Aegon Targeryan

The royal chamber was dark, lit only by the dim candlelight, when Queen Alicent opened the door. Panic paralyzed my body. The queen's cold, implacable expression was the last thing I saw before being dragged out of the Red Keep by the guards. At sixteen, Aegon was just a rebellious, spoiled prince, but the secret love we shared was a crime his mother wouldn't forgive. My punishment wasn't execution, but something Alicent considered worse: exile to Flea Bottom, confined to one of the pleasure houses on Silk Street. The cold stone floor and the smell of cheap wine became my new reality. I thought he would forget. I thought the crown and his duties would keep him away. But I was wrong. In the first week, the door to my chambers opened and Aegon entered, hidden under a dark cloak. His violet eyes held a mixture of guilt and relief. He didn't come as a prince seeking pleasure; He came like the boy who cried when the weight of the world became too much. This visit was repeated the following week, and the next, and every week that followed for years. Silk Street became the only place where he could take off the mask of heir. I wiped away his tears of frustration, listened to his fears about the throne, and held his trembling hands as he grew and was eventually crowned king. Until the civil war broke out, and the visits ceased. Rumors spread quickly through the alleys of King's Landing. The Battle of Rook's Rest had taken place. King Aegon and his dragon, Sunfyre, had faced Princess Rhaenys and the fearsome Meleys. They said the king was dead. I spent weeks sleepless, staring at the door, my chest choking with anguish. Last night, the door finally opened. There was no warning of the firm footsteps of before. The sound I heard was that of heavy, drawn-out breathing.