The conspiracy had barely begun to stir when the crown crushed it with thunderous force.
Most nobles in the Seven Kingdoms still didn't have the full picture. All they knew was that House Caswell of Bitterbridge had been wiped out, House Peake of Starpike had been erased, and the Fossoways of Fruitwine Hall and the rryweathers of Longtable had been stripped of power.
The reason? All four lords had plotted rebellion, and the evidence was ironclad.
Imdiately afterward, Lord Matthos Rowan of Goldengrove was elevated to Warden of the Rose Road. He moved his household troops into Bitterbridge, creating a silent north-south standoff with his liege lord, House Tyrell.
The details remained murky, but the outco was shocking.
With the new royal domain crisis settled, Westeros slowly returned to peace.
---
Mid-March.
Red Keep, council chamber.
Daeron sat in his chair, fighting sleep, wishing he could go feed the dragons instead. Council etings were exhausting.
"Stay awake, Prince," Lord Owen whispered.
Daeron rubbed his temples and forced himself to focus.
Lord Tywin had called the eting, but the true topic hadn't been announced yet.
As it happened, Daeron had sothing important to discuss too.
"Coronation!"
"Betrothal!"
Daeron and Tywin spoke at the exact sa mont. They stared at each other in surprise.
??
Daeron's mind went blank.
He had been heir to the Iron Throne for a month and a half. He had crushed the Reach rebellion, established the new royal domain—what ca next was obviously the coronation. The ceremony was complicated; preparations would take at least one or two months. If they didn't start now, it would drag into June.
Tywin was equally surprised. He hadn't expected his star pupil to be this impatient.
The king wasn't even dead yet.
Why was the heir in such a rush to take the throne?
The realm was still unsettled. A sudden coronation would invite ugly rumors.
In Tywin's sharp eyes, a betrothal was the lowest-risk, highest-reward priority right now.
He spoke calmly. "Prince, the heir is the foundation of the realm. You are already fourteen. By tradition you have two years until you co of age. It is ti to secure a betrothal and calm the hearts of the Seven Kingdoms."
In most of Westeros, fourteen for boys and sixteen for girls counted as adulthood. Strictly speaking, sixteen was ideal for both. Given Daeron's age and position, he didn't need to marry imdiately—but the betrothal should be arranged now.
"Huh?"
Daeron blinked, montarily stunned.
Am I… being pressured to marry?
Tywin continued. "You get betrothed now. In two years you marry. The timing is perfect."
Daeron's eyes flicked across the other councillors. They were all deep in thought—even Maester Aemon, usually so steady, had a distant, slightly dreamy smile.
Daeron couldn't exactly say he wanted to crown himself and shove his father off the throne, so he changed tack. "My lord, isn't a betrothal a bit rushed?"
He had candidates in mind, but marriage was the last thing he wanted to think about right now.
Before Tywin could answer, soone else jumped in.
Lord Corlton chuckled. "Not at all, Prince. King Aerys was already betrothed to Queen Rhaella at your age, married the next year, and Prince Rhaegar was born the year after."
The room murmured approval.
Lord Lucerys nodded vigorously. "Exactly. As heir to the Iron Throne you should marry early and secure your own heirs."
"Prince Rhaegar already has a son and daughter."
"I was married at fourteen."
Once the councillors latched onto the marriage topic, old rivalries vanished. They stopped sniping at one another's birth and spoke with surprising harmony, all wearing knowing, teasing smiles.
Daeron: ——
I saw what happened to Father and Rhaegar's marriages. That's exactly why I don't want to rush into one.
Early marriage made sense in Westeros. dicine was primitive. People died suddenly. If you didn't secure heirs young, your line could easily end.
Look at Prince Baelor "Breakspear"—the greatest Targaryen prince of his generation. One accident and he was gone. His two sons inherited the claim, but a spring plague took them both, along with King Daeron II. The crown passed to the dull bookworm Aerys I, who left no heirs, then to his brother Rhaegel (who choked on his food), then to Rhaegel's son (murdered by his own wife), and finally to Maekar I's line. Aegon V only beca king because everyone else died first. He was literally called "the king who should never have been."
The lesson was clear: more heirs were always better.
House Targaryen faced the sa problem now. Rhaegar had renounced everything and left for Lys. Daeron was only fourteen—strong as a young dragon, but still young. Jaehaerys and Viserys were still in the "might die young" age range.
The entire Small Council had reached the sa conclusion: Daeron needed to marry soon and produce strong heirs to secure the succession.
Maester Aemon nodded. "I agree."
Daeron's face darkened. Please stop encouraging this, Great-Uncle. You never had any children yourself.
Tywin spoke slowly. "Prince, arranging a betrothal is a matter of stabilizing the realm. You won't object, will you?"
Daeron caught the undertone. His teacher hadn't co with good intentions. "If I agree to a betrothal, what exactly do you have in mind?"
He wasn't afraid of marriage. He just had… reservations. But if it had to happen, it had to happen. He wasn't going to lose a limb over it.
The mont his tone softened, the vultures pounced.
Lord Corlton smiled. "Prince, since we're discussing betrothals, do you have anyone suitable in mind?"
Daeron finally understood.
So that's what this is. They want a political marriage.
You people really aren't afraid Shaena will ride Tessarion straight through the gates, are you?
He leaned back in his chair, said nothing, and let a small smirk form. Let's see what flowers these idiots can grow.
Lord Corlton—clearly bought and paid for—went straight for the kill. "Lady Cersei Lannister is the perfect age. Noble birth, stunning beauty, excellent figure. She would suit you perfectly."
Daeron stayed silent. Maester Aemon nodded thoughtfully. He had t Cersei. She was well-built—clearly built for childbearing. That mattered.
Lord Lucerys frowned. "The first choice must be Princess Shaena. A royal marriage stays within the family. It's an old and accepted Targaryen tradition under the Faith."
He was pure Valyrian blood. Of course he backed Shaena.
Maester Aemon nodded again. Shaena was excellent. She was Targaryen, one of only two dragonriders, and a little older than Daeron—older sisters knew how to take care of people. The only concern was that she was slender. Might not be the best for bearing children.
The floodgates opened.
Lord Mace, desperate to get his sister back in the ga, declared enthusiastically, "My sister Janna has long admired the Prince. She's the right age, and her figure is wonderfully full. She would give you many strong, healthy sons."
Maester Aemon kept nodding. Of all the girls circling his great-nephew, he ranked Janna just behind Shaena. House Tyrell won were famously fertile, and Janna looked like she had been born to be a mother.
Nas flew. So supported Shaena, others pushed Cersei or Janna. A few even suggested other eligible noble daughters across the realm.
Then Lord Staunton spoke up. "Rember Lord Hoster Tully's younger daughter, Lysa? She was married to Lord Arryn and is now a widow at Riverrun. Her sister Catelyn has already given Lord Stark a son and daughter, so Tully won are clearly fertile. Even though House Tully lost the title of Lord Paramount, they still carry weight in the Riverlands. Marrying Lysa would help bind the Riverlands lords to the crown."
Daeron's head snapped toward him, eyes murderous.
Are you fucking serious?
Everyone else had suggested Cersei or Janna. You drag out the widow Lysa? Trying to piss off on purpose?
The room went quiet. Every councillor turned to stare at Staunton with strange expressions.
Only Maester Aemon kept nodding serenely. Lysa… Lysa works too. I hear she's a pretty, full-figured girl who has already proven she can carry a child.
The discussion had reached its natural end.
Daeron hadn't been born at the best ti. There simply weren't many highborn girls in the Seven Kingdoms who were both the right age and a political match. He could count them on one hand: Shaena, Cersei, Janna—and technically Princess Arianne Martell, though she was only eight and Daeron was fourteen. Six years apart was acceptable, but still.
That gave two princesses and two daughters of great lords.
Tywin had already done the math. The only real contenders were the first three. Arianne was out—Rhaegar had already married one Dornish princess. Daeron would never take another.
Among the top three, Cersei held the edge over Janna. House Lannister was stronger than House Tyrell. Cersei was prettier, bolder, and had Tywin himself maneuvering behind the scenes. Janna, anwhile, had already fled back to Highgarden with her grandmother. She was out of the running.
Finalists: Shaena versus Cersei.
Tywin's voice was calm—almost gentle, which was unusual for him. "Prince, the councillors have nad several candidates. Do you have a preference?"
"I do."
"Who?"
"Shaena," Daeron answered without hesitation.
Anyone with half a brain would choose Shaena. He wasn't an idiot. And if he was being brutally honest, sleeping beside a woman who shared his blood felt safer than anyone else. Yeah, that's fucked up. But that's the Targaryen brain for you.
He rubbed his temples. Two different lifetis colliding in one skull gave him a headache.
Tywin wasn't surprised. "Princess Shaena? An excellent choice."
No one could argue with it. The mont Daeron and Shaena had danced through the sky on dragonback, the realm had accepted they would end up together.
Tywin made the decision. "Then it's settled. Lord Corlton, Lord Owen—you two will organize the betrothal ceremony. Invite every great house in the Seven Kingdoms to witness the Prince and Princess's joyous day."
Both n bowed.
Daeron stared at his teacher, deeply suspicious. Who are you and what have you done with Tywin Lannister? Shouldn't you be sabotaging this so I marry Cersei instead? Your sudden cooperation is making nervous.
Tywin t his gaze evenly. "Princess Shaena is an outstanding choice. There is no debate."
He stood. "Each of you, see to your duties."
Daeron left the chamber still uneasy. He decided to find Varys and do so digging.
Tywin wouldn't be stupid enough to move against Shaena. Not with House Lannister's current position. That would be suicide.
A thought occurred to him. Maybe he's already lined up a good match for Cersei elsewhere?
He searched the Red Keep but couldn't find Varys. The eunuch had slipped away the mont the eting ended.
Daeron considered visiting his father in the royal apartnts. It had been a while. After the betrothal, the coronation would follow. Father and son needed to have a "productive" conversation.
"Prince!!"
A confident, feminine voice called down the corridor, followed by the sharp click of heels.
Cersei appeared in a low-cut sundress of creamy white that set off her golden skin. Pink lace straps and delicate pastel flowers gave the dress a strangely proper yet seductive contrast. The March sunlight seed brighter the mont she arrived. Her golden hair carried a faint floral scent.
Daeron had to admit the gods were fair. They had given Cersei perfect beauty and then deliberately withheld a functioning brain.
Before he could speak, Cersei rushed forward, rose on her toes, and planted a firm kiss on his cheek.
Warm, soft, and very intentional.
Daeron gently pushed her back and wiped the lipstick from his face with the back of his hand. "Cersei. Boundaries."
He wasn't made of stone. Cersei's beauty and boldness were a winning hand in any era. He could admit he felt a flicker of temptation. Good girls were nice. Bad girls were fun. But Cersei was too dangerous right now. If he touched her, Tywin would co for blood.
Even if he eventually took multiple wives, the rules had to be set first. Another Dance of the Dragons was the last thing he needed.
"You don't like it?" Cersei tilted her head, looking every inch the proud lioness.
"Listen. I'm getting betrothed."
Cersei froze. Her bright expression darkened instantly. Her green eyes flashed with sothing close to madness. "Betrothed?"
"That's right."
Daeron nodded.
Cersei drew a slow breath, turned on her heel, and stord off toward the Hand's Tower, ripping the flowers from her dress as she went.
Her father had told her to stay patient, that he would create an opportunity.
This was the opportunity?
The Prince was getting betrothed?!
"Gods damn it!"
Cersei couldn't swallow the insult. She was going to demand answers from her father.
Daeron watched her go, then bent down and picked up one of the fallen flowers.
From her reaction, he had a pretty good idea what Tywin was really planning.
Not bad, teacher. Master of the black glove, indeed.
"Go get him, Cersei. I'm rooting for you."
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