"Hmm?"
Rhaenyra quietly stared at him without saying a word.
Rhaegar's smile remained unchanged as he lifted his lance with effort and spoke gently, "Rhaenyra, this belongs to you."
The noble ladies gathered their gazes upon them, filled with envy and admiration.
Helena pulled Marisanne along, running up excitedly, their eyes fixed on the purple garland.
Jeyne, Margaery, Alicent, and many other women all watched the scene unfold.
Receiving the crown of love and beauty was an honor a woman could proudly boast about for a lifetime.
Rhaenyra gently shook her head, shifting her gaze away from Rhaegar and down to her flat stomach.
Rhaegar was slightly taken aback, his raised lance stiffening for a moment.
"Neigh~~"
The white horse beneath him let out a cry, carrying the young prince past the platform.
Rhaegar's eyes flickered as he held the reins, letting the warhorse move forward.
The white horse moved gracefully, its hooves tapping against the ground as it trotted around the tournament grounds, once again receiving the nobles' cheers.
Rhaegar thought for a moment and quickly understood the issue.
Before long, he rode the white horse back to the platform.
"Prince, hurry up and hand over the crown of love and beauty!"
A bold young lady called out in a crisp voice, standing at the edge of the fence and waving enthusiastically.
Once she spoke up, the noble ladies swarmed forward, their eyes on Rhaegar like hungry wolves eyeing a feast.
"Brother, over here!!"
Helena beamed, standing on her tiptoes and waving.
She wasn't the only one—Jeyne and Janyce both raised their hands, their gazes burning with anticipation.
Since Rhaenyra refused the crown of love and beauty, they figured they might as well share in the prize.
Rhaegar said nothing, merely smiling as he skillfully stopped beneath Rhaenyra again and lifted his lance. "Rhaenyra, I prepared a gift for you."
As he spoke, he reached into his crimson cloak with his left hand and, like a magician performing a trick, pulled out a sheathed rapier.
The scabbard was made of black leather, the hilt gleamed silver like the moon, and the crossguard bore an intricate engraving of a radiant dawn.
Seeing that it was a lady's one-handed sword, Rhaenyra's eyes flickered with curiosity, though she made no move to take it.
Shing!
With a slight flick of his left hand, the rapier slid from its sheath, revealing a slender, two-finger-wide blade with a pale silver hue, rippled with water-like patterns.
Rhaegar raised the sword high, his expression solemn. "Rhaenyra, I forged this for you—a Valyrian steel sword, as fine as Dark Sister."
Since childhood, Rhaenyra had admired Queen Visenya, even styling her hair in the same intricate braids.
Dark Sister had been gifted to their aunt Rhaenys, officially designated as a Targaryen princely heirloom.
For this Valyrian steel rapier, Rhaegar had melted down the long-hidden Valyrian steel sword Truth, just to gather enough material for a second blade.
A rare and priceless Valyrian steel sword was now before her, leaving Rhaenyra momentarily dazed before she finally spoke. "Does it have a name?"
"Valyrian Steel Sword—The Light of the Realm!"
Rhaegar gazed at her deeply and said, "It belongs to you alone. As the third official family sword, it will carry your title through generations."
The appearance of a brand-new Valyrian steel sword instantly drew countless envious glances.
Among the tens of thousands gathered at the tournament grounds, Valyrian steel swords were few and far between.
House Targaryen possessed only two ancestral swords: Blackfyre and Dark Sister.
The well-informed nobles knew that the crown prince had once captured a Valyrian steel sword during the Three Daughters' War and reforged it into Dragonclaw.
Now, at the tournament, his uniquely designed Dragonclaw was missing, replaced instead by a pitch-black Valyrian steel sword with an unfamiliar name.
And now, yet another Valyrian steel rapier—The Light of the Realm—had emerged.
It was hard not to wonder just how many Valyrian steel swords the royal family had hidden away or seized over the years.
Rhaenyra noticed the murmurs and lowered herself slightly to take The Light of the Realm, hugging it tightly against her chest.
Named after her own title, the sword meant the world to her beneath her calm exterior.
"Rhaenyra."
Seeing her accept the sword, Rhaegar smiled, expecting her to take the garland next.
Rhaenyra glanced at him before hesitating, then tossed something down. Her voice was indifferent. "My gift in return."
She held the rapier carefully in both hands, but still refused to touch the garland within arm's reach.
Rhaegar was momentarily confused but instinctively caught the small, drifting object.
Looking down, he found a lock of silver-gold hair tied with a thin red string.
Rhaegar frowned slightly, his gaze unconsciously shifting toward Helena, who was chatting cheerfully atop the platform.
Helena was watching him, her fair, delicate face filled with a bright smile.
Beside her, Aegon, Tommond, and Daeron stood together.
Rhaegar's mind swirled with questions as he glanced at them before looking away.
Silver-gold hair and violet eyes were Valyrian traits, common among the Targaryens.
Aside from that, some had platinum hair, some honey-colored…
Their eye colors ranged from deep violet to pale lavender and even blue.
Even within House Targaryen, subtle differences existed.
For instance, those who strictly followed traditional bloodline purity weren't just silver-haired—they also had naturally straight hair.
His great-grandfather Jaehaerys and grandfather Baelon both had long, straight silver-gold hair. His father Viserys and uncle Daemon were the same.
House Arryn, from the Vale, also had predominantly straight-haired members. His mother, Aemma Arryn, had pure silver-gold, straight hair as well.
As a result, both Rhaegar and Rhaenyra inherited pure silver-gold, straight hair—flawless in terms of lineage.
On the other hand, Viserys' children with Alicent had slight variations.
Aegon, Helena, and Aemond all had silver-gold curly hair, with the latter two possessing lighter and darker shades of violet eyes, rather than the signature deep purple.
Only little Daeron had the ideal silver-gold straight hair and violet eyes.
This was one of the many reasons both Viserys and Rhaegar favored Daeron.
"Neigh~~"
As Rhaegar pondered deeply, his white horse took a step forward, moving away from the platform.
His expression flickered with uncertainty—he had a strong suspicion about the owner of the hair.
It wasn't Rhaenyra's.
It wasn't Helena's.
Neither House Velaryon nor House Celtigar had made any claims.
Looking across the entire Riverlands, there was only one possibility—the two illegitimate daughters he had hidden away.
There was no doubt something had gone wrong, and the hair had somehow fallen into Rhaenyra's hands.
No wonder Tommond had been investigating for two days but remained silent about the matter.
It seemed that he had been warned by Rhaenyra and dared not interfere in the siblings' private matters.
Rhaegar lowered his head with a faint smile, but the excitement in his heart was quickly extinguished.
With Sara's methods, there was no way Rhaenyra didn't know that he had long since severed ties with the bastard daughter.
This was something that could have been handled privately—embarrassing him during the tournament was truly inconsiderate.
"Hiss—Gah—"
A deep, rumbling growl suddenly echoed. The gluttonous beast flapped its jet-black wings, hovering in place and exuding an oppressive aura of intimidation.
Dragons were the most direct expressions of a Targaryen's emotions, and its rider's feelings at this moment were complicated.
"Hyah!"
Rhaegar let out a low command, riding his white horse around the tournament grounds.
He casually rested his prized lance on his shoulder while his clenched left hand ignited with flames, burning away insignificant matters.
In sixteen years of siblinghood, the number of times they had argued could be counted on one hand.
The last time he had been this angry was when Rhaenyra had been lured into a brothel by Daemon, and he had ordered the Erik brothers to set fire to the place to rescue her.
His emotions were conflicted.
He was disappointed in Rhaenyra for being so petty, yet furious at himself for ever getting involved with a bastard daughter.
His most glorious moment had now been turned into a humiliation.
As he circled the tournament grounds, the cheers from the audience noticeably dwindled.
The nobles weren't fools. The Crown Prince had twice presented the Crown of Love and Beauty, only to be rejected both times. There was certainly an underlying reason.
In the history of tournaments, there had been knights whose crowns were refused, but never had someone of such high status been rejected twice in a row.
Up in the grandstand, Viserys' expression darkened, the previous joy wiped from his face.
He had never imagined that a quarrel between his eldest son and daughter would escalate to this degree.
He cast a subtle glance at a tall, thin maester draped in a scholar's robe, sitting in the corner. Feeling frustrated, Viserys took another deep sip of his drink.
That maester was named Muqun, a court scribe sent by the Citadel.
Every detail of the tournament would be meticulously recorded by him.
On the field, Rhaegar's white horse returned to the base of the grandstand for the third time.
"Hyah~"
This time, Rhaegar's smile disappeared. He no longer lingered beneath Rhaenyra but instead let his horse roam freely.
Wherever the white horse stopped, he would admire the scenery.
And truth be told, the young ladies on the grandstand were all quite beautiful—each one eager and enthusiastic.
Before long, his horse came to a halt beneath Jeyne, who wore a form-fitting brown gown. Almost as if sensing something, the horse stopped of its own accord.
Jeyne rested her hands on the railing, gazing at him with concern.
Rhaegar tilted his head up, lifted his lance to reveal the violet crown, and smiled. "Would you like to be my queen?"
"Of course!"
Jeyne responded without hesitation, though a trace of helplessness flickered in her eyes.
She glanced briefly at Rhaenyra on the other side before winking at Rhaegar—but she did not reach out to take the crown.
Jeyne loved Rhaegar, and she certainly desired the Crown of Love and Beauty.
Had he offered it to her during the first two attempts, she might have taken it, even if it meant openly defying Rhaenyra.
But reason told her that this was a crucial moment in Rhaegar and Rhaenyra's quarrel. If she took the crown now, she could end up offending both sides.
"Heh." Rhaegar chuckled to himself and continued riding forward.
Looking up, he saw the eager gazes of the ladies at the railing.
His white horse eventually stopped beneath Margaery of Highgarden.
Margaery was dressed in a crimson gown that complemented her light red curls and delicate features, making her look like a blooming rose.
The raised lance lowered before her, causing the "rose" to light up with excitement—she nearly reached out to snatch the crown immediately.
Margaery took a deep breath, her low-cut dress accentuating her ample bosom as her brown eyes flickered with calculation.
She had persuaded her father to let her represent Highgarden at the tournament for one reason—to establish a connection with the Crown Prince.
While most common nobles were unaware, some well-informed great houses knew about Rhaegar's close relationship with Jeyne.
Jeyne's early years of rule relied on the regency of Yohn Royce in the Eyrie, and later, she allied with Rhaenyra—then the Iron Throne's heir—supporting each other as women in power.
Even so, her rule remained shaky, with many Vale lords secretly opposing a woman inheriting the Eyrie.
Rhaegar first led a brutal campaign to exterminate the rebellious mountain clans. Then, he tacitly allowed Jeyne to purge dissidents, suppressing rebellious Arryn branches and disloyal Vale lords.
Only then did Jeyne truly secure her position as Duchess of the Eyrie.
Though her secret relationship with Rhaegar defied societal norms and was looked down upon, the political benefits were undeniable.
Lord Tyrell of Highgarden had lost his male heirs, leaving Margaery his sole unmarried daughter.
With Jeyne inheriting the Eyrie and Cassandra inheriting Storm's End as precedents, Margaery yearned to claim Highgarden for herself.
It was not a Targaryen prince she sought, unlike Cassandra.
That was almost impossible.
The Queen had three sons from a different mother than Rhaegar. One of them marrying a noblewoman from another kingdom was already exceptional—there would not be a second.
"Huff..."
Margaery steadied her nerves, cupped her face with both hands, and gazed at him with infatuation. "Prince, I am honored by your favor, but I believe this crown already has an owner."
Any intelligent observer could see that this crown was a hot potato.
Rhaegar shook his head and continued forward.
His white horse lifted its hooves and soon passed Helena.
"Brother…"
Helena's eyes sparkled with excitement, but before she could say another word, Maris shut her mouth with a hand.
Maris held her friend tightly and whispered in her ear, "Don't be foolish. This won't do you any good."
"Mmmph—!"
Helena struggled, letting out muffled protests.
She wasn't an idiot; she knew something was off.
But if Rhaenyra didn't want it, what was the harm in her taking it? It wasn't as if she were stealing it.
Rhaegar glanced at her from the corner of his eye but did not look back as he turned his horse around.
He could give the crown to any noble lady—except Helena.
The little girl harbored impure thoughts about him, and he could not encourage them.
After circling the grounds, his white horse returned beneath Rhaenyra.
Rhaenyra's expression remained indifferent, her slender sword resting in her arms. She showed no sign of impatience.
The Targaryen bloodline carried a magic that drew its kin together.
No matter how far Rhaegar wandered, he would always return to her.
He looked up, his gaze as calm as still water.
For a moment, their eyes met, and through that gaze, they saw into each other's thoughts.
Rhaegar reached into his cloak and pulled out an ancient gold coin, hiding it behind his cape. A faint flame flickered in his palm.
Using Dragonstone's shaping magic, he melted and reforged the coin.
Moments later, a dark golden dragon-shaped ring emerged, barely fitting onto the tip of his lance, offered alongside the violet crown.
Rhaegar's clear eyes flickered as he sighed, "Sister, I remember everything."
From the moment he became aware, Rhaenyra had always been the one who treated him the best.
When he was in a coma before the age of three, Rhaenyra would hum lullabies to him.
When he became the crown prince at six, Rhaenyra set aside past grievances and devoted herself to raising him.
The siblings had shared three years of closeness, and now, there was new life growing inside Rhaenyra.
Rhaegar could not think of a single reason to turn against her.
A mist of tears clouded Rhaenyra's eyes as she leaned down, removing her ring and floral crown. She bit her lower lip tightly. "As long as you remember."
She was simply frustrated that Rhaegar always kept secrets from her, sneaking off to be with other women.
If he were any other man, she would have gritted her teeth and endured it.
But they were bound by blood, born to belong to each other.
No matter how insignificant the connection, in her eyes, it was still a betrayal.
Rhaegar had to atone for it!
Sniffling, Rhaenyra placed the laurel crown atop her head and slid the dragon-shaped ring onto the index finger of her left hand, replacing the many gemstone rings on both hands.
She had always loved extravagant accessories, whether it was luxurious lace or dazzling jewels.
Whenever she felt tense, she would spin her rings to ease her inner turmoil.
"Hiss—Grrr—"
The Devourer let out a low growl, its wings flapping as it slowly descended, stirring up a violent gust before landing just outside the jousting grounds.
Rhaegar dismounted swiftly and strode up the platform.
With all eyes upon him, he scooped Rhaenyra into his arms and declared with unyielding determination, "We're going back to Dragonstone!"
He had a ceremony to prepare for—everything else was beneath his notice.
Support me by leaving a comment, voting, and visiting my Patreon at belamy20