#jacaerys velaryon oneshots | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astrxq · 24 days ago

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Stage Light, Palace Light .I

jacaerys velaryon x theatre!reader

words: 23.6k (… i’m so sorry)

notes: tumblr won’t let me post this as a full fic so i’m dividing in half… though i think that kind of takes away from the whole thing, it’s the only way for me to post it :(( i hope the length doesn’t scare you away 😭

content!!: jacaerys secretly attends a theater in town, disguised as a commoner. captivated by a fearless and enchanting penniless actress, he asks for a private reading of one of her plays for a chance to see her again. — luke is alive in this, notttt following canon events obviously.

both parts will be posted simultaneously!! so you don’t have to wait for me to upload it if you want to read it :) — part 2 is tagged at the end of this post.

The halls of Dragonstone were eerily silent under the pale glow of the moon. Jacaerys paced his chamber, restless energy coursing through him. The heavy burden of duty weighed on his shoulders, suffocating in the castle’s confines. It wasn’t the demands of war or the pressures of ruling that plagued him tonight – it was a hunger for freedom, for something outside the expectations of a prince.

Draping a plain cloak over his shoulders, he slipped out unnoticed. Jacaerys had memorized the guard rotations months ago, making his escape through the servant's entrance as natural as breathing. The rough-spun wool of his cloak scratched against his neck – a far cry from the silks he was accustomed to, but that was precisely the point.

The cobblestone streets of the port city sprawled before him, a maze of possibilities. The salt-laden breeze carried the lingering scents of the day's activities – fish from the docks, fresh bread from late-working bakeries, and something sweeter, more enticing: his own freedom. Jacaerys pulled his hood lower, savoring the anonymity that darkness provided.

He wandered without purpose at first, letting his feet carry him away from the imposing silhouette of Dragonstone that loomed behind him. The wealthy merchant districts near the castle gradually gave way to more modest neighborhoods, where the buildings pressed closer together and the streets grew narrower. Here, despite the late hour, life still stirred.

The sound reached him first – laughter, music, and the unmistakable buzz of a crowd. Following the noise, he found himself in what appeared to be the city's entertainment district. Lanterns strung between buildings cast pools of warm light, and the streets were alive with people moving between taverns and various establishments.

But it was a different sort of building that caught his attention. Smaller than the grand playhouses he was used to, this theater had a weathered wooden facade that spoke of history and character. A hand-painted sign announced tonight's performance, people were filling inside, their faces bright with anticipation.

Jacaerys hesitated at the entrance. He'd attended countless performances in his life, but always from private boxes, always surrounded by the trappings of royalty. This... this was different. Through the open doors, he could see simple wooden benches, packed close together. The air was thick with the smell of tallow candles and humanity.

"Coming in, lad?" A gruff voice startled him from his contemplation. An older man was collecting coins at the door, his weathered face kind despite his rough appearance. "Last few seats available, but you'll need to hurry."

Jacaerys fumbled with the copper pieces in his pocket – another detail of his disguise, carefully planned. The coins felt foreign in his hands; he was more used to others handling such transactions. "Yes, I... thank you."

Inside, the theater was intimate in a way the royal playhouse never was. The ceiling hung low, and the stage was barely elevated above the floor, everything was made of wood. Jacaerys found a spot near the back, where shadows gathered in the corners. From here, he could observe everything while remaining relatively hidden.

The audience around him was different from what he was used to – merchants still in their work clothes, sailors with salt-stained boots, young couples pressed close together on the narrow benches. They chatted among themselves with an easy familiarity that suggested many were regular patrons. It was crowded enough to fill the small establishment.

As the lanterns dimmed and the crowd hushed, Jacaerys felt something shift inside him. Here, in this modest theater with its creaking floorboards and flickering lights, he was just another face in the crowd. No one cared about his lineage or his responsibilities. For these few precious hours, he could simply... be.

The curtain hadn't yet risen when he heard your voice for the first time.

You were berating someone backstage, your words carrying clearly through the thin partition. "If you've lost the prop dagger again, Thomas, I swear by all the gods..." There was laughter in your tone despite the scolding, and something about it made Jacaerys lean forward slightly.

A ripple of anticipatory chuckles went through the audience – clearly, this was not an unusual occurrence. The woman next to Jacaerys noticed his confusion and leaned over to whisper, "First time here, is it? I've never seen you before."

Her eyes lingered on his face, curiosity flickering in their depths. Jacaerys stiffened under her gaze, instinctively lowering his head further beneath the shadow of his hood. The pulse in his neck thundered like a drum, a visceral beat of fear and adrenaline. He was no stranger to being watched, scrutinized, even admired – but here, recognition would shatter his carefully crafted disguise, and the freedom he craved would slip through his fingers.

"Just passing through," he murmured, his voice deliberately roughened to obscure its natural timbre. He shifted slightly, angling his body away from her.

The voice rang out again, this time closer, from somewhere behind the curtains near where Jacaerys sat. The makeshift backstage setup was rudimentary – little more than patched fabric stretched over a wooden frame – but it served its purpose, kind of. Your tone, laced with exasperation, carried through the thin barrier with startling clarity.

"Thomas, I am not stepping out there until you find it. The last thing we need is another improvised death scene where you pantomime being stabbed. The audience already thinks we’re a comedy troupe."

"That's their leading lady. Always keeps them on their toes, that one." the lady next to Jacaerys whispered again, a grin on her face as if she was used to this.

Before he could respond, the curtain rose, and you stepped onto the stage. The lantern light caught you perfectly, illuminating your face as you launched into your first lines. You played a merchant's daughter, clever and quick-witted, running circles around your would-be suitors.

Jacaerys forgot to breathe.

It wasn't the kind of beauty that graced the castle halls. Your dress was simple, a plain brown fabric that had seen better days, cinched at the waist with a leather belt that had clearly been mended more than once. Your hair, pulled back in a practical braid, had several strands that had escaped to frame your face, giving you an appealingly disheveled look that spoke of hours of rehearsal.

But gods, you were magnificent.

A small scar marked your right cheek, barely visible in the flickering lantern light. Rather than marring your features, it seemed to enhance them, adding character to a face that radiated vitality. Your movements were precise yet natural, commanding the cramped stage as if it were a grand palace hall.

The other actors, though competent, seemed to orbit around you like planets around a sun. Even when you weren't speaking, Jacaerys found his eyes drawn to you – the subtle reactions playing across your face, the way you listened and responded to your fellow performers with an authenticity that made the scripted dialogue feel spontaneous.

The play unfolded before him, each scene weaving together with light-hearted jest. Whenever you spoke, delivering witty lines to your partners, Jacaerys found himself smiling in spite of himself. You were effortlessly charming.

In the quieter moments, when your character would stand still, caught in moments of contemplation or while others delivered their lines, Jacaerys’ gaze drifted to the fine details that made you so different from any actor he’d seen in his life. The way the flickering candlelight danced in your eyes, the way your lips curled just so when you were amused – everything felt significant. There was no mask, no role to hide behind. You were raw, real, and utterly captivating.

The final scene came far too quickly. As the audience erupted in applause, Jacaerys found himself on his feet with the rest, though his eyes never left your form. You took your bow with a flourish, laughing as someone from the crowd tossed a wildflower onto the stage. You caught it with practiced ease, tucking it behind your ear as you exchanged playful glances with your fellow performers.

The crowd began to disperse, but Jacaerys remained rooted to his spot, wrestling with an unfamiliar impulse. The logical part of his mind urged him to leave, to return to the castle before his absence was noticed. Yet something stronger held him there, watching as the other actors filtered off stage, leaving you to gather props with the same casual grace you'd shown during the performance.

"Wonderful show tonight, wasn't it?" The woman beside him spoke again, but this time Jacaerys barely registered her words. You had moved to the edge of the stage, sitting down with your legs dangling over the side, somehow making even this simple action seem like part of a performance.

The flower had slipped slightly askew in your hair, and you reached up to adjust it, humming a tune he didn't recognize. In that moment, illuminated by the dying lantern light, you looked more royal than any of the nobles he'd grown up with.

"Thomas!" you called out, your voice carrying that same warm authority he'd heard earlier. "I know you're hiding back there with that dagger. Bring it here before you lose it again."

A gangly young man emerged from behind the curtain, sheepishly holding the prop weapon. "I wasn't hiding, I was... organizing."

Your laugh echoed through the now-empty theater, rich and genuine. "Is that what we're calling it now? Come here, let's go over that scene again while it's fresh. Your timing was a bit off in the second act."

Jacaerys watched as you worked with your fellow actor, demonstrating the proper way to fall after being stabbed. Your patience was evident, even as you teased Thomas about his dramatic tendencies. This wasn't the carefully cultivated refinement of the court – this was something real, something alive.

He should leave. He knew he should leave. Instead, he found himself moving closer to the stage, drawn by some force he couldn't name. The hood of his cloak still shadowed his features, but he could see you more clearly now – the way your hands moved as you spoke, the slight crinkle at the corners of your eyes when you smiled.

You noticed him then, your eyes meeting his across the dimly lit space. "Can I help you?" you asked, your head tilting slightly in curiosity. "If you're looking for the manager, he's already left for the night."

Jacaerys opened his mouth to respond, but for perhaps the first time in his life, words failed him. He, who had been trained in rhetoric and diplomacy since childhood, found himself speechless in the presence of a common theater actor.

You studied his silence for a moment, your eyes softening with understanding – or rather, what you thought was understanding. Wiping your hands on your worn costume, you hopped down from the stage with an actor's grace.

"You haven't eaten today, have you?" Your voice was gentle, free of pity but full of kindness. Before Jacaerys could respond, you were already reaching into a small pouch tied at your waist. "The baker on Mare's Street – you know the one with the blue door? – he's usually still open at this hour. Sometimes he sells yesterday's bread for a few coppers."

The irony of the situation struck Jacaerys like a physical blow as you pressed two golden coins into his palm. Your callused fingers brushed against his softer ones, and he felt the warmth of your touch even as shame and wonder warred in his chest. These coins – they probably represented a week's earnings for you, maybe more.

"I..." he started, his voice catching. The weight of the coins in his hand felt heavier than any crown. "I don’t need this."

"Don't," you cut him off, your smile crooked but kind. "The crowds have been generous." You gestured around the empty theater, pride evident in your voice despite the building's humble appearance. "And I know what it's like to go hungry. Take it."

Jacaerys stood frozen, the coins burning in his palm like hot coals. He, who could buy this entire theater with a wave of his hand, found himself humbled by your simple act of generosity. The elaborate rings he'd left behind in his chambers could have fed your entire troupe for a year, yet here you were, sharing what little you had with a stranger.

Thomas watched from the stage, absently twirling the prop dagger. "She won't take no for an answer," he offered helpfully. "Trust me, I've tried."

You shot Thomas a look that was half-exasperation, half-affection.

You had misinterpreted his hesitation, mistaking it for embarrassment. "No shame in it," you said softly, your voice lowering as if to shield him from imaginary judgment. "Everyone needs a little help sometimes. Just promise me you’ll pay it forward when you can."

For a moment, Jacaerys considered revealing himself – telling you who he was, explaining that he didn’t need the money, that he could give you a hundredfold what you had just offered him. But the thought died as quickly as it came. What would that accomplish? To shatter this fragile, unguarded moment with the weight of his identity?

Instead, he closed his fingers around the coins and inclined his head, the shadows of his hood concealing the turmoil in his expression. "Thank you," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Your smile widened, relief washing over your face. "Good. Now go, before the baker closes." You turned back toward the stage, your attention already shifting to the scattered props and costumes. It was as if the encounter hadn’t marked you the way it had him, as if kindness were simply a part of who you were, given without expectation or burden.

Jacaerys lingered for a moment longer, watching you move through the theater, humming that same tune under your breath. He tucked the coins into his pocket, their weight a reminder of the strange, magnetic pull you had over him.

As he stepped back into the cobblestone streets, the sounds of the city washed over him once more – the distant murmur of the ocean, the laughter spilling from nearby taverns, the clatter of hooves on stone. Yet the memory of your voice, your smile, and your unassuming grace lingered like an echo in his chest.

For the first time in years, Jacaerys Velaryon felt small. Not in a way that diminished him, but in a way that reminded him of how vast the world truly was, and how much of it he had yet to understand.

And as he walked away from the theater, he knew one thing for certain: he would be back.

***

The Maester's voice droned on about the Conquest of Dorne, but Jacaerys barely heard him. His fingers traced the edges of the golden coins in his pocket, worn smooth from hours of anxious handling. The metal had warmed to his skin, yet still carried the weight of your kindness. He could almost smell the copper on his hands, though these were gold – a reminder of how thoroughly his mind had been occupied by that night at the theater.

His younger brothers sat attentively at the long table, Lucerys dutifully taking notes while Joffrey's eyes widened at tales of battle and dragon fire. Jacaerys envied their simple absorption in the lesson. His own thoughts kept drifting to the weathered wooden stage, the flickering lanterns, and your laugh as you demonstrated the proper way to die dramatically.

"Prince Jacaerys?" The Maester's voice cut through his reverie. "Perhaps you'd care to share your thoughts on Prince Qoren Martell's strategy?"

Jacaerys straightened, his hand instinctively withdrawing from his pocket. "My apologies, Maester. I was..." He trailed off, unable to find a suitable excuse.

Lucerys shot him a curious glance. His brother had always been observant – too observant, sometimes. These past few days, Jacaerys had caught him watching with barely concealed concern, noting his distraction during meals and council meetings.

The coins felt heavier than ever. At nearly twenty years old, here he was, a prince of the realm, plotting like a green boy to sneak out to a common theater. The absurdity of it wasn't lost on him. He'd heard countless tales of young nobles who slipped away from their duties – to visit brothels, to gamble in fighting pits, to engage in all manner of sordid adventures. Yet here he sat, fingers stained with the phantom scent of copper, heart racing at the mere thought of watching another play.

But it wasn't just any play, was it? It was you. The way you commanded that humble stage, the genuine warmth in your voice when you'd pressed those coins into his hand, believing him to be nothing more than a hungry stranger. The memory of your kindness burned brighter than any shame he might feel about his age or station.

"Prince Jacaerys?" The Maester prompted again, more gently this time.

"Forgive me," Jacaerys managed, forcing his attention back to the present. "The heat of the day has made me rather distracted."

Joffrey snickered behind his hand, but fell silent at Lucerys's sharp look. The Maester sighed and returned to his lecture, pointing to a map of Dorne's treacherous mountain passes.

As the lesson continued, Jacaerys's mind wandered to the logistics of another escape. The guard rotations would be the same, but he'd need to be more careful – his absence had been noted last time, though thankfully not reported. The thought sent a flutter of anxiety through his chest. What would people say if they knew? A prince, skulking around in common clothes, watching street performances like some love-struck peasant boy.

Love-struck. The word appeared unbidden in his thoughts, and he nearly dropped the coins he'd been fidgeting with. No, that wasn't it at all. He was simply... intrigued. Fascinated by the authenticity of common theater, by the raw talent he'd witnessed. By your smile, your laugh, the way you'd shown such kindness to a stranger...

Lucerys kicked him under the table, and Jacaerys realized the Maester had asked another question. As he scrambled to appear engaged in the lesson, his brother's knowing look told him he wasn't fooling anyone – at least not Lucerys.

The coins clinked softly in his pocket as he shifted in his seat. He would go back, he knew that much. The risk, the anxiety, the potential embarrassment if he were caught – none of it mattered. Not when weighed against the possibility of seeing you perform again, of existing for a few precious hours in that world where he was just another face in the crowd, where kindness was given freely without the weight of politics and duty.

Besides, he thought with a hint of his usual wry humor, there were far worse rebellions for a prince to engage in than a secret appreciation for the theater. Even if that appreciation had more to do with a certain performer than the performances themselves.

After the lesson, Jacaerys retreated to his chambers, hoping to find solitude with his thoughts. His rooms in the Stone Drum tower offered a commanding view of the castle grounds and the sea beyond, though today he barely noticed the beauty. The salt breeze that whistled through the arrow slits carried the familiar scent of home, mingling with the ever-present smoke from the volcano.

He'd barely settled into his favorite chair – a sturdy piece of oak and leather positioned perfectly to catch the evening light – when the door burst open without ceremony. Only one person would dare enter his chambers so boldly.

"Don't you knock anymore, Luke?" Jacaerys asked, not bothering to look up from the correspondence he'd hastily grabbed to appear occupied.

"When have I ever knocked?" Lucerys's footsteps were light across the Myrish carpet, practiced and graceful from years of dancing lessons. The bed creaked as he threw himself across it, a habit he'd had since childhood that no amount of etiquette training had broken.

The familiar scene might have been comforting if not for the tension Jacaerys could feel radiating from his younger brother. Lucerys had that particular quality of false casualness that always preceded his most determined interrogations. It was a talent he'd inherited from their mother – the ability to appear perfectly relaxed while preparing to strike.

The room itself seemed to hold its breath. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows, casting long shadows across the stone floors and illuminating dust motes that danced in the air. The walls were lined with books and maps, carefully curated over years of study, while a half-empty glass of wine sat forgotten on a side table from the night before.

Jacaerys shifted in his chair, acutely aware of the coins in his pocket. They seemed to weigh heavier under his brother's watchful gaze, though he knew Lucerys couldn't possibly see them. Yet something in the way those violet eyes tracked his movements made him wonder if perhaps they did.

"You've been strange lately," Lucerys said, lounging across Jacaerys's bed as if it were his own. The evening light caught his hair, making him look younger than his fifteen years. "More distracted than usual."

Jacaerys didn't look up from the letter he was pretending to read. "Have I?"

"Don't play fool, Jace. It doesn't suit you." Lucerys rolled onto his stomach, propping his chin on his hands. "Even Joff noticed, and he hardly notices anything beyond his own reflection these days."

"Perhaps I'm simply tired of being interrogated by my little brother."

"Perhaps you're simply avoiding the question." Lucerys's violet eyes narrowed slightly. "You disappeared the other night."

Jacaerys's fingers tightened imperceptibly on the parchment. "Did I?"

"I covered for you with Mother. Told her you had a headache and retired early." Lucerys paused, watching his brother's face carefully. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Thank you," Jacaerys said stiffly, still not meeting his brother's gaze.

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant sound of dragons calling to each other across the evening sky. Finally, Lucerys sighed dramatically.

"I need to borrow some coins," he said, his tone deliberately casual. "There's a book I want the Maester to fetch from the town."

"Another one? Didn't you just get three new volumes last moon?"

"This one's different. It's about Valyrian steel manipulation. I think I found a reference to–"

"Fine," Jacaerys interrupted, rising from his chair. "Let me get my–"

"Why not just give me the ones you've been playing with in your pocket all week?"

Jacaerys froze, his hand halfway to the door. Lucerys's voice had lost its casual edge, taking on an accusatory tone that made him sound unnervingly like their mother.

"Those are..." Jacaerys started, then stopped, unsure how to continue.

"Those are what, exactly?" Lucerys sat up, all pretense of relaxation gone. "You never carry coins, Jace. You hate dealing with money – you always have servants handle it. Yet suddenly you're constantly fiddling with coins in your pocket like some nervous merchant?"

"It's nothing."

"Nothing?" Lucerys's eyebrows rose. "Nothing has you sneaking out at night? Nothing has you daydreaming through lessons? Nothing has you jumping like a guilty septa every time someone mentions where you were that evening?"

"Luke–"

"What kind of trouble are you in, Jace?" Real concern crept into Lucerys's voice now. "Whatever it is, I can help. You know I can keep a secret."

Jacaerys turned to face his brother, seeing the genuine worry in his eyes. For a moment, he was tempted to tell him everything – about the theater, about you, about the strange mix of shame and wonder he felt every time he touched those coins you'd given him. But the words stuck in his throat.

"I'm not in any trouble," he said finally. "And the coins... they're just coins. Nothing more."

Lucerys studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "You're lying," he said simply. "You've never been good at it, not with me." He stood up from the bed, straightening his doublet with precise movements. "Keep your secrets, then. But whatever it is – whoever it is – I hope they're worth all this deception."

He moved toward the door, pausing with his hand on the latch. "And Jace? Next time you decide to disappear for an evening, give me some warning. I can only improvise so many headaches before Mother starts calling for the Grand Maester."

The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Jacaerys alone with his thoughts and the weight of those two gold coins that somehow felt heavier than any crown.

***

The evening guard rotations were meant to be predictable – that was the entire point of having them. Yet tonight, as Jacaerys crept through the servants' corridors of Dragonstone, it seemed the gods themselves conspired against him. Twice he'd had to duck into alcoves as guards passed by, their torchlight casting long shadows against the stone walls.

His heart nearly stopped when he heard the telltale sound of armor approaching from both directions. The corridor stretched before and behind him, offering no immediate escape. For a desperate moment, he considered scaling the wall – the ancient Valyrian stone had enough notches and grooves to make it possible. But the sound of boots was growing closer.

Then he saw it – a tapestry, ancient and dusty, depicting some long-forgotten battle. Without hesitation, he slipped behind it, pressing himself against the cold stone. The space was cramped, barely wide enough for him to stand sideways. Dust tickled his nose, and he fought the urge to sneeze as the guards converged directly in front of his hiding spot.

"Could've sworn I heard something," one guard muttered.

"Probably just those bloody rats again," the other replied. "This part of the castle's full of them."

Jacaerys held his breath as their shadows, distorted by torchlight, played across the tapestry. He could smell the oil from their lamps, hear the creak of their leather boots. One guard stopped so close that Jacaerys could have reached out and touched his armor through the fabric.

"Speaking of rats," the first guard continued, "did you hear about what happened in the kitchens? That new scullery maid..."

Jacaerys silently prayed to any god who might be listening as the guards lingered, exchanging gossip. His legs were beginning to cramp from standing so still, and the dust was becoming unbearable. Just when he thought he couldn't maintain his position any longer, they finally moved on.

He waited until their footsteps had faded completely before emerging, brushing centuries of dust from his clothes. His plain cloak was now grey with it, which actually worked in his favor – he looked even more like a common traveler now.

The rest of his escape proved easier. He knew which door hinges needed oil and avoided them, which stairs would creak under his weight and stepped around them. Years of childhood exploration had taught him every secret of these halls, though he'd never imagined using that knowledge quite like this.

When he finally emerged into the cool night air, the sea breeze hit him like a physical relief. What he didn't know was that his brother Lucerys was watching from the high window of his chambers, violet eyes tracking his progress through the darkness, a mixture of concern and curiosity playing across his young face.

The moon hung low over the water, painting a silver path across the waves. In the distance, he could hear the familiar sounds of the port city coming alive for the evening – and somewhere in that maze of streets, a small theater where you would be performing.

He touched the coins in his pocket, the ones you'd given him last time. He'd brought others tonight, determined to somehow repay your kindness without revealing his identity. The irony of a prince sneaking around with coins in his pockets wasn't lost on him.

As he made his way down the winding path toward the city, a shadow passed overhead – one of the dragons, doing their evening patrol. Jacaerys instinctively ducked into a doorway, though he knew they wouldn't betray his presence. Still, his heart raced until the beating of massive wings faded into the distance.

The closer he got to the theater district, the lighter his steps became. He could already hear distant music floating on the breeze, and somewhere ahead, he knew you were preparing for tonight's performance.

The older man at the entrance didn’t even look up as Jacaerys approached, the hood of his cloak pulled low to shadow his face. The flickering lantern by the door barely illuminated the man’s lined face as he grunted, extending a weathered hand.

"Same as always," the man rasped, his voice rough from years of smoke and salt air.

Jacaerys fished out the coins, the faint clink of silver ringing in the quiet. He handed them over without a word, and the man nodded, stepping aside to let him pass. As the heavy wooden door creaked open, the prince slipped inside, his heart already beating faster.

The theater was dimmer tonight. Fewer torches lined the walls, their flames casting long, flickering shadows across the worn wooden seats. The air carried a faint tang of old wood and wax, mixed with the distant murmur of the sparse audience. He moved with practiced ease, weaving through the rows until he found a shadowed corner near the back. His seat creaked faintly as he settled into it, but no one turned to look.

The hush of the room enveloped him like a comforting shroud. His eyes flicked to the small stage, where the performers were beginning to gather. The dim lighting softened the edges of the set, turning painted backdrops into ghostly outlines. And then he saw you.

You stepped into view, adjusting the folds of your simple costume as you moved to your mark. The faintest smile touched your lips, a fleeting expression meant more for yourself than anyone watching. Your presence lit up the stage, even in the muted glow of the flickering torches. Jacaerys leaned forward, his pulse quickening as he took in every detail: the curve of your fingers as you gestured, the spark in your eyes as you exchanged a glance with another actor.

Tonight’s performance was different from the last. The script was lighter, the words flowing with the cadence of humor and quick wit. You played your part flawlessly, your voice carrying through the small space with an easy confidence that drew even the most distracted onlooker. Jacaerys barely noticed the few other patrons scattered through the seats; his attention was solely on you.

Your dress was different tonight, though it bore the same signs of wear and age. This one reached your feet, its faded fabric swaying gently as you moved. It suited the story, the hem brushing the stage with a quiet grace. Your hair was loose now, no longer bound in the practical braid he'd seen last time. Strands of it framed your face, falling forward every time you turned sharply or crossed the stage with purpose.

At one point, you turned toward the audience, delivering a line with a playful smirk. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, your gaze seemed to land on him. He stiffened, holding his breath, but you moved on without hesitation, leaving him unsure if you'd truly noticed him or if it was just his imagination.

When the final act concluded and the sparse audience began to applaud, Jacaerys hesitated. His hands itched to join them, but he knew better than to draw attention to himself. Instead, he waited, watching as you took a modest bow before disappearing behind the curtain.

The theater began to empty, the soft murmur of voices and shuffling feet filling the space. Jacaerys lingered, his heart warring with his head. He could leave now, slip away unnoticed into the night, or he could stay – just a little longer.

From the shadows near the edge of the stage, Jacaerys could hear muffled voices – the actors congratulating one another, the rustle of costumes being adjusted, the clink of props being gathered and stored. Somewhere amidst it all was you.

He leaned against a post, his cloak wrapped tightly around him as if it could render him invisible. The cool night air from a nearby window mingled with the lingering warmth of the torches, creating a strange mix of chill and comfort. He should leave. The longer he stayed, the greater the risk of being recognized – not that anyone in this district would expect a prince of the realm to be skulking in a dusty theater. Still, his responsibilities weighed on his shoulders like a chain, one he was all too eager to shed tonight.

Then, like a moth drawn to light, his gaze caught movement through a gap in the curtains. You. You were speaking to someone, your laughter soft and genuine, a sound that cut through the noise like the first note of a song. He could see the way your hair fell loose from its pins, the slight flush to your cheeks from the exertion of the performance. You looked radiant, even in the simplicity of your stage attire.

As if sensing his presence, you turned. For a brief moment, your eyes locked with his through the narrow slit in the curtain. Surprise flickered across your face, followed quickly by recognition. The corner of your lips tugged upward in a small, knowing smile, and Jacaerys felt his stomach tighten.

Before he could retreat, you excused yourself from the conversation and slipped through the curtain, moving toward him with an easy grace that belied the exhaustion of the evening.

"You’re here again," you said softly, stopping just short of him. The dim light caught the shine in your eyes, the curve of your smile. "Should I be flattered or concerned?"

"Flattered. I would hope."

Your voice dropped lower, conspiratorial. "Did you eat today? I know times are hard, but there are better ways to spend an evening than hiding in theaters."

The irony of your worry made his chest tight. Here you were, in your worn costume, with props held together by determination and twine, concerned about whether he had enough to eat. He reached into his pocket, fingers closing around the coins.

"Actually," he said, extending his hand, "I came to return these. And..." he pulled out more coins from his other pocket, "to properly pay for my attendance. Both times."

Your eyes widened slightly at the amount – more than fair payment for theater tickets, though far less than what he wished he could give without raising suspicion. "That's..." you started, then paused, frowning. "Where did you...?"

"I found work," he said quickly, the lie bitter on his tongue. "On the docks." It was a safe claim – the port was always hiring, and the work explained away any calluses on his hands from sword training.

You hesitated, then slowly accepted the coins, your fingers brushing his palm. "Well then," you said, a smile playing at your lips, "I suppose I should thank you for your patronage, good sir." You gave an exaggerated curtsy, a playful mockery of court manners that made him both laugh and wince internally.

You straightened from your playful curtsy, tilting your head as your eyes lingered on his face. In the dim light, his features were shadowed, but there was no mistaking the sharpness of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his dark hair fell against his forehead. A fleeting thought escaped your lips before you could catch it.

"You’re quite handsome, you know," you said, your voice softer now, almost teasing but not unkind.

The words hung in the air like a spark between them, igniting an unexpected tension that made Jacaerys’s breath hitch. Instinct took over, and he immediately pulled his hood up, the shadow swallowing his face once more. His heart thundered in his chest, panic surging through him like a wave crashing against the shore. How could he have been so careless? The longer you looked at him, the greater the chance you might recognize him, or worse, ask questions he couldn’t answer.

You blinked, misinterpreting his reaction as shyness. "Oh," you said quickly, holding up a hand. "I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It was just a passing thought, nothing more."

Jacaerys kept his face tilted downward, the faint light from the torches barely illuminating the shadowed planes of his features. Beneath the cover of his hood, his thoughts churned.

You stepped back slightly, giving him space, though your brow furrowed as you studied him. "I have a habit of speaking my mind. It gets me into trouble more often than not."

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe. You didn’t know. Of course, you didn’t. If you had recognized him as the prince of Dragonstone, you wouldn’t be standing here so casually, holding his coins like a simple dockworker had handed them to you. Relief trickled in, slow but steady, easing the sharp edge of his panic.

Still, he couldn’t let his guard down. Not here, not now. You hadn’t recognized him but that didn’t mean your peers would be the same. He tightened his grip on the edge of his hood, fingers curling into the fabric as he found his voice. "It’s... nothing to apologize for," he said quietly, his tone measured. "You speak with honesty. That’s rare."

Your brow arched, a small, playful smile tugging at your lips. "Is it? I thought honesty was common among sailors and dockworkers."

His heart leapt, but he forced a soft chuckle. "Only when it suits them."

You laughed, the sound light and easy, cutting through the weight in his chest like a blade through mist. For a moment, the tension eased, and he let himself glance up, just enough to catch the way the dim torchlight softened the sharp lines of your face. You seemed so at ease, as if this exchange was just another fleeting moment in your day, not a conversation with a man balancing precariously on the edge of his secret.

"Well," you said, your tone shifting to something softer, almost kind, "if you ever get tired of dishonest company, you know where to find me."

The simplicity of your words sent a jolt through him, a strange mix of warmth and dread. How could you offer such openness to a stranger? Did you have any idea what danger such kindness could invite? He wanted to tell you to be more careful, to guard yourself better, but that would only draw suspicion, and he couldn’t afford that.

Instead, he nodded, a small, almost imperceptible gesture.

Your words were casual, cheerful, as if you weren’t fully aware of the effect they had on him. Jacaerys’s stomach twisted. Did you truly mean it, or was this simply how you treated everyone who lingered after your performances? Perhaps it was common for men to approach you, hoping for a moment of your time, an exchange of pleasantries, or something more daring. Maybe to you, this was nothing special, just another fleeting interaction with someone who found themselves enthralled by your charm.

He tried to gauge your meaning, but your expression revealed nothing beyond a playful warmth. It struck him that this could be a game for you, a kindness you extended to strangers who sought solace in the illusion of knowing you. If that were the case, you had mastered the art of making people feel seen. And yet, a selfish part of him hoped it wasn’t a performance, at least not entirely.

He forced himself to nod again, the words catching in his throat before he could offer any kind of response.

You told him your name, tilting your head. The torchlight caught the playful glint in your eyes.

You moved closer, fingers playing delicately with the edge of his hood. The fabric shifted just enough to let more torchlight spill across his features and for you to get a proper look at him. "You still haven't told me your name," you said. The torchlight caught the glint in your eyes, warm and inviting. "And I'd love to share a cup of wine with you before tomorrow's show, if you'd join me? Unless dock work calls, of course."

Jacaerys's throat went dry at your proximity, at the casual way you breached the careful distance he'd maintained. Your fingers were still toying with his hood, and he could smell the faint traces of stage powder and candlesmoke that clung to your costume.

"I..." he started, then faltered. Even a false name felt dangerous on his tongue, another lie to add to the growing pile between you. But your expectant gaze and gentle smile made refusal equally impossible. "Jace," he finally said, offering the shortened version of his name – common enough among smallfolk to pass unremarked, yet not entirely a lie.

"The wine?" you prompted with a gentle laugh, noticing his distraction. Your fingers still lingered at the edge of his hood, and this close, he could see the faint smudge of stage paint at the corner of your eye, oddly endearing in the torchlight.

"Yes," he said quickly, perhaps too quickly.

You laughed softly, the sound warm and light, brushing away his unease.

"Good," you said simply, your fingers finally leaving his hood. The absence of your touch left the fabric cool against his skin, but his heartbeat remained a thunderous rhythm in his ears. "I’ll look forward to it, then."

Your words carried a quiet sincerity, and Jacaerys felt a flicker of hope, foolish and persistent, take root. Perhaps you wanted his company, not as some starstruck admirer but as something more. If you’d thought of him as just another man enchanted by your beauty, you might have waved him off with a kind but distant smile, not offered him a seat at your table.

The thought made his chest tighten. He shouldn’t entertain it, couldn’t afford to. But as you stepped back, leaving a space between you that felt far larger than it was, he found himself reluctant to let the moment end.

"Tomorrow, then," you said with a final, teasing glance. And with that, you turned, your departure as graceful as your presence.

***

Jacaerys woke to a sharp sting across his cheek, followed by the sound of laughter – bright, mischievous, and unmistakable. His eyes flew open to find Aegon, his younger brother, perched on his chest, tiny hands poised for another smack. Aegon’s face was a mix of innocence and triumph, his silver curls bouncing as he giggled.

"Wake up," Aegon crowed, his small hand descending toward Jacaerys's face once more, giving him a small and playful smack on his eyebrow.

Jacaerys caught the little hand mid-swing, his reflexes slower than usual thanks to the late night before.

"Enough, you little dragon," Jacaerys groaned, though he couldn't help but smile as he gently moved Aegon off his chest. The morning sun was already high – much higher than he usually allowed himself to sleep. His body felt heavy with fatigue, memories of dusty tapestries and your smile still lingering in his mind.

"You're late for breakfast," came another voice from next to the bed. Lucerys stood there, arms crossed, violet eyes sharp with knowing. "Again."

Jacaerys sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. Aegon took the opportunity to climb onto his back, small arms wrapping around his neck. "I was tired," he said carefully, avoiding his brother's gaze.

"Tired from sneaking out again?" Lucery's voice was quiet enough that Aegon couldn't hear, but the accusation was clear. "I saw you, you know. Last night."

Jacaerys's stomach dropped, but before he could respond, Aegon tugged at his hair. "Play with me!" the little prince demanded, blissfully unaware of the tension between his older brothers. "You promised yesterday!"

"In a moment, brother." Jacaerys said softly. To Lucerys, he added, "Close the door."

Lucerys did, but remained standing, his young face serious beyond his years. Aegon whined, squirming on Jacaerys’s back like a restless hatchling trying to get his brother’s attention.

"Soon," Jacaerys murmured, reaching back to ruffle Aegon’s curls gently. He glanced at Lucerys, whose gaze was sharp, scrutinizing, and far too perceptive for his age.

"Out with it, Luke," Jacaerys said with a sigh, shifting Aegon to sit in his lap. The youngest boy immediately busied himself by fiddling with the ties on Jacaerys’s tunic, humming some nonsense tune.

Lucerys’s arms stayed crossed, his jaw tight. "Where did you go?"

Jacaerys hesitated, trying to gauge how much Lucerys might already know. "For a walk," he said, the words feeling hollow even as he spoke them.

"A walk," Lucerys repeated, his voice flat. "Through the city, past the gates, and to the docks? Alone? At night?"

Jacaerys stiffened, his fingers stilling where they had been untangling Aegon’s small fists from the ties of his tunic. He met Lucerys’s piercing gaze and held it, though his stomach churned. Lucerys was clever, sharper than most realized, and there was no denying the skepticism etched into his younger brother’s face.

"Yes," Jacaerys said finally, his tone low but steady. "A walk."

Lucerys huffed, shaking his head. "You’re a terrible liar, you know that?"

"A walk," Lucerys repeated, incredulous. His sharp eyes narrowed as if daring Jacaerys to stick to the flimsy excuse.

Aegon, oblivious to the rising tension, suddenly perked up, his tiny voice lilting into a sing-song melody. "Liar, liar, pants on fire!" he chanted, his hands clapping against Jacaerys’s chest for emphasis. "Hanging from a dragon’s spire!"

Jacaerys groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as Aegon’s giggles filled the room. "Aegon," he muttered, exasperated, "you’re not helping."

Lucerys’s lips twitched, though he tried to keep his expression serious. "Even Aegon can tell you’re lying," he said, gesturing to the wriggling boy in Jacaerys’s lap. "And he’s four."

Jacaerys shifted uncomfortably, his grip tightening slightly on Aegon to keep the boy from sliding off. "It’s not your concern," he said, his voice low.

"It is when it could get you hurt," Lucerys countered, stepping closer. His voice softened, though the worry in his expression remained. "I’m not a fool, Jace. You’re sneaking out for a reason. If something’s wrong…"

"Nothing’s wrong," Jacaerys cut in, sharper than he intended. Aegon stilled at the change in his tone, glancing up at him with wide, curious eyes.

Lucerys’s brows furrowed, his concern deepening. "Then why the secrecy? Have you gabled? You owe coins?"

Jacaerys barked a sharp laugh, the sound bitter. "Gambled?" he repeated, his tone tinged with incredulity. "Do you truly think I’d risk Mother’s wrath for something so foolish?"

Lucerys raised a skeptical brow, undeterred. "You’re sneaking out past the gates, Jace. It’s not exactly the behavior of someone who cares much for avoiding wrath."

Jacaerys sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. He shifted Aegon in his lap again, the boy’s small hands still clutching his tunic as if sensing the weight of the moment

Lucerys crossed his arms, his expression still clouded with doubt, but he said nothing further. The room settled into a tense silence, broken only by Aegon’s happy hums as he tugged at Jacaerys’s tunic ties once more.

Jacaerys offered Lucerys a faint, conciliatory smile. "You’ve said your piece, brother. Now let it rest. I’ll be more careful."

Lucerys hesitated, then gave a short nod. "See that you are," he muttered, though the edge in his voice had dulled. Without another word, he turned and left, the door closing softly behind him.

That same night, Jacaerys’ chest beat with expectation. He pressed his ear against the cool wood of his chamber door, straining to hear the rhythmic clink of the guards’ boots in the corridor. It had taken longer than usual for the keep to settle tonight, and his patience had worn thin as he waited for silence to fall. Finally, the sound of footsteps faded, leaving only the faint whisper of wind through the stone halls.

Pulling his hood over his head, he slipped through the door, moving as quietly as he could manage. The shadows seemed to stretch and shift around him as he made his way down the dim corridor, his heart thudding in his chest.

But his stealth came to an abrupt end as he rounded a corner and collided with someone who immediately called his name.

"Jace," Baela, his cousin, yelped.

His hood slipped back slightly, revealing his startled face as Baela peered up at him with narrowed eyes. She crossed her arms, her expression teetering between curiosity and suspicion.

"I…" he stammered, grasping for an excuse, "I was just going to feed Vermax. I forgot earlier."

"Dressed like that? You look like you’re about to rob a merchant," Baela quipped, her brows arching as she gestured toward his cloak. Her voice was low, but the teasing edge carried clearly in the quiet corridor.

Jacaerys tugged at his hood, trying to steady himself. "It’s cold out," he said, forcing a casual shrug.

She stared at him for a long moment, the corners of her mouth twitching as though she were fighting a smirk. "You’ve always been a terrible liar," she finally said, stepping closer. Her voice softened slightly, concern flickering behind her sharp words.

Jacaerys’s lips twitched into a crooked smile, though it lacked conviction. "And what about you? What are you doing wandering the halls past curfew?"

Her laugh rang out softly, the sound light and unbothered. "Nice try, cousin," she said, shaking her head. "But I don’t need excuses. Her Grace sent me to fetch you."

Jacaerys’s smirk faltered, his stomach sinking slightly. "Mother?" he repeated, attempting to mask his unease.

Baela nodded, her expression turning sly. "She’s been asking after you. Something about wondering if you’d finally gotten a decent night’s rest for once." Her gaze swept over his cloaked form again, pointedly lingering on his shadowy attire. "Though I imagine she’ll have a lot more questions if she sees you like this."

Jacaerys tugged his hood back fully, a small scowl forming. "Fine. You’ve made your point."

Baela grinned, pleased with herself. "Good. Let’s not keep her waiting, then." She stepped aside, gesturing down the hallway with a flourish.

As they began walking together, she shot him a sideways glance. "By the way, you might want to come up with a better excuse than feeding Vermax. She’ll see through that faster than I did."

He groaned softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Thank you for the vote of confidence."

The candles in the council chamber had burned low, their dim flames casting long, flickering shadows across the walls. Jacaerys sat stiffly in his chair, his hood abandoned and his shoulders tense as he stared down at the polished wood of the table. His mother’s voice was firm and commanding, carrying over the murmurs of her council, but the words barely registered in his mind.

He shifted uncomfortably, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm against his knee. The hours dragged on, the droning voices blending into a monotone hum that seemed to sap the energy from the room. Every so often, he risked a glance toward the doors, his heart sinking as the night stretched on without reprieve.

He had planned it all so carefully; waiting for the guards’ change, ensuring his cloak was in place, and rehearsing his path through the darkened halls. Yet here he was, trapped in the suffocating formality of duty, the weight of the room pressing heavily on his chest.

Finally, his mother’s voice broke through his thoughts, a sharp and decisive tone signaling the meeting’s end. The council members began to rise, exchanging pleasantries and nods as they shuffled out. Jacaerys stood quickly, hoping to slip away unnoticed.

But as he stepped into the corridor and caught sight of the sky through a narrow window, his heart sank. The stars had already begun to fade, the first light of dawn creeping over the horizon. His plan, so meticulously crafted, was ruined.

He exhaled sharply, leaning back against the cold stone wall. Frustration bubbled up inside him, clawing at his chest. He had waited too long, his opportunity stolen by endless discussions he hadn’t even bothered to follow.

The streets of the town would be stirring soon, no longer cloaked in shadow, and the risk of sneaking out now was far too great. With a defeated sigh, Jacaerys pushed away from the wall and started toward his chambers. Perhaps tomorrow night, he told himself, though the thought did little to soothe the restless ache in his chest.

***

The days crawled by like honey in winter, thick and slow. Jacaerys moved through them in a fog of distraction, his mind constantly wandering to the small theater and its worn stage. During his lessons, he found himself staring out windows, counting the hours until nightfall only to be trapped again by some new duty or obligation. His writing grew sloppy, earning sharp looks from his tutors, but he couldn't focus on their corrections when all he could think about was you, waiting in vain that night.

Had you looked for him in the shadows of the wings? Had you saved him a proper seat, as promised, only to find it empty? The thought of your disappointment twisted in his gut like a knife.

Each evening brought fresh torment. A dinner with visiting nobles that stretched late into the night. An urgent meeting about grain stores that couldn't wait until morning. Evening dragon training that left him too exhausted to even consider the treacherous path down to the town. Always something, always another reason he couldn't slip away.

Lucerys watched him with knowing eyes, catching his restless glances toward the windows, his distracted responses at meals. But his brother said nothing more, perhaps satisfied that whatever had drawn Jacaerys into the night had been successfully thwarted by duty.

By the fourth night, Jacaerys lay awake in his bed, imagining what you might think of him. Just another unreliable patron, perhaps. Or worse – had you worried about him? Did you think something had happened to the shy dock worker who couldn't take a compliment? The thought of you being concerned for his welfare, when he was perfectly safe in his castle chamber, made him feel sick with guilt.

On the sixth night, he nearly made it. He'd gotten as far as the servants' corridor before Aegon's crying echoed through the halls – nightmares again. Jacaerys had frozen, torn between his escape and his brother's distress. In the end, duty won out. He spent the night in Aegon's chamber, telling stories until the little prince fell asleep against his shoulder.

A week. A whole week had passed, and he hadn't seen your performance, hadn't heard your voice, hadn't stood in the comforting shadows of the wings. The theater district felt like a dream now, something he'd imagined in a moment of wild fancy. Only the memory of your gentle teasing, the phantom touch of your hand on his shoulder, reminded him it had been real.

The worst part was not knowing if you'd even noticed his absence. Were you wondering about the strange young man who'd promised to return? Or had you already forgotten him, just another face in the crowd of your admirers? He wasn't sure which possibility hurt.

Each night as he lay in bed, he made plans for the next evening, plotting new routes through the castle, calculating guard rotations, imagining what he'd say when he finally saw you again. And each night, something interfered – some duty he couldn't ignore, some obligation he couldn't escape.

But even as he told himself this, he knew he'd try again. Tomorrow, perhaps. Or the night after. Eventually, the gods would grant him another chance to slip away, to return to that magical space where titles didn't matter and stories came alive in the torch-lit dark.

Until then, he could only hope you'd understand – though of course, you couldn't. Not really. Not without knowing the truth, which he could never tell.

"A king should know his people." The words had come out smoother than Jacaerys expected, rehearsed as they were in front of his mirror countless times. His mother had looked up from her scrolls, one eyebrow arched in that way that always made him feel transparent.

"And you came to this revelation... suddenly?" she'd asked, her violet eyes sharp with curiosity.

"Grandsire always says the best lessons come from the docks," he'd pressed on, forcing his voice to remain steady. "The trade, the people, the..." he'd gestured vaguely, "...the whole of it."

Now, standing on those very docks in clothes that itched in places he didn't know clothes could itch, Jacaerys wondered if he'd oversold the enthusiasm. The fish merchant before him was eyeing him suspiciously as he fumbled with the copper coins in his hand.

"Bit soft for dock work, aren't you?" the merchant asked, his weathered face creasing with doubt.

Jacaerys cleared his throat, remembering to roughen his accent. "Eager to learn," he managed, trying not to wince at the overwhelming smell of fish that clung to everything, including, now, himself.

He straightened, wiping sweat from his brow with a sleeve that probably made him smell worse. The theater district was visible from here, the colorful banners hanging limp in the afternoon heat. Just a few more hours, he told himself. A few more crates, a few more lectures from his grandsireabout proper cargo distribution, and then...

"Oy! Less dreaming, more lifting!" The dock master's voice cut through his thoughts. Jacaerys quickly returned to his task, though he couldn't help but smile. For once, his fancy education was useless – here, he was just another pair of hands, exactly as he'd wanted.

He adjusted his hood, making sure his telltale hair remained hidden. One more crate. One more hour. One more step closer to seeing you again, this time with a legitimate excuse for his presence in this part of town. Sometimes, he mused as he hefted another load of fish, even princes had to get their hands dirty to keep their secrets safe.

The familiar scent of dust and candlesmoke filled his lungs as he entered the theater, though now it mingled with the lingering smell of fish that clung to his clothes. This time, as promised what felt like ages ago, he took a proper seat. His hands fidgeted in his lap throughout the performance, hyper-aware of every moment you looked toward the audience.

Only once did your eyes meet his, a brief flicker of recognition crossing your face before you looked away, continuing your lines without pause. The dismissal stung more than he'd expected, though he knew he deserved it.

When the performance ended and the sparse crowd began to filter out, Jacaerys remained in his seat, watching as you sat at the edge of the stage. Papers were scattered around you, tomorrow's dialogues that you mouthed silently to yourself, completely absorbed in your work. The torchlight caught the furrow of concentration between your brows, the slight movement of your lips as you memorized your lines.

His heart quickened as he approached the stage, his boots scuffing against the floor to announce his presence. You didn't look up.

"That was beautiful," he said softly, his voice rough from a day of salt air and hauling cargo.

You turned a page, still not looking at him. "Thank you for your patronage," you said, your tone formal, distant – nothing like the warm teasing he remembered.

"I..." he started, then faltered. What could he say? That he'd been trapped in council meetings? That his princely duties had kept him away? "I'm sorry about last week."

"Mm," you hummed noncommittally, marking something on your script with decisive strokes. "No need to apologize. You paid for your seat, same as anyone else."

The coldness in your voice made him wince.

"I wanted to come," he said, the truth of it aching in his chest. "I tried, but…"

"The docks must have been very busy," you cut in, finally looking up at him. Your eyes were sharp, none of their usual warmth present.

"I went there, you know," you said, your voice soft but edged with hurt. "After you didn't show. I thought perhaps you'd been caught up in work, or..." You let out a small, bitter laugh. "But it was quiet. Dead empty by the time I got there."

Jacaerys felt the blood drain from his face. Of course you'd gone to look for him – your kindness hadn't been an act. While he'd been trapped in that endless council meeting, you'd been worried enough to search for him.

"If you weren't interested in sharing wine with me, or..." you paused, a faint flush coloring your cheeks, "whatever it might have led to, you could have simply said so. I'm an actor – I can handle rejection without requiring elaborate excuses about dock work."

The mention of wine caught him off guard. His chest tightened with the realization of what he'd missed, what could have been if duty hadn't intervened.

"That's not..." he started, his voice hoarse. "I did want... I mean, I do want..." The words tangled on his tongue, princely eloquence deserting him entirely.

You gathered your papers with sharp, efficient movements. "Save it," you said, though there was more weariness than anger in your tone now. "I've played this scene before, though usually with better dialogue."

"Please," he said, taking a step closer to the stage. "Let me explain."

You stood, clutching your scripts to your chest like a shield. "Explain what?"

The question hit him like a physical blow. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, the truth lodged painfully in his throat. He couldn't tell you – couldn't risk your safety, your career, everything you'd built here. But oh, how he wanted to.

"I'm someone who finds magic in your performances," he said finally, the words barely above a whisper. "Someone who would have given anything to be here that night, to share that wine with you, to..." he trailed off, seeing the way your expression hardened at his evasion.

"Pretty words," you said, your voice flat.

"Wait," he called as you turned to leave. "I'll pay you. For private readings."

You paused, one eyebrow rising slightly. "Private readings?"

"Monologues, scenes, whatever you're working on." His words came faster now, desperate to keep you from walking away. "I meant what I said. Let me prove it."

You studied him for a long moment, your scripts still held tight against your chest. "You have coin for private readings?" Your tone was skeptical, though something else flickered in your expression – curiosity, perhaps.

"Name your price."

A small crease appeared between your brows as you considered him. "Why?"

"Because I want to understand," he said softly. "How you make people believe in the stories you tell. And I want to know you."

You were quiet for so long he thought you'd refuse. Then, slowly, you set your scripts down. "Three copper stars per hour," you said finally. "And you show up when you say you will, or the arrangement ends."

His heart leaped. "Done."

"Tomorrow evening then," you said, your tone still guarded but no longer cold. "After the last performance."

He nodded, relief flooding through him. "I'll be here," he promised, and this time, he'd make sure nothing – not even his mother's councils – would stop him.

You pulled the last torch from its bracket, extinguishing it with practiced efficiency. The theater fell into deeper shadow, lit only by a single remaining flame near the stage. Jacaerys watched as you moved through your closing routine, straightening props and gathering scattered programs.

"Help me with these chairs?" you asked, your tone lighter now than during your earlier conversation. He rushed to assist, eager to prove his reliability.

The scrape of wood against wood filled the quiet space as you worked together. When the last chair was properly placed, you pulled a ring of keys from your pocket.

"I usually stay late," you said, twirling the thick keys between your fingers. "Practice keeps the stories fresh, and it gives overeager admirers time to clear out." Your eyes sparkled with meaning in the low light. "Though some are more persistent than others."

Before Jacaerys could respond, you stepped closer. His breath caught as your hand reached for his hood, pulling it back just enough to see his face properly in the dim light.

"There you are," you murmured, studying him with renewed interest. "I was beginning to think you lived in that hood."

He stayed perfectly still, heart thundering as you examined him. Your fingers lingered near his jaw, not quite touching.

"Tomorrow then?" you asked, your voice taking on a teasing lilt. "Unless you plan to stand me up again?"

"I won't," he promised, his voice rougher than intended.

You smiled, stepping back. "We'll see." You moved toward the door, keys jingling. "Good night."

The way you said it – playful, almost knowing – made his pulse quicken. But you were already gone, leaving him alone in the theater's shadows, the ghost of your almost-touch burning on his skin.

***

Jacaerys stunk of fish. He was sure he had scales stuck under his fingernails from messily cleaning the slippery creatures in the early morning chill. The sea air clung to him, sharp and salty, mingling unpleasantly with the damp sweat on his brow. He cursed under his breath as he scrubbed his hands in the frigid water of a wooden basin, but no amount of scrubbing seemed to erase the stubborn scent.

The bath water had grown cold, but Jacaerys barely noticed. His muscles ached from hauling cargo, though the hot water had helped ease the worst of it. He scrubbed his skin again, determined to remove every trace of fish and salt. The scent had clung to him stubbornly, refusing to yield to even the strongest soaps.

He was nearly dozing, head tipped back against the copper rim, when a knock startled him fully awake.

"Decent?" Lucerys's voice called through the door.

"Give me a moment," Jacaerys sighed, reaching for a clean cloth. He'd barely finished dressing when Lucerys entered, expression already set in familiar lines of concern.

"The docks?" Lucerys asked, leaning against the doorframe. "Really?"

Jacaerys ran the cloth through his damp hair. "Grandsire was pleased."

"Grandsire would be pleased if you learned to juggle fish," Lucerys countered. "But that's not why you're doing it."

"Luke–"

"Just..." Lucerys paused, his young face serious. "Promise me you're not in trouble."

Jacaerys met his brother's worried gaze. "I promise. But I need you to keep this secret."

"Which part? The sneaking out or the fish-hauling?"

"Both."

Lucerys studied him for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Fine. But if you get caught–"

"I won't."

Jacaerys caught a whiff of soap from his sleeve. No trace of fish remained. He heaved a sigh, tossing the towel onto the nearest chair. "Fine." He paused, pinning his younger brother with a level look. "But you have to swear not to tell anyone. If you breathe a word, I’ll tell the septa you swore foolishly."

Lucerys’s face flushed a deep red. "You wouldn’t."

"Oh, I absolutely would," Jacaerys said with mock gravity. "So, do we have a deal?"

Lucerys hesitated, then huffed. "Fine. But if this is something stupid, I’m going straight to Mother."

"It’s not stupid," Jacaerys said, though the faintest smile tugged at his lips. He leaned in conspiratorially. "I met someone. In town."

Lucerys blinked. "What?"

"I met someone," he repeated. "She doesn’t know who I am. At least, not yet. She just thinks I’m a dockhand."

Lucerys stared at him like he’d grown a second head. "And this… someone… doesn’t recognize you as the prince? At all?"

Jacaerys shrugged. but the motion was stiff, his gaze skittering away from Lucerys's penetrating stare. "I… may not have been entirely honest with her," he admitted, voice dropping.

Lucerys’s eyes narrowed.

Jacaerys sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "I told her I was just a dockhand. A commoner."

For a moment, Lucerys just stared at him, his mouth slightly open in disbelief. "You lied to her? Does she even know your name?"

"Of course, she does," Jacaerys muttered. "Just not my full name."

Lucerys's expression darkened, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. "Are you insane? What were you thinking?"

"I don’t know!" Jacaerys snapped, his frustration boiling over. He began pacing the small room, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I don’t know why I did it. She was just so... kind. So wistful. So beautiful. She spoke to me like I was just another person, Luke, not a prince or a pawn in some court game. It was different. She’s different."

Lucerys’s face twisted in a snarl. "You’re a fool. This is reckless, Jace, even for you."

"Then don’t say anything," Jacaerys bit back, his tone hard. "You swore, remember?"

Lucerys hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. He shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose. "Fine. But when this blows up in your face – and it will – don’t come crying to me."

Jacaerys didn’t reply, his silence heavy. For the first time, the faint scent of soap felt cloying instead of clean, and the weight of his choices pressed down on him, harder than any fish-laden barrel ever had.

All of his worries about the conversation with Lucerys – the bitter taste in his mouth and the tight pit of guilt in his stomach – melted away the moment he sneaked past the guards. The relief was instant, the tension draining from his shoulders as he let his hood fall lower over his face. He could barely contain the smile tugging at the corners of his lips, excitement bubbling up inside him.

He kept his hand firmly clutching his hood, not wanting to risk it slipping, though it wasn’t as if anyone would recognize him in the shadows. It was his little rebellion, this secret. The life he could steal away from his royal duties for just a few precious hours.

As he neared the theatre house, the muffled sounds of commotion and laughter leaked from the building’s walls, the excitement from inside spilling out into the night air. He could feel his pulse quicken, and without hesitation, he paid the man at the door – just as he had the other times.

He made his way through the narrow hallway, finally arriving at his usual spot – the seats tucked away behind a makeshift curtained backstage.

Jacaerys settled into the seat, adjusting the folds of his cloak. He exhaled slowly, leaning back, the first moments of peace he'd had all day flooding over him.

Then, as he shifted his weight, a hand rested lightly on his arm, squeezing just enough to send a thrill through his spine. His breath hitched as he turned toward the sound of his name, barely a whisper on your lips.

"Jace."

You were already painted for the play, your face a canvas of vibrant colors and delicate lines. The artistry of your makeup only accentuated your natural beauty, your eyes sparkling under the soft light. His heart skipped a beat, and for a long moment, he forgot how to breathe.

You were radiant, more than he could have ever imagined, and his mouth went dry. He gaped, unable to stop his gaze from lingering on you – your delicate features, the way your lips were painted, the playful yet mysterious expression in your eyes. He had seen you countless times before, but tonight, in the flickering shadows of the theatre, you felt otherworldly.

When your fingers brushed lightly against his arm again, the moment snapped back into reality. Your voice, soft and warm, stirred him from his daze. "Jace," you repeated, a gentle laugh in your tone, as if you were amused by the surprise in his eyes. "I need your help."

His mouth went dry, and he nodded quickly, standing up a bit too hastily.

"Come on," you coaxed, giving him a small, teasing look. "It won’t take long."

His mind was in chaos – his pulse still hammering in his ears, the lingering warmth of your touch on his sleeve – yet he couldn’t deny the pull of your invitation. Without another thought, he stood up, following you as you made your way past the curtains into the backstage area.

You smiled, a glimmer of mischief crossing your face. "Follow me," you said.

You led him backstage, the familiar scent of the theatre – of wood, ink, and the remnants of makeup – filling his senses as you guided him past the cluttered dressing rooms and hastily thrown-together props. The atmosphere back here was markedly different from the grandness of the performance, and Jacaerys couldn’t help but feel a sense of intimacy in the narrow hallways, the noise of the crowd just a distant hum.

When you stopped in front of a small mirror framed with tattered curtains, you turned to him, your hands moving through your hair with a practiced grace. You sat down, and reached for a string cord to tie your hair. You handed it to him.

He obeyed without thinking, though his hands were clammy and his chest tight with anticipation. "What... what do you need me to do?"

"I can’t get the braid right," you explained softly, your voice a gentle hum. "I always get tangled in the strands. It’s easier when someone else does it."

He nodded, trying to keep his breath steady, though his heart pounded in his chest. His hands were still – stiff at his sides.

Jacaerys hesitated, his hands feeling strangely foreign as they hovered over the delicate strands of your hair. He had grown up surrounded by brothers, never once considering that there would come a time when he'd need to braid someone’s hair. His mind scrambled for any kind of memory, any sort of knowledge about how to do this, but all he could recall were fleeting moments when he’d seen Baela and Rhaena’s handmaidens working deftly with their hair, and he’d never paid attention, too busy with other things.

His throat went dry, and he cleared it, trying to find his voice. You were looking at him expectantly.

You let out a light laugh, as if to ease the tension. "I’ve seen dockmen tie knots for the boats – braiding is not too different, right?" You gave him a playful, knowing look. "It’s just like that. Easy enough, I’m sure."

He could almost hear his own thoughts racing, trying to latch onto something that would help him make this moment less awkward. But the only thing that came to mind was the idea of knots. The docks. Boats. He felt completely out of his element.

He shifted uncomfortably, his hands still suspended in the air, and then, in a voice that was a little too thick with nerves, he answered, "I’ve never worked as a docksman for boats. Not really my thing."

Not really a lie, he comforted himself, he hadn’t worked with boat knots.

"I’m more on the cleaning-up side. Fish guts, mostly." He winced at the thought, but there was no hiding the truth in his words.

The image of him, his hands deep in fish guts, made you laugh softly, the sound light and musical. "Ah," you said, with a playful wink. "Well, at least you're used to working with your hands."

Jacaerys’s cheeks flushed at the implication, and he let out a sheepish breath. It wasn’t exactly the image he wanted to project, but there was something about your teasing that made it harder to feel embarrassed. He felt a strange warmth flood through him at the lightheartedness in your voice.

"I guess so," he mumbled, leaning closer to your hair, trying to focus on the task at hand. His fingers shook slightly as they brushed the strands, the delicate texture of your hair catching him off guard.

Your smile softened, and you tilted your head, making it easier for him to reach the strands you wanted braided. "It’s alright. I’m not picky," you assured him, your voice softening. "I just need it out of the way, you know?"

Jacaerys took a deep breath, trying to steady his trembling fingers. Your hair was silk against his hands – hands that just hours ago had been covered in fish scales and sea salt. He separated the strands carefully, remembering distantly how his mother's handmaidens would work, their movements quick and assured where his were hesitant. He pretended to know what he was doing.

"Like this?" he asked softly, attempting to weave the sections together. The result was clumsy, uneven, nothing like the elegant styles he'd seen at court.

You hummed encouragement, your eyes meeting his in the mirror. "Perfect," you said, though it clearly wasn't. "You have gentle hands for someone who handles fish all day."

He nearly dropped the strands at that, his chest tightening at the compliment. If you only knew how those hands had gripped dragon reins, had wielded training swords, had signed royal documents...

"I..." he started, then swallowed hard. "Thank you."

Your lips curved into a knowing smile. "You're blushing."

"It's warm back here," he muttered, focusing intently on the braid to hide his reddening cheeks.

"Mmhmm," you teased. "Nothing to do with being alone with an actress in her dressing room, then?"

His fingers fumbled, and the braid began to unravel. "I should start over," he said quickly, carefully undoing his messy work.

You laughed softly, the sound sending warmth spreading through his chest. "Take your time. The crowd's still filing in." You relaxed slightly, letting your head tilt back. "Tell me about your day? Did you catch anything interesting in those fish guts of yours?"

Jacaerys bit back a smile, grateful for the simple question even as guilt pricked at his conscience. "Nothing but the usual," he said, trying again with the braid. "Though there was one fish bigger than any I'd seen before. Nearly pulled me into the water when we hauled it in."

It wasn't entirely a lie – he had seen such a fish today, though he hadn't been the one to catch it. The dock workers had called him over to see it, proud of their unusual catch.

"I'm sure you handled it masterfully," you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief in the mirror. "My brave fishmonger."

His heart skipped at the possessive note in your voice, even as shame coiled in his stomach at the deception. He focused on the braid, his movements becoming more confident as he found a rhythm.

"There," he said finally, securing the end with the cord you'd given him. It wasn't perfect – nowhere near the intricate styles of court – but it would hold your hair back for the performance.

You turned your head, examining his work in the mirror. "Not bad at all," you said, reaching back to touch it gently. Your fingers brushed against his as you did, sending a jolt through his entire body. "You might have missed your call. Perhaps you should leave the fish guts behind and become a lady's hairdresser instead."

He laughed despite himself, the sound slightly strained. "I think I'll stick to the docks."

"Pity," you said, standing and turning to face him. In the small space, you were suddenly very close, close enough that he could see the individual brushstrokes of stage paint on your cheeks. "I rather enjoyed having you play with my hair."

Before he could respond, a voice called your name from beyond the curtain. "Five minutes!"

"Duty calls," you sighed, though you didn't move away immediately. "Will you watch tonight?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Good." You reached up, adjusting his hood slightly where it had slipped. "Try not to hide too much in those shadows of yours. I like seeing your face."

Then you were gone, sweeping past the curtain toward the stage, leaving Jacaerys alone with the lingering warmth of your presence and the phantom sensation of your hair between his fingers.

He touched his hood where your hand had been, his heart thundering in his chest. Every lie, every deception felt heavier now, weighted with something more than just guilt. But he couldn't think about that – not now, not when you were about to perform, not when you'd looked at him like that.

Taking a shaky breath, he made his way back to his seat, already knowing he wouldn't see a moment of the play. His mind would be too full of your smile in the mirror, your teasing words, and the way you'd called him yours, even if it was just in jest.

True to his prediction, Jacaerys barely registered the play. His mind kept drifting back to the dressing room, to your fingers brushing his, to the way you'd called him with that teasing lilt in your voice. Even now, hours later, his hands still tingled with the memory of your hair between his fingers.

The last patrons were filling out, their chatter fading into the night. You were moving about the stage, gathering props with practiced efficiency, but your movements seemed slower than usual, more deliberate. Every so often, your eyes would drift to where he sat, still in his shadowed corner.

His braid had held throughout your performance, though a few strands had escaped to frame your face. It made him oddly proud, seeing his handiwork survive your dramatic gestures and quick turns.

"Are you going to help," you called out without looking up, teasing tone "or just watch me work?"

Jacaerys started, realizing he'd been caught staring. He rose quickly, making his way to the stage. "What do you need?"

You glanced at him, a smile playing at your lips. "These need to go back to the prop room," you said, gesturing to a collection of wooden swords and painted shields. "Think your dock-strengthened arms can handle it?"

He gathered the props, careful not to let his familiarity with real weapons show in how he handled them. "I think I can manage."

You led him through the backstage area again, but this time there was no bustling energy, no rushed preparations. Just quiet, broken only by your footsteps and the occasional creak of old wood.

"Your braid is holding up well," he said softly as you walked.

"Mmm," you hummed, reaching back to touch it. "Perhaps I should keep you around. My own personal hairdresser who smells of fish."

"I don't smell of fish anymore," he protested, though he couldn't help but smile.

"No," you agreed, stopping at the prop room door. "You smell of soap. Too much soap, actually." You turned to face him, eyes glinting in the dim light. "Almost as if someone very deliberately tried to wash away the scent of honest work."

Jacaerys's heart stuttered. "I..."

"Careful with those," you said, nodding to the props in his arms, effectively cutting off his fumbling response. "Some of them are older than both of us combined."

The prop room was smaller than he'd imagined, cramped with shelves of costumes and worn set pieces. As he carefully placed the wooden swords in their designated spot, he was acutely aware of your presence behind him, of how the small space seemed to shrink further.

"You're different," you said suddenly.

He froze, his back still to you. "What do you mean?"

"From the other dock workers who come here." Your voice was thoughtful. "They watch the plays, sure, but not like you do. You watch like someone who understands the stories we're telling. Like someone who's read them before."

Jacaerys turned slowly, his throat tight. You were leaning against the doorframe, effectively blocking his exit, though he doubted that was your intention.

"Maybe I just like stories," he managed.

"Maybe," you agreed, but your eyes were sharp, searching. "Where do you live?" you asked, still blocking the doorway with casual grace. "For the readings. If you were serious about wanting them."

"I was," he said quickly – too quickly perhaps. "I am serious."

You tilted your head, studying him. "Then where? The dock district isn't far. We could use your home, if you'd prefer privacy for practice."

Jacaerys's mind raced. The thought of you anywhere near the castle made his chest tight with panic. "My home isn't... suitable," he said carefully.

"Not suitable?" Your eyebrow arched. "What, do you live with a dozen rowdy sailors?"

"It's..." he hesitated, searching for a plausible excuse. "Messy. Very messy. And small." The lie felt clumsy on his tongue.

"Messy," you repeated, and something in your tone made him nervous. "You know, for someone who claims to love stories, you're not very good at telling them."

His heart skipped. "I'm not lying."

"No?" You stepped closer, and in the cramped space of the prop room, there was nowhere for him to retreat. He swallowed hard. "The stage," he blurted out.

You paused. "What?"

"For the readings," he clarified, seizing the chance to change topics. "We could use the stage. You're here late anyway, closing up. It would be perfect – good acoustics, proper space to move..." He trailed off, watching your expression shift from suspicion to consideration.

"The stage," you mused, and he could see you warming to the idea. "It would be fitting, I suppose. Though you'd have to help me close up properly first."

"Of course," he agreed quickly, relief flooding through him. "Whatever you need."

You studied him for another long moment, and he fought the urge to pull his hood lower. Finally, you smiled – that warm, teasing smile that made his chest ache.

The stage felt different in the near-darkness, with only two torches casting long shadows across the worn boards. You sat cross-legged at its edge, a small, leather-bound book in your hands. Jacaerys noticed how carefully you held it, as if it were something precious.

"I brought something," you said, running your fingers along the book's spine. "It's... well, it's not exactly high literature." You laughed softly, almost self-consciously. "I found it while cleaning my shelves. I used to read it constantly when I was younger."

Jacaerys settled beside you, leaving just enough space between you to be proper, but close enough to see the way the torchlight caught the slight flush in your cheeks.

"What is it?" he asked.

"A story about a merchant's daughter who stows away on a trading ship," you said, opening the book with practiced care. "She disguises herself as a cabin boy to see the world." You paused, glancing at him. "It's rather juvenile, I suppose. I should have brought something more sophisticated for this, but..."

"No," Jacaerys said quickly. "I'd like to hear it."

He shifted closer, not wanting to miss a single word. The playfulness, the teasing from earlier, seemed to vanish in this quieter space, replaced by something more vulnerable, more raw.

You opened the book, and the soft rustling of the pages filled the silence as your voice began to weave through the room. The story was indeed simple, a tale of youthful adventure and impossible dreams, but there was a certain magic in the way you read. You held onto the book with only one hand as you recited the lines playfully, moving around the stage like you owned it.

Your eyes flickered to his occasionally, perhaps searching for something in his expression, but he could never meet your gaze for long. His mind, far too preoccupied, ran with the warmth of your presence, the flutter of your fingers near his, the way you’d laughed at his earlier attempts with your hair. The way he wanted so badly to be someone else, someone worthy of what you had to offer.

As the story ended, you closed the book with a soft thud, letting the silence settle between you like a blanket.

Jacaerys hadn't moved from where he sat, leaning back on his hands with his gaze fixed on the stage floor as if still lost in the tale you'd shared.

With a playful grin, you shifted onto your stomach, then rolled onto your back, draping yourself along the edge of the stage. Your head tipped over the side, hair cascading down in a curtain toward the floor, and your upside-down gaze caught his.

"You look like you're a thousand leagues away," you teased, your voice laced with amusement. "Did I lose you in the second chapter, or are you still picturing the cabin boy's grand escape?"

Jacaerys blinked, startled from his thoughts, and his eyes softened as they met yours. Upside down, his lips curled into a shy smile, and the torchlight caught the faintest trace of color in his cheeks.

"I was thinking about how well you told it."

You arched a brow, toying idly with the braid he'd clumsily woven earlier. "Well, I am an actress. Storytelling comes with the territory."

"Not just that," he said, his gaze flicking briefly to your hands as you played with the braid, then back to your face. "Your voice – it's... suited for poetry. Or recitals. You make the words feel alive."

Your playful grin softened into something more genuine as you watched him. Upside down or not, you could see the sincerity in his expression, the way his admiration seemed almost reluctant, as though he was revealing more than he meant to.

"That's high praise from a dockhand," you teased lightly, though your voice carried a touch of gratitude. "Should I add 'poetry readings' to our stage practices?"

He chuckled, the sound soft and genuine. "If anyone could make a dockhand appreciate poetry, it would be you."

You laughed at that, the sound ringing through the empty theater, and you shifted upright, pulling your braid over your shoulder and inspecting it. "Have you got any sisters?"

"Brothers," he corrected.

"Ah," you said, twisting the end of the braid between your fingers as you gave him a thoughtful look. "That explains it, then. No sisters to pester you into learning how to braid properly."

Jacaerys huffed a quiet laugh, his lips twitching into a wry smile. "I suppose not. Though I’m beginning to think I’ve missed out on an essential skill."

You tilted your head, feigning seriousness. "Absolutely. A man who can braid hair is a rare treasure."

He shook his head, his smile growing as he leaned back on his hands. "I’ll keep that in mind. Though I doubt my brothers would agree."

"Probably not," you said with a laugh, leaning forward slightly, your elbows propped on your knees. "How many brothers do you have, then? Enough to form a little troupe of your own?"

"Four," he replied, his expression softening as he spoke of them.

A beat of silence.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked, his voice hesitant, as though testing the waters for something delicate.

You turned slightly, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "Of course. What's on your mind?"

He hesitated again, his gaze flicking to the ground before meeting yours. "I... I hope this doesn’t offend you," he started, his tone cautious, "but I was wondering... How is it that you can read? I mean, it’s not... common, for someone who's not of noble blood."

His words hung in the air, and you could see the uncertainty in his expression, as though he feared he'd crossed some invisible line.

You gave him a reassuring smile, one that carried no offense.

"It’s a fair question," you said, your tone light and easy. "I wasn’t born into nobility, if that's what you're thinking. But I was fortunate enough to grow up in a place where books were more than just decoration."

Jacaerys looked at you, still uncertain but with a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes. "I didn’t mean to–"

"You didn’t offend me," you interrupted gently, stepping closer to him. "Where I grew up, stories mattered. Not just noble ones, but those passed down through the workers, the farmers, the people. And the only way to keep them alive was to read." You paused, your expression softening as you thought back. "Books were a window to something bigger. So, I made sure to learn."

His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, it seemed like he was seeing you in a different light, as if you were a story he hadn't yet fully understood. "I admire that," he said quietly, a note of genuine respect in his voice. "It’s rare to find someone who values stories that way."

You shrugged, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "I suppose it helps to have a bit of stubbornness in you, too." You gave him a teasing look. "Besides, there are some things that can’t be learned without a little persistence."

He chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing. "True enough," he said, his smile soft and unguarded. "Maybe I should learn a few things from you."

You returned his smile, warmth filling your chest as you looked at him, a connection lingering between you that felt both unspoken and understood. "I think you'd be a quick study," you said, stepping back with a final glance.

You smiled. Jacaerys was sure he could get used to it.

***

The sun was high and merciless when you found him at the docks, his face smudged with dirt and hands glistening with fish scales. You weaved through the busy workers with practiced ease, though Jacaerys noticed how eyes followed your progress – dock hands, merchants, even his grandfather's guards trying to be discrete in their observation of their prince.

His heart thundered as you approached, but your smile was as bright as ever, seemingly oblivious to the attention surrounding him. "There's my favorite fishmonger," you called out cheerfully.

Jacaerys relaxed slightly, though he couldn't help glancing around to gauge if anyone had heard. But you didn't seem to notice anything amiss about the way conversations had hushed, about how people kept stealing glances in their direction.

"Let me wash up," he said quickly, already moving toward a water barrel. As he scrubbed the fish scales from his hands, you leaned against a nearby post, watching the bustling dock activity with interest.

"I brought the books I mentioned," he said, drying his hands on his rough-spun shirt. "From that old section of town I told you about."

"The one where the castle's maesters get their volumes?" Your eyes lit up with curiosity. "I still can't believe you found such a place. Have you seen them there? The maesters? Or..." you paused, a different kind of interest crossing your face, "any of the royal family?"

His throat went dry. "I... try to keep to myself when I'm there."

"I've only heard whispers," you continued, unaware of his panic. "Especially about the heir – Prince Jacaerys." You laughed softly, a slight flush coloring your cheeks. "The way some speak of him, you'd think he was something out of a story. Beautiful beyond belief, they say. Dark hair like moonlight, eyes like amethysts." You rolled your eyes. "It seems rather far-fetched, doesn't it? No one can be that lovely."

He nearly choked on air, but you didn't notice, too caught up in your thoughts.

Jacaerys was grateful for the dirt still smudged on his face – it helped hide his burning cheeks. "Perhaps they exaggerate," he managed.

"Oh, certainly," you agreed, a snort coming out of your throat. You looked at his messily washed hands. "You must think of me to be a gossip…"

"Not at all," Jacaerys said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Though I'm surprised you pay attention to such rumors."

You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Well, when half your audience consists of castle servants and dock workers, you hear things. Apparently, this prince is quite the scholar too – languages, history, dragon lore." You nudged his arm playfully. "Nothing like my simple fishmonger who can barely get through a scene without stumbling over the big words."

He made a sound of protest that came out more strangled than intended. "I don't stumble that much."

"Oh? What about last night's reading? 'Inexorable' had you tangled for a good minute."

"The light was poor," he muttered, though his lips twitched with suppressed amusement at the irony. He'd learned that word at six, but deliberately mispronouncing it had made you laugh so beautifully.

"Of course," you agreed, your tone teasing. "Just like how the light was poor when you couldn't read 'magnanimous.' And 'perpetuity.' And–"

"Yes, yes," he cut in, unable to hold back a smile. "We can't all be as learned as Prince Jacaerys."

You laughed, the sound drawing more attention from the dock workers. "Gods, can you imagine? Teaching theatre to a prince?" You struck an exaggerated noble pose. "'No, Your Highness, you're holding the script all wrong. More feeling in the death scene, if it please Your Grace!'"

Jacaerys nearly bit through his tongue trying not to react. "You'd probably make him practice until he got it right," he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Naturally. Crown or no crown, proper dramatic timing waits for no man." You grinned, then glanced at the sun's position. "Speaking of timing, I should go. Rehearsal soon." You started to turn, then paused. "You'll be there tonight?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Good. And try to wash your face properly before you come. You've got a smudge right..." you reached out, thumb brushing his cheek. The touch sent warmth spreading across his skin, and he had to resist the urge to lean into it. "There. Though I suppose a little dirt suits you. Makes you look more..." you searched for the word, "authentic."

You shifted the books to one arm, reaching into a hidden pocket of your dress with your free hand.

Jacaerys expected you to pull out the coins he'd given you for lessons. Instead, you produced a small wrapped pastry, slightly squashed but still warm.

"The baker's wife likes our performances," you explained, offering it to him. "She gives us treats sometimes, when we have good shows. This one's honey and apple – I thought you might be hungry, working all day in the sun."

The simple kindness of the gesture made his chest tight. Here you were, sharing what little you had with someone you thought was a common dock worker, while he played at poverty with a prince's purse.

"You don't have to–" he started, but you pressed the pastry into his hands.

"Take it," you insisted. "You're too thin for someone who carries fish all day." Your eyes sparkled with mischief.

As you walked away, weaving through the crowd with natural grace, Jacaerys touched the spot where your thumb had been. He caught sight of his grandsire watching from the harbor master's office, one eyebrow raised in obvious amusement.

Well, at least someone was enjoying this.

The theater felt smaller at night, more intimate with just the two of you seated on the stage's edge, legs dangling over the side. You held one of his poetry books in your lap, fingers tracing the gilded edges with obvious reverence

"This binding," you murmured, "it's beautiful. Are you sure you found this in some old bookshop?" You glanced at him sideways. "It looks more like something from the castle library."

Jacaerys's heart skipped, but he kept his voice steady. "The old quarter has its secrets."

You hummed thoughtfully, opening to a marked page. "Listen to this one: 'The sea at dawn holds secrets in her depths, while dragons dance on clouds of morning light...'" You paused, looking up at him. "It's about Dragonstone, isn't it? The way the dragons patrol at sunrise?"

"You've seen them?" he asked carefully

"Everyone has. They're hard to miss." You smiled, turning back to the book. "Though I've never seen them quite like this poet describes. 'Dancing on clouds' – it makes them sound almost gentle."

"They can be," Jacaerys said without thinking. "When they want to be."

You raised an eyebrow. "Speaking from experience, are you?"

He coughed, quickly backtracking. "I just mean... from what I've observed. From the docks."

"Mm." You returned to the poem, but there was something knowing in your smile that made him nervous. "'While sailors dream of distant shores unknown, their vessels rock in harbor's gentle sway...'" Your voice softened on the words. "It's lovely. Sad, though. All that longing for something just out of reach."

Jacaerys watched your profile in the torchlight, the way your lips moved slightly as you read silently ahead. "Do you ever feel that way?" he asked quietly. "Longing for something distant?"

You were quiet for a moment, fingers still running along the page's edge. "Sometimes," you admitted. "When I'm performing, I can be anyone, go anywhere. But when the play ends..." You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. "Well, we can't all be princes and princesses, can we?"

The irony of your words made his chest ache. "Would you want to be?" he asked, genuinely curious. "A princess?"

You laughed, the sound echoing in the empty theater. "Gods, maybe. But I prefer my freedom, limited as it might be." You bumped his shoulder playfully. "Though I wouldn't mind access to a library like this. Where did you say you found these books again?"

"I didn't," he said, managing a small smile. "Trade secret."

"Secretive dock worker," you teased, turning another page. "With your mysterious books and your perfect manners and your..." you trailed off, something catching your attention in the text. "Oh, this is beautiful. 'In silence dwells the truth we dare not speak, while hearts beat poetry in darkened halls...'"

"What's this?" you asked, tilting the book to catch the torchlight. Your finger traced elegant script in the margin – notes in High Valyrian that Jacaerys instantly recognized as his own. His stomach dropped.

"I didn't know you read High Valyrian."

"I don't," he said too quickly. "Those notes were already there when I got the book."

You hummed thoughtfully, studying the writing. "Strange. The ink looks fresh." Your eyes met his, curious and sharp. "And these appear throughout the book, always in the same hand. Whoever owned it before must have loved poetry deeply."

Jacaerys shifted uncomfortably. Those notes were his thoughts on meter and metaphor, written late at night in his chamber. He'd forgotten they were there.

"Most dock workers I know can barely read the Common Tongue," you continued, your tone deliberately casual. "Let alone write scholarly notes in High Valyrian."

"Lucky find, I suppose," he managed, voice tight.

You traced another annotation with your finger. "Very lucky." There was something in your voice – not quite an accusation, but close. His heart hammered. "We should practice the next scene," he said, reaching for the book.

You let him take it, but your eyes lingered on his face. "Yes," you said softly. "We should."

The weight of unasked questions hung between you for the rest of the evening.

Jacaerys barely heard the words, too caught up in watching how the torchlight played across your face, how your voice gave life to verses he'd read a hundred times before. This was dangerous, he knew. Every moment he spent with you only made the truth harder to hide, harder to deny.

But as you read on, your voice painting pictures in the darkness, he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Here," Jacaerys said, reaching for the coins in his pocket, but you placed your hand over his, stoppin

"Don't," you said softly. The warmth of your touch made his breath catch. "You've been paying for almost a month now."

"But the readings–"

"Have been the highlight of my evenings," you finished, your fingers still resting lightly on his. "I would have done this for free from the start, if you hadn't been so insistent."

He stared at your joined hands, his pulse quickening. "I don't want to take advantage–"

"Of what?" You laughed, the sound low and warm in the quiet theater. "Of the pleasure of my company?" Your thumb brushed across his knuckles, deliberate and gentle. "Of sharing beautiful words in an empty theater?"

"I–" he started, but you cut him off again.

"If you try to pay me," you said, leaning closer, "I might actually be upset." Your eyes sparkled in the torchlight as you tilted your head. You reached two fingers to grab his chin, tilting it towards you. "You wouldn't make me sad, would you?"

The teasing lilt in your voice made his stomach flip. "No," he managed.

"Good." You squeezed his hand once before letting go, but you didn't move away. "Because I've grown quite fond of our evenings together."

Your smile was warm, inviting, and for a moment he let himself forget about the deception, about the weight of his true identity.

"As have I," he said softly, meaning it more than you could know.

You carefully closed the poetry book, but kept it in your lap, your fingers tracing the ornate cover. "Tomorrow, then? Unless you have some urgent dock business to attend to?"

The gentle mockery in your tone made him smile despite himself. "Tomorrow," he agreed, even as his conscience whispered warnings about how dangerous this was becoming.

But as you rose to leave, the book cradled against your chest like something precious, he knew he'd keep coming back, keep risking discovery, just to share these moments with you in the torch-lit dark.

***

The weeks had blurred together, each day measured not by council meetings or lessons but by the hours until he could return to the theater. His excuses about dock work had become routine, practiced, though perhaps too easily offered. Even Lucerys had stopped giving him suspicious looks, accepting his absences with a shrug.

Tonight, he barely waited for his mother to conclude the court session before excusing himself, the formalities of his royal duties quickly discarded in favor of a more pressing engagement. As soon as he reached his chambers, the ornate rings on his fingers were removed with haste, their weight clinking together softly as he shoved them into his pocket. His movements were hurried, a far cry from his usual careful precision, as he threw on the coarse cloak he kept for these clandestine outings. With a quick, practiced motion, he ruffled his hair, ensuring he looked less like a prince and more like any other man seeking anonymity.

But when he reached the theater, you weren't in your usual place. Instead, you stood outside, leaning against the wall with an expectant smile and a coat that was far too thin to fight off the bite of the cold night. The chill painted your cheeks a soft pink, and your arms were crossed, whether for warmth or simply to chastise him, he couldn't tell.

"I thought we might walk tonight," you said, pushing off from the wall. "The air's too sweet to waste indoors."

His heart jumped. The streets would be busy, the lighting better, the chances of being recognized exponentially higher. But you were already moving, glancing back at him with that teasing smile he couldn't resist.

The rings felt heavy in his pocket as he fell into step beside you, his hood pulled low against the evening light.

You led him past the rows of market stalls just beginning to close for the night, past a group of minstrels tuning their instruments, and into a quieter part of the city where the cobblestones glistened faintly with frost. He adjusted his hood every time the two of you walked past people. The hum of the crowd faded, replaced by the soft crunch of your footsteps and the occasional laugh or song drifting from a nearby tavern.

"You're quiet tonight," you said after a while, casting him a sideways glance. Your voice was light, teasing, but he caught the question beneath it.

Jace’s lips parted, then closed again as he fumbled for an answer. "Just... tired," he managed, though the weight of the word didn’t begin to encompass the whirlwind of thoughts battering his mind.

You hummed softly, unconvinced, but didn’t press. Instead, you slowed your pace, falling into step beside him. The silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable, but charged with something unspoken.

"Tell me about your day?" you said, turning to look at him.

Jacaerys hesitated, his fingers brushing against the rings in his pocket. "Fish," he said finally, managing a small smile. "Lots of fish."

You laughed, the sound bright in the cool evening air. "How descriptive. No wonder you need help with readings." You bumped your shoulder against his playfully. "Come now, surely you can do better than that. What kind of fish? Any particularly memorable ones? Anything fun?"

Your eyes sparkled with mischief. "Or did you spend the whole day swooning over thoughts of our next reading session?"

Heat crept up his neck, and he was grateful for the hood's shadows. "The fish weren't very talkative today," he said, trying to match your playful tone. "Though one did give me a rather judgmental look."

"Ah, a critic!" You clasped your hands dramatically. "Was it worse than my reaction to your first attempt at that love sonnet?"

"Nothing could be worse than that," he groaned, remembering how you'd barely contained your laughter at his overly stiff delivery.

"You've improved," you said, your voice softening. "Though you still hold yourself like you're expecting someone to paint your portrait at any moment."

His heart stuttered. "I do not–"

"Yes, you do." You reached up suddenly, tugging at his hood. "Just like now, all proper and–"

He caught your wrist gently, his pulse racing. "Don't."

Instead of pulling away, you let your hand rest in his grip. "Sorry," you asked softly. "What are you hiding under there, my mysterious fishmonger? A second head?"

"Hey," you said gently, turning your hand in his grip until your fingers intertwined. "I'm not really trying to pry. Whatever your secrets are..." You squeezed his hand. "They're yours to keep."

The simple acceptance in your voice made his chest ache. He wanted to tell you everything – about the councils, the lessons, the suffocating weight of duty. Instead, he just held your hand tighter, letting you lead him through the quiet streets.

"Though," you added after a moment, your tone lightening, "if you are hiding a second head under there, I do think I deserve to know. As your reading instructor, of course. It would explain your trouble with dialogue – having to coordinate two mouths and all."

The tension broke, and he found himself laughing despite everything. "Just the one head, I'm afraid."

"Pity. Think of the dramatic possibilities." You swung your joined hands between you like children might. "We could do all those twin soliloquies from the classical plays."

"You're ridiculous," he said fondly.

"Mm, and yet you keep coming back." You glanced at him, your smile soft in the dim light. "Must be my charming personality. Or perhaps you've fallen madly in love with my collection of dusty books."

His heart skipped at the word 'love', though he managed to keep his voice steady. "The books are very dusty."

"A key feature," you agreed solemnly. "I select them specifically for their dust content." You paused at a corner, turning to face him fully. "Speaking of which, I found another one I think you'll like. Unless you're tired of stories about people pretending to be something they're not?"

The irony wasn't lost on him, but your knowing smile held no judgment, only warmth. "Never," he said softly.

A group of late-night revelers passed nearby, their loud laughter breaking the moment. Jacaerys instinctively pulled back, his hand falling from your waist, but you kept your fingers firmly laced with his.

"So skittish," you teased, though there was a question in your eyes. "Always ready to disappear into those shadows of yours."

"Not always," he protested, squeezing your hand.

"No?" You tilted your head, studying what little you could see of his face. "Prove it. Stay in the light with me, just for a moment."

His heart raced. "I..."

"Not the hood," you added quickly, seeing his tension. "Just... stay. Here. With me." You stepped closer again, your free hand finding its way back to his chest. "Unless you have somewhere more important to be?"

The weight of his rings seemed to burn in his pocket, but Jacaerys could only focus on the warmth of your touch, the hope in your expression. "No," he said softly. "Nowhere more important than this."

"You're standing very close," you murmured, though you made no move to step away. Your joined hands were warm despite the night's chill, and your free hand still rested against his chest, surely feeling the rapid beat of his heart.

"Am I?" Jacaerys managed, his voice rougher than intended. The moonlight caught in your hair, turning the loose strands to silver, and he fought the urge to brush them back from your face.

You hummed, a smile playing at your lips. "Quite close. Almost improper for a simple dock worker." Your fingers traced an idle pattern on his chest. "What would people think?"

"Let them think what they will," he said softly, surprising himself with his boldness.

Your smile widened. "My, my. And here I thought you were shy." You tilted your face up to his, though his hood still cast shadows between you. "Are you going to kiss me? Or shall we stand here all night, scandalizing the good people of the town?"

Jacaerys's breath caught. The rings in his pocket seemed to grow heavier, a reminder of everything he was risking. But you were so close, your eyes bright with invitation, and he found himself leaning forward despite every warning his conscience screamed.

He laughed softly, the tension breaking just enough for him to find his courage. "Scandalizing the town sounds like a fine way to spend the night," he murmured, and closed the distance between you.

The kiss was gentle, tentative – everything a first kiss should be. Your lips were soft against his, and you tasted faintly of the mint leaves you chewed before performances. Your hand slid up to cup his jaw, careful not to disturb his hood, and he marveled at how you could be so mindful of his secrets even in this moment.

Your lips moved against his with a softness that stole his breath. You tilted your head slightly, drawing him closer, and the touch of your hand against his chest lingered, your fingers curling slightly against the fabric of his tunic. The kiss stretched on, slow and unhurried, filled with unspoken promises and a warmth that made the chill of the evening irrelevant.

Jacaerys felt your breath against his skin, the faintest sigh escaping as you pulled him closer, and something in his chest tightened, equal parts exhilaration and disbelief. His thumb grazed the back of your hand where your fingers remained intertwined with his, the subtle motion grounding him even as his heart thundered.

When you finally pulled back, your smile was radiant. "Well," you said, slightly breathless, "I suppose that's one way to keep warm."

He laughed, resting his forehead against yours. "Is that all it was? A practical measure against the cold?"

"Mmm, perhaps not." Your fingers traced his jaw, light as a whisper. "I might need another demonstration to be sure."

This time when he kissed you, there was nothing tentative about it. His free hand found your waist, drawing you closer as your fingers curled into his cloak. This kiss was different – deeper, hungrier. Your mouth opened under his with a soft gasp that made his head spin. His hand tightened at your waist, pulling you flush against him as your fingers slid into his hair beneath the hood, careful even in your passion not to disturb his disguise.

The taste of mint was stronger now, mixed with something uniquely you that made his heart race. Your tongue brushed his, tentative at first, then with growing confidence as he responded in kind. The world narrowed to just this – the press of your body against his, the quiet sound you made when his teeth grazed your bottom lip, the way your fingers tightened in his hair.

The kiss turned messy, desperate, months of tension finally breaking. Your back hit the wall beside you, though neither of you remembered moving. His hood cast both your faces in shadow, creating a private world where titles and duties couldn't reach. Your joined hands finally separated, allowing you to grab fistfuls of his cloak while his freed hand cupped your face, thumb stroking your cheek with a tenderness that contrasted with the heat of your kiss.

A door slammed nearby, startling you apart. A group of merchants passed by, paying them no mind, but Jacaerys's heart raced for entirely different reasons now. The reality of the situation crashed back over him – who he was, who you thought he was, all the lies between you.

But you just smiled, squeezing his hand. He exhaled a laugh, hand running over his face to try to hide away his flushing.

You fell silent, you just looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity. His thumb brushing over your cheek and your fingers running along his jawline.

You squeezed his hand once before letting go. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Always," he promised, meaning it more than you could know.

Your smile turned playful again. "Good. I have a particularly flowery sonnet picked out, just for you."

He groaned, but his chest felt light despite the lateness of the hour. "Cruel woman."

"You love it," you called after him as he started to walk away.

He did. Gods help him, he really did.

The soft clink of metal against stone barely registered at first, lost in the echo of retreating footsteps and the lingering warmth of his kiss. But something made you turn, some instinct drawing your eyes to the ground where moonlight caught on gold as he walked away.

The ring laid there, innocent and damning all at once. Your fingers trembled slightly as you picked it up, its weight surprisingly substantial for such a delicate thing. In the dim light, you could make out the craftsmanship – the kind of detail that spoke of master artisans, of wealth beyond anything you'd ever known. The sapphire caught the moonlight, seeming to glow from within, while intricate patterns wrapped around the band like elegant whispers of another world.

This was no dock worker's trinket. No simple sailor's keepsake.

Your mind raced backward through every interaction, every careful movement, every measured word. The way he held himself, even in commoner's clothes. The educated lilt to his speech that he tried so hard to hide. His intimate knowledge of the stories you performed, stories that most dock workers wouldn't have heard, let alone read.

The pieces clicked into place with devastating clarity. The careful way he kept his hood low, how he stiffened when anyone walked too close. His mysterious absences. The books, his lack of knowledge about the dock, the annotations on the stories.

You touched your lips, still tingling from his kiss. A prince. You'd kissed a prince. You'd teased him, mocked his posture, made him read love poetry in funny voices. You'd casually touched his hand, brushed his hair, pulled at his hood...

Horror and hysteria warred in your chest. How many times had you called him 'my brave fishmonger'? How many times had you laughed at his 'dock worker' stories, knowing they rang false but never imagining the truth could be quite so... impossible?

The ring felt suddenly heavy in your palm, its presence undeniable proof of a reality you weren't sure you were ready to face. You closed your fingers around the ring, its edges pressing into your skin.

The practical part of your mind whispered that you should forget this, drop the ring in the harbor and pretend you'd never seen it. The curious part wanted to confront him, to demand answers to questions you weren't sure you had the right to ask.

But mostly, you remembered the way he looked at you when you performed, like you were creating magic with mere words. The way he laughed, free and unguarded, when you teased him. The gentle touch of his hands as he helped you stack chairs after performances.

Prince or not, those moments had been real. Hadn't they?

You slipped the ring into your pocket, its weight a constant reminder of the choice you now faced. Tomorrow, he would come again, hood low and stance careful, playing at being a simple dock worker. And you would have to decide – pretend you knew nothing, confront him with the truth, or...

Your fingers brushed the ring through your pocket. Your mind rushing through all the possible outcomes.

***

Jacaerys tore through his chambers like a storm, upending cushions and emptying drawers with increasing desperation. The morning sun streamed through his windows, highlighting the chaos he'd created – clothes strewn across chairs, books scattered on the floor, his bed linens tangled from his frantic searching.

"Seven hells," he muttered, running his hands through his already disheveled hair. He'd checked his pockets three times, retraced his steps through the castle twice, and even gone back to the servant's corridor he'd used for his return.

A knock at his door made him freeze.

"Jace?" Lucerys's voice carried through the wood. "Are you ready for breakfast? Mother's asking–"

Jacaerys yanked the door open, startling his younger brother. "Where is it?" he demanded.

Lucerys blinked at him, then at the disaster behind him. "Where's what?"

"My ring." Jacaerys grabbed his brother's shoulders. "The sapphire one. Did you take it? As some sort of lesson about sneaking out?”

"What? No!" Lucerys shrugged off his grip, indignation clear on his young face. "Why would I–" He stopped, taking in Jacaerys's wild appearance. "Gods, you really lost it?"

"I didn't lose it," Jacaerys snapped, though panic was clawing at his chest. "I just... misplaced it."

"Mother's ring?" Lucerys's eyes widened. "The one she gave you for your nameday?"

Jacaerys slumped against the doorframe. "Yes," he whispered.

"Well, when did you last have it?" Lucerys asked, his anger shifting to concern.

Jacaerys's mind raced back through the previous night. He'd removed it before leaving, along with his other rings. He'd put them in his pocket, not wanting to leave them in his chambers where they might be discovered. Then...

The blood drained from his face as realization struck. The walk through the city. Your hand in his. The way he'd moved so quickly when those revelers passed...

"Jace?" Lucerys's voice seemed to come from far away. "You look like you're going to be sick."

"I have to go," Jacaerys said abruptly, pushing past his brother.

"Go? Go where? What about breakfast? Mother's expecting–"

"Cover for me," Jacaerys called over his shoulder, already halfway down the corridor. "Please, Luke."

He took the steps two at a time, his mind spinning with possibilities, each worse than the last. If someone had found it, if they recognized the craftsmanship, if word got back to the castle...

But worse than all of that was the thought that you might have found it. You, with your sharp eyes and sharper wit. You, who'd already noticed so many inconsistencies in his story.

The ring would confirm every suspicion, answer every question he'd deflected. And then what? Would you hate him for the deception? Would you understand why he'd lied? Would you...

He burst out of the castle, not even bothering with his usual careful exit routes. He had to find that ring. Had to get to the theater before everything he'd built these past weeks came crashing down around him.

Behind him, Lucerys watched from a window, shaking his head as his brother disappeared into the morning crowd. "Idiot," he muttered, though there was fondness in his voice. Then he turned to head to breakfast, already composing excuses for their mother.

The morning sun was merciless, offering far too much light as Jacaerys retraced your path from the night before. His hood was pulled so low he could barely see, but he couldn't risk being recognized – not now, not like this. His hands trembled as he searched, checking every crack between the cobblestones, every shadow where something might have rolled.

The street looked different in daylight. What had been intimate and magical in the evening was now harsh and exposed. Dock workers rushed past him, giving odd looks to the hooded figure crawling along the ground. He ignored them, focusing on each step, each possible spot where the ring might have fallen.

Here – this was where you'd taken his hand. He'd adjusted his hood then, his other hand brushing against his pocket. Had it fallen here? He ran his fingers along the edges of the stones, feeling for any glint of metal, any catch of sapphire against the morning light.

And there – that corner was where you'd pulled him close, where he'd nearly forgotten himself entirely. The memory of your touch made his chest ache, but he pushed it aside, focusing on his desperate search. His knees were dirty now, his fine clothes beneath the rough cloak covered in street dust, but he didn't care.

A group of children ran past, nearly bowling him over. He steadied himself against a wall, the same wall where you'd stood so close, where you'd offered him a kiss... He shook his head. He couldn't think about that now.

"Come on," he muttered, dropping to his knees again to check beneath a merchant's stall. "Where are you?"

The ring had to be here somewhere. It couldn't have just vanished. Unless... unless someone had already found it. Unless it was already being examined by curious hands, its royal craftsmanship raising questions he couldn't answer.

Or worse – what if you had found it? What if you were holding it right now, finally understanding every lie, every evasion, every careful deflection? The thought made him feel sick.

He'd been so careful for weeks, maintaining his disguise, watching his words. And now, because he'd been distracted by your smile, by the warmth of your hand in his, by the promise of a kiss... everything could come crashing down because of a single ring.

The irony wasn't lost on him. A prince of the realm, crawling through the streets like a beggar, searching for proof of the very identity he'd been trying to hide. If his mother could see him now...

But he couldn't stop. Not until he'd searched every inch of your path together, not until he was certain. Even as the morning grew warmer and the streets more crowded, he kept looking, his desperation mounting with each passing moment.

The ring wasn't just jewelry – it was a symbol of everything he stood to lose. His mother's trust, his carefully constructed freedom, and most importantly, your smile. Your teasing voice. Your gentle acceptance of his secrets, even when you knew he was hiding something.

Would you be so understanding when you discovered just how much he'd hidden? When you realized every moment between you had been built on lies?

The sun climbed higher, and still he searched, his heart growing heavier with each empty corner, each unremarkable shadow. Somewhere in this maze of streets lay the truth he'd been trying to keep hidden, just waiting to be discovered.

And somewhere, perhaps, you were already finding it.

The walk back to the castle felt endless. Each step seemed to echo with accusations, with imagined scenarios of you finding the ring, recognizing its royal craftsmanship, realizing every word he'd spoken had been wrapped in lies. His stomach churned with a sickness that had nothing to do with the morning's frantic searching.

He could see it all too clearly – if you’d found it – you, holding the sapphire ring up to the light, watching it catch the same way your eyes did when you smiled. Would you recognize the dragon motifs worked into the gold? Would you remember the stories you'd performed of ancient Valyrian princes and their deceptions? Would you hate him for becoming one of those characters you portrayed with such devastating accuracy?

The thought of your warm teasing turning cold, of your gentle touches becoming withdrawn, made him physically ill. He'd seen how you looked at the nobles who sometimes attended your performances – with a careful distance, a practiced deference that never reached your eyes. The thought of you looking at him that way, with that same calculated restraint, was unbearable.

But worse than the anger he imagined was the hurt he knew would follow. You, who had shared your stories, your laughter, your quiet moments after performances. You, who had trusted him enough to walk the nighttime streets hand in hand, to offer...

He pressed his palm against his mouth, remembering how close you'd been, how your lips had almost... If you found that ring now, would you think he'd been playing with you? Some bored noble amusing himself with a common theater performer?

The reality was so much worse – and so much simpler. He'd fallen in love with you. Completely, irrevocably, despite every reason he shouldn't. Despite knowing it could never last. Despite the weight of duty and tradition that hung around his neck like an iron chain.

As he slipped back into his chambers through the servant's passage, his head pounded with questions he couldn't answer. Should he go to the theater tonight, try to explain if you'd found it? Should he stay away, let you hate him from a distance rather than see the moment trust turned to betrayal in your eyes?

He collapsed onto his bed, still unmade from his morning's desperate search, and stared at the ceiling. The sapphire ring had been his mother's gift, a symbol of the responsibility he bore, the legacy he was meant to uphold. How fitting that he should lose it on the same night he'd kissed you, almost pretended he could be someone else entirely.

The worst part was knowing that even now, with everything threatening to unravel, he couldn't regret the moments he'd spent with you. The way you'd corrected his posture during readings, your hands gentle on his shoulders. The stories you'd shared in whispers after the other performers had gone. The sound of your laugh when he'd fumbled a particularly dramatic line.

He pressed his hands against his eyes until he saw stars, trying to block out the memory of your smile, your teasing voice, the way you'd looked at him in the dim light of the street. But it was no use. Every moment played behind his eyelids like one of your performances – perfect, haunting, and now possibly lost forever.

The theater felt different tonight. Every shadow seemed to hold potential danger, every glance from you a possible revelation. Jacaerys lingered in the doorway longer than usual, his feet refusing to carry him forward until you looked up from your scripts and smiled.

"There you are," you called out, but even your familiar warmth couldn't ease the knot in his stomach. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost."

He forced himself to move closer, though he kept more distance between you than usual. His eyes darted to your hands as you shuffled your papers – no sapphire ring glinting in the torchlight. But that didn't mean anything. You could have it tucked away somewhere, waiting for the right moment to confront him.

"Are you alright?" you asked, your smile fading slightly as you noticed his tension. "You look... haunted."

"I'm fine," he said too quickly, his voice rougher than intended. "Just tired."

You set your scripts aside, studying him with that perceptive gaze he usually found endearing but now filled him with dread. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

The words hit too close to home, making him flinch. You noticed – of course you noticed – and stood, moving toward him with concern written across your features.

"Hey," you said softly, reaching for his hand. He pulled back before you could touch him, immediately regretting the action when hurt flashed in your eyes.

"Sorry," he muttered, tugging his hood lower. "I just... I shouldn't be here."

"Why not?" Your voice was gentle, patient, though he could hear the confusion beneath it.

"Because..." Jacaerys's voice caught. You were still watching him, concern etched in every line of your face, and it was unbearable. The candlelight caught in your hair, reminding him of how it had felt between his fingers, how natural it had been to be close to you. Now every inch between you felt like a chasm.

"Because of last night?" you asked softly when he didn't continue. Your hands fidgeted with your scripts, a nervous gesture he'd never seen from you before. "If I made you uncomfortable, with the... I mean, when I..."

"No," he said quickly, the word escaping before he could stop it. The thought of you blaming yourself made his chest ache. "No, it's not that. It's..." He gestured helplessly, the movement sharp with frustration. "It's complicated."

You let out a soft, bitter laugh that made him freeze. "Complicated," you repeated, the word falling heavy between you. "Is that what princes call it?"

The blood drained from his face. You reached into a pocket of your dress and pulled out something that caught the torchlight – a sapphire ring, its dragon engravings unmistakable even from where he stood.

"You dropped it," you said, your voice steady but quiet. "Last night. Before you ran away." Your lips quirked in a sad smile. "Though I suppose 'running away' isn't quite accurate when you're returning to a castle."

Jacaerys couldn't breathe. His eyes were fixed on the ring, on your fingers curled loosely around it, offering it back to him like an accusation wrapped in gentleness.

The memory of last night – your lips soft against his, your hands tangled in his cloak, the way he'd pulled you closer despite every warning voice in his head – crashed over him like a wave.

"I didn't recognize it at first," you continued, your voice steady though your hands trembled slightly. "Just thought it was another prop that needed returning. But then I saw the seal." Your eyes met his, sharp with hurt and understanding. "House Targaryen. Rather expensive accessory for a dock worker, wouldn't you say?"

“How long have you known?" he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Known for certain? Since last night." You turned the ring over in your palm, watching how it caught the torchlight. "Suspected? Longer. You're not as good at pretending as you think you are, my prince."

The title made him flinch. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Now there was an edge to your voice, though your hands remained gentle with his ring.

"Don't call me that," Jacaerys whispered, the words rough in his throat.

You let out a soft, hollow laugh. "My apologies, Your Grace. How terribly remiss of me." Your voice was gentle, almost sweet, but he could hear the hurt beneath it. "I've been quite ill-mannered, haven't I? All those times I teased you, touched you..." You took a step closer, still holding out the ring. "Made you braid my hair with those royal hands of yours."

"Please," he started, but you continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"I should have known, really. The way you moved, the way you spoke..." Your eyes searched what little of his face was visible under the hood. "Tell me, my prince, did you get what you wanted? A nice distraction from all those tiresome duties? Some common girl to pass the time with?"

"That's not–" He reached for you without thinking, stopping only when you took a deliberate step back.

"Not what?" Your voice was still soft, still controlled, but your eyes blazed. "Not what you intended? Then what did you intend, Jacaerys? When you sat in my shadows night after night, when you held my hand in the street, when you–" Your voice caught. "When you kissed me back?"

The sound of his full name on your lips made him feel like he was drowning. "I never meant to deceive you."

"No?" You were close enough now that he could see the slight tremor in your hands, still cradling his ring. "Then what did you mean to do? Slum with the common folk for a while? See how the other half lives?"

"I meant to see you," he said, the truth finally breaking free. "Just you. Only you."

You stilled, something flickering in your expression. "And now? Now that I know who you really are? Will you disappear back to your castle, back to your real life?"

"I don't want to."

"But you will." It wasn't a question. You held out the ring again, your fingers steady now. "Take it. Go back to where you belong."

He didn't move to take it. "What if I belong here?"

Your expression softened for just a moment before hardening again. "In the shadows? In lies? That's not belonging, my prince. That's hiding."

The title felt like a physical blow each time you used it. "Stop calling me that."

"Why?" You stepped closer, close enough that he could smell the familiar scent of stage powder and candlesmoke. "Isn't that what you are? What you've always been, even when you were pretending to be my..." You trailed off, swallowing hard. "What were you pretending to be, exactly? My friend? My suitor?"

"I wasn't pretending with you," he whispered. "Not about the things that mattered."

Your eyes met his, and for a moment he saw all the hurt and longing he felt reflected back at him. "Everything about you was a pretense," you said softly. "Even this moment, even now, you're still hiding under that hood."

Slowly, with trembling hands, he pushed back his hood, as if that could make the situation better. The torchlight caught the brown of his hair, the sharp velvet of his eyes that spoke of centuries of dynasty. He looked ethereal, otherworldly – and utterly miserable.

"Not everything," he said, "Not how I feel about you. Not the way I..." His voice cracked. "Not the way I dream about you when I should be focusing on state affairs."

You looked away, your jaw tight. "Pretty words from a silver tongue. Is that what they teach you in the castle, how to break hearts eloquently?"

"They taught me to be proper, and distant, and cold," he said, taking a step closer. "You taught me to laugh. To feel. To be human." His fingers brushed yours where they still held the ring, and you didn't pull away. "Please look at me."

When you did, your eyes were bright with unshed tears. "What do you want from me, Jacaerys? What could you possibly want that's worth all these lies?"

"Everything," he whispered. "Nothing. Just... just to stay. To keep watching you perform. To help you practice your lines. To..." He swallowed hard. "To be the person I am when I'm with you."

The admission struck him like a physical blow. "Please," he said, though he wasn't sure what he was begging for.

"Go home," you said softly, stepping back. "Go back to your castle, your duties, your real life. We both know you have to."

"And if I refuse?"

“We both know you won’t do that”

A bitter laugh escaped him. "You're right. Of course you're right." His fingers closed around the ring, the metal digging into his palm. "I've never refused anything in my life. The perfect, obedient prince."

You shook your head, he didn’t understand how – even when upset – you could look so gentle. “Go home, Jacaerys.”

"Don't," he whispered, catching your hand before you could pull it back completely. "Don't talk about us like we're already over."

"Aren't we?" Your fingers were trembling in his grip. "Tell me truly, my prince – what future did you imagine for us? Secret meetings in the shadows forever? Or did you think you could somehow present a common theater performer to your royal family as a suitable match?"

The title still felt like a blade between his ribs, but he couldn't deny the truth in your words. The silence stretched between you, heavy with everything he couldn't promise.

"That's what I thought," you said softly, gently extracting your hand from his. But your fingers lingered against his palm for a moment too long, betraying the steadiness of your voice. "It's not safe for a prince to be out so late."

Jacaerys looked like he might be sick, his face ashen in the torchlight. He swayed slightly where he stood, as if the weight of his title had suddenly become too heavy to bear. The ring in his palm seemed to mock him, its sapphire catching the light like a teardrop.

"I can't–" he started, his voice breaking. His free hand clenched and unclenched at his side, a nervous gesture you'd seen a hundred times before but never understood until now. "I don't want to leave like this."

"There's no good way to leave," you said, your voice gentle despite everything. You reached up, straightening his cloak with careful hands – one last touch, one final moment of tenderness. "Go home, Jacaerys. Before the guards notice you're missing."

He caught your wrist as you withdrew, not roughly but with a desperate urgency that made your heart ache. "Please," he whispered, though what he was begging for, neither of you knew. His eyes were fever-bright, almost wild, like a trapped animal seeking escape.

"You have to go," you murmured, carefully untangling yourself from his grip. You pressed the ring more firmly into his palm, closing his fingers around it. The touch of his skin against yours felt like a brand. "Your Grace."

The formal address seemed to physically pain him. He stumbled back a step, clutching the ring like a lifeline, looking so lost and young that for a moment you almost reached for him again. But you kept your hands at your sides, watching as he pulled his hood back up with shaking fingers.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words barely audible. "I'm so sorry."

You didn't respond, couldn't respond, as he turned and fled into the shadows of the theater. The sound of his footsteps faded away, leaving you alone with the guttering torches and the ghost of everything that could never be.

[tap here for part 2!]

taglist: @smurfelle @elliaze @sillylittlepenguin181818 @lustrz-anna @lovelyteenagebeard @misshale21 @cecestea @n4tsha @inspirationquxxn @rin588 @anoravx @bbubbllejisoo @vividxpages

gc lovelies tags: @benjinotes @xxselenite @eldrith @princessbellecerise @bryscorner @v3laryons @vee-mage @softspiderling @swordgrace @hxtd @divinesolas @housetargaryenloyalist @bucksplum @cregan-starks @fyrewept

@mattnott and @earth4angels for beta reading my lovelies <33

#jacaerys smut #jacaerys #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #hotd jacaerys #prince jacaerys #hotd jace #jace targaryen #jace velaryon #jacaerys velaryon oneshot #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon one shot #harry collett #house of the dragon

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aemondwhoresworld · 8 months ago

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⚠️ hotd s2 spoilers

Jacaerys Velaryon — House Of The Dragon S2E1

#jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys velaryon imagines #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon series #jacaerys velaryon oneshot #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #jacaerys velaryon fic #jacaerys x you #jacaerys velaryon x reader #prince jacaerys #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys velaryon gif #GIF by aemondwhoresworld #harry collett

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thebenjiblackwoodexpress · 4 months ago

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Fire on Fire

Aegon Targaryen x Reader (Rhaenyra's daughter)

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒔𝒂𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒘

𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 '𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑰 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰'𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉

𝑰'𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝑰 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Description: While Rhaenyra's sons all bear a striking semblance to Harwin Strong with their brown locks, her daughter and Jace's twin sister Y/N was blessed with resplendant silver hair. Aegon and Y/N spent their chidlhoods together in the walls of the Red Keep, with friendship slowly blossoming into young love. Despite the animosity between their mothers, they can't help being drawn to one another.

Part 2 Part 3

Writer's note: Hiiiii! Victoria here. Been thinking about starting an Aegon story for a while as Elizabeth secretly adores his character so here it is. It's going to start out from when they were children and go into their adulthood. Cyvasse is a strategical game akin to chess in westeros, it's not actually brought to the capital until the events of Game of Thrones but I'm including it anyway.

Thank you to @zaldritzosrose for the dividers.

Warnings: female reader, targcest (reader is Rhaenyra's daughter and Aegon's niece). Aged up characters. Aegon is 16 at this point and reader is 15. They're pretty mean to each other at first. Sort of rivals/frenemies to lovers to enemies vibes 😂 Lengthy.

Aegon couldn't place the discomforting feeling stirring within him as he watched Y/N flirt with a guard. It was not like he hadn't seen her do so before, indeed she seemed to find it endlessly entertaining. But now as he watched her lean towards the guard and incline her head so she could lower her voice to a whisper, as if they were sharing a secret, he felt his stomach twist and his face heat. He clenched his fist though he knew not why he felt suddenly furious with both Y/N and the lowly guard she'd deigned to gift her favour. She was a princess and the guard was beneath such attentions, surely that must be the cause of his frustration.

But that did not feel sufficient for the intensity of his anger as Y/N batted her pretty eyelashes at the guard, which made him want to storm down the hall and forcibly shove the guard away from Y/N, made him want to take hold of her wrist and drag her away to spend her time with him instead. Aegon's brows furrowed at the unwelcome turn of his thoughts, when had he started to want Y/N's attentions? More importantly, when had he begun to think of her as pretty?

They'd grown up together in the Red Keep, always walking a thin line between friendship and rivalry. He couldn't remember a time when they weren't menacing or taunting one another, tripping each other in the halls or launching various missiles at each other across banquet tables. Never the studious one, for that prerogative fell to his brother Aemond, Aegon had spent his lessons entertaining himself by trying to distract Y/N. Each time the maester would turn his back, Aegon would be pulling faces in her direction. His own eyes would alight in victory every time she'd giggle in response, though he would always take the blame when the maester would scold them both. If she turned from him, steadfastly trying to ignore his antics he'd only resort to tugging on her hair and averting his gaze innocently as soon as she finally paid him attention, sighing exasperatedly at his inability to leave her alone. All the while, they'd been accomplices in all sorts of schemes that had their mothers and their Septa scrambling to keep them in line. To Aegon's pleasure, Y/N didn't much take to their lessons either, preferring romance novels Aegon always thought silly to the tales of old Valyria which preoccupied his brother Aemond and nephew Jacaerys. Instead, they'd slink off to the Godswood together, inventing ridiculous nicknames for courtiers or playing games of Cyvasse together. Aegon liked to play defensively, protecting his castles, whilst Y/N's strategy spoke to a fierceness in her character Aegon had always secretly enjoyed, sending forth her most powerful pieces to claim his, not caring a bit for caution.

Their shared penchant for troublemaking had only worsened as they matured. Aegon took to his cups, spending far more time drunk than was befitting of a Prince of the realm, or at least that's what his mother always told him. By contrast, as she grew in grace and beauty Y/N flirted with every young knight and courtier in the keep, much to Aegon's chagrin. He'd not know why his heart would seize each time he'd see Y/N smile at someone else, hear her laugh at a joke he hadn't told, all the while swishing her silver hair which seemed to shimmer and catch the light, in contrast to her brothers' muted brown locks. Aegon had felt deep down that this had always been a sign that Y/N was more like him, in the same way that she was a kindred spirit who always seemed to understand him and never wished for him to be anyone but himself. He could not say the same for his father or even his mother. Aegon remembered only a few moons past, Aemond had noticed the way Aegon felt before he himself had been aware of it. At a sight not unlike the one now before him, Aemond had surely borne witness to Aegon's shifting mood as Y/N placed her arm on a young noble's arm, the gangly wisp of a boy gazing at her with a dazed look and insipid smile. Aegon recalled wanting to storm over there and wipe it of the smug prick's face.

He was certain he'd stepped forward just as his brother's voice called him back from his violent thoughts.

"I think you feel for her brother."

At the time Aegon had reeled back, scoffing. "Her? Don't be ridiculous. She's a nightmare."

Aemond had sighed, bearing all the signs of an older brother offering wise counsel despite being the younger of the two. "You're both nightmares. That's why you like each other so much."

Aegon had just rolled his eyes, feeling uncomfortable with Aemond's penetrative stare and the growing feeling he might not be completely off the mark in his assessment.

Eyebrow raised, Aemond looked unconvinced by Aegon's attempts to dismiss the possibility of him having feelings for their niece.

"So if that nobleman over there suddenly got down on one knee and offered our niece his hand in marriage you'd just stand by and be content?"

Aegon felt his face contort with rage, heard the disgust in his voice.

"No, I'd kill him."

He couldn't account for the possessiveness that shot through him. The constant refrain of 'mine, my Y/N, mine' echoed in his mind like a prayer he'd learnt by heart. In some ways, the idea of Y/N belonging to him had been impressed upon him from a young age. Bemoaning that the two were always to be found together, complicit in some crime against decency or another, their Septa had often regaled them of the story of their first meeting. As the Septa would have it, but two years of age when the twins were born, Aegon had been largely unimpressed by his nephew Jacaerys but enchanted with the little silver haired baby, his niece. Supposedly, he had turned to his mother, grinning up at her to innocently ask her, "Mine?" Smiling tersely, he knew now due to his mother's complicated relationship with his sister Rhaenyra, she'd told him,"she will be a friend for you." That he and Y/N were tied together seemed to be reinforced each time she chose to direct her taunts and sharp tongue at him, each time she favoured his company over all others even if it was just to play some sort of prank on him. He shivered at the memory of her shoving a toad down his tunic as she ran off, her giggles merging with his screams at the slippery feel of the thing on his skin.

Gods, he didn't want anyone to marry Y/N because he wanted her. The realisation crashed upon Aegon like a wave and he stumbled back a few steps in shock. Quickly looking up to where Y/N had been only a few moments before he saw only an empty space where she had been. He must have been staring into space like a damn fool figuring out he was in love with his niece for longer than he thought.

Now that Aegon knew he bore romantic feelings for his niece, he found it difficult to even look at her and hardly knew how to act, leading to a series of embarrassing incidents.

Passing Y/N along a hall he'd stuck his foot out to trip her, as was their custom, but as she stumbled forward, he quickly wrapped his arms around her and pulled her upright. Y/N had stared up at him within the encasement of his arms, her brows furrowed in confusion. Tripping each other up had always just been a fun past time of theirs. Each bruise and scrape just motivation to get the upper hand on the other next time. But Aegon had never caught her before, nor held her to him like this.

"What in the Seven Hells, Aegon? Why bother tripping me if you were going to catch me two seconds later?"

Aegon had tried to feign confidence, shooting Y/N a cocky smirk, whilst trying hard not to focus on how right it felt to have his arms around Y/N's frame. "Mayhaps I just wanted to have you fall into my arms?"

Her jaw had fallen upon and she'd gawked at him for a few moments before bursting into laughter and pushing out of his hold, Aegon's arms falling limply back at his sides as his face heated in embarrassment.

On another occasion, he'd taken her hand to drag her along with him to the Godswood, a touch familiar and not strange in the slightest to her until he'd interlocked their fingers together. Aegon's heart had swelled at first when she did not retract her hand, allowing him to hold it in this way as he pulled her along. He'd been surprised at the pleasant feel of her soft hand melded with his and thought he should like to hold her hand more often. That was until they came across her brothers, and she promptly dropped his hand like he'd burned her, stirring a feeling of shame in Aegon at her rejection.

It hadn't stopped him from flopping onto her with a dramatic sigh, resting his head in her lap where she sat reading in the library.

"What brings you here? It's certainly not the books."

Aegon had scowled at her. "It could be."

Y/N huffed, placing a green ribbon in her book to mark her page before closing it to look at him fully. Good, he wanted her full attention.

"Aegon, it's a wonder you can read at all. So why are you clinging to me like a pet dog?"

Aegon turned away from her, resting his head back on her lap and reaching for her hand to entangle it in his hair. He mumbled against her skirts. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm tired and your lap is comfortable." He'd waited with baited breath for her reactjon to his sudden desire for closeness but he felt his heart stumble as she began to stroke his hair and he heard the turn of pages as she opened her book to read again. Of course she'd thrown him off her eventually, leaving her book behind. It was true, Aegon could rarely be found in the library, he'd sought Y/N out specifically. It was also true that he had no love of reading and had mercilessly mocked Y/N for her love of romance novels in their youth, misusing his height advantage to hold her books out of her reach as he read from them aloud to her great embarrassment. But now he found himself sitting down to peruse the book she had been reading, hoping to find within it's pages some wisdom of what Y/N found romantic.

He stumbled over his words so often now in her company and had been caught staring at her on so many occasions that Y/N had actually noticed his changed behaviour, pointedly asking for an explanation.

"What's got into you? You're being surprisingly nice to me, and I find it suspicious."

Aegon had feigned indignation, though he felt sweat begin to pool on his brow at how easily she could see through him. It was a particular skill of hers.

"I'm always nice to you."

Y/N had let out a laugh that was all hard edges. She wasn't soft or delicate like the other ladies of court. She was the blood of the dragon, fierce with sharp words and a sense of humour, which was sometimes a little cruel. And yet he preferred her over all others and would trade all of their simpering pleasantries for a single cutting remark of hers.

"Sure, it was very nice of you to push me in the fountain just as the embassy from the Vale arrived."

Aegon's ears and cheeks blazed at the memory of his own less than pleasant actions towards Y/N in the past.

"That was years ago. I haven't done it since. You just complained about me being too nice to you anyway. Which version of me do you want then?"

He'd surprised himself with the insecurity that laced his words as he raised his voice.

Mouth parted open at his outburst, Y/N's expression had quickly turned sombre, she was all seriousness now. "Whichever one is real."

Aegon frowned at that. He could admit they'd never been exactly kind to one another. And he could understand how his change in behaviour would seem suspicious if he were not in love with her. But he was. And he didn't know how to tell her.

Aegon yawned pointedly as Jacaerys called to his dragon Vermax. He was bored, indescribably so. He'd already claimed his own dragon, Sunfyre, whose golden scales could put any other dragon to shame. And if he was being honest with himself, he wanted to seem uncaring, impressive even to Y/N, who was watching Jacaerys attentively. He tried to repress a smile in anticipation of the 'surprise' he'd prepared for his brother with Jace, hoping Y/N would find it as funny as he did and think him clever for his denomination of the pig as 'The pink dread.'

His hopes were dashed almost as soon as the pig appeared. Aemond looked more put out by their jest than Aegon had anticipated and when he'd turn to Y/N to gauge her reaction he was surprised to find only anger and unshed tears in her eyes. As he took a step towards her their eyes locked and she immediately fled from the dragon pit. It took Aegon a few moments to collect himself to run after her, though he quickly caught up to her just outside the pit with his longer strides. Grabbing her arm to arrest her movement, he whipped her round to face him.

"What's wrong with you?"

He tried to conceal his genuine worry under a veil of irritation, but Aegon was so used to disappointing others, his mother, his father. He found it painful to imagine disappointing Y/N, who'd never expected anything from him but jibes and sometimes an accomplice.

Angrily shoving him away from her, causing him to stumble back a few steps, Y/N snarled at him.

"With me? What's wrong with you? Why would you embarass your brother like that? It's not his fault he doesn't have a dragon and you shouldn't tease him for it."

Aegon rolled his eyes, feeling a tinge of jealousy at Y/N's evident care for his brother.

"That's what you're annoyed about. My brother? Aemond's a twat, he'll get over it."

Y/N narrowed her eyes, fixing him with a look so stern it reminded him of their Septa.

"Do you not care who you hurt?"

Aegon's face fell. He didn't hurt people on purpose, he just wanted them to laugh at him. He'd never found another way to get their attention.

"What?" Aegon cursed himself for his inarticulate reply, knowing he sounded like an idiot.

"I don't have a dragon either. Would you shame me like that?" Y/N's voice sounded smaller and more unsure than Aegon had ever heard it, so used to her railing at him. He preferred when she was shouting at him, at least then he could pretend he hadn't hurt her. It hadn't occurred to him before that he could. She'd always seemed so strong to him, implacable no matter what he said or did. On her last nameday she'd been gifted an elegant emerald velvet dress by his mother that she'd twirled about in front of him, asking what he'd thought of it. When he'd told her he thought she looked ridiculous she'd only shrugged and continued twirling. Really he'd thought her beautiful, like some mythical forest creature. But insulting her had felt more natural than admitting as much to her. His words seemed to glide off her like water.

"No, never. Not to you." The words spilled out of his mouth in a panicked stream. He hadn't realised that her own dragon egg not hatching had affected her so deeply. In truth he'd not considered her feelings at all when devising his prank with her brother. He was so unused to considering anyone's feelings, least of all hers. She could give as good as he gave and often worse. He'd never seen her cry before and he found he hated it, even more than he despised to see the disappointment reflected in her eyes.

"Why?" Y/N looked genuinely curious at his answer and he frantically grasped for an explanation. He couldnt blurt out that he felt more for her than an uncle should a niece. That he loved her, unexpectedly, inexplicably. That he'd do just about anything to make her laugh instead of cry, but he was an idiot and sometimes couldn't tell the difference between a joke and an insult.

The sound of laughter as Jace and Luke rounded the corner saved him from replying as Y/N swiftly turned and left him standing there as her two brothers oinked obnoxiously.

Aegon didn't laugh with them, feeling the heavy weight of regret pressing down on him for the first time in his life.

Aegon sulked, hunched over his plate of food at supper, not caring to unpick the chatter around him. He glanced continuously over at the vacant place opposite him, usually reserved for Y/N. It provided the best vantage point to throw grapes at him, she had claimed. He'd clearly upset her so much she didn't even want to eat. Turning to Jacaerys he whispered lowly so the rest of his family wouldn't overhear. "Where's your sister?"

"I think she went back to the dragon pit."

Aegon's heart plummeted into his stomach and he stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. He didn't even glance back at his mother shouting for him as he sprinted in the direction of the dragon pit. He had a good idea of what might have prompted Y/N to go back there on her own. She'd nearly been devoured by the last dragon she'd tried to claim and he was quite certain she was about to try again, prompted by his teasing.

Aegon stumbled through the door of the pit out of breath and flipping his head around frantically looking for Y/N. The stupid girl would get herself killed. His shoulders sagged with relief as he spotted her not far off, just about to enter the cave where the dragons slept.

"Y/N!" He shouted to her, her head immediately snapping up at the sound of his voice, giving him the opportunity to catch up to her. Now he knew she was safe he couldn't help but be angry with her for her recklessness, her utter foolishness.

Taking hold of her elbows he shook her. "What in the Seven Hells were you thinking? Do you want to be killed?"

Shaking him off, Y/N glared at him fiercely.

"And why shouldn't I claim a dragon? It was you who shamed Aemond and I earlier for our inability to do so."

Aegon shut his eyes briefly, frustrated with Y/N but knowing that this was really his fault to begin with.

"I'm sorry OK? Just don't be angry with me...please."

Y/N was blinking up at him, her expression blank.

"Did you just apologise to me?"

Aegon gulped. He didn't want her to get too used to it. He might be in love with the girl but he didn't want to turn into one of those simpering lovesick morons she read about. Deep down, he didn't think she really wanted that either. She was much too combative, a rose with thorns, and they'd surely bore her to death. But she was just right for him.

"Look, I'll help you. But just damn well stay by me."

Y/N's eyes positively lit up at his offer of assistance, and Aegon felt a queer fluttering in his stomach as she smiled warmly at him. That was about as expected from her as an apology was from him.

"Truly?"

"Yes. But you mustn't show fear, and neither must you go barrelling in front of the first dragon you see. Take your time to observe the dragons and make your choice. Then approach the beast respectfully. Remember that the dragon has to choose you as well. Sunfyre and I bonded because we are alike in temperament. You must find a dragon to suit you in kind."

Y/N nodded her head excitedly, stepping forward to enter the cave but Aegon thrust his arm in front of her, stepping around her to enter first. "I'll go first."

He'd hoped Y/N would think him gallant but she'd just roughly shoved past him.

"You already have a dragon."

The dragon pit was dark, and even with the light of the torch Aegon carried, it was difficult to see more than a foot ahead. There was an eery silence about the place, interrupted only by the occasional rumble of a dragon. Aegon had reclaimed his position in front of Y/N, using the excuse that he had to lead with the torch to guide their path. As they ventured deeper into the darkness, the air grew more stifling, and puffs of smoke could be seen exuding from various caverns. Aegon sought his own dragon, Sunfyre, thinking that the best course would be to demonstrate how to approach a dragon to Y/N before she tried again.

Coming to an abrupt stop, Y/N smacked into his back and his laughter echoed against the walls of the pit.

He looked over to see her rubbing her nose and glaring at him accusingly.

"You did that on purpose."

Aegon smirked at her tauntingly.

"No, you just don't look where you're going."

Facing forward once more, Aegon looked into the vast expanse of darkness where he knew Sunfyre resided, he could feel it in his bones. It had filled him with pride when the dragon keepers had told his father that the bond between him and his dragon was particularly strong. But his father had brushed this off as if it were nothing. Aegon shouldn't have been surprised, he was used to being ignored by his father. And yet each slight still stung. He knew it bothered his mother how little his father cared for him, but nothing Aegon did had ever earned him any true affection from him. So he had simply stopped trying. If his father thought him a nuisance, then he would be one. If his Septa and the maesters thought him awful, then he would be. But at least in Sunfyre and Y/N he had found companions who had no desire to change him.

"Mazis Sunfyre." He inflected his voice with confidence, a command not to be ignored. No sooner had he spoken than he heard shuffling and flints of gold became visible through the darkness as Sunfyre emerged. He approached his dragon happily, smiling fondly as Sunfyre nuzzled his chest with his snout.

"Umbas, lykirri."

Reaching behind him and fumbling around in the dark for a moment, Aegon grabbed Y/N's hand and yanked her forward so she was beside him. He ignored her indignant huffed and placed her hand on Sunfyre's snout, resting his atop hers.

"Sunfyre heeds my commands because we are one in the same in every way that matters. When you approach your dragon, your commands must be steadfast and you must not show fear."

Y/N was looking at his dragon with awe, stroking Sunfyre's snout without his encouragement now. He'd never seen his dragon so amiable and friendly with anyone but himself. The sight sent a pleasant warmth through him at the thought of Sunfyre approving of Y/N, understanding the part of him that loved the silver haired girl before him.

"Let's go. I know which dragon I want to claim."

Aegon quirked an eyebrow up, half concerned half amused by the firm set of Y/N's features. She was quite determined.

"Is that so? Lead the way then, Quelos."

Y/N stared at him inquisitively, dropping her hand from Sunfyre.

"Quelos?"

Aegon thought the word befit his niece, her hair shone like the light of a star.

Shrugging, he tried to sound nonchalant.

"Your hair."

"Yours is silver like mine."

Aegon shook his head, smiling at Y/N's attempts to thwart him even in complimenting her, at expressing an ounce of affection for her with the nickname.

"Not like yours. Yours is like starlight."

He'd half expected her to argue with him, but the pink dusting on her cheeks, which he could see even in the darkness, was an unexpected delight. He felt pride in knowing that he'd been the one to make Y/N blush. Not one of the knights or noblemen Y/N was constantly flipping her hair at...him.

Clearing her throat awkwardly, Y/N passed him, her arm brushing against his.

"Come on then."

Y/N led them down a path to their right, and he followed her as she wove down an adjoining tunnel. He knew then which dragon she wanted and felt strangely that there could have been no better choice.

It wasn't long before the tunnel opened up into a larger cavern and grey shimmering scales came into view as they approached the dragon known as Grey Ghost. In the glow of the torchlight the dragon's scales shone silver in a hue oddly reminiscent of Y/N's hair.

The dragon watched them curiously, tilting it's head in their direction and letting out a small puff of smoke from it's snout. Y/N darted forward, but Aegon grabbed hold of her arm, speaking lowly but firmly. "Be careful."

"I will."

Aegon released her but felt all of the muscles in his body tense as he watched Y/N approach the dragon. He knew that it was well known for having a reserved and shy nature for a dragon, but that did not make it any less dangerous.

He needn't have worried. The young dragon took little convincing and, within a short time, Y/N was petting its snout just as she had Sunfyre's. Aegon grinned at Y/N when she eventually stepped back from her dragon and returned to his side. He couldn't blame the dragon, Y/N had convinced him to take part in many a foolish scheme in less time.

"Well done, niece."

Aegon was stunned into silence as Y/N barrelled forward and wrapped her arms around his torso. He'd just gathered his senses enough to raise his own arms when she pulled away, cheeks blazing and eyes fixed on the ground. The journey back into the light was marked by an awkward silence that Aegon found hard to bear. He was grateful when Y/N broke it once they'd entered the walls of the keep.

"I bet you're devastated Grey Ghost didn't devour me."

Aegon grasped at the jibe as a return to normalcy for them.

"I'm certain it would have been entertaining, though difficult to explain to our mothers. Good morrow mother, sister. In an unfortunate turn of events, I may have let a dragon eat Y/N."

Y/N snorted.

"Right. Goodnight, Aegon."

"Goodnight, Quelos." Aegon wiggled his eyebrows at her teasingly before turning on his heels and heading in the direction of his quarters.

Aegon's heady felt heavy, as if it were laden with stones and even the blades of sunlight shining through his chamber windows hurt his eyes as he opened them blearily. No sooner had he done so than his bedroom door smacked loudly against the wall and his mother stormed in, her expression reminiscent of storm clouds. Gods knew what he'd done this time to warrant her ire.

"Aegon! It's well past noon and the maesters informed me you have not attended to any of your lessons. Of course I should find you still laying about."

Groaning at his mother's raised voice sent waves of pain through his skull, he rolled over, pressing his face more firmly into the pillows. He'd gone too far into his cups the previous night after seeing Y/N conversing with the same nobleman as before. Her flirtations had never been serious and he'd never seen her with the same boy more than once and he worried she might actually have developed feelings for someone this time...for someone that was not him.

"Aegon!" Suddenly the sheets were ripped from him as his mother demanded his attention. Sitting up lazily, Aegon turned to look at his mother properly, though this was difficult as there seemed to be two of her.

"What, mother?"

She threw her hands up with exasperation.

"Why must you always be like this, governed only by sloth and careless abandon? All the while cavorting with Jacaerys and Y/N Velaryon, favouring them over your own brother. Do you think I don't know of your cruel jokes at your brother's expense? We must defend our own, Aegon"

"It was funny."

"Do you think Rhaenyra's children will be your playthings forever. As things stand, Rhaenyra will ascend the throne and Jacaerys will be her heir."

Aegon couldn't understand what his mother was getting at. Why should he not get on with his sister's children?

His mother threw her eyes up to the sky, her frustration evident and her voice laced with sarcasm that just made him feel stupid.

"You are nearly a man grown. How is it that you can be so short-sighted? If Rhaenyra comes into power your very life could be forfeit, Aemond's as well. She could move to cut off any challenge to her succession."

Aegon had always been aware of the tension between his mother and sister, it was plain for anyone with eyes to see. But he couldn't belief Rhaenyra would have him killed. He did not think her cruel.

"So I will not challenge her."

His mother abruptly grabbed his face, shouting now.

"You are the challenge, Aegon. Simply by living and breathing." Aegon was stunned by the genuine fear and desperation in his mother's eyes but she must have taken his silence as a lack of understanding for she continued on.

"You are the king's firstborn son. And what everyone else in the kingdom knows is that by rights, you should be king." Aegon had never even considered the possibility. He had never and would never want the iron throne or the responsibilities that went with it.

"I would not wish for that mother." He spoke softly.

Appearing slightly calmer than she had only a few moments ago, she lightly stroked his hair before rising from the bed.

"Get dressed." No more words passed between them as she left Aegon, who now felt completely sober, to contemplate her warning.

Aegon's lips quirked up as he observed Grey Ghost lightly bumping his head against Sunfyre's with affection in the dragon pit. Y/N approached her dragon, a dragon keeper on hand guiding her on how to command the dragon to breathe fire.

"You love her don't you? Even Sunfyre knows it. Look at the two of them, just like their riders."

Aegon was surprised he didn't give himself whiplash with the speed at which he turned on Aemond.

"Don't say that idiot, she'll hear you"

"So it's true then?" Yes it was true. But was it that obvious? His mind wandered back to his mother's warning that he shouldn't be quite so friendly with his sister's children, that they should present a united front.

"Of course not. She's just a stupid girl who follows me around all the time. A pest if anything."

Aemond looked unconvinced but before he could counter Aegon, Jacaerys interrupted them, shouting to his sister.

"Y/N! mother has finished her labours. It's another boy."

Y/N picked up her skirts and ran to follow her brother out of the pit, eager to meet her new brother. Aegon briefly worried she may have overheard his conversation with Aemond, not realising how close she'd been to them until he'd had to watch her leave with Jace.

His nephew, Joffrey, looked no more like Laenor Velaryon than his siblings, and Aegon found it difficult to believe his own father could be so blind not to notice the resemblance between Rhaenyra's sons and Harwin Strong. Y/N was the single exception to the rule.

He smacked at the dummy before him carelessly, sneaking glances at Y/N who stood nearby, chatting with Jace, until Ser Criston calling his name pulled him from his thoughts.

He turned to the knight with a cocky grin.

"I've won my first round, Ser Criston. My opponent sues for mercy."

"Then you'll have another opponent. Let's see if you can tap me...you and your brother."

As Aegon and Aemond levied attacks on the knight, Aegon thought this must be the united front his mother wished them to show, though he quickly grew frustrated as it seemed almost possible to get a hit in. He flushed with embarassment when the knight shoved him aside, quickly turning to check if Y/N had seen it and letting out a breath in relief to find her gaze drawn elsewhere. He barely took note of Ser Criston's tense expression as Ser Harwin addressed him, bounding up to Y/N and grinning at her.

"Come to watch my excellent swordsmanship have you?"

Y/N folded her arms against her chest and turned away from him.

"Leave me alone, Aegon."

Aegon was undeterred, following her movements and stepping around her so she had to face him again.

"And if I don't want to?" He taunted, thinking Y/N's rudeness towards him just a game at first. But his smile faltered at her menacing glared and the iciness in her voice.

"I mean it. I don't want to talk to you."

"Why are you upset with me?"

Y/N went to turn away from him again, but he grabbed her elbow, forcing her to stay put.

"Don't pretend like you care."

Aegon was truly confused now and beyond frustrated at Y/N's refusal to be direct about the causes of her irritation with him.

"Of course I care."

Y/N took a step toward him, poking him in the chest accusingly with her index finger.

"I thought I was just a stupid girl. A pest."

Fuck. Panic set in as Aegon realised Y/N had heard what he'd said to Aemond after all, and he quickly scrambled to make amends. He had not meant a word of it.

"I didn't mean it Y/N. I was just joking."

Y/N dropped her hand from his chest, stepping away from him as her anger seemed to fall away from her, replaced by sadness instead, which was much worse.

"That's the problem, Aegon. You're always just joking."

Aegon stilled, her words cutting through the facade of confidence and joviality he wore like armour.

"Quelos, wait." Aegon made to grab for her again but was once again interrupted by Ser Criston calling him.

"Aegon, you will spar with Jacaerys. Eldest son against eldest son."

Aegon tried to focus on his swordsmanship as he met Jace blow for blow. But he was still reeling from his interaction with Y/N and quickly let his emotions overcome him. Though misplaced, he took his anger and frustration out on his nephew until Harwin Strong had to forcibly pull him away from Jace.

"You dare lay hands on me!" He raged at the audacity of the knight. Though he quickly stumbled out of the way as Ser Criston and the commander came to blows, pulling Aemond out of the way with him. If there had been any doubt about the true parentage of Rhaenyra's children, there could be none now. It was proven in no small measure by the ferocity of Ser Harwin's reaction to Ser Criston's taunts. But to his surprise, Aegon could find no amusement in the matter, knowing that such a public display could only draw unwanted attention to Y/N's parentage and cause her shame. With a heavy sigh, he considered that perhaps he was becoming soft like one of the heroes in her stories.

Aegon didn't understand how he was supposed to make amends with Y/N if she refused to speak to him and avoided him at every turn. He felt he should go mad if she continued to ignore him. He considered employing Aemond to hold her in place while he forced her to listen to his apology, but didn't think Aemond would be particularly obliged to risk incurring Y/N's wrath himself. He cursed himself for falling for such a stubborn girl. More dragon than girl in truth. Aegon didn't understand why she felt so slighted by his stupid insult, he couldn't imagine she felt the same way about him as he did her. But he thought that Harwin Strong's leaving for Harrenhal might have intensified her ill mood somewhat and hoped in time she'd allow him to make amends. Since following her around the keep had done no good, he tried a different tactic. Listening to her for once and actually leaving her alone, hoping that if he looked pathetic enough she might at least give him a chance to explain. When that didn't merit a response either he resorted to simply sulking in his room for days at a time. That was until Helaena quietly entered his chambers, bringing him the news of Ser Harwin's death. Though the hour was late, the keep illuminated only by moonlight and candles burning low in their sconces, he immediately sought Y/N out. He knew that she had loved Ser Harwin and would not be able to sleep after hearing of his passing. He also knew she withdrew into herself when upset, and that she'd likely have gone off on her own. But Aegon did not want her to feel like she had to bear her pain alone. Not when he could bear it with her.

Aegon traversed the keep for what felt like hours before he heard muffled sniffles and finally found Y/N curled up on a window seat overlooking the courtyard. She was facing away from him, looking out into the night sky, but the shards of moonlight shining through the window panes allowed him to see the tear streaks glistening on her cheeks. He said nothing as he sat next to her, close enough that his side pressed against hers. After a few moments she rested her head on his shoulder and he nearly sighed with relief that she had not shoved him away from her again. Instead he tilted his head to rest against hers and took hold of her hand. He found himself afraid to disturb this quiet truce between them and whispered simply "I'm sorry." And he was sorry. For her loss, the grief and pain it caused her, and for hurting her himself with his carelessness.

"I know."

And by the way she said it, by the way she squeezed his hand that held hers, Aegon knew that she had understood the full meaning of his apology

Valyrian translations:

Mazis~ come

Umbas~ Wait

Lykirri~ Calm yourself

Quelos~ Star

The next part will cover driftmark, then onto the time jump :)

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd #aegon targaryen x y/n #aegon targaryen #hotd aegon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon the second #king aegon #aegon targaryen fanfiction #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen oneshot #aegon targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower

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bibibelly · 7 months ago

Text

windy cliff ➶

parings: jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!reader

content: angst, fluff, based off the cliff scene in ep2 s2!

warnings: mentions of lukes’ death, chaotic family dynamics, war mentions

you look off the edge of the cliff, the wind blowing violently against your hair, making a mess of your curls. picking up a rock at your feet, your throw it as hard as you can, watching it land far into the sand underneath the cliff.

“i knew i would find you here.”

taking a step back, you crank your neck slightly not bothering to turn fully, already knowing who it is. “of course you would, jace, how was dinner?”

you hear his steps getting closer, hearing the mud squish under his boots, making you cringe. he places his hand on your exposed shoulder, patting it. “chaotic as ever..” he says, pausing. “what was the reason for your absence, y/n?”

turning back to him, you shove rock into his hand. since growing up together, both of you knew how intense the family could be at times. being of high status families, showing your rage and emotions were seen as unfit, primarily for you, it would be seen as un lady like. with war brewing between the blacks and the greens, family dinners have become more of a chore than anything else. jace knew it, and you knew it, the family was slowly falling apart at the seems, especially after luke’s’ death. war was approaching.

you grab another rock, throwing it once more, following jace.

“sometimes i think i hate them.” you say, staring off into the sand below you. “my father has been, so distant and cold lately.” your white curls blow against your face yet again, bringing your hands up to push them back against the windy sea, looking at him.

jacaerys furrows his brows, chuckling slightly, trying to ease the tension. “yes, daemon can be tough at times.. but he is your father.”

humming in response, you walk towards a rock near the edge of the cliff, sitting down.

“fathers can be quite difficult, yes?” jacaerys leans against his leg, looking over at you, giving a forced smile yet again. he begins walking towards you, sitting down on the ground, patting the rock your sitting on. you roll your eyes slightly, looking down at him, studying his features.

“and what is it you remember about my uncle, your father?” you bring a hand to his curls, patting them down, helping tame them from the wind.

“he taught us many things.. he taught us how to fish, and sing sailors’ shanties.” he chuckles, squinting his eyes slightly, looking up at you. “and ser harwin strong, well, he loved us as well.. i think.” getting up, he brushes his clothes off, wiping the mud off from the damp grass he once sat in.

you furrow your brows at him, getting up from the rock, following after him. you knew jace had a complicated relationships with the father figures in his life. being accused of being one of the ‘bastard sons’ took a tole on him through the the years of his life.

“of course he did, jace! don’t say such things like that!” you hold his shoulder, looking at the back of his head.

he scoffs lightly, clenching his jaw, “which one?” he says softly, almost whispering.

you knew what he was insinuating, not daring to speak it out loud. taking your free hand, you move it towards jacaerys, wrapping both of your arms around his broad shoulders. feeling him lean back, his shoulders nudge your arms, signaling for you to speak again. “this fight between your mother and the greens have gotten out of hand.”

he brings his hands up to the ones you have wrapped around his shoulders. taking them into his hands, he cups them, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “i miss luke.”

you slip your arms off his body momentarily, your hands leaving his, circling him, facing away from the edge of the cliff. the wind now blows towards your face, blowing your curls behind your neck. he takes your hands into his once again, looking down at them, admiring the contrast between your hands compared to his.

“he didn’t acknowledge me today… my father. i know the reason for it..” he scoffs, nodding his head. “i..he killed the boy.” jacaerys’ eyes widen at your words, confirming his suspicions.

your hands leave his, yet again, rubbing your face out of frustration. “what will happen to us, jace? your mothers claim to the throne has weakened because of my father, he barely speaks to me anymore..and your brother is dead.”

he wraps his arms around you, his head resting on your shoulder. “war is brewing.” he says, looking out into the cloudy sky, feeling the wind against his back. jace was being brave, trying to seek comfort in your embrace, knowing deep down there was nothing he could do to stop the horrors to come.

also jace is getting no screen time

#house of dragons #house of the dragon #jacaerys x reader #jace x reader #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #hotd jacaerys #hotd season 2 #hotd #angst #fluff #oneshot

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lady-ashfade · 6 months ago

Note

Hello I would like to order a blueberry Cookie 🍪 With Jace pls ☺️

༄ Crashing Waves ༄

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Jacaerys Velaryon x Betrothed!Fem!Reader

Bakery Event is closed

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Blueberry Cookies: Oneshot & Angst to comfort.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 1k

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: reader’s backstory, I like making backstories, death comfort: her uncle and his brother, marriage comfort, jace is a cutie, bonding over loss, I kinda hate but also love this.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚ 🍪 ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

Watching the waves crash into one another it was calming, when you closed your eyes it was only you and the sea. The salty water made your nose sting just a tad but nothing to uncomfortable, just something you needed to get used to. You could feel the sand underneath your bare feet as low tide waves surrounded your feet on the shore.

Your uncle had just passed before your betrothal to the prince, his death caused your father to swear himself to Rhaenyra. For many years your family prided themselves on being peaceful and no wars since Aegon The Conquerors, so at first your father never picked sides. He was afraid of what it could mean for his people, until your uncle declared himself for Rhaenyra and the greens executed him.

A exhale leaves your lips as you shake your head to force the reminding thoughts away. There was nothing you could do to bring him back, all you could do was honor his wish. The faces in your head start to change, and your thoughts fall on one in particular.

The Brunette Prince, Jacaerys Velaryon. He wasn’t how you expected him to be if you’re being honest. He was handsome, and you heard of rumors of his… illegitimacy, but never cared. Nevertheless, when you saw him— he had the beauty of a true Targaryen Prince, and the charm of one. You haven’t talk much, other then when you arrived and at dinner.

Council meetings took much of his day, and you needed rest from the travel, and you slipped away in the morning to watch the sea. To be alone. A life of war, and new betrothal, and new home was difficult to process and get ahold of. Though, you are grateful it was Jace since he was young and seemed to be gentle.

The distant voice perked your ears, the sound of your maidens voice answering made your chest fall deeper. You knew it who it was, based of the way he spoke and how it’s his duty to fetch after you. As the steps on the sand grew closer you didn’t move a inch and kept your eyes shut. The extra seconds would be a life time of comfort.

“I suspect you’re here to call me to the morning feast?” The brightness of the sun returning in your eyes made you wince a bit. His face meet yours, it was a strange.

“The halls smelled wonderful, almost couldn’t pull myself away,” he rested his arms on his sword, a small smirk twisted at his lips, “Thought you’d be hungry.” you hummed at his statement and clasped your hands together. Looking away from him and back at the crashing waves you almost found his presence reassuring in a way.

He watched the waves with you, not rushing you away. “Is it always this beautiful,” you wondered out loud, you didn’t grow up near the beaches and never saw them. “We have a waterfall but it’s not nearly as massive.” Your betrothed listened to you speak calmly.

“I must say I found it beautiful, even when storms past through. Even more so on dragon back,” it did sound thrilling to watch the waves from above, to explore more than your pair of leg’s could. “We used to roam all over the water, my brother & I. The challenge of who was the fastest made us wonder for hours after each other.” the mood switched and you felt pity as you look back at him.

His eyes were yearning for his brother in the sky, and the memories he must be revisiting in his head was familiar. The laughter of your uncle was engraved in your mind, he was a second father to you. He always made you laugh, taught you important lessons on life. You adored him. It was a different loss, but the same feeling you shared. When you noticed the change in his eyes you grabbed ahold of his hand.

Locking eyes with yours, his wide and surprised, and yours glossy and sensitive, you both felt connected for the first time. “I miss my uncle more then words can express, and want nothing more for the chance to stop him from leaving our home. But we must go one, to remember what they wanted,” your throat began to dry, “We must live on to tell their stories, yes?” he senced hesitation from you, like you also needed to be told you were right.

“Your uncle must have be proud, his niece is wise and caring.” a heating sensation arose in your cheeks, “we both will live on to tell their stories, together.” Letting go of your hand he offers his arm instead and you take it, trying to gain composure. As you walk along side him you notice how warm he seemed to be.

He started up conversation again with a shy demeanor, “Forgive me, My Lady. Our betrothal was sudden and you mustn’t have been unprepared, can I assume you are still on the fence about it?” the nerves in your stomach went wild, your mind racing for the right thing to reply with. Of course you would do your duty and marry him. And you found him as the best option. “There is no need to keep the truth inside, I want us to be friends.”

There he was, making it easier to want him, to be his wife. “Forgive me, Your Grace. To be honest, this arrangement doesn’t displease me,” you hide your face away from him in hopes he wouldn’t see how flustered you look, “I only wish to get to know you, I have much to learn of you— And you of me. I wish we meet sooner but we have forever.”

The graceful smile on your lips made his breath hitch, you were more beautiful then he imagined. Not only was he falling for you, and the thought of you being his— but him being yours. “Forever,” his lips thinned with the huge charming smile, “I like the sound of that.”

You had forever to grown together, to study one another, to be by each others side.

#jacaerys velaryon #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader #Jacaerys Velaryon oneshot #angst to comfort #angst to fluff #bakery event

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lingulaca · 2 months ago

Text

Whisper of Pleasure

Prince Jacaerys finds himself enamored with an angel after she helps him relieve all of his stress left behind from the living world.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ pairing - jacaerys velaryon x dara (an oc)

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ word count - 1,665

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ includes/warnings - jace getting his first blowjob, light light super light angst like it's barely sad, fluffy smut

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ author's note - jacela not being endgame literally hurts my soul so don't mind the mentions of baela i need them to be together for eternity. my first hotd smut im not used to writing dialogue like this hhhhh

The Prince rose from what could only be described as a hallucinogenic half-slumber. One moment, he swore he and his consciousness had disappeared entirely and the next, he found himself on some sort of fluffy surface with a beautiful lady in front of him. He gasped, air rushing into his lungs for a moment. "Who... are you?" He started to feel dizzy, but in a good way. "I'm Dara," The grinning lady announced. "and you're Jacaerys." Jace blinked. He had half a mind to ask her where she got this information, but after observing his surroundings he ultimately determines that he's died and went to the heavens. 'Baela,' he thinks, 'I've left her all alone...'

"It's okay," Dara starts. "She'll be here with you soon. Or, um, one day I mean..." Jace shook his head as he sat up, noticing all of his physical pain was gone and he was given new clean clothes. He'd read about the heavens as a child, and prayed to the Gods more times than was probably necessary for his brothers but he never imagined the space to be so... comforting. A selfish thought makes its way to his brain, though he does not mean for it to. "She will marry someone else." He means it as a question, it comes out as a statement. "She won't, her heart won't let her. She loves you a lot." The angel, Dara, grabbed hold of both of his hands. She pauses for a moment. "You're Baela's soulmate and she misses you greatly." Jacaerys allows his fingers to intertwine with the angel's. If he'll be here forever he might as well stop being sad and enjoy his time, right? The sentiment isn't enough to stop the immediate flow of tears. He's left all his strength on Earth, he supposes.

Dara holds him closely, her body naturally molding to his. She doesn't think of herself as the calming or soothing type so she chooses to say nothing, hoping her actions are enough. Her efforts do not go unnoticed when Jacaerys' hands wrap tightly around her waist. "I miss my mother. A- and Baela... I don't want her to marry another." He sniffles, thinking of how crushed Rhaenyra will be to learn she's lost yet another son. Dara can tell he's been holding back for quite a while. During his living years, he only allowed himself to cry in front of Baela. Bottled up emotions would overflow, causing him to routinely end up sobbing late at night as she cuddled him in her chambers. "I know." Dara feels Jacaerys' hands grip her even tighter. If angels were capable of pain, it would hurt a whole lot. When he finally looks up at her, doing so as if she were the one component necessary to fix him, his eyes are red and his lip trembles. She kisses his forehead while combing through his hair with her fingers. "Everything will be alright in the end." Her protective embrace is the first good thing he's felt in a while. Ease washes over him. "You really think so...?" Dara's smile returns at Jacaerys' stuttered inquiry. "I know so."

🕊️

Jacaerys lies down on the soft, barely-there clouds upon Dara's request. She figured he wasn't quite ready to be met by all of his relatives just yet so the two were now on Mother's Layer, by far the quietest and least hectic of all the heavens. Children were having quiet time, most choosing to lay near Mother herself as she read to them. "This is where I stay," Dara got comfortable next to the Prince. "Thank you... for all this." Jacaerys felt silly thanking an angel, after all helping humans adjust to the afterlife was simply one of her many tasks. She kissed him again, this time directly on the head. Jacaerys felt his face heat up. He was never truly able to let his guard down this much when he was alive. Nights with his betrothed ended with sex more often than not, though neither of them could fully enjoy it beyond the physical aspect on account of the responsibilities weighing on both of their minds.

"You're... very lovely." He mutters. "The lovely one is you, my child." She replies. Being called a 'child' by a heavenly being who looked no more than a year under him in age made him chuckle. Dara is suddenly close, right next to Jacaerys. "I can't be as lovely as you, I..." He stops, his cheeks heating up at the mere thought of what he was about to admit. "I know." Dara places her hand in his, her warmth making him tingle internally. "I know you've sinned. All humans have." Jace sighs and clears his throat awkwardly. "I didn't mean to." He feels the need to prove himself, be more holy in the presence of someone so perfect. "It's okay... you seem tense." She observes quietly. Tense doesn't begin to describe it. At first, Jacaerys thought he could overcome his lust, thinking that perhaps such feelings went away in the heavens. Even so, looking away from Dara's angelic unclothed body and instead directing his focus to her face didn't help him any. Her eyes, colored like the moon and just as captivating, stared into his soul as if she could tell what he was planning on saying before he could. He wanted to hold her, to have her all to himself forever. He wanted to be greedy for the first time in his life.

"Jace?" Dara smirked. Since she could, in fact, read the Prince's, no, her Prince's mind she knew of his true unspoken feelings. He snaps out of it and stops making eyes at her. "Sorry..." His expression is equal parts cheeky and embarrassed. Dara giggles, standing up and turning away. "Come," Jacaerys, curious as ever, obeys her command and follows her to a large room. It had no ceiling, so Jace could look up to see more clouds and the occasional angel flying high up above.

Dara had an unconventional method of relaxation in mind, one that she was sure would work. She'd heard of it first from Father, who was swiftly quieted by Mother for mentioning such concepts within earshot of her "innocent angels", as she so lovingly called them. Dara wanted to be the best angel she could be, rising above her siblings and hoarding all of Mother's praise and affection for herself, so she couldn't possibly be doing anything bad. Additionally, she had a desire to take care of Jacaerys, which included caring for his needs as well. 'Mother knows my heart.' She told herself, 'She won't care if I indulge just a little this once.'

"Jacaerys?" She called out. He was sitting across from her bed as he observed her belongings with a look of awe on his face, being careful not to touch any of the items she had packed into the golden-red box. "Yes?" He answered, not moving from his spot. He was entranced by the glimmer of a purple harp that was placed under her bed. "I think I know what would make you feel better." "Hm?" Jace wondered what tricks Dara had up her sleeve. "You could say no if you want, but —" "Why would I say no?" Jacaerys wasn't suspicious at all of the angel's intentions. Dara takes this as a sign and sits in front of him, their knees touching in an effortlessly intimate way. She then, after waiting a moment for Jace to actually look at her even through his nervousness, pushes him down gently so he lays on the carpet.

"Dara...? What's this?" Dara's hands started at Jace's shoulders and then trailed down. She shushed him, her right hand resting on his bulge. His eyes widened. "Dara!" He whisper-shouted, sitting up a bit now so that he was leaning against the wall. Dara could only smile, feigning innocence. The two exchanged curious expressions, a minute's silence is taken before Jacaerys decides to let Dara work her godly magic. In an instant, his pants are tugged down to his knees, exposing his obvious hardness, which Dara gazes at with much interest. "Wow." Hesitantly, she takes just the tip into her mouth at first. "Mmm..." She hums, lips wrapped around Jacaerys' cock. The taste is sweet in a way and unlike anything she's ever had before. Carefully, she lets the rest of his cock slip past her lips. It twitches in her mouth as her tongue glides up the side of it. Jace's whole body starts to feel hot, hands grasping at the soft surface below to keep himself grounded. "Dara - Dara, I..." He inhales sharply, cursing himself for almost finishing so soon.

Dara handles her Prince with feathery softness, her warm and wet inviting mouth enveloping his cock each time she moves her head down. Jacaerys' noises fill the room, ranging from gasps to proper whimpers and moans. "Dara, angel, I can't..." A delicious ache once thought to be unachievable forms deep inside him. He feels lightheaded, but not in a bad way, he feels all of his troubles being lifted away and cast aside with every nudge of his tip to the back of his angel's throat. He moans her name one last time when releasing in her mouth, her fingers digging firmly into his thighs.

Dara stays still for about three seconds as to not spill any of the thick, sticky liquid before coming up for air at last. Her tongue swirls around in her mouth to savor the foreign taste. She hums, sitting up next to Jacaerys who looks her up and down with half-lidded eyes. He's completely amazed, feeling like he's just entered two new worlds in one day, one literally and one figuratively.

"I can never repay you." Dara fully digests Jace's words while watching him fumble to stuff himself back in his trousers. "You don't have to..." She kisses her Prince on his lips sweetly, making him taste himself.

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nebulamorada · 7 months ago

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Jacaerys Velaryon x Daemon's daughter!reader

Desde de la muerte de tu madre, Laena Velaryon, no habías dejado que nadie se acercara a tu cabello. En parte, porque no querías que nada borrara la sensación de los dedos de tu madre durante las noches en las que ella cuidaba de tu cabello, en distintos peinados y masajes que realizaba en la raíz con aceites y cremas que tu abuelo traía desde las ciudades libres hechos de aguacate y coco, frutas pocos comunes en Westeros; pero fuera de los recuerdos emotivos, estaba el hecho de que ninguna de las damas que fueron llevadas a tu servicio sabía como tratar correctamente tu tipo de cabello sin lastimarlo o empeorarlo; sus dedos trenzaban con demasiada fuerza, dejándote el cuero cabelludo irritado por horas incluso cuando el peinado había sido deshecho, las cremas que aplicaban en el cabello eran del tipo incorrecto y no quieres mencionar la vez que una de ellas trato de peinarte con un cepillo mientras tenías el cabello seco.

Tu hermana Baela había optado por mantenerlo suelto, era más fácil para ella encontrar damas que supieran cuidar de su cabello debido a que conservaba el mismo estilo de cabello que su madre, necesitando una definición simple de rizos mientras que Rhaena, por otra parte había optado por las mismas rastas que usaba desde niña, cuidandolas ella misma cada que su cabello crecía y necesitaba trenzarlo de nuevo, haciendo lo mismo contigo una vez que te rendiste y no tuviste más remedio que encontrar una solución, sabiendo que no podrías descuidar por mucho tiempo tu propio cabello. En ocaciones, verte en espejos era algo que te hacía sentir tristeza, con tu madre fallecida, tu abuelo demasiado lejos en viajes y la gestión de su hogar y tu padre de cabello lacio, ya no había posibilidad de tener aquellos moñitos que Laena te hacía cuando eras pequeña o las trenzas de caja que habías decidido a usar pocos meses antes de su muerte.

Jacaerys fue quien había indagado sobre esto luego de haberse enterado del compromiso que su madre y Daemon habían arreglado entre ustedes, preguntando mediante cuervos hacía sus abuelos, siendo Rhaenys quien le enviaba cartas extensas del paso a paso de como trenzar correctamente sin lastimarte o dañar tu cabello y Corlys enviando distintos aceites, peines y cepillos adecuados para usar en ti. El príncipe heredero casi se infarta cuando, al llegar a tus aposentos durante la noche queriendo cuidar de tu cabello comenzaste a llorar mientras lo abrazabas, conmovida por su gesto.

Las visitas durante la noche se hicieron cada vez más frecuente, aprovechando las horas en las que ninguno tenía deberes que demandaban com urgencia su atención, pero comenzó a levantar rumores que llegaron a oídos de tu padre y tu madrastra, quienes no hicieron más que sonreír cuando, al espiar ligeramente, solo te encontraron sentada frente al espejo de tus aposentos, con Jacaerys parado detrás de ti con el ceño fruncido en una mueca de concentración, sosteniendo con su boca un peine de cardar mientras sus dedos trataban de ser menos torpes a la hora de trenzar tu cabello.

#house of the dragon #black reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x reader #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon oneshot #jacaerys targaryen #jace targaryen #prince jacaerys

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lunafreya24 · 7 months ago

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Modern au: When the Storm Breaks

Pairings: Jacaerys Targaryen/Cregan Stark, Rhaenyra Targaryen/Harwin Strong, Rhaenys Targaryen/Corlys Velaryon

Cregan and Jace have been married for a couple years when tragedy strikes. Jace's brother, Luke, is killed in a car accident. From the moment they got the news, Jace barely cries. He buries himself into being strong for his family and planning Luke's funeral. Cregan stays by his side the whole time, trying his best to help. Everyone is worried Jace is carrying too much on his shoulders and that he's going to explode soon. Their fears become reality when Jace has a full-blown mental breakdown at the funeral. Jace's family and his husband rally around him. Afterwards he apologizes for making a scene. Everyone tells him that he has every right to upset and that he doesn't have to be strong all the time.

(cw: character death, graphic language, grief, unhealthy coping mechanisms)

Notes: This takes place in modern day New York. Rhaenyra and Harwin are married. Aegon III and Viserys II are Harwin's sons, but they get their looks from Rhaenyra. All the age gaps are closed in this story. Cregan and Jace are the same age, Rhaenyra and Harwin are only like 3 or 4 years apart. Laena is Rhaenyra's best friend here not Alicent, because I didn't want to touch that situation. Helaena is the only green that makes an appearance because I love her. Laenor and Daemon also aren't mentioned in this story. Do with that what you will.

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Jacaerys Targaryen and Cregan Stark had built a life together that was rooted in love, trust, and mutual support. They met in college, when Jace was getting his MBA and Cregan was getting a bachelor’s degree in architecture. Until then, neither of them had believed in love at first sight, but in that moment, love was the only thing that came to mind. They dated all throughout college, receiving their respective degrees with honors. Jace’s parents, Rhaenyra and Harwin, threw a grand graduation party at their home. However, Jace was the only one unaware that this party was also an engagement party. Once everyone important to them had arrived, Cregan got down on one knee and asked Jace to make him the happiest man in the world. Jace accepted with tears in his eyes. Their wedding was a sight to behold, a perfect blend of extravagance and sentiment. They vowed to be there for each other for every moment of their lives, no matter how painful. After four years of marriage, they had faced their share of challenges, but none had been as shattering as the phone call that came one quiet evening.

Jace was in the kitchen, preparing dinner, while Cregan relaxed on the couch, engrossed in a book. The shrill ring of Jace's phone broke the silence. It was from Baela, Jace's favorite cousin. Jace and Baela were very close, but they hadn’t spoken in a while, feeling they didn’t have much to share with each other. When she called out of nowhere, Jace thought she had something exciting to tell him.

“Hey Baela, how are you?” He answered cheerfully.

“Hi Jace.” Baela said, her voice shaking, barely above whisper.

“Is everything okay?” There was silence on the other end.

Cregan could sense the tension and looked from his book. “Who’s that baby?”

Jace moved the food off the stove and walked over. “It’s Baela,” he whispered.

“Is that Cregan?” She asked in an abrupt manner.

“Yeah.” Jace said.

“Can you put the phone on speaker, you both need to hear this.”

Jace did as he was asked, placing his phone on the coffee table, “Okay, Baela what going on, you’re kind of scaring me now.”

Baela took a deep breath before continuing, "Jace, it's about Luke.”

“What about Luke?” Jace asked, fear washing over him.

They could hear Baela start to cry on the other end, “There…There’s been….. an accident. I’m so sorry Jace. He's... he's gone."

Jace’s breath hitched. He and his husband sat there frozen, Baela’s soft cries coming from below them.

“What? What happened?” Jace questioned. The room seemed to close in around them as the reality of the situation sunk in.

“He… he was driving home for a visit when .... a truck sideswiped him. He hit a wall and…. first responders couldn’t get to him in time.”

Jace could hear Baela talking to them. He could feel his husband grab his hand. But all of that seemed to fade away with the thoughts whirling through his mind.

"I'm so sorry, Jace," Cregan whispered, his heart aching for his husband.

Jace sat frozen once again, his eyes were unfocused. He didn't cry, didn't scream. He just nodded and took a deep breath.

"What about my parents? Do they know yet?"

“We’re at their house right now. My mom was with yours when she got the call. They didn’t know how to tell you so I offered to do it. They’re…. heartbroken, but we’re here to help them.”

“Thank you.” Jace muttered.

“That goes for you too, if you need anything, please come to us Jace.”

“Okay. Goodbye Baela.”

“Bye.”

Crega pulled Jace into a tight hold. “I’m so sorry baby.” He offered. But Jace shifted in his arms, pulling back. He looked as if he were in some sort of trance.

“I need to get home.” He announced. “My family needs me.”

The days that followed were a blur of grief and responsibility. From the moment they got the news, Jace seemed to switch into autopilot. He threw himself into planning Luke's funeral, his focus solely on being the pillar of strength his family needed. He promised his parents that they didn’t have to worry about anything while he was there. He coordinated with funeral directors, arranged flowers, and meticulously chose every detail, ensuring that his brother would be honored in the best way possible.

Cregan watched his husband with growing concern. Jace was handling everything with a stoic determination that bordered on obsessiveness. He knew Jace was hurting, but he seemed unwilling or unable to express his grief. Every time Cregan tried to talk to him about it, Jace would deflect, insisting that there was too much to do.

"Jace, honey, you need to slow down and let yourself grieve, let yourself feel something," Cregan urged one evening, gently touching his arm. "It's okay to cry, to be upset."

Jace shook his head, his expression resolute. "I don't have time for that, Cregan. My family needs me." That phrase had become Jace’s mantra over the last week. At night, he would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, while Cregan held him, hoping that the physical closeness would provide some sort of comfort.

Jace's family was just as worried. At first, Rhaenyra was eternally grateful for her son's strength at this terrible time. But she quickly realized what was happening to her son, her whole body flooded with guilt. She and Harwin both expressed their concerns to Cregan privately. "He's carrying too much," Rhaenyra said one evening, her voice thick with worry. "I'm afraid he's going to break."

The day of the funeral arrived, a gray, overcast morning that seemed to mirror the heavy hearts of all who gathered. Jace was impeccably dressed in a black suit, his expression set in a mask of calm control. Cregan stood by his side, offering silent support.

The service was beautiful and heart-wrenching. Friends and family spoke of Luke's kindness, his bright smile, and the joy he brought to their lives. Jace delivered the eulogy with a steady voice, recounting fond memories and expressing the depth of his love for his younger brother. When he finished, sobs and sniffles could be heard throughout the whole church, but Jace’s face still didn’t falter.

As the service drew to a close, Jace stood by the casket, greeting mourners and accepting their condolences. He was the picture of strength and composure, but Cregan could see the cracks beneath the surface. Each handshake, each hug seemed to chip away at the veneer of control Jace had built around himself.

When everyone proceeded to the burial site, Luke's body was placed over the area where it would be buried and lay forever. As the priest gave final blessing, Jace’s frame stiffened, his breaths shallowed slightly. Cregan was at his side, sensing the shift. He grabbed his husband's hand and started rubbing small circles on his back. He had seen this coming from the beginning. He only hoped now that he could soften the blow, if only a little bit.

It was during the final moments of the burial, as the casket was lowered into the ground, that the storm finally broke. Jace stared at the graveside, the finality of it all crashing down on him. His breathing quickened even more, and he felt a tightness in his chest that made it hard to breathe.

“No.” Jace shook his head, pleading with every higher power he could think of. “Please, no!” he whimpered, not caring about what people thought about him. The pressure inside him had built up to an unbearable level. "I can't... I can't do this," he gasped, his voice breaking. "He's gone, Cregan! No....please! He can’t be gone!"

The tears finally came then, a torrent of grief and anguish that he had held back for far too long. He lurched forward, falling to the ground, sobs wracking his body. Cregan knelt beside him, wrapping his arms around Jace, holding him as he wailed.

The mourners looked on with a mix of sympathy and understanding. Rhaenys and Corlys took it upon themselves to start herding the funeral guests toward the reception, knowing the best thing for the family was to be alone with each other right now. Rhaenyra and Harwin rushed to Jace's side, their own tears falling freely as they tried to comfort their son. For the first time since the accident, Jace allowed himself to truly feel the depth of his loss. Jace clung to Cregan, his cries growing softer, his screams turning into broken whispers, “Come back…. Luke I’m sorry…. Please come back.”

The four of them sat like that for a while. Everyone else had gone, Laena had taken Jace’s other brothers to the reception, giving them time to just worry about Jace. Thirty minutes felt like a lifetime. Jace felt like he had cried away all the tears he had left, a terrible headache was brewing in the back of his skull. He picked up his head and looked around, realizing they were alone. “We should go to the reception now. They’re probably waiting for us.” He groaned, rubbing his burning eyes.

Rhaenyra cupped her son's face gently, "Jace, you don't have to go. Everyone will understand."

Harwin nodded in agreement, "We're all hurting, son. And you’ve already done so much. If you just want to go home, it’s alright.”

Jace looked to his husband for the answer. Cregan looked at him lovingly, saying, “I’ll do whatever you want, baby.”

Jace thought for a moment, “I think we should go.” He decided.

“Are you sure?” Cregan asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

The reception was a blur for Jace. He felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Many people came to him again, offering even more condolences and asking if he was alright. He assured everyone that he was feeling much better now, but the ache in his heart and the pounding in his head were creeping up on him again. He wondered why he even bothered coming. Just then Helaena came up to him with a gentle smile.

“Hi Jace.” She spoke softly

“Hi Helaena.”

She looked at him as if she was trying to speak a language she didn’t know. She quickly gave up on words and held her arms out to him. He took them gratefully. After a full day of words and tears, her silent comfort somehow surpassed it all. Helaena often struggled with words, but in her touch was a power no one else in that room possessed. In that moment, Jace felt all of his pain melt away. For a split second, he felt whole again. He felt the one thing that had been missing since Baela called him that night, hope. They stayed like that for a little while. Jace breathed in her soothing herbal scent, finally feeling a sense of healing take fold.

“Thank you so much Helaena.”

“For what”

“For being exactly what I need right now.”

Helaena smiled kindly and then left. Eventually everyone cleared out, leaving just the family. As they sat on the couch together, Jace struggled to come to terms with his outburst at the funeral. In hindsight, he felt embarrassed and ashamed for breaking down in front of everyone. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice filled with regret. "I didn't mean to make a scene."

Rhaenyra held him in her arms, her eyes filled with compassion. "Jace, you have nothing to apologize for. You lost your brother, not even a month ago. You have every right to grieve. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. I never should have let you take on all that by yourself."

Harwin nodded in agreement. "Neither of us should have, Jace. We're a family, and we should support each other. You don't always have to be strong for everyone."

Cregan held his hand, his voice gentle but firm. "You've been carrying so much, sweetheart. It's time to let others carry some of that weight with you. We're all here for you now." He pressed a feather-light kiss to Jace’s temple.

Jace looked around at his family, seeing the love and support in their eyes. He realized then that he didn't have to bear his grief alone. He didn't have to be the pillar of strength all the time. It was okay to lean on those who loved him. He felt tears come to his eyes again, but this time he let them flow freely. He grabbed on to his mother’s waist and cried slow, soft tears. Rhaenyra did the same until they both fell asleep in that position, their pain and exhaustion finally ceasing for the time being.

Harwin and Cregan shared a knowing look before carefully unraveling the two and picking them up bridal style. Harwin couldn’t help but smile as he remembered the last time he held his wife this way. She had gotten too tipsy at a party and passed out in the car on the ride home. They were so young then, before the children, before their lives had truly begun.

Cregan thought about the last time he held his husband this way. They had just gotten married. Jace was about to open the door to their apartment, when Cregan scooped him up and carried him across the threshold. It was a silly moment filled with laughter and so much love. They were still young, but Cregan knew from the moment they met, that he was going to spend the rest of his time on Earth and then some with the man sleeping in his arms.

They carried their spouses up the stairs and laid them down on their respective beds. With the softest touch they remove as much of their uncomfortable funeral attire as they could before laying down next to them. They knew in the morning the pain would hit all over again, but for now they enjoyed this moment of peace in the eye of the storm.

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murdocksdaughter · 5 months ago

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this is a request of mine for jacaerys velaryon. could you make it a female reader, could just be a tutor and doesn't have to be a targaryen (which I would prefer), that is teaching him high valyrian while he's buried inside her, on his lap and would stop moving whenever he would get a word wrong or pronounce it wrong? sorry if this is a weird request 🙏🏻

tutor - j.v

jacaerys velaryon x fem!servant!reader (18+)

summary: you are daughter of a dragonkeeper making your native language high valyrian. however you become a servant for the royal family instead of a dragonkeeper serving jacaerys directly and eventually his personal high valyrian tutor.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: nsfw, MINIORS DNI, porn with plot, piv sex, riding, a minor handjob, no use of y/n, jace is vocal

a/n: i saw this request and immediately jumped into writing it. i the plot is slight changed but premise is the same i hope i did your vision justice.

xoxo hope

You were a daughter of a Dragonkeeper but you did not take up the occupation like your father. You did not have much taste to work with dragons. However you work in the castle of Dragonstone. You were in charge of all the servants for the eldest two sons of Rhaenyra. You saw to all their needs, made sure their baths were drawn and food was delivered to their room upon request. Swords sharpened, clothes cleaned and mended. All of it.

Growing up a daughter of a dragonkeeper you were fluent in High Valyrian as it was your first language. You spoke in the common tongue with a small accent, making some people think you were from Essos. High Valyrian was the language you thought in, your default. You struggled a bit to keep the two languages straight, especially when stressed.

But soon that minor flaw turned into strength. As you were recruited by the eldest son of Rhaenyra to become a tutor for him. Jacaerys wanted extra lessons outside of the maesters. He was eager to carry the tradition of speaking the native language of his forefathers. He was a quick study, hard working. Nights were spent secluded in candle light huddled over several textbooks he kept in his room.

First you worked on his conversational High Valyrian. His commands for his dragon and basic requests were perfect. But when you started he struggled a bit to carry a conversation. And as these sessions continued, their study of language became more complicated, the tension between them grew. Face drifted closer and bodies would press against one another.

It wasn’t long before you two shared a kiss. It was heavy and passionate. Jacaerys grabbing your face as your hands tangled into his hair. It was an intense kiss for you both, pulling away breathless.

The nature of your relationship changed. All decorum unraveled. Becoming more physical, lingering touches and soft caress. It was all too intimate. You knew the growing nature of your relationship was unacceptable. You were a servant, you were in no position to be a lover of a prince.

But Jacaerys was very convincing, as his hands explored your body more. He did not care, he expressed he wanted you. Your lessons become less about High Vaylrian and more of sharing heated kisses.

So you devised a plan to keep Jacaerys on track. You would tease him with rewards he wanted. It started with your lips so close to his waiting for him he replied correctly. And breathing down his neck as he took the quizzes you created for him. But as it continued it only drew out more intensity from both of you.

Soon you would be perched on his lap clothed and rolling your hips against him as you tested the pronunciation of more ancient texts. Your teasing worsened as your lesson became more complicated. But you would reward him handsomely after you tease him. Many nights end with his chambers filled with obscene sounds that reflect more of a lounge in a brothel.

And your techniques seem to pay off for Jacaerys. His “lessons” with the maester were a breeze. He could hold conversations with the Dragonkeepers. But more impressively he spoke with more confidence to his mother. You were an amazing teacher and most importantly Jacaerys was an amazing student.

You carry on with your lessons although they essentially became an excuse to see each other. Tonight was no different for the exception Jacaerys had convinced you to let him bury himself inside you during the lesson. You protested a bit arguing that it was an excuse for him to get his “reward early”.

Jacaerys, like his Targaryen ancestors, was persuasive. He explained he wanted to challenge himself. To see if he could focus as you rode him. Blood of the dragon made the prince sure of himself and you like the idea of humbling him.

Half your clothes had been removed and the rest disheveled. You sunk down on his cock with the book flip open next to you on his desk next to you.

“You ready, ñuha dārilaros?” You smile down at Jacaerys. My prince

He smiled at you widely, gripping the bunched up fabric of your chemise at your waist. “Hen rhinka, ñuha teptys.” Of course, my teacher.

You started to roll your hips slowly as you looked down at the book next to you. It was a history text, of fairly recent events. Your page was open to Maegor the Cruel.

“Skore giēñrȳī gōntan Maegor gōntan ossēnagon rūsīr Blackfyre?” you asked with a small hitch your breath. You rose up on his cock slowly, dragging out a small moan from your prince. Which maester did Maegor kill with Blackfyre?

Jacaerys took a sharp breath in thinking deep of what you said. He did not think in High Valyrian like you did. But he learned to translate quickly.

“Giēñrȳī Gawen,” He answered voice slightly strained, but his pronunciation was perfect. Maester Gawen

You nodded, “Sȳz, ñuha dārilros.” Jacaerys closed his eyes at your praises guiding your hips. Good, my prince.

You sigh, resisting the feeling to roll your head back. “Se skoro syt gōntan ziry gaomagon bona?” And why did he do that?

Your hips lifted again and sunk back down slowly. Feeling his cock throb inside send a shiver down your spine. But flecked your abdomen, your hands gripping Jacaerys should be a bit tighter. The prince noticed and thrusted his hip up, trying to see you roll your head in pleasure. You let out a small yelp, a call of surprise at the prince’s brazenness.

“Ao līs rȳbagon! You reprimanded Jacaerys as if he was a dragon. Your hip movements came to a full stop. And you started to lift yourself off of him. You must behave

“Sesīr. Udligon ñuha másino.” You gave the prince a small glare. And now. Answer my question.

Jaceerys whined at the lost of your warmth surrounding him. “Gawen amisagon zȳhon hepagon hen d…demalion…” he stuttered out. Gawen protested his ascent of the t…throne…

You could hear his accent pronunciation of the word for throne fall. You shake your head, “Dēma…lion…” you repeat slowly for him to hear the accent. You slid back onto his cock at the same pace. “Sylugon arlī.” You order him with a teasing roll of your hips. Try again.

“Dēmalion. Gawen amisagon zȳhon hepagon hen dēmalion….” His tone was breathless. Throne. Gawen protested his ascent to the throne

You nod proudly, your hips bucking back and forth. “Sȳz…” Jacaerys moaned, feeling your hips moving again. Your hips were moving faster than before, you wanted to push him to his edge. You kept rocking on your hips and moaning loudly yourself. Challenging Jacaerys to focus only made it hard for you. His cock filled you, brushing again the spot inside that made you shake.

It became less about the challenge for the prince and more about wanting to reach your peak. “Sȳz…” You repeated as your hips grounded themselves firmly against his. You were losing control quickly.

Jacaerys whispered your name then dropped his head to your chest. “What’s next?” he asks in common tongue. Your breath hitch, words disappearing off your tongue. Your thoughts were intertwined with both languages. You need to finish his lesson. You tried to reason with yourself.

Jacaerys called your name again. You still moving your hips looked down at him. His hands gripped you tightly. You open your mouth but all words disappear from your mind. Jacaerys recognized that look. He smiled at you bucking his hip up into you. You let out a shaky moan.

“Jacaerys…” you whine, your mind was no longer on his lesson. “Jaes…” You moan. God…

“Are we done?” He whispered against your neck with his thrusts becoming more focused. “Can I fuck you now?”

You nodded, still unable to find the words in either language. Jacaerys leans up to kiss you deeply as he takes control of the pace. You whimper and moan against his lips. “You feel amazing…” Jacaerys whispers against you lips

You shudder at his praise. Bucking her hips to match his pace. He pulls away and rests his head against your forehead. You moan seeing the look of pleasure in Jacaerys eyes. His eyes were round and glassy. You tangle your fingers into his curls breathlessly crying out a mix of Valyrian and the common tongue.

Jacaerys leans down to your shoulder. “I did good, yes?” He murmurs into it thrusting his hips hard into you.

“Yes...” is all you could muster. Feeling lost in the pleasure. “You’re v…very kostilus jaes….good.” Jacarys smiled wildly, he lived for your praise. You both started to falter as he could feel his own orgasm coming.

The sporadic rhythm of his thrusts caused you to clench around him. Your stomach twisted you could feel your orgasm crashing over you. You babbled in High Valyrian, your head finally rolling back.

Jacaerys kissed up your neck nipping every once in a while. He was nearing his orgasm, his fingers digging into you deeply. His breathing was ragged and shaky, his moans strained. You could see in your own hazy of pleasure he was close. You started to lift your hips.

“No please,” He pleaded.

You shook your head, “I can’t. You know we can’t risk…” You protested. Jacaerys physically deflected but allowed you to pull off. Still sitting on his lap you wrapped your hands around his cock. In lieu of allowing him to finish inside you, you pumped your hand up and down his length. Drawing out his orgasm, his but wracked a bit. You lean forward and kiss him to help him ride through it.

He kissed back softly, whimpers slipping through. Your hands slowly came to stop as they were covered in seed. As you pulled away you giggled holding up your hand and licked it clean. The sight made Jacaerys shutter a bit.

He pulled you into a hug letting his head rest on your shoulder. You hug him back letting your but fall limp in his hold. It was peaceful, the air around you seemed to cool and the tension dissipated.

“You did good today…” You whispered, your Valyrian accent more apparent.

Jacaerys giggled, “We barely studied.” he retorted. You shrug against him. It didn’t matter Jacaerys was as fluent as he could be. All he needed was to continued repetition and you weren’t only Valyrian speaker on the island.

“We’ve reached the end of you being under my tutelage. Very little study needs to happen.” You mumbled out. A sly smile forms on Jacaerys’ lips.

“I don’t mind that…” He jokes. You roll your eyes at him pulling away from his grasp. Jacaerys whines as you watch you redress yourself.

“Must you leave?”

You look at him with a small frown. “Yes, I must be up early.” Jacaerys sighs in defeat. “I’ll see you in the morrow at breakfast…”

You nod then lean down to kiss his cheek. “I'll have a bath drawn for you at first light. Sleep well ñuha dārilaros…” Jacaerys smiles watching you leave his chambers. “Ēdurnon sȳrī, ñuha jorrāelagon…” Sleep well, my love

#house of the dragon #hotd #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon oneshots #jacaerys velaryon imagines #murdocks resquests

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theothermaidoftarth · 10 months ago

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Moodboard for my upcoming Jacaerys character study wherein Rhaenyra doesn’t leave King’s Landing after Vaemond’s death, and so ascends the throne after her father dies. Two years later Jace grapples with what it means to be both bastard and heir to the Iron Throne.

Hale and Grace

M/16+ | Jacaerys Velaryon x Baela Targaryen

Cw: self-harm, dysfunctional family

#current wip #hale and grace #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #since that’s what he’ll be in this ‘verse after taking the throne #jacaerys x baela #anti daemyra #no bashing but is critical of both - more so daemon #coming soon #hotd au #hotd fic #planned as a oneshot but i’ll see how it goes wc wise #jacela #my edit

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jacaeryslover · 1 year ago

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the betrothal, a jacaerys velaryon one-shot.

summary: reader father (stark) accepts to make the betrothal between jace & reader official, jace misunderstands. angst (not really) & fluff!

Back in the old days, when you and Jacaerys were still little kids, Princess Rhaenyra proposed a betrothal between you two, having a Targaryen & Stark union would benefit the realm once she became Queen.

But your father denied it, you were both kids, so he told the Targaryen Princess to wait for them to grow to make it official. Both of you knew back then, the Queen spoke about it with Jacaerys, and he decided you deserved to know who you were going to marry.

—Hello, princess— You hear a shy voice coming from the back, it has to be one of the Velaryon boys, you thought, none of Queen Alicent's sons would speak so softly to a Northerner.

You were right, Jacaerys Velaryon was standing behind you, Princess Rhaenyra's oldest son and the next heir to The Iron Throne. You found a very good friend in him the weekends you stayed in King's Landing. The Velaryon boys felt like a breath of fresh air in these foreign and tense lands.

—Hello, my prince. Is everything alright?—Her voice was soothing, comforting, even for her age. Jacaerys thought he could listen her talk for hours. —Yeah princess, I'm quite alright. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about our betrothal.

—Our betrothal?— She asked, clearly confused. Maybe he should've said it differently.

—Yes, my mother talked about it with your father, he said he would agreed once we were of age. I'm sorry if you didn't want this. But I promise you I will take care of you, and you will be my one and only Queen.

Jacaerys was kind, and she knew that. None of the boys in King´s Landing were as nice as him and his little brother, so the thought of marrying him instead of Aemond sounded amazing. Besides, she knew her dad would never allow her only daughter to marry a monster.

—I have to say I did not expected this, nevertheless, my feelings for you are not those of hate, I will be the luckiest girl if I get to marry you in the future, my prince.

Jacaerys could not be happier, hearing those words from the girl he liked so much made him feel sick to his stomach, a feeling he did not hate at all, so he said the words he´d been keeping the last few weekends.

—Since this moment, I am loyal to you, with heart, body & soul, I am solemnly yours.

He knew she had to leave King´s Landing tomorrow, he didn´t want this, he wanted her to stay. But she also had dutties as Princess in Winterfell. So he waited, he waited days, weeks, months, years.

°°°

—Jace, did you hear about it? Your little wolf's father finally agreed to a betrothal.

His pacific temple crumbled, you didn't mention anything about betrothal proposals in your letters. But your father just accepted to marry you to someone that isn't him, he couldn't allow that. Not when he spend all of his life loving you.

—Are you sure?— He asked Aegon, he was known for being constantly drunk, so he wasn't a reliable source of information, and he wasn't the nicest person, so he could easily be just annoying him.

—Yeah, pretty sure I heard father talking about it, I guess you weren't the best option after all.

Maybe he was right, he wasn't good enough, maybe he heard the whispers, the whispers about his birth. He had to do something, he would fight for her once she arrives to King's Landing.

Later that day, she's finally here, in the same room with him, so he talks first.—Is it true? That your father accepted a betrothal?— His face clearly tensed, he felt like he was being stabbed in the chest, directly in the heart, waiting for your answer was agony.

—Yeah, he did. He made it official a day ago. I thought you knew.—

—How could I know? You didn't mentioned it in your letters, I don't know what happens in Winterfell. Tell me honestly, was it because of me? Was it my fault? Did I do something wrong? Is it because i'm a bastard?

—Jacaerys!—She would rarely use his full name, she was mad, or hurt, Jace could not read her right now, he's full with his emotions already.—Don't ever say that again. None of this is your fault. My father made official our betrothal.—Jace could feel her hands caressing his cheeks, he could feel her trying to make him feel better. He was hurt, but he already felt better, how could he forgot that their betrothal was not official yet? He was blind with his loyalness.

—You should´ve known that I wouldn´t agree to marry someone that it isn´t you. You are my only love. I sweared loyalty to you when I was a child and I did not regretted my decision a single time.

The wedding was set in 3 weeks.

She was the most beautiful woman he ever laid his eyes on, she walked to him by her fathers arm. Her dress had beautiful embroidery in honor to her house, but he couldnt wait for her to use the Targaryen colors instead.

—With this kiss, I pledge my love—.

#jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys girlie #prince jacaerys #jace velaryon #oneshot #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys one shot #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd one shot

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astrxq · 24 days ago

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Stage Light, Palace Light .II

jacaerys velaryon x theatre!reader

words: 10.8k

both parts will be posted simultaneously!! so you don’t have to wait for me to upload it if you want to read it :) — [tap here for part 1!]

Through the castle's stained glass windows, the moon cast fractured patterns across Jacaerys's chambers. He sat at his desk, turning the sapphire ring over and over in his hands, watching how the moonlight caught in its facets. The familiar weight of it felt wrong now, tainted by the memory of your fingers pressing it into his palm.

A soft knock at his door made him start, quickly slipping the ring onto his finger. "Enter," he called, his voice rougher than intended.

Lucerys's familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway. "Well, this is new," his brother said lightly, though his eyes were sharp with concern. "You're actually in your chambers at this hour? I had to check twice to make sure I had the right room."

Jacaerys didn't respond, his thumb absently running over the dragon engravings on his ring. Lucerys's casual stance shifted, and he closed the door behind him with deliberate care.

"Jace?" he asked, dropping the teasing tone. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Jacaerys replied automatically, the practiced lie tasting bitter on his tongue. "I'm just tired."

Lucerys crossed the room, settling into the chair across from his brother's desk. "You've been 'just tired' all day. Barely touched your food at dinner. Haven't gone near the stables." He paused, studying Jacaerys's face in the moonlight. "Haven't sneaked out to wherever it is you've been disappearing to for the past months."

Jacaerys's hands stilled on the ring. He seemed to think for a second. “Yeah, just tired.”

“It blew up on your face, didn’t it?”

Jacaerys flinched at his brother's words, his fingers tightening reflexively around the ring. The moonlight caught his profile, highlighting the shadows under his eyes and the tension in his jaw.

"That obvious, was it?" he asked, his voice hollow.

Lucerys leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Only to someone who's been covering for you."

He watched as Jacaerys resumed fidgeting with the ring. In the dim light, it took him a moment to recognize the glint of their house seal on the sapphire ring.

"So that's where it went," Lucerys said softly, letting the door close behind him. "I thought you'd lost it."

Jacaerys didn't look up, his fingers still tracing the dragon engravings. "I did lose it," he said, his voice rough. "She found it."

Lucerys stilled. There was no need to ask who 'she' was – he'd watched his brother sneak out enough nights to guess. "Ah," he said carefully, moving to lean against the window frame.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft scrape of metal against metal as Jacaerys continued to turn the ring.

"She gave it back," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Pressed it into my hand like it was burning her." He let out a bitter laugh that sounded more like a sob. "Told me to go home. To go back where I belong."

Lucerys watched his brother carefully, noting how his shoulders curved inward, how his normally perfect posture had crumbled.

"It was always coming, wasn't it?" Lucerys said softly, though there was sympathy in his voice. "You did lie to her, after all."

"You're not helping," Jacaerys snapped, the words sharper than he'd intended. His hands were white-knuckled around the ring now, the dragon engravings surely leaving marks in his palm.

"I'm not trying to help," Lucerys replied, moving closer to rest a hand on his brother's tense shoulder. "I'm trying to understand. All these months, what did you think would happen?"

Jacaerys shrugged off his brother's touch, standing abruptly. The moonlight caught his face, revealing the raw anguish there. "I didn't think," he admitted, his voice cracking. "I just... I wanted to be near her. To be someone who could be near her."

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Gods, you should have seen her face when she realized. Like I'd broken something irreparable."

Jacaerys dropped his hands, staring unseeing at the moonlit patterns on his desk. "She called me 'Your Grace' at the end. Like she was trying to remind herself who I really was." His voice turned bitter. "Who I've always been, apparently."

Lucerys was quiet for a long moment, watching his brother's reflection in the glass. "What was she like?" he finally asked. "When you were just Jace to her?"

The question seemed to physically pain Jacaerys. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, his breath fogging the surface.

The raw longing in his voice made Lucerys's chest ache for his brother. "And now?"

"Now she looks at me like I'm exactly what I am," Jacaerys said bitterly. "A liar. A prince. A fool who thought he could have something real in a life built on pretense."

Lucerys watched as his brother's fingers pressed against the window pane, leaving ghostly prints in the condensation. "She taught me her lines sometimes," Jacaerys said, his voice distant. "Said I had a gift for tragedy." A broken laugh escaped him. "I suppose she was right about that."

"Jace..." Lucerys started, but his brother wasn't finished.

"She tried to be so proper about it, so careful. 'My prince' this and 'Your Grace' that, like she was trying to build walls between us with every title." His forehead pressed harder against the window. "I think I preferred it when she was angry."

"Was she?"

"For a moment. But then she just looked... sad." Jacaerys turned suddenly, his eyes bright in the darkness.

"She has this laugh," he continued, "when something genuinely surprises her. Not the polite one she uses for the audience, but this bright, startled sound. And when she's really focused on something, she bites her lower lip, right at the corner..." His voice cracked. "Gods, Luke, what am I supposed to do?"

"You know what you have to do," Lucerys said gently. "What you've always had to do."

Jacaerys's forehead pressed harder against the glass.

"Brother..." Lucerys stepped closer, but Jacaerys waved him off.

"I can still feel her hands," he whispered, staring down at his own trembling fingers. "When she gave the ring back. She was so gentle about it, even then. Like she was afraid of hurting me, after everything I'd done to her." A ragged laugh escaped him. "She even fixed my cloak before sending me away. 'It's not safe for a prince to be out so late,'" he mimicked, his voice cracking on the words.

"You're going to make yourself sick," Lucerys observed quietly, noting how his brother's shoulders shook.

"Maybe I deserve to be," Jacaerys replied, but there was no heat in it, just a bone-deep exhaustion. He slumped back into his chair, the moonlight casting harsh shadows across his face.

Lucerys watched his brother for a long moment, then sighed softly. "I'll tell mother you've caught something," he said, moving to perch on the edge of the desk. "A fever or stomach ailment. Something that'll keep you out of court for a few days at least."

Jacaerys looked up sharply. "You don't have to–"

"Please," Lucerys cut him off with a wry smile. "You look wretched enough that no one would question it. And those tedious trade negotiations with the Iron Bank representatives can survive without you staring miserably into space."

"I wouldn't–"

"You would. You are." Lucerys gestured to where Jacaerys's fingers still worried at the ring. "Besides, I doubt anyone wants to hear your thoughts on maritime tariffs when you're like this. You'd probably accidentally start a war just to have something else to be miserable about."

That earned him a ghost of a smile, though it faded quickly. "The maesters will want to examine me," Jacaerys pointed out.

"Let me handle them." Lucerys waved a dismissive hand. "I'll tell them you've got that stomach bug that's been going around the kitchens. No one wants to get too close to that." He paused, studying his brother's drawn face. "Take a few days, Jace. Get some sleep. Stop turning that ring before you wear through it."

Jacaerys's hands stilled, though he didn't let go of the ring. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"Don't thank me yet," Lucerys replied, standing. "I'm still going to make you tell me everything about her eventually. When you're ready." He moved toward the door, then paused.

"And Jace? Try to actually sleep, would you? Brooding in moonlight might suit your current mood, but you look terrible."

"Thanks," Jacaerys said dryly, but there was genuine gratitude in his voice.

Once the door closed behind his brother, Jacaerys turned back to the window. The moon had shifted, casting new patterns across his chambers, but he barely noticed. His mind was still in a torch-lit theater, replaying the gentle pressure of your hands as you straightened his cloak one last time.

***

The days blurred together in Jacaerys's chambers, marked only by the rotating cast of concerned visitors. His mother would sweep in each morning, her silks rustling as she pressed a cool hand to his forehead, murmuring about his pallor. The maesters followed with their endless questions and concoctions, puzzling over symptoms they couldn't quite identify. None of them recognized the way his eyes kept straying to the window, to the city beyond where a certain theater's torches would be lighting for the evening performance.

Lucerys was the only one who didn't try to diagnose him, who simply sat in comfortable silence or brought books from the library that went unread. Sometimes he'd catch his brother staring at that sapphire ring and start talking about mundane castle gossip, a transparent but appreciated attempt at distraction.

Meanwhile, across the city, the theater carried on as it always had. You moved through your performances with practiced grace, delivering your lines perfectly, but something felt hollow now.

Each night, your eyes would drift to that shadowed corner where he used to sit, and each night you'd feel foolish for looking. The seat remained empty – not by design, simply by chance – but it felt like a physical presence, a reminder of everything that couldn't be.

Sometimes, during quiet moments between scenes, you'd catch yourself listening for familiar footsteps that never came. Your hand would brush against a dog-eared script, and you'd remember how he'd help you practice, the way his voice would shift with each character. The memory would make you pause, make your chest tight with an emotion you refused to name.

You told yourself it was selfish to miss him, to hope that somehow he'd appear in those shadows again. After all, hadn't you been the one to send him away? Hadn't you been right to do so? But still, each night, your eyes would search the crowd, and each night, that empty seat seemed to mock you with possibilities that could never be.

In his chambers, Jacaerys would press his forehead against the cool glass of his window, knowing that somewhere out there, you were performing. He wondered if you still bit your lip when concentrating on a difficult scene, if you still gestured with your scripts when explaining something passionate. He wondered if you thought of him at all, or if you'd already begun the process of forgetting the false dock worker who'd turned out to be a prince.

The week crawled by, measured in missed performances and untouched meals, in concerned looks and knowing silences. In the end, you were both right – it was impossible, it could never work, it had to end this way. But knowing that didn't stop either of you from searching – him through his window, you through your crowds – for something you knew you wouldn't find.

Lucerys had always been the softer of the brothers – both in appearance and temperament. Where Jacaerys had inherited their father's sharp features and commanding presence, Lucerys's face held a gentler cast, his smile coming easier, his manner more approachable. He was the one who smoothed ruffled feathers at court, who knew all the servants' names, who could talk his way out of trouble with nothing but charm and well-placed sympathy.

And he was also, notably, the one who meddled.

Which was precisely what he was doing now, standing before his mirror and adjusting a dark cloak that was decidedly less fine than his usual attire. His chambers were quiet save for the soft rustle of fabric as he secured the clasp, mentally reviewing the path through the castle that would draw the least attention. He'd spent enough time covering for Jacaerys's excursions to know exactly which guards were amenable to looking the other way, which corridors were least patrolled at this hour.

The Jacaerys he knew would have at least tried to sneak out by now, would have found some excuse to pass by the theater, even if just to torture himself with a glimpse. But instead, he'd spent the week alternating between staring out his window and turning that sapphire ring over and over in his hands, barely eating, barely sleeping.

No, this wouldn't do at all. And if Jacaerys wouldn't go to the theater, well... Lucerys tugged his hood lower, checking his reflection one last time. Someone would have to go in his stead.

After all, what were younger brothers for, if not to meddle in matters of the heart?

From his hidden vantage point in the shadows – the same corner his brother had haunted for months – Lucerys watched you command the stage. It took him less than a minute to understand why Jacaerys had been so thoroughly captivated. You moved with a natural grace that had nothing to do with practiced choreography, your voice carrying to every corner of the room without losing its intimate quality.

Your eyes would drift to this shadowed corner, just for a moment, before you caught yourself and looked away. It was such a small thing, so quick most wouldn't notice, but Lucerys saw how your smile would falter slightly afterward, how your hands would fidget with your scripts in a gesture that seemed born of recent habit.

He recognized the look in your eyes – he'd seen its mirror in Jacaerys's chambers all week. The same careful mask of composure, the same barely concealed longing, the same hurt trying to disguise itself as acceptance.

You nearly missed your cue when you first spotted the cloaked figure, your heart leaping traitorously before you caught the subtle differences – the softer jaw, the way he held himself without that familiar tension. When he shifted and scratched his cheek, revealing features that echoed Jacaerys' but didn't quite match, you knew exactly who had come to your theater.

As the last remnants of the audience filtered out, their conversations fading into the night, you moved through your familiar closing routine. Scripts needed to be gathered, props returned to their places, torches extinguished one by one. It was methodical work, the kind that usually helped quiet your mind after a performance.

But lately, each task seemed to carry its own weight of memory – the way he would help you sort the pages, how he'd lean against that column while you checked the props, his quiet laugh when you'd dramatically recite lines while cleaning.

You were reaching for a fallen script when you felt it – that familiar presence in the shadows. The quality of the silence was wrong, the weight of the presence slightly off. Still, you kept your back turned, your fingers gripping the script too tightly as you spoke.

"You know, for someone raised in a castle, you Targaryens have a terrible habit of lurking in shadows."

There was a soft exhale behind you – not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh – and you knew immediately it wasn't Jacaerys. This breath carried a different cadence, a lighter note.

"Ah," came a voice that was similar to his but softer around the edges, "I suppose some habits run in the family."

You turned then, slowly, to find a figure standing where Jacaerys used to wait. The hood was the same, the stance similar, but everything else was just slightly different – like looking at a familiar painting that had been done by a different hand.

"Prince Lucerys," you said softly, without hesitation.

You'd heard of him at public events, of course – the gentler brother, the one who could charm a crowd with a smile. He looked the same as Jacaerys, only with softened features which made it obvious he was younger.

Your hands fidgeted with the script, an unconscious echo of nervousness. "I assume you're not here to audition."

He pushed back his hood, his smile was apologetic, but his eyes were sharp with assessment.

"No," he agreed, staying where he was as if afraid of spooking you. "Though I must say, I understand now why my brother spent so many nights here. You're quite captivating on stage."

You turned away, busying yourself with straightening already-neat piles of parchment. "If you're here about Jacaerys–"

"He doesn't know I'm here," Lucerys interrupted gently. "In fact, he'd probably be furious if he knew. He's spent the week in his chambers, supposedly ill with some mysterious ailment that has the maesters quite confused."

Your hands stilled on the papers. "I'm sorry to hear he's unwell," you said carefully, your voice steady despite the way your heart clenched. "But I'm not sure what that has to do with me."

"Isn't it obvious?" Lucerys's voice was kind, almost too kind. "He's not sick. He's heartbroken."

You closed your eyes briefly, willing your voice to remain neutral. "That's hardly my concern anymore, Your Grace."

"Please," he said, "if you're going to break my brother's heart, you might as well call me Lucerys."

When you faced him again, Lucerys's expression held none of the accusation you'd feared. Instead, there was something almost sad in his smile, like he was watching a tragedy unfold on stage.

"I didn't–" you started, then stopped, unsure how to finish that sentence. Didn't mean to? Didn't want to? Both felt like lies, and you'd had enough of those lately.

"I know," Lucerys said softly. "Neither did he." He moved closer, but carefully, like approaching a nervous animal. "He's been staring out his window for days, you know. Always in the direction of the theater. Turning that ring over and over until I thought he'd wear a groove in it."

Your throat tightened at the image. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I've never seen my brother like this before." Lucerys's voice was quiet but intent. "He's always been the perfect prince – duty first, propriety above all. Until you." He tilted his head, studying you. "Do you know what he said to me? That you taught him how to laugh. How to be human."

You turned away sharply, but not before he caught the flash of pain across your face. "It doesn't matter what he said. What either of us said. Some things are impossible."

"Impossible?" Lucerys repeated thoughtfully. "Or just difficult?"

"Both," you said firmly, though your voice wavered slightly. "He's a prince, I'm a–"

"A remarkably talented performer who made my brother happier than I've ever seen him," Lucerys interrupted. "Who, if I'm not mistaken, misses him just as much as he misses you."

"That's not fair," you whispered.

"No," he agreed softly. "None of this is fair. But I'm not here to talk about what's fair. I'm here because my brother hasn't eaten properly in days, because he looks at that ring like it's both salvation and torture, because he keeps whispering your lines to himself when he thinks no one can hear."

A bitter laugh escaped you, though it sounded more like a sob. "The night he lost the ring..." You shook your head, turning back to face Lucerys. "He was already pulling away. Even before I found it, he was... distant. Guilty. Like he'd finally remembered who he was, who I..." You swallowed hard. "It was so easy to believe he'd just wanted some fun with a common girl. A story to tell his noble friends about the theater performer he'd charmed."

Lucerys's face softened with understanding. "That's what you thought? That he was just..."

"What else was I supposed to think?" Your voice cracked slightly. "He was withdrawing, making excuses, before he even knew I had the found his ring." Your fingers twisted in your skirts.

"He was scared," Lucerys said quietly. "Not of you finding out, exactly, but of losing you once you did. He'd convinced himself that the moment you knew who he really was, everything would change."

A sad smile crossed his face. "I suppose he was right about that, at least."

"Everything did change," you whispered. "Because everything had been a lie."

"Was it?" Lucerys asked, his voice gentle but challenging.

You pressed your lips together, fighting back the sting in your eyes. "It doesn't matter if they were. A prince can't... we can't..."

"Can't what?" Lucerys pressed. "Can't care for each other? Can't find moments of happiness in each other's company?" He paused, watching you carefully. "Can't love each other?"

The word hung in the air between you, making your chest ache. "Please," you said softly, "don't make this harder than it already is."

Lucerys sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture so similar to his brother's that it made your heart clench. He was quiet for a moment, his eyes distant as if working through a puzzle. Then he looked at you with renewed focus.

“What if..." he started, then paused, choosing his words carefully. "What if the castle requested a reading of one of your monologues?"

You stilled, looking at him warily. "What?"

"It wouldn't be unusual," he continued, his voice taking on that careful diplomatic tone you imagined he used in court. "The castle often hosts performers. And that piece you did tonight – the one about the warrior queen – it has historical significance. Educational value." His lips quirked. "The sort of thing that would be entirely appropriate for a royal audience."

"Are you..." You shook your head in disbelief. "Are you trying to orchestrate an official reason for me to..."

"To be in the castle? Where my brother wouldn't have to sneak around in hoods and lies?" Lucerys shrugged, but his eyes were sharp. "It would be completely proper. Above board. Just a performer doing what performers do – sharing stories with those who wish to hear them."

"My prince–"

"Lucerys," he corrected gently.

“Lucerys," you amended, "you can't possibly think that would solve anything. One performance wouldn't change who he is, or who I am, or–"

"No," he agreed. "But it might be a start. A chance to see each other in the light, without pretense." He tilted his head. "Unless you truly don't want to see him again?"

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with possibility.

***

Lucerys burst into Jacaerys's chambers with more force than necessary, finding his brother surrounded by the usual crowd of concerned maesters. The room smelled of various herbal concoctions, and Jacaerys looked thoroughly miserable as they debated his mysterious symptoms.

"Out," Lucerys commanded, channeling their mother's authoritative tone. "All of you. I need to speak with my brother."

The maesters hesitated, exchanging glances. "My prince, we haven't finished–"

"You've been 'not finished' for a week," Lucerys cut in. "And remarkably, my brother is still alive. Now out." He softened it with a diplomatic smile. "Please. Court matters."

Once the door closed behind the last grumbling maester, Lucerys turned to his brother. Jacaerys was still in bed, looking pale and disheveled, the sapphire ring glinting on his finger.

"Get up," Lucerys said, moving to Jacaerys's wardrobe and pulling out clothes.

"What?"

"Up. Now." Lucerys threw a fresh tunic at his brother's head. "You need to be dressed and presentable in the next quarter hour."

Jacaerys caught the tunic reflexively but didn't move to put it on. "Why?"

"Because," Lucerys said, now rummaging for appropriate boots, "there's going to be a performance in the great hall, and you need to look like a prince instead of a lovesick ghost."

"I'm not attending any performances," Jacaerys said flatly, though something flickered in his eyes at the word.

"Yes, you are." Lucerys threw a pair of boots beside the bed with more force than necessary. "It's a historical piece. Very educational. Mother specifically requested your presence."

"Luke–"

"And," Lucerys continued, now advancing on his brother with determined purpose, "if you don't get out of that bed right now, I will tell mother exactly why you've been 'sick' all week. I'm sure she'd love to hear about your nightly visits to the theater district."

Jacaerys stared at him, a mix of betrayal and confusion crossing his features. "You wouldn't."

"Try me." Lucerys grabbed his brother's arm, physically pulling him up. "Now get dressed. And for gods' sake, do something with your hair. You look like you've been wrestling with ravens."

"Luke, what are you–"

"Twelve minutes," Lucerys interrupted, already heading for the door. "If you're not ready by then, I'm sending the maesters back in. All of them. With their most experimental remedies."

The door closed behind him with a decisive click, leaving Jacaerys standing bewildered in the middle of his chambers, clutching a fresh tunic and wondering what exactly his brother had planned.

Jacaerys stood at the back of the great hall, tugging uncomfortably at his formal attire. The past hour had been a blur of Lucerys's insistent shepherding, servants fussing with his appearance, and his own mounting irritation. Now he lingered in the shadows – a habit he couldn't seem to break – watching as various nobles filtered in.

"Stop fidgeting," Lucerys murmured beside him. "You look like you're attending an execution rather than a performance."

"Maybe I am," Jacaerys muttered back, his fingers absently finding the ring on his hand. "My execution, if Mother realizes I'm not actually sick."

"You'll thank me later."

"Doubtful." Jacaerys leaned against a column, falling into the familiar melancholy that had haunted him all week. Even the grand hall's usual splendor seemed dulled, the afternoon light filtering through the high windows doing nothing to lift his spirits. His mind kept drifting to another performance space, torch-lit and intimate, where—

The great doors opened, and two members of the Kingsguard entered. Jacaerys barely glanced up, used to the ceremonial display of court life. But then he caught a glimpse of who they were escorting, and his whole world tilted on its axis.

You stood between the guards, clutching a script in hands that trembled slightly. You wore your best performance dress, your hair arranged more formally than he'd ever seen it, but you were unmistakably, achingly you. The afternoon sun caught you differently than torchlight had, making you look both familiar and strange, like a dream he'd had too many times to count.

His breath caught audibly, making Lucerys smirk beside him.

"Luke," he whispered, his voice rough with panic and something else entirely, "what did you do?"

But Lucerys just smiled, watching as you were formally announced to the court. Your eyes hadn't found Jacaerys yet, fixed carefully on some middle distance as you followed the guards' lead. But your fingers worried at the corner of your script in that familiar way that made Jacaerys's chest ache.

"Breathe, brother," Lucerys murmured, noting how Jacaerys's hands had gone white-knuckled on his chair's armrests. "She's here to perform the warrior queen's monologue. Very educational. Historical significance and all that."

"I'm going to kill you," Jacaerys breathed, but he couldn't take his eyes off you. You looked so out of place and yet so perfectly right, like a character from one of your plays stepped into reality.

And then you looked up, your eyes finally meeting his across the great hall. The script trembled visibly in your hands for just a moment before you steadied yourself. Something passed between you in that look – recognition, longing, fear, hope – all wrapped in the formal distance required by your surroundings.

Jacaerys forgot to breathe entirely.

"Kill me later," Lucerys said softly, satisfaction clear in his voice.

"For now, just watch. And breathe, for gods' sake, before you actually do need those maesters."

But Jacaerys barely heard him. He was too caught up in the way you held yourself – proud despite your obvious nervousness, every inch the performer even in these overwhelming surroundings. You looked different in the daylight, more vulnerable somehow, but also stronger. The sun caught the subtle tremor in your hands as you opened your script, a gesture he'd seen a hundred times in candlelight.

A hush fell over the hall as you began to speak. Your voice carried differently here than in the theater, the acoustics grander, but the emotion in your words was just as intimate. It was the warrior queen's monologue – the one you'd practiced with him late one night, when he'd read the opposing lines and you'd laughed at his terrible attempts at different voices.

He knew every word, every pause, every subtle shift in your expression. But watching you now, in the harsh light of reality rather than the forgiving shadows of the theater, felt like seeing you for the first time all over again. You weren't just performing for the court – you were commanding the space, making the grand hall feel as intimate as your small stage had been.

His fingers found the ring again, tracing its familiar edges. You reached a particular line – one where you always bit your lip slightly before delivering it – and his breath caught again as you did exactly that, the gesture so achingly familiar it hurt.

"Stop looking at her like that," Lucerys whispered. "People will notice."

"How else am I supposed to look at her?" Jacaerys breathed back, not taking his eyes off you.

"Like a prince watching a performance," Lucerys replied. "Not like a man watching his heart perform in front of the entire court."

But it was too late for that kind of pretense. Because you'd reached the climax of the monologue – the part where your voice always carried a particular kind of raw honesty – and your eyes found his again, just for a moment. In that look was everything: the nights in the theater, the weight of secrets, the gentle press of your fingers returning his ring, the impossible distance between who you both were and who you'd pretended to be.

And Jacaerys knew, with sudden, crushing clarity, that he would never be able to look at you any other way.

Queen Rhaenyra leaned forward slightly in her seat, her eyes bright with genuine interest as your performance drew to a close. The great hall remained silent for a heartbeat after your final words, before breaking into appropriate, measured applause.

"Remarkable," she murmured, her voice carrying that particular tone that made both her sons tense slightly. "To memorize such a lengthy piece..." She turned to Jacaerys, and there was something knowing in her smile that made his stomach drop. "Wouldn't you agree, sweetling?"

Jacaerys forced himself to meet his mother's gaze, though he could feel Lucerys shifting nervously beside him. "Yes," he managed, his voice steadier than he felt.

"The theater district has always produced exceptional talent," Lucerys offered smoothly, but Rhaenyra's attention remained on her eldest son.

"Indeed," she said softly. A small smile played at the corners of her mouth as she watched Jacaerys's fingers unconsciously find his ring again.

He forced himself to meet her gaze, finding not the judgment he feared but something softer, more knowing.

"Mhmm," Rhaenyra hummed, her eyes drifting back to where you stood.

"The court always needs cultural enrichment," she said, rising gracefully. "And that was indeed an... educational performance." Her eyes met his, sharp with understanding. "Perhaps we should arrange more of them."

Your voice carried through the final lines, steady despite the way Jacaerys could see your hands trembling slightly around your script. The court burst into appreciative applause – of course they did, how could they not when you'd made the grand hall feel as intimate as a torch-lit theater? – but he barely heard it over the rushing in his ears.

You dipped into a perfect curtsy, every inch the professional performer. But as you straightened, your eyes found his again, and for a moment the carefully constructed walls of propriety cracked. There was something raw in your expression, something that made his chest ache with recognition.

"Breathe," Lucerys murmured again, nudging him slightly. "The entire court doesn't need to see you looking like you've been struck by lightning."

But how could he breathe when you were there, so close yet impossibly far, being led away by the Kingsguard as formally as you'd entered? Your back was straight, your steps measured, but he knew you well enough to see the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers still worried at the corner of your script.

"I need to–" he started, already half-rising from his seat.

Lucerys caught his arm. "Not yet," he said quietly. "Wait until the court disperses. Unless you want to cause a scene that would make both your positions more difficult?"

Jacaerys sank back down, his fingers finding the ring again. A nervous tick of his.

"Turns out," Lucerys said softly, watching as you disappeared through the great doors, "You’re not the only one who's been miserable this past week." He paused, then added, "She looks at that empty seat in the theater the same way you look out your window, you know."

Jacaerys closed his eyes briefly, the words hitting him like a physical blow.

Lucerys's words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, but they ignited something sharp in Jacaerys. His eyes snapped open, narrowing as he turned to his younger brother, who was still watching the now-closed doors with a smug, self-satisfied expression.

"You went to the theater?" Jacaerys hissed, his voice low and furious.

Lucerys barely spared him a glance, his nonchalant demeanor only fueling Jacaerys's anger. "Someone had to check on her," Lucerys replied, crossing his arms. "You certainly weren't going to."

"You had no right," Jacaerys snapped, keeping his voice low enough to avoid drawing attention but failing to mask the edge of his temper. "You don't get to meddle in this. Do you have any idea–"

"Do you?" Lucerys cut him off, his tone sharper now as he turned to face his brother fully. “I brought her here, didn’t I?”

Jacaerys stiffened, his jaw tightening. "That’s not the point, Luke. You went behind my back–"

"Because you weren’t doing anything!" Lucerys shot back, his voice rising slightly before he checked himself, glancing around the room.

"Luke..."

"She'll be escorted to the eastern solar," Lucerys continued casually, as if he hadn't just shaken his brother's entire world. "To rest after her performance. It's only proper to offer refreshments to our honored performers, after all." He stood, stretching deliberately. "The guard rotation changes in about ten minutes. Just in case you were wondering, though I bet you knew that already."

With that, he left Jacaerys alone with his thoughts, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the great hall as the court slowly emptied around him.

Jacaerys found himself standing outside the eastern solar far too soon and not soon enough. His heart hammered against his ribs as he noted the momentarily empty corridor – Lucerys's timing, no doubt. The same patterns of afternoon light that had caught in your hair during the performance now spilled across the floor at his feet, making patterns that reminded him of torch shadows.

He raised his hand to knock, then hesitated. What could he possibly say? 'I'm sorry' felt inadequate. 'I miss you' felt too raw. 'You were magnificent' felt too formal. All of them felt like poor substitutes for the tangle of emotions in his chest.

Before he could decide, the door opened, and suddenly you were there. You must have heard his footsteps, must have been waiting. You wore the same dress from the performance, but your hair had started to escape its formal arrangement, soft wisps falling around your face in a way that made his fingers itch to brush them back.

For a long moment, you just stared at each other. The silence stretched between you, heavy with everything unsaid.

"My prince," you finally murmured, dropping into a curtsy that felt like a blade between his ribs.

"Don't," he whispered, the word rough in his throat. "Please, not you. Not after..." He gestured helplessly, unable to find words for what he meant. Not after you'd known him as just Jace, not after you'd laughed with him in shadows, not after you'd taught him how to be human instead of just a prince.

You straightened from your curtsy but didn't meet his eyes, your fingers worrying at your script in that achingly familiar way. "I don't know what else to call you anymore."

"My name," he said softly. "Just... just my name. Like before."

Your eyes finally met his, and the raw honesty there made his breath catch.

“How are you?" he asked softly, the question feeling simultaneously inadequate and overwhelming. He wanted to ask so much more – how had your week been, did you still bite your lip when practicing new lines, did you miss him as desperately as he missed you?

You let out a small, bitter laugh. "I'm..." Your fingers traced the edge of your script. "I've been better. The theater feels... different now."

"Different how?" His voice was barely above a whisper, afraid to break whatever fragile moment this was.

"Emptier," you admitted, then seemed to regret the honesty. "Though that's foolish, isn't it? It's not as if we ever sold out performances. One empty seat shouldn't matter."

"But it does," he said quietly, understanding exactly what you meant. His fingers found the ring again, a habit he couldn't seem to break. You noticed the movement, your eyes following it before quickly looking away.

Your eyes lingered on where his fingers traced the ring before you forced them away. "I suppose it does," you said softly. "Though it shouldn't. Just like I shouldn't keep expecting to turn around and find you in the shadows."

"I wanted to come back," he admitted, his voice rough. "Every night this week, I've stood at my window, thinking about how easy it would be to just..."

"Put on a hood and pretend?" There was no bite to your words, just a quiet sadness. "We can't go back to that, Jacaerys. You know we can't”

The sound of his name on your lips made his chest ache. "I know. But I miss..." He paused, struggling to find the right words. "I miss how you'd gesture with your scripts when you were excited about a scene. How you'd laugh when I tried different voices for the characters. How you–“

"Please don't," you whispered, but he continued anyway, the words spilling out like he couldn't stop them.

"How you'd bite your lip right before a difficult line – like you did today, with the warrior queen's speech. How you'd let me help you practice, even though I was terrible at it. How you made me forget about titles and duties and just feel..."

"Real?" you offered quietly, and he nodded, the simple word capturing everything he'd been trying to say.

"You were the most real thing in my life," he said, taking a step closer. "Are. The most real thing."

You didn't step back, but your fingers tightened on your script. "And what good does that do us? Being real doesn't change who you are, or who I am, or what's possible between us."

"Doesn't it?" He was close enough now to see the subtle tremor in your hands, to catch the faint scent of stage powder that always clung to your clothes. "You're here now, in the castle. Properly, formally. No hiding, no lies."

"For one performance," you reminded him gently. "One afternoon of pretending we're not what we are – a prince and a common performer who forgot their places for a while."

"Is that all it was to you?" he asked, his voice barely audible. "Just forgetting our places?"

Your eyes met his, and the honesty there made his heart stutter. "You know it wasn't," you whispered. "But sometimes knowing that makes it worse."

He wanted to reach for you, to brush back those escaped strands of hair, to remember how it felt to be close without the weight of titles between you. But he kept his hands at his sides, one thumb still absently tracing the ring.

"I dream about you," he admitted softly. "About the theater, about your laugh, about... about everything we could have been if I'd just been honest from the start."

"And what would that have changed?" you asked, but your voice wavered slightly. "Would it have made me more suitable? Made the court more accepting? Made any of this possible?"

"Maybe not," he conceded. "But at least it would have been real from the beginning. At least we could have faced it together, instead of..."

"Instead of me finding out from a ring?" The words were quiet but they hit home, making him flinch.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Gods, I'm so sorry. I never meant..."

"I know you didn't," you said softly. "That's what makes it harder. Nothing about this was meant to hurt anyone, and yet..."

You took a shaky breath, taking a small step back. The afternoon light caught the unshed tears in your eyes, making them shine. "And yet here we are," you said softly, "still hurting each other by wanting impossible things."

"They don't have to be impossible," he said, but even he could hear the desperation in his voice. "We could..."

"Could what?" Your smile was gentle but heartbreaking. "Could meet in shadows forever? Could pretend that duty and birth and responsibility don't exist?" You shook your head. "You're a prince, Jacaerys. A good one. The kind who puts his people first, who understands duty, who..." Your voice caught. "Who shouldn't be asked to choose between his birthright and a common girl who performs in torchlight."

"Don't," he whispered, "don't talk about yourself like that."

"Like what? Like the truth?" You gestured to your performance dress, to the grand solar around you. "Look at where we are. Look at how many plans and schemes it took just for me to be here properly, just for one afternoon." Your fingers brushed his sleeve, so lightly he might have imagined it. "You belong in sunlight, my prince. Not hiding in theater shadows."

"I belong with you," he said roughly, but you were already shaking your head.

"No," you said softly. "You belong to your people, to your duty, to your name. And I..." You smiled, though it trembled at the edges. "I belong to my stories, to my stage, to the world we create in torchlight."

He reached for you then, unable to stop himself, but you stepped back. "Please," he whispered, though he wasn't sure what he was begging for.

He caught your wrist just as you were turning away, his touch feather-light. The guards would be returning any moment, but he couldn't let you leave, not yet, not like this.

"Would it be terribly improper," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, "for a theater performer to give the prince a goodbye kiss?"

You stilled, your back still to him, and for a moment he thought you would refuse. But then you turned, slowly, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of longing and resignation that made his chest ache.

“Terribly," you murmured, but you were already reaching for him, your fingers ghosting along his jaw. "Absolutely forbidden."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. "I won't tell if you won't."

Your laugh was soft and broken, but then your lips were on his, gentle and desperate all at once. It was different from your kiss in the town’s shadows – more bitter, more final. He could taste the salt of tears, though he wasn't sure if they were yours or his.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer for just a moment, memorizing the feeling of you against him one last time. Your fingers curled into his formal clothes, and he felt the script press between you, a reminder of everything that separated you.

The kiss ended too soon, both of you aware of the approaching sound of armored footsteps. You pulled back just enough to rest your forehead against his, your breath shaky.

And then you were gone, slipping back into the solar and closing the door between you just as the guards rounded the corner.

Jacaerys touched his fingers to his lips, where he could still taste the bittersweet mix of your kiss and your tears. The guards nodded respectfully as they passed, never knowing that they'd just missed watching a prince's heart break in the afternoon sun.

He turned from the solar, still touching his lips, only to nearly collide with his mother. Her silver hair caught the afternoon light, her expression curious as she steadied him.

"Careful, my love," she said, then peered past him toward the solar door. "Has our performer already left? I wanted to congratulate her personally. That warrior queen monologue was quite moving."

Jacaerys struggled to compose his features, though he knew his mother's sharp eyes missed little. "I believe she's still..." his voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "She's still inside, yes."

His mother's gaze sharpened, taking in his flushed face, the slight redness around his eyes, the way his fingers kept straying to his lips. "Feeling better, I see," she said carefully.

"Much better," he managed, though the words felt like ash in his mouth. "The maesters were very... thorough."

His mother studied him for a long moment, her eyes lingering on where his thumb was absently tracing his ring. Something flickered across her face – understanding, perhaps, or memory – but she simply smiled and patted his cheek.

"I'm glad," she said softly. "Though perhaps you should rest a bit more. You still look... unwell." There was a gentleness in her voice that made his throat tight, a careful kindness in how she didn't mention the obvious tears in his eyes or the tremor in his hands.

"Thank you, Mother," he whispered, grateful for her pretense, for allowing him this small dignity in his heartbreak.

She squeezed his arm once, then moved past him toward the solar door.

Then she was gone, slipping into the solar to congratulate the performer who had so moved the court, leaving Jacaerys alone in the corridor with the ghost of your kiss on his lips and his mother's words echoing in his ears.

He touched his mouth one last time, then forced his hand down to his side. The afternoon sun continued to spill through the windows, indifferent to how it had witnessed both a kiss and a farewell, both a beginning and an end.

Somewhere behind that closed door, you were probably curtsying to his mother, probably hiding your own tears behind proper words and formal gestures. And he would never know, because some moments couldn't last, no matter how desperately you wished they could.

***

The light was fading from Jacaerys's chambers, but he hadn't bothered to light any candles. He sat in his window seat, absently watching his younger brothers play on the floor with their wooden dragons. Aegon was making elaborate swooping noises while Viserys carefully arranged his army of carved soldiers.

The door opened quietly, and their mother's familiar silhouette appeared. Queen Rhaenyra smiled at the sight of her youngest sons sprawled across the floor, their games having thoroughly disrupted the usual order of the chamber.

"Mother!" Viserys called out, abandoning his soldiers to run to her. She caught him easily, pressing a kiss to his dark curls.

"My little dragons," she said warmly, then looked up at where Jacaerys sat, still staring out the window. The same window, she noted, that faced the direction of the theater district. "Jace?"

He turned slightly at his name, though his fingers continued to trace the sapphire ring. "Yes, Mother?"

Rhaenyra studied him for a moment, taking in the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. "Walk with me?" she asked softly.

Aegon looked up from his dragons, his young face scrunching in concern. "But Jace was going to tell us about the warrior queen! He promised!"

"Later, little one," Rhaenyra said, giving Jacaerys a meaningful look. "Your brother and I need to discuss some matters of court."

Jacaerys stood slowly, like every movement cost him effort. As he passed his brothers, he ruffled Aegon's hair, managing a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll tell you the story tonight," he promised. "All about the queen who had to choose between her heart and her crown."

Rhaenyra's expression softened at his words, and she held out her arm for him to take. Together, they left the chamber, leaving the younger princes to their games and wooden dragons, unaware of the real dragons that sometimes had to sacrifice their hearts for duty.

Jacaerys walked beside his mother through the sun-dappled corridors, his heart still heavy in his chest. She kept a leisurely pace, her silver hair catching the light as she spoke.

"You know," she said casually, as if discussing the weather, "mothers have a particular talent for knowing when their sons are lying." She cast him a sideways glance. "Even when those sons think themselves quite clever about it."

Jacaerys's steps faltered slightly. "Mother–"

"Your brother, for instance," she continued, her lips quirking in amusement, "is not nearly as accomplished at deception as he believes. He told me so many times that you were ill, I half expected to find you on your deathbed." She paused, her voice softening. "Instead, I found you sneaking out to the theater district nearly every night."

He stopped walking entirely, his face draining of color. "You knew?"

"My love," she said gently, turning to face him, "Did you think the town guards wouldn't recognize you, even in the dark?" Her eyes were kind as she studied his stricken expression. "Though I must admit, I didn't realize quite why you were so drawn to that particular theater until today."

Jacaerys closed his eyes briefly, his fingers fidgeting again. "I never meant to…”

"Lie?" His mother's voice held no accusation, only a soft understanding that somehow made it worse. "No, I don't suppose you did. Sometimes the heart leads us to do foolish things, even with the best intentions."

She reached up, smoothing an errant strand of hair from his face in a motherly gesture that made his throat tight. "Though next time," she added with a hint of wry humor, "perhaps don't make your brother work quite so hard to cover for you. The poor boy nearly tied himself in knots trying to explain your mysterious ailment to the maesters."

Jacaerys felt a flush of shame creep up his neck. "I'll apologize to Luke," he murmured. "I shouldn't have involved him."

"No," Rhaenyra agreed, though her eyes held a glimmer of amusement. "Though I suspect he rather enjoyed the intrigue of it all." She began walking again, drawing him alongside her. "Tell me about her."

The words caught in his throat. He'd spent so many nights watching her on stage, memorizing every gesture, every lilting note of her voice, and yet now he found himself struggling to capture her essence in words.

"She's..." Jacaerys started, then faltered, unsure how to describe the way you made torchlight feel like sunlight, how you could make a cramped theater feel like the grandest hall in the realm. "She's remarkable," he finished softly.

"Yes," Rhaenyra agreed, a small smile playing at her lips. "I rather thought so myself when I spoke with her." She glanced at her son, noting how he tensed at her words. "She was quite composed, you know. Though her cheeks were rather flushed, and her eyes..." She paused delicately. "Well, they matched yours in their redness."

Jacaerys's fingers tightened around his ring. "Did she seem..."

"Heartbroken?" Rhaenyra supplied gently. "Yes. Though she tried admirably to hide it behind proper courtesies and formal words." She squeezed his arm. "She has a strength about her, your performer. Even in grief, she carried herself with dignity."

"She's not mine," Jacaerys whispered, the words raw in his throat.

"No," his mother agreed softly. "Though I suspect she wishes she could be, as much as you wish you could be hers."

She stopped walking, turning to face him fully. "You know, when I went to congratulate her, she was standing by the window, touching her lips." Her eyes held a knowing sadness. "Much like you were when I found you in the corridor.”

Jacaerys felt heat rise to his face, but his mother only smiled.

"She spoke beautifully of the theater," Rhaenyra continued. "Of the magic of stories, of how a simple stage can become a battlefield or a lover's garden or a storm-tossed ship." Her voice softened. "She reminded me rather a lot of myself at that age – so certain that duty and heart could never align, so resigned to choosing between them."

"Did they?" Jacaerys asked quietly. "Align?"

Rhaenyra's smile held centuries of understanding. "Sometimes," she said. "When we're very lucky, or very brave, or both." She reached up to cup his cheek. "The realm needs its stories, my love. Its theaters, its performers, its moments of magic in torchlight." She paused meaningfully. "Perhaps even its princes who understand the value of such things."

Jacaerys stared at his mother, hardly daring to hope he understood her meaning. "Mother?"

"The court does need cultural enrichment," she said carefully. "And it would be a shame to let such talent remain hidden in the lower town, wouldn't it?" Her eyes sparkled with something that looked suspiciously like mischief. "Though perhaps next time, we might arrange it without quite so many elaborate deceptions and mysterious illnesses."

For the first time in days, Jacaerys felt something like hope flutter in his chest. "You mean..."

"I mean that there are many ways to serve the realm," Rhaenyra said softly. "And many ways to honor both duty and heart, if one is clever enough to find them." She squeezed his arm. "Though perhaps we might start with properly introducing your performer to the court, rather than having her sneak in through side doors?"

Jacaerys let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob. "I don't deserve your understanding."

"No," his mother agreed, her eyes twinkling. "But you have it anyway. That's rather the point of being a mother." She began walking again, drawing him alongside her. "Now, tell me more about these performances of hers. I found her warrior queen quite compelling – though I suspect you found all of them equally so?"

As they walked through the fading sunlight, Jacaerys began to tell his mother about torchlit evenings and practiced lines, about the magic of stories and the girl who brought them to life. And if his voice caught sometimes, or if his fingers still worried at his ring, Rhaenyra pretended not to notice, content to let her son's heart begin its slow journey from breaking to healing to, perhaps, hope.

***

The whispers started the moment his horse's hooves touched the cobblestones of the theater district. Faces appeared in windows, merchants paused mid-transaction, and children stopped their games to stare openly at the prince riding through their streets in broad daylight.

No hood this time. No shadows to hide in. The sun caught the sapphire of his ring as he dismounted, the same deep blue as the formal clothes that marked him unmistakably as Prince Jacaerys Velaryon.

The theater looked different in daylight. Smaller, perhaps, though no less beloved. The morning light caught the faded paint of its facade, highlighting worn spots he'd never noticed in the torchlight. The poster from your last performance still clung to the wall, the edges curling slightly in the breeze.

He could hear your voice before he even reached the door – not performing, but running lines to yourself the way you always did during morning rehearsals. The sound made his heart stutter in his chest.

The door was unlocked, as it always was during rehearsal hours. He paused with his hand on the handle, remembering all the times he'd slipped in through the back entrance, hood drawn close. But that wasn't who he was today. Today, he was exactly who he was meant to be.

The hinges creaked – they always had, though the sound seemed louder now – and your voice cut off mid-line.

You stood center stage, script in hand, frozen in the shaft of sunlight that streamed through the high windows. Your practice dress was simpler than your performance attire, your hair loose around your shoulders the way he'd rarely got to see it. The surprise on your face would have been comical if it weren't for the way your hands started trembling.

"My prince," you breathed, already dropping into a curtsy. "I... we weren't expecting..."

He took a step forward, then another, letting the door fall closed behind him. The familiar smell of dust and wood and old velvet wrapped around him like a forgotten embrace.

"I missed morning rehearsals," he said simply.

Your laugh was shaky, uncertain. "You never attended morning rehearsals."

"No," he agreed, moving closer still. The floorboards creaked under his formal boots – so different from the soft shoes he'd worn in his disguise. "But I always wanted to."

You watched him approach, your eyes darting between his face and his clothes, lingering on the way sunlight caught his ring. "The whole district will be talking," you said softly.

"You're causing quite a scene," you murmured, nodding to where the whispers had started up again outside. "The prince, in a common theater..."

"Good," he said simply. "Let them whisper. Let them see." His voice softened. "Let them understand that their prince values more than just swords and politics – that he values stories, and art, and..." He reached up, his fingers ghosting along your cheek. "And the people who bring them to life."

Your breath caught at his touch. "Jace..." The name slipped out before you could stop it, and you immediately pressed your lips together, as if trying to take it back.

"Say it again," he whispered, his voice rough. "Please. Say my name."

You hesitated, your gaze searching his as though you might find some answer hidden in the stormy depths of his eyes. His touch was warm, grounding, and yet it set every nerve alight, a paradox you couldn’t quite reconcile.

“Jace,” you breathed, softer this time, as if the name itself was fragile, something precious you were afraid to break.

His eyes closed briefly, the sound of it a balm to wounds you didn’t even know he carried. When he opened them again, the intensity in his gaze pinned you in place.

“I’ve spent too long as a title, a duty, a shadow. But when you say my name…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I feel like myself again.”

"I love you," he said simply, his hand still extended. "In shadows and in sunlight, in torchlight and in truth. And I'm done pretending otherwise."

Your hand trembled as you reached for his, your fingers hovering just above his palm. "Your mother..."

"Knows," he said softly. "Has known, apparently, for quite some time." His lips quirked in a small smile. "She thinks the court could use more cultural enrichment."

You stared at him, comprehension dawning slowly. "That's..."

"A way forward," he finished gently. "If you want it. No more shadows, no more hiding. Just... this. You, and me, and your stories. In sunlight."

Your eyes were bright with unshed tears, but your smile – your smile was like watching the sun rise. "You impossible man," you breathed, shaking your head as a laugh escaped, soft and disbelieving. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking of me?”

“I’m asking for everything,” Jace said, his voice steady, though his hand still hovered just short of yours, waiting. “And I’m offering the same.”

Your fingers trembled as they reached for his, but you didn't pull away. "The court won't like it," you whispered, even as your hands intertwined. "A common performer, elevated so high..."

“The court will do as the Queen says,” he said, a grin appearing to cover half of his face.

You laughed softly, though it caught on something that might have been a sob.

"This is the most real thing I've ever done." He glanced around the theater, at the dust motes dancing in the morning light, at the worn stage beneath your feet. "This is me, standing in sunlight, telling you that I love you. That I've loved you since you first made me believe in the magic of stories. That I want to build something with you – something that serves both the realm and our hearts."

Your breath hitched. "You've never said that before," you whispered. "That you love me."

"I was a coward," he admitted, bringing your joined hands to his lips. "Hiding behind a hood, pretending I could keep my heart separate from my duty." His eyes met yours, clear and certain. "I'm not hiding anymore."

The sound of whispers outside grew louder – more people gathering, no doubt, to witness their prince standing in a common theater, holding hands with a performer in the morning light. But for once, you didn't pull away, didn't try to maintain proper distance.

His smile faltered slightly. "I'm sorry," he started, but you shook your head.

"Don't be," you said, squeezing his hand. "We needed that time – those moments in torchlight, when we were just ourselves. It let us..." You paused, searching for words. "It let us build something real, before we had to figure out how to make it fit in the world."

"What happens now?" you asked softly, your free hand coming up to trace the formal embroidery on his sleeve – so different from the plain clothes he'd worn in shadows.

"Now," he said, smiling slightly, "you finish running your lines. And I..." He glanced at the script still clutched in your hand. "I help, badly, the way I always did. Though perhaps this time I won't have to whisper."

You laughed then, real and bright, the sound echoing off the theater's walls. "You were a terrible scene partner."

"I was," he agreed, grinning. "But I made up for it with enthusiasm."

"You did," you said softly, your eyes dropping to his lips for just a moment. "Though I seem to remember you being better at other kinds of performance."

His breath caught as you stepped closer, your fingers trailing up from his embroidered sleeve to the collar of his formal coat. "Oh?" he managed, his voice rougher than before.

"Mhmm," you hummed, rising up on your toes. "Would you like a demonstration?"

The sunlight caught the gold in his eyes as they darkened, his hands tightening on your waist. "I believe," he murmured, "that would be most educational."

You tilted your head, your hand brushing up to cradle his jaw, the stubble beneath your fingertips grounding you. His lips hovered close – so close you could feel the tremor of his exhale against your skin. And then, finally, he leaned in.

The kiss was soft at first, as if he feared breaking you. His lips brushed against yours in a way that sent a shiver through your body, light and careful, but quickly deepened into something fuller, something aching. His mouth opened slightly, inviting you in, and when your tongue slipped past the curve of his lower lip, he groaned low in his throat – a sound that sent a thrill rippling down your spine.

It was wet, eager, yet tender, a dance of give and take, of exploration and familiarity. His hand splayed wide against your back, pressing you closer, as though proximity alone could erase the years spent apart, the careful boundaries you'd both maintained.

Between breaths, his lips barely parted from yours, you murmured, “I love you.”

The words spilled from you like a secret too heavy to carry anymore, your voice trembling with raw honesty. His response was immediate – a sharper pull, his lips chasing yours with urgency, his tongue sweeping against yours in a way that made your knees weaken.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads pressed together as his thumb traced lazy circles on your jaw. His eyes searched yours, a soft smile curving his lips despite the heat still pooling in his gaze.

“I take this as a yes?” he murmured, his grin widening when you laughed softly and kissed him once more, just to tell him yes without words.

Outside, the morning sun continued its climb through the sky, painting the theater district in shades of gold. The whispers would spread, the stories would grow, and soon all the realm would know of the prince who chose a performer, who dared to love in sunlight rather than shadow.

But in that moment, standing on your worn stage with his arms around you and the taste of his kiss still on your lips, none of that mattered. You had found your way back to each other, not in the secretive depths of night but in the honest light of day. And this time, neither of you was letting go.

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