The wind coming off the frozen waters carried a bite that settled deep in the bones, yet neither Edmond nor Robert seemed to notice it anymore. They had been standing on those battlements for days, watching, waiting, listening for any sign of sails on the horizon.
Below them, the shoreline had changed.
What used to be open water was now layered with preparation. Wooden ridges rose from the shallows like jagged teeth. Chains were hidden beneath the surface, stretched tight between anchored posts. Barrels of black water sat in careful rows, their contents dark and still, waiting for fire.
Everything was ready. Everything except the enemy. "Why are they not here yet?" Edmond said at last, his voice low, but edged with something sharper than impatience. "The sea crew has not reported any sight of them."
Robert did not answer immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the distance, as though he could force ships to appear just by staring long enough. Then he exhaled slowly.
"Maybe they are having a second thought."
It sounded reasonable. It even sounded calm. But something about the way he said it felt off. Like he did not quite believe it himself.
Edmond glanced at him, then back at the sea. The silence stretched again, heavier this time. They were still standing there when it came.
A trumpet.
Sharp. Sudden. It cut through the cold air like a blade. Robert straightened at once. The stillness shattered. "I guess they are here."
There was no hesitation after that. Both men moved at the same time, boots striking against stone as they hurried out from the throne chamber, guards falling in around them in tight formation.
The corridors blurred past. The air outside hit harder. Another trumpet call echoed..Robert's pace quickened. A guard came running toward him, breath uneven, armor clattering with each step. He dropped to one knee the moment he reached them.
Robert did not slow. "Are they here?" he demanded. The guard shook his head. "No, Your Grace."
Robert stopped. Just like that.
The movement was so sudden the men behind him nearly ran into him. His eyes narrowed, confusion flashing across his face before hardening into something colder.
"Why then is the trumpet blown?" The guard swallowed. "Because a ship is approaching, Your Grace. It carries the Dornish flag."
For a brief moment, no one spoke. Then Robert nodded once. Short. Controlled. "Show me."
He walked past the guard without waiting, his stride steady again, though something had shifted beneath it. Edmond followed closely, his mind already turning, already trying to fit this into something that made sense.
Just a Dornish ship here, it did not sit right. They reached the river shore where the cold water lapped quietly against the frozen edges. Soldiers were already gathering, forming a loose line as they stared out toward the approaching vessel.
Robert stepped forward until he stood at the very edge. And waited.
Time stretched in an odd way after that. The ship was still far when they first saw it, just a shape cutting through the pale water, its sails marked clearly with the Dornish sigil. It moved steadily, unhurried, as if it had nothing to fear.
Forty minutes passed. No one spoke..The only sounds were the creak of wood, the distant call of seabirds, and the soft rhythm of water against the shore.
Then finally, the ship reached land. Ropes were cast. Anchors dropped.
A small group of men disembarked, their movements careful but not panicked. At their front was a young man, his posture straight despite the exhaustion etched into his face.
He stepped forward, then lowered himself into a bow. "Your Grace." Robert did not return the gesture.
His eyes scanned the group behind the young man, counting, measuring.
Too few. Far too few.
"I summoned your father," Robert said, his voice quiet but carrying across the shore, "and his entire army. Yet he sends just you with twenty men?" The words were not loud, but they landed heavy.
The young man shook his head slowly. "My father is dead."
Something in the air shifted. Robert did not move, but the stillness around him tightened. "What?"
"It was a trick," the young man continued, his voice steadier now, though it carried the strain of someone holding himself together by force. "The moment we boarded the ship and left Dorne, Drexo arrived with his army and took over the kingdom."
For the first time, Robert stepped back..Just a single step. But it was enough. He turned his head toward Edmond, his expression no longer calm.
"I thought your source said they would be attacking Snowland."
Edmond nodded, though slower this time.."Yes, Your Grace. You saw the note yourself." Robert's jaw tightened.
The pieces were beginning to fall into place, but not in a way he liked. "They must have discovered your spy," he said, each word measured, "and used him to trick us."
The realization settled over the gathered soldiers like a shadow..Everything they had prepared. Everything they had expected. It had all been redirected.
Robert turned back to the young man. "What happened after that?" The young man took a breath. "My father received news of their arrival in the middle of our journey here. He turned back out of desperation, and fought with Drexo."
There was a pause. A small one. But it carried weight. Then he continued. "Your sister led his army, and destroyed the army of Dorne."
Edmond froze. For a moment, the words did not fully register. Or maybe they did, and he simply did not want to accept them.
The young man stepped closer, his eyes locking onto Edmond's. "She killed my father in battle."
Silence. Cold and heavy.
Edmond's gaze dropped to the ground. His hands clenched at his sides, though he said nothing at first. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than before.
"I am sorry for your loss." It sounded insufficient. But there was nothing else to say.
Robert exhaled slowly, dragging a hand across his face before letting it fall again.
"They must have bewitched her," he said, though it felt more like he was trying to convince himself than anyone else. "Now they use her strength and intelligence against us."
The idea lingered there. Unchallenged,and ynproven. But easier to accept than the alternative.
The young man looked between them. "What do we do now?" he asked. "I have to recover my home. I have to avenge my father."
There it was. Not grief. Not fear. Just purpose.
Robert studied him for a moment, then looked away, his gaze drifting back toward the sea. He did not answer immediately. When he did, his voice had changed again. Slower. More deliberate.
"We are going to take back the kingdom," he said. "We are going to avenge your father."
The young man's shoulders eased slightly. But Robert was not finished. "But not immediately." The words landed harder than any shout could have.
The young man's jaw tightened. The restraint in his expression cracked, just enough to reveal the frustration beneath.
"But!" he opened his mouth to protest.
"I will not rush into another battle with them," Robert cut in, his voice sharper now. "That is what they are expecting."
The protest died before it could fully form. Robert stepped closer, his gaze steady.
"We will take time," he continued, "to study them. To understand what they have done. And when we move," he paused, just briefly, "it will be decisive."
The young man held his gaze for a long moment. Then, slowly, he bowed. "As His Grace wishes."
It was acceptance. Not agreement. Robert turned away before anything else could be said.
"Mobilise the warriors," he called to one of his commanders. "We leave at dawn.".The commander bowed at once.."Yes, Your Grace."
The orders spread quickly after that. Soldiers began moving, voices rising, preparations shifting direction. The tension did not disappear. It simply changed shape.
By the next morning, the army was already in motion. Snowland began to empty. Ships were loaded. Supplies secured. Warriors took their positions with a quiet efficiency that came from experience, not confidence.
Robert stood at the front of his ship as it prepared to depart. Behind him, the last of the men boarded. Around him, the cold air moved without mercy, brushing against his face, tugging at his cloak.
It should have felt refreshing. It did not. Emilo stood somewhere behind him, silent now, his earlier fire contained but not extinguished.
One by one, the ships began to move..The water parted beneath them. Snowland grew smaller. Robert did not look back.
His gaze remained fixed ahead, though there was nothing there yet but open sea. "They think they have won," he said quietly, almost to himself.
The words were carried away by the wind. But he continued anyway. "But the battle isn't over yet." And this time, there was no doubt in his voice.