Maegor's Holdfast, The Royal Apartments.
A knock sounded at the door, measured and cautious.
"Prince, Princess," Tyra's voice came from the hallway.
"Breakfast is served. Also... three of the four eggs from Dragonstone hatched yesterday."
Aemond's eyes brightened instantly.
"Understood," he called back.
"Have the Dragonkeepers watch them closely. I will see them this afternoon."
"Yes, my Prince."
Helaena released his hand, watching him rise and walk toward the bath behind the screen.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze lingering on his back.
"Aemond," she said suddenly.
"Yes?" His head popped out from behind the screen, water dripping from his silver hair.
"Tonight..." Helaena hesitated.
"Can you come back early tonight? I want... I want you to read to me. Like we used to."
Aemond's expression softened. "The Fall of Valyria? Or The Origin of Dragons?"
"The Origin of Dragons," she smiled with a touch of girlhood innocence.
"I like hearing you read the High Valyrian passages. Your pronunciation is better than the Grand Maester's."
"It is our language," Aemond said, turning back to the bath as the splashing of water resumed.
"Tonight. I promise."
Helaena sat listening to the water and the rising din of the city outside. Her hand traced the embroidered Targaryen sigil on the sheets, the three-headed dragon, coiled and breathing fire.
Fire and Blood; such was the fate of the man she loved.
All she could do was preserve a pocket of peace within that destiny.
The Morning Meal.
The morning sun flooded the long table in the dining hall. It was set with golden-brown bread, amber honey, white cheese, and crisp bacon.
A pot of tea sat at the center, not the common herbal brews of the Seven Kingdoms, but a rare treasure from the Far East, its leaves unfurling in the hot water to release a delicate fragrance.
It was a gift from House Hightower and one of Aemond's few indulgences.
Helaena had changed into a pale purple gown, her sleeves and collar adorned with tiny seed pearls. Her hair was styled in the intricate braids of a married woman, secured by a silver net.
She watched Aemond enter. He was already fully dressed in a black tunic and light leather armor, with a steel plate reinforcing his left shoulder.
"You wear armor to breakfast?" Helaena asked, her eyes dancing with amusement.
"In times like these, surprises are frequent," Aemond sat opposite her, spreading honey on a piece of toast.
"Besides, if I am used to the weight, I won't find it cumbersome when I truly need it."
Tyra entered with two handmaidens to pour the tea.
Aemond took a bite of his bread.
"Tyra, I hear you've been seeing Will?"
Tyra's hand shook slightly, the spout of the teapot nearly clipping the rim of the cup.
"I... yes, Your Grace," she murmured, her ears turning pink.
"Good," Aemond said, his voice casual but his eyes reflecting a rare warmth.
"Tell me when you wish to marry. I am never stingy with rewards. You deserve the best."
Tyra's face burned a deep scarlet.
"Your Grace is too kind," she whispered, retreating quickly, though her lips curved into a small smile.
Helaena watched them and laughed. "You're teasing her again."
"She has served you faithfully for three years," Aemond sipped his tea.
"Caring for her happiness is only right. And Will... he may be low-born, but he has a head on his shoulders. He is a good match for her."
"And what of Hal and Carter?" Helaena asked, slicing a piece of cheese.
"Naturally," Aemond said, his tone turning pragmatic.
"That is why I gave them command of the army and the administration of Rook's Rest. Power, responsibility, and a future, that is the foundation of a man's happiness. As for romance..." He gave a cynical smile.
"With the power they hold now, the Lords of the Crownlands will be tripping over themselves to marry off their daughters to them."
He set down his cup.
"Hope is the best motivator. These former strays, smiths' sons, and thieves are now nobles with land. They have ambition; they will climb harder and be more loyal than any hereditary Lord, because they know I can take back what I gave just as easily as I bestowed it. That is the firmest bond there is."
Helaena shook her head but said nothing. She knew Aemond's mind: practical, direct, and focused on results.
When they finished, Aemond stood and walked to her, leaning down to kiss her forehead.
"Until tonight," he said.
Helaena remained at the table for a moment, her hand touching where he had kissed her. Tyra stepped forward.
"Princess, it is time to join Queen Alicent. She has requested we go to the Great Sept to pray."
Helaena nodded and followed her out.
Walking through the galleries, she passed the portraits of Targaryen Kings, from Aegon the Conqueror to Viserys.
When she reached the portrait of Jaehaerys I, she stopped.
The "Old King" sat atop Vermithor, flying alongside his sister-wife Alysanne on Silverwing, a model of love and rule for the singers.
But Helaena knew the secret histories. She knew how lonely Jaehaerys had been in his final years, watching his children and wife die before him.
She knew the helplessness he felt when he had to pass his crown to a grandson he didn't fully trust.
"Tyra," Helaena said, her voice distant.
"Do you think King Jaehaerys was happy?"
Tyra blinked. "He was a great King, Princess. History will always remember his name."
"Greatness is not the same as happiness," Helaena whispered to herself.
A flash of fear crossed her eyes.
It was all too similar to her dreams. Viserys and Jaehaerys, Aegon and Aemond, Rhaenyra and Daemon... history seemed to be a loop.
"Sometimes I wonder if it is a curse. History repeating itself, generation after generation, without end."
Tyra didn't know how to answer. She knew Helaena was prone to such melancholic moods.
As a servant, Tyra knew that thinking too deeply in this court usually led to a short life.
Helaena sighed and shook her head.
"Forgive me. I shouldn't have asked. Let's go; my mother is waiting."
-----
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