Daeron stretched and asked, "Whose idea was this?"
Lady Shira extended a finger, pointing at her own chin.
Well then, high-end hunters always appear in unexpected ways.
Daeron asked curiously, "Why?"
"Why not?"
Lady Shira countered with a question, leaning her head against Daeron's chest, her arms tightly hugging his sturdy waist.
Daeron pushed her away and got dressed to get out of bed.
"You are Daeron Targaryen, with Dark Sister at your hip and Caraxes beneath you—the dream of every daughter in the Seven Kingdoms."
Lady Shira's eyes sparkled as she spoke her true feelings.
Fully dressed, Daeron cupped Lady Shira's fair face, gave her a light kiss on the cheek, and said sincerely, "Thank you so much. Last night was unforgettable for me."
Women would only affect the speed at which he drew his sword.
A trace of reluctance flashed in Lady Shira's eyes, but a mature woman is not as clingy as a young girl. She pulled up the quilt to cover her body, savoring the afterglow of last night.
She was someone who had experienced loss and knew better how to cherish the present.
The Prince's temperament was not yet settled; when he wanted it, he would naturally return.
♦——
Walking out of Storm's End, the corners of Daeron's mouth curled up, unable to quite suppress the small surge of joy in his heart.
So this is what the joys of men and women feel like.
No wonder so many noble men and women immerse themselves in it, unable to extricate themselves.
"However, Lady Shira is no ordinary woman. Her mind is full of wisdom, and her words are thought-provoking."
Daeron returned to his usual self, recalling last night's conversation.
Lady Shira had mentioned that he had carved away the lands of the Stormlands nobility, leading to a decline in their productivity. When winter arrived, their clansmen might go hungry.
The economic base determines the superstructure.
This reminded Daeron to focus on developing the potential of the Prince's Territory and creating a flawless city.
When the time came, with King's Landing, the Prince's Territory, Bronzegate, and the Stormlands forming a single line, establishing a stable trade route could significantly promote the economic and cultural integration of the Crownlands and the Stormlands.
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King's Landing.
Daeron rode Caraxes to a landing. Just as he entered the gates of the Red Keep, he was met by Ser Gerold.
"Prince, you have arrived just in time."
Acting on the King's orders, Ser Gerold requested Daeron go to the King's chambers for questioning.
Daeron nodded. "Let's go."
He walked ahead, his ear-length silver-gold hair swaying slightly, his gait showing a subtle change.
He was more... manly.
Ser Gerold, having seen much of the world, muttered to himself, "Has the Prince encountered something good?"
After a long while, Daeron emerged from the King's chambers.
"Nothing but nonsense."
Daeron was speechless.
His Father Aerys had talked to him, trying again to coax him out of his dragon, promising to make him the heir to the Iron Throne and so on—
The power of the dragon was already obvious to everyone in the Seven Kingdoms.
Aerys was dying for it.
"Not giving him a single bit."
Daeron didn't trust his father, just as he wouldn't trust a cat not to eat fish.
Go fool Rhaegar instead.
Rhaegar is a superstitious man.
After walking a distance, someone called out to him from behind.
Varys appeared, smiling. "Prince, the one from Silk Street is still waiting for you."
"Melisandre seeks an audience?"
Daeron's tone was indifferent.
Varys nodded slightly, wearing a helpless expression, and made a gesture of invitation.
Daeron thought about it; there was no harm in meeting her.
..
Silk Street, a detached residence.
Melisandre, clad in her red robes, stood beside a bonfire tripod holding an iron basin. Her eyes were fixed intently on the flames, as if she could see things within them.
"The magical fluctuations in the Essos are far more intense than in Westeros."
The first sentence she spoke was unexpected.
Daeron and Varys exchanged a glance, unable to understand the Red Priestess's methods.
Melisandre's face was expressionless as she said, "The Red Comet has arrived ahead of time. All things are burgeoning, starting a new round of competition that no living person can escape."
"Speak in plain terms!"
Daeron said calmly.
Melisandre closed her eyes, digesting for a moment, then spoke slowly, "The Rhllor tells me that the world's magic has become unstable. To deal with the coming hardships, we must unite all forces that can be united."
Have you also read the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' left by Aegon the Conqueror?
Daeron hated mystical posturing and said, "If you have something to say, say it directly."
"I would like to ask you to believe in the Rhllor, to bring a glimmer of light to The Long Night."
Melisandre finally revealed her true intentions.
Daeron countered, "Do you know the treaty signed between the House Targaryen and the Faith of the Seven?"
"Of course."
Melisandre was very confident. She said, "I am not forcing you to change your outward faith. You can believe in the Rhllor in secret, just as you never believed in the Seven but pretend to be very devout."
"I am not devout."
99
Daeron refused directly.
To be fair, the Rhllor actually gets things done.
But why should I believe in you?
Three hundred years ago, if you dared to ask the Dragonlords of Old Valyria to believe in the Rhllor, they would have burned the Red Temple to the ground.
"I have foreseen the darkness!"
Melisandre pulled out her trump card.
"How long?" Daeron's eyes flashed.
Melisandre became leisurely, her hand stroking the flames as she said unhurriedly, "Perhaps a few years, perhaps a dozen. I have seen The Long Night approaching, the world plunging into darkness and winter."
"And you are the reincarnation of Azor Ahai, the savior of the world."
Daeron didn't believe a single word.
The Prince That Was Promised in the original prophecies was either Daenerys or Jon Snow; it had nothing to do with him.
Moreover, Melisandre had a track record of poor judgment.
She had certainly made Stannis suffer.
"I'm not interested in any of this."
Daeron shook his head, intending to leave.
Although the Red Comet had arrived early, The Long Night wouldn't come that quickly.
Magic was currently on the rise; a disaster like The Long Night wouldn't strike just as a revival was beginning.
It was as Melisandre said.
When The Long Night arrived, it might be in a few years or a dozen.
In a dozen years, Caraxes would have grown to the level of an adult dragon.
In that time, he could surely find some Dragon Eggs and hatch more young dragons.
If there really were White Walkers or something, he'd let them taste Dragonfire.
After all, even valyrian steel weapons could kill White Walkers. Dragonfire, an element of ultimate fire magic, would be their absolute nemesis.
"Develop the Prince's Territory and stockpile grain!"
As Daeron walked, his determination to develop the Prince's Territory grew firmer.
"Should you change your mind, I will be here waiting for you."
Melisandre maintained a confident air and did not stop the Prince from leaving.
The information she saw in the flames went far beyond this.
For example, there were several faint sources of fire magic in the Essos, like Dragon Eggs that had lost their vitality.
However, she would only reveal everything once the other party believed in the Rhllor.
A merchant ship from Pentos was moored at the Mud Gate.
Daeron was in the Red Keep, working on sketches with a drawing board, when a disguised Stannis found him.
"Is Renly settled?"
Daeron didn't look back, carefully sketching lines to create a structural diagram for a water mill.
This was something new to boost productivity in the Prince's Territory.
"I sent Renly to Pentos. Maester Cressen is looking after him."
Stannis spoke in his rigid, matter-of-fact way.
Daeron knew he was a man of few words who only answered what was asked, so he inquired, "While in Pentos, did you see Magister Illyrio?"
Stannis looked surprised and said, "I was just about to tell you about that."
"Oh?" Daeron's eyes lit up.
Stannis said, "While I was in Pentos, I received an invitation from Illyrio. He wanted to take care of Renly on my behalf, but I refused him."
"This man's motives are not pure."
Then, he recounted what he had seen and heard.
Illyrio was very prestigious in Pentos and had married the cousin of the Prince of Pentos, enjoying a period of great glory.
Not long ago, his first wife died, and he turned around and married a prostitute.
Because of this, he angered the Prince of Pentos, who forbade him from ever entering the gates of the Prince's palace again.
But Illyrio was not discouraged; instead, he doted on his second wife.
However, the second wife also died.
Supposedly from an infectious disease.
Stannis, being meticulous, highlighted a point: "That prostitute named Serra was of Valyria descent with silver hair and purple eyes. I suspect she was related to the House Blackfyre."
"Your reasoning?"
Daeron stopped his pen, surprised by Stannis's insight.
Stannis frowned and said, "Intuition!"
The feeling that woman gave him was wrong; she was not a common prostitute at all.
Stannis shared another discovery: "During my days in Pentos, I saw a large ship from Asshai that had business dealings with Illyrio."
"Illyrio is a cautious man, but his style is very high-profile and flashy."
"When he met the merchants from Asshai, he met them privately, contrary to his usual behavior, and not a word of it got out. This is very unusual."
After listening, Daeron closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Blackfyre remnants! Asshai!
"That's it."
Daeron opened his drawing board and pulled out the work he had drawn while in Raventree Hall.
In the drawing, three Dragon Eggs leaned against each other.
One was black and red, one was green with bronze swirls, and one was silver with yellow flecks.
They were the Dragon Eggs of the three brothers, including Drogon!!
Daeron suppressed his excitement, thinking to himself, "That scoundrel Illyrio has finally found the three petrified Dragon Eggs."
The source of the Dragon Eggs didn't matter.
There were many stories about their origins: some said they were lost eggs of the dragon Dreamfyre, others said they were an ancient breed from Asshai.
Regardless, these three had to be reclaimed by the family.
"Stannis, you've done a great service!"
Daeron did not hold back his praise.
Stannis didn't understand why, but having reported his findings, he silently took his leave.
"Now that it's clear the Dragon Eggs are in Pentos, it's just a matter of how to get them out."
Daeron's mind raced.
Taking them by force definitely wouldn't work; they wouldn't just give them up.
Stealing them—that goes without saying.
The only way forward seemed to be seizure.
Dragonstone.
Rhaegar stood by the door, hearing soft sobbing from inside the room.
Knock, knock, knock!
He tapped lightly on the door and asked, "Lyanna, are you alright?"
——
The sound inside the room stopped abruptly.
Rhaegar sighed softly and pushed the door open.
Lyanna was heavily pregnant, wearing a loose maternity dress, leaning against the headboard and grieving privately.
All of Westeros was engulfed in the flames of war; some things could not be hidden forever.
"My father and Brandon are dead?"
Lyanna's eyes were red as she questioned the man before her.
Rhaegar remained silent, taking Lyanna's cold hand.
Lyanna's tears fell instantly as she said sorrowfully, "What about Eddard? He started a war; are you going to kill him too?"
"This was my father's decision. By the time I knew, it was already too late."
Rhaegar was silent for a long time, only able to offer words of excuse.
Lyanna was greatly incensed. "You are the prince of dragonstone, the legal heir to the Iron Throne. You should step forward and stop this war. There must be no more bloodshed."
Rhaegar's eyes flickered.
He wanted to do that too, but it wasn't time yet.
Knock, knock, knock!
The door was knocked again, and Ser Arthur Dayne's steady voice came from outside.
"Prince, news has come back from the scouts you sent to Pentos."
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