The royal dining hall of Maegor's Holdfast.
The midday sun poured in through the tall arched windows, casting patterns of light and shadow across the inlaid wooden floor.
Upon the vaulted ceiling of the hall stretched a mural: Aegon the Conqueror of House Targaryen, black sword in hand, with his two queens—his elder sister Visenya and his younger sister Rhaenys—standing on either side of him.
The long dining table was laid with spotless white linen. Silver candlesticks, polished to a bright shine, held several beeswax candles that were lit even in broad daylight, releasing a faint, pleasant fragrance.
On delicate porcelain plates, roasted lamb chops gleamed with an inviting golden sheen, served with slow-braised onions and mushrooms, all drenched in a thick meat gravy.
There was also summer red wine from the Reach, swirling in crystal goblets, its color rich as a gemstone.
Alicent sat upright at the place of honor, clad in a deep green velvet gown. The hem was embroidered with silver thread in the lighthouse sigil of House Hightower, and fine pearls adorned the neckline.
It had been nearly half a month since her return from Driftmark, yet the dark circles beneath her eyes had not faded.
At this moment, the silver fork in her hand hovered in midair. Only after a long while did she gently stir the food on her plate.
The tender lamb had been cut into neat, even pieces, coated with honey and crushed almonds—one of her usual favorite dishes.
But today, she had no appetite at all.
"Aegon…" Alicent suddenly spoke, letting out a soft sigh.
"I wonder whether he is eating well on Driftmark. The sea winds there are damp and cold…"
She paused, aware that she repeated these pointless worries every day.
Seated to her right, Helaena set down her spoon. The young girl wore a plain white linen gown today, her silver-gold hair loosely braided into two plaits that fell over her shoulders. Sunlight caught in her hair, giving it a pearly sheen.
She reached out and placed her hand over her mother's, offering comfort.
"Mother, my brother will take good care of himself."
"Aunt Rhaenys swore that she would treat Aegon as if he were her own child."
"An oath…" Alicent gave a bitter smile and clasped her daughter's warm hand in return.
"Helaena, my good daughter, you are always so kind, always willing to believe that people are good at heart."
"I trust Rhaenys. I trust her character."
"But there are others I will not trust…"
She lifted her head and looked toward her second son seated on her left.
Aemond was focused on his meal. He cut a piece of meat, brought it to his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
The sunlight gilded his silver-gold short hair with a pale sheen.
Compared to when he had just returned from Driftmark half a month ago, his complexion looked much better.
Color had returned to his cheeks, and his build seemed to have grown taller as well; the black velvet tunic that had once fit him properly now appeared slightly tight at the shoulders.
It seemed she would need to have a new set of clothes made for her son once again.
Alicent reflected inwardly.
"Aemond," Alicent called.
"Ser Cole said that for the past half month you have been going to the training yard before dawn."
"Do not push yourself so hard. Maester Mellos said that excessive training can damage the sinews and bones. You are still young, your body is still growing…"
Aemond set down his knife and fork and lifted his head to look at his mother, the corners of his mouth rising slightly.
"I am well, Mother."
"My body grows stronger with each passing day. Ser Cole says my swordsmanship is improving very quickly."
Looking at the confident Aemond, Alicent was momentarily taken aback.
"That is good, then."
She recalled the conversation she had had with her father Otto the night before.
When her father spoke of Aemond, there was praise in his tone: he was calmer, more calculating, more aware of what he needed.
The future of the Greens would likely rest upon his shoulders.
If they were to place Aegon upon the Iron Throne, they would need Aemond even more—along with Vhagar, whom he commanded.
Just as Viserys had once ascended the throne with Daemon at his side to support his elder brother.
Her gaze passed over the seat where Aemond sat. That place had originally belonged to her eldest son, Aegon.
Her firstborn was detained on Driftmark as a hostage, her daughter forced into a betrothal with Rhaenyra's bastard son…
She felt a sharp pang in her heart, and the faint appetite she had just regained vanished once more.
After a long while, Alicent murmured as if to herself, "She hates me… she must hate me to the bone."
Aemond glanced up briefly, knowing that his mother's complaints had returned, that she had fallen once again into self-pity.
Lowering his head, Aemond continued cutting his lamb chop, his expression unchanged.
"I once loved her so much, like a true younger sister," Alicent said, her voice drifting faintly.
"Mother…" Tears also welled in Helaena's eyes. In her simple world, she still could not understand such complicated love and hatred.
But she could feel the pain in her mother's words.
Aemond set down his knife and fork. He picked up his napkin and wiped the corner of his mouth, his movements unhurried.
Alicent had chosen this path, and the situation she faced today had been inevitable.
She longed for power—otherwise she would not have agreed to her father Otto's maneuvering to marry her to the king, nor would she have actively fought for her sons' right of succession after becoming queen—yet she remained bound by morality and emotion.
Indecisive. Soft-hearted. That was the judgment Aemond made in his mind.
She wanted her sons to contend for the Iron Throne, yet hoped her hands would remain free of blood; she regarded Rhaenyra as a threat, yet still longed for the deep sisterly bond they once shared…
He was at a loss for words, but there was nothing to be done. Alicent treated him well.
And in his heart, he had always regarded her as his mother.
"Eat, Mother," Aemond finally said, picking up his knife and fork again.
"The food is growing cold. You have not been eating properly these past days. The Grand Maester is very worried about your health."
Alicent nodded, stopped her complaining, and forced a faint smile onto her face.
She lifted her crystal goblet and took a small sip of the summer red.
Just then, the oak doors of the dining hall were gently pushed open.
A maidservant entered, carrying a silver tray.
It was the after-dinner dessert.
She looked to be about fifteen or sixteen years old, her figure already slender and graceful. Her light brown hair was carefully arranged into an intricate Hightower-style coiffure at the back of her head, adorned with several small pearls.
She was quite pretty: high cheekbones, a straight nose, large and bright blue eyes with long lashes, and full lips brushed with a faint rose-colored rouge, like petals just beginning to bloom.
She wore the pale green fine-linen dress issued to the maidservants of House Hightower, cinched at the waist with a silver chain that emphasized a waist one could nearly encircle with a single hand.
But on closer inspection, the neckline was cut an inch lower than propriety allowed, revealing a stretch of fair neck and the faint suggestion of her collarbones.
"Your Grace, this is the dessert," the maidservant said, her voice sweet as honey.
She walked with elegant steps to Alicent's side and dipped into a slight curtsy.
On the tray was a dish of jelly topped with cream and fruit preserves.
As she set the tray down, the maidservant's right hand trembled almost imperceptibly.
She deliberately tilted the silver tray at a subtle angle.
The porcelain dish holding the jelly slid with it toward the edge of the table, looking as though it was about to fall to the floor.
"Oh!" the maidservant let out a suitably soft cry.
She flusteredly reached out to steady the dish, but her body lost its balance, and she pitched forward toward Aemond.
Her blue eyes widened, her lips parting—an expression that was both alarm and bashful embarrassment.
She had calculated the angle precisely: the direction of her fall would land her right beside Aemond's chair, her right hand would accidentally brace against the armrest.
Her face would lift, meeting the eyes of the lowered Aemond, close enough that they could feel each other's breath.
A perfect accident.
A perfect encounter.
However...
Aemond did not even raise his eyes.
He continued cutting the lamb on his plate with knife and fork, as if everything happening before him were nothing more than insignificant noise.
When the maidservant's hand was about to touch him, his left arm drew inward by half an inch, neatly avoiding the accidental contact.
Snap.
The maidservant's hand struck the hard armrest of the chair instead, her knuckles colliding painfully.
She bit down on her lower lip to suppress a cry, then lifted her head. A sheen of moisture quickly gathered in her blue eyes, giving her the look of a frightened, pitiful fawn.
"I–I am sorry, Prince Aemond!" Her voice trembled, filled with panic and self-reproach. "I was so clumsy… P-please forgive my rudeness…"
She maintained a half-fallen posture, her neckline opening further from the forward tilt, fair skin catching the sunlight with a soft sheen.
She bent her knees in a curtsy, this time dipping especially low, almost kneeling to the floor.
Another chance to display a gentle, graceful figure.
The dining hall fell into a brief silence.
The queen frowned, studying the maidservant with a scrutinizing gaze.
Helaena blinked in confusion, seemingly unable to understand how someone could fall in such a… roundabout way.
Aemond finally lifted his eyes to look at the maidservant.
"What is your name," Aemond asked.
---
I will post some extra Chapters in Patreon, you can check it out. >> patreon.com/TitoVillar
---