The next day.
The weather was clear, and a gentle breeze blew.
In the Mander River basin, the Bitterbridge stood alone on both banks of the river, like a solitary log that had withstood the test of time.
Splash…
The river stretched over dozens of meters in width, with its deepest parts as deep as a house. The water was crystal clear, revealing the riverbed below.
The riverbanks were lined with sandy shores that blended into grassy meadows, where flowers swayed gently with the wind.
After a night of torrential rain, the flora was vibrant and full of life, yet no small animals were in sight.
Roar…
Upstream, a jet-black dragon lay submerged in the river, its massive body obstructing the flow of water, resembling a great obsidian dam.
The gluttonous beast shook its head, allowing water to splash against its hard scales.
The entire dragon lay in the river, its chest and belly barely covered by the water, while its towering back remained dry.
Splash!
Its long tail lashed out suddenly, sending a wave of water bursting into the air before it rained down in droplets.
The dragon's emerald slit pupils narrowed slightly as it rested its head on the riverbank, letting the flowing water cleanse its body.
Being drenched by rain all night had been uncomfortable!
With the dragon blocking the river, the water flow slowed.
Plop!
A silver-haired figure broke through the surface and swam toward the dragon's side.
"Ah! This feels amazing."
Rhaegar, completely soaked, relished the cool caress of the flowing water.
Roar…
The gluttonous dragon glanced at him, as if questioning why its rider was taking a morning swim.
Rhaegar half-closed his eyes, wiping away the droplets clinging to his skin before sighing contentedly. "An occasional outing is good for the body and mind."
Shaking his head, he sent beads of water scattering before wringing out his heavy, wet silver hair.
Man and dragon bathed together, laid bare before each other.
Rhaegar's figure was tall and well-built, his porcelain-white skin reflecting the sunlight, and his sculpted muscles appeared as if chiseled by a master craftsman.
The dragon's emerald eyes blinked lazily as it stretched, disturbing the fish and shrimp in the water.
When Baron Caswell of Bitterbridge arrived, he was met with a scene akin to a masterpiece.
For a moment, Baron Caswell was mesmerized, silently admiring the sight.
The prince stood with his back to him, silver hair cascading down to his waist, his bare form resembling a divine work of art.
The river covered him from the waist down, and mist rose where water met skin.
His hand traced along the dragon's thick neck, the stark contrast between his porcelain-white skin and the dragon's pitch-black scales making for a striking image.
"Lord Caswell, even though we are both men, your gaze is quite bold."
The baron's awestruck daze was broken by a voice laced with mild disdain.
Lifting his head, he noticed a subtle shift in the scene.
The dragon's slitted pupils gleamed with faint hostility, its massive head looming above him.
Rhaegar had turned to face him, his handsome features possessing an almost ethereal allure.
It was strange.
As a child, he had been delicate and frail, with a quiet, slightly melancholic air.
But as he grew, he became taller, stronger—his masculinity pronounced.
After undergoing his transformation as a dragonborn, his physique neared perfection, exuding an almost androgynous beauty.
"My mother blessed me with good looks," Rhaegar mused inwardly, draping a white towel over himself as he strode toward the shore.
Splash…
The dragon rose first, spreading its massive wings, which cast a shadow over the land. As it shook itself dry, water droplets rained down like a fine mist.
As Rhaegar stepped out of the river, a faint flush appeared beneath his porcelain skin, his blood vessels subtly visible. The remaining moisture on his body evaporated in the sunlight.
Casually, he retrieved a set of black garments from his space bracelet and dressed without hesitation.
Loosening his collar slightly, Rhaegar asked, "Lord Caswell, I'll need your assistance later."
Baron Caswell remained in a deep bow, not daring to steal another glance. At the sound of Rhaegar's voice, he immediately responded, "It would be my honor to serve you."
"Let's go."
Rhaegar chuckled at his nervousness and patted him on the shoulder.
Only after they had walked some distance did Baron Caswell straighten his posture and follow, his bald head gleaming under the sun.
To be fair…
The Caswell family of Bitterbridge was indeed loyal, executing Rhaegar's commands with unwavering precision.
Rhaegar glanced back at Bitterbridge, contemplating how to make the most of this territory.
Despite the Caswell family only holding a baronial title, their wealth and influence rivaled many noble houses in the Reach.
Especially given the castle's prime location—it was a crucial passage connecting the Reach to the Crownlands.
As they walked, Rhaegar shared some of his thoughts with Baron Caswell.
The baron listened intently, deeply impressed.
Though policies like reforming land laws and developing frontier territories were difficult to implement and somewhat vague in execution…
The fact that the prince wanted to expand the Mushroom Trade into the Reach meant that Bitterbridge would become a key foothold.
With increased economic flow, the Caswell family would prosper.
By the time they reached the castle, a mere cup of tea had passed.
Inside the great hall, servants had prepared a lavish breakfast.
Baron Caswell's wife, a gracious woman, stood by the entrance, waiting to welcome the prince.
Rhaegar greeted her with a friendly smile, appreciating the harmony of their lord-vassal relationship.
As he enjoyed his breakfast, he casually cut into fresh ham with his knife, appearing completely at ease.
Baron Caswell, sitting upright and rigid, took the opportunity to extend an invitation. "Your Highness, why not stay in Bitterbridge for a few days and experience the customs of the Reach?"
As a baron, Caswell was eager to climb higher.
His gaze drifted toward the yellow centaur sigil hanging in the great hall. Our family must rise to greater heights.
Rhaegar paused his movements, falling into thought.
There was the upcoming Martial Tournament at Lake of Gods, the Dragonstone ceremony, and then the looming war over disputed lands across the Narrow Sea…
To say he wasn't exhausted would be a lie.
On top of that, the Red Keep was still hosting the Maiden's Festival, and a mountain of trivial matters awaited him.
Most importantly, he just wanted some time alone—to escape from his two sisters.
Looking back, I was such a lively and sensible child.
Riding the Glutton, I would soar wildly through the skies.
Now I'm only 16, but life feels more exhausting than my father's, who's an old, worn-out man.
That annoying big-nosed man from Mond said Aegon was full of youthful energy. Doesn't he want to live more freely himself?
Such thoughts rose and grew wildly in Rhaegar's mind.
Just as he was about to agree,
"Caw, caw…"
Suddenly, a sharp, ear-piercing cry echoed. A raven swooped in through the open gates of the castle and landed right on the dining table.
The guards were startled, hastily grabbing their weapons to intervene.
"Stand down, it's a messenger raven."
Baron Caswell quickly stood up and stopped them.
Rhaegar, resting his chin on one hand, furrowed his brows as he looked at the clumsy raven.
He recognized it immediately.
This was Tormund's warg raven.
Whenever this raven showed up, it was never good news.
"Looks like my vacation's about to be ruined."
Rhaegar muttered under his breath, taking the notes tied to the raven's legs.
The first note detailed the events at the Red Keep from the previous day, including Aegon and Helaena's departure on dragonback.
Rhaegar's frown eased, and he shook his head with an amused smile. "Alicent really shot herself in the foot. What a waste of time."
In his stepmother's eyes, he was always a threat.
It seemed she believed that as soon as he ascended the throne, he would throw her into the dungeons and eliminate each of his younger siblings one by one.
Aegon clearly had a bright future ahead of him, but she insisted on meddling and pulling strings from behind the scenes.
If it were up to Rhaegar, he would've simply taken Aegon and flown out of the Red Keep on dragonback.
The two brothers would travel across the Seven Kingdoms on their dragons, picking noble ladies to marry wherever they pleased.
Given his influence and Aegon's pure Valyrian bloodline, the nobles of Westeros would practically line up to offer their daughters.
Yet Alicent insisted on treating him like a rival, tethering herself to Oldtown.
At the end of the note, it mentioned that Helaena had gone to Harrenhal.
Rhaegar tapped his face thoughtfully and chuckled. "Smart move. She knows to stay away from fools."
Aegon might have fallen into a trap and couldn't resist, but Helaena was free.
Unless her father or brothers intervened, Alicent alone couldn't possibly restrain a dragonrider.
Rhaegar unfolded the second note.
He read halfway through it, and his playful expression gradually turned serious.
The news was from Myr.
[The old aristocratic faction has incited a rebellion. The lower-class populace is looting and rioting. The entire city-state is in chaos.]
At the bottom of the note:
[The Governor's Mansion has collapsed. A large underground hole has appeared, suspected to be the ruins of a Dragonlord site...]
Rhaegar's eyebrows lifted, joy surging through his chest.
"Dragonlord ruins?"
That was a treasure trove thought to be lost forever.
Years ago, the Freehold of Old Valyria had conquered the lands of the Nine Free Cities, creating a vast empire.
Lys had once been a summer retreat for the Dragonlords.
Myr and Tyrosh were trade ports under the Freehold's rule.
The Doom of Valyria had come so suddenly that much of the Dragonlord heritage was buried by time.
The Targaryens lacked the strength to explore these remnants, and there were very few records left about them.
Upon reflection, it wasn't surprising that Myr, being so close to Old Valyria, might still hold Dragonlord ruins.
"Maybe I can find a proper inheritance of blood magic or fire sorcery. At the very least, any knowledge about dragons would be valuable."
Rhaegar pondered quietly.
However, the rebellion in Myr was highly unusual.
The suppressed old aristocrats had suddenly risen up. The impoverished commoners, who could barely scrape by, had somehow acquired weapons and killed off a large number of Unsullied patrols amidst the chaos.
"Braavos."
Rhaegar's eyes gleamed, immediately thinking of that once-powerful city-state.
Braavos's strength was undeniable, ranking first among the Nine Free Cities.
But!
No matter how large their ships were or how fearless their mercenaries, they could never withstand dragonfire.
They could only resort to economic sanctions and trade disruptions.
Rhaegar sneered disdainfully. "Petty tricks."
To prevent the resurgence of the Three Daughters' old faction, he had made ample preparations.
As long as the army remained stationed within the city-state, small disturbances were nothing to worry about.
It was actually a good opportunity to root out dissenters and cleanse the city of its corrupt practices.
After putting away the two notes, Rhaegar sighed.
"Lord Caswell, thank you for your hospitality. Unfortunately, I can't stay any longer."
There was no helping it—trouble always came knocking.
Baron Caswell maintained a respectful attitude and said solemnly, "You are the Crown Prince; critical matters must come first."
He didn't ask what had happened. Supporting Rhaegar was enough.
Being young and childless with his wife, Caswell hadn't participated in the Maiden's Festival held in King's Landing.
Had it not been for the Crown Prince's sudden visit, he might never have had a chance to serve.
Rhaegar smiled and gestured toward the castle's front courtyard. "After I leave, please ensure that Lord Paek is safely escorted to Highgarden. Duke Tyrell will handle the aftermath for me."
Hearing this, Caswell's spirit lifted, and he followed the direction of Rhaegar's gesture.
In the spacious front courtyard, a figure hung from a gallows, swaying gently in the breeze with a rope around his neck.
Beneath the gallows lay a pile of a dozen charred, dry corpses.
Caswell took a closer look at the figure on the gallows, noting especially the triple-castle sigil on his chest. He nodded firmly. "Rest assured, he'll be safely escorted."
The man had been dead since the previous night—plenty safe indeed.
Rhaegar stood up, clapped his hands, and prepared to take his leave.
After a brief moment of contemplation, he made his decision.
The Red Keep was cold and desolate—it was better to return to Myr.
(End of Chapter)