The moment the door was closed behind him, the smirk slid off Daemon’s face.
If one thing was true, he needed Aemond to believe that Daemon knew what he was doing. He needed the Greens to fear him and what he might do, to think that he was a mad dog only leashed by one member of the Kingsguard.
But Aegon was gone now, and every brewing plan he had was ruined. Where had Aegon gone? Had he returned to the keep as Mysaria had said? That was the worst possible fucking outcome, the one that would mean he would have to round up his goldcloaks and make blood flow in the city. It wasn’t beyond his capacities, of course. But he suspected Rhaenyra would be angry if he did that preemptively. In retaliation—that would be different.
Besides, his numbers were limited. If the Greens had a good grip on the cunts who lied and actually wanted Aegon for the Iron Throne, then chances were they’d already be on their way, before Daemon had even…
Before he had even written to his wife to tell her that her father was dead.
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In the hour of the wolf, King Viserys I Targaryen breathed his last breath with only one person there to hear it: his estranged brother, there to give him comfort in his final hours. From there, Prince Daemon sprang into action to preserve the peace his brother so desired upon his death and protect the throne that rightfully belonged to his wife.
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