Incubation

The morning rain had washed the Red Keep unusually clean.

Inside Maegor's Hold, the royal family dining hall.

Viserys I sat at the head of the table, clad in his black-and-crimson velvet robe, wrapped around his increasingly gaunt frame.

Compared to a fortnight ago, his complexion seemed to hold a bit more life now. Though still haggard, the deathly pallor of chronic illness had faded from his eyes.

He sipped warm milk sweetened with honey, his gaze slowly sweeping across the family gathered around the table.

Queen Alicent sat at his right hand, a red gown setting off her figure, the Hightower crest embroidered at the collar in silver thread.

But the gloom between her brows had never fully lifted. Though Aemond had dealt with the matter of the maid Alice crawling into his bed last night, the fact that her father Otto had arranged it on his own, trying to use feminine wiles to manipulate her son, stabbed like an icepick in her heart.

It made her angry.

But also puzzled—about her own child, Aemond's inclinations.

She feared Aemond might be like Laenor, with no interest in women at all...

At that moment, her gaze drifted inadvertently across the table.

Aemond and Helaena sat side by side. Aemond wore a simple black shirt, over it a well-tailored black vest, his silver-gold hair neatly tied back, revealing the increasingly sharp lines of his jaw.

He was leaning toward Helaena, murmuring softly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth—likely recounting something from the Dragonpit.

Helaena tilted her head slightly to listen, a few silver strands slipping from her temple to rest on her shoulder. Her violet eyes focused intently on Aemond, her long lashes occasionally fluttering. At certain points, she would nod gently, a ripple of a smile spreading across her lips.

Sunlight happened to slant in through the high window, enveloping the siblings in a halo of light. Their equally dazzling silver hair, their equally deep violet eyes, nearly merged into one in the interplay of light and shadow.

Alicent's fingers tightened around her silver fork.

The Targaryen tradition of marrying within the bloodline was known to all in Westeros.

It was precisely this tradition, which defied the Faith of the Seven, that had once set the Targaryens in fierce opposition to the church. Only after Maegor the Cruel's bloody suppression did the church temporarily yield. It wasn't until the reign of Jaehaerys the Conciliator, after lengthy negotiations, that the church finally compromised, acknowledging the Targaryen "exception."

For instance, Prince Daemon had married his niece Laena, and now was entangled ambiguously with his own niece Rhaenyra...

Alicent cut off the thought, a wave of nausea rising in her chest.

But the scene before her lingered stubbornly.

The natural closeness between Aemond and Helaena stirred, invisibly, the unease rooted deep in her Faith of the Seven and traditional morality.

Helaena was her pure, innocent daughter—one of the few comforts left in this court.

And Aemond...

She looked at her second son's calm yet sharp profile, recalling the madness of that night on Tidepool Island, remembering the coldness in his voice when Ser Cole reported this morning how he had dealt with Alice.

He seemed uninterested in some women... but with Helaena...

This child carried that unsettling madness flowing in Targaryen blood.

She feared Aemond might hurt the guileless Helaena, and feared even more something she dared not dwell on, yet which might already be quietly taking root...

"Aemond."

Viserys's voice broke the delicate atmosphere at the table.

Hearing the King call him, Aemond ended his conversation with Helaena and turned his head: "Father."

"You don't look well," Viserys observed, frowning slightly. "Didn't you rest last night?"

"I came back late from riding Vhagar," Aemond said frankly. "I didn't get enough sleep."

Viserys nodded. "Ser Cole says you train very hard."

"I only do what I can."

"A young man should have that drive." A trace of reminiscence flickered in Viserys's eyes. "When I was your age, I spent all day thinking about riding dragons, practicing swords..."

Aemond watched his father quietly. He knew Viserys's dragon-riding days had been brief.

In less than two years, the Black Death Balerion had died of old age.

And once a rider bonded with a dragon, he could never mount another—an unbreakable law in the blood of dragonriders.

A thought suddenly flashed through his mind: Vhagar was also growing old. If she were to leave one day, would he still be able to...?

Viserys looked at Aemond, weighing something in his mind, a charge to entrust.

"Aemond, tomorrow's small council meeting."

Viserys spoke slowly.

"My energy is failing. Sitting long is hard to bear."

"Would you be willing to come? Just stand by my side, help me pour the wine, pass the documents, listen to how the lords discuss matters."

It was a signal, clear and unmistakable.

To let a Prince sit in on the small council, even if only to pour wine and hand over papers, was to formally introduce him into the core of the kingdom's power.

This was also a declaration to the entire court, to the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms—the king had begun to value and groom this second son.

Especially now, with his eldest son Aegon lingering far off on Tidepool Island.

Hearing what Viserys said, Alicent held her breath and looked toward her son Aemond.

She knew her father Otto would surely welcome this.

It could greatly strengthen the Greens' influence at court.

Aemond set down his silver cup, his violet eyes meeting his father's gaze.

He saw the expectation in Viserys's eyes—and perhaps an intent to make amends.

"It is my honor, Father." Aemond replied calmly, neither excited nor evasive.

"I will listen carefully and learn how to share your burdens."

A smile of genuine relief spread across Viserys's face. "Good." He nodded.

Then the king turned to Helaena, who had been sitting quietly, and spoke gently.

"Helaena, my daughter, I hear you rode your dragon yesterday? Is Dreamfyre well?"

Helaena gave a slight nod. "She is well, Father. We flew far yesterday..."

Just then, the heavy oak door of the dining hall was knocked upon—the rhythm urgent yet still courteous.

All eyes turned to the door.

"Enter."

Ser Criston Cole pushed the door open, his white armor gleaming sharply in the morning light. He performed his formal bow first.

"Your Grace, Your Majesty the Queen, Your Highness the Prince." Cole said. "A report has just come from the Dragonpit."

Viserys furrowed his brow. "What is it? Has Vhagar caused trouble again?"

His first thought was of that ancient, ill-tempered dragon.

These past days, he had received no shortage of reports—Vhagar, kept outside the Dragonpit, would let out a single roar in the dead of night and startle half the city's residents.

And when the Dragonkeepers were late with her food, one of them would end up in her jaws.

Cole spoke carefully. "Not Vhagar, Your Grace. It is... Vhagar's Egg."

"Egg?" Viserys and Alicent both froze at the same time.

Aemond's pupils contracted almost imperceptibly.

"Indeed, Your Grace." Cole enunciated each word clearly. "That egg of Vhagar's... the one long regarded as a petrified dragon egg."

"The Dragonkeeper on duty just reported that since early this morning, the egg has shown signs of hatching—the shell began to crack. About an hour ago..."

He paused.

"It hatched."

Silence.

Only the faint crackling of the hearth fire remained in the dining hall.

The silver spoon in Viserys's hand clattered onto the porcelain plate. He looked as if he had heard something absurd.

"This... how can this be..."

"By the Seven..."

In the history of House Targaryen, there had never been a precedent of a dead egg coming back to life.

Helaena gasped softly, her violet eyes wide as she looked toward Aemond.

Yesterday, she had seen him soak that ashen, lifeless dragon egg in his own blood.

Aemond blinked at her. Helaena pressed her lips together and lowered her gaze, saying nothing.

Aemond rose slowly.

Was he shocked? Naturally.

But then he remembered—yesterday, besides Helaena, there had also been those three servants and several Dragonkeepers present.

If Viserys was determined to investigate... this secret could not be hidden for long.

Did this blood have such an effect?

That egg, dormant for half a century, condemned as dead...

Had it truly been reborn?

"It is black..." Cole added. "According to the Dragonkeepers, the hatchling's scales are as dark as ink, and its eyes... are a deep crimson."

A black dragon.

In the history and legends of House Targaryen, black dragons often symbolized power and rarity.

Such as the Black Death, Balerion—the legendary dragon that had bent the Seven Kingdoms to its will.

At this moment, King Viserys trembled all over, a mix of ecstasy and bewilderment surging through him.