The news of Aegon's broken body arrived at Dragonstone in fragments of horror. The King was a "creature of bandages and poppy," and Sunfyre, the most beautiful dragon in the world, was a grounded wreck in the mud of Rook's Rest. But most importantly for Jacaerys, Aemond "One-Eye" had donned the iron-and-ruby crown as Prince Regent.
"He is a boy playing at being a man," Jace remarked coolly during the dawn council. He stood beside Rhaenyra, who now wore her black scale armor with an air of divine authority. "Aemond will seek to prove he is stronger than his brother. He will be aggressive. He will be reckless."
The lords looked to Jace with a new kind of silence. The rumors of the "Black Shadow" at Rook's Rest had not faded; they had grown. Every time Jace spoke, the men searched his face for a hint of that shadow, but they found only the calm, handsome mask of the Prince of Dragonstone.
"Lord Corlys," Jace said, turning his gaze to the Sea Snake. "Aemond will likely command Criston Cole to march into the Riverlands to hunt Daemon. This leaves King's Landing vulnerable. I want our fleet tightened. Not a single fishing boat leaves Blackwater Bay without our leave. We starve the city until the smallfolk begin to look at the Hightowers with hunger in their eyes."
Corlys nodded, his respect for Jace's tactical mind deepening into something akin to awe. "It shall be done, My Prince."
After the council, the atmosphere in the castle shifted from the tension of war to the quietude of a fortress preparing for a siege. Jace used this time to walk the walls, his Supernatural Senses picking up the distinct sounds of his enhanced Sea Guard. They moved with a lethal, quiet efficiency that made the regular soldiers seem like children playing at war.
He didn't need to visit the Dragonmont to know Vormax was ready. The dragon's presence was a low-frequency hum in the back of Jace's mind, a constant reminder of the power he held in reserve.
That evening, he found Rhaenyra in the Chamber of the Painted Table. She was staring at the carved wooden map, her fingers tracing the path from King's Landing to Harrenhal.
"You think he will go for Daemon?" she asked as Jace approached.
"He has to," Jace replied, coming to stand behind her. He placed his hands on her waist, pulling her back against him. "Aemond believes Vhagar is the only dragon that matters. To him, Daemon is the only true threat left. He will leave the city to kill the Rogue Prince, thinking he is the hero of his own story."
Jace leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. The sexual tension that always simmered between them flared instantly. The enhancement he had given Rhaenyra was working its magic; she turned in his arms, her eyes dark and heavy with a need that mirrored his own.
"The war feels so close now," she whispered, her hands sliding up his chest to grip his hair. "I can feel the fire coming."
"Then let it burn everything but us," Jace murmured.
The intimacy that followed was a fierce, protective ritual. Jace didn't take her to the bed; he lifted her onto the Painted Table itself, her legs wrapping around his waist. He swept the carved wooden markers of the Great Houses to the floor—Lannister, Stark, and Baratheon clattering onto the stone like discarded toys.
He took her there, atop the map of the kingdom they were destined to rule. It was intense and raw, a physical manifestation of their shared ambition. Jace used his Skill Mastery to drive her into a state of blissful surrender, his hands holding her firmly as he moved with a supernatural, unrelenting rhythm. He focused on the curve of her neck, the arch of her back, and the way her pulse throbbed beneath his lips. Rhaenyra's cries echoed in the empty chamber, a sound of pure, unadulterated passion that made the very air feel charged with dragon-fire. Every thrust was a claim on the realm, a promise that the world would belong to their line and no other.
In the quiet aftermath, as the moonlight spilled through the windows and illuminated the empty map, Jace held her. He could feel the Supernatural Healing in his body already cooling his skin, but the fire in his mind remained.
"Daemon's time is coming to an end," Jace said quietly, his voice devoid of emotion. "He is a wild card we can no longer afford. When he and Aemond meet, the board will be cleared of the old players."
"And then?" Rhaenyra asked, looking up at him.
"And then, we descend," Jace replied. "We take the city, we take the throne, and we show the world what happens when the blood of the dragon is refined by the gods."
Suddenly, his Supernatural Senses spiked. A raven was approaching, but it didn't carry the seal of any lord. It was a secret message from one of his "sharpened" spies in the Red Keep.
Jace disentangled himself and walked to the window. He didn't need to wait for the bird to land. He felt the ripple in the web.
"The Greens are moving," Jace whispered, a cold, predatory smile touching his lips. "Aemond has taken the bait. He is preparing to fly north."
The Dance was moving into its most lethal phase, and Jacaerys Velaryon was ready to strike the final blow.