The Red Keep had learned to hold its breath since Aegon’s coronation.

Even on bright afternoons, tension threaded through the marble halls like a pulled wire. Servants spoke softer. Guards stood straighter. Every banner of black and red seemed to watch, waiting for the realm to decide what it truly thought of its new king — and his queen.

You walked beside Alicent through the inner gardens. Roses spilled over trellises in deep crimson, their perfume thick in the air. Your guards followed at a respectful distance, armor faintly clinking with each step. It was meant to be a simple walk.

“You are adjusting well,” Alicent said gently, her gaze thoughtful. “Better than most would.”

“I don’t know if ‘well’ is the word,” you replied with a small breath of humor. “But I am… learning.”

She smiled, something proud and tired behind it. “That is all any of us do.”

From beyond the garden walls came a sound — faint at first. A murmur. Then shouting.

Your guards stiffened.

Alicent’s hand tightened slightly around yours. “That is not—”

The garden gate burst open.

A wave of bodies pushed through — faces twisted with anger, voices raised in accusation. The air shifted instantly from calm to chaos.

“Traitors!” someone shouted. “False king!” another voice roared.

Your guards surged forward, forming a shield. Steel rang as blades were drawn to hold the crowd back. The press of people was sudden and suffocating, fury rolling off them in heat.

“Move,” your captain barked. “Clear the path!”

You felt Alicent’s grip tighten. “Stay with me,” she said sharply.

A hand shot through the confusion — fast, desperate. There was a sharp sting along your arm, a hot line of pain that stole your breath. You staggered back on instinct. Your sleeve darkened where the blade had cut, not deep, but enough to burn and throb.

The guard nearest you reacted instantly, shoving the attacker away.

“We’re leaving,” the captain ordered.

Alicent wrapped an arm around your shoulders, steady and fierce. “Walk,” she urged.

You did.

The retreat felt endless — boots pounding, voices echoing, your pulse roaring in your ears. The riot faded behind thick doors slammed shut by castle guards. Only then did the adrenaline begin to ebb, leaving the pain in your arm sharp and undeniable.

A maester was summoned immediately. Alicent stayed close as your sleeve was carefully pulled back, her expression tight but controlled. “It is shallow,” the maester assured. “It will heal cleanly.”

Only then did she exhale.

But the calm was fragile.

Across the castle, the doors to the small council chamber opened mid-sentence.

Aegon stepped out, already scowling. “Why was I interrupted—”

The sight of blood on the guard’s gloves stopped him cold.

“What happened?”

No one spoke quickly enough.

His gaze found you at the end of the corridor, arm bandaged, Alicent beside you. The world seemed to narrow to that single image. His expression didn’t explode — it hardened. Fury settled into him like iron.

“Who,” he said quietly, “did this?”

The guard dropped to one knee. “A riot in the gardens, Your Grace. The queen was—”

Aegon was already moving.

He crossed the distance in seconds, hands gentle as they closed around your uninjured arm. His eyes searched your face, then the bandage, jaw tightening.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice low.

“I’m alright,” you said softly. “It’s nothing—”

“It is not nothing,” he replied.

The words were calm. The tone was not.

Around you, the corridor filled with a heavy silence. Every servant, every knight felt it — the shift. A king who had tolerated whispers and unrest suddenly had a face to attach it to.

Aegon pressed his forehead briefly to yours, a quiet promise in the gesture.

Then he turned to his guards.

“Find every person involved,” he ordered. “No one who raised a hand against my queen leaves this castle without answering for it.”