Rhaenys felt her eyelid twitch, a small betrayal of irritation, yet she did not draw back from Hugh's stare. Her posture remained composed, chin lifted, violet eyes cool and appraising.
"You would have Princess Rhaenyra slain?" she asked lightly, a faint smile curving her lips. "She is the named heir to the Iron Throne. To even harbor such intent is treason."
Hugh did not rise to the mockery. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, shoulders square, expression grave rather than offended.
"Then let the man who sits the Iron Throne condemn me," he said evenly. "I would very much like to see whether he has the courage."
There was no attempt to soften the insult. His voice carried neither heat nor fear, only certainty. He offered King Viserys no reverence at all.
Had Viserys not been Prince Aegon's father, Hugh might have spoken far worse. In his heart, the judgment was already formed. To possess such an able heir and yet cling to the claim of a woman ruled by appetite rather than restraint struck him as madness. What else could such a king be but a fool?
Princess Helaena, gentle and dutiful, was far better suited to wear a crown than Rhaenyra, whose desires had brought nothing but whispers and scandal.
Rhaenys said nothing. Her mouth tightened for a heartbeat, then smoothed again.
Hugh was Aegon's sworn man. Arguing with him would serve no purpose. She turned away, letting silence close the matter.
The Dragonpit lay only a short distance from the Golden Dragon Manor. As they walked, Rhaenys allowed her gaze to wander, outwardly calm, inwardly increasingly unsettled.
Drakoncrest did not resemble a holding newly wrested from war. The roads were clear, the buildings maintained, guards posted with discipline rather than desperation. Smoke rose from workshops. Storehouses stood full and orderly.
She had assumed that with the Triarchy pressing on all sides, Aegon would have neither the time nor the strength to shape the island beyond bare necessity. Yet what she saw told another story.
In half a year he had broken Tyrosh's power in the Stepstones. In that same span, Drakoncrest had been transformed.
What troubled her most was the people. Too many. As she had circled the island from the sky earlier, she had seen fields laid out in careful rows, dark soil turned and planted far beyond what the island's old population could manage.
Such farms meant tens of thousands of hands.
Where did they come from?
The answer came to her unbidden, chilling in its simplicity.
Tyroshi slaves.
If so, Drakoncrest's true population might exceed even her most generous estimates.
By the time they reached the council hall, her expression had settled once more into measured calm.
Prince Aegon sat at the high seat, relaxed yet attentive, fingers resting on the carved arm of the chair. To either side stood his closest companions. Kraken leaned against the table's edge with an easy grin. Loren stood straight-backed, eyes sharp. Alec murmured something under his breath, gesturing toward a map spread across the table.
Below them sat newly elevated officials, their cloaks still stiff with unfamiliar rank.
They were debating logistics. Supply routes. Garrisons. How best to secure the inland territories once held by Tyrosh.
The hinterlands of the Disputed Lands were no island. Wide plains and broken hills invited ambush and prolonged resistance.
"Aunt," Aegon said when he noticed her, looking up with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "You have finally arrived. Please, sit."
He did not rise, but he inclined his head politely.
All eyes turned toward her. Every face wore a smile.
Rhaenys felt a prickle between her shoulders. She could not name the reason, only the certainty that none of those smiles were born of goodwill.
Not when they belonged to Aegon and his inner circle.
"It has been some time, Aegon," she began. "I came to-"
"I know why you have come," Aegon said gently, lifting a hand. "But there is no need to hurry."
He tapped the map with one finger.
"We are discussing how to occupy the Tyroshi hinterlands efficiently and without waste. You have experience in war and governance, Aunt. If you have any thoughts, I would hear them."
His gaze met hers, steady and expectant.
"If your counsel proves useful, I will remember it. And I will also give proper consideration to the matter that brought you here."
Kraken turned away, shoulders shaking as he struggled not to laugh.
The twenty merchant ships she had come to reclaim were already gone. Sent back to Tyrosh, no doubt, stripped of banners and identity, their holds emptied and sold. Reclaimed, repurposed, and erased.
Rhaenys's expression darkened, the faint lines at the corners of her eyes tightening. Something was wrong. She felt it keenly.
By all reason, the matter under discussion had nothing to do with her. She was a guest, not a councillor, and certainly not one of Aegon's sworn followers. Yet he had pressed her for counsel all the same. The more she considered it, the more disquieting it became.
"I am not familiar with the situation in the Disputed Lands," she said at last, her voice cool and even. "I will not interfere in your decisions."
She inclined her head slightly, then turned her gaze back to Aegon, studying his face.
"Go on with your work. We can speak after you are finished."
She took a step as if to leave.
"Aunt. Wait."
Aegon's voice cut across the hall, polite but firm.
Rhaenys halted and turned back, a crease forming between her brows. Confusion flickered across her face. What could he possibly require of her?
Aegon leaned back in his chair, fingers interlaced, a light smile touching his lips.
"It is simple," he said. "I intend to send two dragons into the Disputed Lands, to work with the ground forces and encircle the remaining slave masters who still resist."
His gaze was steady as he continued.
"Aemond and Daeron are too young. Helaena as well. As for myself, I must remain on Dragonstone to oversee matters here."
He did not finish the thought, but he did not need to.
Rhaenys's eyes narrowed.
"You want me to fight for you," she said flatly. "Impossible."
Her refusal was immediate, unhesitating.
"I will never help you."
House Velaryon stood with the Blacks. To march into the Disputed Lands on Aegon's behalf would be nothing short of betrayal. And beyond that loomed a greater concern.
The Fifth Dornish War was close at hand.
Viserys would never allow Rhaenyra to take the field. When the arguing ended, it would fall, as it always did, to her and to Daemon.
If she went east to fight Aegon's enemies, who would face Dorne?
Even Aegon the Conqueror, astride Balerion the Black Dread, had failed to bend Dorne to his will. No matter how much larger the armies or how sound the supply lines, Daemon and Caraxes alone could never achieve what the Conqueror could not.
Aegon listened without interruption. When she finished, he only smiled, wide and untroubled.
"In that case," he said mildly, "you may return to Driftmark. Or go to King's Landing. You can assist my sister in the war against Dorne."
The council hall fell silent.
No one spoke. Even the scrape of boots and the rustle of parchment ceased. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.
At length, Rhaenys broke the silence.
"You impounded House Velaryon's merchant ships on purpose," she said, her voice low. "This was your intention all along, was it not?"
Aegon laughed softly, spreading his hands.
"Oh, Aunt, do not slander me. To slander a member of the royal family is treason."
Her eyes hardened.
"Only you speak of treason so casually," she replied coldly. "And only you wield it so eagerly against others."
He raised an eyebrow, amused.
"There. You are slandering me again. That, too, is treason."
Rhaenys pressed her lips together and said nothing. She had already realized that no one ever gained the upper hand in a war of words with Aegon.
He sighed, as if burdened by her misunderstanding.
"Aunt, I believe you have the wrong idea," he said. "I never deliberately impounded House Velaryon's ships."
He paused, then added pleasantly, "They were carrying a strange plague. For the safety of all, I ordered the ships and their cargo burned together. You are welcome."
Rhaenys's composure shattered.
"What did you say?"
Aegon frowned, tilting his head.
"Aunt," he said, "have you grown old enough that your hearing has failed as well?"
Before she could answer, Kraken spoke up, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
"His Highness said that the merchant ships, along with their goods, have already been burned, Princess Rhaenys."
Loren inclined his head slightly, voice smooth and unhurried.
"A very small favor, really. No need to be so upset, Princess… Rhaenys."
Rhaenys's breath came sharp and uneven. Her chest rose and fell as anger surged through her. She did not need to ask further questions to know the truth.
"You are more shameless than I ever imagined," she said, her voice like ice.
Aegon laughed outright.
"Hahaha. You flatter me."
At his laughter, Kraken and the others joined in, their voices echoing through the council hall as Rhaenys stood rigid, fury burning behind her eyes.