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The moment the royal council meeting concluded, Alicent immediately made her way back to the king's bedchamber.
As soon as she pushed open the heavy door, a thick medicinal scent assaulted her senses.
A barely perceptible frown flickered across her face.
She stepped forward gracefully, her silk dress rustling softly as she approached the grand bed, lavishly adorned with goose-down pillows and opulent drapery. There, lying in uneasy slumber, was King Viserys. His face contorted slightly as he let out a feeble groan, his breathing shallow and uneven.
Sensing someone's approach, the seemingly slumbering king slowly opened his eyes.
The moment their gazes met, Alicent's expression instantly softened into a warm and tender smile. Her voice, gentle as a whisper, carried a note of concern.
"Your Grace, did I wake you?"
"Ahh… no, no, I wasn't asleep anyway," Viserys groaned, his voice hoarse and feeble. "Is there anything important today?"
As he turned his head slightly to speak, the movement exposed the full horror of his face.
The right side of his face was a ghastly sight—rotting flesh, blackened and decayed, stretched across his skull. From his right eye socket, a constant trickle of thick, cloudy pus oozed out, staining his cheek. His mouth, once filled with regal authority, now bore broken and yellowed teeth, several of which had already fallen out. His entire visage resembled the walking dead from a plague-ravaged nightmare.
Alicent's smile remained unchanged, her expression unwavering. Only the subtle deepening of her breath betrayed the discomfort in her heart.
"Your Grace, it is nothing but the usual affairs of the realm. Your kingdom remains as prosperous and stable as ever."
"Good, good… that is all that matters… ahhh…" Viserys sighed, his lips curving into a weak attempt at a smile—though on his ruined face, it was more terrifying than comforting. Then, he slowly turned his head away and once again closed his eyes.
With her duty fulfilled, Alicent did not linger. She turned on her heel and swiftly departed, heading straight for her own chambers.
Just as she reached the entrance, Ser Criston Cole stepped forward and spoke in a hushed tone. "Your Grace, the Hand of the King is waiting for you."
"Thank you, Ser Criston. Do not allow anyone to approach."
"As you command."
With a creak, the door swung open.
Inside, Otto Hightower was seated on a chair, leisurely sipping from a goblet of wine. Without looking up, he spoke directly. "Ser Harrold has sent Ser Rickard Thorne to the Stepstones. I have already arranged for one of his retainers to assassinate Jacaerys Velaryon. Do not worry, all traces of my involvement have been erased."
"No. Absolutely not!" Alicent's expression darkened as she immediately cut him off. "Father, I have never considered taking Rhaenyra's son's life. Seven years ago, I did not, and today, I still do not."
Otto's brows furrowed, his voice sharp and insistent. "Alicent, how much longer will you remain softhearted? Rhaenyra's son blinded your child! Have you forgotten that? Do you intend to let that wound go unavenged?"
His voice grew heavier with each word, his gaze filled with stern authority.
"Do you understand the gravity of this situation? Even the seasoned warrior Corlys Velaryon has been ensnared in the Stepstones conflict for years, unable to resolve the chaos. Yet Jacaerys—he quelled the war in a single month. A single month!" Otto's fingers tightened around his goblet, his knuckles white.
"As much as I loathe to admit it, the boy is a military genius. And the rumors? They are true—he is ruthless, cruel, and utterly devoid of mercy! If such a monster ascends the Iron Throne, what then? You, your children, our house, the entire Hightower legacy—no, the Seven Kingdoms themselves—will be plunged into disaster!"
Years ago, these words might have shaken Alicent to her core. But she had grown. She had learned. She could judge matters with her own mind now.
"I have never forgotten what happened to Aemond," she said, her voice steady. "I will see justice done. One day, I will make sure he gets his due. But I will say this only once, Lord Hand—you will not kill Rhaenyra's son."
Silence filled the chamber.
Otto exhaled sharply, his breath heavy with frustration. Finally, he gave a slow nod and bowed. "As you command, Your Grace. The assassin will avoid striking a fatal blow. Let the beast live and crawl back to Dragonstone to lick his wounds."
With that, Otto rose and left without another word.
Alicent watched her father's retreating figure, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her fingers clenched tightly together, pressing hard against her nails.
She stood there, lost in thought for a long time.
Then, she opened the door and called out, "Criston, summon Larys Strong."
The steady thud of a cane striking stone echoed through the corridors. Soon, Larys Strong limped into the queen's chambers. His right leg, twisted and crippled from birth, dragged slightly with each step.
This man—Master of Whisperers and Lord Confessor—was a shadowy figure who wielded an unseen web of spies and informants. Most importantly, he was fiercely loyal to Alicent.
Once, he had even arranged for his own father and brother to be burned alive at Harrenhal, all for her sake.
The moment he sat down, he spoke without hesitation. "Your Grace, I assume you seek information on a certain Kingsguard's retainer?"
As expected, he had already pieced together her intent before she uttered a single word.
"This retainer will attempt to assassinate Jacaerys Velaryon in the Stepstones. I do not wish for his death. However, I need him wounded—enough to be sent back to Dragonstone."
Having spent years in close association with Larys, Alicent knew all too well that nothing could escape his keen eyes and sharp mind.
Thus, instead of resorting to pretense, she chose to state her request directly.
Larys chuckled, his fingers tapping lightly against his cane. "Not an easy task, but I shall do my utmost to ensure it is done. Of course…" His voice lowered, his eyes gleaming with cunning. "That is, provided I am granted my due reward."
Alicent remained silent for a long moment, her gaze lowered as she deliberated over his words. Finally, with a steely resolve, she clenched her jaw and lifted both her feet onto the side of the chaise lounge.
With deliberate slowness, she extended a hand and peeled away her silk stockings, revealing a pair of pale, flawless feet—graceful, smooth, and delicate, like the fabled Swan Queen's Silken Steps.
All the while, Larys' eyes remained locked onto them, filled with an almost fervent obsession, his expression one of deep intoxication.
Once Alicent had adjusted her posture, she averted her gaze, turning her face away.
Larys, unable to contain himself any longer, immediately set to work, his hands moving with practiced precision as he indulged in his peculiar craft.
---
The Bloodstone Seas
Beyond the Stepstones, in the waters near Bloodstone, a grand merchant vessel bore the sigil of a golden roaring lion upon its sails. It cut through the waves at full speed, desperately fleeing towards the distant continent of Essos.
Behind it, two sleek warships adorned with black three-headed dragon banners pursued relentlessly, refusing to let their prey escape.
Despite being heavily laden with cargo and significantly heavier than its pursuers, the merchant vessel had a key advantage—a crew twice as large as those aboard the warships, all rowing with unmatched fervor. This effort allowed the distance between them to remain steady, preventing an immediate confrontation.
The chase had continued for an indeterminate time, stretching long enough that the merchant ship was now on the verge of breaking free from Bloodstone waters.
Then—
*ROOOAR!!!*
A piercing, resounding dragon's cry suddenly echoed from the right-hand sky.
The sailors aboard the merchant ship paled in terror, their eyes wide with dread as they instinctively turned toward the source of the sound.
In the distant horizon, gleaming beneath the sunlight, a majestic emerald dragon descended from the heavens. Its scales shimmered with a dazzling, otherworldly luster, a mesmerizing blend of green and gold.
As it neared the surface of the sea, the emerald dragon exhibited an astonishing degree of agility, altering its trajectory mid-flight, its massive form now skimming just above the ocean waves as it hurtled toward them.
"Damnation! It's the Scourge of the Realm—and his man-eating beast!"
"Damn that lying captain! He swore his intelligence was reliable, that the Scourge of the Realm was still patrolling the Grey Gallows!"
"Shit! All this just for a handful of silver stags? I must be the biggest fool alive!"
"I don't want to be devoured by a dragon!"
As soon as they recognized their doom, several sailors collapsed into despair, their bodies trembling. Some even broke down in loud, wailing sobs, their cries of regret and fear rising above the crashing of the waves.
But the emerald dragon, locked in its deadly course, cared nothing for their sorrow.
WHOOSH!
A pillar of searing orange dragonfire erupted from its mighty jaws, surging forward in an instant to strike the right flank of the merchant vessel's hull.
The scorching flames were so intense that the wooden structure of the ship melted upon impact, leaving behind a gaping, perfectly circular hole where the fire had burned through.
Within moments, the dragonfire pierced through the ship entirely, bursting out from the left side in a terrifying inferno.
Then—
*BOOOOM!!!*
The emerald dragon, still descending at an incredible speed, slammed straight into the gaping hole it had created.
CRUNCH!
With a sickening crack, the merchant ship—already far less reinforced than a war vessel—was torn cleanly in half from the sheer force of the impact.
A handful of unfortunate sailors were instantly incinerated, reduced to nothing more than charred remains. Others were crushed to pulp beneath the dragon's massive frame.
But the majority?
The overwhelming force of the collision sent dozens of crewmen plummeting into the sea, their terrified screams swallowed by the waves.
Having successfully obliterated its target, the emerald dragon didn't so much as spare a glance back. Instead, it turned mid-air and, without hesitation, soared toward Bloodstone once more.
Meanwhile, the two pursuing warships finally caught up, arriving just in time to begin their salvage operations—rescuing survivors, retrieving what cargo remained, and securing control over the wreckage.
---
The Fortress on Bloodstone
WHOOSH! WHOOSH!
With a powerful downward stroke of its wings, Vermex—the emerald dragon—landed before a crimson-hued stronghold, its massive claws digging into the earth.
Waiting outside was Baela, who immediately stepped forward upon seeing its arrival.
She cast a quick glance at the approaching rider before reporting with a calm yet urgent tone.
"Jace, your guest has been waiting for you for quite some time."
Hearing this, Jacaerys Velaryon, who had maintained a grim and somber expression throughout his flight, finally allowed the corners of his lips to curve into a rare smile.
"So he's here at last…"
His deep voice carried the weight of anticipation.
"I've been expecting him for a long time."
..
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[IMAGE]
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[Chapter End's]
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