Driftmark
The training ground lay on the western side of High Tide, backed against the cliffs, where the ceaseless crash of the waves below could be heard.
Laenor Velaryon wore simple leather armor, his silver hair bound into a ponytail at the back of his head. In his hands, an unsharpened training longsword parried the slightly impatient chops of his younger son, Lucerys.
He looked more like a man carrying out a duty that had to be done than one teaching with any real enthusiasm.
Laenor deflected Lucerys's blade again. "Keep your wrist steady. When you train, don't let your mind wander, boy."
Lucerys clenched his teeth. He was thinner than he had been half a month ago. Every swing of his sword was made with full force. Ever since that night, he had changed—silent, training with an almost self-destructive intensity.
"Yes." He forced the word out through clenched teeth and attacked again, his movements growing even more chaotic.
Beside the training ground, Jacaerys sat quietly in a cushioned chair.
Though the sea wind of Driftmark was still biting, his face was paler than the sea mist.
The bandages wrapped around his left eye were glaringly white. His intact right eye was fixed on his younger brother's figure in the field, while his fingers clenched tightly in the blanket draped over him.
He should have been out there. He was the eldest son. He should have been setting an example for his brothers, leading them in training, teaching them how to become proper knights and future lords.
Not like this—sitting uselessly to the side because his eye still hurt, watching his brother drive himself mad with guilt.
The pain of losing one eye was something he found hard to accept.
He knew Lucerys had not done it on purpose. This foolish, impulsive younger brother had been provoked by Aemond.
But understanding was one thing. In the dead of night, even after drinking poppy milk to barely suppress the torment of losing his left eye, he still tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
That cold resentment would surface again, beyond his control.
It was that Aemond—everything had begun because of him!
And it was also Lucerys, who had drawn that damned dagger…
Jacaerys closed his right eye for a moment and took a breath, trying to force down the surging emotions in his chest.
He could not blame little Luke—at least, not openly.
They were brothers. They had to stand together.
All that hatred had to have a clearer, more deserving target.
"That's enough, Luke." Laenor once more knocked aside Lucerys's disorderly attack and frowned slightly. "Take a rest. Your stamina management is a problem. If you keep this up, you'll be exhausted very soon."
Lucerys's chest heaved violently, sweat sliding down from his temples. He did not obey. Instead, he let out a low snarl and rushed forward again.
Laenor's eyes held a trace of helplessness. He shifted aside with ease, and the wooden sword in his hand struck out in passing, landing precisely on Lucerys's wrist.
Crack!
The wooden sword flew from Lucerys's grasp. He staggered back several steps, clutching his wrist.
He panted heavily, staring fixedly at the ground, his shoulders trembling slightly.
The youngest, Joffrey, hugged his small wooden sword and stood timidly at the edge of the field, looking at his second brother, then at his eldest brother.
Laenor let out a sigh, walked over, picked up Lucerys's wooden sword, and handed it back to him. "Anger must be mastered, not allowed to master you."
Lucerys accepted the sword in silence. He did not look at this father in name, nor did he look at his brother. Turning away, he dragged his feet toward the water barrel at the edge of the field.
Not far off, two figures watched everything quietly.
Rhaenyra wore a dark black riding outfit. Her posture was still upright, yet on closer inspection there was already a faint curve to her abdomen, cleverly concealed by the tailored cut of her jacket.
Daemon, standing beside her, lowered his voice. "It must be soon."
"Our child cannot be born without clarity."
Rhaenyra turned her face toward him. "Do you think I do not want that, Daemon? But Laenor…"
She paused.
"He is my husband, the children's father in name."
"Driftmark needs that name. Lord Corlys and Aunt Rhaenys need it as well."
"A name?" Daemon gave a scornful laugh, laced with mockery. "A husband who prefers men?"
"A man who cannot even climb into his own wife's bed?"
"Rhaenyra, since when have we Targaryens needed such a false mask to maintain our rule?"
"Power, dragons, bloodline—that is what matters!"
His gaze burned as it fell upon her abdomen. "Our child possesses the purest Targaryen blood."
"He should be born openly and rightfully, not bearing the Velaryon name."
Rhaenyra was silent for a moment, the sea wind stirring the ends of her hair.
"Corlys and the others will not agree," she said slowly.
"We need to maintain the appearance of the marriage alliance."
"At least on the surface it must remain so. And besides, doing this—the Faith…the nobles…"
"To hell with the Faith and the nobles!" Daemon showed a rare flicker of impatience as he seized Rhaenyra's arm, his grip far from gentle.
"We can find a way to make Laenor give it up of his own accord."
"He does not care about any of this, Rhaenyra."
"What he cares about are his captains, his wine, and those friends of his."
"We give him freedom, and he gives us legitimacy. That's fair."
Rhaenyra did not pull free of his grasp. She merely looked at him quietly, her gaze deep. "And then what? Daemon, do you want our child to replace Jace, and the others?"
Seeing Rhaenyra doubt him, Daemon said, "I have always regarded those children of yours as my own flesh and blood."
"Rhaenyra, you are doubting me again?"
Rhaenyra, however, tightened her grip on Daemon's hand. "I am not doubting you, Daemon. Listen. Perhaps… we do not have to choose one or the other."
Her gaze drifted once more toward Laenor, then returned to Daemon's face as she spoke words that made Daemon's pupils contract sharply.
"Perhaps we can find a way for the three of us… to live our lives well. More important than anything else."
"You, me, Laenor. In the future, the children can bear the Targaryen name, or they can bear the Velaryon name, so long as there is understanding between us."
"Laenor will not object. He has never cared about these things."
"And Corlys and Rhaenys will not object either. They know their son has no ability to father children."
Daemon's expression froze at once, as though he had heard the most absurd joke in the world. He stared at Rhaenyra, as if seeing her for the first time.
"Three people?"
"Live our lives well? Rhaenyra, do you even know what you are saying?"
"My child, my bloodline, growing up right under my eyes while bearing another man's name?"
He flung Rhaenyra's hand away and stepped back. The habitual roguishness on his face was replaced by a gloom bordering on rage.
"I am Daemon Targaryen! King of the Narrow Sea!"
"I can seize a throne. I can kill anyone who stands against my will."
"I can defy the whole world for you! But you would have me, and my woman, and her husband in name, live our lives together?"
He let out a short, sharp, cold laugh.
"This is the greatest insult to me, Rhaenyra. I would rather feed my unborn child to a dragon than accept such a… ridiculous arrangement!"
Rhaenyra was stung by his violent reaction.
"Then what do you want me to do, Daemon? Force Laenor to his death right now?"
"Drive Driftmark away from us? Let all the Seven Kingdoms see me, Rhaenyra, as not only a wanton who bore bastards—"
"—but also a poisoner who murdered her husband? We would lose even more!"
"I have a way," Daemon growled as he leaned in close to Rhaenyra.
"You give birth to the child first. I will handle the rest."
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