Autumn at Maces Point is the most beautiful time of the year.
This narrow strip of land, a mandatory passage from the southern sea to King’s Landing, belonged to the Storm Kings of the Stormlands before the War of Conquest.
But House Massey and House Bar Emmon were on good terms with the Targaryen of Dragonstone, and ultimately stood with the dragon family when Aegon the Conqueror raised his banners.
After the Red Keep was built on the banks of the Blackwater Rush and the Crownlands were carved out from the Stormlands, Maces Point became a part of the direct domains of House Targaryen, swearing loyalty to the Iron Throne for generations.
Rhaenyra loved it here.
The sea breeze was fresher than in King’s Landing, and the air lacked the stench of Flea Bottom or the lingering scent of intrigue that never dissipated in the corridors of the Red Keep.
Stone Dance City was situated at the highest point on the eastern side of Maces Point, facing the Narrow Sea.
Its white stone walls shimmered in the sunlight, and from the battlements, one could see the sea on both sides; on clear days, one could even glimpse the silhouettes of Dragonstone and Driftmark.
She had been here for two days.
To be precise, she had been waiting here for two days—waiting for the large ship carrying her retinue to slowly crawl along the coastline to catch up.
It only took Syrax a few hours to fly from King’s Landing to Maces Point, while the ship had taken nearly three days.
“Princess, are you truly not considering staying a few more days?” Elinda Massey asked, clutching Rhaenyra’s arm, her voice full of reluctance.
She was the second daughter of the Lord of Stone Dance City, a few years younger than Rhaenyra, with chestnut hair, brown eyes, a few freckles on her face, and two dimples when she smiled.
Back when she was young and accompanied her father to King’s Landing for an audience, she had hit it off with Rhaenyra immediately.
“I would like to stay longer, too,” Rhaenyra sighed, “but the ship has already arrived at the port, and I cannot leave them waiting idly.”
They were standing in the gardens of Stone Dance City, facing a large, neatly trimmed lawn.
At the end of the lawn was a cliff, and below the cliff was the azure sea.
The sun was bright, the sea breeze was gentle, and a few seagulls were circling in the distance.
Aegon was not by Rhaenyra’s side.
To be precise, Rhaenyra thought he was by her side—a quarter of an hour ago, he was still sitting on the lawn playing with Sunfyre, tugging at the tips of the golden dragon’s wings, pretending to groom non-existent feathers.
Sunfyre kept its eyes half-closed, with an expression that said “I have tolerated you for a long time,” but it never moved away.
Rhaenyra had been too engrossed in her conversation with Elinda to notice that the lawn behind her was now empty.
“Is that your brother, Prince Aegon?” Elinda pointed into the distance, her eyes sparkling, “He looks so handsome riding on the dragon’s back!”
Rhaenyra nodded with a smile: “Yes, he—”
She paused.
The smile froze on her face.
Aegon was riding on Sunfyre’s back.
Sunfyre stood in the center of the lawn, its golden scales like molten gold in the sunlight.
It spread its wings—wings that were already wide enough to cover half of the small garden—
And Aegon was sitting on its shoulders, his two short legs clamping tight against the dragon’s spine, one hand clutching the protruding scales on Sunfyre’s neck, the other waving towards them.
“Aegon!” Rhaenyra’s voice was sharp enough to pierce the tranquility of the garden.
Sunfyre had already taken off.
With just a light leap and two flaps of its wings, it took to the air with the three-year-old boy on its back.
The golden figure, the size of an adult stallion, swept over the lawn, over the flowerbeds, over the head of the stunned Elinda, and after circling once above the garden, flew towards the sea.
Rhaenyra was stunned.
Elinda was stunned.
Ser Gormon Massey, who had just walked in from the castle gate, was also stunned.
Gormon was Elinda’s older brother, the heir to Stone Dance City, in his early twenties, tall and sturdy, with the signature dark brown curly hair of House Massey and a pair of steady grey eyes.
He had intended to come to the garden to pay his respects to the Princess and the Prince, only to see a three-year-old child riding a dragon towards the sea.
“Seven save us…” he muttered, nearly dropping the helmet in his hands.
More exclamations came from behind him.
The large ship of the retinue had arrived at the port this morning, and Tyland Lannister was leading the group to meet with the Princess, walking from the direction of the castle at this very moment.
Walking at the very front were the Cagell Brothers, followed by Larys and Floris, and finally Galwin Hightower and several attendants.
Everyone saw it.
Sunfyre was circling over the sea, its golden scales reflecting the sunlight like a ball of fire burning in the sky.
And the small figure on its back, silver hair flying in the wind, was turning back to wave at the shore.
The scabbard in Ilic Cargyle’s hand struck the stone steps with a dull thud.
“The Prince…
he…” Arryk Cargyle’s voice was a bit dry, “Is he flying?”
“He is flying,” Ilic replied woodenly.
“He is only three,” Arryk said.
“I know,” Ilic said.
The two exchanged a glance, both remembering how Aegon had bailed them out during breakfast a few days ago.
At that time, they thought the Prince was exceptionally intelligent, but now they felt the term “exceptionally intelligent” was far from enough.
Tyland Lannister stood on the steps, looking up at the sky, the map in his hand rustling in the sea breeze.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but closed it again.
Larys Strong leaned on his cane, his grey eyes slightly narrowed, watching the golden trail in the sky.
There was a faint trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth, but no one noticed.
Floris covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide: “The Prince!”
Galwin Hightower stood at the very back of the group, still carrying the luggage brought from the ship.
He watched his nephew flying in the sky on a dragon, with only one thought in his mind: Does his sister know about this?
She lifted her skirt and rushed to the edge of the lawn.
Syrax was basking in the sun on a rock not far away, and hearing her footsteps, it lazily raised its head.
“Syrax!
Get up!
Bring him back!” Rhaenyra shouted in High Valyrian, her voice even carrying a hint of tears.
Syrax tilted its head, looked at her, then at the golden speck in the sky, let out a lazy rumble, and buried its head back into its wings.
It recognized Sunfyre.
It had carried its rider and the rider’s brother, taking this little one flying countless times, from King’s Landing to Dragonstone, from Dragonstone to Driftmark…
Moreover, this little one had often secretly taken its little rider on low flights in the Dragonpit, always right under its nose, and it was already used to it.
But how was Rhaenyra to know any of this?
She only knew that her three-year-old brother was riding on the back of a dragon without a saddle, flying over the sea.
Sunfyre landed slowly at this moment.
It flew back from the direction of the sea, not fast, its posture steady, as if what it was carrying on its back was not a three-year-old child, but a sack of feathers.
It circled once above the garden, then landed gently on the lawn, folded its wings, and lowered its head.
Aegon slid down from its back, stumbled a bit, steadied himself, and looked up to see Rhaenyra’s face.
He was all too familiar with the expression on that face.
Two years ago in the Kingswood, she had this expression when facing a wild boar; a few days ago at the Small Council, she had the same expression when facing Viserys.
But now it was different—there was no anger, no determination in this expression, only…
Fear.
“Sister—” Aegon, knowing he had accidentally had his secret discovered, spoke first.
“Aegon Targaryen!”
Rhaenyra had already rushed over, scooped him up from the ground, and pulled him tightly into her arms.
Her arms were trembling, her breathing ragged, her heart pounding as if it were about to burst through her chest.
“You scared me to death!” Her voice was muffled in his hair, “How could you!
You are only three!
Sunfyre is only three!
No saddle!
No straps!
Flying over the sea!
How could you!”
Aegon was almost breathless from her hug, but he still reached out with his little hand and patted her back: “Sister, I’m fine.
Sunfyre is very steady.”
Sunfyre nodded on the side, a rumble of agreement in its throat.
Rhaenyra glared at it.
The golden dragon immediately pulled its head back, pretending to study the ants on the ground.
Ser Gormon Massey stepped forward and knelt on one knee: “Princess, Prince.
My apologies, I did not know that the Prince…
does this often?”
“Not often.” Aegon poked his head out from Rhaenyra’s arms to clarify, “Occasionally.”
Rhaenyra pressed him back: “Quiet.”
Gormon’s mouth twitched, and he held back a laugh.
He stood up, and there was a bit more respect in his eyes when he looked at Aegon.
Flying a dragon at three years old was unheard of in the history of House Targaryen.
Aegon the Conqueror only rode Balerion for the first time at twelve, and King Jaehaerys only tamed his mount Vermithor at eight.
And the child before him, at three, had climbed onto a dragon’s back on his own.
Gormon subconsciously ignored that the child’s father, Viserys, had become the last rider of the “Black Dread” at seventeen, comparing this child to the two greatest ancestor kings in the history of the Iron Throne and House Targaryen.
Tyland Lannister finally walked onto the lawn.
He first bowed to Rhaenyra, then looked at Aegon with a complex gaze.
“Prince,” he said, weighing his words, “may I be so bold as to ask, do you…
fly like this often?”
Aegon looked at Rhaenyra.
Rhaenyra was warning him with her eyes: if you say the wrong thing, you are done for.
“Occasionally,” Aegon repeated, his tone obedient.
Tyland looked at Aegon, then at Sunfyre, and finally at Syrax—the large dragon was basking in the sun lazily, completely indifferent to everything that had just happened.
He understood.
This was not the first time.
Even Syrax didn’t take it seriously anymore.
He took a deep breath and decided not to ask further.
Some things were better left unknown.
“Prince,” Arryk Cargyle’s voice was deeper than usual, “we failed in our duty as guards, failing to notice the Prince in time—”
“Get up.” Aegon freed a hand from Rhaenyra’s embrace and waved it, “I snuck up there myself, it has nothing to do with you.”
He paused, then added: “Besides, you didn’t know before that I could fly on Sunfyre.”
Arryk and Ilic exchanged a glance and lowered their heads at the same time.
Not out of humility, but because they didn’t want the Prince to see the expression on their faces—
A three-year-old child was making excuses for them, when they were supposed to be protecting this child.
“The Prince is merciful,” Ilic said, his voice a bit hoarse.
Rhaenyra held Aegon, watching this scene, the anger in her heart slowly subsiding, replaced by an indescribable emotion.
This little one, despite nearly causing a catastrophe himself, was still thinking of others.
She looked down at Aegon, the boy was looking at her with those purple eyes, his gaze full of apology and pleading.
“We will talk about this when we get back,” she said, her voice softening.
Aegon nodded and obediently rested on her shoulder.
Today was indeed his fault; after all, it was the first time he could fly outside since he started dragonriding, how could he not be excited?
He just didn’t expect to be discovered.
Rhaenyra turned to Elinda and smiled apologetically: “Elinda, I’m sorry, I have to go.
The fleet has arrived at the port, and if I don’t leave now, my father will send people to urge me.”
Elinda stepped forward and took her hand: “Princess, you are welcome back at any time.
The gates of Stone Dance City will always be open to you.”
She glanced at Aegon and lowered her voice: “Your brother is truly amazing.”
Rhaenyra smiled bitterly: “So amazing that my heart nearly stopped.”
The two laughed at each other.
Rhaenyra added: “In a few years, when your father agrees, come to King’s Landing to be my lady-in-waiting.
I lack someone I can talk to.”
Elinda’s eyes lit up: “Really?”
“Really,” Rhaenyra nodded seriously.
They hugged and said goodbye.
Ser Gormon Massey knelt on one knee to salute the Prince and Princess, and as he stood up, he said to Aegon: “Prince, the sky of Stone Dance City will always be yours.”
Aegon poked his head out from Rhaenyra’s shoulder and smiled at him.
The group began to move towards the port.
Tyland led the way, the Cargyle brothers followed on both sides of the Princess, Larys and Floris walked behind, and Galwein once again miserably carried Aegon’s luggage at the very end.
Rhaenyra did not ride Syrax this time.
She held Aegon, walked up the gangplank, and stepped onto the deck.
Sunfyre followed behind.
This time, it was much more skilled at crossing the gangplank, rushing onto the stern in a few steps and crouching in its usual spot, its golden eyes watching the port vigilantly.
Syrax circled in the sky, waiting for the fleet to set sail again.
The sails were raised, and the cables were untied.
The white walls of Stone Dance City grew smaller and smaller behind them.
Rhaenyra leaned against the ship’s rail, holding Aegon, watching the receding coastline.
The sea breeze blew her long hair, and the sunset dyed her profile gold.
“Aegon,” she suddenly spoke.
“Hmm?”
“In the future, if you want to fly, tell me.”
Aegon looked up at her.
Her expression was calm, but there was still lingering fear in her eyes.
“Okay,” he said.
Rhaenyra lowered her head and kissed him on the forehead.
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
Sunfyre sneezed at the stern, seemingly disdainful of the tender moment between the siblings.
The fleet sailed south.
The next stop was Storm’s End, the heart of the Stormlands, the domain of House Baratheon.
There, there were walls where the wind howled, a great tower that had stood for a thousand years, and a Duke named Borros Baratheon—
A strong man who was like the wind, raging yet ever-changing.
Rhaenyra’s trip this time, while nominally for “relaxation,” was in reality known by everyone to be for “choosing a husband.”
Storm’s End was her first stop.
And Aegon, resting on his sister’s shoulder, watching the sunset gradually sinking over the sea, silently calculated how to help Rhaenyra fend off those “candidates” when they arrived at Storm’s End.
He had gone to great lengths to leave Cole and Harwin in King’s Landing; he couldn’t let anyone take advantage of things at Storm’s End..
Sunfyre was dozing at the stern with its eyes closed, its tail tip gently tapping the deck, as if saying: Don’t worry, I’m watching.
The fleet sailed into the twilight.
Storm’s End was still ahead.