The wedding of Viserys and Aemma had officially begun.
The air was thick with the mingled scents of rich spices, fresh-baked wheat, and fragrant flowers.
More than half the realm’s nobility had gathered here, filling the great hall with a dazzling sea of embroidered silks, jeweled ornaments, and extravagant finery.
Baelon sat beside Jaehaerys, with Maegelle nearby.
His younger sister had also returned from Oldtown specifically to witness the wedding.
He sampled the honey cake baked with strawberries before him, its cloying sweetness melting across his tongue.
A golden goblet filled with pale-gold wine rested near his hand.
When a servant bowed and moved to refill it, Baelon raised a hand and lightly covered the rim.
“You should drink more, son.
A wedding is an occasion worth celebrating.”
The old king appeared unusually vigorous today.
His silver-white hair and beard had been groomed to perfection, and a smile rested upon his face.
“Spare my brother, Father.”
Unlike her brother and father, Maegelle Targaryen wore no luxurious black-and-red robes embroidered with the three-headed dragon.
She wore only the simple grey habit of a septa.
Her gaze swept across the musicians weaving through the hall, playing lively songs at the requests of the various noble guests.
Jaehaerys merely gave a noncommittal hum before turning his attention toward the crowd.
With Baelon suddenly elevated to Prince of Dragonstone, Viserys had instantly risen to become, in theory, second in line to the Iron Throne.
The great nobles of the realm—especially those lords with unmarried daughters—had immediately begun entertaining certain ideas.
If they could place their blood in a prince’s bed, then even if their daughter could not become Queen, becoming an influential mistress would still bring enormous benefits to their House.
Especially considering Aemma Arryn’s young age.
She was only eleven.
There were still several years before she reached adulthood and the marriage could be consummated.
Hints.
Proposals.
Even shameless temptations.
They swarmed around Viserys like irritating flies and mosquitoes in the height of summer.
And they plagued Baelon and Jaehaerys just as relentlessly.
Finally pushed beyond endurance, Baelon and Jaehaerys held several discussions with Septon Barth.
They made their decision.
The wedding would be held early.
A grand and public ceremony, witnessed by the Seven and the assembled nobility of the realm, would formally bind Viserys and Aemma together.
It would crush every improper fantasy harbored by those ambitious schemers.
However, considering that Aemma was still only eleven years old, the bedding ceremony and consummation would be postponed until the two came of age.
The atmosphere of the feast grew increasingly lively.
Baelon took a small sip of wine.
A rare smile appeared on his face as he watched Viserys chatting with his younger brother.
A figure quietly approached the high table.
“Your Highness.
What a joyous day this is.”
Baelon studied the newcomer.
Then he remembered.
Quenton Rosby.
Lord of Rosby.
Baelon gave him a faint smile and a slight nod.
“Your Highness, I merely heard that over on Dragonstone, beside Queen Alysanne…
there seems to have been a child appearing recently.”
Quenton hesitated.
“There have been certain…
improper rumors among the people.”
“They claim the child was left behind by the late Prince Aemon.”
He lowered his voice.
“A…
dragonseed?”
“If you wish to keep your tongue, my lord, then mind your words.”
Those pale violet eyes were now colder than the ice of the North.
The smile on Quenton’s face instantly froze.
He instinctively retreated half a step.
Fine beads of sweat appeared across his forehead as his gaze darted nervously toward the King.
Jaehaerys appeared completely uninterested in the Lord of Rosby’s words.
He raised his cup of mead and slowly took a sip.
His gaze drifted elsewhere.
Not a single expression changed upon his face.
Quenton’s complexion shifted from red to white.
He hurriedly gave Baelon and the King a clumsy bow, squeezed several incoherent sounds from his throat, and stumbled back into the crowd.
Within moments, he disappeared behind the other guests.
The feast gradually approached its conclusion.
Servants swiftly stepped forward, clearing plates and the remains of the meal with practiced efficiency.
It was time for the presentation of gifts.
A courtier stood before the high table.
He cleared his throat and began reading from the guest list.
“Lord Albert Arryn, Lord of the Vale and the Eyrie, Warden of the East, presents the newlywed couple with ten purebred steeds of the Vale!”
Viserys seemed utterly unconcerned with what gifts he might receive.
He was leaning slightly toward Aemma, smiling as he whispered something to her.
Every so often, he turned to speak with Daemon.
That little bastard Daemon is surprisingly well-behaved today.
Baelon thought to himself.
A smile returned to his face as he looked upon his son and future daughter-by-law.
“Lord Tymond Lannister, Lord of the Westerlands and Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, presents the newlywed couple with a dragon statue forged entirely from gold!”
A servant carried the glittering golden dragon into the hall.
Gasps of amazement immediately erupted among the guests.
Tymond Lannister, Warden of the West, rose with a pleasant smile and bowed toward the King.
Taking advantage of the brief pause in the announcements, Baelon leaned slightly toward his father.
His voice dropped low enough that only Jaehaerys could hear.
“Mother, Rhaenys, and every member of Houses Velaryon and Baratheon are absent from the wedding.”
“Even though we invited them…”
Baelon merely stated the obvious.
Yet his voice carried a trace of deliberately suppressed helplessness.
Jaehaerys continued gently swirling the mead in his crystal cup.
The smile on his face did not change in the slightest.
He warmly nodded toward Tymond.
Father…
Mother, and even the others, still cannot forgive the choice you made.
Baelon silently studied his father’s calm profile.
The presentation of gifts was nearly finished.
The courtier raised his voice once more, drowning out the noise of the hall.
“Let the bride and groom step forward and, beneath the eyes of the Seven, exchange their marriage vows!”
It was time.
Baelon rose and adjusted his robes.
Jaehaerys and Maegelle stood at the same moment.
Smiles upon their faces, they were the first to applaud.
The applause spread like ripples across water, flowing from the high table through the entire hall.
Within moments, it became thunderous.
Viserys and his young bride stood facing one another.
Before the statues of the Father and the Mother, they would speak the sevenfold marriage vows.
They would receive seven blessings. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
And exchange seven promises.
Baelon’s eyes grew moist.
Aemma wore a black cloak slightly too large for her small frame.
The three-headed red dragon of House Targaryen was embroidered upon it.
But around the dragon, a new border had been carefully sewn in silver thread.
The blue falcon of House Arryn.
It was the same cloak Alyssa had worn when she married him.
The same cloak Daella had worn when she married into the Vale.
And now…
It rested upon her daughter’s shoulders.
Because Aemma’s father, Rodrik Arryn, had died three years earlier, the duty normally belonging to the bride’s father fell to her elder half-brother, Albert Arryn.
His expression was solemn.
His movements were slightly stiff.
He reached out and carefully loosened the cloak draped over his sister’s shoulders—the cloak symbolizing the protection of her birth House.
Slowly, he removed it.
Baelon took a deep breath.
He forced down the emotions churning within his chest and stepped forward.
In his hands was another cloak.
The groom’s cloak.
Its base was the deepest Targaryen black.
Across it, a massive three-headed dragon had been embroidered in brilliant crimson thread.
Baelon handed it to Viserys.
Viserys accepted the cloak.
He turned toward his young bride.
His movements were gentle yet firm, and his face carried a seriousness rarely seen in someone his age.
Carefully, he fastened the heavy black-and-red cloak around Aemma’s slender neck.
Before the statues of the Father and the Mother, the High Septon known as the Just began guiding the newlyweds through their sevenfold vows.
“From this day forward, I will protect you forever.”
Viserys smiled at Aemma.
“My wife.”
Two bright patches of red immediately bloomed across Aemma’s cheeks, spreading all the way to her ears.
She said nothing.
She merely closed her eyes.
Viserys gently kissed her forehead.
At precisely the right moment, the High Septon raised both hands.
His powerful voice echoed throughout the great hall.
“Let us bear witness to the union of these two and offer them our blessings!”
“Viserys of House Targaryen and Aemma of House Arryn are henceforth joined as one!”
The assembled nobles roared their approval.
Applause.
Cheers.
Blessings.
The sound erupted like a tidal wave, almost threatening to tear the roof from the Red Keep.
Ribbons and flower petals were thrown into the air.
The musicians struck up the liveliest wedding songs they knew.
Standing beside Jaehaerys, Maegelle tilted her head slightly.
In a whisper meant for her father’s ears alone, she spoke.
“Let me go, Father.”
Her gaze passed over Queen Alysanne’s empty seat at the high table.
Then toward the places in the hall where Corlys and Boremund should have been seated.
“After all…”
A faint smile touched Maegelle’s lips.
“Who else could do it?”
“I am your daughter, after all.”