Lyonel Strong’s pupils contracted slightly.
He studied Baelon Targaryen with great care.
The sun sank behind the dark mountains, and rose-purple twilight spread across the horizon.
Baelon wore a long black velvet robe without a single dragon emblem upon it.
The evening breeze stirred his shoulder-length silver curls, sending shimmering ripples through them.
His violet eyes gleamed, calm and serene.
Even beneath Lyonel’s frankly intrusive scrutiny, his expression remained composed, graceful, and at ease.
Humble and courteous, kind and benevolent.
He was almost the very image of a prince from the songs.
Countless hedge knights had heard of his reputation and crossed mountains and valleys to reach King’s Landing, all for the chance to stand at his side and serve such an ideal ruler.
Lyonel recalled what people across the Seven Kingdoms said about the Prince.
Some nobles thought he resembled King Aenys, far too weak.
Like Aenys, he had been small and frail from birth, loved singers, was modest yet personally charming, intelligent, and surrounded by friends.
Even his wife was the daughter of the Lord of the Tides, Lord Velaryon.
And he had an uncle who resembled Maegor all too closely.
Daemon Targaryen loved battle, was formidable with a blade, wielded Dark Sister, and rode the ferocious “Blood Wyrm,” Caraxes.
Many lords feared history would repeat itself.
Stranger still, the Prince had repeatedly urged the king to ignore such talk and take no action against those spreading it.
That only strengthened his reputation for “weakness.”
But Lyonel knew better.
Prince Baelon was no King Aenys.
He lacked neither decisiveness nor courage, and he even enjoyed the favor of the Seven.
Lyonel was certain that he would bring Westeros into a golden age.
Until now, Lyonel had taken quiet pride in having recognized that, even feeling a certain superiority.
Compared with most of those foolish nobles, he was intelligent, learned, quick-witted, and perceptive.
But…
What had he just heard?!
Lyonel could not help giving a self-mocking smile.
Prince Baelon truly was nothing like the weak King Aenys.
Like Maegor, he had rejected every young dragon, stubbornly insisting that only one dragon was worthy of him.
It had been so obvious.
How had Lyonel only just realized it?!
The prince, beloved by the Seven and born with wisdom granted by the gods, raised his head, apparently noticing Lyonel’s excessive scrutiny.
Prince Baelon showed no displeasure at the offense.
Instead, he smiled, raised an eyebrow, and spread his arms openly.
“Lord Lyonel, what are you trying to see?”
Baelon had long since grown accustomed to being stared at and scrutinized.
Out of goodwill toward Lyonel, he continued to smile at him.
His voice was patient and kindly.
“Whatever it is, I’m willing to show you directly.”
There was nothing he needed to laboriously conceal, phrase indirectly, or dance around.
Clever wordplay?
Rambling political rhetoric?
Carefully veiled diplomacy?
A smile lingered in Baelon’s eyes as he tilted his head back, encouraging Lyonel Strong, who stood twice his height, to speak plainly.
Lyonel smiled bitterly.
What a humble, courteous, kind, and benevolent Prince.
And what a confident, arrogant dragon.
A Lord needed dignity and strength to maintain his authority over his lands.
A dragonriding Targaryen did not.
Wearily, Lyonel persisted.
“Prince Baelon, war is no child’s game. I…”
“Indeed.”
“Now is not the time to begin a war.”
“I will persuade Father against it.”
He did not even have a dragon yet.
Lyonel had never expected matters to turn around so completely.
With impeccable courtesy, Baelon thanked him.
“Lord Lyonel, thank you for your loyalty to the Seven Kingdoms. What you have said today will bring glory and peace to Westeros.”
Baelon turned and continued toward Viserys’s bedchamber.
Forget Ser Cole.
They could simply send him straight to the Wall.
Going to Dragonstone to tame a dragon was far more important.
…
Before Baelon even reached the door, he heard Viserys roaring from inside.
“How could you do such a thing?!”
Rhaenyra gave no ground.
“What did I do?!”
“You and Daemon had already visited every brothel in sight by the time you were my age!”
“And fathered a whole pack of bastards!”
“Even some lowborn hedge knight can have a farmer’s daughter in his arms one day and share a bed with a miller’s daughter the next!”
Baelon glanced at the rose-purple sky.
He nearly lost his composure.
They were still arguing?!
They certainly had the energy for it.
He nodded to the two Kingsguards stationed outside, and they pushed open the door.
Behind the enormous stone-carved map table, Viserys sat with a hand pressed to his forehead.
He looked as though his head were splitting.
“If this were during Jaehaerys’s reign…”
Rhaenyra shot back without hesitation, “Would he have sent me away to become a Septa and been done with it?”
Baelon’s arrival broke the standoff between them.
He asked curiously, “What happened?”
Rhaenyra closed her mouth and turned to look out the window.
Viserys forced a smile and rose from his chair.
“Nothing.”
“How did things go at the factory today?”
He bent down and patted Baelon affectionately on the shoulder.
“You came at just the right time.”
“Starting tomorrow, you’ll serve as Cupbearer at the Small Council.”
Baelon had no desire to waste time circling around the matter.
“I heard.”
Viserys’s brows drew tightly together.
He was about to speak when Baelon continued.
“The Kingsguard will keep the matter secret. No one else needs to know.”
“I don’t think Rhaenyra is the real issue here. Criston Cole is.” Baelon brought up the other person involved.
Viserys’s anger faltered.
Baelon continued, “He betrayed his honor, profaned his vows, betrayed the king, and stained the glory of the Kingsguard.”
“He should be stripped of his honors and made to take the black.”
At once, all the rage Viserys had been holding found a new target.
He shouted toward the door, ordering the Kingsguard to bring Ser Cole before him.
Bring him before the father whose daughter’s chastity he had defiled.
Viserys sat in his chair, waiting in a fury.
The chamber fell silent.
Baelon watched Viserys’s expression, stepped forward to pour him a cup of wine, then patted his heaving back.
Only then could Baelon start the process of asking permission to go to Dragonstone.
Viserys gradually settled.
He had indeed allowed anger to cloud his judgment.
As long as the matter was handled in secret, Rhaenyra could still marry into the Lannisters and rule the Westerlands.
And if she disliked the Lannisters, she could choose whichever lord among the Seven Kingdoms pleased her.
Viserys sighed.
Seeing his chance, Baelon had just opened his mouth when another voice spoke first.
“Ser Cole is not wholly to blame.”
Rhaenyra had made up her mind.
She looked Viserys straight in the eye.
“I was the one who initiated it!”
Viserys’s face, which had only just cooled, turned burning hot again.
His hand clenched around the golden goblet, making the crimson wine tremble and spill over its rim.
Baelon, beaten to the punch: …
Very responsible of you, big sister.
But you really didn’t need to do that.
Just then, someone knocked sharply at the door.
“Knock, knock, knock.”
A Dragonkeeper urgently reported in High Valyrian, “Your Grace!”
“Prince Daemon stole a dragon egg from the Dragonpit! He took it for the bastard he fathered with his whore.”
Viserys drew a deep breath.
Then another.
He summoned every last scrap of his patience.
“It’s fine.”
“Let Daemon make trouble for now and burn off some of his energy.”
“I’ll have him return the dragon egg in a few days.”
The Dragonkeeper continued, “But Prince Daemon has already flown away with the dragon egg and his whore.”
“He said they’re going to the Free Cities!”
Viserys’s fury surged.
He hurled the wine cup to the floor.
His whole body shook as he gasped for breath.
“Daemon…” Viserys ground the name out between clenched teeth.
Baelon silently repeated the Dragonkeeper’s words in his head, taking an extra moment to grasp what they meant.
Wait!
He was taking a dragon egg to the Free Cities!
How was that any different from tossing meat straight into a dog’s mouth?!
Ha!
So Baelon was the only one being left out after all!
The Targaryen blood was acting up in everyone at once!
Baelon had no dragon, and neither did Viserys.
In a situation like this, they could only place their hopes on Rhaenyra.
He urged her, “Rhaenyra, mount Syrax and catch Daemon at once.”
Before Rhaenyra could respond, the Kingsguard returned.
“Your Grace!”
“Ser Cole is not in the Tower of Knights!”
“Someone saw him carrying a large pack and riding out of the Red Keep.”
Rhaenyra stared at him in disbelief.
“How is that possible?!”
“Ser Harrold, are you accusing Ser Cole of desertion?!”
“That is a grave accusation to make against a knight!”
Viserys was so furious that he collapsed back into his chair.