"What does the tourney hosted by Lord Riverrun have to do with Rhaegar?"
Daeron asked, knowing the answer.
Clinton knew he was fishing for information and said something pleasing: "Prince Rhaegar sponsored Lord Riverrun. He wants to use a tourney to let the lords of the Seven Kingdoms witness that the royal family has not declined and remains as powerful as ever."
"Who told you the royal family has declined?"
Daeron followed up quickly.
Clinton sneered, stiffening his neck and remaining silent.
With Mad King on the throne, the authority of the iron throne was diminishing day by day.
It didn't even need to be said.
Seeing him so arrogant, Daeron asked, "Lord Walder, did my elder brother sponsor you?"
"Yes, Prince."
Count Walder did not dare to shrink back.
The two young dragons outside the Firespike Tower already represented authority.
Clinton raised his head, looking quite proud.
He presumed Count Riverrun would not dare to deny receiving the sponsorship.
The heir to the throne sponsoring a great lord's tourney was a matter that could be seen as large or small.
In the current state of the Seven Kingdoms, no one would sue the heir for this.
They would only hope for Mad King to step down and quickly replace him with a good king.
Daeron said unexpectedly, "This is a good thing!"
"Ah?" Count Walder's expression changed.
Of course it was a good thing.
He saw through Rhaegar's plan clearly; House Rivers had switched sides at the last moment.
Such a great opportunity, how could he let it pass.
Daeron said, "Lord Walder, I highly approve of you hosting a tourney. I will participate actively and strive to win a good ranking."
"Prince, you..."
Walder hesitated.
The old noble's political intuition told him that House Rivers was in big trouble.
The Tourney at Harrenhal would become the first battlefield for the two princes to openly compete for the right of succession.
"Rest assured, neither I nor my elder brother will harm House Rivers."
Daeron spoke to comfort him.
Count Walder could only accept his fate.
This move, in Clinton's eyes, became a sign of the youth's weakness and vulnerability.
He still remembered the task Prince Rhaegar had assigned when he came.
"Prince Daeron, I have a matter to discuss with you,"
Clinton said with full confidence.
Daeron: "Let's hear it."
"Regarding the dragons!"
Clinton spoke out boldly: "You have hatched three dragons, which has indeed shocked the world and is worthy of admiration and respect."
"As far as I know, you gave His Majesty a black young dragon."
Daeron: "Speak plainly."
Clinton stopped beating around the bush and said, "Prince Rhaegar is the heir to the throne, the future king who will take over the iron throne."
"We hope you can give up one young dragon so that Prince Rhaegar can become a Dragonrider."
"As long as you agree, any condition..."
"Shut up!"
Before he could finish, he was interrupted by Daeron's rebuke.
With a little thought, one could guess Rhaegar's thoughts on the young dragons.
He never expected they would ask for it so righteously.
Was it because Rhaegar was arrogant that the people under him were all so conceited?
"Prince, we come with sincerity."
For the "Silver Prince" in his heart, Clinton persisted in his persuasion despite the pressure.
A hint of killing intent flashed in Daeron's eyes, and his aura suddenly changed: "We! Who is 'we' with you?"
"Uh..."
Clinton was stumped.
Perhaps not just stumped, but more so suffering from an inexplicable pressure that made him feel like he had thorns in his back.
Daeron: "You want my dragon!"
Clinton had a bad premonition and struggled to organize his words.
"Scree—!"
Suddenly, a sharp screech like an air-raid siren came from outside the Firespike Tower.
"What!?"
Oswell was the most sensitive to danger and instantly turned his head to look outside.
He saw, on the broken spire of the Widow's Tower, the sister tower of the Firespike Tower.
A splash of red appeared abruptly, its body long like a snake, its broad wings blocking the sky, observing with a pair of cold, vertical pupils like molten gold.
The red dragon—Corakshiu.
Oswell's pupils shrank suddenly, and his body froze in place.
Everyone followed his gaze and saw this sinister-looking red dragon.
Corakshiu let out a highly intimidating low growl, as if no one else was around.
"Scree—!!"
Being stared at by a dragon for the first time, everyone's body tensed up, and their backs involuntarily turned cold.
"Prince?"
Even the battle-hardened Barristan took a defensive stance.
"It's nothing."
Daeron, on the contrary, calmed down.
Corakshiu had not yet left the category of a young dragon.
But its size was comparable to a warhorse, and it could be considered a true beast of prey.
The "Blood Wyrm's" fierce reputation was beginning to show.
Hearing this, Barristan felt slightly relieved.
Daeron stood up and walked down the steps step by step.
"Prince, what are you going to do?"
Clinton and the others were extremely nervous, grasping the swords at their waists.
Daeron was quite calm: "Be careful not to disturb Corakshiu, my lords."
"It is very protective of me."
No matter how bold Clinton and the others were, they didn't dare provoke a dragon.
Daeron strolled through the crowd and pushed open the door to the front courtyard.
Everyone looked at each other, not daring to act rashly.
Daeron looked back and said, "Lord Clinton, didn't you want to ask for a dragon for my elder brother?"
"Then come."
Clinton's brow furrowed into a knot as he cautiously tested: "Prince, are you willing to exchange?"
"No need for an exchange."
Daeron waved his hand, and the Dragon Guards lined up on both sides, revealing Tessaerion, who had eaten and drunk her fill.
"I'll give you one chance. No matter what method you use, as long as you can take it away, it's yours to dispose of."
Do you want a free dragon?
Clinton's heart raced, and he really wanted to stop there.
But the melancholy eyes of the silver-haired prince flashed through his mind, and the fear in his heart was immediately suppressed.
"Fine, I'll try!"
Bloodshot veins appeared in Clinton's eyes as he moved step by step, his legs that used to walk as if flying now felt like they were filled with lead.
"Prince!"
Barristan and Oswell spoke in unison.
Daeron glanced sideways and asked back, "Rhaegar wants a dragon. Should I give it to him, or not?"
Who could answer that?
Oswell closed his mouth, secretly praying that Clinton would not provoke the young dragon.
"Alas!" Barristan turned away, already foreseeing the tragic scene that was about to occur.
"Dragon... be still..."
Clinton was indeed Rhaegar's close friend, deeply learned; he spoke two sentences in High Valyrian, trying to calm the young dragon.
"Gah?"
Tessaerion tilted her head, with unfinished leftovers still in front of her.
Clinton extended a hand, slowly approaching: "Dragon... calm..."
Daeron watched intently, as if staring at a prey that had walked into a trap.
Clinton did not have the blood of the Dragonlords, and he knew he could not gain the young dragon's favor.
Considering the young dragon's youth, he planned to catch it after getting close.
Almost there, just a bit more... Clinton's hands were sweaty as he moved to half a meter away from the blue young dragon, only one step away from grabbing the young dragon's neck.
Tessaerion lowered her back, a rumbling sound coming from deep in her throat.
Anyone familiar could see at a glance that she was starting to become restless.
Clinton slowly bent down, his palm about to touch the young dragon.
The next second.
The corner of Daeron's mouth curled up as he shouted in High Valyrian: "Dragonflame!!"
"Scree!"
Tessaerion did not hesitate, a blast of cobalt-blue Dragonflame gushing out fiercely.
Clinton was right there and took the Dragonflame head-on.
"Ahhh!!..."
Accompanied by a shrill scream, his entire body was engulfed in Dragonflame.
"Save him, quickly!"
Oswell turned pale with fright, not forgetting to accuse Daeron: "You gave the order to the young dragon, this is murder!"
Daeron: "For the sake of dragons, I walked through a sea of fire, and so did Lord Clinton."
"It's only fair, isn't it?"
Already no one was listening anymore.
Everyone was frantically trying to put out the fire, but no matter how they patted or threw sand, the cobalt-blue Dragonflame would not go out until the person was burned to a crisp.
Thud!
The screams stopped abruptly, and the charred corpse hit the ground, kicking up dust.
Lord Clinton, who was loyal to "his Silver Prince," could no longer be arrogant.
"How could this happen?"
Witnessing his friend's tragic death, the already tense nerves of Oswell and Mysaria snapped instantly, and they stood there in a daze, as if they had lost their souls.
Daeron's expression remained unchanged as he said, "Lord Walder, take Ser Oswell down. When he remembers the honor of the white cloak behind him, send him back to King's Landing."
"As for the other one, Mysaria, tie him up and throw him into the dungeon."
"Afterwards, send a letter to Lord Mutton of Maidenpool, and have him come in person to take his brother back."