Only then did Aemond turn his gaze back to the representatives.
"Lord William," he said, "you asked just now—what if you insist on seeing the king? Now I will answer you."
He stepped forward.
The guards' swords rose an inch in unison.
"Then I can only assu… you are not envoys."
"What?" Benjicot blurted out, his voice trembling with anger. "Prince, have you lost your mind? We are official representatives sent by the Wardens of the realms."
Aemond cut him off. "I already said the king is gravely ill, yet you still want to force your way into his bedchamber?"
"What else is that, if not an attempt on his life?"
"By law, I may execute you on the spot."
drick finally exploded.
"Which law?"
"Which law in the Seven Kingdoms says that a vassal seeking an audience with the king is treason?"
"Aemond Targaryen, this is a baseless accusation!"
Aemond turned his head toward the others, blinking once.
"My law."
"Here, in King's Landing, in the Throne Room—what I say is the rule."
The representatives of the four realms drew in sharp breaths, staring at the overbearing prince before them.
"Care to try?" Aemond continued.
"Let's see whether your bones are harder… or my sword is faster."
drick trembled all over, rage nearly driving him forward, but his attendants held him back with all their strength.
At that mont, Sebaston Estermont spoke.
This Stormlands envoy, who had remained silent all along, wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve and spoke in a placating tone.
"Y-Your Highness, the Stormlands have no such intention."
"Lord Borros—no, Lord Boremund—sent only to express concern for His Grace's health."
"Since His Grace requires rest, we… we fully understand."
He paused, then added, "As for Driftmark… that was House Velaryon's own doing."
"Rebels deserve punishnt."
The flattery was so blatant that even his own attendants looked embarrassed.
But Sebaston did not care. He had already received Lord Borros's hint.
Now that the Stormlands were about to change hands—old Lord Boremund was dying, and Borros would soon take power—there was no need for him to speak on behalf of a dying lord and offend the future king and his liege.
The other three realm representatives stared at Sebaston in disbelief. Before coming here, they had agreed to stand together.
Aemond glanced at Sebaston and nodded. "Lord Sebaston is wise. The Stormlands' loyalty will be rembered by the Iron Throne."
Then he turned to the other three.
William Royce's hand trembled—not from fear, but from suppressed anger.
He stared at Aemond and spoke, word by word.
"Your Highness… do you even know what you are doing?"
"No," Aemond corrected him, "I am telling all of Westeros that those who are loyal to the Iron Throne will be rewarded."
"And those who betray it will be punished."
"Is that not the core of the contract?"
"The liege protects the vassal, and the vassal is loyal to the liege. It is fair."
He walked back toward the Iron Throne dais, but did not ascend it. Instead, he stood at its edge, looking down at everyone.
"Now, I give you a choice." Aemond raised two fingers. "First—three days from now, His Grace will grant you an audience, though his health is poor and he often falls into unconsciousness."
"That will also be your only chance to see him."
He lowered one finger.
"Second—leave King's Landing now with the Small Council's formal reply, and return to your lands."
"Tell your lords: remain loyal to the Iron Throne, loyal to Prince Aegon, and your lands, titles, and rights will remain as they are."
"Part of the wealth from Driftmark and Dragonstone will be distributed to reward the loyal."
He lowered the second finger.
"But if anyone wishes to hedge their bets—professing loyalty to while secretly contacting the Tyroshi rebels…"
Aemond's voice turned cold.
"Then let Cregan Velaryon of Driftmark and Robb of Dragonstone serve as examples. One killed himself after negotiations; the other, I personally beheaded."
He paused, letting everyone absorb his words.
"Which path you choose… is up to you."
The hall fell silent. Breathing grew heavy.
After a long while, William spoke, each word bitten out with clarity.
"I still… look forward to eting His Grace in three days."
He raised his head, eting Aemond's gaze.
"Your Highness, please permit us to take our leave."
"Today… there is nothing more for us to discuss."
He bowed—a stiff, reluctant motion, barely more than a bend at the waist.
Then he turned, signaling drick and Benjicot with his eyes to leave.
drick stared at Aemond. Benjicot and the others cast one last look at him before following William.
Sebaston hurriedly bowed and almost jogged after them.
The representatives of the four realms and their attendants left the Throne Room. The great doors slowly closed behind them.
Aemond turned to Tyland Lannister. The Hand, who had remained silent, finally spoke.
"Your Highness… your thods today were too harsh."
"Were they effective?" Aemond asked.
Tyland fell silent for a mont. "In the short term, yes."
"They have been intimidated."
"But the seeds of distrust have already been planted."
"The North, the Vale, and the Riverlands—after today, they will no longer trust you."
"They would rather believe the Blacks and doubt us. That so-called trust never existed to begin with."
"I only need their obedience. If they refuse…"
"They are enemies, not friends, Lord Hand," Aemond said, glancing sideways at Tyland.
Tyland nodded and said no more.
Aemond then waved his hand, dismissing everyone.
mbers of the Small Council, guards, attendants… all began to leave the Throne Room.
He was not worried about the North siding with the Blacks. As long as he held the South, it would be enough.
As long as the dragon war was won, everything else would follow. He had n, and he had dragons.
Moreover, if the three realms opposed him, he would have even greater justification after the war to strip them of their lands.
The Crownlands were still too small.
The Vale, once the chosen foothold of the Andals' conquest thousands of years ago, was a natural fortress. The Bloody Gate alone could block any invasion, and within the Vale lay vast plains.
The Riverlands, too, were rich—where a hundred rivers converged.
But its geography was trapped between the Westerlands, the North, the Vale, and the Crownlands. Whenever large-scale war erupted across Westeros, the Riverlands would always be the first to suffer.
At last, the doors closed again. Only mother and son remained in the hall.
Alicent finally lifted her head. Tears marked her face.
She looked at her son, her eyes filled with a pain Aemond had never seen before, and sighed softly.
"They will question us."
"All of Westeros will question us."
"Why must you be so harsh?"
"So things… could have been discussed calmly."
"Then let them question us." Aemond stepped behind the Iron Throne and gently placed his hands on his mother's shoulders.
"We are the rightful line, Mother."
"And besides… I have long wanted to deal with them."
"I was only waiting for a reason."
"The winner takes everything…"
Alicent said nothing more. She could not change Aemond's will.
Now, all of King's Landing, the Crownlands, the South, and the nobility stood behind him.
The Seven Kingdoms had known long peace.
The younger generation craved glory, opportunity… and war.
"What would Father say?" Aemond continued.
"Would he condemn for attacking Driftmark and Dragonstone?"
"Would he declare Rhaenyra the rightful heir?"
"He wouldn't…" Alicent tried to argue.
"I don't know," Aemond interrupted her.
"But we cannot take that risk."
"If Father says anything that harms our position…"
"The North, the Vale, and the Riverlands will imdiately turn to the Blacks."
"And the southern realms will hesitate."
Alicent's tears flowed again. "But… your father… he loves you."
"You are his son…"
"He is also Rhaenyra's father," Aemond said calmly.
He looked at the Iron Throne.
The jagged mountain of swords glead coldly in the torchlight.
"There are things His Grace should know." Without turning back, he walked away.
Alicent raised her head. "You are going to see him tonight?"
"You intend to force him to choose?"
"Not force," Aemond said. "To make him see reality."
He glanced back at his mother one last ti.
"I will tell him everything."
"Everything."
"And then… he will have no choice but to decide."
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