The enormous fireplace crackled against the stone wall, stretching and twisting the shadows into grotesque shapes.
King Viserys I sat high upon the Iron Throne, his face drained of color.
The old king wore a crimson velvet cloak and a crown of Valyrian steel, yet beneath the robes his body was unsteady. His left hand gripped the armrest tightly, knuckles white.
Kingsguard of the royal household stood on both sides like stone statues.
Corlys Velaryon stood slightly behind, his staff resting against the floor, his posture straight as a mast. His gray-blue eyes were fixed on the king.
Beside him stood his wife, Rhaenys Targaryen—the woman known throughout the realm as the "Queen Who Never Was."
Rhaenys' sharp gaze swept across the hall again and again.
Such a great calamity had occurred today, yet her son Laenor Velaryon—the husband of Princess Rhaenyra and the nominal father of the blinded Jacaerys—was nowhere to be seen.
Her irritation grew heavier by the moment.
Had Laenor run off again to indulge himself?
The mere thought of him flirting elsewhere made Rhaenys feel unwell.
Her three grandsons all had brown hair, brown eyes, and broad noses—features that resembled neither Targaryen nor Velaryon.
Though she cared for the boys in her heart, and Corlys did not truly care whether they were bastards, she loathed this entire farce.
She loathed Daemon.
She loathed Rhaenyra.
Daemon Targaryen—her younger cousin—had married her daughter Laena without her consent.
Laena had fallen for Daemon like a moth to flame. They had secretly betrothed themselves, fled together, ridden dragons side by side, and escaped to the eastern continent.
Not long ago, Laena had given birth again—but the child was deformed and died shortly after.
Weak and grieving, Laena succumbed to childbed fever. Even Daemon, despite the maester's efforts, could not save her.
She died three days later.
Before her death, Laena had tried to rise from her bed to mount her dragon, Vhagar, one last time. Too weak, she collapsed in the stairwell and never rose again.
And her own son Laenor—who preferred men—turned a blind eye to everything.
Now, when such a grave matter had occurred, no one even knew where he was fooling around.
Her husband, the Sea Snake, had also chosen silence.
Seven save them.
What kind of family was this?
Rhaenys shook her head sadly.
She felt only exhaustion.
The family of her cousin King Viserys and his brother Daemon was utterly broken.
The children had been dressed in clean clothes, yet the bruises and fear on their faces could not be hidden.
Lucerys' face was pale, his head lowered, avoiding every gaze.
Queen Alicent wore a long, dark-green velvet gown—the color of House Hightower. Her auburn hair was gathered with a pearl circlet, her chin slightly raised as she struggled to maintain royal dignity, though her subtly trembling body betrayed her.
Her father, Otto Hightower, Hand of the King, stood a step beside her. His hands were tucked into his sleeves, his expression calm, his eyes sharp and cold.
Aegon and Helaena stood farther back.
The center of the hall had been cleared, like a gladiatorial arena.
And Aemond stood alone at the heart of the storm.
Medicine had been applied to his face. The wound beneath his left eye had stopped bleeding, but the swelling remained, making his face slightly asymmetrical.
His damp silver hair had been hastily dried, a few strands still clinging to his forehead.
He wore only a simple linen shirt and leather trousers—the cleanest things he could find in haste.
By royal command, he stood barefoot upon the cold stone floor.
Yet Aemond's back was straight.
His violet eyes met every gaze without flinching.
Hatred.
Condemnation.
Pity.
Calculation.
King Viserys drew a deep breath, the sound echoing through the deathly silence.
"Tonight… on Driftmark… a tragedy occurred."
His gaze passed over Rhaenyra, twisted with grief, then settled on Aemond.
"My blood… my children… have wounded one another."
He paused, gathering his strength.
"Jacaerys… my eldest grandson… he—"
"Your Majesty!"
Queen Alicent rushed forward.
"Aemond is injured as well! Look at his face!"
"These were children involved in a fight! You cannot place all the blame on my son!"
"Involved?"
Prince Daemon laughed softly, without warmth.
"Your Majesty, being involved in a scuffle and plunging a dagger into someone's eye are two very different things."
"It's like attending a feast and poisoning someone's wine. The nature of the act is entirely different."
"Are the testimonies of five children not enough to establish the truth?"
"Someone taught them to lie!"
Alicent turned sharply toward the children behind Rhaenyra, her gaze locking onto Lucerys.
"Lucerys!"
"Look me in the eye!"
"Do you dare swear before the Seven and the King?"
"You said you saw Aemond stab the dagger into your brother's eye!"
"Swear it by your mother's name!"
Lucerys' entire body trembled. His lips quivered uncontrollably.
Seeing his reaction, Alicent became certain that her son Aemond had spoken the truth.
And even if Aemond were lying—
She would still stand by him.
That was a mother's instinct.
Aemond looked at his mother, roaring like a lioness, having discarded all decorum, and felt only gratitude.
Rhaenyra reached out and placed a hand on the trembling shoulders of her second son, Lucerys, her gaze meeting Alicent's in the air.
"Enough!"
Viserys raised his voice from the throne—only to be seized by a violent coughing fit.
"Kh—!"
The handkerchief in his hand was already stained crimson.
"But the other children say it was you."
"Whom am I to trust?"
Aemond stepped forward.
The cold stone beneath his bare feet seemed to climb upward, cooling his blood, sharpening his mind.
"Father," he said, his voice calm yet firm beyond his years.
"I never touched that dagger."
"It was Lucerys who drew it first."
"He lost his balance during the struggle."
"Jacaerys ran into him."
"And Lucerys was holding the dagger when his brother was wounded."
"I did not stab him."
"That's not true!"
Lucerys cried out.
"You pushed me!"
"And then you tripped my brother! He fell onto my dagger by accident!"
The moment the words left his mouth, the hall erupted.
The corners of Aemond's lips lifted slightly.
That foolish boy had spoken too much.
Admitting the dagger was his—wasn't that proof enough?
Rhaenyra's expression remained unreadable.
Daemon and Corlys' faces darkened.
"Then why is there no blood on your hands?"
Aemond asked suddenly.
"Lucerys."
"You said you were holding the dagger. When a blade pierces an eye, blood would splatter."
"So why are your hands clean now?"
All eyes turned to Lucerys' hands.
The boy instinctively hid them behind his back.
Daemon narrowed his eyes and looked again at his nephew.
"The Sea Snake,"
Corlys' brow twitched almost imperceptibly.
"I… I wiped them myself…"
Lucerys stammered.
Realizing the nonsense of his words, the smile vanished from Daemon's face as he cut in sharply.
"Boy, do you hear yourself?"
"Uncle, I am speaking of doubts,"
Aemond pressed on.
"Whose dagger was it?"
"What markings did it bear? Who gave it?"
"It bears the sigil of the Sea Snake! I took it because—because I liked it!"
"Father, where is the logic? Where is the justice?"
At that moment, the initiative shifted entirely to Aemond.
He knew that the harder one tried to prove innocence, the deeper one could sink into the mire.
And that self-defense itself could become a trap.