The following afternoon, the autumn sun filtered through the gaps in the tall trees of Kingswood, casting mottled patches of light onto the magnificent pavilion at the center of the camp.
This was a tea party tent specially prepared for the noble ladies not participating in today’s hunt, large enough to accommodate fifty people.
Inside, Myrish carpets were laid out, surrounded by low divans and cushions.
The long central table displayed silver tea sets, golden wine from The Arbor, honey cakes, and various dried fruits.
The air was a blend of perfume, tea leaves, and the faint scent of burning charcoal.
When Rhaenyra stepped into the tent holding Aegon, the conversation dipped for a moment.
A dozen or so noblewomen— duchesses, countesses, and female relatives of important vassals— were either sitting or standing.
Most wore riding habits suitable for a hunt or simple dresses for easy movement, yet they were still adorned with jewels.
Their gazes, like a flock of startled birds, first landed on the princess and then quickly focused on the silver-haired boy in her arms.
Queen Alicent was already seated in the place of honor, wearing a deep green velvet gown; the swell of her belly was even more prominent in her seated position.
Opposite her sat several elder noblewomen, including Lady Kayra, a noblewoman of Stormlands, the grandmother of Duchess of Storms End Elena Caron, and the widow of the late Lord Morton Caron.
“Rhaenyra,” Alicent smiled and beckoned to her, “come sit here.”
Rhaenyra nodded in greeting and took the empty seat beside Alicent, still holding Aegon.
Aegon seemed curious about the occasion, his purple eyes scanning the tent before finally landing on a corner—
Larys Strong sat there, leaning quietly against a pile of cushions.
One leg was stretched out, while the other was awkwardly curled due to a congenital twist.
He held a leather-bound book in his hands, appearing to be resting and reading there because of his mobility issues, avoiding the men’s hunting activities.
But Aegon saw more clearly.
Larys’s gaze rarely lingered on the pages.
His pale grey eyes moved slowly across the tent like a silent wheel, recording everyone’s expressions, postures, and physical inclinations during conversation.
When two noblewomen whispered about which house’s proposal Lady Jeyne Arryn of The Vale had rejected again, his eyelashes would flutter slightly; when noblewomen from Westerlands and The Reach complained about the Stepstones war affecting the shipping prices of jewelry, his fingers would tap lightly on the edge of a page; when someone mentioned Prince Daemon’s name, his breathing rhythm changed imperceptibly.
Intelligence gathering.
Larys Strong, the second son of House Strong known as “Larys Clubfoot,” was doing what he did best:
listening, analyzing, and weaving a web of information.
He chose to stay at the ladies’ tea party precisely because people here were often more relaxed and more willing to reveal their true thoughts— or more accurately, they believed it was safe here.
“Prince Aegon is growing more handsome by the day,” a young noblewoman remarked; she was the niece of Lord Mace Tyrell.
“That hair, those eyes—pure Targaryen blood.”
Several ladies chimed in.
Alicent maintained a polite smile: “Thanks to the blessings of the Seven.”
The conversation soon turned to Stepstones.
It was an unavoidable topic— news of Prince Daemon Targaryen slaying the “The Crabfeeder” had spread throughout Seven Kingdoms just three days ago, and this prince was the King’s brother and Princess Rhaenyra’s uncle.
“My husband says the Myrish have already put a bounty of one hundred thousand Myrish gold honors on Prince Daemon’s head.”
The speaker was the wife of Lord Redwyne, a lady with a pretty face but sharp eyes.
“One hundred thousand Myrish gold honors!” Lady Kayra, the widow of Lord Morton, exclaimed.
She was an old woman in her seventies, her silver hair styled in an intricate bun, wearing an old-fashioned high-collared black dress with faded silver thread bordering the cuffs.
“That’s enough to buy the Prince of Flea Bottom’s entire Flea Bottom, isn’t it?
But since Prince Daemon dared to personally kill Craghas Drahar, I suppose he won’t mind having a few more enemies.”
“He is doing the right thing,” a noblewoman from Stormlands who had been affected said firmly.
“The corsairs of Stepstones have plagued Narrow Sea trade for decades.
Every king wanted to solve it, but only Prince Daemon actually took action.”
Lady Kayra sipped her tea slowly.
“Does that count as a loyal subject?
Or is it…
a sign of setting up his own house?”
The atmosphere in the tent grew subtle.
Alicent set down her teacup, her voice gentle but clear:
“Prince Daemon is the King’s brother; his actions naturally have His Majesty’s tacit approval.
What matters is the result—the pirates are being cleared, and the trade routes are becoming safe again.”
“Indeed,” Lady Kayra nodded, then her gaze turned to Rhaenyra.
“I wonder what Her Highness, as the future Queen of Seven Kingdoms, thinks of the war?
You must surely understand strategic matters better than us ladies confined to our chambers.”
All eyes focused on Rhaenyra.
She felt Aegon move in her arms, his small hand clutching her bodice.
The question itself was ill-intentioned— what “insights” could an eleven-year-old girl, who had never been on a battlefield, possibly have?
But refusing to answer would make her seem incompetent.
“Lady Kayra flatters me,” Rhaenyra remained calm.
“What insights could I have?
After all, I’ve never even been to Stepstones.”
“You’re being modest.”
The old woman’s eyes narrowed.
“This is a war started by your uncle, Prince Daemon.
To say you have no insights—isn’t that being a bit too modest?”
It grew sharper.
Rhaenyra felt her cheeks flush, but she controlled her emotions: “I truly do not know.
In fact, I haven’t been in contact with Daemon for a long time.”
“Is that since you replaced him as heir to the throne?”
This sentence was like an ice pick stabbing into the tent.
Silence.
Even the sound of tea being poured stopped.
Several noblewomen lowered their heads, pretending to adjust their skirts.
Alicent’s expression changed; her hand pressed against her abdomen, her knuckles turning white.
“Lady Kayra,” the Queen’s voice was half a pitch higher than usual, but she maintained her politeness.
“Prince Daemon was excluded from the line of succession because of his own improper words and deeds; it had nothing to do with Rhaenyra.
His Majesty the King chose the Princess as his heir because she is more suitable, more wise, and better able to represent the future of the realm.”
The old woman smiled slightly, her wrinkles spreading like a spider’s web.
“Of course, Your Majesty is right.
I am merely curious; after all, a major event like a change in succession always invites speculation.
Especially now…”
Her gaze swept over Alicent’s belly and then over Aegon in Rhaenyra’s arms.
“The royal family has added new members.”
Alicent took a deep breath, clearly suppressing her anger.
Rhaenyra, meanwhile, felt a wave of nausea— not physical, but a disgust for this blatant provocation, this political attack disguised under the guise of a refined tea party.
She wanted to stand up and leave, but doing so would be playing right into their hands.
Just then, Aegon made a decision.
He didn’t cry or speak. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
He simply closed his eyes and concentrated his intent— it was an unpracticed but growing connection.
He sent a simple emotion to a certain presence outside the tent:
Anger, protection.
Exclamations from the guards came from outside the tent.
The tent flap was suddenly flung open, not by a hand—but by a forceful impact.
A golden light rushed into the tent, the resulting draft overturning several teacups on the table.
Tea spilled onto the Myrish carpet, quickly spreading into dark stains.
Sunfyre.
Although the golden dragon didn’t enter completely, it was already about the size of a pony—quite large.
Being somewhat cautious, it only poked its head and forebody into the tent, leaving its hindquarters outside.
But this was enough—its golden eyes scanned the tent, and a low growl rumbled deep in its throat, the sound of dragonfire brewing.
Its gaze locked onto Lady Kayra.
The old woman’s face turned deathly pale instantly.
The teacup in her hand dropped onto her lap, hot tea soaking her black dress, but she didn’t even notice.
Her mouth hung open, but no sound came out.
She could only tremble and shrink back until her back hit the cushions.
The other noblewomen were also in a panic.
Someone screamed, someone tried to stand but their legs gave way, and someone whispered prayers while making the sign of Seven-Pointed Star.
Alicent stood up: “Sunfyre!
Out!”
Sunfyre didn’t move.
It stared at Lady Kayra, two small wisps of sparks puffing from its nostrils and landing on her skirt, burning several small charred holes.
“Sunfyre.”
Rhaenyra’s voice rang out, calmer than Alicent’s but carrying a certain authority.
“Stop.”
The golden dragon turned to look at her, or rather at Aegon in her arms, and the rumbling in its throat subsided.
“Go wait outside,” Rhaenyra said, one arm holding Aegon and the other giving a light wave.
Sunfyre gave a low cry and slowly backed out of the tent.
The flap fell, but the interior of the tent was already a mess:
overturned tea sets, spilled tea, scorched carpet, and a dozen noblewomen still reeling from the shock.
Lady Kayra finally found her voice, but could only manage intermittent gasps.
Her maid hurriedly stepped forward to wipe her skirt and check if she was burned.
Rhaenyra stood up, Aegon in her arms, his small hands wrapped around her neck.
The Princess’s gaze swept over everyone in the tent, finally resting on Lady Kayra.
“It seems the tea party is over,” Rhaenyra said, her voice clear and cold.
“Enjoy yourselves, ladies.”
She turned and left the tent without a second glance at the others.
Outside the tent, the sunlight was blinding.
Sunfyre was coiled on the open ground like a small golden mountain; no one dared come within ten yards of it.
The guards gripped their spears, but their hands were shaking.
They had seen dragons, but never one so sudden and aggressive in its intrusion into a gathering of people.
Rhaenyra walked to the edge of the camp with Aegon in her arms and stepped into the shade of Kingswood.
The sunlight was filtered into fragments by the branches and leaves, scattering across the leaf-strewn ground.