Within the Red Keep's throne hall, the body of the late King Viserys lay upon a raised platform draped in black velvet.
The royal steward had already ordered a large quantity of ice brought in and piled around the corpse.
The nobles of the Crownlands who had received word first—and those of their heirs already in King's Landing—had formed a long line, stepping forward one by one to pay their respects before the late king's body.
And in the council chamber to the side of the hall, true power was gathering.
Aemond stood at the head of the long table, his left hand pressed against the map of the Seven Kingdoms spread before him.
He wore black armor, over it a black cloak embroidered with the three-headed dragon. His violet eyes flickered with light.
The members of the Small Council and his confidants sat along both sides.
Tyland Lannister, the Hand of the King, reported in a steady, composed tone. Though nearing forty, the younger brother of the Lord of the Westerlands still carried himself like a lion.
"We have already sent a raven to the Citadel in Oldtown, demanding that they expel the criminal Orwyle."
He paused, then added, "At the same time, they must acknowledge their own failure—poor judgment in their choice of men."
"They recommended such a man to the royal court—a schemer devoid of all morals."
Aemond nodded, his finger sliding across the map to Oldtown.
"Tell me—will the Citadel bow its head?"
"They must bow," said Master of Laws Lyman Beesbury, picking up the thread. The bald, heavyset man wiped sweat from his brow.
"With the Faith supporting us, the Citadel wishes to remain neutral."
"Then they cannot allow themselves to be entangled in the crime of regicide."
"Expelling Orwyle and condemning his actions is their best course."
"Besides, House Hightower and the Faith will also apply pressure upon those old scholars."
Aemond nodded again.
"Where is the representative from the Stormlands?" he asked.
The door opened.
Tella entered, leading a nobleman inside.
The moment they met, Sebaston dropped to one knee. "Your Grace. We met not long ago."
"Rise and speak, Sebaston," Aemond said, looking at him. "It was you who led my men to discover Orwyle's corpse?"
"And the letter—what did it contain?"
Sebaston nodded. He still remembered the contents clearly.
He produced a reconstructed version from memory, which Lyman took and read.
After reading, Lyman burst out angrily, "The Four Regions, together with that traitor Orwyle, plotted treason!"
"All lies—utter lies! They should be ashamed! They murdered the late king!"
"They must be severely punished."
"The Four Regions?" Aemond took the letter, suddenly lifting his gaze toward him.
Sebaston immediately objected in haste, "Your Grace—it was three regions! The North, the Vale, and the Riverlands!"
Clearly displeased with Lyman's wording, he insisted, "The Stormlands are absolutely loyal to House Targaryen!"
Lyman coughed awkwardly.
"Yes, yes, Lord Sebaston—my mistake. Three regions."
Only then did Sebaston seem satisfied and continue.
"Yesterday afternoon, Orwyle met with us in the cellar of a tavern."
"Afterward, the representatives of those three regions left in haste. Orwyle returned to his chambers—and died that very night."
"What did you hear them discussing?" Aemond asked.
Sebaston answered carefully.
"The king has been poisoned. We must act at once. Rhaenyra is the only rightful heir."
"I felt something was wrong at once."
"I argued fiercely against it—but those fools from the other three regions believed it completely…"
Aemond nodded in approval. "You have rendered service—and shown loyalty to the Crown. You shall be rewarded."
"I will grant you five hundred gold dragons. And I will also inform Lord Borros of Storm's End of your merits."
"Thank you, Your Grace!" Sebaston's eyes flashed with joy.
"Take him to receive his reward," Aemond said to Tella.
After the two departed, Lyman presented another scroll. "Your Grace, this is the response from the Crownlands…"
"All the nobles have sworn fealty to Aegon—except the Crackclaw Point."
Aemond took the letter, his violet eye narrowing slightly.
It was written in the hand of Lord Simon Staunton of Rook's Rest, its tone fierce.
He would never believe that Princess Rhaenyra had murdered her own father and king!
This was clearly a lie fabricated by certain people to serve their ambitions—after committing patricide and regicide themselves!
Crackclaw Point pledged loyalty only to Queen Aemma, and to her offspring—Princess Rhaenyra!
Queen Alicent's faction were all usurpers, regicides, and kin-slayers…
"This old fool," Aemond sneered, reading the letter.
He knew well the traditions of Crackclaw Point.
Those lords had once been conquered by Visenya Targaryen with dragonfire.
Their fealty was sworn directly to Queen Visenya first, and only afterward to Aegon the Conqueror.
Later, that tradition passed to Queen Aemma Arryn—and then to Rhaenyra, her only daughter.
When Viserys took Alicent as queen, the lords of Crackclaw Point had refused to swear fealty to her, instead remaining loyal to the late Queen Aemma and her child.
"How shall we deal with the Staunton family members still in King's Landing? Execution—or imprisonment?" Lyman asked cautiously.
"No." Aemond set the letter down.
"Release him. Let him carry a message to Lord Simon. He is to come to King's Landing in person and beg the Crown's pardon—or face the consequences."
Courtesy first—force later.
Everyone understood what that meant.
"And the armies of the Westerlands and the Reach?" Aemond turned to Tyland.
"The Hightowers are ready," Tyland replied. "But Lord Jason Lannister still requires time to summon his bannermen and gather his forces."
"As for the Reach… House Hightower can field twenty thousand men at any time."
"Twenty thousand?" Aemond raised a brow.
"Yes."
"Led personally by Lord Hightower, with your brother Prince Daeron serving as his deputy commander."
Aemond fell into brief thought. "Then have Daeron also invite the child of House Tyrell—and his regent—to King's Landing."
"Highgarden's stance is too ambiguous. It must be made clear."
Tyland hesitated. "Such a move may stir dissatisfaction among the other houses of the Reach…"
"Dissatisfaction?" Aemond rose and walked to the window.
"Lord Tyland, in the south, any who do not stand with us are enemies."
"House Tyrell are Wardens of the South, sworn bannermen of the Crown. If they refuse to act…"
"Then Daeron and the Hightower host shall escort their entire household to King's Landing—as honored guests."
The Hand fell silent for a moment, then nodded. "Understood. And the naval defenses?"
"Ser Elwyn oversees the harbor. The chain has been lowered by one-third. Twenty ships have been prepared for scuttling."
Aemond looked out over Blackwater Bay, its waters glimmering in the morning light.
"The only thing that can truly stop a dragon… is another dragon."
The meeting continued for another hour. By the time the council dispersed, the sun had already climbed high.
Aemond remained alone in the chamber.
He walked to the map and pressed his finger against the Crackclaw Point.
A small peninsula—fewer than two thousand armed men.
Yet he knew that sometimes the most stubborn resistance came from such fools who did not know when to die.
As the only rebellious bannermen within the Crownlands, House Staunton would be struck with overwhelming force.
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