Next, Lord Staunton was escorted by two knights.
He was forced to his knees on the ground, his hands bound behind his back, his hair disheveled, his face covered in blood. But his eyes still burned with anger as he looked at Aemond standing on the high slope.
Lothron let out a low rumble, an unmistakable hunger in it. He looked at the kneeling prisoners, wondering whether to chew them or roast them before eating. The prisoners trembled; some collapsed to the ground and wet themselves.
"Kinslayer!" Lord Staunton suddenly roared. "You are not worthy of the Iron Throne! You have usurped Queen Rhaenyra's throne!"
Aemond descended the high slope and walked toward him step by step.
"Rhaenyra is the rightful heir! The heir named by His Grace Viserys the First himself!" Lord Staunton continued to roar. "You are traitors! Usurpers! You will burn in the seven hells!"
Aemond approached him and stopped.
Lord Staunton abruptly raised his head and spat toward his face. But Aemond had expected it; he tilted his head and dodged. The escorting knight was enraged and struck Staunton in the face. The blow was so strong that Staunton's teeth flew out, blood streaming from the corners of his mouth.
"Traitor!" the knight cursed. "How dare you disrespect the Regent!"
Staunton lowered his head, gasping, muttering something unintelligible. He had lost several teeth; his speech was slurred, but he could still be heard cursing.
Aemond looked at him expressionlessly, then reached out, grabbed his hair, and lifted his head.
"Do you want to exterminate my entire family?" Staunton stared at him, blood in his mouth. "You ignore the rules between nobles!"
A smile appeared on Aemond's face. The smile was gentle, but for some reason, everyone present felt a chill run down their spines.
"Rules?" Aemond whispered. "Lord Staunton, you want to talk to me about rules?"
He grabbed Staunton by the hair and dragged him to the edge of the high slope, facing the surrendered prisoners, the assembled nobles, the soldiers in formation.
"Do you see these people?" Aemond said. "Their rules are set by the Iron Throne. The Iron Throne's rules are set by me. My rules are the rules. What you say does not matter."
He turned his head and looked at the lords and nobles standing to the side. These nobles had followed him into battle, including lords, earls, and knights. All lowered their heads, not daring to meet Aemond's eyes.
"Am I right?" Aemond asked.
The first to react was a courteous lord who had just spoken—Lord Crosby, a man of about fifty, with grey hair neatly kept. He quickly raised his head, his face full of fawning smiles. "Yes, the Regent's rules are the rules."
The others woke as if from a dream and repeated:
"The Regent is right!" "What qualifications do traitors have to speak of rules!" "Staunton is a traitor and deserves death!"
Staunton looked at the nobles who in past years had called him brother. He struggled to rise, but was held down by the two knights.
"You wallflowers!" he roared. "Traitors! Are you worthy of Her Grace Rhaenyra?!"
Lord Crosby stood up with a serious expression and righteous indignation. "We are worthy of His Grace, the late King Viserys the First! He named his eldest son Aegon as king! You are a traitor and deserve death!"
Having said this, he turned to Aemond, and the smile returned to his face. "Lord Regent, this Staunton's crimes are heinous. He should be stripped of his noble status and his entire family executed—to set an example!"
Aemond looked at him, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Oh? Then I'll leave it to you. Him and his entire family."
Lord Crosby's smile froze.
"This... this..." he stammered. "Lord Regent, I..."
"What?" Aemond's voice was still soft. "You don't want to do it, or you can't?"
Cold sweat seeped from Lord Crosby's brow. He looked at Aemond's violet eyes, at the bottomless indifference within them. The Regent was not consulting him, not testing him. This was an order—an order he must obey.
Could he do it? Of course he could. The Stauntons were captured; killing them was just a matter of raising his hand. But would he dare to do it? Killing Staunton, killing his entire family—what would that mean among the nobility? It meant that Crosby would become a pariah, the target of all, a treacherous villain who would do anything to please the Regent.
But if he did not...
He looked at the two dragons on the high slope. Vhagar looked at him; his own reflection appeared in the dragon's enormous eyes.
"I will do it," Lord Crosby bowed his head, his voice bitter. "Lord Regent, I will do it."
Aemond nodded approvingly. "Very well. You will deal with his family yourself. Escort them back to King's Landing, and in the end... it will be up to you to do it yourself."
Lord Crosby's heart sank to the bottom.
Escort them back to King's Landing, make him do it himself. That meant everyone would know that he had killed the Staunton family. His reputation would be completely destroyed.
"I recall that Rook's Rest has nine manors," Aemond suddenly said.
Lord Crosby looked up; a flicker of confusion passed through his eyes.
"You have done well, sharing my burdens," Aemond said. "I will reward you with three of them."
Lord Crosby was stunned.
A manor could support at least one knight. Three manors meant he could leave an estate to his second or third son. In Westeros, the eldest son inherited everything; when the second and third sons came of age, they were fortunate to become hedge knights. Two manors would be enough for the other sons to become landed knights, even to marry well.
He looked at Aemond, his eyes full of mixed feelings.
"Thank you, Prince Regent." He bowed his head deeply.
Aemond looked away from him and turned to the other nobles. The nobles bowed their heads; their gazes slid past him, no one daring to look at him directly.
Staunton was led away. His curses grew fainter and finally vanished into the wind.
---
Next came the surrendered soldiers.
More than five hundred prisoners from Rook's Rest were escorted to the foot of the high slope and gathered together. They looked at the black dragon on the high slope, at Lothron's blood-drooling mouth, and trembled all over.
Lothron let out an excited roar. He leaned down, bringing his dragon head close to the prisoners, exhaling a searing breath. The prisoners screamed and tried to hide, but there were people behind them with nowhere to go.
"Prince, have mercy!"
"We were forced!"
"We never wanted to go against the Crown!"
Cries and pleas for mercy filled the air.
Aemond stood on the high slope, watching all this expressionlessly.
Hal approached him and asked quietly, "My lord, what shall we do with these men?"
Aemond was silent for a moment, then said slowly, "You followed traitors against the Crown. If I let you go like this, it would be an injustice to my fallen soldiers."
The prisoners' cries grew louder.
"Let's do it this way," Aemond's voice rang out clearly. "I will not dishonor you. I will kill one in eleven."
One in eleven?
The prisoners exchanged glances, not understanding what he meant.
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