At that moment, a wave of subdued cheers rose through the hall.
Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen's eyes brightened. "Then Volantis can finally spare forces to help us now?"
Mysaria's smile stiffened for a moment, though she quickly adjusted her expression. "Your Grace, the Volantenes… proposed a condition."
"What condition?"
"They demand that we send dragons to aid their navy and crush the Braavosi fleet. Only then will they send troops to help us."
The cheers stopped abruptly.
Corlys frowned deeply. He understood better than anyone how powerful the city-state with the greatest navy in the world truly was.
Even if they joined forces with Volantis, their combined fleet would only amount to two-thirds of Braavos's strength.
"Heh. We still owe them one million two hundred and fifty thousand gold dragons," Daemon suddenly said, his voice laced with mockery.
"We can simply choose not to repay that one million two hundred and fifty thousand gold dragons."
"After all, the Braavosi won't be lending us money ever again."
Rhaenyra shot him a glare, but Daemon merely shrugged, clearly believing he was right. From the moment they secretly allied themselves with Volantis, Braavos had already become their enemy.
As for the Iron Bank and its creed that all debts must be repaid?
Those were merely rules imposed upon ordinary men. The Targaryens could do whatever they pleased.
Those bloodsuckers were only capable of squeezing common folk dry.
Braavos? He had no fear of provoking them.
To possess dragons was to possess everything.
Mysaria coughed lightly before continuing, "There is another matter."
"Dorne has allowed the Greens' allied fleet to dock at their ports and replenish supplies."
"It will not be long before the allied fleet sails north to engage us in decisive battle."
This time, not even a single cheer remained within the ruined, draft-ridden hall.
Rhaenyra rose from her seat, the wind scattering her silver hair. Completely baffled, she said, "Dorne?"
"Hasn't Dorne always remained neutral?!"
No one could answer her question.
In the end, Daemon spoke again, his voice calm, as though discussing something utterly insignificant. "Probably Tyrosh… and the Triarchy."
Rhaenyra froze for a moment before slowly sitting back down, exhaustion written across her face.
Dorne had always maintained close ties with the Triarchy. The two sides intermarried, traded with one another, and regarded each other as vital allies.
Now that the Blacks and Volantis had carved up the Triarchy, Dorne naturally viewed them with hostility.
Although Dorne had not directly entered the war, allowing the Greens' fleet to dock and resupply was already a form of taking sides.
"What about Braavos?" Corlys suddenly asked. "Do they know about this?"
Mysaria shook her head. "Not yet. But I suspect…"
"I suspect Braavos may already be working together with the Greens against us."
The hall fell completely silent.
If Braavos truly allied itself with the Greens, then the Velaryon Fleet would face utter destruction.
The massive Braavosi fleet would press down from the north, while the Greens' allied fleet advanced northward as well. Caught in a pincer attack from both sides, even if Lord Corlys was the greatest naval commander in the Seven Kingdoms, victory would be impossible.
Even with the Volantene fleet joining them, they still could not win.
Rhaenyra looked toward Corlys. The once high-spirited old man now wore an ashen expression.
"The Iron Fleet," Daemon suddenly said.
Everyone turned to look at him.
Daemon toyed with the dagger in his hand, a dangerous smile spreading across his face.
"Send someone to contact the 'Red Kraken,' Dalton Greyjoy."
"Tell him that if he joins us, once the war ends, Queen Rhaenyra will reward him with the Westerlands. At that point, he will become Lord of the Westerlands."
"What?!"
"Prince!"
"How could that possibly be allowed?!"
The hall exploded into uproar.
The Iron Fleet? The ironborn? Those raiders, those murderers, those pirates who obeyed no laws whatsoever?
And after the war, they were to be granted the Westerlands?
Daemon let them argue for a while before lazily speaking again.
"The House Lannister have already betrayed us and fully sided with the Greens."
"What's the problem with rewarding someone using land that belongs to someone else?"
The uproar gradually died down.
"The ironborn may be despicable, but they are the finest warriors at sea," Daemon continued.
"If the Iron Fleet attacks the allied fleet from behind during the naval battle, I believe we can win."
"And I doubt the Greens can offer terms as tempting as ours."
Corlys remained silent for a moment before nodding. "Prince Daemon is right."
"The ironborn follow no rules. They only care about profit."
"The title of Lord of the Westerlands, along with the land itself, is more than enough to tempt Dalton Greyjoy."
Queen Rhaenyra did not answer immediately.
She thought of Jacaerys, of Joffrey, of the Velaryons slaughtered by Aemond, of the scorched ruins of Driftmark, and of the charred corpses scattered throughout the castle after the bloody battle for Dragonstone.
"Little Aegon and little Viserys…" she murmured softly.
Daemon looked at her, a trace of pain flashing through his eyes, though he quickly suppressed it.
"If you don't want them to share the fate of Jacaerys and his brothers…"
"Then we have to win. No matter the cost."
At the mention of Jacaerys, Saera, standing by the doorway, lowered her gaze.
If Jacaerys were still alive, then with Rhaenyra's favoritism toward her eldest son, her child would undoubtedly have been recognized as a legitimate heir.
But now Jacaerys was dead—dead in such a horrific way, his skull sent back by Aemond as a trophy.
That child of hers was now merely a fatherless bastard.
At last, Rhaenyra nodded. "Very well. Send someone to contact the Iron Fleet."
A smile appeared on Daemon's face as he looked at her, satisfaction flickering in his eyes.
Rhaenyra had finally understood that in this war, there was no mercy, no compromise—only life or death.
Rhaenyra's gaze shifted toward Saera by the doorway, toward the young woman holding a child in her arms.
Saera kept her head lowered, her expression hidden, but the slight trembling of her shoulders betrayed her emotions.
"Saera," Rhaenyra suddenly said.
Saera raised her head to look at the queen, panic flickering in her eyes.
"Come here."
Saera's footsteps were light.
"What is your child called?" Rhaenyra asked.
Saera shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "He doesn't have a name yet… he's only a few months old…"
Rhaenyra fell silent for a moment before slowly speaking.
"Then call him Jacaerys. In memory of my eldest son."
Saera suddenly looked up, her eyes filled with disbelief.
Jacaerys.
That was the name of Rhaenyra's beloved eldest son, the former heir of the Blacks, the child she had once intended to place upon the Iron Throne.
That name represented Rhaenyra's acknowledgment.
"H-He… can he truly bear that name?" Saera's voice trembled.
Rhaenyra nodded, then turned toward Corlys.
"He will be the legitimate heir of House Velaryon. He is my grandson and has the right to become a dragonrider."
Corlys remained silent, but he understood what Rhaenyra meant.
This was compensation.
Compensation for House Velaryon.
Compensation for him, Corlys Velaryon.
Rhaenys Targaryen was dead. Driftmark had been devastated. More than thirty thousand of his people had been forcibly relocated by Aemond.
Corlys silently accepted.
Saera knelt while holding the child, tears pouring from her eyes.
"Thank you, Your Grace! Thank you, Your Grace! I swear upon my life that I will never betray you! I will fight for you until the very end!"
Rhaenyra looked at her, her expression complicated.
She knew Saera had deliberately pursued the enemy too slowly, preventing Silverwing and the wounded Bronze Fury from joining the battle in time.
But now, she needed Saera. She needed Silverwing. She needed the she-dragon that had never once separated from Vermithor.
"Rise," Rhaenyra said. "Raise little Jacaerys well and make him a worthy Velaryon."
Saera stood and stepped aside, hope burning within her eyes.
Daemon watched the scene without speaking.
He was dissatisfied with Rhaenyra's decision, but he restrained himself.
House Velaryon had already been half-destroyed. If they failed to keep Corlys on their side, Daemon genuinely feared the old man might surrender to the Greens for the sake of his house.
And as for Saera—with Silverwing, it was almost the same as possessing Vermithor itself. They had no choice but to win her over.
---
I will post some extra Chapters in Patreon, you can check it out. >> patreon.com/TitoVillar
---