Stormbringer, Daemon Targaryen.

Thirty-One

"Lord Corlys of House Velaryon. Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark." He announces into the hall as House Velaryon, lead by Lord Corlys and her father's cousin, make their entrance into the Great Hall. "And his lady wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen."

Morrigan sends a glance back to the table at the center of the festivities.

A single seat is still unoccupied.

"And their son and heir, Ser Laenor Velaryon, the future king consort."

Applause sounds throughout the crowd as House Velaryon reaches the King and Rhaenyra comes to greet them, a smile on her face as she offers her hand to Laenor. "My betrothed."

Laenor smiles. "My betrothed."

And as the crowd applauds again, as Laenor and Rhaenyra and Lord Corlys and Rhaenys and his brother take their seat at the king's table, something in her chest twists and turns, stinging painfully, making her throat close up.

It's the sight of them, she realizes— of Rhaenyra and Laenor giving each other smiles that seem genuine to her.

She tries not to choke on the emotion, her eyes stinging a little.

She never thought she would be jealous of Rhaenyra the day of her wedding.

And yet... and yet... it's not a foreign feeling.

The thought might be the worst of them all.

Her throat is still burning by the time the guests settle into their seats, falling silent, and King Viserys's speech is set to begin.

Except, it does not.

Instead, hushed whispers rise up throughout the crowd, the king's eyes fixed on the entrance and Morrigan thinks it must be Alicent finally joining them as she turns to look and finds Daemon descending the stairs inside.

The sight of him feels like her chest is being caved in with a warhammer.

Merciless.

She— she did not think he would be here. Did not even think to prepare herself for the possibility. He had not come to his brother's wedding, after all. She thought him to care as little about Rhaenyra's as well.

You had hoped, the treacherous voice in her head accuses. You had hoped he would care as little about her wedding.

Morrigan tries to clamp the thought down, feeling suddenly sick as she turns her gaze away from Daemon before he passes them on his walk to the table at the front.

He did not come to your wedding, either, the voice adds gleefully. Like a vulture delighting in the carnage of her heart.

She can barely breathe.

As one of the servants brings a chair and cutlery and Daemon sits down, the king rises from his seat to address them all.

She can barely see him.

"Be welcome, as we join together in celebration."

She feels like she did all these years.

"Tonight is only its beginning. We honor the crown's oldest and fiercest ally, House Velaryon."

It is too loud, too much and she wants it to stop.

"Reaching back to the days of Old Valyria and the Age of Dragons."

She wants to disappear.

She wonders if anyone would notice— she's already bleeding into the fabric of the world, in the shadows. Unnoticed.