Lanaar abandoned her usual gentle demeanor, standing firmly in defense of Daemon.
Raised by an ambitious father and an independent mother, Lanaar possessed a keen and sensitive mind.
Daemon was her husband.
Even though he was reckless, indulgent, and frequently unfaithful, Lanaar remained unwaveringly loyal to him.
The elderly lady, however, saw things differently and argued bluntly, "Plundering ships is not Daemon's duty—he does it purely for his own selfish desires."
Lanaar's face darkened, her heart wavering.
She had long sensed that Daemon was hiding something from her. His behavior had become increasingly erratic.
But she had no idea what exactly he was doing behind her back.
Seeing Lady Swann's rigid expression, Lanaar couldn't help but wonder—given Daemon's nature, it was entirely possible that he had indeed raided ships on his own.
That was piracy!
"Stay calm."
Just as Lanaar was contemplating how to respond, Rhaenyra, sitting beside her, placed a reassuring hand on hers and softly comforted her.
The elderly lady then shifted her sharp gaze to Rhaenyra, her tone laced with insinuation. "Your uncle is already dangerously reckless, but Prince Rhaegar is even worse. Not satisfied with attacking the Three Daughters, he now dares to seize Volantis?"
"Lady Swann, you claim that Rhaegar has invaded Volantis. Do you have any proof?"
Rhaenyra tilted her head slightly, lifting a goblet of wine from the table with her delicate hand.
The elderly lady remained composed. "Prince Rhaegar commanded his dragon to burn Volantis' ruler alive in public. Even now, the people of Volantis still speak of the 'One-Day Emperor.'"
"And that's supposed to be evidence?" Rhaenyra pressed.
The elderly lady frowned. "It's undeniable proof."
Rhaenyra shook her head. "Real evidence requires both eyewitnesses and material proof. Who can confirm that Rhaegar invaded Volantis? What physical evidence supports this claim?"
"In other words, why hasn't Volantis' current ruler declared war or retaliated against Rhaegar?"
Her words were sharp and precise, leaving the elderly lady speechless.
The old woman's face twisted with frustration as she stubbornly retorted, "Volantis doesn't dare retaliate, which only proves that Prince Rhaegar acted on his own."
"Nonsense!"
Rhaenyra suddenly stood up, raising her hand and splashing the entire goblet of wine onto the elderly lady's face.
As the shocked woman hastily wiped herself off, Rhaenyra's gaze turned icy. "Accusations require evidence. You have slandered the Crown Prince without proof—that is treason, punishable by death!"
Gasps erupted throughout the hall.
Sensing the tension, Alicent quickly rose from her seat and urged, "Let's all calm down. This is just a discussion—there's no need for such hostility."
Rhaenyra shot her a cold glare and said icily, "Alicent, Rhaegar is my brother. If you won't defend him, I will. Do not stand in my way."
She had stayed silent before, but now that things had escalated, Alicent wanted to smooth things over?
Not happening.
Hearing the queen's attempt to mediate, the elderly lady clung to it like a lifeline and angrily exclaimed, "Your Grace, is this the kind of princess you've raised?"
The moment the words left her lips, Rhaenyra's temper flared.
She and Alicent were nearly the same age and had once been the closest of friends.
Even after Alicent became her stepmother, the idea of "raising" her was laughable.
Rhaenyra stepped out from behind the table and strode straight toward the elderly lady, raising her hand—
A crisp slap rang through the air.
The elderly lady clutched her cheek in shock, her eyes filled with disbelief.
Rhaenyra glared down at her, speaking slowly and deliberately, "Lady Swann, today you have shown me what it truly means to have long hair but short wisdom."
"The war between the Kingdom and the Three Daughters has never ceased. Rhaegar merely struck a devastating blow against their city-states, winning years of peace for the realm."
She pointed at Lanaar, whose belly was slightly swollen. "The Three Daughters have plundered our ships countless times. Whether Daemon attacked them in retaliation or not, it's nothing more than tit-for-tat, an eye for an eye."
"War is war—it drags everyone down," the elderly lady argued stubbornly.
*Slap!*
Rhaenyra's face remained cold as she struck again, scolding, "Without war, there is no peace."
She scanned the room, taking in the stunned expressions of the noblewomen, and declared solemnly, "Rhaegar has never attempted to invade any city. All of this is the delusion of fools."
Then, she turned her gaze back to the elderly lady and smirked. "If I recall correctly, Lady Swann, your only niece, Johanna Swann, was kidnapped by pirates from the Three Daughters a few years ago."
"The noble Earl Swann refused to pay the exorbitant ransom, and as a result, Johanna was sold repeatedly, ultimately ending up in a pleasure house in Lys."
The elderly lady trembled.
Rhaenyra's voice was laced with mockery. "If Daemon truly did raid the Three Daughters' ships, I only hope he rescues Johanna while he's at it."
She reached out and grasped the golden pendant hanging from the elderly lady's chest, inspecting it with feigned pity. "I doubt Daemon would charge a ransom, meaning Earl Swann could finally retrieve his only niece without spending a single coin."
She let go, lifted her chin like a victorious she-dragon, and grabbed Lanaar's hand, leading her out of the tent.
Lanaar, already dark-skinned, looked even darker now. For the first time, she swore aloud at the elderly lady, "Bitch."
Her twin daughters followed behind her and their stepmother, sticking out their tongues and making faces at the elderly lady.
The four of them left swiftly.
But inside the tent, the atmosphere remained heavy and suffocating.
Alicent stood frozen, overwhelmed by the memory of being chastised by Rhaenyra in front of everyone.
She was the Queen, yet her stepdaughter had just reprimanded her in public. The humiliation was unbearable.
Lost in thought, she absentmindedly picked at her nails, only to tear one too deep. She gasped in pain, her eyes welling with tears.
Meanwhile, the elderly lady, drenched in wine and her wrinkled face burning red from the slaps, could no longer endure the shame.
Covering her face, she stormed out, humiliated beyond words.
The other noblewomen fell silent, exchanging glances with one another, their expressions growing strange as they sized up the situation.
Anyone paying close attention could see what was happening.
Most of the noblewomen gathered around this tea table were from the Stormlands.
They were there to represent their respective families, seeking an audience with the Queen and Princess while trying to gauge the royal family's intentions.
Lady Swann was merely the one they had chosen to step forward first, to test the royal family's attitude.
Now, it was clear—the royal family had a firm stance on the Stormlands and had no tolerance for deception.
Just then, Ser Arryk Cargyll of the Kingsguard hurried into the tent and approached Alicent, whispering in her ear, "Your Grace, Prince Aegon has struck Lady Cassandra."
Alicent's expression changed instantly. Lifting her skirts, she strode toward the exit, not forgetting to offer her thanks: "Much appreciated, Ser Cargyll."
"It's Arryk, Your Grace," Arryk corrected as he followed closely behind.
Alicent couldn't be bothered with such details at the moment and dismissed it hastily, "Oh! My apologies—of course, Arryk."
Right now, all she wanted was to slap Aegon across the face and demand to know why he had hit his betrothed.
As the two hurried away, the noblewomen exchanged bewildered looks, uncertain of what had just transpired.
Meanwhile, Larys Strong leaned on his cane, his eyes gleaming as he watched Alicent's retreating figure.
He had just spotted a golden opportunity to stir up conflict and sow chaos.
---
**Main Tent of the Royal Camp**
The lively atmosphere remained unabated as ministers and nobles surrounded the King, drinking and making merry.
Viserys smiled as he politely declined more drinks, his weary body unable to handle excessive indulgence.
Rhaegar sat just below the head seat, resting his chin on one hand while crossing one leg over the other, exuding a quiet detachment that made him seem out of place.
"Rhaegar, what is it you wanted to talk about?" Viserys wiped the sweat from his forehead and asked with a warm smile.
Rhaegar rubbed his temples and replied softly, "It's nothing major. I just noticed that the Grand Maester's treatments aren't very effective, so I've arranged for a new maester to tend to you."
"Maester Mellos has been doing a fine job. He's been treating my wounds all along."
Viserys frowned in confusion, reluctant to part with the elderly healer he was familiar with.
"Father, your condition hasn't improved. It's worth trying a new formula."
Rhaegar explained patiently, his tone sincere. "Orwyle is cautious and diligent—someone you are also familiar with. He will be just as dutiful."
Yet, deep down, Rhaegar felt an overwhelming sense of unease.
After reading Grand Maester Mellos's recorded history of the royal court, he had begun to suspect him deeply.
The records were astonishingly detailed, covering everything from Rhaegar's birth to Queen Aemma's tragic death in childbirth, even documenting his three years of unconsciousness in painstaking detail.
The accounts were so thorough that they even noted when Rhaenyra lost her maidenhood and when Rhaegar first lay with Jeyne.
And yet, for all their exhaustive precision, the records were conspicuously vague when it came to his father Viserys's treatments and medications.
They only mentioned outdated methods like bloodletting, maggot therapy, and the lancing of boils—practices of little real consequence.
Most importantly, the same few ineffective medicines had been prescribed repeatedly, with the records even stating that they yielded minimal results.
Despite this, Mellos had shown no urgency in changing the treatment plan. Instead, he actively suppressed Orwyle and other assistants who advocated for a different approach.
Rhaegar had every reason to suspect that Mellos was up to something.
If he weren't trying to avoid raising alarm, he would have already had Mellos seized and interrogated.
He suspected that the Citadel itself might be involved.
Seeing the determination in his son's eyes, Viserys had no choice but to relent and nod in agreement.
He, too, had felt that Mellos's treatments weren't making much difference—perhaps a new maester might bring some improvement.
After a brief silence, Rhaegar traced his fingers over his smooth chin and asked expectantly, "Father, the royal hunt will end in a few days. Have you decided whether you will attempt to tame a dragon?"
For the past month, his father had consistently avoided answering this question.
With the visit to Dragonstone approaching, it was time for a reminder.
"Dragonstone…"
Viserys's expression froze momentarily, and he hesitated, averting his gaze.
To be completely honest, he longed to tame a dragon.
But the risks were immense, and the burden of responsibility weighed heavily on him.
Seeing this reaction, Rhaegar chose not to press further—he understood his father's dilemma.
Taming a dragon required absolute resolve.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted outside.
Moments later, a furious Borros Baratheon stormed into the main tent, accompanied by his cousin Rhaenys and his four daughters.
The four girls were weeping silently, their dresses stained with dirt, and some bore swollen, bruised faces.
Following closely behind them, Otto Hightower entered the tent, holding the hands of a disheveled Helaena and Aemond.
As Rhaegar and Viserys looked on in shock, Rhaenys stepped forward with Cassandra in her arms and sighed helplessly.
"The children got into a fight, and Aegon—who started it—ran off to hide with the Kingsguard."
**(End of Chapter)**