Night had completely fallen.
The forest at night was entirely different from the day.
The temperature plummeted, and a chill rose from the ground.
The cries of nocturnal animals echoed in the distance—the sharp screech of some bird and the rustle of wind through the treetops.
But the clearing was illuminated by the fire, forming a small, warm zone of safety.
Rhaenyra and Aegon shared the food Cole had brought.
The bread was soft, the cheese rich, and the jerky savory—it was indeed more plentiful than the monotonous roasted hare.
Sunfyre lay at the edge of the clearing, his body like a golden barrier facing the darkness outside, his ears pricked, alert to any movement.
Aegon leaned in Rhaenyra’s arms, taking small bites of bread while observing Cole.
The young white knight sat across the fire; he hadn’t eaten much, only occasionally taking a sip of water from his waterskin.
His gaze lingered on Rhaenyra most of the time, but whenever she looked up, he would quickly avert his eyes, pretending to scan the surroundings.
Loyalty, adoration, restraint, and conflict.
Aegon evaluated him mentally.
The current Cole had not yet experienced those pivotal points of betrayal—
He hadn’t been sent on other missions when Rhaenyra needed him, his love hadn’t turned to hate, and he hadn’t turned toward certain things.
At this moment, he was merely a simple-minded and loyal white knight, though his heart might still adore the young and beautiful princess, willing to do anything for her.
But that could not change the youthful passion and chivalrous spirit he still possessed, as well as…
The constraints of that white cloak he wore.
However, human hearts are fickle.
Especially when this adoration goes unrequited, when political stances begin to oppose each other, and when personal ambition intertwines with moral dilemmas…
Aegon closed his eyes.
He had to find a way.
Not now—he was still too small—but he had to make arrangements for the future.
Cole could be an ally or a deadly enemy, but he must never be the ‘Kingmaker’ who crowns him in opposition to Rhaenyra, inciting the ‘Dance of the Dragons’ that destroys everything he cherishes and seating him upon the Iron Throne.
The key lay in how to guide him, how to bind him, and how to ensure he always remained on Rhaenyra’s side.
Or, in the worst-case scenario, how to eliminate him in advance.
Of course, Aegon’s heart was also extremely complex, containing both admiration and wariness…
The fire crackled.
Rhaenyra finished the last bite of her apple and tossed the core into the fire.
She held Aegon, leaning against a rock, watching the dancing flames with a somewhat dazed expression.
“The day Mother died,” she said suddenly, her voice very soft, as if talking to herself, “it was a night like this.
I was at Dragonstone, and Father was at King’s Landing.
When the raven brought the news, I was immersed in the joy of Mother’s impending delivery, riding Syrax back.
I remember the wind was very strong that day, and the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs sounded like a giant weeping.
I hugged the dragon’s neck and cried for a long time, but dragons don’t know how to comfort people; it just nudged me with its snout, making a rumbling sound in its throat.
Finally, Syrax and I personally sent her and Baelon off with dragonflame according to tradition…”
She paused, her fingers unconsciously twirling Aegon’s silver hair.
“Later, Father found me privately.
He held me and cried too.
He said he would always protect me, that he would never let anyone harm me.
He said I was his heir, the pride of House Targaryen.
He said…
many things.”
The firelight danced in her eyes, reflecting a faint shimmer of tears.
“But later he married Alicent and fathered Aegon.
Now, he is considering my marriage again, considering the succession…
Sometimes I wonder if those promises were only true at the moment they were spoken.
As time passes, hearts change, and the things one cares about change too.
And I am just…
the one left behind.”
Cole wanted to say something, but his lips moved and he ultimately remained silent.
Aegon reached out, his small hand gripping Rhaenyra’s finger.
“I will always be here, and so will Sunfyre.”
Rhaenyra looked down at him and smiled, a smile filled with a weary tenderness.
“Mm, I know.
At least I still have you.”
She pulled Aegon closer, wrapping the two of them in her cloak.
The night chill grew heavier; even with the fire, exposed skin could feel the piercing cold.
Cole stood up, unfastened his own white cloak, walked over to Rhaenyra, knelt on one knee, and gently draped the cloak over her and Aegon.
“Your Highness, please use this.
The night is cold; you and the Prince need to stay warm.”
Rhaenyra looked at him and did not refuse.
The white cloak still carried the knight’s body heat, its wool texture thick and warm.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice much softer than before.
Cole nodded and retreated to the fire.
Without his cloak, wearing only his chainmail and tunic, he looked thin in the cold night, but he sat bolt upright without any sign of shivering.
Time passed.
Aegon gradually grew drowsy in Rhaenyra’s arms.
A young child’s body required a lot of sleep; even if the soul was an adult, the biological laws were truly hard to resist.
He closed his eyes, and before his consciousness blurred, the system interface flashed one last time:
[Alert: High-energy lifeform approaching…
Distance: 5 miles…]
High-energy lifeform?
A dragon?
Or something else?
His last sensations were Rhaenyra’s steady heartbeat, her warm embrace, and an almost imperceptible sound of trampling leaves coming from some distance away.
Then he sank into a dreamland.
After an unknown amount of time, a sharp screech startled him awake.
It wasn’t Sunfyre’s warning cry—
Sunfyre’s roar was deeper.
This was the cry of some beast, full of pain and fury.
Aegon snapped his eyes open.
The fire had dwindled significantly, leaving only the faint glow of embers.
The sun had not yet risen; the forest was still shrouded in the deep blue darkness before dawn.
At the edge of the clearing, Sunfyre had already stood up, his body tense, facing a certain direction in the darkness, a menacing low growl emanating from deep in his throat.
Cole was also awake, sword unsheathed, standing in front of Rhaenyra and Aegon, leaning slightly forward in a defensive posture.
Rhaenyra stood up holding Aegon, her other hand gripping that small dagger.
There was no fear on her face, only a taut alertness.
The sound came again—
Heavy panting, the thud of hooves on fallen leaves, and the harsh sound of something rubbing against a tree trunk.
It was getting closer.
“A wild boar,” Cole said in a low, grave voice.
“Judging by the sound, it’s an adult male, and it won’t be small.”
No sooner had he spoken than the bushes in the darkness were violently burst open.
A wild boar charged into the clearing.
Its size was startlingly large, its shoulder height nearly reaching Cole’s chest.
It was covered in coarse black bristles, and tusks protruded from its lower jaw, curved like sickles and gleaming yellowish-white in the dim light.
Its eyes were small and blood-red, white steam puffed from its nostrils, and its front hooves pawed the ground as it made threatening grunts.
The most striking thing was a wound on its flank—
It was fresh, deep enough to see bone, and bleeding profusely, clearly left by a struggle with something not long ago.
This explained its fury and aggression: a wounded beast is the most dangerous.
The boar’s gaze swept across the clearing and locked onto the humans by the fire.
It lowered its head, tusks aimed forward, hind leg muscles tensing—
It charged.
Its target was aimed directly at Rhaenyra and Aegon.
“Your Highness, get back!” Cole shouted, stepping forward to meet it.
But his movement was a fraction of a second too slow.
The boar’s speed was beyond imagination; the injury had not weakened it but instead provoked a frenzied strength.
Cole had just taken two steps when the boar was already upon them.
The young knight tried to sidestep and swing his sword simultaneously, but the boar made a sudden turn for a sneak attack, its massive body slamming hard into his side.
The sound of the impact was dull and terrible.
Cole was sent flying like a puppet hit by a catapult, slamming into a tree trunk at the edge of the clearing with a groan of pain.
His sword flew from his hand, landing in the leaves several feet away.
He struggled to stand, but his ribs were clearly injured, making his movements sluggish.
The boar did not pursue him.
It shook its head and re-locked onto its targets—Rhaenyra and Aegon, standing in the center of the clearing, closest to the fire and most exposed.
Rhaenyra backed away holding Aegon, but the clearing was only so large, and behind her was that large rock; there was nowhere to retreat.
The boar charged again.
Time seemed to slow down.
Aegon saw the boar’s blood-red eyes, saw the saliva dripping from its open mouth, saw those lethal tusks aimed at Rhaenyra’s abdomen—
If it hit, it would be enough to impale both Rhaenyra and him in her arms.
He wanted to do something, but a toddler’s body was simply too small and too slow.
He could only concentrate all his will and send the strongest emotions to Sunfyre—
Protect!
Attack!
Kill!
Sunfyre moved.
The golden dragon did not breathe fire—
The distance was too close; the flames might harm Rhaenyra and Aegon.
He chose a more direct method.
The moment before the boar was about to slam into Rhaenyra, Sunfyre pounced from the side.
Though his size was only that of a pony, a dragon’s strength far exceeded any creature of similar size.
He used his front claws—
Those powerful limbs integrated with his wings—to slam hard into the boar’s side.
The sound of the collision was even louder than before.
The boar was sent flying entirely, tumbling and crashing into the other side of the clearing, crushing a patch of bushes.
But it immediately struggled to its feet; clearly, while this blow was heavy, it was not fatal.
It shook its head and turned its target toward Sunfyre once more.
The golden dragon and the wild boar faced off.
Sunfyre growled, spreading his wings to increase the intimidation, his golden eyes like two bright lamps in the darkness.
The boar pawed the ground, making threatening grunts, blood flowing from its wounds and snout, but its fighting spirit only grew stronger.
Cole finally struggled to his feet, retrieved his longsword, and limped toward them, but he clearly wouldn’t be in time to intervene in this duel.
At that moment, Rhaenyra did something unexpected.
She did not retreat; she did not hide.
She gently placed Aegon on the rock behind her—
Her movements were tender but swift—
Then she gripped that small, ruby-encrusted dagger and walked toward the boar.
“Your Highness!” Cole cried out.
Her eyes were fixed on the boar, her purple gaze burning with some intense emotion in the pre-dawn light—
It wasn’t fear, nor was it simple anger, but something deeper and more primal.
Years of suppressed grievances, the loneliness of her mother’s early death, the betrayal of her father’s remarriage, the humiliation of her inheritance being questioned, the oppression of a political marriage, the powerlessness of being treated as a pawn, the expectant gazes of everyone, the pressure to always be perfect.
All her emotions found an outlet at this moment.
The boar seemed provoked by this small human’s actions.
It abandoned Sunfyre, turned back to Rhaenyra, and charged again.
Rhaenyra did not dodge.
She sidestepped the instant before the boar was about to hit her—
Her movements were as agile as a cat’s, not at all like a princess wearing a heavy cloak—
And then she pounced.
It wasn’t an elegant thrust, nor a knightly duel.
It was an adrenaline-fueled, primal, violent, and chaotic attack.
She threw herself onto the boar’s back, one hand gripping the coarse bristles to steady her body, the other hand holding the small dagger, stabbing down frantically.
One, two, three stabs.
The dagger was too short to cause a fatal wound, but every strike sank deep into the flesh, pulling out quite a bit of blood and scraps of meat as it was withdrawn.
The boar let out a cry of pain and rage, twisting its body frantically in an attempt to throw off the attacker on its back.
But Rhaenyra held on tight.
Her soft silver-gold hair was now a total mess, her face was splattered with blood, her eyes were wide open, and incoherent shouts came from her mouth—
It wasn’t a scream; it was a roar of catharsis.
“You all want—!
Everyone—!
Father—!
Alicent—!
Daemon—!
The Throne—!
Marriage—!
The Heir—!”
Every broken word was accompanied by a downward stab.
The boar finally threw her off.
She fell into the leaves but immediately scrambled up, gripping the dripping dagger, and pounced again, this time aiming for the side of the boar’s neck.
Cole had rushed close, his sword raised, but seeing this scene, he froze.
Sunfyre also stopped moving, his golden eyes fixed on Rhaenyra, even letting out a stunned, fearful rumble from his throat.
Aegon, sitting on the rock, could only watch the scene with wide eyes.
Rhaenyra was attacking the beast several times her size like a mother dragon.
There was no elegance in her movements, only pure violence and release.
The dagger stabbed in, pulled out, and stabbed in again, over and over.
The boar’s cries gradually weakened, its struggles grew more feeble, and finally, its front legs buckled as it collapsed onto its side.
But Rhaenyra did not stop.
She knelt beside the boar’s carcass and continued stabbing.
One blow, then another.
Blood splattered onto her face, her hands, and her clothes.
Her breathing was heavy, and tears mingled with the blood sliding down her face, but the movements of her hands did not cease.
“Why—!
Why must everyone force me—!
Why does no one truly care about what I want—!
Why must I be perfect—!
Why can’t I just be—
Just Rhaenyra—!”
Her voice turned from a roar into a sob, and from a sob into a mutter.
The dagger finally slipped from her trembling hand, falling into the pool of blood.
She knelt there, hands propped on the ground, her shoulders heaving violently, that beautiful silver-gold hair now completely loose and veiling her face.
Blood dripped from the tips of her hair, creating dark spots on the fallen leaves.
The pre-dawn forest was deathly silent.
There was only the sound of her suppressed sobbing and the occasional crackle of the fire’s embers.
Cole stood where he was, sword still raised, but the expression on his face was one of complete shock and…
A certain deep sorrow.
He looked at her, at this princess who always had to be strong, always had to be perfect, and who had to carry the future of the realm, now kneeling beside the beast’s carcass, fragile, broken, and terrifyingly real.
Sunfyre slowly approached, lowered his head, and gently nudged Rhaenyra’s shoulder with his snout, letting out a soft, almost comforting rumble.
Aegon climbed down from the rock and walked to Rhaenyra’s side on his short legs.
He reached out his small hand and gripped her blood-stained hand.
“Sister.”
Even as he had been mentally complaining while in a daze earlier, was this the true ‘wrath of the sleeping dragon’ inherited in the Targaryen bloodline?
But he softly called out to his sister to comfort her.
Rhaenyra slowly looked up.
Her face was a mess of blood and tears, her purple eyes were red and swollen, but her gaze was much clearer, as if some heavy burden had been temporarily unloaded with the outburst just now.
She looked at Aegon, at her brother’s pure purple eyes; her lips trembled, and she finally revealed a weak but genuine smile.
Then she pulled him into a hug, buried her face in his small shoulder, and wailed.
This time, it wasn’t a suppressed sob; it was a full, child-like howl of grief.
Dawn finally arrived.
The first rays of true morning light pierced through the treetops, spilling over this bloody clearing, illuminating the embracing siblings, the silent knight, the guarding golden dragon, the dead boar, and that blood-stained, ruby-encrusted dagger.
A new day had begun.
And some things, after this night, had changed forever.