The Dragonpit

King's Landing's Dragonpit was forever shrouded in the smell of sulfur and ash.

When Daemon Targaryen came swooping down from the sky astride Blood Wyrm, Coraxes,

the Dragonkeepers were already kneeling on the ground, heads bowed low, not daring to look directly at the Rogue Prince, famed for his mercurial temper and unpredictable ways.

Coraxes, a bloodthirsty giant dragon of black and red, breathed sulfurous air as his fearsome body slowly lowered itself.

Daemon slid neatly from the dragon's back. His dark red leather armor was stained with dust, and his silver-gold hair whipped wildly in the wind stirred by the dragon's wings.

He patted the rough scales along his beloved dragon's neck. Coraxes gave a low growl in reply, then strode off with earth-shaking steps toward the vast cavern that belonged to him.

Daemon turned around, his gaze sweeping over the Dragonpit out of habit.

Then his eyes froze.

Outside the Dragonpit, beneath the makeshift shelter, lay Vhagar.

The legendary dragon had her eyes closed, resting in lazy repose.

But Vhagar herself was not what drew all of Daemon's attention.

Beside her enormous head was a black figure, so tiny by comparison.

A dragon.

A young dragon about two meters long, its body sleek and streamlined, covered in ink-black scales whose edges shimmered with an unusual dark-red sheen. Its head was a little too large in proportion, but its sharp contours were already beginning to show. A row of small but pointed spines ran down its back along its spine, all the way to the tip of its tail.

At that moment, it was curled up beside Vhagar's lower jaw, one foreleg even resting on Vhagar's enormous, rock-like claw. Its posture was affectionate and natural.

And Vhagar—the old dragon famed for her ferocity and solitary nature, whom even other great dragons gave a wide berth—was allowing the little black creature to snuggle against her. The air from her nostrils drifted gently over the young dragon's scales.

Daemon's pupils abruptly contracted.

A black dragon?

Pure black, without a single other color?

In the history of House Targaryen, dragons with pure black scales had been exceedingly rare.

How could there be a young dragon beside Vhagar? And a black dragon at that?

As far as he knew, Vhagar was long past the age of laying eggs. She had not laid a single Dragon Egg in more than half a century, let alone hatched one successfully.

And given Vhagar's nature, she would never tolerate another great dragon, much less a hatchling, coming near her—let alone allow one to be so intimate.

"Rosso," Daemon said.

Rosso, the Dragonkeeper Commander, who had been waiting nearby with a bowed back, immediately hurried over and knelt on one knee. "My prince."

Daemon did not look at him. His gaze remained fixed on the black hatchling.

"That dragon," he said, gesturing toward it with his chin. "When did it appear? Where did it come from?"

Rosso followed Daemon's gaze. He swallowed, then replied with evident caution, "Your Highness, that is... Lothron. It appeared beside Vhagar about half a year ago."

"Half a year?" Daemon turned sharply, his keen purple eyes fixing on Rosso. "Vhagar's egg? When did she lay another one? Why was I not informed?"

"No... it wasn't a newly laid egg, Your Highness." Sweat beaded on Rosso's temples as he forced himself to explain. "It was... a dead egg from fifty years ago."

"A dead egg hatched?" Daemon's brows drew tightly together, disbelief written all over his face.

Dragon Eggs turning to stone and becoming dead eggs was not uncommon, but for a dead egg to hatch again?

He remembered that dead egg, too.

The one Vhagar had insisted his late wife, Laena, keep close when she rode her...

This was almost unheard of. It defied everything anyone knew about dragons.

His gaze returned to the black hatchling, and the confusion in his eyes gradually gave way to a light mingling delight and possessiveness.

"A dead egg reborn, a black dragon brought into the world..." Daemon murmured, a smile slowly curling across his lips. "A good omen."

"This must be a sign of our ancestors' blessing, foretelling the imminent arrival of my and Rhaenyra's child, Aegon."

"This black dragon, Lothron? An omen? It's a fine name."

"Mm... He will be my son Aegon's dragon."

Rosso's kneeling body trembled slightly, and his lips moved hesitantly.

"My prince... I'm afraid... I'm afraid that won't be possible."

"What?" Daemon's smile froze on his face. "What do you mean, it won't be possible?"

"It's been so many years since I returned to King's Landing."

"Seems you've forgotten who I am."

But Rosso bowed his head even lower.

"But Lothron... he... he seems to have already... bonded with someone."

"Bonded?" Daemon asked in disbelief. "With whom?"

There were so few members of House Targaryen. He could not think of anyone else who could possibly ride a dragon.

Rosso seemed to steel himself. "It... it's Prince Aemond."

"We've watched them for a long time. Lothron only allows Prince Aemond to approach and touch him, and even... obeys his simple commands."

"Vhagar also... also doesn't object to Prince Aemond approaching them both at the same time."

"We've all seen it... Prince Aemond, he... he can ride both..."

Rosso's voice grew quieter and quieter. "Two dragons at once."

"What utter nonsense!"

Daemon flew into a rage and shouted him down.

He grabbed Rosso by the collar, almost lifting the kneeling Dragonkeeper Commander off the ground.

"One rider, one dragon! That is an ironclad rule! It has been the ironclad rule for dragonriders since Old Valyria! There has never been a single exception!"

"What has Aemond done to deserve this? How dare he...?" Daemon was so furious he could hardly speak coherently, his chest heaving violently.

Rosso struggled to breathe under his grip, but dared not fight back. He could only explain haltingly, "It's true... My prince... At first, we didn't dare believe it either... but that's what happened..."

"His Majesty the King... His Majesty knows about this as well, and has strictly forbidden us from telling anyone."

Daemon's face had shifted from livid to a terrifyingly dark expression.

He slowly turned his head and looked once more at Vhagar and the black hatchling, Lothron.

An intense wariness, one he himself was unwilling to admit, was quickly taking root in his heart.

One man riding two dragons?

He didn't believe in that nonsense.

Daemon Targaryen would never believe something so absurd. He had to see it with his own eyes.

He strode straight toward Vhagar and Lothron.

But just as he came within forty paces of Vhagar,

"Roar!"

Vhagar, who had been dozing with her eyes closed, suddenly opened them!

Those enormous, molten-gold pupils held a cold warning and rejection.

She raised her huge head and let out a low, thunderous growl. Sulfurous heat surged from her mouth, whipping Daemon's clothes wildly and nearly knocking him off his feet.

At the same time, the black hatchling Lothron stood up beside her. Though still small, he showed no fear as he hissed at Daemon, sharp and full of hostility.

Fine but already razor-sharp teeth glinted in his open mouth, and a dark-red glow shimmered deep in his throat.

One large and one small, one old and one young—the two dragons made their stance clear in the most direct way possible. They did not welcome his approach.

Daemon's steps came to an abrupt halt.

Even he did not dare move forward in the face of Vhagar's undisguised threat.

His Blood Wyrm, Coraxes, might not fear a battle with Vhagar, but directly charging her would be suicide.

He stared hard at the black hatchling baring his teeth at him, then looked at Vhagar watching him warily.

Finally, his gaze swept over the Dragonkeepers kneeling far away, too terrified to make a sound.

Rosso's words and the dragons' reactions intertwined, leaving Daemon no choice but to believe them.

It seems... it's true.

Daemon slowly took a few steps back.

He kept retreating until he was outside the range of Vhagar's clear warning.

One man riding two dragons... It was unheard of, unprecedented.

...He had to warn Rhaenyra. Her half-brother might be far more dangerous than they had imagined.