Just as Lyonel had predicted, Corlys Velaryon readily accepted the betrothal between Laena and Baelon.
As for the two people actually involved?
Laena obeyed her parents.
She believed that forging a close union between House Targaryen and House Velaryon was both her duty and her honor.
Baelon, naturally, voiced no objections either.
And just like that, before Baelon was even out of swaddling clothes, he found himself betrothed to a girl twelve years older than him.
The High Septon of Oldtown also secretly breathed a sigh of relief at the match.
Perhaps this generation of Targaryens would avoid marriages between brothers and sisters, or sisters and brothers, those arrangements that stood above even the usual exceptions granted to their house.
With the promise secured, Corlys Velaryon felt a surge of excitement he had not known in years.
House Velaryon had finally received the justice it deserved.
At last, it had gained the throne that should rightfully have belonged to the Velaryons.
He threw himself into his duties as Master of the Fleet.
Which meant building ships, building ships, and then building even more ships!
The only difference was that the shipyards had moved from Driftmark to King’s Landing, and instead of broad-bellied merchant vessels, they were now building warships.
Nor was that the only good news.
At last, Viserys received a response to the peace proposal he had sent to the Triarchy, the alliance of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh known as the “Kingdom of the Three Daughters.”
The “Kingdom of the Three Daughters” sent envoys to King’s Landing to conclude an agreement.
The Triarchy would be responsible for restraining the Grand Admiral occupying the Stepstones and preventing further attacks on merchant ships belonging to the nobles of Westeros.
However, every Westerosi vessel passing through the area would be required to pay a heavy toll, with no attempts at avoiding the tax permitted.
Furthermore, none of the wealth, women, or young boys taken from previously plundered ships would be returned.
Corlys Velaryon strongly advocated war to end the “Kingdom of the Three Daughters'” control over the Stepstones once and for all.
But Viserys had already decided on peace.
Corlys stood alone in the Small Council, and since he had no wish to fall out with the Iron Throne again, he could only reluctantly accept what amounted to a policy of appeasement.
Yet storms did not disappear on their own, and wounds left unhealed would eventually fester.
Corlys Velaryon understood the greed of the Free Cities all too well.
He knew that one day, this peace agreement would inevitably be torn apart.
For the moment, however, Westeros was enjoying peace and prosperity, and Viserys could not have been more satisfied.
At last, he had the energy to address the growing distance between himself and his daughter Rhaenyra.
…
What was life like for a baby?!
Sleeping.
Practicing stretching and kicking his legs.
Counting the patterns woven into the tapestries.
Counting the stone tiles.
Counting the scales on his dragon egg.
His dragon egg had 189 scales in total.
Seventy-four were green-gold, fifty-two were pure gold, and sixty-three shimmered in various shades of gold.
Oh, right.
He could finally roll over and crawl by himself.
Baelon regretfully hugged his warm little dragon egg.
Warm and hard, beautiful and magnificent, and it even came with its own heat.
It was only a shame that the little dragon inside would never become his dragon.
Dragons, rulers of the skies and weapons capable of deciding the outcome of wars.
Aegon the Conqueror had ended Westeros’s age of chaos and united the Seven Kingdoms by relying on three dragons.
As long as they had enough food, dragons continued growing throughout their lives until the day they died.
Once fully grown, their dragonfire could melt gold and iron, while their scales became as hard as steel and capable of resisting bows and crossbows.
Very few humans were capable of killing a dragon.
Dragons were not invincible, however.
The scales of young dragons could not stop arrows, and their dragonfire was not yet hot enough.
In short, dragons were like fine wine.
The older they became, the better they were.
And Baelon preferred aged wine.
A fully grown dragon that had spent a hundred years before his birth being tempered in battle, gaining vast experience and becoming immensely powerful.
That was practically a century-aged vintage!
Who could possibly resist?!
After spending the past few days lying flat in his cradle, Baelon had already settled on his preferred targets.
Vhagar.
Vermithor.
Vhagar was one of the Three Founding Dragons, and after Balerion’s death, she was the largest and oldest dragon still alive.
She had also belonged to his namesake grandfather, Baelon Targaryen, the “Spring Prince,” known as “the Brave.”
Vermithor, meanwhile, was still in his prime, swift and agile with a fierce temperament.
He had been the dragon of Baelon’s great-grandfather, Jaehaerys I, the “Old King.”
More importantly, there was one other point.
He was a championship-caliber pure-blooded Targaryen and a direct descendant of both former riders.
Taming either of those dragons should not be especially dangerous for him.
His only obstacle was that he was still an infant with practically no mobility.
He really wished he could grow up faster.
Baelon idly hugged the dragon egg while listening to the maids chatter around him, lying perfectly still as they changed his diaper.
Shame?
He had thrown that away centuries ago!
After the five maids finished checking on Baelon, they gathered around Lola and urged her to show them the ruby brooch the king had given her.
“This is a real ruby! Not garnet!” Lola raised her chin proudly and drew the fiery-red jeweled brooch from her bodice.
The golden brooch, still warm from her body, passed from hand to hand among the maids.
One maid pinned it into her red hair and exclaimed excitedly, “Look, look! Doesn’t it suit my hair perfectly?”
“By the Seven, if I could wear a brooch like this on my wedding day, I could die happy!”
Lola smiled and planted a hand on the maid’s head before tugging the brooch free from her hair.
“Take good care of the Prince. Perhaps you’ll receive a reward just like Mia and me.”
The room fell quiet for a while.
With nothing else to do, the maids soon began gossiping again.
Over the past few days, Baelon had heard quite a few secrets about the servants of the Red Keep.
For example, Danni, the kindly old woman who worked in the kitchens, was actually a ruthless sort.
When she was still a little girl, she had personally denounced her own father for the greater good, resulting in his head being hung from the castle gates.
Or there was the matter of which kind-hearted maid had secretly smuggled several stray kittens into the Red Keep so they could eat the leftovers.
Nothing but trivial little matters.
Then he suddenly heard his own name.
“Have you heard about that thing with Prince Baelon?”
“The Prince?”
That immediately caught the attention of everyone in the room.
To the maids, Prince Baelon was the child they served, and an unusually easy one to care for at that.
He cried only when he was hungry or had wet himself.
The rest of the time, he was either sleeping, playing with the bells hanging over his cradle, fiddling with the pearls embroidered into his blanket, or hugging his dragon egg.
More importantly, Prince Baelon seemed to have inherited the king’s generosity.
Whenever he took a liking to one of the maids, he would pull a brooch from the king’s shoulder and stuff it into her hands.
That had sent King Viserys into fits of laughter, after which he simply gave the brooches to Mia and Lola as rewards.
A hushed voice drifted toward the cradle.
“Mother-Slayer…”
“The child who tore his way out of his mother’s belly…”
“They say people outside the Red Keep are calling the Prince that…”
Baelon fell silent for a moment.
In the end, he could not stop a question mark from slowly forming in his mind.
Had whoever started this rumor left his brain behind while the rest of him wandered off in his sleep?
It was so crude and stupid that Baelon could not even bring himself to be angry.
In this world, which was not far removed from the Middle Ages, medical knowledge was primitive.
No fewer women died in childbirth than knights died in battle.
Baelon slowly closed his eyes.
It was true that Aemma Arryn had lost her life so that he could be born into this world.
But Viserys, no, everyone on this entire continent, would refuse to let such an accusation stand.
If merely being born made him guilty, then at least forty percent of the people in this world would have to share the same guilt.
No one wanted to bear such a stigma.
There was only one thing Baelon could not understand.
Viserys had only one son now.
Who would target him, and with such a stupid method at that?
His birth had certainly harmed the interests of certain people.
Let him think.
The Hightowers?
Impossible.
Otto Hightower was not that foolish.
House Hightower did not even have a Queen or a Prince yet.
Acting now would accomplish nothing except enraging Viserys and bringing disaster upon House Hightower.
Daemon?
Impossible.
Daemon was not an idiot either.
What former heir, after losing his position in the succession, would do anything except keep his head down?
Why would he instead provoke the king like this?!
The moment the name “Mother-Slayer” began circulating through King’s Landing, word quickly reached Otto.
Naturally, it soon reached Viserys as well.
Viserys flew into a rage the instant he heard it.
He had already invested Baelon as Prince of Dragonstone!
To slander Baelon was tantamount to treason!
He ordered Otto to investigate the origin of the rumor thoroughly.
Otto Hightower was highly capable and decisive, and it did not take him long to uncover the answer.
At the time, Viserys was in Baelon’s bedchamber with Rhaenyra.
He seemed somewhat at a loss, cautiously using Baelon as a topic of conversation in an attempt to repair his strained relationship with his daughter.
Baelon was happy to cooperate.
He held Viserys’s hand with one of his own and Rhaenyra’s with the other.
Just as father and daughter were on the verge of finally opening their hearts to one another, Otto arrived with the results of his investigation.
The rumor had come from Daemon.
Daemon Targaryen.
Viserys’s expression darkened.
He had never expected his own brother to be responsible for such a thing!
Baelon: ?
Daemon?
What could he possibly gain from this?
Rhaenyra reacted at once.
“Uncle? That’s impossible!”
“He would never do something so vile!”
Using her mother’s death to attack a child.
“I am sorry, Princess, but I fear Daemon has betrayed your trust.” Otto remained perfectly composed.
“At least seven people in the brothels of the Street of Silk heard Daemon himself utter the words…”
He paused and watched Viserys’s expression.
“‘Mother-Slayer.’ A name meant to slander both the Queen and the Prince.”
Otto watched with satisfaction as King Viserys erupted in fury the moment he heard the words, his face flushing crimson.
Viserys angrily commanded the Kingsguard, “Bring Daemon before me at once!”
At a loss, Rhaenyra stroked the necklace around her neck and watched her father’s furious retreat, worry written across her face.