Rhaenyra could not help feeling ashamed.
As her father’s most beloved daughter, she had received a noble education from childhood and been taught the knowledge of the Citadel.
When it came to gathering information, she was far more capable than her younger brother Baelon.
Yet she had failed to consider even the simplest of possibilities.
How embarrassing…
“Baelon, you spend every day performing penance in the Great Sept of the Seven.
Just how did you manage to think of all this?”
Rhaenyra gently kneaded Baelon’s cheeks as she asked the question word by word.
“Besides performing penance in the sept, I spend the rest of my time having Maester Orwyle teach me about the history and knowledge of Westeros.
I also study the High Valyrian you taught me.”
“Give me another three years, and I’ll be able to finish reading the other half of the ancient histories preserved in Oldtown.”
Even while having his cheeks mercilessly squeezed, Baelon’s voice carried unmistakable pride.
“Tch.
I can’t win against you.”
Rhaenyra finally released his cheeks and pulled him into her arms.
“Oh, that’s right.
The royal hunt begins in six days.
Come back with me.
Father will be delighted to see you.”
“If he really would be delighted, he should come see me himself instead of always relying on you to pass messages between us.”
There was a trace of resentment in Baelon’s voice.
For six years, if not for his sister Rhaenyra coming to Oldtown to see him every half month, Baelon might have believed that he was a prince exiled to some barren wasteland, a pitiful child abandoned by his own family.
Rhaenyra pressed her forehead affectionately against his and explained, “Father didn’t mean to neglect you.”
“There are simply too many matters in King’s Landing.
Besides, letters kept arriving saying that you needed to devote yourself entirely to your penance before the Seven.
That’s why Father never came to Oldtown.”
Baelon’s expression changed.
“Those letters…
did they come from the Faith, or were they passed on by House Hightower?”
“Both, I suppose.
Why?”
Rhaenyra lowered her head, looking puzzled.
“Nothing.
I just need to add two more names to the little list in my head.”
Baelon smiled sweetly.
“Could you make that smile any more fake?” Rhaenyra teased, unable to help herself.
“Really?
I thought I looked very sincere.”
Baelon leaned against his sister’s embrace, his small body already so exhausted that his breathing had grown slightly labored.
“Go to sleep.
I’m here.”
Rhaenyra smiled tenderly and patted her brother’s back like a mother soothing her child.
Before long, Baelon fell asleep.
Only then did Rhaenyra carefully examine her brother.
It had been only half a month since she had last seen him, yet Baelon had clearly lost another considerable amount of weight.
The dark circles beneath his eyes had grown even heavier.
If this continued…
“Baelon, we have to return to King’s Landing as soon as possible.
Tonight, all right?”
Rhaenyra gently shook him awake.
She did not know that Baelon was already trapped in a nightmare.
Within the dream, black and green intertwined like lightning through the rain, tearing at one another like two enormous dragons locked in mortal combat, until they finally shattered apart and vanished completely.
Baelon stood beneath the lightning, wiping the rain from his face again and again, desperately trying to remember the images that were already blurred in his mind.
Soon, the rain soaking his clothes mysteriously vanished, and the sky cleared without warning.
In its place appeared an enormous dragon soaring through the heavens, its wings vast enough to cover half a castle.
Its body was black as unyielding steel, while unmistakable horn-like spikes jutted from either side of its massive head.
“It’s you!”
Baelon recognized the dragon at once.
It was the creature responsible for the nightmares that had tormented him again and again.
Yet this time, it did not breathe dragonflame at him.
Instead, the enormous beast beat its wings and flew toward the distant, prosperous capital of the realm.
King’s Landing.
What does this mean?
Baelon slowly lowered the hand he had raised and stared in confusion at the direction in which the dragon had disappeared.
Before he could think any further, dizziness suddenly overwhelmed him.
When he opened his eyes again, the person before him was his sister, Rhaenyra.
“Awake at last?
How did you sleep?” Rhaenyra asked with a smile.
“With you here, of course I slept wonderfully,” Baelon answered obediently.
“Oh, stop that.
I heard you talking in your sleep—something about black and green.
I couldn’t make heads or tails of it.”
Rhaenyra lightly tapped him on the forehead, sounding helpless.
Baelon shook his head.
“I don’t know either.
My nightmares are always strange.
Even Maester Orwyle and those people from the Faith can’t figure them out, much less a little boy like me.”
Strange as those dreams were, Baelon remained deeply interested in the dragon that appeared so frequently within them.
“Sister, does our family have a dragon that breathes green dragonflame, has a body as black as steel, and wings large enough to cover half a castle?”
“Hmm…” Rhaenyra thought carefully.
“Our family doesn’t have one.
But there is a wild dragon that isn’t part of our family, and it sounds very much like the one you’re describing.”
Baelon’s eyes immediately widened.
“What is its name?!”
Rhaenyra answered simply:
“Cannibal.”
“They say he was one of the second-generation dragons, born around the same time as Vermithor and Silverwing.
He supposedly loves nothing more than feeding on the remains and corpses of other dragons.
Sometimes he even flies to Dragonstone to steal and eat dragon eggs.”
“As for how large Cannibal truly is… I have no idea.
The common folk tell all sorts of stories about him.”
“Oh…”
Baelon nodded.
“Cannibal.
So that’s its name.”
Silently, he added another name to the little list in his mind.
“What about it?”
Rhaenyra looked at him curiously.
Baelon did not hide anything from his sister.
He told her everything, from the strange dreams and nightmares he had experienced involving Cannibal to the latest dream he had just had.
“Sister, Cannibal flew toward King’s Landing.
The only two dragonriders in our family are both away right now.
Do you think something might happen?”
There was genuine concern in Baelon’s voice.
The images in his dreams told him that the black dragon appearing again and again could not possibly be there merely to give him nightmares.
“Relax, my dear Baelon.
Our family has more than just Syrax and Caraxes.
Vermithor, Silverwing, and Dreamfyre are all dragons more than seventy years old.
They’re no weaker than Cannibal.”
Rhaenyra comforted him, then stood and took Baelon’s hand.
“Come on.
Let’s go home.”
At the words go home, Baelon’s feelings became complicated.
He could not say that he hated the idea, but neither did he feel particularly excited about it.
Still, compared to being watched by the Hightowers every day in Oldtown and eating food devoid of any flavor, returning home was clearly the better choice.
“All right.
Let’s go home.”
Baelon echoed Rhaenyra’s words.
Rhaenyra then led him out of the Great Sept of the Seven.
High above them, Syrax was already circling through the sky.
The moment she sensed her rider’s presence, the dragon descended and landed in an open area nearby.
Rhaenyra was just preparing to help her younger brother climb onto Syrax’s back when Ormund Hightower appeared with dozens of archers and members of his household guard, blocking their path.
“Princess, the prince’s body has not yet recovered, and the curse of the Seven has not been lifted.
Taking the prince away without permission is a grave offense!”
Ormund Hightower confronted her with righteous indignation.
“The royal hunt is about to begin.
My brother wants to see his father.
Is that a crime?”
Rhaenyra frowned.
She had not expected Ormund to gather dozens of archers in such a short time.
It seemed the Hightowers’ surveillance of her brother was even more severe than she had imagined.
“Princess, this isn’t a question of whether it is right or wrong.
The prince has been punished by the Seven and must remain here to perform his penance.
This is the king’s order!”
Ormund Hightower refused to give an inch.
His brother Otto had already sent him letters.
Under Otto’s persuasion, it seemed the king was beginning to waver over the question of who should succeed him.
Therefore, Ormund had to keep Baelon trapped in Oldtown no matter what.
Not only would it make it easier to secretly dispose of the prince under the guise of the Faith, but it would also serve as an invisible threat against anyone who dared challenge House Hightower.
“You!”
Rhaenyra was furious.
She was just about to command Syrax in High Valyrian when Baelon spoke first.
“Sister, let me handle this.”
Baelon climbed onto Syrax’s back and spoke in High Valyrian.
“Don’t be polite with him!”
Rhaenyra answered in the same language.
Baelon gave a quiet “Mm,” then turned his gaze toward Ormund Hightower.
“Lord Ormund, you once told me that you are well versed in the laws of the realm.
Tell me, what punishment is prescribed for surrounding the king’s eldest son with armed men?”
“Prince, what we are discussing here is that you cannot—”
“Ormund Hightower.”
Baelon’s voice suddenly hardened.
“Your prince commands you to answer my question!”
Ormund Hightower looked up at the prince sitting atop the dragon.
Baelon’s body was thin, his face pale, and heavy dark circles hung beneath his eyes.
Yet at that moment, there was nothing frail about him.
He was a dragonrider.
And Ormund suddenly found himself holding his breath.
“Prince…” His voice trembled.
“According to the laws of the realm, anyone who takes up arms and surrounds a member of the royal family without authorization shall be beheaded.”
“Good.”
Baelon turned toward Rhaenyra and spoke in High Valyrian.
“Sister, command Syrax to burn the archers behind Ormund Hightower with dragonflame.”
“Syrax.
Dracarys.”
Rhaenyra gave the command in High Valyrian.
Syrax opened her jaws, and yellow flame erupted from the dragon’s mouth, sweeping across the Hightower soldiers.
Screams of agony immediately filled the air.
Some of the soldiers desperately threw themselves into nearby pools of water, only to discover that even that could not extinguish the flames consuming their bodies.
Ormund Hightower stared at the gruesome scene in horror and fury before turning toward Rhaenyra.
“Princess!
What do you mean by this?!”
Baelon cut in before she could answer.
“Lord Hightower, are you questioning a princess of the realm?”
“Prince, I am merely seeking justice for my soldiers.”
Baelon gave a cold snort.
“You surrounded a prince and princess with armed men without authorization.
And this is the justice you speak of?”
“Take my advice and get out of our way.” His voice became colder.
“Otherwise, the ones rolling around on the ground won’t be limited to your soldiers.”
Only then did Ormund Hightower finally remember the words that had been repeated throughout the Seven Kingdoms for generations.
House Targaryen does not need an army.
They have dragons.
Faced with such an overwhelming difference in power, Ormund Hightower had no choice but to swallow his humiliation.
“I understand, Prince.”
Ormund rose and led his sworn knights away.
Rhaenyra seized the opportunity to climb onto Syrax’s back as well.
“Hold on tight, Baelon!”
She tightened the reins and urged Syrax forward.
The dragon spread her wings and soared out over Oldtown, carrying the two Targaryens toward the capital of House Targaryen.
King’s Landing.