Chapter 505: Assassination in Progress

With a cry from Daeron, Aemond, who was blocking Aegon, froze mid-motion. His long, slender legs halted, and his raised arm paused, the one-handed sword hovering above Aegon's head, just inches from ending his life.

"Hoo hoo hoo..." Aemond took deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down.

Aegon, sensing his brother's hesitation, felt a slight wetness in his pants. Seizing the moment, he scrambled out from under the table, not forgetting to thank Daeron. "Thanks, brother." Then, he slipped away.

Aemond's frustration boiled over, and his sword clattered to the ground as he staggered. "Fucking asshole," he muttered.

Daeron rushed forward to help his brother, worried that he might faint from the strain.

"I'm fine, don't worry," Aemond said, pushing him away and gritting his teeth. He didn't want to look vulnerable.

Daeron tried to reassure him, "Aegon didn't mean it. I insisted on coming here."

"Don't cover for him; you're a terrible liar," Aemond replied, his one eye flashing coldly. He had seen through everything long ago. Aegon was nothing but a bully, never treating him as an equal.

Daeron fell silent, guilt gnawing at him. He blamed himself for succumbing to the temptation to peek into Aemond's privacy, almost causing a disaster.

In the midst of their conversation, the old madam, dressed in a revealing outfit, descended the stairs briskly. Aemond looked away, his manner indifferent.

The madam, experienced and shrewd, immediately assessed the chaotic scene. She instructed her subordinates to fetch a silver-haired girl dressed provocatively and send her to the brothers.

The silver-haired girl, with a delicate face and timid eyes, held a feather fan to cover herself modestly, though her exposed bottom betrayed her occupation.

Sensing Aemond's gaze, she attempted to cover herself shyly with the fan, but her efforts only highlighted her exposed state.

Aemond's one eye locked onto the madam. "What do you take me for?" he asked coldly, each word dripping with menace.

Despite being shirtless, his presence was still commanding. The madam forced a smile, trying to maintain composure. "A seeker of comfort," she said, removing the feather fan and pushing the girl lightly towards Aemond.

"She's the best dancer in Hull," the madam continued, her voice oozing with false charm. "Outsiders say she's like a real Princess."

Daeron sniffed, scowling darkly at the girl. Her silver hair, purple eyes, and fair skin marked her as a descendant of Valyria. Seeing her in a brothel in Hull, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. This girl was likely a lost dragon seed.

"You...", Daeron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

In an instant, a harsh, metallic glint sliced through the air.

With a grotesque thud, a silver-haired head soared upward, trailing a quartet of blood arcs before rolling to a stop on the ground, face turned skyward. Its eyes wide with disbelief, the severed head retained an eerie, flirtatious wink.

A collective gasp filled the room.

The occupants of the brothel—prostitutes and clients alike—screamed in terror, rushing to escape the macabre scene.

The elderly madam stood frozen, her gaze fixed on the severed head now lying at her feet. Her bare feet shifted subtly, the silver strands of hair tickling her toes, sending a shiver of dread through her spine.

The room filled with the rank smell of fear as the madam, overwhelmed, lost control. A yellow stream broke free, splashing onto the floor, spreading around the grim relic of a once-living being.

"Brother!" Daeron choked out, his eyes locked on Aemond in disbelief.

Aemond, unfazed, wiped the blood from his face with a nonchalant swipe of his hand. His expression darkened as he stared at the lifeless head, its hair now matted in the spreading puddle.

This? A princess?

A mere plaything, defiled and degraded, dares to tarnish the royal family honor?

For a moment, Aemond's vision blurred. He saw Rhaenyra, then Helaena, the cold light in his eyes softening briefly before he shook his head violently, regaining his focus.

The madam, overcome by fear, fell to her knees.

"Prince, I—" Her voice trembled, faltering before she could continue.

Aemond grimaced, his sword tip scraping against the cold, damp floor as he readied himself to respond.

Bang—

The door burst open with a violent crash, and a squad of soldiers stormed in, their spears raised and ready.

"Get out, all of you!" Daeron shouted, positioning himself to protect Aemond.

Aemond's eyes widened with shock, his resolve wavering as he hesitated to strike the elderly madam.

"Stop this madness!" A commanding voice cut through the chaos. The soldiers blocking the entrance were roughly pushed aside, revealing Arryk, clad in silver armor and white robes, his expression severe. Beside him was Steffon, looking equally grim.

Both were off-duty during the day, and Criston Cole, who was supposed to be on shift, had been summoned to cover for them.

Aemond turned his icy gaze toward the imposing figure of Arryk and sneered, "Has my brother sent you to arrest me?"

Though he knew such an accusation was far-fetched, he needed to assert himself.

Arryk's response was a silent advance, his expression unreadable.

Aemond, trying to maintain his dignity, lifted his chin in defiance.

"Prince, be careful," Arryk warned Daeron, before taking advantage of Aemond's distraction with a decisive uppercut.

Pfft—

The blow landed perfectly, sending Aemond reeling backward. He crashed to the floor, his scarf falling away and exposing him disgracefully. Aemond gasped for breath, his face a mix of pain and humiliation before slipping into unconsciousness.

Daeron's eyes widened in disbelief, his jaw nearly dropping to the floor.

"What a mess", Arryk, with an apologetic glance, quickly removed his white robe and wrapped it around Aemond, lifting him over his shoulder.

The prince went mad and disgraced himself. He didn't think that His Grace would blame him for his actions.

He then headed toward the exit, the soldiers respectfully stepping aside and averting their gazes.

The soldiers, receiving only a modest pay, knew better than to interfere with royal matters.

Left alone in the brothel, Daeron stood, feeling a mix of embarrassment and frustration. He glanced at the old madam, then at the headless, naked corpse sprawled on the floor. With a resigned sigh, he pulled two golden dragons from his pocket and tossed them onto the ground.

"The crown doesn't come cheap," he muttered, then turned and exited the brothel without a backward glance.

...

Main Street

Arryk watched the patrolling soldiers walk away before handing the unconscious Aemond over to Steffon. "I'll escort the Prince. You take Aemond back to High Tide."

"Don't worry about it," Steffon replied, nodding gently, taking the situation in stride. The royal family was full of absurd dramas.

The two Kingsguard parted ways, Arryk darkening his face as he escorted Daeron to the harbor. He had just finished the night shift and was called in by Cole to cover again. The frustrations of his duty overshadowed the drama of the silver-haired dancer.

...

High Tide

Rhaegar, having parted ways with Helaena, quickly approached Erryk, the Kingsguard captain on duty.

"Your Grace," Erryk said, stunned, saluting promptly.

Rhaegar, moving with urgency, asked directly, "Where are my children?"

Without hesitation, Erryk replied, "The three Princes didn't return last night. They've been with Lady Rhaena."

"Who's protecting them?" Rhaegar's concern was palpable.

Prophecies were not to be taken lightly. His own dream precognitions were chaotic and disorganized, often ignoring time and space, presenting him with fragmented images. In contrast, Helaena's visions were narrow but precise.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Erryk said, "Cole was on duty. He requested additional manpower, and my brother and Steffon were there."

"Three Kingsguard?" Rhaegar's frown deepened. He immediately commanded, "Erryk, take two teams of guards and escort Baelon and the others back safely."

This was Driftmark, Sea Snake's territory, and he needed the best force.

Erryk, understanding the importance, replied solemnly, "Yes, Your Grace." He quickly went to call for reinforcements.

There were seven Kingsguards in total. Excluding the two brothers who stayed in King's Landing to watch over the old king, five accompanied the party. Arryk and Steffon covered the night shift, while Erryk and Lorent covered the day shift. Cole occasionally taught Prince Aemond martial arts and temporarily protected the young Princes.

Rhaegar shook his head, still worried. After a moment of contemplation, he decided to make an unannounced visit to see for himself.

...

Hull, harbor.

"Careful, don't break the crate."

"Stupid, put away your broken fishing net."

"..."

Shipwrights sweated and cursed at every passer-by without discrimination.

On Driftmark, being a shipwright was an unusually noble profession.

Addam, mixed in with the apprentices, was often on the receiving end of these tirades, but he was more than competent. At the moment, he was repairing the deck while keeping an eye out for suspicious characters coming aboard.

Unfamiliar faces had boarded the ship before, but never so many at once. The old shipwrights were busy, treating the newcomers with contempt and occasionally spitting at them. Only young Addam, ever vigilant, kept an eye out for anything amiss.

Rhaena led Maekar around the cabin to the rear of the large ship. Addam stole a glance, recognising the girl by her distinctive features.

Gradually, the suspicious newcomers put down their materials and began to gather in twos and threes towards the back of the ship. Addam lowered his head, his eyes narrowing.

One man put his hand in his pants, appearing to itch himself but actually concealing a bulge. Another stuffed his hands into his blouse, as if rubbing something. These seemingly innocent actions were anything but, and Addam saw through them.

The bulge was too large—it had to be the hilt of a dagger or an ironwood handle. Addam silently calculated the implications.

He thought of his brother, his tormented mother, and tucked the hammer into his arms. Naturally, he stood up, approached a buck-toothed apprentice, and whispered in his ear. The apprentice's eyes lit up, and he left the nail-loading box behind to slip into the cabin.

Addam looked around and then climbed up the soft ladder of the watchtower, his heart pounding with anticipation.

...

Behind the cabin.

Rhaena lay back against the railing, watching sailors hang mid-air as they cleaned barnacles off the hull. The sight of the slimy creatures being scraped away always brought her an inexplicable satisfaction.

Maekar crouched on the ground, bored, resting his chin in his hands. The large carrier vessel overshadowed him entirely, making him seem even smaller.

Several guards surrounded them, their eyes scanning the area for any threats. Cole was absent, assigned to protect Baelon, the more important heir to the throne.

The sea breeze blew briskly, carrying the shouts of sailors. The usually noisy harbor was exceptionally quiet and calm, causing the guards to gradually lower their guard.

Laborers carrying materials moved to the back half of the area, appearing to offer assistance to the shipwrights. The guards paid them no mind as they passed by.

"Do it!"

A sudden bellow shattered the calm.

Before the guards could react, daggers flashed and stabbed into their waists.

One of the assassins, a scowl etched on his face, lunged at Rhaena by the fence, shouting, "Hail to the Harpy!"

(Word Count: 1,873)