There is hate in his daughter's eyes. She used to be a happy child. Aegon eyes her warily. She is wearing the new dress he ordered for her. The regal purple brings out her eyes. It is a splendid garment, fit for a celebration. And they have much to celebrate. But his daughter's lips form a straight line and in her gaze he can see the loathing.
Princess Jaehaera curtsies, her graces as polished as they can possible be. She is quiet. Too quiet even for her. It was always Jaehaerys that made noise and Jaehaera that followed her brother obediently, a shadow in all respects. A pale little ghost that didn't shine quite as bright. And now she is the only living twin, alone without the other half of her.
Aegon motions for her to come forward. He invites her in the seat next to his at the head of the table. "I have no queen," he tells his daughter. "You may sit here, on my right. One day the seat shall be rightfully yours." He fills his goblet with wine and drinks deep. "It is time that you know your place, Jaehaera."
"Whatever your wish is, Your Majesty," she says in that small voice of hers. It is so very baffling how two people can be so alike, yet so different. Jaehaerys might have helped quell her meekness.
"My firstborn son is gone." He must take a moment after making the statement. Whenever he says that, he remembers how Jaehaerys died. He also remembers that he wasn't there to protect his son. "But Maelor lives, and Maelor shall one day be the king. You will be his queen. Just like your mother was mine."
To have lost both a son and a wife, the gods must hate him, Aegon surmises. If they had any pity for him, they wouldn't have taken all these from him. He has the throne, but the victory is empty. Rhaenyra's men still crawl about his court and push her son towards the throne. Will they ever know peace, he wonders. Aegon looks fully into his daughter's face. Her sullen, sad face. She is very pretty when she smiles. Like her mother. Helaena had been pretty when she smiled. His wife lacked the beauty their house is famous for, but when she smiled, even Rhaenys, the first Aegon's wife, looked a bore beside her. Jaehaera on the other hand is pretty even when morose.
"I understand, Your Majesty." She stopped calling him father after her brother's death. Aegon notices the change, but something stops him every time he wants to ask why.
"You are a good daughter." He wonders if the compliment means anything to her. Jaehaera refuses to show anything other than serenity. It is hard to tell what she thinks.
"Your Majesty," she acknowledges him. But that is it. She speaks no more. Aegon thinks that mayhap the maesters are right and all these tragedies have weakened her mind.
The King downs the rest of his wine in silence. What else is there to do?