On the way back to his rooms, Baelon could barely contain his excitement.
Even he hadn’t expected the plan to come together this smoothly.
Heaven, earth, and every person involved had aligned perfectly.
In a single day he had finished every preparation.
All that remained was for Daemon to deliver the assassin.
He had seen the look in Viserys’s eyes clearly—guilt mixed with simmering anger.
At this moment, Otto could probably be driven from King’s Landing for saying the wrong word.
Baelon could already picture Otto being forced out the gates in the middle of a storm, looking utterly wretched.
If he could strip Otto of the Hand’s position and have him killed on the road back to Oldtown, the tragedy of the Dance of the Dragons would likely never happen.
His own safety would be guaranteed for good.
It would also keep Daemon in King’s Landing to protect both him and Rhaenyra.
In three years, when the truth about Rhaenyra and Daemon came out, Daemon wouldn’t be exiled a second time.
Most importantly, when Laenor and Rhaenyra eventually married, she wouldn’t give birth to brown-haired children that would scandalize the entire realm.
Alicent’s children could serve as a useful counterweight to keep Daemon from getting any ideas about the throne.
Baelon, for all his modern sensibilities, found the idea of close-kin marriage distasteful, but this was still the best possible outcome.
And once Rhaenyra sat the Iron Throne, he could comfortably serve as her Hand, strengthen her rule, and stop her from making any truly foolish mistakes.
Thinking of it all, Baelon felt as if a bright future were already waving him forward.
Three days later, Daemon returned with Rhaenyra.
Daemon sat beside Baelon’s bed.
“I found the man, kid. One of Otto’s own guards from Oldtown.”
“He can’t stay inside the Red Keep anymore, so Otto placed him in the city to gather information.”
“Tell me when you want it done. Just have your sister pass the word and I’ll take him whenever you’re ready.”
Baelon turned to Rhaenyra.
“Sister, how are things on your end?”
A flash of struggle crossed Rhaenyra’s face, but she answered.
“Everything’s prepared, but…”
Baelon cut her off and spoke patiently.
“Sister, the man Daemon found is someone Otto can explain away a hundred different ways. You understand that, don’t you?”
“To raise our chances of success, we have to move when the lords from across the realm are already here.”
“Even if both of us are attacked at the same time, it will only make Father suspicious of Otto. The arriving lords will have nothing solid to condemn him with. Do you see?”
“If only I am attacked while you remain completely unharmed, the whole thing becomes suspicious on its own. Do you understand?”
“This isn’t a game. This is war. Put your mercy away.”
“Ignir has already been sent to the Dragonpit. Right now I only have Cole at my side. This attack is one we’re staging ourselves. What happens next time?”
“If our plan fails because of your kindness, you and I will both die. What do you think Mother would feel, watching us from the heavens?”
Rhaenyra had no answer.
She drew a deep breath, and her eyes hardened.
“I understand. I’ll do as you say.”
Half a month later, lords from across the realm began arriving in King’s Landing for the council that would confirm the heir.
Cole pushed a wheelchair up to Baelon’s door, a cloth bundle slung over his back.
“Your Grace, everything is finished.”
Baelon didn’t even glance at the wheelchair.
His eyes stayed fixed on the bundle in Cole’s hand.
“Put the parts on the bed. We need to assemble it quickly. We’re almost out of time.”
Cole nodded, dumped the contents onto the bed, and waited for instructions.
Baelon dragged himself forward with effort and guided Cole piece by piece.
When the last part clicked into place, a compact repeating crossbow no longer than fifteen centimeters lay on the bed.
Baelon had Cole lift him back against the headboard.
He placed the crossbow across his lap, had Cole string it, and aimed at a wooden carving near the door.
With a soft thwack, the bolt buried itself five centimeters deep into the wood.
Baelon looked down at the weapon in his hands and smiled.
“The Seven were merciful. They left me enough strength to pull the trigger.”
Cole walked over, yanked the bolt free with effort, and said with genuine awe, “Your Grace, you’re a true genius. If something like this ever reached a battlefield, I can’t even imagine what it would do.”
“I can’t believe you drew something this deadly while lying in bed.”
Baelon felt a flicker of embarrassment.
It wasn’t genius.
It was just knowledge standing on the shoulders of giants.
To stop Cole from asking more questions, he changed the subject.
“The wheelchair is ready too. Put a cushion on it and take me to the Dragonpit.”
“I haven’t seen Ignir in half a month. He must miss me. He must be frightened.”
Cole quickly grabbed the soft padding he had prepared earlier and fitted it over the seat and backrest.
“Your Grace, you didn’t have to wait for the wheelchair. I could have carried you anytime.”
Baelon smiled.
“Inside the Red Keep it doesn’t matter. But if the smallfolk and the dragonkeepers see you carrying me, it won’t look good for your reputation.”
Cole’s hands paused for a moment.
He didn’t look up, but Baelon saw his eyes grow slightly wet.
“Your Grace, I don’t care about that.”
“But I do.”
Cole finished smoothing the cushion, roughly wiped his eyes with one hand, and turned to lift Baelon into the chair.
Baelon watched him and had to fight down a laugh.
I was only feeling a little awkward and made something up to spare his pride.
He actually got emotional over it.
He really is too easy to move.
Rhaenyra naturally accompanied them when Baelon left the Red Keep.
Once they were in the carriage, Baelon spoke quietly.
“Sister, after we return from the Dragonpit, go find Uncle Daemon. The plan happens tonight.”
“Time your dinner to match. Use the excuse that you’re tired from visiting the Dragonpit and have no appetite. That’s all.”
“Remember—act completely natural. Don’t let anyone notice anything strange.”
Rhaenyra nodded again and again, gripping her brother’s hand tightly.
At the Dragonpit, Ignir spotted Baelon sitting in the wheelchair and grew wildly excited.
He strained against the dragonkeepers’ wooden prods and the chain around his neck, desperate to reach his bonded rider.
Baelon ordered the keepers to remove the chain.
Ignir lunged forward, then stopped right in front of Baelon and gently rested his head on Baelon’s lap, terrified of hurting him.
Baelon stroked Ignir’s head and neck and leaned down to whisper near his ear.
“Ignir, wait just a little longer. Three days at most and I’ll bring you home. Be good and listen while you’re here.”
Ignir lifted his head and tilted it, blinking at Baelon as though he understood.
Baelon patted him happily.
“My most loyal companion. When you come back, I’ll feed you the best roasted meat.”
Night fell.
The Red Keep lay quiet.
Daemon led two loyal Gold Cloaks through a hidden passage into the castle.
The two men carried a large sack between them that looked heavy.
They reached Baelon’s door.
Cole glanced at Daemon, then at the sack, and quietly pushed the door open.