Rhaegar exerted considerable effort to pull out more than a dozen valyrian steel spears.
Blood gushed from the wounds, dragon blood spilling onto his body, burning through his loose night robe and sticking to his skin in a sticky mess.
"Rhaegar!"
A soft cry came from behind as Rhaenyra hurried over, her long hair still unkempt from sleep.
"Don't come any closer!"
Rhaegar was startled and quickly warned her.
"Hiss—Gaaah!"
The Gluttonous One raised its head and roared, green dragonfire seeping from its jaws, its emerald vertical pupils full of vigilance.
It was injured and in a foul mood.
Rhaegar placed both hands on its snout and scolded, "Gluttonous One, focus on healing!"
Huff—
The dragon snorted in disdain, exhaling a heavy breath through its nostrils before turning its head away, refusing to acknowledge him.
Foolish rider!
The Dragonkeepers and the castle guards of Dragonstone arrived in groups, fearfully gazing at the blood-drenched, pitch-black beast.
The Gluttonous One already had a terrifying, almost demonic appearance, and now, drenched in blood, it looked even more sinister.
Rhaegar stepped forward and instructed them firmly, "Leave it be. It can heal on its own."
The Gluttonous One had consumed Essence of Life, making its vitality extraordinarily strong.
Its left wing had a fractured bone, which was troublesome, but the rest of the wounds were negligible.
The older Dragonkeepers nodded and cautiously surrounded the dragon from a safe distance, holding wooden staffs.
The castle guards split into two lines, standing before the black stone fortress, prepared to block any noble guests who might approach.
"Rhaegar, how is the Gluttonous One?"
Rhaenyra's face was filled with concern; she still didn't know the full situation.
Rhaegar shook his head. "It's nothing serious. But the wild dragon got away."
A wounded wild dragon fleeing into the skies of the Smoking Sea could have serious consequences.
"The Gluttonous One was attacked by humans?"
Rhaenyra glanced around and saw the valyrian steel spears scattered across the ground.
Valyrian steel wasn't something ordinary industry could produce—it was incredibly expensive.
Rhaegar placed a hand on her stomach and smiled. "Don't worry about it. Let's go back to the Stone Drum Tower first."
Gurgle gurgle~~
Rhaenyra had more questions, but her stomach growled like a ringing bell, causing her cheeks to flush red.
Rhaegar raised an eyebrow, took her hand, and led her back to the castle.
The Stone Drum Tower - The Great Hall
The moment Rhaegar stepped inside, he saw his father, Viserys, and his aunt, Rhaenys, standing by the entrance with a large gathering of people.
"What happened to the Gluttonous One?"
Viserys's expression was somber as he spoke first.
The power of the Gluttonous One was undeniable, and the commotion it had caused had alarmed them all.
Rhaegar glanced around the room and replied seriously, "It's not badly hurt. The wild dragon it was tracking managed to escape, though it was injured."
His eyes swept over Daemon, who stood at the edge, watching the drama unfold. Then, he stepped forward and spoke firmly, "Uncle, that wild dragon won't get far. Gather your men and search every inch of the Stepstones and the Summer Sea."
Based on the images the Gluttonous One had relayed to him, the wild dragon had barely escaped being gutted—it had lost balance when its tail was torn apart. Flying all the way back to the Smoking Sea was impossible.
If they acted fast, they might even be able to capture it alive.
Daemon's eyes narrowed slightly, then he nodded. "I'll send word and have the area searched thoroughly."
Though he wasn't particularly fond of his nephew, he understood the urgency of the situation.
A rogue wild dragon couldn't be allowed to fall into the wrong hands.
After handling the matter, Rhaegar gave a few more instructions before taking Rhaenyra upstairs.
Following behind them, hands clasped, was a man dressed in a black-and-white robe—Tormund.
Back in the Bedchamber
Rhaenyra was starving. The moment they entered, she grabbed her breakfast and started devouring it.
Rhaegar sat beside her, but he had no appetite. His gaze was locked on the intelligence minister standing at the door.
"Prince," Tormund greeted gently.
Rhaegar let out a cold snort, staring at him without speaking.
This man had been so easily bought off by Rhaenyra—did he really have the nerve to show his face?
Tormund was sharp-minded and sighed apologetically. "The princess said that if I meddled in your private affairs, my sister would never return from the Vale."
"Baolan is my subordinate. Besides, she was working for Lady Jeyne." Rhaegar's tone was indifferent.
Rhaenyra paused mid-bite, then continued eating, taking small bites of her bread.
Tormund's voice was smooth. "The princess advised me to be sensible about my choices."
Rhaegar's expression darkened. He turned his head to look at Rhaenyra, who was munching away, her cheeks puffed like a little squirrel.
She silently turned her back to him, revealing only a cascade of silver hair.
Rhaegar took a deep breath, waved his hand like swatting away a fly, and said in a low voice, "Send word to Syrio. Have him monitor the movements of the Three Daughters and Volantis at all times."
"As you wish."
Tormund smiled faintly and stepped out with light, graceful steps.
Rhaegar rubbed his forehead in frustration and tore into a piece of bread.
Tormund had been sickly as a child, requiring years of treatment from the Maesters to build up his health.
Perhaps it was Baolan's overbearing nature, but the young man had developed an oddly delicate, almost feminine demeanor.
Three Days Later
The guests who had come for the ceremony gradually departed, and a new wave of visitors arrived at Dragonstone.
A three-masted sailing ship was anchored on the sea, while a small boat carried a group of lavishly dressed foreigners to shore.
Royal Guardsmen Ser Stephan and Ser Lorent were responsible for receiving them, waiting before the Blackstone Gate.
"Screeech…"
As the group stepped onto the long stone bridge behind the gate, a sharp screech pierced the sky. A massive crimson figure soared through the misty clouds.
"My gods! It's that blood wyrm."
Leading the group was a middle-aged man with a round face and neatly groomed beard, exuding an air of wealth.
He was the one who cried out in astonishment, his eyes filled with envy as he gazed at Caraxes.
Lorent's expression remained solemn as he said in a deep voice, "Prince Reggio, it would be best to maintain silence on the long bridge."
"The White Knight, His Highness was merely admiring the dragons of House Targaryen. I hope you won't take offense."
A long-faced man with thick sideburns and shoulder-length black hair spoke, a golden balance sigil pinned to his chest.
Lorent did not look at him, replying indifferently, "Dragonstone is full of dragons. Travelers from afar would do well to be cautious."
With that, he and the silent Ser Stephan led the way, their cold demeanor making it clear that these guests were not entirely welcome.
The visitors were Prince Reggio of Pentos, accompanied by three high-ranking ministers responsible for trade, war, and justice.
Some were not too pleased with their presence—the Kingsguard made sure to establish that from the start.
Prince Reggio's brown eyes flickered with amusement before he chuckled. "Come now, the sights of Dragonstone are truly rare to behold."
As they walked along the long stone bridge, thick mist surrounded them.
Glancing down from the bridge, one could see the rolling green hills and towering mountains below, as though they were walking atop the peaks themselves.
"Screeech…"
Another dragon roar echoed. A massive golden dragon burst through the mist above, playfully diving over the group, stirring fierce sea winds in its wake.
Before the Stone Drum Tower.
Two figures stood silently, watching as the guests emerged from the mist, approaching the far end of the long stone bridge.
Rhaegar's expression was calm. His silver-gold hair was woven into a single braid, cascading naturally down his back. His violet eyes were as still as water.
He wore a white inner tunic beneath a crimson vest.
A long white pleated skirt embroidered with red dragon flames draped over his legs, the patterns appearing almost like splashes of paint.
A black belt wrapped around his waist, at its center an obsidian dragon sigil with twin emerald eyes, narrow and slitted like a predator's.
To his right, Daemon stood with a smirk, clad in a simple black robe.
Rhaegar glanced at him, the corners of his lips twitching upward despite himself.
After the coronation, his wardrobe had been entirely entrusted to Rhaenyra, becoming increasingly refined and elegant.
Though it had cost a small fortune, it was well worth it.
"The Prince of Pentos is quite wealthy. He'll bring you a gift that will surely catch your eye," Daemon remarked suddenly, his deep gaze fixed on the approaching guests.
Rhaegar responded flatly, "I once looted the Rogare Bank. I'm not exactly in need of gold to feed my family."
"Pentos has suffered under the Three Daughters for years. He could be a valuable and loyal ally."
Daemon ignored the jab, his tone brimming with confidence.
Rhaegar remained indifferent. "Uncle, they are your guests. As long as you don't anger Father, that's all that matters."
As the two conversed, the Pentoshi delegation finally crossed the long stone bridge.
"Your Highness, the guests have arrived."
Lorent stood tall, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Rhaegar nodded. "You have my thanks, Ser."
"Simply fulfilling my duty."
Lorent's voice was firm as he and Stephan took their places on either side of the crown prince.
Surrounded by his ministers, Prince Reggio strode forward, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Daemon. He greeted him warmly, "Prince Daemon! It has been far too long."
"You are most welcome. I, too, have missed the fine wines of Pentos, my prince."
Daemon grinned but did not move from his spot.
Reggio had to step forward himself before Daemon gave him a perfunctory pat on the arm.
His gaze briefly flickered over a foreign woman in the entourage—dark-haired, with olive skin—before returning to Reggio.
Rhaegar observed silently, rolling his eyes inwardly.
He remembered quite clearly that Daemon had more than once cursed Pentoshi wine as no better than horse piss.
At that moment, Prince Reggio turned his sharp gaze toward him. Still holding Daemon's hand, he asked humbly, "Prince, you haven't yet introduced me to this handsome young lord."
Daemon's smile was thin as he introduced, "My brother's eldest son. You Pentoshi call him the Ashmaker."
Prince Reggio's face instantly brightened. He stepped forward, eager to shake Rhaegar's hand, and laughed heartily. "Prince Rhaegar Targaryen! I have long heard tales of your name—it is an honor to finally meet you."
The ministers behind him also nodded in greeting, offering warm smiles.
Rhaegar, however, ignored the gesture entirely. He clasped his hands behind his back and chuckled softly, "I have heard of your name as well. Now, please, enter the castle."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked into the Stone Drum Tower.
The two Kingsguard followed without hesitation, leaving the delegation standing there, momentarily dumbfounded.
It was only the armored Dragonguards who stepped forward to welcome them properly, carrying trays of salt and bread as a formal gesture of hospitality.
Prince Reggio froze, his smile stiffening as he looked at Daemon with an awkward expression.
He was the Prince of Pentos, even if his power was slowly being eroded by the forty great families of the city. He was still the ruler of a Free City.
Daemon pondered for a moment before casually remarking, "It seems he does not welcome you."
Blunt and honest, with no attempt to soften the truth.
Inside the Stone Drum Tower.
Rhaegar's expression remained impassive as he ascended the stairs, rubbing his hand against his robe.
Rhaenyra was with child. He needed to maintain proper hygiene—he couldn't simply shake hands with just anyone.
Lorent noticed and straightened his posture even more, aligning his stance with the crown prince's dignified presence.
Upon reaching the tower's central hall, they passed through a grand open doorway, where Kingsguard Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk stood watch on either side.
"Your Highness."
Both knights greeted in unison.
Rhaegar inclined his head slightly and stepped inside.
The hall was already filled with courtiers.
At the far end sat a throne, forged of black stone in a manner reminiscent of the Iron Throne. King Viserys occupied it, his golden crown resting atop his brow.
The King, clad in regal finery, frowned and asked, "Have they arrived?"
"Daemon is leading them in," Rhaegar answered.
As he spoke, Daemon entered, leading the Pentoshi delegation through the doorway into the great hall.
(End of Chapter)