After a forbidden night with Ser Criston Cole, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen is forced by her father, King Viserys, to drink the moon tea and protect her honor. To shield her image further, she weds Ser Laenor Velaryon, and together they move to Drift...
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Present Time
Red Keep, King's Landing
Aemond felt as though his very soul had slipped beyond his flesh, for before his eyes loomed a jet-black dragon, its vast eyes burning with an untamed and unyielding crimson fire.
"By the Seven!" cried Otto as he stepped onto the balcony, the remaining members of the Council at his side. "Protect the King! Do not stand idle as statues, you worthless idiots!" he thundered at the guards upon the balcony.
"Calm yourself, Lord Hand. Don't get your panties in a twist," Lord Black remarked smoothly, his eyes glinting with a trace of mockery and amusement as he looked upon the grandsire. "So long as all remain composed and return to their duties, nothing out of the ordinary shall come to pass."
"Calm?! How can you speak of calm?" Mother burst into the conversation, abrupt and shaken, casting aside the manners for which she was known throughout the realm. "How are we to remain calm, waiting for that beast to fall into a fit of rage or madness and set us all aflame?"
Aemond knew not how to give voice to the sudden shift that seized the air, once his mother's words had been spoken. It was as though a predatory, bloodthirsty breath had cloaked the open space in its dread embrace.
It was in that very moment that Aemond perceived how the mighty, majestic dragon, together with the Valyrian Goddess, both as though bound by some unseen tether, turned their heads toward where his Mother stood. They beheld her with gazes brimming with a calculating wisdom—and touched with a measure of arrogance.
She, as if perceiving herself laid bare beneath the gaze of two predators, parted her lips in dread, yet no word would come forth. All color fled her face, leaving her countenance ghostly pale, as though life itself had recoiled from her.
"Believe me, my most distinguished and ever-revered Queen," Lord Black went on, his lips curled in a sly smile—one that Aemond could read as steeped in falsehood. "If Dahlia wished to slay the entire Royal Family, believe me, she would need neither aid nor ally to see it done."
"Hey! Scale-ball!" shouted the red-haired trainer, drawing once more the strained attention of all those upon the King's balcony, their eyes turning again toward the training yard.
It was not until they looked more closely at the red-haired man that they realized he was speaking directly to the great dragon before them.
"I really do hope your oh-so dazzling, larger-than-life presence is just here to watch! 'Cause the last thing we need is a flea-ridden, meddling cheat sticking his snout where it doesn't belong!"
What did that commoner think of himself, hurling insults at a dragon in such a manner? As though he were nothing more than some wretch off the Street of Silk.
