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The air was heavy with the scent of incense, mingling with the distinctive aroma of milk of the poppy. Beams of milky-white light filtered through carelessly drawn curtains, casting pale reflections on floating dust particles that swirled before settling on the furniture and the impressive model of Valyria standing in the center of the room.

The silence in the chamber was broken only by the soft, calm voice of Maegelle, seated on a low chair. The princess followed the faded text on the yellowed pages of a book with almost reverent focus, reading its contents aloud. On her lap sat Daenys, whom she gently cradled against her chest. The infant, wide-eyed with curiosity, stared at the turning pages, reaching out with chubby hands to grasp them.

Aemon, in contrast to his sister, was sprawled on the mattress of the bed, engrossed in playing with a marble dragon figurine. The boy's small hands explored the cool surface of the object, though his gaze frequently wandered to the golden, gleaming signet on his grandsire's finger, bearing the Targaryen family seal.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile played on Viserys's pale and haggard face. Despite the evident pain that gripped him, the man appeared to be in good spirits. His sole eye moved affectionately between his youngest daughter and grandchildren, while his throat emitted a soft rasp with each labored breath he took.

The king's physical state was dire. His body was deteriorating, his silver hair had thinned significantly, and he was missing individual limbs. The sight of the ailing man might have frightened an adult, but not, it seemed, the young prince and princess. For Aemon and Daenys, the sight of their grandsire was natural. The little ones never cried in his presence; in fact, they seemed to take joy in being near him.

King Viserys never said it aloud, but he was deeply grateful to his daughter for visiting him with her children and reading to him. He cherished these moments like no other, even though he knew she didn't have to do this. Yet she did, remaining by his side like her mother once had, brightening his mind and soothing his pain more effectively than the milk of the poppy ever could.

Maegelle glanced up from the book, stealing a look at her father. A delicate, tender smile spread across her face, warming the heart of the ailing king. His daughter was indeed an angel, as Alicent often called her. Her company always eased his pain, and her gentle voice dispelled the fog clouding his treacherous mind.

Aemon stirred restlessly on the bed, crawling toward his grandsire. His chubby finger landed on Viserys's hand, tracing the texture of the signet. A look of childish wonder lit up the boy's face. The king turned his weary gaze to him, a hoarse rasp escaping his lips. Viserys smiled faintly at the sight of his grandson's delight.

"You like it, don't you?" he whispered, struggling to catch his breath.

Aemon looked at him before lifting his marble figurine, pointing to the three-headed dragon on the ring.

"Dragon!" he exclaimed with childlike excitement.

Viserys let out a weak laugh and sank back into the pillow, feeling exhaustion overtaking him.

"Yes, a dragon. Indeed, child," he rasped, closing his eye.

Maegelle watched them with tenderness, though her gaze also carried a sadness that mirrored in her eyes. She could see how much her lord father suffered. Each day, he grew weaker, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The only thing she could offer was her presence, bringing him fleeting peace during her visits with her children. She knew it wouldn't heal his wounds, but she hoped it brought him some solace, however brief.

The princess loved her father; there was no denying that, even though it hurt her that his firstborn had always been his priority. No matter what Rhaenyra did — despite repeatedly betraying their father's trust — Maegelle and the rest of her siblings always remained in the shadow of their half-sister.

Yet Maegelle didn't blame her father for this. The king was in a terrible state, and his mind often deceived him, conjuring images of someone he longed to see. She couldn't deny that it pained her when he called her by his firstborn's name, but she did not regret not being her. She loved her father, and she was the one by his side when he needed her most, while her older sister hadn't left Dragonstone in years. It was she and her mother who remained by the king's side, while Rhaenyra and Daemon hadn't so much as lifted a finger to ease his suffering or visit him to bring him joy. They sought only to gain his favor without giving anything in return.

Maegelle, unlike them, expected nothing in return. Alicent had taught her well enough that when the Stranger eventually came for her, the Father would judge her fairly, rewarding her obedience and unconditional devotion. She was proud of this, more than anything else, for she knew that her love and sacrifice were worth it.

Without a word, she returned to her reading, turning the page with a soft rustle. The king's chest began to rise and fall rhythmically, signaling that he had drifted into a light sleep. Hearing his calm breathing, she hugged her daughter closer, resting her chin on the top of the child's head. For a moment, peace reigned in the chamber, broken only by her voice and Aemon's quiet murmuring as he once again focused all his attention on his toy.

From the depths of the chamber came the sound of a door opening. Maegelle froze, falling silent, interrupting her reading. She furrowed her brow in thought, wondering who had decided to visit the king. It was certainly not her mother or grandsire, who should be attending a Small Council meeting at that moment, discussing matters of the realm. Nor did she suspect any of the maesters, as it was not their usual time to visit her father.

Setting the book on the bedside table, she rose slowly, as if wary of an impending confrontation. She cast a quick glance at Aemon, who sat beside the sleeping king, turning the marble dragon figurine over in his hands. The boy seemed entirely absorbed in his toy, oblivious to his mother's unease. Hugging Daenys closer, she felt the baby's tiny hand wrap trustingly around her neck.

With visible hesitation, Maegelle pulled back the milky-white curtain that separated the sleeping area from the rest of the chamber. Her eyes widened, and her eyebrows lifted in surprise as she saw two familiar figures: her half-sister and uncle, both looking around the room. She had suspected they might appear to defend Lucerys's claim to Driftmark, but she had not expected to meet them under such circumstances, especially after such a long absence.

Hearing her footsteps, Daemon and Rhaenyra turned their attention to her. A thick, tense silence hung in the air.

"Sister," Maegelle said, forcing a smile. "Uncle," she added, nodding toward the man. "I didn't know you had arrived."

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, her hand instinctively resting on her rounded belly. The gesture, though subtle, did not escape Maegelle's notice, who caught the detail despite the red cloak draped around her sister.

"Is that so?" Rhaenyra replied coldly. "Apparently, the raven announcing our visit didn't reach the queen, as she didn't even bother to greet us personally."

Maegelle maintained a calm expression, though she felt a twinge of irritation inside. It was always the same. Even now, everything had to revolve around the conflict between the queen and the eldest princess.

"Mother is very busy. Surely, it wasn't intentional—" she began, but her words were cut off by Daemon's sharp scoff.

"Oh, of course. Changing the Targaryen heraldry to the symbols of the Seven must be an exhausting task," he said with irony, glancing meaningfully at the pendant with a seven-pointed star resting on the princess's neck. "Especially now that the Hightowers sit on the throne, since the king is incapacitated."

Maegelle, refusing to be provoked, adjusted the position of her daughter in her arms, subtly concealing the piece of jewelry.

"In these difficult times, the Seven light our path," she responded calmly, though her tone sharpened slightly. "And the Father guides His children toward wisdom and prudence. We, their devout servants, merely fulfill the will of the gods."

Daemon's lips twisted into a mocking smile, and though Maegelle felt anger tightening in her stomach, she answered him with a gentle lift of the corners of her mouth. She could not allow his remarks to disrupt her composure.

"I assume you've come to see Father?" she asked rhetorically, and when both nodded in confirmation, Maegelle continued. "In that case, I won't disturb you. I'm sure you wish to speak with him alone," she said, offering a soft smile. "I've stayed here long enough." Turning toward the bed, she gestured for her son to come to her. "Come, Aemon," she called.

The two-year-old lifted his gaze to her and then, reluctantly detaching himself from his grandsire's side, slid off the mattress. He ran toward her, emerging from behind the curtain, his eyes immediately locking onto Rhaenyra and Daemon. Shy, the boy clung to his mother's side, hiding behind the hem of her gown. Maegelle smiled tenderly and gently ruffled his hair. She raised her eyes from her son to catch the surprise etched on the faces of the elder princess and prince.

"Father loves it when I visit him with the children to read to him," she explained, as though justifying her presence. "He seems so... happy during those moments," she added, her voice trembling, tears glistening in her eyes. Clearing her throat quietly, she steadied herself. "The king is not the man you remember," she continued seriously. "His condition has worsened drastically, so prepare yourselves for what you'll see."

Rhaenyra exchanged a brief glance with her husband. Uncertainty flickered across their faces, and seeing it, Maegelle felt even more alienated in the presence of her uncle and half-sister. Forcing a faint smile, she took Aemon's small hand in her free one.

"We'll leave you alone."

She moved toward the door, their watchful gazes following her. Before knocking to signal the guard to open it, she paused and turned back toward them.

"I... I know there's a deep divide between our families, one that has grown wider over the past years, but I believe we shouldn't let our silent conflict affect the youngest among us," she said, her hesitation evident as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I've heard you've had sons?" she asked, glancing at their faces. "Surely, they'd enjoy meeting their cousins. Aemon and Daenys love the company of family, as do my dear nephews. It would be wonderful if the children could play together," Maegelle said with enthusiasm, her gaze resting on her half-sister. "Of course, Joffrey is welcome to join as well, if he wishes. After all, he is still just a child," she added, offering them a sincere smile.

"We're not going to—" Daemon began sharply, but Rhaenyra silenced him with a gesture of her hand.

The silver-haired woman gave a curt nod.

"We'll consider it, Princess," she replied in a neutral tone, ignoring her husband's displeased expression.

Aemon peeked timidly from behind his mother's skirt, glancing at the strangers. Catching Daemon's intense gaze, the boy quickly ducked back behind Maegelle, prompting her to look down at him in surprise. She returned her gaze to her sister and uncle.

"We'll be going. Have a good day, Princess. Prince," she said in farewell.

Taking the toddler's hand, she knocked on the door. The guard opened it without hesitation, and she immediately left the king's chamber. The wooden doors closed behind her with a soft thud, shutting her off from whatever unfolded within.

Outside, she drew a deep breath, feeling the tension slowly drain from her body. Harra and Marisa, standing by one of the walls, immediately approached the princess, their concern evident.

"We saw the princess and prince enter the chamber. Is everything all right?" asked the red-haired maid, glancing at her friend.

Maegelle nodded firmly.

"Yes," she replied resolutely. "I must speak with my husband urgently. Take care of the children."

Marisa extended her arms to take little Daenys from her. The blonde maid smiled warmly at the infant, trying to ease the tense atmosphere. Harra, meanwhile, took Aemon's small hand, though the boy still clung to his mother's gown, looking up at her with shy eyes.

"All will be well, m'lady," Harra said, offering a reassuring smile, though an unspoken question lingered in her gaze.

Maegelle returned a faint smile, though her lips barely moved, as if the effort cost her more than she wanted to admit. She turned on her heel, her gown rustling softly, the sound echoing faintly through the empty corridor. Behind her, Marisa and Harra watched her retreating figure, exchanging a brief, silent glance.

In the blink of an eye, she reached the massive doors leading to the courtyard. With a firm push, they creaked open, releasing her into the cool air outside. Her face was immediately enveloped by the chill, and the hum of conversations mixed with the clash of swords filled her ears. She descended the steps calmly, holding the edges of her gown with one hand to avoid catching them on the stairs.

She didn't have to search long for Aemond. As usual, he was training with Ser Criston, their sparring match drawing the attention of a small group of onlookers, intrigued by the prince's skills. Hearing footsteps, a few of them turned toward her. Upon recognizing the princess, they bowed their heads respectfully, to which she responded with a warm, gracious smile.

Her gaze shifted to the dueling men, and a natural smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She loved watching Aemond's sparring sessions, especially when he trained with Criston Cole.

The knight from Dorne held a special place in her heart, as much as Aemond did. Every time she saw their faces, a certain warmth spread through her chest. She didn't often say it aloud, but Criston Cole was more than just her mother's sworn protector. She had always felt a fatherly connection from him, one she never quite experienced to the same degree with Viserys. Ser Criston had always been there for her when she needed him, while the king was often absent. Perhaps that was why she felt a deeper affection for him than for her own father. And though the Dornish knight would never admit it, she knew the feeling was mutual.

She was sincerely grateful to Ser Criston for how deeply he was involved in Aemond's training. From a young age, the boy had shown a natural talent for combat, something the Kingsguard had immediately recognized, honing his skills to perfection. Although Maegelle herself lacked an aptitude for fighting, she understood the admiration her husband's abilities evoked, even in an experienced warrior like Cole. It was always evident in Criston's expression when Aemond bested his opponent. And though it was sometimes Criston himself on the losing end, he couldn't hide his satisfaction when the silver-haired prince emerged victorious.

The crowd let out a muffled gasp as the knight swung his morningstar at Aemond, forcing the prince to leap backward in a swift dodge. Watching the bout, Maegelle unconsciously bit her lip, absently twisting her wedding ring between her fingers.

She wasn't worried about Aemond. She had witnessed his training countless times and knew that such duels were mere warm-ups for him. The silver-haired prince, a confident smirk playing on his lips, twirled his sword and tightened his grip on the shield handle in his left hand. He swung at the Kingsguard, delivering a flurry of short strikes that forced Criston to step back several paces. Aemond moved with grace, almost like a dancer performing a well-rehearsed routine.

Criston didn't remain passive. He knew his pupil was always sure of his movements but could be quickly thrown off balance. Lifting his morningstar, he executed a powerful swing, the spiked weapon shattering Aemond's wooden shield into two pieces.

Aemond, entirely unfazed, tossed the remains of the shield aside without a second glance. He straightened his knees instantly, showing no trace of fatigue. Shifting his weight onto his legs, his eye gleamed with determination. Without hesitation, he launched himself toward Criston, pressing the attack with renewed vigor.

The Kingsguard was not caught off guard, nimbly dodging and maintaining his temporary advantage. After a moment, he initiated an attack of his own, swinging his weapon with precision. Yet Aemond was not to be hit. He stepped back in the blink of an eye, avoiding the morningstar, his legs bending once more as he aimed his sword at Criston.

Ser Criston, aware that he couldn't let Aemond take control, wiped his sweaty face with the sleeve of his tunic. He observed his student closely, trying to predict his next move. Circling him slowly, he searched for a weakness in his defense. Seizing the moment, Criston swung again at the prince, directing the morningstar with calculated precision.

Aemond deftly dodged, stepping back and continuing his elegant dance. He knew he had to wait for the perfect opportunity. Finally, when the moment arrived, he struck with unrelenting force.

With full force, he swung toward Criston's weapon, parrying the Kingsguard's strike with remarkable precision, causing him to momentarily lose focus. That was all it took. Before Ser Criston could react, the tip of Aemond's weapon was poised right at his throat.

The gathered crowd erupted into loud applause, the sound echoing across the courtyard. Without hesitation, Maegelle joined in enthusiastically, her clapping drawing Aemond's attention. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of his wife in the crowd. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he saw her reaction, visible satisfaction spreading across his face.

Ser Criston smiled with pride, nodding approvingly at the boy.

"Well done, my Prince," he said with a grin. "You'll be winning tourneys in no time."

Aemond turned his head toward him, his gaze cold.

"I don't give a shit about tourneys. The only favor I desire is that of my wife," he replied. His voice softened as he looked at Maegelle. "Is that not so, ābrazȳrys?"

The princess stepped out of the crowd, taking a step toward him. She shot him a playful glance, her lips curling into a gentle smile.

"Would you not win a tourneys in my name, valzȳrys?" she asked, biting her lower lip.

"There's no need to win anything to prove what I've already claimed. I've won you, and that is enough," he replied. Handing his weapon to a servant, he closed the distance between them as though unable to bear their separation any longer. Aemond took her delicate hand in his and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. "Wife," he murmured gently, giving her an affectionate yet penetrating gaze.

Maegelle responded with only a smile, a simple gesture that conveyed all her feelings for him. Aemond leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a whisper meant only for her ears.

"Shouldn't you be with the children at our father's?" he asked with a note of concern.

Maegelle sighed and nodded in agreement.

"I was, until Rhaenyra and Daemon arrived," she answered quietly.

The prince muttered something under his breath, his gaze shifting slightly to the side, catching sight of something that piqued his interest.

"And not just them," he replied coolly.

Maegelle raised an eyebrow, puzzled by his reaction. Before she could ask what he meant, Aemond spoke first. Looking over her shoulder, he addressed someone in a louder voice.

"Nephews... have you come to train?"

Surprised, she turned in the direction of his gaze. Her eyes widened in shock, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw Jacaerys and Lucerys standing still, their expressions a mix of discomfort and unease. Maegelle opened her mouth to speak, but her words were drowned out by the sudden cry of a guard, his voice cutting through the courtyard.

"Open the gate!" came the commanding shout, immediately stirring the entire courtyard into motion.

Two guards swung open the heavy doors, revealing the figure of Vaemond Velaryon, the younger brother of the Sea Snake. He entered the courtyard, flanked by knights bearing the banners of House Velaryon and House Hightower, his piercing gaze immediately settling on Lucerys.

Everyone present, and especially Luke, knew exactly why Vaemond had come. His disdain for the younger boy was no secret. His purpose was to challenge Lucerys's claim to Driftmark and the title of Lord of the Tides, which by rights of inheritance belonged to him. Vaemond intended not only to question his legitimacy but also to humiliate him by openly calling him a bastard in front of everyone, undermining not just him but his brothers as well — particularly their mother, who was to inherit the Iron Throne.

Without a word, Vaemond strode past them, his expression cold and full of disdain as he glanced at both boys. Lucerys visibly tensed under his gaze, his face betraying his nervousness.

Aemond, observing his reaction, smirked mockingly. Tightening his arm around Maegelle's waist, he let his fingers grip her side firmly. Maegelle glanced at him but chose to remain silent.

As Vaemond disappeared from their sight, Maegelle fixed her gaze on both boys.

"I'm sure everything will be cleared up," she said sincerely, directing her words to Luke, who looked at her in surprise. She sent him a reassuring smile, which did not go unnoticed by Aemond, who had his arm around her. The prince let out a soft snort, rolling his eye at his wife's unnecessary kindness.

Jacaerys, standing somewhat to the side, looked at them, confused by the entire situation. His face clearly showed his discomfort.

"Aunt," he greeted politely, nodding toward Maegelle. "Uncle. It's been ages since we last saw each other. It's good to see you."

Maegelle responded with a wide, warm smile that lit up her face.

"Good to see you too, Jace. You've grown since the last time we all saw each other as children," she remarked with a gentle hint of amusement.

Jacaerys nodded, his gaze focused on her intently.

"You too," he admitted, his eyes lingering for a moment on her face. "You've grown into a beautiful woman."

A shy but friendly smile appeared on his face. Maegelle lowered her gaze slightly, feeling a little embarrassed, while Aemond shot his nephew a warning look. His jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, and there was a noticeable tension in the air.

Sensing her husband's rising discomfort, the princess gently placed her small hand on his, attempting to calm him.

"There's no need, Aemond," she whispered softly, trying to put out the spark of conflict.

Jace and Luke exchanged surprised looks, their gazes falling on the small ring with a sapphire stone adorning Maegelle's ring finger. It was clearly a wedding band.

"I didn't know you were married," Jacaerys admitted, surprised.

Aemond looked at him with cold arrogance.

"We've been married for over three years," he declared, his voice laced with mockery. "Apparently, ravens don't fly as far as Dragonstone, since you didn't know." The corner of his mouth lifted slightly in an ironic smile. "Though," he added with venomous precision, "I wouldn't rule out the possibility that your mother and stepfather didn't find it necessary to inform you. Maybe they don't take you seriously."

Jacaerys raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching as if he wanted to say something, but ultimately he kept silent. His jaw tightened, and his face betrayed the clear hurt from his uncle's words. He was supposed to inherit the throne from his mother when she became queen, but what kind of king could he be if even his own mother thought such information wasn't worth sharing with him?

Seeing the tense atmosphere, Maegelle quickly scanned their faces. She put on her brightest smile, as if trying to disperse the storm clouds gathering above their heads.

"In any case, it's not important. It was good to see you again," she said cheerfully, glancing at the Velaryon boys. "Unfortunately, I must go. I promised Helena I'd meet her. She's probably waiting for me," she informed them, then turned her gaze to Aemond. "I won't keep you from your training any longer, valzȳrys."

The prince looked toward his nephews, giving them a cool stare

"You never interrupt me, ābrazȳrys," he replied, his gaze softening momentarily as it landed on Maegelle. "I'll come with you. I think we've finished training for today," he declared, addressing Ser Criston, who stood at the side.

The Kingsguard nodded. "Indeed, my Prince."

Maegelle gave a small nod with a slight smile.

"Well, if you say so..." Her gaze once again rested on Jace and Luke. "I suppose you'll want to take another look around the Red Keep? In that case, we won't keep you," she said, sending them another smile.

Aemond, noticing this, cleared his throat, eager to catch her attention. He released his grip on her waist and extended his arm toward her.

"Come, wife," he said, emphasizing the last word with pride. "You were planning to go to our dear sister. Let's not keep her waiting."

Maegelle smiled and took his arm, her fingers gently gripping his forearm.

"Have a nice day, nephews," she added with a cheerful smile, waving them goodbye.

Aemond, his expression firm and unyielding, led her toward the castle. His posture exuded authoritative confidence, and Maegelle, glancing at him from the corner of her eye, smiled slightly, as if the small display of power only amused her. Together, they disappeared behind the Keep's doors, leaving the boys and the heavy silence that settled over the courtyard as soon as they were out of sight.

***

It was late afternoon when she returned to her chamber after meeting with her older sister. As was her custom, she had brought along her two nephews so the twins could play with their cousins.

The soft giggles of the children interrupted the silence in the room, mingling with the sounds of babbling and the tapping of wooden blocks. Maegelle glanced at them, but didn't take her eyes off her embroidery for long. Marisa, sensing the princess's gaze, glanced her way and gave a slight nod before turning her attention back to the little ones. Maegelle sighed deeply, feeling how the silence, punctuated by the joyful babbling of the children, soothed her thoughts.

With a smile, she returned to her stitching, focusing again on the white dove she was embroidering. She really enjoyed working with needle and thread in her free time. Embroidery always calmed her, reminding her of the carefree moments of childhood. She no longer had to listen to the Septa, who had once stubbornly forced her to stitch flowers she had so disliked. Maegelle smiled to herself at the memory of that determined yet warm woman before returning to her work, threading the needle through the fabric.

Her reverie was broken by a soft knock at the door of her chamber.

"Come in," she called gently, not looking up from her work, inviting her guest inside.

"Princess..." came a quiet, feminine voice, making the princess lift her head and notice the brown-haired woman who immediately curtsied.

Maegelle recognized her face. Elinda Massey was one of the ladies-in-waiting to her older half-sister. The princess remembered her from when she herself was a child, and Rhaenyra still lived with her family in the Red Keep.

"How can I help?" she asked politely, setting her embroidery aside.

"As you requested, my lady, Princess Rhaenyra has sent her sons," Elinda explained, giving a small bow.

Maegelle looked at her questioningly, opening her mouth to say something, but her attention was drawn by soft babbling coming from the direction of the door. Surprised, she glanced over, seeing two servants holding silver-haired boys in their arms.

"The princess apologizes for not being able to come herself, but she had to speak urgently with Princess Rhaenys in the Godswood. Instead, she has sent her three sons, Aegon, Viserys, and Joffrey," the lady-in-waiting added.

Maegelle looked at the children, noticing also the brown-haired boy she had not seen at first because he was hidden behind the servants. At the sight of them, she smiled warmly.

"Oh, that's no problem. Please, come in," she said warmly, gesturing to where the other children were playing.

The servants nodded gratefully and brought the boys into the room. Joffrey looked at Maegelle with curiosity, and she responded with a warm smile. The boy returned her gesture, then joined his brothers and cousins, and the sound of joyful laughter filled the room again.

Maegelle returned to her embroidery, her attention still drawn to the happy sounds of the little ones. She was in the midst of stitching an olive branch that the dove held in its beak when a loud squeal reached her ears. Alarmed, she glanced toward the noise and saw Daenys trying to grab one of the toys, but someone kept taking it from her. From a distance, she could see her daughter's face twisting in displeasure, the little girl on the verge of tears.

She was about to stand up to comfort her when something caught her eye, freezing her in place. Viserys, the younger of Rhaenyra's sons, gave the one-year-old girl his toy, and Daenys immediately calmed down.

The little princess looked at him with her large, purple eyes, and a radiant smile appeared on her face. Maegelle's heart fluttered. The sight was so touching that, for a moment, she forgot everything else around her.

Viserys, unfazed by the lack of a toy, joined his brother, who was building something with blocks. Maegelle sighed quietly, thinking how much adults could learn from children — the simplicity, the spontaneity, and above all, the ability to share and resolve conflicts. If life were as uncomplicated, and disputes could be settled the way children settle arguments over a wooden figurine... Perhaps less blood and fewer tears would be shed in the fight for titles and crown.