𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒, 𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐫𝐚 & 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭

Chapter 13. The scars began to bleed again

TW: mention of rape, mature
language, hints of PTSD

Cerys had never felt so loved. The adoration from her people was like being embraced by her long-dead mother, whose face still haunts her through the worst of times. Dreams had not tormented her mind for a long time; it made the girl feel healthy. As if the Targaryen madness did not touch her destiny, intertwined with it. This was what she always wanted.

Peace.

Freedom.

Love.

The little girl in her no longer needed to fight for attention; the desire to seize the throne was immersed deep in the depths of her soul.

Cerys almost immediately left the Stepstones, staying there for only a month. But despite the fact that she was drawn to King's Landing, she could not call this place her home. The walls of the Red Keep grew colder and less friendly, if they had ever been friendly at all. She felt more and more like a stranger there.

And yet Cerys was in no hurry to leave the capital. This was the place where she was born and where she grew up. This place was filled with the ghosts of memories that the princess's hands did not let go. Or maybe it was she who was holding on to them?

Cerys Targaryen did not see her uncle for many months while he bathed in baths of glory from the grateful inhabitants of the Narrow Sea. But today he finally decided to return to his roots. And the excitement that she felt completely took over her. Cerys felt her fingertips tingling, which is why she had to clench and straighten her hands all the time. The expensive fabric of the dress absorbed the sweat from the palms, and the ruby ​​on the ring could have fallen loudly onto the stone floor if not for the golden shackles holding it back.

People came from all over the Red Keep, wanting to greet the prince. The throne room reminded Cerys of an anthill, which was full of bright colors and silks that were pleasant to the touch. But among all this obscurantism, she managed to see a familiar cape. From the crowd, one pair of purple eyes looked at her and the girl's lips opened in surprise. Rhaenyra nodded at her with a tiny grin in greeting, but before Cerys could react, the noise outside the doors died down and her head spun around, searching for Daemon.

The figure of the Rogue Prince seemed to float around the room as if along a stream. The man walked smoothly and slowly. There was no longer any harshness or impatience in his movements. He reminded Cerys of a cat and this comparison made her smile.

His hair was different, shorter and soaked in salt air. Daemon wore the same armor he wore on the day of their victory.

And on his silver locks there was a crown.

Modest, it could hardly be considered a full-fledged one, and yet the princess noticed how Otto Hightower's muscles tensed in his face.

Criston Cole's sword rested against Daemon's breastplate and only then did he stop, raising his hand with a hammer. His gaze shifted to Cerys, who stood at the steps to the Iron Throne.

"Add it to the chair." The hammer fell and the room fell silent.

"You wear a crown," Viserys said. "Do you also call yourself King?"