Pointing at Bart, who was barely conscious, the young Dornishman sneered.
"This knight doesn't seem to like me much. He's clearly prejudiced against the people of Dorne, too."
"That's not right."
The young Dornishman's spear sliced off one of Bart's ears. "I once heard someone say the women of the Vale weren't as pretty as goats. Is that true?"
"Honestly, I've never had the pleasure of a woman from the Vale, so I don't know if they're really worse than goats."
He nudged Bart's head with his foot and jeered, "Hey, Knight of the Vale, tell me what you think. Give me some pointers."
Bart was bleeding profusely from multiple wounds, his head spinning.
As the young Dornishman kept prattling on, Bart summoned what little strength he had left. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something.
The young Dornishman crouched, grabbed Bart by the hair, and yanked his head up with a vicious grin. "If you've got something to say, say it louder."
"Cough, cough... you bastard... Dornish... monkey..."
Bart coughed up two mouthfuls of clotted blood, spat a gob of bloody phlegm all over his tormentor's face, and cursed weakly with a bitter smile.
"Heh. Damn old man from the Vale."
The filth enraged the young Dornishman, but he didn't kill Bart outright.
A quick death was a mercy.
He didn't want the old man from the Vale to die so easily.
He drove his spear into Bart's limbs one after another, twisting it in the flesh each time and inflicting unbearable pain.
He tortured him for a full ten minutes.
Only when Bart finally couldn't take any more did he pierce his throat with the spearhead.
Ending his suffering.
"Damn Dornishman! You'll get what's coming to you!"
Suddenly, a curse rang out from the stands, followed by an empty wine cup hurled onto the field.
It clattered into the muddy arena.
That shout seemed to sound the call for everyone to vent their anger.
More and more spectators stood up, shouting abuse and throwing things at the young Dornishman.
Wine cups, apples, plates...
Even several women's high-heeled shoes.
Rhaenyra stood among the crowd, expressionless as she watched the young Dornishman dodge the flying objects and laugh mockingly.
As a princess of the realm, she had never liked the Dornish.
Besides, her mother, Aemma Arryn, came from the Vale's ruling family.
The young Dornishman had not only tortured a Knight of the Vale who had sworn allegiance to her, but had also brazenly mocked the women of the Vale.
It only fueled Rhaenyra's urge to kill him.
"Cole, go down there and duel him. Kill him for me!"
Rhaenyra turned and ordered Cole.
Cole looked troubled. "I'd be glad to serve you, Princess. That Dornishman is truly despicable."
"But I'm a Kingsguard. I can't enter a duel without the king's orders."
"Then I'll find someone who can give the order."
Rhaenyra left Cole and went over to Viserys. Lowering her voice, she said, "Father, that man is far too brazen. He's insulting the dignity of the realm."
"I can tell Cole to fight him. He'll surely avenge Ser Bart."
Viserys was already furious.
Though he agreed with his daughter's suggestion, he tried to reason with her. "Wait. The realm has many brave knights. The Kingsguard can't be deployed lightly. We should give the young men a chance to prove themselves."
His words made sense. Rhaenyra almost argued back, but in the end, she swallowed her words.
The tournament had to continue, and Lyonel stepped in to stop the spectators from hurling abuse and objects at the young Dornishman.
With all eyes on him, the young Dornishman only grew more arrogant. "The knights of the Vale are no match for me. Are there any stronger challengers? I long for a true opponent. Don't send me cowards and weaklings."
He laughed uproariously, displaying all the arrogance he could muster.
"I'll take you on!"
The detestable man had earned the hatred of countless contestants. A middle-aged knight in silver-gray armor stepped forward.
He walked onto the field with a longsword in hand and said in a deep voice, "My name is Ser Thor Barrowton, from the Stormlands. Let me teach you to show some respect."
The young Dornishman gave him an amused smile. "Is that so? I hope you can keep up that swagger, Stormlander."
Elsewhere, in the banquet area.
Rows of tables were laden with sumptuous food. Noblewomen and young ladies had gathered around one of the tables to chat, like guests at a tea party.
Rhaegar had claimed a table for himself. A large space in front of him had been cleared, with several plates of the same pastry set there.
He couldn't say what it was called.
It was like a chocolate biscuit, but shaped like a tartlet, with a sweet, chewy texture.
"This is delicious. I wonder who came up with it."
Rhaegar devoured the treats, his eyes curving with delight.
"No, when I get back, I'll have to ask Alicent which cook made these. I'll have him make pastries just for me from now on."
That was what Rhaegar thought.
As he ate, someone suddenly sat down beside him.
While Rhaegar watched in confusion, the stranger picked up a plate of chocolate pastries and began chewing, looking utterly blissful.
"Where did this person come from? Why are they eating my pastries?"
Rhaegar grumbled to himself, but said nothing. There were several plates left, after all.
But reality taught Rhaegar a lesson.
When something bothered you and you did nothing to stop it, it would only bother you more.
Rhaegar had barely eaten a few more bites when the stranger began wolfing the pastries down.
The plate was empty in the blink of an eye.
"Really tasty. That cook knows his craft."
The stranger muttered, then picked up another plate before Rhaegar could react.
Then came the third plate, and the fourth...
When only one plate remained, Rhaegar finally couldn't stand it anymore.
He sprang up from his chair and guarded the last plate of pastries in front of him, shouting, "Do you know who I am? How dare you steal my pastries? Are you always this bold?"
He sounded imposing, but he was still very young.
His voice was childish, and his increasingly chubby cheeks hardly looked threatening. He seemed like a child throwing a tantrum.
The stranger ran a hand through his curly hair and gave an awkward smile. "You're a prince, but pastries on a table are there for the guests to eat, aren't they?"
Rhaegar grew even angrier. "You knew I was a prince and still stole my pastries?"
"You won't even leave me the last plate. You're stealing food from a child—have you no shame?"
"Uh..."
"Good food doesn't care about age. Besides, you're a child, Prince. Too many sweets will give you cavities."
"You can't handle them, so give the pastries to me. I don't mind getting cavities."
The stranger shamelessly talked back.
"You bastard! You think you can fool me? Do you really take me for a three-year-old?"
Rhaegar pointed at the stranger and ordered Illyric, "Ser, teach him a good lesson. Make sure he remembers not to act like a bully."
Illyric: ...
"Yes, Prince."
He didn't want to start a fight at the banquet, but the stranger was taking advantage of the prince's youth. He had to defend the prince's dignity.
Illyric didn't draw his sword. He strode behind the stranger and reached out to grab his shoulder.
"No, no, no. Ser White Knight, I think there's been a misunderstanding between us."
"I don't care. If you provoke the wrong person, you have to face the consequences."
Illyric had no time to argue. He grabbed the stranger's shoulder and tried to throw him down.
Smack—
In the blink of an eye, a blur struck Illyric's hand, landing with a sharp, precise crack.
The pain made Illyric release his grip instinctively. A blue-purple mark appeared on the back of his hand.
Thanks to Huoyu Zai Zhongxing for the 500 site coins.
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