The city wall, facing the Narrow Sea, soared 150 feet high, while millennial waves lapped at the surface of the city, smooth as glass.
And the castle bore its peculiar name, where the wind never ceased to roar, whirl, and scream through the openings in the walls.
But today, the wind was drowned out by the bustle and revelry of the feast.
The afternoon sun tilted across the courtyard, and Prince Aemond Targaryen lifted his gaze to the sky.
Vhagar moved among the clouds, and the young black dragon was visibly restless. Strange lands, strange dragons, and unfamiliar scents made him uneasy.
"You're just like him."
Helena approached him at some point. Rather than riding on a dreamfire, she had come in a carriage with Lady Aeryn Rogar.
She wore a long pale-blue gown, her long silver hair falling over her shoulders, and her clear violet eyes looked at Aemond with worry.
Aemond turned toward her, his violet eyes softening slightly.
"When a dragon chooses its rider, it chooses those with the same heart."
"Vhagar knows what I desire," Helena said anxiously.
"I know what you desire."
"That's why I'm afraid… Aemond."
"I have seen much lately…"
"Blood will stain the land red, and dragons will bite one another."
Aemond took her hand.
It was cold and trembled slightly.
"The gods have never favored us."
All heads lifted.
"Blood and Fire are of the same blood!" The boy looked to the family members who had come to greet him and opened his arms with a bright smile.
"That is my gift," Daeron blinked, "Lord Hightower says I am a natural dragonrider knight."
He turned to the others, greeting Aegon, Helena, and Aeryn in turn, finally smiling and saying, "I hear I shall not be the youngest in the family for long?"
Aegon nodded lazily. "Yes, Mother is to give birth again, this time to twins."
"Just right," Daeron said, producing an exquisite wooden box from the dragon's saddle. "I brought Yanshen tea from Oldtown, a treasure from the Far East of Essos on the eastern continent.
The Hightower family caravan returned from Yi Ti three months past, and the bachelor says it is excellent for expectant mothers."
Aegon took the wooden box, engraved with House Hightower's sigil. "You have a good heart, brother."
At that moment, Ser Criston Cole arrived with two guards, his gaze falling on Aemond.
"Your Grace," Cole said, "the Queen requested I remind you that today celebrates the Duke of Storm's End, so cause no trouble."
Aemond's smile remained unchanged. "Thank you for the reminder, Ser."
Cole performed the standard knightly salute, then led the party into the castle's Great Hall—they had brought congratulatory gifts by the king's order.
Anyone who trampled on the rights of guests would violate the most sacred law and be scorned and opposed by all nobles, the realm, and even the Faith.
Aemond felt the eyes upon the feast—respectful, curious, observant, and hostile.
He had not appeared publicly for two years. How did the prince look now, the one who had executed Waymond in the Throne Room by the king's order and faced Prince Daemon at court?
"Prince Aemond."
A slender girl stepped before him and extended her hand.
She was about fourteen, with lovely black hair cascading like a waterfall, striking features, and deep blue eyes.
She was Cassandra Baratheon, granddaughter of Borros, Duke of Storm's End.
Three younger girls followed—Maris, Aelinor, and Floris, whom the people of the Stormlands called the "Four Tempests."
Aemond took her hand with a smile and bestowed the customary kiss. "Miss Cassandra, a pleasure."
Cassandra's face flushed. "Your Grace, I have long admired your many deeds."
"Maris!" Cassandra glanced embarrassedly at her sister, then turned back to Aemond. "Your Grace, I do not know… after the feast… may I invite you for a walk?"
"The glazed garden of the keep, where roses bloom."
Aegon and Aeryn exchanged a knowing look toward Aemond.
Aemond released her hand, smiling gently yet politely from afar.
She curtsied and withdrew, a flicker of reluctance in her eyes as she turned.
Three sisters followed. Elaine whispered, "I'll just say it—the prince will reject you."
Maris was unconvinced. "Sister, you are so beautiful, and he doesn't even look at it…"
"You two, silence for me." Cassandra scolded in a quiet voice; she did not get what she desired.
Cassandra's gaze swept coldly across the hall and finally rested on three chestnut-haired adolescents in the lordly seats.
Especially the one with the black eye patch.