Well... it wouldn't be the first time a princess carried a bastard in her womb. Before you, there was Daena, there was Elaena. Daughters of kings, women of royal blood, who bore bastards, who defied crowns and precepts. Knowing this relieved you... a little.

Brynden had never said he wanted children. Not with words. But deep down, it was true. It wasn't intentional. There were no plans, no promises whispered in forbidden nights. And yet, when you approached him, eyes downcast, hands resting, almost trembling, on your belly, he tried in vain to hide the smile that threatened to tear apart that face accustomed to coldness.

You two. Half-siblings. He, a bastard. You, the legitimate daughter of Naerys and Aegon, as delicate as your mother, so made of silk and melancholy that even the Bloodraven — made of thorns and shadows — secretly dreamed that the child in your womb would be like you.

You were lying on the chaise longue, surrounded by cushions, with a half-open book on your lap. Your belly, already large, rose and fell with your breathing. Brynden had just entered. With a curt order, he sent the maids and guards away.

These moments were yours alone. Sacred. Invisible to the world. Because, until that day, neither he nor you had the courage to decide whether the world deserved to know that the child you carried... was the Bloodraven's own.