"She saw you in a storm cloud, in a mountain pool at dusk, in the fire we lit to cook our suppers. She sees much and more, my Alys."

- Aemond Targaryen

130 AC, King's Landing

He watched her the way a dragon might a vixen at the forest's edge. Too small to make a satisfactory meal of, but pretty enough to play with. For a little while at least.

Prince Aemond cupped her face between his palms and ran a finger down her cheek. "I bartered an eye for a dragon," he told her. In the great stone fireplace, the flames were dancing. The light crystallized over the sapphire in his hollow socket, making it burn almost white. "A fair trade. What would you give for an eye, little Rivers?"

The court had sat down to their supper. Prince Aemond sat at the head of the table. He was Regent during his brother's indisposition and if he wished to seat his low-born paramour by his side, who would dare gainsay him? A table knife lay by his plate, an ornate silver affair with a rock crystal embedded into the handle. Sharp enough to take out an eye.

It was hard not to swallow, not to draw her shawl more tightly around herself and shape her fingers into a seven-pointed star. He'll smell the fear off you, Alys thought. When she had been a little girl, her lord father would take her on hunting trips, along with his trueborn sons. They can smell the fear off you, he'd told her when they were on the trail of boar and bear and the great-antlered elk who was the fiercest of all. Never let an animal smell your fear, my Alys, or it'll be the end of you.

"Half your life," she said steadily. "You need my eyes, to see the things that you cannot see for yourself. If you take one eye, you take away half the span of yours. And if you take both, you will die."

He laughed shortly and released her. "Clever girl," he said. "Clever, lying girl." The prince turned to his mother. "Helaena?" he asked briefly.

Alicent Hightower grimaced. "Abed," she responded, with equal terseness. "As always."

"She needs a new babe in the cradle to cheer her up," Prince Aemond said mockingly. "Past time she forgot Jaehaerys."

A mother never forgets, Alys thought and she saw it mirrored on the Queen Dowager's face, flashing through her eyes for a moment like silver trout through a stream. And then it was gone, hardening into a careful indifference - she did not dare show any weakness before her son, not before Aemond One-Eye.

"And who will give her this new babe?" Queen Alicent asked coolly. "Do you propose yourself?"

"Aegon's not up to the deed," Aemond grinned. His brother, the king, had lain abed in putrid agony ever since his battle with Princess Rhaenys. He slept nine hours out of every ten and the tenth whimpered and begged most pitifully for more milk of the poppy to ease his pain. "It'll have to be me to console our sweet sister." He caught up Alys' hand and kissed it, teeth scraping against her knuckles, one mad eye sparkling in a way that told her that he would visit her chamber that night. "I'm quick to get a sow in farrow. Alys' belly can swear to that."

Queen Alicent eyed her with faint distaste. "I will pray for your health, Alys Rivers," she said. "And for the health of your bastard." Her look said, both of you will need it.

How did it come to this? she wondered again, watching the man by her side spear a bloody chunk of boar's meat. He savaged it with tongue and teeth like a beast of prey and carelessly wiped away a trail of blood that had begun to drip from the side of his mouth. He was not king but he wore a crown, the Conqueror's crown of iron and rubies. More warlike than his brother, he declared that it looked better on him.

Her life had changed in a heartbeat. One moment she had been a silent spectator in her father's train as he came to King's Landing to swear fealty to the King, the next Aemond had plucked her out for her pretty face. It had only become worse when he'd been told that she was a witch's daughter, that she had witch's powers too. She could not say no to a prince, she had shown him all her mother had taught her and more, the gifts that were her own... and he had decided to keep her because it amused him. Her lord father had mewled kittenishly for her release but her brothers had put an end to that - better a bastard girl than their own heads.

While Aemond jested with a courtier, she watched the flames. "Seeking a vision?" Queen Alicent asked her mockingly.

"Aye," she said, lapsing into country speech. She was not of the court, not tutored in their ways and it showed. She was always a target for raillery and often Aemond himself led the cruel jests at her expense. "He is good to me when I see things for him."

"He should be good to you for the sake of the child you carry."

Alys smiled sadly. "He should be good to you for that you are his mother, my lady. And yet he is not."

"I was lucky that Aegon was my firstborn," Alicent murmured, low enough under the cacophony of the feasting court that only Alys could hear her. "Indolent and self-indulgent as Aegon is, he is still the better choice. The nobles would never have stood for Aemond as king."

A squire came into the hall and approached the dais, his face as chalky-pale as his tunic. He looked like he was going to be sick. It took courage to face the Prince Regent, especially if there was bad news. In a war, there was never any shortage of bad news.

"Your Grace," the poor little chap said. He knelt before the prince, as though hoping to make himself too small and insignificant for the wrath that he knew must fall on his head. His lord should have been here to bear the news instead of sending this child, Alys thought, with an irrational flash of anger. They all know Aemond's temper, but they're craven beneath the brave banners and shining armor. Of what use is a knight if he cannot protect the weak?

"There is news from the riverlands," the boy quavered. "I was sent by my Lord Crakehall." He offered a scroll to Aemond which the prince tossed negligently to his mother.

"Read it for me," he said briefly. A thin line appeared between Alicent's fine white brow as she read it silently for herself. "Well?" her son asked impatiently.

"Lord Crakehall writes to us that great losses have been sustained at a battle by the God's Eye," she said at last, her voice neutral and carefully controlled. "Over two thousand died."

"Well its a war," he said shortly. "And?"

"Lord Jason Lannister, their commander, was killed. Lord Lefford who succeeded him as well. Lord Swyft. Lord Reyne." The great lords' names fell like blows. "Your Grace, we have lost the battle."

For a moment the hall was utterly still, so still that Alys could almost feel her heart pounding in her chest. Aemond's fingers strained white against his goblet, if it were not solid gold it might have shattered in his grip. The squire drew ragged breaths, curling at the prince's feet like a terrified hound-pup. Queen Alicent's hands twitched against the plum-colored silk of her gown.

And then the silence shattered. With a roar that reminded her more of an animal than a man, Aemond grabbed the squire. "By the gods' pestilence," he swore. By the sharp stench that arose, Alys guessed that the boy had pissed his breeches. His hands were taut against the squire's throat, as though he meant to crush the life out of him. No one stirred, some like Queen Alicent averted their eyes as though the scene before them was somehow indecorous, others like Lord Rosby watched avidly as though at a bear-baiting.

This is not real to them, she thought. Not the boy, not his death. They are only glad that Aemond's anger did not turn to them.

When she was a little girl, she had wanted to be a knight. Her trueborn brothers let her play with them, sticks in place of swords, but when she had told Lyaren when she was five that she wanted to be a knight like he was going to be he'd shoved her into the mud and told her she was stupid. Girls can't be knights, he told her. Not even bastards like you. You can't be a knight and you're not a lady. You'll just have to be a witch like your mamma.

She would never be a knight, she would always be the prince's witch but she could be brave. She threw herself between Aemond and the squire, prising at his hands as best as she could. "Your Grace, my lord, my love," she cried. She caught one of his hands and pressed it against the mound straining against her gown. "For the love of our son-" She did not know if it was a boy or a girl she carried, no witch could tell you that, no matter how skilled. But it always pleased men to think that their women carried sons, for sons were proof of vitality. He slapped her away but he did loosen his hold on the boy.

She grabbed the silver knife lying by the side of his plate before he could think to pick it up himself and pressed it as hard as she could against the soft flesh of her own wrist. Blood trickled out, staining her white sleeve and his eyes followed it avidly as she knew they would. Aemond loved the sight of blood only a little less than he loved his dragon. "Please," she begged him again.

"You'll rue this, wench," he told her briefly.

I already am, she thought. She put the knife down. The boy was cowering behind her, she noticed, clinging to the hem of her gown like a babe at his nurse's skirt.

"Summon my council," the prince told his mother briefly. He snatched up a goblet of wine, drank it in one gulp and threw it against the wall in his fury. The queen's eyes flickered briefly and then she lowered them.

"It shall be done, Your Grace," she said. "Where will you be?"

"Out riding," he said. "I need night air to cool my blood."

Alys knelt as he passed, her long black hair covering her face and her shaking shoulders. He would ride his dragon, summon his war council... and come morning when the kingdom's business was done, he would attend to her.

Queen Alicent rose. "That was foolish," she murmured as she passed Alys, flicking her skirts away from her disdainfully. "You've ruined your gown."