chapter ten,
the last supper — 132 AC.

THE warmth of the wine slid down her throat, blending with the cool metal of Valyria's rings as her fingers wrapped around the golden cup. The dining hall loomed around her, imposing with its high ceilings and massive chandeliers, their candles casting a flickering, golden light that danced across the stone walls. A soft hum buzzed through her body, and her violet eyes held a honeyed glaze, dulling the storm of thoughts that usually raged within her mind.

The table was set with an array of fine plates and silverware, silver goblets brimming with rich wine at each place, as if to ease the heavy tension hanging over the feast. Valyria sat in silence, her fingers absentmindedly picking at the emerald sleeves of her dress—one she changed into half an hour ago, having no strength to argue over the choice of color. She kept thinking about the look in her handmaidens eye when the girl spotted the handprints around her neck.

It was safe to say that Valyria was grateful for the high collar. Though the marks had faded, it did not stop her from feeling the pressure all over again, the memory making her tense once more. Her grip tightened around the cup, and her eyes snapped to her father. Daemon, seated across the table, quickly met her stare. A thick, heavy tension coiled between them, choking the air.

She was... angry. He recognized the sight for it had become a familiar one within his own features. More than anything, he saw himself within his daughter and that, that he hated. To think a dragonless girl chained to a cage was a product of himself. Yet this was his doing. A girl of nine and ten with two children on her hips, trapped in a castle with nowhere to go. He did this to her.

Daemon watched as Aegon's arms curled around her shoulders, the prince bending to press a kiss to the side of her head before taking the seat beside her. The smile that tugged at her lips was tight, but it fit her as if it belonged there. In that moment, she became someone Daemon no longer recognized—someone who was not him, not Rhea, but only Valyria. Perhaps that was why she seemed so unfamiliar. He did not know his daughter.

A distance lay between Valyria and her half-sisters, an unspoken chasm. At one end of the table, Baela and Rhaena sat with their newly betrothed, while the other end was claimed by the one-eyed Aemond Targaryen, Helaena leaning over the table before him, conversing with their grandsire, the Hand. Beside of him, his daughter, the Queen.

The truth was, Valyria found little to discuss with her sisters, except for her sons. But even that brought her no comfort now, not with the memory of the threat Daemon had so carelessly thrown in her face. The moment the words left his lips, she wanted to burn him alive. He had taken so many things from her already. Had she not sacrificed enough?

A hand squeezed her thigh through the fabric of her dress, drawing her back to the present. She glanced down, recognizing the familiar rings on Aegon's fingers. Steeling herself, Valyria forced a tight-lipped smile and raised the cup to her lips once more.

She did not want to feel. Or think, for that matter.

Around her, the family's servants moved with practiced precision, placing trays of ripe fruits and freshly baked breads across the table, refilling goblets with dark, rich wine. The feast had yet to truly begin, a thick silence hanging in the air, filling the space meant for the King. The one between Rhaenyra and Alicent—a void that only amplified the tension in the room.

When the heavy doors finally creaked open to announce his presence, each body in attendance instinctively rose to their feet. Valyria was the last to stand, her gaze fixed on the cold stone tiles beneath her feet. The distant clinking of the guards' armor echoed in her mind, each sound prodding at her unease. She rolled her shoulders and exhaled softly, unable to shake the disquiet that settled over her. Being in the same room with all of them—it felt like a recipe for disaster.

She wondered where Aerion was. Why he was not here, with them. His family. Though this should not take Valyria by surprise, after all, this was the man that had forsaken the throne to hide away in the North. He told her she would see him again. When the blood moon rises.

As the guards carefully placed Viserys into the empty space at the table, Valyria slipped back into her seat before anyone else, her movements almost mechanical. She crossed her legs beneath the table, fingers tightening around her cup as she took another sip of wine. The liquid was warm and slightly bitter on her tongue (much like the emotions she struggled to suppress).

Aemond's violet eye was fixed on her, a silent observer from the head of the table. He watched her with an intensity that made her skin prickle, though she didn't meet his gaze. Aegon, too preoccupied with pouring himself another cup, remained oblivious, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he returned to his chair.

Helaena was seated on the other side of their husband, whereas next to Valyria sat Jacaerys Velayron, the line ending with Baela. The other side of the table was claimed by Rhaenyra and Daemon with Lucerys and Rhaena at the opposite head, their chairs placed alongside one another. The only person missing was the Princess Rhaenys, who chose to oversee the Silent Sisters process with Vaemond, avoiding the gathering altogether. Valyria envied her.

When she finally lifted her gaze, she found herself staring directly into the hollow eye of the King. Viserys looked more a specter than a man, his golden mask covering the decaying half of his face, silver hair hanging in thin, stringy strands from his balding scalp. She could still remember when she was young, when he was there for her in ways her father wasn't—offering kindness and guidance.

But even then, she knew his love was not for her, not for any of his children except Rhaenyra. But she was Daemon's child. And the King loved his brother.

"How good it is..." Viserys breathed, his voice rasping as his eyes lingered on each face around the table, "to see you all tonight. Together."

Gods, what Valyria would give for that not to be so.

"Prayer before we begin?" Alicent suggested, her fingers brushing tenderly across her husband's forearm as he nodded in agreement. A soft, practiced smile curled on her lips as she closed her eyes. Aemond and Helaena followed suit, their heads bowing. But Valyria did not. Nor did Aegon. She simply clasped her hands together in her lap, her expression carefully neutral as the Queen began her prayer.

"May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the Gods give him rest."

At this, Valyria noticed a warmth in her father's features, his lips twitching into a slight smile. She caught Otto Hightower's subtle shake of the head, not directed at her father but at the failure of his own plans. The Hand's disappointment was almost palpable, a shadow of frustration crossing his face.

Viserys cleared his throat weakly, the sound rattling through the room like the last breath of a dying man. "This is an occasion for celebration," he began, his voice carrying the weight of both sickness and sorrow. "My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses." The King raised his goblet, the motion slow and labored. "A toast to the young Princes and their betrothed."

"Hear, hear," Daemon echoed, his voice light as he clinked his glass against the table.

Valyria sighed, the sound barely audible amidst the murmurs of the gathering. She lifted her own cup, this time taking a larger gulp, feeling the warmth of the Red Arbor sliding down her throat. It did little to ease the tension knotted in her chest.

Aegon, ever observant in his own careless way, glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He watched as his second wife refilled her golden cup with wine yet again, her hands steady. His gaze shifted to Jacaerys, who was also watching Valyria—though with a concerned intensity.

Aegon's brows furrowed, a flicker of jealousy sparking in his eyes. He instinctively shifted his chair closer to Valyria, draping his arm possessively over the back of her seat as he leaned in, his words aimed at his nephew.

"Well done, Jace. You'll finally get to lie with a woman."

Valyria's heart clenched at Aegon's remark, her grip tightening around her goblet. She could feel the weight of Jacaerys' gaze on her, anger flickering in his eyes.

But before he could respond, Viserys' voice cut through the tension like a dull blade.

"Let us toast as well, Prince Lucerys," the King interrupted, his tone leaving no room for dispute. "The future Lord of the Tides."

Valyria's eyes drifted toward Aemond, who sat further down the table. He raised his cup to Lucerys, the gesture outwardly courteous but void of warmth. She wondered if there was any sincerity behind it. Every day, she saw him become a man who craved power as much as he feared being seen as weak. She often found herself wondering just how far he would go to claim the Iron Throne for himself.

"Valyria," Aegon's voice was softer now, a whisper meant only for her ears, though it was clear Jacaerys had heard it as well. "Ask our cousin if he knows how the act is done. At least in principle, that is," he teased, his knee pressing against hers under the table. "Where to put his cock and all that, you know how it goes."

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she was at a loss for words. The smirk on Aegon's face was all too familiar, a look she had seen countless times—a mixture of arrogance and mischief, with a hint of something darker. "I will not-" she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jacaerys intervened before she could say more, his voice laced with irritation. "He can play the jester if he so wishes, cousin, but he will hold his tongue before my betrothed," Jacaerys' tone was measured, though the anger beneath was unmistakable. "As he should hold it before you."

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor broke the tense silence that followed. Valyria's stare snapped to Viserys, who was struggling to rise from his seat. Every movement seemed to sap what little strength he had left. Finally, with a labored breath, he stood, his hands gripping his cane for support.

"It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table," Viserys began, his voice trembling with emotion. "The faces most dear to me in all the world... yet grown so distant from each other in the years past." His hand, skeletal and trembling, reached for the strap of his mask.

As it fell away, the full extent of his decay was revealed.

The empty socket where his right eye had once been seemed to stare into nothingness, the skin around it a grotesque tapestry of rot and decay. The sight made Valyria's stomach churn, she averted her eyes, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to maintain her composure.

This was her uncle, her blood, yet the sight of him filled her with a deep, gnawing discomfort. Guilt twisted in her gut. He was once a respected King with a voice that was heard, turned into a soul who could hardly lift his head. A head that carried the crown.

"My face is no longer a handsome one... if indeed it ever was," Viserys continued, his voice softening with each word. "But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your father. Your brother. Your husband." His gaze moved from Rhaenyra to Daemon, then to Alicent, lingering on each of them as if trying to etch their faces into his memory. "And your grandsire. Who may not, it seems... walk for much longer among you."

The King placed his mask on the table, the metal clinking softly against the wood as he sat back down, his strength nearly spent.

"Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided," Viserys implored, his voice growing weaker. "Set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly."

Valyria swallowed hard, the taste of wine still on her tongue. She felt a pang of sorrow for her uncle before her, so frail and broken, yet still trying to hold his family together with what little strength he had left. But deep down, she knew that the fractures ran too deep, the wounds too fresh. Their house was teetering on the edge, and no amount of pleading could truly bring them back from the brink.

Rhaenyra rose gracefully from her chair, slender fingers wrapped delicately around the stem of her wine glass. Her gaze, intense and unwavering, locked onto Alicent Hightower, whose face was a mask of practiced serenity.

"I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen," She began, voice measured with a quiet strength. There was a brief pause as she weighed her words, her violet eyes piercing through the tension that lingered in the room. "I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood... more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude... and my apology."

The princess's voice softened as she lowered herself back into her seat, the words settling into the air like a balm, easing the strain that had been tightening around the room. A heavy silence followed, broken only by the distant crackle of the hearths fire.

It was then that Valyria felt compelled to speak. For what reason, she could not say.

The wine she had consumed lent her a false sense of courage, but her movements were less so. The wooden legs of her chair scraped against the cold stone tiles as she stood. Her balance faltered slightly, and she gripped the edge of the table to steady herself, the liquid in her cup swirling dangerously close to the brim.

Aegon reached out instinctively, his hand finding the small of her back, steadying her against the dizziness.

Valyria took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the table before they landed on Rhaenyra. "I also offer an apology," she began. The wine had loosened her tongue. "I understand we all have... priorities to attend to," she continued, her words carefully chosen, though they carried a tone of bitterness that was difficult to mask. "You've done well with Dragonstone, as you will do well with the crown."

She smiled softly, but the expression felt forced, a mere shadow of what she truly felt. She knew what those words meant—what they implied for the future. Rhaenyra would sit the throne, yes. As would Aegon. But at what cost?

Rhaenyra, for her part, accepted the words with a gracious nod, her own features showing nothing but gratitude. But Valyria could feel the burning intensity of her father's gaze. He hadn't taken his eyes off her, stare probing, searching for some sign of weakness, some hint of her true intentions. It was as if his very presence was searing into her soul, dissecting every word she spoke, every breath she took.

As Valyria reclaimed her seat, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the blood rushing in her ears. But the moment passed, and all eyes turned to Alicent.

The Queen, always composed, allowed herself a rare, genuine smile as she regarded Rhaenyra. "Your graciousness moves me deeply, princess," Alicent said, voice soft. "We are both mothers, and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow." With that, she rose from her seat, holding her cup aloft, gaze now firmly on Rhaenyra. "I raise my cup to you. And to your house. You will make a fine Queen."

A ripple of surprise crossed the room, subtle but present, and Valyria caught the briefest flicker of disapproval in Otto's eyes as he looked at his daughter. It was a silent exchange, a moment that spoke volumes to those who knew how to listen. Otto Hightower had no intention of allowing Rhaenyra to sit the Iron Throne, and neither did the men of the small council—save for the aged Lord Beesbury, whose loyalty to the rightful heir was well known. Valyria knew this truth all too well, and it settled like a stone in her gut.

But before she could dwell on it further, her thoughts were interrupted by Aegon's sudden movement. He rose from his chair with a languid grace, hand trailing possessively across her shoulders as he moved around the table. His path was deliberate, his intentions clear as he approached the wine carrier situated between Baela and Jacaerys. His actions were unnecessary—there was a carrier within easy reach of Valyria—but Aegon never did anything without purpose.

He came to a stop beside Baela, his expression a mix of arrogance, which made Valyria's stomach twist in unease. His hand gripped the wine carrier, filling his cup in a practiced manner as he turned to Baela, voice low but carrying enough volume to reach Valyria's ears. "I, um..." He began, the hesitation in his voice belied by the cruel smirk playing on his lips.

"I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know of true satisfaction, you need only ask your sister. Should you ever find it within yourself to speak to her." His words dripped with venom, a calculated insult wrapped in the thin vale of a jest.

For Valyria, the tension that had once dispersed returned like a viper ready to strike. Her gaze flickered to Baela, who had gone rigid with a barely concealed anger, and then to Jace, whose fists clenched white-knuckled against the table. He then slammed them onto the surface, the plates and silver clattering at the harsh movement as he stood.

Before the situation could escalate further, Valyria found herself moving, body acting on instinct. Around Aegon, she had become trained on how to deal with him. After so many instances, it was engraved into her mind. So, she rose to her feet, the word "Okay." being a firm one as she reached his side, hand curling around his arm. A chuckle fell from Aegon's lips at Jace's reaction, but this sound was only met by a cool, controlled stare from his wife.

"Come on." She urged, guiding Aegon back to his chair with a tight squeeze. Simply a subtle assertion of control in a situation that could so easily spiral out of it.

As she led him back, Valyria could feel the weight of the room's eyes on them— especially Jacaerys, whose stare followed them to their seats. There was a silent judgement attached to it, one that burned into her back. But it did not bother Aegon as he allowed himself to be seated, his arrogance momentarily tempered by Valyria's presence. She gently patted his shoulders, a gesture that was both soothing and a silent command to stay seated. He understood this.

Whether or not he would listen would be up to the gods.

As she returned to her place at the table, she noticed that Aemond had stood as well, his single violet eye resting upon Jacaerys. It was a test, a challenge issued without words. And Jace met it with a glare, tensed like a bowstring ready to snap. Aemond remained still— his expression an unreadable one.

Settling in between Aegon and Jace, Valyria instinctively reached for her goblet, fingers curling around the cool metal. She raised it to her lips, the wine rich and heady as it slid down her throat.

A hand gently rested against her right shoulder. She looked up to find Jacaerys standing beside her, his face full of forced composure. A tight-lipped smile curved around his lips, his hand squeezing her shoulder softly.

The gesture did not go unnoticed. Aegon's stare snapped to the sight within seconds, his violet eyes narrowing as he fixated on Jace's hand on Valyria's shoulder.

Jacaerys, unaware or perhaps unconcerned, raised his goblet of wine, his voice clear and steady as he spoke. "To Prince Aegon and..." he hesitated, his gaze flicking to the head of the table where Aemond stood. "Prince Aemond." His voice was carefully measured, "We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth." His hand remained on Valyria's shoulder as he continued, "And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles."

Around the table, several cups were raised, though some hovered uncertainly in the air, their bearers confused by the unexpected toast.

And then, without warning, the scent of the sea filled Valyria's senses, sharp and briny as if she were standing on the shores of Dragonstone. The warmth of Jace's hand became a cold grip, the room around her fading into darkness. It was as if she had been plunged into a pitch-black void, the world narrowing until there was no one but herself in that endless abyss. The sounds of the feast dimmed to nothing, replaced by the distant roar of waves crashing against rocks.

In that moment, she was no longer in the Great Hall. She was somewhere else, somewhere far more terrifying. Green and black banners flapped in a fierce wind, torn and tattered, their colors clashing violently in the stormy skies above. The Gullet loomed before her, the narrow strait churning with dark, treacherous waters. Overhead, dragons circled, their massive wings casting shadows on the sea below. And then, in a horrifying instant, she saw one of those dragons plummet from the sky, its rider—a boy she knew too well—falling with it into the cold, unforgiving ocean.

Jace leapt from the saddle.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, the vision ended. She was back in the Great Hall, the warmth of the fire and the murmur of voices washing over her like a distant echo. Jace's hand squeezed her shoulder once more, grounding her in the present. She looked up to see a flash of concern in his brown eyes.

"Beware the beast beneath the boards," came a whisper, soft and haunting, like the rustle of leaves in the wind. Valyria's knew the voice like the back of her hand—Helaena, seated on the other side of Aegon. The princess's quiet words tore through her mind like a jagged blade.

Valyria forced herself to ignore it. She offered Jacaerys a small, strained smile before turning away, pretending as if nothing had happened as his hand fell from her shoulder.

"Well done, my boy," Viserys said warmly, a weak smile spreading across his face.

Helaena, her expression serene and slightly distant as always, reached for her cup and slowly rose to her feet. The movement was graceful, yet laced with a kind of absentmindedness that was characteristic of her.

She held her goblet delicately, almost as if she were unsure of what to do with it. "I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena," she began, soft voice ringing out clearly across the hall with a smile, sweet and innocent, curled on her lips. "They'll be married soon. It isn't so bad when there are two of you," she continued, "Mostly, he just ignores you."

Her fingers played absently with the rim of her cup as she spoke, "Except sometimes when he's drunk," Helaena added, her smile growing a little wider, "That's when he mistakes me for Valyria."

Valyria pursed her lips, eyeing the half-empty cup in her grasp. When the sound of her father chuckling at Helaena's toast reached her ears, she soon found herself refilling it— having downed the rich liquid in one fell swoop. What could she say? It was a sound that grated against her nerves.

Aegon, seated between his wives, merely let out a deep sigh, his hands clasping together over his face as he inched further into his chair. Helaena let out a soft, almost childlike laugh, stretching her arms with a giddy grin before sinking back into her seat, strange toast successfully delivered.

The musicians seated in the back of the Great Hall, sensitive to the mood of their betters, began to play a light, delicate tune. The soft strains of the music filled the air, but for Valyria, it was little more than background noise. She wished, more than anything, to disappear, to melt away into the shadows where no one could see her, as she did in the small council.

She straightened in her chair, spine rigid, wine glass perched in her grasp. Her gaze followed Jacaerys as he rose from his seat, movements purposeful as he passed by her.

He approached Helaena, who was seemingly oblivious to the awkward silence her toast had left in its wake. He paused before her, offering her his hand with a respectful nod. There was a moment of hesitation as Helaena looked at his outstretched hand, her head tilting slightly in curiosity.

It took a moment for her to realize what he was offering—a dance. Her eyes lit up with recognition, a small, genuine smile breaking across her face as she placed her hand in his.

The family watched in silence as the young prince led his aunt to the center of the room. The musicians, sensing the shift in mood, adjusted their tune, melody becoming more lively. As Jacaerys guided Helaena into the first steps of the dance, Valyria could only watch, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips.

Servants began to deliver sets of fine dishes and roasted meats to the table and slowly, conversations flowing more freely between the family. The weight of the earlier tension had begun to lift, though as always, it would not last long.

Valyria felt a gentle tug on her left arm, drawing her attention to Aegon. "If I were to ask you—would you dance with me?" His words carried the familiar sound of need, that quiet desperation for validation he so often sought from her.

Setting her glass down, Valyria turned in her seat to face him fully. Her gaze was steady, analyzing him. "Do you wish to dance with me, or do you wish to be seen dancing with me?" she asked, "And lastly—can you even dance?"

His pride fractured, a defensive scoff leaving him, though it lacked true conviction. "Of course I can. What would you rather do? Dance with Luke, perhaps?" He scooted closer to her, the loose strands of his silver hair falling forward to frame his face, eyes searching hers. "Or do you just enjoy keeping me on edge?"

Valyria let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, drifting away from him to scan the room. The feast was lively, a scene of false warmth and joy. Baela and Luke sat nearby, their faces bright with laughter. Across the hall, Rhaenyra and her father shared the same expressions, all oblivious to the fates that awaited them.

"Do us all a favor and ensure he cannot carry the weight."

Daemon's voice echoed in her mind, a command that had shaped the last six years of her life. The burden of those words sat heavily on her.

She turned her attention back to Aegon, taking in the sight of him—his eyes rimmed red from exhaustion and too much wine, his hand clinging to her arm. This was a sight she had grown all too familiar with, one their children had come to know. Because she did not care to change it.

In another life, perhaps things could have been different. Perhaps they could have found happiness, or at least something close to it. But in this life, the one chosen for her, this was her reality.

Her voice, when she finally spoke, was soft but firm. "Perhaps I'm simply not in the mood to play tonight."

Aegon's jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed he might push the issue further. But then he simply leaned back in his chair, his hand slipping from her arm. "As you wish." He muttered, though the hurt in his voice was undeniable.

A sudden rush of pain overtook King Viserys, causing him to leave the feast. Valyria remained seated, though her gut twisted with deep uncertainty as she watched the guards carry the frail King past her. Her violet eyes lingered on his figure, tracking him until he disappeared through the grand doors of the hall. The moment he was out of sight, servants bustled in, their entrance timed with almost eerie precision, bearing a roasted pig atop a gleaming silver platter.

The pig was placed directly in front of Aemond. A quiet laugh slipped from the lips of Lucerys Velaryon.

The delicate melody of the instruments came to a screeching halt as Aemond's fist slammed against the table. Valyria's assessing stare snapped to him. This was not just any laugh—this was Lucerys, the boy who had taken Aemond's eye, now mocking him over a roasted pig.

The same creature that had once been used to humiliate the once dragonless prince.

Aemond's face twisted into a sneer as he stood, lifting his cup. "Final tribute," he began, "To the health of my nephews: Jace..." He turned, locking eyes with the older boy who had since paused his dance with Helaena. Aemond continued, his words dripping with malice. "Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise... hm..."

He hesitated, and in that moment, Valyria saw a flash of something in his single eye—a contemplation, a choice. Her gaze shifted briefly to Jacaerys, who had moved closer.

"Strong."

"Aemond..." Alicent's voice cut through the tension, sharp and filled with warning.

But Aemond pressed on, his smile cold and triumphant as he raised his cup higher. "Come, let us drain our cups to these three... Strong boys."

Aegon, ever the provocateur, seized the moment, grabbing Valyria's hand, lifting it along with his own goblet in a show of solidarity with his brother's taunt. She glanced at Aegon, her expression hardening into one of disapproval as she pulled her hand out of his grasp. She caught the flash of defiance in his eyes. He was goading her now, testing her. But here, in this setting, his actions felt like kindling thrown onto an already blazing fire.

"I dare you to say that again," Jacaerys challenged, stepping forward.

Aemond turned to face him, a dangerous look in his eye. "Why? 'Twas only a compliment," he replied, his words edged with a cruel mockery as he closed the distance between them. "Do you not think yourself Strong?"

The tension snapped like a bowstring. Jacaerys' fist flew through the air, his knuckles connecting with the side of Aemond's face in a solid, resounding crack. Aemond barely flinched, his body absorbing the blow with ease as a smile curled around his lips— harshly shoving Jace to the floor.

The hall erupted. A clatter rang out from the far end of the table, and before Valyria could fully process what was happening, Aegon had lunged from his seat, ramming into Lucerys. The two boys collided with the table, sending platters of fruit and goblets of wine crashing to the floor.

"Jace!" Rhaenyra's voice rang out, filled with maternal fury.

"That is enough!" Alicent's command was sharp, but it only fell on deaf ears.

Valyria's reaction was a swift one, she raised from her chair and moved towards the scuffle, hand darting out to grab Aegon by the ear, pinching it with a sharpness that forced a yelp of pain from her husband. Aegon staggered back, his hand instinctively swatting at her grip, but Valyria's hold was firm, her strength surprising for someone who so often faded into the background.

She yanked him back, pulling him behind her with a forceful tug. Aegon stumbled, his hand falling from Lucerys, who had been moments away from another shove into the now-disheveled feast.

"Why would you say such a thing to these people?" Alicent's voice cut through the tension, directed towards Aemomd. Valyria caught the sharpness in her mother-in-law's question, even as her own thoughts spun with the chaos that had ensued.

Helaena moved to her side, her touch gentle but firm as she guided Aegon away. The princess's fingers brushed against Valyria's arm, a silent touch of reassurance. Helaena directed Aegon towards Otto, who had been watching the scene unfold with a calculating gaze, his eyes resting in a silent judgment.

Aemond, however, remained unfazed, his expression a detached one as he turned to address his mother. "I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother." His voice was smooth, a hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he added, "Mm, though it seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs."

Alicent's frown deepened, but before she could retort, Aemond began to move. He stepped away from his mother, closing the distance between himself and Valyria. Behind her, she could hear the scuffle of boots on stone as Jace and Luke attempted to lunge forward again, their anger still burning bright.

The hall fell into a tense silence, broken only by the commanding voice of Daemon Targaryen.

"Wait, wait." Daemon's words were calm, yet carried the weight of authority. Valyria watched as her father raised a single finger, his gesture halting Jacaerys in his tracks. He positioned himself directly in front of his stepson, blocking his path.

Valyria's throat tightened as Dameon turned, his gaze shifting from Jacaerys to her and Aemond. His eyes narrowed as he took in the scene before him, a testing smile curling comfortably around his lips.

For a brief, torturous moment, Daemon's eyes locked with his daughters, his expression inscrutable. Her heart pounded in her chest as she held his stare, her nails digging into her palms with such force she half expected to draw blood.

She could feel his scrutiny, the weight of his expectations pressing down on her, demanding a response she was unwilling to give.

Rhaenyra stepped forward then, joining her husband. Her presence only seemed to intensify the standoff, her gaze sweeping over the scene with a mother's protective instinct. Their children gathered silently behind them, yet, one was missing, placed on the other side of the chess board.

The tension was suffocating, a coil tightening around her ribs, and Valyria could bear it no longer. With a final, strained glance at her father, she ripped her gaze away, her stomach twisting in a painful knot. Turning on her heel, she made her exit, the heavy doors looming before her like a dark escape.

An escape to the fate that haunted her.

—
5970