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The grand feast was held once again.
Torches blazed along the walls of the great hall, casting warm golden light across the ancient tapestries. Long tables groaned under roasted lamb legs on silver platters, heaps of fresh fruit, steaming bowls of meat broth, and flagons of rich malt beer. The mingled scents of roasted meat and ale filled the air, making mouths water.
But this time the guests of honor were no longer Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White.
They were Logar—and Addam, who was still riding in from the mainland.
Logar stood at the center of the hall, surrounded by Black councillors who kept calling him "Lord Sea Burner" and "my lord." He accepted every toast with calm grace, nodding politely, never once letting the triumph of taming the Cannibal turn him arrogant.
Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White sat at a side table in the corner, watching the scene with dark eyes.
They still wore the same rough commoner clothes they'd arrived in—blood-stained, grease-smeared, sleeves rolled up as they gnawed on lamb bones like starving wolves. Oil dripped from their chins. They looked exactly like what they were: two lowborn men who had accidentally wandered into a noble feast.
Hugh's gaze kept drifting to Logar. Every time he saw the Sea Burner—polite, respected, riding the Cannibal, a dragon whose size and ferocity rivaled his own Vermithor—fresh hatred boiled in his chest.
We're both bastards. Why does everything come so easily to him? Why does he always have to outshine everyone?
Ulf the White took another long pull of ale, then smirked coldly at his friend's clenched fists. He didn't care who stole the spotlight. As long as he had wine in one hand and a dragon under the other, he would squeeze every possible reward from the queen.
Logar paid no attention to the two men sulking in the corner. He had already seen their fates in the stories he remembered. Men who would betray the Blacks the moment it suited them didn't deserve his concern.
The feast was at its peak when a dragon's roar rolled across the sky outside.
Addam had arrived on Sea Smoke.
Queen Rhaenyra rose personally to greet him. She knighted him on the spot, and when Corlys stepped forward to request that Addam be formally legitimized as a true Velaryon, she agreed without hesitation.
Joy piled on joy. The hall erupted in cheers. Cups clashed, laughter rang out, and every Black lord raised a toast to the queen.
Someone began counting their dragons aloud.
Sea Smoke. Vermithor. Silverwing. Logar's Cannibal.
Plus Rhaenyra's Syrax, Daemon's Caraxes, and Jacaerys's Vermax.
Seven battle-ready dragons.
The Greens had only four—Vhagar, Sunfyre (still badly wounded), Dreamfyre, and Tessarion.
The balance of power was brutally obvious.
Every Black supporter in the hall felt it: victory was within reach. King's Landing would fall soon.
Rhaenyra was in high spirits. She drank freely, showered Logar and Addam with praise, and rewarded both men with generous chests of gold dragons, pushing the celebration to its peak.
The feast ended in perfect harmony.
Logar had drunk more than he realized. When he woke the next morning, he discovered he had been carried back to his quarters.
"My lord, you're awake."
Alyn was already there, offering him a cup of water.
Logar sat up, rubbing his aching head, but didn't drink right away. He glanced toward the window.
"Where's my Cannibal?"
"Flew back to its lair on Dragonmont at dawn," Alyn replied. "It refused to stay near the castle's dragon pit."
Logar nodded. He already knew the Cannibal hated sharing space with other dragons. It would remain in its old volcanic cave at the peak and only come when called.
He was about to stand when a deep dragon roar sounded outside.
Logar dressed quickly and stepped out with Alyn. A silver-haired young man roughly his own age had just landed in the courtyard on a silver-grey dragon.
The dragon was noticeably smaller than the Cannibal, but still impressive—about the size of Ulf's Silverwing.
The rider dismounted, placed a hand over his heart, and bowed.
"Greetings, Lord Sea Burner. I hope I haven't disturbed your rest."
"Brother?!"
Alyn's eyes widened with pure joy. He had been resting from his wounds the night before and hadn't yet seen Addam.
Logar looked at the newcomer—Addam Velaryon—and gave a respectful nod.
"Ser Addam. No need for formalities."
"You've come to see your brother," he added, ready to give the two men some privacy.
But Addam shook his head, face suddenly serious.
"Lord Sea Burner, I didn't come only for my brother. There is urgent news I couldn't deliver last night."
Logar's brow furrowed. "What news?"
Addam's voice was grim.
"Since you left the Stepstones, remnants of the Dornish and Triarchy forces have been clinging to Grey Gallows and Bloodstone.
Your men, together with my father's Velaryon fleet, tried to finish them off… but they suffered defeats instead.
It's said the queen released the Triarchy commander Sharako Lohar in exchange for ransom.
Now Dorne and the Three Daughters—Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh—are preparing to send fresh troops back to the Stepstones."
Logar's expression darkened the moment he heard that Rhaenyra had freed Sharako Lohar without consulting him.
He understood ransoming prisoners was normal in this era, but the news still stung.
What he hadn't expected was that after crushing the enemy's main force, the survivors could still regroup and push back the Velaryon fleet.
He didn't need to ask who was commanding that fleet. Malentin Velaryon's name flashed in his mind.
"Queen Rhaenyra and Lord Corlys have discussed the matter," Addam continued. "They wish you to return to the Stepstones at once—riding the Cannibal—to wipe out the remaining enemy forces and restore order.
The Stepstones must once again become the secure gateway of the Narrow Sea."