"Should it?"
Corlys sighed.
"Rhaenyra is the named heir. The lords have acknowledged her."
"I know."
"Then what troubles you?"
"The certainty."
"Whose?"
"Viserys's."
Corlys followed her gaze toward the Iron Throne.
Rhaenys continued.
"He believes men kneeling today guarantees what they will do twenty years from now."
"They gave their word."
"Men gave many opinions about settled succession before the Great Council."
Corlys's expression changed.
"That was different."
"It always is when precedent becomes inconvenient."
"Do you believe Daemon will challenge her?"
"No."
The answer surprised him.
Rhaenys looked toward the doors through which the lords had departed.
"I am not worried about what Daemon wants today."
"What are you worried about?"
"What those men may want tomorrow."
---
At Runestone, Rhea Royce received the news of Rhaenyra's elevation with far less ceremony.
She read the letter once before handing it back to her steward.
"So he finally managed it."
"My lady?"
"My husband."
Rhea returned to the accounts spread across her table.
"Daemon has spent years provoking Viserys. Apparently he finally discovered the correct amount."
The steward smiled despite himself.
Rhea noticed.
"Has the prince written?"
"No, my lady."
"Of course not."
Their marriage had existed for years mostly on parchment. Daemon hated the Vale, Rhea had little fondness for Daemon, and while he lived in King's Landing, she governed her own lands at Runestone.
Whenever duty forced them into the same room, they usually left it more irritated than when they entered.
There had been no children, and neither appeared particularly distressed by that fact.
"Send congratulations to Princess Rhaenyra," Rhea said.
"And to Prince Daemon?"
Rhea raised an eyebrow.
"Do you enjoy writing letters that receive no answer?"
"No, my lady."
"Then don't begin now."
---
Three days later, Rhea rode east of Runestone with two household guards.
The morning was clear, and she knew the trail well. The stony slopes around Runestone were familiar ground to her, and the path offered no reason for caution until a deer burst suddenly from the trees.
Her mare reared.
Rhea pulled the reins, but the horse's rear hoof came down on loose stone, and the animal twisted beneath her.
Rhea fell hard enough to drive the air from her lungs.
"My lady!"
One guard dismounted and ran toward her.
Rhea tried to sit, but pain tore through her side.
"Don't move."
She looked at the man.
"Was that an order?"
His face paled.
"Forgive me."
"Then ask more politely."
The attempt at humor ended in a cough.
She tasted blood.
The second guard was already mounting again.
"I'll fetch the maester."
"Go."
Rhea closed her eyes as he rode away.
The man beside her looked increasingly worried.
"We should take you back."
"No."
"My lady—"
"Something is broken. Moving me over a saddle would be a poor solution."
He nodded reluctantly.
By the time the maester arrived, Rhea was struggling to remain conscious.
He examined her while she watched his expression carefully.
"How bad?"
"My lady—"
"Do not waste what time I have pretending."
The maester stopped.
Rhea understood.
"Can I be taken back to Runestone?"
He did not answer immediately.
"No."
"Very well."
She breathed carefully.
"Send word to King's Landing."
"To Prince Daemon?"
"He is still my husband."
The guard looked surprised.
Rhea noticed.
"I dislike him. I have not forgotten he exists."
The maester bowed his head.
"I will send the raven."
Rhea looked toward the clear sky above the Vale.
For years, she had imagined a hundred different ways her marriage to Daemon might finally end.
She had never imagined it would end without either of them present for it.
Rhea Royce died before sunset.
---
The raven reached King's Landing near the end of the second moon after Aemma's death.
Daemon was reviewing reports when Ser Lorent entered.
"A message from Runestone, my prince."
Daemon looked up.
Lorent placed the letter on the table.
Daemon recognized the Royce seal and broke it.
He read the letter once, then again.
Lorent waited.
Daemon folded it.
"Leave me."
"My prince?"
"Not now."
Lorent nodded and closed the door behind him.
Daemon remained at the table.
Rhea was dead.
The letter described a riding accident witnessed by two household guards. The maester had reached her but had been unable to save her.
Daemon read it again, though there was nothing he had missed before.
He and Rhea had never loved one another and, for most of their marriage, had barely managed to like one another.
That did not make her death meaningless.
They had been young when their marriage was arranged. Both had resented the match and then spent years making certain the other knew it.
Perhaps there might once have been another ending to their story.
Neither of them had tried particularly hard to find one, and now there would never be a chance.
A knock came at the door.
Daemon ignored it.
Lorent entered carrying wine.
"I told you to leave."
"You did."
"And yet."
"You told me yesterday that blind obedience makes men stupid."
"We were discussing patrols."
"I chose to apply the lesson elsewhere."
Daemon looked at the wine.
"Convenient."
Lorent set it on the table and was halfway to the door when Daemon spoke.
"She fell from her horse."
Lorent turned.
"Lady Rhea?"
Daemon nodded.
"They couldn't save her."
"I'm sorry."
Daemon looked at the letter.
"We barely knew one another."
"She was still your wife."
"On parchment, most days."
Lorent considered that.
"Paper has caused men grief before."
Daemon glanced at him.
"You have become philosophical."
"I blame working nights."
That earned a faint smile.
Lorent left without saying anything else.
Daemon poured the wine but did not drink immediately.
Only weeks earlier, Aemma had been alive. Baelon had not yet been born. Daemon had still been Viserys's heir, and speaking to Rhaenyra had not required either of them to remember what now stood between them.
Now Rhea was dead as well.
Daemon looked at the letter one final time before folding it and setting it aside.
He had spent years wishing to be free of that marriage.
Now that it had ended, freedom was not the first thing he felt.
It was simply strange to know that Rhea Royce, who had occupied a distant and unpleasant corner of his life for so long, was suddenly gone from it altogether.
Outside, the Gold Cloaks continued their work.
Eventually, Daemon picked up the next report.
For the moment, there was nothing else he could do.