"Laena!" Rhaenyra's voice was filled with concern. "You really should be resting."
Laena had been consumed with worry ever since Daemon's banishment from King's Landing. If she continued this way, she might manage, but the baby she carried could not.
Laena rubbed her forehead, trying to muster some strength. "I'm fine. Trust me."
"I can't trust you in this condition," Rhaenyra replied, pulling her into a protective embrace.
As they took a few steps, Laena clutched her stomach, wincing in pain.
"Still not feeling well?" Rhaenyra asked, her worry deepening.
Laena forced a smile. "It's nothing serious."
But they both knew the truth. The Maester had warned that the last miscarriage had caused permanent damage to her womb. This pregnancy was fraught with risk.
Suddenly, a mournful cry echoed from deep within the Dragonpit.
"Roar..."
Laena gritted her teeth and took another step forward. "Vhagar is worried about me."
"Dragons can always sense their rider's emotions," Rhaenyra acknowledged, though her tone was far from reassuring. "Come back with me. Stop burdening yourself with worldly matters."
"I can't," Laena whispered, her voice hoarse and filled with sorrow.
Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Why not?"
Laena sighed deeply, her voice heavy with complex emotions. "My mother sent word. Daemon has taken a fleet into the Smoking Sea."
"What?" Rhaenyra gasped, her shock palpable. "Rhaegar and the others had agreed to enter together."
"Yes, but Daemon has never been one to keep his promises," Laena said, her gaze distant, lost in thought.
Rhaenyra's anger flared, but there was also helplessness in her tone. "I'll inform Rhaegar, pray that Daemon stays safe."
The Smoking Sea had always been a symbol of peril, even for someone as famous as the Rogue Prince.
...
Late at night, atop the flat-topped Topless Tower, the Queen's bedroom lay in shadow.
Creak.
The door swung open, and Rhaenyra entered, rubbing her shoulder and dragging her feet, utterly exhausted. She had just put Laena to bed, a task that had drained what little energy she had left. At least she had done her best to fulfill the Sea Snake's request.
With a sigh, Rhaenyra reached behind her to undo the ties at the hem of her skirt. As she began to remove her red dress, her eyes caught sight of a stack of papers on the round table.
"What is this?" she murmured, curiosity piqued.
Slipping into a blue nightgown, Rhaenyra picked up the papers and began to read. As she scanned the contents, her expression shifted from fatigue to surprise, then quickly to anger. Each page detailed port taxes and various types of trade in Lys—seemingly mundane, until she noticed circles drawn around certain suspicious loopholes.
Port fees, smuggling operations, slave trading... the evidence was damning.
"Johanna, how dare you deceive me!" Rhaenyra hissed through gritted teeth as she reviewed the incriminating details. The corruption was undeniable, each marked item pointing directly to Johanna's involvement. A fallen maiden sold into a brothel, yet she continued training female slaves and bed slaves for the powerful.
The more Rhaenyra read, the more her anger grew, her breath quickening as her nightgown rose and fell with each exhale. Finally, she could take no more.
Bang!
She stormed out of her room, her face dark with fury.
"Your Grace," Ser Lorent, who stood guard at the door, exclaimed, startled by her sudden exit.
"Don't worry about me. I'm just going to look around," Rhaenyra snapped, her voice firm as she headed directly for a specific room on the next floor.
Lorent hesitated, his surprise evident. As he glanced into the room she had left, he noticed a map spread out on one of the round tables, its details eerily aligned with the documents Rhaenyra had just reviewed.
...
Half an hour later, Rhaenyra approached a secluded bedroom and knocked on the door.
Creak.
The door opened from the inside, and Mysaria appeared, leaning casually against the door frame.
"Are you looking for me?" Rhaenyra asked, getting straight to the point as her eyes scanned Mysaria. The last page of the stack of papers had led her here, showing a diagram of this very room.
Mysaria crossed her arms, meeting Rhaenyra's gaze. "It's me, Your Grace."
Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. "What do you want from me?"
She studied Mysaria's pale, alluring face with disdain. As Daemon's paramour, Mysaria had no place in her life, and Rhaenyra made no effort to hide her dislike.
Remaining calm, Mysaria responded as if they were discussing trivial matters. "I want to prove that I can help you."
"Help me?" Rhaenyra scoffed. "And why should I believe you can? Besides, I don't trust you."
Had she not possessed such inner restraint, Rhaenyra might have ended Mysaria's life right then. She needed no assistance, especially not from someone like her.
But Mysaria showed no urgency, accepting the rejection without flinching. "Would you like to come in? I have information about the Black Swan's private dealings."
Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes, sensing danger.
"I have no ill intentions. I just seek a stable life," Mysaria continued, raising her hand in a solemn vow. "I swear on the child in my belly."
Rhaenyra's gaze flicked to Mysaria's swollen belly, and she instinctively touched her own chest. Even now, her breasts still produced milk. As a mother of many children, she found herself willing to offer a sliver of trust to another mother.
"Tell me more," Rhaenyra said, entering the room, intent on skipping the pleasantries.
Mysaria smiled as she poured a drink for Rhaenyra, then began to speak with enthusiasm. "The Black Swan is quite resourceful. She was a courtesan in Lys many years ago."
"Your Grace was able to secure control of Lys so swiftly after the government fell largely because of her."
"But with that influence came vices she couldn't shake," Mysaria continued, her tone growing colder. "A woman who uses her body to gain power will never escape the stigma. After the fall of the Triarchy, Lys's powerful elite managed to retain 30% of their influence, all thanks to the Black Swan's underhanded dealings. She secured their loyalty by catering to their interests."
Rhaenyra frowned, processing the information. "How do you know so much? She never revealed anything to me."
"Those in high places rarely notice those beneath them," Mysaria replied, her voice tinged with sadness despite the smile on her lips.
Rhaenyra's expression grew pensive, thinking of Daemon, who had abandoned her. The wedding that should have taken place was canceled, leaving Mysaria—the White Worm—cast aside.
"What do you want?" Rhaenyra asked, her tone serious. She knew that anyone who offered such valuable information must have an agenda.
Mysaria's gaze softened, and she confessed, "I seek your protection. I want to live in peace."
"Why me?" Rhaenyra remained cautious.
"I have no choice," Mysaria replied with a bitter smile. "Daemon is gone, my wealth is gone, and I imagine you need someone clever to handle certain matters."
If she hadn't been backed into a corner, Mysaria would have steered clear of the royal family. These dragonriders were like gods to ordinary people, and to be close to a king was as dangerous as being near a tiger—especially one with a temperamental nature.
Rhaenyra studied her intently, as if trying to peer into her soul. After a long silence, she finally spoke. "You can live under my protection."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Mysaria said, her expression relaxing as she bent down to bow.
"Wait," Rhaenyra said, catching her by the hand to stop her from bowing over her swollen belly. Her voice was stern. "I have a condition. You must remain loyal and help me root out crime."
Mysaria froze, her emotions mixed, before nodding. "I promise, Your Grace."
She only wanted to live peacefully and bring her child safely into the world. If the cost of that peace was loyalty and helping to dismantle the Black Swan's network, so be it. Mysaria would show the Black Swan just what the White Worm was capable of.
...
In the dead of night at the harbor, the bonfire flickered brightly against the dark sky, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the air.
Addam walked alone to the edge of the beach, his expression serious and focused. A single-masted sailboat was anchored in the reef area, its silhouette barely visible in the dim light.
"My Lord," a burly man dressed as a fisherman greeted him respectfully from the shore.
Addam nodded, a hint of unease in his movements, as he handed the man a sealed letter. "Make sure this reaches Qohor," he said solemnly.
The letter bore the emblem of the Seahorses, a mark of House Velaryon.
The fisherman pounded his chest with one hand in a gesture of loyalty. "You can count on me," he promised before turning to board the sailboat.
Addam watched in silence as the boat sailed off into the night, its outline gradually fading into the darkness. The letter had been entrusted to him by Lord Corlys Velaryon, with strict instructions to ensure its delivery to Lord Bartimos of House Celtigar.
House Velaryon and House Celtigar were connected by blood and shared a proud heritage as noblemen of Old Valyria. Bartimos had aligned himself with One-Eyed Aemond, and it was no surprise that the Sea Snake, too, had thrown in his lot with the same faction.
Disillusioned with both Daemon and Rhaegar, Lord Corlys had pledged his allegiance to Rhaenyra. The intricate web of alliances meant that contact with One-Eyed Aemond was inevitable, despite the tensions that lay beneath the surface.
"Lord Corlys, your foresight is truly remarkable," Addam murmured to himself, a mix of admiration and uncertainty in his voice. He turned and began to make his way back, lost in thought.
He couldn't shake the feeling that Lord Corlys had deeper expectations for him—expectations that went beyond the traditional teachings of a knight. There was something more, something unspoken, that weighed heavily on his mind as he walked away from the harbor.
(Word count: 1,672)