Driftmark Island
The training ground lay on the western edge of the island city, with cliffs behind it and the endless roar of the waves below.
Laenor Velaryon wore simple leather armor, his silver hair tied back in a neat tail. His untested training sword blocked the slightly impatient strike of his second son, Lutris.
Lucerys Velaryon gritted his teeth. He had grown a little thinner since the half-moon before, throwing himself into the fight with everything he had. Since that night, he had changed—becoming silent, almost masochistic in training.
"Yes," he ground out, swinging the sword again, the motion becoming even more awkward.
Nearby, Jacaerys Velaryon quietly sat in a soft chair. Though the sea breeze off Driftmark Island was still cold, his face was paler than the morning mist.
A white bandage covered his left eye, glaringly bright, while his right eye followed his brother on the field. Fingers clenched the blanket across his lap.
He should have been on the field, the elder son, setting an example for the younger ones, guiding them in training, shaping them into competent knights and future lords.
Instead, he sat aside, eyes weary, while his brother worked himself into a frenzy from guilt. But understanding is understanding: at night, the torment of losing his left eye under the barely contained floral pain was relentless.
Cold resentment would inevitably manifest uncontrollably.
It was all because of Aemond.
It was Lucerys who had pulled that cursed dagger…
Jacaerys closed his right eye and sighed, trying to suppress the emotions raging in his chest.
"Enough, Lucerys." Laenor once again intercepted Lutris' disorganized strike, frowning slightly.
"Rest. You're having trouble distributing your strength, and if you continue like this, your energy will drain too quickly."
Lucerys' chest heaved violently. Sweat ran from the corner of his brow. He ignored the words, growling, and attacked again.
With a look of helplessness, Laenor easily sidestepped, and the wooden sword in his hand struck Lucerys' wrist with a dull snap.
Nearby, two figures quietly observed the scene.
Rhaenyra Targaryen wore a dark black riding outfit. Her posture remained straight, but a slight bulge on her stomach, barely visible under a tailored top, betrayed her condition.
Daemon, standing beside her, lowered his voice.
"This has to happen soon."
Rhaenyra glanced at him, skeptical.
"I don't want it, Daemon. But Laenor…"
She paused.
"He is my husband, the nominal father of the children."
"A man who can't even rise to the occasion in his own bed?"
"Rhaenyra, when will we Targaryens ever need this mask of hypocrisy to maintain our rule?"
"Power, dragons, bloodlines—that's the foundation!"
"Corlys… they won't agree." She said slowly.
"We need to maintain the façade of a proper marriage."
"At least, on the surface, it should appear that way. And then there's the Church… the nobles…"
"He cares nothing for that, Rhaenyra."
"He cares for the captain, for wine, for friends."
"We give him freedom, he gives us a name. That's fair."
Rhaenyra didn't pull away, simply looked at him quietly, her gaze deep.
"And then? Daemon… you want our children to replace Jacaerys, Lucerys, and the rest?"
She held Daemon's hand with her other hand.
"I never doubted you, Daemon. Listen. Maybe… we don't have to choose one or the other."
Her eyes drifted back to Laenor, then back to Daemon's face, and she said something that made his pupils constrict sharply.
"Perhaps we can find a way—for the three of us… to live well. More than anything in the world."
"You, I, Laenor… in the future, a child may bear the Targaryen or Velaryon name if we reach a silent understanding."
Daemon's expression froze as if he had heard the most absurd joke in the world. He looked at Rhaenyra as though seeing her for the first time.
"Three people?"
"Live well? Rhaenyra… do you understand what you're saying?"
"My child, my blood… growing under my nose with another's name?"
He shook her hand and stepped back. His usual cynicism gave way to a grimness bordering on fury.
"I—Daemon Targaryen! King of the Narrow Sea!
I can steal a throne and kill anyone who doesn't follow my heart.
I can fight the world for myself! But you allow me, with my woman and her nominal husband, to live well together?"
He smirked shortly and sharply.
"This is simply the greatest insult, Rhaenyra. I would sooner feed a dragon my unborn offspring than accept this… absurd arrangement!"
"Then what do you want me to do, Daemon? Kill Laenor now?"
"Let Driftmark Island be the center of the storm. Let the Seven Kingdoms watch me. Rhaenyra is not just a whore who gave birth to an illegitimate child.
I have a plan." Daemon roared, stepping closer to Rhaenyra.
"You give birth first, and I will take care of the child."