It was late at night.
Draped in a black robe, Otto stepped out of the brothel's main door and, under the protection of his guards, entered the carriage.
"My lord, White Maggot is nothing but a whore born from a brothel."
The young attendant driving the carriage spoke indignantly.
Otto removed his hood, his eyes calm as he replied indifferently, "Even a whore can be a capable one."
"You extended goodwill to her, yet she didn't even acknowledge it. She even dares to think of standing on equal footing with you."
The young attendant was still fuming.
He was from the Hightower family of Oldtown, Otto's nephew and cousin by blood.
Seeing his uncle go to such lengths to win over a mere prostitute left him feeling deeply frustrated.
Otto's gaze was deep, his tone even. "You must look further ahead. White Maggot is merely a worm from the gutter—the real focus is on the people behind her."
The Targaryen heir was growing up, showing signs of prosperity.
Among them, four carried Hightower blood, and they were all his grandsons and granddaughters.
Aspiring for the throne was unrealistic, but securing titles as princes and princesses was well within reach.
Rhaegar's granting of Harrenhal had set a precedent—the other heirs would not just sit idly by.
Based on Targaryen family history, it was only a matter of time before the kingdom plunged into turmoil.
By preparing in advance, he could secure a strong foothold in court.
Hearing the profound meaning in his uncle's words, the young attendant only half-understood but focused on driving the carriage.
Slowly, they were about to exit Flea Bottom.
Suddenly, a mocking curse rang out.
"Shit Minister, go eat some shit!!"
The young attendant was startled and instinctively looked around.
*SPLASH!*
A bucket of filth rained down from above, landing squarely on the carriage roof.
"Pah! Pah! Which damn bastard did this?!"
The young attendant, now covered head to toe in filth, wiped his face furiously and roared in frustration.
"Get out of Flea Bottom, or we'll make sure you eat your fill every day!"
Above them, a group of filthy heads popped out from the stone buildings, spitting and cursing.
*Swish!*
The young attendant drew his sword, seething with rage, ready to charge up.
"Stop. Don't make things worse."
Otto's voice cut through the tension, his tone firm. "Move along. White Maggot will handle this for us."
Gritting his teeth, the young attendant swallowed his fury. "Yes, my lord."
With that, he ignored the filth dripping down the carriage and lashed the horses, speeding out of Flea Bottom.
Inside the carriage, Otto covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief. His eyes flicked to the slightly damp roof before he slowly closed them.
The saying "bandits come from poor lands" was true in any era.
King's Landing was a city reeking of filth.
Refugees from all over the Seven Kingdoms, unable to survive elsewhere, flooded into the capital in search of food.
This made King's Landing a lawless place, where conflicts between nobles and commoners were frequent and severe.
As Master of Laws, Otto was responsible for cleaning the city streets.
Unsurprisingly, this touched the fragile nerves of the impoverished masses, provoking strong resistance.
After a series of failed policies, he devised a solution tailored to the situation.
If the poor resisted noble rule, then let the poor govern themselves.
White Maggot was a prime example of a commoner with exceptional talent.
That was one of the main reasons he had gone to such lengths to win her over.
---
### The Next Day
Viserys lay in bed, holding his beautiful wife in his arms, unwilling to wake from his dream.
Alicent rested her head on his arm, listening to his familiar snores, her gaze slightly dazed.
She hadn't slept all night.
Her mind had been occupied with securing power for their children.
*Knock, knock…*
A knock at the door broke the silence, followed by the voice of Ser Erik.
"Your Grace, Your Majesty, urgent news from the Stepstones!"
Hearing this, Alicent's eyelids fluttered as she returned to her senses.
She reached out and gently shook her husband, her voice hoarse. "Viserys, wake up. There's a message from the Stepstones."
As she shook him harder, Viserys groggily woke.
"What is it, Alicent?"
Still half-asleep, he tried to sit up but realized his right arm was numb.
Alicent sighed helplessly, got up, pulled on her nightgown, and walked barefoot to the door.
Outside, Erik stood with a solemn expression. He nodded respectfully. "Your Majesty."
"Come in. Tell him yourself."
Alicent stepped aside, allowing him in.
Erik strode in without daring to glance around.
Seeing the king trying to shake feeling back into his right hand, he presented a letter with both hands.
"Alright, let me see."
Annoyed at being woken so early, Viserys reluctantly took the letter and opened it.
*Tear—*
He ripped the seal and unfolded the letter, reading carefully.
Moments later—
Viserys' expression changed drastically. He exclaimed in shock, "Vaemond Velaryon is dead!"
"Ser Vaemond?"
Alicent was equally stunned.
Vaemond was the younger brother of Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake. The two were very close and deeply committed to their family's honor.
Viserys nodded grimly. "The letter says Vaemond complained of stomach pain some time ago. At first, he didn't think much of it, but it worsened over time."
"Until the night before last, when he suddenly collapsed in agony. His stomach swelled like a drum, and he died in unbearable pain."
Alicent's eyes flickered. She quickly asked, "What about Aegon? Is he alright?"
"Don't worry, Aegon is fine."
Viserys' voice grew heavy. "Vaemond's death is suspicious—it doesn't seem like an illness."
First came the stomach pain, then the sudden swelling and death.
He knew this kind of death all too well.
His father, Baelon Targaryen, once experienced stomach pain during a hunting trip. Upon returning to King's Landing, he died in agony.
Alicent was quick-witted. Her mind turned sharply, and she exclaimed, "Someone was poisoned!"
"That possibility cannot be ruled out. The poisons of Lys are numerous and varied."
Viserys sighed and said in a low voice, "I heard some time ago that Lord Corlys has awakened. Vaemond's body will be returned to Driftmark for his funeral, and the royal family is expected to attend."
Vaemond had died while guarding the Stepstones.
Both sentiment and duty dictated that House Targaryen should offer their condolences.
"I'll make the arrangements."
Understanding the urgency of the matter, Alicent immediately ordered Grand Maester Mellos to send a raven.
---
At the same time…
After soaking in the hot springs all night, Rhaegar awoke from his sleep, his eyes dazed and unfocused.
"Rrrgh…"
Sensing its rider had awakened, Glutton rose from a nearby clearing, letting out a deep, hissing growl.
"My skin's all wrinkled from soaking."
Rhaegar ran a hand through his wet hair, dressed quickly, and rode his dragon back to Harrenhal.
As soon as he landed, a stocky, broad-bodied man named Truu came running toward him in a hurry.
"What happened?"
Watching Truu's small, hurried steps, Rhaegar couldn't help but chuckle.
Truu handed over a letter, panting, his voice thick and honest. "A message from the Stepstones. I came to find you immediately."
Hearing this, Rhaegar's expression changed. He swiftly took the letter and read it.
It was from Tormond, who had stayed behind on Bloodstone Island.
The letter detailed Vaemond's death, describing the circumstances before, during, and after.
Based on the evidence, it was highly likely that he had been poisoned—assassinated.
*Clench—*
Rhaegar crushed the letter into a ball and handed it to Truu, instructing solemnly, "Oversee Harrenhal's operations. If you need help managing things, consult Robb. I need to return to King's Landing."
"Yes, Prince."
Truu fumbled to catch the crumpled letter and nodded repeatedly.
After issuing his orders, Rhaegar mounted his dragon and flew off without looking back.
---
Glutton was incredibly fast. In less than an hour, he had carried Rhaegar from Harrenhal to King's Landing.
Truth be told, Harrenhal's location was strategically vital.
Not only did it block the riverlords, but it also took advantage of the swift currents of the Trident to keep armies from the Vale and the North at bay.
Most importantly, it was remarkably close to King's Landing.
"Screeech—"
Glutton circled over the capital before letting out a triumphant cry, announcing their return.
After landing in the Dragonpit, Rhaegar intended to head straight to the Red Keep.
"Prince, please wait a moment."
A figure in a black cloak emerged from the shadows, moving lightly.
Rhaegar turned back to look.
The man, Syriu, wore a smirking expression. Beneath his hood, a few strands of curly brown hair peeked out.
"Has there been any news in King's Landing?" Rhaegar asked.
Syriu was his planted informant in the capital, overseeing a network of skilled operatives tasked with gathering intelligence.
"Indeed. One of the high and mighty got doused in filth—seems they've decided to work with maggots."
Syriu clicked his tongue, his words laced with meaning. "The stench of shit in the city is getting stronger. I barely want to step outside."
"Maggots?" Rhaegar murmured, frowning. "Is Otto forming an alliance with someone?"
He had never heard of the "White Worm."
Syriu provided an explanation. "The White Worm, also known as Mysaria, was a prostitute from Lys who was once Prince Daemon's paramour…"
After skipping unnecessary background details, he got to the point.
"The White Worm, Little Mysaria, runs the largest intelligence network in King's Landing. Who she truly serves is still unknown."
"She's incredibly mysterious. Even I've only heard of her—I've never seen her in person."
Syriu pursed his lips, marveling at how a mere courtesan had risen to such prominence.
After this initial briefing, Rhaegar furrowed his brow and ordered, "Look into the White Worm."
"Should we stop Otto from working with her?" Syriu asked.
Rhaegar immediately declined. "No need. It's about time King's Landing was cleaned up, and Otto is the perfect person for that job."
A task that would earn nothing but curses? That was definitely one for Lord Otto.
As for the White Worm…
No matter how much intelligence she gathered or how well she understood human nature, she was still just a worm lurking in the shadows.
She was no match for the crushing weight of true power.
Not worth worrying about.
---
At the Red Keep…
Rhaegar entered Maegor's Holdfast and climbed the stairs.
At a corner landing, he encountered a tall, lean, middle-aged man with a shaved head.
"Prince, how may I serve you?"
"No need, Lord Caswell."
Rhaegar, in a hurry, merely greeted him before brushing past.
Lord Caswell nodded slightly and stepped aside to allow him more room to pass.
He was a member of House Caswell.
Their lands lay in the Reach, at Bitterbridge, sworn to House Tyrell of Highgarden.
Ascending to the top floor, Rhaegar entered the royal chambers, where he found his father having breakfast.
"Father, Lord Vaemond has been murdered."
Rhaegar made no attempt to soften the words, directly stating that Vaemond had been "murdered."
Viserys calmly cut his roast lamb, chewing slowly before replying, "I know. We will all be traveling to Driftmark for the funeral in a few days."
"As long as you're aware."
Seeing his father's composed demeanor, Rhaegar felt reassured.
*Gurgle—*
His stomach rumbled. He frowned, then pulled up a chair and sat at the table.
So much had happened early in the morning that he hadn't had time to eat.
(End of Chapter)