"I AM THE SEA SNAKE'S own blood, the closest kin he has left." Vaemond persisted in his claim, what was he to do? Allow such thing to take place?
"Be careful, good brother. One could take your words for treason." Rhaenys retaliated in the voice of warning, a sheepish smile tugging at her wrinkled cheeks.

Vaemond stepped closer to the throne, his voice a whisper. "I speak the truth, Rhaenys. And you know it." Baela frowned at his words.

"The matter has been decided." Rhaenys spoke again, looking down the floor. It was true, but as her husband said, history remembers names, not blood.
"By a man whose ambition has brought us down calamity after calamity. My brother cares only for the history books. But what of the Velaryon line? Is it to be snuffed out? supplanted by the pups of House Strong?" He argued, speaking in whispers once more.
For he'd keep his tongue, for the meanwhile.

"Driftmark is mine, by all rights. And while I would like your support, I do not need it. The winds have shifted. The crown has good reason...to take my side."
The crown, which had been now in the control of the Queen Consort and her father, Otto Hightower.
It was no surprise to all the hatred of the Queen and the Heir to the Crown—at least not to those who feasted on grand tables and wore the finest clothes.

Alicent Hightower was a woman of the gods, and she would no way allow bastards to have such titles. Vaemond knew of that, just as he knew that the King's health had taken a downside.

"My cousin the King would have your tongue for this." Rhaenys warned. She did not like it either, but she would stand by her husband's wishes, by her family.
"But it is not the king who sits the Iron Throne these days, good-sister. It's a queen." There it was, the looming presence of a threat. A call for a judgment of heirs.

And so the ravens were sent. Baela had written for her father, the prince Daemon Targaryen. Warning him of the call for who should sit the Driftwood Throne.
Daemon, who had been delighted upon fetching three eggs from Syrax. Had his happiness diminished just as quick.

Jacaerys had been studying his High Valyrian, he was already behind by his aunt and uncle, Visenya and Aemond. And heaven's knew Jacaerys was never one to learn the language of his ancestors with such ease, not when he'd rather pick up a sword and fight, to defend himself of whatever insult the people would whisper.
"Perhaps that's enough for this morning." Rhaenyra considered, placing her hands on top of her womb.

"No, no. I-I want to keep going." Jacaerys stuttered nervously. He had been making this a competition in his mind, whatever sentence he wronged, he'd hear Visenya's mocking laughter in the back of his mind.
"Maester?" He looked at his instructor.

"Aegon...ordered that the trees should be... killed!" he smiled, knowing the translation was wrong but the meaning behind it persevered.

"Felled." Rhaenyra corrected, "It is a related word." She considered. "I don't expect you to learn High Valyrian in a day, Jace." She smiled, taking her place by the side of the Maester.

"A King, should honor the traditions of his forbears." Jacaerys argued, running his hands through his short hair. His locks cut two nights before, an honest mistake.
"Well, unless you're planning to depose of your own mother, you have plenty of time to study." Rhaenyra jested.

"You do not understand, mother! Visenya learned years ago!" Jacaerys groaned, finding annoyance in the name he tried so hard to avoid.
Suddenly, the doors to the table room banged. The heavy footsteps of Daemon Targaryen took place, it was impossible not to notice him—a man who knew he held such power in the way he held a sword, who brought home so many victories and disappointments.

"Leave us." Rhaenyra nodded to her sons and the maester, she knew by her husband's footsteps this would be a conversation of grand importance.
"Joffrey, come." Jacaerys took his little brother in his arms before exiting the room with Elinda Massey following closely behind.

Rhaenyra smiled lovingly at her husband, but he didn't respond to it. Handing her the letter he had received from his eldest daughter. Rhaenyra's breath hitched, "He means to call into question Luke's legitimacy! And by extension Jace, and by extension my own claim to the throne." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes in annoyance, had her father's words not been enough?

"Vaemond cares only about Driftmark, and the Velaryon line." Daemon assured his wife. "Not about our politics. Has he made common cause with Otto Hightower yet?" He questioned and Rhaenyra hummed, "This is what I fear. Rhaenys has flown to court. Surely she cannot be planning to back him." She theorized.

"No. Whatever disagreements we may have had, she's not cruel or stupid enough to do that." Daemon shrugged.

"Disagreements? She believes we had her son killed so that we may marry." Rhaenyra glanced up at Daemon, remembering the plan they made six years ago.
Allow Laenor to flee to the Free Lands with his lover. The man went by his own volition, cutting his hair and living with the sum of money he'd received.

"Yes, and yet she's taken Baela to ward." Daemon reminded.
"Yes. It is Laena's memory she honors. She has no love for us." Rhaenyra replied.
"Has the viper's venom spread so far?" Daemon smirked, mentioning the Hightowers.

"Those vipers rule in my father's name. And my father... What choice do I have?" Rhaenyra breathed tiredly. She expected this day would come, but she didn't know it'd be so early.
Daemon placed his hand on top of Rhaenyra's womb, feeling the quicks of his seed grow upon his niece-wife.
"To King's Landing, then." He said, determination in his voice.

𓆰𓆪

There was no warmth welcome to the Princess of Dragonstone. They were not greeted by family, but rather by Lord Caswell.

"Welcome back, Princess" The bald man greeted.

The Red Keep was silent, the hallways clear and devoid of any human.

Visenya served wine at the small council, it had seemed that she took her eldest sister's role completely. Lord Lyman Beesbury spoke slowly, as though his memory failed him, and Visenya wanted nothing more than to roll her eyes as she served him.
"We have continued to enjoy improved customs duties since the settling of the Step Stones. And the extent to which we exploit those is contingent on the harbor master's receipts. All of which, uhm, uh, the, uh, septons have requested, half that again for a brozen bust. They wish to co-co..."

"commission." Visenya whispered, finishing his sentence. The council looked up at her, finding her presence awkward.

"uh, yes, thank you, princess." Beesbury nodded before continuing, "for the Festival of The Mother. Which I would not recommend." He commented and Visenya scowled.

"Have you no respect for The Mother?" She spoke loudly. And Alicent shook her head at her daughter's words upon the council—How many times did she have to repeat Visenya must stay silent? She was simply an auditor so she could learn in the future.

"Thank you for that exhaustive accounting, Lord Beesbury. Visenya, we shall send for you if we find it necessary." The Queen interrupted.
Visenya frowned, wishing to argue but her mother's expression left her no breach.

"Yes, Your Grace." Visenya curtised before leaving the room, curses filling her head. But before she could fully exit the room, Lord Commander Westerling had entered the room. "Your guests have arrived, Your Grace..." He nodded.

"Visenya." Alicent gave her daughter a warning tone, seeing she hung about the doorway. "This conversation does not concern you."

Visenya curtsied again, the entire room watching as she made her way down the hallway.
The girl kicked a pillar, huffing against her breath as the headache from last night did not decrease.

She walked along the Godswood of The Red Keep, her lady-in-waiting, Ganna Grafton followed closely behind her. Months ago, the Queen held an audition as to who would accompany her youngest daughter—as she was once her stepdaughter's lady-in-waiting.
Ganna Grafton was one amongst the chosen.

"Not now, Ganna." Visenya huffed in annoyance. She hated Ganna, suspicion still lingering in her mind from  the trial held in the Vale.
"But, princess you must head inside!" Ganna faked worry, taking Visenya's hands into her own.

"I said not now!" Visenya spoke loudly, "if you wish to head inside then do so. You are free to roam the castle as you like, I do not need you by my aid as if I am a child!" Visenya raised her hands in surrender.
She was tired, her two other ladies had never been so disobeying—yet Ganna insisted on keeping close with the princess.

And for what reason? So the lady could learn from Visenya, to her clothing choices down to her mannerisms. And Visenya was tired of pretending she wasn't aware of it.
Ganna clenched her jaw, "as you wish, Your Grace." She curtsied and left shortly.

Jacaerys, who had heard the argument in the hallway raised his brows. Visenya, now? He knew he would meet with the princess sooner or later, but not minutes after entering the Keep.
"I see you've made a friend." He raised his eyebrows, turning his neck back to glance at Lady Ganna—familiarity in his gaze.

Visenya snorted, "you've cut your hair." She mocked, looking at him with amusement. Before she was reminded of her hatred.

"It was an accident." Jacaerys's smile dropped as he noticed hers.
"It has been a long time, Visenya." He smiled softly at her.

"A year, though I prayed it would be more." Visenya looked away.
"Ah, trust me, I have hoped the same." Jacaerys glanced down at the scar left on Visenya's wrist, at the scar on her face.
He could not forget her face, that hatred in her eyes, that thirst for violence.

"Well, as my friend recommends, I should head inside." Visenya said without an ounce of sentiment behind her words.
"Good day, aunt." Jacaerys smirked, bowing his head.
"Good luck, nephew." Visenya replied awkwardly, she did not mean that. And he did not mean his words, either.

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I expected to drop this chapter a few days in advance, however I may have gotten grounded (writing from my sister's IPad)