Jason blushed deeply from the reprimand, unable to utter a single coherent word.
Otto seized the moment and spoke up, "Your Majesty, it seems many people are making baseless assumptions about your decrees."
"No! I absolutely didn't mean that!"
Jason swallowed nervously and hurriedly denied it.
Just then, Leonor walked through the tent entrance, wearing a stern expression as he delivered news: "Your Majesty, Lord Borros' forces are approaching the camp."
Jason saw an opportunity and muttered under his breath, "This is an important matter. I'll take my leave now."
With that, he hunched over, quickly stepped off the platform in front of the throne, and obediently kept silent.
"Hmph!"
Viserys let out a heavy snort, shifting his irritation toward Borros. "Since Borros is here, he should come to see me immediately. Does he expect me to greet him personally?"
In that instant, the young king displayed a rare show of assertiveness.
Leonor responded calmly, "I'll arrange for a member of the Kingsguard to greet him."
Given Borros' rank as a duke, sending a Kingsguard member was perfectly appropriate.
"Wait."
Rhaegar interjected without hesitation, suggesting, "Lord Borros was invited here. Perhaps I should go meet him instead."
"You?" Viserys frowned slightly.
Rhaegar openly admitted, flashing a mischievous smile, "Not just me—I'd better bring Aegon and the others with me as well."
Knowing his son well, Viserys immediately caught on. His eldest had something up his sleeve.
After a brief pause, Viserys chuckled and agreed, "Very well. Take your siblings along."
Rhaegar nodded and prepared to leave.
Grand Maester Mellos slowly ascended the platform, carrying a satchel. He whispered, "Your Majesty, it's time to change your bandages."
"Thank you," Viserys said, extending his injured left hand.
Mellos carefully unwrapped the bandages, methodically removing the clotted ointment and applying a fresh layer of soft salve.
The process was routine and unremarkable.
As Rhaegar glanced back, he caught sight of the wound on his father's hand, noticing that it was mildly infected and worsening.
It had been a month since the last treatment, so the deterioration wasn't surprising.
Still...
Rhaegar's purple eyes flickered briefly as he observed Mellos tending the injury with care. He then strode out of the tent.
---
It didn't take long to gather Aegon and Aemond near the main tent's outdoor cooking area.
Helaena and Daeron, meanwhile, were with Alicent in another ladies' tent, mingling with noblewomen.
Rhaegar calmly entered and explained his intentions to Alicent.
Holding a cushion and sipping from a wine glass, Alicent was surprised. "Daeron is only seven. Must he go too?"
"Why not? I was already riding dragons and exploring the world when I was six."
Rhaegar gave her no chance to refuse, calling upon the eager Helaena and Daeron to follow him.
Frowning deeply, Alicent watched her two children leave. She silently tightened her grip on the wine glass.
By this point, Rhaegar had already led the group away.
Outside the tent, Daeron cheered gleefully, hopping to the front of the group.
Being stuck among heavily perfumed noblewomen had been pure torture for him.
Without glancing back, Rhaegar continued forward, unconcerned about Alicent's thoughts.
It was true that the queen deeply loved her children.
However, her love was stifling—rigidly adhering to Otto's harsh teachings, constantly suppressing and controlling every aspect of her children's lives.
It was like raising pets in captivity.
---
Outside the camp, along the muddy road...
Several luxurious carriages creaked and groaned as they rolled forward, flanked by two columns of Stormland knights bearing shields emblazoned with crowned stag emblems.
"This damn road! It ought to be wider and properly maintained!"
Inside the lead carriage, Borros grumbled irritably, his language coarse.
Beside him sat Lady Elenna and their four daughters of varying ages.
"Borros, we're already late," Elenna sighed, pressing her hand to her forehead in exasperation.
"So what? They still have to wait for me," Borros retorted with bulging eyes. "The king's only upset about the lumber issue. I'll handle it just fine."
Elenna sighed again at her husband's arrogance. "The king won't easily let this go. He's organized this royal hunt for a reason."
She hailed from Night Song on the Dornish Marches and had a keen sense of looming danger.
But Borros dismissed her concerns, growing even more pleased with himself. "The king's always been weak. This hunt is just a scheme to marry his second son to one of my daughters and win House Baratheon's favor."
The four Baratheon girls exchanged glances, each showing a hint of disdain.
They had no desire to marry the king's second son.
During the last funeral, they had secretly admired the king's eldest son, Rhaegar Targaryen—a man of power, skill, and undeniable charm.
Elenna surveyed her husband and daughters, lowering her head with a resigned sigh.
"Let's hope that's all it is."
As the group neared the camp, their pace quickened. Soon they spotted the chevaux de frise fortifications at the camp's perimeter.
Borros adjusted his silk robe over his bulky frame, adopting a more serious demeanor. "We're almost there. Show the pride of House Baratheon."
Before long, the convoy reached the camp entrance.
With no space available inside, the carriages were forced to stop at the gate. A coachman placed a short stool to help the duke's family disembark.
The carriage door swung open, and Borros was the first to step out. He held his large belly with both hands, his proud head tilted high.
"Hiss—Gah—"
A thunderous dragon roar echoed throughout the camp, and in an instant, the dazzling sun was obscured and vanished.
Borros' heart jolted, and he instinctively looked up.
A massive, jet-black dragon soared in from the direction of the royal forest, its vast wings casting a shadow over the entire camp.
Sensing his gaze, the black dragon lowered its head, its eerie green slit pupils locking onto the group below.
The next second—
The dragon bared its fangs, and a smoky, mist-like green dragonfire spewed forth.
"Whoa—"
The horses were instantly terrified, struggling frantically against their harnesses until their legs buckled and they collapsed to the ground.
Standing on a short stool, Borros was thrown off balance, tumbling into a muddy puddle with a panicked shriek.
Yet, the dragonfire never landed.
The ghostly green flames cut across the sky as the black dragon soared forward, its powerful wingbeats whipping up fierce gusts of wind.
"Hiss—Gah—"
Following its lead, several more dragon roars of varying tones rang out.
Whoosh—
From the dense royal forest, dragons of various colors took to the sky, breathing fire as they ascended over the camp.
"Whoo-hoo!"
Aegon rode atop Sunfyre, his shoulder-length hair wildly tousled by the wind as he cheered excitedly.
The smaller Tessarion carried the slender Daeron, flapping her wings in excitement and releasing bursts of brilliant blue flames.
Helaena rode Dreamfyre, second only in size to the monstrous Black Dread, with Aemond squeezed into the saddle behind her, his face filled with exhilaration.
"Hiss—Gah!!"
Dreamfyre, known for her unruly temperament, let out a sharp cry as she dove downward, skimming just above a carriage covered in pale blue scales, sweeping a wave of scorching heat across it.
The carriage rocked violently under the roaring winds, its wheels creaking as if about to collapse.
The white horses pulling the carriages fared even worse—frothing at the mouth, they convulsed and died on the spot from sheer terror.
"Stand ready!"
A middle-aged man with a stern face stepped forward from the group. His armor bore a dense pattern of nightingales on a yellow background.
He was Borros' father-in-law, Royce Caron of House Caron of Nightsong.
With a swift motion, Royce unsheathed his sword and strode forward, shielding Borros behind him.
The rest of the Stormland knights followed suit, drawing their swords and raising their shields, quickly forming a defensive formation.
Unfortunately, their warhorses were so frightened by Dreamfyre that they lay motionless on the ground, forcing the knights to scramble up and regroup on foot.
Shing—Shing—
As the Stormland knights drew their weapons, the guards stationed at the camp entrance immediately responded by unsheathing their own swords.
"Stand down, all of you!!"
Just as the tension reached its peak, a commanding voice rang out from within the camp, firm and unquestionable.
Borros, still covered in mud, looked over in shock and anger.
Approaching with confident strides was Rhaegar, clad in black, flanked by two Kingsguard knights in silver armor and white cloaks.
At the sight of him, Borros' alcohol-dulled mind immediately realized this was a deliberate show of dominance.
Being humiliated in front of his wife, daughter, and knights stoked his fury.
Shoving Royce aside, Borros, his face flushed red, bellowed, "Prince Rhaegar, is this how House Targaryen treats its guests—unleashing dragons to attack them?!"
"Lord Borros, I advise you to choose your words carefully," Rhaegar replied coolly. "As everyone knows, dragons are fierce and temperamental creatures. It's normal for them to act out once in a while."
The implication was clear—Targaryens, too, could be temperamental.
But Borros, in his simple-minded rage, failed to grasp the hidden warning. "Who do you take me for, a blind man? The princes and princesses are riding those dragons—it's obvious they did this on purpose!"
Rhaegar tilted his head slightly, glancing up at the dragons circling the sky before replying indifferently, "You're mistaken. They aren't yet skilled at riding their dragons. This is merely training."
Then, he turned toward the Baratheon carriages and smiled faintly. "The dragons haven't been fully tamed yet. I'm afraid they may have startled your family. On behalf of my younger siblings, I extend my apologies."
His meaning was unmistakable—this was just a small warning for those who refused to behave.
"Rhaegar!"
Borros, unyielding, was about to explode in rage.
Royce quickly grabbed his arm and whispered, "Stay calm. Challenging the Crown Prince is a grave offense."
"This is a farce—an orchestrated charade!" Borros fumed, humiliated.
Rhaegar's lips curled slightly. Cutting in, he said, "Lord Borros, the dragons will settle down soon. I appreciate your understanding."
"Hiss—Gah—"
Just as he finished speaking, the sky trembled with the roar of the Black Dread.
The colossal black dragon shuddered midair before tilting its head skyward and vanishing into the clouds, its massive wings carrying it away.
With the largest dragon gone, the remaining three fell silent, circling at a lower altitude.
As if in unspoken agreement, all three of their slitted pupils remained locked onto the Baratheon party below.
"Sunfyre, a little lower," Aegon urged, still not satisfied.
Sunfyre shook his head, his brilliant golden scales glistening under the sun, his pink wing membranes shimmering with vibrant hues.
Whoosh—
Before even touching the ground, his wingbeats sent another howling gust through the camp entrance.
The sulfur-laced wind whipped through Rhaegar's silver hair, his cloak billowing violently.
Even standing with his back to the wind, Rhaegar was affected—those in the direct path, Borros and his men, could barely stand upright, their eyes squeezed shut against the gust.
As the winds settled, Rhaegar silently turned his gaze toward Sunfyre and Aegon, who had landed in the open area of the camp.
(End of chapter)