111-115

*Chapter 111: Abdicating the Crown Prince*

Today's grand assembly was a carefully planned demonstration by Viserys after much deliberation.

Since the battle at the Stepstones, the royal family's prestige had been waning.

With the succession in question, it was time for the Targaryen dragons to once again remind the noble houses of their might.

As the king spoke, many nobles quickly grasped his intent.

Some gazed skyward, fixing their eyes on the pitch-black dragon circling above.

The dragon's neck bore leather straps that connected to a saddle.

Seated atop the saddle was a diminutive figure, barely noticeable compared to the immense dragon, commanding the fearsome beast beneath him.

“Gluttonous One, Dracarys!”

Rhaegar tightened his grip on the reins, scanning the restless crowd below as he uttered the High Valyrian command.

“Hssss…”

Sensing its rider’s emotions, the Gluttonous One unleashed a torrent of green flames, cutting a swath across the sky.

To the crowd below, it seemed as though the dragon's fire was endless.

In an instant, the black dragon plunged into the fiery expanse it had created, with the small figure on its back disappearing into the blaze.

“Hssss…”

Amidst the ear-splitting screeches, the black dragon twisted and turned within the flames like a sea monster churning the ocean depths.

What shocked the onlookers most was that the figure on the dragon's back emerged entirely unharmed.

Rhaegar remained steady in the saddle, the dragonfire as harmless to him as mist.

His dragonrider's attire, specially treated for such occasions, was untouched by the inferno.

If they were going to make a display, they would make it unforgettable.

“Land, Gluttonous One.”

As the flames dissipated, revealing the dragon's raw power, Rhaegar softly issued the command.

The Gluttonous One knew exactly how to showcase its terrifying presence.

Its green, slit-pupil eyes glared down at the crowd below, flashing with a mischievous, almost human-like mockery.

It adjusted its flight, angling downward in a dive.

This was no young dragon like Syrax, merely past its infancy.

With its massive size, the wind it stirred felt like a tempest, strong enough to overturn a chariot.

The crowd watched the black dragon plummet toward them, their expressions betraying their unease.

Many glanced nervously at the king.

A dragon of this size diving toward them was beyond a matter of embarrassment—it was a matter of survival.

As the Gluttonous One dove over the Red Keep, the winds stirred by its wings reached the royal gardens.

“Hssss…”

Abruptly, it broke off its dive, veering upward with a mocking screech.

It slowed its speed gradually, descending toward the garden’s open grounds.

Boom!  

Fortunately, the garden was spacious enough to accommodate the Gluttonous One’s immense form.

The ground erupted in a cloud of dust as the dragon landed behind the pavilion.

Its size dwarfed Syrax’s.

Standing on its hind legs, the dragon made the pavilion look like a mouse before a cat, barely noticeable between its claws.

The Gluttonous One’s proud, towering head rose nearly as high as the nearby tower, glaring contemptuously at the crowd below, as though they were mere ants.

Its appearance was malevolent and terrifying.

Many nobles instinctively stepped back, unable to suppress their fear.

Their terror deepened when their eyes fell on the figure riding the dragon: a boy not yet ten years old.

The sight of a child commanding a fully grown dragon capable of annihilating entire towns felt like a blade pressed against their necks, ready to strike at any moment.

From the dragon’s back, Rhaegar gazed into the distance, his expression unreadable.

“Hssss…”

The Gluttonous One let out a thunderous roar, spewing green flames into the sky.

The air itself seemed to heat under the dragon’s fiery breath.

The coolness of winter was replaced by a stifling heat, like the height of summer, leaving the crowd drenched in sweat.

“Alright, set me down now, Gluttonous One.”

Just as the nobles felt their hearts in their throats, Rhaegar’s young voice broke the tension, calling off the dragon’s display.

“Hssss…”

The Gluttonous One ceased its fire, folding its wings and obediently crouching low to the ground.

The oppressive heat wasn’t limited to the nobles—the king himself, sitting in the pavilion, wiped sweat from his brow.

Despite his discomfort, Viserys could barely hide his delight. He raised his voice, saying, “Rhaegar, let the lords have a proper look at you.”

“Yes, Father.”

Rhaegar had been waiting for this moment. He responded swiftly, rising from the saddle.

He hadn’t bothered securing himself with chains.

The bond between him and the Gluttonous One was deep enough for the dragon to ensure his safety without them.

Were it not for comfort, even the saddle would have been unnecessary.

Under the watchful eyes of the gathered nobles, Rhaegar avoided the typical way of dismounting a dragon.

Instead, he used the soft ladder attached to the leather straps around the Gluttonous One’s neck, allowing for an elegant descent.

With a thud, Rhaegar landed on the ground.

*He entered from behind the pavilion, stepping into everyone's view.*

He wore a sleek dragon-rider suit resembling dragon scales, with a clean, fair face, and the distinctive silver hair and violet eyes of Valyrian heritage.

The stark contrast between him and the terrifying black dragon outside the pavilion was striking.

Viserys withdrew his arm from Alicent's embrace, took Rhaegar's small hand, and faced the gathered nobles with his chest puffed out, pride radiating from his expression.

He declared loudly, "Lords and ladies, feast your eyes on your future ruler, the kingdom's new heir!"

Under the oppressive presence of two mighty dragons, the nobles knew better than to protest.

Thunderous applause erupted.

*Clap, clap, clap...*

After a round of clapping and cheering, Viserys raised his hand to silence the diverse expressions among the nobles.

He patted Rhaegar on the shoulder and encouraged him, saying, "Go, Rhaegar, help Rhaenyra dismount from her dragon."

Rhaegar glanced back at Rhaenyra, who remained seated proudly on her saddle, and nodded. "Of course."

On such an occasion, Rhaenyra wouldn’t dismount on her own—she had to maintain her dignity.

Rhaegar stepped forward, one step at a time, toward Syrax, keeping his eyes on Rhaenyra's profile.

Since her landing, Rhaenyra's gaze had been fixed on the vast sea beyond the wall.

The crowd below was no longer her vassals; they merely sought to revel in her disgrace.

When Rhaegar reached Syrax’s neck, he calmed the restless, curious golden dragon.

Then, slowly, he knelt on one knee.

In a gentle voice, he called out, "Rhaenyra, I’ve come to help you down."

Rhaenyra turned her head, gazing down at Rhaegar with a calm expression.

After a moment, Rhaenyra unclasped the chain around her waist, rose, and climbed down the ladder from the saddle.

She approached Rhaegar, extending her hand.

Rhaegar took her hand, kissed the back of it lightly, and whispered, "Thank you, sister."

"Rise, brother."

Rhaenyra pulled Rhaegar up by the hand, then walked gracefully toward the pavilion, hand in hand with him.

Despite their difference in height, the siblings matched their steps, moving forward in unison.

When they reached the pavilion, Rhaenyra bowed respectfully to Viserys and Alicent.

Then, bypassing Laenor, who was about to speak, she took the lead.

She swept her gaze across the crowd, her face breaking into a smile as her voice rang out powerfully:

"Lords and ladies, I appreciate your effort in attending today’s heir-changing assembly."

"And now, before you all—"

"I, Rhaenyra Targaryen, eldest daughter of King Viserys I, Princess of Dragonstone, and heir to the Iron Throne…"

"Hereby announce my resignation as the former heir, passing this right to my brother, Rhaegar, and solemnly swear to dedicate my life to supporting him. Together, we will usher in a new era for House Targaryen!"

With that, Rhaenyra, brimming with confidence, raised Rhaegar's hand high.

---

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 112: The House of Hightower

As soon as the words fell, applause erupted.

It began with the nobles of the Vale, led by Jeyne Arryn, and spread to the Tully and Tyrell families of the Riverlands and the Reach.

These were the most loyal followers of the Targaryen royal family.

The princess, the former heir, had willingly transferred the title of heir to the prince. The message of unity had been sent.

The dragon bloodline was neither consumed by internal conflict nor tarnished by scandal.

Today marked an official and dignified ceremony to pass the title of heir.

“Rhaenyra, well done.”

From the crowd, Jeyne Arryn’s clear voice rang out as she gazed sympathetically at her good friend.

They were cousins, both women, and mutual political allies.

Rhaenyra had made her choice and taken a step back. Jeyne could only support her.

Amid the applause, Laenor glanced at the princess with a look of concern.

“Sigh, they’ve taken my job.”

Still, he stepped forward decisively and announced, “Lords and ladies, the princess and the prince are here. Please proceed to the throne room, where the ceremony to transfer the title of heir will take place.”

A transfer of succession was an extraordinary event, not something decided solely by the agreement of the old and new heirs.

A solemn and formal ceremony was indispensable.

“Let’s go, my children.”

Viserys approached his two children, taking each by the hand.

Rhaenyra keenly noticed the affectionate gaze her father gave her.

“My dear child, everything you’ve lost will be restored to you,” Viserys said firmly, squeezing her hand.

Rhaenyra had demonstrated through her actions that she willingly relinquished the title of heir and fully supported Rhaegar.

She had showcased the unity of the Targaryens, leaving no opening for opportunists to exploit.

Viserys was proud of her, but his guilt toward her only deepened.

Rhaenyra smiled faintly, gently withdrawing her hand from his grasp. She took Rhaegar’s hand instead and said calmly, “Father, you should walk with the queen instead.”

Her father’s hesitation and wavering had already wounded her deeply.

The terms she had proposed would ensure a secure future, and the delayed affection from her father stirred some resistance within her.

Now, all she wanted was to hold on tightly to Rhaegar and fulfill her promise.

---

The Ceremony

The ceremony to transfer the title of heir began in the solemn throne room, where members of the royal family and nobles from across the realm had gathered.

The High Septon of the Faith of the Seven delivered a proclamation, and under the watchful gaze of the Seven, the title of heir was officially transferred from Rhaenyra to Rhaegar.

Seizing the opportunity, Rhaenyra declared that she would not consider marrying outside the family and would remain by Rhaegar’s side, assisting him until he came of age.

This announcement greatly disappointed many nobles who had hoped to marry into her line.

Viserys hadn’t anticipated Rhaenyra’s sudden declaration, but he did not oppose it. Instead, he nodded in agreement with a beaming smile.

He had promised Rhaenyra he would no longer interfere in her marriage.

To him, the union of dragon bloodlines was inevitable, and Rhaenyra’s decision not to marry outside the family was perfectly acceptable.

After this brief interlude, Viserys personally placed his crown on Rhaegar’s head, accepting the fealty of the assembled lords.

Rhaegar looked out over the gathered nobles, raising an arm in acknowledgment and calmly listening to their oaths of loyalty.

His black ceremonial robe was adorned with the sigils of the realm’s great houses.

From this moment forward, he was the heir to the throne.

This scene was reminiscent of the moment when Rhaenyra herself had been crowned heir.

When Rhaegar donned the crown, Viserys was overwhelmed with emotion.

This was the prince of his dreams.

With the crowning complete, the day drew to a close.

The nobles were invited to the banquet hall, where a sumptuous feast awaited.

---

The Banquet

The banquet hall was illuminated by candlelight and bonfires, and the long tables were laden with fine food and wine.

Viserys sat at the head of the hall.

To his left were Rhaegar and Rhaenyra; to his right sat the Hand of the King, Laenor.

After the ceremony, Alicent had excused herself, citing Aemond’s crying as the reason to return to her chambers early.

The nobles enjoyed the feast, eating and drinking heartily, chatting and laughing.

Viserys watched it all with immense satisfaction, occasionally engaging in friendly conversation with Laenor.

He was elated.

Joy must be shared.

The only disappointment was the absence of the Velaryon family.

Despite the fact that Lord Corlys, the Sea Snake, had promised to attend the ceremony, he had yet to arrive.

“Rhaegar, try this,” Rhaenyra said.

On the other side of the hall, she speared a piece of roast meat with her fork and held it out to Rhaegar.

Rhaegar, now dressed in formal attire, lounged idly in his chair, letting his sister feed him.

He was adapting to his new role as Crown Prince.

Enjoying the service of the former Crown Prince was quite a pleasant experience.

After eating several pieces of roast meat in a row, Rhaegar felt a bit overwhelmed and picked up a glass of grape juice to drink deeply.

Rhaenyra teased, “The Crown Prince should mind his image, Rhaegar.”

“I haven’t yet felt the power that comes with being the Crown Prince, and already I’m burdened?” Rhaegar joked. “Look at all these adults. How many do you think are willing to listen to me?”

“And when I gave orders back then, how many do you think were willing to obey?” Rhaenyra asked in self-mockery.

Rhaegar curled his lips into a smile but said nothing.

The Crown Prince was merely the heir apparent, not the actual king.

He still had a long road to walk as Crown Prince, and power had not yet tilted in his favor.

Just then, an announcement came from the doorway.

It was Hobert Hightower, Earl of Oldtown, and his wife.

Today, many nobles had been dusted by the wind from the dragons, leaving their attire somewhat disheveled, prompting requests to return to their quarters for a change of clothes.

The members of House Hightower walked slowly through the great doors, led, of course, by the Earl and his wife.

But among them, one figure drew even more attention—Otto Hightower, the father of Queen Alicent.

Upon seeing this familiar figure, Viserys’s expression remained unchanged as he waited calmly for their greetings.

First, Earl Hobert presented his blessings, followed by Otto Hightower offering his respects.

Viserys handled the interaction with composure, showing no hint of awkwardness from Otto’s resignation as Hand of the King.

Rhaegar’s gaze was drawn to them.

He tugged at Rhaenyra’s gown and pointed at Earl Hobert, who was descending the steps, whispering, “Look at that big-nosed fool.”

“Rhaegar!”

Rhaenyra hurriedly covered his mouth, her eyes warning him to watch his words.

Rhaegar pried her hand away and leaned closer to whisper in her ear, “That guy supports Aegon, doesn’t he?”

He still remembered Earl Hobert loudly cheering for Prince Aegon during the royal hunt.

At the time, he didn’t know who Hobert was.

So, he was the lord of Aegon’s mother’s family.

Rhaenyra lowered her voice, “You’re the Crown Prince, and your place in the line of succession is far above Aegon’s. You don’t need to concern yourself with a mere lord from Oldtown.”

Rhaegar’s status as the eldest son carried far more weight than her position as the eldest daughter.

Any hopes for Aegon were dashed, as neither his age nor legal standing could surpass Rhaegar’s.

Rhaegar’s ascension to the Iron Throne was as certain as a nail driven into wood.

As Rhaegar continued chatting with Rhaenyra, his gaze drifted toward Otto Hightower.

This was a man who had served two consecutive terms as Hand of the King.

At that moment, Viserys raised his cup and spoke, “It’s been a long time, Otto.”

“I’m glad to see you’re well, Your Majesty, and that you’ve chosen such an excellent heir,” Otto responded respectfully, maintaining his graceful demeanor.

The two didn’t converse much longer before Otto followed his elder brother down the steps to join the banquet.

Once the members of House Hightower were seated, others came forward to offer toasts.

At one of the tables belonging to the Vale, two women were seated.

One was Duchess Jeyne, and the other was a mature woman dressed as a countess.

“Your Majesty…”

The Countess had just risen when another figure stepped forward with a wine goblet in hand.

“Congratulations, Your Majesty.”

“You have a brave and fearless prince as your heir, truly worthy of the blood of the dragon.”

---

*Chapter 113: Lady Rhea*

Jason, with his golden curls, strode forward and bowed to the king.

Rhaegar glanced at him sideways and nodded. “Thank you, Lord Jason.”

As a courtesy, he acknowledged the compliment.

Jason smiled, raising his chin slightly. “Your Majesty, this succession banquet is truly grand, befitting the prince’s stature.”

Viserys chuckled. “Of course. Rhaegar is my eldest son and the future king. I hope this feast will go down in history.”

Jason cast a quick glance at the empty seat to the king’s right and asked curiously, “Where is the queen? I was hoping to greet her personally.”

“The queen is likely still preparing for the celebration,” Viserys replied casually.

Jason seized the opportunity to remark, “That’s why men wage wars; women can never arrive at the battlefield on time.”

With that, he turned to Rhaenyra and asked, “Now that you’ve been relieved of the burden of being heir, what are your plans for the future, Princess?”

He was still scheming to marry a Targaryen princess.

Viserys opened his mouth, intending to answer on his daughter’s behalf.

But Rhaegar spoke up abruptly. “Lord Jason, have you started any wars recently? Perhaps you’d like me to ride my dragon to Lannisport in support?”

Rhaenyra glanced sideways at him and quietly took his hand.

Rhaegar smiled faintly and turned to stare at the somewhat stunned Jason.

Caught off guard by the question, Jason hesitated. “Uh... I haven’t started any wars. There’s no need to trouble the prince for assistance.”

“Is that so? What a pity.”

Feigning regret, Rhaegar pressed further. “Do you have any plans for war in the future? I’ve heard the Ironborn frequently harass the coastline.”

“The Ironborn are nothing more than ignorant pirates. The soldiers at the ports are more than enough to handle them.”

Jason’s expression darkened slightly. “A prince of your stature shouldn’t concern yourself with the likes of the Ironborn.”

“Understood. Lord Jason, you’re truly a military expert. I admire you greatly.”

As he spoke, Rhaegar raised his cup and toasted him.

Jason frowned at the fragrant grape juice in the prince’s goblet but begrudgingly raised his own cup and drank along.

After downing the wine, Jason was acutely aware of the prince’s hostility. Embarrassed, he slinked away down the steps.

Watching him retreat, Rhaenyra leaned in close to Rhaegar and whispered, “What an arrogant fool. I can handle him.”

“I just can’t stand his smug face,” Rhaegar shrugged.

Using the succession ceremony to flaunt his manhood while coveting his sister? It seemed the seawater of Lannisport had seeped into Jason’s brain.

No sooner had Jason walked away than Lady Rhea of Runestone strode forward with purposeful steps.

“Your Majesty, Rhea Royce of Runestone brings blessings to you, the prince, and the princess,” the lady said, raising her goblet.

“Thank you, Lady Rhea...”

Her greeting was acknowledged not just by Viserys but also by Rhaegar and Rhaenyra, who spoke with equal respect.

Lady Rhea was no ordinary figure.

She was the wife of Viserys’ brother, Prince Daemon Targaryen, making her Rhaegar’s aunt by marriage.

Technically, they should address each other as sister-in-law and aunt.

Rhaegar subtly assessed Lady Rhea.

With her brown hair, slender figure, and a face that, while not stunning, was well-proportioned, she exuded a sharp, capable energy.

She was far from the hideous woman Daemon had described—she was certainly no worse than the mountain goats of the Vale.

Taking a sip of her wine, Lady Rhea spoke solemnly. “Your Majesty, Daemon has committed grave sins. By rights, I should share in his responsibility.”

“You need not worry. Daemon’s crimes are his alone. You will not be implicated,” Viserys replied graciously.

Lady Rhea shook her head. “Your Majesty, I know what I’m about to say is treasonous, but I must ask for your permission.”

“What is it you wish to say?”

Sensing something amiss, Viserys asked cautiously.

Lady Rhea’s tone grew heavier. “I have been married to Daemon for ten years, but our marriage has long been a sham. He despises me for my lack of beauty and has refused to consummate our union. The scandal has spread across the continent.”

Rhaegar sat up straight, listening intently.

This was one of Daemon’s scandals—worth paying attention to.

Lady Rhea continued, “As the Countess of Runestone, I have borne this disgrace for far too long.”

“Now that Daemon has committed treason, I beg you to dissolve our marriage and restore the honor of your loyal vassal.”

She finished her prepared statement in one breath, as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Her gaze was resolute as she fixed her eyes on the king.

“You wish to annul your marriage?” Viserys’ expression darkened.

“No! I want a divorce. Daemon has never treated me as his wife,” Lady Rhea corrected firmly.

Viserys clutched the wine glass in his hand, his gaze inexplicably fixed on Lady Rhea, his breathing gradually growing heavier.

Daemon truly was a scoundrel. Viserys wished he could kill him on the spot.

But Daemon was still his brother.

For a woman to file for divorce was a disgrace—not only would it make Daemon a laughingstock, but it would also bring shame to the royal family.

Whether for the sake of the royal family’s reputation or the faint remnants of familial affection he still held for Daemon,

Viserys didn’t want to agree to Lady Rhea’s divorce request.

The atmosphere grew heavy for a moment.

Rhaenyra watched Lady Rhea with a mix of indignation and sympathy—this nominal aunt of hers.

A countess of great stature, dragged down for years by a political marriage, and subjected to endless ridicule behind her back.

Rhaenyra leaned closer to Rhaegar, gritting her teeth. “Daemon is scum. You’d better not turn out like him.”

“Comparing me to him is an insult in itself,” Rhaegar retorted, visibly displeased.

Viserys was silent for a long time before speaking in a low voice. “Lady Rhea, Daemon has not yet been apprehended. Could you wait until he’s caught, and then resolve this matter with him directly?”

As an elder brother, he was reluctant to make marital decisions for Daemon.

Lady Rhea hesitated for a moment, wanting to plead further with the king to end the marriage decisively.

She could no longer bear the title of "Daemon’s wife" for even a moment longer—she simply wanted to be free.

“Lady Rhea, my father has already approved your request. All that remains is to wait until Daemon is captured,” Rhaegar interjected at the right moment, seeing his father’s hesitation.

Lady Rhea glanced at the young prince, a flicker of doubt crossing her eyes.

Rhaegar smiled and said, “Runestone has always been a loyal supporter of the crown. The royal family would never allow its allies to suffer humiliation. Daemon’s transgressions have brought shame, and this marriage should end.”

Lady Rhea nodded and turned to the king. “Your Majesty, is what the prince says true?”

Viserys’s expression darkened. “Yes, Rhaegar speaks for me. Once Daemon is apprehended, you may resolve things as you see fit.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Lady Rhea’s face lit up with emotion. She then turned to Rhaegar and added, “Thank you for your selflessness, Prince.”

“Selflessness?”

Her words made Rhaegar frown.

What did she mean by "selflessness"?

Was this some form of moral righteousness?

Noticing Rhaegar’s reaction, Lady Rhea quickly realized her words had been poorly chosen and stammered, “I-I didn’t mean it that way...”

What did she mean?

Rhaegar widened his eyes, staring at her in confusion.

“I’ll take my leave, Your Majesty...”

The more she spoke, the worse it got. Lady Rhea’s face turned red with embarrassment as she descended the steps in haste.

Rhaegar turned his head to look at Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra was also watching him.

Rhaegar’s face darkened. “Now I understand why Daemon doesn’t like her.”

“Mm-hmm~”

Rhaenyra withdrew her gaze with a sly, amused smile.

A woman with a sharp tongue is indeed hard to like.

---

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 114: The Sea Snake and Daemon

The banquet continued.

Rhaegar sat upright in his seat, waiting as one noble after another approached to greet him, returning their pleasantries with polite smiles.

Just as his face began to feel stiff from all the smiling, the sound of a welcome drumroll echoed through the hall.

"Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, the Sea Snake, Lord of the Tides, Count of Driftmark, along with his wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, and their children and heirs..."

The herald's voice announced as the grand doors of the hall swung open.

A group of individuals entered the hall.

The lively buzz of the banquet fell silent, and all eyes turned toward the newcomers.

“The Sea Snake...”

Rhaegar murmured softly, curious about the man who was his father’s most formidable political adversary.

From his position at the head of the hall, Rhaegar had an unimpeded view of the group as they made their entrance.

At the forefront was a middle-aged man with silver hair and dark skin. His gaze was deep and his demeanor calm and composed.

Beside him walked a striking woman with black hair streaked with hints of silver-gold, her expression haughty.

The two walked arm in arm.

Behind them was a pair of young adults, a man and a woman, both with silver hair, dark-toned skin, and strikingly attractive features.

"Does Old Valyria have dark-skinned descendants?" Rhaegar silently wondered to himself.

The group made their way to the center of the banquet hall, drawing the attention of everyone present.

Corlys stepped forward, offering a slight bow to King Viserys and saying calmly, “Your Grace, forgive us for arriving from afar and not attending the earlier part of this grand event.”

“Heh, when I didn’t see you earlier today, I thought House Velaryon wasn’t going to show up,” Viserys responded, standing up and nodding slightly toward Rhaenys. “Cousin.”

“Cousin,” Rhaenys replied with a faint smile, acknowledging him.

Viserys gestured toward Rhaegar, who was seated beside him, and introduced him, “Come now, Lord Corlys, meet the new heir to the realm and swear your fealty to him.”

He wanted to gauge the Sea Snake’s attitude.

Corlys’s eyes fell on the young prince. He frowned slightly but spoke, “Your Grace, you’ve made a wise decision.”

He wasn’t lying.

A male heir was indeed a more secure choice than a princess.

Corlys knelt on one knee and made a solemn pledge of fealty, his expression betraying no reluctance.

Rhaegar stepped down from his seat, walked up to Corlys, extended a hand, and smiled. “Rise, Lord Corlys. I accept your fealty.”

Hearing this, Corlys placed his hand on Rhaegar’s and stood to his full height, towering over the young prince. He said in a low voice, “Prince, may you become a wise and just ruler.”

“I will, my lord,” Rhaegar replied with a nod, before turning to Rhaenys.

“Aunt, this is my first time meeting you and my cousins. Please, take your seats.”

“It may be your first time meeting me, but I’ve long been familiar with you,” Rhaenys said indifferently, patting her nephew’s head as if unconcerned with courtly formalities.

Laenor and Laena stepped forward as well, offering warm congratulations. “Rhaegar, congratulations on becoming the Crown Prince.”

As Rhaegar exchanged pleasantries with his cousins, Rhaenys moved toward the head table.

She raised a glass of wine to Viserys first.

Then, turning to Rhaenyra, she sneered, “I told you, you’d be replaced. You really weren’t up to the task.”

Her words carried a sharp edge, tinged with frustration and disappointment.

Rhaenys had once been a contender for the throne herself but had lost to her cousin Viserys.

When Rhaenyra was named heir, she had hoped the princess would succeed where she hadn’t.

But in the end, Rhaenyra couldn’t escape being supplanted by a male heir.

Rhaenyra’s face darkened, and she responded coldly, “Aunt, Rhaegar is my brother. I willingly gave up the position.”

“Is that how you comfort yourself?” Rhaenys asked, her eyes filled with pity. She shook her head.

Rhaenyra clenched her fists under the table and raised her glass. “Haven’t you lived through the same? The people were never on our side.”

“You’re right,” Rhaenys admitted, her tone unguarded. “The system itself is flawed.”

Realizing the gravity of her words, she quickly changed the subject. “You’re not young anymore. Perhaps it’s time you found a husband to rely on?”

“No need. Rhaegar will take care of me,” Rhaenyra replied bluntly, rejecting the suggestion.

Rhaenys seemed a bit regretful but said, “Very well. You could always follow the family’s traditions.”

Despite her sharp words, there was a glimmer of admiration in her eyes for her niece, who shared her struggles.

Still, she wouldn’t press the matter further if Rhaenyra didn’t want it.

After the brief exchange, Corlys and Rhaenys took their seats with their family, becoming part of the banquet crowd.

Rhaegar struck up an engaging conversation with Laenor, finding that his cousin seemed to hold him in high regard.

Just then, another figure stepped through the still-open doors.

He had short silver hair, wore black leather armor, and sported a roguish smile at the corner of his mouth.

Bang!  

Viserys’s face twisted with rage. He slammed the table and bellowed, “Daemon, you scoundrel! How dare you show your face here!?”

Hearing this, Rhaegar turned toward the source of the commotion, his expression cooling.

To everyone’s surprise, the man entering was none other than Daemon Targaryen, the disgraced and wanted prince.

Daemon stood at the doorway, casually eating a piece of salted bread.

Shing! Shing!  

Two swords were drawn in unison, and the Kingsguard stationed at the door pointed their blades at Daemon’s neck, their expressions stern.

Daemon swallowed the last bite of bread, raised his hands, and smiled faintly. “Brother, I invoke the guest right.”

“You are a sinner, unworthy of any rights,” Viserys glared at him, seething with anger. “Seize him and throw him in the black cells!”

“No, no, no—the arrest warrants haven’t reached King’s Landing yet. I am still a prince,” Daemon protested nervously as the blade brushed his skin. Swallowing hard, he argued slyly, “At least for tonight, I’m here as a guest.”

As he spoke, he unfastened the Valyrian steel sword—Dark Sister—from his waist and held it out with both hands.

Seeing Daemon surrender his weapon, Viserys sneered. “Fool. You have no honor in my court.”

This scoundrel had nearly killed his son.

“Your Grace,” Corlys suddenly spoke up, “Daemon has eaten your bread and salt. Imprisoning him now would violate the gods' laws.”

Viserys turned his icy gaze to Corlys and smirked coldly. “Lord Corlys, did he come here with your family?”

Daemon and the Velaryons had arrived one after the other, and given Daemon’s ties with House Velaryon, it was hard not to suspect something.

Corlys did not deny it but instead said, “I do not know what grave crime Prince Daemon has committed, but you are blood brothers. Kinslayers are cursed by the gods.”

“He is the kinslayer!” Viserys shouted passionately.

Daemon immediately countered, “Brother, all my kin are alive and well. Not one has died by my hand.”

“Shut your filthy mouth, or I’ll rip out your tongue!” Viserys roared, glaring at him with hatred.

Daemon sulked and lowered his head, falling silent.

The confrontation created an unbearable chill in the room. Smiles froze on the faces of everyone present.

Surveying the tense situation, Laenor rose and gently reminded, “Your Grace, Daemon has willingly walked into your hands. His execution can wait a day.”

“What, should we let this murderer attend the feast?” Viserys said with disgust.

“Today is the prince’s wedding day. Nobles from across the realm have gathered. A public feud would be unwise,” Laenor reasoned, concerned about the consequences of infighting.

(End of Chapter)

*Chapter 115: Black and Green*

Viserys’s expression froze momentarily at the suggestion.

Detaining Daemon would undoubtedly feel satisfying, but it would also expose the scandal of the royal family’s internal conflict to the world.

Rhaenyra, to dispel rumors of infighting, was willing to support Rhaegar's ascension.

It wasn’t worth ruining today’s peace and harmony over Daemon.

At that moment, Rhaegar approached his father and tugged on his sleeve.

Viserys lowered his head, frowning in confusion.

In a soft voice, Rhaegar said, “Father, the guest right must not be violated. Confiscate his ancestral sword and detain him immediately after the banquet.”

No matter what plots Daemon and the Sea Snake had, once they entered King’s Landing, there was no escape.

There was no need to act rashly and invite criticism.

Viserys stared at his eldest son for a moment, then turned to look at Laenor, his gaze questioning.

Laenor nodded and said, “The prince is right. Daemon won’t get away.”

Taking a deep breath, Viserys let out a scoffing laugh. “Fine. Let him enjoy one last comfortable night.”

He ordered, “Take his sword and let him in.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The Kingsguard responded, taking the Dark Sister from Daemon and thoroughly searching him for weapons.

Daemon cooperated fully, smiling as he said, “Brother, I’m only here to attend my dear nephew’s ceremony and offer my blessings.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Rhaegar replied, his gaze cold as he signaled for the Kingsguard to take the Dark Sister away.

This sword, a Targaryen heirloom passed down for generations, carried countless stories. It would certainly meet the requirements of his exploratory mission.

“Find yourself a corner and sit quietly. Make the most of the wine until the banquet ends,” Viserys scolded disdainfully as Daemon approached.

Daemon spread his arms helplessly. “I’m your brother.”

“You’re unworthy.”

Viserys refused to look at him.

Daemon had no choice but to scan the hall for a seat.

Bang!

The sound of a table being struck echoed as Lady Rhea rose angrily from her chair, glaring at Daemon.

“Rhea, sit down,” Jeyne said, grabbing her to prevent her from acting rashly.

Tonight wasn’t the time to judge a criminal; everything would wait until after the banquet.

“Hmph!”

Rhea reluctantly obeyed, shooting Daemon a look of disgust before sitting back down.

Daemon sneered. “Isn’t this my dear wife? What’s the matter? Concerned about your husband?”

“Disgusting!”

Rhea spat the words venomously.

Daemon smirked coldly, unwilling to engage further with the bronze woman. He found an empty seat and sat down.

He shouldn’t have come here.

But he couldn’t resist.

He wanted to meet his nephew, the new heir, and have a proper conversation.

As for the consequences?

He hadn’t cared since the moment he made his mistakes.

After all, his brother Viserys wouldn’t kill him.

He was Viserys’s only full-blooded brother, and kinslaying would invite the wrath of the gods.

With Daemon settled, Viserys managed a strained smile and prepared to speak to ease the tension in the room.

“Everyone—”

Bang!

Before he could continue, the doors opened again.

Under Viserys’s gaze, Alicent walked gracefully into the hall, dressed in a flowing green gown.

She held Aegon’s hand with one of hers and Helaena’s with the other, her expression calm and composed.

Those present looked at her with confusion.

Green was a common color, but its significance was not lost on those aware of House Hightower’s symbolism.

When Oldtown summoned its banners for war, the beacon atop the Hightower would shine green.

The crowd exchanged uneasy glances, understanding that the calm was about to be disrupted yet again.

Viserys, too, understood the meaning of green and his face darkened.

Rhaegar watched Alicent and said, “Your Grace, the Queen, your dress is very beautiful.”

Alicent approached slowly, smiling faintly. “I spent a long time choosing it. Only this one seemed fitting for tonight.”

“I’m glad you dressed up for my celebration, but I don’t like the color of your gown,” Rhaegar replied, his gaze briefly flicking to the Hightower family’s table as if staking his claim. “Change it; there’s still time before the banquet ends.”

Otto’s expression grew strange. He hadn’t expected his usually soft-hearted daughter to assert herself so boldly.

Hobert, on the other hand, seemed pleased, softly gesturing to Aegon beside Alicent.

Viserys’s tone was heavy as he said, “Alicent, I left my handkerchief in our chambers. Go back and fetch it for me.”

He didn’t want to see his queen in a green dress; it was a blatant show of disrespect toward him.

---

Alison walked all the way to the main seat, letting go of her two children’s hands. From her pocket, she took out a handkerchief and affectionately wiped her husband’s mouth.

With a kind smile, she said, “I like this dress. I don’t want to change it.”

Viserys grabbed her wrist and gritted his teeth. “You must change it!”

“Unless you want me to take it off right now, I can only say no.”

Alison was unusually firm, her gaze resolute and powerful.

She knew exactly what her family wanted from her and had had enough of their manipulations.

Those manipulations had left her restless, forcing her to survive in the cracks between their demands.

But now, she wanted to stand in the open, live in the sunlight, and fight for her children’s interests.

Viserys let out a cold snort and shook off her hand, his previously joyful mood wiped away by this confrontation.

Alison ignored her husband’s displeasure, not even glancing at Rhaegar, and sat in the queen’s seat.

Rhaegar’s face was expressionless as he surveyed the silent banquet.

“Rhaegar, take a break,” Rhaenyra attempted to comfort him.

Rhaegar thought for a moment, then shook his head with a faint, bitter smile. “Someone’s getting impatient.”

He wasn’t happy, but he was prepared for this.

Back when Rhaenyra was the heir, she had already sown the seeds of many problems.

Now that he was the crown prince, legal precedent was on his side.

The snakes and monsters lurking in the shadows could no longer hold back, baring their fangs one after another.

This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. At least now he knew who his enemies were.

The disturbance passed, and the banquet had to go on.

No matter how unwilling Viserys was, he had to speak up and ensure the celebration went smoothly.

He continued his speech from earlier to ease the atmosphere.

As the music began to play, the event moved into the dancing segment that everyone enjoyed.

Rhaegar sat in his chair, uninterested in the ball below. He had more important matters on his mind.

The Kingsguard brought over Dark Sister, but Rhaegar intervened, requesting to inspect it.

Viserys didn’t refuse. He was already considering giving this ancestral sword to his eldest son as a gift.

Daemon was unworthy of wielding this blade.

“Exploration quest activated: Valyrian Steel Sword - Dark Sister.”

The system’s notification sounded, and Rhaegar’s lips curled into a smile, his mood lightened.

*[Dark Sister]*

Exploration Progress: 0.5%

After checking the progress bar on the system interface, Rhaegar laid Dark Sister flat on the table and placed his small hand on the hilt.

As the music played, the earlier tense atmosphere faded, and people began searching for dance partners.

Several people approached Rhaenyra with invitations, but she politely declined, citing discomfort.

Among those who asked were Jason and Tyland Lannister, as well as Harwin Strong, the eldest son of Lyonel Strong.

Eventually, Rhaenyra, frustrated by the incessant invitations, left the banquet early.

Rhaegar glanced briefly at his sister’s retreating figure before turning his attention back to the ball—or rather, to certain individuals.

Daemon, having switched partners twice, was now dancing with Laena Velaryon, the daughter of the Sea Snake. The two were flirting openly in the center of the hall.

Meanwhile, Alison walked to the Hightower family’s table and chatted cheerfully with Otto and her uncle.

Everything seemed perfectly normal, as if the hall were calm and peaceful.

But in Rhaegar’s eyes, there was an undercurrent of chaos.

(End of Chapter)