The Red Keep at dawn had been washed clean by the rain, looking especially pristine.
Inside Maegor's Holdfast, in the royal dining hall, Viserys I sat upright at the head of the table. He wore a black-and-red velvet robe that wrapped around his increasingly gaunt frame.
Compared to his complexion half a month earlier, there now seemed to be a bit more vitality in him. Though he was still haggard, the heavy aura of mortal sickness in his eyes had lessened.
He sipped warm milk mixed with honey, his gaze slowly sweeping across the family members seated around the table.
Queen Alicent sat at his right hand, dressed in a long red gown. The Hightower sigil at her collar was embroidered in silver thread.
Yet the gloom between her brows had never fully dispersed. Although Aemond had dealt with the matter of the maidservant Alice climbing into his bed the night before, the fact that her father, Otto, had arranged it on his own initiative—attempting to control her son through feminine allure—still felt like an icy spike driven into her heart.
It left her feeling both angry and unsettled.
At the same time, she found herself uncertain about her child, about Aemond's inclinations.
She feared that Aemond might be like Laenor, utterly uninterested in women…
At this moment, her gaze drifted unconsciously toward the opposite side of the table.
Aemond sat beside Helaena. He wore a simple black shirt with a well-tailored black vest over it. His silver-gold hair was neatly bound behind his head, revealing a jawline that had grown increasingly defined.
He was leaning slightly toward Helaena, speaking to her in a low voice, a faint smile at the corner of his lips—most likely recounting things he had seen in the dragonpit.
Helaena tilted her head subtly as she listened. A few strands of silver hair slipped free from her temple and fell over her shoulder. Her violet eyes were fixed attentively on Aemond; her long lashes fluttered now and then. When he reached certain points, she would nod lightly, and a ripple-like smile would bloom at the corners of her mouth.
Sunlight slanted in through the high windows, enveloping the brother and sister in a soft halo. The same gleaming silver hair, the same deep violet eyes—interwoven with light and shadow, they seemed almost to merge into one.
Alicent's fingers tightened slightly around the silver fork.
The Targaryen tradition of blood marriage was something all of Westeros knew well.
It was precisely because this tradition defied the doctrines of the Faith of the Seven that the Targaryens had once stood in fierce opposition to the Faith—until "the Cruel" Maegor I suppressed it through bloodshed, forcing the Faith to bow its head, if only temporarily.
It was not until the reign of the Conciliator, Jaehaerys, that—after prolonged negotiations—the Faith finally compromised and acknowledged the Targaryen family's "Doctrine of Exceptionalism."
Daemon, for instance, had married his niece Laena, and now was entangled in an ambiguous relationship with his other niece, Rhaenyra…
Alicent cut off her thoughts, a wave of irritation rising in her chest.
Yet the scene before her would not fade.
The natural, effortless closeness between Aemond and Helaena invisibly stirred the unease deeply rooted in her faith in the Seven and in traditional morality.
Helaena was her pure and unblemished daughter, one of the last remaining comforts she had in this court.
And Aemond…
She looked at the calm yet keen-edged profile of her second son, recalling the madness of that night on Driftmark, and recalling as well the cold indifference with which he had dealt with Alice, as Ser Criston had reported in a low voice that very morning.
He seemed uninterested in certain women… yet with Helaena…
Within this child flowed that heart-stopping madness embedded in Targaryen blood.
She feared that Aemond might harm the simple, innocent Helaena—and feared even more a feeling she dared not think about, yet which seemed to have already begun to take root…
"Aemond."
Viserys's voice broke the subtle tension at the table.
Hearing the king call for him, Aemond ended his conversation with Helaena and turned his head. "Father."
"You don't look very well," Viserys said as he studied him, his brow faintly furrowed. "Did you not rest last night?"
"I returned late from riding Vhagar," Aemond replied calmly. "I did not get enough sleep."
Viserys nodded. "Ser Criston says you train very diligently."
"I only do what I can."
"Young men ought to have that sort of drive." A trace of recollection passed through Viserys's eyes. "When I was your age, I spent my days thinking of riding dragons and practicing the sword…"
Aemond looked quietly at his father. He knew that Viserys's life as a dragonrider had been brief.
In less than two years, "the Black Dread," Balerion, had died of old age.
And once a dragonrider formed a bond with a dragon, they could never ride another great dragon again—an unalterable iron law bound to the blood of dragonriders.
A thought suddenly crossed his mind: Vhagar, too, was already growing old. If she were to leave this world one day, would he still be able to…?
Viserys looked at Aemond, weighing certain thoughts and unspoken trusts in his heart.
"Aemond, the small council meets tomorrow," Viserys said slowly.
"My strength is failing me. Sitting for long is difficult."
"Would you be willing to come? Stand at my side—help me steady the wine decanter, pass the documents, and listen to how the great lords deliberate."
It was a signal, clear and unmistakable.
To have a prince attend the small council, even if only to pour wine and pass papers, was to formally usher him into the core of the kingdom's power.
It was also a declaration to the entire court, to the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms, that the king had begun to value and groom this second son—especially at a time when the eldest son, Aegon, was staying far away on Driftmark.
Upon hearing Viserys's words, Alicent held her breath and looked to her son, Aemond.
She knew that her father, Otto, would surely welcome this.
It would greatly strengthen the Greens' influence at court.
Aemond set down the silver goblet in his hand, his violet eyes meeting his father's gaze.
He saw expectation in Viserys's eyes—perhaps also an intent to make amends.
"It would be my honor, Father," Aemond replied calmly, without excitement and without hesitation.
"I will listen carefully and learn how to help shoulder your burdens."
A genuine, eased smile bloomed on Viserys's face. "Very good." He nodded.
Then the king turned toward the quiet Helaena at his side and spoke gently.
"Helaena, my daughter, I hear you rode your dragon yesterday? Is Dreamfyre well?"
Helaena inclined her head lightly. "She is well, Father. Yesterday we flew very far…"
At that moment, the heavy oak doors of the dining hall were knocked upon, the rhythm urgent yet not lacking in decorum.
All eyes turned toward the doorway.
"Enter."
Ser Criston Cole pushed the doors open and stepped inside. His snow-white armor gleamed coldly in the morning light as he performed the proper courtesies.
"Your Grace, Your Grace the Queen, Prince," Cole said. "A report has just come from the dragonpit."
Viserys's brow tightened. "What is it? Has Vhagar caused trouble again?"
His first thought was of that ancient and ill-tempered great dragon.
Of late, he had received no few reports—Vhagar being kept outside the dragonpit, a sudden roar in the dead of night was enough to startle half the city awake.
There had even been instances where dragonkeepers, delayed in delivering feed, had met their deaths in dragon jaws.
Cole spoke with careful restraint. "It is not Vhagar, Your Grace. It is… Vhagar's egg."
"An egg?" Viserys and Alicent both froze.
Aemond's pupils contracted almost imperceptibly.
"Yes, Your Grace," Cole said clearly. "Vhagar's egg—the one that has long been regarded as already petrified."
"The dragonkeepers have just reported that, since before dawn, that egg began to show signs of hatching. The shell started to fracture. About an hour ago…"
He paused.
"It hatched."
Silence fell.
Within the dining hall, only the faint crackle of firewood in the hearth could be heard.
The silver spoon in Viserys's hand clattered onto the porcelain plate. It was as though he had heard something utterly absurd.
"This… how could it be possible…"
"Seven save us…"
In the history of House Targaryen, there had never been a precedent for a dead egg returning to life.
Helaena let out a small gasp, her violet eyes widening as she looked toward Aemond.
Only yesterday, she had seen with her own eyes as Aemond stained that ashen, lifeless dragon egg with blood.
Aemond blinked at her. Helaena pressed her lips together and lowered her gaze, saying nothing.
Aemond rose slowly to his feet.
Was he shocked? Of course he was.
Yet he immediately recalled that, yesterday, aside from Helaena, there had also been those three attendants and several dragonkeepers present.
If Viserys chose to pursue the matter… it was bound to come to light before long.
Did that blood truly possess such an effect?
That egg—silent for half a century, long since sentenced to death…
Had it truly been reborn?
"It is black," Cole added. "According to the dragonkeepers, the hatchling's scales are dark as ink, and its eyes… are dark red."
A black dragon.
In the history and legends of House Targaryen, black dragons often symbolized power—rare and formidable.
Like "the Black Dread," Balerion, the peerless great dragon who had brought the Seven Kingdoms to heel.
At this moment, Viserys was trembling all over, a tumult of wild joy and bewilderment coursing through him.
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