The throne room of the Red Keep was always colder and more solemn than anywhere else.
Morning sunlight slanted through the high windows, casting long shafts of light and shadow across the cold stone floor. The Iron Throne loomed at the far end of the hall, forged from over a thousand swords surrendered by defeated foes. Its sharp spikes gleamed coldly in the sunlight, like a crouching beast looking down upon the masses below.
The laughter and merriment of the night before had long since faded. Now, all the nobles invited to the day's grand occasion stood in orderly ranks on either side of the throne room, dressed in finery, their faces solemn. Tension and anticipation hung in the air, and every gaze was fixed on the entrance.
Viserys sat upon the Iron Throne, wearing a magnificent black velvet royal robe, with gold thread outlining the red three-headed dragon emblazoned on his chest.
He held Blackfyre, the ancestral sword of House Targaryen, its pommel braced against the floor to support a body that had grown somewhat heavier since his youth. His face betrayed nothing, and his eyes were so inscrutable that no one could guess what he was thinking.
Queen Alicent stood at the front of the crowd below, holding Helaena in her arms. Aegon stood between Alicent and Rhaenyra, his little hand clasped tightly in Rhaenyra's. Rhaenyra's face shone with barely concealed excitement, and she kept rising onto her toes to peer toward the entrance.
Aegon idly kicked at an imaginary "pebble" by his feet, grumbling inwardly. Of course he knew what was about to happen.
The "grand performance" that the brothers Viserys and Daemon had spent a full hour plotting in the study last night was about to begin.
Just then, the heavy bronze doors slowly opened.
Daemon