The Throne Room, Red Keep.
The afternoon sun slanted in through the high windows of the Great Hall, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air above the Iron Throne.
The room was sharply divided.
Blacks and Greens.
On the right, Rhaenyra stood at the forefront in a plain white gown, her back straight, her chin slightly raised.
Daemon Targaryen stood beside her, dressed in dark crimson, his eyes half-closed as he scrutinized the Greens opposite him.
Behind him were Rhaenyra's three eldest sons: Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey.
On the left, it was a different scene.
Hand of the King Otto Hightower stood at the forefront, in a white robe with gold threads, his gray hair meticulously combed.
Aemond stood to one side, dressed in black hunting attire, a sword at his waist, quietly observing the opposite side.
Helaena Targaryen stood beside Aemond today, wearing a light blue gown, her silver hair loosely tied back.
Aegon the Elder and his fiancée, Lady Aelyn Rogar, stood next to the Hand. And the youngest, Daeron Targaryen, stood behind everyone.
At this moment, no one spoke.
The nobles arriving one after another broke the silence.
They bowed their heads, hurried their steps, and most of them silently moved to stand with the Greens.
Only five or six nobles, after a brief hesitation, walked to the empty space behind the Blacks.
Seeing the current situation made Rhaenyra grit her teeth in secret.
She knew the Greens had been operating in King's Landing for many years, and she knew that hearts changed constantly, but seeing this scene with her own eyes, her chest still felt as if it had been struck by a hammer.
These nobles, who had once smiled fawningly in front of her and praised her as the "Realm's Delight."
Now they no longer stood on her side.
Two years ago, Vaemond Velaryon was personally executed by Aemond in this very room; the old man's blood had splattered the stones, staining her reputation as well.
She took a breath, forcing herself to stand even straighter, her chin held higher, like a swan.
'It doesn't matter,' she told herself.
'As long as today passes... as long as Father publicly confirms Little Aegon's succession, these fence-sitters will know which way the wind blows.'
"Heh."
A clear scoff broke the silence.
Daemon tilted his head, his gaze sweeping past Otto, lingering on Aemond's face for a moment, then sweeping over the dense crowd of nobles behind the Greens.
"Quite a display, isn't it?"
Otto turned his face, meeting Daemon's gaze.
"The Prince jests. The Throne Room is inherently a place for governance; many people care about state affairs. We are merely standing where we should, upholding what should be upheld."
He paused, his gaze turning to Rhaenyra.
"For example, the legitimacy of the kingdom. For example, the line of succession."
Daemon's smile deepened slightly, and he said no more.
He knew it clearly in his heart. The Greens' years of maneuvering had almost completely won over the hearts of the Crownlands and King's Landing.
Now, of those standing in this hall, besides the King on the Iron Throne, who truly supported Rhaenyra?
"His Grace arrives!"
The guards at the door announced loudly.
All the nobles immediately bowed their heads.
At the entrance, Queen Alicent assisted King Viserys I, walking step by step toward the Iron Throne.
The Queen had only given birth two days prior, her face still pale with weakness.
She wore a dark green velvet gown, with noble ladies-in-waiting carefully following behind, catching the train of her dress.
The King, supported by the Queen, gasped for breath; he had drunk a lot of milk of the poppy before coming.
Although Grand Maester Orwyle had advised him to stay in bed, he had to make a decision on these matters today.
Viserys I wore a half-golden mask today, covering the ulcerated part of his left face.
His right face was ashen and lifeless, his eyes sunken, and he gasped heavily with every step.
Behind him, five white-cloaked Kingsguard followed, their armor clanking. Ser Criston Cole, leading them, followed in silence.
The Iron Throne had been padded thickly by the attendants. Viserys almost collapsed into it.
The King's cloudy gaze struggled to rise, sweeping over the two distinct rows of black and green people below.
He was too tired, his bones aching and numb, the dizziness from the milk of the poppy intertwined with his illness, causing his vision to blacken in waves.
He didn't want to say any more nonsense, nor did he have the strength to maneuver.
"First order of business."
The King spoke, announcing directly.
"I announce the cancellation of the betrothal between Jacaerys Velaryon and Helaena Targaryen."
Buzz.
A subtle commotion arose among the Greens.
Otto's eyes flashed with surprise and doubt. He quickly glanced at the King on the throne, then swiftly lowered his gaze.
'This was not part of the plan. Why would the King suddenly cancel the betrothal? Who influenced him?'
Aemond could hardly believe it, his violet pupils contracting to pinpricks.
Aemond's gaze immediately met the opposite side.
Daemon Targaryen's face bore a faint smile.
'It was him...'
Helaena herself, beside him, let out a soft "ah" and then covered her mouth.
A genuine, relieved blush quickly spread across her cheeks, and even her eyes brightened for a moment.
She instinctively leaned closer to Aemond, her fingers quietly gripping his sleeve, tugging it slightly.
Aemond turned to look at her happy face and nodded as well.
By the Iron Throne, on the Queen's seat, Alicent's hand on her husband's arm trembled slightly.
A hint of satisfaction flashed in her eyes.
'Had this old fool finally sobered up for once? Did he realize he couldn't marry his daughter off to those bastards?'
On the Blacks' side, Jacaerys's body trembled violently, as if he had been punched. His face showed anger, but he lowered his head, not daring to show it.
Beside him, Lucerys and Joffrey could not suppress their anger either.
"Stand straight. Many people are watching."
Daemon said sternly, not even turning to look at them, and the young Velaryons fell silent.
"Your Grace!"
Rhaenyra cried out, taking a step forward, her face drained of color.
"What are you saying? You personally promised this betrothal! After Driftmark, you personally..."
"This is my decision now."
Viserys interrupted her.
He didn't look at his daughter's shocked face, merely gasping, gathering his next breath. It was difficult for him to speak, each word seeming to be forced from his lungs.
"Second order of business..."
The hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Everyone's hearts were in their throats, holding their breath to listen.
"Another betrothal."
Viserys gasped heavily, his words broken, interspersed with coughs.
"Rhaenyra's child... Aegon the Younger... and my daughter... Helaena... will be joined in marriage."
There was another collective, suppressed gasp.
The King's actions today were truly unusual.
First cancel one, then establish another? And to betroth the adult Princess to a toddler?
Viserys laboriously turned his head, the golden mask glowing eerily in the dim light.
He looked at the Queen beside him, his voice so low it was almost inaudible.
"My dear... You won't object, will you?"
Alicent hesitated.
Her gaze swept over the core of the Greens below: her father, Otto; her sons, Aemond and Aegon.
She saw them all with bowed heads, silent, showing no immediate signs of objection.
After all, this was proposed by the King.
Tying Helaena to Rhaenyra's youngest son, a pure-blooded Targaryen, was, to some extent, a form of restraint, or even a fusion.
And it kept Helaena far away from the Strong boys.
The Queen bit her lower lip and nodded in agreement.
"I... do not object, Your Grace."
-----
A/N:
If you are enjoying the start of the story.
Drop some stones to help this book reach higher.
You can read upto 20+ Chapters. + Images
You can also read "+2 Free Chapters".
www.patreon.com/
LastDreamer