Daeron strode straight back to the Dragonpit and summoned every one of his inner circle.
The vast chamber was almost empty. Three dragons lay sprawled across the stone floor—Caraxes coiled like a scarlet whip, Tessarion curled with her blue wings half-spread, Toothless sprawled on his back like an overgrown cat. All three lifted their heads the instant he entered, vertical pupils narrowing as they read his mood.
Barristan, Ser Jon Darry, Jacaerys, Davos, Lucerys Velaryon, Alliser Thorne, and Stannis arrived within minutes. They formed a silent half-circle around him.
Daeron didn't waste a single word.
"I intend to be king," he said flatly. "Right now there are stones in the road. Tell me how we remove them."
"Who?" Ser Jon's hand was already on Vigilance.
"My brother. My father. And every noble who thinks he can play both sides."
Rhaegar still clung to his claim. Aerys refused to name a new heir. The lords were waiting to see which way the wind blew before they committed.
All of them were obstacles.
"The king and the crown prince are tricky," Jacaerys growled, voice thick with Dragonguard steel. "But the little lords? Easy. You ride a dragon, my prince. The rest of us—Dragonguard, Dragon-Tongue Knights, Constabulary Knights—will cut down anyone who drags their feet."
"Hothead," Davos muttered.
Daeron stayed quiet. Jacaerys's solution was crude, but it was honest, and it showed exactly where his men stood.
Barristan spoke next, calm and measured. "The nobles are secondary, Prince. A show of force will bring them in line. The real problem is the king… and Prince Rhaegar."
"Rhaegar's gone overseas," Ser Jon cut in. "We treat that as him abdicating the succession."
The Darry family had risen with Daeron. They had zero interest in going back.
Lucerys Velaryon rubbed his chin. "The only one who actually matters is the king. Until he speaks, the succession can't change."
Silence fell.
Everyone understood. The biggest rock in the road wasn't Rhaegar—it was Aerys.
Davos shifted uncomfortably. "Prince… maybe you could talk to His Grace?"
"Talk?" Ser Jon laughed once, sharp and bitter. "The Great Council at Harrenhal is days away. The king will agree or he won't, but we can't wait. This has to happen now."
Barristan's jaw tightened. "That's treason, Ser Jon."
"The realm was saved by Prince Daeron," Jon shot back. "It should be ruled by him. The king is mad. The crown prince is a fool. Daeron has dragons, ended the rebellion, rewarded loyal men, and protected the smallfolk. He already runs the kingdom in all but name. The lords want a real king. They're waiting for us to give them one."
Daeron let the words settle, then spoke again.
"My father is selfish, greedy, and stupid. He will never help me. He'll only try to sabotage the Great Council."
He raised one finger.
"Today. He will agree today."
The chamber went still.
Ser Jon dropped to one knee first, eyes blazing. "You are the true king of the Seven Kingdoms!"
One by one the rest followed—Alliser, Stannis, Lucerys, Davos, even Barristan—kneeling in perfect silence.
Daeron drew Dark Sister. Valyrian steel caught the torchlight like black water.
Every man reached out and laid his hand on the blade above Daeron's.
No speeches. No oaths. Just steel and blood.
---
Red Keep, the king's chambers.
Aerys sat hunched on the edge of his bed, staring into the brazier where the petrified dragon egg still refused to hatch. The scratches on his face were raw and ugly.
"Rhaegar… ungrateful whelp…"
His expression twisted—jealousy, rage, then something almost like regret.
"Daeron… my good son…"
He caught himself, face darkening again.
"I am the king," he hissed. "Mine. No one takes it from me."
A knock sounded.
Varys slipped inside, face carefully blank. "Your Grace, the messengers Prince Daeron sent have already left the Crownlands. Every lord in the realm has been invited to Harrenhal to strip Prince Rhaegar of his rights as heir."
Aerys's eyes bulged. "Without my permission? The boy is delusional!"
"Many lords already support him," Varys said softly.
Aerys laughed, a wet, ugly sound. "I am the king. Without my nod the council is a farce."
"If you do not intervene, the council will still meet… and the damage to the crown may be lasting."
Aerys didn't care. He wanted the council to happen—so he could publicly humiliate his second son and remind every lord exactly who ruled.
Varys bowed and left, hiding his frown.
He had fed the king the news about Rhaegar's new marriage in Lys at the perfect moment. The two scandals had canceled each other out. Aerys had forgotten the council and focused on his eldest son's betrayal instead.
Rhaegar staying overseas was probably for the best. If he came back now, Daeron would kill him.
Varys allowed himself a small, private smile. I'm actually doing the realm a favor.
He had three goals: keep the surface peace, hunt for any surviving Blackfyre blood, and drift along with the Targaryens until an opportunity appeared. Blackfyre hopes were ashes now. Better to play the loyal Master of Whisperers and wait.
Another knock. Ser Gerold Hightower loomed in the doorway, a filthy street urchin at his side.
"This one says he has a message for you, Lord Varys."
The boy leaned in and whispered.
Varys's eyes widened. He spun toward the king, then back to Ser Gerold.
"Ser," he said, voice tight, "Prince Daeron is moving on the Red Keep. Right now."
---
Red Keep gates.
Daeron didn't even need to speak. The moment the guards saw him they threw the gates wide.
Caraxes launched from the Dragonpit with a piercing cry, circling King's Landing like a blood-red banner. Tessarion and Toothless followed, spitting playful bursts of flame that drew every eye in the city.
While the smallfolk stared upward, Alliser Thorne sealed six of the seven gates. Only the Mud Gate stayed open—for now.
Daeron walked into the Red Keep flanked by Barristan and Ser Jon in full white cloaks. Eight hundred Dragon Guard and Constabulary Knights poured in behind them and took control of every corridor.
Anyone who resisted was bound and dragged aside.
In the outer ward, a company of Dornish spears stepped forward to block the way.
Daeron didn't raise his voice. "Kill them."
Ser Jon charged first. Barristan and the Dragon Guard followed. Sixty Dornishmen died in under a minute.
"Drag the bodies out of sight," Daeron ordered. "No blood on the marble if we can help it."
They moved on to Maegor's Holdfast.
---
Queen Rhaella's chambers.
The queen sat by the cradle, rocking little Daenerys with one hand. Elia played quietly with Rhaenys in the corner while Jaehaerys and Viserys read and toyed with wooden dragons.
Shaena sat nearby, head bent over her embroidery.
Rhaella frowned. Ever since she had tried to take Rhaenys away, her daughter-in-law and daughter had kept their distance. Today they had come on their own.
Sudden footsteps and muffled shouts echoed outside.
Rhaella sat up. "What is happening out there?"
Davos and Lord Owen stepped in, both smiling—though Owen's looked strained.
"Nothing serious, Your Grace," Davos said smoothly. "A few Dornish soldiers had too much wine and frightened the maids. Ser Gerold is handling it."
Rhaella didn't believe a word, but the two men planted themselves in the doorway like living walls.
---
Hand's Tower.
Tywin was reviewing road-warden ledgers when he heard shouting and Tygett's angry voice outside.
The door burst open. Jaime strode in, ignoring his uncle.
"Father, there's a situation. Please stay inside the tower for now."
Tywin's eyes narrowed. "Are you joking with me, boy?"
Jaime rested one hand on the hilt of the Bone Sword. His voice was quiet but firm.
"Orders are to keep you safe, my lord. As long as you remain in the tower, no harm will come to you."
Tywin stared at his eldest son. Outside, the sounds of boots and steel grew louder.
He understood exactly what was happening.
His face went pale, then flushed with cold fury.