hotmtlnovel Chapter 527: Between Green and Being Green
Chapter 527: Between Green and Being Green
Chapter 527: Between Green and Being Green
Cassandra burst into tears, unable to speak. Inside the room, the sounds of music continued. Rhaegar's forehead throbbed with veins as he tried to suppress his anger. “Stay away from here. I'll handle this.”
“Yes,” Cassandra replied, her eyes red. She took a curious-looking Lyanna by the hand and silently retreated to the end of the hallway.
Bang!
Rhaegar kicked the wooden door, which flew open with a loud bang.
“Ah!”
A scream rang out, accompanied by the sound of bedsheets being pulled aside. Rhaegar stood in front of the door, taking in the scene inside.
A woman with silver-blonde curls had climbed out of bed on her side, her milky white skin on full display. She had been the one to scream. Aemond lay on the couch, his face buried in the woman's chest. He turned his head in panic at the noise.
Their eyes locked for a brief second. Rhaegar's face was dark with fury. Aemond's pupils constricted, and he felt a surge of panic.
Thump, thump, thump...
The silver-blonde woman threw the bedsheet over her head and covered her face with her hair, rushing out of the room, seemingly afraid of being recognized. Rhaegar let her pass without stopping her. A fleeting glimpse revealed her identity: Lady Celine of House Celtigar, the widow of Laenor.
As she hurried away, Rhaegar nearly called out her name but stopped himself.
At the end of the corridor, Cassandra shielded Lyanna's eyes as she watched her fiancé's unfaithful lover walk away.Follow the latest novels on sorry, I'm really sorry!” a faint female voice suddenly came from inside the room.
Rhaegar turned back, his thoughts in disarray. A petite maiden appeared from beside the bed, trembling and apologizing. Like Celine, she was naked, her hands clasped around her small breasts. Her waist-length black hair and fair skin created a stark contrast.
“What?” Rhaegar was stunned. He hadn't expected to find another girl.
The maiden looked down, avoiding eye contact. Her petite figure showed that she was not very old, and she appeared helpless, like a frightened lamb. Her skirt lay discarded at the door, and the only thing covering her body was the sheet that her companion had removed, her body trembled with a sense of shame.
Rhaegar closed his eyes, untied his cloak, and threw it to the maiden, saying coldly, “Get out!”
“Thank you, thank you,” the maiden whispered, wrapping herself in the cloak like a treasure before running out barefoot. As she left, she cast a worried glance at Aemond.
Aemond, naked, quickly shifted from lying on his side to curling up with his knees drawn up, his long silver-blonde hair covering his tense face. He was terrified. How could he not be? His brother had caught him in the act of adultery.
Rhaegar hadn’t opened his eyes yet, too furious to deal with him. The maiden's scent lingered in the air, but Rhaegar remained unmoved, holding his breath in protest.
One second, two seconds...
When he counted to eight, a loud slap came from behind. Rhaegar frowned slightly as Cassandra’s scolding filled the room.
“You seduced your own sister fiancé, and you’re not even sorry!”
“I’m sorry...”
“Get out of my sight! I don’t have a sister like you!”
In a few words, the family's moral values were shattered. Rhaegar remembered the maiden’s identity: Floris Baratheon, the youngest daughter of the late Boremund Baratheon, the youngest of the Four Storms, and the most beautiful. No wonder her soft voice sounded familiar.
His temples swelled with a feeling of exhaustion, which soon passed. Rhaegar opened his eyes, turned around, and closed the door. With a blank expression, he said, “Aemond, you’ve had a lot of fun, haven’t you?”
Aemond shuddered, his fingernails digging into his calf.
“Haha, are you embarrassed now?” Rhaegar walked over to him, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. “Aegon didn’t play as much as you did, did he?”
The little girl immediately cheered and jumped up and down at the mention of food. As they walked down the stairs, Rhaegar glanced back at the half-hidden door one last time, still feeling something was wrong.
Lady Elenda wasn’t present, likely angry with Aemond. Cassandra had conveniently bumped into him, deliberately exposing Aemond’s shameful behavior. They both knew it.
Rhaegar took her side, saving some face for the royal family. But Cassandra left so quickly, without the usual display of being aggrieved, crying, and asking for help.
It didn’t add up.
...
It was getting late, and the sun was setting. The dragon-taming arena at Storm's End was deserted, with only the ugly, muddy Sheepstealer flying away as if escaping.
In the attic of the castle, behind a hidden wooden window, Cassandra stood, looking out.
“He's gone?” she asked softly.
A pair of large hands reached out from behind and embraced her slender waist. Cassandra looked down at the hands and slowly leaned back.
“I hate him,” she murmured.
“A conceited man who thinks he's better than everyone else. Who wouldn’t hate him?” The man’s tone was sarcastic as he turned Cassandra to face him.
Cassandra looked up at her companion with a depressed expression. Yellow curls, green eyes, handsome and young, tall and slender—the young man was dressed in rich robes, wearing the white cloak of the Storm's End guards, with a red and white griffin emblem hanging from his chest.
“Steffon, this is not the way to go,” Cassandra said, lowering her head.
The young man smiled helplessly. “He’s a prince. Do you want to break the contract?”
His name was Steffon Connington, the second son of the current Lord of Griffin’s Roost. He was a master of riding and swordplay and had participated in the guerrilla war to clear the remnants of the invasion of Cape Wrath in Dorne.
Cassandra broke free of the hands around her waist, her eyes staring at him like a fawn’s, and said softly, “I won’t break the contract, but there’s always a way, isn’t there?”
Steffon was stunned by her words, then fell silent.
...
The Hall.
Rhaegar was having dinner with his daughter when a third party intervened. Maris Baratheon, dressed in a revealing black dress, walked gracefully to the seat across from him. She was the second oldest of the Four Storms, known for being the smartest despite her lack of conventional beauty.
Rhaegar glanced at her, scooped some soup for Lyanna, and asked casually, “Is there something wrong?” He had thought the members of House Baratheon would avoid meeting him.
Maris glanced at Lyanna discreetly, then lifted the hem of her low-cut dress and said with a smile, “House Baratheon can't afford to miss a visit from the king.”
“Sit down,” Rhaegar said, not even looking at her as he continued eating.
Maris sat down and took the initiative to speak. “Mother is too sick to get out of bed, and my third sister, Ellyn, is crying in fear. My eldest sister and youngest sister...” She smiled apologetically, explaining the situation clearly and subtly promoting herself.
Rhaegar shook his head and laughed, too lazy to engage with her little tricks. “I have limited patience.”
“Sorry, Your Grace. This may seem hasty,” Maris said, standing up and looking proudly. “Cassandra is not suitable to be a leader. She can't even get along with her fiancé. If you like, I can be your own person at Storm's End.”
Rhaegar paused in the middle of feeding Lyanna and looked up. “Can you represent your House?” As a second daughter, you really have some nerve, he thought.
Maris maintained a straight face. “Cassandra doesn't even know how many people are in the guard, and Aemond won't be trusted by the nobles of the Stormlands. I am the second daughter of Boremund, and I still have some use.”