A long string of titles poured out like they cost nothing.
Ser Gerold finished the announcement and felt his throat go dry.
"Looks like I'm getting the same treatment my little sister Daenerys got," Daeron thought with a faint smile.
Behind him, Shaena led their two younger brothers into the formal occasion. Mother Rhaella hadn't come—her pregnancy was too far along.
"Prince Daeron, my respects."
"Prince! Princess—"
The lords and ladies were unusually warm, showering the Targaryen siblings with greetings and flattery.
Daeron exchanged pleasantries for a minute, then took a seat close to the Iron Throne.
The feast had been laid out with real pomp. The Iron Throne itself stayed untouched, but the tables in front of it had been replaced with the king and queen's personal banquet setup. Lanterns and banners hung everywhere, and cheerful music filled the hall.
Daeron scanned the room. His gaze met Tywin's.
As Hand of the King, Tywin sat at the main table in the seat of honor beside the king.
Their eyes locked for a heartbeat, then both looked away—understanding each other perfectly.
"Teacher still wants to prop me up so his own position stays safe," Daeron thought.
The rebellion was crushed. House Lannister might not have earned much glory, but they'd suffered for it and would still claim their share of the spoils. Tywin had already reached the highest non-royal office. There was nowhere left to climb. If Aerys had a bad day, he could strip the Handship away on a whim.
And with dragons back—even if they were in the hands of the second son—Aerys was feeling bold again. Look at him, throwing this huge feast and acting outgoing for once. Aerys's fear of Tywin had dropped to an all-time low.
If Tywin wanted to keep his power, he couldn't let Aerys run wild. He needed someone to rein the king in. Daeron was the perfect candidate.
"Better a young prince I have a teacher-student bond with than a terrible king."
Tywin looked away, already planning how to propose the regency title once the feast ended. With a Regent Prince in place, the king and the Prince of Dragonstone would both take a backseat.
A long moment later, the feast officially began.
Aerys strode in wearing magnificent royal robes and his golden crown, chest puffed out like a conqueror. He hadn't carried himself like this since the Defiance of Duskendale.
"I am the king. I am the unrivaled king," he kept repeating to himself as he surveyed the lords, his expression growing more arrogant by the second.
Thud.
He dropped into his seat. The entire hall fell silent, waiting.
"The rebellion is over," Aerys declared, voice hoarse but loud enough. "Every last traitor who dared rise against me has been captured. Their heads will be chopped off and mounted on spikes along the battlements as a warning to every ambitious bastard on this continent."
Silence.
The hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
The lords glanced at each other, trying to process the king's words.
Then the cheering exploded—nobles roaring as if they were celebrating House Targaryen's greatest victory.
"Ha… hahaha!"
Aerys blinked, realized he was being cheered for, and broke into a wild grin. He was in an excellent mood.
And when Aerys was in a good mood, he liked to kill people.
He fixed his eyes on his second son and boomed, "Boy! Where are the ringleaders of this four-kingdom rebellion? Bring them to me. I'll deal with them personally—off with their heads!"
Daeron ignored him and calmly sipped his iridium-star milk from a large bottle. The farm was already producing wine—expensive stuff made from ancient fruits—but he was still a kid. Kids drank milk.
"Boy, are you deaf?!"
Aerys grew irritated.
Lord Corlton quickly covered the king's mouth and whispered urgently, "Your Grace, the prince has earned great merit in putting down the rebellion. This is the time for generous rewards. We can discuss the rebel leaders after the feast."
Aerys tried to shove the Master of Coin aside.
Tywin rose to his feet and spoke in a calm, measured voice. "Your Grace, given Prince Daeron's achievements, what reward do you have in mind?"
Aerys froze. His arrogant posture deflated slightly.
It wasn't exactly fear of Tywin. It was something closer to… respect. Yes. That was it. He respected Tywin.
Aerys thought of his eldest son Rhaegar—the useless white-eyed wolf—then looked at his victorious second son. His purple eyes cleared, growing fonder by the second. The boy had real talent. He'd hatched dragons, ridden them into battle, and crushed a rebellion. This was his precious treasure!
"You're right," Aerys said, suddenly generous. "I must reward Daeron. I must reward him handsomely!"
He slammed his hand on the table, already acting drunk without having touched a drop.
The lords instantly quieted and turned toward the king, eager to hear what he would grant.
The music shifted from lively to softer, more emotional tones.
"Here it comes," Daeron thought, sitting up straight.
Aerys put on his kingly airs. He swept his gaze across the assembled nobility, then pointed at his second son and announced loudly, "Daeron Targaryen, my Prince of Bounty Hall, has pacified the rebellion across four kingdoms and destroyed every traitor. I shall reward him!"
The lords straightened, eyes darting between king and prince. Aerys raised three fingers, shaking his head grandly. "His accomplishments are too great for any single reward to suffice. Therefore, I grant Daeron the three royal mints—gold, silver, and copper. He may strike as much coin as he wishes."
The mints!
Lord Corlton's eyelid twitched. This touched directly on his domain as Master of Coin.
Since Aegon the Conqueror, the Seven Kingdoms had maintained unified coinage under royal authority. One of the Master of Coin's key duties was overseeing the three royal mints that controlled the realm's economic lifeblood.
House Lannister was rich. House Tyrell was rich. But their wealth was in gold and grain that had to be brought to King's Landing or shipped through ports and converted into dragons—at controlled exchange rates to prevent inflation.
Unlimited minting of gold, silver, and copper coins—
Lord Corlton broke into a cold sweat, wondering whether the king was lucid or mad for handing over such a vital instrument of state power.
"Thank you, Your Grace," Daeron said with a nod.
He understood the weight of the gift. He would accept the mints but wouldn't abuse them. This was his future kingdom—he couldn't let it collapse into hyperinflation.
"Money is settled. Now I grant you honor!" Aerys continued, fatherly affection in full flood. He felt nothing was enough. "I name you Regent, with rank above prince and duke."
Tywin's expression didn't change, but his fist tightened under the table.
Just as expected. The king had uttered the word "Regent."
The Prince of Dragonstone was only a symbolic heir with no real authority. A Regent held genuine governing power. The position ranked above prince or duke, second only to the king himself.
"With the title of Regent Prince, he will sit on the Small Council and decide matters of state," Tywin thought. "He still needs real power."
Aerys kept thinking, then remembered his grand dream of absorbing the Stormlands. His eyes lit up. "You have pacified the rebellion, so I also name you Prince of Storm's End and Governor of the Trident. You shall oversee all affairs in the Stormlands and the Riverlands."
Boom!
The announcement landed like thunder.
The lords were stunned. They weren't sure whether, under the titles of Prince of Storm's End and Governor of the Trident, Daeron would still allow the election of new Lords Paramount in those regions.
Even Daeron was slightly surprised. He bowed his head. "Thank you for your generosity, Your Grace."
"No need to thank me. You must govern the Riverlands and Stormlands well for me. No more traitors, understand?"
Aerys was lost in his dream of swallowing two entire kingdoms. He laughed heartily. "Your brother is a fool. You are my Regent now. Do your job well, yes?"
Daeron saw how happy his father looked and smiled wider.
With the titles of Regent, Prince of Storm's End, and Governor of the Trident, expanding the royal domain would go much more smoothly.
"'The heir is ill. You shall serve in his stead'?" Daeron's smile deepened. His father was clearly using him as a tool to check Rhaegar.
That was fine with him. It saved him the trouble of maneuvering the regency title out of Aerys's mouth.
From today onward, the king would be known as Little Daeron's father.
"Hahaha! Everyone, celebrate!" Aerys was drunk on the fantasy of his second son gratefully accepting the role, keeping the eldest in check, and helping him achieve all his grand ambitions.
"I am the king—I am the king—"
The lords had mixed reactions. The Stormlands and Riverlands nobles were respectful and fearful of Daeron. Accepting his direct rule wasn't too difficult for them.
But the lords from the other kingdoms caught a different scent. The same thought occurred to nearly all of them at once.
The king intends to absorb the Stormlands and Riverlands into the Crownlands!
Prince Daeron is the sharp blade the king has chosen for the task.
"Absorbing two kingdoms? The Targaryens are actually trying this?" Olenna Tyrell was sharp as ever. She immediately connected it to the secret Tywin had been hiding.
The crown wasn't trying to suppress the great houses. They wanted to swallow two entire kingdoms.
Lady Olenna took a sip of wine and muttered, "Seven hells, this is madness!"
The Reach was enormous, with enemies on every side—the Westerlands to the north, Dorne to the south.
If the Crownlands absorbed the Stormlands and Riverlands, the Reach would suddenly share massive borders with royal territory while still watching both the Westerlands and Dorne.
That was not good news at all.
"With the regency title secured, it's time to handle some matters," Daeron thought. His gaze drifted to the corner where the Reach lords sat until he found Randyll Tarly.
The future Governor of the Marches, he thought.