He rolled his eyes and let out a weary sigh. "There's a woman in the Vale stirring up trouble," he said, his voice heavy with frustration. "She claims to be my sister, Visenya. Lord Arryn has vowed to handle her, but... it's exhausting."
Joana tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "But could she be telling the truth? After all, Princess Visenya's body was never found."
Aegon shook his head, his expression darkening. "During my father's reign, he spent years searching for her and Concubine Lyanna. If they were out there, he would have found them. This woman is just another imposter, like the others who came before her." His jaw tightened, and a flicker of rage burned in his eyes. "This is torture—for me, for my mother, and for Lord Stak, who lost not only his sister and niece but also his brother and father when they sought justice in the capital. And now, this woman dares to claim my sister's name, hoping to gain wealth and bear my heir, especially with Daenerys now betrothed to the Stak heir."
Joana reached up to gently stroke his face, her fingers trailing softly along his cheek. "I wish you peace," she whispered, her hand sliding into his hair. "Let go of the sadness that weighs on your heart. Don't let this woman's greed poison your soul. She holds no true power over you."
"It's not just me she insults," Aegon murmured, his voice thick with sorrow. "It's Visenya. My sister was just a babe when she was taken, denied both a life and a proper burial."
Joana leaned in closer, her gaze soft and steady. "My light," she whispered, "Princess Visenya is at peace. The sorrows of this world can no longer reach her or her mother. The North and the crown will soon be united through Daenerys' marriage, and no one will dare threaten you or your legacy." She took his hand and guided it to her rounded belly. "Do not dwell on those you have lost, but on those you will gain. This child, along with his older brothers and sister, needs you to look forward, not back."
As Aegon stared down at her swollen belly, Joana saw the longing in his eyes—the silent wish that her son would be the one to inherit the throne. She knew he couldn't openly declare her child as his heir, not without risking a civil war like the bloody conflicts that had torn the empire apart in the past.
Prince Daemon's rebellion. The Green Emperor's war against Princess Rhaenyra.
Aegon's conscience wouldn't allow him to make the same mistake.
But in her heart, Joana yearned for that impossible future. To see her son rise above Margaery's Prince Maekar and Desmera's Prince Daeron.
To see herself, not Margaery or Desmera, as the mother of the next emperor. It was a dangerous dream, one that could only lead to ruin if spoken aloud.
She had been placed in this position by the Gracious Mothers, meant to seduce the Emperor and supplant Lady Margaery in his affections. And she had succeeded. Since the moment Aegon first laid eyes on her, he had not sought the company of any other woman. But with a child growing inside her, her fate hung in the hands of the gods. Would she give birth to a son and secure her place? Or would she bear a daughter and be cast aside, left to fend for herself once Aegon tired of her?
Joana thought of Margaery and Desmera and the sons they had already borne. Maekar and Daeron—both potential heirs, both threats to her unborn child. Desmera might be cast aside, but Margaery... Margaery still had power. She still had the Emperor's favor if she could lure him back to her bed.
The more sons a woman bore, the stronger her claim. That was the game of queens. A game Joana had no choice but to play.
She pressed her forehead against Aegon's, her voice soft and soothing. "When you're with me, you need not carry the weight of the empire," she told him. "Forget the woman who dares to speak your sister's name. Forget the lords and their schemes. Just rest."
Aegon's gaze drifted to her bed. "I don't want to do anything tonight," he murmured. "I just want to sleep."
"Then sleep," Joana replied, her voice gentle.
She helped him remove his heavy imperial robes, setting them aside with care. He stripped down to his inner shirt and pants, kicking off his boots before sinking onto the bed. Joana slid in beside him, her hand reaching out to stroke his face.
The Emperor wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head against her breasts as if seeking comfort from the storm that raged within him. From within her, the child kicked, and Aegon chuckled softly, his hand tracing the curve of her belly to feel the life growing inside her.
"How long must I wait to meet the children you will give me?" Aegon asked, looking up at her with rare tenderness. "When will our little prince arrive?"
"Soon," Joana answered. "There are only two turns left now."
Aegon smiled faintly. "I hope he will be handsome. And that our daughters will look like you."
"I hope they look like you," Joana replied, her fingers combing through his dark hair. "You are far more beautiful than I."
He chuckled quietly but then sighed. "The Staks will arrive in four months. I hope our child's birth won't be overshadowed by their arrival."
"It won't," Joana assured him. "Now sleep, Your Majesty. I'll be here when the dawn comes."
Aegon hesitated, his hand lingering on her belly. "I will sleep," he said softly, "if you call me by the name my father whispered in my ear when I was born. Not a title."
Joana smiled and brushed her lips against his forehead. "Sleep well, Aegon."
A quiet smile curved his lips, but sleep did not come easily for the Emperor. Not when shadows of the past lingered so heavily in his heart.