A crown beneath the setting sun

The Glutton's dragon roar still echoed over Rose Field, his long, silver-gold hair gleaming like molten gold in the setting sun.

When Daemon Blackfyre's purple eyes swept across the entire arena, the previously boisterous stands instantly fell into dead silence— Mathos Tyrell's hand, holding a wine glass, froze in mid-air, the wine dripping from his gold and green brocade robe down his round belly;

Garlan Tyrell's knuckles were white as he gripped the sword hilt, and the shoulder armor of his silver-green armor trembled slightly from the tension; Lucas Tyrell hid behind the crowd, his mouth agape, completely forgetting his earlier fear.

"Your Highness—what are you doing here? How could you be—" Mathos's voice trembled, the smile on his round face vanished completely, leaving only utter astonishment. "Didn't you say—you wanted to watch the martial arts tournament? How could you suddenly—"

Daemon didn't answer immediately, but instead raised his hand to rub his right shoulder—the three-headed dragon brand there was still hot, as if echoing the lingering warmth of the fierce battle just now.

His gaze fell on a disheveled knight being helped by a guard on the sidelines. The man was wearing a tattered suit of armor, the very "disguise" Daemon had changed out of that morning. He was bowing to him, his eyes filled with gratitude.

Daemon originally intended to participate in the tournament as himself, but then he remembered what Earl Denys Oakheart had told him about Baelon Targaryen participating in the tournament in Old Oak Old Oak the "Silver Fool."

He recalled his past life Aemon Targaryen, the "Dragonknight," participating in a tournament as the "Knight of Tears" to win the title of Queen of Love and Beauty for his sister, Naerys.

So he suddenly had the idea to surprise Gael and the others by pretending to be a mysterious knight and using his family's "tradition." However, when he went to the Highgarden the Smith this morning to look for the "disguised" old armor, he stumbled upon a conspiracy.

"This morning before sunrise, I encountered this knight being hunted near the Golden Rose Tavern in Highgarden," Daemon's voice echoed through the silence following the dragon's roar, clear as the flowing waters of the Mander River. "Last night he stumbled upon the conspiracy of several noble bastard sons—they said that after the tournament ended in three days, when His Excellency and the lords saw Gary and Gael off, they planned to use the outlaws they had recruited to surround Highgarden, control all the lords present, and then, in the name of House Tyrell, take over the entire Reach."

These words were like a spark thrown into an oil drum, instantly causing an uproar in the stands! Earl Florent slammed his fist on the table, the fox emblem on his red and gold armor dazzling the eyes. "Insolence! These bastards dare to plot rebellion!"

House Peake Earl drew his longsword, the spikes of his black and orange armor gleaming coldly. "Duke Mathos! Is this how you discipline your son?"

Mathos's face instantly turned a deep shade of liver, and he frantically waved his hands, exclaiming, "Impossible! Absolutely impossible! How could my sons—"

"Why not?" Daemon interrupted him, his gaze shifting to the bastard son with the bruised eye—the boy was currently huddled in a corner of the stands, his head bowed even lower. "This morning when I went to Rose Field, I happened to witness this young master chasing after that down-on-his-luck knight."

- It was only because the knight overheard their plot. After I rescued the knight, this young master tried to win me over, saying that we were both bastards and the nobles all knew my origins, and that if I supported them in taking Highgarden, he would lead the Reach to help me "take" the Iron Throne.

He paused, a cold glint flashing in his purple eyes. "What a pity, they don't know that I, Daemon Blackfyre Targaryen, have never considered severing ties with my family, much less cooperating with despicable schemers to seize anything through treason." Before he finished speaking, he raised his hand to signal to the crowd, who then saw clearly that the bastard son with bruised eyes was nailed to the railing, dried blood still stained his lips, and the spot near his eye was where Daemon had punched him that morning.

"You! You all!" Garlan Tyrell lunged forward, the gold rose emblem on his silver-green armor almost piercing the bastard's face. His voice was filled with unbelievable rage. "I've always treated you well! I gave you armor, taught you riding, and yet you dare to do this?"

The Duchess trembled with rage. Supported by her brother, Earl Redwyne, and sister-in-law, the hem of her pale purple dress was crumpled in her fists. Pointing at Mathos, her voice trembled with tears, she cried, "Look at them! Look at the good children you've brought back and raised! They've actually come up with such rebellious things! You've completely disgraced the House Tyrell!"

Florence frowned, her emerald green skirt sweeping across the steps. She shook her head slightly at Martyn, her eyes conveying a sense of helplessness, as if to say, "I knew it would turn out like this."

Martyn Tyrell put down "The History of Tourneys in the Reach," sighed, and said in a steady but weary voice, "Mathos, things have come to this; deal with it quickly."

Mathos, as if waking from a dream, roared at his servants, "Lock these rebellious sons in the dungeon! Keep a close watch on them!" Several servants in green robes immediately stepped forward, grabbed the pale-faced bastards, and dragged them toward the main castle. Everyone could see that the so-called "close watch" was merely for protection; how could the dungeons of Highgarden truly imprison the House Tyrell? Although the lords were furious, they refrained from saying anything more because Daemon was present. However, their gazes toward Mathos held a newfound distance and contempt.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" Martyn quickly smoothed things over, his grey robe sleeve brushing against the wine stains on the tablecloth. "The tournament has just ended, the banquet is ready, and the wine from Arbor is still warm. Let's go to the main castle first, and we can talk things over calmly!"

Madame Florence chimed in, gently fanning herself with her handkerchief. "Yes, Princess Gael and her maid Mysaria must be tired. How can we, the Reach, keep our distinguished guests waiting?"

Although the lords were still dissatisfied, they knew that this was not the time to lash out. They all stood up, but no one continued to chat and laugh around Mathos as before. Instead, they discussed what had just happened in twos and threes, their eyes occasionally glancing at the dejected knight who was being helped away.

Gael finally snapped out of her shock. She strode up to Daemon, her pale purple eyes filled with worry, like a frustrated kitten. "Why didn't you tell me? You risked your life again! What if those bastards had knives? What if you got hurt?"

Daemon looked at her furrowed brow and suddenly smiled. He remembered the crown of the "Queen of Love and Beauty" beside the stands, with gold roses wrapped in silver thread and still glistening with fresh dew.

He strode over, picked up the laurel wreath, placed it on the tip of a spear, and handed it to Gael: "Don't be angry, let's put it on our 'Queen of Love and Beauty'?"

But Gael was still furious. She shoved the spear aside, turned around, and walked towards the VIP section, her pale blue rose cloak swaying gracefully behind her. "Who wants your crown! Wear it yourself!"

Daemon smiled helplessly and looked up at the sky. A Glutton was circling above Rose Field, its black wings reflecting the setting sun like a piece of flowing obsidian. He whistled, and the Black Dragon immediately swooped down, landing steadily in front of Daemon. Its claws lightly scratched the grass, as if it were asking for praise.

"Lend me your wings." Daemon patted the Glutton's neck, and the Black Dragon obediently lowered its head, its wings slightly raised, forming a "staircase" leading to the VIP seats. Daemon stepped onto the wings and walked up, his long silver-gold hair flying in the wind, causing the noble ladies below to scream.

As soon as Gael reached the top of the VIP section, a pair of strong arms embraced her from behind. Daemon gently turned her around and placed the golden rose crown on her silver hair. The pale blue hair and golden petals complemented each other, making her look like a painting.

"Don't be so temperamental," his voice was deep and gentle, his breath brushing against Gael's ear, "I promise, I'll tell you next time."

Gael's face instantly flushed red, the blush spreading from her cheeks to her ears. She tried to push Daemon away, but he held her tightly around the waist, and she could only mutter softly, "Who—who's throwing a tantrum—"

The golden rays of the setting sun Glutton below let out a low growl and used its wings to pull the two back onto its back, as if giving a blessing, spewing streams of Dragonfire into the air.

The noble ladies in the stands were heartbroken; some secretly wiped away tears, while others clutched their handkerchiefs and sighed enviously, "If only I could stand on the dragon's back—"

Mysaria leaned against the edge of the stands, the setting sun casting its glow on her platinum curls. She gazed intently at the two figures in the sky, a faint smile playing on her lips.

Alys Rivers peered out of the window of the main castle room, her green dress clinging to her body in the wind. She looked at the two people on the dragon's back, a mysterious smile flashing in her eyes, her fingertips unconsciously stroking the silver chain at her waist as if she had expected this scene.

Larys Strong, leaning on his cane, stood beside Jarman Waters, the hem of his black robe sweeping across the grass.

He looked at Daemon embracing Gael, then at the complicated expressions on the faces of the lords, and a knowing smile crept onto his lips. He became even more certain of the ambition of the prince he was following. He had previously thought that Daemon only wanted to consolidate the relationship between the Seven Kingdoms and seize the Iron Throne, but now he realized that the prince's ambition was far deeper than the Iron Throne; even the hearts of the people of the Reach were under his control.

Jarman, bow in hand, scanned the entire arena warily with his single eye, his gaze lingering on the unfriendly-looking lords, trying to spot anyone glancing at Daemon. However, the scene disappointed him. House Peake Earl was still muttering curses under his breath, while Earl Rowan frowned and whispered to Martyn, both clearly still resentful about the earlier treason.

Mathos stood below the stands, looking at Daemon and Gael on the dragon's back. His round face was full of worry, and his hands were clasped together as if in prayer. In his heart, he was relieved that Daemon hadn't held him responsible, otherwise the Reach would have been turned upside down.

He didn't even dare to look into the eyes of the Duchess beside him, and could only stare at the Glutton's dragon claws, fearing that the Black Dragon might suddenly breathe Dragonfire at him.

Daemon looked down at Gael in his arms. The girl's face was still as red as a ripe peach, and her pale purple eyes reflected the sunset, as well as his figure.

He suddenly felt that all the twists and turns just now were worthwhile: the illegitimate son who had plotted rebellion was brought under control, the anger of the feudal lords was temporarily quelled, and in his arms was the most precious person.

The Glutton gently flapped its dragon wings, carrying the two of them as they circled once above Rose Field. The lords below all looked up, some bowing in respect, others admiringly praising it. Even Earl Florent, who had previously been furious about Duke Mathos's absurd family affairs, had to admit that the scene was as beautiful as a gift from the gods.

As the sun gradually sank into the Mander River, it dyed the water a golden-red hue. Daemon, with Gael in his arms, looked down from the dragon's back at the white marble walls of Highgarden and the golden rose petals scattered across Rose Field. He suddenly felt that the wind in this Reach was not only warm, but also carried the hope of the future—as long as he held the Blackfyre, rode the Glutton, and had Gael by his side, there would be no obstacle he could not overcome.

As darkness fell over Alys Rivers ' window, Larys and Jarman turned and headed toward the main castle, with Mysaria skipping along behind them, humming an off-key tune.

Mathos finally dared to raise his head and force an awkward smile at the Duchess: "Shall we—shall we go to the banquet too?"

The wines from Arbor are still waiting.

Only those bastards imprisoned in the dungeons continued their futile screams—unaware that their rebellion had not only failed to shake the foundations of the Reach, but had instead allowed Daemon Blackfyre's prestige to take deep root in the Reach.