These words struck directly at Coburn's heart and lungs.
Staggering back a few steps, Coburn's face was filled with sorrow and humiliation as he muttered, "As you wish, Your Highness."
Power dictated everything—resistance was futile.
At that moment, Coburn finally understood why the Grand Septon in the history books had received guidance from the Seven Gods and opened the gates of Oldtown to the conquerors.
Faith could not save Oldtown!
Rhaegar's lips curved into a faint smile as he casually waved his hand. "You're not feeling well, so please step down and take good care of yourself. My wedding will be grand."
Coburn's eyes brimmed with sorrow, nearly overflowing. Lowering his proud head as the High Septon, he retreated in disgrace, as pitiful as a drowning dog.
The sight left the attending priests and septas in shock. They quickly lowered their heads, unwilling to believe their own eyes.
The faith of the Seven was sacred—how could it bow to power?
Leaning back slightly, Rhaegar called out at just the right moment, "Your Holiness, the new faith needs devout followers. I hope you can send some missionaries to King's Landing to help build the Great Sept."
Coburn's body swayed, and he stammered, "Building a sept… isn't that something craftsmen should be hired for?"
"No."
Rhaegar clearly had no intention of letting the weak-willed High Septon off so easily. Smiling, he continued, "A sept requires the devotion of its believers. Missionaries must be involved to set an example for the people of King's Landing."
Then, with a playful tone, he added, "Of course, if you don't want the missionaries to work too hard, you could always lead by example and personally lay the bricks for the sept."
Coburn's eyes welled up with tears. Glancing at his frail and bony body, he quickly agreed, "I will select a group of missionaries to be sent to King's Landing. They will work diligently."
"Excellent." Rhaegar was satisfied.
After this "non-negotiable negotiation," the High Septon fled as if running for his life, dragging the other priests and septas with him.
If they didn't leave now, who knew what more outrageous demands would come next?
For example, forcing the Starry Sept to send a group of septas to King's Landing due to a supposed shortage.
In fact, Rhaegar had indeed considered this.
However, after seeing Aegon nearly drooling over the septas, he abandoned the idea.
Missionaries loved reaping benefits; sending them to King's Landing as laborers was just repayment.
As for the septas—best not to bring trouble.
---
With the Starry Sept now almost empty, Rhaegar turned his gaze back to Monde and asked, "What about Lord Otto? Has the Hightower received word from Alicent?"
Alicent had been locked away for half a month, with the official explanation being that the Queen had moved to the sept to pray for the King.
While others might believe this cover story, the Hightower family certainly would not.
Lowering his head, Monde replied, "Lord Otto left for King's Landing a few days ago, hoping to make amends for Alicent's mistakes."
"He left?"
Rhaegar frowned slightly.
Given Otto's cunning nature, was he really willing to return to King's Landing at such a sensitive time just to save his foolish daughter?
If he truly cared for his daughter, he wouldn't have sent Alicent to the bed of a recently widowed king.
Step by step, he had pushed his own daughter into the struggle for power, using her position as Queen to strengthen royal authority and ultimately benefit himself and House Hightower.
From the side, Aemond interjected, "Grandfather left Oldtown five days ago. He said he wanted to have a good talk with Mother."
His expression flickered with concern as he asked, "Has something happened in King's Landing?"
Aegon perked up, his dull fish-like eyes darting between Rhaegar and Monde.
These two unfortunate brothers were in Oldtown and had almost no access to intelligence.
But from the few words exchanged, coupled with Otto's urgent return to King's Landing, it wasn't hard to deduce that something had indeed happened there—something related to Alicent.
Faced with his two brothers' inquiries, Rhaegar showed no hesitation. Turning to Monde, he asked, "Would you like to say it, or should I?"
Monde hesitated for a moment.
"Then I'll say it."
Rhaegar's expression remained calm as he stated plainly, "Alicent made a mistake. It's best if you don't ask too many questions—I will find a middle-ground solution."
As soon as he spoke, Aegon let go of his crossed arms, looking utterly bewildered.
He was completely at a loss.
While the brothers were out fighting wars, their mother was stirring up trouble back home.
What about my accomplishments?
"Will she be alright?"
It was Aemond who asked, his single eye filled with unease and apprehension.
At just eleven years old, despite experiencing blood and fire, he was still unprepared for sudden upheaval.
Unlike Aegon and Helaena, he had been deeply influenced by Alicent's "small family" ideology and cared deeply for his close relatives.
Seeing the different reactions from his brothers, Rhaegar chose not to frighten them. Instead, he gave a reassuring answer: "Alicent is the Queen—she won't be in any danger."
To be fair…
If his brothers were out fighting for him, and in the meantime, their mother suddenly died, Rhaegar would feel incredibly guilty.
Hearing this, both Aegon and Aemond sighed in relief.
One was relieved that his achievements were still intact, while the other was glad their mother was safe.
"But—"
Rhaegar's sudden words made their hearts tighten once more.
Especially Aegon, who immediately snapped to attention, shedding his usual laziness.
"What else?"
Aemond hurriedly asked.
"Heh, just messing with you."
Rhaegar chuckled before shifting his gaze back to Monde, his voice turning cold. "However, while Alicent may be safe, others might not be."
Monde's eye twitched as he instinctively took a step back.
Behind him stood a group of heavily armed knights.
Rhaegar's eyes scanned them briefly before settling on one individual.
The shield bore a sigil—a blood-red field with a sharp-horned bull skull—marking him as a member of House Bulwer of Blackcrown.
Judging by his features, he was none other than Lord Braud Bulwer, the ruler of Blackcrown.
House Bulwer was one of House Hightower's sworn vassals.
Furthermore, the Linman family of Honeycomb Castle, the Mullendore family of Highgarden, the Kotoine family of Three Towers, and the Ikou family of Sunflower Hall are all powerful counts and vassals.
The Hightower family established Oldtown, controlling the entire Whispering Bay's ports.
Various vassals built castles around Oldtown, constantly guarding its security.
This is the main reason why the Hightower family has remained prosperous for so long, with power even surpassing that of their liege lords, House Tyrell.
Rhaegar's gaze was deep as he asked, "Why do I only see Count Bulwer? Have the other counts not arrived?"
Mund's forehead broke out in a cold sweat as he awkwardly replied, "Dornish raiders have been causing trouble, so I did not summon the vassals."
"Oh, really?" Rhaegar's smile carried a hint of amusement.
Aside from Lord Linman of Honeycomb Castle, who was in King's Landing, the other counts had all sent raven letters, declaring their refusal to participate in any political struggle between the royal family and House Hightower.
Mund's expression grew even uglier, and he wished he could disappear into the ground.
It wasn't that he hadn't summoned his vassals—he had even tried to form alliances with other Reach families.
For half a month, only the brute warriors of House Bulwer had arrived in Oldtown, bringing 500 foot soldiers and 300 archers.
Their house words were: "Death Before Dishonor."
Rhaegar stood up, dusted off his clothes, and said as he walked, "Lord Mund, lead the way to the Citadel."
The Faith of the Seven had already submitted, and the Citadel, along with House Hightower, would soon follow.
Mund had no choice but to lead the group out, his head lowered.
Aegon and Aemond, each lost in thought, followed closely behind.
The Citadel was built on a secluded dock in Oldtown, a place that had never attracted many visitors.
Led by Mund himself, the three dragons quickly descended upon the gates of the Citadel.
"Hiss—Gaaah!"
The Devourer landed with a roar, sending waves of scorching heat that made the Citadel's glass windows tremble, as if an invisible fire had ignited.
Seated firmly on his dragon's back, Rhaegar observed the iconic architectural complex of Westeros before him.
The Citadel sat along the banks of the Honeywine River, with its towers and domed halls connected by stone arch bridges. Its residential quarters were built atop these bridges, allowing scholars to communicate easily while minimizing the need for additional living space.
At the main entrance, two towering green sphinx statues stood guard—beasts with the bodies of lions, wings of eagles, and tails of serpents.
Rhaegar studied them closely.
One bore a male face, the other a female face.
They reminded him of fleeting images from his dreams—sphinx-like structures with an exotic aesthetic reminiscent of Essos.
Boom—
The massive arched gate beneath the towering walls slowly creaked open, and dozens of scholars in maesters' robes poured out.
The scholars varied in age, though most were middle-aged or older. Their expressions were indifferent, yet their eyes gleamed with an eerie sharpness—an air of detachment, as if they alone were awake while the rest of the world slumbered.
At the forefront stood three elderly maesters, each with distinctive features—one bald, one skeletal-thin, and one with dead-fish eyes.
Rhaegar clicked his tongue in amusement.
They perfectly embodied his mental image of Citadel scholars: men who devoted their lives to knowledge, entirely disregarding their personal appearance.
Even Archmaester Vaegon, the dragonless, had aged into a frail state, unable to leave his bed in his later years.
The three old maesters took cautious steps forward, stopping at a safe distance from the three dragons.
Their gazes briefly flickered with shock as they stared at the imposing form of the Devourer, as if confronted by an unimaginable monstrosity.
After a moment's hesitation, the maester with the dead-fish eyes bowed stiffly and spoke in a rigid tone: "The arrival of the three princes brings great honor to the Citadel. Please, come inside."
The other two old maesters snapped out of their daze, lowered their heads, and performed a perfunctory bow.
From his vantage point, Rhaegar observed their micro-expressions and calmly said, "I have already met Archmaester Fisher. I have long admired the other nine archmaesters of the Conclave."
The skeletal-thin maester straightened his back, believing the praise to be genuine. "I can submit a request to the Seneschal on your behalf, ensuring you meet them as soon as possible."
The Citadel was a place of learning, and regardless of rank, every scholar was engrossed in research daily.
Even archmaesters had lectures and experiments to conduct, so appointments were required to meet them.
Rhaegar was aware of these bureaucratic intricacies and played along. "Much appreciated."
Then he nodded to Aegon and Aemond, and the three brothers dismounted.
The three dragons crouched at the entrance of the Citadel, each one larger than the twin sphinx statues, their vertical pupils occasionally flashing with a predatory glint.
Rhaegar led the way as the maesters parted to form a path, while the three old archmaesters took the lead.
As they walked, the skeletal-thin archmaester chattered incessantly, detailing the customs and traditions of the Citadel.
Rhaegar listened with interest, his eyes roaming over the Citadel's every detail.
The gray stone buildings gave an immediate impression of height and vastness, their cold, lofty architecture instilling a sense of isolation.
The Citadel had a distinct style—practical, grand in its simplicity, and designed with pure functionality in mind.
Rhaegar nodded from time to time, occasionally inquiring about important locations like the library and archives.
Due to the conflict between Alicent and Rhaenyra, he had rarely visited Oldtown, let alone the Citadel, which he had despised since childhood.
Now, setting foot in the Citadel for the first time, he felt a small thrill of excitement.
He still remembered the two old maesters who had subjected him to endless rote learning, just as he remembered the vow he had made as a child.