The noise of the hall ebbed away like a retreating tide.
The last attendant bowed low and withdrew, and the heavy oak doors closed slowly behind him, sealing the chamber off from the outside world.
King Viserys I sat alone upon the Iron Throne.
For once, the blades did not cut him—but the seat beneath him felt no less a rack of torment. The gilded metal pressed into his failing body, each breath an effort.
A month earlier, the court had announced that Grand Maester Mellos had passed peacefully in his sleep at the age of seventy-four.
Peacefully.
Milk of the poppy dulled the agony that gnawed at Viserys's bones and softened the world into something blurred and bearable. He had drunk three cups… perhaps four. He could no longer remember. Only that with each swallow, the pain loosened its grip.
For a fleeting moment, the clamor inside his mind fell silent.
"I am sorry…"
"I am sorry…"
The king murmured the words, his voice echoing faintly through the empty hall.
His dim eyes blinked—and at the far end of the long table stood his parents.
Prince Baelon the Brave, tall and strong as he had been in life.
Princess Alyssa, radiant and stern, her gaze full of unspoken judgment.
Viserys's throat tightened.
"I failed you…"
"Tomorrow…"
"Tomorrow I will proclaim little Aegon my heir… and Helaena's betrothal…"
His voice trembled.
"It will all be settled… settled at last… That is good… good…"
A voice pulled him back from the dream.
"Viserys."
The king turned his head sluggishly.
From the shadows between the pillars stepped Prince Daemon Targaryen.
He had never truly left.
Like a waiting blade, he had remained behind, watching in silence as the royal banquet unraveled into farce and fracture.
Daemon approached without a sound and stopped before his brother. His eyes lingered on the delicate golden mask covering half of Viserys's face.
The mask hid the rot—but not the stench. Beneath its edges seeped the sickening odor of blood, pus, and decaying flesh.
With rare gentleness, Daemon lifted a hand and removed it.
From cheekbone to jaw, the king's flesh was discolored—blue-black and dark red. Several ulcers had eaten so deeply that bone showed through.
"The Seven save us…" Daemon whispered.
"Viserys…"
The king blinked, slow and unfocused, as if only now realizing the mask was gone. His hand twitched, trying to cover the ruin.
"Daemon…?" His voice was no more than a breath.
"How long?" Daemon asked quietly, holding back the grief in his chest.
Viserys answered after a pause.
"Half a year… First a red rash… then sores. They spread quickly."
Daemon's gaze fell to the flagon on the table.
"How much milk of the poppy did that fool give you?"
"This much would fell a horse."
"Do not blame him…" Viserys shook his head, the movement slow and frail.
"I asked for it. Without it, I could not last a single day."
"He said… I might live a few more years."
A weak smile tugged at his lips.
"Long enough… long enough."
Daemon helped him sit upright, steadying him with one arm. Through the heavy robes he felt it—the sharp spine, the wasting flesh, a body withering before his eyes.
When the coughing passed, Viserys slumped back, gasping.
"Have you truly thought this through?" Daemon asked.
"Thought… through what?" Viserys's gaze drifted again.
Daemon gripped his brother's shoulder.
"I need you awake."
"I am awake," Viserys protested feebly.
Daemon pulled a chair closer and sat opposite him.
"Let us speak of the betrothal," he said.
"Of Helaena and Jacaerys."
Viserys nodded weakly.
"It is… a sound match.
Velaryon and Targaryen… it will strengthen the realm."
Daemon's voice sharpened.
"House Velaryon is consuming House Targaryen."
Viserys stiffened, his eyes snapping into focus.
"Why now?" Daemon pressed.
"Why this sudden generosity?"
"Why accept a boy the entire realm knows to be baseborn?"
He leaned forward.
"Because no house outside our own has ever possessed so many dragons."
"Now five dragonriders bear the name Velaryon."
"Their children will bear it as well. And their children after them."
Viserys's face paled, the words cutting through the fog like cold water.
"They are changing the blood… slowly."
"Stealing our dragons with our blood."
Viserys swallowed.
"Then what would you have me do?" he asked hoarsely.
Daemon paused, then said,
"As for marriage… I have a better answer."
He met his brother's eyes.
"Let Aegon the Younger wed Jaehaera."
"Your grandson," Daemon said slowly,
"to your daughter."