The fallout from Rook's Rest hit King's Landing like a tidal wave. While the Green Council scrambled to hide the fact that their King was a charred shell of a man, Jacaerys moved through the quiet corridors of Dragonstone with the predatory grace of a wolf who had already tasted the fold.
His Supernatural Senses caught the whispers before they even reached the Queen's ears. The lords were terrified. They spoke of a black shadow that had descended from the heavens, a creature that made Vhagar look like a relic of a dying age. Jace allowed these rumors to fester. Terror, he knew, was a far more effective tool than loyalty when dealing with the fickle lords of Westeros.
"The King is broken," Corlys Velaryon announced to the Black Council, his voice filled with a grim satisfaction. "Aegon lives, but they say he is more metal and melted flesh than man. Sunfyre is grounded at Rook's Rest, unable to fly."
Rhaenyra sat at the head of the table, her skin radiant, her eyes sharp. She looked at Jace, who stood behind her like a sentinel. "And the shadow, Lord Corlys? What do the reports say of the dragon that struck the blow?"
"Madness, Your Grace," the Sea Snake replied, shaking his head. "Some say it was a wild dragon from the pits of Valyria. Others say it was a ghost. Whatever it was, it vanished into the clouds before Aemond could engage."
Jace remained silent, his face a mask of youthful gravity. He had no intention of revealing Vormax yet. The fear of the unknown was a weapon he would keep sheathed until the moment he decided to end the war entirely.
After the council dismissed, Jace followed Rhaenyra to her chambers. The tension in the castle was palpable, but in her solar, the air was thick with something else—the intoxicating pull of their shared secret and the raw power Jace radiated.
He closed the door and turned to find her standing by the window, her hands trembling. She turned to him, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. "You almost killed him, Jace. You struck the King."
"I struck a pretender," Jace corrected, his voice a low, vibrating baritone. He walked toward her, his presence filling the room. "And I did it to show them that their walls and their dragons cannot protect them. The next time I strike, there will be no survivors."
He reached out, his hand sliding beneath her hair to grip the back of her neck. He pulled her close, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. The enhancement he had given her made her skin feel like silk over heated steel. Rhaenyra let out a soft, shuddering breath, her hands coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady, powerful thrum of his heart.
The intimacy that followed was a slow, deliberate claiming. Jace led her to the bed, but he didn't lay her down immediately. He stood her against the bedpost, unlacing her gown with a Skill Mastery that left her shivering. He wanted her to feel every inch of his dominance.
He knelt before her, his hands sliding up her inner thighs. The sex was sensual and deeply detailed, a ritual of possession. He ate her out with a divine focus, his tongue working with a rhythmic precision that pulled jagged cries from her throat. He used his Supernatural Senses to track the peaks of her pleasure, holding her on the very edge of climax for an agonizingly beautiful duration. When he finally rose and entered her, the friction was a spark in a powder keg.
Jace used his supernatural stamina to drive into her with a relentless, primal strength. He was a god remaking his Queen in the fire of his own desire. Rhaenyra's head was thrown back, her nails digging into the wood of the bedpost as she surrendered to the overwhelming waves of sensation. Every thrust was a reminder that while the world outside fell into chaos, here, in this room, there was only one King.
In the quiet hours that followed, they lay entwined in the furs. Jace was already looking toward the next move.
"Aemond will take command now," Jace whispered, his voice cold. "He will be the Prince Regent. He is angry, impulsive, and he believes Vhagar is invincible. He will make a mistake."
"And what will we do?" Rhaenyra asked, her voice husky with exhaustion and bliss.
"We will strengthen our hold on the Gullet. I will continue to enhance your guard and our scouts. And I will prepare our people in King's Landing. When Aemond eventually flies out to meet Daemon at Harrenhal, the city will be ours for the taking."
Jace looked at the fire, his violet eyes reflecting the dying embers. He knew that the original history had Daemon and Aemond killing each other over the God's Eye. In this world, he would ensure Daemon's end served a greater purpose, and Aemond... Aemond would learn that a missing eye was the least of his problems when the Golden Death finally decided to hunt.
"Sleep, Mother," Jace murmured, kissing her shoulder. "The Dance is moving exactly as I have composed it."
Outside, the wind picked up, carrying the distant, lonely cry of a dragon. But Jace didn't move. He simply held his Queen closer, his mind already calculating the exact moment the lion of Lannister would walk into his trap.