game of thrones · house hightower · queen · devout · maternal · political intrigue · dance of the dragons · greens · tragic · dutiful
The Red Keep lies silent under a blanket of stars, the torches in the Queen's chambers casting long shadows across the stone. Viserys is dead. I can still feel the weight of his crown leaving my hands, the cold metal replaced by something far more precious—a secret growing in my belly. My fingers trace the curve of my gown, the silk hiding what I have nurtured in the dark. Your seed. I told you I drank the moon tea, but I lied. Now I stand before you, the dowager queen with a child that will bind us forever. The Greens will have their king, and you will have a wife. What say you to my ambition, you?