A figure stepped out from behind the half-open door on the second floor, lazily leaning against the rough wooden railing.
The flickering firelight illuminated her face.
It was a striking beauty, an exquisite blend of the exotic and the sculpted.
Platinum hair, like flowing moonlight, spilled over her shoulders in loose, slightly curled strands.
Her features were sharp and deep: a high nose bridge, full lips, skin as fair and delicate as the finest milk, glowing under the firelight.
Most unforgettable were her eyes—pale violet, like lavender just blooming, yet as clear and mysterious as amethyst.
At this moment those beautiful eyes regarded Aegon from above with open scrutiny and a hint of amusement.
She wore a form-fitting deep-blue hunting outfit, practical for movement, over which lay a short leather vest trimmed with silver braid. Her waist was slim, her figure gracefully curved, a strange contrast to the crude, chaotic surroundings.
Aegon's gaze lingered on her face, violet eyes narrowing slightly.
This face bore little resemblance to the scrawny little girl who used to trail behind him and the other children of Hain village, sniffling and calling out 'Brother Lotte.'
But the outline of her brows and eyes, the color of those violet pupils, the slight upward tilt at the corner of her smile—those details still matched.
'Luciana?' Aegon's voice was calm, threaded with an almost imperceptible tension. 'What are you doing here?'
The beauty upstairs brightened visibly at the name, her red lips curving into a brighter yet more complicated smile.
'How touching,' she said, voice still charming but now tinged with feeling. 'I never thought, after all these years, you'd still remember me, Brother Lotte.'
She deliberately used the childhood address, yet her tone held no warmth, only a subtle, probing sting.
'Back then, the old chieftain sent us to gather information. The plan failed and the city guards chased us like stray dogs.'
She tilted her head, as if recalling an amusing story. 'You volunteered to stay behind and hold them off so we could escape.'
'After that… you never came back. We all thought you were dead. My father grieved for a long time.'
Her gaze swept over Aegon's face and body, then over the battle-hardened soldiers behind him, her smile deepening with knowing insight.
'Imagine that… our "traitor" has been living quite the carefree life out there all these years?'
Traitor.
The word left her lips lightly, yet it was like a sugar-dusted dagger.
Aegon's brow twitched almost imperceptibly, then smoothed again.
Meeting Luciana's eyes, he replied coolly, 'I repaid old Hain's life-saving grace that day. I owe you nothing.'
He paused, voice turning cold and absolute. 'Answer me. Why are you here? What do you want by calling me?'
Luciana clicked her tongue softly, as though amused by his effort to disentangle himself, but she did not press.
She shrugged, delicate collarbones flashing beneath her collar.
'Fine. If you insist you owe nothing… let's say you don't.' Her tone was casual, as if it truly didn't matter. 'Nostalgia finished. Business now.'
She leaned slightly forward, arms resting on the railing, violet eyes locking on Aegon as she asked bluntly:
'Any interest in rejoining us?'
Without waiting for his reply, she continued, clearly well prepared. 'I've looked into your situation.
A hundred-odd men, several decent ships—small scale, but judging by your soldiers' bearing… acceptable.'
She tilted her head, appraising him as though pricing goods.
'You haven't forgotten the Hain's purpose, have you?'
The Hain's purpose.
Aegon's brows drew together again.
Of course he hadn't forgotten.
The remnants of House Hain, shattered in the "Lysene Spring," had hidden themselves in that remote fishing village, quietly amassing strength.
Their goal could only be one thing: return to Lys, reclaim what they had lost, restore the family's "glory."
Aegon had sensed back then that old Hain was no simple fisherman.
But he'd been powerless, focused only on survival, on repaying the life debt, then leaving.
He had no wish to plunge into that murky, blood-scented mire of restoration.
Once the debt was cleared, he seized a chance to slip away from the isolated village and never went back.
He never imagined fate would wheel about and reunite him with the "Hain" in this fashion.
Besides, circumstances now were different.
He recalled the plot overheard in the Perfume Garden—the Magister of Lys's House Antalion about to join "false Aegon," the Golden Company, Illyrio, and Varys.
That impostor will receive 'investment' and 'allegiance' here, under my name and claim as Aegon Targaryen.
The Hain family's target is Lys.
And that conspiracy also uses Lys as its key piece.
Between these two... there seems to be an overlap I can't ignore.
Aegon calmed the turmoil in his heart, his voice still steady, even carrying a hint of scrutiny:'So you came to Lys to restore the monarchy?'
'On what grounds?'
His gaze swept across the motley crowd in the hall—seemingly unremarkable folk, yet most with sharp, outlaw eyes—before settling back on Luciana.
'With these... shrimp soldiers and crab generals under your command?'
Aegon's wording was hardly polite, but his tone was flat, as though stating facts. 'And you want to drag along my hundred or so men who just came ashore and haven't even warmed their landing ground?'
He shook his head, the corner of his mouth curving into a cold arc.
'Forgive my bluntness, Luciana. Your restoration sounds more like a child's game—or, rather, a suicidal gamble doomed to lose everything.'
Faced with Aegon's merciless skepticism, Luciana didn't grow angry; instead, she laughed softly, the sound echoing clearly in the relatively quiet hall.
She tilted her head slightly, pale-purple eyes glinting with cunning confidence.
'You?' She lifted a slender finger and tapped the air toward Aegon, tone laced with teasing. 'You're nothing but... an add-on.'
'Or rather, after watching your splendid performance in the arena, I made an impulsive... extra investment.'
She lowered her hand, her posture turning elegant and aloof once more.
'As for the real chips...' She drew out her words, pale-purple eyes narrowing as calculation flickered within. 'Why should I tell an... outsider like you?'
Aegon met her stare; their gazes clashed in mid-air, sparks seeming to fly unseen.
The hall was so quiet only the crackle of torches and some stifled breathing could be heard.
The Bloodsworn soldiers kept their hands on their hilts, muscles taut; a single look from Aegon and they would draw without hesitation.
After a long pause, Aegon spoke slowly, his voice calm yet carrying undeniable weight:
'You must first show me the chips; only then will I consider joining your... game.'
The smile on Luciana's face gradually faded.
She tilted her head, pale-purple eyes boring into Aegon, as though trying to see every scheme in his heart.
Aegon stared back without yielding, violet eyes deep as an icy lake, no emotion leaking out.
Seconds crawled past; the air seemed to freeze, tension thick enough to drip.
At last, Luciana sighed softly, as though reaching a decision.
She straightened, no longer leaning on the rail, arms folding across her chest.
'Very well,' she said, her tone less coquettish and more coolly business-like. 'In the end, you already know the goal; keeping the rest from you seems pointless. Besides...'
She paused, a faint, icy gleam flashing through her pale-purple eyes, though her voice remained light:
'If you refuse today, I'm afraid... you won't walk out of here easily.'
The last few words came slow and soft, yet with unquestionable certainty.
Almost as her voice fell, everyone in the hall who had been going about their own business...
...paused almost imperceptibly; countless gazes locked like an invisible web onto Aegon and the twenty-some Bloodsworn behind him.
The unseen string in the air snapped taut to its limit.
Behind Aegon came a uniform, faint rasp of metal:
The whisper of blades half leaving their sheaths.
The Bloodsworns' eyes turned ferocious, wolves at bay. Back to back, they formed a small defensive ring, shielding Aegon at its center.
A thick, blood-soaked killing aura, honed in mountains of corpses, rolled out unchecked and collided with the hall's rough outlaw atmosphere.
Confronted by this sudden, hair-trigger crisis, Aegon showed no alarm.
He didn't even glance back at his men.
He simply raised his right hand, slowly.
It was a simple gesture.
Yet the Bloodsworn, long attuned to him, understood at once: tense muscles eased slightly, half-drawn blades slid back, though their sharp vigilance and killing intent remained.
Aegon's gaze never left Luciana behind the second-floor railing.
The corner of his mouth lifted, almost imperceptibly, into a cold, razor-sharp curve.
Then he spoke, voice steady as still water, yet carrying a chill keener than steel:
'You can try.'
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