Dragonstone, Lady Mysaria's Chambers.
"And these new followers of yours?" Mysaria took a sip of her tea and continued, her voice smooth as silk but hiding a sharp edge.
"The bastards left behind by Princess Saera. Silver hair, purple eyes... such perfect Targaryen features, aren't they?"
Jacaerys's remaining eye narrowed.
"They have Targaryen blood. My mother and Prince Daemon have accepted them."
"The Prince accepted them because they are useful," Mysaria chuckled softly.
"But your mother, Rhaenyra, gifted them to you..."
She set down her cup, the ceramic clinking softly against the wood.
"So, do you carry these bastards around to show them off? Or are you trying to prove something, Little Jace?"
Jacaerys's fist clenched beneath the table.
This woman seemed to see right through him; every conversation felt like she was peeling back his skin to expose the raw nerves beneath.
"I need your help with something," he said, skipping the provocation and staring straight at her.
"Something very important."
Mysaria leaned back, her demeanor relaxed.
"It's written all over your face. The stench of your bloodlust is stifling."
Jacaerys suppressed his killing intent and spoke.
"Aemond is betrothed to Helaena... I want you to help me kill Aemond."
The air in the room froze. The light, cynical smile on Mysaria's face vanished instantly.
She stared at Jacaerys for a long time.
"Say that again?"
"Aemond Targaryen." Jacaerys spat the name out, each word forced through gritted teeth.
"I want him dead!"
Mysaria didn't answer immediately. Then, she shook her head slowly.
"I cannot do it."
"Why?" Jacaerys stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor.
"You are the Mistress of Whispers for the Blacks! You've operated in King's Landing for over a decade! Surely you still have people there."
"I had people," Mysaria interrupted, her voice hard.
"Do you have any idea what Aemond has done in the capital?"
Jacaerys shook his head, confused.
"He has raised a swarm of 'Little Birds.' Those street urchins scurrying about, they aren't just begging or stealing; they are memorizing faces and recording conversations."
Mysaria sighed, rubbing her temples.
"He also established a network of spies within the Red Keep. They don't arrest people; they just watch and record. And once they have the scent, his executioner squads descend like sharks smelling blood. In six months, he has dismantled more than half of the network I spent twelve years building."
"The people I have left are in deep cover, sleeping agents. You're asking me to throw away these precious assets on a suicide mission?"
Jacaerys's chest heaved. He slammed his fist onto the table.
"Then what about Helaena? Kill her. If she dies... Aemond will suffer. He'll go mad, lose his senses, and start making mistakes."
"Jace."
Mysaria looked at the frantic youth. She stood up, walked around the table, and stood before him.
This woman, usually so composed and cynical, now wore an expression Jacaerys had never seen: one of gravity, perhaps even... pity.
"Look at me," she said.
"Look into my eyes and say it again. You want me to murder Helaena Targaryen? You want me to kill a Princess who has never harmed a single soul, just to make Aemond suffer?"
Jacaerys's eye flickered away for a moment. But soon, hatred reignited in his pupil. He growled,
"She is a Green! Her family is usurping my mother's throne!"
"So you would punish her?" Mysaria countered.
"Use her blood to exact revenge for things she hasn't done? Jace, do you hate Helaena, or do you hate yourself for being unable to have her?"
The words hit like a dagger, precisely piercing Jacaerys's wound.
Mysaria sighed. She walked to a wooden cabinet in the corner, opened a drawer, and took out a small vial of deep purple liquid.
"Essence of Nightshade," she said, placing it on the table.
"This is for your composure. Drink a little; you need to calm down."
"I don't need it!"
"You do," Mysaria's voice turned sharp.
"Because right now you are like a rabid dog off its leash, snapping at anyone in sight."
Jacaerys glared at her, his knuckles cracking.
Finally, he grabbed the vial, pulled the cork, and took a small swallow.
The sweet yet bitter liquid slid down his throat, bringing a chilling coolness to his burning veins.
Once his breathing leveled out, Mysaria continued.
"Listen. Even if I were mad enough to stake all my remaining people on an assassination in the Red Keep, what is the probability of success? And even if it succeeded, what happens next?"
She began counting on her fingers.
"First, the Greens go insane; you'd be forcing them into total war. Second, the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms would turn against us entirely, murdering an innocent Princess is moral suicide. Third, how would your mother look at you? You would be plotting kinslaying; do you think she would ever forgive you?"
She watched Jacaerys's face grow pale.
"More importantly, do you think the Greens cannot do the same? They have more gold and more men. The reason they haven't sent assassins for your mother, for Daemon, or for you is not out of mercy; it's because they find it beneath them. And because the 'Red Line' hasn't been crossed yet. Once we step over it, the war is no longer an inheritance dispute; it becomes an extermination."
"You know Aemond. He will burn Dragonstone, everyone you care about, he will slaughter them."
Jacaerys slumped into his chair, the numbness of the Nightshade spreading to his limbs.
He leaned back and murmured, "Then... we do nothing? We just wait here? Watching them win?"
"Who said you can do nothing?" Mysaria crossed her fingers on the table.
"There is one thing you can do, and only you can do it."
Jacaerys looked up.
"Your dragon," Mysaria said.
"Vermax. Along with Lucerys's Arrax and Joffrey's Tyraxes. Three hatchlings are currently locked in the Dragonpit."
Jacaerys's eye widened, and he leaned forward.
"You mean..."
"The Dragonkeepers in the Dragonpit are not all Green dogs."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Mysaria's lips.
A burning light ignited in Jacaerys's single eye.
"When do we move? How do I contact them?"
"Not now," Mysaria interrupted.
Jacaerys deflated instantly. Seeing the disappointment, she softened her tone.
"Patience, Jace. You must wait, wait for the opponent to show a weakness, wait for the conditions to favor you. And when that time comes..."
She didn't finish, but Jacaerys understood. He nodded.
"I can wait. But I need a guarantee that when the time comes, I can take back what is mine. Vermax is my dragon; he knows my blood. If I can get close to him..."
"You will have him back," Mysaria said, then shifted the topic smoothly.
"But for now, I hear... You are training the Dragonseeds on the island?"
Jacaerys stiffened. "How did you know?"
"Jace," Mysaria laughed.
"I am the Mistress of Whispers. On this island, I know if a rat digs a new hole. Do you think I wouldn't notice you training those 'seeds'?"
Jacaerys was silent for a long time.
"The Blacks need more men. These bastards have Targaryen blood; they are naturally loyal to the House. They will be my mother's most loyal guard."
"Just a guard?" Mysaria stared at him.
Jacaerys looked her in the eye, hiding his true intentions.
"Just a guard."
"Very well. Go back and rest, child." Mysaria looked away, turning back to her work.
-----
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