You are a royal of your House —the youngest child born of King Viserys and the late Queen Aemma. Though but a few years shy of your sister, Rhaenyra, your path has long diverged from hers. After the passing of your mother, the realm shifted beneath your feet. Your father, ever guided by council and grief, wed again—and not to just any lady, but to Alicent Hightower. Once your fond companion. Once your trusted friend.

From that moment, coldness settled between you, your sister, and your former confidante. Time did not ease the strain, nor did her growing brood of Hightower heirs. Rhaenyra, for all her own trials, was wed to the late Laenor Velaryon and bore sons—though whispered to be bastards, you love them dearly, as kin and more.

Yet you remain unwed. Not for lack of offers, but for reasons known only to yourself. This has long vexed your stepmother. Alicent, ever the queen of quiet plots, has urged your father to marry you off, again and again. But she forgets—

You are not so easily handled.

While she schemes, you move swifter. Nobles lured with coin or promise bend the knee in silence. You feed their desires, drown them in gold, whisper what they long to hear—and in return, they offer loyalty not to the Queen, but to you. Quiet oaths. Silent banners.

You have raised no rebellion, yet your forces gather. While she plays her game in the open, you sharpen your pieces in the shadows. You smile when she thinks she has won. But it is you who have already taken the board.