A low cheer rippled through the Great Hall.
Queen Rhaenyra's eyes brightened.
"Does this mean Volantis can finally spare their strength to assist us?"
Mysaria's smile stiffened, though she quickly masked it.
"Your Grace, the Volantenes... have set a condition."
"What condition?"
"They want us to send dragons to assist their navy in crushing the Braavosi fleet. Only then will they deploy their troops to aid us."
The cheering came to an abrupt halt. Corlys's brow furrowed into a deep knot; as the Sea Snake, he knew better than anyone the true power of the city-state boasting the world's finest navy.
Even united with Volantis, their combined fleets would barely equal two-thirds of Braavos's strength.
"Heh. We still owe them 1.25 million gold dragons," Daemon suddenly spoke, his voice laced with dark mockery.
"That 1.25 million doesn't need to be paid back anymore. The Braavosi aren't going to lend us another copper in the future anyway."
Rhaenyra glared at him, but Daemon merely shrugged, entirely unapologetic.
From the moment they had forged a secret alliance with Volantis, Braavos had become an enemy.
As for the Iron Bank's infamous motto: "The Iron Bank will have its due"? That was a rule for mortals.
They were Targaryens; they answered only to themselves. Those coin-counting vampires could only squeeze the common folk.
Daemon harbored no fear of provoking Braavos. Having dragons was the only currency that mattered.
Mysaria cleared her throat and continued.
"There is one more thing. Dorne has permitted the Greens' combined fleet to dock at their ports for resupply. Before long, that armada will head north for a battle against us."
This time, inside the broken, drafty hall, there wasn't even a whisper of a cheer.
Rhaenyra stood up from her seat, the sea wind tossing her silver hair.
"Dorne?" she asked in utter confusion.
"Has Dorne not always maintained its neutrality?!"
No one could answer her. Finally, Daemon spoke, his voice as calm as if discussing the weather.
"It is likely because of Tyrosh... and the Triarchy."
Rhaenyra froze, then slowly sank back into her chair, her face etched with exhaustion.
Dorne had always maintained lucrative ties with the Triarchy, intermarrying, trading, and viewing them as vital foreign allies.
Now that the Blacks and Volantis had carved up the Triarchy, Dorne naturally viewed Dragonstone with hostility.
Though the Martells had not formally entered the war, allowing the Green fleet to resupply was a de facto declaration of their stance.
"And Braavos?" Corlys asked suddenly.
"Do they know of this?"
Mysaria shook her head. "Not yet. But I suspect..." She paused.
"I suspect Braavos may have already joined hands with the Greens to target us."
The hall plunged into a deathly silence. If Braavos truly allied with the Greens, the Velaryon fleet would face total annihilation.
With the massive Braavosi armada pressing down from the north and the Greens' combined fleet surging up from the south, Lord Corlys, despite being the greatest naval commander in the Seven Kingdoms, could not possibly survive a pincer war.
Even with the Volantene navy, victory would be a phantom.
Rhaenyra looked at Corlys; the once-spirited old man's face had turned ashen grey.
"The Iron Fleet," Daemon spoke suddenly.
Everyone turned to look at him. Daemon toyed with the dagger in his hand, a dangerous smile spreading across his face.
"Send an envoy to contact the Red Kraken, Dalton Greyjoy. Tell him that if he joins us, once the war is won, Queen Rhaenyra will grant him the Westerlands. He will be the Lord Paramount of the West."
"What?!" "Prince Consort!" "How can this be allowed?!"
The hall erupted into an uproar.
The Iron Fleet? The Ironborn? Those raiders, murderers, and pirates who followed no laws but their own?
To grant them the Westerlands?
Daemon let them argue for a moment before speaking lazily over the din.
"The Lannisters have already betrayed us and stood completely with the Greens. What is the problem with offering our enemy's lands as a reward?"
The noise gradually died down.
"The Ironborn are detestable, yes, but they are unmatched sailors and vicious warriors at sea," Daemon continued.
"If the Iron Fleet attacks the Greens' armada from behind during the decisive naval battle, I believe we can win. And I am certain the Greens cannot offer a prize as tempting as Casterly Rock."
Corlys was silent for a long moment, then nodded heavily.
"Prince Daemon is right. The Ironborn care nothing for mainland rules; they only recognize plunder and profit. The title of Lord Paramount and the wealth of the Westerlands will be enough to tempt Dalton."
Rhaenyra did not speak immediately.
She thought of Jacaerys. Of Joffrey. Of the Velaryon kin slaughtered by Aemond, the scorched earth of High Tide, and the charred corpses littering her own castle after the bloody raid on Dragonstone.
"Aegon and Viserys..." she whispered.
Daemon looked at her, a flash of profound heartache in his eyes that he quickly suppressed.
"If you do not want them to follow in the footsteps of Jacaerys and his brothers, we must win. We must win by any means necessary."
At the mention of Jacaerys's name, the light in Sara's eyes dimmed from where she stood by the door.
If Jacaerys were still alive, given Rhaenyra's fierce favoritism toward her eldest son, Sara's child would surely have been elevated to the status of a legitimate heir.
But Jacaerys was dead, having suffered a horrific fate, his skull sent back as a macabre trophy by Aemond.
Her child was now just a fatherless bastard.
Rhaenyra finally nodded. "Fine. Send an envoy to contact the Iron Fleet."
A grim smile appeared on Daemon's face as he looked at Rhaenyra, a profound sense of relief flashing in his eyes.
She finally understood that in this war, there was no mercy and no retreat. There was only life or death.
Rhaenyra's gaze fell upon Sara by the door, watching the young woman tightly cradle her infant.
Sara kept her head bowed, her expression hidden, but her slightly trembling shoulders betrayed her fear.
"Sara," Rhaenyra spoke suddenly.
Sara looked up at the Queen, a trace of panic flitting through her eyes.
"Come here."
Sara's footsteps were light and hesitant as she approached.
"What is that child's name?" Rhaenyra asked.
Sara shook her head, her voice very soft.
"He hasn't been named yet... he is only a few months old..."
Rhaenyra was silent for a long moment, then spoke with absolute clarity.
"He shall be named Jacaerys. To honor my eldest son."
Sara snapped her head up, her eyes wide with disbelief. Jacaerys.
This was the name of Rhaenyra's most beloved son, the former heir of the Blacks, the child Rhaenyra had groomed for the Iron Throne.
To bestow this name was the ultimate mark of Rhaenyra's recognition.
"He... can he truly be called by that name?" Sara's voice trembled.
Rhaenyra nodded, then turned her solemn gaze to Corlys.
"He shall be the legitimate heir of House Velaryon. He is my grandson, and he possesses the right to ride a dragon."
Corlys remained silent, but he understood Rhaenyra's political calculation perfectly.
This was compensation, reparations for House Velaryon, and an olive branch to Corlys himself.
Rhaenys was dead, High Tide was ruined, and over thirty thousand of his kin had been violently displaced by Aemond.
Slowly, Corlys gave his silent assent.
Sara sank to her knees with her child, tears streaming down her face.
"Thank you, Your Grace! Thank you! I swear to you upon my life, I will never betray you. I will fight for you until the very end!"
Rhaenyra looked down at her with a deeply complex gaze.
She knew Sara had intentionally delayed her pursuit of Aemond, a cowardice that had resulted in Silverwing and the injured Vermithor failing to join the battle in time.
But now, she needed Sara. She needed Silverwing, and she needed the she-dragon to keep Vermithor anchored to their cause.
"Rise," Rhaenyra commanded softly.
"Raise little Jacaerys well. Let him become a true Velaryon."
Sara stood and stepped back, a fierce flame of hope finally burning in her eyes.
Daemon watched the scene unfold without speaking.
He was dissatisfied with Rhaenyra's sudden burst of sentimentality, but he restrained his tongue.
House Velaryon was already half-destroyed; if they didn't securely anchor the old Sea Snake now, Daemon genuinely worried that Corlys might surrender to the Greens to preserve the ashes of his legacy.
As for Sara, holding Silverwing's loyalty was functionally equivalent to holding Vermithor's.
They had no choice but to bind the bastard girl to them with blood and titles.
-----
A/N:
If you are enjoying the start of the story.
Drop some stones to help this book reach higher.
You can read upto 40+ Chapters. + Images
You can also read "+2 Free Chapters".
www.patreon.com/
LastDreamer