Rhaegar's eyes flickered as he brushed aside the cobwebs littering the ground and approached the door.
Knock, knock!
The decaying wooden door, emanating a rotten stench, echoed with the sound of his knocks.
Immediately, the cries and wails from behind the door ceased, replaced by a flurry of chaotic sounds.
Rhaegar slid open the wooden panel on the door, allowing a beam of light to pierce into the damp, dark little room.
"Who is it?!"
Allison curled up in the corner of the room, shielding herself with her blood-soaked bandaged arms as if to block out the sudden light.
Rhaegar remained silent, quietly observing her.
Sensing someone's gaze, Allison forced herself to regain composure and quickly wiped away the tears from the corners of her eyes using the bandages.
She was a queen!
Her pride refused to let her be seen in such a miserable state.
Rhaegar's voice was calm and steady. "It's me. Didn't you want me to come back?"
Allison froze at the sound of his voice, her tear-streaked pale face turning toward the door.
The light was glaring, illuminating Rhaegar's face in the sunlight.
The next second—
"Rhaegar!"
Allison shrieked, frantically lunging toward the door, trying to block the opening with her hands.
Rhaegar stepped back, letting her indulge in this futile act of self-deception.
It was indeed hard for her to accept the abrupt fall from being a queen to a prisoner.
Allison's screams continued until her voice turned hoarse, followed by violent coughing as she finally quieted down.
"Step aside. I'll handle it," Rhaenyra said as she elbowed her way to the door, her gaze filled with loathing as she glared through the gap at Allison, who had collapsed on the ground.
At that moment, Allison leaned weakly against the wooden door. Her green dress was dirty and disheveled, making her resemble a noblewoman fallen into destitution.
A fleeting satisfaction flickered in Rhaenyra's eyes. Her voice was cold as she sneered, "Allison, stop acting like a madwoman. Look at me."
Allison's body tensed. Her pride wouldn't allow her to back down. Gritting her teeth, she raised her head, revealing bloodshot eyes filled with defiance.
As she shifted slightly backward, her face was fully exposed through the opening.
Rhaenyra's expression wavered for a moment.
In just a single night, Allison's once-beautiful face had become utterly unrecognizable.
Her complexion was ghostly pale, her lips drained of all color. Dark, thick bags hung under her swollen eyes, giving her face a bloated appearance.
Without a trace of sympathy, Rhaenyra cradled little Baelon against her cheek, ensuring Allison could see him clearly. She smirked. "Thanks to you, my children are born—two pure-blooded sons."
As she spoke, she gestured for Rhaegar to hand over the sleeping little Aemond.
Holding both twins proudly in her arms, Rhaenyra declared, "Here they are—my two children. Got a good enough look?"
How many times had she suffered silently, both publicly and privately, all because Allison had given birth to Aegon?
The world needed to know—Allison wasn't the only one capable of having children.
Rhaenyra almost felt grateful for sparing Allison's life; otherwise, she wouldn't have had this opportunity to flaunt her victory.
Seeing Allison's face twist with jealousy was immensely satisfying.
Rhaegar quietly stepped aside, watching the deep-seated enmity between the two women unfold.
Inside the small room, Allison stared at Rhaenyra and the two babies, her swollen red eyes flickering with conflicting emotions.
She slumped onto the damp, moldy floor and stubbornly sneered, "So what? Having children is just a woman's fate. It's nothing special."
Rhaenyra shot back, "Does your fate also include living in a rat-infested attic?"
"You—!"
Allison's chest heaved violently with anger, but her sore throat prevented her from speaking further.
Unbothered, Rhaenyra pressed on. "My children have a father who loves them. How much fatherly love do your children get?"
Allison glared at her furiously, itching to rush forward and tear her mouth apart.
She could no longer maintain her composure.
It was true what they said—lies don't hurt; the truth cuts deep like a blade.
Watching the verbal war escalate, Rhaegar felt a headache coming on. He gently pulled the triumphant Rhaenyra aside and whispered, "Let me talk to her. You go take care of the kids."
Rhaenyra, lips pursed, looked down at the twins in her arms.
The two little ones had woken up, their violet eyes wide with curiosity and fear as they gazed up at their mother.
They had been awakened by their mother's sharp words.
Blushing slightly, Rhaenyra muttered awkwardly, "I'll head downstairs and wait for you."
With her revenge complete, she felt exhilarated yet emotionally drained.
She needed a moment to calm down.
Rhaegar watched her descend the stairs, shaking his head with a faint smile.
After all these years of enduring humiliation, Rhaenyra's vengeful side was surprisingly adorable.
The smile faded as his gaze returned to Allison.
Her face was stony as she spoke coldly. "Where is Viserys? How is he?"
"You still have time to worry about your father?" Rhaegar asked in response.
Allison let out a scornful snort, unwilling to waste more words.
"You want to stop me from suppressing the Faith of the Seven?" Rhaegar's tone was icy. "On what grounds?"
He didn't ask why, because fools always had their reasons.
He was merely curious why Allison, who had endured for so long—even after Aemond lost an eye—was now suddenly acting out when peace was just within reach.
Allison's voice was frigid. "The peace treaty was His Majesty King Jaehaerys' accomplishment. Opposing the Faith of the Seven is playing with fire—you're courting destruction."
Rhaegar narrowed his eyes slightly and asked, "Do you know the circumstances under which our great-grandfather signed the treaty with the Faith of the Seven?"
Alicent was momentarily speechless.
Of course, she knew. But that piece of history was far from pleasant.
Maegor I had died a gruesome death on the Iron Throne, and Jaehaerys had ascended hastily.
At that time, the entire continent was in turmoil, with the Faith of the Seven waging a crusade against House Targaryen.
Jaehaerys, after years in hiding, had seized back the crown from his mother and stepfather. His first priority had been forging an alliance with the Faith to consolidate his rule over the Iron Throne.
Seeing Alicent's reaction, Rhaegar lost interest in the conversation and said indifferently, "Think whatever you like. It doesn't matter."
Dusting off his robes, he rose to his feet and walked away. "You've made a mistake. Prepare to spend the rest of your life atoning for it."
A narrow-minded, shortsighted fool of a woman wasn't worth wasting time on.
Stabilizing the court and dealing with Oldtown's faction were far more pressing matters.
As Rhaenyra and Rhaegar departed, a familiar dread crept into Alicent's heart. She wanted to stop them, but the words wouldn't come.
She wasn't foolish enough to believe she could walk away from this unscathed.
Just as Rhaegar was about to disappear at the end of the corridor, Alicent, tears streaming down her face, pointed at her swollen throat and sobbed, "His Grace, the Old King, often praised my voice. He loved it when I read to him."
Rhaegar paused for a moment before leaving without a word.
The dim attic was once again filled with nothing but the sound of suppressed weeping.
---
Rhaegar stepped out of the Sept and immediately spotted Rhaenyra sitting by the flowerbed, struggling to soothe two restless children.
The little ones were heavy, enough to tire their mother out completely.
Rhaegar strode forward and took the two squirming troublemakers from her arms, teasing, "Next time, remember to bring a maid with you, or you might end up dropping them."
Rhaenyra rubbed her sore arms and rolled her eyes. "Alicent didn't break down in hysterics? I thought she'd lose her mind."
"Who cares?" Rhaegar replied offhandedly.
Rhaenyra lowered her gaze, her voice tinged with melancholy. "I almost wish she had screamed at me. At least then it would've felt like old times."
Rhaegar gave her a surprised look, then slowly nodded in understanding. He said something thoughtful: "She had no choice, but she still made one."
Rhaenyra pursed her lips into a small smile and opened her arms again, clapping her hands to signal for him to return one of the babies.
---
Time passed quickly.
Half a month later, in the Red Keep's throne room…
The black-stone hall was filled with courtiers, led by the Hand of the King.
All eyes were drawn to a single figure.
Flanked by two Kingsguard knights, Rhaegar stepped forward in a black dragon-rider's tunic.
His gaze swept over the assembled lords as he approached the Iron Throne, its jagged swords glinting ominously.
With a composed expression, he ascended the chaotic steps of twisted blades, ignoring the sharp edges flashing all around him. Step by step, he climbed to the top.
Turning to face the court, he calmly sat upon the cold, unyielding throne of steel.
The Iron Throne had no backrest, no armrests—only blades jutting from every direction.
It was the Conqueror's design, a constant reminder to his successors: ruling was never meant to be comfortable.
Rhaegar sat upright, resting one hand on his Valyrian steel scepter, gazing down at the assembled lords.
Below the throne, Erryk and Arryk stood guard, swords in hand, eyes fixed forward.
The court was silent. They were used to seeing the heir seated upon the throne.
With the king in ill health, the realm's affairs had fallen to the prince for half a year.
After a moment of contemplation, Rhaegar spoke. "Lord Lyonel, has the grain convoy to the Riverlands' princely estate departed?"
After spending two weeks on this seat of swords, he had come to understand how his courtiers worked.
If he didn't ask, they wouldn't bother reporting anything.
At his words, Lord Lyonel stepped forward and replied solemnly, "Yes, Your Grace. Princess Helaena wrote to say she will personally escort the shipment."
With the first report given, the rest of the council followed suit.
Lord Lyman shuffled forward, holding a ledger, and announced, "Per Your Highness's instructions, we have selected a site within King's Landing for the construction of the Great Sept of the Seven Stars. The land has been cleared."
After stating the progress, he immediately began to complain. "With wars against the Triarchy and Dorne draining the treasury, funding the sept is another heavy burden on the crown's finances."
As a diligent Master of Coin, he felt obligated to protest every time the throne spent money.
Rhaegar sighed and reassured him, "Lord Lyman, the Crown's support for the new faith is an investment. The expenses are worth it."
According to the spymaster's reports, over the past two weeks, more than a hundred septons and septas had voluntarily left Oldtown to join the new faith.
Compared to praying fruitlessly at the Starry Sept, a visible, tangible "Son of God" was far more convincing.
The meeting soon drew to a close.
Lord Lyonel reported, "There are still two vacant positions in the Kingsguard. I have issued royal summons to fill them as soon as possible."
"Proceed as planned," Rhaegar confirmed.
With the council adjourned, he stretched lazily and grinned. "I'm going to Oldtown. I leave the court in your capable hands."
The assembled lords exchanged glances before reluctantly agreeing.
Thanks to the effects of a special incense, the king could remain lucid for a few hours each day—enough to keep the court running smoothly.
Rhaegar stepped down from the throne, eager to depart.
After a moment's hesitation, the ministers followed suit—to see the prince off.
---
The Godswood, in the royal gardens…
A deep, guttural growl echoed through the trees.
The great black dragon, Gorging Maw, lay sprawled on the ground, its tail lashing irritably.
Nearby, Syrax stood patiently, awaiting its rider.
Rhaenyra, dressed in her dragon-rider leathers for the first time in ages, held her two children in her arms.
The little ones stared, wide-eyed, utterly transfixed by Gorging Maw.
A colossal, coal-black dragon—an awe-inspiring sight for such tiny infants.
"I'm here," Rhaegar called as he emerged from the Godswood, smiling as he took one of the swaddled babes from her arms.
Lifting the blanket, he saw little Baelor, the quieter of the twins.
"Let's go."
Rhaenyra's eyes shone as she secured young Aemond to her chest and climbed onto Syrax's back.
Rhaegar hesitated for a moment before doing the same with Baelor, mounting Gorging Maw.
Once everything was set, Rhaenyra gave the command: "Syrax, fly!"
With a piercing screech, Syrax obediently bounded forward, flapping its wings as it soared into the skies above the Red Keep.
"Screeeech—"
The Devourer let out a deep roar, rising like a mountain of coal from the ground, its pitch-black wings casting a shadow over the entirety of the Red Keep.
In the royal garden, the courtiers tilted their heads back, watching the prince and princess dance in tandem atop their dragons.
"Screeech!"
Syrax, mischievous by nature, flapped its wings and circled the Red Keep twice before soaring over the city of King's Landing.
"Hee-hee-hee..."
Little Aemond nestled in Rhaenyra's arms, his wide eyes gazing at the drifting clouds as he opened his mouth to let out a crisp, cheerful laugh.
Rhaegar, riding the Devourer, followed closely behind, weaving through the skies above King's Landing like a performer, capturing the attention of countless commoners below.
Little Baelor's clear eyes widened as he stretched his tiny hand out of his swaddling blanket, attempting to grasp the clouds of the vast blue sky.
Looking down at his son, Rhaegar kissed his forehead gently and chuckled. "That's my boy—just as I'd expect from my son."
"Hee-hee~"
Little Baelor shook his head, thinking his father was playing with him, and burst out in laughter.
Within the city of King's Landing, from Silk Street to Flea Bottom, people emerged from every corner, lifting their heads in eager anticipation.
News of Princess Rhaenyra's safe childbirth had already spread throughout the city. To celebrate, the Crown Prince had organized seven days of porridge distribution to feed the hungry.
One by one, commoners craned their necks, gazing up at the two circling dragons, hoping to catch a glimpse of the young princes.
"Long live the young princes!"
Someone shouted suddenly, and the exclamation rippled outward like a wave.
"Long live the young princes!"
"Long live House Targaryen!"
"Let us see the little princes!"
The commoners cheered and chased after the dragons, waving their arms and shouting enthusiastically.
The entire city of King's Landing boiled with excitement, like a grand celebration known throughout the world.
"Screeeech—"
The Devourer let out another resounding cry, doing its best not to disturb the buildings below, tilting its wings to reveal the figures on its back.
Rhaegar's silver hair danced in the wind as he held little Baelor, both father and son laughing heartily.
Rhaenyra had been right—the two children deserved to make a bold appearance before the people of King's Landing.
Following the example of their grandmother, Alysanne, they soared across the skies on dragonback with the newborns.
The Targaryens were born to ride dragons.
(End of Chapter)