With the welcoming ceremony concluded, Viserys led his family into the royal encampment.
The members of the Small Council, led by the Hand of the King, Lyonel Strong, and the Master of Coin, Lord Lyman Beesbury, came forward to bow and offer their greetings.
“Thank you for your hard work, everyone.
Let us go inside.”
Viserys smiled warmly at them.
Lyonel and the others stepped aside, allowing the king and queen to enter first.
Only then did they pause and turn toward Prince Baelon, offering him solemn and respectful greetings.
“This is a fine sword forged from black steel.
May you possess the strong and healthy body of a knight of the Vale!” Lyonel said as he presented his gift.
“Prince Baelon, these are medicinal herbs I brought back from the Free Cities.
May they help restore your health and bring you a swift recovery.”
That was Lyman Beesbury.
The gestures of the two men left the other members of the Small Council stunned.
None of them had prepared anything for the prince and could only offer their blessings verbally.
“Thank you all for your kind wishes.
I will have a healthy body.”
Baelon smiled and nodded, allowing a nearby servant to take the gifts.
He then entered the tent with Rhaenyra.
Inside the encampment, pastries, wine, and fresh fruit had been neatly arranged across the tables for the nobles and their ladies attending the royal hunt.
Viserys took his seat upon the royal chair and warmly greeted every noble who came to pay their respects.
Baelon remained beside him, with King Viserys personally introducing his eldest son, the child of whom he was most proud, to the assembled nobility.
The visiting nobles bowed one after another, but when they saw the prince’s frail appearance, many could not help shaking their heads inwardly.
Could such an heir even survive to adulthood?
His fate, it seemed, depended on whether the Seven were willing to forgive whatever sins he had supposedly committed.
Meanwhile, Rhaenyra sat among a group of noblewomen, eating pastries while listening to them chatter endlessly about the war in the Stepstones.
“I heard Lady Johanna Swann was traveling aboard Lord Swann’s ship when she passed through the Stepstones, and she was kidnapped,” one elderly noblewoman said.
“How unfortunate.
I heard she may be sold to one of the Free Cities and forced to work as a prostitute entertaining their guests,” another elderly woman said mournfully.
“My husband says no king can tame the Stepstones for long.
It is a barren wasteland, fit only for savages.”
“We can talk about this all day and accomplish nothing.
Why don’t we ask Her Highness the princess what she thinks?”
One of the older ladies skillfully turned the conversation toward Rhaenyra.
“The war in the Stepstones is a matter for the king and the Small Council to decide.
I will not offer an opinion.”
Rhaenyra’s answer was impeccable.
Before the royal hunt, she and Baelon had already discussed the kinds of situations they might encounter and prepared themselves accordingly.
“Perhaps Your Highness does not know that your beloved uncle is the true mastermind behind this war.”
“If it were not for Prince Daemon, the realm could send envoys to the Triarchy and persuade them to resolve the conflict peacefully.”
Lady Gyllara spoke like a savage, unreasonable dog, attempting to place the entire blame on Daemon.
Rhaenyra was momentarily rendered speechless.
Just as Rhaenyra found herself unable to answer, Baelon approached at an unhurried pace and answered the question in her place.
“Lady Gyllara, in your understanding, how many merchant ships from Westeros does the Triarchy raid each year?”
“I…”
Lady Gyllara stammered.
It was not that she could not answer.
It was that there was simply no way to calculate the number accurately.
The Stepstones occupied an extraordinarily important position.
The port taxes alone could double the crown’s annual income.
Seeing that his opponent had fallen silent, Baelon continued.
“The Triarchy has repeatedly raided ships belonging to Westeros and sold my father’s subjects into slavery.”
“Even if my uncle went to war without the king’s permission, everything he did was ultimately intended to protect the peace and stability of Westeros and uphold the authority of the royal family.”
“My father will certainly make up his mind and send troops to support the war in the Stepstones, bringing this strategically important territory under the crown’s rule.”
“So, Lady Gyllara, do you still believe all of this is my uncle’s fault?”
Baelon finished speaking and looked directly at the noblewoman.
He was rather curious to see what else this long-tongued gossip could possibly say now.
The noblewomen who had been participating in the discussion visibly changed expressions after hearing the prince’s argument, Lady Gyllara most of all.
A six-year-old child had rendered her completely speechless.
Her face looked worse than a loaf of black bread left too long in an oven, yet there was nothing she could do about it.
He was the king’s eldest son, the heir to the Iron Throne, and the only recognized heir of the Seven Kingdoms.
Offending him was equivalent to throwing her entire family into the grave.
“Prince Baelon, please forgive my foolish words.”
Lady Gyllara slowly bent forward and bowed her head solemnly.
Then she fled the gathering as though escaping from a fire.
With such an example before them, the atmosphere immediately became much quieter.
The noblewomen confined themselves to harmless matters of family and household and dared not discuss politics again.
“Well done, Baelon.
But weren’t you with Father?
Why did you suddenly come over here?”
Rhaenyra asked curiously.
“Father was worried that too much socializing would have a negative effect on my health, so he told me to take a walk outside and get some fresh air.”
“Be careful.
Don’t go too far.”
Rhaenyra still looked worried.
“I’m not a child anymore.”
“And Ser Erryk is personally guarding me.
Nothing will happen.”
Baelon waved toward his sister and left the lively encampment, where the air was thick with perfume.
Once outside, Baelon began seriously considering how he could improve his physical training during the royal hunt.
His pride absolutely refused to tolerate the nobles continuing to call him the frail heir.
At that moment, Lyonel Strong’s second son, Larys Strong, came limping toward him.
“Ser Larys, aren’t you going back to listen to the noblewomen?”
Baelon turned around, somewhat puzzled by his arrival.
Larys leaned heavily upon his cane and struggled through a formal, obsequious bow.
Baelon rarely encountered someone who immediately caught his interest.
He gave a slight nod, signaling for Larys to continue.
“I know of your tragic circumstances, Your Highness.
And after hearing the disgraceful rumors circulating today, I imagine they must be weighing heavily upon you.”
Larys’s words carried an unmistakable implication.
Someone like me can make those troubles disappear for you.
Baelon smiled.
“Ser Larys, you should understand something.
Today is the first time we have ever met.”
Larys understood at once.
The prince was telling him to prove his loyalty.
“Your Highness, would you allow Ser Erryk to stand a little farther away?
There are certain things I would like to discuss with you privately.”
Larys spoke respectfully.
“All right.”
Baelon nodded and gestured for Erryk to give them some space.
“I was ordered by the king himself to protect you personally, Your Highness.”
Ser Erryk clearly did not trust the gloomy-looking cripple standing before him.
“I am not asking you to leave.
I am merely asking you to give us enough room to speak privately.
And I will remain at least a yard away from you.
Consider it an additional precaution for my own safety.”
With that, Baelon moved first, stepping back to a distance where Erryk could reach him quickly if necessary.
Seeing that the prince remained safely within his range, Erryk respectfully withdrew a short distance, leaving the two of them enough room to speak.
“Tell me your idea and your plan.”
Baelon got straight to the point.
“By dawn, he will no longer be a problem.”
Larys’s expression remained calm.
“And I will personally cut out his tongue for you.”
As he spoke, Larys reached inside his robes and produced a tightly rolled piece of parchment, which he slowly unrolled.
“Everything is written here in my own hand.
The entire process, where the men will go afterward, and the money required to hire them.
All of it will be placed under your control.”
Larys set the parchment on the ground between them.
Then he slowly stepped backward and disappeared into the shadows.
Baelon took out a white handkerchief before picking up the parchment.
He carefully examined Larys’s plan, reading through the general outline of what he intended to do.
A faint smile appeared on Baelon’s face.
“Heh…”
“This is interesting.”