Peace had been in place for less than a fortnight when the council began discussing marriages. The speed offended me at first.
Otto, Hobert, and Ormund had barely been returned to their remaining kin. Baela’s grave upon Driftmark was still fresh, and Daemon’s body had never been recovered from the Gods Eye.
Across the Riverlands, families continued searching for sons who would never return. Oldtown had only just learned that Daeron would replace the dynasty that had ruled it for generations, while the Arbor waited for Vaeron to arrive and discover how many Redwyne retainers intended to resist him politely rather than openly.
Yet peace did not suspend succession. It made succession more important.
Rhaenyra sat the Iron Throne, but Jace remained the future upon which every lord measured the stability of her reign. He was sixteen, a dragonrider, blooded in battle, and old enough by the customs of the realm to marry. Until Baela’s death, no one had needed to discuss the matter. Their intended marriage joined the crown to Driftmark, preserved the alliance between Targaryen and Velaryon, and placed two young dragonriders at the centre of the next generation.
That future had fallen into Ormund’s forest with Moondancer.
The first person to raise the question was Tyland Lannister. He did so without ceremony during the third council meeting following his restoration as Master of Ships. Reports from the western coast had consumed most of the morning.
Reparations to the Riverlands were already producing arguments between houses that agreed they owed something but disagreed upon every number placed before them. Tyland had spent nearly an hour explaining which ports could provide timber without damaging ship construction and which western lords were hiding grain behind suspiciously poor harvest reports.
When the final account was closed, he did not rise with the others. "There is another matter," he said.
His tone ensured no one would enjoy it. Rhaenyra remained seated at the head of the table. "Does Casterly Rock possess another treasury its stewards forgot to mention?"
"Not one I am prepared to reveal before examining it myself."
Vaeron looked up from the papers before him. "That sounded enough like an admission to justify sending auditors."
"It was intended as a warning against asking."
Tyland folded his hands upon the table and turned towards Rhaenyra. "The succession requires attention."
The chamber grew still. Jace was not present. He had spent the morning with Lorent Marbrand reviewing the reorganisation of the household guard, a responsibility Rhaenyra had assigned partly because he needed experience and partly because she had grown tired of finding him alone in the Dragonpit with Vermax.
"What attention?" Rhaenyra asked, though she already knew.
"Prince Jacaerys is unmarried."
The statement was simple enough to sound cruel. Tyland continued before either of us could answer. "He is the heir to the Iron Throne and has reached an age at which a match may reasonably be expected. His previous betrothal ended through tragedy, but the political need it served did not end with Lady Baela. The realm has survived one contested succession. It should not be allowed to wonder about another."
"There is no uncertainty concerning Jace," I said.
"Not today. The same could once have been said of Queen Rhaenyra."
The answer was unpleasant because it was correct. Tyland had not supported the rebellion himself, but he understood how quickly succession questions became weapons once enough ambitious men found them useful. Rhaenyra’s own position had been publicly declared for years. That certainty did not prevent Otto from teaching half the realm to regard it as temporary.
Jace needed a wife. In time, he would need children. The realm needed to see that Rhaenyra’s line did not end with one young prince returning from war without the woman he had expected to marry.
Lord Beesbury shifted in his seat. "The prince has only recently lost Lady Baela."
"I am not suggesting he be dragged from mourning directly into a wedding ceremony," Tyland replied. "I am suggesting that the crown begin considering suitable matches before every house in Westeros decides the delay is an invitation to present one."
"They have already decided," Vaeron said.
He opened a smaller bundle of correspondence beside his elbow. Letters had arrived from the Vale, Riverlands, Reach, Westerlands, and Crownlands. None openly proposed a bride. They offered visits, expressions of loyalty, invitations to hunts, congratulations upon Jace’s safe return, and descriptions of daughters whose virtues appeared in paragraphs too detailed to be accidental.
The war had ended. The campaign for proximity to the next king had begun.
Rhaenyra looked towards the letters with visible distaste. "How many?"
"Twenty-seven that can reasonably be interpreted as inquiries," Vaeron said. "Another nine are either unusually affectionate expressions of loyalty or written by fathers who have not yet understood what they are asking."
Tyland glanced towards him. "You separated them?"
"I value accuracy."
"Of course you do."
Rhaenyra’s fingers tightened against the table. "Jace is not a vacant lordship to be awarded."
"No," Tyland said. "He is the heir to the realm. That makes the matter less private, not more."
I disliked hearing it from him. I disliked that the judgement remained true regardless of who delivered it.
The council did not choose a bride that morning. Rhaenyra refused even to discuss individual candidates while Jace remained unaware the matter had been formally raised. She instructed Vaeron to gather the inquiries, identify girls of suitable age and standing, and remove any proposal that existed only because a newly pardoned family wished to place a daughter near the throne.
Tyland was told to continue repairing the fleet. He accepted the dismissal with the calm of a man who had already accomplished what he intended.
Jace learned of the discussion from us that evening. We met in a smaller solar overlooking the Blackwater, far from the throne room and the courtiers who had begun measuring every young noblewoman against an empty place beside the heir. Rhaenyra asked the servants to leave after supper was placed upon the table. Jace noticed immediately.
"Am I being reprimanded?"
"Would that be easier?" I asked.
"That depends upon what I have supposedly done."
Rhaenyra gestured towards the chair opposite us. "Sit."
He obeyed, though caution entered his expression. The war had made him better at recognising an ambush. It had not taught him how to escape one arranged by his parents.
"The council discussed your marriage today," Rhaenyra said.
Jace did not move. For several moments, the only sound came from the fire behind him.
"My marriage," he repeated.
"Your need for one," I said.
He looked from me to Rhaenyra. "How long did the council wait after Baela’s burial before deciding she had become an inconvenience?"
Rhaenyra’s face tightened. "No one described her that way."
"They did not need to."
"This is not about replacing Baela."
"The bride would stand where she was meant to stand."
"No one can stand where Baela stood," Rhaenyra said. "That is precisely why we are speaking to you before allowing the court to turn grief into negotiation."
Jace pushed his untouched plate aside.
He had spoken little of Baela since returning from the Riverlands. During the march from Stoney Sept, he sometimes mentioned something Daemon taught him or an argument he once had with Baela, then stopped as though realising he had entered a room he could not leave cleanly.
He attended her funeral after the war, flying Vermax to Driftmark and remaining there for three days. Rhaegar later wrote that Jace spent most of the visit beside Moondancer’s empty resting ground rather than among the living.
"I was going to marry her," he said.
"I know," Rhaenyra replied.
"We spoke of Dragonstone. She wanted her own command there, not merely a place in my household. She said that if I expected her to sit quietly through council meetings, I should marry a tapestry instead."
"That sounds like Baela."
"She would have hated this discussion."
"She would have understood it."
Jace looked sharply towards me. "Do not use her to persuade me."
"I am not. I remember her well enough to know she would have rejected being treated as an argument by either side."
His anger remained, though he did not answer immediately. Rhaenyra leaned forward. "You do not have to marry next month. You do not have to pretend affection for someone you have never met, and we will not announce a betrothal without speaking to you. But you are my heir. The realm must know that your succession will continue."
"The realm survived while I was promised to Baela."
"The realm did not survive," she said bitterly. "It tore itself apart. And we have to build something more secure from what remains."
I rested my forearms upon the table. "You need not love the first name placed before you. You should, however, consider what kind of wife you require."
"A living one would be an improvement upon the last arrangement."
Rhaenyra closed her eyes briefly. Jace looked ashamed as soon as the words left him. "I am sorry."
"Do not apologise for being angry," she said. "Apologise when you use the dead to wound people who loved them too."
He lowered his gaze. "Then I apologise."
The discussion continued more quietly after that. Jace did not agree to marry soon. He agreed that we could begin identifying possibilities. He wanted to meet any serious candidate before a promise was made and refused to accept a bride solely because her father commanded soldiers.
"That removes much of the court," I said.
"It removes the fathers. Their daughters may possess qualities unrelated to the size of their levies."
"You have learned diplomacy."
"Daemon said diplomacy was discovering which truth offended the fewest armed men."
Rhaenyra’s grief passed visibly across her face at the mention of him, but she allowed the moment to continue.
We asked what Jace valued. He wanted someone capable of speaking openly to him without humiliating him before the court. He preferred a rider, hunter, or traveller to someone who had spent her whole life preparing to sit beside a throne. He did not require a dragonrider, though he admitted he would find it strange to marry someone frightened of Vermax.
He wanted a woman who understood that a future queen would have duties of her own. He did not say that Baela possessed every quality he named. He did not need to. When he left, Rhaenyra watched the door for several moments.
"He thinks agreeing to consider another bride betrays her," she said.
"He may think that for years."
"We cannot give him years."
"No."
That was the cruelty beneath every reasonable argument. Jace deserved time to grieve. The realm required him to use that time for politics.
Vaeron brought the first list two days later. There were twelve names.
We removed three before reading the descriptions in full. One girl was eleven, whatever her father’s letter claimed about early maturity. Another belonged to a house whose loyalty appeared only after Aemond’s death. The third had been raised in a household still disputing the reparations imposed after the war, making the proposal less a marriage than an attempt to place a hostage near the throne while calling her a bride.
Nine remained. The first was a Riverlander, the daughter of a house that fought beneath Oscar Tully. The match would reward loyalty and strengthen Jace’s relationship with the region where he had already earned respect. She was fifteen, educated at Riverrun, and described as calm, observant, and competent with household accounts.
"She sounds useful," Rhaenyra said.
"She sounds like Vaeron wrote the description."
"He did."
"That explains the attention to grain storage."
The difficulty lay in choosing one Riverland house above the others. Oscar Tully had already received tax relief and Stone Hedge. The Blackwoods had paid heavily in battle. The Mallisters, Mootons, and smaller loyal houses could each claim service. Elevating one daughter to future queen might reopen rivalries peace had barely covered.
The second candidate came from the Vale.
A match there would reward Jeyne Arryn’s early support and strengthen ties to a kingdom that had suffered less physical destruction than the Riverlands or Reach. The girl possessed Arryn blood through her mother and belonged to a cadet line without a competing claim to the Eyrie. She was said to enjoy hawking and had once broken a septa’s finger during an argument over whether noblewomen should learn to use knives.
Rhaenyra read that line twice. "I like her."
"You like the injury."
"I like the refusal to pretend it was an accident."
"She may stab Jace."
"Then he will learn to argue more carefully."
The political weakness was distance. The Vale was loyal already, and its mountains made it less urgent than regions where the settlement remained fragile. A royal marriage could secure what did not require securing while leaving greater dangers untouched.
The third name came from the Stormlands.
Borros Baratheon’s late declaration had ended Green strength there, but his delay remained fresh enough to sour any reward. His daughters were of suitable age, and a match could bind Storm’s End more firmly to the crown while preventing future resentment over the Baratheons receiving little from the peace.
Rhaenyra placed the parchment aside almost immediately. "Borros waited until the war’s direction became obvious."
"His vassals pushed him towards us."
"Then perhaps Jace should marry one of his vassals."
"That would insult Storm’s End."
"So would rewarding delay with a future queen."
The Baratheon names did not return to the central pile.
Two possibilities came from the Reach. One belonged to a branch of House Tyrell. A marriage to Highgarden would recognise Matthos’s declaration, connect the next king to the region containing Oldtown and the Arbor, and reduce the chance that future Tyrells viewed the crown’s grants to Daeron and Vaeron as royal encroachment upon their authority.
The problem was that Matthos had declared late. He acted decisively once committed, but Highgarden’s neutrality allowed Ormund to march, Honeyholt to suffer, and the war to grow while the Reach’s greatest house waited. Rewarding that choice with a royal marriage would tell every lord in Westeros that caution earned more than early loyalty.
The second Reach candidate belonged to a house that supported us before victory became certain. She had lost an older brother at Honeyholt and another during Roxton’s raids. Her family possessed respected blood without enough independent strength to threaten Highgarden.
Jace had met her once as a child. Neither remembered the encounter.
"She would understand the cost of the war," Rhaenyra said.
"She might also look at Jace and remember the brother who died in his mother’s cause."
"That could produce sympathy."
"Or resentment."
"Both are more honest foundations than courtly admiration."
A Crownland match offered familiarity and proximity. Several houses had remained loyal from the beginning, and their daughters had been raised close enough to King’s Landing that Jace might know them already. Yet most Crownland houses lacked the broader political value expected from the marriage of the heir.
"Jace is not a trade agreement," Rhaenyra said after rejecting the third such name.
"No. He is merely expected to repair kingdoms through the placement of his bed."
She gave me a tired look. "You are making this worse."
"I am attempting accuracy."
"You have spent too much time with Vaeron."
One name came from the Westerlands. Tyland had not submitted it. The proposal arrived from a lesser branch of House Lannister through a septon who claimed the girl’s mother wanted peace rather than advancement. She was sixteen, literate, and connected closely enough to Casterly Rock to matter without belonging to Jason’s disinherited line.
The match would bind the Westerlands to Jace and help separate Tyland’s new rule from the rebellion led by his brother. It would also horrify much of the Riverlands.
"Too soon," I said.
Rhaenyra agreed. A marriage could reconcile former enemies, but reconciliation imposed from the throne before burned villages were rebuilt often felt like an order to forget.
The final two names carried Valyrian blood. One came from a distant Velaryon branch. Marrying Jace back into House Velaryon would preserve part of the purpose once served by his betrothal to Baela. Driftmark remained vital under Addam and Alyn, and Rhaenys would understand the value of keeping the houses close. She might also regard the choice as an attempt to replace her granddaughter with the nearest available cousin.
The other girl had thinner Valyrian ancestry and no dragon. Her family possessed modest lands but strong connections among the Crownlands and Narrow Sea merchants. The match would appeal to those who believed the royal line should remain visibly Valyrian without giving Driftmark additional claims upon Jace’s household.
Neither possibility felt wrong. Neither felt sufficient.
We spent four evenings reviewing names. Jace joined us for two of them. He listened more than he spoke and rejected no candidate solely through grief, though his lack of enthusiasm remained clear. He asked sensible questions about education, temperament, family expectations, and whether the girl had been asked if she wanted to marry him.
Vaeron had no answer to the last question for most of them.
"Then we know what their fathers want," Jace said. "Not what they want."
"In royal marriages, those answers are often treated as the same," Rhaenyra replied.
"Were yours?"
"No."
That ended the matter for the evening. The search expanded beyond parchment. Rhaenyra instructed trusted women within the court to provide private accounts of the candidates they knew. Septas described behaviour away from fathers and formal visits. Household knights offered information about brothers, feuds, and family tempers. Merchants provided quieter knowledge about debts hidden beneath proud names.
One candidate praised for modesty had dismissed three servants during winter because she disliked the sound of their accents. Another described as delicate regularly managed her father’s estate while he drank through council meetings. A girl whose letter claimed devotion to history had apparently read only two books willingly, though one was a complicated account of Dornish irrigation.
"That may still place her above much of the court," I said.
Rhaenyra ignored me. The more we learned, the less the question resembled selecting a house. Jace would have to live with this woman. She would share his councils, bear his children if the marriage allowed, govern during his absences, and one day sit beside him while every faction in the realm attempted to use her family against him.
Strength mattered. So did restraint. Beauty appeared in nearly every formal description and therefore became meaningless. By the sixth evening, the table in our chambers held four surviving names.
Rhaenyra stood beside the fire, reading the same page for the third time. I sat near the window with the others spread before me.
"We could invite all four to court," I said.
"They would know why."
"They already know why."
"The court would turn it into a contest. Every dress, dance, conversation, and mistake would be reported before the girl reached her chamber."
"Jace should still meet them."
"He should meet the one we believe offers the strongest possibility. If they dislike one another, we move to the next."
"That sounds unromantic."
"We are choosing the future queen of Westeros two weeks after executing three men who began a war over succession. Romance is not the only concern."
"No, but its complete absence has caused difficulties before."
Rhaenyra placed the parchment down. One candidate offered the strongest army. Another provided the clearest reward for early loyalty. A third could help reconcile a region that had fought against us. The fourth offered less immediate strength but possessed the temperament, upbringing, and independence most likely to suit Jace himself. That distinction had followed us through every discussion.
"Baela would have challenged him," Rhaenyra said. "She would not have allowed the court to turn him cautious."
"He is already more cautious than he was."
"He is grieving. That is not the same."
"No."
Rhaenyra looked towards the four names. "We should not choose someone because she resembles Baela."
"We should not choose her opposite merely to avoid the resemblance."
"She will be compared to Baela regardless."
"Then she needs enough certainty in herself to survive the comparison."
Rhaenyra picked up one parchment. She read it in silence, then handed it to me. I knew the name before lowering my eyes. We had returned to it more often than the others, finding reasons to remove it and discovering that none remained convincing.
The political advantages were real without being overwhelming. The family had served faithfully. The girl was close enough to Jace’s age, had been educated beyond embroidery and courtesy, and possessed a reputation for speaking plainly without cruelty. More importantly, the accounts written by people who had nothing to gain described the same person as the formal proposal. That was rare enough to matter.
"Jace may refuse," I said.
"He may."
"Her family may demand terms we cannot accept."
"Then we refuse them."
"She may not want him."
Rhaenyra’s expression softened. "Then perhaps she is exactly the sort of girl he asked us to find."
I read the parchment once more. The match would not erase Baela. No marriage could turn the forest at Honeyholt into another path. It would not restore Daemon, Corlys, or the thousands dead across the realm. A wedding was not an answer to war. It could, however, be evidence that the dynasty intended to continue living after it.
The realm needed such evidence. Jace might eventually need it too. I placed the other three names together and moved them aside.
Rhaenyra watched my hand. "You agree?"
I considered the girl’s family, the alliances the match would strengthen, the enemies it might unsettle, and the life Jace would be asked to build beside someone he had not chosen for himself.
No candidate removed every danger. This one offered enough promise that the remaining uncertainty belonged to the two people expected to marry.
"Yes," I said. "Her."
Rhaenyra folded the chosen parchment and sealed it beneath her hand.
"Then we ask."