I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter Twenty-Five: A Debt of Blood and Gold
The night air carried the scent of salt and seaweed as Monford Velaryon stood at the edge of the Driftmark docks, his cloak billowing slightly in the cool breeze. Beside him, his half-brother Aurane leaned against a wooden post, his sharp eyes fixed on the approaching ship.
It was a modest vessel, unmarked, blending in with the hundreds of merchant ships that moved through the narrow sea. But Monford knew exactly who it carried.
The last remnants of House Targaryen.
Rhaella Targaryen—the rightful Queen—was arriving in secrecy, her once-great house reduced to whispers and shadows.
Monford clenched his fists as the ship finally docked. His anger simmered beneath his skin, not at the Queen, but at the injustice of it all.
She should have been welcomed with banners and cheers, her return heralded as the rightful restoration of her family's rule. Instead, she and her children arrived in the dead of night, forced to sneak across the world like criminals.
When she stepped onto the dock, his anger only deepened.
Her silver-gold hair, the proud mark of House Targaryen, had been dyed a dull brown. So had Prince Viserys's and Princess Daenerys's. The last dragons of Valyria, forced to hide who they were.
It was an insult. A mockery.
But Monford swallowed his fury and stepped forward, bowing low.
"Your Grace," he said, voice steady despite his frustration. "Welcome to Driftmark."
Rhaella met his gaze, her violet eyes cool and unreadable. Despite the years of exile, of hardship, she still carried herself like a Queen.
"Lord Velaryon," she acknowledged with a small nod.
Viserys, standing tall beside her, inclined his head stiffly, though his posture was tense. At twenty-two, he was a young man trying desperately to hold onto the dignity of his birthright.
Daenerys, only fourteen, was quieter, her gaze flitting between Monford and Aurane, uncertain but composed.
Ser Arthur Dayne stepped onto the dock last, his cloak blending in with the dim moonlight. He moved with quiet grace, always watchful, his hand never far from his sword.
Monford turned to lead them toward the castle. "Come, Your Grace. You must be weary from your journey."
The path up to the keep was silent, the only sound their boots against the stone walkway.
"Your accommodations will be modest," Monford admitted. "Secrecy is more important than comfort."
"I understand," Rhaella said simply.
When they reached their chambers, Monford gestured toward the doors. "I regret that I cannot give you rooms more suited to your station, but you will be safe here."
"Safety is all we require," Ser Arthur said, his voice firm.
Monford nodded and left them to rest.
As he and Aurane walked back toward his solar, he finally spoke. "What do you think of them?"
Aurane hummed thoughtfully. "I expected them to be beaten down after years in exile. But their spirit is still strong."
Monford nodded, his respect for them deepening. "The blood of the dragon still runs strong."
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
The next morning, Monford and Aurane sat in his solar, waiting.
The Queen and her children had rested well, according to the servants. Now, it was time to discuss the future.
When Rhaella arrived, she entered without ceremony, Viserys and Daenerys flanking her. Ser Arthur followed a step behind, ever the silent guardian.
Rhaella wasted no time.
"Let us speak plainly, Lord Velaryon. Why are you taking the risk of facing Robert's wrath by supporting us?"
Monford met her gaze without hesitation. "House Velaryon has always been loyal to House Targaryen. We will always be loyal to our true monarchs."
The Queen studied him carefully. "That may be true," she said after a moment. "But that is not the only reason, is it?"
Monford hesitated.
Rhaella's voice remained steady. "Robert's rule has not been kind to those who once supported us. Most of your fleet was taken under the royal fleet. What little remains is barely enough for Driftmark to sustain itself, especially after the high taxes Robert enforced on your house."
Monford exhaled slowly. "You speak the truth, Your Grace."
She nodded. "Then tell me, Lord Velaryon—what else has pushed you to take such a risk?"
Monford leaned forward slightly. "The crown's financial troubles."
Rhaella arched a brow.
"The Usurper's court is drowning in debt," Monford continued. "Over six million golden dragons owed, and it only grows worse by the day. The king does nothing to stop it—his love for feasts, for tourneys, for grand displays of power, it drains the treasury. He does not govern. He only indulges."
The Queen listened, her face unreadable, but Monford could see the understanding in her eyes.
"If the crown's debts continue to rise," Monford said grimly, "Robert will need more coin. And where do you think he will look first?"
Rhaella did not hesitate. "The houses that were once loyal to us."
Monford inclined his head.
She sighed, rubbing her temple briefly before composing herself. "I see."
There was a brief silence before she spoke again.
"Tell me about Jon Snow."
Monford frowned slightly, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. He glanced at Aurane, who looked just as confused.
He had expected her to ask about Robert's fleet, about the movements of his banners, perhaps even about the Free Cities.
Not about Eddard Stark's bastard.
Still, he answered carefully. "What would Your Grace like to know?"
"Everything," Rhaella said simply.
Monford hesitated but nodded. "I do not know much, but I have heard whispers. The North speaks of him with reverence. He is no ordinary bastard. The Starks do not openly acknowledge him as anything more than Eddard Stark's son, but he is not treated like a simple illegitimate child either."
Rhaella's expression didn't change, but he noticed a flicker of something in her eyes.
"He is… exceptional," Monford admitted. "The North calls him a prodigy, both in mind and combat. Even among the finest warriors, he stands out. Some call him a gift from the old gods."
Viserys scoffed under his breath. "A bastard, a prodigy? I doubt that."
Rhaella shot her son a sharp look, silencing him.
Monford continued, "Beyond that, he has influence. Though still young, he is shaping the North in ways even Lord Stark did not anticipate. The people respect him."
The Queen absorbed this information quietly.
Monford frowned. "If I may ask, Your Grace… why does this matter? He is just a bastard."
Rhaella only smiled faintly, her expression enigmatic. "All men leave their mark on the world, Lord Velaryon. Some more than others."
Monford did not press further, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this than she was letting on.
Ser Arthur, silent until now, finally spoke. "Jon Snow is worth watching, my Queen."
Rhaella nodded once, her decision made.
Monford watched her carefully.
For years, the Queen had lived in exile, hunted and forgotten. But now, for the first time, she looked as though she was planning something.
And the world would soon feel the return of House Targaryen.