Helena kneaded the dough between her fingers, her face calm. "Mother knows about this."
"What?!"
Aemond exclaimed in shock.
Thinking it over, he questioned her, "Why would Mother agree? She despises Rhaenyra and Rhaegar the most."
Unless their mother intended to compromise and use his sister's future as a bargaining chip.
Helena shook her head. "Don't overthink it. I made this choice willingly. Mother can no longer control me."
She clarified the truth to avoid misunderstandings.
She had loved her brother since they were children. No amount of opposition would change that.
Aemond couldn't believe it, his expression sour. "You're insane! The Targaryens don't practice polygamy anymore. What you're doing is making yourself a mistress!"
His harsh words were filled with anger.
He would rather see Helena marry that fool Aegon and at least gain proper status and live with dignity.
"Who said I want to be a mistress, dear brother?"
Helena's expression remained unchanged as she continued, "You should know about Lady Jeyne. Do you think a duchess would settle for being a mistress?"
Aside from dealing with Rhaegar, Helena's intelligence was usually sharp.
Jeyne came from the Arryn family of the Eyrie, her personality just as noble as their house motto:
High as Honor!
Though she was still young and didn't draw much attention, Jeyne would inevitably be unable to stay hidden for long. Sooner or later, she'd clash with Rhaenyra and pave the way for the return of polygamy among the Targaryens.
A duchess pushing this precedent herself, combined with Rhaegar's heroic conquests of the Three Daughters and his counterattack on Dorne, meant even defying the unwritten rule set by their great-grandfather and the Faith of the Seven would not be an issue.
The Faith wouldn't dare object too strongly.
Polygamy would return sooner or later.
Helena simply had to wait and help when the time was right.
Of course, she had bigger ambitions than merely enjoying success from the shadows.
Like Queen Visenya, Helena aspired to be a formidable Targaryen woman.
She had already contributed to the War of the Narrow Sea and the Dorne Rebellion. No one dared look down on her.
Hearing her explanation, Aemond began to understand her intentions and hung his head in defeat, dazed.
Damn it!
He had thought himself clever by arranging a marriage alliance with House Baratheon and eliminating House Swann.
But it turned out his sister's ambition outstripped his own.
She was daring enough to openly contend with Rhaenyra and strive to become queen.
Aemond blinked rapidly as he suddenly thought of Daeron, their youngest brother, who had been diligently reading books and spoiled since childhood.
"Is Aegon really the only useless one?"
Aemond couldn't help but pity that fool of a brother.
Helena reached out to ruffle his hair, mimicking Rhaenyra's affectionate gestures toward Rhaegar. Her voice was flat but warm. "Go back now. Stop overthinking things."
Aemond's face flushed red.
After ruffling his hair for a moment, Helena pulled her hand back, stingy with affection. She coaxed him like a child, "Do a good job defending the city. Stonehelm will most likely be yours."
Stonehelm's importance was only growing, with the potential to become a major port.
Rhaegar had hinted that it might be granted to Aemond in due time.
"Sister~~"
Aemond was reluctant, whining softly.
Helena ignored him, sighed, and turned to leave.
She still needed to finish kneading the dough. Let Aemond think things over by himself.
Watching Helena's departing figure, Aemond stood there, devastated, almost as if "unhappy" were carved onto his forehead.
He began to regret it.
If he had known things would turn out this way, he would've seized Aegon's preferred position and married Helena himself, following their family traditions.
Now look at this mess.
He was engaged to Cassandra, and Aegon seemed to be engaged as well.
"Three brothers, and not one of us she likes."
Aemond wiped imaginary tears from the corners of his eyes and muttered bitterly, "Mother was so foolish, obsessed with the Baratheons' power and spoiling that idiot Aegon."
If he hadn't been forced into an engagement, he'd still be free.
None of this would have happened — his sister wouldn't have fallen into Rhaegar's arms.
She had three full-blooded brothers, after all.
Aemond clenched his teeth. "I'm not worse than anyone else."
Turning abruptly, he marched outside.
The war wasn't over yet. He would claim Stonehelm and achieve glory that demanded respect.
---
The Red Mountains
Stretching from east to west, this vast mountain range separated Dorne from the Stormlands and the Reach.
The Red Mountains extended from the northeast, reaching the southern Stormlands near Storm's End, near Windwyrm Point and Shipbreaker Bay's Ghost Hill, nearly touching Storm's End.
Along Dorne's southern frontier, several castles belonging to border lords were scattered, including Blackmont and Stonehelm.
The mountains stretched northwestward into the Reach.
Horn Hill, the seat of House Tarly, lay at the northwestern foot of these mountains.
The range had two main passes: the Prince's Pass and the Boneway.
At this moment, a massive group of ragged Dornish refugees poured into the Red Mountains, splitting into two groups to take each pass.
Dorne, located in the tropics, was always unbearably hot.
During the height of summer, the heat was even more brutal. The blazing sun scorched people's skin, and the rocky mountain paths burned their feet.
Many elderly and frail travelers collapsed along the way, their bodies left to rot in the wilderness.
Those around them, numb to the sight, stripped the corpses of their brown and yellow tattered clothing, rolled them up, and stuffed them into their packs.
The hotter the climate, the greater the temperature difference between day and night.
At night, the mountain temperatures dropped low enough to kill.
"One more piece of clothing means one more chance to survive."
Bone Road, also known as "Stone Road."
The entrance to this passage is located along the northern coastline of Dorne, guarded by House Yronwood, known as the Wardens of the Stone Way.
Refugees pass through Yronwood and continue northward, traveling past House Vaith's Vaith Castle, steadily drawing closer to the distant Blackhaven.
The fleeing crowd numbers over ten thousand, each person emaciated, their faces hollow from prolonged hunger and exposure.
Their eyes are vacant as they stare ahead at the long, crimson-hued path, desperately hoping to cross Bone Road and reach the Dornish borderlands, where life-saving provisions await.
Dorne's harvests had failed, and the lords cast them out of the oases.
Some urged the refugees to head into the Red Mountains in search of another way to survive.
On either side of the procession, a starkly different group had gathered.
They weren't just tall—they were sturdy, powerful.
Each one had a fierce expression, with curved swords strapped to their waists and crossbows slung across their backs.
Several dozen miles from Blackhaven, this group split from the refugees and quietly assembled.
Their numbers were neither too large nor too small—exactly five thousand.
Breaking into five separate units, they dispersed into the treacherous, winding paths within Bone Road.
Compared to the Prince's Pass—commonly known as the "Great Pass"—Bone Road was steep and perilous.
Its narrow mountain trails were scattered throughout, yet few were passable to ordinary travelers.
In the wider sections, only three people could walk side by side.
In the narrowest parts, even a single person had to cling to the rock face and carefully climb.
This was a secret route known only to the borderlanders of Dorne and those dwelling deep within the mountains.
"If we take this path, can we really bypass Blackhaven?"
A burly man with wild, multicolored hair—clearly a mercenary—voiced his doubts.
"Save your strength. This road is no easy walk."
The reply came from a dark-haired, bronze-skinned man, whose leather armor bore the emblem of a black viper biting its own tail—the sigil of House Vaith.
The burly mercenary snorted. "I'll never understand you Dornish folk. Why insist on taking some gods-forsaken, desolate route like this?"
If not for the irresistible coin from Braavos, he wouldn't have come here even if they'd paid him double.
The five-hundred-strong unit trudged through a narrow, shadowed path pressed between towering rock walls.
The mercenary muttered complaints as his shoulder brushed against the scorching hot stone. He cursed under his breath, "This damn path… If the Dragon King's beast shows up, we'll all roast like suckling pigs."
The Vaith man halted mid-step and turned to fix him with an unblinking stare.
Come to think of it…
The trail beneath them was narrow—their five-hundred-man column stretched nearly five hundred yards, with the front unable to see the rear.
If a dragon descended from above, a single breath of dragonfire could incinerate them from one end to the other.
"What are you looking at?"
The mercenary shuddered under his gaze, his skin prickling with goosebumps. Frustrated, he snapped in irritation.
The Vaith man turned back around, his voice laced with displeasure. "Shut up. Say something lucky for once."
"Uh…"
A sense of unease spread through the enclosed pass.
Whoosh—
Suddenly, a shadow flickered overhead, blocking out the scorching sun.
"What was that?!"
The mercenary's face went pale as he instinctively crouched low.
Whoosh—
As if responding to his shout, the shadow circled back, casting an enormous draconic silhouette across the entire path.
Everyone's hearts pounded wildly as they lifted their heads, overwhelmed by an ominous dread.
"SSSKREEE!!"
In an instant, a thunderous dragon roar shattered the silence, the sound echoing through the mountains like a crack of lightning.
BOOM—
Golden dragonfire rained down from the sky, erupting with the intensity of a volcanic explosion, engulfing the path from one end to the other.
(End of Chapter)