Chapter Bonus for reviews and stones.
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Maegor's Holdfast, Morning.
The morning sun pierced through the high windows of Maegor's Holdfast like a sharp sword.
Aemond stood before a bronze mirror, tightening his belt.
Reflected in the mirror was a face that had shed its childishness: silver hair tied back, purple eyes like stars, and a strong jawline.
Knock. Knock.
A rhythmic sound came from outside the door.
"Enter."
Ser Criston Cole pushed the door open, his white cloak spotless, and stopped at the threshold.
"Your Highness. The hour has come. His Grace is already waiting in the Throne Room."
Aemond didn't turn around, continuing to adjust the clasp of his wrist guard.
"What about Ser Vaemond?"
"He is already outside the hall awaiting trial. Thirteen Velaryon clansmen are accompanying him, all present."
Cole paused, his shoulders beneath the armor tensing slightly.
"Hand Otto asked me to remind you that today's trial... the situation is delicate. Please be very careful with your words."
"Careful?" Aemond finally turned. The sunlight just grazed half of his face.
"Do you think today's matter can be resolved with caution?"
Cole was silent for a moment.
"No. But at least... don't make it difficult for His Grace."
"Difficult?" Aemond shook his head.
"Then let's not do it at all."
"Your Highness..." Cole hesitated.
"Let's go," Aemond interrupted him, striding toward the door.
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The Throne Room, Red Keep.
Inside the Throne Room, the atmosphere was heavy.
On both sides, nobles from the Crownlands and envoys from various regions were already seated. Their eyes flickered between the seats of the Greens and the Blacks.
In the center of the hall, a long aisle covered with a deep red carpet stretched straight to the end.
Leading to the Iron Throne, forged from a thousand enemy swords.
Viserys, I sat upon it.
Today, the Iron Throne had no cushions.
Although the King had followed Aemond's advice to place cushions in the past, this morning he personally ordered all padding removed.
Now he sat directly among the sharp blades.
The Valyrian steel crown of Jaehaerys pressed heavily on his forehead.
His purple eyes, inherited from his Targaryen ancestors, maintained the dignity of a monarch despite the ravages of his illness.
Below the throne, the Kingsguard stood solemnly.
To the left and slightly below the Iron Throne, a carved chair was placed.
Rhaenyra Targaryen sat steadily in it.
Her pregnant body was draped in a white velvet gown, her abdomen noticeably swollen.
Her silver-gold hair was styled into an intricate updo at the back of her head, adorned with tiny ruby hairpins.
At this moment, her face was calm.
Beside her, Daemon Targaryen sat.
The Prince, uncharacteristically, wore a full formal suit today, with dark red three-headed dragon patterns on his deep black jacket, and the legendary Valyrian steel sword, Dark Sister, hanging at his waist.
Further back were Rhaenyra's three sons.
Jacaerys Velaryon stood at the forefront, his black eye patch stark against his pale face.
He wore a Targaryen black-and-red dragon-patterned outfit today.
Lucerys and Joffrey stood on either side of their elder brother, the two children with tightly pursed lips, wearing silver seahorse emblems on their sea-blue Velaryon attire.
To the right of the Iron Throne were the seats of the Greens.
Queen Alicent sat in her place, her sea-green gown like a serene deep pool, the Hightower emblem on her collar embroidered with silver thread, glinting coldly in the firelight.
Beside her, Aegon Targaryen leaned lazily against the back of his chair, his silver curly hair slightly disheveled, yawning.
Helaena sat on her mother's other side, her head bowed, her silver-gold hair almost covering her entire face.
Aemond's seat was empty.
Hand of the King Otto Hightower stood at the foot of the throne steps, his face calm as water, only his sharp eyes occasionally glancing toward the hall door.
Everyone was waiting.
Finally, the guards slowly pushed the heavy doors open.
Aemond Targaryen entered the Throne Room.
He stopped before the throne, bowing his head.
"Your Grace." His voice was clear and steady, echoing under the arch like a stone cast into a well.
Viserys, I watched his second son for a moment.
"Return to your seat."
Aemond stood up, retreated to the Greens' seats, and sat in his empty chair.
Queen Alicent turned her head, looking at her son's stern profile. She knew Aemond too well.
Beneath that calm surface, a kind of madness surged.
She knew that if Vaemond insisted on making his accusation today, he would be digging his own grave.
Helaena peeked at her brother through the strands of her long hair.
Aemond noticed her gaze, turned, and gave her a slight smile.
Just then, the doors were pushed open again.
Vaemond Velaryon walked in.
The old knight of Driftmark wore a full Velaryon formal suit today.
His deep blue velvet jacket was covered with silver seahorse emblems, a cape with wave patterns draped over his shoulders, and his silver hair was impeccably combed. His wrinkled face was expressionless.
Behind him, thirteen Velaryon clansmen filed in.
There were old captains with white hair and beards, family members managing port affairs, and hot-blooded young scions.
All of them wore family attire, their faces solemn.
The entire Throne Room fell silent. The nobles held their breath, waiting.
Vaemond walked to the center of the hall, stopped forty paces from the Iron Throne, bowed deeply, and said in a loud voice:
"His Grace, Viserys Targaryen I, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."
Viserys nodded slightly.
"Ser Vaemond Velaryon. You requested a royal trial, and I have granted it. Speak, what is your plea?"
Vaemond straightened up.
His gaze first swept over Rhaenyra and her sons on the left side of the Iron Throne, his eyes like blades scraping across their faces, finally returning to the King's face.
"Your Grace. I stand here today, not for myself, but for the thousand-year lineage, honor, and legitimacy of House Velaryon."
He raised his right hand, his index finger pointing at Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey.
"I accuse Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, our esteemed Heir Apparent, of three grave crimes!"
A suppressed uproar surged among the noble seats, like the turbulence before a storm.
Viserys on the Iron Throne raised a hand to quell it, and Ser Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, stepped forward, shouting sternly:
"Silence!"
The commotion barely subsided.
Viserys leaned forward, his fingers gripping the sharp armrests of the throne.
"Do you know that slandering the Heir Apparent, even if you are a noble, I will never take it lightly."
"I know, I understand, Your Grace," Vaemond replied, bowing his head. When he looked up again, his eyes were burning with fire.
"Precisely because I understand, I must speak!"
He suddenly turned, his arm cutting through the air, his finger again pointing at Rhaenyra, his voice abruptly rising, echoing throughout the dome:
"First, she desecrated her marriage vows, committing adultery with another during her lawful marriage, and bore Bastards!"
"Second, she attempted fraud, trying to disguise these three illegitimate children of unknown origin as Targaryen and Velaryon blood, to usurp the Iron Throne and the inheritance of Driftmark!"
"Third, she trampled on her vassals, scorned the dignity and laws of ancient Houses, and defiled the Seahorse sigil with lies and deceit!"
Each accusation was like a heavy hammer striking stone, stirring layers of echoes in the great hall.
The nobles fell completely silent, hundreds of gazes turning in unison to Rhaenyra.
Rhaenyra remained seated, her face still calm. Daemon stood up, his hand hovering near Dark Sister.
The three boys' faces were pale. Jacaerys's single eye fixed on Vaemond, while Lucerys and Joffrey trembled slightly.
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