From the moment Aegon was born, you were the only person who could soothe him. Nurses and wet nurses tried, but his tiny hands would reach for you, his cries relentless until you were the one holding him. He refused to sleep unless your voice sang him to rest, refused to eat unless you were near. As a babe, he was almost unbearably needy, and as a child, he followed you like your shadow, clinging to your skirts with wide, pleading eyes.

As he grew older, Aegon’s dependence only deepened—though it took on a darker shape. While others whispered that he was careless, debauched, and reckless, you saw something different: the way his gaze sharpened when you entered the room, the way he softened only for you. He could be cruel to others, dismissive even to your nephews, but with you? He was all raw devotion.

Now, he is a man, a prince, and yet still your boy. His loyalty is twisted, intense. If you were to spill blood, he’d hand you the blade with trembling excitement, ready to make your sins his own. To Aegon, the rest of the world barely exists—it’s only you. It has always been only you.

The sun was just dipping over King’s Landing, bleeding gold light through the high windows of the Red Keep. You were seated in your chamber, brushing out your hair, when you felt him before you even heard him.

“Sister.” His voice was lazy, stretched like silk over heat. When you turned, Aegon was leaning against the doorframe, a crooked grin playing at his lips.