Three's Company

Tidepool Island

The training yard lay on the western side of High Tide, backed by cliffs, with the endless crash of waves audible below.

Laenor Velaryon wore simple leather armor, his silver hair tied into a ponytail behind his head. In his hand, a blunted training longsword parried aside the somewhat impatient slashes of his second son, Lucerys.

He looked more like he was fulfilling an unavoidable duty than teaching with any real enthusiasm.

Laenor knocked Lucerys's sword aside. "Keep your wrist steady. Don't let your mind wander during training, boy."

Lucerys Velaryon gritted his teeth. He had grown thinner than he had been half a month ago, and every swing carried all his strength. Since that night, he had changed—silent, almost self-punishing in his training.

"Yes." He forced out the word through clenched teeth and attacked again, his movements even more disordered.

Beside the training yard, Jacaerys Velaryon sat quietly in a cushioned chair.

Though Tidepool Island's sea winds remained biting, his complexion was paler than the sea mist.

The white bandage over his left eye was painfully conspicuous. His uninjured right eye remained fixed on his brother in the yard, while his fingers clenched tightly around the blanket covering him.

He should have been out there. He was the eldest son; he should have been an example to his brothers, leading them in training and teaching them how to become worthy knights, future lords.

Instead, because his eye still hurt, he sat off to the side like a cripple, watching his brother drive himself mad with guilt.

The pain of losing an eye was difficult for him to accept.

He knew Lucerys had not done it on purpose. That stupid, impulsive younger brother of his had been provoked by Aemond.

But understanding was one thing. Whenever the dead of night came, and the poppy milk barely suppressed the torment of losing his left eye enough for him to sleep, that cold resentment still surfaced beyond his control.

It was Aemond. Everything had begun because of him!

And Lucerys too, for pulling out that damned dagger...

Jacaerys closed his right eye for a moment and breathed, trying to suppress the surging emotions in his heart.

He could not blame Luke. At least, not openly.

They were brothers. They had to stand together.

All his hatred needed a clearer, more deserving target.

"Enough, Luke." Laenor once again blocked Lucerys's wild attack, frowning slightly. "Take a break. You're managing your stamina poorly. Keep this up, and you'll be exhausted soon."

Lucerys's chest heaved violently, sweat sliding down from his temples. He did not obey. Instead, he let out a low growl and rushed forward again.

Helplessness showed in Laenor's eyes. He sidestepped with ease, then flicked his wooden sword and struck Lucerys precisely on the wrist.

Smack!

The wooden sword flew from his hand. Lucerys staggered back several steps, clutching his wrist.

He panted heavily, staring fixedly at the ground, his shoulders trembling faintly.

The youngest, Joffrey, hugged his little wooden sword and stood timidly at the edge of the yard, looking at his second brother, then at his eldest.

Laenor sighed, walked over to pick up Lucerys's wooden sword, and handed it back to him. "You must master anger, not let it master you."

Lucerys silently accepted the sword. He did not look at his father in name, nor did he look at his brother. Turning away, he dragged his feet toward the water barrel at the edge of the yard.

Not far away, two figures watched everything in silence.

Rhaenyra Targaryen wore a pitch-black riding outfit. Her posture remained upright, but upon closer inspection, the faint curve of her abdomen was already visible, cleverly concealed by the tailored cut of her coat.

Standing beside her, Daemon lowered his voice. "It must be done soon."

"Our child cannot be born without a name."

Rhaenyra turned to look at him. "As if I do not want that, Daemon. But Laenor..."

She paused.

"He is my husband, the children's father in name."

"Tidepool Island needs that name, and Lord Corlys and Aunt Rhaenys need it too."

"A name?" Daemon gave a mocking snort. "A husband who likes men?"

"A man who cannot even share his wife's bed?"

"Rhaenyra, since when have we Targaryens needed such a hypocritical mask to maintain our rule?"

"Strength, dragons, blood—that is what matters!"

His burning gaze fell upon her abdomen. "Our child possesses the purest Targaryen blood."

"He should be born legitimately, not bear the Velaryon name."

Rhaenyra fell silent for a moment as the sea wind stirred the ends of her hair.

"Corlys and the others will not agree," she said slowly.

"We need to maintain the appearance of this marriage alliance."

"At least outwardly, we must. And if we do this, the Faith... the nobles..."

"Fuck the Faith and the nobles!" A rare flicker of impatience appeared on Daemon's face. He seized Rhaenyra's arm, his grip far from gentle.

"We can find a way to make Laenor give up willingly."

"He doesn't care about any of this, Rhaenyra."

"What he cares about is his Captain, his wine, and those friends of his."

"We give him freedom, and he gives us legitimacy! It's fair."

Rhaenyra did not pull her hand away. She merely looked at him quietly, her gaze profound. "And then? Daemon, do you want our children to replace Jae and Luke?"

Seeing Rhaenyra doubt him, Daemon said, "I have always regarded your children as my own."

"Rhaenyra, you doubt me again?"

But Rhaenyra clasped Daemon's hand in return. "I don't doubt you, Daemon. Listen. Maybe... it doesn't have to be one or the other."

Her gaze drifted once more toward Laenor before returning to Daemon's face. Then she said something that made his pupils contract sharply.

"Maybe we can find a way for the three of us... to live well together. That matters more than anything."

"You, me, Laenor. The children can bear the Targaryen name, or the Velaryon name, so long as we come to an understanding."

"Laenor won't object. He has never cared about such things."

"Besides, Corlys and Rhaenys won't object either. They know their son cannot have children."

Daemon's expression froze instantly, as if he had heard the most absurd joke in the world. He stared at Rhaenyra, as though truly seeing her for the first time.

"The three of us?"

"Live well together? Rhaenyra, do you know what you're saying?"

"My children, my bloodline, are to grow up before my very eyes bearing another man's name?"

He abruptly flung Rhaenyra's hand away and took a step back. The usual roguishness on his face was replaced by a dark fury bordering on rage.

"I am Daemon Targaryen! King of the Narrow Sea!"

"I can steal the throne. I can kill anyone who displeases me."

"I can defy the whole world for you! But you want me, my woman, and her nominal husband to live well together?"

He let out a short, piercing sneer.

"This is the greatest insult to me, Rhaenyra. I would rather feed my unborn heirs to dragons than accept such... ridiculous arrangements!"

Rhaenyra was wounded by his fierce reaction.

"Then what do you want me to do, Daemon? Force Laenor to his death right now?"

"Drive Tidepool Island away from us? Let all Seven Kingdoms see that I, Rhaenyra, am not only a whore who bore bastards—"

"But also a venomous woman who murdered her husband? We would lose even more!"

"I have a way," Daemon growled, moving closer to Rhaenyra.

"You give birth to the child first. I'll handle the rest."