Outside the door, three Kingsguard led by Arys Oakheart stood watch.
Yet as Kal opened the door and stepped out, the looks they cast his way grew strange—mixed with an indescribable reverence, as though they were gazing upon a god.
After all, what had just taken place inside the room was something the three of them had heard clearly from beginning to end, leaving them utterly astonished.
Kal did not acknowledge them. He merely reached back and closed the door behind him.
"Your Grace, earlier Lord Roland Crakehall sent his steward. On his behalf, he conveyed an invitation for you to attend the banquet to be held shortly."
Seeing this, Arys Oakheart immediately lowered his head and reported the matter that had occurred during this interval.
However, upon hearing Arys Oakheart's words, Kal's hand paused slightly on the door handle.
He then adjusted his collar and turned around. The expression on his face had already, without a sound, become markedly grim. A chill spread outward from within him.
"If I remember correctly, when we arrived under Lord Roland Crakehall's roof as guests, we have yet to accept the bread and salt he offers, have we?"
Amid the sudden, oppressive atmosphere, Kal did not answer whether he would attend the banquet. Instead, he raised a question concerning the rights of a guest. Hearing this, Arys Oakheart and the other two were momentarily taken aback, failing at once to grasp what King Kal meant.
Yet as they caught the inexplicable killing intent threaded through the king's tone, their hearts jolted. They hurriedly lifted their heads to look at their king.
Before any of them could reply, Kal turned his gaze toward the window along the corridor and answered himself.
"Mm—so it seems we have not."
His cold voice carried a faint trace of bloodshed.
Only then did he turn his head back to the three white-clad knights before him.
A sharp glint flashed through his eyes.
"Then in that case—" Kal's voice was unnaturally calm. "In the name of the King, I accuse Lord Roland Crakehall of Crakehall, and his family, of conspiring with the enemy and plotting to murder their king."
"So now I order the three of you: immediately apprehend all personnel connected to House Crakehall, and command Bronn, along with Sandor Clegane, to lead the troops and seize control of the castle at the fastest possible speed."
"If there is any resistance—kill them all."
After issuing the orders, Kal flipped his hand, and a dragonbone-hilted dagger appeared in his grasp.
He then handed it over, to serve as proof for the three of them, as well as for Bronn and the Hound, when mobilizing the troops.
Arys Oakheart and the other two had never imagined matters would develop in this way. Hearing Kal's command, they could not help but gape in shock.
After all, only moments ago their king had been entwined with the woman presented by Lord Roland Crakehall, yet in the blink of an eye he was now ordering the arrest of the very lord who had sincerely invited him into his castle.
Moreover, the severity of the accusation and the blood-scented orders left no doubt that Kal had made his killing intent clear.
Yet no matter how astonished Arys Oakheart and the other two were, as Kingsguard, they had only unconditional obedience to offer in response to the king's command.
Not to mention that the king had even given them a reason for the arrest.
Even without one, so long as Kal spoke, they would have to draw their swords and thrust them in the direction their king indicated.
Arys Oakheart bent forward, lowered his head, and accepted the dragonbone-hilted dagger with both hands.
"Yes, Your Grace!"
Amid the clangor of armor striking armor, an invisible killing intent spread along with the sound.
Protecting the king was their duty. And now that the king had told them someone intended to murder their king and ordered them to apprehend the enemy, they naturally would not refuse.
After saluting to receive their orders, the three prepared to depart.
But just as Ser Balon Swann was about to leave as well, Kal suddenly called out to him.
"Wait. You will stay here and protect the person in this room. From this point on, anyone other than me who attempts to enter or leave this room is to be killed on the spot."
"And keep watch over the person inside. Do not allow her to step out of the room by even half a pace."
With the arrangements made, Kal turned his head once more to glance at the sky outside the window, which had already fallen completely dark.
The air had grown damp, the gale was howling. A heavy rain should be arriving soon.
A rainy night, with high winds—good weather for killing.
Kal was about to savor once again the feeling of carrying a blade through a rainy night, without an umbrella.
Seeing that Ser Balon Swann had been kept behind by the king, Arys Oakheart and Ser Marlyn Warrick had no choice but to accept the order and depart with just the two of them.
They did not act rashly or make a loud commotion along the way.
Instead, they first found Bronn, the sellsword who had just finished his meal and was now lying atop a haystack in a stable, eyes closed and preparing to rest.
"The king has given his command. You are to join Ser Sandor Clegane in mustering the troops, apprehend all members of House Crakehall, and seize control of this castle."
"Ah—what?!"
Just having closed his eyes and now being woken, Bronn—still carrying a bit of waking irritation—thought for a moment that he must have drunk bad wine.
But looking at the white-cloaked knights before him, their faces stern and lit by torchlight, this did not seem like a joke.
Hadn't the lord of this place only just sworn fealty to the king?
As the fierce wind howled, Bronn scratched at his scalp, wondering whether he was dreaming.
Before he could ask why, Arys Oakheart and Marlyn Warrick swept their gazes to either side.
Crakehall was large, but aside from the several dozen men the king had brought in as a personal guard, the rest of his forces were stationed outside, under Sandor Clegane's command.
This stable was the place Lord Roland Crakehall had arranged for them to rest.
Noticing the disturbance here, some people nearby also turned to look.
Seeing this, and to avoid alerting the enemy too early, Arys Oakheart lowered his voice and spoke quickly. "House Crakehall has conspired with the enemy and intends to murder the king."
"His Grace has ordered you and Sandor to muster the troops, surround and secure the castle. The members of House Crakehall are all gathered in the great hall preparing for the banquet. We should seize them all as swiftly as possible."
"Ser Marlyn Warrick and I will move first to restrain Lord Roland Crakehall, to prevent him from realizing what is happening and making preparations."
"That leaves only you to muster the troops."
After rapidly laying out the sequence of events, Arys Oakheart handed the dragonbone-hilted dagger the king had given him to Bronn.
With no time to spare, the two knights turned and went to make their preparations.
Realizing that this was indeed no malicious joke, Bronn gripped the dagger in his hand, his spirits rising at once.
"Plotting to murder the king? Heh."
In the night, pairs of green-gleaming eyes gradually lit up.
...
Inside Crakehall Castle's great hall, the lights were bright and the scene lively.
Plates of steaming hot food were carried by the servants and set, one after another, upon the long tables.
The great hall had long since turned into a sea of merriment. Members of House Crakehall, along with the house's knights and others, were gathered together in this not-insubstantial hall, celebrating freely.
Lord Roland Crakehall sat in the seat of honor. Beside him, the place specifically reserved for the king remained empty.
Yet no one present paid any mind to whether the king would attend this banquet. Each drank and feasted to their heart's content.
Holding a wine cup, Roland Crakehall clinked cups with his wife. He then raised his cup toward his younger brother, Burton Crakehall, in a gesture.
Seeing his elder brother's signal, Burton Crakehall returned it in kind.
After that, he clinked cups with a guest seated beside him, one who had come from Highgarden.
Watching the interaction between the two, Lord Roland Crakehall's face was full of pleasure.
He naturally knew who the woman appearing in King Kal's chamber was. After all, this was part of an understanding reached between Highgarden and his own house.
And at such a moment, being able to facilitate this matter, Roland Crakehall needed only a brief consideration before agreeing.
For Roland Crakehall, this was something he was glad to see happen. At the same time, it could also bring House Crakehall friendship with House Tyrell.
Traveling the same great road, even if the lords to whom they swore allegiance were not the same, who could be without entanglements of interest? House Crakehall could hardly survive on air alone.
Moreover, Lady Arwyn Oakheart of House Oakheart of Old Oak had already agreed to wed one of her daughters to his son, Tybert Crakehall.
As neighbors, being able to form such a marriage alliance naturally pleased Roland Crakehall all the more.
Besides, before the coming of tomorrow, this matter was still only a secret. All he needed to do was provide a place and an opportunity.
Even if it failed, there would be no loss to him.
But if it succeeded, this merit of following the dragon would surely have to count him in as well.
The banquet was already past its midpoint. The only blemish was the fierce wind howling outside, as though a torrential rain were about to arrive.
Even so, it did nothing to affect the atmosphere within the hall.
With wine flowing freely, just as Roland Crakehall looked at the still-empty seat beside him and, thinking of his steward's earlier report, felt his satisfaction grow, raising his cup once more and taking the initiative to gesture toward the guest from Highgarden—
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of two striking patches of white appearing with jarring abruptness in the banquet hall.
And this striking white was clearly not seen by him alone. The lively great hall gradually fell quiet with the arrival of the two Kingsguard.
Though people were still conversing with one another, their voices unconsciously dropped lower.
All attention turned toward the white knights who entered the banquet hall side by side—white cloaks draped over white armor, hands resting on their sword hilts.
Seeing their arrival, and no longer sparing a thought to raising a cup with his guests, Lord Roland Crakehall quickly set his goblet down and rose to greet them.
After all, the Kingsguard only followed the king.
For two of them to appear in the banquet hall at this moment, the meaning was obvious without explanation.
"Good evening, Ser Arys Oakheart. Has His Grace finished his rest and come to enjoy some wine and food?"
With a genial smile, Roland Crakehall stepped forward and asked Arys Oakheart.
This knight, also of House Oakheart, was of course already known to him—after all, it was Arys's sister whom his son was soon to marry.
Yet faced with the approaching Lord Roland Crakehall, and upon hearing his words, Arys Oakheart did not speak.
He merely exchanged a glance with the sworn brother walking beside him.
Marlyn Warrick gave a slight nod.
Then, in the space of a single instant, without any warning, Arys Oakheart suddenly drew his sword, stepped forward, and drove a kick straight into Roland Crakehall's face.
After kicking him to the ground, the sharp blade was instantly set against his throat.
"Kneel! Surrender!"
"In the name of His Grace King Kal I of House Baratheon, it is hereby declared that Roland Crakehall and his family have conspired with the enemy and plotted to murder the king. The evidence is conclusive!"
"All of you, lay down your weapons at once—otherwise, you will be killed on the spot!"
In the blink of an eye, Arys Oakheart had swiftly brought the no-longer-young Lord Roland Crakehall under control.
With the longsword pressed to his neck, he raised his voice and shouted to the great hall.
The sudden upheaval and the utterly unanticipated strike rendered the great hall of Crakehall Castle so silent that a pin could be heard dropping.
Everyone stared in shock as the Kingsguard abruptly seized their lord, at a complete loss as to how to react.
After all, what was unfolding before their eyes was simply too absurd.
And in the instant of everyone's silence, Ser Marlyn Warrick also drew the longsword at his waist. He swiftly pulled the shield from beneath his cloak and set it against Arys Oakheart's back, his eyes fixed warily on the soldiers and knights before them.
"Ah…!"
After being kicked down and then having a sharp blade set against his neck, Roland Crakehall froze for a moment before the searing pain in his leg brought him back to his senses.
The haze of drunkenness cleared in an instant. Faced with the agony in his face, he instinctively wanted to clutch his leg and scream.
But the faint sting and icy chill at his throat immediately warned him not to move.
Boom!
At that moment, a peal of thunder crashed outside the windows. Blue-violet lightning tore across the sky, casting a grim white glare into the already brightly lit banquet hall.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
In response to the Kingsguard's sudden strike and threat came the sound of swords being drawn.
"You bastard sons of whores, what are you doing?!"
"Let go of Lord Roland Crakehall!"
The soldiers and knights, usually full of martial vigor, saw their lord seized and no longer cared what the two Kingsguard were saying. Instinctively, they drew their blades and moved to attack.
In answer to them, Arys Oakheart extended his free left hand, seized Roland Crakehall by the hair, and forced his head back.
Then the blade in his hand left a line of blood across the throat of the Lord of Crakehall.
Warm, glaring blood ran along the edge of the sword.
Feeling his life slipping away in that instant, Roland Crakehall no longer had any thought for the pain wracking his body. Driven by the will to survive and a surge of adrenaline, he tore open his throat and shouted, "Don't move! Don't move!"
"Don't—don't—!"
"Damn it—ah!"
"What's going on?!"
"Damn it!"
Seeing the white-cloaks resort to threatening a hostage in such a base manner, a fresh wave of curses followed.
As for the maidservants and family members, the sudden scene before their eyes—and the blood on Lord Roland Crakehall's neck—left them terrified, screaming in shock.
And just then, as the thunder gradually faded, what rose with it were sudden screams and shouts erupting throughout the castle.
A bloody upheaval had arrived without warning on this storm-lashed night, surging forth in a tide of blood.
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