The sun dipped below the horizon, and the Red Keep was transformed into a place of flickering torchlight and long shadows. Inside the Great Hall, King Viserys held a magnificent banquet. The air was filled with the sound of lutes and the chatter of a hundred lords and ladies, all dressed in their finest silks.
Princess Rhaenyra sat at the high table beside her father. She wore a gown of deep black, her silver-gold hair braided with pearls. She looked every bit the "Realm's Delight," yet her eyes were as hard as flint.
The heavy oak doors swung open, and the room fell into a sudden, watchful silence. Queen Alicent entered, leading her son Aegon by the hand. The Queen was draped in a gown of vibrant green—the color of the Hightower beacon when Oldtown called its banners to war. Beside her, young Aegon walked with a quiet confidence, dressed in robes of shimmering gold.
Many of the lords exchanged knowing looks. They could feel the invisible line being drawn down the center of the hall. Viserys, though he preferred peace to conflict, was no fool. He felt the growing coldness between his wife and his daughter. He tried to bridge the gap with expensive gifts—gold, rings, and sparkling necklaces—hoping that enough jewelry could hide the cracks in his family.
Alicent approached the King and leaned down to kiss his cheek. Then, she turned her gaze toward Rhaenyra.
"My dear daughter," Alicent said, her voice smooth and sweet. "Today marks five years since your father and I were wed. It would be a kindness if you offered us your blessings."
Rhaenyra's expression darkened. For a heartbeat, it looked as though she might snap back with a sharp tongue, but she forced a tight smile.
"Happy fifth anniversary to you and my father," Rhaenyra said. Her voice was flat, lacking any real warmth.
Still, Viserys laughed heartily, his face beaming with relief. He was a man who lived on the surface of things, desperate to believe that everyone was happy.
Aegon watched his father's laughter and felt a flicker of pity. He is so good at lying to himself, the boy thought.
"Father," Aegon said, stepping forward. "I wish you and Mother a lifetime of happiness together." He held out a small, velvet-lined box. "I have a gift for you."
Viserys opened the box to find a large, polished piece of obsidian. The black glass caught the torchlight, gleaming like dark water.
"Dragonstone," Aegon said. "When I saw this, I thought of you. It is as dark and powerful as Balerion himself."
The King's eyes widened with genuine joy. Balerion the Black Dread had been the greatest of all the Targaryen dragons, the beast that Aegon the Conqueror had ridden to forge the Seven Kingdoms. Viserys had been Balerion's last rider before the great dragon died of old age in the year 94 AC. It was the King's proudest memory, even if the dragon had been slow and weary by the time they flew together.
"I like this very much, Aegon," Viserys said, his voice thick with emotion. "On your next naming day, I shall find a gift for you that is just as special. Thank you, my son."
Viserys reached down, scooped the boy up, and sat him firmly on his lap. Aegon leaned back against his father's chest and pointed toward a steaming dish on the table.
"Father, may I have some eel pie? I am very hungry."
Viserys smiled. He loved being a father; he loved the feeling of being needed. He carefully cut a piece of the rich, savory pie and held it to Aegon's mouth, feeding him as if he were still a babe.
Immersed in this moment of fatherly love, Viserys failed to notice Rhaenyra. The Princess sat as still as a statue, her knuckles white as she gripped her wine cup. Since she was a child, she had been the center of her father's world. She was the heir to the Iron Throne, the future Queen. But ever since Aegon was born, the world had shifted. Lords who used to bow to her now flocked to Alicent and her son.
Rhaenyra glared at Aegon, her eyes full of resentment.
Aegon looked up from his pie and caught her gaze. For a split second, the "innocent" child vanished. He flashed her a strange, mocking smile—a look of pure triumph.
Then, just as quickly, his face changed. He looked hurt and frightened. He reached up and tugged gently at the King's collar.
"Father?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "Why don't you hold Sister too? She looks very angry at me. Is it my fault?"
Viserys blinked, pulled out of his happy fog. He turned to look at Rhaenyra and saw her glowering, her face twisted in a scowl. His brow furrowed.
He remembered the day Rhaenyra's mother, Queen Aemma, had died. He had chosen to name Rhaenyra his heir out of love and guilt. But lately, Rhaenyra seemed different. She was jealous, moody, and always seemed to be wearing a frown.
In contrast, Aegon was a delight. The boy was kind, he was bright, and he always seemed concerned for his father's health.
Viserys's heart hardened slightly toward his daughter. He reached out and gently pinched Aegon's cheek.
"She is fourteen years old, Aegon," the King said firmly. "She is too old to be held like a child. Do not worry about her. Now, what else would you like to eat?"
Rhaenyra's face turned red with rage. She stared at Aegon, but she said nothing. She knew that if she tried to tell her father about the smile Aegon had just given her, he wouldn't believe a word of it. To Viserys, Aegon was the perfect son.
The banquet continued, but in a quiet corner of the hall, a thin young man watched the exchange with narrow eyes. He had seen the smile. He had seen the mask slip. He realized then that young Aegon Targaryen was far more dangerous than anyone in the Red Keep imagined.