AEGON II
The king died screaming.
"Dragons! Dragons in the fire! They're burning—they're—"
Orwyle pressed the milk of the poppy to his ruined lips. The screaming faded to whimpers. Then to nothing.
Aegon II, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, stopped breathing at the hour of the wolf.
His mother wept.
His wife did not.
HELAENA
She sat with the body because tradition demanded it.
The room smelled of rot and medicine—months of failed treatments, festering wounds, a king dying by inches. Candles flickered on either side of the bed where Aegon lay, finally peaceful in death though he'd found no peace in life.
I should feel something. Grief. Relief. Something.
She felt nothing.
Their marriage had been arranged. Their children had been duty. Their nights together had been obligation, performed until heirs were secured, then abandoned with mutual relief.
He wasn't cruel to me. That was the best I could say. He wasn't cruel.
The door opened. Ulf.
"The council's assembling. They need you."
"A moment."
She stood. Looked at her husband's ruined face one final time.
I hope you find peace. Whatever the Seven grant you, I hope it's better than this.
She walked out without looking back.
ULF
She didn't cry until we reached our chambers.
Then it came—not grief for Aegon, but everything else. The war. The pregnancy. The complications Orwyle kept warning about. The weight of a crown she'd never wanted.
I held her while she sobbed.
"I don't mourn him," she managed. "Is that terrible?"
"It's honest."
"He was my husband. The father of my children."
"He was also a drunk who ignored you for mistresses and only touched you when he needed heirs." I smoothed her hair. "You owe him nothing but proper burial."
"The court expects—"
"The court expects performance. You'll give it." I lifted her chin. "But not here. Not with me. Here you can be yourself."
She pressed her face against my chest.
"What happens now?"
"Jaehaerys gets crowned. You become regent. I become whatever you need me to be."
"And our child?"
Five months along. Growing. Dangerous.
"Our child stays secret as long as possible. Mourning clothes help. When the time comes, we'll figure something out."
"That's not a plan."
"It's the best I have right now."
She laughed despite herself. Wet, broken, but real.
"You always admit when you don't know something. I love that about you."
"I love everything about you. Even when you're crying on my tunic."
Another laugh. Smaller.
"I should prepare. The council—"
"Can wait an hour. The realm won't collapse in sixty minutes."
She stayed in my arms until dawn.
THE CORONATION
Seven years old.
Jaehaerys stood in the Great Sept, crown far too large for his small head. He'd inherited his mother's silver hair and his father's violet eyes, but his expression was entirely his own—serious, watchful, older than his years.
The High Septon intoned ancient words. The court knelt. A child became king.
Jaehaerys III. History will forget this reign—assuming any of us survive long enough to write it.
I stood behind Helaena's chair, newly named Lord Protector of the Realm. The title had shocked Otto; the old man had sputtered protests until Criston Cole—surprisingly—backed my appointment.
"The man survived God's Eye," Cole had said. "Killed a traitor dragonrider. Stopped Blood and Cheese before that. If anyone can protect this family, it's him."
Otto's objections had died unfinished.
Now I wore the white cloak of office and carried the authority to command armies, dismiss lords, and execute traitors.
Power I never wanted. Power I need to protect what matters.
Jaehaerys completed his vows. The crowd cheered.
A seven-year-old king. A pregnant queen regent. A bastard lord protector.
The realm is in excellent hands.
THAT NIGHT
Helaena touched her swelling belly.
The mourning clothes helped—voluminous black fabrics that hid her changing shape. She'd be expected to wear them for months, traditional grieving for a traditional widow.
Small mercies.
"Our child will be born into a kingdom at war." Her voice was quiet. Resigned. "With a mother who rules but cannot acknowledge their existence. A father who's everything but legitimate."
"Our child will be born loved." I kissed her forehead. "Protected. Everything else is details."
"Details that could get us killed."
"Details I'll handle."
"You can't handle everything."
"Watch me try."
She smiled despite herself.
"My impossible man."
"Your impossible Lord Protector."
"Gods, that sounds ridiculous."
"It does." I pulled her close. "But it gives me the authority to protect you. To protect our children—all of them. I'll be ridiculous if that's what it takes."
She leaned into me.
"Then we make them safe anyway."
"Then we make them safe anyway."
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