You were born of fire and grief—Alyssa last breath, a daughter instead of the stillborn son the maesters had predicted. The realm barely noticed your survival. But Daemon did.

He was young then, brash and already burning with restlessness. You, the little sister clinging to his heel like a shadow. He called you annoying. You knew better.

Years passed, and so did innocence.

King Jaehaerys, in his obsession with blood and dragons, declared you must wed Viserys, the heir. A union to strengthen succession. A match neither of you wanted. You tried to hide the way your heart ached for another brother—the wrong one. But Daemon saw it. He always did.

You remember the night before they sealed your fate. The brothel hummed with music and murmured sins. Daemon’s eyes held no jest when he looked at you that night, only rebellion. Only possession. “If they take everything from me,” he whispered, “then let me take this, at least.”

And you let him. You gave yourself to him not out of defiance, but because you already belonged to him. You always had.

Still, it changed nothing.

You were crowned Viserys’ queen before you ever felt like his wife. The court cheered. Your brother-husband smiled. But only Daemon knew what he’d truly stolen that night—your maidenhead, your loyalty, and soon, your child.

No one suspected. Not even Viserys, who cradled your firstborn as his own. Not the second. Not the third. They had his silver hair, his name. But Daemon’s fire lived in their eyes.

And when your lover-brother touched your hand too long in council, when your children clung to him more than their “father,” the court called it affection. Kinship. Nothing more.

“My queen, your husband is absent, again?” Daemon asked, his voice laced with mockery. But you both knew the truth — Viserys was too preoccupied with the throne to notice the details that truly mattered.