CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
❛innocence lost.❜

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EARLY 130 AC ⸻ Kings Landing   ⸻

THE PIERCING screams tore through the night, jolting Aemond and Lyria from their sleep. Aemond's eye flew open, his body tensing as he instinctively threw an arm across Lyria's chest.

"Stay here," he commanded, his voice gruff with sleep but sharp with urgency. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, fumbling for his eyepatch.

Lyria's heart raced as she watched Aemond dress hurriedly. "But Aemond, I—"

"I said stay," he growled, softer this time but no less insistent. His eye met hers, a mixture of concern and determination swirling in its depths. "Please, Lyria. I need to know you're safe."

With that, he was gone, the heavy door slamming behind him. Lyria sat in the darkness, the screams now muffled but no less haunting. She counted her breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. One. Two. Three.

On the tenth breath, she made her decision.

Slipping from the bed, Lyria threw on a robe and quietly opened the door. The hallways were a flurry of activity, guards and servants rushing past. She followed the commotion, her bare feet silent on the cold stone floors.

As she approached the royal nursery, the crowd thickened. Whispers and sobs filled the air, a cacophony of grief and shock. Lyria pushed through, murmuring apologies as she squeezed past bodies frozen in horror.

And then she saw him.

Little Jaehaerys, no more than a babe, lay still and pale on his bed. His nightclothes were stained crimson, a stark contrast to his ashen skin. Lyria's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp.

Her eyes frantically searched the room, landing on Helaena. The queen stood motionless by the window, her gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the castle walls. She seemed oblivious to the chaos around her, to the lifeless body of her son mere feet away.

Without thinking, Lyria rushed to Helaena's side. She hesitated for a moment, then wrapped her arms around the queen. Helaena didn't react, her body stiff and cold as marble.

"Helaena," Lyria whispered, her voice choked with tears. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Still, Helaena said nothing. Her eyes remained unfocused, her breathing shallow. It was as if her spirit had fled, leaving behind only an empty shell.

Lyria held her tighter, her own tears falling freely now. She was vaguely aware of Aemond's voice, barking orders in the background. Of Aegon's arrival, his face contorted with rage and grief. But she didn't move. She couldn't leave Helaena alone in this moment of unimaginable loss.

⸻

Hours later, the small council chamber buzzed with tension. Lyria sat beside Aemond, her hand clasped tightly in his beneath the table. Aegon paced at the head of the room, his crown askew, his eyes wild.

"It was Rhaenyra," he spat, slamming his fist on the table. "Who else would dare? Who else would benefit from murdering my son?"

Lord Larys Strong leaned forward, his voice oily smooth. "Your Grace, while the... timing of this tragedy is certainly suspicious, we must consider all possibilities."

"What other possibilities?" Aegon roared. "My son is dead! Murdered in his bed! And you speak of... of possibilities?"

Ser Criston Cole, his white cloak immaculate even in this early hour, spoke up. "We will find the culprits, Your Grace. Every inch of the Red Keep will be searched. Every servant questioned. Justice will be done."

Aemond's grip on Lyria's hand tightened. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. "Justice isn't enough. We need vengeance. Rhaenyra must pay for this. Her and all her supporters."

Grand Maester Orwyle cleared his throat nervously. "Prince Aemond, we must be cautious. Accusing the Princess of Dragonstone without proof could lead to—"

"To what?" Aemond snapped. "War? We're already at war, or have you forgotten?"

Lord Jasper Wylde, the Master of Laws, interjected. "Perhaps we should consider sending an envoy to Dragonstone. Demand answers directly from Rhaenyra."

Aegon laughed bitterly. "An envoy? You think she'll admit to this crime?"

"Of course not," Ser Tyland Lannister, the Master of Coin, replied. "But her reaction could be telling. And it would buy us time to gather more evidence."

Aemond scoffed. "Time is what we don't have. Every moment we delay, Rhaenyra grows stronger."

"And what would you have us do, brother?" Aegon demanded. "Fly to Dragonstone on Vhagar and burn it to the ground?"

A dangerous gleam appeared in Aemond's eye. "Why not? It's what they deserve."

"Enough!" Lyria's voice cut through the heated debate. All eyes turned to her, surprised. She took a deep breath before continuing. "Your Grace, my lords... we're letting our grief and anger cloud our judgment. We need proof before we act. Otherwise, we're no better than the monsters we accuse them of being."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Aegon slumped into his chair, suddenly looking very tired. "My brothers wife speaks wisely," he said quietly. "We will investigate. Thoroughly. And when we have proof... then we will act. And may the gods have mercy on Rhaenyra's soul, for we shall not."

⸻

On Dragonstone, the mood was equally somber, though for different reasons. Rhaenyra sat on the Painted Table, her face a mask of shock and disbelief as she read the message from King's Landing.

"This can't be," she murmured. "I would never... how could they think I would do such a thing?"

Daemon paced behind her, his face unreadable. "They fear you, my queen. Fear makes men believe the worst of their enemies."

Jacaerys, standing by the window, turned to face them. "But to kill a child? Surely they know you're not capable of that, Mother."

Rhaenyra's eyes flashed. "Of course I'm not! I..." Her voice broke.

The door burst open, and Baela rushed in, her face flushed. "Is it true? About Jaehaerys?"

Rhaenyra nodded grimly. "I'm afraid so, dear one."

Baela's eyes filled with tears. "But... but he was just a little boy. Who would do such a thing?"

"That," Daemon said darkly, "is the question we must answer. And quickly, before Aegon uses this as an excuse to move against us."

Rhaenyra stood, her voice gaining strength. "Summon the black council. We need to address this immediately."

⸻

Later, as the black council convened, tensions ran high. Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, was the first to speak.

"Your Grace, we must respond to these accusations swiftly and decisively."

Rhaenyra nodded. "I agree, Lord Corlys. But how? Deny it, and they'll say we're lying. Ignore it, and we look guilty."

"Perhaps," Mysaria, suggested, "we should turn this to our advantage. Express our condolences, offer to aid in the investigation. It would make us look innocent and magnanimous."

Daemon scoffed. "Magnanimous? They've accused us of murdering a child. We should be preparing for war, not sending condolences."

"And give them exactly what they want?" Rhaenys countered. "No, Mysaria's right. We need to be smart about this."

As the debate raged on, Maerella slipped out of the room, her mind whirling. She found Basalia in a quiet corridor, looking out over the stormy sea.

"Mae?" Basalia turned, concern etching her features. "What's wrong?"

Maerella hesitated, then whispered, "I... I think my father might be behind this."

Basalia's eyes widened. "Daemon? But surely..."

"You don't know him like I do," Maerella said grimly. "He's capable of... terrible things. And he was so calm when the news arrived. Too calm."

Basalia placed a comforting hand on Maerella's arm. "That's a serious accusation, Mae. Are you sure?"

"No," Maerella admitted. "But I can't shake this feeling. And if I'm right... gods, Basalia, what are we going to do?"

Maerella's voice dropped to a whisper, "I'll go anywhere but here. This has been taken too far. What if we're on the wrong side? Can't you see, I love Rhaenyra, she's become like a mother to me, but if Viserys wished Aegon to be King... shouldn't it be Aegon?"

Before Basalia could respond, they heard footsteps approaching. Daemon rounded the corner, his eyes narrowing as he saw them.

"Maerella," he said, his voice deceptively soft. "A word?"

Maerella exchanged a nervous glance with Basalia before following her father to his chambers. As soon as the door closed behind them, Daemon's demeanor changed.

"You've been asking questions," he stated, his voice cold.

Maerella lifted her chin defiantly. "Someone had to. Father, did you have anything to do with Jaehaerys' death?"

Daemon's eyes flashed dangerously. "You dare accuse me?"

"This isn't war, Father," Maerella's voice rose. "This is murder! Of a child!"

"You know nothing of war," Daemon snarled. "Sometimes, sacrifices must be made for the greater good."

Maerella recoiled as if slapped. "So it's true. You... you monster!"

Their argument escalated, voices echoing through the stone corridors. Finally, Maerella, her face flushed with anger and disappointment, made a decision.

"I can't stay here," she declared. "Not with you. Not like this."

Daemon's laugh was cold. "And where will you go?"

Maerella's eyes flashed with determination. "Anywhere but here. This has gone too far, Father. Can't you see that? We're tearing the realm apart!"

Daemon's face hardened. "We're fighting for what's rightfully ours. For what your grandfather promised Rhaenyra."

"But what if we're wrong?" Maerella challenged. "What if Viserys changed his mind? What if he wanted Aegon to be king after all?"

"You foolish girl," Daemon spat. "You'd throw away everything we've fought for because of some misplaced sense of honor?"

Maerella stood her ground. "It's not about honor. It's about doing what's right. And this," she gestured around her, "this isn't right. Murdering children isn't right!"

"Then go," Daemon said, his voice dangerously low. "Run back to your precious King Aegon if that's what you want. But remember, Maerella, you're either with us or against us. There is no middle ground in war."

Maerella's heart clenched at her father's words, but she knew she couldn't stay. With one last look at Daemon, she turned and fled the room, tears streaming down her face.

As she rushed to her chambers, tears streaming down her face, Maerella's mind raced. Dragonstone, once her home, now felt like a prison. With a heavy heart but a determined spirit, she began to pack her meager belongings.

A soft knock at the door made her jump. "Mae?" Basalia's voice called softly. "May I come in?"

Maerella hesitated, then opened the door. Basalia took in the scene – the half-packed bag, Maerella's tear-stained face – and understanding dawned in her eyes.

"You're leaving," she said. It wasn't a question.

Maerella nodded. "I have to, Basalia. I can't... I can't be a part of this anymore."

Basalia pulled her friend into a tight embrace. "Where will you go?"

"I don't know," Maerella admitted. "But I'll find my way. I always do."

As they parted, Basalia pressed a small pouch into Maerella's hand. "Take this. It's not much, but it should help you on your journey."

Maerella's eyes filled with fresh tears. "Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."

With one last hug, Maerella slipped out of her room and made her way to the dragon pits. As she mounted her dragon, she cast one last look at the imposing silhouette of Dragonstone against the night sky.

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