A moon's turn after the grand wedding of Princess Daenerys and Lord Stak's son and heir, everything takes a sharp turn. The palace hums with whispers, but Joana remains in her own world, far from the brewing storm.
She lounges in the palace gardens with Jaehaerys, watching her little boy attempt to grab the grass in front of him. To keep him clean, she has spread a large cloth beneath him, ensuring his fine clothes remain untouched by the dirt. He lies on his stomach, a precaution against cradle head, his tiny fingers curling around the fabric as he wiggles in delight.
He is a sweet boy, full of gummy smiles and quiet happiness. When their eyes meet, his tongue peeks out between his lips in pure joy, and she smiles in return.
"Now you can smile for Mama?" she teases, tickling his chubby cheek. "Now you smile, you naughty boy?"
Jaehaerys gurgles in response, twisting his fingers around the cloth beneath him. Joana rubs his back soothingly, watching as he takes in his surroundings. The warmth of the gardens, the rustling leaves, the scent of blooming flowers—he is growing up amidst nature's embrace. They come here every day so he can soak up the sun like a little flower, and she believes he enjoys it. His skin, once soft and pale, has taken on a slightly warmer tone in the months since his birth, kissed by the light.
The peace is suddenly shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps. Joana looks up just as Dalla comes running toward her, breathless.
"Consort!" she exclaims, voice high with urgency. "Consort, Consort!"
Joana sits up at once with a sharp gaze.
Marra, who had accompanied her to the gardens, exchanged a puzzled glance with her.
Dalla stops before her, chest rising and falling rapidly. "It's Princess Rhaenys," she blurts out. "She has eloped with Prince Quentyn. The Emperor and the Gracious Mother are furious."
Joana stills. Princess Rhaenys—Aegon's only surviving sister. A powerful piece on the imperial chessboard, a pawn to be played against the noble houses of the empire.
Joana remembers Aegon mentioning, in passing, how impatient his sister had grown waiting for a match to be arranged. It seems she has taken matters into her own hands. A bold move, but one that would undoubtedly anger both the Emperor and the Mother.
Joana rises to her feet, scooping Jaehaerys into her arms. "Let us return to my rooms," she says softly. "If the Mother is furious, it is best to stay out of her way."
Dalla and Marra nod quickly, gathering Joana's belongings as they make their way back to her chambers.
Once inside, Joana wastes no time. She instructs Marra to bring warm water for Jaehaerys' bath, along with the special herbs she had purchased to calm infants. He is not troubled now, but she prefers him to sleep through the afternoon. If chaos erupts over his aunt's scandal, he should be well-rested.
She was never particularly close to Princess Rhaenys. In fact, none of the women in Aegon's harem seemed to have a bond with her, nor did their children. The Emperor's sister always kept herself apart, walking alongside Princess Daenerys, whispering secrets only they knew.
Joana does not feel betrayed for not knowing of Rhaenys' plans, but the situation does give her pause. Should she be preparing for something like this in her own household? She has no imperial daughters yet, but this incident offers a glimpse into the nature of a girl raised in a golden cradle—headstrong, willful, and unafraid to claim her own fate. Perhaps she should take precautions for the future, ensuring that no daughter of hers acts so recklessly.
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Joana is feeding Jaehaerys after his bath when Jeyne arrives with more news. Her expression is grave.
"Princess Rhaenys and her husband have been exiled," she announces. "Her mother has sent them to the Princess' birthplace and the ancestral homeland of the Imperial House."
Joana raises a brow. "Exiled? Forever?"
Jeyne hesitates. "Officially, yes. But it is likely only until the Emperor's anger fades."
Joana hums in thought. A princess marrying without her family's approval is a great scandal. No wonder the Emperor is furious. Yet, exile seems a harsh punishment for something done in the name of love.
Once Jaehaerys is asleep in his cradle, Joana settles at her writing desk. She reaches for parchment, though her handwriting is notoriously terrible. It takes three attempts before she is satisfied with the way the words look.
My respected princess,
I have heard what has happened between Your Highness and Prince Quentyn. Please know that I am onyour side and will work to convince the Emperor to forgive you. After all, we cannot punish those who love. The little influence I have over your beloved brother will be used to bring the Princess and her husband back home.
Written by the hand of Prince Jaehaerys' mother,
Consort Joana.
Satisfied, Joana seals the letter and turns to Jeyne.
"Take this to Princess Rhaenys," she instructs. "I'll give you the money. Hand it to no one else but the Princess herself. Do you understand?"
Jeyne nods and curtsies. "Yes, Consort."
As she watches her maid depart, Joana turns her gaze back to Jaehaerys, sleeping peacefully. The palace may be in turmoil, but for now, in this quiet chamber, all is well.
She does this for him. Every careful word, every attempt at manipulation, every calculated move to secure allies and form a protective network—it is all for him. Every scheme, every alliance, every cautious step she takes is meant to safeguard his future. All of it, for Jaehaerys.
Joana exhales softly, rising from her seat and stepping closer to the cradle where her son lies. Washed, swaddled, and fast asleep, he looks utterly peaceful, as if nothing in the world could ever harm him. His tiny face is serene, his lower lip curled into a faint pout, his long lashes casting shadows over his soft cheeks.
His chest rises and falls with steady, rhythmic breaths, as though he exists in a world untouched by fear or danger.
Nothing can hurt him.