"Flowery words!" a voice rang out, interrupting King Viserys I's thoughts on the high seat.
"Sea Snake" Corlys tapped his staff lightly, the dull knock echoing against the stone floor. "Prince Aemond, you are trying to muddy the facts with sophistry."
His gray-blue eyes fixed on Aemond like a snake tracking its prey. Calmly and coldly, he reconstructed the events:
"The fact is, you tamed Vhagar without authorization."
"That undoubtedly stole Rhaenyra and Baela—the daughters of your uncle—the right to be the first to try to claim their mother's dragon."
"The fact is, Rhaenyra and Baela came with Jacaerys and the others to question you. Was that not reasonable?"
"And you were the first to speak abusively, provoking and insulting them."
"The fact is, when the conflict had momentarily eased, you, Prince Aemond, struck again over an insult directed at your mother."
Each "fact" was like a cold nail, an attempt to pin Aemond firmly to the pillar of shame as the chief culprit.
Corlys didn't bother arguing over who had taken the dagger.
He wanted to lay the blame for the tragedy at Aemond's feet from the very beginning.
Aemond felt his throat tighten. This old man...
He couldn't deny the first two points. They were a mess the previous owner had left him.
The frustration of being unable to argue his case burned at his reason.
"He insulted my mother!" Aemond whipped around, the suppressed flames in his purple eyes almost bursting forth as he fixed his gaze on Lucerys.
"Could anyone remain calm after hearing someone slander their mother like that?"
Lucerys shuddered under that gaze, but still retorted in a shrill voice, "Y-You called us Stron bastards first!"
He spoke the forbidden name.
Stron pierced the still air in the hall like a poisoned needle.
Many nobles' gazes instantly turned wary and complicated, and whispers rose anew.
This touched upon the kingdom's most sensitive, most closely guarded rumor.
Corlys didn't let Aemond lead him astray. He spoke calmly:
"Jealousy, resentment, years of festering grievances... Prince Aemond."
"We have ample reason to suspect that you weren't acting on impulse, but had a motive—and may even have done it deliberately."
He leaned forward slightly and said coolly:
"For instance, you waited for the right moment in the melee to shove Lucerys while he was holding the dagger, then cleverly tripped Jacaerys."
"Making it all look like a tragic accident?"
His words made Aemond feel as if thorns were pricking him.
"A motive?" Aemond suddenly gave a low laugh and shook his head. His purple eyes swept over Corlys, then Rhaenyra and Daemon. "Lord Corlys, if I truly meant to harm Jacaerys, would I choose to do it on Tidepool Island?"
"On your Velaryons' tightly guarded territory?"
"In front of everyone?"
He stepped forward and abruptly raised his voice:
"If I really had the cunning you claim I do,"
"I would choose a more discreet time and a place where no one would know, making sure I could walk away without a trace!"
"Not stand here as I am now, accused and put on trial!"
His gaze finally settled on Rhaenyra. He spoke calmly:
"Besides, what would harming Jacaerys gain me—or any of us?"
"Would it let all the Seven Kingdoms laugh at the Targaryens for turning against one another?"
"Would it leave our father, His Majesty the King, grief-stricken?"
"Or would it make the Hightowers and Velaryons break ties completely, pushing the realm to the brink of division?"
He drew a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. Tiny beads of blood seeped from the unhealed wound on his left cheek as his emotions surged.
"If I truly wanted to win anything, Lord Corlys, I should be building ties, forging alliances, and proving my worth."
"Not bearing the stain of attempted kin-slaying and becoming a target for everyone."
"Not throwing myself, my mother, and my entire family into an abyss from which there's no return!"
His words rang through the hall, firm as iron:
"I'm only twelve, Lord Corlys. But I'm not stupid."
"At least, I'm not so stupid as to plan an accident this foolish, full of holes, and more harmful to myself than anyone else!"
Queen Alicent's clenched fists had nails dug deep into her palms, drawing blood, but she didn't even notice.
The Queen looked imploringly toward her father, Lord Hand Otto, her eyes full of desperation.
But Otto merely stood there in silence, weighing his options.
Prince Aegon gaped, staring at his younger brother as though he were a stranger.
When had the gloomy, withdrawn boy he always led the others in mocking acquired such sharp eloquence?
Princess Helaena's purple eyes watched Aemond, surrounded by so many accusers, filled with worry and fear. Gods, please protect my brother...
"Anyone who can ride Vhagar at twelve certainly isn't stupid." Prince Daemon suddenly scoffed, breaking the brief silence.
He folded his arms, tilted his head, and scrutinized Aemond. "You're ambitious, little one."
"You want to prove yourself. You want everyone to see that you're more worthy of Vhagar than Rhaenyra's children..."
He deliberately drew out the words, the corner of his mouth curling into a cold sneer:
"Or perhaps more worthy of... something else?"
His unfinished words hung over everyone's hearts.
Princess Rhaenyra's gaze suddenly sharpened. For the first time, she studied her half-brother so intently.
A deep wariness rose within her. He was far more difficult than she'd expected.
"Enough!" King Viserys slammed his hand against the armrest, making the crown—already perched precariously on his head—tilt askew.
"I didn't come here to listen to you accuse and scheme against one another!"
His voice was hoarse and trembling. "One of my grandsons... is lying there, having lost an eye! His life hangs in the balance!"
"Another of my children... is being accused of plotting to harm his own kin!"
He looked around at them all:
"This is my family! This is the blood of House Targaryen! You... you..."
He bent over, coughing so violently he nearly doubled over. The Kingsguard hurried to his side.
Once his breathing had eased, he lifted his head and fixed his eyes on Aemond, his expression painfully conflicted. "Aemond... you rode Vhagar."
"Without permission. Is that true?"
Aemond fell silent for a moment, then met his father's gaze and answered frankly, "Yes."
"Why?" Exhaustion and bewilderment filled Viserys's voice. "Why now, of all times? Why this way?"
Aemond raised his head, his gaze bright and resolute. "Because the dragon chose me, Father."
His voice was quiet, but it carried clearly through the hall:
"In the storm, I walked toward her."
"She didn't breathe Dragonflame. She didn't roar a warning."
"She lowered her head to me."
"She is the oldest and proudest dragon still living."
"I climbed onto her back, and she didn't throw me off."
He spoke with growing fervor:
"Dragons only acknowledge Targaryen blood."
"Vhagar once belonged to Lady Laena Velaryon, but Lady Laena has returned to the embrace of the Seven."
"And now, Vhagar has chosen me! It was her will!"
"That was my mother's dragon!" Behind Prince Daemon, Baela could no longer hold back. She cried out, her voice breaking, "Your Majesty promised that my sister and I would get to try first!"
"You stole her without permission!"
"Baela." Daemon laid a hand on his daughter's trembling shoulder, but his gaze never left Aemond. His voice was cold as frost. "So you admit that you stole my daughters' chance?"
"I didn't steal anything!" Aemond's voice rose sharply, his expression turning almost ferocious:
"A dragon isn't a chair! It's not a necklace! It's not some plaything you can sit on or wear around your neck to show off!"
"They are the source of House Targaryen's power!"
"They are living blood and fire!"
He raised his hand and pointed at Lucerys:
"And you! You're angry not because some damned opportunity was stolen!"
"You're jealous! You're afraid!"
"Because you can't accept that the withdrawn, useless uncle you've bullied since childhood and called fit only to ride a pig was acknowledged by Vhagar!"
"While you don't even have the courage to go near her!"
Aemond looked at Lucerys, whose eyes wavered with uncertainty.
"Lucerys, tell me: when you drew that deadly blade,"
"did you ever think that I was your uncle? Your kin?!"
Lord Corlys closed his eyes and sighed inwardly. He's brought it back around again...
As long as Aemond kept hammering on the fact that Lucerys had drawn the dagger first, he could seize on that crucial point.
He could shift some of the blame back onto Lucerys.
Aemond's chest heaved, the streak of blood on his face growing more vivid, but his eyes shone with a frightening intensity:
"I did call them bastards! I admit it!"
"But I apologized!"
"I apologized for calling them bastards!"
He turned to the children of the Blacks and demanded furiously, naming them one by one: "Lucerys Velaryon! Joffrey Velaryon! Rhaenyra Targaryen! Baela Targaryen!"
"Before the Seven and the King, put your hands on your hearts and tell me: did I apologize for those words right then and there? Do you dare swear that I'm lying?!"
All the children of the Blacks fell silent. At last, they gave faint nods.
Aemond pressed his advantage, his voice hoarse with emotion: "I wanted to end this foolish quarrel!"
"I wanted the adults to decide who Vhagar belonged to!"
"But what about you, Lucerys? It was you!"
"After I apologized and tried to calm things down, you used the foulest words to insult my mother!"
"You let the conflict spiral out of control!"
"And I, from beginning to end, even at my angriest, never once thought of truly hurting any of my kin!"
"I never thought of taking anyone's eye or life!"
Lucerys turned white as paper and stumbled back a step. His mouth opened, but he couldn't make a sound.
Guilt and fear over hurting his brother overwhelmed him.
The hall fell silent. Only the crackle of the torches and the people's muffled breathing could be heard.
"Enough..." Princess Rhaenyra closed her eyes and murmured to herself.
She could no longer bear to use the tragedy that had befallen Jacaerys as the grounds for this bloody tug-of-war...
A moment later, she opened her eyes again and looked toward her father on the throne. Tears slid silently down her cheeks.
"Father, at this point, I don't care anymore... who it was."
Her words left everyone stunned.
She walked slowly toward the center of the hall and stopped just three steps away from Aemond.
Both of them had the silver hair and purple eyes that marked House Targaryen.
Yet now they faced each other as though separated by an impassable glacier and abyss.
"Aemond," Rhaenyra said softly, an indescribable coldness beneath her calm.
"You hate me. You hate my children, too."
"You think I took the respect your mother deserved."
"You think my existence stood in the way of you and Aegon inheriting what should have been yours..."
"Perhaps I can understand that."
She paused. More tears rolled down her cheeks, but she didn't wipe them away, letting them trail over her pale face:
"Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it really was just a string of unfortunate accidents caused by you and the children acting foolishly and impulsively."
Her voice suddenly turned harsh, her gaze cutting into Aemond like a blade:
"But! When the accident happened, it started with you!"
"You were there!"
"You were involved from beginning to end! This whole chain of events began with your unauthorized taming of a dragon, then the argument, then the fight, and finally the tragedy..."
"All of it ended with my eldest son, Jacaerys, losing an eye forever!"
"No matter how you defend yourself, you can't change that outcome!"
She drew a deep breath, as though it took all her strength:
"Lucerys has his share of the blame, and he must answer for it!"
"But so do you, Aemond Targaryen. You, too, cannot escape your share of the blame!"
As her words fell, to everyone's shock,
Rhaenyra Targaryen, the heir proclaimed by the Iron Throne, slowly and resolutely sank to her knees before her father, the King.
"Father," she raised her head, her vision blurred by tears, but her gaze burned as if it could set the air alight.
"I am not asking for an eye for an eye."
"I am not asking you to punish Aemond, either."
"I want only one thing."
"Justice."
King Viserys saw his daughter kneeling and seemed to age several years in an instant.
He struggled to rise, leaning forward and reaching out. "Rhaenyra... Get up... My daughter, please get up first..."
"What kind of justice do you want?"
Rhaenyra straightened her back, letting the tears fall. Her voice rang out clear and resolute through the silent hall:
"I want you, in the name of the king, to publicly acknowledge and proclaim Jacaerys Velaryon as your eldest grandson and my eldest son."
"He will be the undisputed first heir to the Iron Throne!"
"His place in the line of succession must be declared ahead of Aegon and Aemond!"
"I want you to swear before the Seven and the realm that, no matter what happens in the future, no accusation or rumor will ever shake Jacaerys's right to inherit, not even by a fraction, because of this injury!"
"I want you to issue a decree announcing this throughout the Seven Kingdoms."
She paused, then calmly and clearly stated her "terms of exchange":
"If you agree to all this, I, Rhaenyra Targaryen, will accept that tonight was simply a tragic accident."
"Aemond need not be punished for this, and Vhagar will belong to him, as the dragon wills."
"Let tonight's matter end here."
"Boom!"
The hall erupted into chaos.
Gasps, sharp intakes of breath, and murmurs broke out.
All the color drained from Queen Alicent's face. She staggered, nearly fainting, and only the maids behind her managed to hold her up.
Lord Hand Otto's pupils contracted to pinpoints. At last, a crack appeared in his usually mountain-steady composure.
The Greens' faction of nobles beside him erupted into uncontrollable commotion.
The corner of Lord Corlys's mouth lifted ever so slightly, then returned to normal.
Prince Daemon looked at Rhaenyra kneeling on the floor, admiration flashing in his eyes.
At last, she understood: at a moment like this, tears and pain could be the gentlest of weapons—and the hardest of bargaining chips.
Jae had lost an eye. There was no undoing it.
Better to settle the question of his right to inherit.
Now the focus of the struggle had shifted entirely from who had blinded whom to that cold iron chair.
Aemond stood alone in the eye of the storm at the center of the hall, looking at his father on the throne, caught in hesitation and turmoil,
and at his sister, kneeling on the floor, yielding to gain the upper hand, yet pressing him at every turn.
An indescribable sense of absurdity rose in his heart.
This favoritism, this brazen scheming born of knowing one was untouchable—it was so blatant, so cruel, yet so utterly taken for granted.
He wasn't about to gamble that Rhaenyra or Jacaerys would spare him if either of them became king...
Before you continue