The news of the Lannister mobilization reached Dragonstone like a distant roll of thunder. Lord Jason Lannister, ever the seeker of glory and gold, had officially declared for Aegon II, moving his host toward the Red Fork. To the Black Council, this was a catastrophe—a second front opening while Daemon was isolated in the ruins of Harrenhal.
But in the quiet of his mind, Jacaerys saw only opportunity. He stood before the Painted Table, his Supernatural Senses tracing the invisible lines of supply and morale across the map. He could almost hear the clatter of Lannister plate and the nervous braying of their horses hundreds of miles away.
"They think to catch us between the hammer and the anvil," Jace said, his voice cutting through the panicked murmurs of the lords. "But the Lannisters are a pride of lions who have forgotten what it is to face a dragon that doesn't play by their rules."
He turned to his mother. Rhaenyra was draped in deep purple, her presence now so commanding that even the eldest lords found it difficult to look her in the eye for too long. The enhancement Jace provided was manifesting as a regal stillness; she no longer fidgeted or showed doubt. She was the mountain.
"We will not send our main host to the Westerlands," Jace declared. "I have already sent word to my agents in Lannisport. A fire in the docks, a few 'accidents' in the grain stores—they will find their march slowed by a thousand tiny cuts."
"And what of the Riverlands?" Corlys Velaryon asked. "Daemon is one man on one dragon."
"Daemon is exactly where he needs to be," Jace replied. "He is the distraction. While the Greens fixate on the Rogue Prince, we will tighten the noose around the Gullet until King's Landing starves."
The meeting ended with a new sense of purpose, but Jace knew the true work lay in the shadows. That afternoon, he visited the barracks of his Sea Guard. He spent hours "sparring" with them. In reality, he was deepening their Skill Sharing. He touched the brow of a young scout named Elric, granting him a Peak Human sense of direction and sight.
"Go to the Kingsroad," Jace whispered. "Observe the movements of the Hightower host. Do not engage. Just watch and report to me through the usual channels." Elric bowed, his loyalty now a physical bond that burned in his chest.
As the moon rose, casting long, skeletal shadows over the Dragonmont, Jace sought out Rhaenyra. He found her in the cavernous library, standing before a tapestry of the Doom of Valyria.
The air between them was thick, a physical pressure of shared secrets and mounting desire. Rhaenyra turned to him, her eyes bright with the fire of their bond. "They call you the 'Strong' boy behind your back, Jace. But when you speak in that council, they tremble."
"Let them call me what they wish," Jace said, walking into her space. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of her head, pulling her face close to his. "The lions of Lannister and the stags of Baratheon will learn that names mean nothing when the world is burning."
The intimacy that followed was a slow, deliberate reclamation. Jace led her to a shadowed alcove behind the stacks of ancient scrolls. He didn't rush. He began by kissing her deeply, his Skill Mastery allowing him to taste the very essence of her resolve. He unbuttoned the front of her gown, his Supernatural Senses noting the way her breath hitched in perfect synchronicity with his touch.
He sat her atop a stack of heavy, leather-bound histories—the literal weight of the past beneath her. The sex was sensual and intensely focused. Jace spent a long time worshipping her with his mouth, his tongue tracing the lines of her Peak Human body until she was a trembling mess of gold and silk. When he finally entered her, it was with a deep, authoritative thrust that seemed to echo through the silent library.
The smut was detailed; he used his supernatural stamina to maintain a rhythm that felt like the beating of a dragon's wings—steady, powerful, and relentless. Rhaenyra clung to his shoulders, her head thrown back against the cold stone wall, her cries muffled by the heavy tapestries. In that moment, she wasn't just a Queen; she was his, and he was the god who had remade her.
Hours later, as they walked back toward the royal apartments, Jace paused by a window overlooking the sea.
"The Lannisters will reach the Red Fork in three weeks," Jace said quietly. "By then, the first of our 'special' gifts will have reached King's Landing."
"Gifts?" Rhaenyra asked, her voice hushed.
"The spies I sent," Jace reminded her. "The ones whose minds I... sharpened. They are no longer just watching. They are poisoning the well of the Green council. Doubts, whispers, false reports. Aegon will start to see traitors in every shadow."
He looked at her, his violet eyes flashing. "A kingdom isn't just won with fire, Mother. It's won by making your enemy realize they've already lost before the first sword is even drawn."
Jace felt a sudden resonance from the Dragonmont. Vormax was awake. The dragon's supernatural recovery had made him larger than even Jace had anticipated. The Cannibal was ready to become the Reaper.