That single slap had drained every last ounce of Stannis's strength.
The only sound left in the heavy chamber was his ragged, exhausted breathing.
Melisandre stood completely still.
She didn't even raise a hand to touch her rapidly swelling, bright red cheek.
She simply used those bottomless crimson eyes to calmly observe the man trembling with absolute fury in front of her.
Her gaze held zero resentment. Zero fear.
It was nothing but the omniscient, detached pity of a god looking down on the pathetic weakness of mortals.
"I have felt your wrath," she said softly.
"And your profound love for your daughter is equally moving."
"But, my King."
"That very same love will soon become the exact noose that hangs you."
"Shut your mouth!"
Stannis pointed a trembling finger at her, his eyes violently bloodshot.
"I warned you—do not ever speak Shireen's name again!"
"I will not."
Melisandre was surprisingly compliant.
"Because you will very soon realize that, when weighed against absolute, true kingship, the life of one little girl is utterly insignificant."
She turned around, slowly shifting her gaze to the massive, floor-to-ceiling windows of the chamber.
Outside raged the endless, violent winds and churning grey waves of Dragonstone.
And perched atop the highest peaks of the fortress, several colossal stone statues stood silently against the storm.
They were carved in the shape of massive dragons, coiled around the spires as if they had been slumbering for centuries.
"My King, do you honestly believe a mere shadow assassin is the absolute strongest weapon the Lord of Light can bestow upon you?"
Melisandre's mesmerizing voice drifted from the window.
"You are a man born of royal blood. Your life essence contains an unfathomable, ancient magic."
"Whether it is the current bloodline or your ancestors, as long as the blood is true, the power remains absolute. You just proved that exact fact moments ago!"
"You carry the blood of the dragon. Your grandmother was Rhaelle Targaryen. You absolutely meet the conditions."
"Therefore, your daughter is the ultimate weapon!"
Stannis completely froze.
His brain, rigid with apocalyptic rage, completely failed to process her words for a second.
Was there actually something infinitely more terrifying than that shadow monster?
"What the hell do you mean?"
"You vastly underestimate the power of your own blood, and you underestimate the absolute might of the Lord of Light."
Melisandre turned back around.
She extended a hand, pointing directly at the menacing stone figures outside the window.
"Look out there. Tell me exactly what you see."
Stannis followed her finger.
"Stone." His voice was hoarse.
"Nothing but stone carved into the shape of dragons."
"No."
Melisandre slowly shook her head.
Her face lit up with a terrifying, almost psychotic level of fanatic devotion.
"That is not stone."
"That is dormant power."
"Those are the vessels of true dragons!"
"Absolute, apocalyptic power just waiting to be awakened by the blood of the one true King!"
Stannis's breathing violently stopped.
Dragons?
Those stone statues were actual fucking dragons?!
He stared at Melisandre in absolute, paralyzed disbelief, then looked back at the silent stone gargoyles outside.
An utterly absurd, reality-shattering thought began wildly mutating in his brain.
"You're lying!" Stannis's voice violently shook.
"How the hell could stone be a dragon?!"
"The Targaryen bloodline has grown far too thin; they cannot wake true dragons." A dark, highly toxic smirk hooked the corner of Melisandre's mouth.
"But you are different."
"You are not just a Baratheon. The ancient, burning fire of Old Valyria flows directly through your veins!"
"That usurping little boy sitting on your throne in King's Landing... what does he have?"
"He has Lynn!"
"He has that terrifying beast that makes the entirety of Westeros physically shudder!"
"And you? My King?"
"What do you have?"
"You have nothing but a miserable, isolated rock and a handful of bannermen who could betray you at any given second!"
A dragon.
That single word represented an absolute, omnipotent power Stannis dreamed of possessing!
An ultimate power that could permanently incinerate every single one of his enemies and force the entire world to drop to their knees and tremble at his feet!
If...
If he had a dragon too...
Stannis's body began to violently, uncontrollably shake.
But this time, it wasn't out of rage. And it wasn't out of fear.
It was the physical manifestation of an absolutely bottomless, unstoppable ambition!
"If I had a dragon..."
Stannis muttered under his breath, his eyes wide.
"The walls of King's Landing would mean absolutely nothing to me!"
"Tywin's massive armies would be nothing more than ash under my dragonfire!"
"The Iron Throne... it would finally, truly be mine!"
The feverish, unhinged light in his eyes rapidly intensified, his breathing turning incredibly ragged and desperate.
Melisandre just stood there silently, highly satisfied as she watched him being completely swallowed alive by the apocalyptic fire of his own ambition.
"You are absolutely right, my King."
"If you command a dragon, the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms will be completely, permanently prostrate at your feet."
"You will no longer be just Stannis of Dragonstone. You will be the sole, undisputed True Dragon King of Westeros!"
True Dragon King!
Those words detonated inside Stannis's skull like a literal thunderbolt, permanently incinerating absolutely every last ounce of his remaining sanity!
He aggressively lunged toward the window, planting both hands heavily on the freezing stone sill, locking his bloodshot eyes dead onto the gargoyles outside.
Reflected in his pupils was the manic, psychotic fantasy of becoming a literal dragonrider.
He could practically see it—he was mounted on the back of a colossal beast, raining apocalyptic fire from the heavens, reducing both Storm's End and the Red Keep to mountains of smoldering ash!
Renly and Joffrey were both on their knees in the dirt, sobbing hysterically and desperately begging for his mercy!
"How?!"
Stannis violently spun around, aggressively grabbing Melisandre by the shoulders. His eyes were completely bloodshot, drowning in sheer, unfiltered fanaticism.
"Tell me exactly how to wake them!"
Melisandre let his iron grip crush her shoulders, her face betraying absolutely zero physical pain.
"A toll."
She calmly spat the words.
"To awaken true dragons, we still require an absolutely pure, infinitely powerful sacrifice."
The psychotic high completely froze on Stannis's face.
He instantly released her, stumbling two steps backward.
He remembered.
The absolutely sickening, enraging ultimatum she had just handed him violently crashed back into his brain.
"So after all that... you still want me to sacrifice Shireen?"
"Yes."
Melisandre gave a slow, deliberate nod. She didn't try to sugarcoat it for a fraction of a second.
"She is the only key."
"Her blood is the absolute only fuel capable of igniting the stone dragons."
Melisandre stared at Stannis's face, which was currently violently warping from internal agony, and ruthlessly raised the stakes.
"Furthermore, if you truly desire a dragon, this ritual will be entirely different from the last."
"To forge the shadow, we merely siphoned a fraction of Shireen's fire."
"But this time..."
Melisandre's voice instantaneously dropped to absolute zero.
"We must completely, permanently incinerate Princess Shireen's entire existence!"
"Her flesh, her blood, her very soul—all of it will serve as the raw fuel to awaken the beast."
"And in return, not only will you awaken the stone dragons..."
"The sheer, explosive magnitude of her life force will allow you to incubate a second shadow assassin—one infinitely more powerful than the first!"
"Two birds with one stone, my King."
"The life of one single daughter, exchanged for a literal true dragon, and an unstoppable assassin fully capable of executing Joffrey."
"Tell me, my King. Is this transaction not entirely worth the cost?"
Stannis stood completely paralyzed on the stone floor.
On one side was the innocent, tragically suffering face of his sweet Shireen.
On the other was the absolute, omnipotent glory of mounting a dragon, incinerating the Seven Kingdoms, and taking his rightful crown.
A father... or a King?
Family... or the Iron Throne?
His psyche was actively undergoing an apocalyptic, unprecedented war.
He felt like his very soul was being violently, permanently torn in half.
"A true King must master the absolute iron will to let go."
Melisandre's voice echoed directly inside his skull, a mesmerizing, endlessly looping demonic whisper.
Stannis slowly, heavily squeezed his eyes shut.
When he finally opened them again, every single ounce of internal conflict and agonizing pain in his gloomy eyes had completely, permanently vanished.
Replaced entirely by a terrifying, deeply sickening, and absolute psychotic resolve.
He locked eyes with Melisandre.
"How... how absolutely certain are you?"
"Will that dragon... truly awaken?"
---