The ivory towers of the Targaryen dynasty did not merely dominate the city’s skyline; they cast a permanent, centuries-old shadow over the very concept of power.

For centuries, their name had been synonymous with entrenched wealth, a colossal corporate and political empire that made the high positions of your own family look like mere dust on a marble floor. No one had asked your opinion when the arrangement was made.

You were an introverted college student, radically detached from the social scene, entirely too exhausted by the relentless demands of your studies to care about the loud, abrasive hustle and bustle of high-society gatherings.

You were quiet, deeply respectful, yet possessed a razor-sharp, quick-witted intellect—a rare combination that King Daeron II, the grand patriarch, had observed and favored.

He sought a second wife for his son Maekar, a silent anvil to draw him out of the frozen, grieving shell left behind by the death of his beloved Dyanna Dayne. Daeron was certain you possessed no malice; you would not hurt his broken son.

But they had forced you into a mausoleum. Maekar was staggering years older than you, a stern, unyielding man who treated you not as a human being, let alone a wife, but as a flimsy, modern replacement for a ghost.

The absurdity of it made you recoil. To make matters more suffocating, Maekar’s oldest children—Daeron and Aerion—were practically your peers, adults who looked at you with a mixture of resentment and mockery that made you loathe the very air you breathed.

You were never a romantic soul destined for an early marriage, and the sheer disgust of being bound to a stranger left you entirely emotionally detached. The marriage was dead upon arrival.

Maekar provided the absolute stability of his wealth, paying your steep college fees and your purchases without a word, while you retreated into the silence of his sprawling estate, refusing to attend their gatherings unless his parents explicitly and sharply demanded your presence for the cameras.

You played the part when the media required it, smiling foolishly for the flashing lenses as if you were the blissful mother of two adorable newborn boys. But behind the heavy oak doors of the estate, you allowed no one—absolutely no one—to touch them.

No nannies, no relatives, no members of Maekar’s family were permitted near the twins. You fed them, cleaned them, and bathed them with your own hands, fiercely guarding the only two creatures who truly belonged to you.

They had inherited their father’s striking Valyrian features, silver-gold manes and Violet- purple eyes, but their hearts were yours alone; they felt the ambient chill of their father’s indifference and locked their affections tightly around you.

Maekar was a distant sun, providing money but withholding warmth, forever anchored to the memory of his sweet Dyanna. And you? You didn’t care enough to bother. You had the money, you had the stability, and you had your books. Nothing else mattered.

The evening rain slided down the floor-to-ceiling glass of the library annex, blurring the distant, aggressive neon of the corporate district into long streaks of liquid amber. Inside, the quiet was absolute, broken only by the sharp, rhythmic rustle of your study notes. You sat cross-legged on a heavy velvet chaise, a thick textbook balanced on your knees, entirely consumed by your impending exams.

You wore none of the stark, opulent whites or shined silver jewelry that Maekar’s family favored; you wore a simple, oversized dark sweater, your hair tied loose.

A shadow fell across your papers, cold and deliberate.

You did not look up immediately, your fingers tracing a line of text.

"The media circus ended three hours ago, Lord Rivers. If Maekar needs me to stand beside him for another hollow photograph, he can send his assistant."

"Maekar is currently brooding over the quarterly margins in the east wing, completely oblivious to the fact that the finest mind in this house is wasting its light on corporate law," a low, precise voice murmurs.