"Shriek... screech…"
Sunfyre landed heavily on the ground, its massive wings fully extended as it roared wildly, craning its neck in all directions.
A group of nobles had already gathered at the camp entrance, only to be indiscriminately intimidated by Sunfyre's menacing display. They scrambled back in panic, desperately trying to maintain a safe distance.
If this continued any longer, chaos was bound to break out.
Ignoring Boros's shouting, Rhaegar spoke coldly, "Aegon, get your dragon under control."
There was no room in the plan for Sunfyre to intimidate loyal nobles — Aegon had acted on his own whim.
"Tch, Sunfyre's usually well-behaved," Aegon scoffed dismissively, half-heartedly urging the dragon to calm down.
However, Sunfyre paid no attention. Its golden, shimmering body trembled slightly as it proudly showcased its grandeur, wings shimmering with a faint pink hue.
Standing protectively in front of his lord, Royce sneered, "Prince Rhaegar, it seems your dragon really doesn't listen to orders."
Boros's face was dark with fury as he roared, "I will report this injustice to the King!"
Rhaegar's cold gaze met Boros's outbursts, his eyes gleaming dangerously.
Under this icy standoff, the surrounding air seemed to plummet to freezing temperatures.
High above, both Helena and Daeron, sensing that something was wrong, directed their dragons to descend swiftly, sitting uneasily atop their mounts.
"Shriek... screech…"
Sunfyre continued its antics, golden flames flickering at the edges of its maw as it shook its head, showing off its dominance.
Still focused on the furious Boros, Rhaegar spoke with a frosty tone, his back turned to Aegon: "Aegon, do you need me to repeat myself?"
Realizing the gravity of the situation, Aegon hurriedly tugged at Sunfyre, shouting in a panic, "Sunfyre, calm down now!"
"Shriek... screech…"
Sunfyre, as proud as ever, ignored him entirely. Its vertical pupils gleamed with arrogance as it crept toward the camp gate, lifting its head in a furious roar.
Judging by its stance, it seemed to regard Rhaegar — who had just reprimanded its rider — as an enemy.
Feeling the hot, rancid breath blowing from behind him, Rhaegar turned around coldly, locking eyes with the defiant Sunfyre.
Whoosh—
Sunfyre snorted through its nostrils, spreading its wings wide and casting a shadow over Rhaegar.
It seemed to have completely forgotten the terror it once felt when nearly becoming prey to the Devourer.
Under the stunned gaze of the crowd, man and dragon faced off.
"Aegon, get Sunfyre out of here!" Helena shouted anxiously.
Aegon jumped off the saddle and grabbed the ridged scales along Sunfyre's back, desperately commanding, "Sunfyre, behave yourself!"
"Shriek... screech…"
Sunfyre shook its body furiously, clearly annoyed by its rider's futile commands. It let out another defiant roar right in Rhaegar's face.
Worse still, the dragon's head inched closer, its mouth revealing rows of jagged teeth, as if preparing to strike.
Rhaegar's face darkened. His pupils glowed with a green dragon-like pattern as he raised a hand and bellowed, "Sunfyre, down!!"
His command was delivered in High Valyrian, laced with an unusual tonal inflection.
As soon as the words left his mouth, flames ignited from his raised hand, forming a dragon-shaped sigil.
In an instant, the savage gleam in Sunfyre's vertical pupils faded, replaced by sheer terror. Its massive golden body quivered violently.
"Shriek... screech…"
Sunfyre let out a startled cry, frantically backpedaling with its hind legs. It flapped its wings in a panic and soared into the sky.
Its escape was wild and desperate, as if some fearsome predator were hot on its heels.
"No, no, no! Stop!"
Aegon hadn't secured the chains. The sudden takeoff caused him to lose his grip, and he was promptly flung off the dragon's back.
Fortunately, the fall wasn't from a great height. Aegon hit the ground with a loud thud, rolling across the open space to cushion the impact.
"Shriek... screech…"
Completely disregarding its rider, Sunfyre flew erratically at a low altitude before disappearing into the dense forest beyond the camp.
This scene left the crowd utterly dumbfounded.
What did they just witness?
The prince had summoned fire in his hand and driven away a nearly uncontrollable dragon!
"Brother!"
Helena called out, swiftly sliding off Dreamfyre's back and running anxiously toward Rhaegar.
Daeron also dismounted, instructing Tessarion to leave the camp before hurrying over on his short legs.
Rhaegar scanned the crowd, noting the shock etched on every face. Inwardly, he remained composed.
What he had just used was a banishment technique from the "Prohibition Spell."
It was typically employed by dragonriders to command tamed dragons or by dragon keepers to drive off young dragons.
Under normal circumstances, the prohibition spell wouldn't have been powerful enough to frighten a bonded dragon like Sunfyre.
However, with the Devourer's relic enhancing his abilities, Rhaegar had borrowed its draconic aura to exert a life-level suppression.
This reawakened Sunfyre's fear of the Devourer, causing it to flee in terror, completely abandoning its rider.
Placing a hand on the heads of Helena and Daeron, who had run to his side, Rhaegar turned to face the wide-eyed Boros.
Seeing the panic and unease in Boros's gaze, Rhaegar sighed lightly and said flatly, "What justice do you seek?"
"Shriek—"
At that moment, the Devourer descended from the sky, its massive, pitch-black form casting a shadow over the camp.
It did not land but instead swept a furious glance at Boros before turning to pursue Sunfyre into the depths of the forest.
Boros stood there, dumbfounded, nervously stammering, "N-No, there's no issue..."
He had finally understood.
The so-called forest hunt was truly staged to punish him.
Rhaegar smiled faintly. "Very well, then. I'll escort you to meet my father."
The demonstration had been sufficient — it was time to ease up.
Taking Helena and Daeron by the hand, Rhaegar led the two dragon guards back along the path.
Along the way, nobles gathered on either side of the camp, their burning gazes practically drilling holes into Rhaegar's face.
Among those stares were fervor, fear, reverence...
A myriad of emotions.
Overall, Fear Surpassed Frenzy, Awe Overcame Fear, and Yet, Worship of the Strong Was the Most Abundant.
"Prince Rhaegar!..."
"Young Dragon King!..."
No one knew who started it, but the nobles erupted into cheers, clapping enthusiastically. One by one, old titles and prefixes were brought out.
Rhaegar remained composed, his expression unchanged as he calmly swept his gaze over both sides of the camp, accepting the nobles' acclaim with ease.
These people were his subjects to begin with.
As he passed an open area, he saw Aegon being helped up by Aemond, grimacing in pain and wailing.
His voice was full of energy—clearly, he wasn't seriously hurt.
After a quick glance, Rhaegar ignored him completely.
---
### By Noon
Borros had changed out of his mud-stained clothes and, with his family in tow, nervously stepped into the main tent.
As soon as he entered, five figures kneeling on the ground came into view.
At a single glance, Borros felt his heartbeat accelerate.
These five men, all dressed as nobles, were people he recognized.
They were the very lords who had refused to provide materials and had instead sought compensation from the royal treasury in advance.
Borros trembled as he stepped past them, his eyes darting around the tent.
Viserys sat at the head of the room, surrounded by several members of his small council.
Apart from them, only Rhaenys, Daemon, and the king's children remained.
All unnecessary personnel had been dismissed.
"Your Majesty, House Baratheon greets you."
Borros bowed his head, his previous arrogance nowhere to be found.
Viserys spared him a glance but said nothing.
Shifting in his seat, the king's gaze fell on the four girls standing behind Borros.
The girls varied in age; the two older ones appeared to be sixteen or seventeen, while the younger two seemed no more than four or five.
"Aegon, come forward."
Viserys, his expression sour, called out to his dejected-looking son in the corner.
Then, turning back to the Baratheon girls, his stern features softened into a kind smile. "I need to discuss matters with your father. Why don't you go for a walk with my children?"
Then, with a dismissive wave, he added impatiently, "Aegon, take your younger siblings with you. Leave now."
He had already heard what had happened earlier.
A prince who couldn't even control his own dragon—an utter disgrace.
"Yes, Father," Aegon muttered, lowering his head as he left the tent.
He had lost so much face today, and Sunfyre was nowhere to be found.
All he wanted now was to find a brothel to vent his frustration.
Behind him, the four Baratheon girls followed, heads bowed, at their mother Ellyn's subtle gesture.
They were still deeply shaken by the sight of the dragons when they arrived at camp.
As Viserys turned his gaze to the gentle Ellyn Baratheon, he hesitated briefly before saying, "Lady Ellyn, you should leave as well."
His use of "you" in the plural form meant that more than just Ellyn would be departing.
Aside from the small council and Rhaenys and Daemon, all the royal family's female members accompanied them out.
Rhaenyra brushed her hand against Rhaegar's, her clear eyes speaking volumes.
Rhaegar understood her unspoken message. He cast a discreet glance at the small council members, then gave his father a nod before following Rhaenyra out.
He had done enough for today.
Dealing with Borros was his father's responsibility.
As soon as Rhaegar stepped out, Viserys flung a stack of papers at Borros, the sheets striking him on the head.
"Look at your vassals! Their lands have suffered no disasters, yet they refuse to supply building materials!" the king roared.
In the past month, they had gathered enough intelligence on several noble territories to confirm the truth.
Even from a distance, Borros's panicked, desperate explanations could be heard.
Before long, five bloodied heads were hung from the camp's pillars for all to see.
Borros himself had carried out the executions, personally beheading his vassals in public.
Blood splattered across his face and luxurious garments once more, staining them anew.
---
### Elsewhere
Alicent and the other noblewomen escorted Lady Ellyn, bringing her to the tent where the women gathered.
Meanwhile, Rhaegar walked alongside Rhaenyra, drawing many admiring glances from noblewomen and young ladies.
Halfway there, Rhaenyra pouted and refused to let him accompany her further.
She was worried those desperate noblewomen might set their sights on him.
Rhaegar didn't object—he had no desire to be surrounded by the overwhelming scent of perfume.
Changing course, he made his way toward the maester's tent near the main command post.
He hadn't walked far before arriving at the entrance.
Even through the heavy fabric of the tent, he could hear voices inside.
Lifting the flap, he stepped in to find a dark-skinned, short-haired maester in gray robes.
"Prince Rhaegar."
The maester looked stunned at his arrival and hurriedly put down the herbs he had been handling to bow.
"Rise, Owell." Rhaegar waved his hand dismissively.
Owell wiped the herbal residue from his hands and responded respectfully, "Yes, my prince."
Rhaegar glanced at the cluttered table, filled with various herbs and medical tools.
"You seem particularly knowledgeable in herbology and medicine," he remarked casually.
If he recalled correctly, Owell had been Grand Maester Mellos's assistant and had participated in treating his father.
Owell hesitated, unsure of the prince's intent. He carefully replied, "I earned links in both disciplines."
"And compared to the Grand Maester?" Rhaegar asked nonchalantly.
Owell froze for a moment, his face showing a hint of conflict. After some hesitation, he finally answered, "I would say… we are about the same."
In truth, he wanted to claim his knowledge and experience were no less than the Grand Maester's, but he didn't want to come across as arrogant.
Rhaegar narrowed his eyes, easily detecting the humility—and resentment—hidden in Owell's words.
Letting the tent flap fall behind him, Rhaegar approached the table and casually picked up a peculiar white flower.
The flower had been ground into a paste and solidified into small, milky-white pellets.
He recognized it immediately. "Milk of the poppy?"
"Yes," Owell confirmed, his eyes flickering as he added, "The king often suffers pain at night and takes a small dose to ease it."
Rhaegar's expression darkened.
He hadn't known his father had developed a dependence on milk of the poppy.
While it was an effective painkiller, it was also highly addictive, numbing both nerves and muscles.
Recalling how Grand Maester Mellos had been administering treatment for years without any real improvement, Rhaegar's eyes gleamed with a dangerous light.
After so many years, there should have been at least some progress, even if not a complete recovery. At the very least, the wounds should have been stabilized, preventing further decay.
Fixing Owell with a piercing gaze, Rhaegar's voice turned cold.
"The Grand Maester's medicine—does it actually work?"
(End of Chapter)