The second time I woke up, the room was quiet.
Warm sunlight slipped through thin curtains, painting the marble walls in soft gold.
For a few moments I didn't move.
My head still felt like someone had stuffed it full of sand and then taken a hammer to it, but the fog that had clouded my thoughts earlier was beginning to lift.
Then I felt it.
The slow, steady warmth of someone sleeping against my side.
I turned my head carefully.
She was still there.
Curled beside me beneath the sheets, one arm draped lazily across my waist as though she belonged there, as though this was naturally, expected, real.
Her face was relaxed in sleep, the teasing amusement from earlier gone. Like this, quiet and still, she looked almost too beautiful to be real.
Silver-gold hair spilled across the pillow like liquid sunlight, catching the pale rays filtering through the thin curtains. One long strand had fallen across her cheek, rising and falling gently with each slow breath.
Not plain silver, not white, but that strange, lovely shade between the two, touched with gold where the sun met it. I could not stop staring at it.
Her skin was pale and smooth, almost luminous against the darker silk beneath her.
And her eyes…
God I still see it so clearly.
Purple.
Actually purple.
I stared at her for several seconds.
"…Wow."
The word escaped my throat before I could stop it.
Carefully, almost nervously, I lifted one hand.
For a moment I hesitated.
Then I gently brushed the strand of hair away from her face.
It was very soft, almost like silk, and surprisingly it was actually real. Not a wig. Nor dyed. I checked.
All my movement didn't wake her, but she shifted slightly in her sleep, pressing closer to me with a quiet, contented sigh.
My heart did something very strange in my chest.
It started pounding like I was eleven and had just had my first crush smile at me.
This was bad.
Because I was not eleven.
And I had never in my life woken up next to a woman like this.
Or any woman, come to that.
Which meant, among other things, that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.
Still, that did not stop me from continuing to stroke her hair like some daft bastard who just won the lottery and was afraid the ticket might vanish if he blinked too hard.
She was gorgeous.
Not pretty. Not cute. Gorgeous.
The sort of beauty that made your brain go quiet for a moment because it simply did not know what to do with the information.
No contest.
Not even close.
Silver-gold hair.
Purple eyes.
If you had asked me yesterday what my exact type was, I probably would have described… this, and you can't blame me.
Which meant one of two things was happening.
Either I had died and gone to heaven.
Or my brain had finally snapped and decided to create the most convincing dream it possibly could.
I gently continued stroking her hair, watching the strands catch the morning light.
"…Yeah," I murmured quietly. "Definitely a dream."
Because things like this did not happen to me.
I was not the kind of guy who woke up in silk beds with beautiful women who looked like they had stepped out of my dreams.
I was the kind of guy who woke up to, you know, live life and work for barely anything.
But as I slowly looked around the room again…
The dream explanation started to feel less convincing.
I lay there for another few moments, half expecting to wake up properly in my own bed with my phone buzzing beside me, then go and eat breakfast.
It did not happen.
The room remained warm. The air still smelled faintly of perfume, wine, and the sea. The sheets beneath my hands were still too smooth and rich to be anything I had ever owned. And the woman beside me was still very much real, breathing softly against me.
I haven't been kidnapped, have I? No one who'd kidnap me would give me all of this. There has to be a reasonable explanation for all of this.
Virtual reality? Haha, no way. Too expensive. And definitely not able to replicate this.
A TV show, maybe? But why let me have sex?
The chamber was far too grand to be some random bedroom. White marble columns framed the bed. Sheer curtains stirred in the morning breeze from an open balcony beyond.
A low table nearby held half-empty wine cups, a silver pitcher, and the sad remains of what must have been last night's attempt at food. Everything looked expensive. Impossibly expensive.
This wasn't home. Nor was it Britain.
It was far too nice.
A cold twist of unease stabbed through my chest.
Right.
Maybe focus on that.
I looked down at myself and immediately wished I had not.
"This… isn't my fucking body."
My voice came out quieter than I expected.
I shut my eyes and clenched my jaw.
Oh God.
My teeth felt different.
Panic began to crawl up my spine, sharp and sudden, but another memory surfaced just in time.
My counsellor.
Ground yourself.
Right.
Okay.
I forced myself to breathe.
"I can feel the air," I muttered quietly. "One."
The warm breeze drifting in through the balcony brushed across my skin.
"I can feel the floor… two."
Cool marble beneath my feet.
"I can hear birds… three."
Sure enough, somewhere outside the window came the soft chirping of birds.
"I can smell the air… four."
Salt.
Definitely salt.
The ocean.
"And five…"
I paused, listening.
Far below the balcony, distant voices carried upward through the warm morning air. Merchants calling to one another. The creak of rigging. The faint bustle of a waking city.
"I can hear people."
Slowly, the panic receded.
I let out a long breath and opened my eyes again.
Alright.
Don't panic.
Just… assess the situation.
My gaze slowly drifted across the room until it landed on something polished and reflective near the far wall.
A mirror.
Tall.
Framed in carved wood.
For a long moment, I didn't move.
Because whatever was looking back at me in that mirror was about to answer a question I wasn't entirely sure I wanted answered.
Still…
There was no avoiding it.
Slowly, cautiously, I stepped toward it.
Each step felt heavier than it should have, probably because of the headache and whatever was still in my system.
The marble floor was cool beneath my feet, grounding, real. The woman behind me still slept, the room still smelled of wine and sea air, and the city was still alive beyond the balcony.
Everything was real.
Which meant whatever was in the mirror would be too.
At least I didn't feel that different, but I'd be able to see more in a moment.
Then I stepped fully into view of the mirror.
The man inside stared back at me.
And he was… beautiful.
Nolamentationway actors were beautiful, or models in advertisements. This was something else entirely.
The sort of face that looked like it had been sculpted out of marble by someone who really, really liked sharp cheekbones.
Long silver hair fell past the shoulders, loose and slightly tangled from sleep. The colour caught the sunlight streaming through the curtains and turned almost white at the edges.
My hand moved without thinking, lifting a strand of it.
The mirror copied the motion.
"…Well," I breathed.
It was soft. Ridiculously soft. Even more so than the— I don't even know her name. My mother would kill me.
I quickly left that to future me and focused on my body.
Pale skin. Not unhealthy, just pale. And luckily the height hadn't changed, which was good. Six foot two was good enough for me. I was also leaner, though roughly the same broadness.
Not bad.
I could regain my bigger muscles later.
This was still amazing, honestly. The care you'd have to put into this was astonishing.
The face staring back at me had high cheekbones, a straight nose, and pale skin that seemed almost luminous in the morning light.
Very aristocratic, if I say so myself.
Also very pompous.
And as I examined myself, the last thing that caught my attention was my new eyes.
I didn't have my mother's eyes anymore, but in their place was—
Oh.
"Of course," I said weakly.
The mirror copied my movements, and now I was staring at it, profoundly sad, which somehow made me look more attractive.
Behind me the woman shifted slightly in the bed, making a soft sound in her sleep.
My eyes flicked to the reflection of the bed behind me in the mirror.
Then down at my right hand and the signet ring sitting on my middle finger.
The silver three-headed dragon glinted in the light.
"Alright," I said quietly to the mirror.
"Let's go through the facts."
I lifted one finger.
"One. I'm not in my body."
Second finger.
"Two. I'm not in Britain."
Third finger.
"I appear to be in a ridiculously expensive bedroom with marble floors and silk sheets."
Fourth finger.
"There's a beautiful silver-haired woman asleep in my bed who called me my prince."
And finally, I raised my hand slightly so the ring caught the sunlight.
"Five…"
The dragon stared back at me.
Three heads.
Wings spread.
House Targaryen.
My mouth went dry.
"…I'm wearing a Targaryen signet ring."
Silence filled the room for a moment.
Then something stirred in the back of my mind again.
That same half-memory from earlier.
Not quite mine.
A word.
A place.
Lys.
The thought slipped into place like the final piece of a puzzle.
Warm seas.
White marble.
People with Valyrian features.
A city of pleasure.
Dear God, I probably had sex with a slave.
My heart began to beat a little faster.
There were only a handful of people I could realistically be.
My eyes slowly lifted to meet the violet gaze staring back at me in the mirror.
A name rose up from somewhere deep in my skull.
A name that felt both alien and disturbingly familiar.
"Aegon," I whispered.
The reflection whispered it back.
Aegon Targaryen.
Son of Prince Viserys, Grandson of Daemon Targaryen and Rhaenyra.
Future king of Westeros.
Future—
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
"…You have got to be fucking kidding me."
Because there were many Aegons—well, technically no, but yes—and I was definitely not the Conqueror. If I was, then I'd accept the dragonfire from my wives. Definitely not the Uncrowned, or the second, or the third.
And then there was the one I had apparently become.
Aegon the Fourth.
Aegon the fucking Unworthy.
I stared at the mirror for several long seconds.
Then I slowly dragged a hand down my face.
"Well," I muttered.
"…This explains the hot woman, at least," I said with a sigh.
Behind me, the woman in the bed shifted again.
This time her eyes fluttered open.
For a moment she simply blinked up at the ceiling, still half-lost in sleep.
Then she turned her head.
Her violet eyes met mine in the mirror.
And very slowly, she smiled.
"Good morning, my Prince."
My brain stopped working.
Not slowed.
Stopped.
Because that smile was devastating.
Warm. Lazy. Completely confident in a way that suggested this situation was not new to her in the slightest.
And she had just called me Prince again.
Right.
Of course.
Prince.
I straightened slightly in front of the mirror, trying to look like someone who woke up as a Targaryen prince every morning.
Inside my skull, however, a much less dignified conversation was happening.
Okay.
Okay okay okay.
Do not panic.
Princes do not panic.
Princes probably do not stare at mirrors like confused goldfish either.
Behind me the bed creaked softly as she stretched.
I very carefully did not turn around immediately.
Mostly because my brain had just produced a new and deeply uncomfortable thought.
Lys.
Slave city.
My stomach tightened.
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
I had absolutely slept with her.
That much was very clear.
And if she was—
I slowly turned around.
She was sitting up now, the sheets gathered loosely around her waist. Silver-gold hair tumbled down over her shoulders in a cascade of soft light.
She watched me with a faintly amused expression.
"You look troubled this morning, my Prince."
Her voice was soft. Musical.
Lyseni sounds almost like Latin I think.
I swallowed.
"Just… thinking."
Brilliant response.
Truly the height of royal wit.
Her smile widened slightly.
"You were not thinking much last night."
Of course I wasn't.
Because the man whose body I was currently borrowing had apparently spent the evening drinking himself into oblivion.
Which meant Aegon had done whatever Aegon normally did.
Which, judging by the situation, involved wine and beautiful women.
Right.
Stay calm.
I nodded slowly, trying to appear thoughtful rather than existentially horrified.
"That happens sometimes."
She tilted her head slightly, studying me now.
Her eyes were even more striking.
Deep violet.
Valyrian violet.
"You are acting strangely today."
Before I could respond, something flickered across my mind.
A memory.
Not mine.
Steel ringing against steel.
The weight of a practice sword in my hand.
A knight correcting my stance.
"Again, my Prince."
I blinked.
The room returned.
The woman was still watching me.
"…Just tired," I said quickly.
She hummed softly, apparently accepting that explanation.
Then she stretched again, entirely unconcerned with the fact that the movement revealed rather a lot of skin.
My brain attempted to derail again.
Focus.
Focus.
"Remind me," I said carefully, "what city we're in again."
Her eyebrows lifted slightly.
"Lys," she replied.
Well.
That confirmed that.
She laughed softly a moment later.
"Did the wine truly steal your memory, Prince Aegon?"
There it was.
The name.
Spoken casually.
Naturally.
Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Prince Aegon.
I forced my face not to react.
Inside my head, however, alarms were going off in every direction.
Confirmed.
Definitely Aegon.
Congratulations.
You are now the future walking disaster of Westeros.
My gaze drifted briefly to the dragon ring on my hand.
Three heads.
House Targaryen.
Aegon the Fourth.
Aegon the Unworthy.
My life had somehow become both vastly better and catastrophically worse in the same morning.
And judging by the amused expression on the Lyseni woman's face…
The day was only just beginning.
Then she tilted her head slightly.
"You are very quiet this morning, my Prince."
I forced a small smile.
"Just thinking."
Brilliant.
Truly the height of royal conversation.
She didn't seem convinced.
"You were not thinking much last night."
That tracked.
My mind raced as I tried to remember every scrap of information I had about Aegon the Unworthy and his time in the Free Cities he was sent to Braavos by Baelor and that's all I know.
The woman shifted slightly on the bed, gathering the silk sheet loosely around herself as she sat up. Silver-gold hair tumbled over her shoulders like molten sunlight.
It was deeply distracting.
Focus.
"You truly remember nothing?" she asked.
"Bits," I said carefully.
Not technically a lie.
I remembered plenty.
Just not anything this body had done.
Her smile returned, faintly amused.
"Luckily you did not forget how to pleasure a woman, my Prince."
I feel my heart flip
That would have been the version of me that was still half drunk and thinking this was a dream.
Fantastic.
She leaned back against the carved headboard, watching me like someone observing an unusual animal.
"You drank enough wine to drown a small Dornish fleet," she continued lightly.
"Argued with a Tyroshi merchant about dragons, and insisted you would never return to King's Landing."
Ah.
There it was.
The politics are creeping in.
"Did I now?"
"You did."
Her eyes glinted with mischief.
"You said your father would have to drag you back in chains."
Viserys.
The most competent man in Westeros and is nothing like his namesake.
Also, apparently, my father.
The woman continued before I could respond.
"You seemed very determined to avoid your wedding."
That made me pause.
"Did I say why?"
She laughed softly.
"You were very determined," she said. "You claimed you would rather drown in the Summer Sea than marry your sister."
Well that confirmed something at least I'm not 36.
I rubbed the back of my neck.
"Well," I muttered, "I do have excellent taste in dramatic statements."
She laughed softly.
"You certainly had excellent taste in wine."
She watched me closely now.
"You hate the match so much?"
Another flicker of memory brushed against my thoughts.
A quiet girl with pale silver hair.
Soft violet eyes.
Thin, fragile.
Naerys.
Then another figure beside her.
Tall.
Armoured.
Serious.
The Dragonknight.
The memory vanished as quickly as it had come.
I blinked.
Right.
Memory bleed apparently that's a thing now.
Not ideal, but at least useful.
The Lyseni woman was still watching me.
"You look troubled again."
"Just thinking about the future," I said.
That, at least, was true.
Because the future I was thinking about included things like legitimising bastards, they then starting the Blackfyre rebellions and being remembered as Aegon the bloody Unworthy and dying painfully.
Not exactly the legacy I had planned for my life.
My gaze drifted down toward the silk sheets for a moment.
Then a much more immediate thought surfaced.
Lys.
Slave city.
My stomach tightened slightly.
I looked back up at her.
"Can I ask you something?"
Her eyebrow lifted.
"You may ask anything, my Prince."
I hesitated.
Then asked the question that had suddenly become very important.
"…Are you free?"
For the first time since waking up, she looked genuinely surprised.
"Free?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
A small silence settled between us.
Then she gave a faint, puzzled smile.
"I belong to the House," she said gently.
Right.
Of course.
Because this was Lys.
And Lys ran on slavery.
A cold knot settled in my stomach.
Great.
So my first morning as Aegon Targaryen included the realisation that I had very likely slept with a slave.
Fantastic start.
The woman watched my expression carefully.
"You are troubled by this?"
"Just… thinking," I said again.
She studied me for a moment longer.
KNOCK KNOCK
The sound came from the heavy wooden door across the chamber.
Both of us turned toward it.
A voice spoke from the other side.
"My Prince?"
The accent was thick but understandable.
"May I enter?"
Well.
That escalated quickly.
I glanced back at the woman on the bed.
She was already smiling again, clearly entertained by my sudden uncertainty.
"You should probably answer him," she said lightly.
Right.
Yes.
That was something princes presumably did.
"Yes," I called, trying to sound like someone who had spent his entire life commanding servants instead of someone who had spent most mornings arguing with himself.
"Give me a moment if you would."
There was a brief pause outside the door.
"Of course, my Prince."
The woman slid gracefully from the bed, the silk sheet slipping away as she moved.
My brain tried to short-circuit again.
Focus.
Focus.
She crossed the room barefoot, entirely unconcerned with her lack of clothing as she gathered garments from a nearby chair.
A pale gown.
Light almost see-through.
She slipped it over her head with practiced ease before turning back toward me.
"You should sit," she said.
"…Sit?"
She nodded toward the bed.
"You look like a man who has forgotten how to wear his own clothes."
That was an uncomfortably accurate assessment.
"I haven't forgotten," I said weakly as I sat.
"Then you are simply slow this morning."
Before I could respond, she stepped closer and picked up the tunic draped over the back of a chair.
It was finely made.
Dark fabric.
Silver thread.
Very princely.
She held it up and studied me for a moment.
Then, with a small amused smile, she began helping me into it as though this were the most normal thing in the world.
"Arms," she instructed.
I obeyed automatically.
The fabric settled across my shoulders, surprisingly comfortable.
She adjusted the collar lightly, fingers brushing the edge of the dragon ring on my hand as she worked.
"You are definitely strange today," she murmured.
"New day," I replied.
She snorted softly.
"New person, more like."
She finished fastening the tunic and stepped back, examining her work with the faintly critical eye of someone used to dressing nobles.
"Yes," she decided after a moment. "That will do."
Another knock sounded at the door.
"My Prince?"
"Coming," I replied.
The Lyseni woman leaned slightly closer as she passed me.
Her voice dropped to a playful whisper.
"Try not to look like a confused fish when you open the door."
"…I will do my best."
Her smile widened.
"I look forward to seeing that."
Then she stepped aside toward the bed as I turned toward the door.
Which meant the next person to walk into this room would be the second person in this entire world to interact with the new Aegon Targaryen.
No pressure.
None at all.
You are a prince.
Act like one.
Right.
Sure.
I reached the door and paused for half a second, quickly glancing back at the room.
The Lyseni woman had settled back on the edge of the bed, watching the entire situation unfold with quiet amusement. One elbow rested against the carved bedpost, her violet eyes bright with interest.
Very helpful.
I opened the door.
A man stood waiting outside.
Older.
Thin.
Dressed in neat but simple robes of pale blue. The kind of clothing that suggested someone who managed things rather than someone who owned them.
A servant of the house, then he bowed immediately.
"Good morning, my Prince."
The title still felt strange.
But apparently everyone else here considered it completely normal.
"Morning," I replied, doing my best to sound like someone who had spent his entire life waking up to servants greeting him.
The man straightened slightly.
"Forgive the interruption, my Prince. The master of the house asked that I remind you of your arrangements for the morning."
Arrangements.
Fantastic.
Because I had absolutely no idea what those were.
I nodded slowly, hoping that it looked thoughtful rather than confused.
"Remind me."
The servant hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Then he spoke carefully.
"The captain of the Silver Gull has arrived at the harbour as requested."
Behind me I heard the Lyseni woman laugh softly.
Of course she did.
The servant continued.
"You had expressed a desire to sail along the coast today before the heat of the afternoon."
Right.
Yes.
That sounded like something a bored prince with too much money and not enough responsibility might decide to do.
"Of course," I said.
The servant inclined his head.
"The captain is waiting for your word, my Prince."
I considered that for a moment.
Sailing sounded safe.
Sailing also sounded simple.
Sailing also sounded like a very good excuse to leave this room and gather more information about the situation I had found myself in.
"Yes," I said finally. "Tell him I'll be ready shortly."
The servant bowed again.
"As you wish, my Prince."
He turned and began walking down the corridor, disappearing around the corner with the quiet efficiency of someone who had performed this exact task a thousand times.
I closed the door again.
The room fell quiet.
For a moment I simply stood there, staring at the wood.
Then I slowly turned back toward the bed.
The Lyseni woman was watching me again.
Her smile had grown slightly wider.
"Well," she said lightly.
"That was convincing."
"Convincing?"
"You almost looked like you knew what you were doing."
I sighed.
"High praise."
She stood, smoothing the fabric of her gown before walking toward the balcony. The sea breeze lifted a few strands of her silver-gold hair as she stepped into the sunlight.
"The captain must be patient," she said over her shoulder. "You promised him enough coin to make the wait worthwhile."
That sounded like something the original Aegon would absolutely do.
I walked over to the low table beside the bed and looked down at the scattered remains of last night.
Wine cups.
A silver pitcher.
And a small leather purse.
I picked it up.
The weight alone told me everything I needed to know.
"Right," I muttered.
Money.
Apparently Aegon had plenty of it.
Behind me the woman leaned lightly against the balcony rail, looking out over the city.
Lys spread below in white stone and bright colour. Ships crowded the harbour, their sails catching the morning sun.
I looked down at the ring again, then back out toward the harbour.
A city full of strangers.
A life that technically belonged to someone else.
And an entire kingdom waiting on the other side of the Narrow Sea.
I exhaled slowly.
"Yeah," I muttered.
"I think I'm going sailing."
She glanced back at me.