**Chapter 266: Daemon's Unauthorized Actions**

Walking into the castle, the stone-built hall was empty, with a few bonfires burning to provide illumination.

Stepping onto the soft carpet, Rhaegar watched as two women approached with their attendants.

"Cousin, come and dry off the rainwater. You don't want to catch a cold."

Lanael, draped in a fur-lined cloak, gestured for the attendants to bring towels and shawls.

Beside her stood a mature woman with black curly hair and a beautiful, dignified demeanor. She greeted them courteously, "It is an honor to welcome the princes and princesses to Storm's End."

Rhaegar had never met this lady before and looked toward Rhaenyra inquiringly.

Rhaenyra tightened her cloak and stepped forward regretfully, saying, "We have come to pay respects to the late Duke Boremund, Lady Elenna."

Lady Elenna replied warmly, "I see the sincerity of House Targaryen. Please, allow preparations to be made for a warm bath to prevent you from catching cold."

"Thank you, my lady."

Rhaenyra expressed her gratitude and quietly informed Rhaegar of the woman's identity.

Elenna Caron was born into House Caron of Nightsong, a noble family located in the southwestern Stormlands near the Dornish border. She was married to Borros Baratheon. Though she had not been well-known in her younger years, she was now the Lady of Storm's End.

Rhaegar smoothed his damp hair and exchanged a few polite words before getting straight to the point. "Where is Lord Borros? Why is he not here?"

"My husband is entertaining Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys while they pay respects to his late father."

Lady Elenna's voice was rich and composed, her response delivered with grace.

Borros's absence from greeting his guests was a breach of etiquette. However, she provided a reasonable explanation that dissipated any displeasure among the royal visitors.

Since they had come to mourn, Rhaegar chose not to be too critical. Following the attendants, he ascended the stairs, eager to change out of his soaked clothes.

As the guests conversed, more visitors were ushered into the castle. Lady Elenna moved forward to greet them, handling everything with seamless efficiency.

...

After freshening up, Rhaegar left the bathing chamber and found his siblings gathered together.

Lanael, having waited for some time, assembled her cousins to head upstairs to the great hall for the banquet.

Resting a hand on her stomach, she carefully explained, "The banquet is private—Lord Borros has arranged it specifically for our two families."

"Has Daemon or cousin Laenor arrived?"

Rhaegar found it odd that he hadn't seen Seasmoke's rider.

Lanael hesitated before complaining, "Daemon will be arriving later. As for Laenor, Daemon sent him to patrol the Stepstones."

With Qarl Correy still recovering from his injuries, Daemon was without a dragon mount. Thus, patrol duties often rotated between Laenor and Aegon.

Engaged in conversation, they soon arrived at the banquet hall.

Lord Borros, sporting a thick beard, sat at the head of the table, scolding a servant irritably. Across from him, Corlys Velaryon remained composed, stroking his chin.

Rhaenys, dressed in a fitted gown, stood near the wine cabinet, watching Borros's loud outbursts with displeasure. If he weren't her cousin, she would have slapped him.

Rhaegar and Rhaenyra walked in together, smiling as they greeted, "Aunt, Lord Corlys."

Upon seeing her niece and nephews arrive, Rhaenys broke into a smile, grabbed a fine bottle of wine, and approached them. "I didn't expect all of you to come. What a pleasant surprise."

"Duke Boremund was a man of great merit. Our father insisted that we all be present."

Rhaegar offered the polite words and embraced his warm-hearted aunt.

Rhaenys hugged each of them in turn before taking Rhaenyra and Helaena's hands and leading them toward the dining table. "Borros is a rough man. Please excuse any lack of hospitality. It was no small effort for you all to travel here through the rain."

Rhaegar and his siblings followed suit, their eyes drifting toward Borros, who had finally quieted down.

Sensing their gazes, Borros dusted off his coat and stood up, lifting his chin arrogantly. "House Baratheon thanks you and your family for your visit, Prince Rhaegar."

With that, he bent his bulky frame in a rather perfunctory bow.

"Heh." Aegon scoffed before dropping into a chair without further comment.

Rhaegar glanced at him but chose not to respond. Instead, he rested a hand on Borros's shoulder and said indifferently, "May your father rest in peace."

With that, he took his seat beside Rhaenyra, no longer paying attention to Borros.

Borros's expression stiffened, and he grudgingly sat back down, shouting at the servants to bring out the food.

It was his way of venting his emotions. The loss of his father, combined with the excitement of newfound power, left him struggling to control himself.

Just as the banquet was about to begin, Lady Elenna arrived, apologizing, "I was just welcoming the Tarths from Evenfall Hall. I hope I'm not too late."

"Not at all. Please, have a seat."

Rhaenys sipped her red wine and passed glasses to her husband and nieces.

With that, the feast officially commenced.

Rhaegar enjoyed the dishes Rhaenyra had thoughtfully selected for him, smiling as he turned to Corlys and casually remarked, "Lord Corlys, I heard you recently made a lucrative deal with the Prince of Pentos?"

Corlys, unfazed, cut a piece of steak and replied nonchalantly, "The spices and wines from Pentos are quite fine."

"I've been to Pentos. The local culture is interesting."

Rhaegar spoke with underlying meaning but chose not to elaborate, letting the topic drop.

The Sea Snake had remained quiet for three years, but his ties with the Free Cities were growing stronger. That warranted attention.

Corlys didn't continue the conversation, instead shifting to casual chatter with Borros, discussing trivial matters.

The banquet atmosphere felt somewhat cold, but Lady Elenna and Lanael kept the women engaged in lively conversation.

Aegon ignored them all, downing a mouthful of wine as he brooded. "Daemon didn't show up... I'll deal with him next time."

Despite being taught a lesson by his good uncle last time, Aegon refused to believe he had truly lost. In his mind, it had been a cheap shot—Daemon had attacked first before he could react.

...

**Bloodstone Island**

The sky was dark and heavy, thick clouds churning with moisture, signaling an impending storm.

Across the vast blue sea, warships sailed toward the conflict-ridden waters.

On the trade route, several merchant ships bearing the banner of the Triarchy were making their way forward.

*Oooooo—*

From a remote island, a watchman in a tower blew his horn, the sound traveling for miles.

"What's happening? Increase vigilance!"

Mercenaries aboard the merchant ships rushed out of their cabins, taking defensive positions on the deck.

Then suddenly—

A piercing dragon roar split the sky.

A massive gray-scaled dragon soared through the air, spewing fire down onto the ships.

*BOOM!*

Flames engulfed a merchant ship, snapping its mast and sending blazing wreckage crashing onto the mercenaries below.

"A dragon! Retreat!"

The mercenary leader paled in horror, never expecting to be ambushed by a dragon.

As the burning ships attempted to flee, warships flying the three-headed red dragon banner emerged from the distant sea, cutting off their escape.

Damon, clad in pitch-black armor, wore a frosty expression, as grim as the weather. His sharp gaze fixated on several cargo ships, eyes filled with predatory intent. 

With a swift motion, he drew his longsword from his waist, commanding the archers to ready their bows. He bellowed, "Attack! Leave no one alive!" 

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! 

Arrows flew through the air, their flaming tips lighting up the sky before raining down upon the ships. 

Amidst agonized screams, the cargo vessels erupted into flames, throwing the mercenaries into disarray. 

"Screeeech—" 

Riding atop Seasmoke, Lannino veered around, his voice ringing out, "Dragonfire!" 

In an instant, the battle turned into a one-sided slaughter. 

Warships advanced relentlessly, their rams smashing into the hulls of the cargo vessels with brutal force. Chains were thrown out, latching onto the enemy ships, ensuring none could escape. 

Damon, his helmet adorned with dragon-wing crests, moved like the wind, leaping onto the burning decks with effortless agility. 

His sword danced through the air, cutting down mercenary after mercenary. His strikes were ruthless, his gaze cold as ice. 

At last, the battle ended. 

The soldiers cleared the battlefield, tossing lifeless mercenary bodies into the sea to feed the fish. 

"Please, my lord, spare me! I am merely a merchant—" 

A desperate trader fell to his knees, begging for his life, only to be met with a swift blade to the neck. He collapsed, dead, resentment frozen on his face. 

Damon removed his helmet and leaned against the ship's railing, accepting a message brought by a raven. 

After reading it carefully, he smirked, stomping on the corpse beneath him in satisfaction. 

The wax seal on the letter bore the sigil of Volantis. 

Without hesitation, he tore the letter into pieces and strode toward the ship's cabin, kicking the door open with a single powerful strike. 

"Aah—!" 

"Please don't kill me!" 

Inside, alongside crates filled with goods, a group of ragged, terrified slaves huddled together. 

Damon swept his gaze across them before calling over his lieutenant. His voice was devoid of emotion. "Keep the women. Dispose of the rest." 

"Yes, Your Highness." 

The lieutenant, his face cold and unreadable, unsheathed his sword and stepped into the cabin. 

Before long, bloodcurdling screams echoed from within. 

Damon paid no heed, calmly overseeing his men as they plundered the cargo, transferring the spoils onto their warships. 

Whoosh— 

Seasmoke circled overhead, its wings sending cold winds across the deck. 

Perched on the dragon's back, Lannino hesitated before speaking. "Is it really necessary to raid the ships of the Three Daughters?" 

The Three Daughters were divided between hawks and doves. 

The hawkish faction, which once advocated for conquest, had fallen from power. The doves, now in control, preferred diplomacy over aggression. 

Though tensions between the two sides remained, both exercised restraint. 

Blatantly plundering their ships could easily provoke severe retaliation. 

Damon's expression remained indifferent as he stated matter-of-factly, "If the Three Daughters can raid our ships, then I can do the same to theirs." 

Lannino, unaccustomed to such ruthless tactics, changed the subject. "Lanael wants you to attend the funeral at Storm's End. Would you like me to take you there?" 

"No need. I can go wherever I please, dragon or not." 

Wiping the blood from his sword onto a dead man's clothes, Damon's lips curled into a smirk. "Besides, we've seized quite a fortune. I'll bring these 'gifts' along with me." 

--- 

Three days later, a funeral was held at Storm's End. 

The sky was overcast. 

At the center of the courtyard stood a wooden pyre, stacked high, holding the body of Duke Boremund. 

Rhaegar placed a bouquet of fresh flowers upon the pyre, bowing his head in solemn tribute. 

One by one, Borros and the other guests followed suit, each offering flowers and words of mourning. 

Gazing at his father's lifeless face, Borros struggled to contain his grief. His eyes were red and swollen as he clutched his wife's hand, his daughters gathered close. 

Rhaenys spoke softly, "Borros, let Uncle depart in peace." 

Borros took a deep breath, nodding firmly. He let go of his wife and daughters, stepping forward to face Rhaegar, who stood clad in black mourning robes. 

Borros bowed his head and spoke with solemn respect. "I entrust this to you, Prince." 

"My condolences," Rhaegar said simply before turning his gaze to the great dragon, Devourer. 

As per Duke Boremund's final wish, he was to be cremated, just as his wife had been. 

Rhaegar and Devourer shared a silent understanding. In High Valyrian, he commanded, "Devourer, dracarys." 

"Screeech—" 

Devourer spread his wings, the sheer weight pressing into the courtyard floor. He lumbered toward the pyre, lifting his head high before exhaling a torrent of emerald-green dragonfire. 

In moments, the flames consumed the body. 

The dry wood ignited instantly, the roaring fire swallowing the fallen duke, leaving behind nothing but drifting ashes for the living to mourn. 

"Screeeech!!" 

"Screeeech—" 

As Devourer roared, Dreamfyre and Syrax raised their heads, joining in a chorus of dragon cries that echoed across Storm's End. 

The guests tensed, hearts pounding, murmuring prayers of respect. 

In the courtyard, the sight of multiple dragons—each covered in scales of a different hue—sent a powerful message. 

This was the might of House Targaryen. 

(End of Chapter)