Chapter Text
The women fastening Rhaena’s gown would not look her in the eye. She noticed it first in the youngest of them. The girl could not have been more than fifteen. Her fingers trembled whenever they came too near Rhaena’s throat, fumbling with the little silver clasps until an older woman quietly pushed her hands aside. “Not so tightly,” Rhaena said. The girl froze. Rhaena watched her reflection in the looking glass. “I said not so tightly. I did not say stop breathing.”
A nervous breath escaped the girl. “Forgive me, Princess.”
Princess. Rhaena almost smiled. They had been careful with that word all morning.
The chamber smelled of beeswax, lavender water, and the smoke drifting in from the city below. Beyond the narrow windows, King’s Landing was waking beneath a pale sky. Bells had begun ringing somewhere near Visenya’s Hill. She wondered whether they rang for the wedding or whether the city had simply learned that bells were safer than silence whenever Maegor sat the Iron Throne.
“Leave the necklace,” she said.
The older woman behind her hesitated. “Your Grace commanded...”
“My grace commanded nothing.”
Silence fell. There it was again. That fear.
The woman lowered her eyes. “The king commanded it, Princess.”
Rhaena looked at the necklace laid across the table. Rubies. Heavy red stones set in blackened Valyrian steel, each one dark enough to resemble a drop of blood after it had begun to dry. A wedding gift. Maegor had a sense of humor after all. “Then put it on.”
The woman obeyed. Cold metal settled against Rhaena’s skin. She stared at herself. They had dressed her in black. Not mourning black. That would have been too merciful. The gown had been made for a queen, black velvet embroidered with threads of crimson, the sleeves cut close at the wrist and widening toward the elbow in the old Valyrian fashion. Tiny dragons had been stitched along the hem in dark red silk. When she moved, they appeared to crawl around her feet. Someone had spent weeks making it. Perhaps months.
Rhaena wondered when Maegor had decided she would wear it. Before he had sent for her? Before he had killed Aegon?
The thought came quietly, it always did. Aegon. There had been a time when his name had brought warmth before grief. Now grief arrived first.
Rhaena lowered her eyes to the black velvet gathered over her knees. She could still remember him laughing. That was the cruelty of memory. Death did not preserve people as kings or martyrs. It kept ridiculous things instead. The way Aegon had once dropped an entire cup of wine because she had whispered something obscene into his ear during supper. The way he had slept on his stomach. The little crease that appeared between his brows whenever he lied badly. None of those things belonged in songs. Perhaps that was why she guarded them so fiercely. History could have Aegon the Uncrowned. The husband belonged to her.
“Princess?” Rhaena looked up. The youngest girl held a comb. “Your hair.”
“What of it?”
“The king wished it worn loose.”
Rhaena studied the girl through the mirror. “And what do you wish?”
The question startled her. “Princess?”
“Your opinion. Surely you possess one.”
The girl glanced toward the other women as though an opinion were something dangerous to be caught carrying. “I think…” She swallowed. “I think it would look beautiful braided.”
Rhaena turned in her chair. The room went very still. “Then braid it.”
The older woman immediately stepped forward. “Princess, His Grace specifically...”
“If my uncle intends to murder someone because my hair displeases him, I suspect the day was already destined to end poorly.”
“Rhaena.” The voice came from the doorway. Every woman in the chamber bowed. Rhaena did not have to turn. She knew her mother’s voice even when sorrow had hollowed it out. Age had found her quickly. Or perhaps grief had. Rhaena remembered a woman who had once seemed impossible to frighten, silver gold hair gleaming beneath jeweled nets, her voice carrying down corridors before she entered them. The woman standing behind her now seemed smaller somehow. Not weak. Alyssa had never been weak. "Leave us,” Alyssa said.
The attendants fled with such relief that Rhaena nearly envied them. The door closed. For several moments neither woman spoke.
Alyssa came closer. Her eyes moved over the gown, the necklace, the unfinished hair. “You look beautiful.”
Rhaena laughed once. “That is fortunate.”
“Rhaena.”
“What? Would it be embarrassing for him otherwise? Imagine the humiliation. Conquering half the realm only to discover your unwilling bride photographs poorly in the chronicles.”
Her mother’s mouth tightened. “There are no photographs.”
“I know.”
“Then why...”
“Because if I do not mock something, Mother, I may scream.” Rhaena turned back toward the mirror. Alyssa stood behind her. For an instant their reflections looked strangely alike. Two Targaryen women dressed by other people for lives neither had entirely chosen. Rhaena reached for one of the pins on the table. “A woman could be born with a crown waiting for her,” she said quietly, turning the little silver pin between her fingers, “a dragon beneath her, and the blood of Valyria burning in her veins, and still some man would believe her life was his to arrange.”
Alyssa closed her eyes. “Do not say that where he can hear you.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Yes.” Rhaena placed the pin down. “I simply wanted to hear you say it.”
Her mother came around the chair. “Say what?”
“That I should fear him.”
Alyssa stared at her. “No.”
“No?”
“You should understand him.”
Rhaena’s expression hardened. “Is there a difference?”
“Fear makes people foolish. Understanding keeps them alive.”
“And what has understanding bought us?”
“Your daughters.”
Rhaena’s fingers stopped moving. Alyssa saw it. She always had known where to place the knife. Rhaena rose. “Do not use them against me.”
“I am trying to keep them from being used against you.”
“He already has.”
“Then do not give him reason to do worse.”
Rhaena turned sharply. “And what would satisfy you? Shall I smile while he puts Aegon’s crown upon his head? Shall I thank him for allowing his brother’s granddaughters to continue breathing?”
“Lower your voice.”
“He murdered my husband.”
“I know.”
“He murdered your son.”
“I know.”
The answer broke between them. Rhaena stopped. Alyssa’s face changed. Her mouth trembled once. Rhaena looked away. Aegon had been many things to many people. A husband to her. A threat to Maegor. A prince to the realm. But before all of it, he had been Alyssa’s child. For the first time that morning, shame found its way through Rhaena’s anger.
“I am sorry.” Rhaena whispered.
“So am I.” Alyssa stepped closer. Her hand rose toward Rhaena’s cheek, then stopped before touching it. Perhaps she remembered that her daughter was no longer a little girl to be comforted. Perhaps Rhaena wished, suddenly and terribly, that she would forget. Alyssa let her hand fall. “You believe I am asking you to surrender.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I am asking you to survive.”
“For what?”
“For the day after this one.” Rhaena stared at her. Alyssa continued. “And the day after that. And every day he does not manage to take from you.”
The bells outside grew louder. Rhaena could hear movement in the corridor now. Boots. Men. The castle preparing itself. She looked toward the door. “He thinks marrying me ends something. He thinks Aegon’s claim dies when his widow kneels beside him. He thinks my daughters become harmless because their mother shares his bed.”
Alyssa’s expression tightened, but she answered. “Yes, he does.”
Rhaena smiled then. A small thing. Cold enough that her mother noticed. “Then perhaps Maegor is not as clever as everyone says.”
“Rhaena.”
“He has mistaken captivity for loyalty.”
“He has mistaken many things.” Alyssa said.
“And I am expected to correct none of them.”
“You are expected to remain alive long enough to choose which ones are worth correcting.”
That almost made Rhaena laugh, she walked to the window. King’s Landing spread beneath her. Roofs of tile and wood crowded one another down toward the Blackwater. Smoke coiled between them. Somewhere beyond those walls waited Dreamfyre. That thought hurt differently. Her dragon was near. Near enough that Rhaena could almost imagine the familiar heat of her scales beneath her palm. A creature large enough to burn armies. A creature no chain in the Red Keep could truly hold. And still Rhaena stood in a room wearing another man’s jewels. There was something obscene about it. “You should have let me leave,” she said.
Alyssa answered after a long pause. “And go where?”
“Anywhere.”
“With two daughters? With Maegor hunting you?”
“I had Dreamfyre.”
“So does he have Balerion.”
Rhaena turned. There were arguments one could make against men. There were fewer arguments against the Black Dread. A knock sounded. Three measured strikes. Neither woman moved. The door opened.
A Kingsguard entered. White cloak. White armor. A face carefully emptied of everything resembling judgment. “Princess Rhaena.”
She hated the pity more than she would have hated contempt. “Ser.”
“His Grace requests your presence.”
Rhaena looked at her mother. Alyssa almost smiled at the absurdity of it. “Does he?”
The knight shifted. “He does.”
“And should I decline his gracious request?”
His eyes flickered toward the floor. “I would advise against it.”
“Finally,” Rhaena murmured. “An honest man in the Red Keep.”
“Rhaena,” Alyssa warned.
She ignored her. “Tell His Grace I will come when my hair is finished.”
The knight stared at her. The youngest attendant had left the half completed braid hanging over one shoulder. “Princess…”
“He has waited this long to marry me. He can endure another quarter hour.”
“His Grace was quite clear.”
“So am I.” For one dangerous moment, nobody moved.
Then another voice came from beyond the doorway. “Let her finish it.”
Rhaena knew that voice too. This time, her body betrayed her before her face did. Her shoulders went rigid. The Kingsguard stepped aside. Maegor Targaryen filled the doorway. He wore black. Black armor beneath a dark cloak, the three headed dragon of House Targaryen worked across his chest in red. Blackfyre hung at his hip. He had not bothered with a crown. He did not need one to look like a king. Or an executioner. The room seemed smaller when he entered it. Maegor’s eyes found Rhaena. They moved slowly from her unfinished hair to the rubies at her throat. He seemed pleased by one of those things. Rhaena suspected it was not the braid.
“Queen,” he said.
Alyssa’s chin lifted. “Your Grace.”
There had been a time when she called him brother. That time was dead too.
Maegor looked at the attendants hovering beyond the door. “Return.” They obeyed immediately. The girl with the comb came forward so quickly she nearly stumbled. Maegor watched her finish the braid. Rhaena watched Maegor through the mirror. His gaze met hers there. Neither looked away. “You changed the hair,” he said.
“I did.”
“I ordered it loose.”
“I heard.” A faint movement appeared at the corner of his mouth. “And yet.”
“And yet I possess hair.” Rhaena said.
Alyssa inhaled softly behind him.
Maegor walked closer. The girl braiding Rhaena’s hair began trembling again. “Leave us,” he said. She fled. Alyssa remained. Maegor glanced at her. “I meant everyone.”
“She stays.” Rhaena said.
His eyes returned to Rhaena. “You are not queen yet.”
“Then perhaps you should enjoy these final moments when I am permitted an opinion.” Rhaena spat.
Maegor stopped behind her chair. Rhaena could feel his presence without touching him. There were men whose cruelty came from temper. Maegor’s was worse. His anger could be enormous, yes, but there were times when he was perfectly calm while doing monstrous things. She preferred him angry. Anger could be predicted. Quiet men frightened her now. He reached toward the unfinished braid. Rhaena’s hand closed around his wrist. The entire chamber seemed to cease breathing. Maegor looked down at her fingers then at her. “Do not.” Two words. Nothing more. Alyssa whispered her name. Rhaena released him before he could make her. Maegor considered her for a moment then he took one step back. “The braid may remain.”
“How generous.”
“I can have it cut off instead.” Maegor shrug.
Rhaena looked directly at him. “Then I would attend your wedding bald.”
Something almost human passed across his face. It vanished quickly. “My wedding? Not yours?”
“I had a wedding.” There. Aegon entered the room without ever crossing its threshold.
Maegor’s expression changed. “You will not speak of him today.”
She stood.
Her mother whispered, “Rhaena.”
But Rhaena was already facing him. She was not a small woman, yet Maegor still stood taller. Broader. Built like something intended for war rather than court. She refused to step backward. “You killed him,” she said. “You do not get to decide when I remember him.”
His jaw tightened. “This marriage is happening whether you spend the morning spitting venom or not.”
“I know.”
“Then spare yourself the performance.”
Rhaena’s eyes narrowed. “You think this is performance?”
“I think you want me angry.”
“No. I think you are easier when you are angry.” Maegor stared at her. Rhaena continued before wisdom could intervene. “When you are angry, everyone knows what you are about to do.”
“And when I am not?”
“That is when people die surprised.” Rhaena was too close to him now.
Alyssa went pale.
Maegor did not move then, unexpectedly, he laughed. Low and without warmth. “You have grown bold.”
“My husband is dead. My daughters are hostages. You are marrying me against my will. What exactly remains for you to threaten me with?”
The laughter disappeared. “Plenty.” The word landed softly. That frightened her more than shouting would have. Rhaena hated him for noticing. His gaze lingered on her face then he said, “Come.”
“No.” Rhaena took a step back.
Alyssa closed her eyes.
Maegor looked almost bored. “No?”
“I will walk beside you.”
“You will walk where I tell you.”
“That is your mistake.” He frowned. Rhaena stepped closer. Close enough that she no longer had to raise her voice. “You believe because no one can stop you, everyone belongs to you.”
His eyes hardened. “The realm does.”
“A realm is land.”
“And people.”
“People are not swords, Maegor. You cannot win them merely because you picked them up.”
A dangerous quiet stretched between them then Maegor leaned nearer. “To the realm, there will be no difference.”
Rhaena understood him at once and perhaps that was the first truly terrible thing about their marriage. She understood exactly what he wanted. Aegon’s widow dressed in Maegor’s colors. Aenys’s daughter standing beside the man who had taken his crown. The mother of Aegon’s heirs publicly bound to Aegon’s killer. He wanted history to look upon them and mistake survival for consent.
Rhaena smiled. “You should have chosen a more obedient widow.”
Maegor’s gaze fell briefly to her mouth. “I did not want an obedient one.”
That answer unsettled her. She did not allow him to see it. Instead she reached past him and lifted the black cloak waiting beside the door. “Then you are about to discover how expensive your preference is.”
She fastened it herself. Alyssa stepped forward. For one moment, mother and daughter simply looked at each other. There were too many things between them to say aloud. Be careful. Forgive me. Live. Rhaena kissed her mother’s cheek then she turned toward the corridor.
Maegor offered his arm. She looked at it then at him. Slowly, deliberately, Rhaena placed her hand upon it. Not because he had won. Not because she had forgiven. Not because this was anything resembling surrender. Because somewhere in this castle were two little girls who still had a mother. Because Dreamfyre still breathed. Because Maegor had made the mistake of leaving her alive and Rhaena Targaryen had begun to understand that survival could be its own kind of rebellion.
“Smile,” Maegor murmured as they approached the waiting court.
Rhaena looked ahead. Hundreds of faces waited beyond the doors. Her mouth curved beautifully. Maegor glanced at her. For half a heartbeat, satisfaction entered his expression. Then Rhaena whispered without moving her smile, “Do not mistake this for happiness.”
The doors opened. “I never do,” said Maegor.
And together they walked toward the altar.
The word wife followed Rhaena from the altar. It followed her through the doors of the royal sept, through the corridor crowded with knights who bowed as she passed, through the courtyard where the wind caught at her black cloak and carried the smell of smoke up from the city. Everyone found a different word for the same captivity.
Rhaena kept her hand on Maegor’s arm because there were hundreds of eyes upon them and because she would sooner have bitten through her own tongue than stumble before any of them. The bells rang until the sound became almost unbearable. “Your people seem pleased,” she murmured.
Maegor did not look at her. “They are my people whether they are pleased or not.”
“That philosophy has served you remarkably well.”
His mouth twitched. “Careful.”
“You married me for my tongue, apparently.”
“No.” At last, he looked down at her. “I married you despite it.”
Rhaena smiled for the crowd. “How romantic.”
They descended the steps. Petals had been scattered across the stones. Red ones. Rhaena stepped on them. Some crushed beneath her shoes and left dark stains against the pale stone. She looked down. For a ridiculous moment she thought of blood. Perhaps everything looked like blood when Maegor was near. A roar rose from beyond the castle walls. Rhaena stopped. Dreamfyre. The sound went through her bones. Her head lifted instinctively toward the sky. Nothing appeared above the towers, but she could feel her dragon somewhere beyond them, restless enough that the guards nearest the walls exchanged uneasy glances.
Maegor noticed. “Still angry?”
Rhaena turned her head. “Would you like to go ask her?”
He gave a quiet laugh. “I have Balerion.”
“And yet you did not answer my question.”
For a moment they looked at one another then Maegor continued walking. Rhaena followed. She did not know whether she had won anything. With Maegor, victory was usually just the moment before another threat.
The feast had already begun by the time they entered the great hall. Trumpets announced them. Rhaena hated trumpets. The sound was too triumphant for a day like this. Hundreds of candles burned from iron chandeliers overhead. Tables groaned beneath roasted boar, capons glazed in honey, loaves split and steaming, wheels of cheese, figs, dates, apples and dark summer cherries. Wine flowed freely enough that half the court would forget by morning how frightened they had been tonight. Perhaps that was intentional. Maegor understood fear. He also understood that frightened men were easier to rule when they were drunk.
The herald struck his staff against the floor. “His Grace, Maegor of House Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” Another strike. “And Her Grace, Queen Rhaena of House Targaryen.”
Her Grace. It had happened quickly. Rhaena wondered if she was supposed to feel transformed. She felt exactly as she had an hour ago, only heavier. The rubies dragged against her throat. Maegor led her toward the dais then Rhaena saw them. Five women sat beneath the shadow of the Iron Throne. Five queens. For the first time that day, she nearly lost control of her expression.
Ceryse Hightower sat at one end of the royal table. Even seated, she carried herself with the severe dignity of Oldtown. Age had sharpened rather than softened her. Her gown was deep green velvet beneath a mantle of cloth of silver, and a seven pointed star hung from a chain at her throat. Maegor’s first wife. The woman who had known him before kingdoms, before rebellions, before men began attaching the Cruel to his name when they thought he could not hear. Ceryse looked at Rhaena. There was neither welcome nor hostility in her face. Perhaps it was the recognition of a woman watching another enter a room from which she herself had never truly escaped.
Beside her sat Alys Harroway. Alys was softer where Ceryse was severe, dark haired and elegant, a goblet held loosely between her fingers. Jewels flashed at her throat. Her expression was pleasant enough that someone who had never lived at court might have mistaken it for kindness. Rhaena did not. Kindness at Maegor’s court rarely survived without learning how to conceal itself.
Then came Tyanna. Tyanna of the Tower wore scarlet. Her black hair fell in a glossy river over one shoulder, and her eyes seemed to find Rhaena before Rhaena had properly looked at her. Tyanna smiled. She smiled as though something she had been expecting had finally arrived. Rhaena disliked her immediately.
Next sat Jeyne Westerling. Young, too young, Rhaena thought. Or perhaps everyone looked young beside Maegor. Jeyne wore blue so dark it was nearly black, her fair hair bound beneath a jeweled net. There was a nervousness in the way she held herself, though she hid it better than the frightened girl who had braided Rhaena’s hair.
Beside Jeyne sat Elinor Costayne. Elinor was watching everything. That was the first thing Rhaena noticed. Her eyes moved quietly, collecting. A dangerous habit. Rhaena respected it immediately.
Five women. Five wives and now Rhaena made six. She stopped at the foot of the dais.
Maegor looked down at her. “What?”
Rhaena kept her voice low. “You might have warned me there would be a welcoming committee.”
“Would it have changed anything?”
“No.”
“Then why waste the words?”
Rhaena’s gaze moved toward the women again. “I imagine you have wasted plenty of words on them.”
Alys lowered her cup. Tyanna’s smile widened.
Maegor noticed both. “You will sit.”
“Which throne belongs to the newest acquisition?” That earned her a warning look. Rhaena pretended not to see it. There was an empty chair beside Maegor’s own. He pulled it out. Rhaena stared at him. “How courteous.”
“Sit down, Rhaena.” She sat. Maegor took his place beside her. The hall erupted into applause. Rhaena looked out at them. Hundreds of hands clapping. Hundreds of mouths smiling. No one had ever looked more relieved to celebrate something terrible. She wondered how many of them had supported Aegon. How many had toasted him. How many had called him their rightful king. How quickly loyalties changed when the alternative was Balerion. Maegor lifted his cup. “To my queen.”
There was the briefest pause then every cup in the hall rose. “To the queen.”
Rhaena reached for her wine. Maegor’s hand closed over the stem before hers could. She looked at him. He lifted the cup himself and offered it to her. The gesture looked intimate from below. Rhaena understood immediately. The court was watching. So she took the cup from his hand. Their fingers touched. “Happy?” she whispered.
“No.”
“No?”
“You forgot to smile.”
Rhaena smiled. “Better?”
“Much.”
“You are easily pleased.”
“Not according to my wives.”
That nearly drew a real laugh from her. Instead Rhaena drank.
Across the table, Ceryse Hightower watched the exchange with the expression of a woman who had seen a play too many times. Maegor turned toward a lord who had begun speaking to him. The moment his attention shifted, Ceryse said, “He prefers red.”
Rhaena looked at her. “Pardon?”
“Wine.” Ceryse lifted her own cup. “He prefers red wine. Strong. Usually Dornish, though he claims not to care.”
Rhaena glanced at Maegor. “What an intimate thing to know.”
Ceryse’s face remained perfectly composed. “After enough years, intimacy becomes a collection of useless facts.”
Alys gave a soft laugh. “Ceryse.”
“What?”
“You are frightening the bride.”
Rhaena looked toward Alys. “Do I appear frightened?”
“No,” Alys said. “That is what concerns me.”
Tyanna laughed. The sound was quiet. Rhaena turned toward her. Tyanna raised her cup. “Welcome, Rhaena.”
Rhaena did not raise hers. “Should I thank you?”
“You may.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“I know.” Something in Tyanna’s voice made Rhaena look at her more closely. Tyanna’s beauty was strange. She had the kind of face painters would struggle to reproduce because its appeal depended too much upon movement. A tilt of the mouth. A slow blink. The knowledge behind the eyes.
“You know many things, I hear,” Rhaena said. Maegor’s attention remained on the lord beside him, though Rhaena suspected he was listening.
Tyanna rested her chin lightly against one hand. “I know enough.”
“Dangerous answer.”
“In this castle, every answer is dangerous.”
Elinor finally spoke. “And silence is worse.” Rhaena looked at her. Elinor met her gaze. There was something steady there. Rhaena could work with honesty. Jeyne reached for her wine and missed the cup. Her fingers struck the stem. It tipped. Elinor caught it before it fell. Jeyne whispered something Rhaena could not hear. Elinor answered without looking at her. “Breathe.”
Maegor turned back. All five women immediately changed. Ceryse lowered her eyes. Alys smiled. Tyanna continued smiling because Tyanna seemed incapable of looking anything but amused. Jeyne went still. Elinor reached calmly for bread. His gaze narrowed. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Immensely.” Rhaena said.
“I told you to stop lying.”
“No. You told me to smile.”
Alys coughed into her cup. Maegor looked at her. Alys recovered instantly. “Wine.”
“It often causes laughter?” he asked.
“Among its better qualities.” Ceryse stared straight ahead.
Maegor’s eyes returned to Rhaena. Rhaena ate a cherry, slowly. He looked away first. That felt better than it should have.
The feast stretched on. Musicians played. Men drank. Women danced. The court performed happiness with the desperate precision of prisoners performing for a jailer. Rhaena learned things. Ceryse barely drank. Alys drank more than she pretended to. Tyanna touched almost none of the food. Jeyne startled whenever Maegor raised his voice. Elinor watched doors. That interested Rhaena. A serving girl refilled her cup.
Rhaena waited until Maegor became occupied with Lord Rosby then she leaned slightly toward Elinor. “You watch the exits.”
Elinor did not look at her. “So do you.”
Rhaena smiled faintly. “There are three.”
“Four.” Rhaena’s eyes moved. Elinor tore a piece of bread. “Behind the tapestry depicting the Field of Fire.”
Rhaena did not turn toward it. “Where does it lead?”
“Servants’ corridor.”
“Useful.”
“Sometimes.”
“Have you used it?”
Elinor finally looked at her. “No.” The lie was excellent. Rhaena liked her more for it. Jeyne was listening. She tried not to appear as though she were.
Rhaena said, “And you?”
Jeyne blinked. “Me?”
“Do you know a secret passage I ought to be aware of?”
Jeyne looked horrified.
Alys laughed. “Do stop tormenting her.”
“I asked a question.”
“You ask questions like other people draw knives.”
“I find them more effective.”
“Usually.”
Ceryse spoke without turning. “Not here.” The word changed the table. Rhaena looked at her. Ceryse met her gaze. “Questions can be dangerous here.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.” Rhaena said.
“And yet you continue asking them.”
“I have always been difficult.”
“No,” Ceryse said. Rhaena’s brows rose. Ceryse took a small sip of wine. “You have always been a princess. People merely call royal women difficult whenever they remember they possess preferences.”
Alys looked amused. Elinor looked impressed. Jeyne almost smiled. Tyanna’s expression remained unreadable. Rhaena stared at Ceryse. Perhaps there were depths beneath that severe Hightower face after all.
“Careful,” Rhaena said.
“Why?”
“You are beginning to sound like me.”
Ceryse’s gaze slid toward Maegor. “No. I simply have more practice.”
The musicians changed songs. People began moving toward the center of the hall. Maegor remained in his chair. His hand rested against the armrest. One finger tapped once then twice. Tyanna saw it. Her expression changed.
“Who angered him?” Jeyne whispered.
Nobody answered.
Maegor stood. The hall quieted with astonishing speed. He looked toward the musicians. “Continue.”
A few notes faltered before the song resumed. Maegor walked behind the row of chairs. Rhaena felt him before he reached her. His hand settled against the back of her chair. “You have spoken more to my wives in an hour than some of them have spoken to each other in a year.”
Rhaena looked up. “Perhaps they lacked interesting company.”
Tyanna smiled. Ceryse looked exhausted.
Maegor ignored both. “What have you been discussing?”
“You.” Rhaena said.
Alys closed her eyes. Jeyne stopped breathing again.
Maegor’s attention sharpened. “Me?”
“What else could six wives of the same man possibly have in common?” Rhaena smiled.
The silence around their end of the table became immense.
Maegor leaned slightly closer. “And what conclusions have you reached?”
Rhaena considered him. “That you prefer Dornish red.”
For one moment, he said nothing then he looked at Ceryse.
Ceryse lifted her cup. “I confessed everything.”
Maegor’s mouth curved. Rhaena realized something. He enjoyed this conflict. He liked rooms that changed when he entered them. He liked women who watched one another. He liked knowing that every relationship in his household ultimately turned around him. Six wives. Six different histories. All forced into the same orbit. Rhaena suddenly understood the cruelty of it. It was not enough to possess women individually. Maegor had built a world in which they were expected to measure themselves against one another. Who sat nearest him. Who received gifts. Who was summoned. Who was ignored. Who conceived. Who failed. Who survived. Rhaena looked down the table. Ceryse. Alys. Tyanna. Jeyne. Elinor. Perhaps they had spent years believing the others were the problem. How convenient for him.
Rhaena looked back at Maegor. “What?”
He had noticed her staring. “Nothing.”
“You have never thought nothing in your life.”
“That may be the kindest thing you have said to me today.” His hand moved from the chair to her shoulder. Rhaena went still. It was a simple gesture. Possessive enough for the court to notice. Gentle enough that no one could object. Maegor bent toward her. “Dance with me.”
“No.” Rhaena whispered.
His thumb moved once against the velvet covering her shoulder, it was not affectionate. A warning disguised as one. “Rhaena.”
“You told me to sit.”
“I have changed my mind.”
“How kingly.”
His face remained calm. “You can walk beside me willingly, or I can make a spectacle of carrying you.”
Several wives heard that. Jeyne looked down. Alys’s mouth tightened. Elinor stopped eating. Ceryse looked at Maegor with something very close to disgust. Tyanna watched Rhaena. Rhaena understood the choice. There was no choice. There rarely was with him.
She placed her hand in his. “Try not to step on my feet.”
Maegor pulled her to standing. “You assume I dance poorly.”
“You solve most problems with a sword. Forgive me for questioning your delicacy.”
He led her toward the floor. People parted. Maegor could have walked directly into the sea and half the court would have followed before asking why. The music slowed. His hand settled at her waist. Rhaena placed hers on his shoulder. The other hands joined. A perfectly respectable dance. A perfectly respectable king. A perfectly respectable marriage. There was something grotesque about how easy violence became to disguise when everyone wore silk.
“You are angry,” Maegor said.
“I married my husband’s killer this morning. Forgive my poor spirits.”
“You hated me before today.”
“You say that as though I have been inconsistent.”
He turned her. Rhaena’s skirt moved around his boots. Hundreds watched them. She smiled. Maegor smiled back. To anyone watching, they looked almost happy. “I could have killed you,” he said quietly.
Rhaena did not miss a step. “You want gratitude?”
“I want you to remember it.”
“I remember everything.”
His hand tightened slightly. “That is your problem.”
“No.” Rhaena looked directly into his eyes. “That is yours.”
They turned again. The hall blurred around them. For one heartbeat, Maegor looked at her in a way she did not understand. “You think hatred protects you,” he said.
“I think it protects me from confusing this for something else.”
“And what is this?”
“You tell me. You arranged it.”
His eyes moved over her face. “Marriage.”
“Conquest.”
“Those are often the same thing.”
“Only to men.” His jaw shifted. Rhaena continued. “You conquered Aegon.”
The interest vanished. “Aegon lost.”
“He died.”
“The result is the same.”
“No.” Rhaena’s voice lowered. “Dead men can still be loved.”
His hand tightened against hers. She had found it. Something small. Something ugly. Something Maegor did not like. Aegon still existed between them. Not as a claimant. Not as an enemy. As a ghost. Maegor could defeat armies. He could not stab memory. “You will stop speaking his name to me,” Maegor said.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
Rhaena tilted her head. “Then say it.”
His expression darkened. “Do not play with me.”
“I am dancing with you. Apparently that is what you wanted.”
His grip tightened enough to hurt. Rhaena did not flinch. Across the hall, she saw Tyanna watching. Ceryse too. Elinor had stopped pretending not to. Even Jeyne had lifted her eyes. All five women were watching her because she was doing something none of them expected. She was provoking him. Perhaps they thought her foolish. Perhaps she was. But Rhaena had spent too much of her life being told that survival required silence. Silence had not saved Aegon. It had not saved her crown. It had not saved her freedom. She was finished worshipping it.
The song ended. Maegor did not release her immediately. Applause rose around them. Rhaena smiled for the room.
Maegor leaned toward her ear. “You will learn.”
She turned her face slightly. “So everyone keeps promising.”
His eyes met hers then he smiled. It was the first time that day Rhaena understood why men called him cruel, he could look almost tender while imagining how to break someone. He released her. Rhaena returned to the table alone.
Ceryse was the first to speak. “You are insane.”
Rhaena sat. “Finally. Something upon which my family and I agree.”
Alys gave a short, helpless laugh.
Ceryse did not. “I am serious.”
“So am I.”
“You cannot speak to him like that.”
“I just did.”
“And one day you will do it once too often.”
Rhaena reached for her wine. “Then at least we shall all enjoy the novelty.”
Jeyne stared at her. “How can you joke?”
Rhaena looked at her. The question had not been judgmental. It had been genuine. Jeyne looked close to tears. Rhaena’s expression softened despite herself. “Because if I stop, I will begin screaming.”
Jeyne looked down. “I understand.” The words were so quiet Rhaena nearly missed them. Elinor touched Jeyne’s wrist beneath the table. A small gesture. Comfort disguised from everyone else.
Tyanna leaned back in her chair. “You should listen to Ceryse.”
Rhaena turned toward her. “Do you?”
Tyanna smiled. “No.”
“Then we have found common ground.”
“Do not be too pleased.”
“I wasn't.”
Tyanna studied her. “You think you understand him.”
“I understand enough.”
“No, you do not.”
Something about the certainty irritated Rhaena. “And you do?”
“Better than most.” Tyana said.
Ceryse muttered, “She has always enjoyed saying that.”
Tyanna ignored her. “Maegor does not care that you hate him.”
Rhaena took a sip. “Wonderful then ours should be a peaceful marriage.”
“He cares that you still belong to someone else.” Rhaena stopped. Tyanna’s gaze flicked briefly toward the dance floor. Toward Maegor then back. “A dead man,” Tyanna said, “can be a far more dangerous rival than a living one.”
Rhaena stared at her. “I do not belong to Aegon.”
Tyanna’s smile became almost sad. “Then you are the only person in this room who believes it.”
Rhaena set down her cup.
Ceryse intervened. “Enough.”
Tyanna looked amused. “Protective already?”
“No. Tired.”
“That has been your defining quality for years.”
“And yours has been making every room worse merely to prove you can.”
Alys covered her smile. Even Elinor failed to hide hers. Tyanna looked at Ceryse. For a moment the two women seemed to forget everyone else existed. There was history there. Old resentment. Perhaps hatred. Rhaena suddenly wanted to know all of it. How many wars had taken place around this table while the realm concerned itself with Maegor’s larger ones?
Alys broke the tension. “We should establish rules.”
Rhaena looked at her. “Rules?”
“For our new sister.”
Rhaena almost choked. “Do not call me that.”
Alys laughed. “Very well. Our new fellow prisoner.”
“That is better.”
Jeyne looked alarmed by the word. Elinor did not.
Ceryse sighed. “There are no rules.”
“There are,” Alys said. “We have simply never written them down.”
Tyanna lifted one brow. “This should be amusing.”
Alys counted on her fingers. “Do not interrupt him when he is speaking to his council.”
“Unless they are being particularly stupid,” Rhaena said.
Alys considered. “Fair.” Ceryse looked horrified. Alys continued. “Never ask where he has been when he returns after midnight.”
Jeyne murmured, “Never ask where anyone has been after midnight.” Elinor looked at her. Jeyne flushed. Rhaena pretended not to notice.
“Do not insult Balerion,” Ceryse said.
Rhaena frowned. “I would never insult Balerion. I like Balerion considerably more than his rider.”
Alys laughed into her hand.
Ceryse closed her eyes. “You are going to get us all killed.”
Rhaena looked at the five women. “No.” Her tone changed. They noticed. “If he becomes angry with me, you will not answer for it.” Ceryse opened her eyes. Rhaena continued. “I did not choose this marriage. Neither did some of you, from what I understand. I will not allow him to turn my mouth into another chain around your throats.”
Elinor looked at her carefully. Jeyne stared. Alys’s amusement disappeared. Ceryse said nothing.
Tyanna’s eyes narrowed. “You think that is how this works?”
“I think that is how I intend it to work.”
“Intentions have short lives in this castle.” Tyanna said.
“Then mine will have to learn to defend themselves.” Rhaena finally said.
Tyanna leaned forward. “You still think this is a story in which courage matters.”
Rhaena leaned forward too. “No.” The women went quiet. “I think this is a story in which staying alive matters.”
Tyanna studied her. Rhaena held her gaze. Something passed between them. Two women who had survived by entirely different means and despised the other’s method on sight.
Elinor broke the silence. “Then here is the only rule worth knowing.” Rhaena looked at her. Elinor’s voice was calm. “Never let him make you believe one of us is your enemy merely because he has been kinder to her that day.”
Rhaena looked down the table. Ceryse. The first wife. Alys. The favored beauty of another age. Tyanna. The woman everyone whispered poisoned cups and dreams alike. Jeyne. A frightened widow dressed as a queen. Elinor. The watcher. And Rhaena. Aegon’s widow. Maegor’s newest victory. Six women tied to one king. Six women who should have hated one another. Perhaps some of them did. But Rhaena understood something then. Maegor had gathered women as kings gathered kingdoms. One by one. Each conquered separately. Each kept apart. Because divided things were easier to possess. Rhaena looked toward the Iron Throne. Maegor stood beneath it speaking to his Hand. He was not looking at them.
“Interesting,” she murmured.
Ceryse frowned. “What?”
Rhaena took another cherry from the bowl. “Nothing.”
Tyanna smiled slowly. “You are thinking again.”
“I have been accused of it.”
“That particular expression usually precedes trouble.”
Rhaena bit into the cherry. Sweetness burst across her tongue. She looked at Maegor. “No.” Her voice was quiet. “It precedes an education.”
“For whom?”
This time Rhaena smiled without being ordered. “For my husband.”
Across the hall, Maegor turned. As though he had heard her. Their eyes met. Rhaena did not look away. Neither did he. Between them sat five queens, a stolen crown, a murdered husband, two daughters, six marriages and enough hatred to set the Red Keep aflame.
For the first time since Maegor had decided to make her his wife, Rhaena felt something other than grief. It was not hope. Hope belonged to kinder stories. This was something harder. She had spent the morning thinking of herself as the woman Maegor had taken. Perhaps that had been her first mistake. Perhaps the more interesting question was what he had unknowingly brought into his own house. Maegor raised his cup toward her. Rhaena raised hers in return. The court saw a king and his newest queen. The other wives saw something else. And Tyanna of the Tower, watching Rhaena over the rim of her wine, was the first among them to understand. Maegor had not brought another Black Bride into the Red Keep. He had brought in a match. All that remained was to discover what would burn first. By the time the last musicians stopped playing, Rhaena had learned that there were cruelties more exhausting than pain. Courtesy was one of them. She had smiled until her cheeks ached. She had accepted congratulations from men who had once bent their knees to Aegon. She had allowed women she scarcely knew to kiss her cheek and call her fortunate. She had listened while drunken lords praised the strength of House Targaryen, as though strength were something noble simply because the strong had survived and through all of it, Maegor had remained beside her. Sometimes speaking. Sometimes drinking. Sometimes saying nothing at all. His silence had been worse.
The feast began to thin sometime after midnight. The oldest lords excused themselves first then the wives whose husbands had drunk enough to embarrass them. Servants began clearing platters that had hardly been touched. Candles shortened inside their iron cages, spilling wax across the tables like pale tears. Rhaena sat with one hand around a goblet she had stopped drinking from an hour ago.
Across the hall, Jeyne Westerling disappeared through one of the side doors with Elinor Costayne beside her. Alys Harroway had gone earlier. Ceryse had not bothered saying goodnight.
Tyanna had. She had leaned close enough for Rhaena to smell the spice on her breath. “Sleep well, Your Grace.” Rhaena had looked at her. Tyanna’s smile had told her that they both understood the cruelty of the wish. Now only a handful of courtiers remained.
Maegor placed his cup down. The sound was quiet. Rhaena heard it anyway. “Enough.” She turned her head. He stood. No announcement followed. None was necessary. The remaining courtiers rose almost as one. Rhaena stayed seated for another heartbeat. Perhaps simply because she could. Maegor looked down at her. “You are tired.”
“A remarkable observation.” Rhaena smirked.
“Come.” Maegor said.
She looked toward the high windows. Night pressed black against the glass. “I know where my chambers are.”
“You are not sleeping in them.”
Her gaze returned to him. From the moment the vows were spoken, she had known where the night was meant to end. Knowledge did not make the reality gentler. Rhaena placed the goblet down carefully. “My daughters...”
“Are asleep.”
“I would like to see them.”
“Tomorrow.”
“I would like to see them tonight.” Maegor’s expression hardened almost imperceptibly. Rhaena stood. Perhaps the wine had made her reckless. Perhaps grief had. Perhaps there simply came a point when a person could endure so many commands that the smallest refusal became necessary for breathing. “I have not seen them since this morning.”
“They are safe.” Maegor said.
“With whom?”
“Women I trust.”
“That was not my question.”
A muscle moved in his jaw. Several servants remained close enough to hear. Rhaena watched Maegor remember them. His voice lowered. “Not here.”
She smiled without humor. “You were very happy to marry me in front of half the realm. Strange that the marriage becomes private only when I begin asking questions.”
His eyes changed.
Then another voice crossed the hall. “Rhaena.” It was an old voice. Still strong. Still accustomed to being obeyed. Rhaena turned. Queen Visenya Targaryen stood at the edge of the dais. Age had not diminished Visenya so much as distilled her. Her hair, once pale silver, had gone almost entirely white. Lines cut deeply around her mouth and eyes, but there was nothing fragile about her. She wore black and dark red, without unnecessary jewels, and Dark Sister hung at her side as naturally as another woman might wear a belt.
Rhaena had grown up hearing stories about her. Visenya on Vhagar. Visenya at the Field of Fire. Visenya placing a sword against Aegon the Conqueror’s throat to prove the need for a Kingsguard. Visenya the warrior. Visenya the queen. Visenya the mother. That last title had always seemed the least impressive. Tonight it frightened Rhaena most.
Maegor looked toward her. “Mother.”
“You have frightened enough people for one evening.” There were perhaps three people alive who could speak to Maegor that way. Rhaena suspected two of them were dragons. Maegor’s expression gave nothing away. Visenya came closer. Her eyes settled upon Rhaena. They were remarkably clear for a woman of her age. “Walk with me.”
Maegor frowned. “Where?”
Visenya did not look at him. “I was speaking to your wife.”
Rhaena nearly laughed. It was the first pleasant impulse she had felt all evening.
Maegor noticed. “Do not encourage her.”
Visenya finally looked at her son. “You married a woman with a dragon and then expected meekness. That is your mistake, not mine.” A dangerous silence followed. Rhaena studied Maegor. He looked irritated. There was affection buried beneath it somewhere, though affection between Maegor and Visenya seemed to possess teeth. Visenya held out one hand. “Come, child.”
Rhaena disliked being called child. Normally she would have said so. Tonight she accepted the offered escape. She placed her fingers in Visenya’s.
“Do not keep her long,” Maegor said.
Visenya began walking. “Try surviving disappointment.”
Rhaena looked over her shoulder. Maegor stood exactly where they had left him. For the first time since morning, Rhaena smiled without being told.
Visenya did not take her far. Only into the gallery beyond the great hall, where narrow windows overlooked the black waters of the bay. The doors closed behind them. Silence descended. Rhaena withdrew her hand. Visenya allowed it. For several moments they stood beside one another without speaking. Below, torchlight moved along the walls. Far in the distance came the faint sound of the city.
Rhaena folded her arms. “You wished to speak with me then speak.”
Visenya looked at her. “You have your grandmother’s manners.”
Rhaena blinked. “My grandmother?”
“Alyssa’s mother could insult a man merely by asking him whether he wanted more wine.”
Despite herself, Rhaena smiled faintly. “I would have liked her.”
“She would have liked you.”
The answer disarmed her more effectively than cruelty might have. Rhaena looked back through the window. “I suppose you have come to tell me that resistance is pointless.”
“No.”
“That Maegor is king.”
“He is.”
“That I should obey him.”
“Usually.”
Rhaena turned sharply. Visenya’s expression did not change. “Usually?”
“My son has never benefited from unquestioning obedience.”
“Yet he demands it from everyone and you see no contradiction?”
“I see many.”
There was something strange about speaking with her. Visenya did not defend Maegor the way Rhaena expected. That made her suspicious. “What do you want from me?”
Visenya looked toward the dark bay. “For House Targaryen to survive.”
Rhaena laughed softly. “The throne.”
“The house.”
“Men always say those words as though they mean something different from the throne.”
“I am not a man.”
“No. You simply spent your life making certain men sat upon it.”
Visenya turned. The air between them sharpened. Rhaena did not lower her gaze. She was tired of lowering things. Her voice. Her anger. Her expectations. Her dead. Visenya said quietly, “Your husband made his choice.”
Rhaena went still. “Be careful.”
“He challenged Maegor.”
“He was the king.” Rhaena stepped closer.
“He believed himself to be.”
“He was my father’s heir.”
“And now he is dead.” Visenya shrug.
The words were not cruelly spoken. Rhaena stepped closer. “My husband had a name.”
“I know it.”
“Then use it.”
Visenya regarded her for a long moment. “Aegon.” Rhaena swallowed. Visenya continued. “Aegon chose battle. Maegor answered him.”
“With Balerion as though that made it fair.”
Visenya’s expression became almost weary. “Fairness is a word people use when they lack power.”
“And you approve?” Rhaena asked.
“I understand.”
“Everyone keeps telling me understanding is different from approval.”
“It is.”
“It seems remarkably convenient.”
Visenya’s mouth tightened. “You want me to condemn my son.”
“I want you to admit what he is.”
“I know what my son is better than you ever will.” Something in the answer stopped Rhaena. Visenya looked older suddenly. “He was born angry,” she said. “Not crying. Angry. He came into the world fighting the hands that held him.” Rhaena said nothing. “I spent years telling myself strength would be enough,” Visenya continued. “That a strong prince would survive what a gentler one could not. I taught him never to kneel. Never to hesitate. Never to allow another man to decide his fate.”
“And now he decides everyone else’s.” Rhaena almost laughed.
“Yes.” No excuse. No defense. Just yes. Rhaena stared at her. Visenya’s eyes moved toward the doors. “You think I do not see what he has become.”
“I think you helped make him.”
Visenya did not flinch. “Perhaps.”
Rhaena had expected denial. Again she found herself without the weapon she had prepared. “You still put him on the throne.”
“I did.”
“He killed Aegon. He has taken wives who did not want him.” Visenya was silent. “He has taken me.” Still silence. Rhaena stepped nearer. “And you stand beside him.”
Visenya finally looked at her. “I stand beside House Targaryen.”
“How fortunate for Maegor that you cannot tell the difference.”
That should have ended the conversation. Visenya smiled. “You truly are Alyssa’s daughter.”
“I am Aenys’s daughter too.”
The smile vanished. “Yes.”
“And Aegon was his son.”
“I remember.”
“Does Maegor?”
Something changed in Visenya’s face. The wound was old. Rhaena saw it only because she had learned to recognize grief beneath anger. For a moment, she wondered whether Visenya mourned Aenys then Visenya said, “You will share his chamber tonight.”
Rhaena’s stomach tightened. She turned back toward the window. “I know.”
“You are afraid.”
“No.”
“Do not insult me.” Rhaena’s jaw clenched. Visenya came to stand beside her. “There is no dishonor in fear.”
“Easy to say when you are holding the sword.”
Visenya’s hand rested lightly upon Dark Sister’s pommel. “Do you think carrying a sword means one has never been frightened?”
“I think it means fear has more difficulty cornering you.”
“That is why you have Dreamfyre.”
“And yet she cannot fit inside his bedchamber.”
“No.”
The bluntness of it almost made Rhaena laugh. Instead she whispered, “I hate him. I will always hate him.”
Visenya looked at her. “Do not make promises to yourself that require you to remain the same woman forever.”
Rhaena’s head snapped toward her. “You believe I could love him?”
“I said nothing about love.”
“Then what?”
“I believe hatred changes.” Rhaena stared. “Sometimes it becomes colder. Sometimes it becomes exhaustion. Sometimes understanding makes it worse. Sometimes it makes it harder to name.”
“You speak as though you expect me to forgive him.”
“No.” Visenya’s voice became very quiet. “I expect you to survive him.”
The words sounded painfully similar to Alyssa’s. Rhaena hated that. “Everyone seems remarkably invested in my survival tonight.”
“Dead women are terribly difficult to save.”
“And living women are terribly convenient to sacrifice.”
Visenya accepted that without argument then she reached up. Rhaena stiffened as the older woman touched one of the rubies around her throat. “Maegor chose these?”
“Yes.”
“He has poor taste.” Rhaena stared at her. Visenya removed her hand. “He always has.”
A laugh escaped Rhaena before she could stop it. Visenya looked pleased. Rhaena immediately resented her for it. “You did that deliberately.”
“Yes.” Visenya admitted.
“Why?”
“Because you looked as though you had forgotten how.” Rhaena’s amusement died. Visenya stepped away. “Come.”
“Where?”
“To your husband.”
Rhaena remained where she was. Visenya stopped at the door. For a long moment, neither moved then Rhaena asked, “Did you love Aegon?”
Visenya did not pretend not to understand which Aegon she meant. Her brother. Her husband. The Conqueror. Something ancient passed through her eyes. “Yes.”
“Did he ever frighten you?”
Visenya considered. “Once.” Rhaena waited. “He died.”
The simplicity of it struck harder than any elaborate answer. Visenya opened the door. Rhaena followed.
Maegor dismissed the servants himself. That surprised her. The royal bedchamber had been prepared extravagantly. Fresh rushes. Candles. A fire burning despite the warmth of the night. Wine on the table. Fruit neither of them would eat. And the bed. Rhaena refused to look at it for too long. Maegor removed Blackfyre first. He placed it on the table beside the bed but not far from reach.
Rhaena remained near the door. He glanced at her. “You can come farther into the room.”
“I was admiring the architecture.” Rhaena looked around.
“You are a poor liar.”
“So I have been told.”
He removed his cloak. Rhaena watched his movements despite herself. There was something unsettling about seeing him without the court. No crown. No Kingsguard. No throne behind him. Just a man. She preferred the king. Kings were easier to hate. Men required examination. “Did my mother frighten you?” he asked.
Rhaena almost laughed. “Your mother may be the least frightening member of your immediate family. She told me you have poor taste.”
Maegor looked at the ruby necklace. “Did she?”
“Yes.”
“She has been saying that for twenty years.” Rhaena reached for the clasp. Her fingers slipped. She tried again. Maegor watched. “Turn around.”
“No.”
“I am removing a necklace, not your head.”
“With you, distinctions matter.”
He exhaled. “Rhaena.” She stared at him through the mirror then slowly she turned. Maegor approached. Her body went rigid despite every effort to prevent it. He noticed. His hands paused before touching her. That pause was somehow worse then his fingers found the clasp. Nothing more. The necklace loosened. He lifted it away from her throat. Rhaena immediately stepped forward. Distance, she needed distance. Maegor placed the rubies on the table. “You hate them.”
“They are ugly.” Rhaena looked away.
“They cost more than some castles.”
“Then you were cheated.” He gave her a look. Rhaena sat before the mirror and began pulling pins from her hair. One. Two. Three. Her hands remained steady until the fourth. It slipped. Maegor caught it before it struck the floor. Their eyes met in the mirror. He placed the pin beside her. Neither spoke. Rhaena finished undoing the braid. Her hair fell over her shoulders. Maegor watched. She saw it. “Stop.”
“What?” Maegor blinked.
“Looking at me.”
“You are in my bedchamber.”
“I had noticed.”
“You are my wife.”
“I noticed that too.”
He leaned against the table. “And yet you appear surprised that I might look at you.”
“I am surprised you think marriage makes staring less rude.”
“You were staring at me earlier.”
“I was calculating whether I could reach Blackfyre before you.”
His gaze moved toward the sword. “Could you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I could reach the candlestick.” He laughed. Rhaena hated that she liked the sound better than the one he used at court. She stood too quickly. “Do not.”
His amusement disappeared. “Do not what?”
“Act as though we are amusing.”
His expression became unreadable. “We?”
“This.” Rhaena gestured between them. “This room. This marriage. The absurd little conversations in which you pretend you did not kill Aegon and force me here.”
“I have never pretended that.” Maegor said.
“You behave as though it should stop mattering.”
“No.” His answer came immediately. Rhaena faltered. Maegor straightened. “I behave as though it will not change anything.”
“That is worse.”
“Perhaps.” She stared at him. The candles shifted in the draft. Outside, somewhere far away, a dragon cried. Rhaena thought it was Dreamfyre. Her chest tightened. Maegor heard it too. “She knows where you are.”
“She always does.”
“She is restless.”
“She dislikes cages.”
His eyes returned to her. “So do you.”
“I am not a dragon.”
“No.”
He moved toward her. Rhaena held her ground until instinct won. One step backward. Maegor stopped. He looked at the distance she had created then at her face. Something cold settled inside Rhaena. Here it was. The moment everyone had avoided naming. The feast. The vows. The congratulations. The bed. All roads had led here.
She lifted her chin. “If you intend to do it, then stop making me wait.”
Maegor became very still. Rhaena hated the tremor that almost entered her voice. She buried it. “What do you think I intend to do?”
“Do not insult me.”
“I asked you a question.”
“You married me. You brought me here. You dismissed everyone.” She folded her arms because otherwise he might see her hands. “Then do whatever triumph you believe remains.”
For the first time that day, Maegor looked genuinely angry. “I do not need your permission to know I have won.”
Rhaena felt sick. “Of course not.”
“You misunderstand me.”
“I understand you perfectly.”
“No.” He took another step. She did not move. His voice lowered. “You are waiting for me to prove everything you believe about me.”
Rhaena laughed bitterly. “You have been proving it for years.”
“Perhaps.” He looked toward the bed then back to her. “But not tonight.”
Rhaena stared at him. “What?”
“You heard me.”
She genuinely did not know what to say. Maegor walked past her. He pulled back the blankets on one side of the bed. Rhaena remained standing. Suspicion came first. It had become instinct. “What game is this?”
“No game.”
“I do not believe you.”
“I did not ask you to.” He removed his boots.
Rhaena watched in disbelief. “You expect me to sleep beside you and nothing else.”
“Tonight.” The final word chilled her. She hated him for it. For the reminder. For making mercy sound temporary. Perhaps he saw that. Perhaps he intended it.
Rhaena looked toward the door. “You could sleep elsewhere.”
“So could you.”
“Then I will.”
“No.” There was Maegor again. The king returned in a single syllable.
Rhaena’s eyes narrowed. “You said...”
“I said I would not take you tonight. I did not say you were leaving.”
“Why?”
“Because tomorrow the entire castle will know whether you slept here.”
“So this is still performance.”
“Everything is performance when a crown is involved.”
Rhaena thought of the morning. Her own words. A crown. A dragon. Valyrian blood. And still a man arranging her life. She looked at him. “You truly believe appearances can make something real.”
“No.” Maegor sat on the edge of the bed. “I believe enough people pretending something is real eventually makes the difference irrelevant.”
“That may be the saddest thing you have ever said.”
“I have said worse.”
“I know.” Rhaena stood there another moment then she crossed the room. Not because he commanded her. She told herself that. Not because he had won. She told herself that too. She climbed into the far side of the bed and pulled the blanket over herself. The mattress shifted when Maegor lay down. Rhaena immediately turned onto her side. Her back toward him. There was an enormous space between them. Not enough. She could hear him breathing. She hated it. Aegon had snored occasionally. The memory arrived without warning. A stupid memory. A painful one. He had always denied it. Rhaena would kick his ankle beneath the blankets whenever he became too loud. Once he had woken and accused her of attacking the future king of Westeros. She had told him the future king of Westeros sounded like an injured boar. Her throat tightened. She closed her eyes.
“Rhaena.” Maegor’s voice came from behind her. She did not answer. “Are you crying?”
Her eyes opened. “No.” A lie. At least one tear had escaped into her hair.
“Good.”
Rage replaced grief so quickly it almost relieved her. She turned. “You miserable bastard.”
Maegor was lying on his back, looking at the canopy. “What?”
“You could simply say nothing.”
“I thought you preferred honesty.”
“I prefer humanity.”
“That sounds exhausting.” Rhaena stared at him then, impossibly, she began laughing. Quietly at first. One hand covered her mouth. She hated herself for it. She hated him more. Maegor turned his head toward her. “What?”
“You are terrible at this.”
“At what?”
“Being a person.”
His brow lifted. “And you are an expert?”
“No.” Her laughter faded. “But I have had more practice.”
For several moments they simply looked at each other then Maegor turned back toward the ceiling. “So sleep.”
Rhaena faced away again. The silence returned. This time it felt different. Not safe, nothing about Maegor was safe. Rhaena lay awake listening to the fire crackle lower. She thought of Aerea. Rhaella. Aegon. Dreamfyre. Her mother. The five women who had sat across from her at supper and Visenya. Do not make promises to yourself that require you to remain the same woman forever. Rhaena hated the words. Perhaps because some part of her understood them.
Behind her, Maegor’s breathing slowly deepened. She waited. Minutes passed then some more. At last she turned her head. The king was asleep. Maegor the Cruel. The man who had killed her husband. The man who had taken her crown. The man she had spent the entire day imagining as something larger than human. Sleeping. His face seemed different without consciousness controlling it. Younger. Less severe, almost peaceful.
Rhaena despised that most of all. Monsters should have looked like monsters. It would have made everything simpler. Her gaze moved toward Blackfyre. The sword lay upon the table. Perhaps if she moved carefully...
Maegor spoke without opening his eyes. “Do not.” Rhaena froze. After a moment, his mouth curved faintly. “I told you that you could not reach it.”
She stared at him. “You are awake.”
“I am now.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
Rhaena rolled onto her back. The canopy above them disappeared into darkness. “Maegor?”
Silence then, “What?”
She did not know why she asked. Perhaps because she wanted to hurt him. Perhaps because she wanted the answer. “Was it worth it?” His breathing changed. “Aegon.” The darkness between them became enormous. Rhaena continued. “Was his death worth your crown?”
Maegor did not answer immediately. For once she thought he might refuse then his voice came, quiet in the dark. “Ask me when I am dying.”
Rhaena turned her head. He was looking at her now. There was no triumph in his face. No anger. Something she could not name lived there instead. “And if I am there?” she asked.
“You will be.”
The certainty disturbed her. “You cannot know that.”
“No.” His eyes remained on hers. “But you will.”
Rhaena remembered Visenya again. Hatred changes. Understanding makes things harder to name. Rhaena turned away. She pulled the blanket higher around herself. “I hope you die alone.”
Behind her came Maegor’s answer. “So did everyone else.”
She waited for something more. Nothing came. Eventually his breathing deepened again. Rhaena remained awake. She had entered the room expecting violence and found something she understood even less. She would not insult herself by calling it kindness. Maegor had still forced her into his bed. Still decided where she slept. Still controlled the door. Still made freedom something she could possess only inside her own head. But he had left a boundary untouched, for tonight. Rhaena knew enough about powerful men not to confuse postponement with mercy.
Yet as the fire died and darkness swallowed the chamber, she found herself thinking not of what Maegor had done but of what he had chosen not to do. That frightened her, hatred had been simple that morning. Pure. Clean. She understood hatred. She knew how to carry it. But as Rhaena lay beside the man she had sworn never to forgive, Visenya’s warning returned once more. Hatred changes.
Rhaena closed her eyes. No, she thought. Not mine. Beside her, Maegor slept and somewhere beneath the Red Keep, beneath crowns and vows and murdered kings, fate began quietly sharpening its teeth.