The council chamber was in an uproar, the heated arguments echoing through half of the Red Keep.
The servants kept their heads down, silent as death, busying themselves with menial tasks.
A section of the marble floor had been scrubbed so thoroughly that it gleamed.
---
Princess's Bedchamber
Rhaenyra was taking an afternoon nap when she faintly heard whispers outside her door.
She furrowed her brow and slowly opened her eyes, still drowsy.
"Sarra, what's going on?"
Her voice was hoarse yet soft as she struggled to sit up.
Creak—
The murmuring stopped, and the door was pushed open.
Sarra entered, her expression unreadable, and quickly moved to support her. "Be mindful of your belly," she cautioned. "The maester said you mustn't put pressure on it."
"I know."
Rhaenyra smiled and gently caressed her swollen stomach through the fabric of her camisole nightgown.
Eight months along—her pregnancy was unmistakable.
Still worried, Sarra reminded her, "The maester also said you should eat less and walk more. Carrying twins is no easy feat."
A single child could already lead to a difficult labor.
Twins doubled the risks.
According to the maester, keeping the babies slightly underfed might reduce complications during childbirth.
"Must everything always be what the maester says?"
Rhaenyra sighed in frustration. "I've been walking more, but I can't help it—I'm starving! I've never gone hungry a day in my life."
Sarra merely shrugged. "Do as you please."
Rhaenyra took her hand, offering an appeasing smile. "Don't be mad. Tell me—what's happening outside?"
She had spent years by Sarra's side and truly cherished her loyal handmaiden.
Sarra spoke frankly. "The Queen called a small council meeting to impeach Prince Rhaegar…"
She continued, relaying every detail she had managed to gather.
Rhaenyra's expression froze in shock, disbelief evident in her eyes. "Alicent wants to recall Rhaegar and consulted the Faith of the Seven about it?"
Had she lost her mind?
The Faith of the Seven had been subtly opposing the Iron Throne ever since King Aerys I's reign, constantly seeking to limit House Targaryen's authority.
Aerys I's children, Aegon and Rhaena, had nearly been lynched in the streets by nobles and commoners incited by the High Septon, simply for adhering to Targaryen traditions.
It was only when their great-grandfather, Jaehaerys, ascended the throne that peace was restored—at the cost of signing a treaty filled with unwritten concessions.
Those concessions had nearly stripped the Targaryens of their Valyrian heritage, forcing them to assimilate into Westerosi culture.
Sarra cut to the heart of the matter. "The Queen is accusing the Prince of acting in self-interest."
"Damn it!"
Rhaenyra cursed, her anger flaring.
She knew exactly what was meant by "self-interest."
Gritting her teeth, she swung her legs off the bed. "Help me dress."
As Princess of Dragonstone, she could not be excluded from the council's deliberations.
It was true that Rhaegar had his own motives, but weakening the Faith of the Seven was about far more than just personal ambition.
As long as the Faith refused to submit to royal authority, House Targaryen would remain shackled.
Rhaegar had conquered the Three Daughters and subdued Dorne's entire territory—an opportunity hard-won and one they could not afford to squander.
Sarra helped her to her feet, swiftly fetching an off-the-shoulder gown. "You don't have to go. The stress could harm the babies."
"I am Rhaegar's sister!"
Rhaenyra shot back without hesitation, her voice resolute. "Alicent is a foolish woman. I am the only one in King's Landing who can keep her in check. I won't let her meddle with my brother's affairs."
Once she was fully dressed, she turned to leave.
But just as she stepped past the doorway, something caught her eye—a sword hanging on the wall.
A beautifully crafted one-handed sword.
Valyrian steel—Light of the Kingdom.
Rhaenyra's gaze sharpened.
Despite her pregnant belly, she turned back, reached up, and lifted the ancestral blade from its mount.
Shing—
The slender blade slid free of its scabbard, its polished silver gleam reflecting waves of light like rippling water.
The hilt was cross-shaped, intricately carved. One side bore a radiant sun, the other a full moon.
Click.
Satisfied, Rhaenyra sheathed the sword with a practiced flick of her wrist.
Then, with determined strides, she strode out the door.
This sword had yet to taste blood.
If Alicent dared to stir trouble and Rhaegar hesitated, then as his sister, she would personally make sure their wicked stepmother understood why Light of the Kingdom was not just an empty name.
---
Council Chamber
Rhaenyra walked forward with unwavering determination, her presence commanding.
The two Kingsguard stationed at the entrance hesitated, uncertain whether to stop her.
They were caught in a dilemma.
With a fierce glare, Rhaenyra silenced their doubts. The two knights instantly averted their gazes, pretending to admire the floor.
Inside, the argument raged on.
Alicent was no longer composed. She had risen from her seat, her voice ringing out. "I will not allow anyone to destroy the harmony between the Crown and the Faith of the Seven! If Viserys were lucid, he would never tolerate this!"
After years of marriage, she knew Viserys all too well.
A man who relied on history as his guide—an indecisive weakling.
Valyria had once conquered the world with dragons, only to be annihilated by a cataclysm.
After losing Balerion, Viserys had grown wary of dragons and resisted using them to disrupt the peace.
Maegor I had waged war on the Faith, his cruelty unmatched.
Thus, Viserys had chosen to follow in his grandfather Jaehaerys's footsteps, maintaining amicable ties with the Faith—granting their every request.
Alicent was certain her husband would take her side.
Gulp—
She took a sip of wine, trying to mask a flicker of uncertainty.
Viserys would surely support her—they were husband and wife.
Although she had Maester Mukun feed her unconscious husband a little bit of milk of the poppy, it wasn't because she was afraid he would suddenly wake up and oppose her.
That foolish husband, always favoring his eldest son.
Alicent ground her teeth in frustration, her fingers tightening around the wine cup until her knuckles turned white.
Bang!
At that moment, the doors to the hall were flung open with near-violent force.
Alicent was startled and turned her gaze toward the commotion.
Two White Cloaks, who had been bribed, kept their heads lowered as they swiftly and forcefully pushed open the doors.
Alicent froze for a second, unable to react in time.
"Alicent, you have no right to speak on my father's behalf!"
Rhaenyra strode into the hall, head held high, exuding an imposing presence.
The moment she appeared, the room was stunned into silence.
Tormund and Olyvar immediately stood up, saluting in unison: "Your Highness."
Both were members of the Small Council, personally appointed by Rhaegar. Seeing Rhaenyra, they had no reason not to show their support.
The queen had been using her status to pressure others, but now, the dynamic had shifted.
With the princess here, the battle for power had taken a new turn.
Rhaenyra graciously waved a hand, signaling the two men to sit down, before striding directly toward her former friend. She wasted no time in asking, "You convened a Small Council meeting—why wasn't I informed?"
"Rhaenyra, you…"
Alicent was at a loss for words, her gaze sweeping over the younger woman.
Her long, silky silver-gold hair cascaded down her back, her beautiful face free of makeup, unadorned with any jewelry.
It was clear she had arrived in haste.
Looking further down, one hand was cradling her heavily pregnant belly, while the other gripped a silver-white sword.
Alicent's pupils contracted in shock, and she exclaimed, "Rhaenyra! You are with child—nearly at term! And you're running around wielding a weapon? Have you forgotten everything noblewomen are taught?"
Such was the rigid expectation in Westeros.
Noble girls were raised to be proper ladies, taught embroidery and weaving, given instruction in reading and arithmetic.
They were not meant to wield swords—at most, their authority extended to managing their husband's household affairs.
Rhaenyra had once served as the king's cupbearer and had been allowed to sit in on Small Council meetings—but only because she had been named heir to the Iron Throne.
"I have no patience for pointless chatter. Answer my question!"
She slammed her sword onto the table, then calmly took the seat that had once belonged to Rhaegar. With precise articulation, she declared, "By what right do you convene a Small Council meeting without me? In what capacity do you do so? And in what capacity do you seek to impeach the heir to the realm?"
Her words were sharp, her aggression unrelenting.
Alicent's head spun under the verbal onslaught. She opened her mouth several times but failed to mount a rebuttal.
By law, the queen had no regency power and, under normal circumstances, no authority to impeach the heir.
In contrast, as Princess of Dragonstone, Rhaenyra still retained her right to attend Small Council meetings, even if her place in the line of succession had shifted.
Alicent trembled with fury, lowering her voice as she said, "Rhaenyra, the maesters say you are in the late stages of pregnancy. You should return to your chambers and rest."
Carrying twins, her pregnancy was naturally different from that of an ordinary woman.
But Rhaenyra had no intention of listening to such nonsense. She rebuked, "The Pact of Ice and Fire was signed by my great-grandfather to quell rebellion—it does not mean the Faith of the Seven supersedes the Crown's authority. As queen, I suggest you remember where your loyalties should lie."
Leonard and the others looked astonished, unable to utter a word.
To openly rebuke the queen and the Faith of the Seven—she had all but explicitly told Alicent to stop siding with the Starry Sept.
"Madness! You've all gone mad!"
Alicent was on the verge of collapse. When she couldn't win the argument, she resorted to shouting toward the doors: "Kingsguard! The princess is with child—escort her back to her chambers at once!"
Fortunately, she had prepared for opposition.
The doors had remained open, and two White Cloaks stood guard on either side.
Hearing the queen's command, they exchanged troubled glances before reluctantly stepping forward.
Rhaenyra arched an elegant brow, fixing them with a piercing gaze.
Ser Rickard Thorne, of House Thorne in the Crownlands—a second son from a minor noble family.
Ser Willam Fell, of House Fell in the Stormlands—another overlooked branch son.
Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk were currently nursing injuries sustained while protecting the king.
Ser Criston Cole, having returned to the Kingsguard, was far away in Dorne.
Ser Lorent and Ser Steffon, fiercely loyal to the king, remained stationed at his chambers at all times.
Rhaenyra hadn't expected anyone to dare oppose her. Keeping her expression poised, she said, "Sers, leave the chamber now, and I will overlook this offense."
The two Kingsguard knights exchanged glances before replying in unison: "His Grace ordered us to protect the queen. We ask Your Highness for understanding."
Rhaenyra's expression darkened.
Alicent sneered from the side, "Save your breath. They know who the true lady of the Red Keep is. You should be resting, not interfering."
"That's nonsense!" Rhaenyra lost her composure.
Alicent blinked, momentarily stunned. Had she misheard?
But Rhaenyra had no time to bother with her. Instead, she met Tormund's gaze across the table.
Alicent thought she could strong-arm her by bribing two Kingsguard?
How arrogant.
King's Landing housed 2,000 City Watchmen and 800 Dragonpit guards. The Red Keep itself had 500 members of the Royal Guard and another 500 stationed Unsullied.
With Rhaegar absent, every one of them answered to her alone.
Tormund understood her silent command and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
No need for direct orders—his white falcon had already flown out of the hall.
His network of informants stretched across the Red Keep. Within a minute, the Royal Guard would be alerted and on their way.
Alicent wasn't foolish—she knew how dangerous spies could be. She hurriedly commanded, "Take the princess away at once! Do not let her disrupt the Small Council meeting."
She had endured enough years of being obstructed at every turn.
She had planned to use Viserys' unconscious state as an opportunity to curb Rhaegar's reckless actions under the authority of the Iron Throne.
She had even considered summoning him back to King's Landing under the guise of tending to his ailing father, creating more opportunities for her own sons to distinguish themselves.
But Rhaenyra's forceful arrival had thrown her plans into disarray.
The two White Cloaks stepped forward, their voices low as they said, "Princess, please don't make this difficult for us."
Regretting being bribed by the Queen, yet having no choice but to comply.
The Kingsguard was a special group—so long as they did not commit regicide or rebellion, any other crime would be forgiven.
Rhaenyra remained seated, unmoving. She pushed Kingdom's Light forward and calmly said, "Try laying a hand on me if you dare."
The two White Cloaks hesitated, their hands frozen in midair, turning to look at the Queen.
Alicent, her expression tense, covered her eyes with one hand and waved the other. "Do not hurt her."
"Yes, Your Grace!"
The two knights responded and moved to act.
The moment their hands reached out, the onlookers' faces changed.
Rhaenyra, in disbelief, instinctively shifted backward, unwilling to be touched.
A princess of the realm being dragged out of the council chamber by the Kingsguard—such news would spread through King's Landing, fueling gossip for the next decade.
"You—"
Anger surged within Rhaenyra as she opened her mouth to rebuke them.
Just then, a weak, breathless voice suddenly echoed from outside.
"How dare you! All of you, stand down at once!"