The morning after their union, the air on Dragonstone felt different—charged with the static of an approaching storm. Jacaerys stood at the window of the council chamber, his Supernatural Senses picking up the distant beat of wings. Not the heavy, rhythmic thrum of Vormax, but the frantic, uneven pace of a messenger dragon.
The news arrived shortly after noon: King Viserys I was dead. Aegon II had been crowned in the Dragonpit before the eyes of thousands. The Greens had committed their treason.
Rhaenyra stood by the Painted Table, her face a mask of cold fury. The enhancement Jace had provided her over the years now manifested as a terrifying, regal composure. She did not weep for her father; she prepared for her reign. Around her, the lords of the Black Council bickered about logistics and allies, unaware that the true power in the room sat silently at the end of the table.
Daemon Targaryen paced like a caged beast. We must fly for King's Landing at once, he growled. We take their heads before they can settle into the throne.
Jace looked up, his violet eyes locking onto his step-father's. Daemon, the Rogue Prince, flinched—a reaction so subtle only Jace's enhanced eyes caught it. Daemon felt an inexplicable weight coming from the boy, a pressure that felt like standing in the shadow of a mountain.
Patience, Uncle, Jace said, his voice a smooth, low baritone that commanded the room. If we rush, we look like usurpers. We must gather the Great Houses. I will go North. Luke will go to Storm's End.
Rhaenyra looked at Jace, a secret understanding passing between them. She knew he wasn't just going North to talk. He was going to activate the web he had been spinning for years.
Before he left, Jace took his brother Lucerys aside. He placed a hand on the younger boy's shoulder. Under the guise of a brotherly embrace, Jace triggered the enhancement. He felt the golden threads of his power weave into Luke's essence, sharpening the boy's reflexes and heightening his instincts.
Listen to me, Luke, Jace whispered. Aemond will be at Storm's End. He flies Vhagar. Do not engage him. If he chases you, fly into the heart of the storm. Your dragon is faster, and now, so are you.
Luke nodded, feeling a sudden, inexplicable surge of confidence. He didn't know his brother had just turned him into a peak-human pilot. He only knew he felt ready.
That night, before the dragons took flight, Jace returned to Rhaenyra's chambers. The politics of the day were set aside. They met with the hunger of those who knew the world might burn tomorrow. Jace took her with a desperate, fierce intensity, his Skill Mastery and supernatural stamina turning their parting into an hours-long ritual of fire and skin. He marked her again, his teeth grazing the curve of her neck, a silent promise that he would return to claim his throne—and her.
I will be back within the week, Jace murmured against her lips as the first light of dawn touched the sea. When I return, the North will be ours, and the Greens will realize they have provoked a god.
He didn't go to the dragon pits to fetch Vermax. Instead, he climbed to the highest, most desolate peak of the Dragonmont. He whistled—a sound that vibrated on a frequency only one creature could hear.
Vormax descended like a falling star. The former Cannibal was now a titan of obsidian and gold, his presence so overwhelming that the smaller dragons in the pits below shrieked in terror. Jace vaulted onto the dragon's back, feeling the supernatural bond tighten.
Fly, Jace commanded.
They tore through the clouds, moving at speeds that would have killed an ordinary rider. But Jace's Divine Blood and Supernatural Healing made the G-forces feel like a light breeze. Within hours, the Frostfangs appeared on the horizon.
In Winterfell, Cregan Stark was waiting. He had been "enhanced" by one of Jace's hidden agents months ago, a captain of the guard who had shared the Prince's gift. When Jace landed the monstrous Vormax in the courtyard of Winterfell, the Northmen didn't reach for their swords in fear. They felt a deep, ancestral pull toward the rider.
Prince Jacaerys, Cregan said, kneeling in the snow. The North remembers its oaths. My blades, and the blades of every man from here to the Wall, are yours.
Jace smiled. The first piece of the board was set. He spent the night with Cregan, sharing wine and "training" with the Stark in the yard. In reality, he was deepening the bond, ensuring the North would not just be an ally, but a weapon that would never break.
As he prepared to fly back to Dragonstone, his Supernatural Senses suddenly spiked. A wave of cold dread washed over him—not for himself, but for his blood. Far to the South, at Storm's End, the air was screaming.
Aemond had found Luke.
Jace's eyes turned a dark, glowing violet. The time for hiding his true power was rapidly coming to an end.