Nine Voyages Hall.
The banquet was still in full swing, with music and dancing reaching their peak.
At the head of the table, King Viserys sat with a relaxed smile, feeling a rare sense of relief.
His nephew, Aemon, had tamed Vermithor. Laenor's dragon, Seasmoke, was seriously injured and out of commission.
Even without counting Daemon's Caraxes, the number of dragonriders in the royal family now matched the Velaryons.
Viserys glanced around the hall, his confidence growing.
He was king, ruling over hundreds of lords.
Corlys Velaryon's fleet was no longer a threat.
"Look there—your eldest son is quite the dancer."
Viserys chuckled, pointing to the dance floor, where Ser Harwin Strong, heir to House Strong, was dancing with a group of noble youths around Princess Rhaenyra.
Rhaenyra, however, seemed uninterested, going through the motions with a distracted expression.
Harwin, on the other hand, looked completely enthralled, his gaze fixed on the princess.
Lord Lyonel Strong frowned and leaned closer to the king.
"Your Grace, let us not forget why Lord Corlys invited you here."
His tone was firm, unwilling to entertain the idea of his son pursuing Rhaenyra.
Compared to House Velaryon or other great houses, House Strong lacked the same ancient pedigree. Harwin might be strong in body, but he lacked political acumen.
Approaching the princess without caution would only harm himself—and their house.
Viserys grinned mischievously.
"Let me guess—the infamous 'Breaker of Bones' isn't a suitable match?"
Lyonel remained silent, refusing to respond.
"Ha! No matter."
Viserys chuckled, clearly pleased by his Hand's serious demeanor.
What he feared most was that Lyonel might follow in Otto Hightower's footsteps, seeking to advance his own family.
But no—Lyonel was different.
In Viserys's mind, the best match for Rhaenyra wasn't Harwin Strong.
It was Aemon.
The boy had already proven himself.
At such a young age, he had shown both courage and intelligence, and now he had the loyalty of Vermithor, the great bronze dragon.
Aemon's claim to Runestone, combined with his dragonrider status, made him a formidable figure.
It was as if the gods themselves had handed Viserys a gift.
"Your Grace."
Lyonel's voice broke his thoughts.
"Perhaps you should focus on Lord Corlys's intentions—and Prince Daemon's opinion."
One sought to secure power through marriage.
The other? Well, Daemon's views were unpredictable.
"Daemon?" Viserys waved dismissively.
"He'll agree."
His gaze drifted toward the dance floor, where his brother was charming the ladies.
Daemon was many things, but he would never act against the family's interests.
If he did…
Viserys's expression hardened.
I'll throw him in the Red Keep's dungeons.
Three days without food should sort him out.
Lyonel sighed quietly.
Viserys spoke harshly of Daemon, but deep down, he still valued their brotherhood.
Would things really go as smoothly as the king hoped?
Suddenly, Lord Corlys approached, raising a toast.
"Your Grace," Corlys said, a pleasant smile on his face as he reached Viserys and Lyonel.
Both men stood to meet him, raising their cups.
"I thank you for traveling such a long way," Corlys said warmly. "May the alliance between our houses remain as strong as our ancestors intended."
He drank deeply, draining his cup.
Viserys nodded, lifting his own cup.
"May it be so."
Corlys's words carried no overt disrespect.
From the time of Enar the Exile's migration to Dragonstone, the Velaryons of Driftmark and the Celtigars of Claw Isle had been staunch allies of House Targaryen.
Over the generations, the Velaryons had gained immense power through intermarriage, becoming the royal family's closest allies.
Corlys's marriage to Princess Rhaenys had solidified his place as one of the most influential nobles in Westeros.
After the toast, Corlys got to the point.
"Your Grace, our families have intermarried for generations. I trust this generation will continue that tradition."
Viserys frowned slightly.
Corlys wasn't exactly subtle.
He was pushing for a marriage between Rhaenyra and his son, Laenor.
"Your daughter already has a fiancé," Viserys replied.
"I'm speaking of the princess's marriage," Corlys said plainly.
Viserys's expression darkened.
Corlys bowed his head respectfully.
"Your Grace, the princess's claim to the throne is being challenged. House Velaryon offers its full support in securing her succession."
It was a sincere offer.
Before Aemon had arrived on Driftmark with Vermithor, Corlys had planned to pressure the king into agreeing.
But with Aemon's sudden rise, Corlys had changed tactics.
If intimidation wouldn't work, perhaps persuasion would.
After all, Rhaenyra's succession was at risk from Queen Alicent's children.
Viserys remained silent, weighing his options.
Corlys leaned in, lowering his voice so only Viserys could hear.
"I conquered the Stepstones for the realm, Your Grace. But think carefully—who holds those islands now?"
Viserys's eyes narrowed, his gaze locking on Daemon in the dance hall.
A flicker of anger sparked in his chest.
Corlys pressed on.
"The princess is nearly of age. She should marry a dragonrider—a true Valyrian."
Viserys's face twisted with barely restrained fury.
His anger wasn't directed at Daemon, but at Corlys's audacity.
Daemon was his brother.
He could criticize Daemon all he wanted—but no one else could.
"Your Grace…" Corlys began again.
"Enough!"
Viserys slammed his hand down on the table, the loud crack echoing through the hall.
The music stopped.
The room fell into an uneasy silence.
Every noble in attendance lowered their voices, not daring to draw attention to themselves.
Is this the fury of the Sleeping Dragon?
Even Corlys was taken aback.
What did I say wrong?
Across the hall, Daemon pushed aside his dance partner, his brows furrowed as he glanced toward the king.
"Rhaenyra!"
Viserys's voice rang out, calling for his daughter.
"I'm here, Father."
Rhaenyra stepped forward quickly, making her way to his side.
Viserys glared at her.
"Where is Aemon? Where is he?"
The king's demand hung in the air.
He didn't even glance at Corlys.
The situation hadn't yet escalated to the point of no return—but he was close to snapping.
Viserys needed to assert his authority.
And Aemon… Aemon was the key.
Rhaenyra blinked in confusion.
"He went out."
"I asked you—where is he?"
Viserys's anger flared again.
Rhaenyra's mind raced.
"I'll find him!"
She spun on her heel and hurried toward the door.
"Go, now!"
Viserys's voice followed her.
"He's my champion. On such an important occasion, you should have kept him close."
"He's just a boy—but unlike the rest of you, he's pure."
Corlys's face darkened.
From across the hall, Daemon watched with interest, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Viserys rarely lost his temper.
But when Aemon's name came up, the king's protective instincts took over.
Daemon chuckled quietly to himself.
"Good boy, Aemon. You've got the old man wrapped around your finger."