The night in King's Landing was far warmer than in the North, but also more stifling.
Deep within the Red Keep, steam curled through the bathhouse. Petals and herbs floated on the water—chamomile, lavender, mint—used to soothe the nerves and aid recovery.
Aemond reclined against the edge of the pool, eyes closed.
The bathhouse door was gently pushed open. The footsteps were light, but he recognized them—it was Tella, Helaena's maid, and also the informant he had planted within the Red Keep and the secret passages.
"Your Highness," Tella said softly, her tone respectful.
"Speak," Aemond replied without opening his eyes.
Tella knelt by the pool and began her report.
Her voice was steady, her delivery clear and structured.
This was the result of Aemond's training.
He despised vague intelligence—what he wanted was concise, precise information.
"Master of Whisperers Lord Larys and several Crownlands nobles have recently been frequently entering Prince Aegon's chambers."
"The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Criston Cole, has also begun drawing closer to Prince Aegon."
"My brother has finally realized he needs guards and men of his own?" Aemond said.
"And what about Lord Tyland?"
"Lord Tyland Lannister is keeping his distance. He appears unwilling to involve himself," Tella answered.
Aemond opened his eyes.
"He's a smart man," Aemond said.
"The Lannisters support the Greens because the Greens control the realm and can grant them trade privileges and tax concessions."
Tella hesitated for a moment.
"And… Princess Alyn."
Aemond turned his head, his gaze fixing on her.
"Details."
"The Princess has recently been frequently receiving envoys from Lys—Rogare envoys."
Aemond fell silent for a moment.
The petals on the water rose and fell gently with his breathing.
"Alyn Rogare," he murmured, his tone unreadable.
"My brother's wife, the Rose of Lys, now the most beautiful princess in King's Landing."
"She's due soon, isn't she?"
"Grand Maester Orwyle says it should be within this month," Tella replied.
Tella bit her lip, lowering her voice further.
"Your Highness… Princess Alyn has also secretly met with envoys from House Hightower."
"The meeting was very discreet, but our informant in the city sept saw it."
Aemond curled his lip.
"Hightower?"
Envoys from House Hightower coming to King's Landing, not first meeting the Queen Regent Alicent, but instead secretly meeting a pregnant princess…
He laughed. The sound echoed through the empty bathhouse.
"Alyn… she's not simple at all."
"Her family was betrayed by my father Viserys, Lys is under siege by Volantis—yet in such circumstances, she hasn't collapsed."
"Instead, she's been tirelessly building her own power base in King's Landing for Aegon."
"What does she want? To push her husband onto the throne? Or… to pave the way for her unborn son?"
At this moment, Tella lowered herself even further, her forehead nearly touching the ground.
"Your Highness… should we…" her voice trembled, "Princess Alyn is about to give birth. There are always risks during childbirth. If an accident were to occur…"
Aemond suddenly turned his head, violet eye locking onto her.
"Tella," his voice was soft, yet it made her whole body tremble, "how many years have you served me and Helaena?"
"Th-three years, Your Highness."
"Three years," Aemond said slowly. "And you still don't understand me."
He rose from the bath. Water streamed down his body as he stared at her.
"What do you think I am?"
"A born killer?"
Tella dared not answer.
"Alyn Rogare—what is she now?"
"She is Aegon's wife, a princess of the Targaryen royal family, and a pregnant woman carrying royal blood."
"She has not openly opposed me, nor has she taken part in any conspiracy."
"She is simply protecting herself, protecting her child, protecting her Aegon."
"I admire that kind of courage."
"She has her own position."
Tella raised her head, confusion in her eyes.
"But Your Highness, if she truly intends to do something…"
"She can't do anything," Aemond said as he sat back into the bath.
"Unless Aegon intends to do something to me…"
"Just keep watching them."
"Don't always rely on killing to solve problems."
"Although it is the most effective method… it brings endless consequences."
Aemond had never regretted killing the three Strong brothers who tried to claim dragons, nor starting this war.
Even now, when some nobles of the Seven Kingdoms privately called him a kinslayer, he did not care.
"The rule I intend to build will be based on fear—but also on order."
"They will fear me, but they will also trust me."
The maid lowered her head deeply. "I understand, Your Highness. Forgive my ignorance."
Aemond waved a hand. "Get up. Doesn't your knee hurt from kneeling so long?"
Tella stood. Her legs were indeed slightly numb.
"There is one more matter," she added. "The relocation of the Driftmark migrants has reached one-third—around fifteen thousand people."
"Dragon's Roost has already received the first batch."
"Too slow," Aemond frowned. "Driftmark is too close to Dragonstone. If the Blacks counterattack, it will be the first to be hit."
"Tell Will to assign more manpower. Use harsher methods if necessary—speed it up."
"Those unwilling to leave… have the Velaryon surrendered troops handle their execution."
"Yes." Tella noted it down. "Also, this afternoon, two Velaryon warships from Tyrosh surrendered in Blackwater Bay."
"The captains brought over two hundred sailors. They claim they are willing to serve the Greens on the condition that their detained families are returned and their property restored."
Aemond pondered for a moment before speaking.
"Grant each man an additional five gold dragons. The two captains have merit—reward them with one hundred gold dragons each."
"Also, have the detained families write letters to persuade their relatives in Tyrosh to surrender."
"As long as they return, they will be reinstated, cleared of treason, and their families will not be implicated. The Crown will also grant them a reward."
Tella nodded with admiration. "Your Highness is wise."
The report concluded, yet she hesitated instead of withdrawing.
Aemond noticed. "Something else?"
The maid's face flushed slightly. After years in court, she had seen much, yet now she showed the awkwardness of a young girl.
"Your Highness… it's about Hall, Will, and Carter."
Aemond paused, then understood.
A rare, genuine smile appeared on his face.
"Those three are still pestering you?"
Tella lowered her head. "They… they've been finding all sorts of excuses to see me lately."
Aemond burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the bathhouse.
"They're persistent," he said after calming down. "Tella, you're nearly thirty, aren't you?"
"Twenty-eight, Your Highness," she said softly.
"Seven or eight years older than them… At my age, I'd already be considered an old maid."
"Old maid?" Aemond scoffed. "Your age is just right."
"Helaena often sighs about you, wondering how someone as good as you hasn't found a suitable match."
"Now three have appeared at once, and you think it's too much?"
Tella blushed even more. "It's not too many… it's that it's not suitable."
"They are your trusted aides, young and promising. In the future, they will surely marry noble ladies."
"What am I? Just a maid of common birth…"
"Who says?" Aemond cut her off.
"You, Tella Green, were granted your surname by Helaena herself. You are her chief lady-in-waiting and my head of intelligence."
"You are a royal official. Your status is no lower than any noble lady."
"If you have no interest in them, I will arrange a suitable marriage for you."
"A loyal knight, or a promising official."
"But if you do have someone in mind, do not shrink back because of age or birth. That is the privilege I grant you."
Tella's eyes grew moist.
"Thank you, Your Highness."
"Go."
The bathhouse fell quiet again, and Aemond sank into thought.
Though the Battle of Dragonstone had been a victory, the cost was still acceptable.
The greatest gain… was Grey Ghost.
Grey Ghost had drunk his blood—growing increasingly docile, increasingly dependent on him.
Yet Aemond could not sense Grey Ghost's emotions or thoughts.
He could issue commands, have it perform certain tasks.
But without true connection, control was still troublesome.
From beginning to end, he could only truly sense Vhagar and Lothorne—and those two dragons could understand his emotions as well.
One man, two dragons, hearts in accord—that was as far as it went.
"Dragonblood…" Aemond murmured, looking at the wound on his palm as it healed. It had been left from cutting himself to feed the dragon—his bloodline ensured it would not scar.
The power of blood.
He could hatch dragon eggs with his blood, heal wounded dragons, even withstand dragonfire without harm.
And dragons, because of his blood, grew closer to him.
"Your Highness?"
A soft voice came from behind him.
Aemond did not turn. He had already caught the scent—herbal, mixed with a faint floral note.
Alys Rivers.
The bastard of Harrenhal, daughter of a witch. She wore a black gauze gown, moving into the bathhouse like a ghost.
Her long black hair fell like a waterfall, her pale skin nearly translucent under the candlelight. Her dark brown eyes stared fixedly at Aemond's back.
"Your Highness." Alys knelt behind him, placing her hands gently on his shoulders, beginning to massage.
Aemond closed his eyes, allowing her to continue.
"You said before… there are two souls within me," he said quietly.
"Yes."
"The child's soul is filled with resentment, jealousy, anger, madness, possessiveness."
"Only when you accomplish what he could not…"
"Will he be satisfied and finally disappear."
"He can influence you. The more you suppress him, the closer you are to madness."
Aemond already understood.
Her hands moved to his temples, gently pressing.
"Your souls are merging."
"With every bit of fusion, your dragonblood becomes purer."
"Your bloodline is changing."
"You already possess the essence of a true dragon."
Aemond opened his eyes.
"Essence?"
Alys smiled faintly.
"Pride, madness, violence, greed, possessiveness…"
"These traits, seen as flaws by mortals…"
"Are the true essence of dragons."
"That is why your blood makes dragons submit and draw close—true dragon's blood…"
"Your descendants will inherit it. That glorious age will come again."
She leaned close, whispering in his ear, her breath warm with the scent of herbs.
"You will surpass all your ancestors—even the dragonlords of Old Valyria."
"You will become the true Father of Dragons…"
Aemond did not move. He asked calmly, "What is it you truly want, Alys?"
The woman paused. Her voice softened further, tinged with desire.
"I wish to bear your blood, Your Highness."
Aemond turned, his violet eye meeting hers.
Alys knelt there, her black gauze dress spreading like a blooming black rose. Her dark, faintly crimson eyes met his without retreat.
She was breathtakingly beautiful—and dangerously so.
"Leave."
The witch froze for a moment, then rose, retreating as silently as she had come.
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