Baelon was inspecting his three small factories, unaware that because of him, ripples had begun to spread across the once-calm waters of the Red Keep.
The sun had reached its highest point, and summer in King’s Landing was hot and stifling.
It was as though a thick woolen blanket had been draped over the entire city.
Viserys wore nothing but a light Myrish silk nightgown.
Holding several maps, he directed the stonemasons as they carved and painted a map table depicting King’s Landing.
When he heard Otto’s report, Viserys smiled proudly.
“Look how beloved he is.”
“I knew this day would come from the moment he was born.”
“The people do indeed adore Prince Baelon,” Otto agreed.
He glanced at Alicent, who sat in an armchair.
Alicent’s fingers tightened around the pages of her book.
She gently closed it and said with a mild smile, “They work for the Prince, and in return, the Prince never ceases to bestow favors upon them.”
Viserys’s smile widened.
At just the wrong moment, Alicent found herself thinking of Rhaenyra.
To win the favor of both Viserys and her own father, she ought to say something in Baelon’s praise.
Yet whenever someone at court praised Baelon, she could not help comparing the two siblings.
Comparing what Rhaenyra had with what her younger brother Baelon possessed.
Rhaenyra, my dearest friend.
Could you do as your brother does?
Throw open the treasury and squander gold without restraint, all to buy a moment’s applause.
Alicent swallowed.
Spurred on by what felt like righteous conviction, she said, “Rhaenyra was once hailed as ‘The Realm’s Delight.'”
Viserys and Otto both turned to look at her.
Alicent held her breath, unconsciously digging her fingers into one another.
Amid the slight pain, she felt a flicker of satisfaction.
By the Seven, look!
She was like a knight, bravely standing against the king and her own father for friendship, for the sake of an injustice!
I won’t tell Rhaenyra about this.
She doesn’t need to know.
The thought brought a faint sweetness to Alicent’s throat.
As though seized by a sense of honor, even her breathing quickened.
“Yes, Rhaenyra!” Alicent’s words seemed to remind Viserys.
“For half a year now, ravens have brought an endless stream of letters from across the Seven Kingdoms, all seeking Rhaenyra’s hand in marriage. I truly don’t know what to do.”
Alicent’s smile stiffened.
Viserys picked up a small stone Sept ornament and fell silent.
Alicent was about to speak when she met Otto’s piercing gaze.
Like tender spring grass beneath the winter snows of The North, her courage vanished in an instant.
Otto lowered his eyes, his gaze settling on the ornate Myrish carpet.
As the Hand of the King, he had long since noticed that something about Viserys had changed.
Ever since Prince Baelon’s birth, something seemed to have been gradually awakening within this naturally mild, peace-loving king.
Viserys had finally made up his mind.
His eyes shifted restlessly as he asked in an uncertain tone, “Otto, what do you think of the Lannisters?”
“A marriage between Rhaenyra and Jason Lannister?”
Otto replied, “The Lannisters are the Lords of the Westerlands, and Casterly Rock possesses rich gold mines. I believe it would be an excellent match.”
“But I fear Princess Rhaenyra may not see it that way.”
Viserys hesitated before saying, “If Baelon can sacrifice his own marriage, then I believe I can make that sacrifice as well.”
“Rhaenyra can too.”
Otto raised an eyebrow.
Over the past six years, he had come to understand just how stubborn the king could be when it came to choosing a queen.
Yet that stubbornness was steadily beginning to waver.
Just as it was now.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Otto said calmly.
“There are times when one must bow to tradition and duty. No one is exempt, not even you, as King of the Seven Kingdoms.”
“Have you spoken to Princess Rhaenyra about it?”
Viserys shook his head.
“Rhaenyra refuses to discuss the matter with me.”
He hesitated, as if wanting to say more.
At last, Viserys said, “I think it is time for Baelon to attend the Small Council.”
“We will need a new Cupbearer.”
Otto nodded.
“Lord Corlys will surely be pleased.”
Viserys was already lost in thought.
He waved a hand, signaling Otto and Alicent to leave.
Otto and Alicent left one after the other, entering the dim corridors of the Red Keep.
The short flight of stairs leading to the Tower of the Hand remained cold and shadowed even in the sweltering summer heat.
Once they were back in his chambers, Otto placed both hands on Alicent’s shoulders and said warmly, “Our chance has come, my daughter.”
“Are there no other nobles seeking my hand?” Alicent asked softly.
“Father.”
Otto frowned.
“Alicent, I am only a second son. Unlike my elder brother, I cannot inherit lands substantial enough to pass down to my descendants.”
“Even here at court in the Red Keep, I am little more than a rootless drifter.”
Alicent hurriedly said, “But some say your influence over the Iron Throne…”
“Alicent!” Otto frowned impatiently.
His influence over the Iron Throne?! Get faster updates on g.com.
If Viserys was so easily swayed, then Otto had to accept one thing.
If he could influence Viserys so easily, then others could do the same!
All Viserys had to do was decide to strip him of his position as Hand of the King, drive him away, and ensure that he could never return to the Red Keep.
And Otto would be powerless to resist.
Who would fight for him?!
No one.
“Once you become Queen, Hightower blood will put down deep roots in the Red Keep.”
“Then I will no longer be rootless.”
“Alicent, my daughter, only you can do this.”
Otto looked at Alicent tenderly, his eyes filled with encouragement and expectation.
Alicent lowered her head.
The corner of Otto’s mouth curved upward as his gaze fell upon Alicent’s abdomen.
…
The Council Chamber
Viserys gently traced the scar on his forearm, two handspans in length, as he waited for the Kingsguard to summon the Master of Laws.
It was where one of the blades of the Iron Throne had once cut him.
The sword tip had pierced the fine silk of his clothing and torn into his flesh.
Blood had welled out at once.
The wound soon festered and began oozing foul fluid.
Day after day, he drank poppy milk to dull the pain, let leeches suck the pus from his wound, and endured the Maester cauterizing the afflicted flesh with hot iron.
Again and again, he hoped the Maester might prepare some miraculous herbal remedy.
But the herbs did nothing, and neither did the Maester’s treatments.
Without poppy milk, the pain tormented him to utter exhaustion, denying him even a moment’s peace.
With poppy milk, he spent his days drowsy and muddled, with no mind for affairs of state.
But Baelon had learned from a dream of a way to free him from his suffering.
He asked Viserys to endure the pain a little longer while the Maester scraped away the blackened and yellowed rotting flesh.
He had water boiled, added salt, and used it to wash the wound.
Finally, he spread honey over the wound and wrapped it in linen soaked in holy water mixed with alcohol.
Every day, the wound was washed and the linen changed.
After more than ten days, it began to itch.
A month and a half later, a huge, thick, sausage-like welt of flesh had risen along his arm.
“Tap, tap, tap.”
Steady, measured footsteps drew nearer.
Viserys came back to himself.
“You’re here.”
“Your Grace.” Lyonel bowed.
Viserys clasped his hands together and braced them against the tabletop.
He opened his mouth, then hesitated, unable to bring himself to speak.