The fog in the Gullet was so thick it felt like a physical weight against the hulls of the Velaryon ships. Jacaerys stood on the prow of the Sea Snake's Pride, his Supernatural Senses piercing through the mist. He could feel the heartbeats of every sailor on the deck—rhythms of fear and anticipation. He had spent the last two days "blessing" the fleet, moving from ship to ship, subtly applying Skill Sharing to the navigators and the lookouts. To the men, he was a Prince who cared for his soldiers; to Jace, he was ensuring that this invasion would be a surgical strike, not a slaughter.
"The wind is with us, My Prince," a navigator whispered, his eyes unnaturally sharp as he stared into the grey void. He didn't know why he could suddenly see the jagged rocks of the Massey's Hook through the fog, but he felt as though the Prince's hand on his shoulder had granted him the sight of a hawk.
"The wind follows the True Queen," Jace replied, his voice calm.
But his mind was back in the castle, where Rhaenyra waited. She had been quiet as the departure neared, her eyes following him with a haunting intensity. Every time he turned away to talk of logistics, he could feel her insecurity flaring—the silent question of whether the thrill of the war would soon eclipse the thrill of her.
He had left her that morning in her solar, the room filled with the scent of the incense he had brought from the Essosi traders. He had found her looking at a portrait of her younger self, her fingers tracing the jawline of the girl she used to be.
"That girl was a princess," Jace had said, stepping into the room and closing the door. "But the woman standing before me is a legend. She is the dragon's fire made flesh."
He had walked to her, his movements a slow, deliberate pursuit. He didn't want to talk of King's Landing then. He wanted to anchor her. He led her to the large, cushioned alcove by the window. The romance between them was not just a byproduct of their physical needs; it was the foundation of the empire he was building. He spoke to her of his devotion, of how every victory he won was a gift for her altar.
The intimacy that followed was a slow, worshipful exploration. He wanted her to feel desired not as a Queen, but as Rhaenyra. He knelt before her, his hands parting the heavy velvet of her skirts with a reverence that made her breath hitch. He spent a long time using his mouth to adore her, his tongue working with a rhythmic, divine precision that centered entirely on her pleasure. He explored every sensitive inch of her inner thighs and the core of her being, his Supernatural Senses allowing him to perfectly match the rising tide of her arousal. He ate her out until she was weeping with relief, her fingers tangled in his dark hair, her insecurities burned away by the sheer intensity of his focus.
When he finally rose to join with her, the sex was a beautiful, slow-motion collision. He moved with a supernatural grace, his eyes never leaving hers, ensuring she felt the soul-deep connection they shared. It was a prolonged, sensual dance of skin and breath, a promise whispered in every thrust that he would never lose interest, that his hunger for her was as eternal as the fire of the 14 Flames.
Now, standing on the ship, Jace felt the resonance of that connection. It was the anchor that allowed him to be the cold, calculating commander the world saw.
"Signal the rear of the fleet," Jace commanded, his voice returning to its authoritative baritone. "We enter the Blackwater under the shroud of the dawn. No fires, no horns."
Through his Dragon Mastery, he sent a mental pulse toward Dragonstone. High in the crags of the Dragonmont, Vormax shifted, his massive wings unfurling. The dragon didn't need to be told. He knew the hunt was beginning.
Jace looked toward the distant, invisible shoreline of King's Landing. He knew Aemond was miles away, probably landing at Harrenhal, finding only ghosts and a clever trap. While the Prince Regent hunted shadows, Jace would take the substance.
"By tonight," Jace whispered to the wind, "the iron seat will have its rightful occupant."
The board was set. The Greens were blind, and the Black Queen's King was at their door.