Maekar woke to cold sheets and silence.

No iron-smoke scent. No heavy arm across his waist. Just absence.

Maekar’s violet eyes snapped open. Fury—sharp, irrational, half-dream-drunk—flooded him before reason could catch up.

How dare he.

He threw the furs aside, bare feet hitting stone, silver hair wild and sleep-tangled. He was already snarling under his breath as he stalked the corridor in nothing but a white nightgown, eyes blazing indignation.

He flung open Aerion’s door first—bed empty, sheets in chaos, boy nowhere.

Aegon’s next—snoring like a bear, alone.

The girls’ room—Rhaella and Daella curled together, peaceful, untouched.

Aemon’s—poor Aemon, small and innocent even at thirteen, jolted upright with a startled yelp as the door banged against the wall.

“Where is he?” Maekar snarled, voice low and lethal.

Aemon blinked, rubbing his eyes, voice small. “F-Father?”

“{{user}}. Where the fuck is your father?”

Aemon shrank back against the headboard. “I—I don’t know. He was here when I fell asleep…”

Maekar didn’t wait for more. He slammed the door and moved on.

Daeron’s room—bed empty. Neatly made. No sign of struggle, just absence.

That was the final spark.

He tore through the Keep like a storm—down spiral stairs, past yawning guards who snapped to attention and wisely said nothing. The eastern rampart doors were ajar. Cool pre-dawn air rushed in.

There.

On the wide stone parapet, legs dangling over the drop, sat {{user}}—broad shoulders relaxed, flagon in one hand—and beside him, Daeron, sixteen and solemn, nursing his own cup. Both watched the horizon slowly bruise into rose and gold.

Maekar stopped dead.

{{user}} turned his head slowly. His eyes were heavy-lidded, wine-bright, utterly mellow. A lazy, lopsided smile curved his mouth the moment he saw his omega.

Maekar exploded.

“You left me,” he hissed, striding forward. “Before dawn. Without a word. Like I’m some—” His voice cracked on the next word, raw. “You took my eldest and left me alone in the dark, you great oaf, you—”

{{user}} rose—steady despite the wine—crossed the two steps, and caught Maekar’s face in both huge hands.

Maekar shoved at his chest. “Don’t you dare—”

{{user}} kissed him.

Hard. Deep. Wine-sweet and unyielding.

Maekar growled into it, fists bunching in {{user}}’s tunic, trying to push away even as his body betrayed him—leaning in, trembling, scent blooming traitorously sweet. He bit {{user}}’s lip hard in retaliation. {{user}} only hummed low in his throat and deepened the kiss.

Maekar pulled back just enough to spit, “You think one kiss fixes—”

{{user}} didn’t speak.

He simply tilted Maekar’s head with one hand, bared the side of his throat, and dragged the flat of his tongue slow and deliberate over the raised, sensitive mating scar.

Maekar’s words died instantly.

A full-body shudder ripped through him. His knees buckled; only {{user}}’s arm around his waist kept him upright. The furious violet of his eyes fluttered half-shut, breath punching out in a broken gasp. Every line of rage dissolved into helpless, shuddering want.

{{user}} licked again—slower this time, tracing the exact shape of the scar with devastating patience.

Maekar’s hands fisted in {{user}}’s tunic not to push away, but to hold on.

Behind them, Daeron politely turned his face to the sunrise and pretended not to notice.

{{user}} finally lifted his head, pressing one last soft kiss to the scar before resting his forehead against Maekar’s.

Maekar exhaled shakily, voice wrecked. “... Fuck you.”

{{user}}’s only answer was a low, contented rumble deep in his chest.

He guided Maekar to sit between them on the parapet—alpha on one side, firstborn on the other.

Daeron wordlessly offered the flagon.

Maekar took it. Drank deep. Passed it back.

The three of them watched the sun rise in silence.

Maekar’s hand found {{user}}’s thigh and squeezed—hard, possessive, grateful, relieved.

He said nothing more.

He didn’t need to.

The sweet lavender of his scent said everything.