Before long, Rhaegar emerged from a plain and inconspicuous tent.
His silver-gold short hair partially covered his eyes, but it couldn't hide the sharp brilliance flickering within them.
Owell said nothing as he silently handed Rhaegar a thick book titled *A Brief Modern History of the Court.*
Each time a king ascended to the Iron Throne, the maesters sent by the Citadel would compile a unique record cataloging the deeds of the monarch and their blood relatives.
Eventually, these accounts would be summarized and added to the Targaryen family history.
The *Brief History of the Court* penned by Maester Meros documented numerous anomalies and peculiar events.
Looking up at the sky, Rhaegar observed the afternoon sun suspended in the blue expanse, with white clouds drifting lazily.
Recalling the chaotic accounts in the historical text, his heart darkened with gloom.
Without hesitation, he turned and headed straight for the main tent.
---
Meanwhile, at the camp's open cooking area...
Aegon wandered aimlessly with drooping eyelids, pacing back and forth without direction.
Occasionally, he would grab a bottle of red wine from one of the outdoor tables, bite off the cork, and gulp it down without a care.
Surrounding him were numerous nobles, both high and low, who were busy processing game or enjoying barbecues. They cast curious glances at the king's second son.
Following closely behind Aegon were four daughters of House Baratheon, all of them exhausted, their foreheads glistening with sweat and their boots caked in mud.
"Prince Aegon, how much longer are you planning to wander around?"
The eldest, Cassandra Baratheon, gritted her teeth in frustration, unable to hold back her complaint any longer.
They had come to meet their potential marriage match, not patrol the camp like guards.
After aimlessly following Aegon for half a day, their throats were parched and burning, while he continued drinking without a care.
Hearing her words, Aegon glanced at her briefly. Seeing their pitiful, panting faces, he raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter? Tired or thirsty?"
The second eldest, Maris Baratheon, stepped forward, her not-so-pretty face contorted in frustration as she struggled to contain her temper. "Both tired and thirsty. You should be courteous and entertain us properly instead of dragging us around aimlessly."
The two youngest sisters, Ellyn and Floris Baratheon, nodded in agreement, glaring angrily at the carefree Aegon.
Back at Storm's End, the four sisters were collectively known as the *Four Storms* and were deeply cherished by their father, Borros Baratheon.
No one had ever dared treat them with such disregard.
"Heh, if you're tired, find a place to rest. If you're thirsty, there's plenty of good wine on the tables," Aegon scoffed, glancing disdainfully at Maris.
"And by the way, stop following me—you're getting in the way of me finding a spot to take a nap."
"You—!" Maris was so furious that she stomped her foot in frustration.
Aegon shot back with disdain. "What *you*? Go play your little games quietly like a good girl."
As he spoke, his gaze briefly swept over Maris's white dress, and his look of disdain deepened.
Her face was unattractive, her figure even worse—flat-chested, flat-bottomed, and short-legged.
She was completely at odds with his preferences.
Besides, if it weren't for Borros Baratheon's duplicitous behavior, Aegon wouldn't have been put in such an embarrassing position.
There was no way he would marry one of Borros's daughters.
Sensing Aegon's contempt, Maris's eyes reddened with rage. She wanted nothing more than to summon guards and have him beaten on the spot.
But alas, he was the king's son, and their father was currently being reprimanded by the king. The four sisters had no leverage to act tough.
The eldest, Cassandra, took a deep breath, fetched a bottle of wine and some cups from a nearby table, and handed them to her sisters to share.
She then turned to Aegon, who was about to continue wandering, and spoke sharply: "Feel free to keep wandering until nightfall. We'll just keep circling around you until the royal hunt is over—you'll have plenty to brag about later."
She had figured it out.
The king's second son clearly had no interest in any of them; he was merely toying with them.
Fine, then—let's torment each other.
---
While these two groups engaged in their "friendly" interactions, two pairs of eyes observed them from afar.
Near an open-air table, two round wooden stumps served as makeshift benches.
Standing by the table, Otto Hightower poured wine from a bottle and handed the first glass to his elder brother, Mound Hightower.
The brothers clinked glasses and sipped, their eyes never leaving the wandering Aegon and the Four Storms.
"Brother, it seems our dear grandnephew doesn't care much for the Baratheon girls," Mound said, swirling his wine with a tone of amusement.
Otto maintained a calm expression. "A marriage alliance is a matter between families. The opinions of the individuals involved aren't that important."
"Not necessarily. Our gracious king is known for being exceptionally kind," Mound chuckled.
Clang—
Otto sliced a piece of steak from a porcelain plate, his expression unchanging. "The royal family has traditionally favored alliances with the Arryns of the Vale and the Baratheons of Storm's End, as these unions help maintain the kingdom's stability."
The noble powers on the continent of Westeros were widespread, and the great houses of the former Seven Kingdoms were naturally seen as thorns in the royal family's side.
The Starks of the North, the Lannisters of the West, and the Martells of Dorne were all notoriously troublesome.
The Starks isolated themselves in the North but could march south at any time.
The Lannisters controlled the western gold mines and Lannisport, their wealth famous throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
And the Martells? No explanation was needed—they frequently raided the borders and were sworn enemies of the Iron Throne.
In such a precarious situation, a strategy of divide and conquer was inevitable.
The Arryns of the Vale could block the Starks from advancing south, while the Tullys of the Riverlands and Harrenhal could help keep the battlefield far from King's Landing.
The Baratheons of Storm's End, being closest to King's Landing, were tasked with swiftly reinforcing the capital and guarding the Boneway and Storm's Cape.
For these reasons, the Arryns and Baratheons had long been the royal family's top choices for marriage alliances.
Mound chuckled, "Well then, let's wait and see which of the Four Storms our dear grandnephew will choose."
Given the current estrangement between House Baratheon and the Targaryens, forging a marriage alliance was indeed a wise move.
Otto speared another piece of steak and chewed thoughtfully. "Brother, just say what's really on your mind."
Mound took a sip of wine, turned toward a corner, and spoke without pretense: "The king's health is failing. Our family would do well to secure a new marriage alliance with the royal house."
"A marriage alliance?"
Otto frowned slightly, following his brother's gaze.
Under a Simple Canopy
Beneath a simple canopy, three silver-gold heads sat side by side.
Helena knelt in the middle, flanked by Aemond on one side and Daeron on the other.
At that moment, the three siblings were holding a pile of fruits and desserts, watching with amusement as Aegon and the four Storm girls chased each other.
The youngest, Daeron, had a mouthful of cake and mumbled, "Doesn't Aegon like girls the most? Why is he running so far away?"
"Maybe the older two aren't very pretty," Aemond replied casually, sitting properly.
**Smack—**
Suddenly, in the distance, Aegon slapped Cassandra, one of the four Storm girls, across the face, knocking her to the ground.
Aemond's eyes widened in shock. "Uh-oh, Aegon just hit someone."
Helena and Daeron quickly stood up and rushed toward Aegon.
Otto and Lord Mont witnessed the scene firsthand and were momentarily stunned.
Mont grinned. "Looks like our nephew is still the best candidate for the family's political alliances."
Otto's face darkened as he left without a word.
Things were deviating from his plan. He needed to do something to fix it.
---
### Inside the Women's Tent
Inside the warmly lit tent, several tea tables were separated by decorative screens, each surrounded by enough luxurious chairs.
The space was divided into different sections, each hosting noblewomen of varying status.
At the central tea table, a group of noble ladies and young women from various regions were seated.
Alicent sat on a long bench next to Lady Elenna, across from Rhaenyra, Laena, and a pair of twin girls.
In the corner near the screen, Larys Strong sat alone on a stool.
This was his hobby—listening to gossip and gathering information from a group of chatty noblewomen.
The ladies tolerated his presence only because he was a cripple.
Despite being called the "women's tent," the space was filled with many male family members, so one more son of the Hand didn't make much difference.
The noblewomen engaged in endless chatter around the tea table.
Alicent and Rhaenyra, mindful of their status and lacking the thick skin of these middle-aged women, mostly listened in silence, occasionally adding a comment or two.
As the conversation went on, the topics became sharper.
A richly dressed elderly woman with streaks of white in her black hair took a sip of tea and suddenly remarked, "The Targaryen princes seem restless, all eager for war."
Alicent, Rhaenyra, and Laena were taken aback, exchanging surprised glances.
After all, they were either mothers or lovers of Targaryen princes and couldn't quite tell what the old woman was implying.
"Lady Swann, what do you mean by that?"
As the eldest and highest-ranking among them, Alicent smiled politely and inquired.
"I'm simply stating the facts."
The old woman's sharp eyes flicked between Rhaenyra and Laena before she continued in a measured tone, "From what I know, Prince Daemon, as Lord of the Stepstones, frequently raids the ships of the Three Daughters."
Laena's expression darkened slightly, and she opened her mouth to retort.
But before she could, the old woman turned her attention to Rhaenyra and said disapprovingly, "And just recently, Prince Rhaegar took his dragon and occupied Volantis, executing two ruling magistrates. He nearly sparked a war between the continent and the Free Cities."
Hearing her younger brother being accused, Rhaenyra's face turned cold. She responded sharply, "Lady Swann, one may joke about food, but not about the truth."
"Did I say anything wrong?"
The old woman, clearly self-important, furrowed her brows. "Prince Daemon and Prince Rhaegar's actions are well known—it's no secret."
Rhaenyra's gaze sharpened as she noticed the golden accessory on the old woman's chest, engraved with a sigil of two swans facing each other.
The Swann family's seat was Stonehelm in the Stormlands, located along the coast of the Narrow Sea, traditionally guarding the sea routes from Dorne.
They were one of the two oldest noble families in the Stormlands, alongside House Caron of Nightsong—Lady Elenna's family.
They were quite powerful.
Realizing which family Lady Swann belonged to, Rhaenyra immediately understood her motives.
House Swann's wealth depended on maritime trade.
With the crown pressuring House Baratheon, and Daemon and Rhaegar disrupting the peace of the Narrow Sea, House Swann's business had suffered greatly.
The old woman had deliberately come to pick a fight.
And it wasn't just Rhaenyra who saw through the issue—Alicent and Laena weren't fools either.
As the stepmother in the situation, Alicent planned to smooth things over with a pleasant smile.
But before she could speak, Laena, who had been holding back, finally lost patience and rebuked, "Lady Swann, the Three Daughters have always been hostile toward the crown. Daemon is simply doing his duty—your accusation is baseless."
(End of Chapter)