Accusation

Seeing that the situation had completely spiraled out of control.

"Guards!"

Viserys roared in fury at this blatant defiance.

"Drag this raving madman out!"

At the King's roar, the Red Keep's guards surged in from the side corridors.

But the thirteen Velaryon clansmen around Vaemond moved faster, quickly pressing back-to-back.

They wanted Vaemond to finish what he had to say.

"Every word I speak is true!" Amid the chaos, Vaemond's wild laughter cut through like a screeching night owl.

"All of you know it!"

"You just don't dare say it!"

"Don't dare offend the future Queen!"

"Shut your mouth!" Viserys rose from the throne, his trembling finger pointing down at Vaemond.

A guard tried to clamp a hand over Vaemond's mouth, but a young Velaryon beside him shoved him aside.

The old man staggered two steps, white hair disheveled, pointing at the silent representatives of each region:

"The Riverlands, the Westerlands, the Vale, the North... you all know it in your hearts!"

"You've been playing deaf and dumb all along!"

"But I, Vaemond Velaryon, will have my say today!"

Aemond saw Rhaenyra, seated on the left, give Daemon a slight nod. Daemon had already slipped quietly into the chaotic crowd.

He also stepped out from the Greens' seats. Helaena, beside him, noticed and reached out to grab him, her fingertips only brushing the edge of his leather armor.

Helaena anxiously tried to hold Aemond back. "Aemond, don't go."

But he pushed her hand away without looking back.

"What are you doing?" Alicent cried out.

"Watch Mother, Aegon." Aemond said coldly, his back turned.

Aegon, though confused, obeyed Aemond and pressed a hand on their mother's shoulder.

Alicent couldn't help but speak: "Aemond!"

"I'll do what I want."

Aemond continued walking toward the center of the chaos.

Amid the turmoil, Vaemond turned to Rhaenyra, spittle flying:

"You whore!"

"If your mother, Queen Emma, could see you so shameless today, she would burn with shame!"

And Rhaenyra's composure, maintained throughout the entire event, finally shattered under those words.

"Shut up, you old dog!"

"Did your father spoil you rotten?" Vaemond laughed wildly at Rhaenyra's cracked facade.

"No! He ruined you!"

"Your father spoiled you!"

"Spoiled you until you thought you were above the law!"

"Spoiled you until you thought the entire Seven Kingdoms should revolve around you!"

"And those three little bastards behind you!"

He pointed bitterly at Jacaerys and his brothers.

"Stron's bastards!"

"You dare call yourselves Velaryons?"

"You dare stand in High Tide on Tidepool Island?"

"You dare covet the Iron Throne?!"

The three boys' faces turned ashen.

"I want you to remember, as long as one Velaryon remains, you will never—"

Viserys finally exploded: "Cut out his tongue! Now! Immediately!"

The Prince's figure had already slipped through the chaotic crowd...

Daemon moved, arriving unnoticed among the throng.

The moment the "Dark Sister" at his waist left its sheath, Valyrian steel rippled with dark light in the morning sun.

His face bore pure, icy killing intent.

Daemon circled behind Vaemond, blade rising, aimed at the old man's nape—not to cut out his tongue, but to cleave him in two with one stroke.

The strike was swift as lightning, vicious; the shriek of steel through air even drowned out the chaos around them.

But another blade stopped him.

"CLANG!!!"

The sharp ring of metal tearing air, sparks flying.

As Aemond swept past a guard, he reversed his hand and yanked the longsword from the man's scabbard.

Now that steel sword locked hard against Dark Sister's descending arc.

At the point where the two blades crossed, Aemond's arm buckled downward.

Daemon's strike was far fiercer than expected; pain exploded from his palm, shooting up his arm to his shoulder.

But he gritted his teeth, muscles bulging, and held firm against the lethal blow.

In that moment, the entire throne room seemed frozen.

Everyone stood rigid, pupils dilated, stunned—a Prince and a Prince Consort crossing blades before the Iron Throne!

Daemon saw who it was, his pupils contracting sharply.

Staring at Aemond, who stood inches away, sword raised to block him.

"Daemon!" Viserys rose from the throne, stumbling weakly, steadied by the Kingsguard at his side.

"Put down your sword! Aemond! You too!"

But neither heard him. Neither moved. Blades pointed at each other.

Rhaenyra, hand pressed to her belly, face tense.

Queen Alicent screamed: "Cole! Cole!!!"

The King roared at the guards beside him: "Stop them, now!"

The white-clad knights moved at once; they could not stand by while royal kin butchered each other before the court.

Daemon shifted to a two-handed grip on Dark Sister; the blade trembled in his hands.

The edge hummed faintly as it cut the air, and he began to charge forward.

Aemond took a deep breath, adjusting his grip.

He knew he was no match for Daemon yet.

In swordsmanship, strength, or experience.

"You," Daemon said slowly.

"Are asking to die..."

Aemond twisted his wrist, deflecting the force, sliding half a step back, his sword tip still steady on Daemon, a smile on his face:

"His Majesty only wanted his tongue cut out, uncle."

"Not his life."

"I've changed my mind now." Daemon licked his lips, killing intent flaring hotter. "That old bastard's life is mine. As for you..."

His gaze roamed over Aemond:

"How about one eye? Or... a hand? To teach you the price?"

Aemond's smile held: "Uncle, talk is cheap."

Daemon narrowed his eyes, then suddenly laughed, mocking: "Ha? Boy, anyone who crosses me deserves death."

"What a coincidence." A cold glint flashed in Aemond's violet eyes. "I feel the same."

The words barely left his lips before Aemond moved.

Not to defend—to attack.

He lunged forward, his longsword thrusting straight for Daemon's throat.

Daemon's pupils shrank; Dark Sister swept across to block.

"CLANG!"

Metal clashed, sparks flew.

But Aemond's assault didn't stop.

He spun with the rebound force, his blade slicing toward Daemon's flank, abandoning all defense.

Daemon was forced back half a step, Dark Sister swinging down to parry.

"CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!"

The ring of blades came like a torrent of rain.

The nobles stared, dumbfounded.

Daemon, unable to break through, felt his fury mount.

He saw Aemond overextend on that thrust, and Dark Sister came crashing down.

Crack!

The steel sword in Aemond's hand snapped clean in two.

The broken blade spun through the air, arcing in the morning light, and clattered to the floor.

Aemond staggered back, clutching only a hilt with a jagged stump.

But before he could steady himself, Daemon's left elbow slammed into his forehead like a hammer.

Aemond didn't dodge. He swung his own left fist.

Thud!

The elbow caught Aemond on the side of the head; the fist smashed into Daemon's jaw.

Both grunted and stumbled apart.

Aemond's vision went dark, his ears ringing like a swarm of bees. But he gritted his teeth and held his ground.

Daemon's jaw went numb from the blow. He licked the inside of his mouth, tasting the rusty tang of blood.

"Not much longer, are you?" Daemon sneered, raising Dark Sister again.

Aemond tightened his grip on the broken sword, its jagged edge pointing at him.

"Want to try?"

Daemon laughed, wild and eager. "Let's try, then!"

He charged again, Dark Sister falling like a black lightning bolt.

Clang!

A white figure wedged itself between them.

Ser Criston Cole gripped his greatsword with both hands, its broad blade catching Dark Sister solidly.

"Prince, before the Iron Throne, I ask you to lay down your weapon."

Daemon's smile was full of mockery. "Cole, you think you can stop me?"

"I can try," Cole answered calmly, the greatsword unmoving. "After all, we've fought twice, and I won both times, haven't I?"

Daemon laughed wildly, pointing his sword at him. "Cole, you don't actually think you're worth a damn, do you?"

Cole stepped forward. "My duty is to protect the royal family and keep order in the throne room."

"Prince, if you insist on fighting here, I'll have no choice but to do my duty."

The three faced off, swords drawn.

Every noble in the hall held their breath.

In the chaos, the guards and Velaryons stopped their scuffling.

They stared at each other, stunned by this sudden royal clash.

Below the Iron Throne, Lord Hand Otto knew the fight was over.

But he silently approved of what Aemond had done.

On the Greens' side, Queen Alicent and Helaena let out long sighs of relief.

Aegon had to admire his brother's nerve—facing down the Prince in open court.

"Stop them!" Viserys finally erupted.

"Kingsguard! Stop these madmen! And you!" He pointed at the dazed guards. "What are you standing there gawking at?!"

Six white-cloaked knights moved at once.

Two lunged at Daemon—one grabbing his sword arm, the other locking his shoulder.

Two more seized Aemond, reaching for his sword.

On Daemon's side, a third knight knocked his blade away, while a fourth clamped down on his shoulder and chest from behind.

"Get off!" Daemon roared, struggling to break free.

But the four Kingsguard were knights picked from a thousand, and they held the Prince fast.

A wall of guards gathered in front of them, separating the two.

Aemond didn't resist. When the knight's hand touched the sword's hilt, he let go. He'd done what he needed to do.

Clatter.

The longsword hit the floor with a sharp ring.

Cole sheathed his blade and stepped back, but his eyes stayed on Daemon.

Daemon struggled for a moment, then stopped.

He stared at Aemond, his laugh full of manic excitement.

"Good... very good, Aemond Targaryen..."

"Going toe-to-toe with me? Do you have what it takes?"