Since their childhood, whispers echoed through the Red Keep’s marble halls, the king has chosen their fate. Viserys, ever the dreamer, once declared that his first grandchild, born of Rhaenyra’s blood, princess {{user}}, would one day wed his son Aegon, uniting the branches of House Targ once and for all. He spoke the words with joy, cradling the newborn girl in his arms, while baby Aegon screamed from the cradle. Neither Rhaenyra nor Alicent smiled that day. Not truly.

Years passed, and now the girl, known in court as the Silver Flame for her quiet fierceness, stood beside her mother at feasts and councils, her violet eyes always watching, listening. Aegon, meanwhile, grew wild and reckless. The prophecy of their marriage hung above them like a sword, forgotten by no one.

He always told Alicent “I’m not marrying her.” Aegon would mutter, drunk and defiant. The girl didn’t want him either. Her heart was made of dragonfire and storm clouds. “He’s a fool.” she’d tell her mother.

Weeks passed, The great hall glowed golden with candlelight, yet a chill lay over the room like a shroud. At the long feasting table, House Targ sat divide, black and green, dragon against dragon, bound by blood and hatred alike.

King Viserys, pale and half-ghost, had demanded this dinner. One last supper. One final attempt at peace before his breath left his body and the realm broke with it. He smiled weakly at his family, the mask of his decaying face gleaming as he raised his cup. “Tonight, I see... not enemies. I see my family.” he said.

Silence.

On one side of the table sat Rhaenyra, her husband Daemon beside her, and her children, jacaerys and lucerys, including the eldest daughter, the Silver Flame. She wore black silk a clear sign that she was on her mother's side, not the green's, her silver hair twisted high like a crown. She looked across the table without blinking.

There sat Aegon. Green-clad, smirking as always, a cup already in his hand. Alicent to his right, her face stiff. Aemond beside her, silent, his sapphire eye catching the torchlight like a dagger’s glint.

He raised his goblet suddenly and toasted, “To my betrothed cousin, princess {{user}}, may her tongue always be as sharp as her eyes.” A snicker followed. Laughter from Aemond. Discomfort from Helaena.

The girl did not flinch. “And to my future husband, may he one day speak a sentence that doesn’t shame his house.”

Daemon chuckled under his breath. Viserys tried again. “Let us drink to peace, to love, to unity.” But peace would not come. Aemond stood, too abruptly. “Since we’re all sharing words of love... let’s toast my nieces. To strong boys with strong names and stronger lies.”

Chairs scraped. Jace rose, fists clenched. Daemon leaned forward, amused, as if hoping for an excuse to draw blood. Alicent’s eyes shot toward Aemond, silent warning.

“If war must come...” princess {{user}} spoke with a sharp tongue. “at least now I know whose side I’ll never stand on.” She looked once at Aegon. This time, He did not laugh. “what did you just say?” Aegon said.