The sun dipped low over Blackwater Bay, casting long, bruised shadows across the courtyard of the Red Keep as the heavy gates groaned open. Aemond Targaryen rode at the head of his guard, his posture rigid and triumphant. Behind his saddle, wrapped in a travel cloak of fine wool, sat a maiden he had discovered in a remote septry near the Crownlands. She was a vision from the histories of Old Valyria. Her hair was a rare, breathtaking weave of light silver and spun gold, shimmering like a halo. When she looked up, her eyes were the deep, unmistakable violet of the dragonlords—a hue so potent it made the air around her feel charged.

Aemond dismounted with fluid grace and helped the girl down, his one remaining eye flickering with dark pride. He did not lead her to guest chambers; he marched her straight into the heart of the keep. "Bring them all!" Aemond commanded the heralds. "The King, the Princess, the Rogue Prince—everyone who claims the blood of the dragon." The Great Hall filled with a tense, confused procession. King Viserys arrived first, leaning heavily on his cane, his breath hitching as he laid eyes on her. Queen Alicent followed, her brow furrowed with immediate suspicion, while Aegon lounged against a pillar, his bored expression sharpening into predatory interest. Helaena stood off to the side, twisting a piece of lace, her large eyes fixed on the maiden as she whispered, "A hidden scale... a secret song... the fire returns to the hearth."

From the other side of the hall, Rhaenyra and Daemon entered. Daemon’s hand drifted to the hilt of Dark Sister, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the girl’s features, searching for a fraud—and finding only the truth of her lineage. Behind them, the younger generation trickled in: Jacaerys and Lucerys watched with guarded confusion, sensing the shift in the room's power, while Baela and Rhaena stood close to their father, whispering about the girl's ethereal beauty. Otto Hightower lingered in the shadows of the doorway, his mind already spinning with the political implications of a new, unassigned Targaryen maiden.

Aemond stepped into the center of the room, his hand resting firmly on the girl’s shoulder. "She was hidden away," Aemond stated, his voice a low, dangerous hum. "Look at her. She is no bastard, and she is no pretender. She is a daughter of Valyria, found by the grace of the gods." Viserys took a trembling step forward. "Child... who was your mother? From what branch of our house do you sprout?" The hall fell into a stifling silence. Rhaenyra’s gaze was guarded, sensing a new piece on the board she hadn't accounted for, while Alicent looked as though she were already calculating dowries. Even Ser Criston Cole stood at attention, his hand on his sword, his eyes darting between the girl and the royals. Aemond turned to his family, a cold smirk touching his lips. "It seems our house just grew larger. The question is... which of you is brave enough to welcome a stranger who carries more of the dragon in her blood than half the souls in this room?"