Beyond the Veil

Celeste could feel her body buzzing as she and Sirius left the hall, the announcement of her heritage having gone better than Celeste had anticipated, though the tension in the room had been palpable. She could still feel the weight of Aemond’s gaze and the calculating expressions of the court, but she held her head high, unwilling to let their scrutiny unsettle her.

“Not bad for your first appearance,” Sirius said, his voice tinged with pride. “You handled yourself well.”

“Not bad?” Celeste teased, glancing at him. “I thought I was brilliant.”

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve always been too modest.”

Their light-hearted banter was interrupted as a servant approached them, his head bowed respectfully. He held out a small, folded letter, the wax seal bearing the unmistakable emblem of House Targaryen—a three-headed dragon.

“A letter for you, Lord Sirius,” the servant said quietly, offering the missive.

Sirius took it, his brow furrowing as he examined the seal. “From Daemon,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only Celeste could hear. He dismissed the servant with a nod and turned to her. “Let’s continue to your chambers. We’ll read this in private.”

Curiosity sparked in Celeste, the name being unfamiliar to her, but she simply nodded, following him through the halls. The tension in Sirius’s expression told her that whatever was in the letter, it was not a simple greeting.

Celeste’s new chambers were far more luxurious than the servant quarters she had grown accustomed to. The walls were adorned with tapestries, the furniture carved from rich dark wood, and the bed draped in fine linens. A small desk by the window held an inkpot and quill, and a faint breeze stirred the curtains.

Sirius closed the door behind them and moved to the desk, breaking the seal on the letter with deliberate care. Celeste stood by the window, watching him intently as he unfolded the parchment and began to read.

His eyes scanned the letter quickly, his expression darkening with each line. When he finished, he let out a low sigh and handed it to her. “Read this.”

Celeste took the letter, her eyes narrowing as she read Daemon’s bold, almost reckless script:

Sirius,

It has been some time since we last spoke, old friend, but I find myself summoned back to the den of vipers. I write to inform you that my family and I will soon be in the capital, as there is a matter of utmost importance to address. Vaemond Velaryon has seen fit to challenge Lucerys’s claim to Driftmark before the court, and such slander cannot go unanswered.

I expect no fairness or justice under the cunt Otto Hightower’s watch. That man’s thirst for control poisons everything he touches, and with my brother's health failing, I can only imagine Otto’s grip on the court has tightened. It will not be a battle fought with swords, but it will be no less ruthless. These halls have always been dangerous, but with Otto pulling the strings, every word spoken could be a weapon.

I hope to see you upon my arrival. If you’ve managed to survive this long in that pit of lies, you’ll no doubt have stories to share. The Sirius I remember never shied away from a fight, though I trust you’ve learned to pick your battles. Then again, you always did thrive in chaos.

If there’s anything worth knowing about the state of things before I arrive, I expect you’ll share it. And if the court’s ruthlessness has sharpened, perhaps you’ll find me an eager pupil—I’ve had little use for subtlety in recent years, but even I can appreciate the value of a well-placed whisper when the stakes are high.

Until then, tread carefully, my friend. And do keep your head attached to your shoulders. It would be a shame to lose it before we’ve had the chance to share a drink.

And bring good wine. The wine here is dreadful.

Daemon

Celeste’s fingers tightened slightly on the parchment as she finished reading. She looked up at Sirius, her brow furrowed. “This sounds… dangerous.”

“It is,” Sirius said bluntly, crossing his arms. “Daemon isn’t one for subtlety, and if he’s coming to King’s Landing with Rhaenyra and her family, it means he expects this challenge to be more than just words. Vaemond’s claim is a bold one. There’s always been whispers about the legitimacy of the children, but to outright confront it is asking for a hanging.”

Celeste folded the letter carefully, setting it on the desk. “What does this mean for us?”

Sirius sighed, leaning against the desk. “It means the court is about to become even more of a battlefield than it already is. Factions will form, sides will be taken, and every word, every look, will be analysed for meaning.”

He gave her a pointed look. “It also means you need to tread carefully. You made an impression today, but that also means you’re on their radar. Anything you say or do could be used against us—or for someone else’s gain.”

Celeste nodded, her expression serious. “I understand.”

Sirius studied her for a moment, his eyes softening slightly. “Daemon’s right about one thing—you need to be careful. The alliances here are fragile, and the Targaryens are at the centre of it all. If this turns into a battle of words—or worse—you stay out of it. Let me handle it.”

Celeste hesitated, then nodded again, though her mind was already turning. She had grown up navigating treacherous waters in the Wizarding World, and while this court was different, the principles of power and influence were the same. She would tread carefully, but she would not be idle.

Sirius reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Promise me, Celeste. No risks. Not yet.”

“I promise,” she said, though the spark in her eyes hinted at the quiet resolve building within her.

The days that followed crawled by at an agonizingly slow pace as Sirius busied himself with preparations for Daemon’s arrival. Meanwhile, Celeste received a concise history lesson on the two most prominent families of Westeros, with Sirius emphasizing the crucial importance of understanding the underlying tensions within the court.

At last, the day had arrived when Daemon and Rhaenyra’s family would reach King's Landing.

Donning a dress of red and gold, a specially commissioned piece by Sirius in an effort to bring out Celeste’s inner Gryffindor, Celeste made her way down to the courtyard, hoping to capture a glimpse of the future heir to the throne.

She found herself in the training yard, the clang of swords and the shouts of sparring knights echoed through the open space, mingling with the rustle of banners fluttering in the breeze.

She leaned against a low stone wall, her dress catching the sunlight as she watched the practice unfold. Her eyes followed the movements of the knights, their swords flashing as they clashed in mock combat. It was both a performance and a test, she realized, a display of strength meant as much for the watching crowd as for their opponents.

Her gaze swept across the sparring rings until it stopped on a figure at the far end of the yard.

He moved with a deadly grace, his lithe frame clad in dark leather and chainmail. His silver hair glinted in the sunlight, slicked back and slightly damp with sweat. A longsword flashed in his hand, cutting through the air in precise arcs as he sparred with Ser Criston Cole.

Celeste’s breath hitched despite herself as she watched him fight. There was something mesmerizing about the way he moved, his strikes calculated and swift, his footwork almost elegant. He didn’t just fight—he commanded the ring, his presence sharp and commanding, as though he were daring anyone to challenge him.

Get a hold of yourself , Celeste, she thought, shaking her head slightly. But her gaze lingered, her attention drawn to the curve of his jaw, the way his muscles tensed and released with each swing of his blade. It was entirely unintentional—she wasn’t used to being caught off guard by someone like this, and the realization only irritated her.

Aemond must have sensed her presence because his eye flicked in her direction as he disarmed Criston with a swift motion. Criston stumbled back, bowing slightly in acknowledgment of Aemond’s victory, but the prince’s focus was elsewhere now. His gaze landed on Celeste, lingering for a moment too long.

Their eyes met, and Celeste felt a rush of heat rise to her cheeks. She straightened her posture, refusing to look away, though her heart raced under his sharp scrutiny. Aemond’s lips curved into the faintest smirk, as if he had caught her watching him.

She arched an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly in acknowledgment. If he thinks he can unsettle me, he’s mistaken.

He handed his sword to a squire and crossed the yard toward her, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The other knights and squires parted for him without a word, their deference a testament to the authority he carried even here.

“Lady Black,” he said smoothly as he stopped a few paces from her, his tone cool but tinged with curiosity. “Enjoying the spectacle?”

Celeste let out a soft chuckle, meeting his gaze evenly. “It’s an impressive display,” she said, keeping her voice light. “Though I didn’t expect to find a prince in the training yard.”

Aemond’s smirk deepened, though his expression remained guarded. “Even princes must sharpen their skills,” he said. “Especially when the court is as full of daggers as this one.”

Celeste inclined her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “A fair point. And you seem quite adept at wielding both kinds of blades.”

His eye narrowed slightly, though not with hostility. “And you seem adept at observing, Lady Black. One might wonder what brings you here.”

“Curiosity,” she replied easily. “And perhaps a desire to understand the people who inhabit this castle. Including you.”

Before Aemond could respond, the arrival of two younger figures diverted their attention. Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon entered the yard, their presence immediately drawing the eyes of those around them. Lucerys’s wide-eyed curiosity contrasted sharply with Jacaerys’s composed demeanour, but both carried themselves with the quiet confidence of princes.

Aemond’s smirk deepened, his posture stiffening slightly. Celeste noticed the flicker of tension in his jaw as his gaze shifted to his nephews, though he masked it well. He visibly become cockier in an almost challenging way.

“Nephews,” He greeted, his voice laced with a venomous undertone. “Have you come to train?”

Jacaerys stopped, his dark eyes narrowing as he met Aemond’s gaze. “We’re here to observe,” he replied evenly, his tone calm but firm.

Lucerys glanced between his brother and Aemond, his discomfort evident. “We don’t need to train,” he said, his voice quieter but steady. “We’ve had plenty of practice at Dragonstone.”

“Practice?” Aemond echoed, his lips curling into a smirk. “I suppose swinging sticks at each other counts as training where you’re from.”

Celeste watched the exchange with quiet interest, her gaze flicking between the three of them. The tension was palpable, a thread stretched taut and ready to snap. She noticed the way Aemond’s jaw tightened, the faint flicker of a smirk that played at his lips as though he relished the confrontation.

“Perhaps we could spar now,” Jacaerys said, stepping forward. His voice carried a challenge, though Celeste noted the caution in his movements.

Aemond’s smirk widened. “And risk embarrassing you in front of everyone? No, I wouldn’t want to ruin your confidence, dear nephew.”

Lucerys flinched at the pointed emphasis on the word “nephew,” and Celeste’s brow furrowed as she caught the unspoken jab. The rumours that swirled around the Velaryon boys were not lost on her, and it was clear that Aemond had no qualms about weaponizing them.

Celeste watched the exchange, her eyes flicking between the three princes. The tension was palpable, the barely concealed hostility between Aemond and his nephews playing out in every word, every glance. She found herself studying Aemond again, noting the way he carried himself—calm, composed, but with a razor-sharp edge beneath the surface.

Jace took a step closer, his voice firm. “We’re here for training, not your games, Aemond. And we don’t answer to you.”

Aemond tilted his head, his smirk returning. “No, of course not. You answer to a higher authority, don’t you?”

The implication hung in the air, heavy and biting. Lucerys bristled, his hands curling into fists at his sides, but Jace placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, keeping him in check.

Celeste chose that moment to step forward, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “It’s fascinating, watching the three of you,” she said lightly, her tone measured. “It’s a wonder the yard doesn’t collapse under the weight of all this… masculinity.”

All three turned to look at her, the hostility between them momentarily replaced by surprise. Aemond’s smirk widened slightly, while Jace regarded her with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

“And who might you be?” Jace asked, his tone polite but wary.

“Celeste Black,” she replied, inclining her head. “Lord Sirius’s daughter.”

Jace’s brow furrowed. “I’ve not heard of you.”

“I'm sure you will, soon enough,” she said with a faint smile. “The court does love to talk.”

Lucerys’s gaze softened slightly, his curiosity overtaking his discomfort. “And what brings you to the yard, Lady Black?”

“Curiosity,” she said, letting her gaze flick briefly to Aemond before returning to the brothers. “It seems I’ve chosen quite the moment to visit.”

Aemond chuckled softly, his voice low. “You have a talent for understatement.”

Jace’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, choosing instead to gesture to Lucerys. “Come. Let’s leave Uncle and his audience to their games.”

The brothers turned and walked toward the sparring ring, leaving Aemond and Celeste standing alone. Aemond’s gaze returned to her, his smirk still firmly in place.

“You enjoy stirring the pot, don’t you?” he asked, his tone almost amused.

Celeste raised an eyebrow. “Only when it’s worth stirring.”

Aemond chuckled, his expression darkening slightly. “Be careful, Lady Black. This isn’t a game you can walk away from.”

“Neither can you,” she replied smoothly, her faint smirk returning. “But thank you for the advice, my lord.”

As Celeste turned to leave, the sharp echoes of guards shouting and the rhythmic stomp of boots filled the courtyard. The gates creaked open, and she instinctively leaned closer to Aemond, straining to glimpse the commotion.

A procession adorned with the banners of House Velaryon entered, the sigil of the seahorse rippling in the breeze. At its centre marched Vaemond Velaryon, his stride exuding pride and purpose.

From her vantage point, Celeste noticed the two eldest Velaryon boys standing at the courtyard’s edge, their expressions mirroring her intrigue. Jacaerys met Vaemond’s approach with a piercing glare, while Lucerys observed in silence, his face betraying a blend of sorrow and unease.

“He looks awfully smug for someone about to screw over a child,” Celeste muttered, her voice low and laced with disdain.

Aemond didn’t reply immediately, his gaze fixed on the newcomers. Instead, he hummed thoughtfully, his eye narrowing as he studied Vaemond. “He’s not a man to be underestimated. Vaemond is as formidable as his brother, the Sea Snake.”

Celeste fell silent, her attention returning to the procession as it disappeared into the great hall. Realising the time, she offered Aemond a brief farewell. As she walked away, a fleeting thought struck her: they had just shared a rare, meaningful exchange.

Celeste navigated through the bustling corridors of the Red Keep, weaving her way past the throngs of people who lingered with anticipation, the buzz of tomorrow's court promising a spectacle.

As she approached Sirius’s chambers, a sense of relief washed over her, and she exhaled softly, glad to escape the commotion. She made her way to the door which was slightly ajar, the low hum of conversation drifting out into the hall. She paused, smoothing her dress and brushing a stray curl back into place before stepping inside.

The first thing she noticed was Sirius, leaning casually against the edge of the desk with his arms crossed, his usual air of confidence tinged with something lighter—a hint of amusement. Beside him, leaning back in one of the chairs by the hearth, was a man Celeste recognised from Sirius’s description.

Daemon Targaryen was as striking as the rumours suggested, his silver hair falling past his shoulders in a cascade that framed his sharp features. His vibrant blue eyes sparkled with mischief, and a faint smirk played on his lips as he turned his attention to her.

“And who is this vision?” Daemon drawled, his tone both teasing and curious.

Sirius straightened, his lips curling into a proud smile. “Daemon, meet my daughter, Celeste.”

Daemon’s eyebrows shot up, and he let out a low whistle. “Your daughter?” He stood, crossing the room with a languid grace. “I had no idea you had it in you, Sirius. A stunning young lady, and she’s yours? I’m impressed.”

Celeste inclined her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Prince Daemon.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Daemon said, taking her hand and pressing a light kiss to the back of it. His smirk widened as he released her. “Though I must say, I’m tempted to question your parentage. Sirius, surely this beauty didn’t come from you alone.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, though his grin remained. “Careful, Daemon. She’s sharp enough to put you in your place.”

“Oh, I’d like to see that,” Daemon said, chuckling. He stepped back, gesturing toward the door. “Come, Celeste. The rest of my family is eager to meet you.”

Celeste followed Daemon and Sirius into a larger sitting room down the hall, her heart quickening as she took in the gathered figures. At the centre of the room stood Rhaenyra Targaryen, her presence commanding yet warm. Her light hair was pinned back elegantly, and her violet eyes softened as she took in Celeste with quiet curiosity. Beside her were her two eldest sons, Jacaerys and Lucerys, their expressions ranging from cautious to intrigued as they recognized her from the training yard.

Near the hearth stood two younger children, their attention divided between a game of tiles on the floor and the quiet murmur of the adults around them. And at Rhaenyra’s side, clutching her skirts, was a little boy with silver hair and wide, curious eyes. Viserys, Celeste realized, the youngest of Rhaenyra’s brood.

Daemon’s voice cut through the murmurs. “Everyone, this is Celeste Black, Sirius’s daughter. A recent addition to the court, and by the looks of her, already turning heads.”

Celeste offered a polite curtsy, her smile composed. “It’s an honour to meet you all, Princess Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra stepped forward, her gaze warm but appraising. “Lady Celeste,” she said, her voice smooth. “I’ve heard much about you in the past few hours. The court is abuzz with your arrival.”

“I’m sure they are,” Celeste replied, her tone even. “It seems my presence has stirred quite the curiosity.”

“Curiosity is putting it mildly,” Jace said from his place by the window, his voice laced with a hint of humour. “You’ve certainly made an impression.”

Celeste glanced at him, her faint smile returning. “I could say the same for you, my lord. The training yard was… enlightening.”

Lucerys shifted beside his brother, his expression uncertain. “And you’ve spent much time there?”

“Enough to learn a great deal,” Celeste said, her eyes flicking to Daemon. “Including how the Targaryen's command both respect and attention.”

Daemon grinned, clearly pleased by her observation. “A quick study. I like her already.”

Rhaenyra gave Daemon a pointed look before turning her attention back to Celeste. “The court can be a dangerous place for someone new to its games. You seem to have handled yourself well so far.”

“I’ve had good teachers,” Celeste said, glancing at Sirius. “And I’ve learned that every move matters, whether in court or on the battlefield.”

Rhaenyra nodded, her expression approving. “Wise words.”

The conversation flowed easily after that, with Daemon and Sirius trading jabs while Rhaenyra asked thoughtful questions about Celeste’s upbringing and education. Jace and Lucerys remained watchful but polite, their initial wariness giving way to curiosity. Even the younger children seemed to warm to Celeste, their laughter ringing out as they played nearby.

As the evening wore on, Celeste found herself more at ease in the company of the Targaryens. Though the tension of their political struggles loomed in the background, the warmth of their family dynamic was undeniable. Daemon, despite his sharp edges, seemed genuinely delighted by her presence, and Rhaenyra’s thoughtful demeanour hinted at a protective streak that reminded Celeste of Sirius.

When the gathering finally began to wind down, Daemon clapped Sirius on the back, his grin as mischievous as ever. “You’ve done well, my friend. A daughter like this is worth more than gold in a place like this.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Sirius quipped, though his pride was evident in the way he looked at Celeste.

As Celeste made her way back to her chambers later that evening, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just stepped into something far bigger than she had anticipated. The Targaryen's were a family bound by fire and blood, and now, she was tied to them too. Whether that was a blessing or a curse remained to be seen.