(The Surgical Theater - Deep beneath Runestone, Summer 126 AC)
The room was not a dungeon. It was too clean for that. The walls were lined with white glazed tiles that reflected the harsh light of the argand lamps Aeryn had designed. The air smelled of vinegar, strong alcohol, and the metallic copper tang of terror.
Three men were strapped to inclined wooden tables.
They were not dressed in rags. They were dressed in fine doublets of deep, mossy green velvet. The color of Oldtown. The color of the Hightower.
Aeryn Royce-Targaryen stood over the center table. He had removed his heavy wool tunic and wore a leather apron over a simple linen shirt. His sleeves were rolled up. His mechanical arm was covered in a custom-fitted sheath of oiled leather to prevent fluids from fouling the gears.
In his right hand—his flesh hand—he held a scalpel made of obsidian, sharper than steel.
"You are well-funded," Aeryn observed, his voice conversational. He touched the fabric of the man's tunic with the tip of the blade. "Green velvet. Imported from Myr, tailored in King's Landing. Ser Otto does not skimp on his eyes."
The spy, a man named Gerrick who had been posing as a grain merchant, struggled against the leather straps. His eyes were wide, darting around the room.
"My Prince... please," Gerrick begged. "We were just... looking. Just counting the ships. It is standard trade practice!"
"Counting ships is trade," Aeryn corrected. "Bribing my dockmaster to steal the schematics of the Vault locks is espionage."
Aeryn turned to the side table, where Casper stood. The spymaster was leaning on his cane, watching with a grim fascination.
"Did they confess?" Aeryn asked.
"They admitted they report to the Hand," Casper rasped. "But they swear they know nothing of the King's health or the wedding details. They are just... low-level rats."
"Rats carry plague," Aeryn said.
He turned back to Gerrick.
"I am angry, Gerrick. Not at you. You are just a tool. I am angry at the arrogance of the hand that wielded you."
Aeryn leaned in close.
"They are marrying my favorite person in the world to a drunken fool. They are staining the only pure thing in that city. And while they do that, they have the audacity to send you into my home to steal my secrets."
Aeryn placed the obsidian blade at the top of Gerrick's sternum.
"The human body is a machine," Aeryn explained, his tone shifting to a lecture. "It has pumps, filters, and pipes. People hide their intent, Gerrick, but their anatomy... their anatomy never lies. I want to see your truth."
He pressed down.
The scream that followed was not human. It was the sound of a soul breaking.
Aeryn didn't flinch. He didn't rush. With steady, surgical precision, he drew a single, perfect straight line from the throat, down the center of the chest, navigating between the ribcage, slicing through the abdominal muscles, ending at the pubic bone.
The green velvet tunic was parted. The skin was parted.
"Retractors," Aeryn ordered.
Aegis stepped forward from the shadows. The Unsullied Commander did not blink. He applied the metal spreaders.
The spy was still alive. His heart was beating frantically, visible beneath the pericardium. His lungs inflated and deflated in jerky spasms. His intestines coiled like wet snakes.
"Beautiful," Aeryn whispered. "Inefficient, messy, but beautiful."
He looked at the other two spies. They were weeping, straining against their bonds, begging for the Stranger to take them.
"Do them the same," Aeryn ordered the Shadows. "Straight line. Center mass. Leave the organs intact. I want them to look... open."
Aeryn picked up a smaller knife. He looked at Gerrick's sweating forehead.
"You need a label," Aeryn decided. "So they know what you are."
He carved into the frontal bone, scraping away the skin.
S
P
Y
Blood ran down into the spy's eyes, blinding him.
"Pack them in salt," Aeryn commanded, wiping his scalpel on a rag. "But keep the incisions pinned open. Put them in the display cases. The glass ones."
"They will die before they reach the ship," Casper noted.
"That is acceptable," Aeryn said, untying his apron. "They are not the message. The anatomy is the message."
...
(Blackwater Bay - King's Landing, Two Weeks Later)
The wedding of Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena had been a lavish affair. There had been a tourney, seven days of feasting, and enough wine to drown a city.
Now, the court was recovering.
Prince Aegon Targaryen stood on the ramparts of Maegor's Holdfast. He was nursing a headache that felt like a hammer blow. He looked miserable. He hated the wedding. He hated Helaena's mutterings. He just wanted to go to the Street of Silk and forget he was a husband.
"Look!"
A guard pointed toward the bay.
A ship was drifting into the harbor. It flew no sails. It had no crew visible on deck. It was a sleek, black-hulled cutter from the Vale.
It didn't dock. It simply dropped anchor right in front of the Red Keep, swinging slowly in the current.
From the yardarms of the mainmast, three glass-fronted boxes were suspended.
They were large. Coffin-sized. But transparent.
Aegon squinted against the sun. "What is that? A gift?"
Aemond, standing beside him, went stiff. "No. It is not a gift."
The wind turned, and the boxes rotated.
Inside each glass case hung a man. They were dressed in the distinctive green velvet of House Hightower's household staff. But the velvet was ruined.
They had been opened.
From the castle walls, with a Myrish lens, one could see everything. The ribcages pulled apart. The grey and red mass of guts spilling forward but held in place by wire mesh. The hearts, silent now, hanging in the open caverns of their chests.
And on their foreheads, bright red against the deathly pale skin, the word: S P Y.
A collective gasp went through the courtiers gathered on the walls. Queen Alicent covered her mouth, retching. Otto Hightower gripped the stone railing so hard his fingernails cracked.
They were his men. He had sent them to Runestone a month ago. He had thought them lost at sea.
"Gods..." Aegon whispered, his face turning the color of milk. "They are... inside out."
It was a display of butchery so precise, so clinical, that it didn't look like murder. It looked like science.
...
(The Red Keep - Aegon's Chambers, An Hour Later)
Aegon was pacing his room, drinking wine to settle his stomach. He couldn't get the image out of his head. The way the skin was peeled back. The green velvet soaked in black blood.
There was a knock on the door.
"Go away!" Aegon shouted. "I don't want any visitors!"
The door opened anyway.
It wasn't a servant. It was a man Aegon didn't recognize. He was dressed in the flamboyant purples and yellows of a Braavosi merchant, holding a cane topped with a silver fish.
"Who are you?" Aegon demanded, reaching for a dagger he didn't have. "How did you get past the Kingsguard?"
"Gold opens many doors, little dragon," the merchant said. His voice was smooth, oily. "And a man can be very quiet when he needs to be."
The merchant didn't bow. He walked to the table and placed a small, sealed letter on it. It had no seal. Just a ribbon of black silk.
"From whom?" Aegon asked, trembling.
"From a cousin who worries about your education," the merchant smiled. It was not a nice smile.
"Read it. Alone."
The merchant turned and walked out. Aegon blinked. He ran to the door, but the hallway was empty. The guards were standing there, looking bored. They hadn't seen anyone enter.
Aegon looked at the letter.
His hands shook as he opened it. The handwriting was sharp, angular. Mechanical.
To the Groom,
I saw your wedding gift. I hope you enjoy mine. They were wearing your mother's colors, so I thought it polite to return them.
I hear you are a husband now. Congratulations.
Helaena is a delicate creature. She sees things others do not. She feels things others ignore. She is precious.
Look at the men in the glass boxes, Aegon. Look at them closely.
I opened them up to see if they had hearts. They did.
If I hear that Helaena has shed a single tear because of you... if I hear that you have touched her in anger, or neglected her in cruelty... I will come to King's Landing.
I will not bring an army. I will not bring a dragon.
I will come into your room while you sleep. And I will open you up, cousin. I will peel back your skin and I will check if you have a heart.
Valar Morghulis.
— Aeryn
Aegon dropped the letter.
He felt cold. Colder than he had ever felt in his life. He looked out the window. The ship was still there, the glass coffins swaying gently in the wind. The dead men in green seemed to be looking right at him.
He had always feared Daemon. He had feared Aemond's intensity.
But this... this was different.
This was a promise.
Aegon grabbed the wine pitcher and drank directly from it, spilling red liquid down his chin. It looked like blood.
He wiped his mouth.
"He's watching," Aegon whispered. "He's always watching."
For the first time in his life, Prince Aegon Targaryen felt truly unsafe in his own castle. The Bronze Prince wasn't just a boy in the mountains anymore. He was the monster under the bed.