On the afternoon of the following day, autumn sunlight filtered through the tall trees of the Kingswood, dappling the magnificent pavilion at the center of the camp.
This tea pavilion had been prepared especially for the noblewomen who would not be joining the hunt that day, and it was large enough to accommodate fifty people.
Myrish carpets covered the floor. Low couches and cushions lined the sides, while the long table in the center held silver tea services, golden wine from the Arbor, honey cakes, and assorted preserved fruits.
The scents of perfume, tea, and burning charcoal mingled in the air.
When Rhaenyra entered the pavilion with Aegon in her arms, the conversation briefly subsided.
A dozen or so noblewomen-
duchesses, countesses, and the female relatives of important vassals-
sat or stood about, most wearing riding clothes suited to the hunt or simple dresses that allowed easy movement, though jewels still adorned them.
Their gazes flitted like startled birds, first landing on the princess, then swiftly gathering on the silver-haired boy in her arms.
Queen Alicent was already seated at the place of honor. She wore a dark green velvet gown, and the swell of her belly was more pronounced as she sat.
Several older noblewomen sat opposite her, including Lady Kyra, a noblewoman of the Stormlands, the grandmother of Elena Caron, Duchess of Storm's End, and the widow of the late Earl Morton Caron.
"Rhaenyra." Alicent smiled and beckoned to her. "Come sit here."
Rhaenyra nodded in greeting and sat in the empty seat beside Alicent, still holding Aegon.
Aegon seemed curious about the gathering. His violet eyes surveyed the pavilion before settling on a corner-
Larys Strong sat there, resting quietly against a pile of cushions, one leg extended and the other curled awkwardly beneath him, twisted from birth.
He held a leather-bound book, looking as though his difficulty walking had led him to rest and read here rather than join the men on their hunt.
But Aegon saw more clearly.
Larys's gaze rarely lingered on the pages. His pale gray eyes moved slowly around the pavilion like a silent wheel, recording everyone's expressions, postures, and the way they leaned as they spoke.
When two noblewomen quietly discussed whose marriage proposal Duchess Jeyne Arryn of the Vale had rejected this time, his eyelashes fluttered slightly;
when ladies from the Westerlands and the Reach complained that the war in the Stepstones had raised the cost of ornaments shipped by sea, his fingers tapped lightly against the edge of a page;
when someone mentioned Prince Daemon's name, his breathing changed almost imperceptibly.
Gathering intelligence. Larys Strong, the Strong family's second son, known as Clubfoot, was doing what he did best:
listening, analyzing, and weaving a web of information.
He had chosen to remain at the ladies' tea party precisely because people here tended to relax and reveal more of their true thoughts-
or, more accurately, because they believed they were safe here.
"Prince Aegon grows more handsome by the day," said a young noblewoman, a niece of Duke Mathos Tyrell. "That hair, those eyes-pure Targaryen blood."
Several ladies agreed. Alicent maintained a gracious smile. "We thank the Seven for their blessing."
The conversation soon turned to the Stepstones.
It was an unavoidable topic-
word that Prince Daemon Targaryen had slain the Crabfeeder had spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms only three days earlier, and the prince was the king's brother and Princess Rhaenyra's uncle.
"My husband says the Myrish have offered a hundred thousand Myrish gold ship coins for Prince Daemon's head."
The speaker was Earl Redwyne's wife, a lovely woman with sharp eyes.
"A hundred thousand Myrish gold ship coins!" exclaimed Lady Kyra, Earl Morton's widow.
She was over seventy, her silver hair arranged in an elaborate bun. Her old-fashioned black dress had a high collar and cuffs embroidered with faded silver thread.
"Enough to buy the Prince of Flea Bottom's entire Flea Bottom, surely? Still, since Prince Daemon dared to kill Craghas Drahar with his own hands, I imagine a few more enemies will hardly trouble him."
"He is doing the right thing," said a Stormlands noblewoman who had suffered from the disruption, her voice firm. "The seafarers of the Stepstones have plagued trade in the Narrow Sea for decades. Every king has wanted to deal with them, but only Prince Daemon has actually acted."
"With a private army he raised himself, without permission from the Iron Throne."
Lady Kyra leisurely sipped her tea. "Does that make him a loyal subject?
"Or is it... a sign that he intends to establish his own rule?"
The atmosphere in the pavilion grew uneasy. Alicent set down her cup, her voice gentle but clear:
"Prince Daemon is the king's brother. Naturally, his actions have His Majesty's tacit approval.
"What matters is the result-the pirates are being driven out, and the trade routes are becoming safe again."
"Indeed." Lady Kyra nodded, then turned her gaze to Rhaenyra. "I wonder what insights Your Highness, as the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms, might offer on the war? Surely you understand matters of strategy better than we women confined to our chambers."
Every gaze settled on Rhaenyra.
She felt Aegon stir in her arms, his little hand clutching the front of her dress.
The question itself was malicious-
what "insights" could an eleven-year-old girl who had never seen a battlefield possibly offer?
Yet refusing to answer would make her look incapable.
"You give me too much credit, Lady Kyra." Rhaenyra remained composed. "I have no particular insights. After all, I have never even been to the Stepstones."
"You are too modest."
The old woman narrowed her eyes. "This is a war launched by your uncle, Prince Daemon. To claim you have no insights-is that not excessive modesty?"
The barbs grew sharper.
Rhaenyra felt her cheeks heat, but kept her emotions in check. "I truly don't know.
"In fact, I haven't been in contact with Daemon for a long time."
"Since you replaced him as heir?"
The words pierced the pavilion like a shard of ice.
Silence.
Even the sound of pouring tea ceased. Several noblewomen lowered their heads, pretending to straighten their skirts.
Alicent's expression changed. Her hand pressed against her belly, her knuckles white.
"Lady Kyra." The queen's voice rose slightly above its usual pitch, though she remained polite. "Prince Daemon was removed from the succession because of his own improper words and deeds. It had nothing to do with Rhaenyra.
"His Majesty chose the princess as his heir because she is better suited, wiser, and better able to represent the kingdom's future."
The old woman smiled faintly, her wrinkles spreading like a spiderweb. "Of course. Your Majesty is right.
"I am merely curious. After all, a matter as momentous as a change in the succession always invites speculation.
"Especially now..."
Her gaze passed over Alicent's belly, then Aegon in Rhaenyra's arms. "With new additions to the royal family."
Alicent drew a deep breath, clearly suppressing her anger.
Rhaenyra felt a wave of nausea-
not physical sickness, but revulsion at this naked provocation, this political assault disguised as an elegant tea party.
She wanted to stand and leave, but that would play straight into the woman's hands.
At that moment, Aegon made his decision.
He neither cried nor spoke. He simply closed his eyes and focused his mind-
the connection was still unfamiliar, but it was growing stronger each day. He sent a simple emotion to a presence outside the pavilion:
anger, protection.
A guard cried out outside.
The entrance flap flew open, not pulled aside by a hand, but struck by a force. A streak of gold burst into the pavilion, the rush of air overturning several teacups on the table. Tea spilled onto the Myrish carpet, quickly spreading into dark stains.
Sunfyre.
The golden dragon did not enter fully. Already roughly the size of a small horse, he was quite large, but he still showed some restraint, thrusting only his head and forequarters inside while his hindquarters remained outside.
But that was enough. His golden eyes swept the pavilion, and a low rumble rose from deep in his throat-the sound of dragonfire gathering.
His gaze locked onto Lady Kyra.
The old woman's face turned deathly pale. Her cup fell into her lap, hot tea soaking her black dress, but she did not notice.
Her mouth hung open, yet no sound emerged. Trembling, she could only shrink back until her back pressed against the cushions.
The other noblewomen panicked as well.
Some screamed, some tried to stand but found their legs too weak, and others traced the seven-pointed star as they murmured prayers.
Alicent rose. "Sunfyre! Out!"
Sunfyre did not move.
He stared at Lady Kyra, two thin sprays of sparks escaping his nostrils and landing on her skirt, burning several small black holes.
"Sunfyre."
Rhaenyra's voice rang out, calmer than Alicent's but carrying a certain authority. "Stop."
The golden dragon turned to look at her-or rather, at Aegon in her arms-and the rumbling in his throat diminished.
"Wait outside," Rhaenyra said, holding Aegon with one arm and giving a gentle wave with her other hand.
Sunfyre gave a low cry and slowly withdrew. The entrance flap fell closed, but the pavilion was already a shambles:
overturned tea services, spilled tea, scorched carpet, and a dozen noblewomen still shaken with terror.
Lady Kyra finally recovered her voice, but could manage only broken gasps.
Her maid hurried forward to wipe her skirt and check her for burns.
Rhaenyra stood, Aegon in her arms, his little hands clasped around her neck.
The princess's gaze swept over everyone in the pavilion before settling on Lady Kyra.
"It seems the tea party is over," Rhaenyra said, her voice clear and cold. "Enjoy your refreshments, ladies."
She turned and left the pavilion without another glance at anyone.
Outside, the sunlight was dazzling.
Sunfyre lay in the clearing like a small golden hill, and no one dared come within ten yards of him.
The guards gripped their spears, but their hands trembled.
They had seen dragons before, but never one bursting into a gathering so suddenly and so aggressively.
With Aegon in her arms, Rhaenyra walked to the edge of the camp and into the shade of the Kingswood.
The branches and leaves broke the sunlight into fragments that scattered across the leaf-covered ground.
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