The first ray of dawn was like a dull knife, sluggishly cutting through the thin mist of the Street of Silk, landing precisely on Daemon's eyelids.
The headache from the hangover felt like countless needles stirring inside his temples. He groaned and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was unfamiliar velvet bed curtains embroidered with tacky golden maiden patterns. Last night's memories were like parchment burned by dragonfire—only fragmented, scorching pieces remained.
Steady breathing came from beside him. Daemon turned his stiff neck to see Mysaria curled up in the brocade quilt. Her platinum-blonde curls were spread over the pillow like a dandelion dampened by morning dew. The girl's eyelashes were long, fluttering slightly now; clearly, she was about to wake up too.
He sat up abruptly. The silk nightshirt slipped off his shoulder, revealing the black three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder—at some point, the brand had begun to glow faintly red again, as if silently mocking his loss of control.
Just then, a scream so shrill it broke tone exploded from the plaza below, piercing the dawn's tranquility: "By the Seven! What the fuck is that?!"
It was Daemon Targaryen's voice. Immediately after, a deafening dragon roar exploded like thunder. The sound waves rattled the window glass and thoroughly dispelled the chaos in Daemon's brain.
He stumbled to the window and shoved open the wooden shutters.
In the widest plaza of the Street of Silk, disheveled patrons, prostitutes, and early-rising merchants were gathered. The crowd was separated by an invisible wall, forming a huge empty circle.
In the center of that circle, a magnificent dragon was leisurely coiled on the flagstones—it was Dreamfyre. Her scales were like melted gold and silver, flowing with rainbow luster in the morning light. Her folded wings looked like a cloak studded with gems.
And on Dreamfyre's broad back, Princess Gael and Alicent Hightower were leaning against each other, fast asleep.
Gael's sky-blue nightgown fluttered slightly in the morning breeze; Alicent's grey-green hem had a few dragon scale-like flakes on it. Both their hair was a bit messy, but they slept unusually peacefully, as if just napping in the Red Keep's garden.
"This..." Daemon's brain went completely blank.
Why are they here? And riding Dreamfyre? In the history I know, no one has ridden Dreamfyre since her previous rider Rhaena until the next rider Helaena! Is it Gael?
The commotion downstairs continued.
Daemon Targaryen stood limping at the edge of the plaza. The three prostitutes he had carefully selected last night were long gone. The noble cloak he had grabbed from who-knows-where hung crookedly, revealing the wrinkled silk shirt underneath.
Clearly, the Rogue Prince had intended to sneak back to the Red Keep before dawn, only to run into such a terrifying scene.
"Gael... Aunt Gael?" Daemon Targaryen's voice trembled like a leaf in the autumn wind. He subconsciously took a step back, agitating his injured leg and grimacing in pain. "How could you..." Before he could finish, Dreamfyre let out a low growl of dissatisfaction. Her massive head lifted slightly, golden vertical pupils sweeping over the mortals below with the unique arrogance and majesty of the dragon race.
The two girls on the dragon's back were awakened by the movement. Gael rubbed her eyes, initially confused. But when her gaze locked onto Daemon Targaryen, those pale violet eyes instantly ignited with anger.
"Daemon Targaryen!" Gael's voice wasn't loud, but it was like ice thrown into boiling oil, instantly exploding over the plaza. She stood up on the dragon's back, her dress snapping in the wind. Though possessing the delicate figure of a young girl, at this moment she exuded a chilling aura. "Tell me, what are you doing here?!"
Alicent was also startled awake by the sudden voice beside her. Seeing the scene below, she grabbed Gael's sleeve in fright, whispering, "Princess, let's get down first..."
Gael seemed not to hear. Her gaze was nailed to Daemon Targaryen, the chill in her voice almost freezing the air. "I'm asking you, where is Little Daemon? Was he with you last night?"
Daemon Targaryen felt his skin crawl under that stare. His unhealed leg suddenly gave way, and he dropped to one knee with a thud, grimacing in pain but daring not to make a sound.
He had lived many years, seen King Jaehaerys's rage, taken Prince Baelon's whip, and even faced the scimitars of pirates on the Narrow Sea, but he had never felt fear like this moment—there was no fire in Gael's eyes, only a frozen wasteland, more desperate than the winters of the North.
"Speak!" Gael's voice rose sharply. As if sensing its master's fury, Dreamfyre jerked her head up. Ferocity flashed in her golden pupils, and a mouthful of scorching dragonfire spewed out, landing on the flagstones in front of Daemon Targaryen, instantly scorching the ground black and sending up billowing smoke.
The onlookers gasped and retreated. Daemon Targaryen was scared out of his wits, scrambling backward on all fours, stammering, "Up... upstairs! He's upstairs!"
Gael's gaze instantly swept the surrounding attics like a falcon, finally locking onto the window where Daemon stood.
When she saw that familiar face, the ice in her eyes melted instantly, replaced by deep concern. A gentle smile even tugged at the corner of her mouth as she whispered, "Little Daemon, you're safe..."
Before her voice faded, her gaze moved past Daemon's shoulder and saw the girl rubbing her eyes, peeking out blankly from behind him.
Mysaria's platinum-blonde curls draped messily over her shoulders. She wore a loose black silk nightrobe that clearly belonged to a man. The collar was wide open, revealing ambiguous red marks on her collarbone.
Time seemed to freeze at this moment.
The smile on Gael's face did not disappear; it remained as gentle as the spring sun in the Red Keep's garden. Yet the concern in her eyes faded at a visible speed, covered once again by ice, even colder than before.
That smile even made Daemon Blackfyre Targaryen—the "Black Dragon," the "Warrior Reborn," the "Conqueror Reincarnate," who had launched a rebellion sweeping the Seven Kingdoms in his past life and tamed the wild dragon king The Cannibal in this one, fighting his way out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood—feel fear...
Gael turned her head slightly, whispering to Alicent, "Alicent, help me down."
Her voice was terribly calm. Alicent shivered inexplicably but nodded quickly, carefully supporting Gael as the two slid down Dreamfyre's extended foreleg to the ground.
When Gael landed, her hem swept over the scorched flagstones. She didn't even spare them a glance, walking straight toward the attic where Daemon was.
Dreamfyre let out a low roar, as if escorting her master, golden eyes scanning the surroundings vigilantly to ensure no one dared obstruct her.
Daemon froze by the window, watching Gael approach step by step. The girl's pace was slow, but carried an irresistible majesty; every step felt like it was stepping on his heart. He subconsciously wanted to close the window, only to find his fingers trembling uncontrollably.
Mysaria was finally fully awake. Seeing the scene downstairs and then Daemon's pale face, she suddenly understood something. Her face turned pale with fright, and she shrank behind Daemon, her fingertips silently gripping his nightrobe. Though her eyes dodged, they still held a trace of stubbornness.
Gael reached the entrance of the Hall of Joy. Looking up at Daemon in the window, that gentle smile still hung on her face, but her eyes were cold as ice.
"Little Daemon, come down."
A few simple words, yet they made Daemon feel unprecedented pressure. He knew this farce triggered by desire and worry was finally reaching its most difficult moment. Above the plaza, Dreamfyre took to the sky and let out another long dragon roar, as if playing the prelude to the coming storm.
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