Act like a professional writer of fantasy and drama. Suggest 15 possible good titles to the following chapter of my fantasy story. I want something concise but captivating.

The autumn morning greeted Rhaenyra with a fleeting moment of tranquility as she strolled through the lush garden, bathed in warm amber sunlight. A rarity on this stormy island. But today, the gods seemed to have granted a reprieve from their fickle nature. The air was alive with the sharp tang of salt and the heady scent of pine, with a briny undertone wafting from the nearby sea.

Daemon left the castle at dawn, before she had woken. "I shall return in seven days' time," he had told her the night before. "Stay on the island until then."

His care touched her, but she still found his suspicions towards Alicent a tad excessive. Despite their strained relationship, a small glimmer of hope remained that the queen's words at the family dinner were sincere and that Rhaenyra would eventually be embraced as queen.

When it came to Alicent’s sons, they were an entirely different matter altogether. Rhaenyra wracked her mind but found no solution to heal the animosity between her beloved boys and her half-brothers.

Rhaenyra's thoughts shifted to the present as she observed the bustling activity in the castle garden. The women of the keep, from noble ladies to humble servants, strolled along the winding paths on this beautiful day.

In the distance, Rhaenyra's three sons could be seen playing on the green lawn, closely watched over by their nanny. A soft smile graced her lips at the sight. With purposeful steps, Rhaenyra strode along the winding paths, exchanging nods with her ladies-in-waiting as she searched for a familiar head of silver hair among the lush foliage.

Rhaenyra caught sight of the person she had been looking for, nestled in the shelter of the pergola, momentarily hidden by the cherry tree’s branches. Nyra sat in the garden, adorned in a gold gown with crimson accents. Her silver-blond hair hung loosely down her back in a waterfall of smooth waves, barely held in a braid. She sought solace in the garden, engrossed in a book.

Rhaenyra understood the desire for peace all too well. She used to find it in the same garden where Nyra now sought refuge. It had only been two days since Nyra's world had been torn apart by jarring revelations, and her strained presence was palpable even from afar.

"Lady Nyra," Rhaenyra said in a low voice. Nyra looked up, surprised. "I need to talk to you."

Rhaenyra led Nyra to a secluded bench by the pond, surrounded by thick bushes that shielded them from prying eyes and ears.

"What is it that you wish to discuss with me?" Nyra asked. Her face was pale, with dark circles under her eyes from the toll of the past days. 

Rhaenyra took note of Nyra’s weariness but did not hesitate to get to the point.

"I have sent you the moon tea," Rhaenyra spoke in High Valyrian, ensuring their conversation would not be overheard by others. "Please partake of it when you retire to your chambers later today."

"Tea?" 

With a subtle nod towards her sons playing nearby, Rhaenyra clarified, "To prevent any... unwanted consequences."

Nyra gulped. "You... you know?"

Rhaenyra chose not to embarrass Nyra further by telling her she witnessed it.

"Yes, Daemon mentioned meeting you as you returned to your chambers."

Nyra held Rhaenyra's gaze with a calm expression, but she couldn't hide the tension in her fingers. Strangely, Rhaenyra didn't sense any of Nyra's emotions this time, which made her even more anxious. She wished Daemon would return soon with the mage, to get some answers to these mysteries that kept them on edge.

After a moment of silence, Nyra relaxed and asked, "Have you done the same in your past?"

Rhaenyra pondered what to say. "No, I didn't. I returned to my chambers drunk, lost my virginity to my sworn guard, and he had hated me since that day?" She cringed at her thoughts and chose a more elusive response.

"Not exactly. It was another man who shared my bed that night," Rhaenyra replied. "But I have since faced the consequences of my own choices."

Nyra tilted her head, curiosity shining in her eyes. She was itching to ask about that fateful night with her first lover. But before Nyra could speak, Rhaenyra quieted her with a hand gesture.

"That's a story for another time," she said, wanting to focus on the present moment. "Let me tell you about my life and how I ended up here. I should have shared this with you yesterday."

Nyra nodded.

"Where should I begin?" Rhaenyra pondered aloud. "Perhaps with the direct aftermath of my escapades in Flea Bottom, right where you stand now. My father, through his Hand Otto, learned of my indiscretions and exiled Daemon. I was forced to marry Laenor instead...."

Rhaenyra recounted her forced marriage and lonely early days. Rhaenyra spoke calmly, but her words painted a vivid picture of the broken wedding celebration and painful memories.

"Harwin was my salvation amid those grim days. A stable and understanding presence, he provided solace like no other."

"You took him to your bed... and bore his sons?"

"Laenor accepted Jace, Luke, and Joffrey, they are his sons," Rhaenyra said with an edge to her voice.

"But they are not," uttered Nyra, her voice little more than a whisper, although there were no people nearby. "Gods be good. Your heirs are ba-"

"Don't you dare to complete that sentence," Rhaenyra warned. "They are my children and they carry my husband's name. That is all that matters."

Some slight ruffle in the bushes and vague noises made Rhaenyra tense. It is just the wind and birds, she berated herself, stop being so jumpy.

"My union with Laenor lasted a decade," Rhaenyra delved into her memories further, "before the venomous tongues of courtiers spewing vile rumors about my family, became too much to bear. And so, I gathered my household and sought refuge here on Dragonstone. Soon after Harwin's death."

Nyra gaped, yet Rhaenyra refused to allow her to interject. It was neither the moment nor the setting to illuminate the events leading to Harwin's passing.

Rhaenyra recalled Laena's funeral, reuniting with Daemon, Aemond's claim to Vhagar, the clash between her sons and Aemond resulting in his eye loss, and her plan to fake Laenor's death to marry Daemon.

"Seven Hells! Did you fabricate Laenor's death? And married Daemon? But Velaryons... and my father-" "My father was already growing frail, I needed protection from the Greens, who got the largest dragon in the realm," Rhaenyra sighed. "Laenor couldn't...help me with that. I sent him away to Essos with a new life, his lover, and a bag of gold. He is a honorable man, he will do well.”

Nyra stared at the pond, and Rhaenyra let her mull over the news. "Were you happy all these years?" Nyra finally prodded.

Rhaenyra toyed with her rings, struggling to find the right words. The never-ending threats and sly remarks from courtiers who saw her sons as nothing more than mongrels... the distant Laenor... and Harwin, whom she really cared for, but whose stolen moments of passion were tainted with constant fear. At first that thrilled her, but with time she wished for something more.

"I did find moments of happiness with Harwin, and my sons brought me immense joy. But I still yearned for more - a husband who could love me without reservation, a life free of secrets and whispers. I found it eventually with Daemon and our family. You will too, one day."

Nyra's eyebrows knit together. "So I am to wait until Laena draws her final breath?"

“I wish it were not so... But the union between Daemon and Laena is crucial for securing the Velaryons' loyalty to our cause. It's important to maintain the proper order of events since their daughters carry Lord Corlys' blood. And I don't want to erase Baela and Rhaena from existence; they deserve to live."

Silence fell between them, tense like a drawn bowstring. . "Do you finally understand why I have forbidden you from pursuing Daemion?"

Avoiding eye contact with Rhaenyra, Nyra clenched her jaw. "I do," she said. "But that does not mean I have to like it."

I don't like it either, Rhaenyra thought. But what is the other choice?

Rhaenyra reached out and gently clasped Nyra's hands in hers. "I wish things were different but we can't choose our destiny," she confessed.

Her life story could hardly bring any happiness to Nyra. Her union with Laenor was but a pawn in the game of politics, orchestrated by her father to solidify her claim to the throne. Fidgeting with the intricate rings adorning her fingers, Rhaenyra finally voiced the crucial detail.

"I've made a promise to prevent my past from being altered," she declared, fixing Nyra with an intense stare. "Daemion will return to his rightful time and marry Laena, ensuring that their daughters are born as they were meant to be."

A flicker of hurt flashed across Nyra's face as the realization dawned upon her. Her hands curled into tight fists. "So I am to be married off to Laenor and then must seek out a lover in Harwin to bear my illegitimate children?"

"Do not see it as a burden. Harwin was... very devoted to me. I know you think of motherhood with caution now but your children will bring you boundless joy, I assure you," Rhaenyra attempted to ease the tension with a warm smile. "You will come to love baby Jace so deeply that his origins will no longer matter."

"The courtiers will not let me forget," Nyra retorted, “They will brand my son..." she trailed off, but the implications were clear in her gaze.

Rhaenyra finished the thought in her head: A bastard, always forced to question his right to the throne because of something as trivial as hair color. It was a harsh reality that weighed heavily on all three of her dark-haired boys. Perhaps the gods would be merciful and this magical ritual would hide the harmful truth.

Nyra's frustration erupted from within her. "Why did it have to be Strong? Couldn't you have chosen someone else, someone more like you or Laenor?"

Rhaenyra let out a pained sigh. "Harwin proved himself to be loyal and trustworthy, which was a rarity in the court."

"And conveniently, he also happened to be handsome," Nyra scoffed. "Have you thought I would be content living your life? Repeating your mistakes?"

Without waiting for a response, Nyra turned away and stared into the pond. Why, indeed? Rhaenyra thought. Who am I to demand such sacrifice? Not a monarch yet, only a mother.

Rhaenyra noticed Nyra's gaze shifting over her shoulder. She followed Nyra's line of sight and raised an eyebrow in surprise. The four older children, with Ser Criston following behind them, were walking towards them. Rhaenyra furrowed her brow in confusion. Luke was supposed to begin his morning training with Criston at this time. Meanwhile, Jace, Baela, and Rhaena had their lessons scheduled with Maester Gerardys. Rhaenyra furrowed her brow, wondering why they were all together at this moment.

The group greeted both Rhaenyra and Nyra as they approached. "My Princess," Ser Criston bowed before her. Rhaenyra noticed the tightness in his jaw and the quick flash of discomfort that disappeared just as quickly.

"Ser Crispian," she greeted him. "What brings you here so early?"

Jace stepped forward. "Mother, I heard you have allowed Luke to train with our guest," he gestured towards the knight, "Baela and I were hoping we could also learn from his expertise. It's not every day we get the chance to train with such a renowned fighter. I've heard he is one the best in several realms."

“My Prince flatters me,” replied Cole. “I’m sure members of the Kingsguard could teach you just as well as I."

"You train with real weapons?" Nyra exclaimed, looking at Baela.

"Of course," Baela squared her shoulders. "My father allows it. And besides, our grandmother Alyssa was trained in weaponry as well."

"It is true," Rhaenyra admitted. "Sir, would you be willing to also train Lady Baela?"

The knight shrugged. "I have never trained a lady in sword fighting before, but Lady Baela assures me she knows the basics."

A grateful smile bloomed on Baela's face as she glanced at Cole. Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed at such friendliness but she decided to let it go for the time being.

She nodded, "Very well. You may all train under Ser Crispian's guidance."

Rhaenyra caught Ser Criston's stare upon Nyra. It was a curious blend of worry and desire—a familiar look that she had glimpsed in him countless times in her youth. But now, it held a new gravity, stirring a sense of unease in her gut. It mirrored the critical gazes that Ser Criston and Alicent often bestowed upon her, their eyes like daggers carving into her every move. Yet, young Ser Criston was supposed to still be her devoted servant.

Baela and Rhaena motioned for Jace and Luke to join them on a nearby bench but kept throwing odd glances in Nyra’s direction.

Before Rhaenyra could dwell on it further, one of her ladies-in-waiting called out urgently for her attention.

"My Princess," lady Amanda said, "a raven has arrived bearing urgent news about Lord Velaryon."

A knot formed in Rhaenyra's stomach at the mention of Corlys's name. I hope the letter won't bring me news about his demise.

"I'm afraid I must return to my duties, Nyra," Rhaenyra forced a calm tone into her voice. "Don't forget about the tea, and please, think carefully about our conversation."

***

Nyra stood up from her place by the pond, yearning for a moment of quiet. The laughter and joy of her cousins, Baela and Rhaena, with their betrothed only served to remind her of how dim her own future was.

As she brushed off the fallen leaves from her skirt, Nyra couldn't ignore the watchful stare of Ser Criston, who seemed both troubled and annoyed. He shot her occasional glances from across the pond, his brow furrowed in confusion or concern.
She found a secluded spot on the bench in far corner of the garden, and sat down to gather her thoughts.

The weight of Rhaenyra's revelations about her future weighed heavily on her mind. The thought of marrying Laenor only brought sadness, not because she held much resentment towards her second cousin, but because she knew their union would bring nothing but discontent and unmet desires. It was a doomed arrangement, one that she couldn't understand why she had to suffer through in order to repair the rift between their families.

Her father's mistake was denying Corlys' daughter as a suitable wife, and now she was paying the consequences. Rhaenyra's previous relationship with Harwin didn't bother Nyra as much as she thought it would.

Having tasted the pleasure from coupling, Nyra refused to be just a broodmare. She was resolved to seek out that bliss once more, even if it was not with Laenor... perhaps with another. 

And Harwin seemed like a favorable option.

Nyra recalled encountering him during the royal hunt last year and more recently in a dimly lit alley. Despite recognizing her, Ser Harwin chose to remain silent. He was tall, handsome, and there was more to him than first met the eye. 

Recalling Jace's bitterness at being labeled a bastard dampened her spirits. Jace's plea for her to consider marrying Harwin this time lingered in her mind, but she dismissed the thought. Rhaenyra had cautioned her that their father would have no option but to arrange her betrothal to Laenor Velaryon. Her opportunity to carve her own destiny had slipped away.

As frustration flooded through her like a tidal wave crashing against rocks, all she could think was: "Damn those Velaryons."

Her cousin Laena was destined to have it all: the most powerful dragon in existence and a prince of pure Targaryen blood as her husband. She would also have two beautiful, headstrong daughters to carry on their legacy.

She liked Laena enough but envy and jealousy gnawed at her core. Nyra was doomed to endure a decade of scrutiny in court and furtive trysts with a forbidden lover in comparison.

As she contemplated her cousin's good fortune and her own bleak future, rage boiled within her. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms.

The crown princess, the first female heir, was still to be sacrificed on the altar of political expediency. She felt like a caged animal, ensnared by the expectations of others. Nyra was condemned to endure a decade of scrutiny at court and secretive liaisons with a forbidden lover by comparison.

If only she could elope with her uncle... Nyra wearily pushed aside the passing notion. It was true that her great-grandparents had escaped to Dragonstone island and weathered their families' fury over their forbidden union, but such a path was inconceivable for Nyra.

Though not yet of age, her great-grandfather had been a king. She was simply an heir, a pawn in the machinations of her father.

No matter how daring, Nyra knew her actions would infuriate her king-father and risk her being disinherited. And all because her father didn’t want to marry Laena himself years ago. The cruelty and injustice of it all weighed heavily on Nyra's heart.

Reluctantly, Nyra acknowledged that Laena was a perfect match for her uncle. A prosperous bride, a formidable Valyrian woman, a skilled dragonrider, and a breathtaking young lady.

I need to get a grip, she thought, stifling a wave of jealousy. 

It was a small moment of relief when Rhaenyra revealed that Daemon and his bride had purposely omitted any members of the royal family from their wedding ceremony. Nyra wouldn't want to attend anyway, especially after her difficult experience at her father Viserys I and Alicent's wedding four years prior. Witnessing Laena joyfully wed her beloved uncle would only add to her misery.

Her anger burned just as fiercely towards her yet-to-be-born sons, Jace and Luke, for their reckless use of magic that had brought her to this wretched place. What was the point of all this if she was doomed to relive the same mistakes?

To be forced into a loveless marriage with Laenor, who desired only men, and to have to sneak away in secrecy with someone else... It felt like a cruel joke being played on her by fate.

Lost in her own thoughts, Nyra felt a strong hand grip her shoulder, causing her to gasp and spin around. Before she could scream, another hand covered her mouth, muffling any sound she might make.

"Ssh, it's me," her uncle's insistent whisper warmed her ear. "We need to speak."

Daemion removed his hand and faced her for the first time since the previous afternoon. She had refused to speak with him then, fueled by resentment towards her predetermined fate. But now, as anger gave way to curiosity, she couldn't help but be intrigued.

"Uncle," Nyra said softly. "What do you want?"

"Come," he beckoned with a quick nod of his head, leading her into the shadow of a thorny hedge.

His face was pale and drawn, his short blonde hair unkempt, his black coat wet. The mix of anxiety and uncertainty in his eyes only added to Nyra's growing sense of unease. He looked around checking that no person was nearby.

"I couldn't leave," Daemion whispered. "I tried to sail to the King's Landing this morning but my ship was halted about thirty miles from Dragonstone. The captain and the crew tried everything, we couldn't move any further. It felt as though we were sailing in endless circles around the island, bound by some unseen force. Eventually we had to turn back. Daemon has left so I can't fly on Caraxes but I suspect it wouldn't help. Something is preventing us from leaving the isle."

"It must be magic," Nyra whispered, her mind already connecting the dots. "I can try to fly on Syrax-"

"Even with your dragon, I doubt it would make a difference," Daemion shook his head. "I suppose the ritual requires us to remain here."

Nyra was baffled by her uncle's unease, and it filled her with fear. What could the purpose of the ritual be? A chill ran down her spine as she suddenly felt the warmth of the autumn day dissipate into a sinister cold.

"At least, that Crispin fool is no longer following you," Daemion remarked with a hint of relief, his eyes sweeping over their surroundings. "Does he keep drooling about you?"

"Stop this nonsense, uncle-"

"I've seen him staring at you on my way here, he looked completely lovestruck," snarled Daemion.

"I wouldn't dwell on it, uncle," Nyra remarked, her tone laced with amusement. "He's simply fulfilling his duty."

"Duty, is it? I've seen the way he looks at you. It's not just duty, dear niece. He-"

"You didn't come here to talk about my knight, did you?" she saw him gulp and his eyes flicked to her lips.

"No," he admitted. He looked almost shy if Daemon Targaryen could be ever described as such.

"I've come to talk about your future. It appears to be a grim one, does it not?"

"My future is known," snapped Nyra. "I will marry Laenor Velaryon and solidify my claim."

"A man who cannot provide you with heirs," Daemion pointed out. "Or you have a plan in mind?"

"I do," Nyra crossed her arms over her chest. "We will come to an arrangement."

"Ah, I see, that arrangement that will lead to your three dark-haired bastards!"

Nyra flushed at his words. "You have a rather vivid imagination, uncle."

He moved closer. "Do you truly want such future?  To wed a man who cannot fulfill the role of consort and to bear illegitimate children? All to soothe the wounded pride of some lord? You deserve better than this."

 "This is not just about my father and Velaryons," Nyra's shoulders slumped. "It's about the future of my family. And yours as well."

"Your future family?" he sneered, "you mean the illegitimates that have tarnished your name and brought ridicule upon us from all sides? The same boys your older self is now scrambling to marry off to my own daughters in a feeble attempt at legitimacy?"

Nyra cringed at the barbed words. She already learnt that her children's looks would be a source of shame and ridicule, but to hear it spoken so callously by her own family cut deep. No wonder Rhaenyra had fled to this remote island, seeking solace and refuge . Rhaenyra didn't tell her the range of the scandal around her, or perhaps spared her the gruesome details?

A frenzied notion raced through her mind: what if she were to conceive a child here, prior her betrothal to Laenor? Daemion was present and may even be willing. With his silver locks and purple eyes, the infant could easily pass as Laenor's own, in spite of any dissimilarities. A practical solution for her future, but with potential disaster if they couldn't return before her pregnancy showed. And with Daemion's impending union to Laena, there would be no chance for her to bear another heir. She would have to seek a lover regardless...

"Mayhaps you've taken a liking to Harwin and yearn to fuck him?" Daemion's voice cut through her musings.

"And who are you to pass judgment?" she seethed. "When you intend to abandon me and flee with your perfect wife?"

Daemion flinched. "I wouldn't have to resort to such measures if only you made the right decision now."

Could he truly be offering what she thought he was?

"I need more specifics, uncle." 

He shifted impatiently, his fiery gaze never leaving hers. "I have a much more suitable suitor in mind for you."

She arched an eyebrow. She wouldn't grovel for him to be her husband; as the crown princess, she deserved better.

"And who might this worthy man be?"

He grasped her chin firmly, pulling her closer to him.

"You demand specifics, Nyra? Very well then," Daemion purred. "A man of impressive martial skill, a celebrated knight indeed."

"Hmm, I am intrigued," Nyra whispered, as she savored the sensation of their foreheads touching.

Memories of their passionate night together flooded her mind, reigniting the desire within her.

"He's a seasoned warrior," Daemion continued, his hot breath caressing her skin, "A renowned dragonrider as well-"

"Ser Daemion?"

The sound of ser Criston's voice snapped Nyra out of her trance, and she hastily stepped away from Daemion just as the knight and Prince Jace walked through the gap in the hedge.

"We're about to begin our training in the yard," said Jace with a friendly smile. "And we'd be honored if you joined us to demonstrate your sword skills and maybe teach us."

Nyra felt Daemion tense beside her, ready to decline the offer. But Nyra forced a smile and put a hand on his arm, she spoke up. "Of course, Prince Jacaerys. My cousin would be more than happy to train a future heir of the Iron Throne. And I want to watch you, Daemion."

Daemion's glare towards his great-nephew could have sliced through Valyrian steel, but he gritted his teeth and forced out a response.

"I would be honored," he grated before following the men out of the garden.

Baela stood off to the side, watching Nyra with cold eyes. A fleeting smirk tugged at her mouth before she turned and followed after the group.

***

Sitting in her solar, Rhaenyra furrowed her brow as she read the parchment bearing ill news. The Lord of the Tides’ ship had been delayed by a fierce storm five leagues to the south of Driftmark, leaving his whereabouts currently unknown. In response, the Velaryons had sent out a searching party to look for him. Ser Daeron Velaryon's letter, filled with cold ambition, felt like a slap in the face. He had taken over as regent while Lord Corlys was away, and his words were laden with insinuation.

"I hope for my uncle's swift return and full recovery from his injuries. In the meantime, me and my brother are obligated to oversee the well being of both our household and all of Driftmark." 

Rhaenyra crumpled the parchment. Obligated! 

It seemed that Vaemond's ambitions had not perished with him. They had been inherited by his sons, Daeron and Daemion - who saw their uncle's absence as a chance to strengthen their hold over Driftmark. 

The rightful heir was her son, Lucerys, as decreed by her father and lord Corlys. But Vaemond’s sons were  grown men and experienced captains while her Luke was barely fourteen and could hardly rule his seat. 

Rhaenyra needed princess Rhaenys’s help.  What could possibly be keeping her in the capital?  Baela and Rhaena travelled to the Dragonstone after the dinner, Vaemond’s body was sent with his sons to  to be laid to rest on Driftmark. Did Rhaenys want to spend last time with her sick cousin, the king?  

Uneasiness seeped into her mind following Daemon's earlier cautions about Otto's treachery. She tried to push them away, but they clung like thorns in her thoughts. Could it be possible that Rhaenys had hidden motives for delaying her return to Driftmark? 

Rhaenyra shook her head. Rhaenys would never betray her own granddaughters, of that she was certain. Still, it was wise to send a letter to her, informing her of the latest events and politely inquiring about her intentions.

With heavy steps, Rhaenyra made her way to her desk. 

Autumn had taken a firm grip over the Dragonstone, casting an ominous and moody aura over the castle. It had been seven days since the last news about Corlys. As each day passed in eerie silence, Rhaenyra's unease only grew. Rumors swirled amongst the courtiers, whispering of his possible demise. 

Ser Daeron ignored her recent missive, summoning him to attend the annual discussions on taxes and winter preparations. It was as if he did not recognize her as his liege.  

Rhaenyra almost set off for Driftmark yesterday, but Jace stopped her. 

“Daemon asked you to stay put until his return. Let me and Luke speak with Ser Daeron on Driftmark tomorrow.”  

They were to depart today after their training.  

Rhaenyra caught a glimpse of the inner yard, the clamor of voices drawing her closer. The courtyard was abuzz with the morning drills, the resounding clash of blunted swords and the barking commands of Ser Criston filling the air. Only Jace and Luke remained in sparring, while Baela and Rhaena watched on with jovial taunts. 

Rhaenyra couldn't help but pray that Daemion would not join them in the yard today. The tension between him and ser Criston had reached a boiling point in recent days. Per her command, Nyra was always accompanied by someone throughout the day. Her stepdaughters and guards were constantly by her side, ensuring she had no chance to engage in secret meetings with Daemion. At night, Ser Criston stood guard, his dislike for Daemion making it difficult for the prince to sneak into Nyra's room under the cover of darkness.  The lack of hidden passages in Nyra's room brought a small sense of relief - as long as they could keep them apart, her plans would remain intact.

Rhaenyra could sense the deep frustration the situation caused her family. Sharp jeers and insults between Ser Criston and Daemion echoed throughout the yard and castle. Her ladies-in-waiting complained of Nyra's rebellious attitude and sullen demeanor, which didn’t surprise Rhaenyra. 

The shift in her sons' demeanor was a cause for concern. They had taken to following ser Criston, displaying a marked chilliness towards Daemion. Once, Rhaenyra may have delved deeper into the matter, but now she had more pressing concerns to attend to. 

Rhaenyra's head snapped up at the commotion outside her chambers. Her breath caught in her throat as Maester Gerardys stumbled into the room. 

"My Princess," he gasped, his face flushed from the rush. "The letter from Princess Rhaenys has arrived."

At last.

The letter was only a brief note scrambled in a hurry. 

"The Red Keep is sealed," it read, "there was allegedly an attempt on the life of Queen Alicent. Otto has forbidden anyone to leave. Servants whisper that King Viserys may already be dead or..." 

The rest of the words were smudged. Rhaenyra felt her insides turned to ice as dread washed over her. 

Her father? She clutched the edge of the desk, trying to steady herself against the dull, throbbing pain that spread through her sides and stomach, her heart clenched in terror. The maester barked orders at her maids, and her ladies rushed in to guide Rhaenyra to sit on a nearby chaise.

“Gather my advisors in the Chamber,” Rhaenyra said  through the wave of nausea, “We must discuss this immediately. And send for my sons.” 

After some time the pain subsided but the horror of the news remained. Princess Rhaenys being basically a captive in the Red Keep. And her father, perhaps already gone... No, she could not bear to entertain such thoughts until there was official confirmation. Regret and guilt consumed her as she realized she should have flown to his side at once, if only to say a final goodbye.

Commotion from the courtyard below caught her attention. The sounds of men bickering and shouting echoed up to her chambers. She strained to make out their words, but they were muffled and indistinguishable.  

I must remind Jace to take it easy on Luke today. It wouldn't do for the future Lord of the Tides to show up on his island covered in bruises. 

Did she imagine it, or was there a scream of "Daemon"? Rhaenyra yearned for her husband's return. He had promised to come back from Volantis in seven days, and today was the seventh.

I still have Daemion, she thought. Daemion, who had kept his distance after she had forbidden him from pursuing Nyra. But in these troubled times, she was willing to seek his help.

 Sipping on a tart tonic, Rhaenyra was on the verge of departing the solar when a sudden outburst of shouts from the courtyard below broke the stillness.

"Gods be good!" "Pull them apart!" and a wail of "Bring the maester at once!"  

She was on her feet in an instant, the blood hammering through her veins as she rushed to the window. Looking out of it, she was greeted by a blast of sea air and the chaos unfolding below.