He did not know that the blood he carried—the same blood that flowed through Aegon's veins—was considered an inconvenience, an obstacle to the ambitions of others.
Joana swallowed hard. Of course, they ignored Aegon's own ancestry when it suited them. It was easy to forget the blood that made him who he was when they had long imagined a different future—one where his heirs came from the noble houses of the Reach, where his sons would be born of young, fair-haired wives handpicked for their pedigree. But her arrival had shattered that expectation. Her presence, and more importantly, the birth of Jaehaerys, had changed everything.
She pressed her son closer to her chest, kissing the soft curls atop his head. He let out a sweet sigh, his tiny body relaxing against her as if he could feel the comfort she offered. The sting of tears burned at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She would not cry. She would not give them the satisfaction of knowing their words had wounded her.
Instead, she took a steady breath, lifted her chin, and continued forward. If they sought to erase her son's place in this world, they would have to do far more than whisper behind open windows.
Joana moved away from the wall once she felt certain she would not succumb to tears. Holding her head high, she continued down the corridor leading to the gardens. As she stepped outside, the mingling scents of blooming flowers and warm food hit her like a sudden gust of wind, overwhelming her senses for a moment. The fragrance was thick, mingling sweet florals with the rich aromas of honeyed pastries, roasted meats, and spiced wine.
She walked slowly, taking in the sight before her. Great tables had been set across the gardens, adorned with fine linens and arranged to accommodate the noblewomen invited to the wedding. The air was filled with murmured conversations and polite laughter as nearly a hundred women moved about, exchanging pleasantries and finding their places. Most did not spare Joana a glance, too absorbed in their own circles of familiarity. So, she quietly made her way to her assigned table—a place of honor.
Two young girls were seated beside her. Their dresses were similar, both embroidered with silver, though one wore grey and the other a shade of blue. Despite their matching attire, their differences were immediately apparent. One had a full head of dark brown hair, her unruly locks twisted into a respectable braid. The other had striking red hair and an air of quiet composure, offering demure smiles to those who met her gaze.
They were both undeniably beautiful, Joana thought. But it was the red-haired girl who seemed more comfortable in both her dress and her own skin. She carried herself with practiced ease, while the brown-haired girl appeared younger, still dressed in the garments of a maid, her body not yet adorned in the silks and jewelry of a woman grown.
The brown-haired girl, seated closest to Joana, turned her head and fixed her with a piercing gaze. Her grey eyes were striking—sharp and observant. Then, suddenly, her attention shifted to Jaehaerys.
"Is that your son?" she asked, her voice loud and direct.
The red-haired girl gasped in horror. "Aria!" she whispered sharply. "You can't ask people that!"
"Why not?" Aria turned back to Joana, unfazed. "Is he your son?"
Joana hesitated for only a moment before answering carefully, "Yes." Her voice was measured, but her mind was already racing. What had made the girl question it? Was it the color of their skin? His dark hair, so unlike hers?
But Aria merely shrugged. "You're very young," she observed instead. "How old are you?"
"Nineteen," Joana replied. "And you?"
"Fifteen," Aria said without hesitation. She then gestured toward the red-haired girl beside her. "And this is my sister, Serina. She's already sixteen."
Serina's face turned a shade as red as her hair. "I apologize for what she said… or might say," she murmured, clearly mortified. "It's a pleasure to meet you…?"
"Joana," she supplied. "Joana Noard. And this is Prince Jaehaerys." She shifted slightly, allowing them a better view of her son, though Jaehaerys seemed far more interested in the pearls adorning Aria's sleeves than in the conversation around him.
The moment she spoke her name, both sisters exchanged a glance—one of sudden recognition and thinly veiled shock. Now that she knew they were siblings, Joana could see the resemblance between them. Though one was darker and the other fairer, their features bore similarities—the same nose, the same curve of their lips, though shaped by different expressions. And now, the same wide-eyed look of realization.
"Joana? Joana Noard?" Aria asked as if needing confirmation. "The Emperor's consort?"
Joana inclined her head in a small nod.
Aria wasted no time. "You must come with us. To meet our mother."
Joana narrowed her eyes slightly. "Why?"
Serina shot her sister a frustrated look and grabbed her arm. "You could stand to be a little more subtle," she whispered before turning back to Joana.
"Why?" Joana repeated, now more curious than suspicious.
Aria ignored Serina's disapproval and looked directly at Joana. "Our mother wants to meet you," she said simply. Then, pushing back her chair, she stood. "Come, I'll take you to her."
Joana studied the girl for a moment before deciding to follow. More than anything, she was intrigued—curious to see the woman who had raised two such different daughters.
As they walked ahead of her, whispering amongst themselves, Joana gently rocked Jaehaerys in her arms, her gaze flickering across the gardens, taking in the watching eyes and the shifting alliances woven into every passing glance.
Two women were standing behind Margaery and Desmera, their resemblance unmistakable. Clear sisters, both with the same dark brown hair and clothed in rich, elegant fabrics. Between them sat an older woman—a crone, truly—so small in stature that she could be mistaken for a child. Their grandmother, Joana would wager.