Celine deeply regretted her choices.
She should have insisted on canceling the arranged marriage—at least that way, she could have ensured her happiness for the rest of her life.
Marrying Lannino meant either being left alone in an empty room or watching him flirt openly with his personal knight.
The thought made her feel sick.
Lannino and his sister, Lannal, shared a close bond, and he always listened to her advice.
Sitting back down beside Celine, he forced a smile and said, "Don't worry, we'll have children."
Celine's eyes were lifeless, filled with disappointment. "Can you even do it?"
Lannino's forced smile instantly collapsed, and he downed a large gulp of wine.
A man couldn't admit he was incapable.
But... he really was.
He had tried to share a bed with his new wife, but no matter how much he willed himself, he couldn't make it work.
Even when he mustered all his strength, he found himself powerless before his wife.
This left him consumed with guilt, unable to lift his head in front of her, feeling that he had failed her.
It was also one of the reasons he unconsciously distanced himself from her.
People always avoid confronting their flaws.
As their brief conversation unfolded, the once lively banquet fell into an awkward silence.
After a moment, Viserys waved his hand, changing the subject. "Daemon, take good care of your wife—she is your greatest treasure."
With his sharp perception, he had noticed the subtle tension between Daemon and Lannal.
"Of course," Daemon replied indifferently.
Rhaenyra, gently placing a hand on Lannal's flat stomach, grinned. "Have you thought of a name for the baby?"
"Are you asking if it'll be a boy or a girl?" Lannal countered.
Rhaenyra was taken aback. "You've already decided on a name?"
"Of course, I've been thinking about it whenever I had time to daydream."
Lannal pressed Rhaenyra's hand against her stomach and said, "If it's a girl, I'll name her after you."
"And if it's a boy?" Rhaenyra asked with growing interest.
Lannal thought for a moment, her gaze landing on Rhaegar, who was enjoying the conversation from the sidelines. With a hopeful expression, she said, "If it's a boy, I'll name him Rhaegar. It's a name that carries great weight."
One only had to look at Rhaegar's long list of titles to know how many extraordinary feats he had accomplished.
Rhaegar hadn't expected to be involved in the discussion. Modestly, he said, "My name is quite ordinary, not as grand as you make it sound."
He wasn't lying.
In House Targaryen, apart from the ever-revered name "Aegon," they often reused the names of their ancestors or picked ones with similar pronunciations.
"Rhaegar" itself was just a variation of names like Rhaella and Rhaenyra.
Unexpectedly, his words displeased his father.
Viserys' expression darkened as he reprimanded, "Rhaegar, your mother chose your name with her dying breath. Do not belittle it."
"Apologies, Father," Rhaegar immediately admitted his mistake.
Viserys shot a stern look at his eldest son before turning to Lannal. "Then Rhaegar it is. May your child be just as outstanding."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Lannal said with a grateful smile.
Viserys waved dismissively, his thoughts lingering on the name.
It was the last word his wife had uttered before she passed.
For her sake, he had abandoned the idea of naming his firstborn after his own father, Baelon Targaryen.
With that brief interlude over, the banquet's atmosphere grew lively again.
After chatting with Lannal for a while, Rhaenyra returned to her seat, her gaze locked intently onto Rhaegar.
"Do you need something?"
Her intense stare made Rhaegar's back tingle. He cautiously asked.
Rhaenyra shook her head, placing her hands naturally over her stomach.
Rhaegar immediately understood, shaking his head repeatedly.
Rhaenyra wasn't even married yet—she couldn't just follow in others' footsteps.
"Rhaegar, you better be careful."
Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, her tone serious. "I'm done ruining my dresses or drinking tea."
Rhaegar turned away, hesitating before saying, "I have some wealth. A few dozen dresses aren't a problem."
The maesters had mentioned that drinking too much tea wasn't good for one's health.
Most of the time, it was easier to just change into a new dress or take a bath.
"I don't care. I'm not compromising anymore."
Rhaenyra's expression was stern as she issued her warning.
Rhaegar forced a smile, feeling utterly helpless.
It wasn't a pleasant experience to go from spectator to participant in a situation like this.
Most of the time, things weren't entirely up to him.
Rhaenyra was the one truly in control.
### Three Days Later
It was midday at the Dragonpit.
Under the protection of the Dragonkeepers, Rhaegar and Rhaenyra walked inside.
Rhaegar's nameday had already passed.
Given the scheduling constraints, the family gathering a few days ago had served as an informal nameday celebration.
Now, Rhaegar was preparing to return to Harrenhal to train for the upcoming tournament.
Viserys had already spread word of the event across the Seven Kingdoms, inviting nobles from all over to participate.
Since some of the noble families lived in remote areas, the tournament was scheduled for the height of summer, six months away, ensuring that everyone who wanted to attend would have time to make the journey.
Inside the Dragonpit.
The moment Rhaegar stepped inside, the sharp, ear-piercing roar of a dragon filled the air.
Then, Daemon's deep voice followed.
"This is Caraxes—a truly mighty dragon."
Rhaegar continued walking, his gaze scanning the dimly lit interior of the dragon lair.
At that moment, Bloodwyrm Caraxes lay sprawled on the ground, its serpentine neck stretching back and forth, its slender body twisting restlessly.
One of its wings flapped normally, while the other drooped against the floor, bound at the shoulder with shackles and steel plates for support.
During the last dragon duel on Tidemark Isle, one of Caraxes' wings had suffered a devastating tear.
It had spent two years recuperating on the rocky shores of Tidemark Isle. Though its wing had healed, it remained crooked and unbalanced, rendering it incapable of flight.
The moment Daemon was released from prison, he came to see his dragon.
He was deeply disappointed by the now-crippled Caraxes.
Eventually, he heeded the advice of a maester and resorted to drastic measures.
He ordered his men to chain the unsuspecting Caraxes and, with an axe, sever its deformed wing before dressing the wound for proper healing.
Rhaegar had not been present.
But he had heard the stories—Caraxes' enraged roar had echoed across Tidemark Isle, nearly rousing the slumbering Vhagar.
Yet, Daemon's method was not without merit.
Dragons possessed immense regenerative abilities—so long as they were alive, they could recover from almost any injury.
Caraxes had since spent another year in dormancy. Its wound had largely healed, and the bones had set correctly.
In another year or so, it would likely fly again.
As Rhaegar closed the distance, he saw Daemon stroking Caraxes' crimson scales.
Daemon was not alone; he had brought his two daughters with him.
Rhaena, the more reserved of the two, clung tightly to Daemon's coat, her gaze filled with both fear and awe as she looked at Caraxes.
Baela, far bolder, climbed onto Caraxes' neck, studying the dragon with bright, curious eyes.
After a moment, Baela spoke in a crisp, clear voice. "Father, when will my sister's and my dragon eggs hatch?"
She had a green dragon egg, while her sister possessed a red egg speckled with black.
Yet neither had shown any signs of hatching.
Daemon replied calmly, "Patience. A dragon egg chooses its rider and the time of its birth."
"But when will that be?" Baela asked, puzzled.
"No one knows," Daemon said matter-of-factly.
"No one knows?"
Baela gasped, surprised that her father—whom she considered all-knowing—could not answer.
Daemon remained unfazed and said in a measured tone, "Wait patiently. You are my daughters. It is your destiny to become dragonriders."
The odds of a dragon egg hatching were not high.
Especially those placed in a newborn's cradle.
The tradition had begun with the previous generation when Rhaenys placed a dragon egg in her brother Jaehaerys' cradle.
Since then, it had been passed down.
In truth, it yielded little success.
Over the years, it seemed that only Jaehaerys and Rhaenyra had successfully hatched cradle eggs.
Daemon himself, his brother Viserys, and their cousin Rhaenys—along with a slew of nephews and nieces, including Rhaegar—had all failed.
In practice, a cradle egg served more as a symbolic blessing for future generations.
Baela nodded at Daemon's words, pouting slightly. "Alright, I'll take good care of my egg."
"Me too," Rhaena added, raising her hand in agreement.
Tap, tap…
Rhaegar's footsteps grew louder as he deliberately made his presence known.
Daemon turned his head and saw his nephew and niece approaching together.
After only a brief glance, he looked away, completely ignoring them.
In House Targaryen, apart from his brother Viserys, no one truly cared about him.
And so, he treated them the same way.
Rhaegar and Rhaenyra exchanged glances, curiosity evident in their eyes.
At the recent family feast, it had been clear to any observer that tension simmered between Daemon, Laenor, and Laena.
They wanted to know more.
After a moment's silent understanding, Rhaenyra spoke on their behalf. "Uncle, why aren't you with Laena?"
Daemon frowned. "A pregnant woman is more temperamental than a dragon."
Baela and Rhaena quickly greeted Rhaegar and Rhaenyra before adding, "Grandmother is with Mother. They have things to discuss."
After the Stepstones campaign, the kingdom entered a period of peace.
The Sea Snake resigned as Lord Admiral, and Viserys invited him to take on the role of Master of Ships.
Citing his need for rest, the Sea Snake declined, remaining secluded on Tidemark Isle.
As a Targaryen princess, Rhaenys divided her time between King's Landing and Tidemark Isle, occasionally taking on the role of governess for her younger cousins.
It was a tiring endeavor, yet she remained steadfast.
Better that than allowing House Targaryen and House Velaryon to drift further apart.
Picking up on the subtle implications in the twins' words, Rhaenyra's eyes glimmered with intrigue. "Uncle, are you and Laena arguing about the child?"
It was not uncommon for a woman's temperament to shift during pregnancy—arguments were to be expected.
Daemon shook his head, growing impatient. "Aren't you supposed to be returning to the Riverlands? Best get on with it."
Rhaenyra tugged on Rhaegar's sleeve and blinked playfully.
Daemon was agitated.
Rhaegar's mind turned over the possibilities before he spoke plainly. "Laena wants to pass the child's inheritance to Laenor?"
Daemon's hand, which had been stroking Caraxes, froze. His gaze turned cold as he shifted toward Rhaegar.
Rhaegar spread his hands with a smirk. "So I was right."
Laenor was incapable of fathering children.
Yet House Velaryon needed an heir.
Laena's child was the best choice—bearing both Velaryon blood and a direct Targaryen lineage.
"You're mistaken, but not far off," Daemon muttered irritably.
Then, taking his daughters' hands, he said in a low voice, "Corlys wants me to either pass one of my daughters to House Velaryon or have Laena's fourth child inherit Driftmark."
"That isn't an unreasonable request. Your child would still rightfully inherit Tidemark Isle," Rhaegar pointed out rationally.
Daemon shot back, "Would you let your child surrender their name for the sake of a title?"
(End of Chapter)