The wooden door of the second-floor private room in the Hall of Joy was pushed open with a bang. Gael's sky-blue skirt swept across the threshold, stirring a gust of wind that made the silver lamp on the table flicker.
Behind her, Alicent clutched the hem of her dress tightly, her lapis lazuli eyes full of tension, yet she still quickly followed the princess's steps.
"Daemon Blackfyre Targaryen." Gael's voice was as if quenched in ice, every word smashing onto the floor. "How long do you intend to hide?"
Daemon, who had just shielded Mysaria behind him, turned around at the sound.
Gael's eyes were red, clearly holding back tears, but the anger burning in those pale violet eyes was more scorching than Dreamfyre's breath.
He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by chaotic footsteps from outside the window—Daemon Targaryen's injured leg had somehow broken free of its bandages, and he was currently limping wildly toward the other side of the plaza, not even bothering to pick up his dropped carved cane. His cloak swept the flagstones like a wild hare chased by hounds.
"Coward." Gael sneered, her gaze locking back onto Daemon. "He ran. What about you? How do you explain this?" Her gaze moved past Daemon to Mysaria. The girl was clutching Daemon's sleeve tightly, her platinum-blonde curls trembling like a spiderweb in the wind. "Explain why she is wearing your clothes? Explain what you did here last night..."
"Gael, it's not what you think." Daemon took a step forward, softening his tone as much as possible. "I didn't expect Big Daemon to drug me. I thought it was just ordinary wine..."
"Drugged?" Gael's voice rose sharply, and tears finally rolled down. "So you just went with the flow? Daemon, I thought you were different from him!" She remembered her worry in the Red Keep last night, her determination when mounting Dreamfyre, and the heartbreak upon seeing Mysaria. Grievance and anger drowned her like a tide. "I worried about you all night! I even dared to ride a dragon to find you, yet here you are... here with another woman..." She broke down sobbing, her shoulders shaking violently.
Alicent quickly stepped forward to support her, whispering, "Princess, please calm down. Prince Daemon isn't that kind of person. Prince Daemon (Targaryen) forcibly dragged him out last night. We all heard it; we saw the secret passage..."
"You think only you saw it?" Gael shook off her hand, looking at Alicent through teary eyes. "You don't know anything!"
"I do know." Alicent's voice wasn't loud, but unusually firm. "I know Prince Daemon walked out of a life of wandering, yet would bandage an injured kitten; I know he would rather get soaked in the rain to leave his cloak for a lost child. He may have faults, but he would never do this intentionally."
Just then, Mysaria suddenly broke free from Daemon's protection and fell to her knees before Gael with a thud. Her knees hit the floor with a muffled sound, and her platinum-blonde curls fell forward, hiding her tear-streaked face. "Your Highness, please don't blame him! It's all my fault! Mama Mela forced me. If I didn't do it, I would be sold to a slaver ship..." She lifted her head, revealing wrists covered in red marks. "It was me who didn't protect him well, it was me..."
"Get up." Daemon bent down to help her up, his voice carrying unquestionable strength. "No one can make you speak on your knees."
Shielded behind him again, Mysaria cried even harder. "I grew up in a brothel in Lys. My father was a drunkard sailor, my mother didn't even know who he was. He sold me for drink money... I escaped to a merchant ship under the cover of night, thinking I escaped to Westeros, to King's Landing for a good life, but still..."
Gael's sobbing gradually stopped. She looked at the bruises on the girl's wrists, looked into those violet eyes filled with fear and despair, and remembered her own life of luxury. Her heart felt pricked by something sharp.
Gentle by nature since childhood, the anger that could freeze everything just moments ago had unknowingly turned into bitter pity.
"Is this the truth you wanted to tell?" Gael's voice lowered, carrying a trace of imperceptible tremor.
Mysaria nodded, tears soaking Daemon's nightrobe. "Last night, the 'Fledgling's Wine' ate away at him terribly, yet he was still saying 'no'... I was too scared. I was afraid Mama Mela would beat me to death... sell me to a slaver ship back to Lys..."
"Enough." Gael suddenly stepped forward and, under the surprised gazes of Daemon and Alicent, gently hugged Mysaria.
Her movements were a bit stiff, but carried genuine warmth. "Don't be afraid. No one will bully you again."
Mysaria froze, then burst into even harder crying—no longer fearful sobbing, but the release of grievances suppressed for years finally finding an outlet.
Daemon watched the two embracing and crying. Just as he wanted to take the opportunity to explain the details of being forced to drink the "Fledgling's Wine," the sound of disciplined footsteps came from outside the attic. "By order of His Grace the King." A steady voice came from outside the door, carrying the unique authority of the Kingsguard. "Ser Ryam Redwyne is here. I request everyone return with me to the Red Keep."
When Daemon opened the door, he saw a strange sight: Ser Ryam Redwyne, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, stood at the door, flanked by four Kingsguards. Gael's handmaidens knelt in the distance, daring not breathe loudly.
"Ser." Daemon stepped aside to let them in. "What are His Grace's orders?"
Ser Ryam Redwyne, clad in snow-white Kingsguard armor, one hand on his sword, the other holding a scroll, stood at the door. "By order of King Jaehaerys, I am to immediately bring Prince Daemon Blackfyre, Princess Gael, Lady Alicent, and all related persons back to the Red Keep for questioning. End of order."
His gaze swept over the peculiar scene in the room—the embracing girls, Daemon with a complex expression, the mess on the floor—finally landing on Mysaria. He frowned slightly but asked no further questions.
On the way downstairs, Gael held the hand of the "unwell" Mysaria. When they reached the entrance of the Hall of Joy, she suddenly stopped and turned to Daemon: "Buy her. Let her be my handmaiden from now on."
Daemon paused, then nodded. "Alright."
He touched the coin purse at his waist, only then remembering that he had been dragged out in a hurry by Daemon Targaryen last night and only had a few Gold Dragons on him.
"Not enough money?" Gael saw his embarrassment. The corner of her mouth curled into a sly smile, like a kitten whose prank succeeded. "It doesn't matter. I know who to ask." She looked up toward the tower of the Red Keep, where Daemon Targaryen was "temporarily recovering." "Doesn't Big Daemon value loyalty the most? Put this bill on his tab. Consider it... the interest he owes you."
Alicent watched Gael's eyes brighten again and quietly breathed a sigh of relief. She couldn't help but chuckle, quickly lowering her head to hide it.
Although Mysaria didn't understand what they were saying, she felt the atmosphere relax and loosened her tight grip on Gael's hand slightly.
At this moment, Daemon Targaryen, who was taking advantage of the chaos to sneak back into the tower and drink ale, sneezed loudly. He rubbed his nose, muttering, "Who's talking about me? Probably Little Daemon. I hope you appreciate the life-saving grace of big brother bringing reinforcements for you..."
Still smug about his "brilliance," Daemon Targaryen was completely unaware that a bill large enough to make his heart ache for half a year had been quietly recorded in his name.
The armor of the Kingsguard gleamed coldly in the morning light, stretching their shadows long. Daemon knew that what awaited him back at the Red Keep was surely King Jaehaerys's interrogation, perhaps Prince Baelon's stern gaze, maybe Viserys's worry (after all, he had taken the fall for Daemon Targaryen this time)...
Oh, and perhaps strange looks from Queen Alysanne, Aemma, and even Lady Jocelyn...
And Daemon Targaryen, this "loyal" great-grandfather "good brother." Counting this "bringing reinforcements," how many times had he screwed him over since last night?
Although his thoughts were still spinning, Daemon felt unusually calm, even a little expectant—after all, this farce woven of desire, worry, and accidents deserved a decent ending.
Sunlight passed through the arches of the Red Keep, casting long shadows on the flagstones. The storm of last night seemed to have passed, yet no one knew what unexpected mark this farce on the Street of Silk would leave on the history of the Seven Kingdoms.
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