Under the watchful gaze of the Seven, the wedding rites were completed at last.
Before the altar, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Prince Daemon Targaryen stood hand in hand as the High Septon concluded the final prayers. Incense drifted through the Great Sept in pale spirals, and the murmured blessings of the Faith echoed beneath the soaring dome. When the crystal crowned staff struck the marble floor for the final time, the union was sealed, witnessed by gods and men alike.
Applause followed, measured and respectful, though beneath the courtesy ran an unmistakable current of tension. The realm had gained a new royal marriage, one heavy with consequence.
No sooner had the wedding ended than the second ceremony began.
Compared with the sacred complexity of the marriage rites, the engagement of Prince Aegon Targaryen and Princess Helaena Targaryen was markedly simpler. It was, in essence, a public declaration. The date of their future wedding would be proclaimed before the court, followed by a banquet to celebrate the promise.
Prince Aegon escorted his sister to the High Septon's side. King Viserys rose with visible effort, his face pale beneath the crown, and together with the High Septon announced the chosen date of the royal wedding.
The words rang out clearly, formal and irrevocable.
With that, the ceremonies ended, and the feast began.
Music swelled through the hall, at first slow and stately, then gradually quickening as the mood shifted. Harps and viols wove lively melodies, and the air filled with laughter, clinking goblets, and the hum of conversation. Servants moved like shadows between the tables, bearing roasted meats, spiced wines, and sugared fruits.
Prince Aegon led Princess Helaena back to their seats among the Greens.
"So," he murmured, taking her hand and rubbing his thumb lightly across her fingers, "engaged at last. Are you happy?"
Helaena did not answer in words. Her pale face colored faintly, and her large violet eyes curved into gentle crescents as she smiled.
Aegon laughed softly and leaned closer, pressing a quick kiss to her smooth cheek.
"Not here," Helaena whispered, flustered. "We can speak of such things later, when we are alone."
"Later tonight, then?" Aegon murmured near her ear, his tone teasing. "Are you so eager that you fear I might devour you before the feast ends?"
Her face flushed deeper.
"There are too many people watching," she scolded in a hushed voice. "Say that again, and I will truly be angry."
To emphasize her warning, she reached out and pinched his thigh hard enough to make him suck in a sharp breath.
Aegon grinned, clearly delighted, while Helaena turned her face away, trying and failing to hide the color in her cheeks.
From across the hall, Prince Daemon observed the scene with a faint, dangerous smile.
Beside him stood Ser Alan Beesbury, heir to Honeyholt, who had spent much of the evening hovering close, eager to pledge loyalty.
"Your Highness," Alan said earnestly, lowering his voice, "House Beesbury will stand with you. It would be our honor to fight for your cause."
Daemon's gaze lingered a moment longer on Aegon and Helaena before he turned back. An idea, sharp and unpleasant, took shape in his mind.
"Words are wind, Ser Alan," Daemon replied coolly. "Loyalty is proven through deeds."
Lyman straightened, hopeful.
"If you wish to demonstrate that loyalty," Daemon continued, smiling, "invite Princess Helaena to dance. Do that, and I promise you this. House Beesbury will rise high in the Reach."
The smile froze on Alan's face.
Invite Princess Helaena to dance.
The prince might as well have told him to draw steel on Aegon himself.
"My prince," Lyman said carefully, "Princess Helaena is Prince Aegon's betrothed. Would that not be improper?"
Daemon's expression darkened at once.
"So," he said coldly, "the loyalty of House Beesbury has limits."
"That is not what I meant," Alan protested quickly. "Only that the risk is great."
"And what future is won without risk?" Daemon replied. "If you will not dare offend a prince, how do you expect a future queen to trust you?"
Trapped, Alan turned instinctively toward Princess Rhaenyra.
"Your Highness, please," he began.
Rhaenyra cut him off, her voice sharp.
"Prove your loyalty before me, Ser Alan."
Once, she might have tempered her disdain for Aegon. Now she stood as Daemon's wife, with dragons grown and fierce beneath her banner, and she remembered well the cold mockery Aegon had shown her at their first meeting. Humiliation, she decided, would be fitting.
Daemon laughed softly.
"You tremble like a mouse," he said. "Look around you. With this many lords watching, what do you fear?"
"There is no law forbidding an engaged lady to dance," he added.
Alan's face burned red.
Public humiliation, he thought, would be survivable. Losing the protection of the Blacks, and facing the Hightowers alone, would not.
He drew a slow breath.
"Very well," he said hoarsely. "I will go."
Under Daemon's satisfied gaze, Alan crossed the hall.
Prince Aegon noticed him approaching at once.
"Who now," he muttered, irritation flickering across his face as he looked up. "And you are?"
He summoned a courteous smile out of habit, though it sat poorly on him.
Alan bowed and extended his hand toward Helaena.
"Your Highness," he said, "I am Ser Alan Beesbury, heir of Honeyholt. May I have the honor of this dance?"
Silence fell like a blade.
Green-clad nobles stared in disbelief, their expressions dark with fury.
Helaena rose smoothly to her feet, ignoring the outstretched hand.
"I am sorry," she said gently. "I already have a partner."
She turned and offered her hand to Aegon instead.
Aegon stood, delight bright in his eyes.
"To be invited by my betrothed," he said lightly, taking her hand, "what joy could be greater?"
They walked together toward the center of the hall. As they passed Alan, Aegon paused and leaned closer, his smile thin.
"You lack the courage for this," he said quietly. "I know who set you on, and you will all pay for such foolishness."
Then he stepped away, leading Helaena onto the floor.
Relief washed over Alan. Aegon had not struck him, had not even raised his voice.
He turned to leave.
But Steel rang.
Prince Aemond, still chewing his last bite of meat, rose in a single fluid motion, and vaulted over the table. His longsword flashed upward, driven with brutal precision straight through Alan's chest.
Squelch*
Lyman felt a sharp pain, then crushing pressure. He tried to breathe, but blood filled his mouth and throat, choking him. Darkness closed in as he collapsed.
Aemond wrenched the blade free, blood splattering across his face.
His heart thundered with exhilaration. Killing with a sword was nothing like burning foes from dragonback. This was immediate and so... Intimate.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then screams erupted. Music dissolved into chaos as nobles scattered in terror.
Helaena gasped, startled, but Aegon did not release her.
"Do not stop," he murmured calmly, guiding her steps. "This is our first proper dance. Do not be distracted."
She swallowed and nodded, trusting him, and together they continued, turning gracefully amid the pandemonium.
They seemed almost unreal, poised and elegant in a hall of fear.
At the high table, Viserys stared in horror.
When word reached him that Aemond had struck down a man in full view of the court, his face went ashen.
Otto moved at once to Aemond's side with the Hightower guards, while Alicent turned Daeron's face away.
"Aemond," Viserys demanded weakly, "why did you do this?"
Aemond flicked blood from his blade, inspecting it with interest.
"I will name this sword Slaughter," he said calmly.
"Aemond," Otto pressed, "answer the king."
Aemond looked genuinely puzzled.
"He insulted my brother," he said at last. "I thought he might have more lives. But... It seems he had only one. Shame..."
The dismissal in his tone chilled the hall.
Viserys clutched his head, pain splitting through his temples.
"Aegon," he gasped. "Where is Aegon?"
Only then did the nobles who had been absorbed in the unfolding bloodshed realize something was amiss.
Prince Aegon was nowhere to be seen.
A ripple of unease spread through the hall as heads turned and voices rose in confusion.
"P-Prince Aegon?"
The first lord who caught sight of him froze in place, his mouth hanging open. One by one, the others followed his gaze and fell into the same stunned silence.
At the center of the dance floor, untouched by the chaos around them, Aegon and Helaena stood close together.
"Do you still wish to dance?" Helaena asked softly, her voice barely carrying over the distant screams and clamor.
Aegon studied her face and smiled, warmth softening his sharp features.
"No more dancing," he said gently. "Look at you. You are shaking."
He reached out and tapped her smooth forehead with his finger, an affectionate, almost playful gesture wholly out of place amid the carnage.
It was then that Princess Rhaenyra strode toward them, her expression dark with fury.
"Aemond has killed a man," she said coldly. "And you still had the leisure to dance?"
Aegon's smile faded. He gave Rhaenyra a brief glance, his eyes unreadable, then turned away from her and walked unhurriedly toward the fallen body.
Blood pooled beneath Alan's unmoving form.
Aegon stopped beside it and looked to his younger brother.
"One strike?" he asked calmly.
Aemond straightened, pride shining in his eye.
"One strike," he answered at once.
Viserys, watching this exchange, swayed where he stood, his face draining of color. Rage and disbelief warred within him, and for a moment it seemed he might collapse outright.
Yet the king's thoughts turned, as they always did, to the realm and its consequences. Lyman Beesbury's heir lay dead at his feet. How was such a loss to be answered? How was House Beesbury to be appeased?
Before Viserys could speak, Aegon clapped his hands together once and gave Aemond a clear, unmistakable gesture of approval.
"Well done," he said, nodding. "Good swordsmanship. One clean kill. You have at least a third of my style."
Viserys stared at him in horror.
Aegon did not look back at the king. Instead, he gestured toward the corpse on the floor.
"This man committed a grave act of treason," he declared, his voice carrying through the hall. "His death is nothing to mourn."
He turned slightly, placing a hand on Aemond's shoulder.
"And Prince Aemond, seeing danger before him, stepped forward without hesitation and struck down a despicable traitor."
Aegon raised his hands and began to applaud.
"Let us commend Prince Aemond, brave and resolute."
For a heartbeat, there was hesitation.
Then Otto Hightower joined in, his expression composed, his clapping measured. The Green lords followed almost at once, their loyalty aligning with instinct. Soon more than two thirds of the assembled nobles were applauding, the sound swelling until it filled the hall from wall to wall.
Aemond lifted his bloodied longsword high, basking openly in the roar of approval.
Across the room, old Lord Lyman Beesbury watched in mute horror. His body trembled, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed where he stood, overcome at last by the loss of his grandson and heir.
Aegon waved his hand dismissively.
"Take the traitor's body away," he ordered. "See that Lord Beesbury is escorted to his chambers to rest."
He turned back to the stunned assembly and offered a faint, courteous smile.
"There was a small interruption. You have my apologies. I trust it will not trouble anyone further."
He gestured toward the musicians.
"Let the music play, And continue dancing."
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A/N:
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