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Stannis's eyes were red with fanaticism, locked on Melisandre without blinking.
That question represented the last of his inner defenses, and it was crumbling.
The temptation of the throne was simply too great.
Especially for a man as consumed by it as Stannis.
In his mind, it was simple: his eldest brother was dead, which made him the eldest. The Seven Kingdoms should rightfully be his to rule.
He was the legitimate heir!
Melisandre looked at him, this man ravaged by desire, and a profoundly devout smile spread across her face.
"One hundred percent certainty."
Her voice carried the weight of absolute conviction.
"Sacrifice Princess Shireen, and her royal blood will become the finest fuel imaginable."
"Pour it into those stone statues, and the true dragons sleeping for a thousand years will wake , and they will roar for you."
She spread her arms wide, as if already embracing that glorious future.
"Imagine it!"
"You, astride a great dragon, looking down upon all of Westeros!"
"The walls of King's Landing crumbling to powder! The Lannister lion screaming beneath your dragonfire!"
"No longer the Lord of Dragonstone with five thousand men, mocked by the world , but the one true Dragon King of the Seven Kingdoms!"
The Dragon King.
Stannis's breathing grew ragged and heavy.
On that rigid face of his, veins rose one by one, his expression twisting with the violence of his struggle.
He could almost see it. The burning dragon beneath him. Every enemy crushed underfoot.
He would accomplish what Robert never could.
He would become the greatest king in the history of House Baratheon , the greatest king in the history of Westeros.
But...
Another face surfaced in his mind, unbidden.
Shireen.
His poor daughter.
The girl with half her face turned to stone by greyscale.
The girl who couldn't hold her head up in front of anyone , yet who only ever showed her most innocent smile to him, her father.
He was supposed to bind her to an altar with his own hands?
Watch magic torture her to death with his own eyes?
Use her flesh and blood to buy a throne?
No.
Something roared in the deepest part of him.
That is my daughter.
She is my daughter.
She could still have years left to live.
"No..."
Stannis lurched backward a full step, shaking his head hard, as if he could fling the maddening thoughts out of his skull.
"No. I will not do this."
"Why not?" Melisandre's expression went cold.
"You would abandon an entire kingdom for a defective girl?"
"How many years does she have left to live, Stannis?"
"A true king cannot be shackled by useless sentiment."
"Silence!"
It came out as a roar.
Stannis surged forward, seized Melisandre by the throat, and drove her hard into the cold stone wall.
"I will say this once more."
His bloodshot eyes pressed into hers from inches away.
"Never. Never again put a hand toward Shireen."
"Otherwise, I don't care what damned priestess of the Lord of Light you are , I will burn you to ash myself."
Melisandre's face purpled, her breath cut off. Her hands came up instinctively.
But there was no fear in her eyes. Not a trace.
Only deep, profound disappointment.
She didn't yield. Not even close to death.
Stannis let go.
He staggered back several steps, all the strength gone out of him at once, and only caught himself against the map table.
"Get out."
He pointed at the door. His voice was exhausted. Final.
"Get out of my Dragonstone."
Melisandre pressed a hand to her throat and coughed, hard, several times.
She looked at the man before her , the man who had just thrown away his only chance with both hands , and whatever pity had been in her gaze became utter indifference.
"You will regret this, Stannis."
She smoothed her red robes and let that inscrutable mask settle back over her face.
"You have refused the Lord of Light's gift. You have refused the only path to the throne."
"Your so-called fatherly love will not survive contact with your brother and Joffrey."
"Renly had the Tyrells from the beginning, and his bannermen are beyond counting. Now he commands a hundred thousand men."
"Joffrey is the King of the Seven Kingdoms. One word from him, and every sword in the realm points at you."
"You have five thousand men. What exactly do you plan to defend with?"
"Stannis Baratheon , you and your ridiculous stubbornness will be ground to dust beneath history's wheel."
She didn't look at him again.
She walked out.
She didn't even stop for her luggage.
A servant was waiting outside with a black horse. Melisandre swung up into the saddle and galloped toward the docks without looking back once.
She was going to King's Landing.
She was going to find the man who had dragons, who had marched out of winter itself, who had been chosen by the Lord of Light.
Behind her, in the room, Stannis sank to the floor.
Hollowed out, he stared at nothing.
He didn't know if what he'd done was right or wrong.
He only knew that he had held his last line as a father.
---
Meanwhile.
Storm's End.
The king's great tent blazed with lamplight.
Renly Baratheon , self-proclaimed Storm King , stood in his magnificent golden armor, radiating confidence.
Before him stood his lover, the Knight of Flowers, Loras Tyrell, and at his side, his most loyal guard: Brienne of Tarth.
"Loras," Renly said, swirling his wine cup, "do you think my thick-skulled brother is hiding on Dragonstone right now, brooding over a pile of onions?"
The mockery on his face wasn't even bothering to hide itself.
He'd just received word: his total forces had broken a hundred thousand.
Beyond his own bannermen, he had covert support from Casterly Rock and various factions who didn't dare openly oppose Lynn but were quietly backing Renly with men and gold.
And Renly himself was simply likeable. He made friends with everyone. Joffrey's cruelty had spread his reputation for madness across the realm, and Stannis was a humorless relic whom no one actually wanted on the throne. Renly was the obvious choice.
Nearly every noble in the south had turned to his side.
As far as Renly was concerned, Stannis and the little lunatic in King's Landing were both nothing.
A smile played on Loras's handsome face.
"My king, you needn't waste a thought on him."
"Stannis is like a stone from a latrine , foul and stubborn, and no one wants him."
"Well said!"
Renly laughed and pulled Loras close, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
Brienne, standing to one side, saw it. She said nothing. She lowered her head.
A barely perceptible shadow crossed her face.
Then ,
"My lord — move!"
Brienne's head snapped up. Her longsword was in her hand before the word had finished leaving her mouth, and she was already stepping between Renly and the threat she sensed but couldn't yet see.
As a warrior, she knew: something was very wrong.
"What's gotten into you, Brienne?" Renly waved a hand. "Relax."
The words were barely out of his mouth.
In the far corner of the tent, a patch of shadow began to twist.
To writhe.
And then a figure stepped out of it. Out of the darkness itself, as if darkness were a door.
The figure was tall, dressed in a simple grey coat.
And its face ,
"Stannis?!"
Renly and Loras cried out simultaneously, disbelief tearing through both their voices.
It was unmistakably the face of Stannis Baratheon.
How was he here?
Storm's End was heavily guarded. How had he gotten inside without making a sound? And why did he look like a shadow?
Brienne roared and charged.
Too late.
The thing wearing Stannis's face raised one hand.
A soft, wet thud.
A dagger made of pure darkness drove through Renly Baratheon's back and out through his heart.
The smile died on Renly's face.
He looked down. His eyes couldn't accept what they were seeing , the black blade tip, slick with his own blood, jutting from his chest.
Blood ran down the steel and dripped onto the magnificent golden armor, bead by bead.
"Urgh..."
He opened his mouth. He was trying to say something. What came out was a mouthful of red foam.
The light in his eyes went out fast.
The shadow had done what it came to do. It dissolved into a coil of black smoke and was gone.
As though it had never existed.
"No —!"
"Renly —"
"My Renly, no —!!"
Loras's scream tore out of him like something being ripped apart. He threw himself forward and caught Renly as he buckled, pulling him in, holding him as he went down.
Brienne stood frozen.
She had watched the man she served , the man she loved , die in front of her.
And she hadn't been able to stop it.
"Guards! Assassin!!"
Loras's shout rang through the tent. Boots thundered from every direction. Dozens of golden-armored guards poured through the entrance.
They stopped.
They looked.
Renly Baratheon was on the ground, soaked in blood, motionless.
And Brienne of Tarth , the king's own sworn guard , was standing over the body, sword in hand, blade dripping red.
When she'd charged, Renly's blood had sprayed across her sword.
To every eye in that tent, there was only one explanation for what they were seeing.
A guard captain raised a trembling finger at her.
His eyes were wide. White-rimmed with rage and horror.
"Her."
"She killed the king."
"Seize the traitor!"
➤ Next: Brienne Escapes
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