The musicians still played.
Lutes and pipes wove their bright melodies through the high-vaulted hall of the Red Keep, and the banners of House Targaryen stirred gently in the warmth of torchlight. Wine flowed freely, servants hurried with platters of roast meats and sugared fruits, and the nobles of the Green faction laughed, sang, and danced as though the evening had suffered no interruption at all.
Their merriment rang false.
Across the hall, the nobles aligned with the Blacks sat in grim, unnatural silence. No cups were raised. No laughter answered the music. Faces that moments earlier had been flushed with wine and celebration now hardened into masks of restraint and unease.
At their center sat Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon.
Rhaenyra's hands were clenched tightly in her lap, her knuckles pale and her jaw was set, her dark eyes fixed on nothing at all. Daemon, seated beside her, leaned back in his chair with an air of careless disdain, yet his gaze was sharp, calculating, and cold. Those who knew him well could see the tension coiled beneath his stillness, like a blade held just short of the strike.
King Viserys sat above them all upon the dais, the Iron Throne looming behind him like a jagged shadow. The king's face was drawn and weary. Deep lines carved his brow, and his breath came shallow and uneven. The weight of the night pressed upon him heavily.
"Father," Rhaenyra said at last, her voice low but urgent. "This matter cannot be left as it is. If it is, how are we to explain it to Lord Lyman?"
She did not raise her voice, yet several nearby lords turned their heads all the same.
Viserys leaned closer and hissed, "Enough. Hold your tongue."
His eyes flicked toward the watching nobles before returning to his daughter. "Alan has been at your side and Daemon's throughout the feast. Tell me truthfully. Did either of you say something to him?"
The king's voice trembled, not with fear, but with frustration.
Viserys did not believe the young heir possessed the audacity to provoke Aegon of his own accord. An lord's son would not dare such insolence in this hall. Not in the Red Keep. Not before the assembled court.
Even the heir to a great lord would have thought twice before such a folly.
Rhaenyra lowered her head. Her lips parted, then closed again. She could not meet her father's eyes.
Silence stretched.
Finally, Daemon spoke.
"It was me," he said easily. "A careless remark, nothing more. I did not expect the boy to act upon it. Nor did I expect Prince Aemond to behave with such utter lawlessness."
Viserys's mouth tightened.
"Whether it was careless or calculated, you know the truth of it in your heart," the king said sharply. "Even now, you choose half-words and evasion."
Daemon did not reply. His expression did not change, but something dark flickered in his eyes.
Rhaenyra drew a steadying breath. "Father," she said quietly, "you must support me in this. If you do not, I will lose the confidence of my supporters."
Her voice wavered despite her effort to remain composed. Regret gnawed at her. She had allowed herself to believe that a small humiliation would weaken Aegon's standing. Instead, it had hardened his position and cast her own faction into peril.
"If this is mishandled," she continued, "those lords who already waver will drift away. And Lord Lyman will demand an answer."
Viserys closed his eyes and sighed.
"And how would you have me support you?" he asked.
"Detain Prince Aemond," Rhaenyra replied. "In the name of investigation only. A formality. It will reassure those who stand with me and show Lord Lyman that the Crown takes this matter seriously."
Viserys's eyes snapped open.
"You would have me detain my son?" he said incredulously. "On what grounds?"
He gestured weakly with one hand. "Do you truly believe those children will submit to such an order? I have already confined them. You would go further still?"
The king shook his head, incredulous and exhausted.
Daemon leaned forward then, his voice low and dangerous. "You are the king. Your word is law. Any who defy it commit rebellion."
He met Viserys's gaze unflinchingly. "And I would gladly wield Dark Sister in your name to put such rebellion down."
For a long moment, the brothers stared at one another.
Then Viserys laughed, a brittle, humorless sound.
"I am fortunate," he said softly, "that I named Rhaenyra my heir, and not you."
Daemon's face twitched. The faintest crack appeared in his composure.
"So be it," he said coldly. "If you will not act, then I will."
Viserys lurched forward. "Daemon. What are you doing?"
Daemon did not answer him.
"Rien," he said instead, turning sharply. "Bring your men. Take Prince Aemond into custody. Now."
Rien Ryck did not hesitate. He signaled at once, and moments later a squad of gold-cloaked City Watchmen rushed into the hall, their boots pounding against the stone.
The feast shattered.
Nobles cried out and scrambled backward as the Gold Cloaks advanced. Benches scraped across the floor. Cups overturned, wine spilling like blood upon the rushes.
"Prince Aemond," Rien said sternly, "you are requested to cooperate with an investigation. This matter must be explained to Lord Lyman."
At his signal, two Gold Cloaks stepped forward, hands reaching for the prince.
Aemond Targaryen did not even look up.
He calmly sliced a piece of squab from his plate and tasted it, his expression serene.
Prince Aegon, seated beside him, set his wine cup down.
"Slandering members of the royal family is high treason," Aegon said clearly. "In the name of House Targaryen, I sentence you to death."
Before anyone could speak, the guards who had returned with Aegon from the Stepstones moved as one. From beneath their cloaks, they drew compact Myrish crossbows.
The bolts flew.
Three dull impacts echoed through the hall. The two Gold Cloaks fell instantly. Rien Ryck collapsed beside them, blood blooming across his chest.
Chaos erupted anew.
Daemon seized a short sword from a fallen guard and leveled it at Aegon. "Assaulting the City Watch is treason as well," he snarled. "Yield, or I will make you."
Viserys coughed violently, clutching the arm of his throne. "Daemon," he rasped. "Stop this madness."
Corlys Velaryon, silent until now, leaned toward Rhaenys. "Go," he murmured. "Ride Meleys. Now."
Rhaenys frowned. "Is it truly so dire?"
"Yes," Corlys murmured urgently. "Trust me. Rhaenyra and Daemon are pressed hard now, and Aegon will not yield. Go at once."
Rhaenys followed his gaze.
Daemon stood in the center of the hall, a drawn sword leveled directly at Prince Aegon. The torchlight gleamed along the steel, and the space between the two men seemed to hum with restrained violence. Around them, guards shifted uneasily, hands tight on hilts and spear shafts.
Rhaenys made her choice.
Without another word, she turned and strode from the hall, her crimson skirts whispering against the stone.
The Greens' strength in King's Landing far outweighed that of the Blacks. If dragons were to be mounted, whoever rose first would hold the advantage. Rhaenys knew this well. Meleys had waited idle for too long.
Otto Hightower noticed her departure at once.
His eyes narrowed, and he moved quickly through the crowd, stopping at Prince Aemond's side. "Rhaenys has gone to her dragon," he said in a low voice. "You must do the same. If you delay, Aegon will be placed at a grave disadvantage."
Aemond did not hesitate. He set down the half-eaten squab in his hand and rose. "I will go now. Daeron, come with me."
Before the boy could take a step, Queen Alicent seized his arm. "No," she said sharply. "You will not. He is too young."
Daeron struggled, his face flushed. "Mother, Tessarion can fight. I can go. I will not be a burden."
Alicent tightened her grip. "You will stay."
Helaena rose instead.
"Let Aemond and I go together," she said quietly. "Daeron will remain here."
Her tone admitted no argument. She turned and walked toward the doors without waiting for permission, pale hair falling loose down her back. Aemond followed at once.
Behind them, the hall hardened into a battlefield.
Daemon's Gold Cloaks numbered just over twenty, yet the Hightower household guards were far more numerous, and when combined with the hardened men Prince Aegon had brought back from the Stepstones, their strength exceeded fifty.
Steel rang as swords were drawn.
Ser Gwayne Hightower stepped forward, long sword in hand, positioning himself squarely opposite Daemon. Without looking away, he barked orders, sending several men running to summon further reinforcements.
Daemon answered in kind, shouting commands to his own captains.
Between them, the City Watch stood divided. Each faction held influence over thousands of cloaks throughout the city. The balance was perilously even.
Within the Red Keep itself, Hightower men were everywhere. Corridors, stairwells, armories. The Greens were not afraid of armed confrontation, nor even of dragonfire, should it come to that.
Amid the rising din, Aegon rose from his seat.
He did not spare Daemon so much as a glance.
Instead, he walked calmly toward the broad marble steps near the dais. His boots echoed in the sudden hush that followed him. When he reached a place where all could see him, he stopped and turned.
His gaze swept the hall.
"What is treason?" Aegon asked.
His voice was clear and steady, carrying effortlessly over the murmurs and clatter of steel.
"Prince Daemon claims that my killing of three Gold Cloaks, men who publicly insulted members of the royal family, is treason."
He spread his hands slightly. "I do not know by what law he makes this claim."
A ripple of unease passed through the nobles.
"For months," Aegon continued, "my brother and I fought in the Stepstones. We bled there. We watched men die there. We reclaimed the honor this realm lost in the First War and again in the Second."
His voice grew stronger with each word.
"Now the sea lanes are secure. The pirates are broken. The merchants of the Free Cities no longer dare mock or prey upon the traders of the Seven Kingdoms."
He turned his head slightly, meeting the eyes of lords who had profited from those restored routes.
"My brother and I fought for the realm. We slew its enemies. We held its borders."
He paused.
"We sacrificed for this Kingdom."
Then his hand rose, finger extending.
"And him."
Aegon pointed directly at Daemon Targaryen.
"A man who coveted the Iron Throne long before tonight. A man who failed, and never forgave the world for it."
Murmurs rippled through the hall.
"Jealous. Bitter. Accomplished nothing of lasting worth."
Aegon's voice sharpened. "He believes that standing beside my sister as her future consort grants him license to do as he pleases. To slander those who have served the realm with blood and steel."
"And then," Aegon said coldly, "to claim their victories for himself."
He let his hand fall.
"This," he said, his gaze sweeping the nobles one last time, "is what treason looks like."
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A/N:
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