Quentyn stood before the door of his father's solar in Maegor's Holdfast. The feast was being prepared in the great kitchens, so he knew he had at least two hours, maybe more, to reason with his father over the matter of his marriage. The taste of Katarina Stark was still fresh on his lips, and it gave him courage; he raised a hand and pounded on his father's door.

"Yes, who is it?" King Viserys shouted from within. "It is Quentyn, father!" the prince called back. He heard the rustle of robes, and Viserys himself opened the door. "Come in, come in! You must be here to talk of your prize. I am curious to hear what it is, since you have insisted on secrecy."

Quentyn entered the solar, taking a seat at the table his father used for small council meetings. Viserys sat in the seat across from him and folded his hands. "Speak, then. What would my champion have of me?" Viserys said, smiling.

Quentyn took a deep breath. "Father, you know there is little I desire that I do not already have. I have a suitable seat, leal subjects, wealth, honor. I need none of these. All I do not have is a woman I love to warm my bed and bear my children. You have forced me into a betrothal with my sister, whom not only do I not love, but whom is mine own blood. I therefore request your permission to marry for love, as you once did yourself. I request your permission to marry the Lady Katarina Stark, and join our two great Houses."

The king was silent. He stared at Quentyn for a long moment, his chin resting on steepled fingers. Quentyn did not like the look in his father's eyes.

After another moment, Viserys spoke. "Quentyn, you and I have been over this and over this. I do not understand why you burden me with this yet again. You are the blood of the dragon; dragons do not mate with wolves. Dragons mate with dragons. You will marry Daenerys on the morrow, and that is the last I shall hear of this, or so help me, I will exile you to Dragonstone permanently."

Quentyn was shocked at the anger in his father's voice. "Why is it so hard for you to allow me to make my own decisions? You did not mate with a dragon. You mated with a falcon and a tower."

"When I married, there were no Targaryen females to be found. There still weren't when Rhaenyra's mother died. There is a dragon for you."

"Then give her to Aegon or Aemond! Both are elder than I, and should be married first. Let me follow my heart."

Viserys shook his head. "Older they may be, but you fall before them in the line of succession."

Quentyn was shocked. "What do you mean? I am the youngest son, the last in the line of succession. I do not want that cursed throne."

Viserys scowled. "You were named Rhaenyra's successor in the event of her death, should she not have children before then, in my will. Aemond is second behind you, Aegon third."

"This is unheard of," Quentyn spat. "Aegon should rightfully be taking the throne before any of us; how can you slight him like this?"

Viserys rose from his seat. "Because Aegon is more headstrong than you claim Rhaenyra to be. You are the wisest, most experienced leader among my children, save for Rhaenyra. If any of my sons are to sit the Iron Throne, I will have it be you. If not you, then Aemond, who is more like you than you can begin to imagine. But Aegon, in his endless battle to steal your sister's inheritance, has proven himself unworthy for the throne. Considering your new status as Heir Regent, you will be married to a Targaryen, so that in the event of your succession to the throne, your heirs will be pure blood of the dragon."

Quentyn rose as well. "Did you ever think to consider my feelings in this matter, father?" he hissed. "I do not want to be king. I have never wanted it. I do not want to marry Daenerys. I want to marry Katarina, and return to my seat on Dragonstone. I want to live my life away from this game of thrones you play here in the capital. I want no part of it."

Viserys glared at his son. "Tomorrow, you will be wed to Daenerys. Then you can return to your rock. If you choose to renounce the throne should the time come, Aemond will rule, and you can remain in the middle of the sea and rot. But you will marry Daenerys, Quentyn. This you cannot avoid. You will wed her, bed her, impregnate her, and bear me grandchildren."

Quentyn had heard enough. He stormed from the solar, ignoring his father's shouts. Down the halls he marched, headed for his room. If I am to be forced to marry Daenerys, I will not remain here, he thought. I will fly back to Dragonstone. Tonight. The others take every one of these people.

When he reached his room, he hurriedly began throwing his things into the trunk his men had brought up for him. He took a moment to strap on his armor, however; he did not know what his father would do in rage. Around his waist went Shadowrend, and on his hands went the clawed gauntlets; he strapped on his greaves, thigh plates, breastplate, and upper arm plates. He threw his excess clothes in the trunk, slammed the lid, and fastened his cloak, then hefted the trunk and strode quickly from the room.

The prince made it outside without seeing anyone. He crossed the keep of Maegor's Holdfast, headed for the gate. Once clear of the Holdfast, he quickened his step further, and retrieved a black horse from the stable. He threw a bridle on it, electing to forgo a saddle to save time; swinging onto the horse's back, he settled the trunk across his thighs and rode hard out of the Red Keep.

Quentyn relaxed as he entered the city of King's Landing. He knew he would be hard to spot on the narrow streets. He slowed the horse to a walk, meandering towards the King's Gate, intending to wait for dark to fly over the bay on Darkfyre.

Soon, however, he heard the clop of hooves on the cobbles behind him. He wheeled his horse; there, mounted behind him, was Aemond. His brother was scowling. "What the hell do you think you're doing!" Aemond thundered.

Quentyn didn't flinch. "I am going home, brother. I am sick of this game, sick of this city, and sick of father's idiot proclamations and perversion of the law."

"You will ride with me back to the Red Keep. You will forget about the Stark girl. You will do your duty tomorrow and wed Daenerys. And when the time comes, you will help us place Aegon on the throne, and bugger all of father's plans."

Aemond rode closer to Quentyn. "I need you, Quentyn. We need this wedding if we are to keep Rhaenyra from the throne. You are wise; you see that I am right. Without you, we will never succeed, and the Seven Kingdoms will suffer for it. Can you live with that, knowing it was you who made it possible?" Aemond's violet eyes searched Quentyn's face. "Put the kingdom before yourself, brother. I know you do not wish to do this. I feel for you. But it is a necessary sacrifice if we are to preserve peace."

Quentyn bowed his head, ashamed. "You are right," he muttered. "I was a fool."

Aemond smiled. "Love makes fools of us all," he said softly. "I see how you look at the Stark girl, and I see how she looks at you. Were there any other way, believe me, I would stand with you on this. But there is not. Daenerys will not be with us if she is not wed to you, and we need the full support of House Targaryen in this venture." Quentyn just nodded, feeling sorrow grip him. I am sorry, Kat...he thought sullenly.

The two princes rode in silence back to the Red Keep. Night was falling, and shadows ruled the courtyard; nobody noticed the two as they returned their horses to the stables. Quentyn and Aemond strode across the Keep to the open doors of the Great Hall, where the sounds of the feast could be heard.

They entered the hall and quickly strode between the tables to the dais, where Viserys was watching them, anger evident on his face. Quentyn settled into his seat on Viserys's right, next to Daenerys, and Aemond sat on the other side of her. Both began to fill their plates without a word.

Viserys looked at Quentyn. "One of your wishes has been granted, Quentyn," the king said, "out of respect for your win today." Quentyn felt his heart soar for a moment.

"The order of succession has been returned to what it was before. You are again last in line for the throne."

Quentyn looked back at his father. "Then it shouldn't be necessary for me to be wed tomorrow. It is no longer important who the mother of my children is." He felt Daenerys tense beside him, but ignored her.

Viserys just snorted. "I spoke to the High Septon. A betrothal is holy in the eyes of the gods, and cannot be set aside without a just cause. You have none, therefore you will still be wedded tomorrow."

Quentyn sagged in his chair. He could feel Daenerys glaring at him, but he had not the heart to look at her. "As you wish, Your Grace," he muttered, unable to fight any more. He knew the gods were all-important to his father; Viserys would never go against them, no matter what argument Quentyn presented.

Daenerys, however, seemed to have fight in her. "Is it such a burden to be married to me, Quentyn?" she asked, venom in her voice. Quentyn sighed. "I do not love you," he replied simply, filling a goblet with wine. Looks like it will be another rough morning tomorrow, he thought bitterly as he drained his glass.

The feast passed in a blur. Quentyn ignored those around him, electing to keep his face in his goblet. He became quite drunk, but still he drank, hoping to drown his sadness in wine, but no matter how much he drank, he could not forget his predicament.

When Viserys called for a toast to his victory in the tournament, he stood, teetering, and left the Hall; he could hear the murmurs of the people behind him as they wondered about his sudden departure. He was beyond caring, however, and continued out into the night, marching drunkenly towards Maegor's Holdfast.

Quentyn climbed to his room and collapsed on the bed, leaving the door open. He growled into the sheets, but his anger was pointless; he had lost, and he knew it.

Quentyn heard his door click shut behind him. He groaned and rolled over, expecting to see Aemond or Daenerys; he was surprised to see Katarina standing in his room, her hand on the closed door.

"I take it, from your departure from the feast, that your efforts with your father were for naught," she said, her eyes on the floor. Quentyn grunted. "Not only were they unsuccessful, but I was threatened with exile were the matter to be brought before him again," he muttered.

Katarina sighed. "Then you will be wed tomorrow, and return to Dragonstone."

"Yes."

"Will I ever see you again?"

"I don't know."

Katarina sighed again, and crossed the room to sit next to where Quentyn lay on the bed. "I love you, Quentyn Targaryen," she said, taking his hand. Quentyn squeezed her hand slightly. "I love you as well, Katarina Stark," he said, his eyes beginning to fill with tears.

Katarina smiled, her own eyes wet. "Then love me, before you are married," she said, swinging her leg over him and straddling his hips. She bent down, pressing her lips to his, smoothing the hair from his forehead. Quentyn kissed her back, one hand on her hip and the other behind her head, holding her mouth to his.

Their kisses became hotter, and Katarina began unlacing Quentyn's jerkin. The prince unclasped the cloth-of-silver belt about her waist and let it fall to the floor. His shirt removed, Quentyn sat up, pressing his chest to hers, and lifted her dress over her head. Her body was exquisite, as he knew it would be; Quentyn ran his hands down the skin of her back, coming to rest on her hips.

Katarina unlaced his breeches and pulled them down. When Quentyn entered her, she moaned lightly against his ear. "Love me, Dragon Prince," she whispered as she began to move on him. Quentyn matched her, their hips moving in unison. She moaned again, louder this time, and quickened her pace.

They reached their climax in unison. Katarina bit down on Quentyn's neck as she came, stifling a scream. Quentyn groaned and collapsed back on the bed, pulling Katarina with him. She fell on top of him, breathing hard.

They lay like that for a few minutes, with Quentyn still inside her, savoring the feeling. Katarina kissed his neck, drawing a moan from him; her lips felt like fire on his skin. "I love you, Kat," Quentyn gasped. "I love you too, Quentyn," she replied, kissing his neck again.

At last, the moment ended; Katarina lifted herself from him and stood, pulling her dress back on. Quentyn pulled up his breeches and laced them as she refastened her belt.

"I do not wish you to be at the wedding tomorrow," Quentyn told her, touching her hair. "I do not want you to have to bear that."

Katarina just smiled. "I am stronger than you think, my prince," she said."It would be noticed if I were not there, and you don't need any more trouble on my account. I will be there, I will watch, and I will be happy for you, even if you are not happy for yourself. Daenerys is a beautiful woman, and will make you a fine wife."

"But I do not want her. I want you." Quentyn felt like he had endured another wound like the one on the red wastes; the pain was excruciating.

Katarina touched his cheek and kissed him softly. "Fate has decreed you shall have another. You must accept this." She smiled again, though tears fell from her eyes. "Just know that I will always love you, you and no other. And I will pray to the old gods every day that Fate changes its decree."

Quentyn was lost for words; his tears fell freely as he kissed her. "And I you, Katarina," he said, finding his voice. "You, and no other."

Katarina kissed him again, deeper this time. When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his chest. "Then this must be goodbye," she said, her voice breaking. Before Quentyn could protest, she turned and walked from the room. Quentyn heard a single sob as the door swung shut behind her.

The prince sat down hard on the bed and buried his face in his hands. His own sobs filled the room. He felt as if someone had removed his heart and fed it to Darkfyre; no pain he had experienced thus far compared to what he was feeling at that moment.

Eventually his sobs subsided, and he sat in silence on the edge of the bed. His head still swam with wine, and he felt his stomach churning. He lurched to his feet and stumbled across the room, collapsing next to the privy hole and vomiting heavily. When the sickness had passed, he crossed the room and returned to his seat.

I cannot do this, he thought in anguish. I cannot marry a woman I don't love with the woman I do love in the room. I cannot bear that. He knew, however, he had no choice; it was marry Daenerys, or lose the kingdom to the tyrant reign of Rhaenyra. "A choice of two evils," he spat through clenched teeth.

A knock at the door interrupted his brooding. Before he could tell the intruder to leave, the door opened, and Daenerys walked into the room.

Quentyn groaned and turned away from her. "Leave, Daenerys. I wish to be alone," he said. She ignored him, however, and crossed the room to stand in front of him.

"I am not here to fight," she said. Quentyn was surprised to hear her voice thick with tears. He looked up, and saw she was indeed weeping, her purple eyes red around the edges. "I am only here to tell you that I love you, and that I hope you can find a way to be happy with me. If there was a way for me to release you from your pledge, I would, but father rebuked me just as vehemently as you when I brought the matter before him. I tried to give you your wish, but he is adamant. I am happy to be your wife; I just hope you will be happy one day as well." She sniffed slightly and turned to leave.

Quentyn sighed and called after her. She turned and faced him, still weeping, and waited for him to speak.

"I will tell you no lies, Daenerys," Quentyn said, his voice thick. "I am in love with another. I do not think that will ever change." Daenerys did not react to his words, but waited for him to continue.

"However, I can see you love me...and I swear to you, I will try my very best to make you happy. If we are to be wed, there is no reason it must be misery for the both of us." He stood. "I am truly sorry I have hurt you. If it could have been avoided, I would have done so, but...but Fate has made a different decree." He was surprised to find himself echoing Katarina's words from earlier. "And if this is the decree of Fate, then I shall make the most of it."

Quentyn crossed the room to Daenerys and took her in his arms. She rested her head against his chest, weeping still, but no longer with force. She seemed tired as he held her, far too weary for a girl of eight-and-ten.

"I promise you, I will make you happy. And I will try to find happiness for myself with you. You have my word."

Daenerys sniffed again and looked up at him, a tentative smile curling her lips. "Thank you, Quentyn," she said, her voice a little stronger. "That is all I wish, is for you to be happy."

Then find a way for me to wed Katarina tomorrow, Quentyn thought, but did not give voice to his sentiment. Instead, he kissed Daenerys on the forehead and stepped back from her. "Go, get some rest," he told her. "Tomorrow is a big day."

Daenerys curtsied. "You do the same, my prince," she said, and walked out of the room.

Quentyn collapsed on the bed again, head in hands. He did not wish to hurt Daenerys, but nor did he wish to marry her. Either way, I lose, he thought, tears filling his eyes once more. Either I follow my heart and let the kingdom suffer, or I lose the love of my life. Either way, I lose.

Quentyn stood and pulled off his breeches, then crawled back onto the mattress. He could still smell Katarina's scent in the room.

He fell asleep thinking of her.