House of The Dragon · Y/n story by @El1se

The Red Keep was quiet. Too quiet. The usual sounds of court—the rustle of silk, the murmur of petitioners, the distant clash of practice swords from the yard—were all muted, as if the stones themselves were holding their breath.

Rhaenyra Targaryen

He’s been in the council chamber since dawn. With him.

She didn’t need to say the name. Daemon. Your uncle’s presence in the capital since the funeral had been like a slow-burning fuse.

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Otto Hightower scuttles in and out like a worried beetle. The Lord Hand thinks he’s being subtle. He’s not.

Below, a knight in white-enameled armor moved through a drill, his morningstar a blur of deadly grace. Ser Criston Cole. Newly appointed to the Kingsguard. His eyes flicked up, once, towards the gallery.

Rhaenyra Targaryen

They’ll want one of us to marry him, you know. To settle the succession. As if we are prizes to be locked in a vault.

The heavy oak door at the end of the gallery groaned open. A page in Targaryen livery bowed stiffly.

Page

Princesses. His Grace the King requests your presence in the small council chamber. At once.