On Dragonstone, within Dragonmont Castle—
Late at night, Saera was jolted awake by a rapid knocking at the door.
She had already sat up in bed, one hand reaching for the sword beside her.
But the knocking stopped, replaced by a low voice outside: "Lady Saera, this is a letter from Tyrosh."
A letter from Tyrosh?
She threw on an outer robe and opened the door.
Standing outside was a young boy, perhaps in his early teens.
Without a word, he stuffed a rolled parchment into her hands, then turned and ran, disappearing into the far end of the castle corridor.
Saera shut the door and unrolled the parchment.
The letter was short, only a few lines:
"Your son is in our hands."
"If you want him to live, bring Silverwing and Vermithor back to Tyrosh. Tell no one. Bring no one."
"If the Blacks learn of this, your son is dead."
Saera's face instantly turned deathly pale.
Her son.
Little Jacaerys.
That infant only a few months old—the grandson Queen Rhaenyra herself had publicly acknowledged, the child Saera treasured more than anything in the world.
Now, her only son…
Half her heart went cold.
The world spun around her so violently she nearly collapsed.
Gripping the doorframe, she gasped for breath, desperately trying to calm herself.
Who did this?
Whoever it was, they probably wanted dragons.
Silverwing. Vermithor.
They wanted to use her child to force her to leave the Blacks with the dragons—and hand them over for their own use?
Saera clenched her teeth as tears streamed uncontrollably down her face.
She knew exactly what she should do.
She should go to Prince Daemon immediately and tell them everything.
But the words in that letter carved into her heart like knives:
If the Blacks learn of this, your son will die.
She could not take that risk.
That was her only son. The only thing she had left.
She could not gamble with his life.
A short while later, after wiping away her tears, Saera had already made her decision.
She draped herself in a black cloak, picked up her sword, and silently slipped out of her chamber.
Even if it meant breaking her oath, she would do it.
Inside the Dragonpit—
Silverwing was already awake. The silver she-dragon seemed to sense her rider's unease, letting out a low, mournful whine.
Not far away, Vermithor also lifted his head, bronze scales glimmering faintly beneath the moonlight.
The two dragons had always been inseparable. Wherever Silverwing went, Vermithor would follow.
Saera climbed onto Silverwing's back and turned for one last look at Dragonstone Castle.
I'm sorry, Your Grace.
I'm sorry, Prince Daemon.
I have to save my child.
Silverwing spread her wings and soared into the sky. Vermithor followed close behind as the two dragons vanished into the night, flying eastward.
...
Dragon's Roost.
The night was deep.
Within the forests surrounding Dragon's Roost, not even moonlight could penetrate the darkness.
The trees here blotted out the sky, their tangled branches interwoven overhead.
Deep in the forest stood an iron mine.
Wild grass covered the entrance, and rusted rails extended out from the cave mouth into the darkness beyond.
This place had once been one of Dragon's Roost's iron mines, its ore used to forge weapons for the army.
But several months ago, the vein had run dry. The miners left, and the place became a ruin.
Yet tonight, the ruins were no longer silent.
Two figures knelt at the mouth of the cave, nearly invisible in the darkness.
Only their hurried breathing betrayed the fear in their hearts.
Not far from the entrance, a pair of eyes watched them.
Golden eyes.
Vertical pupils blazing in the dark like twin fires.
Their owner was a dragon—Lothorne. His pitch-black scales blended perfectly into the night. Only those burning eyes and the occasional burst of scorching breath revealed his presence.
Aemond stood beside Lothorne.
Moonlight filtered through gaps in the treetops, spilling across him.
The long silver hair was scattered by the night wind, gleaming with a cold luster beneath the moonlight.
Those deep violet eyes stared at the two men kneeling before him on one knee.
"You may rise and speak. We are all on the same side here. There is no need for this."
At his words, Krytt and Carter rose to their feet, though they still kept their heads lowered.
They had followed Aemond for many years. They knew when to speak, and when to remain silent.
"Prince Regent," Krytt spoke first, his voice low.
"A few days ago, the Blacks sent assassins."
Aemond's brow twitched slightly, but he said nothing.
"The targets were Princess Helaena, Dowager Queen Alicent, and Queen Alyn," Krytt continued.
"Tella thwarted their plot."
"Three assassins in total. Two were killed on the spot. The third bit down on the poison hidden in his tooth after being captured and killed himself."
Aemond was silent for a moment before letting out a faint chuckle.
"He knew it would fail."
"He wants to provoke me."
"He wants us living in fear every day. Wants us wasting our energy guarding against meaningless assassination attempts."
Krytt and Carter exchanged a glance but said nothing.
"Send men to assassinate Rhaenyra," Aemond said, his gaze fixed on Krytt.
Krytt froze. "Prince Regent, this…"
"I know," Aemond interrupted. "The men we send will die."
"But this is not purely about killing her. It is a warning."
"I can threaten them as well."
Krytt nodded. "Understood. I'll arrange it immediately."
"And one more thing," Aemond continued. "Strengthen security at the Red Keep."
"Three guard rotations become four. Change the passwords daily."
"Anyone entering or leaving the Red Keep—no matter who they are—must pass through three separate inspections."
"If Tella lacks manpower, pull more of our own men from Dragon's Roost."
"Yes, Prince Regent."
Aemond pondered for a moment before asking, "The Faith and that Grand Maester I told you to watch—how are things progressing?"
Krytt's body tensed slightly.
He knew how important this question was.
"Grand Maester Norren…" He carefully chose his words. "He appears completely normal."
"He attends the Small Council on schedule every day, reports his work on time, and everything he says and does falls within what would be expected of a Grand Maester."
"There is nothing suspicious about him."
"Nothing suspicious?" Aemond repeated, a trace of amusement in his tone. "That in itself is the most suspicious thing of all."
Krytt froze for a moment before suddenly understanding. "Your Grace means…"
"If someone is too normal, then something is wrong," Aemond said. "Continue watching him."
"Yes."
"And the Faith?"
Krytt drew a deep breath. He knew this was the true focus of tonight's meeting.
"The Faith…" He paused. "The Faith has done something."
"What?"
Krytt lowered his voice.
"They purchased all the grain King Aegon requisitioned."
Aemond frowned.
That grain had originally been meant for the North. Aegon had specifically requisitioned it to calm the smallfolk of King's Landing and prevent famine.
Because of that decision, the North had already been driven into rebellion, and Aemond was furious over it.
But Aegon had already paid the price for his foolishness.
If the North wished to rebel, then let them rebel.
So long as House Targaryen's dragons still existed…
The armies of mortal men were not much of a threat.
In the original course of the Dance of the Dragons, the Blacks and Greens had bled each other dry by the later stages of the war.
Only after the dragons were wiped out did the armies of the various kingdoms become the decisive force that determined the outcome.
According to Aegon's original plan, this grain was supposed to be sold cheaply to the smallfolk of King's Landing.
It was both an attempt by his foolish brother to buy the people's favor and a way to stabilize the situation in the capital.
But now, the Faith of King's Landing had purchased all of it?
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