Queen Rhaella steadied herself, her expression shifting. "Keep those eggs safe. Don't let your father or your brother anywhere near them."
Daeron blinked. Well, damn. Did the sun just rise in the west?
He studied his mother for a second. This was the same woman who used to spoil Rhaegar rotten?
Rhaella caught the look and rolled her eyes. "What would I give them for? Those two selfish bastards don't have an ounce of responsibility between them."
Daeron kept his mouth shut. He wasn't about to say anything that might set her off.
"Your father's finished," she said coldly. "Don't expect him to lift you up. He only cares about himself. You're useful? He'll use you. You're not? He won't even look at you."
The resentment in her voice was raw, but her mind was crystal clear. "And the more useful you become, the more he'll hate you. Same thing that happened with your brother. Now it's happening with you."
Daeron raised an eyebrow. "You really think Rhaegar's that useful?"
Rhaella pulled her hand free and sank back onto the chaise. "Your brother lost his mind over that Stark girl, but when it comes to ruling and playing the nobles against each other? He's better at it than you."
She waved a hand before he could argue. "Don't get defensive. Just look at the mess you've made."
Now that she'd started, the floodgates opened. Everything she'd bottled up for years came pouring out.
"If I were you, I'd marry Shaena tomorrow and stop playing games with the Lannisters and the Tyrell roses. You're drowning in debt. How exactly do you plan to pay it back?"
She pointed straight at Shaena, who was standing quietly beside her.
Shaena's cheeks flushed. She dropped her gaze to the floor.
Daeron rubbed the back of his neck. "You… know about all that?"
"You think you're the only clever one in the Red Keep?" Rhaella's voice sharpened. "Tywin Lannister is a scorpion. After the scandal with your father and Joanna, he swallowed his pride and offered Cersei to your brother. Now you owe him. He'll make you pay double—triple—if he gets the chance."
Daeron stayed quiet. This wasn't just ranting. His mother was actually warning him.
"And Olenna Tyrell?" Rhaella's tone turned even colder. "The Queen of Thorns. That old woman has never played fair a day in her life. You borrowed the Reach's army and promised her whatever she wanted. When the bill comes due, she'll be ten times more ruthless than Tywin."
She was getting worked up now. She snatched a cushion and hurled it across the room.
Daeron caught it one-handed. "Mother—"
"I'm not finished," she snapped. "If I were in your place, I'd cut every string right now. Marry Shaena. Give her one of those dragons. Take her to Storm's End. No one in the Seven Kingdoms would dare touch you."
Daeron finally understood. She was pointing him toward the Jaehaerys-and-Alysanne playbook—run off to Dragonstone, get married, and dare the realm to come after them.
He thought it over. Her plan was cleaner, sharper, and fit her ruthless personality perfectly.
But it was also nuclear.
If he married Shaena tomorrow and claimed Storm's End with two dragons, Tywin and Olenna would turn on him instantly. The armies would melt away. He'd be left with the Crownlands and half the Riverlands to finish the war alone.
His own plan—stringing Tywin along with Cersei, keeping Olenna happy with future land promises—was slower and messier, but it kept the big houses invested until the rebellion was crushed.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mother… everything you said makes sense. But I have my own way."
Rhaella's eyes narrowed. "You're stalling."
"No," he said quietly. "I'm choosing the path that doesn't burn every bridge at once. I just hit Pentos. The Free Cities are probably already sharpening their knives. This isn't the time to make enemies of the Westerlands and the Reach."
He met her gaze steadily. "I'm ending the rebellion. Soon. No more dragging it out."
The expansion of the Crownlands was already halfway done. If Blackfish could flip Hoster Tully, the Riverlands would fold without needing to bleed them dry first.
Once the Crownlands, Riverlands, and Stormlands were under his control, even Tywin and Olenna would think twice before starting trouble.
Rhaella's face darkened. "And what about your father and brother once the war ends?"
Daeron picked up the chest of eggs. "The lords of the Seven Kingdoms have eyes. They'll see who actually won this war."
He turned to leave.
Behind him, Rhaella's voice cut through the air like a knife. "Your father will never name you heir. He believes in eldest sons, same as everyone else."
Daeron paused at the door, back still turned.
He answered without looking back, voice calm but iron-hard:
"I don't need him to name me."
He stepped out, the weight of the three dragon eggs solid in his arms.
First I finish the war. Then the realm will decide for itself.
He had the dragons. He had the victories. He had the Stormlands already in his pocket.
Legitimacy won by strength and results beat every prophecy and every blood-right argument in the world.
That was how a real king took the Iron Throne.