"I beg your pardon," the captain of the patrol said, bowing low, one hand pressed over his breast. A strained smile touched his weathered face. "That is Grey Ghost, Prince Baelon's most cherished dragon. He is yet young and has taken a liking to circling these lands for sport."
Rhea Royce's horse tossed its head, foam flecking its bit. She tightened her reins, knuckles pale.
The captain went on, voice steady despite the distant sweep of pale wings overhead. "You may rest easy, my lady. Grey Ghost has ever obeyed Prince Baelon's command. He has never fallen upon caravans or travelers. Today he descended only in search of food."
For reasons none could name, the dragon had grown more spirited since returning from the White Wasteland. His flights were longer, his cries sharper, his shadow more restless upon the hills.
Prince Baelon did not curb him.
So long as no harm was done, the dragon was permitted his freedom. The prince had commanded that patrols carry fresh fish in salted barrels. If Grey Ghost blocked the kingsroad or circled too low, they were to cast him a catch. Once fed, the dragon would lift away of his own accord.
Rhea drew a slow breath, mastering her mount. "Prince Baelon appears remarkably at ease," she said, her gaze never leaving the sky. "Does he not fear the beast might lose control and bring ruin upon some poor soul?"
The captain let out a quiet laugh, though he dipped his head respectfully. "You wrong him, my lady. There are eight dragons upon Dragonmont now, and not one has harmed a single man."
He could not fault her unease. Every outsider who first glimpsed Dragonmont's open cliffs believed such creatures could never be contained. Yet those who dwelled long enough beneath Prince Baelon's rule came to understand the truth.
Within his lands, dragons did not prey upon men.
Wild dragons did that. Riderless dragons.
Not these.
"Eight dragons," Rhea repeated, softer now.
"Aye. Tyraxes and Grey Ghost. Prince Daemon's Caraxes. Princess Helaena's Dreamfyre. Prince Aegon's Sunfyre. Princess Rhaenyra's Syrax. Prince Aemond's Vhagar. All dwell in peace upon Dragonmont and are tended daily by the Dragonkeepers."
With no more to be said, Rhea inclined her head and allowed the escort to guide her onward toward Harrenhal.
The remainder of the journey passed beneath cold skies and watchful silence.
At last, the blackened towers of Harrenhal rose before them, vast and grim against the horizon.
"The prince has given instruction," the captain said, dismounting and bowing deeply. "You may proceed directly to the godswood. Before the eyes of the old gods and the Seven, your betrothal to Prince Daemon will be formally dissolved."
He gestured toward the path and withdrew.
When word reached Prince Baelon at Blackheart Tower, he set aside his governance without hesitation. Parchments lay forgotten upon the table as he rose. Before departing, he instructed a servant to summon Prince Daemon.
They had come too far for this to be settled in absence. At the least, they would stand before one another.
The godswood lay hushed beneath ancient trees when Baelon arrived.
He rode not a destrier, but a magnificent white hart, its coat pale as winter snow, its antlers broad and proud. The beast moved with solemn grace beneath him.
"It has been some time, Lady Rhea," Baelon said as he drew rein, his voice measured. He inclined his head in courteous greeting. "Our last meeting was at the tourney in King's Landing, was it not?"
The white hart had rarely been seen in recent years. Most days it lingered within Harrenhal's vast grounds, feeding and sleeping in indolent comfort. It had grown thick through the chest and mighty of limb, near twice the size it had been when first brought under saddle.
Harrenhal did not starve its beasts.
"You honor me, Prince Baelon," Rhea replied. A stiff smile curved her lips, though her fingers tightened upon her gloves.
In truth, the sight of him stirred an old bitterness in her chest. His power had grown beyond question, his influence stretching from Dragonmont to the Riverlands. Pride smarted at the memory of what might have been.
Yet she bowed her head all the same.
Courtesy, for now, would suffice.
"I have summoned septons of the Faith and priests of the old gods," Prince Baelon said, his tone calm as still water. His hands were clasped lightly behind his back as he stood beneath the ancient heart tree. "They await us within the grove. When my father arrives, we shall begin."
Prince Daemon did not arrive with such composure.
He came late, boots striking the earth with sharp, impatient steps. His jaw was set, his silver hair unbound and wind-tossed, violet eyes burning with undisguised resentment.
He had not wished to attend.
To be set aside before the realm, to have a betrothal undone at a woman's insistence, bit deep into his pride. Yet both King Viserys and Prince Baelon had lent their voices to Rhea's demand. Between brother and son, Daemon had found no path but submission.
Had they not intervened, he might well have flown to Runestone and reduced Lady Rhea and her ancient seat to smoking ruin beneath Caraxes' flame.
"Let us be done with it," Daemon said sharply, brushing past the gathered clergy. His hand flicked in irritation. "I have men awaiting training."
Under the weight of his impatience, the rites were made brief.
The septons intoned their prayers to the Seven. The priests of the old gods murmured beneath the rustling leaves. Rhea and Daemon faced one another across a narrow stretch of sacred earth, each bowing stiffly, neither meeting the other's eyes for long.
When the moment came for the customary exchange of gifts, Daemon gave a curt shake of his head.
"No need," he muttered.
Within minutes, it was finished.
No vows had been broken. No marriage bed defiled.
Only a bond erased before it had ever truly taken root.
Strangers once more.
Rhea inclined her head to Prince Baelon, the gesture precise and restrained. Without another word, she turned, mounted her horse, and gathered her reins. She did not look back as she rode from the godswood.
Daemon watched her go.
His expression darkened like a gathering storm. His hand drifted, almost unconsciously, to the hilt of Dark Sister at his hip. The air about him felt charged, as if the very leaves recoiled.
Prince Baelon stepped closer and gave a soft, deliberate cough.
"Father," he said gently, placing a hand over Daemon's wrist and easing it from the sword, "the first group of recruits has assembled."
Daemon's gaze snapped to him.
"And until Lady Rhea reaches the Vale," Baelon continued, his voice low but firm, "Caraxes is not to leave Dragonmont."
"She is an outsider," Daemon growled, shoulders taut beneath his riding leathers. "You are my son. Why do you stand with her?"
Baelon did not flinch.
"Because I am your son," he answered evenly, meeting Daemon's glare without hesitation, "I cannot permit you to act rashly."
"House Royce is not our enemy. Nor is Lady Rhea."
"If she were," he added, a faint tightening at the corner of his mouth, "she would not have ridden so far to attend this accursed ceremony."
His gaze shifted briefly toward the distant towers of Harrenhal before returning to his father.
"One day, the dragons will look to the Vale. If you slay her now, you must either extinguish House Royce root and stem or endure their enmity for generations. Anything less will weaken us."
Baelon had long ceased to see only the present moment. He measured the realm in decades, not days.
Daemon's marriage to Rhea might have served as a narrow blade, Targaryen blood piercing the Vale through lawful claim.
Now that blade was broken.
Had the bride been Prince Aegon or Prince Aemond, Baelon would never have permitted such dissolution. He would have dragged them to Runestone himself if need be.
But Daemon was another matter.
"…Very well."
The words left Daemon on a slow breath. His pride still smoldered in his chest, but he was no fool. For the greater glory of House Targaryen, he could swallow this slight.
The fury about him ebbed, though not entirely.
---------
A/N: Advance chapters available on Patreon,
If you've enjoyed the story so far, this is the moment you don't want to miss.
www.patreon.com/Baelon