Within the hall, Viserys, seated in the place of honor, fell into a long silence. How could he not know that Daemon was making plans for little Aegon?
Daemon spoke.
"We are Targaryens."
"The blood of the dragon has its own laws."
"For us, keeping the blood pure is a necessary means of commanding dragons."
"Rhaenyra…" Viserys finally said, his voice weak. "Does she know you… have betrayed her?"
"I have never betrayed her," Daemon replied calmly. "I have only been loyal to my own house, loyal to the Targaryens, loyal to my own blood."
"Rhaenyra, for the sake of her children, can make those… compromises, those dangerous decisions."
"And I—I will help her correct them, and pull her back before she slips into the abyss."
Viserys stared at his brother, trying to read the true intent beneath that face.
"You have two daughters as well," the king suddenly said. "Baela and Rhaena. They also bear the name Targaryen. They also have dragons…"
"Are they not to wed Lucerys and Joffrey?"
"Have you made plans for them?"
For a fleeting instant, a crack appeared in Daemon's expression.
"I will find a way."
"But not now. For now, we must first stop what is most urgent."
Viserys let out a long sigh.
"Tomorrow…"
"Tomorrow, upon the Iron Throne, I will amend this decision."
"Jacaerys's betrothal will be annulled. I will announce the betrothal of little Aegon to Ysera…"
"This villain's role… let me be the one to play it."
"If Rhaenyra must resent someone, let her resent me."
Daemon nodded and rose to his feet.
...
At the same time, in the study at the top of the Hand's Tower, the candlelight burned through the night.
Otto Hightower sat behind his desk, attending to affairs of state.
Larys Strong stood before him, leaning on his cane, saying nothing, the whole of him quiet, patient, lying in wait.
As he read the documents in his hand, Otto asked, "Do you think that new Grand Maester, Orwyle, is reliable?"
Larys gave a faint smile and replied, "He is fifty-two years old. He specializes in pharmacology and anatomy; among maesters, that is already a considerable distinction."
"More importantly, he owns three properties in King's Landing, a residence in Oldtown, and investments in Lannisport."
"In addition, he has three lovers and five bastards."
"When a man has so many attachments, he is easily made… compliant."
Otto finally looked up, his white beard glinting silver in the candlelight.
"You have done well."
"I have merely done my utmost, my lord Hand," Larys said with a slight bow.
"After all, what we need now is not a stubborn old fossil, but a maester who understands how to compound draughts—and how to work with us."
"Moreover, His Grace is in pain, and unable to make clear decisions…"
At that moment, the door to the study was pushed open.
No knock. No announcement. Not even the sound of footsteps.
Aemond walked in just like that.
Recognizing the newcomer, Larys immediately lowered his head. "Your Highness. It seems you have matters to discuss with the Hand. I shall take my leave."
"Wait."
Aemond looked at Larys, who was about to depart with his cane, and called out to him.
Larys halted and turned, smiling at the prince.
"The death of Maester Mellos," Aemond said slowly.
"Did it have anything to do with you?"
The room fell silent.
The smile on Larys's face did not change in the slightest.
"Why would Your Highness say such a thing?"
"Maester Mellos lived to seventy-four. A month ago, he passed away peacefully in his sleep."
"I am asking you," Aemond stepped closer to him.
"Was Mellos's death arranged by you?"
This time, the silence lasted longer.
Larys raised his head and met Aemond's gaze.
"I have merely done my utmost in service to the Greens, Your Highness."
"Maester Mellos was too old. His thinking had grown rigid."
"At times, change requires a little push."
Aemond stared at him for a long while. At last, he nodded.
"He was my teacher, after all." The prince's voice was very soft, carrying a trace of emotion almost too faint to hear.
"But you are right. He was too old. Too stubborn."
"Thank you, Your Highness, for your understanding."
Aemond turned and walked toward the desk.
"You may go."
Larys bowed, turned on his cane, and departed. Only when the door to the study closed again did the sound fully fade.
Otto leaned back in his chair. "You frightened him."
"No." Aemond looked at the Hand and said, "He is bold enough—bold enough to slay his father and his brother."
"Mellos's death? Was it you, my lord Hand, who had him do it?"
Otto was silent for a moment, then said, "He proposed it to me."
Aemond said nothing more, merely smiled.
"Sit." The Hand gestured to the chair opposite. "You did not come at this late hour merely to question Larys, did you?"
Aemond sat and spoke plainly.
"Grandfather, have you had the new Grand Maester give His Grace so much milk of the poppy?"
Otto's brow furrowed deeply. "Maester Orwyle says it is necessary."
"Without the draught, His Grace would not last a single day."
Aemond suddenly asked, "What do you think of a regency?"
The Hand nodded. "His Grace is already not of sound mind. For the sake of the Seven Kingdoms, it is the best choice."
"Only, Rhaenyra is the heir…"
"Then let my mother, Queen Alicent, serve as regent for the king who lies upon his sickbed," Aemond said coldly.
"Rhaenyra does not dare remain in King's Landing…"
"If she insists on remaining in King's Landing, so much the better."
Otto's brow tightened.
"Let my mother first serve as regent. After he dies…"
"We will amend the will."
At this, Otto drew in a deep breath.
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