Aegon and Larys made their way deep into the heart of the Red Keep, crossing the dry moat of Maegor's Holdfast. Twelve-foot-thick walls loomed over them, and iron spikes glistened in the ditch below like the teeth of a trapped beast.
As they walked, Larys noticed the change. The "servants" in the halls were no longer the scrawny, hunched figures of the previous year. These men were broad-shouldered, their hands calloused not by mops, but by the pommels of swords. Aegon was subtly garrisoning the Holdfast with Hightower loyalists, turning the royal residence into a private fortress.
"No one is allowed to approach," Aegon commanded his guards before closing the heavy oak door of his chambers.
"Sit," Aegon said, gesturing to a chair. He poured a glass of Arbor Red for Larys and a simple cup of cold water for himself.
Larys looked at the water, then at the priceless wine. "You're not drinking, Highness? Most men of your standing consider the Arbor's gold to be a second blood."
"I drink when I eat," Aegon replied dismissively. "I have no desire to meet the Stranger early because I mistook wine for water. Now, tell me. What have your 'mice' whispered?"
Larys swirled his wine, his eyes fixed on the dark liquid. "My brother, Harwin. He is going to die."
Aegon's brow furrowed. He knew Larys was cold, but the casual way he announced his own brother's impending doom was striking. "And? This is the intelligence? A premonition?"
"No," Larys whispered. "A mouse in the King's solar heard the command. His Majesty summoned Prince Daemon. He ordered him to eliminate Harwin and retake the Stepstones within six months. In return, the King will bless a marriage between Daemon and Rhaenyra."
Aegon sneered, a sharp, ugly sound. "My father is truly a romantic, isn't he? Killing a Hand's son to clear the bed for his brother. He'll do anything to keep Rhaenyra's seat warm."
"Harwin is a distraction," Larys said, leaning forward. "The real poison is the Stepstones."
"The Stepstones? Why would I care about a cluster of rocks and pirates?"
"Think, Highness. Why would a King who hates war suddenly demand they be retaken in six months? To give them to me? To make me a Lord of Salt and Seaweed?" Aegon scoffed, but then his smile died. His eyes sharpened as the logic fell into place. "He wants to transfer me. He wants to exile me under the guise of an honor."
Larys nodded. "Exactly. If he names you the Earl of the Stepstones, you cannot refuse. To the realm, it looks like a magnificent gift—a wealthy trade hub. But in reality, it is a cage. You will be stuck in a permanent war with the Triarchy. If you lose so much as a single sandbar, the Black Party will scream that a man who cannot defend a few islands is unfit to be Protector of the Realm."
Larys took a slow sip of wine. "If you stay and fight the edict, you look like a coward. If you start a civil war now, the lords will call you a rebel because the King is still alive. You have dragons, yes, but you do not yet have an army that doesn't belong to your grandfather."
Aegon tapped his desk, the rhythm matching the ticking of a clock. "So. You suggest I go with the flow?"
"I do," Larys said. "The Great Council of 101 AC established a principle: the throne passes to the son. That won't change just because you're across the Narrow Sea. While you're gone, the Queen and your grandfather will hold the Red Keep. You, meanwhile, will be in the Stepstones—not defending them, but conquering."
Larys's voice grew fervent. "Split the Triarchy. Don't just hold the islands; take Tyrosh. Annex their lands in the Disputed Lands. Build your own army of sellswords and veterans who answer only to you. By the time the King draws his last breath, you won't just be a Prince with a dragon. You will be a conqueror with a battle-hardened legion at your back."
Aegon stared at Larys, seeing the brilliance behind the limp. The Stepstones weren't a trap if he turned them into a forge.
"The Prince of the Stepstones," Aegon mused, a dark spark in his eyes. "It has a certain ring to it. Let Daemon clear the path. I'll be the one to build the kingdom on the ruins."
Aegon stood up, looking toward the east. "Tell your mice to keep watching. If my father wants me gone, I'll go. But he should be careful what he wishes for. I might just come back with more than he's prepared to handle."