"I'm doing just fine. I don't need any allies."
Alicent was irritable and rejected the proposal outright.
Right now, she had no interest in political scheming—she only wanted to take care of her children.
Aegon had turned what should have been a joyous arrangement into a tangled mess by rejecting both Helaena and the Four Storms.
She had no idea what kind of person he had become in the eyes of his biased father.
Larys' gaze drifted to the queen's feet beneath her gown as he spoke nonchalantly, "It's not that you don't need allies, Your Grace. It's that you haven't found the right ones."
Alicent let out a sarcastic chuckle.
"How amusing," she said, her tone laced with anger. "Rhaegar sits firmly on the throne while my children are reduced to mere pawns in his game. Tell me, where exactly am I supposed to find an ally strong enough to challenge him?"
As the heir to the throne, Rhaegar's character and conduct were widely acknowledged.
Who would dare risk the wrath of a future king by siding with her?
"Don't worry. I've already chosen the perfect candidate for an alliance. We just need a bit of capital," Larys said, his gaze flickering.
Despite his usual deferential demeanor, there was an undeniable confidence in his words, as if he had already secured victory.
Alicent noticed where his eyes had wandered and instinctively tugged her gown to cover her feet. She didn't bother with courtesy as she retorted, "My father has his own plans. He prioritizes the interests of our family."
When Otto first returned to King's Landing, he had been tied up for three years by the city's reconstruction efforts.
Now that he had finally secured some influence in the Small Council, his only concern was advancing his own interests and those of House Hightower. He would never sacrifice himself for her.
"No, I never expected the shrewd Lord Otto to be of any help," Larys said, shaking his head with a slight, apologetic smile. "Of course, I don't mean 'shrewd' as an insult."
"Get to the point. I want to go rest," Alicent snapped impatiently.
Larys bore her irritation with good humor, his eyes gleaming as he continued, "Since Prince Aegon refused to consider the Four Storms, His Majesty will likely select another prince for the marriage alliance."
Alicent's expression stiffened. She absentmindedly picked at her fingernails.
She had been so blinded by her anger that she had forgotten how cautious her husband was.
Aegon had refused the Four Storms, and she had secretly rejoiced, hoping instead to arrange a match between him and Helaena.
But now that she thought about it, the most suitable candidate left was her second son—Aemond.
"It seems you've realized the key to this," Larys said.
He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands atop his cane, and continued, "The strength of House Baratheon is not as weak as it appears. If Prince Aemond were to wed Lord Borros' daughter, then..."
"Impossible."
Alicent regained her composure and analyzed the situation rationally. "Borros is reckless and selfish. Even if Aemond marries one of his daughters, he will only remain loyal to whoever sits on the Iron Throne."
Rhaegar had the legal claim, and his position was unshakable.
Her son would be nothing more than a political pawn, and every noble in Westeros understood this unspoken rule.
Larys silently watched her before smiling faintly. "Your Grace, what if Lord Borros was no longer in power at Storm's End?"
"Bormund only had one heir—Borros. He is already the lord of Storm's End," Alicent said, rolling her eyes at him.
But Larys saw things differently. With a thoughtful expression, he asked, "Yes, that is well known. But if something were to happen to Lord Borros, who would govern Storm's End?"
A sudden ringing filled Alicent's ears. She stood frozen in place.
She wasn't a fool—she immediately grasped the sinister meaning behind Larys' words.
Her nails dug into her skin, breaking through the flesh. She swallowed hard and asked in a trembling voice, "W-What do you mean?"
Even now, she struggled to believe the depths of his treachery.
Larys smiled, calm as ever. "Your Grace, I urge you to persuade Prince Aemond to marry one of the Four Storms—preferably the eldest, Cassandra."
That would ensure the smoothest transition of power.
"You're insane!"
Alicent hissed, her eyes burning with fury. "Borros is a high lord, surrounded by countless guards. How do you—?"
"How?"
Larys remained unfazed. "If you trust me, Your Grace, then all you need to do is convince Prince Aemond."
Alicent's heart pounded. She shivered as she forced out the words, "Even if you succeed, who is this 'ally' of yours?"
Seizing control of Storm's End was an incredibly tempting prospect—one that could drive anyone mad with ambition.
Larys slowly rose, leaning on his cane. "After hearing Lady Swyft's testimony, I had my little birds investigate Prince Daemon's whereabouts. He has, in fact, been raiding the ships of the Three Daughters."
He paused before adding, "And there are traces of him in Volantis as well."
"What does that mean?" Alicent asked, her mind spinning.
Larys lowered his gaze. "It means someone is planning a war. And war requires an army—especially a naval fleet like the one at Storm's End."
With that, he gave her a small, polite smile and limped away, his cane tapping against the ground.
He had already said enough.
Seizing Storm's End. Aligning with an ambitious warlord.
It was a brilliant plan—one that could send ripples across the entire realm.
Alicent stood frozen, her mind racing with calculations.
She did not object.
She knew he was right. This could greatly increase her influence.
---
**At the Bonfire Gathering**
Rhaegar scanned the people gathered around the fire before pulling his cloak tighter and heading toward his tent.
His father and the lords intended to celebrate through the night.
He disliked the drunken shouting, the boisterous laughter, and the stench of ale. He just wanted to rest.
As he passed a dimly lit, secluded part of the camp, two figures caught his attention.
Alicent, dressed in a green gown.
Larys Strong, leaning on his cane.
Rhaegar stopped in his tracks and stepped behind a wooden post wrapped in colorful ribbons.
He had long been aware of their association.
That was why he had always refused Larys' attempts to befriend him or get close.
**What were the two of them talking about this time?**
Before long, Larys leaned on his scepter and left with some effort.
Alicent stood still for a moment, then quickly walked off in another direction.
Watching them leave one after the other, Rhaegar stepped out from behind a pillar, a thoughtful look in his eyes.
*"What is Alicent up to this time?"*
He murmured to himself, a cold glint flickering in his gaze.
After pondering for a moment, he moved his feet and continued back toward the tent.
Alicent's only recent concern was Aegon and Helaena's marriage.
At most, she might still be upset about him beating up Aegon and hold a grudge.
Other than that, he couldn't think of a reason for her actions.
*"Once I return, I'll call Tormund back from the Mushroom Gathering. His eyes are sharper than mine."*
As he walked, Rhaegar silently contemplated.
---
In the blink of an eye, several days passed.
It was now the last day of the royal hunt.
The morning sun filtered through the dense canopy, casting a thin golden glow over the already quiet forest, adding to its mystique.
*"Rhaegar, wake up."*
Inside the tent, Rhaenyra was already fully dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to wake up the still-sleeping Rhaegar.
Rhaegar frowned slightly, lost in a lush green dream.
In his dream, endless forests stretched across the land, streams gurgled as they flowed, and birds chirped as they flitted through the branches.
A majestic white stag emerged from the underbrush, its powerful limbs carrying it gracefully as it leaped over the stream and landed on the rocky shore on the other side.
*"Yoo... yoo..."*
The stag raised its head and let out a soft cry before lowering it to drink from the water.
*Whoosh!*
An arrow shot out of nowhere, piercing straight through the stag's neck. The dark, gleaming arrowhead tore through flesh in an instant.
*"Yoo... yoo..."*
Mortally wounded, the stag let out a pained wail, its legs kicking helplessly before collapsing into a pool of blood.
The dream shattered.
In reality, Rhaegar's eyes slowly fluttered open, his expression dazed.
Rhaenyra frowned, reaching out to pinch his ear as a warning. *"Today is the last hunt. Don't keep Father waiting."*
Rhaegar rubbed his eyes, reluctant. *"Got it, I'm getting up."*
As he spoke, he sat up, still shirtless, and suddenly reached out to wrap his arms around her slender waist, planting a kiss on her cheek.
*"Rhaegar!"*
Rhaenyra's face turned bright red as she smacked him a few times.
After some playful teasing, Rhaegar donned his black hunting attire and stepped out of the tent.
He gazed at the rising sun and let out a deep breath.
He had dreamt of the white stag.
And it had been killed.
Shaking his head, he muttered curiously, *"Could there really be a white stag in the royal forest?"*
That stag was supposed to be his friend.
He needed to check and make sure some noble hadn't actually hunted it down.
---
After a long and busy day, evening finally arrived.
The nobles who had gone hunting returned to the camp, gathering for the grand final feast around a massive bonfire.
Outdoor tables were piled high with food and wine, adding a hazy, indulgent atmosphere to the festivities.
Rhaegar, avoiding the noise, found a quieter corner to rest, lying with his head in Rhaenyra's lap.
Rhaenyra sliced a piece of roasted lamb and fed it to him, asking casually, *"Did you catch anything today?"*
*"Nothing,"* Rhaegar replied, accepting the bite as he nuzzled against her. *"I spent the whole day supervising. No incidents, which is a good thing."*
The white stag never appeared, and his dream remained unfulfilled.
Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, not entirely understanding what he meant.
But since Rhaegar said there was nothing to worry about, she let it go.
She turned her head slightly and looked toward the liveliest part of the bonfire gathering, watching the chaotic revelry.
There, nobles were drinking and celebrating.
Viserys stood by the bonfire, a bottle of Summer Red in hand, laughing heartily with his brother Daemon.
Daemon, looking exasperated, patted his brother's shoulder before helping him over to a table to sit down.
*"My lord, let me refill your drink."*
As soon as Daemon sat, a sultry, honeyed voice sounded in his ear.
He turned his head and saw Borros' large frame.
Borros was seated at the next table, his plate piled with food as he ate and boasted to his vassals.
A stunningly beautiful woman with a voluptuous figure walked over.
She had fiery red lips, black wavy hair, and striking green eyes, exuding an irresistible allure with every movement.
Daemon's gaze flickered toward her ample cleavage.
Even with his extensive experience with women, he had to admit—
*She had quite the presence.*
The woman poured Borros a drink, making him laugh heartily as he mistook her for a servant and reached out to pull her closer.
She deftly dodged, sending him a playful wink before turning away from the table.
As she turned her head, she caught sight of Daemon watching her with interest.
*"Prince, you're truly handsome."*
Swaying her hips, she approached him, her voice dripping with seduction.
**(End of Chapter)**