Chapter 349: Valyrian Steel Sword – Realm’s Delight

"Uh huh~"

Rhaenyra looked at him quietly without saying a word.

Rhaegar's smile remained steady as he lifted the mounted spear higher and said tenderly, "Rhaenyra, it belongs to you."

The noble ladies looked on, filled with envy and jealousy.

Helaena pulled Maris over, staring intently at the purple wreath.

Jeyne, Margaery, Alicent, and other women also gazed at the scene, knowing that being gifted with a crown of love and beauty was an honor women cherished for the rest of their lives.

Rhaenyra shook her head gently, her eyes shifting from Rhaegar to her flat belly.

Rhaegar hesitated for a moment, his movement with the mounted lance stiffening slightly.

"Phew~~"

The white horse beneath him neighed, carrying the young prince away from the high platform.

Rhaegar's eyes flashed as he held the reins, letting the horse walk away. The white horse moved briskly, kicking its hooves as it circled the arena, receiving more congratulations from the nobles.

As he rode, Rhaegar pondered the situation and soon understood what had gone wrong. Not long after, he stopped below the high platform once again.

"Prince, hand over the crown of love and beauty!"

A bold girl cried out, squeezing to the edge of the fence and waving vigorously.

The noble ladies swarmed around, their eyes fixed on Rhaegar as if he were a prize to be claimed.

"Brother, here!!!"

Helaena stood on her tiptoes, her face beaming with a smile.

She wasn't alone. Jeyne and Jessamyn also raised their hands, their eyes burning with anticipation.

Since Rhaenyra wouldn't accept the laurels of love and beauty, they hoped to receive them instead.

Rhaegar stopped beneath Rhaenyra, smiled, and raised his riding lance. "Rhaenyra, I've prepared a gift for you."

He reached into his crimson cloak and, with a flourish, pulled out a sheathed fine sword.

The sheath was made of black cowhide, the hilt as bright as the moon, and the blade was engraved with a gorgeous pattern of the dawn.

Seeing it was a lady's one-handed sword, Rhaenyra's eyes were puzzled, but she did not move.

With a light shake of his left hand, Rhaegar unsheathed the sword, revealing a two-finger-wide blade with a moonlight-white luster embellished with water wave patterns.

Holding the scabbard high, Rhaegar said seriously, "Rhaenyra, I forged it for you, a Valyrian steel sword like like Dark Sister."

Rhaenyra had admired the Warrior Queen Visenya since she was a child, even styling her hair to mimic Visenya's fine braid pulled behind her head.

Dark Sister had been gifted to their aunt Rhaenys, stipulating it was a legacy of the Master of Dragons.

For this lady's one-handed sword, Rhaegar had melted down the cherished Valyrian steel sword "Truth" to gather the necessary materials.

With the precious Valyrian steel sword before her, Rhaenyra was lost in thought for a moment before she finally spoke. "Does it have a name?"

"Valyrian Steel Sword - Realm's Delight," Rhaegar said, his gaze deep with meaning. "It belongs uniquely to you, as the third official House Sword, carrying your title from generation to generation."

The introduction of a brand-new Valyrian steel sword instantly captured everyone's attention. Throughout the vast arena, Valyrian steel swords were a rarity, with only a handful known to exist.

The Targaryen House was famed for possessing two such swords: Blackfyre and Dark Sister. Well-informed nobles were aware that the Crown Prince had acquired and reforged a Valyrian steel sword, naming it "Dragon's Claw," during the War with the Triarchy.

In the martial arts arena, the distinctive "Dragon's Claw" was conspicuously absent, replaced by a new black Valyrian steel sword, now named as "Realm's Delight."

The appearance of this new sword stirred speculation among the spectators about how many Valyrian steel swords the royal family had secretly acquired.

Rhaenyra, recognizing the significance, leaned down to accept Realm's Delight, cradling it tightly.

The sword, named after her title, delighted her beneath her composed exterior.

"Rhaenyra," Rhaegar called, spreading a smile, expecting her to accept the laurels again.

Rhaenyra glanced at him, hesitated, then said nonchalantly, "My return gift."

She angled her hands around her sword but did not touch the crown.

Rhaegar, puzzled, noticed a light object fall into his palm.

It was a strand of silver-gold slightly curly hair tied with a red ribbon.

Rhaegar frowned slightly, his gaze shifting to Helaena on the high platform. She was smiling at him, surrounded by Aegon, Tormund, and Daeron.

Filled with doubt, Rhaegar withdrew his gaze. The silver-gold hair and purple eyes were characteristic of Valyrians, and most Targaryens shared these traits. Yet, there were subtle variations within the family, such as platinum blonde or honey-colored hair, and blue or light purple eyes.

Pure bloodlines within the family often featured long, straight silver-blonde hair, as seen in great-grandfather Jaehaerys, grandfather Baelon, father Viserys, and uncle Daemon.

The House Arryn in the Vale, including his mother Aemma Arryn, also had long, straight, pure silver-gold hair. Rhaegar and Rhaenyra inherited these pure traits, with long, straight silver-blonde hair and violet eyes.

In contrast, Viserys and Alicent's children had slightly different features. Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond had silver-gold curly hair, with Helaena and Aemond having light and dark purple eyes, respectively.

Only little Daeron had long, straight, pure silver-gold hair and violet eyes. This distinction made him particularly favored by both Viserys and Rhaegar.

As he pondered, the white horse at his hip moved its hooves, carrying him away from the high platform. Rhaegar's expression was clouded, as he began to piece together the origin of the strand of hair. It wasn't Rhaenyra's, nor Helaena's, and none of the Velaryons or Celtigars seemed involved.

Considering the entire Riverlands, it could only belong to one of the two bastard daughters placed there. Something must have gone wrong, leading the hair to end up in Rhaenyra's possession. No wonder Tormund had been tight-lipped about his investigation; Rhaenyra had likely warned him to stay out of their sibling affairs.

Rhaegar's smile faded, and his excitement plummeted. He knew that with Rhaenyra's cunning, she was aware of his severed ties with the bastard lady. Handling this matter privately would have sufficed, but to publicly embarrass him at the tournament was harsh.

"Roar--"

A low roar echoed as the Cannibal flapped its black wings, exuding an intimidating presence. The dragon reflected Rhaegar's turbulent emotions.

"Ride!"

Rhaegar bellowed, guiding his white horse in circles around the arena. He casually slung the lance over his shoulder, and his clenched left hand ignited a flame that burned away the trivialities.

In their 16 years together, Rhaegar and Rhaenyra had rarely quarreled. The last time he felt this angry was when Rhaenyra had been lured into a brothel by Daemon, prompting him to instruct the Erryk brothers to stage a rescue.

His emotions were mixed. He was disappointed by Rhaenyra's spiteful behavior and annoyed with himself for getting involved with bastard daughters. In his moment of triumph, he faced shame.

As he rode around the arena, the cheers from the audience noticeably diminished. The nobles weren't fools; the crown prince being twice rejected in offering the crown of love and beauty hinted at deeper issues.

In the stands, Viserys' joy had vanished, replaced by a heavy heart. He never imagined his eldest son and daughter could fall out to this extent. He glanced secretly at Maester Munkun, the court record-keeper dispatched by the Citadel. Every detail of this tournament would be meticulously recorded.

The white horse brought Rhaegar back below the high platform for the third time, the atmosphere tense and uncertain.

Rhaegar restrained his smile and eased his horse into a casual trot around the arena. The white horse moved gracefully, and Rhaegar couldn't help but admire the scenery, including the eager girls on the high platform.

As the horse stopped in front of Jeyne, her hands clasped the fence, and she looked at him with concern. Rhaegar raised his riding crop, revealing the purple laurel crown, and asked with a smile, "Would you be my queen?"

"Of course," Jeyne replied, though her eyes showed a hint of helplessness. She glanced at Rhaenyra before looking back at Rhaegar, but she didn't reach out to take the laurel crown. Jeyne loved Rhaegar and desired the crown of love and beauty, but she knew this was a delicate moment in the quarrel between Rhaegar and Rhaenyra. Taking the laurel now could be problematic for both sides.

Rhaegar sighed and continued leading his horse around the arena. The girls at the edge of the fence watched with burning eyes. The horse stopped again, this time in front of Margaery, the Rose of Highgarden. Dressed in a red gown, her light red curls framed a delicate face, making her look like a blooming rose.

Rhaegar lowered the riding lance before her, and Margaery's eyes sparkled with anticipation. She took a deep breath, her low-cut dressaccentuating her figure, and her brown eyes twinkled. She had convinced her father to attend the tournament to catch the Prince's eye.

Margaery was well aware of Rhaegar and Jeyne's private relationship, which, though not widely known, was no secret among the well-informed nobles. Jeyne had relied on Regent Yorbert Royce in her early years of rule, and later allied with Rhaenyra to strengthen her position as Lady of the Eyrie. Despite resistance from some valley nobles, Rhaegar's support had solidified Jeyne's rule.

Margaery, the only daughter of the Old Tyrell after the loss of his male heir, saw an opportunity. Like Jeyne and Cassandra, who had inherited Storm's End, Margaery coveted Highgarden. She aimed to follow Jeyne's example and align herself with Rhaegar, rather than seeking to marry another Targaryen prince, which seemed almost impossible.

The Queen's three sons and Crown Prince Rhaegar shared the same father but different mothers, and having one of them marry a Lady of the Realm was already the limit; there would never be a second.

"Hoo~"

Margaery calmed her nerves, cupped her cheeks with both hands, and said wistfully, "Prince, thank you for looking at it, but I think it already belongs to someone else."

Anyone with sense could see that the laurel was a hot potato.

Rhaegar shook his head and continued to lead the horse forward.

The white horse slowly lifted its hooves and passed Helaena at the edge of the fence.

"Brother..."

Helaena's eyes were full of excitement, but as soon as she opened her mouth, Maris beside her covered it.

Maris wrapped her arms around her best friend's fumbling hands and whispered in her ear, "Stop it, you're not getting any benefits from taking it."

"Ooo~~"

Helaena struggled, whimpering in dissatisfaction.

She wasn't a fool; of course she could tell something was wrong.

But Rhaenyra didn't want it, so what harm was there if she took the flower crown? It wasn't as if it was forcefully snatched.

Rhaegar squinted and, without looking back, turned his horse around and headed back.

It was fine to give it to the other noble ladies, but not to Helaena.

This little girl had impure intentions toward him and he could not respond to them.

Turning in circles, the white horse reentered below Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra's expression was calm, holding the fine sword in her arms, with no sign of anxiety.

The Targaryen bloodline was rich in magic, and it would attract people close to each other.

No matter how far away Rhaegar went, he would eventually return to her.

Rhaegar looked up, his eyes as calm as water.

For a moment, the two siblings looked at each other, seeing through each other's eyes.

Rhaegar pulled out the ancient gold coin from his bosom, hiding it under his cloak with his hands in the air, his palms lit up with a faint fire.

Utilizing the shaping properties of the [Dragonstone] sorcery, the ancient gold coin melted and was recast.

Half a second later, a dark gold colored dragon ring appeared, barely fitting on the top of the riding spear, along with the purple flower crown.

Rhaegar's eyes cleared and he sighed, "Sister, I remembered it."

From his earliest memories, Rhaenyra had been the person who treated him the best.

In a coma before the age of three, Rhaenyra would hum a lullaby to him.

When he became the heir prince at the age of six, Rhaenyra quietly cared for him as he grew up, regardless of the past.

The siblings were intimate for three years, and now Rhaenyra had a little life in her belly.

Rhaegar really could not think of a reason to break this bond.

Rhaenyra's eyes filled with tears. She leaned over to take off the ring and flower crown, biting her lower lip. "You remember just fine."

She was just angry that Rhaegar always had to be with other women behind her back.

If Rhaegar had just been a man next to her, she would have gritted her teeth and endured it.

But they were connected by blood, born to belong to each other.

Whether they were still connected or not, she saw it as a betrayal in her eyes.

Rhaegar would have to admit fault for that!

Sniffling, Rhaenyra placed the laurel crown on top of her head, the dragon ring on her left index finger, replacing several gemstone rings on both hands.

She loved ornate accessories, whether it was expensive lace or jewels of all colors.

When she was tense, she would twirl her ring to relieve her inner stress.

"Roar—"

Cannibal growled lowly and flapped its wings to slowly lower its altitude, kicking up a gust of wind as it landed outside the tournament arena.

Rhaegar rolled off his horse and quickly walked up to the high platform.

In full view of everyone, he picked Rhaenyra up by the waist and forcefully said, "Let's go back to Dragonstone Island!"

He was going to prepare the ceremony, and the rest of the matter was out of his sight.

(Word count: 2,319)