"Aegon has such thick skin!"
Little Daeron covered his face with both hands, utterly embarrassed.
Having an older brother who boasted so recklessly was unbearable.
Rhaegar pinched the bridge of his nose, his mind reduced to a single thought.
Speechless!
How dare he brag like that? Was he not afraid that the people of the Three Sisters Islands would ambush him in the dead of night?
That lawless place had been plundered into poverty.
If they were desperate enough to take a risk and ambush Aegon while he was visiting a brothel...
Rhaegar sighed helplessly. "We need to ensure the Gold Cloaks patrol more rigorously."
"What happened?"
The twins were drawn over, holding their tea and pastries as they leaned on the same bench to observe.
For a moment, four heads with silver-gold hair clustered together.
All of them were staring intently at Aegon, who was spitting as he boasted.
They weren't making much noise, but their presence was too conspicuous.
It didn't take long for them to attract attention from across the room.
Margaery, sitting with perfect posture, looked up at Aegon in mock surprise, playing along with the prince's bragging.
Her brown eyes held a subtle, amused glint.
Despite her young age, she had the distinct air of an adult humoring a child.
The other girls followed suit, offering flattery in turn, showering Aegon with exaggerated praise.
Their coaxing left Aegon beaming with pride as he lifted a wine bottle, preparing to demonstrate his drinking prowess.
Suddenly, Margaery's eyes flickered—she had noticed a reflection of silver-gold hair watching her.
She lifted her gaze.
Four Targaryens of varying sizes.
"Prince Rhaegar!"
Seeing the man she had been longing for, Margaery called out in delight, lifting her skirts slightly as she walked toward him with a cheerful grace.
Rhaegar's expression stiffened slightly, his brows knitting together.
He was sensitive to emotions.
Under Margaery's gaze, he couldn't shake the odd feeling that he was a piece of meat being eyed hungrily.
"My prince, it has been too long."
Margaery stopped in front of him, offering a graceful curtsy with a bright smile. "I haven't had the chance to congratulate you on your victory over the Three Sisters. I'm sure the king will soon hold a grand banquet to honor your achievement."
Rhaegar returned a polite smile. "Thank you for your kind words, Lady Margaery."
As they chatted, he subtly adjusted his position, pulling the twins onto his lap as a barrier.
The closer she got, the stronger the sensation of being watched grew.
It wasn't the affectionate gaze of Jeyne, nor the adoring admiration of Helaena—it was an unguarded, blatant sense of covetous desire.
Suddenly being held, Rhaenys tilted her head. "What's wrong?"
The little girl was sensitive and had inherited her mother Rhaenys Velaryon's gentle nature.
"Idiot! Be quiet."
Baela, the smarter of the two, covered her sister's mouth and leaned against their cousin.
She had figured it out.
That pale-skinned woman across from them had impure intentions—her gaze was just like those scheming women who tried to seduce her father.
Their cousin was their adoptive mother's husband. They had to help keep watch.
Rhaenys, feeling wronged, shut her mouth and nestled closer to her sister.
"Hsskk..."
Dawn, the little white cat squeezed between them, let out a high-pitched meow, struggling to escape the tight space.
Rhaegar's lips twitched as he gently separated the twins. "Shh, keep eating your pastries."
Then, he flashed an apologetic smile at Margaery, clearly unwilling to engage in more conversation.
Margaery's gaze swept over the twins before she naturally took a seat on another bench, choosing topics that would interest little girls.
In just a few sentences, she had the twins giggling.
Even Daeron, who had been pouting, was drawn into the conversation and began chatting.
Rhaegar, watching from the side, shook his head.
He couldn't help but lament how formidable outsiders were—and how unreliable his own allies seemed.
Then a thought struck him.
With Margaery in King's Landing, Highgarden was likely left in the hands of the old Lord Tyrell and his new wife.
"Friction with her stepmother, fearing being pushed out?"
Rhaegar pondered, pouring himself a cup of sweet fruit wine, enjoying a fleeting moment of peace amid the lively atmosphere.
When it came to the heir of the Reach, he had no way of intervening.
He could only pray that the old Lord Tyrell still had the ability to produce more heirs—or at the very least, that he wouldn't die too soon.
The Reach couldn't afford internal strife while Dorne was in rebellion.
The peace didn't last long.
A crown prince, a duke's daughter, and several Targaryens—
The striking combination soon attracted many gazes.
A group of noble ladies and highborn girls eyed them enviously, but with the crown prince already married and Daeron still too young, they could only sigh in disappointment.
The only one left was Aegon.
And the girls around him were bold.
Daughters from House Lannister and House Tarly abandoned their pre-arranged suitors and walked over, gracefully greeting the group before sitting beside Margaery.
It wasn't that they looked down on Aegon.
As the second son of the king, he was still a prince, and they understood that.
But his betrothal to Selyse Hightower meant they were just there for show.
And with Margaery leading the retreat, they quickly followed.
…
Watching several beautiful girls leave in succession, Aegon was thoroughly displeased, grumbling, "Don't go!"
He hadn't even finished his drink, and the ladies were already fleeing.
Turning back, he realized that only two girls remained—one from House Hightower and one from House Beesbury.
A woman named Selena Hightower was not considered stunningly beautiful, yet she exuded a refreshing charm. Her every move was poised and elegant.
At first glance, she bore a certain resemblance to Alicent.
Another woman, named Anna Beesbury, was a slightly chubby girl with an adorable smile.
Aegon glanced at them discreetly, then slumped into his seat with disappointment.
He actually preferred women like Margaery or those golden-haired beauties from House Lannister—curvy and more in line with his tastes.
As for these two, he had met the girl from House Beesbury once before, during his trip to the Reach to seek aid after the Stepstones campaign.
How should he put it?
She was a bit dim-witted, and he detested that old fool, Lord Lyman.
Selena Hightower, on the other hand, was somewhat attractive. Her fair, long legs were particularly alluring.
But…
Aegon quickly shook his head, full of resistance. "I'd rather die than marry a Hightower!"
Meanwhile
Stormlands, Rainwood Encampment
"Knight patrol! Make way!"
A dozen Stormland knights rode toward the camp gates, their banners embroidered with the crowned stag fluttering in the wind.
Moments later, the gates opened from within, and soldiers rushed out to move the barricades.
The knights entered the encampment.
Not long after—
Screech!
A brown-muddied dragon's shadow streaked across the sky, emerging from the dense forest.
On its back, a silver-haired young man clad in light armor.
"Sheepstealer! Put me down!"
As they soared over the encampment, Aemond's eyes gleamed with excitement, his hands patting the dragon's rough, mud-caked scales.
Screech!
Sheepstealer cast a sidelong glance at its rider and lazily descended.
After several days away, the ugly, battle-scarred dragon reeked of blood. Its gaunt head turned from side to side, scanning the surroundings.
A closer look revealed its scale-covered belly pockmarked with wounds, likely from a barrage of arrows.
Its broad brown wings bore scars from battle, with one wing membrane sporting a gaping hole the size of a washbasin.
It was clear—Sheepstealer had endured the flames of war.
Aemond dismounted, rubbing the dragon's coarse neck with satisfaction. "Well done! We torched another band of Dornishmen."
Screech!
Sheepstealer shot him a sideways glare, its vertical pupils flashing with unmistakable disdain, before dragging itself off indifferently.
Charging headfirst into enemy fire—wherever the battle was fiercest!
Did Aemond think he was riding a mighty war dragon, or one of those ancient, battle-hardened beasts?
If not for its thick scales, this dragon wouldn't have survived such reckless abuse.
Watching his dragon lumber away, Aemond scratched his head awkwardly.
Summoning a nearby soldier, he commanded arrogantly, "Prepare some goats for my dragon. It's time for a change of taste today."
"Yes, my prince."
The soldier hurried off to fulfill the order.
This ugly, mud-covered dragon was terrifying in battle, devouring many Dornishmen each time it fought.
Seeing the soldiers' mix of awe and fear toward him, Aemond smirked, his vanity thoroughly satisfied.
Turning on his heel, he strode back to the command tent.
Inside, Ser Royce Caron, clad in silver-gray armor, had been waiting.
One hand held his helmet, while the other traced the map on the war table, analyzing the shifting tides of battle.
As a noble from the borderlands, Royce had vast experience in warfare and maintained a firm grasp on the overall situation in the Stormlands.
"Lord Royce," Aemond greeted upon entering.
"Prince," Royce replied respectfully, then got straight to business. "Our forces have cleared the paths along the way. Soon, we'll be able to launch from Raventree Hall and relieve the siege of Stonehelm."
Aemond frowned, pointing at the Rainwood region on the map. "What about the scattered Dornish raiding parties hiding in the forests?"
"They're small, isolated units—not a significant threat."
Royce spoke with confidence, seizing the chance to instruct Aemond. "We have 3,000 cavalry, 5,000 archers, and 20,000 infantry. With Earl Swann's forces at Stonehelm, we can crush the Dornishmen from both sides and end this battle quickly."
He was the father of Lady Elenna and grandfather of Cassandra.
Since Aemond was to wed his granddaughter, Royce saw it as his duty to guide the young prince in military strategy.
However, Aemond's frown deepened.
Just then, the tent flap lifted, and a tall, handsome knight entered.
The knight had a kind face, with gentle eyes, and bowed in greeting. "Lord Royce, Prince Aemond."
Aemond barely spared him a glance, curling his lip in disdain.
Royce, his expression complicated, asked, "Ser Cole, has Ser Laenor arrived yet?"
The handsome knight hesitated before answering, "Laenor left earlier. I don't know where he went."
This was not the famous Kingsguard, Ser Criston Cole.
His name was Cole, but he bore a different surname.
Royce's eyes flickered with suspicion as he nodded.
Laenor's preferences were well known.
Cole was of humble birth, knighted during the first Stepstones campaign.
The two had hit it off immediately and formed a long-standing companionship.
Of course, Cole was the second lover—the later arrival who surpassed the first.
Before him, Laenor had a childhood sweetheart, Ser Joffrey.
After Laenor's marriage, Joffrey was exiled from Driftmark by Lord Corlys, given a sum of gold, and sent across the Narrow Sea.
Unwilling to remain lonely after his wedding, Laenor took a liking to the gentle and handsome common-born knight, Cole.
One provided wealth, the other companionship—they became secret lovers.
Many in the camp disapproved, believing their relationship defied the Faith of the Seven and the honor of knighthood.
Aemond disliked them both.
Royce, worried they might be a bad influence on his future grandson-in-law, subtly kept them at a distance.
Now, inside the tent, two of the three present openly displayed their aversion.
Though used to others' judgmental looks, Cole still felt a twinge of shame, lowering his head. "Lord Royce, a raven has arrived—thousands of Dornishmen are gathering to attack Mistwood."
Mistwood lay in the southern rainforests of Storm's End, the seat of House Mertyns.
Upon hearing this, Royce's brows furrowed. Before he could respond, Aemond's eyes lit up.
"Mistwood's defenses aren't as strong as Stonehelm's. Which should we reinforce first?"
(End of Chapter)