They returned as night fell on King's Landing. Each Lord who was in attendance on the funeral returned to either the quarters that were provided for them or to the tents that were arranged for the tournament.
Lord Otto Hightower, without delay, called for a Small Council meeting.
Each member, save for Daemon, arrived quickly. Each picked a stone in the center of the table that symbolized their position and placed it in front of their seats, signaling their attendance. Viserys arrived last, accompanied by the Kingsguard.
Lord Commander Redwyne reverently did the same for the stone that belonged to the king, placing it in front of Viserys, and retreating to the end of the room—all while ensuring he would be ready to answer any offense to the King's safety.
"Your Grace," all who were present said in unison.
"Where is Rhaenyra?" Viserys asked.
"I believe she is with her brother and the daughter of Lord Hightower, Lady Alicent," Ser Redwyne promptly answered his king's question.
"I see…" Viserys looked towards the ceiling before his gaze dropped back towards those in front of him. "Let her be then."
"Your Grace," said Otto Hightower, "This is the last thing any of us wishes to discuss at this dark hour, but I consider the matter urgent.
"What matter?" The King narrowed his eyes.
"That of your succession," Otto replied.
"The King has an heir, Lord Hand!" Corlys interrupted.
"I know that, Lord Corlys. But matters such as this must be clarified and discussed."
Viserys clenched his hand tightly, though he hid his irritation behind a serene expression. "And what is it that you wish to discuss, Otto?"
"My King, you must consider that the young prince is now in a delicate position, and should any harm befall him, I fear-"
"Harm, Lord Otto?" Viserys' eyes glinted with a hint of something dark. "Are you, by any chance, saying that someone would hurt my son?"
"Of course not, Your Grace!" Otto was quick to correct himself, though not of much avail.
Corlys smiled slightly, seeing Otto in such a position. The ruler of Driftmark had long since been overshadowed by the Hand in the council meetings, and the Sea Snake was a petty man, so seeing Otto stumbling on his own words brought him immense satisfaction.
"Then speak clearly, Lord Otto."
"Your Grace," Maester Mellos intervened, keen on maintaining Otto's good standing on the council, especially since the Hightowers had always been staunch supporters of the Citadel. "I believe what Lord Otto was trying to say is that there are those who would benefit if a tragedy befell the young prince, by design or coincidence."
Viserys quickly turned towards Mellos, his eyes narrowing. "Design? Are you saying my brother, Daemon, would harm my son—his own nephew?" Anger seeped from his words.
"No, Your Grace. I am merely stating a possibility." Mellos added.
"A treacherous possibility," Viserys said as his fingers turned white from gripping his chair too tightly. "Daemon is my brother, my family!" He shouted. "He will never turn his blade against me. And though he is no longer heir, Daemon will ALWAYS have his place at my court."
Otto raised an eyebrow. "Never, Your Grace?"
Viserys' eyes focused on him.
"What about his words during the funeral of the Queen?" Otto questioned with a malicious tone.
Viserys' countenance darkened. Though he knew Otto was no friend of Daemon, since the two were always at each other's throats, his words still had merit.
"I will speak no more of this." The King stated with a final tone.
Corlys sighed, realizing that Otto had achieved what he aimed for. And Otto himself hid a small smile as he combed his beard.
"Of course, Your Grace… But what of Rhaenyra?" Otto asked.
"What of my daughter?"
"Now that His Grace has a male heir, the princess's duty becomes somewhat unclear in court. Shouldn't the King consider then a strong political alliance?" Lyonel Strong was quick to add his own thoughts.
Viserys dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Rhaenyra is young; the time for such a discussion will come in the future."
"As you say, Your Grace," the council members bowed their heads slightly.
"But what of yourself, Your Grace? I believe that the prince would benefit from a maternal figure. And you yourself may be blessed with new male heirs. Which would solidify your own heritage." Lord Beesbury added.
Viserys scowled and slammed a hand on the table. "My wife's ashes haven't even cooled down, and you speak of marriage, Lord Beesbury?"
Otto shook his head, both admiring and chiding Beesbury for his lack of tact and timing.
"I-" The Master of Coin stammered.
"Enough!" Viserys shouted. "My mood has grown sour, and I wish to hear you no more."
Viserys got up and left the chamber; his steps were heavy and erratic, conveying his irritation.
The entire council turned to Lord Beesbury and sighed, as the man was still sweating coldly.
And unknown to others, behind the walls, there was a listener.
Prince Daemon Targaryen had listened to the entire meeting. His face was ashen, and his expression was locked into a scowl.
As a young boy, Daemon had explored most, if not all, of the castle's hidden passageways. He knew how to eavesdrop and how to remain unnoticed.
Daemon spat on the ground, cursing his own brother.
He turned and left, making his way through the dark corridors of the passages until he left the Red Keep.
As was usual whenever he was in a foul mood. Daemon called his Golden Cloaks and made his way towards the Silk Street.
Using the crown's coin, Daemon bought an entire brothel for the night. Treating himself and his subordinates to some release.
Uncovered flesh wherever the eye roamed. Gallons of spilled wine that tickled the nostrils. Lustful moans that sung to the ears of all.
People had sex—in the middle, in the corner; wherever they could find space, really—without care for decency or privacy.
And amidst that intoxicating atmosphere, Daemon would do something for which he would regret for the rest of his life.