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Melisandre watched Stannis's expression shift into something final, and the smile on her face deepened.
She knew it. This man, stubborn as a mule, had finally bowed to reality.
"Very good."
Her voice carried a strange, soothing power. "You have made the right choice."
Stannis said nothing.
He walked to the massive map table, braced his hands on its edge, and fixed his gaze on Storm's End and King's Landing.
His two enemies. Right there.
One was the younger brother who had never once looked at him with respect.
The other was the little mad usurper who had stolen his throne.
He would take back everything that was his.
At any cost.
A long silence passed.
"What must I do?"
The uncertainty in Stannis's voice was raw, unguarded.
"The Lord of Light's grace is never given freely."
Melisandre moved to his side. A strange scent clung to her — spice and smoke, something that didn't belong in any ordinary room.
"We need a sacrifice."
"A sacrifice?" Stannis's brow furrowed. "You want me to kill someone?"
Melisandre nodded.
"The Lord of Light is merciful, but miracles carry a price." Her voice was unhurried, certain. "The power of life itself."
"The power in your bloodline is the purest. The strongest of all."
Stannis turned sharply. A flicker of cold wariness moved through his eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"Your son, Prince Shireen."
Melisandre said it quietly, as if the words weighed nothing.
Davos Seaworth, who had been standing silent in the corner this whole time, flinched as though he'd been struck. He lifted his head and stared at the red-robed woman before him in disbelief.
"No. You cannot do this."
Davos stepped forward and planted himself between Stannis and Melisandre.
"My lord! Shireen is just a child! He has suffered enough already!"
Stannis's son. His only son. Like his father's ward, the boy had been afflicted with greyscale since he was small — a terrible disease that turned the skin hard as stone, dead to all feeling. Left unchecked, it consumed the body entirely, until the person inside was nothing more than a lifeless statue.
Stannis had tried everything. Every maester in Westeros. Every remedy, every treatment. Nothing worked.
Prince Shireen was like a plant slowly dying from the roots up, his life fading a little more each day.
And now this woman wanted to use him.
Stannis's face darkened.
"Step aside, Davos."
His voice was as cold as Dragonstone's rocks.
"My lord!"
Davos dropped to his knees. His hands grabbed at the hem of Stannis's trousers.
"I beg you. Shireen is your only son. You cannot—"
"I said step aside."
Stannis kicked him away.
His heart ached. But he had no road left to him.
If he refused the sacrifice, the boy wouldn't survive the year anyway. The greyscale would finish what it had started.
If that was the end either way, better to let him matter. Better to let him burn bright one last time.
"I will not harm him."
Melisandre watched Davos on the floor, something close to pity in her eyes.
"I only need to borrow the small flame of kingly life that lives within him. It may even ease his suffering."
"You promise?" Davos looked up at her, every line in his face pulled tight.
Melisandre did not answer. She only looked back at him with an expression of absolute, unshakable devotion.
Stannis was silent.
He looked at Davos crumpled on the ground, tears running down that weathered face.
He thought of his son lying in bed, half his face already turned to grey stone.
Maybe Melisandre was right.
Better this than watching him dissolve into agony, inch by inch, day by day. At least this way he would mean something. He would give something , to his father, to the kingdom.
For the kingdom. For duty.
Yes.
That was it.
That was the burden of his destiny.
"Fine."
Stannis closed his eyes.
"My lord!"
Davos's cry broke open. Grief, bare and desperate.
Stannis did not look at him again.
"Selyse." He called toward the door.
A tall, thin woman with a severe face entered.
Stannis's wife. Selyse Florent.
A true believer.
Her face was utterly composed, as though she had already known this was coming. As though she had been waiting.
"Bring Shireen."
No argument in his tone. None invited.
Selyse didn't ask why. She simply turned to Melisandre and performed the gesture of a follower of the Lord of Light, then turned and walked out without a word.
It didn't take long.
Selyse came back carrying a frail child.
Seven or eight years old, with the dark Baratheon hair. But his left cheek and neck were covered in grey, stone-like patches where the greyscale had taken hold.
He was asleep. His breathing barely there.
The moment Davos saw him, something in him broke. A choked sob tore out of him before he could stop it.
"Place him on the bed."
Melisandre gestured toward the plain cot in the corner.
Selyse obeyed. She laid her son down gently, smoothed the blanket over him, tucked it in with careful hands.
Her face was perfectly still.
Not a flicker of a mother's grief. Only that same fevered, hollow devotion. As if the child on that bed wasn't her son at all, but a perfect offering placed before her god.
"Now. Everyone out."
Melisandre drew several black candles from within her robes and set them burning at each corner of the bed. She produced a handful of unmarked powder and scattered it into the air.
The strange scent thickened and spread through the room.
"No." Stannis's voice was iron. "I stay."
Melisandre glanced at him. She didn't argue.
"Very well."
She turned and began to circle the bed, chanting low in an ancient tongue. Her voice climbed and fell, wound itself through the still air.
The black candle flames leapt. Her shadow stretched across the wall behind her, bending and twisting and splitting into something that didn't look human at all.
Something that had clawed its way up from a much darker place.
Davos pressed his hands over his eyes and kept them there.
Stannis didn't move. He stood rooted, fists clenched so hard his nails cut into his palms. He didn't feel it.
He made himself watch.
Every second of it. That woman. His only son. Her damned, corrupt ritual.
Then, without warning, the chanting stopped.
Melisandre turned slowly to face him.
A strange smile curved her lips.
She walked toward him. Step by step. Unhurried.
"My lord."
Her voice wrapped around the words like something with weight.
"The Lord of Light needs fire."
➤ Next: Shadow Assassin
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