Rhaenyra's hand finally released from the back of Viserys's hand.
She took her hands back and placed them on her knees, folding her hands in a dignified and quiet posture.
There was no expression on her face, but in her heart - a huge, tsunami-like wave was surging in her heart.
"So I took advantage of Daemon." Viserys's voice became deeper, as if he was talking to himself, "I let him occupy Stepstones, let him cooperate with the Three Cities Alliance, and made him a stumbling block, a nail, and a trouble that requires energy to deal with for Redd on Essos.
I don't expect him to beat Redd--no one can beat the guy who owns that dragon.
I just hope that he can hold Redd down so that Redd has no extra energy to pay attention to Westeros.
Even if it's just one more year, even if it's just one more month, or one more day, it's all good."
His eyes were closed, and two lines of turbid tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, flowed over his pale cheeks, and dripped on the pillow.
"I just want to maintain a balance. A fragile, shaky balance that may collapse at any time.
I don't want Redd to cross the sea, I don't want him to come to Westeros, I don't want him to sit on Iron Throne - not because I don't approve of him, but because -" his voice choked up, "because he is not a person who can be balanced.
He does not belong to any balance. He is the destroyer of balance."
Rhaenyra Looking at his father crying, a complicated and inexplicable feeling welled up in his heart.
She should feel sorry for him, should comfort him, should hold his hand and tell him "it's not your fault."
But she didn't do that. She just sat there, quietly and dignified, like a statue placed in the corner.
Because she knew that everything Viserys said was true. He really used his brother. He really secretly promoted the cooperation between Stepstones and the Three Cities Alliance.
He really regarded Daemon as a chess piece, a shield, and cannon fodder that could be sacrificed at any time.
The starting point of all this - at least he thinks it is the starting point - is to protect Seven Kingdoms, to maintain balance, and to prevent Redd from setting its sights on Westeros prematurely.
But Rhaenyra knows that behind these high-sounding reasons, there is something more naked, more real, and more ulterior -- fear.
Viserys is afraid of Redd. He is afraid of the man who rides on the back of a three-headed dragon, conquers nine Free Citiess, and cannot even do anything to Citadel's secret weapon.
He was afraid of him, so much that he was willing to use his own brother as cannon fodder.
"I didn't expect the result to be like this." Viserys's voice seemed to come from a very deep place, "I thought Daemon could at least come back alive. I thought he couldn't defeat Redd, at least he could still run.
He had dragons, he had Bloodworm, he had--he was so fast. I didn't expect that he would die so miserably. I didn't expect that Redd would not even let go of his body."
Rhaenyra's hands clenched slightly on his knees.
On the day Daemon's body was returned, she did not go to the hall. She did not look at the coffin, or the shriveled, twisted, and dehydrated body in the coffin.
She just stood behind the high window of Red Keep, watching the ship coming from Blackwater Bay from a distance, watching the black coffin being lifted off the ship, and watching it being carried into the hall of Red Keep.
She heard the news - her father fainted on the spot after seeing the body. Allison hurriedly asked people to carry him back to the palace. The bachelors came in and out, and the smell of medicine wafted from the cracks in the windows and filled the entire corridor.
She didn't look at Daemon's body, not because she was afraid, but because she didn't know how she would react after seeing the mummy.
Will she cry? Maybe not. Will she be angry? Maybe. Will she feel that Daemon asked for it?
Maybe this thought also flashed through her mind, but she didn't allow herself to think about it, because it was too cruel, too cruel to her, and too cruel to Daemon.
"Father." She finally spoke, her voice so calm that even she felt unfamiliar, "What do you want me to do by saying this?"
Viserys opened his eyes, and the face of Rhaenyra was reflected in those cloudy purple eyes.
Her face is so young, so calm, so dignified.
That kind of dignity reminded him of someone, someone who had died a long time ago - Emma, his first wife, Rhaenyra's mother.
That gentle, kind-hearted woman who always thinks of others.
If Emma were still alive, what would she think of what he had done over the years? Would she forgive him? Would she understand him?
Or will you look at him with those gentle, disappointed eyes, not saying anything, just looking at him?
Viserys didn't dare to think about this question. He was afraid of the answer.
"As King Seven Kingdoms," he said slowly, every word seemed to be squeezed out of his throat, "I want to give your husband a title Redd."
Rhaenyra's eyebrows moved slightly.
"What title?" she asked.
"Narrow Sea King."
When these four words came out of Viserys's mouth, Rhaenyra's pupils shrank slightly.
The King of the Narrow Sea is not the "Prince Dragonstone", not the "Lord of the Tide", not the "Governor Narrow Sea". He is the "King".
This title means that Viserys - the king of Seven Kingdoms, the patriarch of House Targaryen, the owner of Iron Throne - officially recognizes that Redd has equal and independent royal power with him.
This is not a simple account ban. It is a political signal, an attitude, and a difficult choice made by Viserys after weighing all the pros and cons.
Rhaenyra was silent for a long time. Her eyes fell on Viserys's face, which was pale, haggard, stained with tears and regret.
She saw the traces of those years, the ravines carved by disease and worry on her skin, and the once bright purple eyes that had now become turbid and dim, like two gems that had been eroded by wind and sand for too long.
She suddenly felt that her father was old. Not because of Daemon's body, not because of this disease, but because he had been getting old a long, long time ago.
From the day he lost Emma, from the day he put on the crown, from the day he sat on Iron Throne for the first time and felt the countless sharp sword tips pressing against his back - he had already started to grow old.
It's just that she has been unwilling to see or admit it.