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“And from what I’ve gathered,” said Lady Cassandra, her tone feather-light with intrigue, “Lady Wilhelmina was not altogether displeased by her husband’s prolonged absence. Her lord father, on the other hand, still expects heirs from the match—dragonriding heirs, no less.”
Baela looked up from the stack of petitions and parchments spread before her. “A pity, that,” she murmured. “Joffrey can scarcely be brought to duty through force.”
She leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. Joffrey had kept his distance from his bride even before their wedding vows were exchanged. As for his whereabouts now, Baela could only guess—Jace was forever sending him on diplomatic errands to keep him occupied.
She had little desire to involve herself in her brother’s marital affairs. And yet, House Targaryen could not be seen to offend its allies. Joffrey’s hand had been promised to the Manderlys, just as Daenaera’s had been promised to the Starks. Baela hadn’t agreed with either match, but her opinion had done little to change the course of events.
Jace, as ever, had soothed her concerns with calm reasoning. He spoke of necessity—of strengthening Daenaera’s claim. The Crownlands were loyal by right, the Stormlands and the Vale by blood, the North by marriage. And when Laena and Baelon came of age, she had no doubt Jace would look to bind the Riverlands and the Reach to their cause through yet more marriage ties.
“The prince does not strike me as wanton,” Lady Cassandra offered. “Charming, yes. Respectful, certainly. I’ve heard no whispers of unfaithfulness toward Lady Wilhelmina.”
“Still,” Baela said, her voice cool, “he has a duty to fulfill.”
She dismissed the lady with a graceful nod. “That will be all, my lady. My sister hosts a tea in three days’ time. Only select few ladies shall be in attendance. If, perchance, you can bring me further word of Lord Desmond or even Lady Wilhemina, consider your invitation secure.”
Cassandra sister was married to one of Lord Desmond’s sons and they oft exchanged letters. Lady Cassandra curtsied, a knowing smile upon her lips, and swept from the room.
Rhaena had remained at court, unable to accompany Luke on his latest voyage—she was now six moons along with child. Her three children were with her in the capital, though motherhood had not dimmed her presence. Rhaena thrived amid courtly life. She was adored by nobles and commoners alike. Teas, masques, and balls flowed from her hand every moon; she set the fashions and charmed every great house.
Baela was ever grateful for her sister’s presence at court. Rhaena’s gatherings had become an invaluable source of intelligence, and Baela made certain they remained well attended.
Rising from her desk, she swept from her study. At once, Ser Erryk fell into step behind her, silent and vigilant.
“Where are the children? Have they bathed? Should they not be readying for bed?” she asked, not pausing her stride.
She rarely knew the hour upon leaving her study—her mind wholly consumed by the demands of governance. Her role in Jace’s reign had grown with each passing season.
“Last I heard, Prince Baelon and Princess Laena are in the nursery, finishing their supper. Princess Daenaera would readying for bed, and as for your siblings, Princess Visenya was watching Princes Aegon and Viserys at a game of cyvasse,” Erryk replied evenly.
“And my husband?” she asked as they passed courtiers and attendants, all bowing low as she passed.
“The King was in his chambers, playing at cards with Lords Benjamin, Marlan, and Darren. But I daresay he’s retired for the night by now.”
Baela nodded. “Then that is where we shall go.”
She gathered her skirts and ascended the stair.
As they reached the royal apartments, Ser Erryk stepped ahead and knocked once before opening the door to the King’s chambers.
Inside, the fire had burned low. Shadows crept along the walls, the few candles that were lit illuminated the room. Jace sat alone near the hearth, boots and sword long discarded, tunic slightly undone, wine in hand, his gaze fixed on the glowing embers.
“You’ve sent the lords away, then?” she asked.
“I did,” he replied. His voice was soft, weary. “Darren lost his coin and his patience. Benjamin was halfway to sleep. Marlan cheats.”
“And yet you continue to play.”
Jace took a long sip before replying. “It passes the time.”
He didn’t look up when Baela entered, but his sigh was deep and theatrical enough to be heard.
She closed the door behind her, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. “You look as though you’ve lost a war, husband.”
Jace’s head tilted back slightly, and he let out another long, exaggerated sigh. “Worse. I’ve lost my little girl.”
Baela raised a brow, “What’s happened?”
“She wouldn’t let me read to her,” he said quietly. “Daenaera.”
Baela approached with a soft, amused sigh. “She is twelve, Jace. You act as if she’s flown off to wed a Greyjoy.”
“She used to follow me everywhere, cried if I left her sight,” he said, as though recounting a death. “Now she calls me ‘Father’ with that serious little voice, like I’m an old courtier asking permission to see her accounts.”
Baela stopped in front of him, her expression soft but unpitying. “She’s getting older—and faster than either of us would like.”
Jace gave a hollow chuckle. “You think I don’t see it? She holds her shoulders like you now. When she speaks, it’s measured. Decisive.” He paused. “She didn’t even kiss my cheek,” he went on. “She just… dismissed me. As if I were some maester fumbling with scrolls.”
Baela bit her lip to hide her smile. “She’s growing up.”
“I didn’t give her permission.”
“She didn’t need it,” Baela said, gently tugging the glass from his hand and setting it aside. She perched beside him, one hand sliding against his back. “She’s learning to be independent.”
“She’s learning to ignore me,” he muttered. “Just like you when you want something.”
Baela hummed in mock agreement. “And as it happens—I do.”
Jace groaned. “This is about Joffrey, isn’t it?”
Baela kissed his cheek. “So clever. No wonder Daenaera’s growing into such a smart girl.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not now.”
“Oh, but it’s the perfect time,” she said sweetly, fingers tracing idle circles through the fabric of his breeches. “You’re vulnerable. And half-dressed.”
“Which makes me less inclined to talk about Joffrey, not more.”
“Lord Manderly expects heirs. From his daughter and your brother. And Joffrey is still avoiding the poor girl.”
“He is young still,” Jace offered, though his voice lacked conviction. “There is time yet.”
“He dishonors her with every passing day.”
Jace looked up then, his ey es sharp despite the hour. “Do you think I haven’t noticed?”
“You’ve tolerated it,” Baela said. “And I’ve kept my tongue because he is our brother. But Joffrey’s choices reflect on all of us—on you.”
“I send him away so he does no worse than neglect her,” Jace said, rising at last, moving past the partition towards the bed. “He’s not cruel, Baela, but he is thoughtless. Like a child who’s been given too many toys and doesn’t know which to care for.”
She stood as well, walking after him with her arms folded. “Then he must be made to care. You’ve given him freedom, Jace. Now give him consequence.”
His jaw tightened. “And what would you have me do? Lock him in a room with her until a child appears?” He plopped down on the edge of the bed, tilting his head with an air of sarcasm.
“I think Joffrey and his lady wife will respond better to the weight of court than the emptiness of distance.” She moved to stand between his legs and rested a hand lightly on his chest. “Were they here , I could get them together. Guide them.”
He frowned. “You want me to invite them to remain at court?”
She picked up her skirts and straddled him, her hips settled lightly against his. Her hand slowly slid down his chest. “Yes.”
“No.”
Her hand drifted lower. “Yes.”
“Baela…”
She shifted, pressing herself against him, her hands splayed on his chest. “It will be years before Daenaera’s marriage comes to be. The Starks will think us fickle if we are not seen to at least try to make the other northern match work. Besides Lord Manderly would be dissapointed—”
“I’ll send him a cask of Arbor Gold,” Jace grumbled, leaning back slightly as her fingers unfastened one knot of his tunic, then another. “He can drink his disappointment.”
Baela leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth. “Jace,” she chided, lips grazing the curve of his jaw. “You know what must be done.”
Jace gave her a long-suffering look. “I know. I know , Baela. But gods, must we do this now? My daughter just declared independence.”
Baela bit back a smile. “A tragedy.”
“Nearly every night for years, she’s wanted a story. Tonight she took the book from me, and said, ‘I’ll read it myself, thank you, Father.’ She even bowed.”
“She shut her door,” Baela said with a grin, lips never leaving him. “She didn’t lock your good sense on the other side of it.”
Her hand slid lower, deliberate now. Jace caught her wrist, more out of reflex than resistance it seemed.
“You’re using your body against me, trying to seduce me into politics,” he accused.
“I’m succeeding,” she whispered.
His eyes fluttered shut as her mouth trailed down his chest. “You’re shameless.”
“I’m married,” she corrected. “To a stubborn man who refuses to act unless I put my hands here —” her palm slid lower, “—and my mouth there —”
Jace groaned in frustration, his grip tightening around her wrist. “You—”
“I’m using every tool at my disposal,” she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. “As your queen. As your wife. As the mother of your rapidly maturing, impossibly spoiled children. Every word I’ve ever given you has been for the strength of our house. You know that.”
Jace let out a breath between his teeth and shut his eyes. “You’re going to grope me into agreement, aren’t you?”
“I already am.”
A beat of silence passes.
“Fine,” he muttered. “If you insist, Baela. Fine. Bring them to court.”
“I’m glad you’ve seen reason,” she purred, brushing her lips across his shoulder. “Besides, the marriage was your doing. What kind of brother promises a girl to a prince and then ships the prince halfway across the realm?”
Jace narrowed his eyes, resisting her even as his hands found her waist. “If Lord Desmond wants a child from this union, he can have one. But I’ll not send a dragon to White Harbor like some bridal token. If their child bonds with a dragon, it stays here. In the capital. Dragon eggs aren’t to be handed off like wedding gifts.”
“A wise decree, my King,” Baela mumured, trailing kisses back down to the hollow of his throat. “But to keep them close, we must keep them together . Not scattered across the realm, hoping they find their way back to duty.”
“Very well,” Jace said, the words thick in his throat. “Do as you wish.”
Baela stilled, her gaze locking with his. “Say it clearly.”
He cracked one eye open, half laughing, half sighing in defeat. “Baela Targaryen, you have my leave to summon our beloved brother Joffrey and his poor, forsaken bride to court. Satisfied?”
“Not just yet.” She slid off his lap with feline grace, her sudden absence making him groan. “There’s one more thing.”
Jace fell back onto the bed with theatrical despair, arms flung wide across the coverlet. “Of course there is.”
Baela rose and drifted toward the dresser, her steps quiet over the stone. One by one, she slipped the rings from her fingers, the soft clink of gold against wood the only sound in the dim room. Next her earrings and necklace were removed and placed beside her other jewels. She watched Jace through the mirror as she worked, her reflection calm, composed, and quietly assessing.
“You’re mourning our daughter’s childhood, yes?”
“Furiously,” he replied, with all the wounded drama of a king defeated by a twelve-year-old.
Baela smiled faintly. “Then keep her close—but with purpose. Make her your cupbearer.”
She reached up, fingers slipping into her hair to find the pins hidden among her curls. One by one, they fell away, and her hair tumbled down her shoulders in a curtain of silver. Her eyes never left his in the mirror.
Jace watched her in silence, his gaze distant and thoughtful, as though the weight of her words was just beginning to settle. Slowly, he nodded—almost absently, undone not only by the familiarity and sensuality of watching her undress, but by her logic of course.
Baela turned, seizing his distraction to press further. “She far better educated than most maesters, but it isn’t enough. She must learn what it means to govrn. She may not want bedtime stories anymore , but she still wants your time. She’ll always be your daughter, my dear. But you must learn to live with her growing up.”
His gaze searched hers, full of quiet conflict. “You think she’s ready?”
“She will be. And you’ll be better for having her near.”
She came to him again, her movements slow, intentional. She straddled his lap once more, fingers bracing lightly on his shoulders.
He reached for her, cupping the back of her neck with one broad hand, the other reaching for laces of her bodice. “You’ve always been so wise, my Queen, my most trusted counselor.”
She kissed him then—slow, deep, deliberate.
“I’m your wife,” she murmured against his lips. “Which means I know exactly how to handle your stubbornness.”
He exhaled heavily, his lips brushing hers. “I suppose Daenaera’s presence could be a welcome change in council meetings.”
“Of course it will,” Baela murmured, . “As will Joffrey’s in the capital, once he’s settled. With his wife beside him.”
“As you wish,” Jace said between kisses, pausing only to breathe. “But he doesn’t get to idle about like some silk-robed poet.”
Baela smiled against his lips. “Then give him purpose. Make him a gold cloak. Let him walk the streets. Let him learn the city, learn discipline—what it means to protect the people.
“Joffrey? A watchman?” He huffed, half-skeptical, half-amused.
“Why not?” she murmured, her fingers tangling in his hair as she slid against him. “He needs direction. The cloak would straighten his spine—and perhaps give him a bit of pride.”
Jace’s exhale was long and low, the tension loosening from his shoulders beneath her. “You’re always plotting.”
“Someone must,” she replied, her voice a whisper against his ear as her fingers worked loose the last few fastenings of his tunic.
His resolve cracked at last, a groan catching in his throat as he pulled her flush against him. “Fine. I’ll do it. Joffrey gets the cloak. Daenaera becomes cupbearer.”
Baela smiled in triumph, her lips finding his again. “Good,” she said satisfied. “And don’t forget—Rhaena’s tea is in two days time. You’ll attend.”
He groaned. “Do I have to?”
“You’ll make a brief appearance,” she said, her hands sliding into his hair again, “and bring flowers.”
“Fine,” he muttered, breath catching as she pushed him down onto to his back. “I’ll bring the bloody garden.”
Baela smirked, her hands slipping to the waistband of his trousers. “Good.”
Jace grinned up at her, flushed and breathless. “If you keep this up, I’ll bring more than flowers.”