Chapter 4: The Seduction (93 AC)
The years had unfolded with a calculated precision that would have made Marco De Luca proud. From the precocious boy who had captivated his grandfather, to the young dragonrider who had resurrected the Black Dread, Viserys Targaryen had steadily cemented his reputation as a prince of unparalleled intellect and ambition. His flights with Balerion had become legendary, the massive, revitalized beast a constant, awe-inspiring presence above King's Landing, a stark reminder of the unique power he wielded. The fear and respect that Balerion inspired extended directly to his rider, granting Viserys an aura of untouchability.
Beyond the raw power, Viserys had continued his subtle cultivation of influence. He had engaged in trade discussions with Essosi merchants, using his modern understanding of supply and demand to suggest innovative routes and commodities, subtly enriching the Crown's coffers and, by extension, his own burgeoning personal wealth. He had championed minor infrastructure improvements in King's Landing, like better drainage systems (a rudimentary form of sanitation to prevent disease outbreaks he knew plagued medieval cities), all under the guise of improving the lives of the smallfolk. These actions, while seemingly benign, gradually garnered him a quiet loyalty from the common people, a strategic asset he intended to leverage later.
Now, in 93 AC, Viserys was sixteen. The boyish features had sharpened, replaced by the chiseled lines of a young man. His silver hair, thick and lustrous, often framed a face that held a captivating intensity in its violet eyes. He moved with the confident grace of someone who knew their worth, every gesture deliberate, every word carefully chosen. The super-soldier serum had matured his body as well, granting him a lean, athletic build and an innate sense of physical control that made him formidable, even without Balerion.
Rhaenys Targaryen, at nineteen, was a woman in full bloom, a vision of Targaryen beauty and fierce spirit. Their bond had deepened significantly over the past five years. They were no longer just cousins and fellow dragonriders; they were intellectual equals, confidantes, and sparring partners, both in wit and, occasionally, with practice blades. She admired his sharp mind, his strategic thinking, and the undeniable aura of power he exuded. She had seen him handle difficult courtiers with a quiet authority that belied his age, and she had felt the thrill of flying beside him on Balerion, the two dragons a terrifying symphony in the sky.
Yet, despite their closeness, Viserys knew that Rhaenys, the "Queen Who Never Was," held a deep-seated pride and a strong sense of self. She would not be taken; she had to be won. The time for subtle hints and intellectual camaraderie had passed. It was time for the decisive move, the calculated seduction that would bind her, and her formidable lineage, to him.
He chose the setting meticulously. Not a grand hall, not a public feast, but a private dinner in a secluded solar within the Red Keep. The room was intimate, lit by soft candlelight and the warm glow of a roaring hearth. A small, round table was set for two, laden with dishes Viserys knew Rhaenys favored – spiced Dornish wine, fresh oysters from the Narrow Sea, delicate roasted fowl, and sweet tarts. Every detail, from the crisp linen to the strategically placed flowers, was designed to create an atmosphere of warmth, intimacy, and exclusivity.
He sent a personal invitation to Rhaenys, a short, elegant note written in his own hand, delivered by a trusted, discreet page. It simply read: "Cousin, I find myself in possession of a vintage of Dornish red that cries out for discerning company. Would you grant me the pleasure of your presence this evening, in the solar overlooking the gardens? Viserys."
Rhaenys arrived, dressed in a gown of deep emerald velvet that complemented her silver hair and violet eyes. She moved with an innate grace, her presence commanding attention even in the quiet room. Viserys, dressed in a dark tunic of fine silk, rose to greet her, a genuine smile gracing his lips. He was not just playing a part; there was a real admiration for her strength and spirit.
> "Rhaenys," Viserys said, his voice a low, warm rumble, as he took her hand and brought it to his lips, a lingering, almost possessive touch. "You honor me with your presence. The wine, I assure you, pales in comparison to your brilliance."
>
She chuckled, a light, melodious sound. "High praise, cousin. I trust this isn't merely a ploy to distract me from a particularly tedious council meeting you wished to avoid."
"Never," he replied, guiding her to her seat. "Tonight is for us. For conversation without the dull weight of courtly pretense, for dreams without the constraints of petty lords."
He poured the wine himself, the deep ruby liquid swirling in the crystal goblets. The scent of ripe grapes and distant spices filled the air.
> "To us," Viserys toasted, raising his goblet, his eyes fixed on hers. The candlelight danced in their depths, reflecting a profound intensity. "To a future where we shape the realm together, Rhaenys. A future forged not by accident, but by design."
>
Rhaenys met his gaze, her smile softening, a hint of genuine warmth in her eyes. She clinked her goblet against his, the crystal chiming softly. "You've always had grand dreams, Viserys. Grand and often… dangerous."
"Dreams are nothing without action, cousin," he replied, his voice dropping to a near whisper, laden with meaning. He reached across the table, his hand covering hers, his thumb gently caressing her skin. The contact sent a subtle shiver through her. "And I mean to take action. This realm is ripe for shaping, Rhaenys. But it needs a firm hand, and a united vision. Our house has been… complacent. Too comfortable in its legacy, rather than forging a new one."
He spoke of their shared heritage, the power of their blood, the untapped potential of House Targaryen. He painted a vivid picture of a future Westeros, unified and unassailable under their joint rule. He spoke of dragons soaring free, of a realm where Targaryen supremacy was unquestioned, where internal strife was a distant memory. He spoke to her ambition, her yearning for purpose beyond merely being a princess. He knew her spirit yearned for more than the traditional role of a noblewoman. He offered her a partnership, a true queen's place beside a king who would respect her strength.
He didn't speak of love in the conventional sense, not yet. Marco understood that for a woman like Rhaenys, respect, ambition, and a shared vision of power were more potent aphrodisiacs than flowery declarations. Love would come, or it wouldn't. What mattered was the alliance, the inevitable union.
As the dinner progressed, the wine flowed, loosening their tongues and blurring the edges of formality. They spoke of everything – their shared childhood, their dreams, their frustrations with the limitations placed upon them. Viserys listened intently, drawing her out, making her feel seen, understood, and truly valued. He shared strategic insights, plans for consolidating power, ideas for strengthening the Crown that went beyond traditional feudal thinking. He made her feel as though she was the only one in the world who truly grasped the scale of his vision.
He noticed the subtle shift in her demeanor. Her initial guardedness had melted away, replaced by a comfortable intimacy. Her laughter came more freely, her eyes sparkled in the candlelight, and her hand, which he still held, occasionally tightened its grip on his.
As the hour grew late, and the last of the food was cleared, a comfortable silence settled between them, charged with unspoken anticipation. Viserys leaned forward, his voice a soft murmur.
> "Rhaenys," he said, his gaze intense, a magnetic pull that she found herself unable to resist, "You once asked me who would burn the world to keep you. It is I. But not just to keep you, cousin. To keep us. To forge a future where our legacy is unassailable, our children kings and queens of a truly unified realm."
>
He rose from his seat, moving around the table to stand beside her. He extended his hand again, not as an invitation to fly, but a deeper one. "Tonight, Rhaenys, let us forge the first link in that unbreakable chain."
She looked up at him, her violet eyes wide, reflecting the flickering candlelight and the raw emotion in his own. There was a moment of hesitation, a flicker of pride and independence, but it was quickly overshadowed by the powerful connection they had built, and the intoxicating promise of shared power he offered. She reached out, her fingers lacing with his.
He pulled her gently to her feet, drawing her close. The scent of her hair, of the rich wine, filled his senses. His gaze dropped to her lips, and then, he leaned in, claiming her mouth in a kiss that was both tender and fiercely possessive. It was a kiss that sealed a pact, a calculated step in his strategy that burned with a genuine spark of attraction.
The night ended in passion, a carefully orchestrated culmination of years of subtle courtship. It was not a random act, but a deliberate, strategic maneuver by Marco. He knew the implications, the inevitable consequence.
Months later, when the maesters confirmed Rhaenys Targaryen's pregnancy, Viserys acted swiftly and decisively. He did not hesitate, did not allow for rumors or scandal to fester. This was not a problem to be contained, but a triumph to be declared. He went directly to his grandfather, King Jaehaerys, with the news, presenting it not as an unfortunate accident, but as a providential blessing, a strengthening of the Targaryen bloodline, and a natural progression of his deepening bond with Rhaenys.
"Grandfather," Viserys declared, his voice firm and unwavering before the King and his small council, "the gods have blessed our house. Princess Rhaenys carries my child. A dragon's child, born of our true blood." He made it sound like an inevitability, a divine decree. "It is only right that we solidify this union with the sacred vows of marriage. It will bind our lines, strengthen our claim, and ensure the future of the dynasty."
Jaehaerys, ever pragmatic and keenly aware of the need for Targaryen unity, especially with the growing power of the Prince who rode Balerion, saw the wisdom in Viserys's bold declaration. The King's concern for order and succession outweighed any traditional decorum. The swiftness of Viserys's action left little room for dissent or alternative proposals. The union was now inevitable, not just politically expedient, but blessed by the dragon's new rider. The first piece of his familial gambit had fallen perfectly into place.