The dinner with Oberyn had passed, and the preparations for his stay at the Red Keep were underway.
It only took a few words from the Prince of Dorne to have a modest room assigned to him within the castle walls. The quarters were spacious, though not as luxurious as those reserved for the great lords invited to the wedding. The stone walls, covered with faded tapestries, barely managed to conceal the austerity. A large brazier kept the room warm and perfumed with oils, though it failed to fully banish the smell of the city, which seeped in whenever the windows were opened.
What Vlad hated most about the city was that damned stench. He cursed the Targaryen's for not properly planning their capital and made a mental note: he would build a proper sewage system, most likely using the unnecessary network of underground tunnels the old dragon family had left behind, and perhaps even raise an aqueduct like those of ancient Rome. That would solve the problem.
The bed, made of dark carved wood, was comfortable, and the linen sheets were clean, but everything lacked the typical luxury of a noble house trying to maintain appearances.
Perhaps that was simply how things were usually done, but Vlad was more inclined to think that the beloved queen mother had explicitly requested that the Dornish visitors be deprived of any luxury. In fact, it sounded exactly like something she would do.
Soon, he realized that his hosts weren't the only ones paying attention to him. The maids who brought him clean clothes or lit the lamps lingered longer than necessary, casting glances at him that wavered between curious and lascivious. Whispers ran through the halls: the knight from Volantis, they said, with hair as dark as night and manners fit for a prince.
Vlad listened to those whispers with mild irritation; being a vampire meant being, by nature, the ultimate male specimen, a built-in evolutionary mechanism to attract prey. Blending in among maids used to obese nobles was a problem, but perhaps it was something he could use to his advantage later.
At night, when the Keep fell into silence and only the murmur of water beneath the walls broke the stillness, his spymaster would slip into his room to bring him the day's news.
Lena moved with the grace of a moonlit fairy. She wore little more than a few fine layers of silk: a crimson tunic so light it barely covered her immaculate skin, her hair loose, and her lips painted a dark red that seemed to beg to be bitten.
She approached her lord with sensual movements, sinking to her knees beside him, while he, unbothered, remained seated in an armchair, reviewing transcripts of the correspondence flowing in and out of the castle.
—My lord —she whispered, brushing his leg with one hand and letting her cleavage settle at his eye level—I bring the news you requested.
Vlad did not look up from the parchment. But in a flat, polite tone, he greeted her.
—You are as beautiful as ever, dear Lena —he remarked without even glancing at her—But I already told you, there's no need for you to deliver the reports yourself. A servant could handle it.
A spark of frustration lit up in Lena's eyes, but she preferred to respond sweetly.
—It's safer this way, my lord... and more intimate —she purred, dragging out the words as she raked her eyes up and down Vlad's body.
Vlad didn't even bother to argue.
—Proceed, then —he signaled.
The former courtesan almost felt insulted, but more than anger, she felt an even greater desire to conquer the prize that was Vlad. A pity, it was a task almost as difficult as conquering Westeros itself.
—The boy-king grows increasingly irritable, my lord —she began, letting her voice take on a nearly lascivious tone as she pronounced his title—He has killed several maids and whores, ordering the Guard to deal with the bodies. The rumors haven't erupted thanks to Cersei, but it grows harder by the day for her to contain the little monster —she added with a smile.
Vlad raised an eyebrow, interested. He understood that without his favorite doll—Sansa, whom he was quite pleased to have taken from him—the boy poured his sadism onto prostitutes and serving girls, killing them or leaving them barely alive after his games. In truth, this served Vlad's plans: the more rumors that circulated about the king, the fewer problems there would be when the time came to kill him.
—Good. Make sure the rumors spread among the common folk. I want everyone to know the king is a monster before the wedding ends —Vlad ordered, looking into the eyes of the beautiful woman kneeling beside him.
Lena slid her hand to the edge of his knee in a slow caress, trying to spark some interest, but Vlad didn't move. He didn't even blink.
—What about Tywin's less beloved son? —Vlad asked with a hint of irony.
—The dwarf is struggling —she continued, now speaking more formally after realizing her game was ineffective— After a trip to negotiate the loan with the Iron Bank, he hasn't been entrusted with any major responsibilities. And he's having trouble keeping his whore hidden from his sister's eyes and ears.
—And Varys? —Vlad asked, as if Lena's hand wasn't stroking him.
—He's said nothing, but Cersei suspects. It won't be long before she delivers the news.
Vlad nodded slowly, his yellow eyes gleaming with interest. He was curious to see whether events would unfold as he remembered, or if his presence would alter the course of history.
—What about the old lion? —Vlad pressed.
—Tywin is in constant contact with Dorne —she replied, settling obediently at his feet like a cat— The correspondence has intensified. Tywin wants to secure the alliance before you... or anyone else, makes a move.
—Predictable. I'll have the pleasure of disappointing him —Vlad murmured with disdain.
—Also —Lena added, teasing the hem of her tunic provocatively— Winter is already making itself felt in the North. Without southern grain, the North will soon have to bend the knee or starve.
—Excellent —Vlad declared, deliberately ignoring the proximity and blatant provocation of his spy—Make sure our merchants do business with the North. I want them well-fed, but make it clear they must stay on their side of the Neck. Anything else?
Lena bit her lower lip, weighing whether it was worth making one last attempt to seduce him, but Vlad's coldness was unshakable. She lowered her head in submission.
—Not for tonight, my lord.
Vlad stood elegantly and, without looking at her, spoke in a low tone:
—Prepare yourself. When I leave, you'll have two weeks. I want every coastal stronghold waking up without ravens. Not a single message must escape before it's too late.
Lena smiled, this time with genuine admiration. That was her true love: the brilliant and lethal mind of her lord.
—As you command —she whispered, looking up at him like one might look at an untouchable god.
Thus, the night passed swiftly. Truth be told, control over King's Landing and its various sectors was relatively small; it relied mostly on deals with Littlefinger and hefty donations to the High Septon. But in terms of spying, Vlad was unmatched, after all, who could escape being spied upon by someone who could turn into mist? At the very least, Vlad knew all the secrets of that disgusting city.
The morning arrived, cold and clear. Vlad rose before the first call of the servants and dressed simply. He chose a light tunic appropriate for a private meeting, adorned only with a simple embroidery of dark threads. He was to have breakfast with Oberyn and Ellaria, as they had agreed, in one of the Red Keep's inner gardens.
The meeting was brief and cordial. They shared fresh fruits, warm bread, and a light wine, keeping the atmosphere relaxed. Oberyn, of course, invited him to join him at the royal breakfast, acting as his bodyguard, thus sparing himself from the boredom of the ceremony.