The necessity of a conciliatory policy left the gathered noble lords speechless.
Rhaegar surveyed the room and asked, "Any further questions?"
"Disaster relief is feasible, but who will provide the grain and medicine?"
Mund hit the nail on the head.
The noble lords exchanged glances and nodded in agreement.
To be fair, none of them were willing to aid the Dornish, their ancestral enemies.
Rhaegar had anticipated this and stated bluntly, "Hightower will supply the grain, and the Academy will provide maesters and medicine."
Mund refused without hesitation. "Prince, Hightower has already made significant sacrifices for the war. We are under no obligation to aid the Dornish."
"That's an order."
"You cannot force me. Otherwise, I will seek counsel from His Majesty."
Mund's expression darkened, his posture one of defiance.
"Are you sure?"
Rhaegar narrowed his violet eyes slightly, gently pushing Helena aside as he stepped forward to face Mund directly.
Mund glared back, still unwilling to yield.
Rhaegar closed the distance, circling the table as he moved closer.
His piercing violet eyes radiated a chilling intensity, as if seeing through every deceitful scheme.
Gulp.
Mund swallowed hard and averted his gaze.
"The ships from Oldtown have continued maritime trade uninterrupted since the war began," Rhaegar remarked casually, his chest bumping against Mund's as he towered over him.
"Oldtown is Westeros' trade center; naturally, there would be maritime commerce," Mund argued, stumbling slightly from the impact.
"Did I not order that all maritime trade be suspended until the war ends?"
"That was only for supplies destined for the Disputed Lands," Mund replied, his expression shifting as sweat beaded on his forehead.
Since the outbreak of the Narrow Sea War, maritime trade across the Narrow Sea had been cut off.
The Earl of Bartimos Celtigar had once secretly engaged in trade, selling supplies to the enemy—the Three Daughters—and was stripped of his title and exiled to the Wall.
Rhaegar's lips curved into a smirk. Lowering his head, he leaned close to Mund's ear and whispered, "Oldtown's ships have been secretly sailing to the Disputed Lands and Volantis. Coincidentally, Volantis has also been smuggling goods into Plankytown. What do you make of that?"
"T-That's not true."
"Oh?"
Rhaegar turned his gaze coldly toward the stunned noble lords. "Alicent may be the queen, but she is just a queen. How long do you think she can protect you? And how long can you protect her?"
Mund was drenched in sweat, his lips turning pale from fear.
At the start of the war, leveraging his niece's position as queen, as well as the backgrounds of Aegon, Helena, and the other royal children, Oldtown's port had never ceased trading.
To amass war profits, Mund had secretly purchased vast amounts of grain from the Reach under the guise of military requisition.
That grain was then resold to Volantis at exorbitant prices, yielding profits several times higher than usual.
And where did Volantis redirect that grain?
It was obvious—they were supplying their new allies.
"Heh."
Rhaegar let out a knowing chuckle, patting Mund's rigid shoulder in a friendly manner. "I won't pursue past transactions, but until the Dornish rebellion is quelled, Oldtown's port is to remain closed. Understood?"
"Understood."
Mund's legs trembled, his face ashen. He stammered, "The Hightower will provide grain for the Prince's Pass, and I will request the Academy, in the name of the Voice of Oldtown, to send maesters for disaster relief."
"Excellent!"
Rhaegar's smile grew even brighter as he gave Mund a generous embrace.
A noble who knows how to obey is a good noble.
I have shown Alicent respect, but you cannot trample on mine.
Mund felt like crying but could only force a smile—one uglier than a sob.
He couldn't understand why the crown prince had suddenly turned his attention to Hightower.
For years, he had engaged in shady dealings unnoticed.
In the grand hall, the other noble lords had watched the exchange between Rhaegar and Mund with varied expressions, quickly reining in their own tempers.
Hightower had been caught in the crown prince's grasp, and they weren't necessarily any cleaner themselves.
Among nobles, the contest was never about who was more virtuous—it was about who was more corrupt.
Bang! Bang!
Rhaegar slammed his palm on the table, his expression turning icy again. "Once the refugees are dealt with, our forces will immediately march on King's Grave. We must break through the Prince's Pass within half a month."
"Yes, Prince."
"King's Grave is not a real threat. The enemy's true stronghold is Skyreach."
"With two dragons raining fire, King's Grave won't hold."
...
As the armies of the Reach advanced on the Prince's Pass, the Boneway and the Stormlands were also in turmoil.
Ser Royce Caron, having received a plea for aid from Nightsong, accelerated his campaign to eliminate the remaining Dornish forces.
That night—
A fleet docked at the harbor under the jurisdiction of Stonehelm, and 5,000 royal troops sent to support the Stormlands split into two units.
Three thousand soldiers disembarked and boarded ships.
At the same time—
At the entrance of the Boneway, near the site of the Prince's Palace, a fully armed force of a thousand men arrived.
The night sky was dim, with only a scattering of stars peeking through the mist.
Screech!
A massive beast with gleaming bronze scales soared across the night sky, descending upon the Prince's Palace.
"Your Majesty!"
"Your Majesty…"
Clad in black royal robes, Viserys dismounted from Vermithor's back as three Kingsguard in silver-white armor hurried forward.
Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk Cargyll, the twin knights.
And Ser Criston Cole, who had returned in glory from the Stepstones.
Viserys glanced at the three men and spoke with satisfaction. "Let's enter the palace and discuss our strategy for attacking Vaith."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"The construction of the palace is halfway done, Your Majesty. Please watch your step."
Three White Knights surrounded the king, guarding him as he entered the prince's palace.
The palace was located at the entrance of Bone Road, deliberately chosen in a region nestled between mountains and water.
The structure was magnificent, divided into two sections: an inner city and an outer city.
The inner city was vast, built of white marble, with intricately carved beams and painted rafters. Pavilions and towers were scattered throughout, rivaling even Highgarden in beauty.
The outer city had yet to be completed, with only the foundation of its walls laid.
As Viserys walked, he observed the surroundings. Passing by a dragon-shaped sculpture, he chuckled and said, "Well built, and well-placed."
It was strategically positioned at the entrance of Bone Road, serving as a crucial transit point for the kingdom's army to invade Dorne.
---
Beyond the Narrow Sea.
Pentos, Port.
"Kill! Sailors, disembark!"
"Prepare the catapults! Blast through the port's defenses!"
Under the dim night sky, at the crescent-shaped bay entrance…
Over thirty warships sailed into the harbor, their purple sails standing in stark contrast against the unchanging sea.
Onboard, sailors swarmed as catapults launched burning logs, smashing through the unguarded port.
Within mere minutes, flames illuminated the bay, thick smoke rising into the air.
The emergency bells of Pentos rang out, as large groups of mercenaries rushed from their homes to reinforce the defenses.
Seeing the incoming invaders, someone screamed in horror, "Purple warships! Braavos' strongest fleet!"
Since the founding of Braavos, with the emergence of the Sea Lord, the city-state had secretly trained a formidable naval fleet that ruled the seas.
Additionally, Braavos maintained a second fleet of purple-sailed merchant ships.
One fleet waged war, the other conducted trade—both expanding Braavos' maritime dominance over generations.
Boom!
The Purple Fleet moved with perfect discipline, unleashing volley after volley from their catapults, mercilessly bombarding the fragile port.
Wooo—
The chilling sound of war horns echoed as sailors rushed onto the decks, drawing their curved blades, ready to storm the shore.
Against the backdrop of purple sails, the midnight slaughter began.
Within the port, inside a towering white-stone keep…
Prince Regio clung to the window, staring in horror at the carnage below, murmuring a desperate prayer, "Gods, please don't let Braavos succeed."
Boom!
A sudden explosion shook the tower, making Regio shudder and close his eyes, muttering frantically.
Back at the harbor…
The Purple Fleet had breached the defenses, and the port was engulfed in flames, merchant ships burning one after another.
As soon as the warships docked, the sailors swarmed ashore, bloodthirsty and relentless.
Braavos' sailors operated under a unique merit-based system—each one was an elite warrior.
"Kill! Capture that fat Pentoshi prince alive!"
"Archers, cover us!"
The defensive line had barely formed before Braavos' sailors overwhelmed them in a chaotic slaughter.
Whoosh—
A salty sea breeze, heavy with the stench of blood, swept through the battlefield. A dark cloud passed over the moon, deepening the night's gloom.
Across the vast sea, only the chaotic flames of the port remained.
Fear seeped into every corner of Pentos.
"Screeeee!!"
Suddenly, an ear-piercing screech rang out, sharp enough to shatter eardrums.
In the next instant…
"Dracarys!"
A massive, crimson-scaled dragon, its body long and serpent-like, tore through the night sky, accompanied by a deep, commanding male voice.
Boom!
Caraxes glided over the bay, spewing torrents of dragonfire without restraint.
Scarlet flames slashed through the darkness like blazing pillars, slicing across the Purple Fleet's warships and incinerating the siege engines on their decks.
"Screeeee…"
Another dragon's roar echoed through the night—this one laced with boundless fury.
The sailors on the decks looked up in terror, but all they saw was a flash of crimson.
"Dracarys!!"
Rhaenys' eyes burned red with rage as she screamed at the top of her lungs.
Meleys spread her vast wings, her form blending into the darkness like a ghost of crimson death.
Boom!
Like a vengeful specter, she soared over the port, unleashing torrents of fire that engulfed the Braavosi soldiers who had made it ashore.
"A dragon!!"
"How does Pentos have dragons?!"
"Break through the defenses! Get into the city! Avoid direct confrontation with the dragons!"
The Braavosi sailors were terrified, but their captains retained their composure. They quickly ordered their crews to take cover within the city streets, where the dragons' firepower would be less effective.
Retreating to their ships was no longer an option. The dragons had cut off their escape route.
Their only chance of survival was to take the battle into the city, where the dragons would hesitate to unleash their full wrath.
Daemon, clad in black armor, smirked with a roguish grin. "Cousin, leave the bay to me. Don't let any of them escape."
Seizing control of Tyrosh and ruling a city of his own—it was exhilarating.
Rhaenys' expression was filled with grief, her voice strained with barely contained sorrow. "I'll handle the port!"
"Screeeee…"
Sensing his rider's seething rage, Meleys grew even more aggressive, abandoning her usual restraint.
She became a crimson bolt of destruction, each pass above the sailors leaving behind only scorched remains.
Daemon watched with amusement before murmuring, "A mother dragon who lost her cub."
News of Laenor's murder had reached the Disputed Lands, sending Rhaenys into a state of near madness.
After watching for a while, Daemon lost interest. He patted the scarlet scales beneath him and commanded in High Valyrian, "Burn them all!"
He, too, had mastered the binding spell.
"Screeeee!!"
Caraxes' slit pupils gleamed with menace. Letting out another bone-chilling shriek, he dived straight into the battlefield.
Moments later, crimson dragonfire swept across the bay.
A slaughter of blood and fire had begun.
Support me by leaving a comment, review and vote
visit myPat**on at belamy20