At the feast, Cassandra moved through the crowd and came to the Velaryon table.
"Prince Jacaerys," Cassandra said sweetly, "I have heard your eye was wounded at Driftmark?"
"What a pity… such a fine face, ruined so."
Jacaerys's expression darkened at once.
"But," Cassandra went on, her gaze flicking toward Aemond not far away, who was speaking and laughing with Helaena, "I do pity you."
Lucerys rose to his feet. "My lady, what do you mean by that?"
"Did I say anything?" Cassandra blinked, feigning innocence. "I merely think… if a man cannot even keep the heart of his betrothed, that is truly lamentable."
She gave a graceful curtsey and turned away, leaving three furious youths behind.
Jacaerys's hand clenched into a fist.
His uninjured right eye fixed upon Aemond and Helaena in the distance—low voices between them, Helaena covering her mouth as she laughed softly.
"I shall ask her to dance," Jacaerys said suddenly.
"What?" Lucerys stared at his elder brother in surprise.
"I said, I shall ask Princess Helaena to dance." Jacaerys rose and smoothed his doublet. "I am to be betrothed to her. It is my rightful claim."
...
"My lords and ladies!" Boremund struck his silver cup, and the hall fell silent. "I thank you all for coming from afar. In the stormlands we say: the fiercer the wind, the deeper the roots."
"I have dwelt at Storm's End for seventy years. I have weathered storms enough, and each one has strengthened my belief in a single truth: the foundation of a house lies in its blood, in its duty, and in… loyalty."
He paused, his gaze sweeping slowly across the hall. "Today we are gathered here together. There are kin, there are friends, and there are… those who stand upon differing grounds."
"But beneath the roof of Storm's End, let us set aside our divisions for a time. For our houses, for our lineages, for the future of the Seven Kingdoms—let us drink this cup together!"
"For the Seven Kingdoms!" the nobles echoed in unison, raising their cups.
The feast continued. Stewards bore forth rich dishes, and the singers sang of the deeds of Baratheon forebears. When the dancing began, Jacaerys crossed the hall and came before the Green table.
The young prince bowed slightly, his courtesy beyond reproach. "Princess Helaena, would you grant me the honor of a dance?"
Helaena started and glanced at Aemond by instinct.
Beside her, Daeron spoke first, his voice clear yet edged with mockery. "Nephew, your left eye troubles you. Should you tread upon my sister's foot while dancing, it would not make a fair sight."
Jacaerys's face flushed crimson at once, yet he forced down his anger. "My thanks for your concern, uncle. Even with but one eye, I see well enough to follow the steps."
"Do you?" Daeron tilted his head. "For I have heard that some men not only fail in their sight, but cannot even see what they truly are."
The air turned cold in an instant.
Aegon frowned. "Daeron, show courtesy to our nephew."
Daeron turned his head aside in disdain. Though he seldom remained in King's Landing, he knew well enough that the Greens and the Blacks were already at daggers drawn.
Aemond looked to Jacaerys. "Princess Helaena is unwell today. She will not dance. Pray return."
Jacaerys's hand curled into a fist. Behind him, Lucerys and Joffrey glared openly.
Then Corlys's voice cut through the tension. "Jacaerys."
The three youths turned. The Sea Snake sat at ease in his seat and said only, "Come back. Do not disturb the feast."
Jacaerys drew a breath, gave a stiff bow, and turned away.
At the high table not far off, Rhaenyra took in the whole of it, anger plain upon her face—her son had been slighted.
Daemon saw it as well, yet his expression remained unmoved. He leaned close and murmured, "Rhaenyra, do not make a scene here."
"Mind the courtesies due to our guests…"
Rhaenyra closed her eyes briefly, set her smile in place once more, and turned toward Boremund.
"Little Viserys was but newly born," she said gently. "Should he wed into House Baratheon, the blood of our two houses would be bound more closely still."
Boremund's heir—Borros Baratheon, a man of forty—knit his brow. "My youngest daughter is five."
"If there is to be a match, why not Prince Aegon? Why not Aegon?"
"Prince Aegon is otherwise provided for," Rhaenyra answered, declining with courtesy.
A flicker of displeasure crossed Borros's eyes.
Boremund marked his son's temper and lifted a hand, bidding him hold his tongue.
"This match I shall consider," the old lord said slowly. "The stormlands shall continue to support you, Rhaenyra."
Borros lowered his head, forcing a thin smile.
...
As the feast wore into its latter half, Corlys struck his silver cup.
The hall fell quiet by degrees.
"My lords and ladies," the Sea Snake's voice rang beneath the vaulted ceiling, "on this glad occasion, I have a matter to proclaim."
"From this day forth, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey shall be acknowledged as true members of House Velaryon."
"They are the lawful sons of Laenor Velaryon and shall bear the Velaryon name, inheriting the seat and holdings of Driftmark."
"They—and their descendants after them—shall renounce all claim to the Iron Throne."
A murmur swept the hall.
Rhaenyra rose and added, "I have already written to the King. In due course I shall go to King's Landing to lay this matter before him."
"At the same time, my son Aegon Targaryen shall be formally declared my heir."
At the feast, the nobles exchanged knowing looks. The Princess of Dragonstone was making the succession plain.
Aemond rose, his voice clear. "Lord Corlys is most generous. Yet I would beg leave to ask a question."
"Since my three cousins are to be received into House Velaryon, what is to be done with the dragons they ride—Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes?"
Corlys answered with an easy smile. "They shall be dealt with as when Princess Rhaenys wed into House Velaryon."
"My lord means to say that these dragons are but lent to Velaryon?" Aemond pressed.
Rhaenyra took up the reply. "The dragons remain the property of House Targaryen. Velaryon… merely keeps them in trust."
Aemond caught sight of Daemon behind Rhaenyra, holding little Aegon in his arms. The prince gave him a faint shake of the head, his eyes unreadable.
Understanding dawned upon Aemond. He asked no further and resumed his seat.
...
By the time the feast broke, the moon stood high.
Aemond walked the gallery above the western side of the castle, where one might look down upon Shipbreaker Bay and watch the waves beat ceaselessly against the cliffs below.
Footsteps sounded behind him, unhurried.
"A fair view," Daemon said as he came to stand beside him, leaning upon the stone rail.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, their silver hair alike beneath the cold light of the moon.
"You shook your head earlier, uncle. What did you mean?" Aemond asked without preamble.
Daemon gazed out across the sea and did not answer at once. Instead he said, "I have done many mad things in my life…"
"But I have never regretted them. Not until now…"
He turned his eyes upon Aemond, who kept his silence.
"Velaryon will command four dragons, besides those who can ride them…"
The rest went unspoken. He went on instead.
"You know what that means."
Daemon turned to face him fully.
"I wish those three boys dead."
"Can you do it?"
Aemond smiled faintly. "I can."
At his answer, Daemon gave a nod and a thin smile. "I mean to win."
"I would see my son upon the Iron Throne. I would see Rhaenyra crowned."
"And the true Targaryens—silver-haired, purple-eyed, their blood untainted—must not be defiled by any man…"
He fixed his gaze upon Aemond's eye.
"I love Rhaenyra. Therefore I tell you this: I shall give all I have for the Black cause."
"If we fail…"
"Then I would sooner see the Green upon the Iron Throne."
"But never a Targaryen stolen by bastards and strangers."
Aemond looked upon his uncle with a troubled gaze.
Daemon lifted a finger and pointed at him. "Good fortune to you, boy."
"When that day comes, I shall not hesitate. Nor shall I show mercy."
"The same to you."
Daemon turned and strode away, his dark cloak lifting in the night wind. His footsteps faded, at last swallowed by the sound of the sea.
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