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Blood and Dragons Chapter 48 — Assassinations & Dornish Princesses
🕑 Added 2025-12-06 08:50:24 +0000 UTC
The candle on the desk had burned almost to its base, its flame wavering each time a draught slipped through the window. Lucerys sat alone in the chamber that had been given to him on the third level of the Maegor's Holdfast wing, a room that had not been his before, though for whatever reason he was not able to reclaim his childhood room. Three days had passed since his arrival, and no blade had come for him in the night, yet the absence of attack felt less like safety and more like the pause before a trap snapped shut. He kept to public halls whenever possible, surrounded by the half-dozen guards who had sailed in with Ser Erryk, yet six swords were not enough against the entire Red Keep if the order came from the Hand himself.
He dipped the quill again and continued the letter that lay open before him, the fourth copy he had written that evening.
_________________________________
To Lord Celtigar of Claw Isle,
I trust this missive finds you in good health amid the comforts of the capital. Though the years have strained old friendships, House Velaryon has never forgotten the loyalty shown by your house during the days of my grandsire Lord Corlys. With the Narrow Sea growing ever more restless and the royal fleet now building in yards that once answered to Driftmark, I believe the time has come for our houses to stand together once more. I would speak with you at your earliest convenience on matters of trade, of mutual defence, and, if it please you, of a union between our bloodlines that might bind us closer still.
Your friend in salt and sea,
Prince Lucerys Velaryon, Heir to Driftmark
____________________________________
He sanded the ink, folded the parchment, and sealed it with black wax and the seahorse of his house. Three more letters waited beside it, each addressed to a different lord who still kept apartments within the Red Keep: Lord Massey of Stonedance, Lord Staunton of Rook's Rest, and Lord Darklyn of Duskendale. The connections they use to have with his mother were frayed, some broken entirely, yet he would mend what he could with offers of marriage, of trade rights, of other benefits. He had spent the journey from Dragonstone memorising which houses still had heirs of age, which widows sought protection, which second sons hungered for land that only a grateful prince might grant.
A soft knock sounded at the door. Ser Erryk opened it first, his white cloak brushing the stone, and peered out before stepping aside. A thin servant in green-and-black livery entered, eyes lowered, hands clasped before him.
"You sent for me, my prince?" the man asked.
"I did," Lucerys answered. He rose from the chair and gestured toward the small table where fresh ink and a single sheet of parchment waited beside a leather pouch that clinked when he set his hand upon it. "Sit. I have work for a man who knows how to listen."
The servant hesitated, then obeyed, perching on the edge of the offered seat. Lucerys remained standing, letting the silence stretch until the man shifted again.
"I know your name is Willem," Lucerys began. "I know you have served in the Red Keep for twelve years, that you were born on the edge of Fleabottom, and that your sister works in the kitchens beneath the Tower of the Hand. I also know your mother still lives in a small house on the Street of Silk, the one with the cracked blue door, and that she pays her rent often with her body. All of this I learned before I ever set foot inside these walls."
Willem's throat worked. His fingers tightened on his knees.
"I find it distasteful to threaten men who do what they can to survive the world we live in..." Lucerys continued, He opened the pouch and let a stream of golden dragons spill across the table. Thirty coins, perhaps more. Enough for a family to live comfortably for years. "These are yours, or they can be yours depending on your actions in the next few moments."
He paused.
"What I ask in return is simple. When Lord Otto speaks with the Queen after supper, I wish to know what was said. When Prince Aegon laughs too loudly at table, I wish to know what jest earned the laughter. When Ser Criston leaves the city I want to know which gate he left through. Nothing that would hang you, Willem. Only the small things that matter to me."
Willem stared at the coins as though they might bite him. Sweat shone at his temples.
"If I refuse," he whispered, "what then?"
"Then you walk out of here... but know this... you're not just answering a question for yourself," Lucerys said.
The servant swallowed once, twice, then reached out and swept the coins into the pouch with shaking fingers. He tied the strings with clumsily.
"I will listen, my prince," he said at last his voicee barely louder than the candle's sputter. "As you command."
"Good." Lucerys gave a small nod. "Leave by the servants' stair. No one will seee you."
Willem rose, bowed jerkily, and slipped out. The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Ser Erryk entered a moment later, helm beneath his arm. "Was he receptive?" the knight asked.
Lucerys exhaled and leaned back against the edge of the table with his arms folded. "As receptive as a man can be when gold and fear are laid before him."
Erryk's mouth tightened. "What troubles you, then?"
"This is only temporary," Lucerys said. "Fear buys days, gold buys weeks. True loyalty is grown over years, not purchased in a single night, and I have neither the years nor the certainty to offer."
"You are right," Erryk replied, "but with the position you are in, there is little choice."
"No," Lucerys agreed. "There is not."
The knight studied him for a moment, then asked, "What will you do next?"
"I will meet with the lords whose names are on those letters," Lucerys said, nodding toward the sealed parchments. "Celtigar, Massey, Staunton, Darklyn. Whatever influence remains to the Black cause in this city is lodged in their hands."
Erryk gave a short, humourless huff. "Forgive me, my prince, but those lords will not give you a second glance. You are not the heir, nor even second in line. Even if Prince Jacaerys were judged to have forsaken his claim, you remain the heir's heir at best. Your promises will ring hollow against the certainty of Green gold and Green steel."
The words struck like a slap, yet Lucerys felt only the dull ache of truth. He looked away, toward the dark window. "Nonetheless," he said quietly, "I must speak with them."
Erryk inclined his head, accepting the resolve even if he doubted the outcome. After a pause he added, "May I offer a suggestion?"
Lucerys gestured for him to continue.
"Your brother left behind more than letters and empty rooms," Erryk said. "Before he sailed east, Prince Jacaerys took responsibility for every family who lost a a family member in Valyria. He bought whole streets near the Dragonpit, turned buildings into homes, set up guilds and storehouses so that widows and orphans might work and live with dignity. They still call it the Dragon's Ward. There must be a thousand souls there now, perhaps two, who remember his name with gratitude."
Lucerys turned slowly. "What is your point?"
"My point is that you are his brother," Erryk said. "They followed him once. They may follow you. A thousand smallfolk who cheer your name and have your back will be more helpful than vague promises made by the Lords on their letters."
Lucerys considered this in silence. The idea had merit, real merit, yet even so the lords remained the more immediate concern. He needed influence and allies at court, not an army. "You are right," he said at last, "and one day soon I go and see what I can do. But the lords come first."
Erryk accepted the decision with a nod and no further argument.
Lucerys rubbed at his eyes, exhaustion pulling at him like chains. "One more task before you go. Have someone carry discreet messages to Princess Helaena and to Princess Daella. Ask if they would receive me tomorrow."
Erryk bowed and left without another word.
When the door closed again, Lucerys was alone. He stood for a long moment, staring at nothing, then crossed to the narrow bed and sat heavily. The past three nights he had slept only in snatches, always with a dagger beneath the pillow and one eye on the door. The strain had begun to tell... shadows lay beneath his eyes, and his hands trembled faintly when he let them rest.
"Just a few minutes," he murmured.
He lay back fully clothed, boots still on, and let his eyes drift shut. The candle sputtered lower, the flame thinning to a needle of light before it steadied again, and for the first time in days Lucerys Velaryon allowed the darkness to take him, if only for a little while.
...
The tug came as the faintest shift beneath the pillow, a whisper of pressure against the back of his skull that should not have been there. Lucerys woke instantly, every sense sharpened by nights of broken sleep, and his right hand slid beneath the pillow to close around the hilt of the dagger he kept there. He rolled sideways off the mattress without a sound, knees striking the cold stone first, then shoulders, and in one continuous motion he slipped beneath the bed frame. Dust tickled his nose, yet he forced his breathing to stay slow and even while his heart hammered against his ribs.
He had known this moment would arrive sooner or later. On the very first afternoon he had been given this chamber, Lucerys had studied every crack in the walls, every uneven joint between stones. Maegor's Holdfast was riddled with passages that only few people knew about, one of those being the Master of Whisperers—and now, by extension, Queen Alicent. One such entrance lay behind the tapestry that depicted Aegon's Conquest, directly opposite the foot of the bed. He had found the catch, had traced the narrow tunnel, and had tied a length of spider-silk fishing line from the hidden door's inner latch to the corner of his pillow. If the panel opened, the line would pull. The pillow would shift. He would wake.
No triple knock in four seconds had sounded from the guard he had posted in the corridor. That guard was dead, or unconscious, or bought. Either way, the silence meant the killer had come by the secret way.
Boots scraped softly across the rug. A man stepped into the room, moving with the silence of someone who believed his prey slept soundly. Luke watched the dark shape circle the bed before going to the door and putting the latch on he then headed back. Luke saw the faint glint of steel in the intruder's right hand, and heard the low mutter of frustration when the covers proved empty.
"Where are you, little bastard?" the voice hissed, barely above a whisper. The man moved closer, one step at a time, until the toes of his boots appeared beneath the edge of the bedframe, inches from Lucerys's face. The prince waited until weight settled fully on the forward foot, then struck.
He thrust his dagger forward, and the blade bit deep into the back of the man's right ankle, slicing through the tendon with a wet pop. The assassin stifled a scream with his hand, a choked sound that cut off almost at once as pain buckled his leg. Lucerys kept moving, surging up and out from under the bed in a single motion.
The man spun, face twisted in agony and fury, blood already pouring from the ruined tendon. He dropped the shortsword he had carried and snatched a small crossbow from beneath his cloak instead. Lucerys dove sideways, shoulder striking the floor just as the bolt hissed through the air where his chest had been.
The assassin got up and hopped forward on his good leg, his face pale but teeth bared, cocking the crossbow one-handed for another shot. Lucerys scrambled backward, seized the edge of the carpet the man now stood upon, and yanked with every ounce of strength he possessed. The rug slid across polished stone. The assassin's balance, already precarious, vanished. He toppled backward, head striking the bedpost with a sickening thud, crossbow clattering away across the floor.
Lucerys lunged to his feet, darted to the door, and threw the latch. He flung the door wide open.
Ser Erryk Cargyll stood on the other side, sword half-drawn, his eyes widening at the sight of his prince wild-eyed and streaked with dust.
"My prince, what—"
"Deal with him," Lucerys said flatly, gesturing toward the man now trying to drag himself across the floor, leaving a dark smear behind. "I do not wish to see him when I return."
He stepped past the knight without another word, two of his personal guards falling in behind him as he strode down the corridor. Behind him the door shut with a firm thud. and then came the muffled sounds of steel on steel, a choked cry, and finally the wet, repeated impact of armoured fists on flesh. Ser Erryk was not gentle when the prince he had sworn to protect were threatened in his beds.
Lucerys kept walking until he reached a small balcony that overlooked the outer bailey. Moonlight silvered the rooftops far below. He gripped the balustrade, leaned forward, and retched over the edge, stomach heaving though little came up. The cool night air helped, yet his hands still trembled against the stone.
One of the guards, a grizzled man from Dragonstone named Lars, stepped closer. "Are you harmed, my prince?"
"I am fine," Lucerys answered, voice rough. He wiped his mouth with the back of a sleeve. "Bring me something to drink. Watered wine if you can find it."
Lars nodded and disappeared down the corridor at a jog.
Lucerys remained alone with the second guard, staring out over the sleeping city. His thoughts churned like storm-tossed waves. He had known the Red Keep would try to kill him; he had planned for it, prepared for it, yet the reality of a blade meant for his heart while he slept was different from any preparation. The shaking would not stop. The taste of bile lingered at the back of his throat.
"What am I doing?" he whispered to the night, so low that only the wind heard.
"Difficult night, Luke?"
The voice came from further down the corridor, soft, lilting, familiar in a way that made his blood freeze and then surge hot all at once. Lucerys turned, and the remaining guard drew his sword.
Princess Helaena Targaryen stood ten paces away, barefoot in a pale nightgown, silver hair loose about her shoulders, eyes wide and luminous in the moonlight. She paid no attention to the drawn blade. Her gaze rested only on Lucerys, unblinking, as though she had been waiting for him to appear exactly here, exactly now.
She smiled.
___________________________________
The pavilion at the centre of the Dragonknights' camp stood larger than most tents in the camp, its black canvas walls stitched with crimson dragons that caught the morning sun. Inside, Jace sat behind a large camp table strewn with maps, ledgers, and a single silver cup of watered wine. He wore only loose linen breeches, the laces half-undone, for the heat inside the tent had already begun to climb. His friends filed in one by one along with two of the company officers.
Jace leaned back in the high-backed chair, fingers drumming once on the table edge as he tried to keep himself composed.
"Report," he said in a serious tone, clearing his throat slightly as his eyes went down to underneath the table.
Cregan spoke first, spreading a parchment that showed the jungle trails north of the city. "Scouts returned at dawn. The eastern path is clear for three leagues, then the undergrowth closes. Porters can manage it, but wagons will not. We will need to carry everything on backs after that point."
Jace nodded, shivering slightly as he adjusted his seat. "H-How long until the column is ready to march?"
"Two days," Cregan answered. "Three if we wait for the Lengii guides the Empress promised."
Sara stepped forward next, placing a small stack of folded messages on the table. "From what I've been able to gather, inside the palace Minister Kaiv has doubled the guards on nearly every floor. He knows we want more than spices. He is frightened."
"G-Good," Jace managed, the word catching slightly. He shifted his hips, pretending to reach for the wine cup. "Fear makes men careless."
Edryck snorted, leaning against a tent pole. "I'll be glad to get out of here the men are restless. Their balls are already growing heavy with every moment they spend looking at the Lenghii women. When do we move? They want to earn their pay so they may spend it appropriately."
Jace's fingers curled against the table edge, knuckles whitening for a heartbeat. "We march the moment the Empress delivers her guides as well as the bonus gold she offered. Tell the men they will have their fill of both soon enough."
"I'll be going ahead with Sara on Vermax to Scout out the place and make sure there are no surprises waiting for us, Cregan you'll be in charge until I get back... now get back to work I have something.... I uhh... have to do." Jace said as he downed his cup.
Edryck looked at him and laughed before turning and going out the tent. The officers followed him. Cregan rolled the map, Sara gathered her messages. One by one they filed out, boots thudding across the carpet until the tent flap fell closed and silence returned.
Jace exhaled through his teeth, head tipping back. "Gods, Allie."
Aliandra crawled out from beneath the table, naked and unashamed, rising to her knees between his spread thighs. Her skin gleamed with a faint sheen of sweat, long black curls tumbling over her shoulders and brushing the swell of her breasts. The nipples that crowned them stood were large and dark, drawn tight from the cool air and from want. A triangle of coarse hair nestled between her legs, already glistening with arousal that had dripped onto her inner thighs while she worked.
Jace caught her beneath the arms and hauled her up onto the table, scattering maps and cups. She laughed breathlessly as he settled her on the edge, legs dangling. "You are a wicked thing," he said, while his fingers slid between her thighs to part slick folds. "Sucking your captains cock while his officers stand three feet away. Did you enjoy it princess? Did it make you this wet?"
Aliandra arched into his touch, her hips rolling. "I enjoyed watching you try to keep your face still while I swallowed you to the root."
He pushed two fingers inside her without warning, curling them hard. She gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. "Well if you want more then beg," he ordered, thumb circling the swollen bud above. "Beg for what you want."
"Please," she whispered with herthighs trembling. "Please, Jace, I need you inside me. I need you to fuck me until I forget my own name."
He withdrew his fingers, slick with her, and painted her lower lip. She licked them clean without hesitation. Jace stood, shoved his breeches down, and freed himself fully. He gripped her hips, dragged her to the very edge of the table, and drove into her in one long thrust. "Ughhhhh!!!" Aliandra cried out, back bowing, breasts bouncing with the force of it. The table rocked beneath them, the maps sliding to the floor.
He set a brutal pace, hips snapping forward, each stroke dragging a broken sound from her throat. Her legs locked around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him deeper. The tent filled with the wet slap of flesh, with her moans and his low growls. "Take it," he snarled against her ear, one hand fisting in her hair to arch her neck. "Take every inch like the greedy girl you are."
Aliandra's nails raked down his back, leaving red trails. "Harder," she demanded. "Make me feel it tomorrow... make me feel it for the entire week."
He obliged, lifting her slightly so the angle shifted, dragging the head of his cock across that spot inside her that made her sob his name. Her walls fluttered, clenching tight, and he felt the first pulse of her climax rip through her. She came with a loud cry, her body shaking, her inner muscles milking him in rhythmic waves. Jace followed moments later, burying himself to the hilt and spilling deep inside her with a guttural groan. Heat flooded her, pulse after pulse, until he had nothing left to give. He stayed inside her, forehead pressed to hers, both of them breathing hard in the sudden quiet.
After a long moment he eased out, watching his seed trickle from her onto the table. Aliandra lay back among the scattered maps, her chest heaving and her legs still spread for him. "You will be the death of me," he muttered with his smile.
She smiled and traced a lazy circle around one dark nipple. "Only if I let you live that long."
Jace chuckled while he bent to retrieve his discarded shirt from the carpet. The linen slid over his shoulders, and he tugged the laces of his breeches tight again, knotting them quickly. Behind him Aliandra remained sprawled across the table, one knee drawn up so that her foot rested flat on the edge, the other leg dangling lazily. She traced slow circles around her left nipple with two fingers, then let her hand drift lower, parting the dark curls between her thighs so that he could see how wet she still was, how his seed continued to slip from her with every small shift of her hips.
"Really, my prince?" she asked huskily. "Only one round before you abandon me?"
Jace turned, shirt half-tucked, and laughed outright. He stepped close enough to run his knuckles along the inside of her thigh, stopping just short of where she clearly wanted him. "If I gave you another round now, the entire camp would know exactly how their captain spends his mornings. I have a reputation to maintain."
Aliandra arched her back, pushing her breasts higher, and gave a dramatic sigh that made them rise and fall. "Your reputation is already ruined, Jace. Everyone knows you cannot keep your hands off princesses, whether they be Targaryen, Dornish or Stark."
He leaned down, brushed his lips over hers once, then pulled away before she could deepen the kiss. "Work first, princess. I have a lot to today."
She sat up on her elbows, her hair tumbling forward over one shoulder. "Work that send you alone into some ancient city full of things that should have stayed buried, I thought you were finished with horrors of the old world."
"I will not be alone," he countered, pulling on his belt and buckling it. "I will have Vermax overhead and Sara."
"Whom you will send back the moment you decide it is not safe," she said, rolling her eyes. "You will scout ahead yourself, the way you always do, and leave the rest of us waiting and praying you do not vanish."
Jace paused with his sword belt half-fastened. He saw the real worry beneath her teasing, the way her fingers had stilled against her skin, the slight crease between her brows. He crossed the space between them in two strides, cupped her face in both hands, and rested his forehead against hers. "I will be back by evening," he said quietly. "Tomorrow at the latest. I am only going far enough to see the entrances, to make certain no trap waits for the whole company. I will not lead three hundred men into a grave, Allie."
She searched his eyes for a long moment, lips pressed thin. Then the displeasure softened, replaced by a reluctant smile. "You are lucky I have yet to meet a prince I find more attractive than you. You are almost not worth the trouble."
He grinned, thumb stroking her cheek. "I could always arrange a meeting with one of my uncles. Aegon is said to be very attentive to beautiful women."
Aliandra's face creased in genuine disgust. "I would sooner bed a sand viper."
Jace laughed and then kissed her. The kiss began gentle, a press of lips that promised he would return, but Aliandra had never settled for gentle. She opened for him at once, tongue sliding against his, letting her arms wind around his neck to pull him down. He gave in for a dozen heartbeats, letting her draw him between her thighs again. She moaned into his mouth when she felt him hard against the laces he had only just tied.
Her legs locked around his waist, her hips rolling so that her slick heat rubbed along the ridge in his breeches. The table creaked beneath them. She reached for the knot at his waist, but he caught her wrists before she could loosen it.
"Another time," he murmured against her lips, winking.
He hopped down from the table, straightened his sword belt, and strode toward the flap. A wooden cup sailed past his head and slammed against the tent pole. A second followed, then a rolled parchment that bounced off his shoulder.
"Bastard!" Aliandra shouted, laughter and frustration mingled in her voice. "Come back here and finish what you started!"
Jace ducked under the flap still chuckling, the bright morning light swallowing him whole, and left the princess of Dorne gloriously naked and furious atop his war table.
(AN: I probably could've made this chapter longer, but then again it may have just ran on too long, so I'll just leave the stuff until later. Good news though is it means there are more chapters for this coming. Anyway hope you enjoyed.)
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