#a tourney is coming up soon babes and i wonder how THAT'LL go (:

[jaimeslanisters]

the pawn in every lover's game (part six)

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

When you're ten, your father sends you to King's Landing to befriend a princess and woo a prince. A lioness growing up amongst dragons is a dangerous thing indeed.

crossposted on ao3 masterlist word count: 5.5k notes: sorry for the kinda slow update! i got caught up in the holidays and also the world cup (argentina lo hizooooo) but here it is! lady lannister gets to flex her wordplay in this one (:

When you race into the gardens, slightly frazzled from having to slip away from your cousins’ gossiping, hands tight around a meticulously wrapped package, you don't exactly know what you’re expecting to walk in on but it certainly wasn’t this. The gardens are a wonder, utterly transformed, with soft blue flowers littering the pathway up to an extravagant table that’s intricately decorated with even more flowers and ribbons. It smells divine, more bakery than a garden, and you can catch a whiff of the honey fingers Helaena favored so much coming from a side table that the servants were slowly filling with food meant for the tea party. Queen Alicent is fluttering around, looking anxious as she makes last-minute arrangements, wringing her hands. It looks exactly how a tea for a royal wedding is meant to look like.

That all makes sense. Aemond and Daeron, sitting by Helaena’s side as she obsessively pours over sheets of paper, do not.

You furrow your brow as you approach the table. None of the royal siblings notice you, too invested in whatever it was they were reading, and when you get close, you can just make out sigils with names written next to them. Helaena is muttering under her breath as Aemond patiently quizzes her, Daeron encouraging the two of them.

They’re helping her memorize who is attending you realize and you feel a rush of warmth and affection.

“I can just whisper the names of all the ladies to you if that makes it easier,” you say, laughing slightly, and Daeron and Helaena startle, looking up at you with wide eyes. Aemond doesn’t jump like his siblings do, simply shaking his head with a barely there smile, leaving you with the distinct impression that he had seen you approach.

Helaena shakes her head almost instantly. “I need to learn,” she insists, nearly buzzing with nervous energy. “I know them all - mostly - but I just… I needed a refresher. Mother also asked me to arrange the seating and I kept putting it off since there were a million other things to do and now I’m trying to finish it before it starts except I’ve completely forgotten the relations between all of the ladies and who shouldn’t be seated with who and who it is insulting if they’re too far and who I’m insulting if they’re too close an-”

  You shake your head, settling into a seat across from the three of them, placing your present to the side. “You should start with taking a breath, Helaena.”

Daeron lets out a loud groan, slamming his head on the table hard enough that Alicent shouts a warning at him. “It’s been impossible with these two.” He complains, rolling his head over so he can stare at you with eyes that belong more to a puppy than a Targaryen dragonrider. “I didn’t think this much effort went into tea parties.”

“That was your first mistake,” Aemond drawls, shooting his younger brother a droll look. “You’re lucky Mother isn’t near to hear you say that.”

You let out a laugh, leaning over the table to peer over their work. Though Helaena’s handwriting is absolute chicken scratch when she doesn’t have time to focus, you make sense of it easily enough. “This isn’t bad…”

Helaena lets out a noise that can only be described as a whine. “But?”

“Just grouping by regions won’t do you any favors,” you reply. “It’s an easy approach but it might be better to mix it up through other means. You want people to think you’ve thought about it rather than just thrown it together at the last minute.”

“I wonder where they would get that idea from,” Aemond muses, completely unaffected when Helaena shoots him a glare.

You smile at her, trying to comfort her. “To be fair, I wouldn’t expect you to know this information, Helaena. Or you two, my princes. Seating arrangements are meant to be the expertise of women, I’m afraid, and we’ve rarely had the occasion to make any here. You just haven’t had the chance to practice is all.”

The siblings all frown in response and you almost regret bringing up the elephant in the room. Queen Alicent had done her best to educate her children but the King was a distant figure and the court had shrunk as his health had waned. The family still commanded plenty of influence but there had been no chance to throw extravagant feasts or tourneys while King Viserys was so ill, and no chance to build bonds with any houses not within the royal court.

This wedding was meant to be to fix that. If all went according to plan, it would be a loud reminder that the power of House Targaryen remained firm even as the cracks in its once-strong armor grew ever wider. House Targaryen still had friends even if a succession crisis loomed over the Iron Throne.

“Did you get to work on organizing seating charts while you were at Casterly Rock?” Helaena asks, watching you with a hint of desperation even as she reaches to snatch the paper that Aemond had been studying so intently.

You nod, moving back to sit properly in your seat. “There were plenty of feasts in the lead-up to Loren’s birth and plenty after. Tyshara and I split the work between us since my mother was obviously occupied and Cerelle was kept busy helping her before she left for the North.”

“She’s been there for at least a moon and a half at this point, hasn’t she? How is Lady Cerelle finding the North?” Aemond asks and when you look over at him, his eye seems to be glinting knowingly in the sunlight.

He must recognize that we sent her for a reason, you realize. Lannisters have never had much to do with the Starks before. In the past years, we haven’t had much to do with any houses not within the Westerlands.

You tilt your head, wondering how much you should play of your hand. “This morning, Maester Rodrik gave me a letter from her that she had sent ahead of us. She left for Winterfell a good bit before the rest of our House left to travel here for the wedding and arrived there before we ever arrived at the Red Keep. Cerelle says she finds the North cold but beautiful and trade negotiations are difficult to say the least but progressing well enough.”

Cregan Stark is very handsome, she had written in her letter. He seems inclined to agree to my proposition and hopefully, all will go smoothly when we enter discussions with Lord Regent Bennard.

When you, Cerelle, and Tyland had discussed it with Lord Jason, he had been hesitant to send his eldest daughter to the frigid North, away from allies and on her own. No Lannisters had ever ventured there, he had warned. In response, however, you had brought up that, before Tyland had risen to be Master of Ships and you had become Helaena’s companion, there was no Lannister presence in King’s Landing. If Lannisters only treaded where other Lannisters were, the entirety of your house would be trapped on the Rock.

A marriage with Cregan Stark would bring the North under Lannister influence. Tyshara’s overeager Lord Tarly would give the Rock a not insignificant sway in the Reach. Your own potential marriage with Aemond would bring the Crownlands and the throne itself to add to your house’s power. In order to accomplish this, however, a quick marriage would be needed for Cerelle to claim Cregan Stark as her own. Betrothals could be broken, you had reasoned to him, especially if it was against a would-be usuper’s interests. Lord Regent Brennard would never agree to betrothing Cerelle to his nephew, not when it would bring significant power and force to Cregan pressing his claim. Better a quick marriage that would give Cerelle protection than a broken promise that would put her in danger. It was a risky move but, if your older sister could secure herself the Lord of Winterfell, she would give House Lannister a foothold in the North and a strong ally moving forward.

Aemond nods and you idly wonder when he had gained the ability to see right through you. You wonder if all your intentions were clear to him and, unwilling to sit on that thought much longer, you clear your throat. “Cerelle will manage. She always has. Regardless of that, Helaena, I can help you reorganize your seating arrangement slightly. I know more about the relations between the ladies of the Westerlands but I’ve heard some about the Reach from Tyshara and, of course, the court gossip reveals much.”

You lean over the table, taking Helaena’s quill from her hand to scratch out some names and rewrite some others. Helaena leans with you, her long white hair spilling out over her shoulders, nearly covering some of the sheets you were working on. Aemond and Daeron sit quietly for the most part though, in the middle of your’s and Helaena’s hushed debates about which ladies in the Crownlands hate which ladies in the Riverlands, you hear Daeron get up and steal some lemon cakes to eat as he and his brother wait for the two of you to finish, the two talking amongst themselves. Somewhere else in the garden, a lyre begins to play and you know the musicians must be practicing for when the tea actually begins but, for now, you pretend that it is for the four of you only. There was no wedding. There was no need for allies to press Aegon’s claim. No need to maneuver the lords of Westeros like pieces of chess on a board. There was only this calm and peace, safe from the outside world and its ugly games, with all of you warm under the afternoon sun.

Finally, you and Helaena land on a final seating arrangement that pleases the two of you and you settle back in your chair, letting out a quick laugh of relief as you reach to squeeze Helaena’s hand in comfort. She beams at you happily, eyes glittering in the sunlight, and you glance over to where the Queen had been standing earlier, meeting her gaze.

For a moment, Alicent looks haunted as she stares at the four of you seated around the table, eyes wide and vulnerable, looking as if she’s seen something she’s long since lost and has found once again just barely out of her reach. It is only for a second before her expression clears and she smiles placidly, erasing all traces of longing from her face. You blink, bewildered.

“Have you finished the seating arrangement, my dear?” she calls, her voice calm and serene, and you turn to look at Helaena, shaking away your confusion to smile at her encouragingly.

Helaena looks nervous as she nods, walking over to present the seating arrangement to her mother. When the Queen nods in agreement, pulling her daughter to the side to discuss it more in-depth, you let out a sigh of relief, giving yourself a moment to relax, before you straighten up and look over at the royal princes only to find that they are already watching you.

Daeron looks as innocent as a nearly grown man can be, small crumbs spattering his tunic. Aemond looks better off than his brother but, if you look closely enough, you can see his lips slightly shine from the lemon glaze. He must have indulged in some of the treats with his brother and you find yourself grinning at the idea of the stern and proper prince you knew stealing a lemon cake from his younger brother’s stash.

“I did not think I would have to warn two princes away from the food,” you teasingly scold and Daeron turns red, looking flustered. Aemond gives you absolutely nothing except for the mischievous glint in his amethyst eye.

Daeron clears his throat. “They were right there and no one stopped us.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re princes of the realm. I can’t imagine there are many who would dare to order the two of you about.”

“I imagine there’s a few,” Aemond smoothly cuts in and you look over to see him smirking knowingly at you.

A short laugh escapes you and you shake your head as you reach for the present you had brought for Helaena. Before you can grab it, however, a maid descends upon you to take it away, full of apologies for not having noticed earlier.

“It’s alright,” you wave her off, smiling gently at her. The maid nods, more out of trying to please you than actually agreeing, before she whisks it off to an empty side table you know will be filled with gifts within the next hour. For now, only your present sits there, neatly wrapped in light green paper.

“I can’t see many ladies getting Helaena things she likes,” Daeron says after a moment, voice morose, and you sigh, nodding.

“She’ll either receive enough smallclothes to clothe the entirety of Flea Bottom or she’ll be so completely swamped with so many Targaryen-themed accessories that she’ll be able to ensure the next few generations of Targaryens won’t have to commission any new pieces,” you grumble, fighting the urge to pick at the petals littering the table. “The more extravagant gifts will happen during the wedding itself. Right now, it’s only ladies giving out presents that they think other ladies will like - even if they themselves wouldn’t enjoy receiving them.”

Daeron snorts, laughing a little. “Seems a mess. At least the tourney tomorrow promises to be more entertaining than this tea.”

Aemond shoots his brother a look. “Perhaps for you. Helaena doesn’t care for tourneys either.”

You clear your throat, frowning. “Will either of you be participating?” You ask, already knowing the answer. Even before he had come of age, Aemond had never shown any interest in participating in any tourney, even as invites had rolled in from other kingdoms. I ride a dragon he would say if pressed, shaking his head. Why should I ride a horse to entertain careless nobles instead?

Aemond doesn’t answer, simply giving you a look that tells you exactly what he thinks. You fight back a giggle, even as Daeron lets out a mournful sigh.

“I’m to serve as Lord Ormund’s squire. I haven’t gotten the chance to squire during an actual tourney seeing as he mostly stays in Oldtown studying under his father and he wants me to gain that experience before I participate in one myself.” Despite his grumpy tone, he can’t quite hide the spark of excitement in his eyes and you bite back a grin. Daeron Targaryen may ride a dragon and he may be a royal prince but he couldn’t escape his childhood desire to be a proud knight.

“I’m sure you’ll serve him admirably,” you readily praise, grinning wide when Daeron sits up straight in pride.

He smiles back, looking at you carefully before his eyes flick over to Aemond. In an all too casual tone, he asks, “Will you be giving a knight your favor during the joust? I’ve heard that Ser Victor Florent seems eager to ask.”

Aemond looks over to you, face perfectly blank, and you almost want to reach out and kick him, if only to coax out a reaction. Instead, you take a deep breath and shake your head, letting your smile drop. “At this moment, I have no suitors so I’ll likely be giving my favor to my cousin, Ser Tygett of Lannisport. If I have any luck, he’ll draw the first listing and I’ll be able to give it to him rather than having to give it to whichever lord asks first otherwise.”

“Perhaps I should ask Ser Criston to watch the drawing carefully,” Aemond muses, tapping his fingers on the table. “Ser Victor may grow desperate otherwise.”

“I’m lucky he didn’t quite work up the nerve to speak to my father,” you reply, sighing. “I think he was rather put off by something.”

While you couldn’t be entirely sure, according to Uncle Tyland, Victor had seemed determined to pull Jason aside to discuss a possible meeting in the future until Aemond had bumped into him. Their conversation hadn’t been long or even heated but, when Aemond had walked off, Victor hadn’t taken another step closer to the Lord of Casterly Rock. If Tyland was to be believed, Prince Aegon, at this point well into his cups, had found the entire thing terribly amusing and had had to be scolded by his mother into being convinced into ceasing his laughter.

It was a sweet story but your uncle had also been into his cups that night. Apparently, he and Lord Ormund Hightower had entered a drinking contest and this morning, he was still suffering the ill aftereffects. Even Lord Ormund hadn’t recovered fully. When you were leaving, you had seen him creeping about the apartments from the direction of Tyland’s quarters, seemingly determined to not be caught even though he hadn’t noticed you watching him.

“Pity he wasn’t scared off entirely,” Aemond murmurs and Daeron laughs loudly, disrupting the otherwise peaceful tranquility of the garden. Queen Alicent gives him a sharp warning and you can’t quite suppress your giggle at the way Daeron ducks down in shame.

He bounces back easily enough though, looking like the mischievous little brother that Helaena had always told you he was. “Perhaps your cousin will win the joust and crown you Queen of Love and Beauty.”

You grimace at the thought. “Perhaps though I’d really rather he not. That might send the wrong impression to the rest of the court. He’s unmarried like I am and I’d really rather people didn’t think he was keen on me.”

“Is he keen on you?” Aemond asks and you turn to frown at him. He doesn’t relent, watching you with interest.

“I’m fairly certain he has a mistress back in Lannisport that he wants to marry. His father isn’t too keen on the marriage but she’s a powerful merchant’s daughter. He’ll relent eventually even if she isn’t of noble class,” you say, shrugging carelessly. “Unplanned children have a way of forcing reluctant fathers’ hands. Tygett also isn’t particularly skilled at jousting either. He’s better at archery and there is no crown in those competitions.”

Daeron laughs at that. “Perhaps if he fails during the joust, he can succeed during the melee. There is a crown there. His mistress can’t mind if he wins you a crown. You’re his blood even if you are unmarried. She can’t find any fault in that.”

You smile tightly. “We’ll see, my prince.” While a small girlish part of you that you could never quite repress wanted to be crowned Queen of Love and Beauty in front of the royal court like in the songs, you couldn’t see Tygett being the one to give it to you. He wasn’t terribly unskilled but he also wasn’t a grand warrior that would dominate the competition. More likely than not, he would place somewhere respectable in both the joust and the melee and focus more attention on the archery event where the prize was gold rather than a crown woven out of flowers.

Your best chance of being crowned would come from, unfortunately enough, Victor Florent. He was a skilled warrior and he had won a few tourneys in other kingdoms before he came to King’s Landing. The thought of Victor Florent being the one to place a crown on your head, however, in front of everyone (and most importantly, in front of Aemond) made you shiver and you glance over at the Queen and Helaena, willing them to finish their conversation quickly so you could escape this one.

Your wish is quickly granted and, after a few moments, Alicent sends Helaena over to the three of you with a nod and a more than awkward pat on the back

Smiling in relief, you turn to the princes. “While, contrary to someone’s belief, I would never dare to order around two princes, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask both of you to leave. Unfortunately, the tea is ladies only.”

Aemond nods, rising to his feet as he nudges his brother to do the same, and you stand up as well to give your farewells. “Well then, my lady, I hope you and my sister enjoy yourselves at the tea.”

You beam. “I imagine I will, my prince. Lady Baela will be sitting by my side. I can only expect that we have much to catch up on.”

Aemond doesn’t smile but the look in his eye sharpens and you know that he is pleased.

——————————–

Baela Targaryen walks into the gardens like she’s walking onto a battlefield. Her head is held high and her glowing eyes scan the gardens, looking for allies where you know she will find none. This is the Queen’s court, after all, and a daughter of Daemon Targaryen will not have an easy path to forging alliances. You watch her for a moment, trying to gauge her. There’s little hint of her father in her features. In looks at least, she’s Laena Targaryen’s daughter, from her smooth dark skin to the halo of white curls that frame her face. Her stance, however, seems to be all her father’s. She stands awkwardly at the entrance of the garden, tense and ready for a fight if the occasion were to call for it.

You don’t think her father prepared for the type of battles most common in King’s Landing, however.

A friendly smile pasted onto your face, you walk towards her and bow your head, dipping into a curtsey. “Lady Baela,” you greet and Baela looks startled to be approached so early, before she’s had the chance to settle herself. Her father and Princess Rhaenys have kept her far from court. She doesn’t know how to hide what she’s feeling. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your time at King’s Landing thus far.”

“I have, yes,” she says slowly, eyes scanning you carefully. She recognizes you - there’s no way she doesn’t - but she doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know how to fall in step with the dance you’re coaxing her into. Prince Daemon’s daughter must be all fire and blood - she wasn’t made for the niceties of court. She’d be a better successor to the Sea Snake than little Luke Strong could ever be. “It’s been so long, my Lady Lannister, since we’ve seen each other last. It was at Driftmark, was it not? During my mother’s funeral and that night after?” She phrases it like a question but her eyes make it clear that she’s not asking.

No subtleties, no nuances. She goes straight to the point, bringing up the elephant in the room. You almost want to applaud her for her boldness but instead, you simply sharpen your smile. “Yes, it has been. You’ve been at Driftmark for several years now, haven’t you?”

Baela eyes you, clearly suspicious. You wonder if she remembers the night in the great hall as clearly as you do. She must remember you fighting back tears as you held Helaena’s hand and stood by Aemond’s side. She doesn’t trust you, someone who clearly allied with the enemies of her father.

She’d do well to hide her true intentions, you think. King’s Landing is the home of liars and tricksters. Prince Daemon could not last long here - not with his reckless nature and rash impulses. She will suffer the same fate if she’s not careful.

As much as you long to see that thoughtfulness culminate in her and her family’s fall from grace, now was not the time for it. Not now and not soon.

“Yes, it’s been nearly six years since I moved to Driftmark.” Baela finally responds, twisting her hands in front of her. “It’s been nice to live with my cousins.”

You nod, gesturing for her to follow you. Behind the two of you, a dutiful maid follows to place Baela’s, or rather the Velaryons’, present on a quickly growing stack of gifts. You briefly wonder if anyone other than yourself bothered to try and get the Princess something she would like rather than what was traditional. “It must be so nice to spend time with your kin - meaning your mother’s, of course. I recently got to travel back to Casterly Rock for the birth of my brother. I’ve grown to love the Red Keep but it is quite different to be somewhere surrounded by only your own house and family.”

“Congratulations on your house’s new heir,” She responds, more out of instinct than truly meaning it and you fight back a laugh at her less-than-enthusiastic tone. “And yes, I do enjoy spending time with my kin. I grew up in Essos, in the city-state of Pentos, and only met the rest of my house when I was ten.”

As you near the table, you spot Helaena, looking quiet and anxious by her mother’s side as she greets the ladies as they enter. She’s not quite as drawn and pale as she had been at the feast the night before but she is still far from comfortable addressing new people she has never spoken to before. You pray to the Seven that everything will go smoothly before turning back to Baela.

“I’ve read much about Pentos,” you reply, smiling honestly now. Years ago, you and Aemond had devoured all the books you could find about the Free Cities and had talked about visiting them with the kind of earnestness that only children could have. You’ve both grown past those childhood promises but even still, there’s a little girl in you that wants to see more of the world. “Is it as beautiful as the books say?”

Baela looks relieved to be moving on from dangerous conversation and a true smile blossoms on her face. “It is. The Narrow Sea is kinder there, not as treacherous and cold as it is by Driftmark. My mother used to take me and my sister down to the shores to play in the water. We would always explore the city whenever we had the chance. It was so… free.”

“That reminds me of the Sunset Sea,” you softly say, resisting the urge to play with the Lannister necklace lying against your chest. “My mother would sometimes take me and my sisters down to the beaches to picnic. Sometimes, when he wasn’t busy with other things, my father would join us. He’d always swim deep in the water and dare us to swim after him. All of us were too scared - the water was calm but we had seen how it could turn during the summer storms. None of us wanted to risk it, even on clear and sunny days. Eventually, I grew brave enough to join him and, with the way he had cheered, you’d think I had swum straight through the Sea and discovered what was on the other side.”

You laugh and after a moment, Baela hesitantly joins you. You hadn’t meant to push her, genuinely sharing a piece of your childhood with her, but you had seen the flash of jealousy on her face when you had mentioned your father spending time with you and your sisters.

He didn’t go to comfort her and her sister that night at Driftmark you recall. In your mind’s eye, you can still see so clearly the Targaryen twins huddled by their grandmother’s side, their father on the other side of the room and only moving to defend his future wife and niece rather than his own children. Your own father wasn’t nearly as involved as your mother or even your uncle but he still tried even if he was terribly clumsy in his attempts. You had never doubted whether or not he loved you, never doubted if he would rise to defend you. You’d rather a Jason Lannister as your father than a Daemon Targaryen and for that, you feel a flash of pity for her that you’d rather not feel.

You let her go to greet Helaena and the Queen, watching with a critical eye as she curtseys perfectly and greets her kin. When she finishes, she moves to sit in her assigned seat and you slide in next to her, smiling politely at her again. For a few moments, you both sit in silence before Helaena and Queen Alicent finish greeting everyone and move to sit at the table, Alicent at the head and Helaena at your side.

Alicent gives a pretty speech about thanking the women of the court for being here to help usher her daughter into the next stage of her life and, when she finishes, servants begin to serve tea and small dishes as the musicians play soft, tinkling music in the background. Conversation starts as all the ladies turn to their companions sitting next to them, voices loud and merry.

With Helaena distracted next to you by some small toy you vaguely remember Aegon gifting her years ago, you turn to Baela to continue your conversation.

“How do you find Driftmark then, my lady? I can’t see it being much like Pentos even if it is located on the same sea,” you ask, reaching for a cup of tea to have something to distract your hands.

Baela tilts her head. “It is very different but it is, like you said, comforting to have family around. My grandfather’s brother Vaemond has always been kind and he has two daughters around my age. They keep me company. It is not quite the same as having my sister, however.”

Vaemond Velaryon.

You fight the urge to immediately pounce on that. You vaguely remember his speech in High Valyrian from Lady Laena’s funeral though you mainly remember not understanding a single word of it. What you do remember is that, in the weeks after, Aemond had explained to you that the speech had served as a thinly veiled insult to Princess Rhaenyra, essentially attacking her in the open for having had bastards that were so clearly not of the Velaryon line.

Baela talking about her uncle fondly meant much even if she had not intended it to. She always referred to her house being House Velaryon, rather than Targaryen, and she didn’t seem to consider Rhaenyra a family member even if she was married to Prince Daemon. That, coupled with the resentment she couldn’t quite hide at the mention of fathers, revealed much about the current state of the alliance between House Velaryon and House Targaryen.

Fighting to hide a smile, you reach for another sip of your tea. “No, cousins can never quite fill in for sisters - no matter how much you may long for them to do so. Do you speak much with your sister? Or your step-brothers?”

Baela looks at you carefully, her amethyst eyes weary. Whatever she is looking for in your face, however, she is sure to not find. Years in the capitol have taught you how to hide your emotions and, for right now, you’re only the perfectly innocent lady asking typical questions at a tea. “I write my sister as often as the ravens can fly. I… I sometimes exchange letters with Jace if the occasion calls for it.”

It’s a shame the Sea Snake is at war. He’d teach you how to better hide your own feelings, you think, nodding your head at Baela. “How is Prince Jacaerys? It’s been so terribly long since he and his brothers and mother last visited the capitol. Does he miss it?”

Her face seizes at the question before she manages to wipe it clean. “He is fine. He is training to be a king at his mother’s side, training to be a son worthy of Houses Targaryen and Velaryon.”

You bite back a laugh. He may be a son of House Targaryen but he is not a Velaryon. You and I both know that.

Baela eyes you, clearly weighing her words as she considers who you are in relation to the royal family, and you can see the exact moment the wild nature that Aemond had warned you about kicks in. “Jace will make an excellent king,” she says, voice so firm that you almost believe that she believes it. “It’s an auspicious sign to be born with a dragon, after all. He did not have to claim or steal one.”

It’s clear enough bait.

Still, it’s one you’re willing to take.

You grin, raising your tea cup at her in a toast. “Of course, my lady! I would never dare to imply otherwise. Prince Jacaerys has always been strong since birth. Let us drink to his education! May he, and your house, grow ever strong in the future.”

A glimmer of begrudging respect flickers onto her face before she smothers it down in favor of mockingly raising her cup in return, her eyes flashing in warning.

You only grin wider before turning to join Helaena’s side.