He burned with fury, his jaw set hard, fists knotted at his sides, trembling with the storm that boiled within him as he stomped his way to his quarters. His elder brother kept pace, his expression a mask of shared humiliation, the pair still reeling from the spectacle at supper. Parting ways without so much as a word, Lucerys entered his bedchamber, slamming the door shut behind him. He tore at his doublet with shaking hands, ripping it from his frame and flinging it onto a chaise as though it were the very essence of his disgrace.

He prowled the room like a beast caged. He longed to defend Jacaerys, to strike back, to reclaim even a shred of honor—but it was all for naught. His uncles made certain that he and his brother left the hall in shame, their dignity poured out like the spilled Arbor that now stained his tunic. He grunted in frustration, striding toward the chair that lay before his looking glass and collapsing into it.

A shadow marred the pale curve of his cheek; a bruise blooming dark where Aegon had slammed him into the supper table. He grazed the tender flesh with his fingertips, wincing at the sting of it—a searing reminder of his weakness. A bastard’s mark, he thought bitterly. A worthless boy, too craven to hold his ground. He slammed his fists onto the vanity table, his gaze piercing the reflection of the boy he so deeply despised.

“Lord… Strong,” he spat, the words venomous and bitter upon his tongue.

The image of the illegitimate heir to the Driftwood Throne glared back at him, draped in stolen honor, taunting him with every breath he took. A bastard lordling. The walking embodiment of whispered secrets and veiled accusations—hidden beneath his mother’s station, living in the shadow of true lineage.

He was no true Velaryon.

Why him? Why had he been born to a house that would never truly accept him, cursed with a name that carried naught but strife and scorn? His nails scraped against the wooden finish as he hissed through his clenched teeth. And in that moment, he wished that he had taken more than just Aemond’s eye that one dreadful night at Driftmark.