Only three people occupied the private reception room, its thick tapestries and heavy oak door ensuring their words would remain confined within these walls.
Lord Paxter Redwyne sat in the master's seat, high-backed and carved with vines, while a silver-haired knight sat opposite in the guest's chair.
Even more unbelievable was the sight of Monford Velaryon—Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark—kneeling before the knight like a common supplicant!
"Lord Paxter," Monford Velaryon began, his voice rising with fervor, "the surveillance of the God's Grace Curtain has been deceived by ancient Valyrian magic. What follows is the truth."
He drew a deep breath before continuing, his declaration ringing through the chamber.
"The one before you is the eldest son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen! Aegon VI of House Targaryen!"
"King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. The true dragon king! Heir to the great Valyrian magical empire!!"
"The King has returned!"
The voice was so loud that Lord Paxter startled in his seat, fearful that someone beyond the door might hear such treasonous words.
The "truth"?
Rhaegar's son is still alive?!
"But, fifteen years ago..." Lord Paxter's voice was heavy with doubt.
As everyone knew, when King's Landing fell fifteen years ago, the infant Aegon had already died at the hands of Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides. His head had been dashed against a wall, his sister and mother likewise slaughtered in the brutal sack of the city.
The silver-haired knight did not answer, his face a mask of regal indifference.
Monford Velaryon smiled slightly, his eyes gleaming with conspiratorial satisfaction. "That baby was just a child from a farmer's family. Varys arranged it perfectly, and no one noticed. As for what happened after..."
Varys! A farmer's son?!
Following this line of thought, Lord Paxter automatically supplied the subsequent development in his mind.
Varys, the Master of Whisperers, had used his shadowy means to hide the little prince and spirit him out of King's Landing, then secretly raised the royal heir in exile.
"Alas," Monford Velaryon sighed, shaking his head.
"It's a pity that Lord Varys was framed and killed. Fortunately, he didn't reveal His Grace's whereabouts—truly loyal to the end."
Lord Paxter studied Monford Velaryon carefully.
The Velaryon family had always been close to the Targaryens and also possessed the blood of Old Valyria. In recent years, they had become increasingly weakened, their fortunes tied to the fallen dynasty.
It was not impossible, then, for Velaryon to support the little prince's restoration.
However, Lord Paxter was even more confused. Why choose me? How long have they been plotting in secret, and who else is involved?
"Lord Paxter."
Monford Velaryon slowly rose to his feet, brushing invisible dust from his knees.
"The Seven Kingdoms are in the midst of war, the lords are panicked, and the people are suffering. It is time to bring the realm back to its proper course."
Monford couldn't help but glance at the quiet king before continuing.
"The true king will soothe the realm's pain, expel the rebels, and punish the usurpers' crimes. The lords who have suffered losses in maintaining the orthodoxy of the Iron Throne will be compensated and rewarded accordingly."
Lord Paxter understood the meaning behind these honeyed words.
After Robert's Rebellion—or the Usurper's War, as loyalists called it—the Redwyne family, who had supported the Targaryens and their liege lord Tyrell, naturally suffered considerable losses.
Of course, he hadn't forgotten the cost of his loyalty.
His two sons had become hostages, the Redwyne family's reputation was damaged, their influence at court was greatly reduced, and the tariffs on Arbor Gold wine were increased, bleeding his coffers dry.
If the king were to change...
Lord Paxter couldn't help but examine the silver-haired knight more closely.
The knight's hair was like molten silver in the candlelight, and his violet eyes were gentle yet dignified, carrying both compassion and command.
And that face—the more he looked at it, the more it resembled Prince Rhaegar, the more it embodied the classic Targaryen features. He appeared to be sixteen or seventeen years old, exactly the age Prince Aegon would be if he had survived.
Monford Velaryon took a step forward, pressing his advantage.
"Prince Doran has already agreed to the secret alliance. As soon as the royal banner is raised anew, tens of thousands of Dornish spearmen will march north to join our cause!"
"Lady Margaery's betrothal to Renly is but a ruse! The real marriage contract is between Targaryen and Tyrell. This charade merely allows the Baratheons to destroy each other and exhaust their strength."
Margaery? Lord Paxter's breath caught in his throat. This cannot be true?!
Monford Velaryon continued, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "We all know the power of the shipboard cannons. The gods have blessed us—both Baratheon armies are gathering at Storm's End as we speak."
"Storm's End sits by the sea, and they will clash there."
"When the time comes, our fleet will turn against them..."
Lord Paxter recalled the devastated state of the hill near the outer harbor after the demonstration, and his mind's eye filled with the vision of countless soldiers torn to bloody rags by such terrible weapons.
Shipboard cannons!
But this revelation did not convince him to join Prince Aegon's cause. Instead, it made him even more hesitant.
Shipboard cannons.
Such terrifying weapons were the work of King Joffrey.
Although he had gleaned only fragments of information from visiting courtiers, he was already filled with awe for the king's seemingly divine power.
Who could say what other terrible capabilities King Joffrey possessed?
Could a rebellious fleet, even armed with such weapons, truly defeat a divinely blessed King Joffrey? And these very cannons still relied on power bestowed by the king himself.
Moreover, even if the prince's identity were genuine, how could it be proven? How could it convince the Seven Kingdoms after so many years?
Lord Paxter studied the supposed prince with narrowed eyes.
"The emblem on your chest doesn't seem to be a dragon?"
It was a three-legged firebird, not the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.
The prince smiled enigmatically. "Is that so? Look again, more carefully."
Lord Paxter hesitated a moment before looking more intently, but...
A dragon?!
The original three-legged firebird had changed from golden yellow to blood red before his very eyes. The head split into three and transformed into a dragon, its wings spread wide and its tail coiled around itself.
The Targaryen emblem!
"Is it truly a dragon? Look once more." A mysterious voice echoed in the chamber.
Lord Paxter blinked, his heart pounding in his chest.
The emblem before him changed again, causing his heart to race wildly, his mind to spin, and he collapsed to his knees upon the cold stone floor.
A shield appeared in its place—a black stag and a golden lion stood proudly on either side!
Paxter Redwyne trembled as he raised his head to look at the prince's face. Everything had transformed.
The gold of sunlight replaced the silver of mystery.
Violet eyes turned to emerald green crystals.
"Greetings... Your Grace," Paxter uttered with difficulty, his throat dry as sand.
Joffrey glanced at him with teasing amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Spare the formalities, Lord Paxter. I am quite surprised that throughout such a lengthy charade, you never truly declared your position."
Lord Paxter opened his mouth, but found no words to explain his hesitation.
What could he say?
I was merely hesitating, I didn't truly intend to join the rebellion?
For kings, even a moment's hesitation was treason enough.
"However," Joffrey rose and placed a hand on Paxter's trembling shoulder, "I believe Lord Paxter was simply considering how best to refuse and capture these would-be rebels, which is why he didn't raise the alarm immediately. Isn't that right?"
Paxter nodded vigorously, grateful for the lifeline.
Joffrey calmly delivered his judgment: "The Redwyne fleet will be incorporated into the Royal Fleet, commanded by Horas and Hobber, and will sail north to the Iron Islands. Desmera will remain at court to serve as one of the queen's ladies. You have no objection, I trust?"
Paxter hesitated briefly, knowing he had no true choice in the matter, and continued nodding his submission.
Joffrey's face showed satisfaction. "From this day forward, you shall be known as the 'Guardian of the Summer Sea,' tasked with patrolling those waters and defending against our enemies."
"Thank you for Your Grace's mercy!" Paxter responded, relief flooding through him.
Sensing that the worst of the ordeal had passed, he couldn't help but ask, "Your Grace, what manner of sorcery was that just now...?"
Joffrey chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief. "All illusion, of course. Aegon died long ago, and Lady Margaery remains Lord Renly's betrothed...for now."
Lord Paxter exhaled softly, further recognizing the reality of his situation.
There is only one true king.
Joffrey posed an unexpected question: "Bethany Redwyne—what relation is she to you?"
Paxter blinked in surprise.
She was from a cadet branch of House Redwyne, fortunate enough to have married Lord Mathis Rowan of Goldengrove.
What could the king mean by asking after her?
Joffrey stated with generous magnanimity, "House Rowan is about to face destruction. You may save Lady Bethany and her children if you wish, and even allow them to inherit Goldengrove Castle and its lands."
For a long moment, Lord Paxter was speechless, comprehension dawning like a cold sunrise.
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