"Viserys, I have reason to suspect that Daemon harbors ill intentions and covets control over the army in the Stepstones."
Alicent spoke seriously, voicing her concerns about Daemon.
The Stepstones had a standing army of three thousand, divided among Aegon, Daemon, and Cole.
Ser Criston Cole, having stepped down as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, had remained in the Stepstones to serve in penance.
These three were all individuals Viserys trusted.
"Alicent, think carefully about what you're saying. Why would Daemon covet the Stepstones' army?"
Viserys, both physically and mentally exhausted, was bewildered by his wife's suspicions.
His brother was Daemon Targaryen, the famed Rogue Prince.
His father-in-law was Corlys Velaryon, the most powerful lord in the Seven Kingdoms and head of House Velaryon.
He and his wife were both formidable dragonriders, commanding Caraxes and the greatest dragon of them all, Vhagar.
If Daemon needed an army, he only had to raise his banner, and many across the Seven Kingdoms would willingly follow him.
Why would he bother with the three thousand stationed in the Stepstones?
Alicent, however, remained firm, arguing logically, "Daemon has always been hindered by Aegon. If he wasn't trying to seize military authority, why would he injure Aegon and send him back to King's Landing?"
The conflict between Aegon and Daemon had been ongoing for a long time.
For Daemon to suddenly act, it was difficult to believe he had no ulterior motive.
"Alicent, that's enough!"
Viserys snapped, frustration evident in his voice. "Daemon is my brother. He has every right to discipline a nephew who refuses to follow the rules. Don't suspect our family without solid evidence!"
Aegon's mistakes were undeniable facts—there was no need for unnecessary speculation.
"You'll regret this, Viserys!"
Alicent was stunned by his outburst. Her eyes quickly turned red, and without another word, she turned and left.
No one understood Daemon's treacherous nature better than she did.
He was nothing more than an unrepentant scoundrel, a viper lurking in the shadows, always looking to take a bite out of the royal family.
Viserys helplessly watched her retreating figure. He reached out as if to stop her but, after a moment of hesitation, let his hand drop.
"Forget it. Let her calm down first."
Aegon had been injured—Alicent's anger as a mother was understandable.
Viserys tried to reason with himself.
---
Without Alicent and the bedridden Aegon, the evening meal felt cold and awkward.
The children hurriedly ate before dispersing to their own activities.
Viserys sat alone, drinking in silence, forcing a smile as he bid each child goodnight.
Night fell.
Rhaegar lay on his bed, contemplating his father and Alicent's argument.
Since his release from prison, Daemon had rarely appeared in King's Landing.
Aside from a recent family gathering, Rhaegar had hardly seen him.
But everyone knew—Daemon was not a man to settle down quietly.
Stripped of his claim to the Iron Throne, he was bound to set his sights on something else.
**Knock, knock…**
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in," Rhaegar called absentmindedly.
The wooden door creaked open, and Rhaenyra, dressed in a loose nightgown, slipped inside.
Rhaegar craned his neck to take a look, an involuntary smile curling his lips.
Rhaenyra had been rather clingy lately.
"Rhaegar, I just went to see Alicent. She was crying in her room," Rhaenyra said softly, sitting beside his bed.
"You're concerned about her?" Rhaegar caught her small, delicate hand, focusing on what mattered.
Rhaenyra crossed her legs, her long silver hair cascading over her fair neck as she murmured, "Alicent is actually quite pitiful. No one truly cares for her."
She had only ever had three close friends, and among them, Alicent had once been the closest.
Even though they had fallen out, there was still a lingering bond.
Years had passed, and past grievances no longer seemed so important.
Her own life was now filled with love and comfort, free from worries.
But Alicent lived under constant pressure, never truly living for herself.
Rhaenyra couldn't help but pity her.
"If you pity her, then remember—she married Father. You should be calling her 'stepmother.'"
Rhaegar's voice was calm, his view on relationships detached.
He was not like Rhaenyra, who had been raised in warmth and affection, making her sentimental.
He had no mother, rarely saw his father, and had lived with nightmares as his only companion.
Rhaenyra had given him "love," which was why their relationship existed.
Beyond that, he cared little.
The word "friend" meant nothing to him.
Across the Seven Kingdoms, there was no one of his generation worthy of being his friend.
"Rhaegar, you always bring me back to reality."
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, then flopped onto his chest, giving him a firm nudge.
There was no point in confiding in him—he was terrible at emotional support.
Rhaegar wrapped an arm around her head, sighing. "I'm serious. Alicent isn't as simple as you think."
A woman who had cared for King Jaehaerys I in his final years, climbed into Viserys' bed, and bore him four children…
Could she truly be naïve?
Rhaenyra huffed, puffing out her cheeks. She suddenly flipped over, pinning Rhaegar beneath her, hands pressed against the soft feathered mattress as she gazed down at him.
Rhaegar simply lay still, awaiting her judgment.
"Rhaegar, you're being disobedient."
Rhaenyra adjusted a strand of her silver hair and reached for the collar of the man beneath her.
**Knock, knock…**
A sudden knock shattered the intimate atmosphere.
Rhaenyra's expression fell, and she quickly shifted away, removing her soft, curvaceous weight from the battlefield.
"Who could it be this late?" Rhaegar grumbled, rubbing his temples before calling out, "Who is it?"
"Brother, it's me."
A soft, childlike voice came from outside the door—it was Helaena.
Rhaenyra kicked Rhaegar lightly, pouting. "You were right. Alicent is truly insufferable."
Especially this daughter of hers, who always seemed to show up at the worst times.
Rhaegar sighed, feeling utterly deflated as he got up to open the door.
**Creak…**
The door opened, and Helena stood at the entrance, dressed in a light green robe, her delicate face lifted as she gazed at him.
"Helena."
Rhaegar greeted her, his eyes shifting to the small figure standing behind her.
"Brother."
The exquisitely featured Daeron held onto Helena's hand, flashing a bright smile.
Daeron was remarkably handsome, no less than Rhaegar had been at his age.
He wore a white shirt under a green outer coat, his silver-gold short hair framing his face, and his large violet eyes darting about with curiosity.
Rhaegar nodded in acknowledgment, blocking the doorway as he asked, "It's already late. Why aren't you two asleep?"
"We..."
Helena opened her mouth but hesitated for a moment.
Daeron quickly answered, "Mother is upset and isn't paying attention to us, so we came to play with you and sister."
"Is that true?"
Rhaegar cast a skeptical glance at the siblings.
Helena straightened her face and nodded firmly.
Daeron nodded enthusiastically, then pulled a book from behind his back.
Rhaegar ruffled Helena's hair and asked, puzzled, "What about Aemond? That kid sticks to you the most."
"He went to find Aegon. He didn't come with us," Helena said sweetly, her eyes half-closing in comfort.
"Come in. Rhaenyra is here too."
Rhaegar stepped aside, allowing the two little ones to enter.
Rhaenyra was kneeling on the bed, scrutinizing her younger siblings with sharp eyes.
Sneaking into Rhaegar's room in the middle of the night? Suspicious!
Feeling the weight of their eldest sister's gaze, Helena and Daeron shivered slightly and quickly bowed in greeting.
They looked just like two timid little cubs.
Rhaenyra waved them off, slightly embarrassed.
Did she really seem that scary?
Rhaegar plopped onto the bed and fixed a serious gaze on the siblings. "Tell me the truth—why are you here so late?"
Helena and Daeron exchanged glances, their big eyes blinking at each other.
Helena urged, "Go on, say it."
Daeron: …
Rhaegar quickly understood who was behind this visit and turned his focus on Daeron.
So, this little troublemaker was the mastermind.
"Ahem. I found a book on the study of the occult," Daeron announced, holding up the book with both hands, his expression serious. "It talks about the connection between dragons and magic. I thought it was interesting."
As he spoke, he eagerly presented the book, his violet eyes brimming with excitement.
Rhaegar chuckled and shook his head before taking the book to flip through it.
He had read this one as a child. Written in the style of folk tales, it was filled with speculations about dragons and magic.
*"According to the traditions of the Dothraki from the Great Grass Sea of Essos, the sky once had two moons. One drew too close to the sun, was consumed by its heat, and exploded, giving birth to countless dragons…"*
*"Magic ebbs and flows like the tide—at times surging violently, at others retreating into silence…"*
*"Though magic has faded from the public eye, the Citadel and the Alchemists' Guild possess enchanted glass candles capable of perceiving its existence…"*
It was intriguing, the kind of tale that captivated the imagination.
Rhaegar skimmed a few lines, and his lips curled in nostalgia as he remembered his childhood fascination with such books.
He, too, had once been mesmerized by these stories.
"Well? Isn't it fascinating?"
Daeron stood on his toes, pointing at a passage with excitement. "Glass candles! They can reveal true magic."
He had a dragon—a young one with cobalt-blue scales streaked with orange-red.
Through his daily interactions with Tessarion, his curiosity about magic had grown.
Dragons could breathe fire—so could people wield magic too?
Rhaegar glanced at him with amusement and returned the book. "What do you think? How did dragons come to be? And what is magic?"
"I don't know," Daeron admitted, shaking his head.
He wasn't one to speak carelessly about things he didn't understand.
"Don't read this book anymore. It will only pique your curiosity without giving you any real answers."
Rhaegar tapped the book in Daeron's hands before reaching into his spatial bracelet and retrieving two ancient texts.
"Whoa! That's magic!"
Daeron's violet eyes widened as he stared unblinkingly at the silver-gray patterned bracelet.
He had long heard that his eldest brother, Rhaegar, knew magic.
And now, it was confirmed.
Rhaegar casually flexed his wrist before placing the two ancient books on top of Daeron's. "These contain the lost history of another powerful dragonlord family. They'll be much more valuable for your studies."
These were texts he had obtained from his spatial bracelet when he was six—ancient records of House Dainlygar.
He had many such books and often read through them.
Since Daeron was interested in research, he might as well lend him two of the most valuable volumes.
Daeron clutched the books as if they were treasures, his eyes shining with admiration. "Big Brother, do you really know magic?"
"It's not about mastering it, but about being able to harness it," Rhaegar corrected seriously. "Every Targaryen carries magic in their blood. The difference between us is that I have begun to uncover its mysteries."
*(End of Chapter)*