Viserys clenched his teeth.
Resentment, humiliation, and rage boiled in his chest until they overflowed. With a sharp movement, he drew his sword and pointed it directly at Rhaenys's neck.
He was about to threaten her.
To demand that she divorce Kerse… or force that savage to return his sister to him.
Then it happened.
A dry crack cut through the air.
Before Viserys could react, a whip whistled and coiled around his throat. A brutal force dragged him backward, ripping him off the ground like a weightless doll.
The attacker was a child.
He could not have been more than nine or ten years old. His skin was pale, his hair black as night, and his eyes… violet eyes, deep and sharp as blades. His canines protruded unnaturally, resembling fangs, and his long nails looked more like claws than human fingers.
He was Maegor II Targaryen.
Son of Khal Kerse and Rhaenys Targaryen.
He had arrived moments earlier with a small group of riders, just in time to see his mother threatened.
He was shouting furiously in Dothraki.
Viserys's body was hurled backward and crashed heavily onto the ground. Dust rose around him as he struggled to breathe.
Maegor's eyes burned with fury.
"Mother," he shouted in the Common Tongue, with a childish voice filled with hatred, "I'm going to kill this bad man."
Rhaenys watched the pathetic figure of her uncle writhing on the ground. In her chest rose a bitter, conflicting emotion: revulsion… and a faint pity.
"Release him," she said at last. "Forgive him this time. After all, he is my uncle. He is family."
She turned toward Viserys and spoke with dangerous calm.
"You had better behave… if you wish to keep living."
Maegor snorted coldly.
Before obeying, he snapped the whip one more time.
The impact sent Viserys crashing into the ground again, tearing a muffled groan from him.
"How dare you?!" Viserys shrieked, red with fury and humiliation. "How dare you touch me?! I am your king!"
He struggled to his feet, trembling, and pointed a finger at Rhaenys.
"You claim to be my niece, but you, little whore of the horse king, have no right to order me around. Do you hear me? I am the son of a true dragon! The rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms!"
Rhaenys did not respond.
But her son did.
The whip cracked through the air like thunder.
It coiled around Viserys's throat once more and hurled him backward again. This time he fell breathless, convulsing in the dust.
The Dothraki riders watching burst into laughter, jeers, and mockery.
Maegor held the whip firmly and asked in the Common Tongue, with a crooked smile:
"What happens if I whip the King of the Seven Kingdoms now?"
A servant translated his words.
The laughter multiplied.
Maegor did not wait for an answer.
The whip fell again.
"Damn bastard!" Viserys screamed in a broken voice. He desperately turned his head toward Ser Jorah. "Mormont! Help me! Your king commands you! Kill this little monster! Kill these lackeys and this false niece!"
Ser Jorah stepped forward.
He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword… and then withdrew it.
He looked at Viserys for a long moment, and then at Rhaenys.
"Please," he said in a deep voice, "spare his life."
Viserys stared at him in disbelief.
Then he dropped to his knees in the dust.
He said nothing more.
But his eyes were full of hatred.
Rhaenys made a gesture with her hand.
Maegor released the whip.
Viserys lay on the ground, breathing with difficulty. A line of blood ran down his back and pooled beneath his chin. He clutched his throat, unable to speak.
Rhaenys remained silent for a few seconds before speaking.
"We will wait for my husband to return," she said at last. "Then it will be decided what to do with you."
Maegor sighed and lowered his head, disappointed, like a child whose favorite toy has been taken away.
"As you command, mother."
"Take him away," Rhaenys ordered Ser Jorah.
"I just hit him," Maegor said later, with a mix of pride and amazement. "I hit the King of the Seven Kingdoms. The descendant of the true dragon."
"Do you think Khal Kerse will be angry when he returns?" one of the riders asked nervously.
Maegor snorted.
"I also have dragon blood."
"But… he is the true king. After all, he is—"
Maegor looked at them with a mocking smile, twirling the whip between his fingers.
"Don't say foolish things. Do you really think my father will give him the throne?"
The riders fell silent.
Then Rhaenys spoke, slow but firm, with absolute certainty in her voice:
"My uncle… will never be king."