They called him Kinslayer when he returned to King's Landing. Word had preceded him, brought by frightened ravens and whispered by shaken courtiers—Aemond Targaryen had slain his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon, at Storm's End. I was in my chambers when I heard the rumor, and my heart shattered in my chest. The child I carried seemed to turn to ice in my womb.

If Aemond expected a hero's welcome upon his arrival, he was sorely mistaken. The entire Keep felt steeped in dread, from the lowliest scullion to the highest of lords. Guards stepped aside as he walked by, their eyes turned downward. Servants bowed deeply, yet fear rather than reverence charged the air around them.

They summoned me to the council room, but by the time I arrived, the discussion was already well underway. Queen Alicent stood with her hands braced on the table, her face ashen as she stared at her son. Ser Otto Hightower paced at her side, scowling so furiously that new lines etched themselves across his brow. King Aegon lounged at the far end, smug satisfaction lurking behind his half-lidded eyes. And there, between them all, stood Aemond—silent, posture rigid, jaw set. He did not so much as glance in my direction.

"Mother have mercy on us all," Alicent breathed when she saw me enter. She pressed her trembling fingers against her temples, as though to ward off the enormity of it all.

I moved to stand near her, though my focus was pinned on Aemond. I wanted to see some flicker of remorse in his eye, some sign that he remembered his promise to me—the promise he had shattered along with Lucerys's life. Yet, his expression remained grim and resolute, offering no apology or explanation.

Ser Otto rounded on him, voice harsh with anger. "You only lost one eye," he snapped, "yet you prove yourself blind to the consequences! Did you think Rhaenyra would meekly bend the knee after you slew her son?"

Aemond said nothing, but his grip on the pommel of his sword whitened his knuckles. The tension in the room was suffocating. Alicent looked as though she might faint, tears threatening to fall.

"Why?" I finally managed to speak, my voice trembling with a fury I struggled to contain. My heart pounded so violently it hurt to breathe. "You swore to me, Aemond. You promised you would not harm him!"

He turned his head slightly, as if hearing me for the first time. His mouth opened, but no words emerged. Whether it was stubborn pride or guilt, I could not tell. The silence was an admission all its own.

"You... you lied," I whispered, the betrayal choking me. "Do you realize what you've done? You've lit the realm on fire!"

He still did not speak. A part of me wanted to strike him, to claw at him in my anguish, but all I could do was stand there, trembling as tears stung my eyes. Alicent tried to place a comforting hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off, unable to bear any consolation while my mind reeled with the horror of Lucerys's death.

King Aegon looked upon the scene with a twisted sort of satisfaction. His voice cut through the room, jarring and casual. "Calm yourselves. What's done is done. Rhaenyra has lost one of her brats—and the Baratheons have pledged to me. Our cause is stronger."

Alicent glared at her son, revulsion flickering across her face, but he continued undeterred, leaning forward in his seat. "My brother has made a good beginning. A true blood of the dragon. He should be hailed, not condemned."

A harsh scoff escaped Ser Otto. "My King," he said tightly, bowing with forced respect. "Securing Borros Baratheon's support is indeed a coup, but the cost... we risk uniting all the lords of the realm behind Rhaenyra in fury."

"You speak as if we haven't the means to make them fear us," Aegon returned, waving a dismissive hand. "What is done cannot be undone."

In the corner of my vision, I saw Aemond's shoulders tense even more. Perhaps even he was unsettled by Aegon's blasé acceptance of bloodshed. Alicent looked from one son to the other, horror and despair etched into every line of her face.

My chest tightened. I could not remain silent. "Your Grace," I said, barely managing deference, "blood begets blood. This will not end here. Rhaenyra will not rest until the scales are balanced. Gods help us all for what may follow."

Aegon smirked, as if amused. "Then we had best make certain the Greens are prepared. Let the Blacks wail—my throne will remain mine so long as we are strong."

I turned back to Aemond, tears threatening to choke me. "How can you stand there and say nothing? You do realize you've put not just yourself, but me and our children, in jeopardy? Daemon Targaryen will not let this pass!"

He dared at last to meet my gaze, anguish and pride warring in his single eye. But still, he held his tongue. I waited, a trembling breath caught in my throat, for any semblance of regret, an apology—but none came. My heart sank further.

Alicent sank into a chair, hands over her face, whispering a prayer. Ser Otto resumed pacing, thinking through the next steps in an ever-complicating war. Aegon simply rose, calling for a feast to celebrate "Prince Aemond's victory," ignoring the stunned silence that followed him out.

Left behind, I felt a thousand emotions swirling—anger, grief, betrayal, terror. If I had hoped for a moment of unity or contrition, it had died with Lucerys Velaryon at Storm's End. And as I caught the faint tremor in Aemond's hands, I wondered whether he, too, felt regret in the quiet corners of his heart. But it was far too late to mend what he had broken.

I swallowed hard, blinking back tears. No words were enough to convey the mix of heartbreak and fury roiling inside me. So I turned, ignoring Alicent's attempt to speak, and fled the council room, leaving them all in the throes of a victory that tasted of ashes and blood.

The din of celebration in the Great Hall was hollow in my ears. The music, the raised cups, the clamor of half-drunken lords and ladies clapping Aemond on the back as if his deed was some great accomplishment—it all cut me like knives. The sight of King Aegon grinning smugly from the high table while Alicent tried and failed to mask her worry tore at my nerves. With every toast in Aemond's honor, I felt my stomach churn in revulsion.

I tried to remain seated, to wear the mask of composure that court life demanded. Yet the heaviness in my chest grew unbearable. Lucerys's face haunted me—my young nephew who had shown me only kindness, now dead. Despite my closeness to the Greens, I found no joy in the supposed victory.

Unable to endure it any longer, I rose from the bench. The scraping of my chair on the stone floor turned a few heads, but I ignored them, forcing my way through the throng of revelers. Once beyond the threshold of the Great Hall, I hurried along the corridors, not entirely sure where I meant to go—only that I needed to leave.

Eventually, my feet carried me to our shared chambers, the rooms I had once found solace in. I closed the door with a trembling hand, pressing my back against the solid wood. My breath came in ragged gasps, tears threatening to fall as I replayed in my mind the jubilant toast King Aegon had given in Aemond's name. "A good beginning," he had called it. As if the death of a boy were something to celebrate.

I nearly jumped when a soft knock broke the silence. The door inched open, revealing Aemond. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with deliberate care. The festivities' echoes were muffled in the corridor beyond.

"I thought you might come here," he said quietly. His voice lacked its usual edge, that confidence that bordered on arrogance. Tonight it sounded...uncertain. Vulnerable, even.

I didn't move, couldn't move, simply stared at him. Tears gathered at the corners of my eyes, but I swallowed them back. "I can't be out there," I admitted, voice trembling. "Not after what happened—what they're celebrating."

He nodded, taking a cautious step closer. I felt my heart pound. Part of me wanted to rage at him, to scream for an explanation, a justification. Yet a deeper part just wanted the truth, however terrible it might be.

"Aemond," I whispered, barely holding back my tears. "I—You swore to me, on our children, that you wouldn't harm Lucerys. You promised."

He swallowed, the guilt stark in his eye. "I know what I promised."

"So you lied to me?" My voice cracked, and I shook my head, hurt and anger warring in my chest. "Why? If it was vengeance you wanted, or to impress your brother, then—"

"No!" he said, sharply enough to startle me into silence. His fists clenched at his sides, as though wrestling with some internal storm. "No," he repeated, more quietly. "I never meant to kill him. I never intended such an outcome."

I stared at him, heart thudding. "What are you saying?"

He stepped forward, his face anguished. "I gave chase. Vhagar... I thought I could scare Luke, force him to remember who he had wronged. But he lost control of his dragon, and I—Vhagar—" His jaw tensed as he fought the words out. "She wouldn't obey me."

The quiet revelation hung between us. I inhaled sharply, wanting to deny it or demand proof. But something in his trembling posture and his eyes told me this was no lie. He was haunted by what had happened as much as I.

"You're saying you didn't mean to..." The sentence hung, incomplete, but he understood.

He closed his eye, a rawness in his expression I rarely saw. "I only wanted to scare him, force him to yield. To show him he couldn't slight me and walk away unscathed." His voice cracked. "But Vhagar... she's so old, so willful. Once she scented blood or fear, I... I lost all control."

My tears flowed freely now, hot against my cheeks. "You... you lost control of your dragon?"

He nodded, misery etched in every line of his face. "I never intended Luke to die. I didn't strike the killing blow with my sword or spear—but my arrogance killed him all the same. I can't... I can't take it back."

A sob slipped past my lips. I pressed a trembling hand to my mouth. Aemond's gaze flickered to my tears, and in that moment, he looked as though he might shatter if I turned away from him.

"Aemond," I breathed, forcing down the swirl of conflicting emotions. I felt sorrow for Lucerys, anger at Aemond's recklessness, and overwhelming relief that this hadn't been cold-blooded murder. "Why didn't you speak up? Why not tell the king, Alicent—anyone—what happened?"

He bowed his head, strands of silver hair slipping free. "And appear weak? Allow the realm to think I'm less than in control of my own dragon? That I'm some incompetent rider who can't command the might of Vhagar?" A trembling laugh escaped him, filled with self-loathing. "Aegon lauds me as a hero, and the realm calls me Kinslayer. If I confessed it was an accident, I would be reviled as a fool or a liar, or both. No one would believe me."

I caught my breath, hands shaky as I reached out. For a moment, I hovered uncertainly; then I laid my palms gently against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. "You don't have to lie to me," I whispered, my voice raw. "You should never lie to me."

His arms enveloped me, pulling me against him, and I sank into the embrace. His scent, the warmth of him—it was all heartbreakingly familiar, yet now stained with tragedy. I felt his body shudder, and his cheek came to rest atop my head.

"I'm sorry, Lyanna," he choked out. "I swore I wouldn't harm him, and yet I did. Whether by my hand or through my dragon's defiance, it's done. Gods forgive me, I never wanted this."

My tears soaked into his tunic as I clung to him. "I believe you," I managed, though the ache of Lucerys's death still tore at me. "But the realm won't. And the Blacks certainly won't."

He nodded against my hair. "I know," he murmured. "I've lit a fire I cannot quench. Daemon will come, Rhaenyra will want blood. And so our war begins in earnest."

For a long moment, we just stood there, locked in grief and remorse. The cheers and music from the feast below seemed distant, like echoes from another world where people danced in ignorance. Slowly, Aemond drew back enough to look into my eyes. The guilt and sorrow in his gaze pierced me. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to mine—a kiss laced with desperation and need for comfort.

I returned it, tears slipping down my cheeks. This was one of the few times I'd seen him so vulnerable. In that fragile moment, I loved him fiercely, even as my heart remained torn by his actions. The child within me stirred—a reminder of all that lay ahead, of a future steeped in uncertainty and bloodshed.

"I'll stand by you," I whispered, once we broke apart, my voice thick with emotion. "But don't shut me out again. I can't bear it."

He closed his eye and nodded, exhaling a trembling breath. "I won't. You have my word."

Gently, I brushed his hair away from his face, tears still glistening on my lashes. "Then we face what comes together," I said softly.

"Together," he echoed, holding my gaze.

The roar of distant revelry flared once more, reminding us of the merciless world just outside our chamber doors, the one that now labeled my husband a Kinslayer. In the hush of our private grief, we tried to cling to each other, knowing full well that soon enough, we'd be called to stand at the forefront of a war neither of us had wanted—but now, we could not escape.

An: I have the next chapters planned and somewhat written but like what about the kids? Idk how I want to do the son for a son, or rooks rest like my heart can't take that 😭 but it has to happen uhhhh