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Summary
Alicent's hands squeezed his. “It is some consolation to have you here again. To be allowed to have you with me."
Daeron's brow furrowed. That did not sound right. “Have me with you?” he echoed, uncertain.
“Yes.” She seemed confused. “Have they not told you …?”
“I had thought … am I not to take the black?”
“No. The Queen, in her mercy–” Alicent smiled again, but now it took on a sardonic air, “–has decided it would be better suited to keep you close. To keep you at home.”
—––—
The dragons have danced and the war has been won. Queen Rhaenyra, First of Her Name, sits the Iron Throne. Many have been lost. But others survive.