Time flew by, and more than a month had passed in the blink of an eye.
Dragonstone, Stone Drum Tower.
In the bathhouse, a pool paved with smooth pebbles bubbled as thick steam rose into the air.
A figure lay motionless in the steaming water, their silver-gold hair cascading over the pool's edge. The entire body was submerged in the hot water, and faint, rhythmic breathing could be heard.
Creak—
The bathhouse door opened from the outside, and a graceful figure stepped inside.
Her silver-gold hair was tied up at the back of her head, and she wore an off-the-shoulder black gown. Her dazzling violet eyes shimmered with a captivating glow.
Rhaenyra knelt beside the pool, gazing quietly at the person in the water through the misty haze.
After a while, as if growing bored, the corners of her lips curled into a mischievous smile. She picked up a strand of silver-gold hair draped over the edge and playfully brushed it against the man's handsome face.
"Rhaenyra, you're so childish."
Rhaegar turned his face away, murmuring without even opening his eyes.
Rhaenyra let go of the hair and instead pinched his nose, laughing softly. "Get up. Father and the others have arrived."
A month had passed.
The siblings had remained hidden away on Dragonstone, spending their days together.
After the tournament, Viserys and Alicent had been busy tending to the many guests while also preparing a grand ship to travel to Dragonstone.
With the upcoming ceremony, there was no need for the guests to leave and return—they would simply be transported over.
"They can disembark on their own. I'm exhausted."
Rhaegar turned over in the water, wrapping his arms around Rhaenyra's waist and pressing his cheek against her abdomen, which was concealed beneath her gown.
After a month, what had once been a perfectly flat stomach now showed the faintest curve.
The dress that used to fit flawlessly now felt just a little snug.
According to Grand Maester Orwyle and Dragonpit Maester Menas, there was no doubt—Rhaenyra was indeed pregnant.
Due to her unique constitution, it had been difficult to detect at first.
By the time of the tournament, she had already been nearly two months along.
Now, she was at three months, and the pregnancy was stable.
Rhaenyra sighed helplessly, patting Rhaegar's back as if comforting a child. "Don't make me repeat myself. Do something productive."
"And how am I not being productive?"
Rhaegar opened his eyes slightly, protesting, "I spent all last night searching for that wild dragon. I only got to sleep at dawn."
Rhaenyra's face turned stern. "And did you find it?"
"Uh..."
Rhaegar hesitated, then buried his face against her slightly swollen belly, as if seeking the baby's sympathy.
That unknown wild dragon was incredibly cunning.
Occasionally, it would fly to Dragonstone under the cover of night, exploring the towering Dragonmont.
The dragonkeepers never managed to catch sight of it, only discovering traces it had left behind.
Last night, the wild dragon had sneaked onto the island, disturbing the slumbering Silverwing.
Rhaegar had immediately mounted Devourer and given chase, but the dragon disappeared into the darkness, leaving him empty-handed after a night of pursuit.
"Get up now, or I'll have to discipline you."
After a good bit of scolding, Rhaenyra finally got him to wake up fully.
She called softly toward the door. "Danyla, come in."
The bathhouse door opened, and a young woman entered, head bowed, carrying a tray.
Her silver-gold curls, porcelain-white skin, and delicate features bore a strong resemblance to Rhaenyra.
Danyla knelt beside the pool, setting down a neatly folded set of clothes before offering a bath towel.
"Leave." Rhaegar turned his head away, his tone indifferent.
Danyla remained silent, stealing a glance at Rhaenyra. Only after receiving permission did she tiptoe out of the room.
Bang—
The moment the door closed, Rhaegar lunged out of the water, wrapping Rhaenyra in his arms and peppering her smooth, snow-white neck with kisses.
"Rhaegar, stop that!"
Rhaenyra giggled uncontrollably, pushing him away while secretly relishing the intimacy.
She knew this was his way of expressing displeasure.
Instead of exiling or punishing the two bastards, she had kept them by her side.
Danyla now served as her personal handmaid.
The younger one, Daelya, had been given to Helaena as a companion.
She had done this deliberately—to remind Rhaegar at all times to keep himself in check.
After a while, the playful struggle left splashes of water on her black gown, outlining her graceful figure.
Suppressing his desire, Rhaegar stepped out of the bath, dried himself off, and put on the prepared clothes.
"Rhaegar, carry me out."
Rhaenyra's eyes were hazy, her body tingling from the lingering sensation. She stretched out her arms in command.
Leaning down, Rhaegar pressed a kiss to her smooth forehead and whispered hoarsely, "You're the queen, not me."
A Few Days Later
Dragonstone, Dragonmont.
On a flat expanse of land, several bonfires burned brightly. Over a thousand lords and nobles had gathered.
Targaryens, Velaryons, Celtigars—every Valyrian bloodline had come together.
All around Dragonmont, dragons either lay sprawled on the ground or soared freely in the skies.
At the heart of the crowd, two figures stood facing each other.
Under a cascade of silver-gold hair, one wore a robe of red and white, cinched at the waist with a wide, coarse belt.
Rhaegar's expression was resolute, his long hair flowing freely.
Rhaenyra eagerly awaited, wearing an ancient-style wooden headdress.
Under the watchful eyes of the majority of the nobles and lords of the Seven Kingdoms, a ceremony rooted in ancient Valyria commenced.
Rhaenyra lowered her head slightly, holding a sharp dragon glass shard in her hand. She pressed it against her lower lip, drawing a thin trickle of crimson blood.
Rhaegar took her hand, mirroring her action by slicing his own lower lip with the same dragon glass.
They each dipped their index fingers into the blood and pressed them against each other's foreheads, leaving behind a faint, symbolic mark.
These were ancient Valyrian words.
The mark on Rhaegar's forehead read "Blood."
The mark on Rhaenyra's forehead read "Fire."
The black dragon glass moved once more, cutting across their palms, causing blood to flow freely.
Locking eyes, Rhaegar and Rhaenyra seemed unfazed by the pain. They extended their bleeding palms and clasped them together tightly.
A black silk ribbon embroidered with golden threads wrapped around their joined hands, as if binding their hearts as one.
On the outskirts of the ceremony, Maester Menas of the Dragonpit leaned on his staff, passionately reciting in High Valyrian:
"Two bloodlines, united as one."
Rhaenyra took a bronze goblet, brought it to her lips, and took a slow sip before passing it to her partner.
"Endless flames, a song of shadows."
Rhaegar held her gaze unwaveringly as he steadily accepted the goblet.
"Two hearts, born of the same fire, rising from the ashes."
With countless eyes upon him, Rhaegar pressed the goblet to his lips and drained it in one gulp.
Menace's voice deepened as he solemnly intoned the final blessing:
"Tomorrow's vows lie within this cup, witnessed by the stars above."
"The oath transcends time, never resting, neither by day nor by night."
By the bonfire, Viserys looked on with deep emotion, witnessing the long-awaited moment.
His lips trembled slightly. Supporting her husband, Alicent faintly heard him murmur, "Aemma..."
Standing side by side, Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, and Daeron watched their elder sister and brother with solemn expressions.
This was a traditional coronation rite of the Dragonlords of Old Valyria—one that surpassed the Seven Gods of Westeros.
Clang!
The bronze goblet fell to the ground as the siblings exchanged a knowing smile.
Rhaegar leaned in slightly, his blood-stained lips parting.
Rhaenyra gazed at him tenderly, tilting her head in response.
In that moment, all past grievances melted away, leaving behind only boundless affection.
Their figures drew closer, hands caressing each other's necks, lost in a passionate embrace.
"Hiss—Gaaah!"
The Devourer stood atop Dragonmount, its emerald eyes surveying its rider's grand ceremony before unleashing a piercing roar.
"Hiss—Gaaah!"
Syrax let out a shrill cry, flapping its wings as it circled above the clearing, unable to contain the golden flames spewing from its maw.
The dragons roared in celebration for their riders.
One after another, the dragon pack, influenced by the heightened emotions, let out deafening cries.
Dreamfyre, Seasmoke, Caraxes...
Numerous dragons soared across the sky, while others stood proud on Dragonmount, bearing witness to this ancient rite.
No one knew how long the two remained entangled, but eventually, they reluctantly pulled apart.
Rhaegar smiled, and Rhaenyra gently bit her reddened lips.
Foreheads pressed together, they shared the same unspoken thought:
"Blood and Fire, one and the same!"
(End of Chapter)