Valarr arrived at noon, dressed in his finest clothes. He looked tense.
Daeron came out to greet him personally, smiling like they were old friends. "Governor Valarr, thank you for coming."
Valarr felt a chill. A few days ago this same man had threatened him with a dragon. Now he was all smiles. Something was off.
"Your Grace," Valarr said carefully as they walked inside. "If you have orders for Lys, just tell me."
Daeron waved a hand. "No rush. Let's talk first."
They spoke for a while—about Lys's geography, its trade, its history, even the old Triarchy alliance. Valarr grew more uneasy the longer they talked. Daeron knew far too much. He wasn't some hot-blooded young conqueror. He understood the city's strengths and weaknesses better than most of its own governors.
At one point Valarr couldn't hold back. "Your Grace, if you already know so much about us, why go to war? We could have worked together. The Stepstones would have been enough."
Daeron just smiled. "I conquered you because I could. That's all."
Valarr stared at him, speechless.
Daeron didn't look proud or cruel. He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. That was what made it terrifying.
Valarr tried to excuse himself after that, but Daeron wouldn't let him leave. "Stay for lunch. I've invited some of my ministers and a few of your fellow governors. We can discuss the disputed lands properly."
Valarr knew he had no choice.
The lunch was set in a large hall. On the Iron Throne side sat Davos, Tyrion, and Mace Tyrell. On the lord's side were Lord Rowan and Eddard Stark. Five Lysene governors had also been invited, including Ulf Baratheon.
Valarr's stomach tightened when he saw Ulf sitting across from him.
The meal started normally enough. Ulf was loud and flattering, especially toward Mace and Lord Rowan, who quickly grew red-faced from the wine. Tyrion kept the conversation moving with sharp little comments.
Daeron drank more than usual. That alone made Davos frown. The king rarely touched wine.
Halfway through the meal, Ulf stood up with a fresh bottle of pale wine. "This is a special vintage from Pentos, Your Grace. I've been saving it. Allow me to pour for you."
He opened the bottle and filled Daeron's cup, then poured one for himself. His movements were a little too careful.
Daeron watched him the whole time.
When Ulf raised his cup for a toast, Daeron spoke quietly. "Stop."
The table went still.
Daeron pushed his own cup toward Ulf. "Drink mine."
Ulf's smile froze. "Your Grace, that would be improper—"
"Drink it," Daeron said. His voice was calm, but there was no room for argument.
Ulf's hand shook as he picked up the cup. He tried to laugh it off. "If Your Grace insists…"
He drank.
For a few seconds nothing happened. Then Ulf's face went pale. Blood started pouring from his nose, then his eyes and ears. He dropped to his knees, choking, vomiting black blood onto the floor.
The hall erupted into chaos.
Davos and Eddard shouted for the guards. Tyrion stared at the dying man in horror. The other governors went white.
Ulf looked up at Daeron with pure disbelief, blood running down his chin. "How… how are you fine?"
Daeron didn't answer. He simply watched until Ulf stopped moving.
The room was dead silent except for the sound of Ulf's body hitting the floor.
Valarr felt cold sweat running down his back. He had been sitting at the same table. If Daeron hadn't switched the cups…
Daeron finally spoke, voice flat. "Clean this up."
He looked around the table, meeting every pair of eyes. "Anyone else want to test me today?"
No one answered.
Later that afternoon, at Rhaegar's residence, Jaehaerys was walking through the gardens with Rhaenys and Marana Rogare when the attack came.
Masked men rushed out from the hedges with knives and short swords.
Jaehaerys didn't hesitate. He shoved both girls behind him and drew Red Rain in one smooth motion. The Valyrian steel blade sang as it cut through the first attacker's arm.
"Stay behind me!" he shouted.
Rhaenys grabbed Marana and pulled her back toward the wall while Jaehaerys fought. He was outnumbered, but he moved like he had been born with a sword in his hand. Red Rain flashed in the sunlight, opening throats and severing limbs.
One of the assassins tried to circle around toward the girls. Jaehaerys spun and drove the blade straight through the man's chest.
By the time the Silver Guard finally arrived, half the attackers were already dead or dying. Jaehaerys stood in the middle of the garden, breathing hard, blood on his clothes and face. Rhaenys and Marana were pressed against the wall behind him, both pale but unharmed.
Jaehaerys lowered his sword and looked at the surviving attackers. His voice was cold.
"Take them alive if you can. I want to know who sent them."