The next day, the weather was clear.
Rhaegar lay in bed, sleeping soundly.
Knock, knock…
The door was tapped lightly, in a rhythmic and orderly manner.
Rhaegar stirred from his sleep, his eyes half-lidded with drowsiness.
"Hiss—ah!"
A sharp headache hit him, making him wince and clutch his forehead.
It felt like an iron hammer was pounding his skull.
Rhaegar shook his head, the dizziness gradually fading away. He muttered softly, "Mist… young dragons… horn!"
A flash of insight struck his mind, and he instantly became alert.
Rhaegar abruptly sat up, muttering in disbelief, "The Dragon Horn… could it be in the Smoky Sea?"
The dream he had last night connected with the prophetic visions from the Starry Sept.
Previously, he had foreseen Rhaenyra's early labor.
Last night, a new perspective unfolded.
A land shrouded in mist, two masterless young dragons, and…
A weapon of national significance—the Dragon Horn.
Rhaegar wasted no time. He retrieved an ancient book stored within his spatial necklace.
It was a dragon-taming manual, written by Daenys the Dreamer herself.
He flipped through the pages swiftly, his eyes scanning carefully, until his hand paused over an illustration.
"Dragons scatter across the land to build their nests. A dragon king will never imprison his companions; otherwise, he shall face severe punishment…"
"When war arrives, the Dragon Horn shall be sounded, summoning distant allies."
"Only those of dragon king's blood may touch it!"
The book contained dense Valyrian script, subtly describing the existence of the Dragon Horn by referencing dragon behavior.
Rhaegar's eyes flicked over the text, then settled on the adjacent sketch.
It depicted a massive horn, shaped like an oversized bull's horn, adorned with intricate carvings that exuded an aura of ancient mystery.
Rhaegar narrowed his eyes, his eyelids twitching slightly.
The horn from his dream bore a 70% resemblance to the illustration in the book.
The only difference was that the horn in his vision was pitch-black, with distinct patterns etched on its surface.
"It really is the Dragon Horn…"
Rhaegar was momentarily lost in thought before snapping the book shut with a thud.
Knock, knock…
Just as he was contemplating the meaning of his dream, another knock came from the door.
Rhaegar took a deep breath, steadied himself, and spoke calmly, "Come in."
Dreams always had their reasons.
Since he had seen the Dragon Horn, he might eventually dream of its exact location.
Creak—
The door opened, and a graceful figure in a white dress stepped inside.
Helena's face was taut with tension. She carried a covered tray in her arms, her clear, round eyes darting around anxiously.
She squeezed through the doorway, peeking toward Rhaegar in bed, as if trying to gauge his mood.
Her cautious behavior was amusing.
Rhaegar smiled and waved her over. "What are you waiting for? Come in."
In the vast Red Keep, she was probably the only one who could bring a little fun into his day.
"Then I'm coming in…"
Helena tiptoed into the room.
Her figure wasn't grand, but her curves were well-defined, and as she nudged the door shut behind her, the motion accentuated her form.
Rhaegar adjusted his long hair and stole a brief glance.
Helena wore a simple yet form-fitting white gown, outlining her delicate yet shapely figure.
Her face had shed its childhood roundness, and most of the freckles had faded, revealing a naturally fair and stunningly beautiful complexion.
Her silver-golden curls draped loosely down her back, held together at the base with a single hair tie, giving her a messy yet effortless elegance.
Rhaegar chuckled inwardly. What a lazy girl.
At 14, most noble girls were already betrothed or even married, yet she still wandered around absentmindedly.
"Brother, I brought you breakfast."
Helena's voice was timid yet ingratiating as she walked to the bed, uncovering the tray in her hands.
Classic white bread, milk, and ham.
Rhaegar took a few large gulps of milk, then eyed his sister, who seemed hesitant to speak. He smirked. "You have a favor to ask? Let's hear it."
There's no such thing as free kindness…
Hmm… no, there was definitely a request coming.
He knew his sister well—she wasn't particularly expressive, and her thoughts were always written plainly on her face.
Helena lowered her head, occasionally sneaking glances at her brother, before whispering in an almost inaudible voice, "Last night… Mother and Father slept together."
As she spoke, her fingers fidgeted, pressing against each other to conceal her nervousness.
Rhaegar froze mid-reach for the bread, feeling an overwhelming sense of exasperation.
To be honest, he nearly choked on the milk he had just swallowed.
What kind of conversation starter was that?! Was breakfast supposed to be this expensive?
Helena, sensing her guilt, practically buried her face in her not-so-prominent chest, pleading softly, "Brother… Father needs someone to take care of him. Please don't lock Mother away again."
"You came up with this on your own?" Rhaegar asked skeptically.
Helena didn't hesitate—her head bobbed up and down. "If Mother stays locked in the dark room any longer, she'll go mad."
Her small hands inched toward her brother's thigh, rubbing it in a pitiful attempt to win him over.
Their mother had been locked away again this morning.
Aegon and Aemond didn't dare plead with their elder brother, so only Helena had come to try her luck.
Rhaegar rolled his eyes—he had known this silly girl was here for exactly this reason.
He grabbed the mischievous little hand off his leg and spoke seriously, "Mistakes must be corrected. Alicent is in the Sept for penance—that's already a great mercy."
If not for the sake of his father and a few younger siblings, he would have long ago given a cup of poisoned wine to execute Alicent.
Helena pursed her lips, her eyes filled with pleading.
"No!" Rhaegar refused decisively.
He added, "If you don't listen, you can leave now."
He placed the lid on the meal tray and shoved it into the young girl's hands.
Helena shivered, clearly frightened, and shifted toward the edge of the plush feather mattress.
Rhaegar's expression remained cold. "Leave. I need to change."
His good mood that morning had been ruined.
"Mm~"
Helena nodded weakly, placed the meal tray on the round table, and carefully stepped toward the door.
As she opened it, she muttered to herself,
"Aegon lied to me. Coming to plead for mercy was completely useless."
"I actually believed his nonsense!"
Halfway out the door, she made up her mind—when she got back, she would use Long Summer to strike that liar.
Just as she stepped out, an impatient voice rang out from inside.
"Alicent must atone in the Sept. Have her moved to the inner sanctum's prayer chamber, and assign two septas to guard her."
Helena's head snapped up, her eyes lighting up with delight.
Before she could confirm, an angry shout came from within:
"Get lost!"
"You got it!"
Overjoyed, Helena darted away from the scene in an instant.
Inside the bedroom,
Rhaegar's face remained impassive as he took a big bite of bread.
Alicent might be foolish, but at least she had no real power.
His father was about to abdicate, and when that happened, he might retire to Dragonstone or Harrenhal. He would need someone close to care for him.
Alicent would eventually leave that small, dark chamber. This was just a way to show Aegon and Helena some consideration.
After all, his younger siblings had been of great help to him—whether in the War of the Narrow Sea or the Dornish War.
Even last night, Aegon had shown remarkable boldness, openly mocking the Sea Snake's virility.
A true little brother indeed.
…
That morning, the sun shone brightly.
After breakfast, Rhaegar changed into a casual tunic and stepped out of his chambers.
"Prince."
Ser Erryk stood at the door, clad in silver armor and a white cloak.
Rhaegar glanced at him and asked with concern, "How is your injury?"
Erryk straightened his back with confidence. "It's nothing serious now."
Rhaegar smiled and continued walking.
After a few steps, however, something felt off.
Erryk was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard—he wouldn't be standing around idly.
He quickly asked, "Is it about my father?"
At his words, Erryk lowered his head and said in a muffled voice, "His Majesty summoned Prince Daemon this morning. The fleet from Driftmark has been delayed because of it."
"I see."
Rhaegar rubbed his temples and sighed. "Take me to see him."
The matter of abdication was no trivial affair—every minor detail could spark a full day's worth of debate.
He had best go take a look.
"As you wish." Erryk bowed and led the way.
…
The King's Chambers.
"He is my son and will soon inherit my throne. You must love him as you love me."
"How can you say the word 'love' so easily?"
"Don't interrupt! I'm teaching you how to be a loyal subject."
"I admit my faults, but being forced to swear loyalty to a boy is not a fitting punishment."
"…"
Inside the chamber adorned with murals of coupling, the scent of incense filled the air.
Viserys, breathing heavily, faced off against Daemon, who wore a look of complete indifference.
"You little brat, you're no longer a child. Must you provoke me until my dying breath?"
"You'd better not die just yet. Otherwise, the men in white cloaks outside will claim I murdered my own kin."
Daemon crossed his arms, raised a brow at his elder brother, and shook his head.
Since childhood, he had urged Viserys to exercise more and build a stronger body.
But the man never listened, preferring feasts and tourneys instead.
Now, his health was in shambles.
Viserys coughed violently, his frustration evident. "Where are Rhaenys and the others? Have they left yet?"
"Not yet," Daemon replied offhandedly.
"You all must prepare. My body won't hold out much longer—Rhaegar must ascend the throne as soon as possible."
Viserys's breathing grew labored, his words forced through clenched teeth.
Daemon, unable to watch any longer, stepped forward and patted his back to help him breathe. In a low voice, he said, "You're not dying just yet. Don't be so defeatist."
He had already sent word to Tyrosh—there was a chance that medicines from the Smoking Sea could help his brother.
There was still hope.
"Don't try to placate me. Give me something real."
Viserys slapped his hand away and said bluntly, "When Rhaegar meets the envoys and bids farewell to the Velaryons, you must assist him."
Daemon remained silent.
Viserys didn't care whether he agreed or not and continued, "I am pleased with the betrothal between Rhaenyra and Daeron. It's a strong union between our families."
Daemon corrected him. "Among three families."
He had to be included.
He must be included.
"Fine, three families."
Viserys sounded as if he were humoring a child. Then he asked, "What about your daughter, Baela? Have you considered betrothing her to the twins?"
Elder Grandson: Baeloron, Younger Grandson: Aemon.
Both are excellent marriage prospects, strengthening the bond between Rhaegar and Daemon as uncle and nephew, helping to ease their animosity.
Daemon scoffed, about to utter a bold declaration: "How could the daughter of a tiger be paired with the son of a dog?"
Viserys: …
Under his brother's deep, abyss-like gaze, Daemon felt an instinctive discomfort and turned his head aside. "Rhaenyra mentioned that your esteemed eldest son already declined."
"Is that so? What a pity."
Viserys looked slightly disappointed.
Daemon sneered. "Your son is nothing like you. He takes after that Arryn harlot from the Vale—prideful and petty as ever."
"Watch your words."
Viserys' eyes narrowed, and he called out his brother's past misdeeds: "Don't forget the foolish thing you did—attacking a six-year-old child. That was even lower than the cheapest whore in Flea Bottom."
"Pah!"
Daemon spat out imaginary phlegm, his anger rising. "Compared to you, even whores struggle to do business."
Daemon: …
Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
He silently reminded himself: "This is my own brother, my own brother."
Had anyone else mocked him like this, his sword would already be lodged in their eye socket.
Seeing Daemon remain silent, Viserys itched to kick him and scolded, "Are you even listening to me?!"
"What?" Daemon feigned ignorance.
Viserys bellowed, "Be loyal to Rhaegar! Do not disgrace your princely title!"
Daemon smirked. "When did I ever have a princely title? Am I the Prince of the Capital?"
Though Tyrosh was in his hands, it still belonged to the kingdom in name.
The only recognized Targaryen princely title was Dragon Prince, held by Rhaenys.
He didn't have a prince's title. Neither did Aegon of Bloodstone, who held a fief.
Oh, but there was a princess title.
Rhaenyra, Princess of Dragonstone.
The rest of the Targaryens could only be called prince or princess in name, and he was no exception.
Hearing the dissatisfaction in his brother's tone, Viserys tried to placate him: "When Rhaegar ascends, he will grant you the title Prince of Tyrosh."
"I want you to grant it to me!" Daemon turned to him, his gaze burning.
Viserys hesitated, momentarily speechless, then relented. "Fine. But you must promise to rein in your temper."
"I have one condition."
"Say it, as long as it's not excessive."
Daemon didn't hold back. "Laenor has difficulty conceiving. I want the right to take multiple wives, to extend our bloodline."
Viserys was taken aback, frowning. "So your agreement to let Rhaena inherit was just a setup to justify polygamy?"
No wonder he had agreed so quickly.
Daemon nodded, speaking bluntly. "I need a son. You once took a son from me—do you remember?"
The year Rhaegar was born, White Worm, Mysaria, had conceived his child.
Daemon had even stolen a black dragon egg meant for Rhaegar, only for his niece Rhaenyra to reclaim it through dragon-riding.
Afterward, Viserys ordered Mysaria to be deported back to Lys. A storm struck during her voyage, causing her to miscarry.
It had been a fully developed baby boy.
Daemon had never forgiven Viserys for that, and his grudge had festered, leading him to attempt seducing Rhaenyra and even plotting against Rhaegar, thinking of repaying life for life.
Fortunately, he failed.
Daemon's eyes flickered as he observed his silent brother, unsure whether to feel relief or regret over that failed attempt.
After a long pause,
Viserys finally broke the silence, his voice laced with disappointment. "Does Laenor know what's truly on your mind?"
She was a good woman—one who had nearly become his second wife.
She had been loyal to Daemon, bearing him twin daughters.
While heavily pregnant, she had even traveled to Tyrosh to support his war efforts.
That act of devotion had cost her a son, nearly claiming her own life as well.
Daemon replied indifferently, "She doesn't know. But even if she did, I believe she would understand."
Bang—
Viserys slammed his hand on the bed frame, gritting his teeth. "What woman would understand that? You're beyond saving!"
He had thought Daemon was slowly improving while assisting Dorne.
But clearly, the man remained the same scoundrel he had always been.
Daemon laughed coldly. "Don't forget, your son was the one who suggested polygamy first. That Arryn harlot from the Vale is so pregnant, she can barely move."
"I told you to watch your words!"
Viserys was furious.
The Vale was his late wife Aemma's homeland, his most loyal ally.
Daemon sneered.
Jeyne Arryn—a woman who only cared about profit and self-interest.
Before his first wife, the Bronze Bitch, had died, Jeyne Arryn had been so close to her that they might as well have worn the same dress.
If not for Jeyne's own daughter, Daemon might have suspected those two Vale noblewomen were lovers.
And why did he hold such resentment toward Jeyne Arryn?
He had repeatedly tried to seize control of Rune Stone, but each time, Jannie stepped in and reprimanded him. The last time, he was even driven out of the Vale.
Although later, he had the guidance of Yobert Royce, the Guardian of the Gorge.
But there was no denying it—she was just an Arryn whore.
Seducing her niece's husband.
Daemon felt conflicted and asked, "Will you agree or not? Do you really want to see my bloodline come to an end?"
"You..."
Viserys was furious.
Yet he had no good rebuttal.
Their uncle, Aemon Targaryen, had only one daughter, Rhaenys.
What should have been a direct Targaryen bloodline was now hanging by a thread, solely supported by Rhaenys, who had married into another house.
In name only, it still existed.
Holding back his frustration, Viserys gritted his teeth and said, "Fine, I agree—but only for you. You alone may take one more wife."
"Heh." Daemon smiled in satisfaction.
He knew his brother wouldn't refuse him.
Viserys grew even angrier and cursed, "You still have the nerve to smile? If the Sea Snake and Rhaenys find out about this, what will they think of you?"
Daemon's eyes darkened for a moment before he quickly replied, "Instead of worrying about me, you should be more concerned about your eldest son. He's the real troublemaker."
Never mind that Arryn whore in the Vale.
That foolish girl Alicent gave birth to was a natural Green, yet she was tangled up with the 'good nephew.'
Viserys frowned in confusion. "What?"
"Nothing."
Daemon shook his head.
He wasn't so low as to snitch like a gossiping woman.
When that foolish girl's belly started to show, it would be his brother and 'good nephew' who would be panicking.
Creaaak—
The door swung open, and an uninvited guest entered.
Rhaegar stepped inside, lifting the beaded curtain. His gaze swept over his father and 'good uncle' with a peculiar expression.
What were these two old men whispering about behind his back?
"I'll be going now."
Daemon, ever the arrogant one, turned his head and left without another word.
Viserys didn't stop him and turned to his son. "What is it?"
Rhaegar watched Daemon's retreating figure, a nagging suspicion growing in his mind.
After a brief hesitation, recalling the two young dragons from his dream, he spoke up:
"I had a dream. While seeing off the Sea Snake, I flew to Dragonstone for a patrol."
Who knows? There might be a dragon.
(End of Chapter)