Leaving the top deck, Rhaegar walked down to the cargo hold.
As he moved through the narrow corridor, the agonized wails of the wounded filled his ears.
The battle of Bloodstone Island had ended, leaving the Kingdom of the Three Daughters devastated.
He planned to return to King's Landing to deal with the Dornish envoy.
Then, he would dispatch another group of soldiers to reinforce the defenses of the Stepstones.
Faced with such a crushing defeat, the Three Daughters had only two choices:
The three Free Cities could continue their internal struggles over profit, bringing the war in the Stepstones to an end.
Or, they could shift their focus and launch a desperate counterattack.
Either way, the Stepstones needed stronger defenses.
They had to be fully integrated into the Targaryen realm—eliminating any future threats.
**Creak—**
Rhaegar reached the end of the corridor and pushed open a sealed hatch.
As the door swung open, the stench of dust and stale alcohol hit him.
He held his breath, allowing the foul air to dissipate.
The room was cramped, barely the width of a man's outstretched arms.
There were no windows, no ventilation—only darkness and filth.
Against one wall stood a rough wooden cot.
A disheveled man with golden curls sat at its edge.
Rhaegar fixed his gaze on him. "Tyland, do you have anything to say?"
The unkempt man didn't react, his vacant eyes locked on the grime-covered floor.
He was **Tyland Lannister**—the man responsible for the disaster at Bloodstone Island.
Rhaegar studied him for a moment, his expression complex.
Tyland was drowning in self-doubt. His once-handsome face was now hollow, his entire presence exuding defeat.
Rhaegar could still remember their first meeting.
Back then, Tyland had passionately advised his father on the Stepstones campaign.
His golden curls had been neatly groomed, his appearance immaculate. Handsome and confident.
Now…
His hair was a tangled mess, his clothes stained with dried blood. He reeked of sweat and filth.
The stench in the cabin had lessened. Rhaegar stepped inside.
"Look at me."
His voice was firm, commanding.
Tyland trembled slightly before lifting his dazed eyes.
**Smack!**
Rhaegar struck him across the face. "Pull yourself together. It's not time for your hanging yet."
"P-Prince…"
The pain jolted a spark of awareness into Tyland's dull gaze. He finally recognized the man before him.
Rhaegar's expression remained indifferent. "Good. At least you're not completely broken."
Tyland opened his mouth, his parched throat burning. He swallowed a few times to moisten it.
After a bout of coughing, he finally spoke. "Your Highness… why lower yourself to see me?"
His eyes dropped, his posture stiff with shame.
One moment of misjudgment had sent thousands to a watery grave.
The once-secure defenses of Bloodstone Island had been breached.
Though his soldiers had saved his life, his heart had died that night.
Guilt, remorse…
But more than anything, an overwhelming sense of self-doubt.
Seeing his pathetic state, Rhaegar frowned. "Do you want to live or die?"
Tyland hesitated, then let out a bitter laugh. "Who would choose death if they had a choice?"
He had overstepped his authority, squandering a golden opportunity.
Back in King's Landing, he would face dismissal and trial.
The best outcome? Exile to the Wall.
**Shing—**
Rhaegar unsheathed his sword, pressing the tip against Tyland's throat. His voice was calm.
"If you want to die, lean forward. I'll consider it suicide out of guilt."
Then his tone sharpened. "If you want to live, stop acting like a grieving widow."
Tyland glanced down at the gleaming blade, a chill creeping over him.
He was still afraid of death.
"Your Highness… I've lost my position as Master of Ships. I'm not as valuable as I once was."
He shrank back slightly, hopeful. "But if you plead for me, perhaps I could stay in King's Landing."
Despite his earlier despair, his self-pity had stemmed from losing hope.
He was not yet thirty. He had no wife, no children.
If there was a way to live, of course, he would take it.
Rhaegar arched an eyebrow. "Stay in King's Landing? Who would accept you?"
Tyland Lannister was the man responsible for the defeat at Bloodstone Island.
Even if he escaped execution, he would be shunned in the capital.
The Lannister brothers of this generation were both widely disliked.
The elder, **Jason Lannister**, was arrogant and reckless.
The younger, **Tyland Lannister**, had once been favored—but had drawn envy and resentment.
At Rhaegar's words, a flicker of confusion crossed Tyland's face.
"If not King's Landing… then where?"
Surely, he couldn't return to Casterly Rock?
That was his brother's territory; he had no influence there.
"Go to Stormlands, to my prince's palace!"
Rhaegar withdrew his dragon claws and calculated, "The prince's palace is still under construction. You will oversee it and, at the same time, win over Highgarden and Blackhaven."
Tylan hesitated for a moment before exclaiming in shock, "Is the kingdom going to war with Dorne?"
Rhaegar's prince's palace was located in the Stormlands, north of Blackhaven.
There was a steep mountain road leading to Dorne—Boneway.
Sending him to the prince's palace to court the Tyrells of Highgarden and the Dondarrions of Blackhaven…
It all looked like the prelude to war with Dorne.
Rhaegar sighed, "Smart. You catch on quickly."
"But whether war breaks out or not is still uncertain. Strengthening our defenses can't hurt."
Tylan was indeed a sharp man, befitting his years as the Hand of the King.
He could pick up on things with just a little observation.
Tylan ran a hand over his face, smoothing his disheveled hair, and said solemnly, "As long as you can spare my life, I will go to the prince's palace and make all the necessary preparations for war."
He might not be a warrior…
But when it came to calculating losses and allocating resources, he was an expert.
Seeing his willingness, Rhaegar was in a good mood. He said seriously, "Perform well, and you'll have a place of value in the future."
Tylan was no ordinary man—he was a legitimate Hand of the King.
Having him under his command was a political asset.
Letting him be executed or exiled to the Wall would be a waste.
"Yes, my prince!"
Tylan nodded firmly, a renewed desire for the future burning within him.
With the conversation over, Rhaegar turned and left without looking back.
The cabin reeked. He couldn't stand it any longer.
…
Meanwhile, in King's Landing.
Inside the Red Keep, in the council chamber…
Viserys sat on the throne, with Lyonel and Otto seated on either side of him.
At the center of the hall stood the Dornish envoy, Ser Settle Dayne, straight-backed and respectful. "Your Grace of the Seven Kingdoms, have you given any further thought to the marriage proposal?"
Days had passed, and he had come to press for an answer.
Viserys glanced at the two ministers on his left and right, hesitating. "This is a serious matter. I need more time to consider."
"How much longer, specifically?"
Settle pressed further.
"Watch your tone, Dornish envoy!"
Lyonel's face darkened as he rebuked him.
The king's authority was not to be challenged, and as Hand of the King, it was his duty to defend it.
But Settle remained unfazed and replied calmly, "It was merely a polite inquiry. Is the Hand of the King overreacting?"
"A marriage alliance is a grave decision. It cannot be settled in just a day or two," Lyonel said disapprovingly. "When His Grace reaches a decision, you will be informed."
Otto spoke at the right moment, "Envoy of Dorne, I ask for your patience. His Grace is a benevolent ruler who desires peace."
Lyonel shot Otto a sideways glare, his plump face tightening.
The marriage had not yet been agreed upon. Otto should not have given the impression that the king was leaning toward it.
*Knock, knock.*
Viserys tapped the table and said, "Enough for today. Dornish envoy, you are dismissed."
He did not want to argue further over this.
Because he had yet to make up his mind.
This matter had been troubling him endlessly these past days.
Alicent had been constantly arguing with him, firmly opposing Helaena's marriage.
Rhaenyra was avoiding him and had shown strong resistance to the idea.
His wife and daughter were both against it.
Even if he wanted to proceed with the marriage, he couldn't decide so easily.
He needed to hear more opinions.
At the king's command, Settle did not dare to linger and turned to leave the hall.
As soon as he was gone, Lyonel spoke up immediately, "Your Grace, the Dornish are treacherous. Not long ago, they participated in the Stepstones War. An alliance with them is not a wise choice."
He was a staunch hawk.
The enmity between Dorne and the Crown had lasted for generations—one marriage would not erase it.
Otto, keeping his head down, replied in a measured tone, "That may be, but the front lines are in dire straits. If a marriage alliance with Dorne can secure their support, we would not only eliminate a major enemy but also persuade Prince Qoren to retaliate against the Three Daughters."
"In both Stepstones Wars, Qoren attacked the Crown. How can we place our hopes in him?"
Lyonel's jowls quivered with rage as he loudly refuted Otto.
"The tide of war has turned. The royal army suffered a crushing defeat. If Qoren now seeks an alliance, it could be an opportunity to shift the balance."
Otto had his own reasoning.
Lyonel slammed his hand on the table and glared at him furiously.
If not for the presence of the king, he might have rolled up his sleeves and punched Otto's head straight into his backside.
What kind of nonsense was he spouting?
Dorne had played a role in their defeat.
If Qoren was offering a marriage now, it was purely to take advantage of the Crown's weakness.
Agreeing to it would be a humiliating loss of credibility.
"Enough! Calm down!"
Seeing his two ministers about to come to blows, Viserys quickly intervened, rubbing his temples in frustration.
Otto pulled a letter from his sleeve and changed the subject, "Your Grace, this is a letter from the Stepstones. Please have a look."
Viserys gave Otto a sidelong glance before taking the letter and opening it.
The letters delivered by ravens were always supposed to be handed to him by Grand Maester Mellos.
However, Mellos was elderly, so he often had someone else deliver them.
Otto was a member of House Hightower of Oldtown.
Mellos was a Grand Maester from Oldtown.
The two had a private friendship.
Viserys silently read the letter, his expression growing more animated with each line until his face lit up with excitement.
"Your Grace, is there good news from the front?"
Seeing the king's elated expression, Lyonel's spirits lifted.
"Hahaha! Good news—wonderful news!"
Viserys burst into laughter, handing the letter to Lyonel with excitement. "Look at my son! He orchestrated a plan to lure the main fleet of the Three Daughters out of Bloodstone, and all four of their dragons were burned to ashes!"
Lyonel scanned the letter at lightning speed, his eyes widening in astonishment.
"This is fantastic! We've reclaimed Bloodstone, and the Three Daughters have suffered a devastating blow!"
He slapped the letter down in front of Otto, raising his chin proudly.
"Rhaegar turned the tide when all seemed lost—he is a true Targaryen genius!"
Viserys' face flushed with exhilaration, a deep sense of vindication washing over him.
The last time such a formidable Targaryen warrior had emerged, it had been his own wayward brother, Daemon.
(End of Chapter)