Bang!
The door slammed shut in a hurry, revealing the flustered state of the person closing it.
Rhaegar chuckled, holding the letter in his hands with a satisfied grin.
The letter brought good news—Jeyne was pregnant.
It was still early, likely conceived during their time in Seagull Town.
A warmth spread through Rhaegar's chest as he muttered, "When it comes to having children, I guess I'm not bad either."
His mind was already picturing his yet-unborn third child.
Would it be a boy or a girl? Would the child take after their mother and inherit the Arryn family's features?
He vaguely recalled a tradition among the Targaryens—when Targaryen men married women from other noble houses, their firstborns often inherited the mother's appearance.
After pondering for a moment, he smiled and murmured to himself, "They're all my children. The Arryn lineage isn't bad at all."
Rhaenyra's children were destined to be the firstborn and secondborn, so there was no need to worry about Jeyne's child competing for status.
All he had to do was wholeheartedly accept the child.
Besides, if they inherited Arryn features, it would make the future inheritance of the Eyrie and the Vale all the more seamless.
"Hmm~"
Rhaegar's violet eyes flickered as he considered the future.
Jeyne had no official title yet, meaning their child would be born a bastard.
However, the war was far from over, and the prospect of taking additional wives remained a distant goal.
Not to mention the hurdle that was Rhaenyra.
The Faith of the Seven would be the first to cry out in protest, and many traditional noble houses would oppose it as well.
Then there were the lords who disapproved of female inheritance, who would use this as another reason to challenge Jeyne's status as a duchess.
Rhaegar mulled over the issue, but no ideal solution came to mind.
To break convention, one needed overwhelming strength.
He turned his gaze to the brilliant blue sky over Myr.
Speaking of which...
Myr was ideally situated within the Myrish Bay, surrounded on three sides, with the Myr River connecting it to the open sea.
The city was also highly innovative.
Its light industry was exceptionally advanced—high-density lenses for astronomy, triple-shot crossbows, delicate lacework...
Its architecture blended land and water seamlessly.
White stone towers and pavilions stood tall, while fountains, statues, and public squares adorned the city.
Narrow canals wound through the city, linking the western port to the Myr River on the eastern frontier.
The city was wealthy, so much so that several small banks had been established.
For now, Rhaegar had refrained from interfering with the banks to avoid stirring resentment—he'd deal with them later.
As he gazed upon the city, he found himself lost in thought, murmuring softly, "This is truly a treasure trove."
Among the three Free Cities ruled by women, Myr and Lys were his favorites.
Lys had the largest population, with a flourishing brothel industry that ensured an abundance of wealthy patrons.
Myr, on the other hand, was well-rounded, boasting the finest craftsmanship in the world.
Being on the Essos mainland, it was also a prime location for colonization and territorial expansion.
Originally, his plan was to grant Lys to Daemon, taxing him at fifty percent of the city's revenue while establishing it as an overseas trade hub.
However, Daemon's arrogance had led him to seize Tyrosh instead, a city suffering from industrial decline.
Tyrosh's only major industries were slavery and mercenary companies.
Seizing control of the city while dismantling its slave economy would be like cutting flesh from the bone, and stabilizing the displaced mercenaries would be another major headache.
But if Daemon was willing to take on the challenge, Rhaegar was more than happy to let him suffer the consequences.
This would be a test of his leadership abilities.
"Myr... a land worth developing."
A glint of starlight flickered in Rhaegar's violet eyes as his mind raced.
He was already considering contingency plans for delaying his marriage expansion.
Even if his child couldn't inherit the Eyrie, he would ensure they bore the Targaryen name.
And if no one welcomed the child, he would grant them Myr as their domain.
He wasn't afraid of having too many children or of future infighting between siblings.
Each child would receive their own land—pointing their ambitions outward, rather than against one another, was the key.
Harrenhal, the prince's palace, Lys, Myr—excluding the eldest, who would inherit the throne, there were still enough holdings for four more children.
If that wasn't enough, he would conquer Dorne.
Dorne may be a desert, but its fertile oases offered plenty of wealth and land to divide among his children.
He intended to follow in the footsteps of Aegon the Conqueror and his great-grandfather Jaehaerys.
Expanding territory while raising heirs.
The more land he took, the more children he would have.
His children would rule these lands, and their offspring would continue to expand, claiming even more territory.
More land meant more children.
Generation after generation, House Targaryen would only grow stronger, never weakening through internal strife.
Rhaegar's mind was clear.
This was no longer the Valyrian Freehold, where forty dragonlord families vied for supremacy.
Now, the land was unclaimed—no, it was land without dragons.
And the Targaryens, blessed with dragons, were destined to be the chosen ones.
Having tasted the sweet victory of conquering the three Free Cities, Rhaegar had become obsessed with the idea of territorial expansion.
Conquest—no, scratch that.
Essos had always been the colonial land of the Freehold.
The Targaryens were merely reclaiming what was rightfully theirs.
They were restoring the lost glory of the Valyrian Freehold.
At this thought, Rhaegar abruptly got up, picked up the fallen carving knife, and walked out the door.
He was only 16 years old and was already about to become the father of three children.
With his long-lived bloodline, he could live to be a hundred.
At his current rate of having children, it was hard to estimate how many descendants he would have.
He was heading out to fight for his offspring's territory.
…
Myr, on the eastern outskirts of the city.
Screeech—
Screeech…
A black and a red dragon circled overhead, guiding the cavalry below as they galloped forward.
Looking back, the thick city walls of Myr were still faintly visible in the distance.
The Glutton flapped its broad wings, gliding as low as possible while scouting southeast.
About fifteen minutes later…
A cavalry force of several hundred men rode onto a wide road paved with black dragonstone.
This was the Valyrian Road, a special route built during ancient Valyria to transport supplies and troops.
The road split in two directions—one leading north to Pentos, the other heading south toward Volantis along the Rhoyne River.
Of course, this was just a rough direction.
In the past, the western part of Essos had more than just the Nine Free Cities—there were many other prosperous towns.
Unfortunately, when Old Valyria was destroyed, they were all reduced to ashes.
Now, the road to Pentos disappeared halfway through.
The road to Volantis was in even worse condition, ending in a desolate wasteland.
Screeeech—
The Glutton let out a roar, soaring over the low, barren woodlands and heading toward the wide Myr River.
The river was rapid, flowing swiftly southeast.
At the end of the river lay a vast stretch of unclaimed land, wedged between the Free Cities of Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys.
It was known as the Disputed Lands.
At the heart of the Disputed Lands were two massive inland lakes, which had no official names.
The Myr River flowed into these lakes, connecting to the northern half of the Disputed Lands.
Rhaegar sat astride his dragon's back, surveying the river and land below.
The river's strong current prevented excessive silt buildup.
With irrigation from the water, the land was fertile, covered in shrubs and herbaceous plants.
But what pleased Rhaegar most…
The land was flat—ideal for cultivation.
Northeast of Myr lay the rolling Norvos Hills.
To the east, the confluence of the Rhoyne and Sarne Rivers formed a natural barrier.
In other words…
This land was perfect for farming.
After flying for a while, Rhaegar ordered the Glutton to descend.
The massive dragon chose a river bend and slowly landed.
Screeeech…
Meraxes circled twice before landing nearby with Rhaenys on its back.
The aunt and niece exchanged glances and silently surveyed the land.
Before long, Robb arrived with the Second Sons cavalry.
Dismounting swiftly, Robb commanded his men to spread out while he led a few trusted officers toward Rhaegar.
"Prince, what are your orders?"
Robb's expression was serious.
Rhaegar waved his hand. "Relax. Take a good look at the land we've conquered."
With the fall of the Three Daughters, the so-called Disputed Lands had changed hands—it was all Targaryen territory now.
Robb, quick-witted as ever, took in the scene—the river bend, the fertile soil, and the lush vegetation.
Judging by the land alone, it was no worse than the mill estate he had been granted, though it lacked people and settlements.
Rhaegar didn't like wasting time. He got straight to the point: "The men of the Second Sons have no fiefs, and the Disputed Lands have no lord. They deserve to be rewarded."
To truly control the Three Daughters, the Disputed Lands had to be utilized.
Myr was easy—its hundreds of thousands of slaves were skilled in light industry, and reopening trade would bring wealth.
But Lys and Tyrosh relied on the slave trade, brothels, and mercenaries—things outlawed in Westeros.
Rhaegar personally had no desire to profit from such enterprises.
With so many slaves and landless men, land was the solution.
By granting land to landless knights who swore loyalty to him, and giving them some slaves as their subjects, they could establish Targaryen strongholds in Essos.
Robb was stunned by the proposal. He hesitated before speaking.
Rhaegar asked, "Tell me your thoughts. You lead the Second Sons—you should fight for their interests."
"Prince, with all due respect," Robb carefully chose his words, looking troubled. "The land is fertile, yes, but the men of the Second Sons are landless. Even with your settlement decree, they don't have the funds to manage a fief."
A proper noble estate needed at least a castle.
On top of that, plows, food to sustain settlers, and mills for grinding grain were all costly investments.
Robb was certain—if his men had that kind of money, they would rather spend their lives in the brothels of Lys.
Rhaegar acknowledged the point. He had already considered this issue.
Westeros had plenty of land, yet very few landless knights ever built noble houses from scratch.
For the second sons of noble families, the pinnacle of their careers—aside from the unlikely death of their elder brothers—was to serve greater lords.
For commoners, becoming a knight was already a blessing from the Seven.
The proletarian knights are the mainstream of society, providing manpower for the true nobility.
Rhaegar thought for a moment and then said seriously, "The royal family can provide some loans. How many people do you think would dare to develop new territories?"
"Prince, the royal treasury doesn't have that much money."
Robb looked troubled.
As the commander of the Royal Guard, he had heard plenty of complaints from the finance minister, Linman.
"I know the treasury's finances better than you do."
Rhaegar's expression remained unchanged as he continued, "I need to open up new lands, and I'll need at least thirty new lords willing to take the risk."
"Thirty people…"
Robb's expression eased slightly. He gritted his teeth and said, "I can find them, but they'll need sufficient funds, along with the support of scholars and healers."
Without money and technology, failure was inevitable.
"No problem. Survey the land along the Myr River Basin to identify suitable areas for cultivation."
Rhaegar gave Robb a firm pat on the shoulder, exuding confidence.
There were knights from the second sons' group willing to become lords and landless slaves to serve as settlers—it was a perfect match.
As for where the money would come from?
The Iron Bank!
Turning his head, Rhaegar looked at Rhaenys with anticipation and asked, "Aunt, can the Velaryon family still establish contact with the Iron Bank?"
"With the war ongoing, the Iron Bank won't lend to enemies."
Rhaenys sighed softly, immediately seeing through her nephew's intentions.
Rhaegar grinned, his eyes gleaming. "If we can't borrow directly, the banks can."
The three city-states all had their own banks—this was the perfect opportunity to use them.
As the largest financial institution, the Iron Bank would never pass up the chance to absorb smaller financial entities.
Would the Sealord of Braavos oppose it?
The Sealord was just the Sealord—he didn't represent the power group behind the Iron Bank.
(End of Chapter)