CHAPTER FIFTEEN
❛the crown remains.❜

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EARLY 130 AC ⸻ Kings Landing   ⸻

THE tension was unmistakable as Aemond and Lyria stared at each other. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows, dancing across the cold stone walls.

"I wish things were different," Aemond finally murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, yet heavy with meaning.

Lyria nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. "As do I," she replied softly, her voice tinged with a mix of hope and despair. Before either could say more, their intimate exchange was abruptly cut short by the stern voice of a guard, echoing through the corridor.

"Handmaiden," the guard announced, his voice resonating against the stone walls, "Her Grace, Queen Alicent, requests your immediate return to your chambers."

Aemond frowned, stepping forward with a questioning look. "Why does my mother summon her now?" he asked, his tone carrying a hint of suspicion. "Surely, whatever it is can wait."
The guard shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Aemond's piercing gaze. "I am only following orders, my lord," he replied, his voice steady but lacking conviction.

Lyria looked towards Aemond, seeking some sign of reassurance in his eyes. He merely nodded, his expression unreadable, a mask of calm concealing the storm within. "Go," he murmured, his tone gentle yet firm. "I'll find you later."

Reluctantly, Lyria turned to follow the guard, her mind swirling with unanswered questions.

⸻

Instead of leading her back to her own quarters, the guard escorted Lyria through a series of twisting passageways, the torchlight flickering shadows across their path. The air grew colder, and the silence between them was punctuated only by the distant echoes of their footsteps.

When the heavy door finally swung open, Lyria was surprised to find herself not in her chamber but in a room where Basalia, Jahaena, and Rhaenys were already gathered. Basalia sat in a corner, silent as a ghost, her eyes staring vacantly at the floor. Jahaena paced the room with furrowed brows, her agitation evident in every step.

Rhaenys, known for her commanding presence, stood near the center of the room, her arms crossed defiantly. She attempted to question the guard, her voice firm and unyielding. "Why are we here?" she demanded, her tone brooking no argument.

The guard merely closed the door without a word, turning the key in the lock with a definitive clink, leaving the women to their confusion and growing anxiety.

Lyria rushed towards Basalia; her concern evident in her hurried steps. But Jahaena caught her arm, stopping her mid-stride. "It's no use," she whispered harshly, her voice tinged with frustration. "She hasn't spoken a word since we got here."

Confusion and worry etched across Lyria's face as she turned to Jahaena. "What's happening? Why are we locked in here?"

Jahaena sighed, her voice low and weary. "I was looking for her," she nodded towards Basalia, "when three guards approached us. They didn't give us a choice but to follow. And Leon... they practically shooed him away."

The room was heavy with uncertainty until Rhaenys finally spoke, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Something's happened. There's no other explanation."

Lyria, still trying to grasp the situation, looked at Jahaena with wide eyes. "I'm sorry, but who are you?" she asked, turning towards the imposing figure of Rhaenys.

Jahaena rolled her eyes slightly, a hint of impatience in her demeanor. "That's Rhaenys," she explained, her voice carrying a note of reverence. "The Queen Who Never Was."

Rhaenys, hearing the title, couldn't help but roll her eyes. "A title I could do without," she muttered, dismissing it with a wave of her hand before turning her attention back to the window.

Lyria's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, a deep crimson spreading across her face. Quickly, she curtsied, apologizing profusely. "My apologies, Princess. I had yet to meet you so I wasn't aware of your appearance."

"The hair didn't give it away?" Jahaena muttered, arms crossed over her chest as she looked around the Princesses room. Lyria only looked down in embarrassment.

Rhaenys nodded, acknowledging the apology but clearly uninterested in formalities. She moved to the window, trying to force it open. The cool breeze from outside did little to ease the tension in the room. Jahaena joined her, leaving Lyria to return to Basalia's side, hoping to coax her friend back to the present.

Lyria knelt beside Basalia, who sat in a corner, her eyes glazed over, lost in a world of her own. Her lips moved silently at first, then gradually her voice grew louder, uttering cryptic phrases that sent a chill down Lyria's spine.

"He doesn't know, how will he know, death will be brought," Basalia murmured, her voice a haunting melody of foreboding. Her eyes remained unfocused, as if seeing beyond the confines of the room.

Lyria leaned closer, her heart pounding with a sense of urgency. "Basalia, what are you saying?" she whispered, trying to coax her friend back to reality.

Basalia's gaze flickered briefly to Lyria. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, tinged with fear. "Ser Leon... he doesn't know," she said, her words laced with dread. "He won't get to know. They'll kill him before he can know."

Lyria's confusion deepened, her mind racing to grasp the meaning behind Basalia's words. "What do you mean? What won't he know?" she pressed, desperation creeping into her voice.

Basalia's hand moved instinctively to her stomach. The realization hit Lyria like a bolt of lightning, her eyes widening in shock as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. "Seven hells Basalia," she breathed, understanding dawning upon her.

Basalia's secret was more than just a personal burden; it was a threat to their very lives.

From across the room, Jahaena glanced over, her expression shifting from confusion to concern, just as Rhaenys announced, "and where are they off to..." This caught everyone's attention, redirecting their focus to the scene unfolding beyond the window. Servants from all over the castle were being ushered deeper into the castle, leaving an eery feeling in the room.

⸻

Soon after, the chamber door creaked open and in walked Queen Alicent, its sound cutting sharply through the dense silence. At this all those inside turned at her presence, but it was Princess Rhaenys voice that sliced through the air like a cold wind. "I will do you the considerable courtesy of assuming there is a good reason for the outrage of my treatment here this morning," she stated firmly, walking away from the window where she once stood.

Alicent expression gave nothing away as the door was closed behind her. "My sincerest regrets for the lack of ceremony."

Rhaenys countered without missing a beat, "You are usurping the throne," her tone sharpened with accusation. Lyria and Jahaena's eyes went wide with her words, surely the Queen was smarter than that. Trying to overthrow the Princess?

Alicent's laugh was short, dismissive. "Believe it or not, it is of no consequence. Aegon will be king. I came here to ask for your support." Her gaze briefly swept across Jahaena, Lyria, and Basalia.

It wasn't till those words that Basalia stood, and walked over to stood mere feet from the Queen, "beg your pardon, Your Grace, but by birthright, the Iron Throne belongs to Princess Rhaenyra." The words hung boldly in the air, challenging Alicent's claims.

Lyria stood forward, letting her hand rest on Basalias arm as a way to keep her calm. Though her words were true, Lyria knew if she went any further there would be consequences.

Alicent's eyes narrowed as she now fully turned towards Basalia. "You know, I knew something was off about you. But Viserys was so sure it was only rumours. But of course, you would side with her. The Mad lady siding with the Princess doesn't know the first thing about being queen," she retorted sharply, her disdain unmistakable.

It was now Basalia's eyes that narrowed. "It is her birthright, even you cannot deny it, Your Grace," she responded, her voice firm.

Rhaenys, quickly interjected with a tone laced with bitterness, "I must credit you for your boldness."

Alicent turned back to Rhaenys, her expression tightening. "House Velaryon has long allied itself with Princess Rhaenyra, and what has it gained you? Your daughter dead, alone in Pentos. Your son cuckolded. Rhaenyra's heirs are none of yours," she listed each grievance with a softness, clearly trying her best to seem sympathetic, but failing. "It is your husband who grasps so heedlessly for the throne. And even he has abandoned you. Gone these six long years to fight a desperate battle, returning grievously, if not mortally, wounded, leaving the Lady of Driftmark to chart her course alone." The pause of Alicents words that followed was heavy, filled with the unsaid and the unforgettable.

"The word of my house is not fickle, no," Rhaenys countered, standing taller. Lyria pulled Basalia back towards Jahaena, knowing it wasn't their fight now.

Alicent stepped closer and took Rhaeny's hands in hers. "But, dear cousin, you more than any soul alive understand what I say now. You should've been queen." Silence filled the room, becoming almost unbearable before Alicents soft spoken words continued. "The Iron Throne was yours by blood and by temperament. Viserys would've lived his days a country lord, content to hunt and study his histories, but here we are. We do not rule, but we may guide the men that do. Gently. Away from violence and sure destruction and instead toward peace."

Rhaenys pulled away abruptly, scoffing as she moved to put distance between them. "Is it in the name of peace that you've imprisoned me? And what of my dragon?"

"If we are overmatched, Rhaenyra will be tempted to strike us, and war will ensue," Alicent countered with a hint of frustration. "Without your dragon, she may be persuaded to negotiate. If it's Driftmark you want, you shall have it for you and your granddaughters to pass on as you see fit," she proposed, her voice almost commanding.

"You are wiser than I believed you to be, Alicent Hightower. And yet you toil still in service to men. Your father, your husband, your son. You desire not to be free, but to make a window in the wall of your prison," Rhaenys remarked sharply, her words reflecting the battles she herself had faced as a woman in a man's world.

Walking back to Alicent, Rhaenys leaned in and whispered into her ear, "Have you never imagined yourself on the Iron Throne?"

Alicent paused, her posture becoming almost rigid at her words before she quickly composed herself. "I'll leave you with your thoughts. Ring the bell when you have an answer, Rhaenys." She gave one last piercing look at the young women in the room, her eyes resting momentarily on Lyria, who recoiled slightly. Basalia stepped protectively in front. With a scoff, Alicent declared, "I believe I know where you three stands. I'm sure you'll be happy to know your engagement is now off." Turning on her heel, she left as abruptly as she had arrived.

As the door clicked shut, Lyria's heart thrummed with a mix of fear and relief, barely able to contain her emotions. On one hand she was happy it had been called off, but on the other, she wondered how this would affect The Blackwood's.

Basalia exhaled deeply, the tension leaving her shoulders as she slumped slightly, relieved yet wary. And Jahaena, let out a frustrated sign, as she settled down on the couch beside the fire, "Well, that went well."

"Please shut up Jahaena."

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