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Tywin slammed the document onto the floor, his face dark with fury. "That arrogant little bastard. He doesn't give a damn about House Lannister."
He had accepted that Daeron was going to create the new princes. There was no stopping it. So he had tried to secure the next best thing—control over who would serve as their Hands. Those positions would carry real power in the new cities. If a Lannister held even one of them, the family would have a direct grip on the economy and politics of an entire Free City.
Daeron had shut him down without hesitation. "I'll choose the Hands myself. I don't need your help with that."
Tywin still felt the sting. He took a slow breath, eyes cold. "If you want to rule without Lannister support, you'd better hope you're strong enough to survive it."
West of Lys, at Valarr's ancestral estate, the governors had gathered again. The mood was ugly.
Valarr sat at the head of the table, fingers tight around his teacup, knuckles white. He looked at the other governors and spoke in a low, bitter voice. "We gained almost nothing from the negotiations. Does no one have anything to say about that?"
The room stayed quiet until Fredo Rogare stepped in. He spoke calmly, steadying the room the way he had been paid to do. "Think about it differently. We didn't lose as much as we could have. The Iron Throne still needs us to run Lys. As long as we don't give them a reason to burn everything down, we can keep most of what we have."
He was right, and the governors knew it. They could work around the new laws the same way Pentos had. Slavery would be banned on paper, but the labor would simply be rebranded as "contract workers" or "talent market hires." The rich would still have cheap labor. The only difference was that the Iron Throne would take the blame for the change.
The mood shifted. The governors started nodding, already looking for ways to keep their power while pretending to obey.
Fredo smiled faintly. His job was done.
But not everyone was satisfied. After most of the governors left, a smaller group stayed behind with Ulf Baratheon, a tall, pale Valyrian-blooded man with cold eyes. He leaned forward once the others were gone.
"Valarr is weak," Ulf said. "He's already accepted defeat. We don't have to."
Valarr had already dismissed them, but Ulf didn't care. He pulled a small glass vial from his coat. Inside was a small amount of clear liquid.
"This is Tears of Lys," he said quietly. "The strongest poison we have. Colorless. Tasteless. One drop and the target is dead before he finishes the meal."
The other governors stared at the vial. Even among the rich, Tears of Lys was rare and expensive. Most of them had only ever heard of it.
Ulf's voice was steady. "Daeron is staying in one of our houses. He eats food we control. If we put this in his meal, the Dragon King dies. Once he's gone, the Iron Throne will fall into chaos over succession. Rhaegar is soft. We can control him."
Some of the governors looked tempted. Others looked terrified. Killing the king of the Seven Kingdoms was not a small thing.
Ulf didn't wait for them to argue. He already had a plan and contacts in the Disputed Lands. Graven's remaining supporters were still out there. They could move fast.
Three days later, Daeron sat at breakfast in the house the governors had given him. He drank from a large cup of Iridium Star milk and picked at a plate of local food.
Tyrion sat across from him, eating like he hadn't seen food in days. "Valarr wants to meet. Probably to talk about the official handover."
Daeron glanced at the time. It was only 7:30 in the morning. "Tell him to come here. I'm not going to him."
Tyrion paused mid-bite. That was a deliberate show of power, and they both knew it.
Daeron continued. "After that, find Jaehaerys. Tell him to work with Rhaegar and pull together every record they have on the disputed lands. The Triarchy's claims are a mess. There are no clear borders."
Tyrion swallowed, nodded, and stood up. He was still annoyed about being kicked out of breakfast, but he didn't argue. He grabbed a piece of bread on his way out and left.
Daeron watched him go, then turned his attention back to the window. The city outside looked peaceful enough, but he could feel the tension underneath. Lys had bent the knee, but not everyone was happy about it.
He took another drink of milk and waited. Valarr would come. And when he did, Daeron would see exactly how much control the governors still thought they had.