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Essos, Xandar
Minas Tirith, royal chambers
9th Moon of 58 AC
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On the private terrace of the royal palace area within Minas Tirith Castle, where the fjord's breeze brought the cool freshness of the night, lantern light danced across the dark stone flags. Caspian stood by the balustrade, gazing at the distant lights of the city. He was bare-chested, crossed only by a few scars from the day's martial training that had not yet been erased since he had not taken a regeneration potion.
Behind him, the soft rustle of heavy silk announced Valka. She approached him, walking with the natural poise of a monarch. She wore a burgundy velvet dress, so dark that in the shadows it resembled the dried blood of an old wound. She glided toward him without making a sound until her chest pressed against Caspian's bare back.
Her hands, cold with long fingers, entwined around her husband's abdomen, slowly sliding upward until they brushed against the steady thrum of his heartbeat. "You are more handsome today than usual," Valka whispered into Caspian's ear, resting her chin on his shoulder. Her breath was a warm murmur that made his skin tingle. "I can feel the thud of your heart beating against my ribs. It is a loud, delightful sound... I am tempted by the thought of carving open your chest just to see if it beats with the same fury out in the open."
Caspian did not move, though a slow, deeply enamored smile curved his lips. He leaned his head back, resting the nape of his neck against her shoulder, breathing in her scent of lavender and a faint trace of ozone that always accompanied her.
"Do it, and I swear I will bleed over your feet just to leave your sandals ruined, my sweet love," he replied, turning his face just enough to brush his lips against Valka's pale cheek. "You know there is no death more enticing to me than one delivered by your hands. But I fear you will have to wait; the flesh still holds me, and the world out there insists on breathing a while longer before we reduce it to ashes."
Valka let out a low laugh, a dark sound that vibrated in her throat and dissolved into the night air. She wrapped her arm around his waist and stepped in front of him, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her eyes, dark as the bottom of a moonless sea, searched Caspian's features with a devotion that bordered on madness.
"That is the only flaw I find in you, Caspian. You are so intent on ruling the world that at times you deprive me of the delight of having you all to myself," she said, caressing his cheekbone with the back of her hand, brushing a small, recent scar. "But I suppose I can be patient. The nights are long, in any case."
"I will give you every single one of them, my queen. I will give you spring skies and bedchambers until our bodies become one." Caspian took her hand and kissed her palm right where the skin was soft, sinking his teeth in just enough to make her smile. "But tell me, what news do you bring? I was told you were with Amanda. What happened to her?"
Valka's expression shifted slightly, not out of annoyance, but with a nearly morbid curiosity, relishing the memory of what she had witnessed. She leaned against the terrace ledge, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Amanda... that pale, fragile creature," Valka began, tilting her head with an almost fond grimace. "She had a breakdown. She was so prone to breaking that I was almost terrified to touch her, lest she crumble like a dry leaf between my fingers."
"What happened to her, exactly?" Caspian asked, frowning, though his tone betrayed more curiosity than alarm or panic.
"She simply broke," Valka explained casually, without unnecessary concern for Amanda. "The weight of what she went through tormented her deeply. When I went to her chambers, I found her on the floor, trembling like a bird caught in a storm, claiming she wanted to die. Her skin was so cold... for a second, I harbored the hope that she was passing over to the other side so she could finally rest, since that was what she wanted, but I had no such luck."
Caspian let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he stepped closer to wrap his arms around her waist.
"You are heartless, my love."
"I am a realist, Caspian. I know what she suffered, and it was not easy, but she needs talons, not tears. I made her eat, forced her to her feet, and reminded her that in Xandar, women do not faint from the pain we endure—we swallow the poison and demand more. So, she asked me to bring her to Mikaela to train her out of her weakness. That way, she will either become a powerful woman or die trying. In either case, she will get what she wants."
"You did well," Caspian murmured, running a thumb over Valka's red lips. "We have no time for spirits made of glass. Less so now, with everything that lies ahead."
"Speaking of what lies ahead..." Valka raised her eyebrows, looking at Caspian with a spark of dangerous mischief. "I suppose we must discuss the matter of Dorne. Of Princess Mara."
Caspian tensed a fraction of a millimeter—not out of fear, but in anticipation of his wife's reaction. He knew Valka better than his own sword, and the jealousy of a woman like her rarely manifested in screaming, but in daggers in the dark—though never directed at him, but rather at those who possessed the audacity or stupidity to approach him with ulterior motives.
"Mara of Dorne," Caspian said carefully. "The negotiations are moving forward."
Valka raised a hand, silencing him with a graceful gesture of her long fingers. "Do not justify yourself, my storm. You know perfectly well I do not need childish explanations. I do not feel the slightest shred of jealousy toward that desert girl."
"You don't?" Caspian arched an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. "Most women in the world would burn down the palace if their husband spoke of taking another."
"Most women are frightened fools who believe love is a plot of land or a contract signed by a drunken septon," Valka replied with disdain, closing the distance between them until their noses nearly touched. "I am not jealous of Mara because I know what I am. I do not feel you are stripping me of power or control, because my hold over you does not come from a bed or a golden crown; it comes from the fact that your soul and mine are stitched together with the same thread. Mara is a chess piece, Caspian. A treaty smelling of sand and poisons."
"A treaty that will benefit Xandar in ways few understand," Caspian agreed.
"Precisely. It gives us a clean entry into Dorne, secures our influence in the south, and aligns their spears with ours should the Iron Throne look east with too much greed. I have no reason to refuse or object. I know what this means for your interests, which are my interests. If you must sleep with her to secure the loyalty of the desert vipers, do it. If you must impregnate her to seal a bloodline, do it. But..."
Valka paused, digging her nails subtly into the nape of Caspian's neck, pulling him down. "...never forget who loves you more than anyone else, my king."
Caspian looked at her, his face reflecting a devotion as pure as it was dark. He cupped her face in both hands, squeezing her cheeks with a rough, almost harsh firmness, yet filled with boundless tenderness.
"Listen to me carefully, my little demon," he said, his voice deep, vibrating against both their chests. "It does not matter how many women pass through my bed, nor how many alliances I must seal with the blood or flesh of other houses. Mara will be the last woman I marry in this life. I will give her the title of wife out of policy, but you, and you alone, will be the Queen of Xandar."
Valka smiled, a slow, triumphant smile that lit up her dark eyes.
"The only one?"
"The only one," Caspian affirmed without a second's hesitation. "The others will be diplomacy, important names for the public. But you will have voice and vote in every decision, every decree, every execution, and every conquest involving the future of our realm. Of our shared realm. They will have crowns to display their status, while you will wear the crown of iron and blood that will rule over their graves. Unlike any other woman in this world, you are my equal. My partner in slaughter and in glory."
Valka let out a sigh of pure satisfaction, resting her forehead against his.
"Ah, Caspian... you always know the exact words to make me want to live a thousand years by your side just to watch us destroy our enemies. You are an abhorrent monster, and I love you for it."
"And you are the most venomous creature to ever walk the earth, and I would crawl through hell just to hear your voice," he replied, kissing her with hungry passion, a clash of lips and teeth.
When they parted, both were breathing heavily, but the atmosphere between them had shifted. The game of seduction gave way to the coldness of command. Caspian walked over to a stone table on the terrace where a map on deer hide lay spread, pinned at the corners by daggers. The map detailed Westeros, the Narrow Sea, and the Free Cities.
"War in Westeros is about to ignite," Caspian said, running his hand over the illustration of the Stepstones. "The Iron Throne is tense. Jaehaerys is trying to preserve the peace, but the men of the continent are foolish and greedy. The fire will start soon, and it will scorch not only Westeros, but part of the Free Cities as well."
Valka approached the map, gazing at the winding lines of the Rhoyne River as it snaked like a serpent through the continent of Essos, passing through the very heart of Xandar. "War is a beautiful opportunity for those who do not let themselves be blinded by pride," she murmured, running a finger over the mouth of the Rhoyne.
"Everyone is looking toward the Stepstones. The Triarchy, the pirates, the fleets of the Free Cities... all fighting over a miserable bottleneck of rocks and shipwrecks."
"The Stepstones are a headache," Caspian admitted. "The pirates demand absurd tolls, the Triarchy pours gold into keeping the area unstable to control the passage, and Xandar's maritime trade suffers constant delays. Passing through there has become suicide for merchants who refuse to pay extortions."
Valka let out a mocking laugh, taking a step around the table. "And why do we keep playing their game, Caspian? Why do we let a handful of lice-infested fools on stone islands dictate the world's trade routes when we hold the key to the greatest artery in Essos?"
Caspian looked at her, intrigued. "Speak, my queen. I know that devious mind of yours has been working."
"It is ridiculously simple," Valka said, leaning over the map. "Xandar holds absolute control over the mouth of the Rhoyne. The northwestern Free Cities, like Braavos and Pentos, rely on trade with the south and with us, but their ships are forced to risk the Stepstones because they fear sailing up the river with large vessels. If the passage through the islands becomes too dangerous and the coming war shuts those sea routes down entirely, let us use the Rhoyne to our advantage."
Caspian crossed his arms, evaluating the thought. "The Rhoyne is deep, but not everywhere. Large-draft merchant ships from Braavos—and even ours—cannot navigate freely without running aground or colliding with ancient bridges and narrow passes."
"Then adapt it," Valka said casually, as if talking about planting a garden. "You have the power and skill to do it. Dredge the riverbed in the shallow areas. Widen the narrow passes. Build elevated bridges—strategic arches that allow massive galleys to pass beneath without interrupting the overland transit connecting our domains. If you adapt the Rhoyne into a safe, navigable river highway, everything changes."
Caspian narrowed his eyes, taking in the full picture Valka was painting in his mind. "You send a message to the Sealord of Braavos and the magisters of Pentos," Valka continued, her eyes gleaming with tactical enthusiasm. "To all the cities in northwestern Essos that trade with us."
"If trade abandons the Stepstones..." Caspian began, finishing the thought.
"If trade is diverted through the river, the Stepstones will become a salt-water wasteland," Valka declared with a cold smile. "The pirates living there thrive on extorting merchant fleets. If there are no ships to plunder, there is no wealth. And without wealth, the Triarchy will not keep pouring tons of gold into keeping those mercenary captains active. The Triarchy only funds pirates when they disrupt trade in a way that benefits them geopolitically. Without commercial traffic, the Stepstones cease to be a valuable asset and become an empty expense."
Caspian let out a low whistle, fascinated. "And once the Triarchy pulls its financial support and supplies..."
"The pirates will fragment," Valka said, closing her fist over the islands on the map. "Those rats have no loyalty to anything or anyone other than gold. As soon as they run out of provisions and paymasters, they will turn on each other. They will begin attacking one another violently to claim whatever scarce resources and rocks remain. They will slaughter each other over a stale piece of bread and a dry cave."
"They will bleed themselves dry," Caspian muttered.
"Exactly. They will exhaust themselves. They will burn their own ships, massacre their own men, and drain all their strength in an idiotic, desperate civil war. And when they are at their weakest, when only dying beggars and maimed captains remain clinging to the rocks... Xandar will move in."
Valka tapped her knuckle lightly against the Stepstones on the map.
"We will strike with our fleet untouched, wipe out whatever miserable resistance remains, and take the Stepstones without having spent a fraction of the gold or men a direct invasion would have cost us."
Caspian contemplated the map in silence for a few seconds. The pieces fit together with terrifying precision. Valka's mind was not only capable of conceiving cruelty, but also a financial diplomacy so ruthless it could choke an enemy without ever drawing a blade.
"And what of the Dornish houses supporting Morion?" Caspian asked, testing the plan's structural integrity.
"Morion Martell is an impulsive fool," Valka replied with a dismissive gesture. "The Dornish houses following him do so because they see a chance for glory and plunder against the Iron Throne. But as soon as they see his strategic plan unraveling because trade routes have shifted and Xandar will not fund absurd invasions, they will abandon him like a mangy dog. No one follows a withered leader into a battle he cannot afford."
"And the Vulture King?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow.
"The Vulture King is not Xandar's concern," Valka said bluntly. "That upstart in the Red Mountains is a local nuisance for the Targaryens and the Marcher Lords. Let them amuse themselves with him. The Iron Throne will crush him sooner or later. Why should we waste our spears cleaning up the trash of Westerosi lords? Let Jaehaerys send his levies to butcher rebel peasants while we build bridges over the Rhoyne."
Caspian stepped back from the map and looked at Valka with a mixture of pride, desire, and profound respect. He walked toward her, took her by the waist, and pulled her firmly against his body.
"Your mind is the deadliest weapon this kingdom possesses, my life," he said, kissing her temple. "Your counsel is brilliant. The best thing Xandar can do right now is consolidate our current conquests. We must not overextend ourselves or commit the error of hubris. We strengthen ourselves from within, adapt the Rhoyne, secure trade with Pentos and Braavos, and let the rest of the world tear itself apart."
"Precisely," Valka agreed, stroking Caspian's bare chest. "When the slaughter is over and everyone is exhausted, Xandar will simply walk in and claim the Stepstones. And once we hold absolute control over the islands and the river... wealth will flow into our vaults like never before seen in the history of this world."
"Jaehaerys will be far too busy trying to repair the ruin and damage caused to his own realm," Caspian added, drawing out the political outcome. "Wars are absurdly expensive. The Iron Throne will be left indebted to the Iron Bank, its lords exhausted, and its fields burned. I do not think Jaehaerys, with all his prudence, will be foolish enough to launch another war against Xandar after such devastation."
"And that," Valka said, leaning closer to his lips, "will be our golden opportunity."
"The perfect opportunity for when we decide to cross the Narrow Sea and set foot in Westeros," Caspian concluded, his eyes ablaze with hungry ambition. "We will face no real obstacles from a weakened, shattered Iron Throne. They will see us coming and will only be able to watch from a distance."
"It makes my blood boil just thinking about it," Valka whispered, pressing closer to him, feeling the heat of his body. "An invasion of a weary continent... promises to be a splendid slaughter."
"It will be," Caspian promised, taking her chin to force her to look directly into his eyes. "But tonight there will be no maps, no old kings, no dying pirates on distant rocks. Tonight, it is just you and me, in this palace that smells of sulfur and victory."
"I find that an acceptable proposal, my king," Valka answered with a flash of malice in her eyes.
Caspian carried her toward the royal chambers as the night over Xandar deepened. In the distance, the great Rhoyne River continued its slow, silent course, oblivious to the man and woman carving out its destiny, yet ready to become the veins through which the wealth and absolute power of the realm they were building together would flow.