"Rhaenyra Targaryen! Guest right!" Rhaenys snapped.
"He has eaten our salt and bread!"
"I don't care!"
Rhaenyra's eyes were bloodshot, and at last the tears burst free.
"He brought my son's skull to humiliate me!"
"He's waiting for this exact strike!" Rhaenys locked eyes with her.
"Aemond sent this bastard here betting you would kill him on the spot!"
"If you do, by tomorrow all of Westeros will be saying that Rhaenyra Targaryen broke guest right!"
"What will you do then?"
"The North supports you now."
"But if that blade falls, every one of them will change their stance."
Rhaenyra seemed to have her spine ripped out.
The sword slipped from her hand.
It fell to the ground.
She sank down again, gathering the child's skull into her arms.
Tears dripped onto the pale bone.
Krytt stood where he was.
His face was pale, sweat beading across his brow, yet his posture did not waver in the slightest.
There was even that faint smile still hanging at the corner of his lips.
Only now, that smile was somewhat forced.
"Princess Rhaenys."
"A wise choice."
Rhaenys did not look at him.
She walked to Rhaenyra's side, knelt, and gently took the two skulls from her arms, placing them back into the black iron box.
Rhaenyra's hands hovered empty in the air.
Her eyes were unfocused, hollow as a dead sea.
"Take Her Grace away."
Two handmaids stepped forward, supporting Rhaenyra by the arms.
Rhaenyra did not resist.
Like a shell stripped of its soul, she allowed herself to be led, step by step, toward the rear hall.
At the doorway, she stopped.
She did not turn back.
"Krytt."
"At your command."
"Go back and tell Aemond Targaryen."
Her voice was very soft.
"Blood will be paid in blood."
Krytt bowed slightly.
"I will deliver the message."
Rhaenyra disappeared behind the door.
Silence remained in the hall.
Corlys stood there, his shoulders trembling faintly.
Rhaenys stood beside the black iron box, eyes lowered, gazing at the two skulls lying within.
"Jacaerys," she murmured.
"Joffrey."
She crouched down, reaching out, her touch impossibly gentle—like a grandmother caressing her sleeping grandchildren.
"Grandmother failed you."
She did not continue.
Hundreds stood in the hall, yet no one dared make a sound.
Krytt stood quietly, then asked with care, "Princess Rhaenys?"
"May I leave?"
Rhaenys did not look at him.
"Get out."
"And all of you—leave as well."
The commanders and knights filed out.
Krytt turned and left too, his two attendants hurrying after him.
Their boots struck the black stone floor, the echoes growing fainter…
and fainter.
Before long, the great doors of the hall slowly closed.
Rhaenys remained where she stood, staring at the two boxes.
Corlys stepped beside her.
"A raven from Rook's Rest."
Rhaenys lifted her eyes.
Corlys drew a letter from his cloak and unfolded it.
"Lord Staunton," he said. "Crackclaw Point stands with us."
"The Greens will send troops soon."
Rhaenys took the letter and scanned it quickly.
Her brow tightened.
"Rook's Rest requests reinforcements," she said. "House Staunton is the only vassal in the Crownlands openly supporting Rhaenyra."
"If we do not go…"
"If we do not go, the North and the Vale will think we cannot even protect the only loyal lord near King's Landing," Corlys said.
"But if we do…"
He did not finish.
Rhaenys did it for him.
"If we go, it may be exactly what Aemond is waiting for."
She set the letter down.
"Rook's Rest… a bait? He wants to fish?"
Corlys said nothing.
Rhaenys looked out the window.
Low clouds pressed down. Lightning flashed.
A storm was gathering.
"But we cannot ignore it," Rhaenys said.
"Lord Staunton has wagered everything on us."
"He refused to bend the knee to Aegon II Targaryen. Refused to give hostages."
She paused.
"If we fail him, no one in Westeros will ever trust our word again."
Corlys raised his head.
"You've decided."
Rhaenys did not answer.
She simply stared at the darkening sky.
A long silence.
"My Meleys is faster than Vhagar."
"Sunfyre is wounded. Aegon cannot ride."
"The only dragons Aemond can field are Vhagar and Lothorne."
She smiled faintly.
"Vhagar fought the Bronze Fury at Dragonstone—she was badly hurt."
"Dragons heal, but wounds like that take at least a year."
Corlys looked up sharply.
"You mean to—?"
"I mean to kill Aemond before Vhagar recovers."
Rhaenys said.
"This is our best chance."
Corlys seized her wrist.
"No."
"Rhaenys. No."
Rhaenys lowered her gaze to his hand.
That hand had once commanded the greatest fleet in the Seven Kingdoms.
That hand had once, clumsily, supported their newborn son's head when she gave birth to Laenor.
Now it was covered in age spots, knuckles thick, veins bulging.
It was trembling.
"I have already lost Laenor," Corlys said.
"Lost Laena. Lost Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey."
"Lost Driftmark's legacy of centuries."
He looked at her.
The woman he had loved all his life.
"Rhaenys, I cannot lose you as well."
Rhaenys placed her hand over his, patting it softly.
"Corlys, you will not lose me."
Corlys did not answer.
He only tightened his grip on her wrist.
Rhaenys sighed.
"My Red Queen, Meleys, is the fastest dragon."
"No matter how fierce Vhagar is, she cannot catch her."
"I will harry him, not meet him head-on."
"If I seize the moment, Meleys can tear Aemond from the saddle in a single bite."
"Lothorne is only three years old. Even at fifteen meters, I do not fear him."
She raised her head and met her husband's eyes.
"And I will not fight alone. I will join forces with Daemon."
"Aemond will die."
"I will return. I promise you."
Corlys looked at her.
It was a face he had looked upon for many years.
When she was fifteen, at the tourney of Harrenhal, that was when he first saw her.
He had been more than twenty years her senior.
She wore a silver-and-red gown, her black hair styled in the Valyrian fashion.
She had been the same proud "Queen Who Never Was."
And he had only been a lord freshly returned from voyages in the East, reeking of smoke and ambition.
"You have never lied to me," Corlys said.
"Everything you promised, you fulfilled."
"This time… do not deceive me."
Rhaenys tightened her grip on his hand.
"I won't."
She turned and gave orders to the Velaryon kin nearby.
"Send a raven to Prince Daemon—have him return to Dragonstone at once."
"Also dispatch word to Tyrosh. Recall Saera and Silverwing."
They bowed and left.
Corlys remained silent for a long time.
"And that black-haired girl?"
"Nettles. She has tamed Sheepstealer."
Rhaenys shook her head.
"She does not wish to kill."
"If she comes, she will only hold us back."
"Let her remain in Tyrosh."
Corlys did not argue.
He said quietly, "Then…"
"The first battle will be the last."
"One battle decides all."
...
The sea wind blew from the east.
Salted, damp, carrying the heavy heat of an approaching storm.
Dragonstone's harbor.
A small fast ship was casting off.
Krytt stood by the rail, looking back at the black fortress fading into the distance.
His face remained calm.
But the hand gripping the railing had gone white at the knuckles.
He recalled the prince's words before departure.
"Are you afraid to die?"
He had knelt before the prince, heart pounding.
"…Yes."
Aemond had looked down at him.
Those violet eyes—cold, inhuman.
"Good."
A pause.
"You are afraid, yet you can complete the task."
"That is enough."
Krytt closed his eyes.
He remembered that moment.
Prince Aemond personally wiping the two skulls with white silk cloth.
Slowly. Carefully.
As if tending to something precious.
Then he placed Jaehaerys's skull gently into the box.
And said softly: "Those who bring ruin upon my house…"
"…are Strongs."
Krytt, kneeling, had not dared reply.
Aemond closed the lid.
"Send it to Rhaenyra."
"Tell her I return this to her for burial."
"Tell her this is my final mercy."
Now—
Krytt stood at the bow, turning those words over in his mind.
Final mercy.
He remembered the look on Aemond's face when he said it.
Calm.
Not arrogance. Not boasting.
But something—
Something he dared not name.
Yet his instincts told him:
This man was like a true dragon trapped within human flesh.
Violence. Madness. And death.
The sea roared, the ship pitching violently.
Krytt gripped the railing tighter.
Behind him, Dragonstone faded into shadow.
Ahead, King's Landing was still nowhere in sight.
He had been plucked from the filth of the slums by Prince Aemond—given a name, taken into his service, made into a sworn man.
Only this prince gave men of low birth a chance.
Now he had completed this perilous mission.
Soon, he would rise.
For now—he only wanted to live long enough to return.
---
I will post some extra Chapters in Patreon, you can check it out. >> patreon.com/TitoVillar
---