Aemond stood behind Helaena.
His face had been washed clean, and his eye slowly swept across the room. Everyone felt as though that gaze lingered on them for a moment.
"Offer prayers for His Majesty. Pay your respects," Aemond said calmly.
The crowd bowed. Only Helaena, who knelt, and Alicent, who remained seated, did not move.
The ceremony had been simplified to the utmost.
A king's death should have been marked by a grand farewell—but there was no time.
When it was done, Aemond looked toward Tella.
The chief lady-in-waiting stood by the door, expressionless.
Following his gaze, Larys glanced back at her. He did not dare underestimate this woman.
Tella controlled the hidden tunnels of the Red Keep. In King's Landing, she commanded a flock of "little birds." Her intelligence network might even surpass his own.
She was Aemond's eyes and ears in King's Landing.
"Report," Aemond said.
Tella spoke steadily, "The entire city has been sealed. The army and my people are conducting searches."
"Grand Maester Orwyle is missing."
"And the representatives of the Four Regions—Manderly, Royce, Blackwood, and Estermont—are all gone as well."
"This afternoon, they left their lodgings at the city hall with their attendants, saying they were going to brothels and taverns. But they were not found in any of those places."
Aemond narrowed his eye.
Tella continued, unhurried.
"In addition, the Valyrian steel crown His Majesty wore daily is missing."
"The maids say it was still on the bedside table last night."
The air in the room froze.
The members of the small council fell into silence.
The disappearance of Grand Maester Orwyle, followed by the missing crown, the flight of the regional representatives, and the poisoning of the king—linked together, even a fool could spin a story.
Larys coughed lightly and stepped forward with his cane.
He spoke cautiously, weighing each word before letting it leave his mouth.
"I have a conjecture."
"If Orwyle has vanished, His Majesty was poisoned to death, the crown is missing, and the representatives of the Four Regions have fled…"
"Then it is very likely that Grand Maester Orwyle forged a will, paired it with the crown as proof, and had the representatives carry it away."
Aemond turned his head to look at him. His violet gaze was as cold as ice. "That's quite an accurate guess, Lord Larys."
"My duty compels me," Larys lowered his head slightly. "I am merely proposing a possibility."
"Of course, there may be other explanations."
"For example?" Alicent, seated beside the king's body, spoke.
Larys hesitated.
He looked at Alicent, then at Aegon, and finally at Aemond. His voice dropped even lower.
"For example… Orwyle truly poisoned His Majesty, stole the crown to forge a will, and colluded with the Blacks and the representatives of the Four Regions, intending to spread rumors across the Seven Kingdoms unfavorable to you. After all…"
He paused, then forced himself to finish, "A story in which the prince was imprisoned, poisoned, and on his deathbed repented and named Rhaenyra as his heir—"
"Would stir hearts far more than a story where the king died of illness and Aegon succeeded him in due course."
The words were like blades, stabbing into everyone present.
Alicent sprang to her feet, shouting, "My son would never commit patricide and regicide!"
Aegon roared as well, "You're talking nonsense!"
Sweat formed on Larys's forehead, but he pressed on.
"Your Grace, Your Highness, Prince—I am merely considering the worst-case scenario."
"We must defend against what our enemies might do."
"I grant you pardon," Aemond said indifferently. "Continue."
Larys drew a deep breath. "They will claim that the prince murdered his father and king, and that His Majesty, before dying, repented and sought to name Rhaenyra as his heir."
"They will use this story to incite rebellion and shake the loyalty of the Seven Kingdoms' nobles toward the crown."
Aemond stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. "A reasonable conjecture."
"But the truth is this—Princess Rhaenyra conspired with Grand Maester Orwyle to commit regicide."
"She resented my father, King Viserys I, for changing the line of succession."
"Her three sons stole dragons and set fires. I executed them."
"So she harbored hatred. So she poisoned her father."
"She forged a will, stole the crown, and bewitched the realm…"
Aemond paused and looked at the gathered lords. "Send ravens. The Citadel must declare its position and denounce Orwyle's crimes."
"At the same time, the Faith must speak in support of Aegon."
"We must strike first. We cannot wait for them to smear us."
Will asked carefully, "Your Highness… will the Citadel and the Faith comply?"
"They will," Aemond said.
He did not elaborate on the terms.
Inside, Aemond felt as if his heart had been scorched raw.
He suspected that the Citadel and the Faith were the true masterminds behind the poisoning of his father, King Viserys.
But he could not tear open that conflict yet.
For now, he needed them to legitimize the Greens.
After the war was won, he would settle accounts.
A knock sounded at the door—light, but heard by all.
"Enter."
A Kingsguard, Ser Rickard Thorne, stepped in, knelt on one knee, and presented a parchment. "Your Highness, urgent reports from Driftmark and Dragonstone."
Aemond took it and unfolded it. In the candlelight, his expression did not change, but his fingers tightened on the paper, the knuckles whitening.
"Read it," he said, handing it to Will.
Will cleared his throat. "'To Prince Aemond: By your command, all houses on Driftmark and Dragonstone have been burned, the ports destroyed, wells poisoned, and fields scorched."
"The two islands are now barren. Our forces have completed the scorched-earth strategy and are withdrawing to King's Landing."
"Additionally, according to scouting ships, a fleet has appeared east of Dragonstone. Its numbers are unknown.'"
When he finished reading, the room fell into utter silence.
Alicent turned sharply to Aemond, her voice trembling. "You burned Dragonstone? That is the ancestral seat of House Targaryen."
"I did not burn the castle," Aemond replied calmly. "Only the port."
"If Rhaenyra intends to counterattack, we cannot leave her a place to land."
"The wealth of Driftmark has already been transported to King's Landing. A century of Velaryon accumulation now belongs to the realm."
"But that was—"
"Mother, this is war," Aemond cut her off.
"In war, it is kill or be killed. We show mercy, they will not."
Will spoke cautiously at that moment. "Your Highness, the wealth brought back from Driftmark, combined with previous seizures… totals approximately two million three hundred thousand gold dragons."
Two million three hundred thousand!
Everyone inhaled sharply.
After Aemond's expenditures on building the army, the treasury had only about two million left.
Elwyn added, "The royal fleet has captured the warships of Driftmark, but we have only a little over sixty vessels. Oldtown still has a combined fleet of over a hundred."
"At sea, we remain at a disadvantage."
Will continued, "Additionally, grain worth eight hundred thousand gold dragons from Braavos is stored at Dragon's Roost—enough to feed all of King's Landing for two years."
"Even if the seas are blockaded, we will not starve."
The assembled lords all nodded.
Food, gold, troops—everything was in hand. What could the Blacks use to compete with their logistics?
"But the remaining Braavosi supplies…" Will hesitated.
"With sea routes cut, they cannot be delivered."
"It doesn't matter," Aemond said. "More than four million gold dragons will last us a long time."
"Still, the money must be spent where it counts—recruitment, armaments, shipbuilding, and grain."
"Will, see to it."
"Yes, Your Highness."
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