Aegon crossed the Moonlight Corridor and stepped back onto the main path.
The newly acquired combat memories settled deep into his muscles, like molten iron slowly cooling and setting, becoming part of his instinct.
The cloyingly sweet floral scent in the air and the faint sound of music from the distance seemed to grow stronger.
Without stopping his pace, he headed straight toward the archway he had come from.
The sign-in was complete, but the unexpectedly acquired power needed time to settle and be digested, and the news of a 'Targaryen orphan' appearing here required further verification.
Just as he turned past a cluster of blue-purple irises, the sound of hurried footsteps and low-voiced female conversation came from the corner of the corridor ahead.
"...Have you heard? Special guests are coming..."
"Martha wants us to check the 'Glazed Hall' and the largest terrace again. The banquet must be prepared more grandly than the last Governor's Name Day!"
"They're even turning the horse stables into some kind of arena!"
"Tell me about it," an older, weary-sounding female voice replied, "we'll be busy until midnight again."
"Those velvet tablecloths shipped from Pentos are such a hassle to organize, not to mention all the silverware..."
"Shh—quiet, it sounds like someone's ahead..."
Several young women in light green maid outfits, carrying heavy trays filled with fruit, silver pitchers, and crystal glasses, immediately lowered their voices upon seeing Aegon. They bowed their heads and quickened their pace, passing him by.
Aegon's footsteps paused almost imperceptibly.
A banquet? Special guests? Grand preparations?
The'special guest' and 'Targaryen orphan' that Sa Melis and Cassimir had vaguely mentioned earlier...
...and that banquet about to be held in the Perfume Garden to 'welcome' someone?
He instinctively felt something was wrong.
Viserys and Daenerys... they were currently destitute exiles in a foreign land, nearly begging, wandering between the Free Cities and enduring endless contempt.
Why would a Magister family of Lys hold a 'grand' banquet for them?
A gesture of goodwill? An investment? Or... did they have other motives?
Aegon's gaze swept over the retreating backs of the maids, then glanced toward the archway.
His departing steps quietly changed direction. He turned slightly, using the shadows of the pillars and dense flowers to follow them silently.
The maids did not head toward the outer courtyard, but instead followed a quieter side path paved with pebbles, leading deeper into the garden.
They were clearly very familiar with the path, walking briskly and occasionally exchanging a few words, mostly complaining about the heavy workload or speculating on the identity of the guests.
The maids crossed several winding paths and finally arrived at a more exquisite and secluded courtyard.
The plants here were clearly meticulously trimmed into low green walls, forming natural partitions and barriers.
The air was filled with an elegant and expensive incense scent, starkly different from the cloying sweetness of other areas in the garden.
Two guards stood at the entrance of the courtyard, but their posture was much more relaxed than those at the inner courtyard archway, appearing more as a symbolic presence.
Perhaps this was a private place where high-ranking figures often gathered, making it difficult for outsiders to approach, so there was less need for internal vigilance.
Or perhaps, in their eyes, today's meeting was not some secret that couldn't see the light of day.
Aegon slid silently behind a green wall made of dense holly, where a natural depression in the growth provided just enough shadow to hide his figure.
Through the gaps in the leaves, he could vaguely see the scene in the center of the courtyard.
In the middle of the courtyard stood a large white marble round table with several carved chairs.
Silver wine pitchers, crystal glasses, and a plate of fresh fruit were set on the table.
Several people were already seated.
Aegon's gaze quickly swept over them.
With his back to Aegon was a middle-aged man in a deep purple robe embroidered with gold thread. His hair was meticulously groomed, and his sitting posture alone conveyed the steadiness—or rather, the arrogance—of one long accustomed to high status.
Was this the 'Lord Magister' the maids had mentioned?
Or some other powerful figure?
Cassimir Antalion sat to his left. The frivolity was gone from his face, replaced by an expression of fawning and serious listening.
Sa Melis sat on the other side. She had changed into a more formal deep blue gown, her long hair pinned up to reveal her elegant neck.
She tilted her head slightly, listening to the middle-aged man's words with a perfectly measured smile on her lips.
There were also two or three other men and women of various ages, all dressed in fine clothing, whom Aegon did not recognize.
"...Therefore, Cassimir," the middle-aged man's voice came, carrying the slightly drawling elegance characteristic of Lysene nobility, yet with an unquestionable tone, "Westerosi-style food, drinks, and entertainment must be prepared as quickly as possible."
"Especially the tournament grounds and personnel; it must look the part."
"Do you understand?"
Cassimir leaned forward, a look of well-practiced confusion on his face: "Father, I understand what needs to be prepared."
"But... exactly what guest is coming that warrants such a massive effort?"
"It surely can't be that pair of begging Targaryen orphans, can it?"
He scoffed, his tone full of undisguised contempt: "Viserys Targaryen? The 'Beggar King' who even sold his own crown? Ha!"
"If he dares to show up, I wouldn't mind tossing him a few silver coins to see if he can bark like a dog for entertainment."
He paused, then added flippantly, "Though... I hear his sister, Daenerys, is quite fair. Young as she is, she's already a beauty."
"If she's sensible and willing to... do what she can for us here, I wouldn't mind giving her brother a few more coppers."
A few low, accompanying laughs broke out around the round table.
The middle-aged man with his back to Aegon—Cassimir's father, the Magister of Lys, Dorian Antalion—lightly tapped the table, his tone flat but carrying a warning: "Cassimir, watch your words."
"Even in destitution, the Targaryen bloodline is not for you to speak of so lightly."
Then his tone shifted, revealing a true contempt that was different from his warning: "However, you are right."
"A pair of destitute orphans with nothing but empty titles and the long-extinguished legends of 'True Dragons' are not worth the investment of House Antalion, nor all of Lys."
Cassimir and the others looked puzzled.
At that moment, Sa Melis spoke softly, her voice carrying clearly through the breeze with a sense of reserved pride in being part of a secret: "Young Master Cassimir may not be aware. The one we are to welcome is not that pair of siblings who have become a laughingstock wandering both sides of the Narrow Sea."
She paused, her gaze sweeping over everyone, before slowly uttering the name: "The one we are to welcome is another orphan of the Targaryen dynasty—'Prince Aegon Targaryen'."
The courtyard fell silent for a moment.
"This Prince Aegon Targaryen is the rightful, most legitimate heir to the iron throne after the fall of the dynasty in the West."
"He did not die in the fires of war."
"Loyal warriors used their lives and wisdom to save him from the Usurper's blade, sending him across the Narrow Sea to be raised in secret."
Sa Melis leaned in slightly, her voice dropping lower, yet loud enough for Aegon behind the green wall to hear every word.
"Now, the Prince is about to set out, escorted by Mr. Connington, to come to Lys for... a personal meeting with us."
Behind the green wall, Aegon's gaze narrowed, and he slowly and silently let out a breath.
Deep within his violet eyes, a chill condensed like an eternal glacier.
Aegon Targaryen?
More like Blackfyre!
The fake one is coming.
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