ULF
Midnight.
The servant quarters were quiet—that deep silence of a castle sleeping, broken only by distant footsteps of guards on their rounds. I moved through the shadows like I'd learned to move in Flea Bottom years ago, when survival meant being invisible.
Gwyn's door was third from the end. Unremarkable. No guard, no lock worth mentioning.
I picked it in three seconds.
The room was small—a bed, a chest, a washbasin. And Gwyn herself, standing at a table by candlelight, grinding something with mortar and pestle.
Poison.
She spun at the sound of the door. Her hand went for the knife hidden in her sleeve—the move practiced, professional.
I was faster.
Soru closed the distance before she could draw. My hand caught her wrist, twisted, snapped bone.
She didn't scream. Professional to the end.
"Who sent you?"
"Go to hell."
Shigan.
My fingers drove through her chest, between ribs, into her heart. Quick. Clean. The same technique that had killed men in alleyways and dragons in battle.
She slumped against me, dead weight, eyes already glazing.
I lowered her to the floor and began searching.
The evidence was damning.
Coded messages—cipher I recognized from captured Black communications. Names and schedules written in careful script. A list of targets with Helaena at the top, then Otto, then young Jaehaerys.
They wanted to decapitate the Green leadership. Leave us leaderless and fractured.
And the poison itself. Three vials, carefully labeled in code. I recognized one—Tears of Lys, the same weapon Daemon's previous assassins had carried. The others were unfamiliar, but equally deadly based on the care with which they'd been stored.
This was the backup plan. When Blood and Cheese failed, Rhaenyra didn't give up. She just changed methods.
I pocketed everything useful and left the body where it lay.
Let them find her in the morning. Let them wonder.
FLEA BOTTOM
The safe house was a converted warehouse near the Mud Gate.
My men had surrounded it an hour ago—sixteen loyal veterans, each chosen for skill and discretion. Tam led the assault team. I'd given him clear orders: no survivors except one for questioning.
The signal came at midnight exactly. A whistle, high and sharp.
Then violence.
TAM
The door came down with a single kick.
Tam led the charge, sword drawn, three men behind him. The house was dark—no candles, no firelight—but his eyes had adjusted during the wait.
Four figures scrambled in the gloom. Shouts. Movement.
"Take them!"
The first Black agent died on Tam's blade before fully rising from his cot. The second managed to draw a knife—threw it with professional accuracy—but the man beside Tam caught it on his shield and drove his own sword through the agent's throat.
The third went for the window. Made it halfway through before hands grabbed his ankles and dragged him back. A brief struggle. A wet sound. Silence.
The fourth raised his hands.
"I surrender! I surrender!"
Tam hesitated. The Lord Protector had been specific—one survivor for questioning.
"Tie him. Gag him. Bring him to the rendezvous."
His men obeyed.
Five minutes later, the safe house was empty except for corpses.
ULF
The prisoner was a young man—early twenties, Pentoshi accent, clearly a trained operative but not seasoned enough to hide his fear.
We brought him to a warehouse I owned through intermediaries. Somewhere private. Somewhere screams wouldn't carry.
"Name."
"Lyros." No hesitation. "Please, I'm just—"
"Who sent you?"
"I don't know the details. I was recruited in Pentos, brought here by ship. They said the target was the usurper's wife. That's all I knew."
"Who recruited you?"
"A man called Mysaria. The White Worm. She runs the Black intelligence in King's Landing."
Mysaria. The name I'd heard whispered but never confirmed.
"Where is she?"
"I don't know! We never met her directly. Just handlers. Just coded messages."
I studied him. The trembling hands. The darting eyes.
He's telling the truth. Or most of it.
"How many other cells are there?"
"I... I'm not sure. Three? Four? We operated separately. Didn't know each other."
Three or four more groups. All targeting the Greens.
"Anything else?"
"Please. I've told you everything. Please let me—"
"Let you go?" I shook my head. "You came here to kill the woman I love. To poison her food. To watch her die in agony."
"I was following orders!"
"So were the last assassins." I drew my blade. "They died too."
His screaming didn't last long.
THE MESSAGE
Dawn found six bodies displayed at the gates of the Red Keep.
I'd arranged them myself—the four from the safe house, Gwyn from the servant quarters, and the interrogated man. Each bore a sign:
THE PENALTY FOR THREATENING THE QUEEN REGENT
Brutal. Visible. Unmistakable.
The Gold Cloaks arrived within the hour. Then the crowds. Then the lords, emerging from their comfortable chambers to stare at my handiwork.
Otto found me in the council chamber, cleaning blood from my hands in a basin of water.
"You executed them without trial."
"They were spies and assassins. Evidence was found."
"The council has the right to—"
"The council has the right to debate while threats multiply." I dried my hands. Met his eyes. "I have the authority to protect the Queen Regent and her children. That authority includes eliminating threats."
"Six people killed in one night—"
"Six enemies who planned to poison Helaena. Poison young Jaehaerys. Poison you, actually." I pulled a paper from my pocket—the target list. "You were third on their list. After the queen and her son. So before you lecture me about excessive force, consider that I saved your life."
Otto took the paper. Read it.
His face went pale.
"Where did you find this?"
"In the infiltrator's quarters. Along with three vials of poison and coded communications with Rhaenyra's spymaster."
"The White Worm."
"Mysaria. Yes." I took the paper back. "She has other cells in the city. Three or four, according to my interrogation. I'll find them."
"How?"
"The same way I found these. By being better at this game than they are."
I walked out before he could respond.
Let him think about that. Let him realize I'm the only thing standing between him and a painful death.
Fear keeps people honest.
HELAENA
She was awake when I reached our chambers.
Seven months pregnant now, her belly swollen, her face drawn with exhaustion and worry. The nightmares had been worse lately—prophetic visions mixing with ordinary fears, leaving her drained and trembling.
"You killed them." Not a question.
"All of them. The rats in different skin."
"I dreamed it." She touched the dried blood still on my hands—I hadn't washed thoroughly enough. "Fire and screaming. Bodies at the gate. You standing over them with that look."
"What look?"
"The one you get when you've done something terrible and feel nothing." Her eyes searched my face. "What are you becoming?"
The question cut deep.
What am I becoming?
A killer. A spymaster. A monster who protects his own through methods that would horrify decent people.
"Whatever keeps you alive."
She didn't respond. Just held my hands—the hands that had killed six people tonight—and pressed them against her belly.
The child kicked.
"Our son will be born soon." Her voice was soft. "Born to a father who walks through fire and a mother who sees too much. What kind of life will that be?"
"A protected one. A loved one." I knelt before her. "I don't know what I'm becoming. But I know why. For you. For him. For the family we're building in the middle of a war."
"Is that enough?"
"It has to be."
She pulled me close. Let me rest my head against her stomach, feeling our son move inside her.
"Don't lose yourself," she whispered. "Don't become what they fear you are. The monster without a man inside."
"I'll try."
"Try harder."
We stayed that way until dawn filled the room with light.
Outside, the crowds still gathered around the displayed bodies.
Inside, I held what mattered most and promised myself I'd remember what I was fighting for.
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