Leonor truly lived up to the Strong name. Despite his bulky physique, his kick exploded with immense power.
With a sharp crack of breaking bones, Larys was sent flying, tumbling through the air like a weightless reed.
"Cough, cough…"
When he finally stopped rolling, his face was as pale as paper, and blood trickled weakly from the corner of his mouth.
"You disgrace! Do you have any idea how many crimes you've committed? Were you involved in Lord Boros' death?"
Leonor had no intention of letting him off the hook. Grabbing Larys by the collar, he lifted him with ease, his cold eyes bloodshot with fury.
He was on the verge of exploding.
As the Hand of the King, he had worked tirelessly to uphold justice, yet his own son had blatantly defied the law, bringing shame upon House Strong.
Smack!
A loud slap echoed through the room. Leonor shook Larys violently, his voice trembling with rage. "You're the Master of Whisperers, yet you abuse the very law you swore to uphold. Do you think you deserve His Majesty's trust?"
He wanted to ask if his son had ever considered the honor of their family, but deep down, he doubted that a man guilty of such heinous crimes had any conscience left.
"Cough… I only did what I was ordered to do. What crime is there in that?"
Larys spat out a mouthful of blood, his gaze dark and calculating.
Even now, he refused to admit his guilt.
It was as if, in his mind, every action he had taken was justified—forced upon him by others.
Hearing this, Leonor's expression darkened. He released his grip and muttered in disappointment, "Larys, when did your heart rot away?"
He had expected his son to confess, perhaps even beg for mercy.
But the last thing he anticipated was Larys playing the victim, refusing to take responsibility for his actions.
Larys let out a bitter laugh. "Heh… If you had ever truly looked at me, with your intelligence, you would've seen the truth long ago."
"The seven hells take you!"
Leonor let out a long sigh, his face filled with anguish. Then he turned to the prince and asked, "Your Highness, Larys has committed grave crimes. How do you wish to proceed with his judgment?"
At this point, he had to act for the sake of their family's honor.
Rhaegar, who had been watching the spectacle unfold, finally spoke, his tone measured. "The law will judge him."
With the crimes Larys had already committed, he could be executed ten times over.
"Shall we leave it to the King's Council for trial?" Leonor asked, his voice hollow.
Rhaegar shook his head. "No need. The reason I summoned you here today is to deal with him discreetly, ensuring the reputations of both the royal family and House Strong remain intact."
Leonor nodded in defeat. "I understand, Your Highness. Thank you."
He was a practical man. A quiet execution would only benefit his house.
"Cough, cough…"
Larys coughed up more blood, a bitter smile on his lips. "Can I request a trial by combat?"
Rhaegar's expression remained indifferent. "What do you think?"
Larys turned to his father, his eyes flickering with the same pitiful cowardice he had shown as a child.
Leonor's face was grim. Clenching his jaw, he spat, "Don't even think about it. No one will fight for you—not even Harwin."
He knew exactly what his son was plotting. His eldest, Harwin, was renowned as the strongest warrior, and Larys had hoped to exploit that.
At that moment, Rhaegar gave Grey Worm a subtle glance before turning away.
Grey Worm stepped forward, his face emotionless as he raised his spear.
"Wait! I have something to say." Larys tensed, struggling to inch backward.
Rhaegar gazed toward the towering heart tree in the distance, ignoring him entirely.
He had no interest in hearing the pleas of a dead man.
Larys' eyes darted around, his voice hoarse. "Your Highness… some things are like broken glass. I merely pried open the cracks—but broken glass will always remain broken."
He was stating a simple truth. He had played the role of a conspirator, but someone had given him the opportunity to do so.
Rhaegar remained silent.
Grey Worm stepped closer, spear aimed at Larys' heart. His voice was devoid of emotion. "Goodbye."
"No, no, no—"
Larys trembled violently, swallowing hard before blurting out, "I don't want to die! I request to join the Night's Watch!"
Leonor's hand shot out, gripping Grey Worm's spear tightly. "Your Highness, every man has the right to take the black and seek redemption at the Wall."
In the final moment, he couldn't help but waver.
Rhaegar turned, his gaze sweeping over Larys' crippled foot. His voice was cold. "Even if you make it to the Wall, you won't last long."
"Then… cut it off."
Larys closed his eyes, his voice filled with bitterness. "It's been a burden my whole life. At least let me leave it behind."
Rhaegar studied him, deep in thought.
Truthfully, he would have preferred to kill him on the spot.
But then, he caught a glimpse of Leonor's pleading expression. Here was a rare opportunity—to secure the loyalty of an old and powerful noble.
"Hold it firmly."
Rhaegar unfastened Blackfyre from his waist and handed the ebony scabbard to Leonor.
"Your Highness?" Leonor took the scabbard, confused.
Shing—
Rhaegar unsheathed his sword, its dark blade shimmering like the night sky speckled with starlight.
Stepping forward, he raised the blade and swung it down at Larys' crippled leg.
Crack!
The sickening snap of bone echoed through the air. Larys let out an agonized scream as his lower leg was severed cleanly from the knee.
With a flick of his wrist, Rhaegar spun the sword in a flourish, flinging off the blood. His tone was calm. "Bandage him up. Select a group of criminals and send them to the Wall with him."
Then, he tossed Blackfyre to Tormund and walked away.
Larys would live… for now.
But he would never make it to the Wall. Somewhere along the journey, he would conveniently and unexpectedly die.
Grey Worm perceptively tilted his head and ordered two Unsullied soldiers to drag away the wailing Larys.
Leonor, pale and grief-stricken, knelt before the weirwood tree, praying to the Old Gods.
...
Meanwhile...
In one of the chambers of the Red Keep, the girls wept bitterly, overcome with sorrow.
Outside the door, Aemond lowered his gaze and walked away in silence.
The four Storm boys finally received the news of Borros's death and collapsed into each other's arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
He had no interest in offering comfort—there was more important business to attend to.
Shaking off his attendants, Aemond slipped away from Maegor's Holdfast alone, making his way to the stables in the front yard.
Inside the hay-filled shed reeking of manure, two ragged, emaciated men stood waiting uneasily.
"Have you made up your minds?" Aemond scrutinized them.
The two men nodded repeatedly, flattering him, "We are at your command, my prince."
"Come with me."
Aemond wasted no more words. Avoiding prying eyes, he led the two men into the Red Keep.
Elsewhere...
Aegon was snoring soundly in his chamber, lying bare under a thin blanket, an ample-bodied woman nestled in his arms.
The night before, he had spent the night in a brothel on Silk Street. Upon waking, he had smuggled a prostitute through a hidden passage back to his room for further indulgence.
Click—
By midday, the doorknob turned ever so gently from the outside.
Two ugly, shifty-looking men crept into the room, moving stealthily toward the pale young prince, who reeked of alcohol and lay sprawled on the bed.
Gulp.
One of the men swallowed hard, his beady eyes gleaming with malice.
Exchanging glances with his companion, they saw the same hunger for gold reflected in each other's eyes.
Together, they raised their hands—and struck.
"Mmmph!"
Aegon awoke with a start, thrashing about, only to realize his hands were bound to the headboard with coarse rope, and a filthy, foul-smelling hand was clamped tightly over his mouth.
"Aaah—"
The prostitute beside him jolted awake at the commotion, but before she could scream, another rough hand muffled her cries. A trembling voice whispered in her ear, "Be good, and no one gets hurt."
Terrified, she nodded quickly, squeezing her eyes shut, too afraid to look.
One of the men tore a strip from the bedsheet and stuffed it into her mouth, binding her tightly before tossing her onto the floor.
"Who are you?! What do you want?!"
Aegon's muffled screams were filled with panic.
Bang!
The door slammed shut behind them, drawing Aegon's frantic gaze.
He struggled fiercely, then caught sight of his younger brother, Aemond, strolling in with a calm, indifferent expression.
"Run! Go get the guards—save me!"
A flicker of hope lit up Aegon's eyes as he shouted desperately.
Aemond walked slowly, unhurried. His voice was icy. "Aegon, you owe me an apology. I told you I would make you pay."
Whoosh—
Aegon froze at the words, his struggles ceasing. He stared at Aemond in shock, as if seeing his brother for the first time.
For the first time, Aemond felt like a stranger to him.
"Don't look at me like that. I'll be leaving soon, but before I go, we need to settle something."
Aemond sat on the edge of the bed, expressionless.
The Storm boys had learned of their father's death, and as soon as the saddle for the stolen lamb was prepared, he would depart for Storm's End to finalize his betrothal.
"Mmmph! Mmmph!"
Aegon resumed his struggles, glaring at his brother with fury, muffled curses spilling from his bound mouth.
It was clear—he was cursing viciously.
"Let him speak," Aemond said coolly, glancing at the man covering Aegon's mouth.
Had Rhaegar been present, he would have noticed Aemond's voice and demeanor were a poor imitation of his own.
The filthy hand lifted, and Aegon gasped for air before immediately shouting, "Aemond, how dare you have me restrained?! I'll break your legs for this!"
"Aegon, you really don't know when to shut up."
Aemond listened to his brother's ranting in silence, then waved a hand.
The two men swiftly yanked the blanket off Aegon, exposing him. One held down each of his legs, forcing them apart.
"Bastards! Get your filthy hands off me! What the hell are you doing?!" Aegon roared in both rage and fear, kicking frantically.
Aemond's eyes were cold as ice. He silently drew a gleaming dagger from behind his waist and murmured, "Apologize to me, or before you're freed, I'll take a leg."
As he spoke, he pressed the dagger against his brother's most vulnerable spot.
"No!!"
Aegon let out a blood-curdling scream.
The cold steel against his warm skin made his legs go stiff, locking in place—he dared not move an inch.
One wrong move, and his future happiness would be over.
Aemond remained unfazed, twirling the dagger lazily as he mused aloud, "Sometimes, Aegon, I envy you. Mother always saved the best for you."
"Aemond, let me go! I won't hold this against you!" Aegon's bravado crumbled, his voice trembling with fear.
Aemond's expression darkened. He nudged the blade against a certain sensitive part. "Rhaegar had Rhaenyra. Mother gave you Helaena. Daeron and I, though… We must marry strangers."
"I don't even want to marry that idiot! If you like her so much, go take her yourself!" Aegon's heart pounded. He was beginning to think his brother had lost his mind.
Aemond shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. "Aegon, what if I turn you into a girl? Then we'd all get a fair share."
Aegon went rigid.
Cold sweat drenched his body in an instant.
Turn him into a girl?
Gods, he was serious—he was really going to cut it off.
Aegon's pupils trembled as he stammered, "Y-You've gone mad enough, haven't you?"
Aemond's gaze turned icy. He suddenly raised the dagger and brought it down toward little Aegon.
"No! I was wrong! I apologize!"
Terrified, Aegon squeezed his eyes shut, pleading frantically in desperation.
He couldn't lose his little brother—just as a Targaryen couldn't lose their dragon.
Squelch—
The blade pierced something, and warm liquid splattered onto Aegon's face.
His eyes rolled back, and he gasped but failed to draw in air. Overwhelmed by fear, he fainted.
"Hahaha…"
Seeing Aegon in such a pathetic state, Aemond burst into laughter. He pulled the dagger from the bed, bringing up tufts of white goose down with it.
"Cough, cough…"
He laughed so hard that he started coughing, tears welling up in his eyes. Pointing at the limp Aegon and his "little Aegon," he mocked loudly, "My dear brother, is that all the courage you have?"
He wasn't truly mad—of course, he didn't believe that chopping off Aegon's manhood would turn him into a woman.
Besides, even if Aegon did turn into a woman, Aemond would never marry a sister with a belly full of flab.
After laughing so hard that his stomach ached, Aemond collapsed onto the bed, waving dismissively at the two men like he was shooing flies.
"Get out. I hid the coin pouch in the cracks of the stable wall."
"Thank you for your generosity, Prince."
The two men were ecstatic and rushed off eagerly to collect their reward.
Aemond didn't care in the slightest. He rested his head on Aegon's leg, savoring the euphoria of revenge.
(End of Chapter)