Walking into the council chamber felt like stepping from a dream into a nightmare. Gone was the gentle warmth of Helaena's quarters, replaced by the cold efficiency of power and politics. The marble floor echoed beneath my slippers, the walls seeming to loom in austere judgment. I found the Dowager Queen Alicent and Lord Otto already seated at a heavy oak table; King Aegon lounged in a tall-backed chair, fiddling with his goblet, while Ser Criston Cole stood at attention against the wall.

All eyes turned to me as I approached. My pulse quickened—a familiar anxiety fluttering in my stomach whenever these grand figures awaited my compliance. Carefully, I set my features in a neutral mask, reminding myself that I was a princess of House Velaryon, a Targaryen by marriage, and no stranger to the demands of state.

Alicent gestured for me to sit in one of the chairs opposite King Aegon. "Lyanna, thank you for joining us so swiftly."

I dipped my head politely before taking a seat. "You summoned me, Your Grace?"

"We did," Lord Otto said, folding his hands on the table. His gaze flicked to Aegon, then back to me. "It concerns the image we project to the realm—especially now."

Aegon waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes. I'm told my sweetheart sister, Helaena, is... not well-suited to constant appearances. She's a dear, but hardly comfortable with the scrutiny of the court." He gave a lazy shrug, sipping from his goblet. "We need someone else. A woman of standing who can bolster the Greens and quell the whispers in the city."

Alicent's brow creased. "Lyanna, your lineage is respected, your presence well-received in King's Landing. People see you as both a Targaryen princess and a Velaryon, bridging two powerful houses. We want you to be more visible alongside King Aegon."

My pulse fluttered. "Publicly?" I echoed. My memories flicked to the unrelenting stares at feasts, the false smiles at court gatherings, the intrusive questions about my children. "In what capacity?"

"You would stand beside me," Aegon said, leaning forward, an odd gleam in his eye. "Host events, appear in the throne room, address the concerns of the ladies of the court." He cast a glance at his mother. "We must show unity, a confident front. The people need a figure they can rally around."

Alicent nodded gravely. "Helaena prefers her own quiet pursuits—she has done her part by bearing heirs, but her temperament does not lend itself to constant public duty. The city is rife with rumors, many about Aemond, or about yourself, or even about me. We must counter them with something stronger."

Lord Otto cleared his throat. "Your presence, Princess Lyanna, would quell a number of doubts. There are still those who question the sincerity of the Greens' alliance with House Velaryon. You, as the mother of Aemond's children, can help dispel that talk—while also showing that the Targaryens remain united under King Aegon."

I felt a tightness in my chest. They wanted me to serve as a symbol, a vessel for their propaganda. Anger flared for a moment, but I tempered it with caution. "I... see." I carefully chose my words. "And does my husband know of this plan?"

Aegon gave a short laugh, swirling his drink. "Oh, I'm sure he'd be fine with it. Aemond's busy enough dealing with his own affairs. And truly, you're the only one who can step into this role while Helaena recovers from—well, from all that's happened."

Alicent shot Aegon a look, then turned back to me with a softer expression. "We're not commanding you, Lyanna, but urging you. The realm is precarious, and a friendly, familiar face—someone the people believe in—may calm the brewing storm."

"And in return, I assume you expect my unswerving loyalty," I said, unable to keep a hint of bitterness from my tone. "You want me seen by the public, a living testament to the Greens' rightful place on the throne."

Lord Otto didn't flinch. "Yes," he answered plainly. "This is how power is wielded—especially in times of crisis. Alliances are forged as much through public perception as they are through swords."

I exhaled slowly, my gaze drifting to Ser Criston, who stood silent but watchful. I thought of my children—Maekar, Rhaella, Laena—how any slip or perceived betrayal might endanger them. And I thought of Aemond, racked by guilt over Luke's death yet refusing to cede an inch in the war for the throne. My heart clenched, but I remained outwardly calm.

"You're requesting a great deal," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. "I'll consider it, for the sake of the realm—and for the sake of my family. But I want certain assurances."

Aegon raised an eyebrow, interest flashing in his eyes. "Such as?"

"That my children remain safe," I replied firmly, my gaze resting on each of them in turn. "No matter how this war unfolds, or how the Blacks respond, I refuse to have them pulled onto any battlefield of politics or swords."

Alicent nodded, a note of sympathy in her voice. "You have my word as mother and queen. The children will be protected."

Lord Otto's lips thinned, but he gave a curt nod. "We will do all in our power to ensure their safety."

For a moment, I let silence reign, weighing their promises. The path ahead was clear: I either stand with them, publicly, or watch as the Greens attempt to mask Helaena's reluctance with some other scheme, endangering the already fragile alliances we held. The cost of refusal might be dear, for me and mine.

At length, I rose, offering a slight bow. "Very well. I shall do my duty and stand beside King Aegon as needed. I only pray this helps prevent further bloodshed."

Aegon set his goblet aside and stood, a wide grin on his face. "Then we have an agreement. You'll attend me in the throne room tomorrow, at midday. Let the lords and ladies witness your support."

A tremor ran through me, but I held my head high. "Tomorrow, then," I said quietly. "If that is all, I'd like to see if Aemond has returned from his duties."

"That is all," Lord Otto affirmed, though his gaze lingered on me with measured scrutiny. "Thank you, Princess."

With that, I turned and departed the council chamber, the echo of Aegon's triumphant tone following me down the corridor. My footsteps felt heavier with each step, as though the weight of the entire realm pressed upon me. Perhaps, in a way, it did.

When I finally emerged into the open courtyard, I took a deep breath, letting the crisp morning air wash over me. I prayed that my public role would stave off further horrors, that it would keep my children out of harm's way. And though doubt gnawed at my heart, I squared my shoulders.

For them—my children, my husband, and all those caught in this tempest—I would do what I must. Even if it meant standing at King Aegon's side in full view of a realm at war, wearing a confident smile while my soul trembled within.

Twilight settled over King's Landing, painting the sky in bruised hues of purple and gold as I slipped through the corridors to Aemond's private dining room. After the meeting with Aegon and the council, I'd barely had a moment to breathe, my mind whirling with thoughts of how best to navigate this new "public role." Now, at last, we had a chance for a private dinner—a chance to talk openly without prying eyes and sharp ears.

A small brazier burned in the corner of the chamber, casting dancing shadows on the walls. A modest meal had been laid out: roasted duck, some spiced wine, and fresh bread. Aemond stood near the fire, arms folded, his posture rigid. The tension radiating from him was palpable, even before he turned to face me.

"You're late," he said, though not unkindly. His single eye flicked to the door behind me, as if checking whether we were truly alone.

I offered a weary smile. "Apologies, I was waylaid by one of the maids wanting to fix my gown." Truthfully, it was as much to gather my thoughts as to avoid being overheard.

We took our seats at the small dining table. The meal should have been comforting—a respite from the day's political minefield—but the air between us crackled with unspoken frustration.

"So," Aemond began at length, leaning forward, his hand around the stem of a wine goblet. "Aegon wants to parade you before the court like some trophy?" The harshness of his tone made me wince.

"In so many words, yes," I answered quietly. "They want me to stand beside him, to quell rumors, to portray a united front. Helaena's...not inclined to these public duties." I paused, studying the tightness in his jaw. "Aegon assumes you'd be indifferent—he thinks you have your own tasks to occupy you."

Aemond scoffed, his voice laced with bitterness. "Of course he does. Aegon commands, and we all dance to his tune. Never mind that I've done everything in my power to secure him allies—lost an eye, lost more than that—and yet, I'm given no seat on his council." He slammed his goblet down, wine sloshing over the rim. "If anyone should have a voice there, it's me. Not these sycophants clinging to Otto's every word."

I reached out, resting a hand on his wrist, hoping to calm the rising anger. "I know you deserve that seat, Aemond," I murmured, "but Aegon is...he's been swayed by others. Alicent, Otto, Criston—maybe he sees them as more predictable." I hated to admit it, but it seemed likely.

He released a bitter laugh. "Predictable, yes. No danger of overshadowing him, no threat to his fragile self-importance. Me, on the other hand?" He shook his head, silver hair brushing across his shoulder. "I'd threaten his authority just by being present."

I could feel his frustration gnawing at him—he had conquered Storm's End, in his twisted way, only to see others glorify him as Kinslayer while Aegon feasted in his name. No recognition of his intellect or strategy, just a forced tribute to his brutal deed.

Softly, I squeezed his wrist. "And now, he wants me to bear the brunt of public scrutiny," I said, voice trembling with my own annoyance. "To flash smiles and reassure the lords and ladies that the Greens are all one big, happy family. I do it for our children's sake, but it stings nonetheless."

Aemond turned his hand to clasp mine, the warmth of his skin a contrast to his cold fury. "It's not right," he growled. "You shouldn't be forced into the public eye, paraded around to placate the masses. You have more dignity than that." His gaze shifted to our joined hands, something like tenderness flickering in his eye. "You're my wife, not Aegon's showpiece."

Despite the tension, my heart gave a grateful flutter. "You know I'll do what I must to keep our family safe," I said softly, "but I resent being used as a pawn."

He withdrew his hand and took a measured sip of wine. "It's always pawns in this game, Lyanna," he said, the bitterness returning. "Even I am just a piece to them—good for battles and intimidation, not for the council table." His eye flared with resentment, but also hurt. "Do they think me a mere sword to be wielded?"

I inhaled, my thoughts churning. "I think they fear your ambition," I ventured, "and your intellect. If you were at that table, you'd overshadow half of them. They'd rather keep you in the field, where they can hail you as a hero when it's convenient, and blame you when things go awry."

He set his goblet down, exhaling a sharp breath. "They're fools," he said, voice taut. "They'll learn that soon enough."

Silence settled, thick with the weight of unspoken possibilities. I studied Aemond's profile, noting the tension in the line of his shoulders. A swirl of sympathy and exasperation filled my chest—he was formidable, brilliant, but the king and council saw only the Kinslayer, the rogue.

At last, I mustered the courage to place my hand gently on his cheek, turning his face toward me. "I'm sorry," I murmured, my voice laced with genuine regret. "I wish I could do more to support you—truly. But we're both locked in these roles. And if I refuse, Aegon might think us disloyal. I cannot risk that for our children's sake."

His eye flickered, softening at my touch. "You bear too much," he said softly, covering my hand with his. "My mother's commands, the king's demands... And then there's me, piling my grievances on top of everything."

My chest grew tight with emotion. "We're in this together, Aemond," I whispered. "No matter what Aegon expects, no matter what the realm thinks. I want you to know I stand by you."

He drew me in, our foreheads nearly touching. The candlelight cast dancing shadows across his scarred cheek, a reminder of all he'd sacrificed—and all he had yet to lose. "It means everything," he confessed, voice breaking just a bit. "To have one person here I can trust."

I stroked my thumb across his cheek, trying to convey comfort through that small gesture. "I wish the circumstances were different," I said, feeling a lump form in my throat. "But we'll face this, as we do all things—together."

For a moment, we simply breathed in each other's presence, the crackle of the brazier and the distant hum of the castle our only audience. I felt his lips press lightly to my forehead, an unspoken thanks for hearing him out.

Our meal lay untouched, but neither of us felt hunger, consumed instead by the realities of court life and our precarious position. It struck me how unfair it was—Aemond, who fought for Aegon, receiving no seat at the table, while I was thrust before the court to play the role of gracious princess.

At length, Aemond stepped back, clearing his throat as he tried to regain composure. "I suppose we should at least pretend to eat," he said with a wry smirk, though sadness still lingered in his eye.

I answered with a shaky laugh, though the weight on my heart refused to lighten. "Yes," I agreed. "Appearances matter, after all."

We took our seats again, attempting to dine in a semblance of normalcy. Yet the moment I lifted a morsel of duck to my lips, the taste turned to ash. The same anguish weighed on Aemond; I saw it in every small gesture, every sigh he tried to conceal.

In that private chamber, our future hung in the balance—a fragile alliance between ourselves and a king who cared more for spectacle than statesmanship. And though we pledged unity, the undercurrents of resentment and fear were far from resolved. If anything, this dinner only illuminated how precarious our positions truly were, both with each other and in the eyes of the realm.