"My family's dragon egg is lost?"
The words hit Daeron like a slap. His first thought was simple and immediate: That's a Targaryen dragon egg.
They had to get it back.
Wasn't it theirs? The egg clearly came from the Smoking Sea—Valyrian Peninsula heritage. House Targaryen was the last dragonlord family standing. Who else had a better claim?
Closer to home, Gerion had found the clutch. Rhaegar had brought it back. The Lannisters were his vassals, and Rhaegar was his brother. That made the egg his by every right that mattered.
Daeron didn't hesitate. "Lord Varys, I'm going after that dragon egg. It doesn't leave the family."
"I agree completely, Your Grace," Varys said at once.
One Targaryen house was dangerous enough. The realm had peace because there was only one. Two or three rival dragonlord lines? That was a recipe for a continent-wide war. Even one extra line would be a permanent source of chaos. Varys wanted the egg "recovered" just as badly as the king did.
Daeron turned to Tywin. "The next phase of the eastern campaign is yours. Until I return, Jaehaerys and Kevan answer to you."
"No problem," Tywin said without missing a beat. Then, quieter: "Any word on Gerion?"
Varys shook his head. "Nothing, my lord."
Tywin's knuckles went white around his quill. The silence said everything. Those bastards had kidnapped his brother and never even asked for ransom. That wasn't a hostage situation. That was murder in progress.
Daeron spoke before the old lion could say anything else. "If I get the chance, I'll bring him home."
Tywin's jaw worked. "When he's standing in front of me again, I'm breaking both his legs myself."
Daeron let it go. He needed every detail Varys had on the egg.
"The source of this information is… odd," Varys admitted. "Moving a dragon egg should be quiet work. Instead, word leaked out of Volon Therys."
Daeron caught the implication immediately. "Deliberate leak or carelessness?"
Varys hesitated. "Possibly deliberate carelessness."
He laid out the most likely routes from Volon Therys through Valysar, Chroyane, and the Dagger Lake, then down the river into the Qohor forest. With Caraxes, Daeron could reach the interception point in under a week—before the egg ever reached Qohor.
"I'll be waiting," Daeron said simply.
No elaborate plans. No diplomatic maneuvering. Just time, place, and action. The highest level of the game was sometimes just that direct.
Varys finished the briefing. "Even if they make it into Qohor, Your Grace, you could still take it back."
Daeron's mouth curved. "Open the gates. I lost a dragon egg in Qohor."
He already knew where the egg was probably headed.
Olyvar, the so-called Dragon King of Qohor. The man stayed quiet while every other fake dragonlord screamed for attention. Too quiet. Qohor had produced Valyrian steel spearheads, new scorpion designs, and strange silver materials. Ancient dragonlords had been obsessed with mining and forging. Either Olyvar really was dragonlord blood… or he'd found something old and powerful.
Daeron filed it away. He'd deal with Qohor after he had the egg.
Tyrion crept down the corridor like a thief, stood on his toes, and knocked softly on his sister's door.
The door opened. Cersei stood there in a bold red silk gown, golden hair falling to her waist, every inch the ice queen she wanted the world to see.
"Hey, sis."
Tyrion took an instinctive half-step back.
Cersei looked down at him like he was something she'd scraped off her shoe. "You'd better have a good reason for being here, Tyrion."
"I do."
He slipped inside before she could change her mind. The room was lavish but full of things that were slightly worn—expensive once, but not replaced in years. That told him everything about her current situation.
"Father still cutting your allowance?"
Cersei's eyes flashed. "If you don't have something useful to say, I'll throw you off the top of the Red Keep and let the spikes in the dry moat finish the job."
Tyrion raised both hands. "Easy. I came to talk about the king."
Cersei's expression changed instantly. She poured him a cup of wine and set it down in front of him.
"Thank you," Tyrion said, enjoying the rare moment of sisterly service. "You know Father's been pushing for a Targaryen-blooded grandson. I overheard him talking to the king in private."
"What did they say?"
"He wants to marry you to Daeron," Tyrion said. "As his second wife. Like Rhaegar and Lyanna."
Cersei's mouth tightened at the comparison, but she didn't interrupt.
Tyrion watched her face. "That's all I heard. I don't know if the king agreed."
She snatched the wine cup out of his hand. "Get out."
"I have other news," Tyrion said quickly before she could drag him to the door.
Cersei crossed her arms. "Speak."
"Aunt Genna's here."
Cersei's face stayed blank. "I'll see her later."
Tyrion didn't move. "Don't you ever get tired of being locked in this room with nothing but old furniture and your own thoughts? Don't you want fresh information?"
Cersei studied him for a long moment, then let go of his arm.
"Aunt Genna asked about you and Jaime," Tyrion said, settling back into the chair. "She brought gifts. She also talked about Mother."
Cersei went very still.
Tyrion kept his voice careful. "Do you remember what she looked like?"
Cersei's eyes went cold. "You don't get to say her name in front of me. You killed her. I hate you for it."
Tyrion flinched. "I just… I never got to meet her. I wanted to know something. Anything."
"She was gentle," Cersei said after a long silence. "Beautiful. Perfect. Everything a lady should be."
Tyrion listened like a child hearing a story for the first time.
He hesitated, then asked the question that had been burning since his talk with Genna. "There's a rumor I heard once. About King Aerys at Father's wedding… during the bedding ceremony. That he took certain liberties."
The slap came so fast he didn't see it. His head snapped sideways. Five burning fingerprints bloomed across his cheek.
Cersei's face was white with fury, eyes red. She jabbed a finger into his face. "If I ever hear those words come out of your mouth again, I'll have Jaime kill you and feed the pieces to the dogs."
Tyrion went cold. She meant it.
"Get out of my room," she said, voice like ice. "Now."
"Sorry," Tyrion muttered. He kept his head down and walked out.
The door closed behind him. He stood in the corridor, cheek throbbing, mind spinning with everything Genna had said and everything Cersei had refused to say.
"Seven hells," he whispered to himself. "I must be losing my mind to even wonder about any of this."