Rhaenyra's heart was broken.

Amalia hadn't heard anything about her until the following afternoon, when Otto told her that Rhaenyra had arrived unexpectedly on Dragonstone atop Syrax. She'd convinced Daemon to return the egg, and somehow even had him leave the island entirely. King Viserys had been upset with her, for she might've gotten herself killed, but according to her father, was able to speak with her seriously about this impending marriage.

(Amalia felt as stressed when she found out, thinking of what might've happened to Rhaenyra. Daemon was unpredictable. To have put herself in a position where he might've slain her was a risk she shouldn't have taken. She thought of how she'd now be Rhaenyra's stepmother, expected to speak to her as firmly as she always had in matters of security. Except, now, the girl would see it differently.)

It did not appear, however, that he'd told Rhaenyra who it was he intended to marry. He told Otto, who he spoke with afterwards, that Rhaenyra understood he had to remarry for the sake of the Realm. Then, he'd asked Otto for Amalia's hand.

Of course, her father said yes— who denied a King?—and spoke of what a great and unexpected honor this was. Viserys was none the wiser. Her father had always known that Amalia cared dearly for Rhaenyra, but acted as though he had never noticed how often she'd taken to communicating with the King after his wife passed, though Amalia had never ever spoken to Viserys that way before.

Then, all of it burst into flames. Viserys had asked her to attend the Small Council meeting the following morning, where he first announced that Rhaenyra would now have a seat on the Council. Rhaenyra had been so happy, smiling at Amalia without knowing that she was the reason her father had done this. After that, Viserys had revealed to his Council his intention to marry Amalia before spring's end. Lord Corlys had stormed out. Rhaenyra ran from the room in tears.

Amalia tried to find her afterwards, but was barred from her room– Ser Criston, now named her sworn protector, had been told not to let her enter. Crestfallen, she returned to the Tower of the Hand, where Alicent was waiting for her. For a dreadful moment, she believed her little sister was going to snarl at her on Rhaenyra's behalf.

"Lia," said Alicent sadly. "Lia, she's so angry. Why... how?"

Amalia couldn't bring herself to tell her the truth. I did it for you, little one. To save you from this fate. To keep us here, together, even if our brothers are thriving in Oldtown where we cannot share their victories. But she didn't want to change Alicent's opinion of their father. "You know... I have always sought to keep you both happy and healthy. When the Queen died, I knew that His Grace would need support to help Rhaenyra through her passing. It... I spoke with him often, we... well, he grew to trust me. With all this pressure, it seems he went with the decision he was most comfortable with."

Alicent shifted uncomfortably. "You never... kissed him? Or... bedded him?"

Her eyes widened. "Gods, Alicent, no. No, we only spoke. He told me about his family, about history. I spoke about our own family. Sometimes we'd discuss matters of the Realm, he knows I am aware of much due to our father."

That was when Alicent's face scrunched up in anger. "Rhaenyra called you a whore."

It was a slap in the face, yet not unexpected. "A whore," repeated Amalia. Her eyes flickered down to her feet. That same word was probably running through the minds of the Kingsguard, of the servants who'd seen her coming and going. The stonemasons probably thought alike, too.

"I tried to comfort her, but she said you whored yourself out to her father. That you seduced him. I said you wouldn't have! That you must have been trying to comfort him as you comforted me and our brothers, as you comforted our father. She would not hear it. She is upset with me. And I am upset with her for saying such things about you!"

"She is hurting, Alicent," said Amalia, trying her hardest to keep the peace between them. "Her wounds are still fresh and this pressure is immense for her." If they lost each other, what then? If she was to marry King Viserys, if she was to become Queen, she would not have the same time to give Alicent. Without Rhaenyra...

"I don't care," said Alicent, picking anxiously at her cuticles. "She called you a whore. It doesn't matter that she's a Princess. She forgets how much you've done for her. For her mother and lost siblings."

She probably thinks I aimed to replace her mother. That I spat in the face of her memory. She's a little girl, she doesn't understand this any more than you do. If Father had asked it of you... no, I could not let it happen, my dear.

Alicent came to her, then, wrapping her in a hug. Amalia drew several deep breaths to keep herself from crying, though she was frustrated that her relationship with Rhaenyra had been soured. Gods, she should have tried to speak with her before. She should have just admitted to the conversations, but how could she know Rhaenyra would have ever understood? She might've still thought the same insinuations from the start.

"I'm glad you won't go anywhere else," whispered Alicent. "You'll stay here with me. With Father."

That alone made all of it worth it for Amalia.

_

Wedding preparations were making her lose her mind.

When she was younger, she always used to believe Rhaenyra and Alicent would both be squealing with joy together, watching her be fitted for her dress. Instead, she stood with only her little sister, who tried her hardest to manage enthusiasm for three. That was difficult to do.

Amalia hardly had a spare moment to herself. She was given new apartments in Maegor's Holdfast, which made it necessary for her to walk further to her sister and father. More servants, handmaidens, and ladies-in-waiting were at her service than ever before, bringing a constant chorus of duties and fussing over her in a way she was not accustomed to tolerating.

Bakers and cooks requested audiences to discuss the wedding feast. The seamstress was a constant prickly presence in her room. King Viserys came to see her instead of waiting for her in his rooms or calling for her to visit him. He seemed to want to keep her comfortable with this, given he never received confirmation that this was what she wanted.

She spoke as cordially as ever, tried to feign enthusiasm. Still, it was hard to remove from her mind the idea she was marrying a man twelve years older than her. A King, yes, but not the sort she had ever expected, from the moment she met him.

If someone had told her when she was twelve and moving to the Red Keep that one day she'd marry the King, she would have pictured in her mind a lean man in armor with a handsome knee-buckling face and long silvery hair. That image had always fit Daemon more, she admitted as much when she first met him and was shocked to see how perfect he had looked.

Viserys insisted she call him 'Viserys,' no longer 'Your Grace' or 'My King.' It was strange to get used to, but after a while became customary, as he now called her exclusively 'Amalia,' in their private moments. He hadn't tried to kiss or touch her, but she sensed he wanted to.

Of course. He's a man, in the end he wants a warm body to fuck. He could have chosen to marry Laena out of convenience, for the sake of alliance and duty, but he chose lust and affection to guide him. My father knew him so well, he knew he'd pick me over any other woman he didn't know or come to care for. We're all the same to men when our legs are spread, but Viserys has always been a man who valued intellect and kindness. I was uniquely suited for this and now I will suffer the rest.

She wondered if he'd ever nurtured such thoughts before Aemma's passing. If he had thought it the day with the Silent Sisters. Had he ever been thinking of her during her visits, wishing she did seduce him or at least willingly spread her legs for her king?

No, she wanted to believe that while he surely felt lust, what he liked the most about her was how serious she was when it came to Rhaenyra. She'd always been there for her sake and Alicent's. Any woman could have seduced him, but he could have kept them as mistresses. To take her as a wife meant her voice alone had brought her into his good graces. And, of course, her hair. Finally there was time to pin it up, but never done the way her mother used to. Viserys seemed to like it, often looking at her now-visible neck.

(All through the halls, however, regardless of how the King felt for her, there continued a whisper that could not be snuffed out. Whore, whore. It wasn't only on Rhaenyra's lips. Now, Alicent was regurgitating to her the rumors of the court.

Some said that Amalia had surely lost her maidenhead to Jaehaerys in the three years she'd gone to read to him, that surely a girl so vile had offered the Old King some greater service then literature. Others said that Amalia had seduced Viserys before Aemma had even passed, that she'd used Aemma's pregnancies to grant herself time alone with the king. Knowing these whispers were out there did nothing to comfort her, because though they weren't true, the implications were horrifying.)

She grew afraid the closer the wedding got. She was excited, of course; her brothers would be coming to celebrate with her. Florent and Hightower cousins would arrive soon, visitors from all over the Realm would pay their respects to the new Queen. She was to be Queen, that was a wondrous thing. Yet she knew what this duty now entailed.

It terrified her to think of her bedding. She had been curious about it all her life, but did not forget that the breaking of the maidenhead was said to be painful. Viserys was passive, but what if he did not want to be gentle then?

What if the dragon within him emerged and he hurt her? Then, she wondered if it would be... intolerable. He wasn't as strong anymore, and of late had begun to reveal to her some painful welts and wounds that opened on his body at times, requiring leeches and healing balms. What if she didn't receive any pleasure at all from it?

Then, there was the idea of birth. Her mother's births had been easy, she remembered when Alicent was born, her mother had felt little to no pain and pushed her out in an hour. But Amalia had been eight when that happened, the memory dull.

Her sharpest memories of childbirth were all from Aemma, who had screamed and thrashed and begged for mercy and been sliced open. Would Viserys do the same to her to procure a single son or daughter from her, enough to have an heir and a spare? Would he let her be butchered? He certainly had to love her less than he ever loved Aemma.

On the day of the wedding, she felt so sick she thought she'd empty the contents of her stomach at the altar. Somehow, she managed to survive the walk into the throne room, skin pale and her ladies holding her up to keep her from swaying. She'd been given a cloud white velvet dress stamped all over with the faint cream sigil of House Targaryen. From her chest to her shoulders ran a pattern of dragon wings, forming a 'V' over her breasts. Behind the dress flowed a crimson red cape, and on her head she was given a shimmering wire crown of many straight branches covered in stones. On her neck, a golden necklace once worn by Queen Alysanne.

Viserys was perfectly gallant of course, smiling at her once her father had escorted her before the High Septon, removing from her the green cloak of the Hightowers to accept on her back the cloak of House Targaryen. She stood looking at Viserys, holding his hands as they said their vows. Her heart threatened to leap out of her throat, but somehow she managed the words. Somehow, she survived the ceremony, with thousands of eyes upon her.

The feast was meant to be jolly, but she wasn't sure she felt that way. Her cousins and siblings danced. Alicent was spun around so violently by Bryndon that they knocked down a Lannister girl, but it seemed to work in his favor, for the girl accepted to have the next dance with him. Gwayne and Norman had found pretty girls to speak to as well. Even Alicent had made conversation with a young squire of Lord Wylde. Amalia didn't feel keen on dancing, nor did Viserys appear to want to. They sat together at the high table and ate, Rhaenyra paying them no mind. She left as soon as she was allowed to.

The worst part was the bedding ceremony. The chant started from somewhere in the room; she wasn't sure if it was a Hightower cousin who shouted it or one of the Tyrells. Certainly someone from the Reach had started tapping their cup, calling for the newlyweds to be bed. All the men showed enthusiasm in lifting Amalia out of her chair.

She felt herself frozen with fear as they carried her to the King's chambers, slowly ripping away her cloak and parts of her dress– her seamstress would be wroth come morning. It was Gwayne who stopped them from exposing her entirely, barking at them that this was the Queen they were undressing, not some lady in the Reach. That, at least, left her with her bodice and skirt.

Viserys was already there, but he'd not been undressed as much, either. She wished they'd just let them walk alone, for it was humiliating to think that there would be those lingering outside hoping to hear. She prayed for the Kingsguard to shoo them away.

"Are you alright?" asked Viserys as she reached for a cup of wine, drawing a sip.

"Nervous," she admitted. She tried to be brave, "I imagine you were as well, with your first bedding."

"Incredibly so," he agreed. He moved to her, and she knew he would hold nothing back now, though perhaps her admittance would keep him gentle. She was still as he put his hands on her arms, rubbing them as if to comfort her. He smiled, she tried her hardest to smile back. He tilted his head and she closed her eyes, feeling warmth drawing closer until his lips were on hers.

She'd never kissed anyone before and it made her want to cry. Her mother should have been at her wedding, her mother should have been there to prepare her for this. Amalia had no idea what to do. She let him lead, doing her best to move her mouth with his as he began to press his lips down harder. One of his hands wrapped around her waist, the other cupped her jaw. Then, his hand slid down to her bottom, and she felt more nervous tingles running through her. I wish someone else had taught me to kiss before. Everything I will ever know is going to come from him.

When he let her go, it was to turn her around, removing the pins in her hair. Her curls fell, and she herself removed the crown, setting it on the table. Only when her curls bounced off her shoulders did he start undoing the strings of her bodice. She managed all the courage she could to not run when he let what remained of the dress fall, cool air rushing at her. Silently, she slid out of her smallclothes, body now as bare as her name day.

She felt him staring at her. She kept her eyes shut as he turned her around, but had to open them when she realized the distance between them; he could see her eyes were closed. She saw him staring at her, drinking in her form. She didn't know what was good or not to him. But he must have liked it, for he kissed her again, and this time his hands roamed over her breasts, her back, her bottom. She felt him grip her tight, and when he leaned into her, she felt his manhood pressing into her stomach through his breeches.

Thinking she ought to do something, she reached out to undress him. He seemed to like that, letting her remove his shirt. He was much as she imagined he would be, a bit of belly over the strings of his trousers, not the most shapely man when one imagined the King who'd ridden Balerion and wielded Aegon's Blackfyre.

Still, his face held handsome aspects, and that she tried her hardest to focus on. The worst part was when he turned around and she saw the wound on his back– black pus and a wide sore that made her imagine she would soon see his bone. She tried not to look at it. Good thing she was more like to be the one with her back turned to him.

It felt so wrong to see him like this, knowing all her life she'd attended to his first wife, taken care of his daughter. Never imagined this when she arrived at the Red Keep a girl of twelve, he a young prince of four-and-twenty who had never seen her as more than his Hand's daughter. Now, he felt lust for her. She hoped it would not be too intense.

At last, after much kissing and feeling him pressed to her, he guided her to the bed, beckoning her to lay down. She did so, and he crawled over her, kissing her neck. She tried to look up at the ceiling, praying and praying that she could manage the pain. When he finally began to enter her, the stretch was almost unbearable, and she let out a yelp.

He laced his fingers with hers, his head buried in her shoulder, and he did not move for at least a minute, until at last her breathing steadied. But she'd felt him panting and twitching, liking even just that. Then, he got himself started. It wasn't so bad once the pain cleared, but admittedly she was bored very soon. He groaned into her ear, sounds that might've turned her belly in pleasure if any of the rest of it had elicited that same sensation. Perhaps something was severely wrong with her, for she'd yet to feel ecstasy from any of it. She swore women said that it could be pleasurable, so why wasn't it? Was she really so afraid?

But the problem persisted after the first time. Her new husband was enthusiastic, it seemed, for he called her to his chambers every evening for the first fortnight they were married, until her monthly bleed arrived– her lady-in-waiting Talya said they'd likely wed right after her most receptive day, and as such it was not her fault she was not yet with child.

Sometimes he took her when she was flat on her back, other times he placed her on her stomach or on her hands and knees. Once, he had her sideways, and the most recent time, he asked her to ride him. Always, she did what she was told, and he seemed to like that. She'd done a well enough job of it, it seemed, for he'd been arching his neck back and muttering profanities. He'd gripped her hips tight, lifted his head to kiss and suck at her breasts– for one brief moment, that had felt very pleasurable.

Still, the rest of it wasn't anything for her to be excited about. She never looked forward to sex. Viserys liked it a lot, that she could tell. He'd always kiss her hard when he finished, and he'd keep himself within her for several minutes, whispering to her that he felt like a much younger man with her.

The last time, something changed. Amalia had tried to rub herself between her legs, as her handmaiden had suggested to ease the initial pressure, and had found a new bit of relief. Viserys had her on her hands and knees again, the sounds of flesh on flesh hard against her bottom– he was rougher this day than those before.

As soon as her monthly bleed had ended, he'd started to bed her again, but the past days he'd remained as gentle as the first. Only today, she didn't know what ailed him, for he'd been less talkative and more intent on being inside her as soon as he could. She was normally quiet with her noises, for they were not genuine, and only to urge him towards release. But today, as she rubbed and rubbed and felt him exerting himself, she started to whimper and moan without control.

She heard him mutter lowly, "Gods be good." He clearly liked the noises she was making, but she never would have expected him to sound like that. The voice he used, it was so husky it didn't sound like he normally did. It reminded her of Daemon's voice. To her surprise, this thought did not make her recoil or grimace.

Daemon was what she imagined Viserys was supposed to look like, a vision of perfect Targaryen royalty. She dared to imagine that it was Daemon behind her, Daemon being this rough as he fucked her— that made more sense to her. Her skin burned in shame when that made her mind grow cloudier. She started to rub herself harder.

Then, it seemed, the man behind her noticed it. Her hand was moved away and replaced with his. Amalia imagined Daemon, that cunt of a man who was always wanting control of everything, smacking her hand aside and doing the work himself. Her cries began to grow more wanton, louder and breathy. He began to move faster on both ends.

A hand reached for her hair, tugging it back. She heard his ragged grunts, her hips arched, and that was when it felt the best. Warmth filled her again, she saw and heard nothing for a moment, drunk and dizzy. She shivered and squealed, the man gasping hard and pushing her head into the pillows. She felt Daemon pinching at her, his other hand tight on the back of her neck. His fingers ran down her back until he reached her bottom, and he finally gripped her and came to a stop, the backs of her legs feeling pleasantly sore.

Daemon whispered hoarsely, "Now, you will grow with my child, of that I am certain." She nodded her head wearily, feeling him starting to move again. "Yes," she pleaded breathily. "Yes, yes." He started to chuckle, the bastard. She bit her lip and pushed her hips back, wiggling against him, "Please, again." Please, Daemon.

"Gods, you will drive me mad with lust," he replied.

"I don't care," she said, delirious. "We're already doing this, aren't we?"

She felt him withdraw, sighing in disappointment. The emptiness had never felt like that. Sex had never felt like that. She wanted more from Daemon. She felt him lay beside her, her eyes still shut as she caught her breath. Then, she felt him lift her onto him, so she might ride him anew. She gathered her strength, holding his shoulders and beginning to undulate her hips as best as she could, hearing him gasp and twitch within her.

He dug his fingers into her waist as she rode, harder and harder. She dared to open her eyes and look down, expecting Daemon to be smirking, but was greeted with Viserys's face. His head was thrown back, his mouth slightly open as he moaned. It took all her strength not to leap off him in shock. Gods, I lost myself.

She had to slow herself down and pretend she was tired, that her legs were cramping. She felt him filing her a bit more, then at last she was able to slip off and lay on the bed, face burning with shame. Why Daemon? Why now? Gods, this was the most embarrassing thing. How had she let herself think that way? She hated him, she hated him, she could not be finding pleasure from the thought of him.

"My Queen." She felt Viserys's hand on her shoulder as she tried to catch her breath. "I did not know you were capable of such things."

Her voice shook, "Nor did I." That was the truth. "I hope I did not embarrass myself."

"I assure you, you did not." He slid his hand down to pull her closer to him. She felt his manhood pressing at her bottom. "It was pleasurable. I am glad you seemed to enjoy it at last."

"It took some getting used to," she said, to give an excuse. "It was a learning process."

"Indeed it was. I am... eager to see what else I will learn about you."

For the sake of keeping her little fantasy a secret, it became a constant for their nights together. He'd become bolder since then, asking her to take his member in her mouth and twisting her more ways than she knew a body could manage. It wasn't until now that she felt like a whore. In the darkness, all because she'd dared to think of Daemon once, she'd become a performer for Viserys. He did her like a whore on the Street of Silk, indulging in every desire. (And she liked it, for it kept her pleasure heightened, her fantasy alive. It was the sort of thing Daemon would do. It brought her release.)

Quietly, she continued to think of Daemon, for that wretched prince seemed to put her in the most intense of moods, well-suited to entice the King. One night, after this discovery, he'd bedded her three full times. She'd been so lost she let out screams that were surely heard in the Tower of the Hand. She'd almost said Daemon's name that time.

Thus, she was both glad and mournful when her monthly bleed did not arrive again. Grand Maester Mellos confirmed her to be pregnant with her first child. Viserys was overjoyed, Alicent excited, her father satisfied. Only Rhaenyra remained upset. It seemed she and the rest of the whisperers of the court were using her latest performances as further proof that she'd been a whore from the start.

Not a single person was surprised the day Viserys announced that his new little queen was to give him another child. They'd all heard her. One slip, and the entire court would have heard me cry out Daemon's name. I'd have been executed for treason.

It was easier to remain focused during beddings after that, for Viserys could no longer be so overexcited for fear of harming her. Still, he desired her, and it eased her growing discomfort to have her climax. As the weeks and months passed, her belly grew, bringing nausea and pain. She cried often and ate either too much or too little.

Her handmaidens comforted her when the aches were great, and Alicent walked in the gardens with her when they weren't so bad. Once, near the end of her term, her father had brought her apple cake to enjoy. Viserys kept a distance after a certain point. It both irritated her and relaxed her.

Feeling the child moving within her was unpleasant. It scared her when it wiggled, when it kicked or tried to capture her attention. Viserys and Alicent were fascinated, but Amalia half-expected it to tear its way out well before it was due. She worried what would come the day it was ready to emerge.

Her first labor lasted an entire day. She screamed and prayed and cried out for her mother, sobbing into the arms of her handmaidens as she begged for the child to get out and stop causing her pain. Alicent cried as well, holding her hand while she paced and whimpered. At last, Grand Maester Mellos judged her ready and had her on her hands and knees to deliver the babe. Sweaty and red-faced, she pushed and pushed, begging it to go. She collapsed forward when the babe was finally removed. She was dizzy as she heard it crying.

"Your Grace!" said Talya excitedly. "You have a healthy boy!"

Amalia was sat up by Alicent, who cleaned her face with a cool rag. Leaning back in her bed, she held out her arms to take the child. It was a strange thing to look at, but babes were never beautiful right as they emerged from the womb. She held him as he cried, hugging him to her breast. When the wetnurse tried to stop him from suckling, Amalia whispered, "Let him. Let me feed him. I don't want him at anyone else's teats." He will be healthy, he will live. He needs me.

He suckled and it hurt her, but she looked down and felt her pain escape. She worried for him, that she might not love him if she associated him with pain. But he took it away. She kissed his head, caressing his face. Her mother would have loved to see him.

"Where is he?" It was the first question Viserys asked as he was escorted into the room. He smiled at Amalia. "Are you well?"

"I am," she told him, though weary. "The maester says the... next should be much easier." She held out the boy. "A son."

He sat beside her, holding the babe's little hand. "He will be Aegon, for the brother I lost." Gods, I wish we discussed this before. It is not a good name if you wish for Rhaenyra to be your heir. Naming him for the Conqueror will be seen as replacement. But she said nothing as he smiled. He'd never looked so happy, and she sort of hated that.

The maester insisted she attend only to the Prince and not the King for at least four months, given the weakened state of her body. No attempts for another child should be made until then. It was fine for Amalia, who kept Aegon with her everywhere she went. He was a fussy babe, but she remembered her mothers saying that fussy babes craved comfort— she could spoil him with hugs and kisses until he was old enough to want independence.

Alicent loved her little nephew. Otto was gentle with his grandson, holding him with one arm while he wrote letters with the other, talking to Aegon about matters of the court the way he always did with Amalia. Once, she caught Rhaenyra in his room playing with him, though she left as soon as Amalia arrived. She was glad her new step-daughter didn't hate him the way she hated her.

Of course, the moment the maester told her she was clear to have another child, the King had come to her chambers again. He'd slept there every night for two months, staying by her side even during her moon blood. To discourage any further lustful thoughts at that time, she had Aegon asleep between them. Viserys seemed the sort that might brave the blood for release, but that seemed more like something Daemon would do, and so she didn't even want to think of it.

She feared she'd excited him by giving him a boy, for his attempts for another child became more intentional. He would whisper in her ear that he wanted another child, that he wanted to see her pregnant again. If she pretended it was Daemon saying such things, she feared she liked it. Viserys was a passive man, but not in bed. In bed, he was what she thought Daemon must be like.

Feeding his lust could become problematic if she wasn't careful. Some days, if she brought Aegon to the Small Council chambers— she did so for Viserys or Otto to take care of him if she was busy, not comfortable with abandoning him constantly to handmaidens— she would see the King looking at her intently as she leaned over the table. She feared he'd want to bend her over it one day, or perhaps have her ride him on the Iron Throne. Those were both things that Daemon would do, so she had to keep the idea out of his mind.

When Aegon was half a year old, she was confirmed to be carrying a second child. Her pregnancy was less stressful now that she knew what to expect, and Viserys was closer to her during it, now that he'd confirmed she could survive a birth so well. Perhaps he hadn't done it before for fear of caring about her too much and losing her, too. She was less eager to have him away from her now, willing to accept his attention. He was a good man to her, that was more than she'd heard many people's husbands do. But in the back of her mind, she did not forget what might happen if the babe were not willing to come.

He liked to touch her stomach. He'd plant a hand on her belly whenever he was close enough to. Ladies in the court 'awed' at this when they noticed, which made Amalia flush, for he did the same thing as he fucked her. Viserys acting more loving made her feel worse about the situation. She admired him in many ways and of course cared for him as the man who fathered her children and was a father to Rhaenyra, but she didn't know if she could ever love him. What mattered was that he loved the babes that came from her.

This child was born much quicker than her first, the labor less than half a day and without the most intense pain. Another boy she'd had, and Viserys named him Aemond, a subtle nod to his uncle Aemon and brother Daemon, who'd been quiet of late. Not that he'd sent congratulations, either. Good for her, because she didn't know what she'd do the next time she saw him face-to-face. How could she look at him knowing she envisioned his face and body each time Viserys took her?

For once, she did not dread Daemon's return because she hated him. She dreaded it because she wanted him.