-Chapter 49-
-POV Rhaenyra Targaryen-
"Am I wrong, or is this the first time I've seen you sit next to me? Are you no longer afraid of being seen with me?" I said, slightly bitter, to Aemon, who had sat beside me accompanied by his two sworn shields, Ser Gunthor Royce and Ser Arnold Arryn.
'Soon Lord of the Vale and Warden of the East,' I thought, eyeing this distant cousin about whom I knew absolutely nothing, apart from his overwhelming ambition that had placed him at the mercy of my first cousin.
"I fully demonstrate my support for the legitimate heir to the Iron Throne because I believe her innocent of the accusations spread by the Red Keep's rumors."
"Honestly?" I asked, slightly suspicious.
"May the Old Gods and the New curse me here and now if I lie or have any doubt about your innocence," he said seriously.
"You don't need to make such an oath to prove your good faith," I said, feeling slightly embarrassed by my overly suspicious, almost aggressive behavior.
Aemon smiled and said, "Since I am not lying, it does not threaten me at all."
I nodded, feeling more at ease because I knew the piety of House Royce members.
They all prayed, whether to the Old or New Gods, and all were deeply devout.
"I haven't seen you with your mother once during the tournament and the banquet," I remarked.
Aemon glanced at his mother for a few seconds before shrugging and saying:
"She doesn't like being the center of attention, and unfortunately, my presence does not go unnoticed."
I nodded, and then it was Aemon's turn to say:
"I fear we are about to witness a bloody fight. You'd be better off yielding to Alicent's champion."
I looked at my cousin, saying nothing, waiting for him to explain his thoughts, which he did by adding:
"Gunthor told me he ran into Queen Alicent's champion this morning, and he was preparing like a man ready to fight to the death."
"That's just like Alicent," I said furiously. "If her champion had accidentally injured mine, she would have simply advised me to read a verse from the holy book about the Mother's compassion and mercy, but—"
"Your champion killed her brother, Rhaenyra," Aemon said.
"But it was an accident. He only wanted to teach him a small lesson, not kill him," I replied.
Aemon shrugged and said nonchalantly:
"Accident or not, he remains the murderer of her brother. Do you think Jessamyn could forgive Gunthor or even me for the death of her brother?"
"That's different; you had him assassinated," I said, irritated.
Aemon raised an eyebrow, and I immediately realized I had gone too far.
Aemon said, "I thought we were beyond such suspicions spread by the rats of the court."
"I apologize," I said, trying to patch things up.
"It's nothing," he said before focusing on the joust, which was about to begin between the day's protagonists.
---
-POV Alicent Hightower-
I watched Larys Strong, remembering the words that had haunted me all day:
'I beg you to forgive my brother; he only meant to teach a lesson, not kill him.'
'He must die. He killed my brother; that's justice,' I thought as I stood to hang my favor on my loyal champion's lance.
I watched Rhaenyra appear at my right to tie her favor on her champion's arm, and without a word, expressionless, I took my seat beside the king, who, feeling the tension between his daughter and me, awkwardly placed an arm on my hand.
I withdrew it, disgusted by his touch, recalling how fiercely he had protected his daughter's champion, refusing to give me justice.
'Me, his own wife,' I thought, clawing at the skin around my nails, something that had always disgusted my father but that I did to keep from losing my mind and to maintain my composure in all circumstances.
SOUND OF THE HORN
The sound of the horn signaling the start of the joust pulled my mind and attention back to the competition just in time to see Ser Criston charging and shattering his first lance against the shield of my brother's killer.
CRAAAACK
'Only 6 lances left,' I thought, remembering the duel was set to end after seven lances or a draw.
The pressure in my heart slightly eased as I watched Ser Criston Cole smoothly withstand the blow from the giant and gracefully pass by his squire to quickly grab a new lance and return to face Rhaenyra's champion.
CRAAAACK
'Only 5 lances left to bring him down,' I thought as I heard the sound of both lances shattering almost simultaneously.
CRAAAACK
'Only 4 lances,' I thought, clasping my hands and closing my eyes to pray to the Seven.
CRAAAACK
'Only 3 lances,' I thought, gripping my hands tighter and tighter, pleading with the Stranger to take this murderer and the Warrior to grant Ser Criston the strength to defeat the Hand of the King's heir.
CRAAAACK
I suddenly opened my eyes at the sound of the crowd roaring and stood to see who had won. Relief washed over me when I saw Ser Criston still sitting tall on his horse.
'It's not enough,' I thought, watching Harwin Strong move on the ground, clearly injured in the leg.
'I want his head,' I screamed internally, trying to convey all the hatred I felt for that man to my champion through my gaze.