OTTO
The raven arrived at noon.
I was reviewing garrison reports in the Tower of the Hand when the maester brought it—a scroll sealed with black wax. The Targaryen sigil.
Dragonstone.
I broke the seal. Read the words. Read them again.
My hands didn't tremble. I'd been expecting this for twenty years.
"To the usurper Aegon and his treasonous council. I, Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, reject your illegitimate coronation. My father named me his heir. The lords of the realm swore oaths to me. Your theft of my crown is an act of war. Bend the knee within a fortnight, or face dragonfire. The blood that spills will be on your hands. Rhaenyra, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men."
Direct. Uncompromising. Exactly what I'd predicted.
I summoned the small council.
AEMOND
"Let her come."
My voice cut through the chamber's tension. The council members—Otto, Alicent, Criston Cole, Grand Maester Orwyle—turned to look at me.
"We have more dragons," I continued. "Sunfyre, Vhagar, Dreamfyre. What does she have? Syrax? That pampered beast hasn't seen battle in years."
"She has Daemon." Otto's voice was ice. "And Caraxes. And the Velaryons, which means Seasmoke and their entire fleet."
"Daemon is an old man chasing glory."
"Daemon is the most dangerous warrior in the realm, and he's been waiting for this war his entire life."
I smiled. Let them see I wasn't afraid. "So have I."
Silence.
Mother spoke first. "This isn't about bravado, Aemond. This is about winning. How do we win?"
Otto spread a map across the table. King's Landing at the center. Dragonstone to the east. The rest of the realm spreading outward like a web.
"The ravens are flying," he said. "Declarations of loyalty. The Lannisters will support Aegon—Tyland has already confirmed. The Baratheons are split, but Lord Borros favors us. The Reach is ours through my family. The Riverlands..." He frowned. "Uncertain."
"And the North?" Criston Cole asked.
"The Starks will support Rhaenyra. They always honor their oaths, the fools."
I traced my finger along the map. From Dragonstone to King's Landing—a straight line across Blackwater Bay.
"If they attack by sea, they'll have to pass our defenses. The scorpions on the walls. The chain across the harbor."
"If they attack by dragon, none of that matters." Otto's voice carried weight. "One dragon could burn the scorpions. Two could burn the fleet. Three could burn the city."
"Then we don't let them get that close." I tapped the Crownlands. "We take the offensive. Strike Dragonstone before they're ready. End this before it becomes a war."
"With what army?"
"With Vhagar."
The room went still.
ALICENT
I watched my son speak of war like other men spoke of wine—with eagerness. With hunger.
When did he become this?
I remembered the boy who'd lost his eye. Who'd sobbed in my arms while the maester stitched his face. Who'd sworn revenge with blood still wet on his cheeks.
That boy was gone. This man—this cold, calculating man—frightened me.
"We cannot strike first," I said. "It would confirm Rhaenyra's claims. We'd be the aggressors."
"We're already the aggressors, Mother. We stole her throne."
"We claimed what was rightfully Aegon's."
"Tell yourself that." Aemond's smile didn't reach his eye. "I don't need the justification. I just need the victory."
Otto raised a hand. "Enough. We will not strike first, but we will prepare for her strike. Strengthen the city's defenses. Call our bannermen. Secure the Crownlands."
"And Aegon?" I asked.
Silence.
"Where is Aegon?" I pressed.
More silence.
Aemond snorted. "Drunk somewhere. As always."
My son. The king. Too broken to rule, too weak to fight. And yet he wears the crown.
"Find him," I said. "Sober him up. He needs to be seen. If the smallfolk believe their king is absent while Rhaenyra threatens war..."
"I'll handle it." Criston Cole's voice was steady. Reliable. The only man in this room I trusted completely. "The king will be prepared."
Otto nodded. "Good. Council dismissed. We reconvene at sunset."
The lords filed out. I stayed.
"Father."
Otto looked up from his maps.
"Helaena," I said. "How is she?"
"Calm, from what I've observed. That guard of hers keeps her steady."
"The bastard."
"He swore to her specifically. Refused to swear to Aegon."
"I know. I was there."
Otto set down his quill. Studied me with those calculating eyes.
"He's useful," he said. "A man devoted to Helaena is a man who keeps her controlled. Content. Manageable."
"She's not a piece on your board, Father."
"Everyone is a piece, Alicent. Even you. Even me." He returned to his maps. "The difference is knowing which piece you are, and playing accordingly."
I left without another word.
HELAENA
I found Ulf in the corridor outside the nursery.
He stood with his back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes closed. Not sleeping—I could tell by the tension in his shoulders. Just... waiting.
"They're declaring war," I said.
His eyes opened. "I know. The ravens arrived an hour ago."
"You heard?"
"I hear everything."
I stepped closer. Lowered my voice.
"Rhaenyra will come with fire. Daemon will come with blood. My children—"
I couldn't finish. My hands were shaking. I grabbed his arm, squeezed hard enough to hurt.
Ulf didn't flinch. Just covered my hands with his.
"I've already planned for this."
"Planned?"
"Three escape routes from the nursery. One through the servants' passages, one through the godswood, one through the sept. I've stationed men I trust at each. Men who answer to me, not Otto."
"If dragons come—"
"If dragons come, I'll get them out. The children first. Always the children first."
I looked up at him. This strange man who'd appeared in my life like something from a dream. Who trained until he bled. Who survived dragonfire. Who loved me in ways Aegon never could.
"And me?"
His jaw tightened. "You come with us. Always."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
"On what?"
He hesitated. Then: "On everything I was before this world. On everything I'll be after it."
I didn't understand the words, but I understood the weight behind them.
I released his arm. Stepped back. Became the queen again—distant, untouchable, safe.
"Stay close tonight," I said. "I don't trust the shadows."
"I never leave."
ULF
That night, I reviewed my preparations.
The nursery: secured. Guards I'd personally vetted. Escape routes I'd personally walked.
The passages: monitored. My informant network—street children, servants, dockworkers—watching for any unusual movement.
The ratcatchers: dead. Cheese and Blood eliminated months ago. No assassination from within.
Silverwing: semi-bonded. Not ride-ready. Not yet. But she'd accepted me. Remembered me. If I needed her...
If I needed her, I'd need to get to Dragonstone first. Across a bay full of Velaryon ships. Through enemy territory. While war raged.
Not ideal.
I sat in my chamber, surrounded by maps and lists and contingency plans.
The Dance of the Dragons had begun. In the original timeline, this war lasted two years. Killed thousands. Ended with dragons nearly extinct and the Targaryen dynasty broken.
I'd prevented Blood and Cheese. Saved Jaehaerys and Jaehaera from that particular horror.
But that was one death in a war of thousands.
What else can I change? What else can I prevent?
Rook's Rest. Meleys and Rhaenys dead. Aegon crippled.
The Gullet. Dragons falling into the sea.
The Storming of the Dragonpit. Dragons killed by mobs.
Helaena's suicide.
That one. That's the one that matters.
In the original timeline, Helaena threw herself from Maegor's Holdfast. Broken by her children's deaths. By the war. By everything.
I wouldn't let that happen.
Couldn't let that happen.
My hands hurt. I looked down, realized I'd been clenching them. Nails digging into palms. Fresh blood welling.
Get it together. You can't protect anyone if you're falling apart.
I released my hands. Flexed my fingers. Reached for my training weights.
Work to do. Always more work.
I had weeks, maybe days, before the real fighting began. Before dragons burned and armies clashed and the world dissolved into fire and blood.
I needed to be ready.
I strapped on the weights. One hundred fifty kilograms. Heavier than yesterday. Heavier than last week.
Moved through Rokushiki forms. Soru bursts across the small room. Tekkai holds until my muscles screamed. Rankyaku kicks that split the air.
Hours passed. My body protested. I ignored it.
The Dance had begun.
And I was still not ready.
But I would be.
I had to be.
Because Helaena was counting on me. The children were counting on me.
And I refused to let this world take them.
Not without a fight.
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