Smack! Smack! Smack!
Inside the council chamber, Grand Maester Norren had already slapped himself more than a dozen times. His face was swollen like a pig's head, and blood from the corner of his mouth dripped onto the gray robes across his chest, staining them dark red.
"Enough."
Aemond finally spoke.
Grand Maester Norren stopped at once, gasping for breath, his whole body trembling.
Aemond looked at him, his gaze as cold as winter seawater. "Grand Maester, do you know why I'm punishing you?"
Norren lowered his head, not daring to speak.
"Because you forgot your place," Aemond said. "You are the Grand Maester of the Small Council. Your duty is to assist the king and advise the royal family."
"Not stand to the side and laugh at the royal family's misfortune. Not gloat over it."
He paused, and his voice grew even colder.
"A Targaryen dragon being stolen is a disgrace to House Targaryen."
"You sit on the king's council, yet instead of thinking about how to recover our losses, you were laughing?"
"What exactly were you laughing at? Laughing because we were unlucky?"
Grand Maester Norren dropped to one knee with a thud. "Forgive me, Prince Regent!"
"I… I lost my senses for a moment…"
"Lost your senses?" Aemond sneered. "You are a man of the Citadel. You've studied since childhood. You should understand propriety and know your place."
Norren trembled even harder.
Aemond stared at him for a while before speaking again.
"Grand Maester, you were sent here by the Citadel."
"The Citadel and House Targaryen have always maintained good relations."
"I would hate for some trivial matter to damage that relationship."
"Do you understand?"
Norren nodded frantically. "I understand! I understand!"
"Good." Aemond gestured lightly. "You may rise."
Norren struggled to his feet and staggered back to his seat, head lowered, not daring to look up again.
The other councilors exchanged glances. In each other's eyes, they all saw the same deep wariness.
The Prince Regent was crushing the Grand Maester's prestige in front of them as a warning.
From the seat of honor, Aemond swept his gaze across the chamber before speaking slowly.
"Continue the council."
Lord Tyland, the Hand of the King, cleared his throat and spoke first. "Prince Regent, there is news from the Riverlands."
"Speak."
"Elmo Tully, the new Lord of Riverrun, has officially declared for war," Tyland said. "He intends to march south with the Riverlands army to lift the siege of Maidenpool."
A low murmur spread through the chamber.
Maidenpool.
That was the city currently under siege by the royal army led by Gwayne Hightower and Ser Willem Darklyn.
If the Riverlands army truly marched south and coordinated with Maidenpool's defenders from within, the royal army would be in danger.
"How many men?" Aemond asked.
"The Riverlands houses have gathered roughly eight thousand troops," Tyland replied. "Combined with Maidenpool's existing defenders, their total strength could exceed ten thousand."
"And Daemon?"
"Daemon…"
Aemond's brow twitched slightly.
"Yes," Tyland said gravely. "According to our intelligence, Daemon is still on Dragonstone."
And of course Aemond knew why his uncle remained there.
He was worried about his two daughters…
Baela and Rhaena.
The council chamber fell silent.
According to Aemond's earlier expectations, Daemon should have seized this opportunity to strike the Hightower host and assassinate Daeron.
But now the Hightower army was already nearing Dragon's Roost, yet Daemon still had not moved from Dragonstone.
Everything was clear now.
That Tyroshi bastard, Hugh, had betrayed them.
No wonder the Blacks had suddenly become so cautious and hesitant.
Alicent looked at Aemond, as though she wanted to speak but held herself back.
She wanted to ask about Aegon.
She wanted to know where her eldest son was now, whether his injuries had healed, and when he would finally return.
"Prince Regent," Lord Jasper, the Master of Laws, spoke up, "if Daemon isn't making a move, perhaps it's because he's afraid."
"Rhaenys is dead. The Blacks only have one dragon left capable of fighting."
"How would he dare face you alone?"
"Yes, yes," Lord Elwyn, Master of Ships, hurriedly agreed.
The others nodded in agreement as well.
Aemond ignored them and looked instead toward Lord Tyland.
"And the Westerlands?"
"Where has Lord Lannister's army reached?"
Tyland's expression stiffened slightly.
"Lord Jason… he…"
"What is it?"
Tyland let out a sigh and answered honestly.
"Prince Regent, my brother did not follow your order to march through Deep Den."
"He departed from the Golden Tooth with his army and intends to march directly toward Harrenhal."
Aemond narrowed his eyes.
Tyland forced himself to continue.
"As Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, he has the authority to decide how his own army wages war."
The council chamber fell silent.
Everyone looked toward Aemond, waiting to see how he would react.
Aemond remained silent for a moment before letting out a faint chuckle.
"Lord Jason… interesting."
Still planning to lead men off to feed the fish?
He paused before continuing.
"Since Lord Jason wishes to march through the Golden Tooth, then let him."
"As a bannerman of the realm, he has fulfilled his obligation to answer the call to war."
"And as the ruler of an entire region, I respect his decision."
Tyland lowered his head and did not dare speak further.
Aemond swept his gaze across the silent chamber before finally resting it on Alicent.
"Mother, did you come today for something specific?"
Alicent took a deep breath before speaking.
"I want to know how His Grace is doing."
A trace of softness appeared on Aemond's face.
"His Grace is well. His injuries are slowly healing, and Sunfyre is recovering too."
"In some time, I'll have him brought back."
"Where is he?"
Aemond shook his head.
"You needn't ask about that."
Alicent looked at him, her eyes slightly red.
"I am his mother."
"I can't even know where my own son is?"
Aemond sighed, rose from his seat, and walked to her side. Bending down slightly, he lowered his voice.
"Trust me. His Grace is in a place I arranged for him. He's safe there."
"And I will make sure he returns to see you."
Alicent looked at Aemond, at the rare trace of gentleness hidden within those purple eyes.
She nodded and said nothing more.
Aemond returned to his seat, and the softness on his face vanished, replaced once again by his usual cold indifference.
"Anything else?"
Tyland spoke again.
"Prince Regent, there is one more matter."
"Recently, some illegal gatherings have begun appearing around King's Landing."
"Illegal gatherings…" Of course Aemond already knew. He had men monitoring them at all times.
"Yes." Tyland nodded. "Some people have been gathering outside the city, imitating the Warrior's Sons that the Crown outlawed years ago. They're holding prayer meetings and sermons."
"And their numbers are not small…"
Lord Jasper, the Master of Laws, immediately added, "Prince Regent, on the surface these gatherings appear to be religious ceremonies honoring the Seven, but in truth… they may have ulterior motives."
"What sort of ulterior motives?" Aemond asked in return.
Jasper lowered his voice.
"I fear someone may be using these gatherings to spread rumors and incite the people."
Aemond fell silent for a moment before turning toward Grand Maester Norren.
"Grand Maester, were you aware of this?"
Norren raised his head. His swollen face was filled with deference.
"Prince Regent, I… I wasn't very aware…"
"Not aware?" Aemond sneered. "You are the Grand Maester of the Small Council, yet things happening within King's Landing are somehow beyond your knowledge?"
Grand Maester Norren fell silent, not daring to speak again.
He was terrified of offending the Prince Regent any further.
It was obvious that today, the Prince Regent had come specifically for him.
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