Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door—measured, cautious, and rhythmic.
"Prince, Princess." Tella's voice came from outside. "Breakfast is ready. Also… of the four dragon eggs from Dragonstone, three hatched yesterday."
Aemond's eyes lit up instantly.
"Understood." He raised his voice. "Have the Dragonkeepers in the pit watch them carefully. I'll go see them myself this afternoon."
"Yes, Prince."
Helaena released her hold and watched him get out of bed, walking toward the bath behind the screen.
She sat at the edge of the bed, watching his bare back.
"Aemond," she suddenly said.
"Mm?" He leaned his head out from behind the screen, water droplets sliding down his silver hair.
"Tonight…" Helaena hesitated. "Could you come back earlier? I want… I want to hear you read."
"Like when we were children."
Aemond's gaze softened.
"The Doom of Valyria? Or The Origin of Dragons?"
"The Origin of Dragons." Helaena smiled, that smile carrying the innocence of her younger years.
"I like hearing you read those passages in High Valyrian."
"Your pronunciation is better than the maesters'."
"It is our language," Aemond said, turning back into the bath as the sound of water rose. "Tonight, I promise."
Helaena remained seated at the bedside, listening to the water, listening to the city's growing clamor beyond the window.
Her hand absently traced the embroidered Targaryen sigil on the bedsheet—the three-headed dragon, breathing fire, entwined together.
Fire and blood. That was the fate of the man she loved.
And what she could do was preserve, within that fate, a quiet place for him.
...
In the dining hall, the morning sunlight poured across the long table.
Simple fare was laid out: golden-baked white bread, amber honey, pale cheese, fried bacon and eggs.
Today, she wore a pale violet gown, its cuffs and collar embroidered with fine silver thread and tiny pearls—dignified yet gentle.
Her silver hair had been carefully braided by her maids into the style of a married woman, secured with a silver hairnet.
She sat at one end of the long table, watching Aemond enter.
He had already bathed and dressed.
A fitted black tunic hugged his frame, over which he wore a light leather armor, reinforced with a steel plate on the left shoulder.
His silver hair was tied behind his head, revealing sharp features and those piercing violet eyes.
"You're wearing armor to breakfast?" Helaena asked, amusement in her eyes.
"At times like these, anything could happen," Aemond said, sitting across from her, taking a slice of bread and spreading it with butter and honey.
"And I'm used to it. When the time comes, it won't feel cumbersome."
As he spoke, Tella entered with two maids, pouring tea and arranging the tableware.
Her movements were efficient, but her gaze occasionally flicked around the room—maintaining her vigilance.
"Tella," Aemond said between bites of bread, "I heard you and Will have been seeing each other?"
Tella's hand trembled slightly; the teapot nearly touched the rim of the cup.
"Y-yes, Your Highness." She lowered her head, her ears reddening.
"That's good." Aemond's tone was casual, but there was a rare warmth in his eyes. "When are you getting married?"
"Just let me know—I'm never stingy with rewards."
"You deserve the best."
Tella's face flushed even deeper, nearly burning.
"Your Highness jests," she said softly, retreating to the side—but she couldn't help the smile at her lips.
Helaena watched the scene and couldn't help laughing.
"You're teasing her again," she said gently, though her eyes were full of amusement.
"She's been by your side for three years—loyal and devoted," Aemond said, taking a sip of tea.
"It's only right I care about her happiness."
"And that boy Will… though of low birth, he's sharp. Knows how to handle things."
"He's worthy of her."
"Then do you care about the happiness of your men, Hall and Carter?" Helaena asked, cutting a small piece of cheese onto her bread.
"Of course," Aemond replied, his tone turning practical.
"That's why I've put them in charge of the army and Dragon's Roost."
"Power, responsibility, prospects—for a man, those are the foundations of happiness."
"As for love…" He paused, a faintly mocking smile appearing.
"With the power they now hold, the nobles of the Crownlands will be lining up to marry their daughters to them."
He set down his teacup and looked at Helaena.
"Hope is the greatest incentive. These former vagabonds, the son of a blacksmith, a thief—now they can become nobles, hold land and power."
"They have ambition. They'll claw their way upward, work harder than any hereditary lord, be more loyal than any of them."
He continued calmly.
"Because once they lose my trust, they have nothing."
"I can grant everything—and take it all away just as easily."
"That is the strongest bond."
Helaena shook her head, but said nothing further.
She understood how Aemond thought—pragmatic, direct, results-oriented.
...
When breakfast was nearly finished, Aemond wiped his mouth and stood.
He walked to Helaena, not leaving immediately, but bending down to cup her face and press a light kiss to her forehead.
"See you tonight," he said.
"See you tonight," Helaena replied softly.
Aemond turned and left, his footsteps echoing through the stone corridor—steady and swift.
Helaena remained standing there, a little dazed, her hand touching the place on her forehead where he had kissed her. His warmth and scent still lingered.
At that moment, Tella approached and gently reminded her.
"Princess, it's time to go to Queen Alicent."
"This morning you're to attend the sept and pray to the Seven. The Queen specifically instructed it."
Helaena nodded, gathering herself, and followed Tella out of the dining hall.
...
Along the corridor walls hung portraits of Targaryen kings past—from Aegon the Conqueror to Viserys. These silver-haired, purple-eyed rulers gazed down below, their expressions stern, contemplative… or mad.
They had witnessed the rise of House Targaryen in Westeros, its glory—and its internal strife.
As she passed the portrait of King Jaehaerys I, Helaena unconsciously slowed her steps.
The Conciliator. Under his long reign, the Seven Kingdoms had known relative peace.
He rode Vermithor, flying alongside his sister-wife Alysanne and her Silverwing—celebrated in song as the model of love and rule.
But as a Targaryen, Helaena knew the hidden history.
She knew how lonely Jaehaerys had been in his later years. How painful it was to watch his children, his wife, one after another, die before him.
She knew that after the Great Council, he had been forced to pass the throne to a grandson he did not fully approve of—and how helpless he had felt.
"Tella," Helaena suddenly asked, her voice distant, "do you think King Jaehaerys was happy?"
Tella froze for a moment, then answered carefully, "He was a great king, Princess."
"History will remember his name forever."
"Greatness does not mean happiness," Helaena said softly, almost to herself.
She said no more, but a flicker of fear passed through her eyes.
It was too similar—to her dreams.
Viserys and Jaehaerys, Aegon and Aemond, Rhaenyra and Daemon…
History seemed to repeat itself.
She turned to Tella.
"Sometimes I wonder… if it's a curse."
"History is always the same—again and again, without end."
Tella did not know how to respond.
She knew Helaena had grown melancholy again.
Having served by her side for years, she understood her mistress well.
She was only a personal attendant—clever, yes, but she had never concerned herself with such deep questions.
She only knew that in this court, those of low standing who thought too much rarely lived long.
It was enough to do her duty.
Helaena sighed, shaking her head.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that." She forced a faint smile.
"Come. Mother is waiting."
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