Cold.
Then came a searing pain, as if countless needles were piercing into his back at the same time. Every breath pulled at the scorched flesh on his back.
Lucerys opened his eyes in the darkness.
His vision was blurred at first, then gradually cleared, revealing a ceiling of black stone—the architectural style of Dragonstone Castle.
He tried to turn his neck. A sharper wave of pain made him let out a muffled groan.
"Don't move."
A low voice sounded beside him.
Lucerys turned his head with difficulty and saw a weather-worn face—Ser Robb Kants, the acting castellan of Dragonstone, one of the old knights his mother trusted most.
Robb was wiping his forehead with a damp cloth, his expression complicated.
"You were unconscious for two days," Robb said calmly.
"You drifted back from the sea onto the beach. Half your leather armor had melted and stuck to your back."
Lucerys's memories surged back like a tide.
The firelight of the Dragonpit. Joffrey's scream. The horrifying memory of Tyraxes being torn apart by that black demon, Lothorne.
Then came the freezing seawater.
And the last thing he had seen—his own dragon, Arrax, torn into pieces by Vhagar in a single bite…
"Where is Jacaerys…?" he asked hoarsely.
Robb fell silent for a few seconds, then said in a trembling voice, "His head—and Joffrey's—were hung on the outer wall of the Red Keep two days ago."
"The raven arrived last night."
"The Greens say… they infiltrated the Dragonpit to steal dragons and set fires, and were slain on the spot. They demand that we surrender immediately."
Lucerys closed his eyes.
Tears seeped from the corners of his eyes, soaking into the bandages wrapped around his burned face.
He wanted to wail, to scream, to tear everything apart—but the agony in his back made it impossible even to take a deep breath.
The door was pushed open.
Two girls hurried inside—Rhaena and Baela, Prince Daemon's daughters, his cousins.
Both wore leather armor suited for movement, their faces pale.
"Lucerys is awake?" Baela spoke first, rushing to the bedside when she saw him conscious.
"Seven gods above, thank the gods, little Luke—you survived."
"Cousin Lucerys," Rhaena's voice was steadier, though her eyes were red as well.
"How do you feel?"
Lucerys did not answer. He simply opened his eyes and looked at them.
Robb stood up and walked to the window, glancing at the gloomy sky outside. Then he turned back, his expression urgent and solemn as he said, "Listen, child—we don't have time."
"The Greens have already killed Jacaerys and Joffrey and hung their heads up as a warning. That is already war."
"The Greens are not fools. They will certainly strike first."
Robb's fingers tapped the map on the table.
"Dragonstone and Driftmark."
"They will be their primary targets."
"You three must leave immediately."
"There is still a fast ship in the harbor. It can set sail for Tyrosh at any time."
"We leave on the tide tonight."
"Rhaena, Baela—you go with Lucerys and return to your father and Princess Rhaenyra."
Baela bit her lip and looked at Robb. "And you, Ser?"
Robb smiled, with a kind of calm acceptance.
"Since Princess Rhaenyra entrusted Dragonstone to my care, my duty is to guard this island, to guard the dragons on it. I will not leave."
"You will die," Lucerys said hoarsely.
"Every knight knows why he takes up a sword." Robb walked back to the bedside and bent down to look at Lucerys.
"I have served your mother for nearly thirty years. I watched her grow from a little girl into the heir to the throne."
"Now someone has killed her son and wants to take her home."
"I may be too old to ride a horse now, but I can still stand in the castle with a sword in my hand and tell those green whelps that if they want Dragonstone, they will have to step over my corpse."
Silence filled the room.
The three children looked at the old knight and the resolve in his eyes.
At that moment, the door was knocked on urgently.
Before Robb could respond, the door was pushed open.
The first to enter was Saera, the silver-haired, purple-eyed bastard daughter of Princess Saera Targaryen. Her face was pale, her eyes swollen and red, one hand unconsciously protecting her lower abdomen.
Behind her followed two young men with the same silver hair—Valos and Miraxes. Both wore simple but clean leather armor, their expressions tense.
And behind them—
More than a dozen people filed in, men and women alike.
They had one thing in common: silver hair, and purple eyes to varying degrees.
It was the mark of Targaryen blood. Though some had paler hair or eyes tending toward blue, there was no doubt they all carried the blood of the dragon.
And among them, the two leading figures were especially striking.
One was a silver-haired burly man who looked to be nearly forty. He stood close to two meters tall, broad-shouldered and thick-backed, the muscles of his arms stretching the coarse cloth of his clothes tight.
A scar ran across his face from his brow to the corner of his mouth, making what had once been a fairly handsome face appear ferocious.
The other was the complete opposite—a girl who looked no more than twelve or thirteen. She had black hair and brown eyes, rough skin, freckles on her face, and plain features that could even be called somewhat unattractive. She stood beside the burly man.
Robb's expression darkened instantly. Suppressing his anger, he stared at Saera and the others.
"Bastards? Who allowed you to come in?!"
"And you! Saera! How many times have I said it—without permission, no bas—"
"No one is allowed to enter the inner keep!"
"You should be reinforcing the castle's defenses right now, not disturbing the prince's rest here!"
Saera shrank slightly under his shout, her shoulders tensing, but she did not step back.
Instead, she took a step forward. One hand still protected her lower abdomen, while the other lifted to point at her slightly swollen belly as she said with a trembling voice, "Ser…"
"I am carrying Lord Jacaerys's child…"
In an instant, the room fell into deathly silence.
Lucerys's eyes widened as he stared at Saera's abdomen.
The sisters Rhaena and Baela were equally unable to believe it.
Robb's face shifted from anger to astonishment, then to an even greater surge of fury.
"What did you say?!"
"It has been three months…"
Saera's voice grew softer and softer, her face flushing red, but she forced herself to raise her head and look at Lucerys on the bed.
"Lord Jacaerys… said he would marry me one day."
"He said his child would be a Targaryen."
As she spoke, she suddenly knelt down.
Immediately afterward, Valos and Miraxes also knelt.
The bastards behind them looked at one another. A few followed and knelt as well, while several others hesitated and looked toward the silver-haired burly man who stood at the front.
The burly man remained silent, then dropped to one knee.
The black-haired girl was stunned for a moment, then clumsily followed and knelt as well.
More than a dozen people knelt across the floor in the center of the room.
Saera raised her head, and tears finally slid down her face.
"Ser… Prince Lucerys…"
"We did not come to provoke anyone."
"We… we have something important to report."
Robb's face turned iron-gray. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword.
"What matter could be more important than preparing for war now?"
"If you came to mourn Lord Jacaerys, I understand. But now—"
"We have tamed a dragon."
Saera cut him off.
The words struck the room like a thunderclap.
Robb's hand froze on the sword hilt.
Rhaena and Baela cried out at the same time.
Lucerys even forgot the pain in his back. Struggling to sit up, he let out a muffled groan and collapsed back down again.
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