The besieged "Black Dragon"

The morning light, carrying the unique scent of ink from old books, finally pierced through the carved window frames and fell upon Daemon's open copy of "The A General History of Westeros Red Keep."

This was the quiet place he had finally found today—a place far from the hustle and bustle of the arena and away from the disputes of the Small Council. He had even sent the Glutton to the hillside to sunbathe, hoping to steal half a day of leisure to catch up on the chapters he hadn't finished reading.

But just as her fingertips touched the pages, heavy footsteps, like those of a hunting wolf, came down the corridor.

When Jarman Waters lifted the curtain, his cloak was still stained with some sulfurous ash from the Dragonpit. Behind him, Colin Celtigar, however, had lost the cheerfulness he had acquired from Myles since the tour. Today, his back was ramrod straight, and his purple eyes were as cold as the sea breeze from Crab Claw Peninsula when they first met. The intelligence scroll he was holding was crumpled at the edges, and his angry expression made him look like he was about to flip the table if he didn't get up soon.

"Your Highness, Lord Larys has been working two nights straight in the intelligence room." Jarman's voice was unusually urgent. "We can't decipher the intelligence on the Triarchy's new ballistae; Vaegon is also waiting in the Naval Office, and Sir Leonno is stuck on the Narrow Sea route division—we can't make a decision without your intelligence."

Daemon's fingers, which were gripping the book's pages, paused. Just as he was about to pretend he hadn't heard, Colin stepped forward, his tone flat yet each word piercing. "And Lord Otto, he just bumped into Vaegon in the corridor, and it seems—he's heading to His Majesty the King's study."

Daemon's heart skipped a beat—he instantly recalled the flattery that Maester Bernard had uttered half an hour earlier when he passed by the library, "Your Highness's talent is exceptional; among the Seven Kingdoms, only you can grasp the essentials of governance. Even if others work themselves to the bone, they cannot match you in the slightest."

There was also a sheepskin scroll mysteriously handed to her by Alys Rivers, which said, "Handling intelligence at Chen Shi (7-9 AM) today can avert an unforeseen disaster."

But none of these were what bothered him the most—what truly made him restless was the sight of a room full of people he had glimpsed when he passed by his room earlier.

He forced himself to close the book, stubbornly saying, "They're just trivial matters; they should have been dealt with anyway."

But he knew perfectly well that if he kept hiding, the room would probably be torn down by the women and children.

Leaving aside the "support group" that Jarman didn't mention:

Gael, along with Little Mei, Alicent, and Johanna, had already occupied his soft couch, and Little Mei's sewing basket was covered in gold thread.

Brienne stood in the corner, the short sword at her waist gleaming coldly. Beside her, Lia, the House Osgrey who had disguised herself as a boy to compete in Rose Field and received the ivory-hilted short sword after being exposed, was raising the sword and asking Brienne, "Can I embroider the family crest on it?"

Jocelyn and Rhaenys sat by the window, Laena nestled on Rhaenys's lap, clutching the wooden dragon he'd secretly "borrowed" from Viserys's collection the night before after he'd gotten drunk and been dragged along by Daemon Targaryen to "prank" his brother. Laenor had seen it and insisted he carve a "Grey Ghost" version.

Aemma went even further, holding Jeyne, who was clamoring for a "Little Daemon hug," in one hand and carrying Rhaenyra, who was waving her little hands, in the other, and they were about to block the way into the library.

Not to mention the "accident" at the intelligence room:

Daemon knew without a doubt that Larys's eyes were bloodshot from exhaustion.

In his haste to gather intelligence, that guy even brought the gray donkey "Mr. Longlegs" into the intelligence room, and it's said that he spilled ink on the donkey's hair last night.

As luck would have it, Vaegon happened to pass by. He already felt that he, as a "bastard son," was a disgrace to Aemon's glorious image. Seeing Larys struggling alone, he immediately mocked, "Aemon's son certainly knows how to enjoy life, leaving all the work to others."

These words were overheard by Leonno Strong, who had come to discuss astrology with Vaegon. A knight looked at the piles of parchment scrolls in the intelligence room, feeling sorry for his son but unwilling to say it aloud, only silently clutching the sea chart.

But his hot-tempered eldest son Harwin Strong, immediately lost his temper, rolled up his sleeves, and was about to confront Daemon, saying, "My brother isn't your family's laborer!"

As luck would have it, Otto Hightower happened to be passing by. He'd been eyeing Daemon's "Minister of Intelligence" position, and immediately stepped forward to fan the flames, before turning and heading to Jaehaerys's study—ostensibly to "share the King's burdens and remind Prince Daemon to fulfill his duties."

"Your Highness?" Colin's voice pulled Daemon back to reality. A rare hint of doubt flashed in his cold eyes. In the past, Daemon was not one to hesitate, but he had never given in so quickly.

Daemon cleared his throat, clearly having prepared an excuse. "My cousin Viserys once said that a king must be diligent"; besides—"he recalled his grandfather, the the Conciliator's, instruction that night to "toughen up his men a little more," and Daemon Targaryen's tactics when dealing with Jaehaerys's inspection last time, "I'll delegate the tedious tasks to my men, and only review the final results, so it can't be considered negligence."

This was only half true; only he knew the real motivation: if he didn't leave soon, he would be overwhelmed by Jeyne's desire for the "wooden dragon" and Rhaenyra's "babbling."

Sure enough, as soon as I reached the entrance of the palace, I heard a commotion inside:

Lia ran up to him, her eyes sparkling, holding a short sword. "Your Highness," she said, "Gael Gerald said she'd like to scabbard for my sword. Could you embroider the crest of the House Osgrey on it?"

Jeyne tugged at his cloak, stood on tiptoe, and shouted, "Little Daemon, hurry up and carve the dragon!"

Rhaenyra immediately tried to pounce on him, wrapping her little arms tightly around his neck and making little noises, wanting a hug.

Gael walked over and handed him a piece of honey cake, her eyes full of laughter. "I knew you couldn't avoid it. Sister-in-law Jocelyn and Rhaenys have been waiting for you for half an hour."

She pointed to the balcony, "Laenor is feeding Grey Ghost. You certainly know how to arrange things, putting him there to keep Grey Ghost company."

Daemon followed her gaze and saw Laenor leaning on the railing, feeding a honey cake to the Grey Ghost huddled in the corner. The little gray dragon, with the honey cake in its mouth, made a satisfied "purring" sound, though its vertical pupils still held a hint of timidity.

"My gut feeling is that it's male," Daemon insisted, echoing Alys Rivers's earlier statement that "dragons are difficult to determine their sex."

But he just wouldn't admit that this coward was female.

As they were talking, Alys Rivers walked up from the end of the corridor, holding a parchment scroll covered in symbols, and whispered in Daemon's ear, "Your Highness, my newly interpreted prophecy says that if you handle intelligence today, you will be safe and sound—"

Bethany Hightower followed, carrying a thick ledger of maritime trade, her navy blue skirt billowing in the wind. She mimicked Alys Rivers's earlier manner of speaking to Daemon, "My dear Black Dragon, after the Redwyne Fleet escorted us, King's Landing's trade volume increased by thirty percent. Would you like to take a look?"

Daemon quickly flipped through the document, and after confirming that there were no problems, he swiftly acknowledged the other party's efforts. Then, he hurriedly hugged Rhaenyra tightly, avoiding her gaze that seemed to want to devour him.

Budimir Tarth stood in the doorway, his hand on his sword hilt, his face expressionless, yet he kept a close watch on the room—he was Daemon's bodyguard for the day, and naturally responsible for protecting His Highness Daemon's safety.

However, seeing Daemon surrounded by Brienne, who was also looking at the princess with a big head, he couldn't help but smile slightly. But before Brienne noticed, he quickly turned his head and resumed his serious demeanor.

Daemon, holding Rhaenyra in his arms, looked at the people surrounding them and felt a chill run down his spine.

Having just finished dealing with those matters, Mace Florent came in again and said, "Your Highness, Larys someone to ask when you will go to see the intelligence on the Triarchy?"

Daemon glanced at the women surrounding him, feigning reluctance, and said, "Let him wait a bit. I'll play with the children for a while."

Then he quickly gestured with his eyes for Mace to go first, saying he would arrive shortly.

But as soon as Jeyne heard the word "play," she immediately ran over to Daemon, jumped onto Daemon lap, and held up the wooden carving Laena had given her to play with, saying, "Little Daemon, can you carve me a dragon too? Like the Glutton!"

O

Daemon nodded with a helpless wry smile, "Okay, I'll carve it for you later."

It seems I'll be forced to follow Daemon Targaryen and "troll" his brother again, ruining the sculptures Viserys personally sculpted and collected.

Hearing the commotion, Laenor on the balcony rushed over and exclaimed, "Me too! I want one like Grey Ghost!"

Even Rhaenyra, who was in his arms, though she couldn't speak, nodded and patted Daemon's arm with her little hand.

Until Gael came over and handed him a piece of honey cake. "Don't worry, eat something sweet first. If Borros..."

Brandon and the others won today, they'll definitely drag you out drinking again tonight, so relax for a bit. Be a good boy and come home early, don't wander off, especially not with Big Daemon.

With such a serious expression, not only Aemma, the "sister-in-law," but even Rhaenys, the "older sister," and Jocelyn, the "mother" they had taken in, could only watch helplessly and smile.

Daemon took the honey cake, took a bite, and the sweet aroma spread on his tongue. He looked at the person in front of him—

Gael's smile, Jocelyn's gentleness, Rhaenys's composure, the children's laughter, even Laenor, who was in the corner and unable to get close to Daemon to remove the Grey Ghost, all seemed much more pleasing to the eye. Suddenly, Daemon felt a sense of peace despite the chaos.

He recalled the day he traveled back a hundred years, to the dungeon on Dragonstone, where he thought he was all alone. He never imagined he would have so many family and friends now.

Whether it's the quiet of team battles in the arena or the hustle and bustle of the Red Keep, it's all part of the life he wants to protect.

"Oh, right," Daemon suddenly remembered something and said to Gael, "Let's get a new scabbard for Lia's short sword, just like you said, and embroider it with the House Osgrey crest. That way, whether you're with her or she goes out on her own, she'll have face."

Hearing this, Lia's eyes lit up, and she bowed to Daemon, saying, "Thank you, Your Highness!"

Gael nodded with a smile, "Okay, I'll have them instruct the craftsmen to do it later."

Daemon then quickly took the ledger that Bethany handed him, signed it, and then gave Alys a few perfunctory words like "We'll see about the prophecy later," before turning to Jarman and Colin and saying, "Let's go, to the intelligence room."

Only when he stepped out of the palace gates did Daemon dare to subconsciously glance back.

Inside, you could still hear Lia's laughter, Jeyne's chatter, and the Grey Ghost snoring on the balcony.

A sly smile crept onto his lips, and his steps quickened. Luckily, he slipped away quickly, otherwise he might have been overwhelmed by honey cakes, embroidery needles, and wooden dragon carvings today.

Jarman and Colin walked behind. Colin's deliberately cold expression finally softened a bit, and even the usually serious Jarman almost couldn't help but laugh.

No one dared to expose that their "Black Dragon Prince" wasn't concerned with politics at all; he clearly had escaped a great danger.