Royce was momentarily stunned upon hearing the words, then said in a deep voice, "Our primary objective is to drive Dorne's main forces out of the Stormlands."
Aemond's mind worked quickly. Pointing at the distance between Mistwood and Stonehelm, he analyzed, "If we send a detachment to support Mistwood, we can block the Dornish retreat from three sides."
Dorne's combat strategy was to strike and retreat, constantly harassing their enemies.
Sending a force from Mistwood to Stonehelm could indeed cut off their escape route, preventing them from slipping back into the rainforest as they had before.
Royce instinctively raised an eyebrow, sensing an ulterior motive.
Seeing the stalemate, Ser Cole interjected, "My lord, we have two dragons. Breaking through the Dornish lines would be effortless."
"You support the prince's strategy?"
Royce questioned.
Aemond's gaze was unreadable as he studied the towering Ser Cole.
A drop of cold sweat trickled down Cole's forehead as he replied in a low voice, "We can have Ser Lannino lead the relief force to Mistwood. He's eager to ride a dragon into battle."
As a secret paramour, he enjoyed certain privileges.
Royce frowned slightly and turned to Aemond. "What do you think?"
"Excellent."
Aemond agreed without hesitation. "Lannino will take the field, while I remain in the rainforest to deal with the remaining Dornish forces."
Royce found the reasoning sound and reluctantly agreed. "I'll return to organize the troops. The king has ordered three thousand soldiers to reinforce us. You stay at the camp."
Then, turning his gaze to Cole, he commanded coldly, "Find Ser Lannino and deliver the orders."
"Yes, my lord," Cole answered swiftly.
Royce gave Aemond a few more instructions before leaving the tent with a heavy expression.
At times like these, the importance of command authority became evident.
With two dragonriders in the army, battlefield command would be significantly affected.
As Royce departed, Aemond's eyes darkened with calculations. He was already considering how to deal with Count Swann of Stonehelm.
He was not one to forget grudges.
The Swann family had opposed his betrothed inheriting Storm's End and had slandered the Targaryens.
They needed to be taught a lesson.
Sensing the shift in atmosphere, Cole swallowed hard and excused himself hastily.
He had to find Lannino.
His lover had been absent for the past few days, and he couldn't help but feel uneasy.
Nightfall, Under a Starlit Sky
In King's Landing, the night breeze carried away the day's heat, bringing a faint chill.
In a district of haphazardly built structures, streets twisted like tangled roots, with makeshift shanties crammed into every available space.
All around, half-naked commoners huddled inside their hovels, clutching cracked bowls filled with a thin gruel known as "brown broth."
Children darted through the alleys, scavenging in gangs.
This was Flea Bottom—the place even the Gold Cloaks avoided, the city's most lawless slum.
Creak…
A carriage came to a stop in front of a squat stone building, its wooden wheels grinding against the broken cobblestone road.
Years of wear had turned the once-pristine stone slabs into little more than rubble.
Were it not for the daily efforts of street cleaners, the road would have been buried under layers of filth, its original form lost beneath the stench of waste.
A young man, draped in a black cloak that concealed his face, stepped off the carriage, his wary eyes scanning the surroundings.
Not far away, the squat stone building was ablaze with light, filled with the sultry sounds of pleasure.
White Maggot —Mysaria—sat in the window alcove of her attic chamber, clad in a black velvet cloak lined with blood-red silk.
Her pale yet striking face was impassive, one leg crossed over the other as she gazed out at the nightscape.
Her demeanor, refined and enigmatic, made her seem less like a prostitute and more like a noblewoman who had endured the trials of time.
"Lady Mysaria, I hope I haven't kept you waiting."
A hooded figure entered, removing his cloak to reveal his face.
It was Otto Hightower, a frequent associate of the White Maggot.
Without preamble, Otto asked, "I hear you plan to leave. Do you have enough money?"
"No need to worry. I've saved plenty over the years."
Mysaria turned to him, casting a meaningful glance.
"That is your rightful payment."
Otto's expression remained unchanged. "Since you're leaving, are you willing to sell some of your more valuable intelligence?"
"I invited you here for that very reason."
Mysaria didn't mince words, speaking candidly. "I have friends in Lys. The Disputed Lands are in chaos right now, and they could use a man of your stature."
She deliberately emphasized the word "stature."
Truth be told, Mysaria admired the Targaryen prince. The fall of the Triarchy's rule had been deeply satisfying.
Those three cities had been built on the backs of slaves—she herself had been one of them.
But the world's rules were inherently filthy.
For every ruler deposed, another would rise to take their place.
Otto ignored her thinly veiled mockery and first inquired about the situation in Lys. Then he asked, "And Myr? It seems quiet."
"Of the three cities, Myr may appear calm, but it is seething beneath the surface."
Mysaria's eyes sharpened. "Lys has been stabilized by the prince, Daemon has crushed Tyrosh with brute force, but Myr remains in turmoil."
The Uncrowned Queen was, after all, still uncrowned. And she was no true queen.
Rhaenys had a strong personality, but she lacked much experience in governing a city-state.
Myr's peace relied entirely on the Unsullied legion and the knights of the Vale.
Otto nodded to himself, contemplating how he could profit from the situation.
Based on the Crown Prince's words, Myr would adopt a monarchical system similar to King's Landing.
He could arrange for his nephews and trusted allies to serve as ministers and use Oldtown's fleet to establish maritime trade routes first, securing control over Myr's port resources.
Such maneuvers were second nature to House Hightower.
Politics wasn't just about war—it was about connections and wealth.
Whoosh!
A cool breeze swept into the loft, making the candlelight on the chandelier flicker.
Mysaria pulled down her sleeve to cover her exposed, pale skin and took the initiative to speak. "Braavos has gathered a group of mercenaries. Every three days, shipments arrive at Sunspear's port."
"If you truly care about the realm, you should focus on this and urge the king in the Red Keep to take action."
Otto snapped out of his thoughts and replied indifferently, "I will."
Mysaria glanced at him and immediately knew he wasn't taking her words seriously.
She sighed inwardly, filled with disdain.
She had started as a dancer, later becoming a prostitute, and eventually caught Daemon's eye, becoming his mistress.
But she hadn't relied on Daemon's help—she had climbed her way up step by step on her own.
Despite her lowly origins, she still had a heart capable of compassion.
Too many lives had been lost in the war across the Narrow Sea. Flea Bottom was now overflowing with orphans who had nowhere to go.
If war erupted in Dorne, even more refugees would flood into King's Landing.
Otto lifted his gaze, his eyes deep and unreadable.
Just a whore—Daemon's whore, no less.
If she weren't useful, he wouldn't have spared her a second glance.
If it was mercy she spoke of, he had aided countless commoners during his tenure as Hand of the King. When he served as Master of Laws, he oversaw land cultivation and settlement efforts, helping refugees build new lives.
But this woman?
A rotting maggot who profited by selling flesh and running brothels, using orphans and vagrants to gather intelligence.
Disgusting to the core.
Otto lingered for a moment before rising to take his leave.
"There are too many eyes and ears in King's Landing."
Mysaria gazed at her pale fingertips and sighed. "I'm leaving. Some of my little spiders will have to stay behind—they're yours to command now."
Otto paused mid-step, catching a glimpse of the calm, pale-faced woman.
After a brief moment of thought, he pushed open the door. "I'll have someone send you a parting gift."
Outside, a few raggedly dressed boys of varying ages stood nervously, all orphans.
"M'lord!"
The orphans lowered their heads in greeting, submissive and obedient.
Otto's expression remained neutral as he nodded. "Gather intelligence for me, and you'll be paid."
The orphans thought they had misheard him, stealing a surprised glance toward Mysaria inside the room.
Mysaria didn't even look up. She simply said, "This lord is very wealthy. You should know that."
These orphans had spent their lives navigating the world of "lords" and knew how to read a situation.
Hearing that they had a new master, they quickly bowed to Otto before scurrying out of the small building.
Otto didn't pay them much mind. He pulled up his hood and followed them downstairs.
As the loft fell silent once more, Mysaria turned back to gaze at the nighttime view of King's Landing—one she had long since grown tired of.
Spending too long in one place inevitably bred attachment.
But in the end, this city was nothing more than a filthy cesspit.
And cesspits were always full of maggots.
Red Keep
The grand banquet hall was packed with countless nobles, dancing merrily to the sound of drums and flutes.
The royal ravens had spread the news of the Three Daughters' defeat across the Seven Kingdoms.
With Maiden's Day approaching, the court had taken the opportunity to celebrate in advance.
Viserys sat in the place of honor, goblet in hand, laughing heartily.
If the hall weren't so crowded, he would have joined the dancing himself.
Halfway through his drink, he looked around.
Not a single one of his children, including Rhaegar, was present.
It was as if they had conspired to avoid him.
Viserys felt a twinge of disappointment.
His gaze shifted to the empty seat beside him—his queen, Alicent, was also absent.
She had excused herself earlier, claiming she felt unwell.
(End of Chapter)