At sunset on the island of Driftmark, the sky was dyed in shades of gold and crimson.
Within the dragonpit, the figure of the "Red Queen," Meleys, glided smoothly down from the western horizon.
She landed with grace and precision, displaying the remarkable harmony she had shared with her rider for many years.
"The Queen Who Never Was," Rhaenys Targaryen, unbuckled the saddle and carefully dismounted from the dragon's back.
She wore light dark-silver armor suitable for riding, draped with a dark red cloak—dusty, yet full of vigor.
The dragon's breath was heavy and warm, carrying the scent of sulfur. Rhaenys gently stroked the rough, stone-like scales near Meleys's snout, whispering softly in High Valyrian.
Meleys rumbled contentedly in her throat, her enormous crimson slit pupils half-lidded as she enjoyed her rider's calming presence.
"Thank you for your work, old girl," Rhaenys said softly. "It was rather windy today, wasn't it?"
Meleys gently pressed the tip of her snout against Rhaenys's palm.
At that moment, Rhaenys noticed a tall figure waiting quietly at the edge of the dragonpit.
Lord Corlys Velaryon—the Sea Snake—her husband. His gray-blue eyes watched her with a trace of disapproval, though it was far more concern than reproach.
The Red Queen let out a low, quiet snort.
Rhaenys walked toward him, her steps steady, showing no sign of fatigue from the long flight.
"Corlys," she said as she reached him, lifting her gaze slightly, "were you waiting for me?"
"Rather than lying on a sickbed at the end of my days, letting the last shred of dignity be ground away by pain and potions."
Corlys fell silent for a moment, knowing that his wife's pride and love of flying could never truly be argued away.
He sighed. "I'm only afraid… of losing you, Rhaenys."
"I'm still here, Corlys." Rhaenys reached out and took his hand—calloused, yet strong, a hand long accustomed to a ship's helm.
Her expression darkened slightly. "Or are you worried about bastards?"
"Hm." Corlys looked ahead. "My brother Vaemond and several collateral branches have been discussing it in private."
Rhaenys gave a short laugh.
"Without you, how could House Velaryon have amassed wealth rivaling that of a kingdom?"
"And now those people wish to usurp your achievements."
Corlys shook his head. "They are too shallow. Lucerys and Joffrey are not of my blood—so what?"
His smile deepened. "I have already arranged that Lucerys and Joffrey will one day wed the daughters of Daemon and Laena—our granddaughters Baela and Rhaena."
Rhaenys paused slightly, looking at her husband with a complicated expression.
Baela and Rhaena possessed the most distinctive traits of both Targaryens and Velaryons—silver hair and violet eyes.
Corlys continued calmly, "In this way, the next generation will still carry Velaryon blood."
"As for Jacaerys," he paused, "Rhaenyra has promised me that his future queen will also be a daughter of House Velaryon."
The Sea Snake did not voice the deepest calculations in his heart.
Whether blood purity or eye color mattered little to him after a lifetime of political storms and shifting tides.
What House Velaryon truly sought was not merely to be satisfied with the title of Lord of the Tides, but to quietly weave their lineage into true dragon blood.
Of course, he had no intention of burdening his beloved wife with such grand—and potentially dangerous—ambitions.
Rhaenys nodded.
"Otto, our Hand of the King, seems unwilling to give up."
"What?" Rhaenys asked with interest.
"We left agents in King's Landing," Corlys said, "and they reported that Otto has sent envoys to make contact with the Triarchy."
"The Triarchy?" Rhaenys frowned. "Did they not sign a truce with us and renounce their claims over the Stepstones?"
"Treaties are parchment. Profit is gold," Corlys replied coldly. "It seems our Hand is not content with allies only within the Seven Kingdoms."
"The Triarchy has already dispatched envoys. They will soon arrive in King's Landing, ostensibly to renew trade relations."
"But what concerns me most is Oldtown—the stronghold of House Hightower."
"The scholars of the Citadel, the septons of the Faith of the Seven—these are people who can influence the minds of tens of millions."
"House Hightower has ruled Oldtown for thousands of years, their roots deep. Half the Reach watches them closely."
"If you add the Faith and the Citadel working behind the scenes…"
Rhaenys fell silent, knowing her husband spoke the truth.
After a long pause, she said slowly, "At the very least… the betrothal between Jacaerys and Helaena still stands. It was promised by the king himself."
Corlys replied quietly, "I believe the Greens—especially Otto Hightower—will never truly accept that marriage."
"To acknowledge it would be to acknowledge Jacaerys's legitimacy, and to weaken the legal foundation for supporting Aegon's claim to the throne."
"Their silence now may simply be patience—waiting for the right moment to break the betrothal, or render it impossible."