Chapter 32: Sea Snake's Ambition
In the Red Keep's private chambers, candlelight danced across polished marble and silk. The scent of burning myrrh and sea salt filled the air — reminders of both courtly luxury and the sea's freedom.
Rhaenys Targaryen sat before a silver mirror, combing her dark hair with an ivory comb. Her expression was poised but her eyes reflected the embers of unease.
"Baelon offered to take Daemon to the Vale," she said quietly, her voice smooth as wine. "Two dragons in one royal tour. It seems he's noticed how closely we've tied ourselves to the Vale's nobles since Duke Artys Arryn's death."
Sea Snake Corlys Velaryon stood near the window, the moonlight tracing the hard lines of his face. His tone carried the chill of the Narrow Sea.
"Baelon hides his ambition behind courtesy," Corlys muttered. "Every second son claims to be content — until he isn't. Maegor, Vaemond, Daemon… they all wear the same fire in their eyes."
Rhaenys glanced up from the mirror. "Daemon is not like them."
But even as she said it, she wasn't sure. The young prince — her cousin — had changed. Since returning from the Stepstones, there was something different in his gaze. A weight, as if he had seen the world's end and returned with a plan to rewrite it.
Corlys' lip curled slightly. "Perhaps not. But he plays the game better than most. He listens, he learns, and he waits. That is what makes him dangerous."
Rhaenys frowned. "You think this plan to visit the Vale was his idea?"
"I would wager my fleet on it," Corlys replied. "Baelon is too straightforward to see the strings being pulled. Daemon, though… he already knows where the tides will turn."
The Sea Snake's tone hardened. "After your father Aemon died, Baelon stole what was rightfully yours. You should have been heir to the Iron Throne. Even King Jaehaerys once said so — before his memory conveniently failed."
Rhaenys's lips tightened. "We are only defending our birthright, yet the court whispers that we're grasping for what's not ours."
Corlys wrapped an arm around her shoulders. His voice softened, though the fire in it never dimmed.
"I built the Great Sept in King's Landing to show our devotion, to earn the faith's blessing. I've spent fortunes to win the hearts of men from Driftmark to Gulltown — not for greed, but for justice. For you."
Rhaenys rose and moved toward the desk, where a large parchment map of the Vale was spread. Her fingers traced from Gulltown to Runestone, then stopped at the Eyrie.
"Sometimes," she whispered, "I wonder if it's worth it. All this gold, all this scheming. What if we win nothing?"
Corlys turned her chin toward him. "If I feared failure, I would never have sailed beyond the Jade Sea. The crown may choose Baelon, but wealth, ships, and dragons can crown a queen of their own."
He unrolled another map — this one of Westeros's western coast. "The coastal lords grow fat while the inland ones beg for favors. We'll weave our own network — trade with the North's west coast, with Bear Island, Deepwood Motte, Skagos, Flint's Finger. Even the crannogmen of the Neck."
Rhaenys frowned. "The North's western coast? There's no profit there, Corlys. Only storms, cold, and wolves."
"The profit," Corlys said with a cunning glint, "is loyalty. The Iron Throne ignores them. If House Velaryon offers trade where the crown offers silence, we'll own their gratitude — and their swords."
Rhaenys sipped her sweet spiced wine, her crimson eyes reflecting the candlelight. "The Ironborn will not make it easy. They raid those waters every season."
Corlys smiled, predator-smooth. "Then perhaps it's time to remind them who commands the sea. Baelon on Vhagar, Daemon on Caraxes, you on Red Queen Meleys — and my fleet beneath the waves. Together, even the Sistermen and Ironborn will kneel."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Though if I'm honest, I don't mind a few pirates surviving. If every outlaw dies, the Master of Ships becomes unnecessary. And I do enjoy being needed."
Rhaenys laughed softly, though her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Always the pragmatist."
From the window, the faint roar of a dragon echoed — distant yet clear. Both turned toward it.
Caraxes, Daemon's blood-red wyrm, circled above the city, its cry cutting through the night like thunder.
For a moment, Corlys and Rhaenys were silent.
Then Rhaenys murmured, "The Rogue Prince has plans of his own. I can feel it in my bones."
Corlys nodded. "So can I. And the question is — when his fire burns through the old order, will it forge our future… or consume it?"
The candle flame flickered once, then went out.
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