The scratching of quill on parchment cut through the otherwise silent room.

I sat opposite Daeron in the Prince of Dragonstone's private solar. Though I had managed to get the girls back to their rooms before their Septa woke up, it had not been long before questions had been asked, and answers given (probably by Henrietta Hightower). And so, before the day was even over, here I sat.

Daeron continued to write on the sheet of parchment in front of him, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth in apparent concentration.

He was giving me the silent treatment, I realised with contempt. Well, he would have to do better than that old trick to intimidate me.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour but was probably only about five minutes, Daeron set his quill down carefully and looked at me with considering eyes. I looked back at him without fear.

"Could you explain to me, young Aenys, why you saw fit to lead my sister and her ladies-in-waiting on a trip to the beach, unguarded, when they were supposed to be in their lessons? Lessons that I, and the king, have ordered they attend?"

I opened my mouth, but he continued in the same condescending tone before I could.

"And would you also do the honour of explaining why exactly you decided to poison Septa Ysilla as a part of your… scheme?"

I considered my answer for a few seconds, enjoying letting the man stew as he had made me wait.

"Well, I think I should answer each of your questions in turn, Your Grace," I began with a flinty smile. "I saw fit to liberate Daenerys and her ladies for a single morning for the simple reason of spending some time with my half-sisters, as well as Jeyne. I know it is not my place to say so, but I judged the damage to their education this would cause as minimal. Besides, I had been looking forward to spending time with Daenerys after our exchange of letters over the last several months, and I unfortunately have not seen much of her in King's Landing."

Daeron reacted to my final pointed comment with a slightly tilted head, but the neutral expression on his face did not change.

"As to your other question," I went on, "well, I would suggest, with the utmost respect of course, Your Grace, that poison is perhaps too strong a word. It was a mild sleeping potion. I know that I should have been more careful with the ageing lady's fragile health, but, alas, such is the folly of youth. I shall, with your permission, offer my apologies to the fine Septa in person."

I gave him an apologetic, innocent smile.

"But most of all, I must apologise profusely to you, Your Grace," I said. "It was presumptuous of me to urge the young ladies to forego your express orders, and that of our kingly father. Moreover, it was irresponsible of me to put them in harm's way by leading them from the guards' protection. For that, and any other offense I may have caused, to you or the various ladies' families and guardians, I am sorry."

I sat back in my chair.

"A very… comprehensive apology," Daeron said.

"I pride myself on my apologies, Your Grace."

He raised an eyebrow and asked, "You find yourself in these situations often then, Aenys?"

"A wise man once told me that it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission, Your Grace," I replied.

Was that a hint of a smile on his thin lips?

"And you will apologise to the Septa." Daeron told me.

"As you command, Your Grace." I promised, dreading that particular interaction. "Perhaps to the guards whose duty it was to protect the ladies, too? I did, after all, impede their jobs."

"That will not be necessary. Those particular men are no longer employed in the Red Keep."

Well, that was brutal. I felt a stab of guilt that I had cost these men their jobs, but at the same time, they should've have thought to check sooner after the girls had not come out in several hours and I approved of Daeron's decision. Ruthless, but prudent.

I just hoped he'd dismissed them, rather than executed them.

"I understand," I responded.

"You must understand," Daeron said, his expression and tone growing far more serious and even sinister, "that this is never to happen again. Ever. I have been lenient to you for it seems clear the girls enjoyed themselves, and because of our relation, but I will not be so merciful next time. Do we have an accord?"

"We do, Your Grace," I vowed. "On my honour, it shall not happen again."

Daeron nodded once, apparently satisfied.

"You will be relieved to know, I'm sure, that only myself and the Hand are aware of your little adventure," said Daeron.

That more or less confirmed that Henrietta is the one who blabbed. I suppose I can't really blame her though; it would've been drilled into her by her uncle to report anything she saw or heard. To be honest, I would be surprised if the other girls did not tell their respective parents and guardians. Mya would certainly have told Melissa, at the very least. And that's if I trusted what Daeron said, which, frankly, I didn't. He and the Hand couldn't be the only ones that new; a secret tunnel was just too much of a gold nugget in terms of information. Doubtless the Kingsguard knew, as well as any trusted servants and counsellors of Daeron.

But I wasn't too worried; the tunnel to the beach was just a fraction of the hidden passageways within the Red Keep, and I intended to discover all of them, in time.

But Daeron's statement did provoke another question. Why had Lord Hightower told Daeron? Surely, it would have been more useful to him to keep the tunnel's knowledge to himself, as well as had something that he could hold over me? The man hadn't seemed particularly loyal to Daeron at Aegon's bedside, so it couldn't be out of loyalty. Just what game was the Hand of the King playing?

Further food for thought; frankly my head was starting to hurt at the number of plots and players in this game I had entered.

"As you say, Your Grace." I said.

He hummed, shuffling through a pile of papers. I half expected him to dismiss me, thinking our business was finished, but he was silent, so I stayed sat opposite him.

"I have been made aware," Daeron said after a moment, "of your involvement in Lord Elston's new tax spree. And that new town with the ridiculous name."

Did Elaena or Daena tell him, or his own spies? I supposed it didn't really matter, it played into my plans either way if Daeron knew my skills.

"I can hardly take undue amounts of credit, Your Grace, but I hope I have proved myself useful to my uncle in that regard."

"Rather young to be taking a role in crafting economic policy and building ports, are you not?" he asked, ignoring my humble answer.

"I am," I conceded with a small smile. "And I cannot claim to be any type of genius, Your Grace. But I was blessed by the gods with some small number of ideas and worked diligently with the fine Maester Arnolf and dutiful Larys Tarth, my uncle's steward."

Daeron nodded absently. Carefully, he picked up a sheet of parchment and handed it across the table to me.

"What can you tell me about these numbers, Aenys?"

Is he testing me? Interesting.

I analysed the information before me. I was wary of some sort of trick, but it all seemed pretty simple to me.

"Looks to be the crop yields for the village of Rockleberry in the domain of," I squinted at the signed name at the bottom of the page, "a Ser Wallace Fitz, Your Grace. There's the usual dividends to the bailiff, a cut for the smallfolk, and then the reported amount given up to his liege lord, Lord Staunton."

He took the paper back and handed me another, far more detailed, account.

"And this?"

"A summation of taxes paid by Lord Manderly of White Harbour to Lord Stark of Winterfell in… 143 AC," I said after perusing the document. "Looks like it was a tough year, Your Grace. Or Lord Manderly was an underhanded thief, and none too subtle about it."

Wordlessly he handed me another document.

"Ah, this is the same summation but for the year 168 AC," I said with interest, reading the document meticulously line by line. "And an immensely higher tax and tariff yield than the previous one. Population growth alone cannot explain it, nor do the number of goods noted seem much different…"

I trailed off, thinking, as Daeron watched me.

"I'd have to look at the accounts across the time period, but my guess is that White Harbour was giving a new municipal charter between the two dates," I said, finally.

He took the documents back, neither confirming nor denying my conclusion.

The test continued for the better part of a half hour. Daeron would present me some tax account, or economic law, or debt agreement and I would explain what it was. By the end he was even asking how I would improve certain taxes, laws and agreements. Once a Kingsguard knocked on the door, but Daeron waved him away before the white knight could open his mouth.

By the end, I knew I had impressed him, albeit grudgingly so.

"How do you know all this?" he suddenly blurted out after I'd explained my thoughts on the collapse of the Rogare Bank, and why the causes were both economic and political.

"Well, when your packed off to an island with little to do, you must find hobbies to fill the time. Reading was one of mine."

My tone held a bitterness I did not personally feel. Christ, the inner Aenys was still messing with me. Why wouldn't he just fucking leave?

He blinked at me and frowned slightly but seemed to decide to let the comment go.

"Well," he said reservedly, "you certainly know much, Aenys. Notable, for a boy of your age."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"That does not change the fact, however, that your uncle has become rather bold with these endeavours," Daeron said, narrowed eyes locked on mine.

I raised an innocent eyebrow and said, "How so, Your Grace?"

"This new port. This… London." He said the name of the new town with some disdain. "Already there has been a noticeable drop off in port fees here in King's Landing and Lady Darklyn has already had some words with me. No doubt the lords Mooton and Grafton will not be far behind."

"With respect, Your Grace, it is hardly my Lord Elston's fault that these lords do not offer the same port services as London, and that ship captains feel more secure on Tarth shores," I said, charming smile etched onto my face. "Besides, it matters not. Our father, King Aegon, accorded Lord Elston permission for a harbour last year and he needs no permission for a village or town."

I shrugged my shoulders in an empathizing way, as if commiserating with the prince that his hands were tied.

"When I am king it is in my power to rescind such authorizing charters," Daeron pointed out.

"I think we can both agree, Your Grace, that it would be unwise to double back on your father's edicts so soon in your reign," I said, making a subtle reference to the fact that many were already unhappy with the idea of the scholarly Daeron as king. "By the time you have more political capital to take such measures, the port will be far too big to simply dismantle. It nearly is now, after all."

Daeron grunted, his expression darkening slightly. He didn't seem to want to accept defeat just yet.

"And yet it will be in my royal authority to put a stop to some of the more… outlandish aspects of your uncle's new tax policy."

"The taxes are not in contradiction with the crown," I argued.

"They can be made to be," Daeron bit out.

"True." I nodded. "But if you punish Lord Elston for such infractions, you must punish all the lords, from the Dornish Marches to the Wall. There is no telling the effort that would take, in both manpower and resources. Nor do I think that many of your noble subjects would be best pleased with having their lordly rights infringed on, as they would see it."

"Not necessarily," Daeron said casually. "I could focus on your uncle. He has been more bold than others, of late. As long as I made it clear I would not be punishing small offences, only radical deviations such as the ones your uncle has implemented, then I imagine the lords will gladly let Lord Tarth be made an example of to save their own necks."

"Some, yes, Your Grace," I said. "But I fear that much malcontent would be stirred up among those who would chafe at what they would see as an overbearing crown. Were some among the landed nobility to, wrongly of course, see your actions as imperious, or even, and I hesitate to even say this, tyrannical, well then… I shudder at the possible ramifications."

Daeron fixed me with a steely gaze.

"Oh, and that's not to mention the displeasure Lord Baratheon is certain to feel," I continued. "Lord Tarth is his vassal, after all. His bannerman. His domain. The descendants of Orys Baratheon are known to be a little… volatile at times, are they not? He would have the support of the other lords paramount, too, of course, for if you encroach on Lord Baratheon's domain, then surely you could do the same to them and their vassals?"

There was silence for several seconds, as we both stared at each other. For a moment I thought I'd gone too far. This was the next king, and I'd practically threatened him with rebellion were he to stop my plans on Tarth.

But then he smiled, not a full, beaming grin like that of Daemon's, but a softer, smaller sort of smile, and I realised he had never intended to stop the building of London or my new taxes. It was all a part of his elaborate test.

"It seems you know your way around words as well as numbers, brother," Daeron observed. It was the first time he'd called me brother since I'd entered his solar.

"You flatter me, Your Grace," I responded.

"It is praise, not flattery," the prince said with some irritation.

"Of course, Your Grace."

It seemed clear that our conversation was nearing its end and I racked my brain for anything I could ask the future king; I couldn't say when I would be alone with him again. I might not get another chance. Should I ask him about including myself and Daemon in more of the royal goings on? Probe him about the Dornish integration, which doubtless he was already secretly negotiating with the Prince of Dorne? I considered it seriously but decided I shouldn't. It was too soon, and I wanted Daeron to be left with a good impression of me as a smart, dutiful boy, not some nosey pillock.

"You may leave, Aenys." He told me. "And remember…"

"Never again. I know, Your Grace." I said seriously.

I left under his watchful gaze.

o-O-o

I cursed as I jumped out of the way of a troop of servants hauling barrels of ale up the steps to the main doors of the Red Keep. I sidestepped a raucous group of knights gathering in the main courtyard below, then had to skirt the edge of the yard to avoid a minor lord and his retinue that had just arrived.

I sighed in frustration.

The Red Keep had become a hive of activity recently with more and more lords arriving for the coronation of the new king and the funeral of the old one. That Aegon the Cunt still lived seemed to be an ignored inconvenience; he would die soon, everyone was sure.

I was headed to the kennels once more to see if I could glean any further information from Cyngen. Perhaps I'd stop by the stables too, to see what the grooms and stable boys could tell me.

"Ho, there, my boy!"

I blinked and glanced around, spotting a man waving at me energetically from the door of one of the many storehouses within the Red Keep.

I approached him warily. As I got closer, I noticed the man was in his late twenties. He had a chubby, cheerful face, large blue eyes and wavy sandy-coloured hair. He was dressed in a simple black tunic and brown breeches; they were of good quality but hardly the expensive court clothes most of the nobles I had seen touted.

"Yes?" I asked uncertainly, once I'd reached him.

"Couldn't bother you for a moment, could I?" he asked, gesticulating behind him, a smile etched onto his face. I noticed his accent was an over-the-top bastardisation of an upper-class English gent, even more exaggerated than the posh English accents that most of the southern nobility of Westeros seemed to hold. "I am in need of a spot of help, a hand if you will, in carrying some baskets down to the docks, hmm? Just some supplies, so they are, not heavy at all, and you'll get a groat for your trouble. Unless your master has you on some other task, of course. Wouldn't want to steal you from your duties, not at all. Why, they would make me a thief! A pirate!" He shuddered.

"Um…"

Was he seriously mistaking me for a servant? I mean I was dressed pretty plainly, in a brown shirt and breeches, but how many silver-haired servants were there in the Red Keep?

I should probably tell him no and that he couldn't order around the son of the king, bastard or no, like some slave. And yet he seemed nice, completely bonkers, but nice, and I was curious. Besides, I hadn't spent enough time in the city proper, and this seemed the perfect opportunity.

"I would be glad to be of help, ser."

"Terrific, absolutely terrific!" He waved me inside. "Though I'm no knight, my boy, not at all. I never was one for swinging swords and riding horses and general exertions- hence why I pleaded for your help with this little task. And the blood!" he exclaimed, moping his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief as I followed him into the storehouse. "Gods, but I so hate the sight of blood! Ghastly, so it is, my young fellow, ghastly!"

"Er, I'm sure… my lord?"

"Ha, hardly a lord either, my boy! Not like my dashing little cousin, no." He grinned, as I took in what I was supposedly to help carry.

Two baskets of lemon cakes.

Lemon cakes.

"Really?" I couldn't help but voice my thoughts. "Lemon cakes?"

"My cousin loves the things," the man informed me. "Insisted I collect some of the little things for the journey. I must say, they are rather tasty."

He plucked one from one of the baskets and stuffed it in his mouth, then began chewing ferociously. I watched him with amusement. It took him about three seconds to swallow the whole thing.

"No telling, my boy," he told me as sternly as he could manage, holding up a warning finger. "No telling my cousin!"

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"There's a good fellow!" He wiped his crumby fingers on the front of his tunic. "Let's get going then shall we, my little friend? The soon the better, my father always said, so he did."

He made to pick up the closest basket, then suddenly stopped and turned to me with a horrified expression.

"By the Seven, where are my manners? My mother would be ashamed!" He drew himself up. "Tommen Celtigar, son of the late Andros Celtigar, and cousin to Lord Arthor Celtigar. Absolutely charmed to meet you."

"Matty," I replied instantly. "Dunno who my father was."

"Well I'm sure he was an absolutely capital fellow to spawn such an agreeable little man as yourself," Tommen Celtigar replied staunchly.

I shrugged.

"I had taken you for one of Lord Massey's little Lyseni helpers, he does seem to collect a remarkable number of them, but you speak the common tongue far too well for that," he frowned. "You're from King's Landing, perchance?"

"Flea Bottom, aye."

Tommen shuddered. "A dreadful place. No offence intended to you, Matty! You are, if you don't mind me saying so, an aboloutely capital fellow of the first order! But I've always found Flea Bottom a little…"

"Dirty and stinking?" I suggested.

"… unpalatable." Tommen finished. "But where did your hair and eyes, oh you have the most magnificent eyes, come from? A Lyseni father, mayhaps?"

"Could be anyone," I said. At his look of confusion, I explained. "Me Ma's a whore."

Tommen looked shocked. I was having far too much fun.

"Oh, by the Seven!" he exclaimed. "You poor child!"

"Pays better than being a washerwoman in this city," I said with a shrug. "Shall we get moving, Lord Tommen?"

Oh, the look on his face.

As we moved through the city, each of us carrying a basket of lemon cakes, Tommen regaled me with the story behind our little job. Apparently some of the southern nobility of the Reach, including Lord Redwyne and the family and vassals of Lord Hightower, were arriving by ship within the week, Tommen told me, and Tommen's cousin Lord Arthor Celtigar had volunteered to meet them at the mouth of the bay and escort them the rest of the way to the city, along with several ships of the royal fleet. "All to ingratiate himself with the new king, of course," he confided in me.

"Didn't think the old one had died yet," I said.

"Oh, it's only a matter of time, Matty," he told me. "Trust me, I should knew better than a servant, I should think. No offence, of course, my little friend."

"None taken, mate."

"Mate?" Tommen blinked, then grinned toothily. "What a capital little fellow you are! You smallfolk do come up with the most quaint and charming turns of phrase."

"If you say so, milord."

"Not a lord, Matty!"

"Sorry, ser." I grinned.

"By the Seven, I'm no knight either!"

I laughed and we continued to fight our way through the crowds of city folk to the docks. People rushed past us going about their daily chores, while merchants shouted the quality of their wares from behind market stalls and I could hear the faint clang of hammer on anvil from the Street of Steel where most of the blacksmiths of the city plied their trade. As I swatted aside a street urchin with my basket of lemon cakes, I decided I enjoyed the feel of a big city again after the relative quiet of Evenfall Hall. It made me nostalgic for Rome and London, the real London, the two cities I had spent the most time in back on earth. In my old life.

To distract myself from such destructive thoughts, I turned to Tommen beside me and asked the question that had bugged me since the start of this venture.

"Why is it your cousin sent you to do this? Doesn't he have servants?"

"Oh, plenty of them." Tommen now looked rather despondent. "But I fear Arthor thinks me something of a fool, Matty. I tell him I have a head for numbers, Matty, I do! My mother can attest to it, Matty, as could poor Maester Malios, were he still with us- Seven watch over his soul. But Arthor never listens. Says I'm useless and such things aren't important. Likes to give me menial tasks, so he does. It amuses him, I fear."

His sad expression made me feel a little sorry for him, especially as he'd been so happy up until now.

"'Least you managed to nab one of his lemon cakes," I pointed out.

Tommen's face brightened.

"So, I did, Matty, so I did!" he crowed. "My, what a capital little fellow you are!"

Soon enough we reached the docks. It was heaving with people from across the world; olive-skinned Dornishmen and colourfully dressed Essosi mixed with dark Summer Islanders and I even spotted a small group of merchants that looked to of come from the far-off Yi Ti. Tommen lead us to a sleek cog with gold lettering across the side that spelt out Lady Mordane.

"Arthor's mother," Tommen explained to me as we boarded the gangplank. "I always found Aunty Mordane a dreadfully dull creature, Matty, but Arthor does so revere her. Suppose that's the way of it with mothers and sons though, eh? Seven, don't tell him I said that of her, Matty! Not a word!"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Tommen," drawled a high voice from our left. "Finally. Where'd you go for them? Lannisport?"

The man was young, twenty at the most, with a sour, pinched expression. He was dressed in armour that seemed to ill fit his thin form, while the longsword at his hip looked to be at least half his height. He shared the same sandy hair and blue eyes as Tommen, but he seemed to differ in every other respect.

"Just to the castle, my dear cousin." Tommen responded cheerfully enough. "On a tiddle of luck I met a wonderfully helpful man by the name-"

"Cousin, I'm going to stop you there because I really don't care," Lord Arthor replied.

Tommen shut his mouth. I narrowed my eyes at his rudeness.

"Get the baskets down to the hold." Lord Arthor ordered. "We'll be setting off once those blackies are clear of the harbour."

He indicated behind him to a ship that was pulling away from the docks. I could see that it was clearly from the Summer Islands. Great, I had wondered when racism would rear it's head in this quasi-medieval world. Just great.

"Right you are cousin, just after I've paid my little helper here his well-earned groat."

When Tommen indicated me, Lord Arthor looked in my direction for the first time and blanched.

Ah, he recognizes me. Probably from court. Perfect.

"Tommen, you idiot!" Lord Arthor bellowed, causing the crew of the ship to pause in their duties and listen in. "I rue the day Uncle Andros fucked your bitch of a mother and sired you! You useless idiot!"

"What?" Tommen looked affronted.

"Do you know who that is?" Lord Arthor hissed, pointing at me.

Tommen glanced at me, then looked back at his cousin. Then looked closer at me. Then turned to his cousin. Finally, he answered.

"That's Matty."

"That is not Matty, you fool!" spat Lord Arthor. "That's-"

"Perhaps I could introduce myself, Lord Celtigar?" I cut across the fuming red-faced man smoothly.

Lord Arthor blinked. "Of course."

I turned to Tommen.

"Aenys Storm, recently legitimized bastard of His Grace King Aegon, Fourth of His Name. Nice to meet you." I smiled apologetically. "Sorry for the deception, but I actually fancied a jaunt into the city, and you provided the perfect opportunity."

Tommen stared back at me, flabbergasted.

"Y-You're not Matty?"

"Afraid not." I shrugged. "My mother's not a whore, either."

Tommen looked quite faint.

"Now do you see, you simpleton?" Lord Arthor rounded on his older cousin once again. "You've been ordering around the blood of the king like a bloody servant! Idiot!"

"I-I-I'm sorry, m-my lord," spluttered Tommen to me. I think there were tears in his eyes. "I… I d-didn't k-know, I swear! I…"

"It's quite alright, Tommen," I said, trying to assuage the man's misery. I smiled gently. "No harm done, and I quite enjoyed myself."

"R-Right." Tommen looked at his feet, still clearly disheartened.

"Are you sure, Lord Aenys?" Lord Arthor asked, still glaring at Tommen.

"Quite sure," I told the unpleasant lord coolly.

"Very well." Lord Arthor sniffed. Then he smirked cruelly. "Yet you still require some punishment, cousin. You shall stay here in the rooms we rented at the inn and guard our quarters along with the servants. Are we clear, Tommen?"

"Yes, my lord," came the sad response.

"Excellent. Now get off my ship." He turned to me, his smile turning obsequious. "Apologies for my cousin again, Lord Aenys. He's always been a dunderhead. I'm convinced that Brax woman dropped him on his head when he was a baby."

I so wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, to tell him Tommen was twice the man he would ever be. But I knew this man, however distasteful, was a player in the game I had entered and could, one day, be of use.

I forced myself to nod.

"I shall leave you now, my lord," I said tightly. "You have a voyage to embark on, no? Well, good luck and farewell."

I left the ship, Tommen trailing despondently behind me.

We stood side by side, completely silent, as the Lady Mordane pulled away from the dockside and drifted out to sea.

"Well," I said happily, turning to Tommen, "do I get the groat or not?"

o-O-o

I dumped the doublet I had been wearing on my bed in my Red Keep chamber with frustration.

I had just returned from giving my apology to Septa Ysilla. It had been an awful experience. The old crone had watched me like a hawk stalking its prey for my entire rehearsed speech, then proceeded to lecture me for an hour straight, the girls giggling at me behind her back the whole time.

But, I told myself, it was done now, and I never had to see the old bint again.

Things were looking up, too. I had finally received an invitation to dine with Melissa and the Blackwoods in a few days so my plan there had come to fruition. I had discovered more tunnels in Maegor's Holdfast (this time hidden underneath a latrine- don't ask). I had also talked more with Tommen Celtigar, who was holed up in the inn by the docks where his cousin had left him. I had visited him twice and once I'd convinced him I really didn't care about him mistaking me for a servant, he was a great guy to talk to. Endlessly amusing, of course, but I had also discovered he really did have a good head for numbers. Not as good as me, but nobody's perfect. I was sure I would be able to put his skills to use in the future. For now, we'd both decided to stay in contact through ravens after the coronation.

Yes, I decided, things were looking up.

"Lord Aenys," a quiet voice interrupted me from my thoughts, and I turned to see Nelly, one of the maids I had befriended, had entered my chamber.

"Nelly, what a pleasant surprise." I smiled, knowing she had to have information. She wouldn't be in my chamber otherwise, she worked at the other end of the castle. "How's little Daven?"

"The cough's cleared up, my lord."

"Splendid news!"

She gave me a toothy little grin, before her face slipped back into a more neutral expression. "Yes, it is. But, my lord, I thought you'd want to know…"

She hesitated and I had to curb my impatience.

"Yes, Nelly?"

"The king's dead!"

I blinked.

"Are you certain?"

She nodded.

"How do you know?" I asked, frowning. Surely the castle would be in uproar if he had finally died? They couldn't keep this quiet for long.

"My friend, Wylla, works in Lady Melissa's chambers-"

"Melissa Blackwood?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Continue."

"And Wylla told me that early this evening Lady Melissa was summoned to the king's bedside. Apparently, he wanted to see her before… well."

Aegon had sent for Melissa right before he died? Now that was interesting.

"Then the lady returned just under an hour ago, very upset." Nelly continued. "She sent the maids away but Wylla and the others listened at the door and they heard Lady Melissa telling her daughters."

I nodded. The source seemed solid enough, and my mind whirled with the fallout. The players would all be making their moves now, I thought.

"I-I'm sorry about your father, my lord," Nelly said hesitantly.

Don't be, he was a cunt, I thought.

"Thankyou Nelly," I said instead. "And for telling me, too. It was very thoughtful. If you don't mind, I would like to grieve alone for a little while."

"Of course, my lord."

Nelly slipped out of the door.

I rubbed my hands together. Now things would finally be getting interesting.

Long live the king and all that.