Summer in King's Landing always brought warmth.
In the sacred garden of the Red Keep, marigolds planted by Queen Alicent herself bloomed and gave off their fragrance.
Queen Alicent Hightower leaned back on a velvet chaise, her long green gown spread around her. Her hand rested gently on her swollen belly, where new life was growing—heavier and fuller than when she had carried Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena.
Twins.
This news pleased Viserys.
The king, over fifty, dragged his ailing body to her palace, took the queen's hand, and spoke many words. Those words carried Alicent back eighteen years, to when she had first married. At that time, Viserys would recite poetry to her, take her hand for walks in the gardens at sunset, look at her young face, and say, "My Alicent, like a rose in bloom come spring."
Three months ago, he had leaned close to her with a long-lost tenderness and hesitation, suggesting perhaps they should reconsider the question of heirs…
Queen Alicent had said nothing then, only brushing the back of his delicate hand with her own.
So many years. Since the day she had given birth to Aegon, her father Otto had repeated over and over: Your son is the rightful heir, primogeniture is the cornerstone of the Seven Kingdoms.
Yet in Viserys' eyes, there was only Rhaenyra, his eldest daughter, the one who resembled his first wife, Queen Emma.
Now… had everything finally returned to its proper order?
"Your Majesty, Queen."
A soft voice interrupted her thoughts. Alicent looked up and saw Ser Irene Rogare standing at the end of the garden path, her silvery hair glinting like mercury in the summer sun, and her blue eyes clear and bright as mid-summer skies.
Irene wore a long pale-gold gown in the style of Rys, the neckline and cuffs dotted with tiny pearls. Her gaze fell on Alicent's belly, eyes wide with astonishment.
"Your Majesty, your belly… forgive my presumption, but it appears there is more than one child in there."
Alicent's smile deepened. "The Grand Maester said they are twins."
"Seven bless!" Irene clasped her hands to her chest, her posture reverent. Since arriving in Westeros, she had chosen to follow the Faith of the Seven.
"That must be a good omen. House Targaryen shall open a new bloodline."
The words touched Alicent's heart. She looked at the girl before her, who would soon become her daughter-in-law, with silvery hair, blue eyes, traditional Valyrian features, proper manners, moderate speech, and both generous and beautiful.
Though the House of Rogare was not a direct descendant of the dragon kings of the forty Valyrian families, they had long served in the Reach, held banks, and wielded substantial financial power. Patriarch Lysandra was the governor of Rys, one of the three rulers of the Tri-City Alliance. And Irene was Lysandra's younger sister.
A perfect political match—she could bring money to Aegon, the Greens, and military support from the east.
"Where is Aegon?" Alicent asked suddenly. "Why did he not come with you?"
Irene's smile faltered for a moment, then recovered, and she said quietly, "His Highness the Prince said he had matters of state to attend to and would return later to greet you."
Matters of state?
Alicent knew her eldest son too well. Aegon had always been impatient with matters of governance. Most of what he called state affairs took place in one tower room, with a certain maid keeping him company.
A wave of irritation washed over her. The question of succession was at a critical moment, and Viserys might change his mind at any time. Any scandal involving Aegon could sway the king's opinion.
"Your Majesty?" Irene's voice was soft.
Alicent came back to herself, smiling reluctantly. "It's alright. I'm… just a little tired."
Irene immediately stepped back. "Your Majesty, I shall not disturb your rest then."
"May the Seven bless you and the princes in your womb with strong health."
So insincere… this girl was too perfect.
Aegon arrived about fifteen minutes late. His silver curls were slightly tousled, his face fresh from sleep, and the collar of his white tunic slightly open, revealing the folds of the shirt beneath.
Seeing his mother, he lazily bowed. "Mother, Irene said you were looking for me?"
Alicent did not respond immediately. She studied her eldest son, now eighteen, an age where he should have seemed mature, yet in his eyes was only weariness and condescension. His appearance bore the Targaryen beauty, yet his delicate temperament made it underestimated.
"Irene has just left," Alicent said calmly.
"Oh." Aegon sat in the chair Irene had just vacated and casually plucked grapes from the table.
"She cared for me and the unborn child."
"And you, my son, what troubles you?"
Aegon chewed slowly and looked at his mother.
"I have many worries, Mother. Father has lately summoned me often to the council hall to hear complaints from dukes, and ministers quarrel before the king."
"The yield of certain river bends, northern savages, lords' disputes, Iron Islands' raids… it vexes me so."
"So you choose a woman to ease your troubles?" Alicent's voice turned cold.
Aegon's expression shifted. He put down the grapes and straightened. "Who told you? The Hand? Or Ser Criston?"
"No one need tell you." Alicent finally rose, and despite her heavy belly, her movements retained the majesty of a queen.
Aegon reluctantly lifted his eyes.
A sharp clap echoed in the garden the next second.
Aegon turned his head sharply, covering his cheeks with his hands, eyes wide with disbelief. "Mother?! You!"
"This slap is to wake you." Alicent's voice trembled—not from weakness, but anger.
"What hour is it? Your father plans to change the heir!"
"How many years? Aegon, after all these years, awaited this chance! And you?"
"You still fool about outside and care not at all?"
Aegon's lips moved into a contemptuous smirk. "And what of it?"
"Because my father might simply change his mind and make me heir, must I become someone else?"
"You ought not go to those women before her."
"People are fair and touching."
"Of course, I know!" Alicent closed her eyes.
"Three bastards—two girls and one boy—were sent to distant relatives in the river bend to be raised in guardianship."
"Think she can handle that fairly?"
"At least Rhaenyra acknowledges her child!" Aegon roared. "At least she had the courage to take them with her!"
Alicent looked at her son's red eyes and realized that Aegon might never care for the Iron Throne.
The thought brought a strange panic.
After a long pause, the queen spoke softly, her voice heavy with fatigue. "Aegon, listen to me. I never loved your father either."
Aegon remained silent.
"He is king, and I am a Hightower daughter."
"Our marriage was political from the start, arranged by my father Otto to secure our family's standing."
"But such love has long been smoothed by time, by Rhaenyra, by repeated disappointments."
She turned to her son. "Yet I still became his queen and bore four of you, soon to be six."
"Irene, perhaps, you do not love." Alicent smiled bitterly.
"You are not foolish, my son."
Aegon shook his head.
"Not enough."
"If I am to sit on the Iron Throne, I want more than enough."
"Then what do you desire?" Alicent approached and touched his face.
"Love? Sincerity?"
"Aegon, you were born to a royal family. Such things have always been luxuries. Your father loves Rhaenyra so much he could ignore law, tradition, and all noble resistance."
"Now, royal prestige wanes, the family is divided, and all lords watch the Targaryens' inner conflict."
Alicent took Aegon's face in her hands, her voice softening.
"This is the chance we have waited for years."
"Even if you must pretend, you must pretend."
"When the day comes that the Iron Throne truly belongs to you, I care not how many lovers you seek—just not yet."
Aegon lowered his head, silver hair masking his face.
Just as Alicent thought he had finally listened, he raised his head and smiled sarcastically.
"Mother, do you truly think your father will change his mind?"
"He—"
"He will not." Aegon cut her off.
"I am the replacement he must accept, the choice after Rhaenyra spoiled everything."
"But as long as Rhaenyra repents, as long as she bows her head, her father will forgive her."
She remembered what Viserys had said months ago—a rare hesitation in his eyes. Every time over the years, when the king was torn between Rhaenyra and her, he had ultimately chosen Rhaenyra.