In the scorching afternoon of King's Landing, at the center of the tourney grounds, Aegon once again drove his lance into the rim of his opponent's shield.
The knight of House Florent from the Reach tumbled from his saddle with theatrical exaggeration, his armor striking the sand with a dull thud.
"Prince Aegon is victorious!" the herald's voice rang across the field.
Applause erupted at once from the stands.
The nobles applauded Prince Aegon with fervor.
This was already Prince Aegon's sixth tilt. Every knight who had faced him had been struck by the lance in the very first pass, then sent rolling from his horse.
Aegon raised his lance, accepting the cheers of those gathered below.
Sunlight shone upon his silver hair and gleaming silver armor; over it he wore a black-and-red surcoat bearing the three-headed dragon.
His smile was bright. From the commoners' section at the edge of the field came true frenzy—they understood nothing of knightly technique.
They only saw the prince unhorse his foes again and again these past days; they only heard the herald cry his name time after time.
"Long live the prince!"
"Long live Aegon!"
"Aegon! Aegon! Aegon!"
Aegon rode a full circuit of the field, waving to the cheering crowd.
At this moment he strictly followed the instruction of his wife, Alyn, showing the crowd a sincere and kindly smile.
In the prince's box beside the king's pavilion, Alyn sat upright upon a brocade-cushioned seat.
Today she wore a deep violet gown. Flowers embroidered in silver thread wound upward from the hem, gathered at the waist into a belt set with amethysts.
Her hair was arranged in an intricate coiffure, a few silver strands falling beside her cheeks.
"The prince truly cuts a splendid figure today," said Lady Leyna Rosby, seated at Alyn's right.
The wife of a Crownlands noble idly fanned herself with a peacock-feather fan.
"Indeed," added Marga Stokeworth, a young noblewoman with full cheeks.
"Six victories—an impeccable record."
"He is a most excellent knight."
Alyn's lips curved like a crescent as she smiled faintly. "Aegon… has indeed worked very hard."
Her gaze swept across the noblewomen beside her—Rosby, Stokeworth, Cargyll, Byrch—ladies of houses in the Crownlands, each with lands and men at their command.
Their husbands or fathers were seated not far away among the male nobles.
Marga hid her mouth behind her fan.
"Effort is one thing; talent is another."
"Truly, Lady Alyn, Prince Aegon's performance these past days… it is as though he were another man."
Several of the noblewomen exchanged glances.
Alyn's smile did not change, though a trace of awkwardness showed upon her face.
She raised a hand lightly, and the maidservants standing behind her stepped forward at once.
Each carried a rolled bolt of cloth. When unfurled beneath the sun, the noblewomen gasped in unison.
It was rare fabric from the eastern continent—Starry Night gauze of Lys, a deep blue ground woven with silver-threaded constellations, each star dusted with fine pearl powder.
"All of these were sent by my brother, Lysandro, from the eastern continent."
"He asked that I give them to friends who know how to appreciate such things."
The maidservants began distributing the precious cloth among the gathered noblewomen.
"It's far too precious…" Leyna stroked the cloth in her hands, her eyes shining.
Alyn waved it off.
"It's nothing but cloth."
"Compared to the affection you ladies have shown me, it isn't worth mentioning."
Marga had already draped the fabric against herself to measure it. "Lady Alyn, you truly are generous."
"I've heard the Rogare family's trade in the eastern continent reaches every Free City?"
Alyn lifted a crystal cup and took a small sip of grape wine mixed with honey.
"The family has been in business for generations—at last we've managed to build up a little."
"But no matter how large the business grows, it still can't compare to you ladies, whose forebears were all meritorious followers of Aegon the Conqueror."
The remark was deftly made—she was humble while displaying the Rogare family's wealth and strength, and at the same time she elevated the standing of the nobles present.
The smiles on the noblewomen's faces turned more sincere.
"Speaking of meritorious service," said Leyna, the motion of her feather fan slowing, "my husband said only yesterday that the kingdom's present situation… is truly worrying."
"His Grace the king is in poor health, and Princess Rhaenyra on her side refuses to relinquish her claim to succession…"
Marga replied with polite restraint.
"Just as my husband says, it ought to be done according to the law of the firstborn son."
Alyn listened in silence. Only after they had all finished speaking did she slowly open her mouth.
"The situation is indeed complicated. But before long, His Grace the king will announce that Aegon will be the lawful heir."
Many of the noblewomen's eyes brightened. Hearing the news Alyn had deliberately let slip, they would have to hurry and tell their own houses.
"But Prince Aemond…" Lady Cargyll had just begun, then stopped under Alyn's look.
Alyn's smile faded a little.
"Aemond is Aegon's own brother. Naturally, he will be unfailingly loyal to his elder brother."
The noblewomen nodded again and again.
Another cheer rose from the field. Aegon was tossing the flower wreath he had won toward the commoners' stands, setting off a fresh wave of commotion.
Alyn watched the scene, yet her heart was not as calm as she appeared.
She knew every one of these noblewomen was shrewd, their flattering words on their lips.
This is only the beginning, Alyn thought.
Let them first grow used to standing on Aegon's side—used to gaining benefits from her.
Her gaze drifted involuntarily toward the other stands across from them.
Aemond and Helaena sat there.
...
Aemond did not applaud.
He leaned back against the wooden chair, calmly watching his brother in the field as he accepted the cheers.
Helaena sat beside him in a pale blue gown, pearls set among her hair.
On her knees lay an embroidery hoop, only half-finished. Upon it was an incomplete black dragon—a vast dragon coiled and breathing fire. The dragon's eyes were stitched in deep red thread, rendered especially vividly.
Helaena glanced once at Aegon below, then returned to her needlework. "You can tell brother is very happy today."
"He enjoys this sort of acclaim." Aemond answered with a calm expression.
"Alyn has packaged him well."
"Gleaming armor, a splendid cloak."
"How could he not be charming?"
Helaena paused her stitching and looked up at him. "Aren't you happy?"
Aemond turned his head to look at Helaena.
"It isn't that I'm unhappy."
"Alyn is building momentum for him."
"Using victory to shape his image."
"She's very clever," Helaena said.
"But do not be too clever." There was a trace of coldness in Aemond's voice.
Helaena's body stiffened slightly.
"Do you think she is a threat?" Helaena asked.
Aemond considered for a moment.
"I respect her position."
"But she fears you."
"She should," Aemond said bluntly.
Helaena fell silent. She was about to say something, then suddenly stopped.
She lifted her head and looked toward the sky.
Aemond felt it as well—the tremor in the air, a low, deep hum…
A stir began in the stands. The noise from the commoners' section died down; everyone raised their heads, looking toward the eastern sky.
At first it was only a black speck in the clouds.
Then the speck rapidly expanded, becoming a vast shadow that blotted out the sky.
The beating of wings against the air was now clearly audible.
A dragon.
The people of King's Landing were not unfamiliar with dragons.
The royal dragons dwelt year-round in the Dragonpit, and from time to time a dragonrider would fly across the city's skies.
But its color…
"It's blood-red," someone in the stands murmured, staring upward.
It was indeed blood-red.
The dragon flew beneath the sunlight, its scales reflecting the light; the entire beast looked like a burning mass of crimson flame.
"Caraxes…" Aemond watched and softly spoke the name.
Helaena gripped his arm tightly.
The blood-red dragon flew toward the Dragonpit.
Then they saw the rider upon its back.
A figure clad in black armor, long silver-gold hair whipping wildly in the wind—even from such a distance.
Daemon Targaryen.
Silence fell.
The people who had been cheering for Aegon moments ago now stood open-mouthed. The relaxed air of gossip and discussion vanished.
Then whispers spread like a plague.
"Prince Daemon…"
"How does he dare come to King's Landing?"
"At such a time? During the tourney? What does he intend?"
In the king's box, Viserys stood at the railing, watching Caraxes descend toward the Dragonpit.
Alicent stood beside him.
Viserys spoke. "He has come."
"You invited him," Alicent asked with restrained reproach.
"At a time like this?"
Viserys turned to look at her. "Alicent, do you question me again?"
Alicent paused.
"I would not dare, Your Grace." She lowered her head.
Viserys watched her for a moment, then turned back to gaze toward the Dragonpit.
"You need not worry."
"This time, I have already made up my mind."
"I will not allow the Seven Kingdoms to be torn apart."
"Nor will I allow my children to slaughter one another."
Alicent spoke carefully.
"Princess Rhaenyra may be willing to compromise."
"But Daemon will not."
She observed every movement of Viserys closely.
Viserys was silent for a long while before finally speaking.
"I do not want this."
"Nor would I have it so."
Alicent waited for what would follow.
"But if he insists on defying me…" Viserys let out a sigh.
"Even if he is my own brother."
Alicent felt a chill, yet she continued.
"And if…"
"He persists?"
Viserys did not answer.
He walked to the table in the center of the box. Upon it sat a jug. He poured himself a cup of poppy milk and drained it in one draught.
"I have already given them a choice."
"She may retain Dragonstone."
"She herself will enjoy every honor save the Iron Throne."
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