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Driftmark, Spicetown.
The night on Driftmark was torn apart by thick smoke and fire rising from the direction of Spicetown.
The tavern named The Mermaid, the place Laenor Velaryon loved to frequent, had now turned into a crackling, charred black skeleton.
The fire was unusually fierce; by the time the Driftmark fire brigade arrived, the main wooden structure had already collapsed.
Only the stone foundations and a few beams burned into charcoal pillars remained stubbornly ablaze, spitting out the last of the heatwaves and black smoke.
Bodies from inside and outside the tavern were carried out one by one and laid on the open stone ground of the harbor, covered with coarse burlap.
The smell was overwhelming: burning wood, cooked meat, and spilled spirits mixed together to form a nauseating odor.
Most of the deceased were already unrecognizable, curled up like charred black shrimp.
One of them was specifically placed on a door panel that had been carried over.
It was slightly taller than the others, but similarly curled and charred black, with cracked skin revealing the carbonized muscle beneath.
The facial features were completely unrecognizable, the eye sockets having become two pitch-black holes.
However, on a finger of what could barely be identified as the left hand, a ring reflected the torchlight dimly.
It was a ring forged of Valyrian steel, unique in design; not a common band, but carved into the shape of a miniature seahorse entwined around an anchor, with tiny sapphires set for the seahorse's eyes.
This was the ring of the Heir to Driftmark, given to Laenor on his sixteenth name day.
Laenor almost never took it off.
Corlys Velaryon stood before the charred corpse.
This legendary navigator, the Lord of the Tides, looked as if his spine had been removed. His body carried an uncontrollable tremor.
His face, etched with countless furrows by the sea breeze, seemed to age further; his grayish-blue eyes stared fixedly at the ring before slowly moving to the unrecognizable face.
His lips quivered, but he could not make a sound.
Less than half a year ago, he had personally closed his daughter, Laena's, eyes.
Now, his only son, the continuer of the House Velaryon name, had become a piece of charcoal lying on a door.
"Lae...nor..." Corlys finally made a sound, dry and hoarse, broken and out of tune.
Even with his vast experience, he could not accept the pain of his own bloodline dying out.
The scepter slipped from his hand.
Clang.
The sound of the metal head hitting the stone ground was crisp and abrupt.
Immediately after came a duller thud.
Corlys's tall and upright body fell straight backward, hitting the ground heavily.
His eyes were tightly closed, and the last trace of color had faded from his face.
"Corlys!" Rhaenys Targaryen cried out.
She rushed to her husband's side, kneeling on the cold stone ground, her trembling hand checking his breath before pressing against the side of his neck.
"Maester! Call the Maester, quickly!"
A commotion broke out in the crowd. Attendants and Maesters hurriedly stepped forward, scrambling to lift the unconscious Sea Snake and rush him to High Tide.
Rhaenys did not follow immediately.
She slowly stood up, her gaze falling once more on the charred corpse and that glaring ring.
Her back remained straight, but in those blue eyes so similar to her husband's, a terrifying storm was surging.
Overcome with sorrow, she turned to the Captain of the Harbor Guard responsible for the investigation and said coldly, "Explain. Exactly what happened?"
The captain's Adam's apple bobbed as he reported with difficulty,
"My Lady... according to survivors, Lord Laenor was drinking at The Mermaid tonight as usual, with a young sailor named Qarl Correy."
"But later, an argument broke out. It escalated quickly into a fight..."
He swallowed. "Qarl drew a sword... and Lord Laenor fell."
"Then... the fire started. It spread too quickly. Qarl Correy escaped through the back door in the chaos. Someone at the harbor saw him board a skiff heading toward a waiting ship..."
"Qarl Correy..." Rhaenys repeated the name, her eyes ruthless.
"The scene was chaotic, but the ring... we found the ring."
Everything sounded reasonable. A crime of passion fueled by a lover's quarrel, the killer fled after setting a fire in panic.
There was a motive, witnesses, and physical evidence.
It was too reasonable.
Rhaenys's gaze moved slowly, scanning the members of House Velaryon gathered around.
Her gaze lingered for a moment on one person: Corlys's younger brother, Vaemond Velaryon.
This younger brother, who had always been dissatisfied with his elder brother tying the succession to three "brown-haired boys," had a look of sorrow on his face, but beneath it lay an unmistakable disgust.
And when Rhaenys's gaze swept past Rhaenyra Targaryen, not far away.
And Daemon Targaryen standing by her side with his hand on his sword hilt.
The suspicion in her heart took firm root.
Rhaenyra was covering her mouth, her face pale, her body swaying slightly.
The trauma of her eldest son, Jacaerys, losing an eye half a year ago had not yet healed, and now her husband had died a tragic death.
Her lower abdomen showed a noticeable bulge.
Daemon remained expressionless, quietly watching everything before him.
Vaemond's voice rang out at that moment, not loud, but enough for everyone around to hear clearly, filled with resentment he could no longer suppress:
"Do you see? This is the consequence!"
He pointed at the three boys standing behind Rhaenyra, also looking sorrowful: Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey.
Their brown hair and brown eyes were starkly different from the silver hair and purple or blue eyes of the Velaryons and Targaryens.
"My brother Corlys was wise all his life, yet he was muddled in this matter!" Vaemond became agitated.
"For the sake of a so-called political alliance, he tolerated those three... these children without a drop of Velaryon blood, bearing the title of heirs to my House!"
"And now look! Laenor is dead! The only legitimate son of our House Velaryon, the true bloodline, is dead!"
He looked around at the family members and vassals, trying to stir up resonance:
"Is our noble Seahorse banner to be handed over to these... these brown-haired boys of unknown origin in the future? The succession of Driftmark, the Velaryon fleet, the honor and wealth we have accumulated for generations, is it all to fall into the hands of Bastards?"
Some cadet branch members and vassals lowered their heads; their expressions varied.
Vaemond's words struck the doubts and anxieties that had long existed in many hearts.
Rhaenys turned her head and shouted sharply, "Vaemond! Silence! Now is not the time for this!"
Her voice still carried unquestionable authority, but suppressed tremors could be heard.
Though dissatisfied, Vaemond closed his mouth; he had only been venting years of frustration.
He had no designs on the position held by the brother he respected, but he would never tolerate bastards usurping Velaryon heritage.
Rhaenys then quickly glanced at Rhaenyra and Daemon.
Daemon met her gaze calmly.
The serpent of suspicion in Rhaenys's heart hissed wildly.
Then, she looked at no one else, turned around, and dropped a sentence to the Captain of the Guard: "Continue the investigation. That Qarl Correy, hunt him down to the ends of the earth! I want him alive or dead!"
Then, in her grief, she straightened her back and walked quickly toward High Tide to see her unconscious husband.
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High Tide, Rhaenyra's Chambers.
As soon as the door closed, Rhaenyra's accumulated anger and fear exploded.
She turned abruptly and grabbed the lapels of Daemon's tunic with both hands, her grip so strong she nearly tore the fabric.
"It was you! Wasn't it?!" Her purple eyes were bloodshot.
"Daemon! Tell me! Laenor... was it you?!"
Daemon let her hold him, his face expressionless, merely looking down at her face, which was both pale and flushed from agitation.
"Yes," he uttered a single word calmly.
Rhaenyra felt as if she had been struck by lightning.
The strength in her hands vanished instantly, and she stumbled back a step, leaning against the cold stone wall.
The anger in her eyes was quickly replaced by panic and disbelief.
"You... you really... how could you..."
"However," Daemon took a step forward, approaching her, "Laenor is not dead."
Rhaenyra looked up, her pupils contracting.
"That charred corpse," Daemon said unhurriedly, "is some unlucky sailor of a similar build. My men changed him into Laenor's clothes beforehand and put that ring on him..."
He spread his hands.
"The real Laenor Velaryon should already be on a ship bound for Pentos by now. With a new identity I prepared for him and enough gold to squander for a lifetime. He will be with the person he truly loves. No responsibilities, no titles, no lies."
He reached out and gently wiped away the tears falling down Rhaenyra's face, his fingertips cold.
"You see, Rhaenyra, I gave you what you wanted, and I gave him his freedom. A decent, clean exit."
"No charge of murdering your husband, no condemnation. You become a legal widow, and our child can be born legitimately, inheriting the Targaryen name."
Daemon smiled slightly, a smile that was chilling in the firelight.
"As for Rhaenys's suspicion... let her suspect. Resentment is useless now. The deed is done; Laenor Velaryon has vanished from the world."
He lowered his head, leaning close to Rhaenyra's ear.
"This is the way to solve the problem, clean, efficient, and everyone is happy."
He paused and said softly: "Except for that scapegoat who turned into charcoal."
Rhaenyra felt cold all over, staring blankly at the man before her.
Should she feel fortunate? Laenor was still alive; she didn't have to bear the sin of causing her husband's death.
But the ruthlessness...
Daemon's hand slid to her abdomen, pressing gently against the slightly bulging curve.
"Our child," he whispered with unprecedented solemnity, "they will possess the purest blood of the dragon. Born at the most opportune time. He shall be named Aegon..."
"Now, weep, my Queen." Daemon stepped back, his face regaining its composure.
"There is still much acting to be done outside. The grieving widow, remember?"
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