The salt air bit at Jace's skin, a sharp reminder of the world's cold reality beneath the magical veil he'd woven around himself. He stood at the prow of the Sea Snake's Pride, his hand resting on the damp wood of the railing. The fog was his ally, a thick, grey wool that muffled the rhythmic splash of oars and the creak of the fleet's rigging.
His ears, sharper than any man's on this ship, caught the distant, low tolling of a bell from the city. It was a funeral pace, slow and tired. King's Landing was a city in mourning, or perhaps just a city waiting to exhale.
Jace let his mind drift back to the morning of his departure. He could still feel the warmth of Rhaenyra's skin against his palms and the way her breath had hitched when he'd whispered the promise of a crown and a wedding. She'd looked at him with a vulnerability that pierced through his armor more effectively than any Valyrian steel. He knew she feared the passing years—that she saw every fine line as a reason for him to look away.
If only she could see through my eyes, he thought, his jaw tightening. To him, she wasn't a woman fading; she was a storm gathering strength. The power he'd shared with her hadn't just changed her body; it had fused their spirits. He didn't want a girl; he wanted the Queen who had survived the fires of the Red Keep and the betrayals of her own blood.
"My Prince?" Ser Steffon's voice was low, breaking into his reverie. "The Mud Gate is in sight. Or it will be, once the sun lifts the veil."
Jace nodded, his gaze fixed on the darkening grey of the horizon. "Tell the archers to hold. We aren't here to burn the docks. We're here to take what is ours."
He felt the subtle pull of Vormax in the back of his mind—a thrumming vibration of hunger and loyalty. The dragon was miles away, high above the clouds, yet Jace could feel the air rushing over the beast's obsidian scales. He didn't need to shout. The connection was a tether, a silent command that kept the massive predator circling, waiting for the signal to descend.
As the fleet slid deeper into the Blackwater, the silhouettes of the city's towers began to emerge from the mist like the teeth of a giant. Jace felt a surge of cold, focused energy. This was the moment he had calculated for since the day he'd woken up in this timeline. The city was hollowed out. Cole and Aemond had chased the phantom of Daemon to Harrenhal, leaving only the wounded and the terrified behind.
He thought of Aegon, hidden away in some dark room of the Red Keep, smelling of rot and poppy. There was no pity in Jace's heart, only a grim necessity. The old world had to be cleared away to make room for the new.
"Prepare the landing party," Jace commanded, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet it carried across the deck with absolute authority.
He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing Rhaenyra in her solar. He could almost smell the jasmine on her skin. He wasn't just taking a city for a mother or a queen; he was securing a home for the woman who made his divine blood feel human. He would place her on that throne, and then he would kneel before her—not as a subject, but as a man claiming his equal.
A sudden flare of light broke through the fog—a torch on the city walls. The alarm was about to be raised.
Jace didn't flinch. He looked up, his eyes flashing with a dark, violet light. He sent the mental command, a sharp, golden spike of intent.
Far above, a roar that sounded like the earth itself cracking open shattered the morning silence. The fog didn't just lift; it was blown away by the force of Vormax's descent.