Seeing that neither Rhaegar nor his son spoke, Corlys felt something was wrong, and his anger flared.
He had shed blood for the kingdom. He had sacrificed his eldest son for House Targaryen.
Yet now, they all remained silent—was this their way of looking down on House Velaryon?
In both Westeros and Essos, contempt is always the greatest insult among the nobility.
Just as he was about to press further, Daemon spoke again, mocking, "What kind of answer do you want? To tear up the peace treaty and fight the war to the bitter end?"
Did House Velaryon even have the right or the strength to do so?
Corlys glared at him, his tone dark. "Daemon, if you dare challenge my authority again, I will no longer consider our past relationship."
Daemon scoffed, ready to retort.
"Daemon!"
Laena snapped, her eyes filled with anger.
Daemon met his wife's gaze and reluctantly shut his mouth.
Laena closed her eyes in pain, raised her cup to her father in a toast, and then downed the drink in one gulp.
As Daemon's wife, she took his disrespect toward her father as an insult to herself.
She was a sensitive woman and refused to endure such neglect.
Daemon simply smiled and glanced at his brother, seeking attention.
Viserys felt confused and thought to himself, What is this bastard up to now?
Corlys ignored his daughter's apology and looked straight at Viserys' pale face, his voice deep and firm. "Your Grace, I want to know where you stand."
His words carried an unmistakable sense of pressure.
If he didn't receive a satisfactory answer tonight, he would reconsider the relationship between their two houses.
He would resign as Master of Ships and withdraw House Velaryon's fleet.
Daemon was beyond his control, but his wife, Rhaenys, and his daughter, Laena—House Targaryen could forget about them ever lending their dragons to the Iron Throne again.
That would prove just how indispensable House Velaryon was.
Hearing this, Viserys frowned deeply, displeased. "Sacrifice is part of war. I nearly lost my own life, and my child has already paid with an eye."
"Compensation is also part of war!"
Corlys' gaze was sharp; he refused to back down.
Rhaegar finished his bowl of goat's milk, soothed the sleepy Baelon, and then shot a subtle glance across the table.
Opposite him, Aegon was ready. He cleared his throat and slowly rose to his feet.
Rhaenyra and Alicent turned to look at him almost simultaneously, surprise flashing in their eyes.
What is this boy up to?
Aegon pushed back his chair, walked around the table to stand beside Corlys and Rhaenys, and—on his way—tugged on Helaena's hair.
Helaena: …
Aemond glared at him, thinking, This guy is seriously unhinged.
"Ahem."
Aegon licked his lips, bent slightly, and toasted Rhaenys in a hushed voice. "Aunt, I deeply regret what happened to cousin Laenor. I hope you find peace soon."
Rhaenys glanced at him and responded politely, "I will."
"Hmph!" Corlys snorted coldly.
Crocodile tears—who was he trying to fool?
Aegon turned his gaze toward Corlys, his eyes gleaming. He poured another drink and moved a little closer.
Now, all eyes were on him.
Aegon leaned in slightly, holding his cup, and lowered his voice. "Lord Corlys, I regret the loss of your eldest son."
Corlys kept his head high, adjusting his collar, and ignored him.
But Aegon was shameless. He stole a glance at Rhaenys, making sure she wasn't paying attention, and then moved even closer.
With a sly smile, he whispered, "If you're truly heartbroken over losing your heir, why not try for another? Though Aunt Rhaenys is… past her prime, I believe you still have plenty of strength left."
Corlys froze on the spot, unable to believe what he had just heard.
But Aegon wasn't done. His smirk turned even more mischievous. "And don't worry—even if you have a bastard, that's hardly scandalous among the nobility."
The moment those words fell, Corlys erupted like a lit firework.
BANG!
He slammed the table, his eyes blazing with fury.
He swore—he would make this insolent second prince pay.
The heavy thud of the table startled everyone in the room.
Baela and Rhaena flinched, timidly looking at their grandfather.
Helaena and Aemond frowned, staring at Corlys in confusion.
Young Daeron had been eating, but the loud noise made him choke, his little face turning red.
Only Daemon remained unbothered, watching the scene with great amusement.
He was genuinely curious—what outrageous thing had his nephew just said to enrage the Sea Snake like this?
"Gulp~"
Facing Corlys' terrifying, battle-hardened presence, Aegon instinctively swallowed hard and began backing away.
Not worth it. Time to run.
"Aegon, what did you say?"
Alicent looked at her son in shock, unable to understand why he would provoke Corlys on purpose.
Rhaenys and Rhaenyra were equally puzzled, their eyes darting between the two men.
Aegon wasn't usually that reckless.
And with Corlys' level of self-restraint, he shouldn't have lost his temper over a mere boy's words.
At that moment—
Creak—
Rhaegar handed Baelon over to Rhaenyra, his legs bumping against the chair. He quickly stood up.
Corlys cast a glance at him, his eyes cold as ice.
Rhaegar said nothing, meeting Corlys' gaze with calm defiance, making no effort to hide his opposition.
It was as if he was saying: "Come at me if you dare!"
He was the heir to the Iron Throne, the leader of his siblings, the strongest dragonrider of House Targaryen.
If the Sea Snake had any objections, he was welcome to bring them forward.
Aegon lowered his head, silently returning to his seat with an innocent expression.
Everything that needed to be said had been said.
"Prince, do you have something to say?"
Corlys spoke in a cold, deliberate voice, his tone both shocked and enraged.
Rhaegar remained expressionless and replied calmly, "Who are you speaking to, Sea Snake?"
A negotiation as tense as this was a battle of endurance—who would lose their composure first?
Corlys was the one seeking favor. He had no right to act high and mighty.
Did he really think that just because he had once lain with a Targaryen, he could lord over all of them?
If he continued to forget his place as a vassal, Rhaegar would not hesitate to treat him as another Mondas Hightower.
Creak—
Daemon also stood up from his chair, gripping Laenor's hand firmly as he fixed Corlys with an intense gaze.
His expression was that of a predator locking onto its prey.
Corlys averted his eyes, scanning both uncle and nephew with a dark, calculating look. Inwardly, he sneered.
So, this was their trap. They were ready to fight to the bitter end.
The air at the banquet grew heavy, the tension plummeting the atmosphere to an icy chill.
Simply by standing there, Rhaegar was like an insurmountable wall, his gaze unwavering.
Corlys clenched his fists. Even in old age, his towering frame still exuded the aura of a battle-hardened warrior.
Daemon, on the other hand, was already itching for a fight.
Tonight, someone would have to pay the price.
Thud! Thud!
Suddenly, a sharp knocking sound broke the silence.
Viserys tapped his fingers on the table, his expression unusually grave as he slowly, stiffly rose to his feet.
"Careful."
Alicent instinctively reached out to support him, her voice gentle with concern.
"Don't worry, I'm not that fragile."
Viserys patted her delicate hand resting on his arm before turning his gaze toward the three men standing.
His voice was heavy as he spoke: "I'm still alive, and yet you insist on quarreling in front of an old man on his deathbed?"
He shot a sharp look at Daemon, his tone growing harsher: "You can't even get through a single banquet without drawing your swords?"
Daemon scowled and reluctantly sat back down.
Viserys then turned to Corlys, his expression unwavering.
"Lord Corlys, you sit down as well."
Corlys remained motionless, his eyes dark and unfriendly.
Rhaenys glanced at her husband before sighing and turning away.
Viserys' patience snapped. He nearly shouted: "Your king commands you—SIT DOWN!"
Corlys hesitated, weighing the pros and cons, before finally lowering his head and returning to his seat.
"Good."
Viserys took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping across the room before landing on his eldest son with a mix of emotions.
"Everyone, I am fully aware of the hidden dangers within our house. There are misunderstandings among us."
At these words, Alicent lowered her head in quiet sorrow.
Young Daeron, noticing his mother's distress, whispered timidly, "Father…"
"Do not interrupt me."
Viserys' sharp rebuke made his youngest son shrink back, his face turning pale.
The banquet hall fell into complete silence.
All eyes were on this once-vibrant king, now merely a shadow of his former self.
His breathing grew heavier, but he continued: "We are of the blood of the dragon, descendants of Old Valyria. Unity is the key to our strength."
"I hope we can let go of past grievances and move forward together."
Rhaegar remained standing, staring at his father in stunned silence.
He could hear something unspoken in his father's words.
Viserys knew what Corlys sought, and so he said, "Lord Corlys, I understand your request. The Iron Throne will give you the answer you deserve."
Unlike his son's firm stance, Viserys preferred diplomacy.
Yet he did not overstep his bounds.
A glimmer of emotion flashed in his tired eyes as he continued, "Look at me—I grow older by the day. I spend most of my time asleep."
Daemon lowered his gaze, staring at his brother's weary face, so different from the one in his memories.
Something inside him stirred.
Viserys let out a soft, resigned laugh and said, "Tonight, as I woke from my slumber, I came to a realization."
"I am old."
He paused, then chuckled bitterly: "Of course, compared to my grandfather, the Old King, I might still be young by a decade."
No one laughed.
The weight of his words crushed any hint of amusement.
Rhaenys, ever perceptive, asked, "Viserys, what are you trying to say?"
Viserys looked at her with a hint of nostalgia. "Cousin, you always know my mind."
Gone was the idle reminiscing. His expression turned solemn.
"The realm needs a young, responsible, and vigorous king. Clearly, I am no longer fit for the role."
He sighed deeply, as if finally acknowledging his own limitations.
His gaze fell upon his eldest son, filled with love and resolve.
Softly, he spoke: "I believe it is time for me to abdicate and pass the throne to a worthy ruler."
"Rhaegar."
Viserys called his son's name.
Rhaegar snapped out of his daze and quickly responded, "Father, you—"
Viserys raised a hand, cutting him off, his voice tinged with nostalgia: "Don't be so quick to refuse. You are my eldest son, the boy Aemma gave her life to bring into this world. This is your birthright."
He did not mention Rhaegar's intelligence, his prowess in battle, or his mastery over the great black dragon.
To him, Rhaegar's greatest qualification was simply that he was Aemma's firstborn.
Everything else was secondary.
His gaze swept across the room one last time before returning to his son.
Looking into Rhaegar's striking, almost ethereal features—ones that still bore traces of Aemma—he solemnly declared:
"Rhaegar, my son, I entrust to you the Iron Throne that has wounded me so deeply."
"Come—inherit my crown."
(End of Chapter)