He'd taken it out on someone else.

Daemon had always liked taking things a step too far. Whenever he and Daenys had gotten into bits of mischief as children, he had to have the last word, he had to see how much chaos he could really cause, even after she'd backed out because they were caught. He wasn't very different as an adult, except now he had killers under his command and he himself was incredibly skilled with a sword.

Daenys was called to the Small Council chamber early the following morning by Otto himself. He'd led the way toward Viserys's chambers, gathering him and beginning to explain the terror that'd unfolded that night while they'd been sleeping.

"It was an unprecedented roundup of criminals of every link," said Otto as they reached the door. "Your brother made a public show of it, meting out the summary judgments himself. I'm told they needed a two-horse cart to haul away the resulting dismemberments when it was done."

"Gods be good," Viserys sighed.

"The Prince cannot be allowed to act with this kind of unchecked impunity," said Otto once they entered the chambers, the men gathered and Daemon's seat filled for once.

Viserys stopped in front of Daemon, who sat innocently in his seat, still dirty and smeared with blood. "Brother," said Daemon innocently. "Sister."

"You smell awful," said Daenys, sitting beside him and placing her porcelain ball in its place. He regarded her with a thin, suspicious little smile. "Always a pleasure," replied Daemon cheekily. "Carry on, Otto, you were saying something about my impunity."

Otto's jaw tensed. "You are to explain your doings with the City Watch."

"Your new 'Gold Cloaks' made quite the impression last night, didn't they?" said Viserys in a hard voice.

Daemon smiled innocently, side-eyeing Daenys. "Did they?"

"The City Watch is not a sword to be wielded at your whim," said Otto. "They're an extension of the Crown."

"The Watch was enforcing the Crown's laws," said Daemon, looking for support. "Wouldn't you agree, Lord Strong?"

Lyonel was always honest, and his eyes said everything his mouth didn't– he disagreed with what Daemon had done. Otto butted in again,"My Prince, I don't think making a public spectacle of wanton brutality is hardly in line with our laws."

"Nobles from every corner of the realm are right now descending upon King's Landing for my brother's tourney. Do you want them mugged, raped, murdered? You mightn't know this unless you left the safety of the Red Keep, but much of King's Landing is seen by the smallfolk as lawless and terrifying."

Daenys twirled the little ball in its hole. "And your solution is to make it even more so, using the Crown's sworn swords?"

Daemon's lip twitched. "Our city should be safe for all its people."

"I agree," said Viserys carefully. "I just hope you don't have to maim half of my city to achieve this."

"Time will tell. Daenys would have done worse."

Daenys threw her hands up. "I would not have taken it upon myself to mass murder anyone, regardless of who they were! Only with the King's leave and with a path clear to promote actual change. You killing everyone does nothing to assure that their behavior will be different!"

Lord Corlys spoke up, "We installed Prince Daemon as commander to promote law and order. The criminal element should fear the City Watch."

"Thank you for your support, Lord Corlys," said Daemon, satisfied.

"If only the Prince would show the same devotion to his lady wife as he does his work, Your Grace," said Otto. "You've not been seen in the Vale or at Runestone for quite some time."

Daemon shrugged, "I think my bronze bitch is happier for my absence."

Daenys kicked him under the table. "Lady Rhea is your wife," Otto reminded him. "A good and honorable lady of the Vale."

"In the Vale, men are said to fuck sheep instead of women. I can assure you, the sheep are prettier."

His sister kicked him once more. "Stop it, both of you," said Viserys tiredly, still apparently unaware of their argument the day before— at least then Daenys knew no Dragonkeeper had heard a thing. "You are adults."

"You made a vow before the Seven to honor your wife in marriage," said Otto, exasperated.

"Well, I'd gladly give Lady Rhea to you, Lord Hightower, if you're in want of a woman to warm your bed. Your own lady wife passed recently–" Otto stood angrily. "Did she not?"

"Otto," warned the King.

"Perhaps you aren't ready to move on just yet," said Daemon snidely.

The King added, "You know how my brother makes sport of provoking you. Must you indulge him?"

Otto was clearly upset with Viserys for siding with Daemon, but restrained himself. "My apologies, Your Grace."

"Let us move away from speaking ill of two perfectly kind women," said Daenys tensely. "Perhaps we should revisit the fact that Daemon tortured rapers up and down the streets of King's Landing."

Daemon scoffed, "Oh, you always loved running up to Father or Grandsire or anyone who would listen when you wanted to get me into trouble."

"I'd have had no need of it if you weren't needlessly cruel." She threw her hands up, speaking directly to Viserys, "Alas, we can't quite stitch the cocks, hands, and heads taken away back on. The population of criminals has diminished significantly. It is done and it will serve as a warning to anyone seeking to commit a similar crime. But," She faced Daemon again, "I still don't see how doing this in the cover of night makes King's Landing less lawless and terrifying. I would have argued for a more public spectacle. Public hangings, a mass trial for all known criminals, cleansing the city with the support of the people instead of doing it as they cried out in terror. Something scheduled."

She pressed her fingertips together, trying to compose herself, "As Lord Corlys has reminded us, it is necessary to a degree that we have the City Watch's name command respect and sow just enough fear. Citizens should be aware of severe punishments to persuade them not to commit crimes. Criminals should be afraid of being caught to prevent repeat offenses. Thieves, I am less prone to punish so severely. You know where I stand, my lords, when it comes to rapers and murderers. Those I have no sympathy for. If anything I would have argued they deserved a bit more humiliation before their deaths. Which is why I would have done it for the whole city to see, in the daylight. They should know the City's Watch is disciplined; as the Lord Hand says, they are an extension of the Crown. A little fear is good but a lot of fear..." She shook her head, "If they think the City's Watch is corrupt, if they think it is being run by a mad dog, it may yet have the opposite effect. It may inspire more crimes, more revolt, a challenge. You are a Prince first and foremost, Daemon."

Viserys nodded. "This Council has, at great expense, bettered the City Watch to your exacting standards, Daemon. Enforce my laws, but understand: any further performances like last night's will be answered."

Daemon smirked. "Understood, Your Grace." He lifted his cloak, purposely flicking it against the back of Daenys's head, and stalked out.

"King's Landing has been in decline since my grandmother passed," said Viserys once the doors shut behind Daemon. "In the end, this new City Watch might be a good thing."

"Grandmother never would have sanctioned what he did," said Daenys tightly. "Reign in your heir before the next one comes." She scooped up her little ball and left once her brother stood to dismiss them.

Otto rushed to catch up to her as she strode out toward the yard, holding the hilt of her sword defensively in case Daemon was lingering around. At first, she didn't acknowledge Otto much beyond a courteous nod, waiting for them to be in a hallway alone to say, "Everything alright?"

"Well, I've again need to clean up your brother's mess," said Otto candidly. "Otherwise, everything is fine."

"I am sorry about that," said Daenys honestly. "I fear he may have done this because of me." She waved her hand dismissively, not wanting to give details. "We had an argument, he was upset, and he needed to take it out on someone since he cannot touch me without Viserys descending on him like Balerion himself. My brothers and I have a complicated relationship and we all remain difficult people. I apologize that this causes trouble at times."

Otto's lip twitched. "You've never caused me trouble, Princess. As for the King, I am glad to serve him. He is more than the Crown to me, he is a dear friend and I will support him throughout the whole of his reign, if I am able to. I should hope that soon he will have a son to settle all the tension with Daemon."

"I should hope so, too," muttered Daenys. "Daemon is... complicated in what he wants. He has told me before he doesn't desire the throne, and I do believe he wants more to be acknowledged for his strengths, yet he doesn't do good work of demonstrating this devotion to his family. He makes it seem as though power matters more, as though he's being robbed of something. I am sorry he mentioned your wife. Lady Alyrie was always kind to all of us, she would even encourage me not to be upset with him. Daemon lets his anger carry him to cruel places."

"I know very well how much you loved my wife," said Otto sadly. "She spoke highly of you, as do my children. I am glad she had someone like you to keep her company. She missed you when you lived in Highgarden." He smiled slightly, "I am glad for my children to have found comfort in you. She always admired how you treated them and Rhaenyra as your own."

Daenys offered him a smile of her own. "When my mother and many of her siblings died, the rest of my family swooped in to ensure my brothers and I never felt alone. I will always do the same for others. Alyrie was sweet to me, to Aemma, to Rhaenyra, and I could never in good conscience leave her children to fend for themselves."

He looked as though he wished to say something else, but pursed his lips in hesitation and nodded. "I'll leave you then, Princess. I should hope to see you at the tourney."

"I will be there," she assured him. "Aemma insists I go to keep an eye on Rhaenyra and bring her back some gossip. I'll be seated with you to watch and wait for our heir."

After her training, she spent the rest of her day with Aemma, updating her on what Daemon had said and done. It was enough of a distraction to soothe her, these last few weeks of the pregnancy proving as taxing as before. Daenys often tried to read and sing directly to her belly, in the hopes of calming the babe within.

It was good to be able to talk to someone about all the complicated feelings. Both her annoyance with Daemon because of his incessant need for power and her admiration for him, wishing he was less temperamental and more respectful toward her so she might actually see if what she felt could amount to anything. More importantly, she could actually tell Aemma everything about Otto and the question of whether to make this known or not.

Aemma had an inkling that Otto felt the same for her and simply feared admitting to it. If he did, he faced internal and external scrutiny with the idea that Daenys was replacing his wife— it didn't make it true but both of them feared it and people might talk and incite further guilt. Then, he might think of how he hadn't been there for his children as much as he should have and would feel worse entertaining the idea of giving them a new mother and potentially adding to the bunch. Daenys may already be taking care of them but it was entirely different for her and Otto to be involved.

In the end, she opted not to say anything at all. When he was ready, he would surely say something or give a sign that she could make her attempt. There were more important things to worry about at the moment.

"Keep your wits about you," she said, hand tucked under Gwayne Hightower's chin in encouragement. "Calculate, set, attack. Don't lose your head and hold tight to your horse. You're one of the younger ones out there, most likely you will be chosen for a round in the middle after the stronger ones have tired out Daemon or whoever beats Daemon."

He nodded, and she smiled, lowering his visor. "Go on, my boy, show them what you are made of." As he walked off to find his horse, she sensed eyes on her. She turned slightly, finding them coming from two flanks. The first pair, Daemon, who made a face and turned his horse away. The other, Otto, who beckoned her toward the King's box.

"Where's Rhaenyra?" asked Viserys when she arrived, clad in a knee-length red tunic belted and bodiced at the waist and with slits on both sides and trousers and boots beneath. "And you, I thought you'd finally wear a dress for this special occasion."

"This is something like what Visenya wore," argued Daenys. "For formal occasions that did not require capes or armor. I can still hold my sword and from the top it almost resembles a dress. At least I let my hair loose."

"Yes, well, I suppose it is nice to finally see you without a series of braids," said Viserys. "I repeat, where is my daughter? You were with her earlier."

"She went to see her mother and I came to wish Gwayne luck," said Daenys, motioning for him to be calm. "She'll be here." She darted past him, quickly occupying herself with greeting Rhaenys, Corlys, their children, and Aemma's young cousin Jeyne Arryn.

"Be welcome!" called Viserys once he was ready for them to begin. "I know many of you have traveled long leagues to be at these games. But I promise you, you will not be disappointed. When I look at the fine knights in these lists, I see a group without equal in our histories. And this great day has been made more auspicious–" He paused, indicating to Daenys that Rhaenyra had arrived, his eyes following her as she rushed to sit beside her aunt in the front row, "That I am happy to share: Queen Aemma has begun her labors!"

They all clapped enthusiastically. Daenys whispered a silent prayer, hoping that if this was truly a boy, that he be born quickly so that Aemma might stop feeling that awful discomfort she'd endured the past months. "May the luck of the Seven shine upon all combatants!" called Viserys.

"Glad you could make it, little dragon," said Daenys to Rhaenyra, smirking and reaching over to assess the braids she'd given her that morning: a coil around her head. She'd helped her choose a smooth red dress, etched with dragons, flames, birds, and wind with a nearly transparent white collar, fitting for the girl they called the Realm's Delight, growing more beautiful with each year.

"I wish to sit with Mother," whispered Rhaenyra. "I will grow bored here."

"The tourney will make time pass quickly. Before we know it, we'll be called into her chambers to meet your little sibling."

Rhaenyra clutched her hands together, "My little Visenya, I so hope."

The jousting began. The first two knights slammed into one another, a messy affair that Daenys never really enjoyed. Rhaenyra and Alicent were clapping politely, but she leaned back, bored. She'd rather the tourneys didn't use horses; it hurt them so severely at times. If they really wanted to test strength, they'd have one-on-one combat throughout the entire thing. Someone could get lucky jousting, or simply pull tricks. If the horses were set aside, she'd participate to duel against the men and humiliate one or two who needed to be humbled.

"A mystery knight?" she heard Rhaenyra ask as one emerged victorious.

"No, a Cole, of the Stormlands," said Alicent.

"I've never heard of House Cole," said Rhaenyra simply.

The next contestant, also from the Stormlands, came forward. "Princess Rhaenys Targaryen," called Lord Boremund Baratheon, "I would humbly ask for the favor of 'The Queen Who Never Was.'"

Daenys peeked back at her brother, finding it insulting that she would be called that in front of everyone. There was no need to rub it in. If it were up to her, she would have punished him for it. Her cousin answered with grace, "Good fortune to you, cousin."

"I would gladly take it," said Boremund, "if I thought I needed it."

"You could have Baratheon's tongue for that," she heard Otto quietly into Viserys's ear.

"Tongues will not change the succession," said Viserys in response. Daenys rolled her eyes to herself, annoyed with the way he and Daemon thought of these things. No, the succession would not change, but how would opinions ever shift if he didn't demonstrate that a firstborn's right should hold regardless of sex?

The drums began to beat. Alicent and Rhaenyra paid almost no heed, finding it more fun to gossip. "Lord Stokeworth's daughter is promised to that young Tarly squire," whispered Rhaenyra, nodding her head toward a young boy.

"Lord Massey's son?" said Alicent, bewildered.

"Mhm. They're to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood."

Alicent made a face, "Best get on with it. I heard that Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly beneath her dress."

"And word has it," said Daenys, leaning in to add her scoop, "the babe isn't the Massey boy's child."

Rhaenyra and Alicent giggled. "Enough gossip, you will be heard," said Daenys, pushing their heads together playfully. "You're both old enough to be watched closely at these tourneys. You don't want the wrong person to hear you saying such things."

The 'mystery' Cole knight had just gone up again, unseating Boremund Baratheon. Daenys smiled back at Rhaenys, who was already laughing about it with her husband. Rhaenyra beckoned Ser Harrold Westerling forward, "What do you know about this Ser Criston Cole, Ser Harrold?"

The knight replied, "I'm told Ser Criston is common-born, son of Lord Dondarrion's steward. But other than that, and the fact that he's just unhorsed both of the Baratheon lads, I really couldn't say."

The next group of contestants was brought out, and Daenys leaned forward eagerly seeing Gwayne among them. "Prince Daemon of House Targaryen," said the Master of Revels, "Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent."

Daemon rode out, clad in a Valyrian steel helm with dragon wings between which trailed red and black feathers down his neck. He glanced up at Daenys then chose to stop right in front of Gwayne, causing her jaw to tighten. "For his first challenge," said the Master of Revels, "Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King."

Rhaenyra held Alicent's hand to comfort her. Daenys looked back at Otto, who had tensed, hand clenching tight at the armrest of his chair. This wasn't going to be a fair fight at all; Daemon was sure to win and Ser Gwayne would suffer the consequences of Daemon's unrelenting anger toward her and Otto.

The first tilt was fine— Gwayne did as she expected and nearly knocked Daemon off his horse, his lance tossed aside. She smiled to herself and clapped, but her joy was wiped away moments later when Daemon drove his lance right into the hooves of Gwayne's horse. It fell, throwing Gwayne off, his helmet gone flying and leaving him to scrape his face hard in the dirt. Daenys shook her head sadly, reaching out to take Alicent's hands and stop her from picking at her cuticles. They could see Gwayne's bloody face clearly as maesters pulled him aside.

Daemon rode up, an immediate invitation for Rhaenyra to greet him at the edge of the railing. He glared past her shoulder at Daenys, who turned away from him. "Nicely done, Uncle," said Rhaenyra, joined by Alicent.

"Thank you, Princess," said Daemon. "Now, I'm fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it."

Alicent smiled shyly, returning to her seat to fetch her favor. She gave a quick look to her father, who appeared to be silently judging her. Daemon knew what he was doing; Alicent couldn't very well refuse. "Good luck, my Prince," said Alicent, dropping her favor politely over his sword.

Daemon smirked, holding it up and winking at his sister, who rolled her eyes. Perhaps she'd need to threaten him with something to make him never again extend his rage toward Otto's children. She looked behind her as she sensed movement, wondering why her brother was leaving.

"Everything alright?" asked Daenys to Otto, the girls still blissfully unaware.

"Yes, Princess," said Otto calmly, getting to his feet. He'd always been a careful man, calculating and never having outbursts the way she and Daemon tended to have. Still, it didn't mean she could be put at ease simply because he was. If he was particularly calm, it meant he was trying to maintain his composure. She knew him well enough to know something was wrong.

She couldn't pay attention to the rest of the tourney. Knights beat into each other, spectators threw up, heads were split open. Daenys had a feeling that something was amiss and they were being lied to. She tried to fight the urge to get to her feet and rush right back to the Red Keep to see what was going on. She was meant to be here, supervising Rhaenyra. Maybe all it meant was that the baby had been born. Maybe Aemma had even had twins; a boy and a girl so Rhaenyra might have her Visenya but Viserys would still have the male heir he wanted so badly.

"Ser Criston Cole will now tilt against Ser Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the City!" announced the Master of Revels.

This was it. If Daemon won, she would rush back to the Red Keep to see what had happened. There wouldn't be anything else left for her to watch; the tourney was no more entertaining now than it had been at the start.

Daemon was knocked aside, snapping her out of her thoughts. His body dragged against the middle rail, knocking him off his horse. He stood angrily, demanding his sword. The Master of Revels spoke over the cheering crowd, "Prince Daemon Targaryen wishes to continue in a contest of arms!"

He stormed toward Ser Criston, who was armed with a mace and chain. Ser Criston was certainly giving the Prince some trouble. They knocked each other back and forth, and Daemon suddenly thought himself victorious, spreading his arms wide, but was knocked down one last time. Ser Criston demanded he yield, and he did.

The knight removed his helm, striding to where Rhaenyra and Alicent had already approached the railing. "Gods, he's Dornish!" whispered Alicent.

"I was hoping to ask for the Princess's favor," said Ser Criston, blood dribbling down his mouth.

Daenys passed Rhaenyra her favor so she might toss it to him. "I wish you luck, Ser Criston."

"Princess," he replied, grinning tiredly.

She sensed another ripple of movement behind her. Otto had returned, and was now whispering in the ears of the other Small Council members, as well as the Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys Velaryon.

"What's happened?" asked Daenys immediately, rushing over to them. "Where is my brother?"

"Daenys," said Otto tightly. "Bring Princess Rhaenyra."

She turned around, grabbing her by the hand. "Come, come quickly," she said worriedly. "Has the babe been born? Did it– did it survive?"

Otto waited until they were a few paces away from the rest of the people in the tent to say, "The Queen is dead."

Nothing Daenys said could take away Rhaenyra's pain. How could it? Daenys had mourned a mother she never knew; it was easier, in a way. She couldn't remember her touch and she wouldn't miss it. But Rhaenyra had known Aemma her whole life, shared her with no one else.

The worst part was knowing how she died. Viserys had asked Grand Maester Mellos to cut the babe out. He had a son, Baelon, who lived for less than a day. All his efforts to keep his heir, his willingness to cut his own wife open and leave her to die, culminated in nothing. He had no heir. Rhaenyra had no brother or mother.

She remembered her grandsire telling her the story of his sister Rhaena's threat to Rogar Baratheon after he butchered Queen Alyssa in the same way to birth Rhaenys's mother, Jocelyn. She would have liked to twist Rhaena's words onto Viserys, "Her blood is on your hands. Her blood is on your cock. May you die screaming. She gave you one daughter, that should have been enough. Save my wife, you should have said, but what are wives to men like you? Do not think to wed again. If I should hear even a whisper of you taking some other poor maid to wife, I will make another Harrenhal of this Red Keep, with you and her inside it."

But this was her brother. And she'd been here at his side longer than even Daemon, longer than their own father and mother. If Daenys did not go to him, none other would be there to comfort him. Daemon was already gone and Rhaenyra would not see him. She wished she were more like Rhaena, but could not do so seeing Viserys so distraught.

So, in his hour of greatest need, rather than snarl at him for robbing Rhaenyra of her mother and she of her dear cousin, she held him as he sobbed, clinging to Aemma's hand and keeping the Silent Sisters from doing their work. She knew he felt guilt; she had to let him feel it. She had to be there to keep him upright and dry his eyes before he returned to face his Council.

She kept looking around over Viserys's shoulder, expecting Daemon to come. He didn't. Surely he knew they were there, surely this was more important than rushing out to drink. Yet, he did not arrive. Daenys alone shouldered the burden of hugging Viserys as he cried and repeating the process with Rhaenyra soon after.

They gathered on the cliffs the following day. It was only those closest in court. The members of the Small Council, their immediate families, and the absolute most influential men and women who had come to King's Landing for the tourney. A tourney turned into a funeral.

Daenys stood beside Rhaenyra, holding her hand tightly. Viserys was lost in his own mind, staring at the pyre and the two bodies wrapped and soon to be unrecognizable. Syrax awaited on the other side of the hill for a command that Rhaenyra could not give.

Daemon came closer when he saw Rhaenyra had not made any move. "They're all waiting for you."

"Ñurho valonqro paghyro jēdunna," murmured Rhaenyra, "lo tolijī kepa ñuha kirimvī rhēdos pendan." (T: I wonder if, during those few hours my brother lived, my father finally found happiness.)

"Kepa aōha avy sīr ojūdo tubiro toliot jorrāelza." (T: Your father needs you more now than he ever has.)

"Trēsy dōrī kesan." (T: I will never be a son.) She looked at King Viserys, who offered no comfort. She stepped forward, unable to speak at first. At last, she burst out, "Dracarys."

Syrax crawled forward, igniting the pyre. Rhaenyra looked away, face contorted in pain. "Whenever you are ready, little dragon," said Daenys, putting her arm around Rhaenyra. "We don't need to stay here if you do not wish to." She nodded, letting her aunt lead her away.

She held the girl as she sobbed, the two curled up on Rhaenyra's bed. Daenys had brought one of Aemma's gowns for Rhaenyra to hug, her mother's scent still lingering. For how much longer, neither knew. Daenys stroked her hair, rocking her back and forth and urging her to get out all the tears that she could. She had reason to cry as well, mourning her sweet and gentle cousin, remembering how things used to be, and realizing that she no longer remembered what her father's voice had sounded like. Would Rhaenyra forget Aemma's, too? Worse, had Alicent already forgotten Alyrie's?

"Please do not leave me," whispered Rhaenyra weakly. "Stay in King's Landing."

"I won't be going anywhere, my little dragon," Daenys promised. "I will be right here with you. All of us will be."

And yet with each year of her life, Daenys had watched people come and go. She'd grown up in a lively castle filled with the people she shared this bond with, so many of them there who spoke a common language and carried the same fire within. As of late, the amount of people she felt that connection to kept diminishing.

Would they die out in her lifetime?