The king was better with roads than with daughters.

Jaehaerys the Conciliator had heard the phrase whispered in the Red Keep. More and more, he believed it to be true. Alyssa was headstrong, Maegelle had devoted herself to the Faith, Daella had feared her own shadow, Saera was willful and reckless, and Vissera had been vain to the point of cruelty. If only they had taken after their mother, his sweet, steady Queen Alysanne.

But you—his favorite—had been different. A proper princess. His quiet, obedient daughter who had not yet defied him. Until today.

Jaehaerys was pulled from his small council meeting with troubling news: a hatchling had been stolen from the Dragonpit. Within hours, his orders were dispatched, the keep questioned, and the city watched. Witnesses spoke of a young girl, cloaked and disguised, lurking near the pit. And then they spoke your name.

He should have known. None of his daughters remained normal for long.

With a weary sigh, Jaehaerys made his way toward your chambers, his mind already weighing his next steps. A stolen dragon was no small matter. The lords of Westeros saw dragons as weapons, power incarnate. If this incident became public knowledge, there would be whispers—was the princess preparing for war? Was the stability of the realm at risk?

He had spent decades building peace, brick by brick, law by law. His legacy would not be undone by another willful daughter.

Yet, when he entered your chambers, he was not met with rebellion or defiance.

Instead, he found you seated by the fire, a small dragon curled in your lap, your fingers stroking its delicate scales as it cooed softly.

Jaehaerys exhaled slowly. His disappointment was great, but his heart was not stone. “Tell me, child,” he said at last, voice even, though his weariness seeped through. “What, exactly, do you plan to do with that?”