Chapter 128: Daemon's Temptation
Aemon left the hall and returned to his chambers alone.
He would not yield—not for himself, nor for the two foolish girls.
The Targaryen line had seen both tyrants and benevolent kings.
But in this age of upheaval, what the realm needed was a new conqueror.
...
Meanwhile,
After dinner, Rhaenyra made her way back to the palace by herself.
Her mood was low, a heavy gloom pressing on her chest.
The rumors had been true—Aemon had other lovers.
Perhaps even more than lovers.
"I'm a fool," she whispered bitterly.
The thought stung. She had hoped that one final night of tenderness before leaving might soften Aemon's heart. Instead, the truth mocked her. The green crown had already been placed upon her head.
"Princess!"
Cole called as she neared the doors.
Rhaenyra slipped inside without a glance. "Good night, Ser Cole."
Bang!
The door shut hard before Cole could answer. He stood there, startled.
From her tone and her manner, he could tell she was holding back a storm of anger.
Best not to provoke her.
He shivered slightly and kept his post, watchful and silent.
Inside the chamber, Rhaenyra moved to the round table and reached up to remove her earrings.
She had dressed with such care tonight.
"Damn you, Aemon! I will never forgive you!"
Her hand jerked, catching her ear, and she hissed in pain. Even something so small seemed cursed tonight.
Lowering her gaze, she noticed a wine cup tipped over on the table.
"Hmm?"
She frowned. She had not drunk any wine before leaving earlier.
Someone had been in her room.
Her body tensed. Her eyes swept across the chamber, sharp with suspicion.
Dong, dong!
A muffled thudding came from behind the screen at the foot of the bed.
She froze, ready to call out for her White Knight.
Dong, dong!
The rhythm was steady, almost familiar.
Recognition flickered across her face. She stepped carefully toward the screen.
Nothing.
Only the stone wall, etched with faded carvings.
Click!
Before she could touch it, the wall shifted of its own accord.
Rhaenyra gasped, eyes wide.
The panel swung open like a revolving door, revealing a narrow passage beyond.
A figure leaned lazily against the iron grate, cloaked in black.
"Who are you?"
She backed away.
The hood tilted up, and a face she knew too well appeared beneath it.
"Daemon!?"
Her voice broke in shock.
"Surprised?" Daemon smiled, calm as if nothing were amiss.
Her shock turned swiftly to anger. "How do you know of the secret ways in my room?"
The Red Keep had been rebuilt under Maegor I, its hidden corridors woven like a spider's web. But after it was completed, Maegor had all the craftsmen slain. Since then, the passages had become the stuff of rumor—rat holes lost to time.
Even she had not known her chamber hid such an entry. But Daemon did.
The thought was unsettling.
He shrugged. "You never cared much for the things I knew."
Her face darkened.
"Even so, you cannot just invade my chamber. What are you doing here? Why have you returned?"
Aemon had been right: Daemon's return was no accident.
"Don't be so tense," Daemon said lightly. "I long for a little warmth of family as well."
Rhaenyra forced a smile. "I thought you had no warmth for this family."
For once, he did not deny it. Whether it was the wife and son he had abandoned, or this castle of his youth, he had never felt at home.
"What are you staring at?"
Unnerved, Rhaenyra crossed her arms over her chest.
"You've only grown more beautiful," he said at last, then looked away.
If there was any spark of warmth in this cold house, it came only from his brother—and perhaps his niece.
"Daemon, you should go," Rhaenyra said firmly. She swore she would have the passage sealed the moment he left.
But Daemon's gaze was fierce, more pressing than Aemon's ever was.
"I think the two of us have much to speak of," he said. "For instance, your marriage."
He had watched closely at the tourney. His own son had courted both sides, insulting Viserys and the Sea Serpent alike. The game of alliances was shifting.
He had plans.
"What do you mean?" she asked warily.
"Laena is the Sea Serpent's daughter," Daemon said. "The eldest child of the most powerful lord in the realm. She rides Vhagar. With Laenor's nature, it is not impossible she becomes heir to Driftmark."
Rhaenyra's chin lifted stubbornly. "So what? I will compete with her fairly. Who triumphs remains to be seen."
"You truly believe you can win against her?" His tone was mocking.
"Of course," she snapped. She was heir to the Iron Throne, Princess of Dragonstone, beloved daughter of the King. Her station was higher.
Daemon's smile was thin. "From what I know, you've already lost. That boy has been with Laena for half a year. Lucky she hasn't already swelled with child."
"That is not what a father should say!" Rhaenyra's cheeks flamed. She wanted no part of Aemon's affairs. Let him sleep with Laena, or Alicent—it made no difference. They were all traitors in her eyes, false friends who flocked together.
Daemon said no more, but disappointment clouded his gaze. He had not been wise to come tonight. That boy commanded more favor than he ever had.
"Daemon, leave," she repeated.
He crossed his arms, smirking. "Don't you want to know how Laena won him over?"
"If you don't go, I'll call someone."
Daemon sighed, feigning regret. "Your mother should have taught you such things, but she died too young. There should have been someone to guide you."
"Teach me?" she asked, confused.
"The arts Laena used to seduce him," he said plainly.
Her face burned scarlet.
Of course she had never been taught. Laena was bold, a temptress—who knew what tricks she wielded?
"If you like, I can find someone to show you," Daemon said slyly. "As your uncle, it is also my duty."
"No!" She shook her head furiously. She wasn't foolish enough to follow him into scandal. One whisper of her slipping out with Daemon at night would ruin her forever.
He gestured toward the door. "Summon your White Knight, then. We'll leave by the passage, unseen."
Still she shook her head.
"Don't you want to see the city beyond these walls?" Daemon pressed. "To know the world as it truly is?"
He knew how stifled she felt. Her father kept her cloistered, her movements limited to the Keep and Dragonstone, while Aemon and Laena roamed freely.
Her heart beat faster.
"What do you propose?" she asked, cautious.
"Wherever you wish," he said.
Rhaenyra thought quickly. "Iron Street. I've heard it is the liveliest."
King's Landing was vast. Its streets tangled endlessly. Silk Street with its brothels, Flea Bottom with its filth—but Iron Street was different, home to merchants and wonders from every corner of the world.
"Come then," Daemon said, tossing her a small bundle.
She caught it. Inside were clean, patched clothes of a boy.
She hesitated, then changed. The cloth smelled only faintly of dust.
Knock, knock.
She rapped on the door.
"Your Highness?" Cole opened it—and froze. The princess was dressed like a common lad.
"There's no time. Come with me," she ordered, pulling him inside.
"Wait—"
Before he could resist, she dragged him fully into the chamber. She would not trust Daemon alone. With Ser Cole beside her, she felt safer.
Amazingly, he allowed himself to be pulled along.
...
Midnight.
The fireplace glowed faintly, shadows dancing across the bed.
Aemon lay staring at the beams above, four dragon eggs of different hues resting at his side.
"Squeak—"
On the pillow, a fat golden-nosed rat snored, rump in the air, teeth grinding.
Four eggs and one rat—the only companions he kept near.
Whap!
Aemon flicked a finger, sending the creature tumbling.
"Off, pest."
He rubbed at his brow. "I should have accepted Laena's offer and gone to her chamber. This empty bed is intolerable."
"Squeak!"
The golden-nosed rat squealed indignantly from the floor, its squeaks like curses.
Aemon hurled a pillow at it. Bang. The rat nearly split in two.
"Silence."
Exhaling, he fixed his eyes on the painted beams above. His mind wrestled with the same problem—his uncle and the Sea Serpent. He could not bow. A step back now would be surrender. Yet he could not stand too firm, either. They had power, age, righteousness.
"How do I break this deadlock?"
His frown deepened. The Sea Serpent waited patiently. Daemon maneuvered softly, like water. Together they pressed him, slowly, surely—like a frog boiling alive.
He needed leverage. An edge. Without it, the stalemate would only end in his defeat.
Conflict was inevitable. The worst path, but perhaps the only one.
Suddenly his eyelid twitched. An odd restlessness stirred.
Something was wrong.
He sat up sharply.
The chamber seemed too still, the air too thin. His ears rang less, his breath grew calm, yet unease gnawed at him.
A whim, perhaps. But no—his instincts were screaming.
He replayed the day. Everything had been ordinary. Dinner had passed without incident.
Yet no, it was not so simple. He had left matters unresolved—Laena, Rhaenyra. He had no peace.
"Squeak!"
A grey rat poked from the corner, beady eyes gleaming.
Aemon scowled. "This cursed nest will drive me mad."
The golden-nosed rat crawled back up, squeaking its protest.
"I don't mean you," he muttered, scooping it up and stuffing it against a dragon egg.
He dressed quickly, tucking the indignant creature into his pocket.
There was no doubt left. Something stirred tonight.
And his first stop would be the princess's chambers.
Foolish girl.
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