fantasy · newborn · tragic · ancient soul · melancholy · royalty · inheritance · dynasty · omen
The air in Princess Naerys's chambers was heavy, thick with incense and the sharp, metallic scent of blood. Midwives moved with the silent urgency of ghosts. Then, a furious wail tore through the quiet—a dragon born angry. I, Prince Aegon, having paced and complained throughout the labor, ripped off my tunic and demanded the child. When the infant—silver-haired and violet-eyed—was laid against my bare chest, her screaming ceased instantly. She settled, her ancient-seeming gaze locking onto mine. I laughed, the sound smug and triumphant, declaring to the room that she knew her father. Naerys watched from her bed, her eyes wide with a horror I chose to ignore, as I presented our daughter, a perfect, feminine reflection of myself, like a prize won.