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Daeron climbed the stairs without a word, silencing Davos and Lord Owen with a sharp look before pushing open the door to the queen's chambers.
Rhaella was facing the entrance. The sudden quiet outside had left her uneasy, and the sound of the door made her flinch—until she saw it was Daeron. Relief washed over her face.
"What's happening out there?" she demanded, eyes locking on the dried blood streaking his silver hair. Her voice wavered. "You… you didn't—"
She knew about the Great Council. She knew Aerys would never agree to strip Rhaegar of the succession. If Daeron came back with blood in his hair, that could only mean—
"Yes," Daeron said flatly. "So don't push me, Mother. I just finished beating Father. I'd rather not add 'assaulting my mother' to the list of things I have to repent for at the Father's altar."
Rhaella's eyes widened in disbelief. "You struck Aerys?"
Daeron gave her a cold side-eye. "What, you're upset I didn't kill him?"
Rhaella's face flushed crimson. She opened her mouth, closed it, and sat there fuming.
"Easy on the temper," Daeron said, voice dripping honey and venom at the same time. "Don't want to upset my little sister and make her spit up her milk."
He was in full asshole mode today, but only toward her.
He'd already vented on Aerys. He wasn't about to start hitting his mother too.
Rhaella looked away, seething in silence.
Daeron crossed the room in three long strides. The wind of his movement stirred her hair; she instinctively turned her head and squeezed her eyes shut like someone expecting a blow.
No pain came.
Rhaella cracked one eye open. Daeron was crouched beside the cradle, gently stroking Daenerys's chubby little cheek. The baby's silver-gold baby hair caught the light. His hard expression had melted into something soft and almost tender.
Rhaella's breathing steadied. She clutched the cushion on her chair, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands.
"Why are you afraid?" Daeron asked without looking up, tone calm but cutting straight to the bone. "The only people in this family who ever really hurt you were you and Father. From the time we were small, I was the one protecting Shaena and the boys. I was the one warning you to stay away from Aerys. I was the one who risked everything to threaten Rhaegar when he ignored what was happening, then slipped into his bedchamber at night with a chamber pot and cracked him over the head."
"So why, in your eyes, is Rhaegar the one you lean on… while I'm lumped in with Father?"
Rhaella's purple eyes flickered with guilt. She wanted to speak, to defend herself, but the words died in her throat.
She knew she had favored her eldest—tall, handsome, harp-playing, mature Rhaegar. She knew Daeron had carried the family on his back since he was a boy.
But the heart wants what it wants. No one can force it to be fair.
"I—" she started, voice small.
"Save it," Daeron cut her off, voice laced with sarcasm. "If you're going to be biased, at least own it. I'd respect you more as a woman with a spine. Don't try to play the loving mother now and expect me to melt. I'm not a child anymore."
Rhaella's face went from red to white. She looked utterly humiliated.
"Oh, and don't give me that wounded look," Daeron added mercilessly. "I loosened half of Father's teeth and he didn't cry. I haven't even raised my voice to you. Don't write your own tragic story in your head."
Rhaella had nothing left to say.
Elia, Ashara, and Shaena watched in stunned silence, like spectators at a very uncomfortable family drama. Even little Rhaenys—barely old enough to walk and talk—stared with her mouth open, a thin string of drool hanging from her lip.
"Second brother is basically a superhero," Jaehaerys whispered, awed.
Daeron stood, kissed Daenerys gently on the forehead, and murmured, "Grow up strong and fast, little sister."
He turned to the room. "Rhaegar isn't coming back. If he does, I'll treat him as dead. Father is finished. You can all live wherever you like—Red Keep, Dragonstone, split the two of you up if you want. I don't care. Just don't interfere with me, and we can keep pretending we're one big happy family."
He gave Shaena a quick, fierce kiss on the lips as he passed, then let his gaze linger for half a second on Ashara's dark hair, purple eyes, and the generous curve of her Dornish gown.
Ashara turned her head slightly, offering him the long, smooth line of one bare leg through the slit in her skirt.
Daeron smiled faintly, pushed the door open, and left.
Seven Kingsguard down. Only one missing—the legendary Dawn-bringer, Arthur Dayne. Starfall was looking better and better.
---
Council chamber.
Daeron sat in the king's seat, idly rolling the blood-red orb that marked his authority between his fingers. Every soft clack against the table sounded like a warning.
Tywin and Olenna stood on the opposite side of the table, both looking like they'd swallowed something sour.
"Lord Tywin, please sit," Daeron said politely.
Tywin gave his son Jaime a long, cold look, then lowered himself into the Hand's chair without a word.
Daeron's expression stayed pleasant. He had sent Jaime to watch Tywin specifically so the old lion wouldn't feel cornered. The black glove still had work to do.
"Prince, it's done," Davos reported quietly at his side.
Varys had vanished the moment the coup began. Alliser had just dragged him out of a brothel in Flea Bottom and hauled him back to the Red Keep.
"A eunuch in a brothel," Daeron mused. "Bold."
The doors opened. Alliser shoved a disheveled Varys into the room.
"Lord Varys," Daeron said pleasantly. "What exactly were you running from?"
Varys bowed low, the picture of humility. "Prince, you misunderstand. I was merely meeting with my little birds—"
Daeron cut him off with a raised hand and turned to Olenna. "Lady Olenna, I am calling a Great Council. Does House Tyrell support it?"
He gave her one clean chance.
Say yes, and everything stays civil.
Keep playing games, and he would peel House Tyrell like an orange.
Olenna's sharp eyes narrowed. She had already guessed where this was going.
Mace looked lost. Janna clutched her mother's sleeve, trembling.
Daeron waited, perfectly calm, the blood-red orb still clicking softly against the table.
The room held its breath.