During the banquet, Cassandra Baratheon made her way through the crowd and returned to her seat at House Velaryon.
"Prince Jacaerys," Cassandra said softly,
"I heard your eye was injured on Driftmark?"
"What a pity… such a fine face, marred so," she added.
Jacaerys's expression darkened immediately.
"But," Cassandra continued, glancing toward Aemond, who was laughing quietly with Helaena,
"I truly pity you."
Lucerys rose at once.
"My lady, what do you mean by that?"
"Did I say anything improper?" Cassandra blinked innocently.
"I merely think… if one cannot even keep the heart of his betrothed, it is most sad."
She dipped into a graceful curtsy and turned to leave, leaving three furious boys behind her.
Jacaerys's hands clenched into fists.
His one good eye remained fixed on Aemond and Helaena in the distance. They whispered together, and Helaena covered her mouth as she laughed.
"I shall ask her to dance," Jacaerys said suddenly.
"What?" Lucerys looked at his brother in surprise.
"Everyone!"
Lord Borros Baratheon struck a silver goblet. The hall fell silent.
"Thank you for coming so far. In the Stormlands, we have an old saying: the stronger the wind, the deeper the roots."
"I have lived at Storm's End for seventy years and endured more storms than I can count. Each has taught me the same lesson: the foundation of a house lies in blood, duty… and loyalty."
His gaze swept slowly across the hall.
"Today we are gathered with kin, friends, and also… those who hold differing loyalties."
"But beneath the roof of Storm's End, let us set aside our quarrels for the moment. For family, for inheritance, for the future of the Seven Kingdoms, drink this cup with me!"
The nobles raised their goblets.
"To the Seven Kingdoms!" they shouted in unison.
The feast continued. Servants carried out delicate dishes, while bards sang of the deeds of House Baratheon.
When the dancing began, Jacaerys threaded his way through the crowd toward the table of the Greens.
He bowed, his manners impeccable.
"Princess Helaena, may I have the honor of this dance?"
Helaena froze and glanced instinctively at Aemond.
Before she could respond, Daeron Targaryen spoke, his voice crisp and laced with sarcasm:
"Nephew, with only one eye, if you step on my sister's foot while dancing, I fear it would be most unseemly."
Jacaerys flushed but restrained his anger.
"Thank you, uncle, for your concern. Even with one eye, I can see the steps of the dance clearly."
"Truly?" Daeron tilted his head.
"Yet I have heard some cannot see their own station clearly either."
The hall's warmth turned abruptly cold.
Prince Aegon frowned.
"Daeron, show courtesy to our nephew."
Daeron looked away with open disdain, though he rarely lingered in King's Landing. He knew well that the Greens and the Blacks had long been at odds.
Aemond's gaze met Jacaerys's.
"Princess Helaena is unwell tonight and will not dance. Return to your seat."
Jacaerys's fists clenched anew. Lucerys and Joffrey, following him, scowled in anger.
Nearby at the high table, Rhaenyra had the entire scene in view. Her face could not hide her anger—her son had been humiliated.
Daemon, seated beside her, saw it, but his expression remained indifferent. He murmured softly,
"Rhaenyra, not here."
Borros Baratheon, heir of Storm's End, aged forty, frowned.
"My youngest daughter is five this year. If a match is to be made, it should be with Prince Aegon—why not Aegon?"
"Aegon's future is already arranged," Rhaenyra replied politely.
Borros bowed his head, forcing a smile.
In the second half of the feast, Corlys Velaryon struck a silver cup.
The hall fell gradually silent.
"Lords and ladies," the Sea Snake announced,
"on this grand occasion, I have an announcement."
"From this day forth, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey are formally recognized as members of House Velaryon."
"They are the lawful heirs of Laenor Velaryon and shall inherit the Velaryon name and Driftmark."
"They and their descendants renounce all claims to the Iron Throne."
The hall erupted in astonishment.
Rhaenyra rose.
"I have written to the king and shall soon depart for King's Landing to report this in person."
Aemond stood, his voice firm:
"Lord Corlys is generous. Yet I take the liberty to ask: since these three cousins belong to House Velaryon, how shall they dispose of the dragons they command—Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes?"
Corlys replied calmly, smiling faintly,
"Just as it was when Princess Rhaenys married into House Velaryon."
Aemond asked cautiously,
"Sir, do you mean these dragons are merely borrowed from Valyrian stock?"
Rhaenyra responded evenly,
"The dragons remain of House Targaryen. As for the Velaryons… ensure they are treated rightly."
Aemond caught sight of Daemon holding little Aegon behind Rhaenyra, softly nodding. He understood and sat down slowly.
When the banquet ended, the moon hung pale over the western ramparts of Storm's End.
Aemond stood upon the promenade, gazing down at Shipbreaker Bay, where waves crashed against the cliffs.
Footsteps approached—neither hurried nor slow.
"The view is fine," Daemon said, joining him at the stone balustrade.
They stood side by side, silver hair glowing in the moonlight.
"You know what I admire most about you, Aemond?" Daemon murmured.
"I would hear it plainly."
"We are alike," he said, his violet eyes dark in the night.
"Love is love, hate is hate, desire is desire."
"I have never regretted my choices."
"The Velaryons would have four dragons… and a bloodline that commands them."
"What do you mean?" Aemond asked.
Daemon faced him fully.
"I want those three boys dead."
"Can you do it?" Aemond asked quietly.
He smiled faintly.
"I can."
Daemon nodded, satisfied.
"I want victory. I want my son upon the Iron Throne. I want to see Rhaenyra crowned."
"I would even see the Greens upon the throne—"
"But never a Targaryen line stolen by bastards and outsiders."
Aemond met his uncle's gaze, eyes complex.
Daemon pointed at him.
"Good fortune, boy."
Then he turned and walked away, black cloak snapping in the night wind. Footsteps faded until only the roar of the sea remained.