Chapter 19
ALICENT HIGHTOWER
The Sun had set, and the darkness of the night had begun to spread its wings. Nearly two days since the Queen's passing, and even now, the whole castle was in a somber mood, especially the Princess, who had recused herself to her room after the short funeral proceedings.
However, now, apart from sorrow, weariness had begun to creep in as everyone found their festive moods to turn into this sad affair, and the mourning had made everyone weary, including herself.
Though she doubted the same could be said of her father, who still sat there in his chambers, working tirelessly into the night, performing his duties as the Hand rather callously.
"How is the Princess?" he asked her as he put down his quill and looked at her with those daunting eyes of his.
She should have guessed he would ask about her and try to gather information for his own little plots.
"She is fine, weary after everything that has happened in the last few days, so she went to bed a bit early," she replied, despite her own fists balling with every word.
"Good. And what of the Prince Aegon? How is he?" he asked, and she was surprised by the directness of his question.
"I cannot say I have not met with him after the funeral," she replied. Aegon had been rather preoccupied for the day, especially after he had received that missive from the Vale in the evening. They had only met briefly during the evening meal. But even then, he seemed rather caught up with something else.
And at that, she saw his eyes narrow as he looked up and down.
"I want you to keep an eye on the Prince for the next few days," he asked and this was not the first time he had asked something like this of her, and yet she was rather tired of being a party to his games.
"Am I not doing that already?" she retorted and saw him raise a brow.
"I am not oblivious to your lies, Alicent. But this is no time for rebellion. I want you to do your duty to your House and family," he chastised her sharply before he rubbed his eyes.
"You are smart, so you are not blind to the political upheaval set to envelop the capital in the near future," he lectured her as she sat there, eyes locked onto the edge of the table as he continued.
"And in these perilous times, each of us must do their part for our family, our House, and the Crown," he finished. However, he did not mention the most important part. For you. Everyone must do their part for you and your desires.
"And keeping an eye on Prince Aegon is a part of that, how?" she asked, her tone submissive and inquisitive, hiding the anger and snide deeply enough that even he could not feel it or reprimand her for it.
"Because he is dangerous," he answered after a minute of silence.
"I have already told you that in what little time I have gotten to know him, the Prince is nothing like his fat..."
"And that is why he is dangerous," her father cut in, surprising her with his comments.
"He lacks Daemon's impulsiveness and wields his influence like a fine blade. His grandfather has trained him well in the art of politics, and all of us at court have been underestimating him," he commented before he leaned forward and looked her in the eye.
"But let me warn you. Underneath that mask of civility is a boy even more ruthless than his own father. The Prince is no friend of ours, no matter how many times he may pray with you in the sept or how many favors you may grant him," he chastised her, mentioning the two very things she had kept hidden from him.
"I can see through his little ploys and how he is using you to serve his own purpose," he added.
"And what purpose may that be?" she asked and saw him raise a brow.
"You are smart enough. Why don't you answer this question yourself," he beckoned her to think as he took a sip of wine from the glass beside him and leaned back.
Alicent's mind whirled as she tried to find Aegon's maleficent intentions and as she scrutinized her actions, but one thing came to mind.
"The Princess," she replied, and the way her father's eyes lit up at her answer told her that she had been right.
"Indeed, you are but a tool for him to use until he reaches his ultimate goal," he continued, and though she knew him to be wrong, a part of her began to whisper dark thoughts, sowing the seed of doubt in her heart.
It had been a few weeks since Aegon had come to court, and in that time, he had not yet asked her about Rhaenyra, yet his interest in herself was evident. Was it all real, as she thought it to be? Or a ruse as her own father believed it to be.
"Regardless, his influence at court is only set to grow. I want to be appraised of his daily activities from now on. Other than that, I want you to go and read to the King today," he finished as he picked up his quill and began to write on a piece of parchment once more.
His last words left her stunned in her seat as she tried to make sense of his words.
And then he glanced up for a second.
"And do wear one of your mother's dresses," and that just confirmed the horror she had heard earlier as she rose from her seat, fists balled and shoulders tense, as she began to walk out of the room, leaving behind a whisper of acceptance.
"As you say, father."
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DAEMON TARGARYEN
Daemon walked through the Halls of the Red Keep with a blasted headache and powerful steps as he made his way to his brother's chambers. He had looked for Rhaenyra earlier but had been told that she had gone to sleep a bit early.
A small respite, given how tiring this all must have been for her. Yet he lamented the circumstances that led him here. Daemon had no desire to entertain crying children or men, he had no patience for them even if they were his niece and brother, respectively, and yet his earlier celebrations had been marred by his so---by that damned bastard.
He had heard Viserys's little speech about him when he had denied that cunt Otto's request to have him replaced and had been filled with a sense of joy. That very sense of joy had brought him to Mysaria's place, where he went to celebrate his victory with his men.
Truthfully, Aemma's death mattered little to her. His brother's wife had allowed herself to be reduced to little more than a wallflower, as she refused to use the veritable influence she held over him for their family, allowing Otto and his ilk to run rampant at court. Though, unlike her death, the death of Baelon mattered a lot more. Viserys's desire for a son had been ruefully denied once more, this time taking from him his very wife and yet cementing his own status as heir further.
And yet, as he rounded off the corner and walked towards the King's chambers, he halted as he saw another person walking towards them. A woman and he was about to scoff, surprised at his brother's indulgences at such a time when he recognized that dress and that face.
The realization sobered him up in a second as his mind whirled at the audacity of the court, more specifically, that cunt Otto. Gods, he had underestimated the bastard. He truly had.
And as he walked upto her, he saw her stop and turn towards him, her face paling and eyes widening at the sight of him.
"Prince Da..."
"I always knew your father was a bastard, but I never knew he would stoop so low," he taunted menacingly as she stepped back, with every forward step he took, though there was not much space for her to escape back, as she nearly shrieked when her back hit the wall.
"I do not know what you are talking about, my Prince," she denied it, even now as his eyes scanned the dress she wore, as he tried to recall where he had seen it before, and soon enough, he did.
"Your mother's dress and that book," he taunted, eyeing the tome in her hand as she lowered her head and eyed the floor.
"Even now, years later, he sends you to do his dirty work," he snarled. This was exactly how Otto had entered the court in the first place, with his daughter becoming a companion of their grandfather, regaling him with stories and comforting the old King in his last days.
And now the bastard planned to use the same trick on his brother. The gall of that cunt.
And now, the more interesting point was what had led him to all this. His bast—son, and now the question remained whether this was all a coincidence or a deliberate act on his part.
"First, he had you sink your teeth in my son, and now, brother. He truly is a bastard, that Otto," he taunted her and saw her face flush as she tried to move away from him, but he blocked her as he pushed his arm against the wall, trapping her with him there.
She finally looked into his eyes with a flushed face.
"Let me go, my Prince," she spoke strongly, even though he could see the fear in her gaze. Feel it, as she tried to put up a brave front.
And yet he knew that he needed to send a message, and so in a display of strength, he pushed his hand against her throat with enough force to lift her off the ground as the book fell out of her hands and she began to claw away at his hand desperately.
He did not let go despite the pain and leaned forward, brushing past her face as he whispered in her ear.
"Stay away from my brother, or I shall show you why they call me the Rogue Prince." With that, he stepped back as she fell to the floor, began to cough violently, and rubbed her throat. Tears had welled up in her eyes by then as she glared at him.
He scoffed and walked past her, leaving behind a whisper.
'It seems that son of mine is not as useless as I thought.'
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VISERYS TARGARYEN
Viserys Targaryen sat in his room all alone. This sense of solitude had not truly set in until tonight as he sat there in a chair, a goblet of wine infront of him, yet no one to share it with him. No to mourn his loss with him.
Rhaenyra was wroth with him, and she had every reason to be. He himself was angry at himself for what he had done, lamenting each and every one of his decisions that had led to the demise of the love of his life.
And yet, now, it was all too late. Aemma was gone. And already, the vultures had begun circling, the faces and the words from the Council Meeting earlier fresh in his mind, the way the lords and ladies now looked at him and his daughter not lost to him.
It was a burden, a heavy burden that he now had none to share with.
KNOCK! KNOCK!
He was broken out of his trance by two knocks on his door.
"Who is it?" he asked, but rather than an answer, the door swung open, and he watched as Daemon walked into the room. His brother's face was flushed as he entered his chambers, eyeing him and the full goblet of wine set infront.
"Daemon," he smiled at seeing him.
"What brings you here?" he asked, and Daemon. raised a brow as he walked upto the chair beside him and plopped down.
"Everyone's rather concerned about Rhaenyra at the loss of her mother, though people seem to forget that you have lost both your wife and son," Daemon answered, and he had not thought his brother to be so considerate.
"She is young," he pointed out as he twisted the ring on his hand, scrutinizing the wound that he had received from cutting himself on the throne. It had not yet healed for some reason.
"That doesn't make your pain any lesser," Daemon pointed out rightly, and his lips thinned as he put the wound out of his mind. He looked at Daemon with a raised brow.
"I never took you for the sentimental type, brother," he asked, and Daemon shook his head, a small smile on his face.
"I am not. That is why I am about to do this," and with that, he leaned forward, took out another glass, and poured wine from the goblet into them. With that, he passed him one while he took the other, and with a nod, both of them raised it.
"For Aemma," he whispered as Daemon nodded and drowned his cup in one massive gulp. Viserys himself did so a bit slowly, and as he put down the cup, Daemon had the pitcher in his hand and poured out two more cups.
And so, they both drank, sharing his sorrows as they did their triumphs years ago when they were both but Princes of the realm.
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