Chapter 24: Royal Hunting

The morning air carried the crisp chill of early spring as the royal procession made its way along the beaten path through the Kingswood.

A painted white wheelhouse, opulent and heavy, rumbled over the dirt road flanked by banners of the three-headed dragon. The Imperial Iron Guards led the column on white steeds, while a contingent of the Royal Guard marched in tight formation behind.

A cloud of dust followed the train like a veil.

"Ahh, so sleepy," mumbled Aemond, sprawled comfortably across a pair of soft legs. His small hands rubbed the sleep from his heavy-lidded eyes, already ringed with exhaustion from the previous day's excitement.

Alicent Hightower, dressed in deep green with golden embroidery, chuckled quietly. She leaned down and pinched his cheek. "Didn't you have your precious mat last night? Still couldn't sleep?"

The queen's lap had become his chosen pillow, much to the disapproval of courtly decorum. But Alicent, for some reason she couldn't fully explain, had allowed it. Even encouraged it.

Inside the roomy carriage, a rare and temporary harmony had settled among its occupants.

King Viserys sat on the central bench with a smile plastered across his worn face. He was clearly enjoying the family outing. A plump maid sat at his side, cooing over the infant Aegon. On the opposite bench, Rhaenyra slouched with her head down, silent and withdrawn since they'd departed.

The other two wet nurses present had long since learned the value of silence in royal company.

Viserys, in good spirits, gestured at Aemond. "Our brave little adventurer here stormed the Dragonpit yesterday. No wonder he looks exhausted."

"Hehe," Alicent giggled, running her fingers through Aemond's silver hair.

He didn't protest. Instead, he burrowed his face deeper into her silk gown, sighing in contentment. The faint scent of floral oils clung to her—lavender and myrrh—and it reminded him faintly of safety, though he'd never say it aloud.

Last night, he'd fallen asleep hugging the four dragon eggs hidden beneath his mat, and for once, he'd dreamed.

He had dreamed of an endless forest, ancient and golden. Beneath a tree older than the world, he had dug into the earth and uncovered coin after coin, more gold than he could carry. He'd had to leave most of it behind, pocketing only a single shining crown.

When he woke, the image lingered.

Was it a sign? Would I become a king one day?

But no—Aemond shook the thought from his head.

He didn't want the Iron Throne. It was a cursed seat, and every king who sat on it paid the price.

He had Runestone in the Vale behind him, the proud House Royce on his mother's side, and the dragonlord blood of Old Valyria in his veins. Why chase thrones and daggers, when he could outlive them all by staying one step removed?

Still... he reached up to touch Alicent's leg, as if to ground himself.

"Aemond," Alicent scolded lightly, pinching his nose this time.

He gave a sheepish grin. For reasons he didn't understand, she had grown oddly affectionate with him of late—keeping him close, refusing to let him stray far from her side.

The carriage hit a bump, rattling its passengers.

Unable to rest, Aemond noticed Rhaenyra still hadn't spoken. He turned his head toward her. "Rhaenyra," he said gently, "why didn't you ride your dragon here?"

Her voice, when it came, was low and guarded. "Someone doesn't want me to."

She didn't name names, but she didn't need to.

Aemond turned his gaze toward Viserys, whose smile had faltered. Aemond chose silence over confrontation.

Rhaenyra, however, rolled her eyes at her father. The notion that it was for her safety not to fly Syrax was as patronizing as it was transparent.

---

By midday, the royal party arrived at the hunting camp.

Creak!

The wheelhouse came to a halt beside a wide clearing filled with fine tents and fluttering pennants. Nobles from across the Crownlands and the Reach had already arrived and lined up to greet the royal family.

Shouts of "Long live Prince Aegon!" echoed from the loyalists of Oldtown. Hands clapped, banners dipped, and eyes watched the royal children closely.

"So blatant…" Aemond muttered, peeking outside as the cheers grew louder.

Rhaenyra remained curled in her seat, her shoulders hunched. She had no desire to parade herself for these lords who, only yesterday, had whispered of replacing her.

"Aemond, come on now. Don't fall behind!" Alicent's voice rang out from outside.

"Coming!" he called, then turned back into the carriage.

To Rhaenyra's surprise, he grabbed her arm. "Let's go."

"What are you doing?" she blinked. "Leave me alone."

"You can't hide in here," Aemond said firmly, his brows furrowed. "Let them cheer. Let them shout. What are you afraid of?"

"This isn't my moment," she whispered.

"You're the heir," he replied. "If you slink away now, who's going to stand with you later?"

Rhaenyra hesitated.

She hated this court. Hated the way it fawned over Aegon, her half-brother, while picking apart her every move. But Aemond's eyes—full of stubborn fire—reminded her of something she hadn't felt in weeks: purpose.

He tugged again. "Come on. Don't give them the satisfaction."

Eventually, she nodded and let herself be pulled to her feet.

---

The two of them emerged from the carriage, walking side by side into the heart of the nobles' camp.

Their silver hair shimmered in the daylight. Heads turned. Eyes followed.

Aemond held his chin high. Rhaenyra walked with a little more pride in her step.

Together, they looked like something out of legend—a pair of Valyrian-blooded siblings, young and striking. The whispers began almost immediately.

Rhaenyra was used to it. Aemond, on the other hand, struggled to keep his composure as a dozen noble ladies cooed and patted his head.

He endured it like a soldier under siege.

Stay strong. You're a Targaryen.

Soon, they reached the royal pavilion, marked by twin red dragon banners. Nobles bowed and murmured pleasantries as they entered the lavish tent.

"Forward!" Aemond announced, cheeks still a bit pink from the earlier attention.

Inside, the tent was airy and luxurious. Drapes of silk floated in the breeze, and fine wooden tables were set for feasting.

"Aemond, over here!" called Alicent, seated among a circle of highborn ladies.

He hesitated.

"Remember," he muttered to himself, "you're a dragonrider."

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. "You've said that a dozen times."

He grinned and released her hand.

Alicent smiled as he approached, pulling him into the seat beside her.

Leg to leg. Close.

She didn't even glance at Rhaenyra.

Introductions were made. Compliments flowed. Aemond answered questions politely, trying not to squirm under the praise.

He was sharp for his age, calm and well-spoken. Alicent watched him closely, noting every smile and every hesitation.

She had seen him holding Rhaenyra's hand earlier.

She did not like it.

Jealousy,

faint and unfamiliar, flared beneath her calm expression.

She said nothing.

But she noticed.

--------Get membership in patreon to read more chapters

Extra chapters available in patreon

patreon.com/Dragonscribe31