The tournament had left an air of false triumph over Dragonstone. The knights were still boasting of their tilts, and the smell of roasted meat lingered in the salty air. But Jacaerys could not taste it. His Supernatural Senses were locked onto the southern horizon, tuned to the specific frequency of dragon-kin.
He was standing on the battlements when he felt it—a sharp, jagged spike of pain that didn't belong to him. It was Arrax. The bond he had subtly forged with the dragon through his mother's bloodline vibrated like a snapped lute string.
A few hours later, a silhouette appeared against the grey morning light. It wasn't the triumphant return of a prince; it was a battered creature. Arrax landed with a heavy, wet thud on the sands below, his pearlescent scales scorched and torn. Lucerys slid from the saddle, his face a mask of frozen horror, his clothes soaked through by the storm and the spray of the sea.
The castle erupted in chaos. Maesters hurried down, and Rhaenyra's scream echoed from the high balcony—a sound of pure, maternal agony.
Jace was the first to reach his brother. He didn't ask questions. He grabbed Luke by the shoulders, his Supernatural Senses instantly scanning for injuries. The boy was physically whole, but his spirit was shattered. Through the enhancement Jace had given him, Luke had survived the impossible—a dance with Vhagar in the heart of a hurricane. Arrax had bitten deep into the neck of the Great Bitch, drawing blood before diving into the safety of the waves where the gargantuan dragon couldn't follow.
"He tried to kill me, Jace," Luke whispered, his voice cracking. "Aemond... he didn't stop."
Jace pulled his brother into a hard embrace. "But you are alive. And that is the only thing that matters today."
As the guards led Luke away, Jace looked up at the balcony. Rhaenyra stood there, her hands gripping the stone until her knuckles turned white. Her eyes were no longer those of a mother; they were the eyes of the Dragon Queen.
That evening, the Black Council was a den of wolves. The lords demanded fire and blood. They wanted King's Landing to burn. Rhaenyra sat at the head of the table, her silence more terrifying than their shouting. Jace stood behind her, a shadow that absorbed the heat of the room. He didn't speak a word of his secret knowledge. He let the tragedy play out as it must, using the grief to solidify the Council's resolve.
When the meeting finally broke, the castle fell into a heavy, oppressive silence. Jace made his way to Rhaenyra's solar. He found her standing by the fire, her crown discarded on a chair. She looked ancient in the flickering light, her grief a tangible weight.
He didn't offer empty platitudes. He walked to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind. Rhaenyra leaned back into him, a sob finally breaking from her throat.
"They tried to take my son, Jace," she hissed, her voice trembling with rage. "They would have murdered him in the sky."
"But they failed," Jace murmured into her hair. "They revealed their hand, and they failed. Now, the world knows who the monsters are."
He turned her around. The grief in her eyes was being rapidly replaced by a cold, sharp hunger for vengeance—and for the only thing that made her feel alive in this world of death. She reached for him, her fingers digging into his tunic.
The intimacy that followed was different from their previous encounters. It wasn't a celebration; it was a desperate, dark communion. They didn't even make it to the bed. Jace pressed her against the heavy oak door, his hands swift and demanding. He needed to ground her, to remind her that they were the masters of their own fate.
The sex was fierce and raw. There was no slow foreplay this time; it was a collision of fire and need. Jace entered her with a powerful, rhythmic drive that silenced her sobs and replaced them with gasps of pleasure. He used his supernatural stamina to hold her in that space of pure sensation, shielding her from the pain of the outside world. The smut was intense, characterized by a primal energy—the sound of skin hitting skin, the heavy scent of sex and salt, and the way Rhaenyra clung to him as if he were the only solid thing in a collapsing universe.
When it was over, they lay on the floorboards, the firelight dancing over their entwined limbs. Rhaenyra's breathing had finally slowed. The enhancement Jace provided was already working, turning her grief into a focused, icy resolve.
"What do we do now?" she asked, her voice steady.
Jace sat up, his violet eyes glowing in the dark. "Now, we stop playing by their rules. Daemon is at Harrenhal, and Aemond has shown his cowardice. We will strengthen the Gullet, and I will begin the next phase of our kingdom's defense."
He kissed her forehead, a King's blessing. "The Greens think they have started a war. They have no idea they have invited their own extinction."
As Jace left her room, his mind was already miles away. He needed to visit the Dragonmont. Vormax had been restless all day, sensing the blood in the water. It was time for the Cannibal to feed on something more than just wild dragons.