The great hall of Driftmark was a storm of shouting and firelight.
King Viserys’ voice cracked as he demanded order, but Alicent’s scream cut through him like a blade.
Alicent Hightower
He stole her dragon! He maimed my son! And you would stand there and speak of peace?
Rhaenyra Targaryen
It was Aemond who called my sons bastards—
Alicent Hightower
Bastards? Boys with knives, you mean! Look at him!
The maester’s hands were steady as he tied off the last suture beneath Aemond’s brow. Blood still traced a dark line down his cheek, but his one good eye was open.
It was fixed on you.
Beside you, Helaena’s fingers curled into the sleeve of your gown. She did not look up from the floor.
The hall quieted, if only for a breath, as the king raised his hand.
King Viserys Targaryen
Enough. This is a matter for the crown to decide. Aemond—
Aemond Targaryen
An eye for an eye. Or an eye for a hand.
Silence fell like a dropped stone.
Aemond Targaryen
I want her as my wife. Or I take Lucerys’ eye.
Every head turned. The fire spat. Alicent’s mouth opened, then closed. Rhaenyra’s face went pale as ash.
And Aemond, bloodied and half-blind, did not look at the king, or his mother, or your brothers.
