Meanwhile, the brothers entered the shade of a gazebo formed by the wings of a stone dragon. Here, Daemon had once read the sonnets of Gae of Tyr to Rhaenyra; before that, Aegon had pyed the fiddle for their grandmother here for days on end; and even earlier, the Dowager Queen Visenya had sat here, recalling the glorious days of the Conquest.

  Now, however, Alicent Hightower paced restlessly before this gazebo, cinched in a gown of green satin just as she had been in her maidenhood. Her fingers nervously picked at the long rosary hanging from her belt; by the way the golden seven-pointed star—with a small diamond in each of its rays—jerked from side to side, it was clear the Queen was not praying, but simply mindlessly thumbing the pearl beads to keep from picking at her already wounded fingers. Behind her, seated in a row on cushions scattered across the stone bench, sat three of her dies-in-waiting; each was from the Reach, each a cousin to the Queen. The dies watched Her Grace with concern, not daring to interrupt her pacing, but at the sight of the King and Princes, they rose in unison from their perch and sank into deep curtsies.

  "I thought you were in the sept," Viserys remarked with some bewilderment.

  "It is a crypt, a heathen shrine, not a sept," Alicent grimaced.

  The Sept of Dragonstone indeed possessed a certain peculiarity: it was a small, rather cramped space where one felt dampness rather than coolness, and light penetrated only through narrow arrow slits. Although the temple was built of the same bck stone as the rest of the castle, one had the impression that it was a ter addition, erected more out of necessity than any call of the soul. The statues of the Seven, according to legend, had been carved from the masts of Aegon the Conqueror's ships; in the rge, hewn features of the gods’ faces, one could sense something elusively predatory and draconic, and even the generous gilding and gems from all ends of the known world did not make the effigies look any more human. Furthermore, the castle had long cked a septon of its own, and the house of the Seven-Who-Are-One stood closed—the inhabitants of the castle, and the isnd as a whole, were not strict adherents of the Faith. It was no wonder the pious Queen, accustomed to other septs, felt uncomfortable there.

  "Yes, a rather unsightly pce," Viserys agreed lightly, seeming not to give his words much thought. "But King's Landing has a sept, and it is more spacious. If you wish..."

  "It is not about the sept!" Alicent excimed, throwing down the rosary in a fit of temper, and the star on its strings of pearl dropped from her waist almost to the very ground. "How can I sit in a sept while Aegon... While he..."

  "There, there, he has already nded," the King took her hands soothingly in his own. "All is well, our son has done splendidly; he holds himself in the saddle much better now. Isn't that right, Aegon?"

  "Yes, this flight cannot be compared to the first. Though, of course, he still has work to do."

  "Nothing to worry about; it will get better with every flight," Daemon smiled, surely pressing on a sore spot intentionally. "Practice is key in this matter."

  Judging by Alicent’s pursed lips, the strike had found its mark.

  "Where is Aegon? Still with that... With that dragon?"

  "Yes, together with the other children. If you wish, we can go meet them," Viserys offered.

  "Yes, perhaps..."

  With these words, the King took his spouse by the arm, and she allowed herself to be led away. The dies-in-waiting followed their Queen, their hemlines rustling as they swept the narrow paved paths of the garden, followed in turn by the White Cloaks. As soon as the st of them disappeared behind a turn and a sprawling rose bush, Daemon, restraining himself no longer, snorted loudly.

  "No, did you see that? Shaking like a broody hen! Even worse!"

  "I saw," Aegon nodded and lowered himself onto the bench, resting his cane nearby.

  "I confess, I am surprised the dragon accepted her son at all," Viserys and Alicent's firstborn was rarely dignified with a name by Daemon. "He is half Andal blood, after all."

  "More. You forget Lady Alra Massey; she was an Andal too. And besides, lekia, your eldest daughter is just as much half-Andal as my nephew of the same name. Alyssa has had no issues with the Red Queen, nor does she now."

  "She wasn't raised by a sanctimonious mother."

  "So is it the blood or the upbringing?" catching his brother in a contradiction, Aegon smiled slyly.

  Daemon, who did not like to retreat, twisted his lips in displeasure and turned away, pretending to admire the blooming wild roses. The Prince of Dragon's Heart chuckled and joined in the silent contemption, allowing his brother to jump off the topic that had become uncomfortable for him.

  "It was a mistake to let him sit on a dragon at all," Daemon said quietly after some silence.

  Naturally, from his point of view, it was a mistake. The birth of a new son to the King by a new wife had once nearly crossed out the fraternal agreement on the succession, created with such difficulty by Aegon during the previous crisis. Back then, a fratricidal war had been avoided thanks to his mediation, further concessions, and assurances from Viserys that everything would remain as before. But you can call dragon's fire ice, yet it won't make it cold. The threat of a schism had been forgotten, hidden behind tapestries, swept under rugs, but one could not deny that the King now had healthy and strong sons.

  For a time, the princes had been ignored—after all, not every infant lived to see ten years, and one did not have to look far for examples; there were enough in the House of Targaryen itself. However, with every name day of Prince Aegon, Alicent herself seemed to grow stronger: her shoulders squared, her gaze became more confident, her voice more commanding. The children's introduction to dragons proved to be perhaps the only breach in her new armor: the Queen feared the fire-breathing lizards, and feared even more when her sons were around them. To Alicent's credit, she had enough sense to understand the significance these great beasts held for House Targaryen. Trembling for her children, she never forbade them from saddling dragons, but out of faint-heartedness and suffocating maternal care, she tried to dey that moment.

  Her father understood the significance of dragons as well. Otto Hightower, who had lost a series of political battles to Daemon some years ago, increasingly allowed himself meaningful comments. There were, of course, many caveats, omissions, hints, and half-hints, but the Lord Chamberin regurly found ears into which he could pour his poison.

  The situation where the King’s heir was a brother rather than an infant was unusual, but one could somehow come to terms with it. The situation where the King's brother stood ahead of the King's eldest son—a dragonrider—in the line of succession raised far more questions.

  "How, in your opinion, was I to oppose a royal command?" asked Aegon with bewilderment. "Tell Viserys, 'Sorry, it won't work'?"

  "At the very least, yes," the Prince-Hand threw back angrily. "This is exactly what you and I spoke of, literally in this very spot."

  "I remember. But think for yourself: our children have dragons, and the King's children do not. What does that look like?"

  "It looks like they are Andals!"

  "We have already been through this; it is a very weak expnation so long as they look like Valyrians. And from the court's perspective, it looks as if the son of the st rider of Balerion is being denied the right to a dragon. Corlys wrung the right to a dragon out of Viserys for Laena, the King's great-granddaughter through the female line, so why should the King now refuse his own son?"

  About his own role in those negotiations with the Veryons regarding dragons, the Prince prudently remained silent.

  "And now stop imitating a trembling brood-hen," Aegon added sharply. "And look at the situation soberly. Whom did our dear nephew mount? A canary-dragon. Sunfyre is no more than fifteen years old, likely even less, perhaps twelve. Your Caraxes would snap him in half and not choke. Syrax could tear his wings off without trouble. Is this a threat? How can these sweet boys threaten you?"

  "Boys have a habit of growing up," Daemon grumbled.

  "By the time Sunfyre can engage Caraxes on equal terms, you will have had time to ascend not only the Iron Throne but your own funeral pyre. It is hardly worth worrying about."

  "But it is worth worrying about those who stand behind these sweet boys," his brother mimicked the Prince's intonation.

  "I recall that in this very spot you swore you would hang Viserys's bad councilors from the Hightower if they continued to pour shit in his ears. I do not call you to such radical measures, of course, but for now, Aegon has few defenders. If we prevent their number from increasing..."

  "For that, Otto needs to be sent away; without him, Alicent cannot cope. Inventing a pretext is not difficult, but someone must become Chamberin in his stead."

  "Jaygor?"

  "I need him in Tyrosh," Daemon shook his head.

  Their cousin was managing the governorship quite worthily. Lord Ilileon had managed to repair the damage inflicted on the city by the war and the subsequent Targaryen seizure of power, lured master gssblowers from burnt Myr, prevented several rebellions by former svers, and pacified an uprising of former sves who felt the Golden Law deceived them and that true freedom should follow the Braavosi model. Jaygor could certainly handle the royal domain, and his knowledge of Essosi order and his unique perspective on Westerosi politics could prove very useful in the Small Council, but the King of the Narrow Sea could be understood—one does not wish to part with such a councilor.

  However, Daemon seemed unable to decide what was more important to him: the kingdom he had forged and tempered personally in blood and seawater, or the entire realm created by his ancestors. In his pce, Aegon would not have even thought twice. If a man can bring more benefit in the Small Council than anywhere else, that is where he should be. After all, a new governor can be found, or in the worst case, trained, but clever chamberins are hard to come by. Jaygor's problem was that he felt indebted all around to the Targaryens (which was fair) and, in particur, to Daemon (which was only partially fair), and he paid for this with unwavering loyalty. This, apparently, was the reason why his brother did not want to let his cousin go—he was too convenient as a governor of his holdings.

  Perhaps it was worth trying to speak with the cousin independently once more; he was unlikely to agree, but it was worth a try. Aegon pursed his lips in displeasure but reminded him nonetheless:

  "We need to find someone who will appear more competent than Otto, and that is not simple."

  However the brothers felt about the King's father-in-w, it had to be admitted that he managed the royal household and property quite well: feasts, receptions, tournaments, and weddings were held with truly royal scale, the nds regurly brought in revenue, and King's Landing grew richer by the day. Were Otto not a power-hungry schemer, he would be priceless, but, as...

  After some silence, the Hand announced:

  "After Pentos, we will fly across the Seven Kingdoms. After all, it is not only the Pentoshi who need to be shown the future Queen. I will present Alyssa to the lords, and at the same time remind them that they swore allegiance to me as heir to the Iron Throne, not to some boy. Perhaps one of them will prove good enough to repce that balding fox."

  "Then prepare to trade your daughter's hand."

  "I will not," Daemon snorted. "Alyssa will be Queen. I will betroth them to Jace when she flowers. They get along well enough and complement each other in some ways. Jace sometimes cks courage, persistence... audacity, if you understand what I mean. Alyssa is capable of giving him that. They will be a good pair."

  "Jace hasn't even become a squire yet," Aegon reminded him. "But I understand your train of thought; there is sense in it. What does Rhaenyra think of this? She does not object?"

  "Why would she object?" Daemon was surprised. "She raised Alyssa as her own daughter, just like Aemma, and loves her just the same. It will be a marriage according to the traditions of our House."

  "Naturally," the Prince nodded absently, though not entirely convinced.

  Marriage between brother and sister was undoubtedly an ancient custom of the Targaryens, one to which the Veryons also occasionally resorted. For the st dragonriders of the Old Freehold, it was a way to preserve their heritage, but this same method severely limited opportunities for political maneuvering. Commoners might marry for love, but for lords, and especially kings, marriage—aside from continuing the line—was always an opportunity to acquire allies, receive new nds as dowry, new rights and privileges, valuable resources, armies, ships—in other words, to strengthen their position.

  One could say that the Targaryens' refusal to intermarry with the lords of Westeros was dictated by a reluctance to elevate one house above all others, but that would be hypocrisy after Viserys married Alicent. One could say that this refusal was dictated by a desire to maintain control over dragons, not to dilute dragon blood in human veins, yet the case of Alyssa and Aegon the Younger showed that even half Andal blood did not affect the ability to mount a winged serpent. The Prince of Dragon's Heart did not doubt that when the turn came for the rest of Viserys's children, they would all find themselves a dragon without much trouble, just as he did not doubt that Alicent would not follow her husband's marital customs so blindly and would attend to worthy matches for her children.

  Aegon pulled his cane toward him and idly touched the carved figure on the pommel. Thoughtfully tapping the cane on the fgstones, he said:

  "You know, lekia, in your pce I would not rush with the children's betrothals."

  "And why is that?" Daemon's skeptical tone fully matched his appearance: brows drawn together at the bridge of his nose, lips pressed tight in displeasure, arms crossed over his chest—all clearly speaking to how low an opinion the Hand held of this advice.

  "Family traditions are, of course, good, but one should not forget the support of the lords who have sworn to you. Nothing buys the loyalty of lords as guaranteed as a marriage to a member of the royal family. The Gods bless you with ever more children, so it is foolish not to use these gifts. Think on it, my brother."

  With these words, the Prince rose and, waving his cane, started toward the garden exit, but an irritatedly mocking question flew at his back:

  "And have you found husbands for your own daughters yet?"

  Aegon looked back over his shoulder; his brother stood, still demonstratively crossing his arms and awaiting an answer. Clenched jaws and a glower from under his brows betrayed barely suppressed rage. Apparently, the unsolicited advice had stung him, but the Prince had long ceased to worry about such trifles: a counselor to the King, including a future King, required the ability to speak unpleasant truths, even if they did not wish to hear them.

  "No," Aegon answered honestly after a pause and allowed himself a shadow of a smile. "But I do not need to prove my precedence in the line of succession."

  Not waiting for an answer from Daemon, he turned and walked further along the path. His disgruntled brother disappeared behind a rose bush, and a couple of turns ter, Dennis caught up with him. In his forties, the loyal knight had still not lost his strength or agility with a sword and could give odds to many young knights, so Aegon had entrusted the training of Aemon in the martial arts to his sworn shield without hesitation, and in a year or two, Vaegon was due to join him.

  "Heard him grinding his teeth?" Aegon asked the knight.

  "I heard," he chuckled. "Your brother doesn't like being rubbed against the grain."

  "And who does?"

  "Few do. But not everyone has the Blood Wyrm under their saddle."

  "True enough. So, do you think I am wrong?"

  "You are right, my Prince," Dennis nodded in agreement. "But Prince Daemon is right in his own way too. With such advice, it is better to set the example yourself."

  Aegon hummed something indefinite, and the knight obediently fell silent, correctly understanding that nothing more was expected of him right now.

  Everyone turned out to be right again, but each in their own way. For the st ten years following the conquest of the Stepstones and Tyrosh, Daemon had ruled the Seven Kingdoms as Hand, relying mainly on the fruits of his military victories. The reputation of a new Conqueror, generosity to his companions, and ruthlessness to his enemies had secured him the support of lords throughout Westeros: many of their younger retives had achieved new positions in the Essosi holdings and provided their kin with new connections and wealth.

  However, acquired gold has an unpleasant habit of running out, and connections weaken and are forgotten over time if not renewed. Of course, Daemon's party at court—the Bck Party, as it was called with respect and fear—held great influence, but now that the Queen's party had received its first trump card in ten years, its dominance could be contested. For now, this could be countered by the support of other lords interested in seeing specifically Daemon and his descendants inherit the Iron Throne, but if his brother continued to stall and insist on the old custom...

  If desired, one could kill two birds with one arrow. Rhaenyra seemed determined to surpass Queen Alysanne, bearing her husband a whole army of children—with such undoubted proofs of love, Daemon could perhaps afford some principled stance on the marriage of the elder children. However, this did not negate the validity of the question regarding his own daughters. He and Laena had raised the topic repeatedly, but every time they came to the same conclusion: serious talk of betrothals could only be held in a couple of years, and for now, the girls could quietly enjoy their childhood.

  Immersed in matrimonial pns, Aegon did not notice leaving the Conqueror's Garden, and the cool silence was repced by the businesslike bustle of the castle's inner courtyard. The arrival of the royal family, even with a small part of the court, filled the usually majestic, mysteriously silent Dragonstone with frantic activity that seemed alien in this ancient pce, which remembered the lords of the Valyrian Freehold. The Prince liked the castle for other reasons: detached, half-empty, austere—in this way, it most resembled a temple, and then all the walls and towers were perceived merely as decorations, annexes to the secret sanctuary within the walls of the Wind-Caller, and Aegon felt more than ever like a priest of the old cult.

  Heading to his chambers, the Prince crossed the courtyard, nodding to the lords he met along the way. Viserys had timed the royal family's departure to Dragonstone to coincide with the reunion of the entire House Targaryen on the occasion of his eldest son's name day. Along with the Veryons and Ilileons, invitations had been received by their oldest vassals—the Celtigars, Bar Emmons, and Masseys—and now, heading to his chambers, the Prince managed to encounter almost every one of the lords.

  "A magnificent sight, my Prince, simply magnificent," announced Bartimos Celtigar, the ruby csps of his cloak gleaming.

  "Yes, my Prince, a dragon of stunning beauty," Rickard Massey chimed in.

  His te father had been Lord Chamberin for a time, and now the heir, just as stout but at least without the bald spot, clearly hoped to obtain some pce at court, or even repeat the path of Lord Robin. However, mentally pcing him beside Otto Hightower, Aegon was forced to admit that the Lord of Stonedance lost to Viserys's father-in-w on all counts.

  "The Prince stole the dragon from my coat of arms," compined Jaegaer with feigned grievance, standing nearby.

  "Want to paint it over?" the Master of Dragons asked mockingly.

  "Certainly not!"

  "Prince Aegon is a stunning rider, and how deftly he handles the harness!" admired Petyr Bar Emmon, met on the stairs.

  Having parted ways with him, the Prince could not refrain from a stinging remark:

  "How much a swordfish understands of dragons and horse riding."

  "Surely less than a seahorse," noted Dennis from over his shoulder.

  Only when the door of the Prince's chambers closed behind them did the noise of the lively castle remain behind, and Aegon caught his breath. The rooms occupied by his family on Dragonstone fit the concept of "home" most of all, with the exception, of course, of Dragon's Heart. Laena said that if she did not have her own castle, she would be cozier at High Tide, but that was a natural consequence of having grown up there. The children, as far as he understood, called any pce where they lived with their parents "home," though they had already developed favorite pces: Bae liked Driftmark, Rhaena and Aemon preferred the towers of Dragon's Heart, and only Vaegon, due to his infancy, did not yet care.

  Dragon's Heart itself, and all its nds, had undergone considerable changes since Aegon received them as an apanage ten years ago. When winter ended in te 112 AC, Aegon managed to persuade Viserys and the Small Council to renovate the Kingsroad, which had worn down considerably over half a century, at least as far as the Trident. Under this very pusible pretext, a new road was built: at Whitewalls, the road split in two, and its new western segment stretched along the shore of the Gods Eye, approaching the walls of Dragon's Heart, rejoining the old road near Darry.

  Parallel to the road construction, work was carried out in the castle itself. With the coming of spring, maesters from the new Citadel inspected the Tower of Wailing allocated to them and decred it only marginally fit for their needs: the masters of the premises were not people, but terrible drafts that howled in the cracks of the walls. To restore them, as the castle casteln Ser Meyrr Teltaris had suggested, they began to dismantle the Tower of Ghosts, which had suffered most from Balerion's fire and subsequent neglect. The castle sept, never used by the Hoares or subsequent owners of the castle, was also transferred to them.

  At the same time, the King's Pyre was put in order, where Laena gave herself free rein, rearranging it to her taste. The abundance of strict bck-and-white scale patterns, crimson tongues of fire, and traditional dragon silhouettes was diversified by Aegon's spouse with marine motifs: tapestries, stone carvings, and murals on the walls featuring ships, fish, sea serpents, and other creatures created the impression that certain chambers had miraculously migrated not even from High Tide, but from the ancestral stronghold of the Veryons, the old Driftmark. Then, the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, the Widow's Tower, the Tower of Dread, and other structures were successively subjected to renovation. Gradually, year by year, Dragon's Heart became more and more lived-in, although there was still much work ahead.

  The reconstruction of the castle and the new road could not fail to affect Harrenton. The influx first of maesters, then builders, followed by craftsmen, artisans, and merchants, not to mention peasants, contributed to the growth of the town beneath the castle walls. Harrenton expanded until, in the absence of the masters, a fire occurred; the fmes destroyed almost the entire town along with its unsightly wooden houses; its inhabitants mostly remained alive, having saved themselves behind the castle walls. Upon returning from Driftmark, Aegon expressed due regret, but while outwardly menting, he decided that if the fire had not happened due to the fault of some drunkard dropping a torch into a pile of sawdust, he should have arranged it himself. Masons, architects, and townsfolk received the order to rebuild the town in stone, and the town itself changed its name, becoming Baelonis by the will of Viserys instead of Harrenton. Thus disappeared the st link of Prince Aegon the White's fiefdom to the arrogant enemy of King Aegon the Conqueror.

  Meanwhile, Laena was found in the sor. His spouse reclined rexedly on a wide chaise, throwing her legs up onto high cushions. A fresh breeze, smelling of salt, the sea, and just the slightest bit of smoke from the Dragonmont, penetrated the room through open windows and stirred the hanging hem of her azure dress. Aegon, not wishing to disturb his dozing wife, was about to retreat into the study, but then Laena, without opening her eyes, warned in a quiet voice:

  "I am not asleep."

  "Did I wake you?" the Prince asked with a guilty smile, approaching closer.

  "No. Just y down to rest while Mother nurses Vaegon."

  "Fussy again?" The youngest of the couple's sons, unlike his older brother, was growing into a restless child and threw real tantrums until he was hoarse at the slightest displeasure.

  "No more than usual."

  Laena tucked her legs in, yielding a spot on the corner of the sofa to Aegon. As soon as the Prince sat down, his wife twisted around, not particurly trying to save her dress, and moved to his side, resting her head on his p. Aegon bent down and kissed her, slightly pulling at her lip. Thin braids with obsidian beads slid down, covering them like a curtain.

  "We already saw each other this morning, my love," Laena smiled against his lips and tucked a silver wave with bck drops behind his ear.

  "Without you, every moment is like a year."

  "How is the newly minted rider?"

  "Rather hopeless; he will have to be taught a great deal. I suspect I will have to handle this too—Viserys is dragonless, and Daemon is unlikely to consider it necessary to take care of it."

  "Perhaps Rhaenyra would agree to help, were she not pregnant," the Lady drawled thoughtfully.

  "Herself, hardly," Aegon shook his head. "Only if her father asked her, but such a sensible thought is unlikely to occur to Viserys."

  "Then you truly are the only teacher. Is it really that bad there?"

  "You just didn't see how he yanked the reins. The poor dragon didn't know what was wanted of him or where to fly. Bae and Rhaena didn't behave like that on their first flights."

  "They just had someone to take example from, and Aegon does not."

  They spent some time in silence, enjoying the privacy and each other. Laena traced the dragons embroidered on her husband's tunic with a finger, following every curve of the stiff threads, while Aegon, twisting the ring with the aquamarine on his wife's finger, admired her serene face. Neither the ten years filled with cares and chores in arranging their castle, nor three pregnancies, one harder than the other, had left a mark on her. Her skin remained just as white, soft, and firm, and the amethyst pools of her eyes were as bright as a maiden's, and with every gnce, the Prince drowned in them as if for the first time.

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