Summer in King's Landing always carried a trace of warmth.
In the godswood of the Red Keep, the marigolds Queen Alicent had planted with her own hands filled the air with fragrance.
Alicent reclined sideways upon a chaise covered in swan-feather velvet cushions, her green gown spread out around her.
Her hand rested lightly over the swell of her belly, where new life was taking shape—heavier and fuller than when she had borne Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena.
Grand Maester Mellos had confirmed it last week and delivered his diagnosis to the queen: "A sign of twins. The Seven have granted their blessing."
Twins.
The conclusion had driven Viserys to unrestrained joy.
The king, now past fifty, had dragged his ailing body to her chambers, taken the queen's hand, and spoken at length.
Those words, in a fleeting haze, carried Alicent back eighteen years, to the days when she had first wed.
In those years Viserys had read poetry to her, had taken her hand at dusk to walk the gardens, had gazed upon her youthful face and said, My Alicent is like a rose in bloom in spring.
Three months ago, one night as Viserys lay beside her, with a gentleness and hesitation long absent, he had said, perhaps we should reconsider the matter of the heir…
Alicent had not answered then. She had only gently stroked the king's gaunt hand.
But her heart had pounded.
How many years had it been?
From the day she bore Aegon, her father Otto had told her again and again: your son is the rightful heir; primogeniture is the cornerstone of the Seven Kingdoms.
Yet in Viserys's eyes there had only ever been Rhaenyra—only the eldest daughter who so closely resembled his first wife, Queen Aemma.
Now, was everything at last to return to its proper course?
"Your Grace."
The soft voice broke her thoughts.
Alicent looked up and saw Alyn Rogare standing at the end of the garden path, her silver hair like flowing quicksilver beneath the summer sun, her blue eyes as clear and bright as high summer itself.
Alyn wore a pale gold gown in the style of Lys, the neckline and sleeves adorned with small pearls.
"Alyn," Alicent said with a smile, beckoning her over. "Come sit. Do not stand there like a fool."
Alyn performed a graceful curtsey before taking her seat upon the chair brought by a maid.
Her gaze fell upon Alicent's belly, wonder in her eyes. "Your Grace, your stomach… forgive my boldness, but it seems there is more than one child within."
Alicent's smile deepened. "The Grand Maester says they are twins."
"The Seven be praised." Alyn clasped her hands before her chest in pious devotion.
After coming to Westeros, she had chosen to convert to the Faith of the Seven.
"This must be an auspicious sign. House Targaryen shall welcome new blood."
Those words struck straight at Alicent's heart.
She looked at the young woman before her—the girl soon to become her daughter-in-law—silver-haired and blue-eyed, with the clear features of Valyrian blood, her manners proper, her speech measured, poised and strikingly beautiful.
House Rogare, though not a direct dragonlord line among the Forty Families of Old Valyria, had established itself in Lys for generations. It owned a bank, possessed vast wealth, and its patriarch, Lysandro, served as the Governor of Lys, one of the three archons of the Triarchy.
And Alyn was Lysandro's younger sister.
It was a perfect political marriage. She could bring Aegon—and the Greens—funds, as well as military support from the east.
"Where is Aegon?" Alicent asked suddenly. "Why did he not accompany you?"
The smile on Alyn's face stiffened for the briefest instant.
But she quickly composed herself and said gently, "His Highness said he had some affairs of state to attend to and would come later to pay his respects to you."
Affairs of state?
Alicent knew her eldest son too well.
Of all things in this life, what Aegon could least endure was affairs of state.
At this very moment, his so-called duties were most likely being carried out in some tower chamber, entangled with some maid.
A surge of irritation rose within her.
The matter of replacing the heir was at a critical juncture. Viserys had already relented, but with his wavering nature, he could change his mind at any time.
At such a moment, any scandal on Aegon's part could shape the king's view of him.
"Your Grace?" Alyn called softly.
Alicent came back to herself and forced a faint smile. "It is nothing. I am merely… somewhat tired."
Alyn immediately rose to her feet. "Your Grace, then I shall not disturb your rest."
"May the Seven grant health to you and to the princes in your womb."
Alicent nodded and watched her depart, Alyn's back straight and graceful.
Alicent seemed to see her younger self.
Too false… The girl was perfect to an excessive degree.
After about a quarter of an hour, Aegon finally arrived.
His silver curls were somewhat disheveled, his face still carrying the drowsiness of recent sleep. The collar of his white outer robe hung slightly open, revealing the creases in the shirt beneath.
Upon seeing his mother, he gave a lazy bow. "Mother, Alyn said you were looking for me?"
Alicent did not answer at once. She studied her eldest son carefully. Eighteen—an age that should have burned with vigor—yet in Aegon's eyes there was only weariness and indulgence.
He had inherited the beauty of House Targaryen, but that air of dissipation diminished it.
"Alyn has just left," Alicent said calmly.
"Oh." Aegon sat in the chair Alyn had occupied moments before and casually took a grape from the table, popping it into his mouth.
"What did she come to speak to you about? Lysene perfume? Or new fabrics from Myr?"
Alicent fixed her gaze upon him.
"She was concerned for me and for the child yet unborn."
"And you, my son—what concerns you?"
Aegon's chewing slowed. He lifted his eyes to his mother.
"I have many things to worry about as well, Mother." He shrugged. "Father has been summoning me often to the council chamber of late, to listen to the complaints in the letters of those lords, and the bickering of the councillors."
"The harvests in the Reach, the wildlings in the North, disputes among lords, the raids of the Iron Islands… It is tiresome."
"So you choose women to ease your weariness?" Alicent's voice turned cold.
Aegon's expression changed. He set down the grape and straightened. "Who told you? The Hand? Or Ser Criston?"
"No one needs to tell me." Alicent finally rose. Though her belly was heavy, her movements still carried a queen's authority.
She walked before Aegon and looked into his eyes. "Aegon, look at me."
Aegon lifted his gaze unwillingly.
The next instant, the sharp sound of a slap rang through the garden.
Aegon's head snapped to the side. He covered his cheek, disbelief filling his eyes. "Mother?! You!"
"That slap was to wake you," Alicent said, her voice trembling—not from weakness, but from anger.
"Do you understand what moment this is? Your father is considering changing the heir!"
"How many years has it been? Aegon, after so many years, this chance has finally come! And you?"
"You are still out there chasing women, with no regard at all?"
Aegon's lips moved, and in the end it turned into a cold laugh. "So what?"
"Because Father might—only might—change his mind and name me heir, I must become someone else?"
"Become the prince you and Otto want?"
Alicent said softly, "You should at least learn to respect your betrothed!"
"You should not seek out those women in front of her."
"Alyn Rogare is of distinguished birth, and her dowry is enough to arm an army!"
"She is also beautiful and graceful."
"In what way is she unworthy of you? And those maids of yours?"
"And those bastards…"
Aegon's face turned completely pale. He sprang to his feet. "You knew? You have always known?"
"Of course I knew!" Alicent closed her eyes briefly.
"Three bastards—two girls and one boy—have been sent to distant kin in the Reach to be fostered."
"Did you think it was handled so cleanly?"
"If your grandsire Otto had not covered for you, the scandal of the bastards born of you and those noble maids would already have spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms."
"At least Rhaenyra acknowledges her children!" Aegon shouted. "At least she dares to keep them by her side!"
"And what of me? I am not even allowed to look upon my own children!"
"I never wished to be king. I only wanted to live my own life."
The words fell, and the garden sank into silence.
Alicent looked at her son's reddened eyes and realized that Aegon perhaps had never cared for the Iron Throne.
That realization filled her with a strange fear.
After a long while, the queen spoke softly, weariness in her voice. "Aegon, listen to me. I never loved your father."
Aegon fell silent.
"When I married Viserys, I was fifteen. He was thirty-nine."
"He was king, and I was the daughter of House Hightower."
"Our marriage was political from the beginning, arranged by my father Otto to secure our house's standing."
"Did I ever love him? Perhaps once, when I was very, very young."
"But that kind of love was long ago worn away—by time, by Rhaenyra, by disappointment after disappointment."
She turned and looked at her son. "Yet I still became his queen. I bore the four of you, and soon there will be six."
"I fulfilled the duties of a queen and upheld the dignity of the royal house. No matter how much pain I felt in my heart, I would smile at your father in public and remain at his bedside when he lay gravely ill."
"Because that is my duty. It is my fate as a daughter of House Hightower and as Queen of House Targaryen."
Aegon remained silent.
"Alyn may not like you," Alicent said with a bitter smile.
"You are not a fool, my son."
"Of course she does not like you. To her, and to House Rogare, this marriage is likewise a political investment."
"But she will play the role of princess well. She will uphold your dignity in public and bear you legitimate heirs. That is enough."
Aegon shook his head.
"Not enough."
"If I am to sit the Iron Throne, I want more than 'enough.'"
"What do you want, then?" Alicent walked toward him and touched his face. "Love? Sincerity?"
"Aegon, you were born into a royal house. Such things have always been luxuries."
"Your father loved Rhaenyra—loved her enough to ignore the law, ignore tradition, ignore the opposition of all the lords."
"And the result? The result is the present situation."
"Now the prestige of the royal house has declined, the family stands divided, and all the lords watch the struggle within House Targaryen."
Alicent cupped Aegon's face in both hands, softening her voice.
"Listen."
"Right now, at this very moment, your father wavers. This is the first time he has seriously considered naming you heir."
"This is the chance we have waited for all these years."
"So I beg you."
"If you must pretend, then pretend convincingly."
"Be kinder to Alyn. Be more earnest when you attend the council. Stop chasing women and making those maids with child."
"When the Iron Throne truly belongs to you, I will not care how many lovers you keep—but not now."
Aegon lowered his head, his silver hair hiding his expression.
Just as Alicent thought he had finally taken her words to heart, he raised his head and gave a mocking smile. "Mother, do you truly believe Father will change his mind?"
"He—"
"He will not," Aegon cut her off.
"I am the substitute he is forced to accept, the second choice after Rhaenyra ruined everything."
"But so long as Rhaenyra repents, so long as she is willing to bow her head, Father will forgive her."
"He will. Because in his heart, Rhaenyra will always come first."
"He has had eighteen years to name me heir, and he has never done so…"
"Why is he considering changing the heir now? Mother, think carefully."
With that, he turned and left.
Alicent stood where she was, one hand pressed against her belly, feeling the small life within.
The garden fell silent once more.
She recalled the words Viserys had spoken several months ago, the rare hesitation and wavering in his eyes.
She also remembered that through all these years, whenever the king had to choose between Rhaenyra and her, he had always chosen Rhaenyra in the end.
"Seven save us," the queen murmured in prayer, whether to the gods or to the children within her womb she did not know. "Let this time… be different."
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