Rhaegar stared at the iron rack.
The air around it warped from the intense heat. If a piece of meat touched it now, it would cook instantly.
Yet Rhaena's pale hand gripped the glowing red metal as though it were nothing.
The sight felt profoundly unnatural.
So this really was a world of dragons and otherworldly power.
Rhaegar had read countless stories and watched endless fantasy films in his previous life-but witnessing it with his own eyes still left him stunned speechless.
His usual exclamation almost slipped out, but he swallowed it at the last second.
After a long pause he managed only a single word:
"…Impressive."
"Dragons carve their lairs into volcanoes and lay their eggs there," Rhaena began explaining calmly.
"The eggs are then hatched either by dragons themselves… or by members of House Targaryen."
She spoke a phrase in High Valyrian:
"Perzys ānogār — Blood and Fire. Blood and fire are one."
"Anyone without Targaryen blood, or whose blood is impure, will be burned by flame. Such people cannot communicate with dragons, much less ride them."
"To dragons, they are nothing but food."
Only now did Rhaegar truly understand.
The Targaryens had ruled Westeros for sixty years, yet they still practiced brother–sister marriages.
Only when no suitable relative existed would they marry outside the family.
Even when the Faith of the Seven fiercely opposed it and rebellions broke out, the Targaryens never abandoned the tradition.
Now the reason was obvious.
They were preserving the blood of the dragonlords.
Without dragons, none of their power would exist.
Even standing a full foot away, Rhaegar could feel the heat radiating from the iron rack.
There was no way he would dare touch it.
He was certain of one thing:
He had not a drop of Targaryen blood.
He was an outsider who had crossed into this world.
There was no chance he would shove his hand into fire or grab red-hot iron.
Medicine in this world was primitive.
If a wound became infected, death was almost certain.
Rhaegar had no intention of dying so soon after arriving here.
Another question came to mind.
"If fire and hot iron can't harm you… what about dragonfire?"
Rhaena replied softly:
"Zaldrīzes izūgagon perzys daor — True dragons do not fear fire."
"But that only means ordinary flame."
"Dragonfire can still kill."
She tossed the iron rack back into the fireplace, then walked to a nearby chair and sat down.
Her eyes drifted toward a portrait hanging on the wall.
"Aegon died to dragonfire."
The painting showed a strikingly handsome young man with silver hair and violet eyes.
He wore bright red armor. Upon his cloak was the sigil of the three-headed red dragon.
Behind him spread the wings of a silver dragon, Quicksilver.
At the bottom of the portrait was written:
Prince of Dragonstone — Aegon Targaryen
This was not Aegon the Conqueror.
This Aegon was the Conqueror's grandson.
Older people who had known both men often said they looked almost identical.
In Westeros it was common to name children after respected ancestors.
After several generations the same name would appear again and again, thus the need for titles like the First, the Second, and so on.
This Aegon was both Rhaena's younger brother and her husband.
They had two daughters.
Their eldest daughter was Aerea Targaryen, the third rider of Balerion the Black Dread.
She was Rhaegar's mother.
Aegon had been only seventeen years old when he died.
He perished during the war of succession against his uncle Maegor.
The battle took place south of the Gods Eye.
Maegor, known as Maegor the Cruel, the second rider of Balerion, tore the dragon Quicksilver apart and burned it to ash.
Aegon himself had already been killed by dragonfire when he fell.
Aegon's claim to the throne had come from his mother's proclamation rather than the Faith of the Seven.
Because of that, the realm only recognized his title as Prince of Dragonstone.
People later called him Aegon the Uncrowned, rather than Aegon II.
Rhaena's title of Dowager Queen had been granted during the reign of her uncle, King Maegor.
After Aegon's death, Maegor had seized Rhaena by force.
He forced the High Septon to crown him king.
Legally, his rule became legitimate.
But for Rhaena, that title was not an honor, it was a memory of humiliation.
Eighteen years had passed since those events.
They had long since become nothing more than history in books.
Rhaena herself was no longer the young girl she once had been.
Years of turmoil had hardened her.
Painful memories no longer lingered long.
"Time for bed," she said suddenly.
She blew out the candle, scooped Rhaegar up, carried him to the bed, and shoved him beneath the blankets.
Rhaegar couldn't sleep.
He stared out the window, thinking about everything Rhaena had told him.
Ever since the destruction of Valyria centuries ago, magic in this world had largely vanished.
Only vague records remained in ancient books.
A few wandering "mages" existed, but most turned out to be nothing more than tricksters.
Even among the Targaryens, the true knowledge of magic had been lost.
Their archives contained only fragmentary descriptions and limited knowledge about dragons.
Targaryens could endure ordinary fire.
But the green flames of wildfire and the dragonfire capable of melting steel and stone could still kill them.
The only artifact clearly linked to magic was Valyrian steel.
According to legend, it had been forged through magical methods.
Modern smiths could melt and reforge it, but no one could create new Valyrian steel.
Across the world, scattered relics remained: swords, tableware, ornaments.
Every lost piece meant one fewer in existence.
Thus their value rose constantly.
In Westeros, Valyrian steel swords were treasured as family heirlooms.
House Targaryen owned two.
One was the greatsword Blackfyre.
Aegon the Conqueror had wielded it when he conquered the Seven Kingdoms.
Though King Aenys I was physically weak, he carried the blade as a symbol of royal authority.
The other sword was Dark Sister, a one-handed blade once used by Queen Visenya Targaryen.
Later it passed to King Maegor I.
During the Targaryen civil war it was stolen, forcing Maegor to take up Blackfyre instead.
All four of those figures were now long dead.
Both swords currently hung upon the wall of the king's chamber in the Red Keep.
Young King Jaehaerys alternated between them.
But when he marched to war against Dorne, he brought only the more practical weapon for battle-
Blackfyre.
*
The Next Morning
Early the next morning, Rhaegar crouched beneath Rhaena's dressing table.
He had found the little booklet she had hidden the night before.
"What the hell is this writing?" he muttered quietly.
"No mood, no rhythm, the whole story relies on imagination!"
Just as he suspected, the booklet contained explicit material.
Rhaegar had been studying the language diligently these past months.
He could now understand most of it.
"The plot is cliché. Same scenes repeated with different characters. Half the page filled with moaning sound effects."
"And people actually read this?"
Then he remembered Rhaena was not yet forty.
For someone at her age, widowed and alone, it wasn't unreasonable to read such things.
Suddenly Rhaegar burst into laughter.
"Who says transmigrators have to invent glass or forge steel?"
"One day I'll get rich writing this stuff!"
Even in a technologically primitive world, certain… needs never disappeared.
For someone like Rhaegar who lacked technical knowledge, this revelation felt like discovering a golden road to wealth.
He was still laughing when pain suddenly shot through his ear.
"HARD-ROD!!!"
Rhaena roared.
She grabbed his ear and dragged him out from beneath the table.
She had been awake for a while already.
When she saw Rhaegar hiding under the dressing table, she had quietly crept closer.
Unfortunately for Rhaegar, he had been talking to himself.
She had heard everything.
Snatching the booklet away, she shoved it back into the drawer.
Her face burned red as she stood there glaring at him, whether from embarrassment or anger was hard to tell.
Run.
Rhaegar leaned forward slightly, planted his foot against the dressing table, and launched himself toward the door like a sprinting champion.
His arms swung like blades as he dashed across the room.
He almost reached the door,
Then suddenly his body lifted into the air.
Rhaena had already caught him.
With a few long strides she grabbed his clothing and hoisted him up.
Short legs were no match for an adult.
She returned to the sofa, flipped him over her lap, pulled down his trousers—
And began spanking him.
"AH! HA! HA!"
Rhaegar's screams sounded strangely… joyful.
Before his eyes, floating numbers appeared.
-0.1
-0.1
-0.1
At last!
His transmigrator cheat ability had finally awakened.
Until now he had been too afraid of injury to test anything.
This was the first time he had actually taken damage.
The maids rushed in after hearing the noise.
They froze in the doorway, whispering among themselves as they watched Rhaegar being beaten.
Little Baelon squeezed past their legs.
He came to find Rhaegar every morning.
When he didn't see him in the bedroom, he followed the noise here.
At first Baelon watched in silence.
Then his expression changed.
He pointed at Rhaegar and shouted:
"He's smiling!"
"You're still smiling?!" Rhaena snapped.
"I'm not smiling!" Rhaegar protested.
Furious, Rhaena grabbed a feather duster handle from a maid and continued the beating.
Now the floating numbers changed:
CRITICAL HIT -1
CRITICAL HIT -1
This time-
Rhaegar's screams became very real.
------
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