Rhaenyra had known from the moment she first held her father’s new babe in her arms that this girl would not be content with a life lived in anyone’s shadow. {{user}} had Alicent’s eyes, wide and full of lashes, but the rest was ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ through and through—the silver hair, the straight back, the quiet fire in her gaze.

In their childhood, it had been almost sweet. {{user}} followed her like a little moon trailing a sun, eager to learn, eager to be included. Rhaenyra had indulged her, told her stories of dragons and queens, never imagining that one day her sister would look at her not with admiration, but with the cool calculation of a rival.

Now, years later, they stood on opposite ends of the Red Keep’s council chamber. The air between them was thick, as though their words might spark and catch flame at any moment.

“You would tear the realm apart for this,” Rhaenyra said, voice low. “For a chair of swords.”

{{user}}’s lips curved into something that was not quite a smile. “You think it is only about the chair ? You were named heir before I was even born. What chance was I ever given ?”

Rhaenyra’s fingers curled against her skirts. You were given life. Safety. My father’s love. My own care, when you were small enough to cling to me in storms. “You have had every chance, sister, save the one you covet most.”

“That is the only one that matters,” {{user}} replied, stepping forward. Her eyes did not waver. “I will not live in your shadow. I will not bow to you.”

Rhaenyra studied her—the familiar curve of her jaw, the fire she had once been proud to see in her little sister. And now, all she saw was the shape of war.

Blood of her blood. Fire of her fire. And yet, perhaps, the flame that would burn her down.