Chapter 31

The Small Council chamber was spacious but devoid of any excesses. Large windows opened up a beautiful view of King's Landing, allowing bright rays of light to cast shadows on the long table where some of the most important people in Westeros were seated.

All eyes were cautiously directed at the king. In recent years, it had been difficult to predict what news would please the ruler and what would provoke his unrestrained wrath. The Master of Coin lowered his head, shuffling the papers in front of him as if preparing to announce something insignificant, almost unworthy of attention.

"Your Grace, there is one matter that perhaps deserves your attention," his voice was quiet but with a clear intonation. "As you know, Prince Rhaegar is still unmarried. And it has recently come to light that Cersei Lannister is at Dragonstone."

Chelsted paused, casting a cautious glance at the king, waiting to see how this news would reflect on Aerys's face. He had a knack for timing and words to achieve the desired effect.

"Perhaps it means nothing, but it seems you once refused Tywin Lannister the betrothal of his daughter to your son."

Aerys shot his head up sharply, his eyes flaring as if a fire had ignited within them. The king had always been suspicious, and his mind, having lost its former clarity, now madly clung to any hint.

"Tywin," he growled, not taking his eyes off Qarlton. "That arrogant bastard again. Why can't he just calm down!? It seems the punishment of the gods in the form of a dwarf was not enough, and now he wants to plot behind my back again?"

The silence that followed his words was palpable; everyone could feel the growing unease. The king was winding himself up more and more, and his anger gradually intensified.

"Varys!" he bellowed, turning to the Master of Whisperers. "Why am I only hearing about this now? And not from you!"

The plump man seated at the far end of the table smoothly rose. His gaze was calm as usual, and his face expressed utmost loyalty. He was no stranger to Aerys's fits of rage.

"Your Grace," he replied in a level voice, "I deemed this news too insignificant to trouble you with. Especially since your health requires care these days, and trifles like this could wait."

The Targaryen glared at him with a fierce look, swatting away Varys's words like a pesky mosquito.

"Trifles? You dare to call this a trifle? You may be a slippery man, but you are not a fool. This could all be part of a conspiracy!" He raised his hand and, as if struck by his own deduction, looked up at the ceiling. "They are all plotting against me. Tywin wants to bind my son to his house through his whore. He wants to rule through him! I know this for certain."

The Master of Whisperers slightly bowed his head, acknowledging his guilt.

"Write two letters," the king continued, ignoring the other council members who sat silently, trying not to draw attention to themselves. "One to Tywin. Let him come to court immediately. And one to Rhaegar too… Let him know I'm aware of his games!"

Chelsted, looking at the Targaryen, leaned slightly forward, as if contemplating something. His next words were delicate but carried precise cunning:

"Your Grace," he began, not taking his eyes off Aerys, "if Prince Rhaegar were married, such situations would not arise. No one would dare to act so treacherously."

These words, seemingly said in passing, caused the king to freeze. A shadow of doubt flickered in his eyes for a moment.

Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, who was near Aerys, decided to speak. His imposing figure and stern face immediately drew the attention of everyone present. He rarely engaged in Small Council discussions but felt the moment was appropriate now.

"Since the lords have begun discussing Rhaegar, I suppose it is worth mentioning the second prince as well. He recently approached me about a band of robbers in the Kingswood," Hightower coolly shifted his gaze to the king. "Aeryon is gathering the Gold Cloaks to suppress them and asked that I and Barristan Selmy join him."

The Master of Laws, Symond Staunton, who had been silent until then, raised his eyebrows upon hearing the prince's name.

"I've heard something like that," he mumbled, leaning slightly forward. "It seems he even announced a reward of 150 golden dragons for anyone who provides the exact location of this so-called brotherhood. But, to be honest, I think Aeryon is overestimating this band of vagabonds, giving them too much attention."

The Master of Coin shot a skeptical glance at Staunton and smirked.

"If you knew how much damage these vagabonds are causing to the treasury, you would speak differently, Symond," he challenged. "They are not as insignificant as you think. Underestimating such groups can lead to big problems in the future."

The back-and-forth between them escalated, each trying to prove their point. The noise of voices grew louder, and the king's patience finally snapped.

"Enough!" Aerys's shout echoed through the hall, making everyone jump. He clutched his head as if experiencing a bout of pain. "I feel terrible without your shouting! If Aeryon wants to behead the enemies of the crown, let him do it!"

After these words, he stood up from the table and left the room. Hightower immediately followed him. The Master of Ships seized the opportunity to jab at the Grand Maester, who always tried to remain neutral.

"Well, Maester Pycelle," Lucerys spoke with a clear insinuation, "it seems you are not doing your job well. The king is getting worse every day."

The Maester cast a brief glance at him, in which offense was evident, but he tried to maintain his composure.

"My Lord Velaryon," he began in a measured tone, "I can assure you that I am doing everything possible. His Grace condition is complicated, and it takes time to treat."

However, Pycelle's expression revealed that he himself did not fully believe his words. He felt the gazes of the other council members upon him, which only intensified his irritation.

"I think it's time for me to return to my duties," he hastily added, rising from his seat. Lucerys, satisfied with his provocation, smiled and nodded, watching the old man leave the hall.

Soon, Chelsted returned to his chamber, feeling uneasy after the tumultuous discussions in the Small Council. Reaching for the door, he was surprised to find it ajar. He was certain he had locked it before leaving. A wave of alarm rose in his mind. He cautiously entered and froze at the threshold.

In the chamber, as if awaiting his arrival, stood two Gold Cloaks. Seated at his desk, comfortably positioned, was Prince Aeryon. Calm, composed, and with a slight smile on his lips, he cast a mocking glance at Chelsted. The latter nervously cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure.

"Prince Aeryon…" he began cautiously, choosing his words. "What brings you here? I… I thought our conversation was already concluded."

The Targaryen, barely suppressing a smile, made a gesture, and the Gold Cloaks silently exited, leaving them alone. His gaze expressed neither irritation nor threat—only cold calculation.

"Everything went as it should, Qarlton," the prince began in a soft but confident tone. "You said everything as we agreed."

The Master of Coin awkwardly nodded, realizing that his position in this "alliance" was not as secure as he had hoped.

"I have deep respect for you," he said, trying to sound confident. "But, as I told you before, I do not wish to interfere in the Targaryens' family affairs."

Aeryon smirked and, rising to his feet, placed a hefty pouch of gold coins on the table. Slowly approaching one of the cabinets, he surveyed the chamber as if it all belonged to him.

"It's amusing to hear that. However, you know, I noticed something interesting while waiting for you." He turned around and looked intently at Qarlton. "I read your notes and found several discrepancies."

Chelsted tensed, feeling a cold sweat run down his back.

"Discrepancies?" he mumbled, trying to maintain his composure. "What are you talking about, my prince?"

Aeryon moved closer, looking him straight in the eyes. His voice lowered, but it sounded even more menacing.

"Someone else might think that the Master of Coin, using his position, is stealing from the crown," the prince slightly raised an eyebrow, pausing for his words to settle in his interlocutor's mind. "But I, of course, understand that such a useful person as you could not do something like that. You said everything as I asked, and I appreciate that. So you need not worry. As long as you remain useful, I will continue to protect you."

He turned toward the exit and, without looking back, added:

"And let this be just the beginning of our mutually beneficial friendship."

The Targaryen left the chamber, leaving Qarlton alone with his thoughts, a pouch of gold, and the uneasy realization that he was now deeper into the game than he had wanted to be.