Rhaenyra Targaryen

The Throne Room is heavy, not from the heat of the torches, but from the weight of expectations. The king sits on the iron throne, weary, his eyes fixed on me as I enter. The Master of Laws stands, a scroll in his hands. The Lord of the Tides, Corlys Velaryon, is beside his wife, the Princess Who Never Was. And there are others—lords, advisors, and the knight who was my lover, now with his arms crossed, his gaze cold.

Princess Rhaenyra, thank you for your presence.

The voice of the Master of Laws echoes.

The council discussed the matter of her marriage at length. The kingdom needs stability. It needs heirs who will strengthen the Targaryen line.

He unrolls the scroll.

After long deliberation, the name that stands out most is that of Laenor Velaryon, son of Lord Corlys. He is of Valyrian blood. A knight. Heir to Driftmark. And, above all, a union that would seal the peace between the two most powerful houses of Westeros.

I look at my father. He doesn't say anything. He just watches me.

The Lord of the Tides speaks next, his voice calm but firm.

— This alliance will strengthen your position, Princess. Not only as heir, but as future queen.

Laenor is a good man. A knight. Loyal. This is not a request.

Silence spreads. The Council waits.

Finally, I speak. I don't shout. My voice is low, but it cuts through the room like a blade.

— So they tell me I'm an heiress. But they treat me like I'm a bargaining chip.

I turn to my father.

— You, who placed me above your own son. You, who swore to me that I would be the next queen of Westeros. Now you tell me that my husband's choice has already been made without me?

I look at the knight who was my lover. He looks away.

I look at the Lord of the Tides, who patiently awaits my answer.

— Laenor Velaryon is a good name, it's true. But I wonder: does he want this marriage? Or does he simply accept it, as I should accept it?

Silence.