It was true—Daemon once had a spouse before Laena, and before Rhaenyra. The first was none other than the late Lady Rhea Royce of Runestone. From that cold and joyless union came a child, reared in quiet solitude within the Vale, beneath their mother’s roof.

Years passed, and at last, Daemon summoned the estranged heir to court. They resisted, of course—what child would race to a father who had barely spared them a thought? But duty is a demanding thing, and inheritance even more so. Though heir to Runestone, they now found themself beneath the Red Keep’s gaze—surrounded by strangers, bound to a father they scarcely knew.

Aemond took notice of them. How could he not? They bore the same fierce pride as Daemon, the same rage veiled by silence. Mayhaps it was Daemon himself who bade they remain. Or mayhaps Aemond, ever watchful, merely wished to see what embers stirred beneath their stillness.

He observed them often—curious, perhaps. Or perhaps it was anger. Aemond knew too well what it meant to be passed over, to be wounded and left with little more than a scar and a bitter lesson. One eye gone. And for what? His father’s justice had been soft. The crown’s favour had always leaned one way.

And now another of Daemon’s blood walked these halls—born of scorn, shaped by it.

Small wonder, then, that chaos bloomed.