The four men entered the room.
Daemon looked at Baelon sitting against the headboard.
“I brought the man, kid. We drugged him so he wouldn’t make noise. What do you want done?”
Daemon yanked the sack open, revealing a rough, slack face.
Baelon swallowed hard and forced himself to stay calm.
“Uncle, how does this man’s fighting skill compare to Cole’s?”
Daemon glanced sideways at Cole.
Though he still resented losing to him in the tourney, he answered honestly.
“Two Gold Cloaks took him down without trouble. Against Cole? One move, probably.”
Baelon nodded.
His small hands tightened on the blanket.
“Then kill him.”
Cole started to drag the sack toward the door, but Baelon stopped him.
“Ser Cole, do it here. Don’t take him outside.”
Hearing the slight tremor in Baelon’s voice, Daemon gave a low laugh.
“It’s all right, kid. You’re only three. Being afraid is normal.”
Baelon shook his head firmly.
“I’m not that bored, Uncle. I’m not doing this to prove how brave I am. I’m doing it so no one can question what happened.”
“This is necessary. It’s the best way to shut Otto’s mouth.”
“Besides, I’m a Targaryen man. Even if I can’t get out of bed, I should see blood at least once.”
Daemon, Cole, and the two Gold Cloaks all stared at him in silence.
Daemon recovered first, admiration clear in his eyes.
“Good lad. You’re worthy of carrying my father’s name. You haven’t shamed it.”
Cole drew his sword and was about to swing when Baelon spoke quickly.
“Wait. Move the sack aside. Stand him up first. If we kill him while he’s lying down, the blood pattern won’t look right.”
Daemon and Cole froze for a second, then understood.
Daemon kicked one of the Gold Cloaks.
“Didn’t you hear him? Move!”
The two men hauled the unconscious guard out of the sack and held him upright by the arms.
Cole positioned himself in front of the man like he was facing an enemy in a fight, then brought his sword down in a clean arc.
Baelon forced his eyes wide open despite the fear clawing at him.
By the moonlight he watched the heavy spray of blood.
Even with Cole standing between him and the body, his skin prickled and his scalp went tight.
He turned his head too late and vomited across the blankets.
Daemon had never taken his eyes off Baelon during the killing.
What he saw raised his opinion of the boy another notch.
Cole heard the sound and spun around at once.
Baelon glanced once more at the corpse on the floor and rasped, “Uncle Daemon, take your men and go. Now.”
Daemon gave a short nod and left with the two Gold Cloaks.
Roughly ten minutes later, Baelon looked at Cole.
“Shout. Loud. Make sure the whole Red Keep hears you. Call for guards. Tell them there’s an assassin.”
Cole didn’t hesitate.
He threw his head back and roared.
Guards came running, but they clustered outside the door and refused to enter.
Only when Viserys arrived, surrounded by Kingsguard, did the men finally step aside and let the king through.
Viserys took one look at the body, the blood everywhere, and his son huddled in Cole’s arms.
His temples began to throb violently.
He lifted Baelon from Cole’s hold and asked softly, “Are you hurt anywhere, child?”
Baelon shook his head but couldn’t speak.
He only clutched the front of Viserys’s tunic.
Rhaenyra burst in and threw herself in front of her father.
“Brother—how is my brother?”
Viserys looked down at her.
“He’s only frightened. He’s all right.”
Then he turned to the guards at the door and snarled, “Remove the body. Clean this room.”
“Find out who this man was. Find out who sent him.”
He started to carry Baelon out without another word, but Rhaenyra’s tear-choked voice stopped him.
“Father, the girl who tastes my food—Myranda—she’s dead. Someone poisoned my dinner.”
“Someone tried to kill both of us!”
Viserys’s body went rigid.
When he turned back, every Kingsguard and guard saw eyes gone blood-red with rage.
“Bring Daemon to the Red Keep. Have him bring every man of the City Watch. Seal the castle. Not even a rat gets out.”
“Search every single person inside these walls. Every one of them!”
The usually gentle king had woken in fury.
Everyone understood the gravity of the moment and scattered at a dead run.
Sunlight spilled across the bed when Baelon woke the next morning in Viserys’s arms.
It was the first time since his birth that he had slept beside his father.
The first time they had been alone together for so long.
Viserys stroked Baelon’s silver-gold hair with quiet affection.
“You’ll stay in my chambers today. Two Kingsguard will be posted at the door. You’re safe here. Your sister will come sit with you soon.”
“Try to forget what happened last night. Don’t be afraid. I’ll give you and Rhaenyra the answers you deserve.”
Baelon nodded obediently, then asked in a small, pitiful voice, “Father, can you bring Ignir here to stay with me?”
“If Ignir had been here last night, the assassin never would have come.” Get faster updates on g.com.
Viserys’s eyes widened slightly, as though something had clicked into place.
He stood, anger rising fast and hot inside him.
“Good boy. You’ll see your Ignir before noon. I have things to take care of first.”
He strode from the room without looking back.
Baelon watched his father’s retreating back and felt the corner of his mouth lift.
Otto, if this still isn’t enough to throw you out of King’s Landing, then the Iron Throne deserves to have you sitting on it.
Better yet if the king, still burning with rage, simply takes your head.
The Small Council chamber was deathly quiet.
Everyone already knew what had happened during the night.
The king’s eldest son and eldest daughter had both been targeted.
The entire Red Keep was now sealed.
Viserys held a thick stack of papers.
He flung them straight into Otto Hightower’s face.
“The assassin found in Baelon’s room was one of the guards you brought from Oldtown. Explain yourself.”
Otto bent, gathered the scattered pages one by one, then straightened.
“Your Grace, it is true the man came from Oldtown with me. But I knew nothing of this. This is a deliberate frame.”
“If I had ordered the attack, why would I also have someone poison Princess Rhaenyra? Why would I use a man so obviously connected to me and leave such clear evidence behind?”
Viserys slammed his hand on the table.
“Then explain why you kept insisting Ignir be sent away!”
Otto remained calm.
“Your Grace, dragons belong in the Dragonpit. That is custom. I was not targeting Prince Baelon.”
Viserys leaned back in his chair, trying to steady his heaving chest.
“Otto, I should cut off one of your hands. Maybe then you’d speak the truth.”
Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, drew his sword at once.
Lyonel Strong, Master of Laws, rose quickly.
“Your Grace, there is still no evidence linking the Hand to these attacks. Please remain calm. The lords of the realm will arrive soon.”
Viserys leaned forward again, eyes locked on Lyonel’s.
His voice was cold enough to make teeth chatter.
“My son and my daughter were nearly murdered last night. How exactly do you expect me to stay calm?”
“Punishment and execution require evidence. This concerns the dignity of the crown.”
Lyonel kept his voice steady.
“Your Grace, even so—”
Viserys gave a short, bitter laugh.
“A very upright Master of Laws. Then wait. I will find the evidence.”
“But killing a man requires proof. Removing him from office does not. From this moment, Otto Hightower is no longer Hand of the King.”
“He belongs in the black cells, not the Hand’s chambers.”