He had scarcely broken his fast when the news arrived, carried by a breathless guard who had clearly rushed through the winding corridors of the Red Keep to deliver his message.
Jace set down his cup of watered wine, his heart suddenly pounding against his ribs with an intensity that surprised him.
“Are you certain?” he asked the guard, his voice barely above a whisper.
The lanky man nodded vigorously, his wide forehead dotted with beads of sweat that glistened in the morning light streaming through the window.
“Yes, my prince.
Our party came upon the Arryn men just outside the city gates.
Your sister was with them.
She sent me ahead to inform you of her arrival.”
Jace was on his feet in an instant, his breakfast forgotten.
He waved for the chambermaid to fetch him his cloak, his movements quick and purposeful.
The girl scurried to obey, her eyes wide with curiosity at the sudden urgency in his demeanor.
“I shall greet her in the courtyard,” he declared, already striding toward the door.
“Shall I inform your mother, the Princess Rhaenyra, as well?” the guard asked, his voice hesitant.
“No,” Jace fired forcefully, spinning on his heel to face the man.
“Tell no one of this, understood?”
He was careful to lower his voice and square his jaw, projecting an authority that he did not entirely feel.
His attempt at intimidation certainly fell short of commanding, but the guard bowed his head nonetheless, accepting the command without question.
Fastening the cloak around his shoulders, Jace moved to exit the chamber.
His mother was not going to be pleased when she learned he had dragged Luce out here after all.
She had been adamant about keeping her daughter safe in the Eyrie, away from the vipers that infested the Red Keep.
But after the development with his grandsire, after the cold reception and the barely concealed hostility, he was immeasurably glad he had chosen to do it.
We need all the support we can muster.
Every sword, every voice, every ally was precious now.
Rhaena’s entreaty to Caelyn Velaryon had fallen through.
His cousin had sailed separately from them to Duskendale, where they had heard the lesser cousin of Lord Corlys had made port with his ship, the Proud Captain.
“If anyone will speak for our claim against Vaemond, it is him,” she had reasoned.
The man had had an eternal quarrel with their great-uncle and could scarce stomach being in the same room as him.
Sadly, that burning hatred did not prove great enough to lend them his support.
Three days after they had arrived at the capital, Rhaena had appeared at the gates with her escort and Ser Lorrent Marbrand in tow, bearing grim tidings.
She refused to repeat what her distant cousin had said.
But from the way her doe eyes had widened and her cheeks had bloomed red, Jace gathered the words had not been kind.
The knights of the Vale will serve instead.
They might not hold the same weight as a Velaryon, but they still had cause to argue their case on account of Lady Jeyne’s own position.
Nevertheless, Jace was not keen on it.
The court held many dangers for him and his family, but they were greatest for his twin.
An eye for an eye.
Years might have passed, but he had no doubt the greens meant to charge her for the blood she had split.
Let them try.
He was going to answer their demands with steel and dragonfire.
Rushing out of his chambers, he ignored the stares and whispers of the courtiers he encountered.
Their eyes followed him like hungry wolves, their tongues sharp with gossip and speculation.
Mother had been right.
The castle was no longer as vibrant as it had been in her youth.
Jace would not have minded that change.
He had always despised the lickspittles crawling about the Red Keep, seeking to ingratiate themselves with the royal family.
But the rats that had remained were all draped in green.
And they had no love for him or his mother.
The pointing and sneering was worse outside.
A crowd of spectators had gathered in the training yard to observe the men practicing their swordplay.
Jace waded through the press, resisting the urge to stop and gawk at the spectacle before him.
He recognized the newly appointed twins, Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk Cargyll, circling each other like cats, their swords at the ready.
Only a few feet away, the barrel-chested Addam Stokeworth was trying and failing to swing at Ronnet Hunt.
Each of his clumsy blows slid off Sir Hunt’s shield like raindrops until the hulking knight tired of the play and knocked the young squire flat on his backside.
Jace just about burst out laughing.
Gods, I missed this place.
It pained him to admit, especially since King’s Landing held so much danger for him and his family.
But it also housed some of the fondest memories of his youth.
The clangor of swords, the smell of steel and leather.
He even spotted that giant hole he had made in the wall when he and Aegon had played with Ser Criston’s morningstar.
If only things could have stayed so innocent.
Jace silently scolded himself.
Things had never been innocent, not for him.
He had just been too young and foolish to recognize the danger.
Edric Florent and his snickers, Aegon’s Marcher lords.
They had all worked behind his back, scheming his family’s downfall.
But he was blind no more.
He could see it everywhere now.
Every blow, parry, and dodge was not innocent sword training; it was the enemy preparing for war.
But the worst of it was right at the center of the yard.
He had noticed them the moment he had burst out onto the balcony overlooking the grounds.
The shock of silver hair billowing wildly as the figure evaded Ser Criston’s morningstar.
Jace had initially assumed it was Aegon.
But then he recalled that it was far too early for his half-uncle to be out of bed.
That only left one option.
Bile rose in his throat as he descended the steps and saw that long, austere face.
He has changed.
So much so that Jace could scarcely recognize him.
Aemond Targaryen had come a long way from the pasty, scrawny thing that would sit in the corner with his nose buried in a book.
He was almost a head taller than Jace now, with broad shoulders and a slender waist that spoke of hours of dedicated training.
However, despite his height, he was still light and swift on his feet, dodging Ser Criston’s swings with an almost preternatural grace.
Save for Daemon, Jace had never seen anyone be so graceful yet so precise with his sword.
When Ser Criston’s morningstar shattered his shield, Aemond discarded it and in two quick swings disarmed him of his own.
When Cole swung again, this time aiming to take off his head, Aemond first parried and then ducked out of the way.
When the knight tried to use his muscle to slam the morning star into his chest, Aemond deflected it and used the knight’s open side to knock the weapon out of his hand.
The force of the blow made Cole stumble to one knee, and the crowd erupted into a delighted cheer.
Jace too was half tempted to clap, but he stayed his hand.
Aemond did not need encouragement.
Smirking, he pressed the sword into Cole’s neck, his one remaining eye blazing a furious purple.
He had hidden the other behind an eyepatch, which made him look even more fearsome.
He had not aged much, but beside Aemond, he looked quite haggard.
“Well done, my prince.
You will be winning tourneys in no time.”
“I do not give a shit about tourneys,” Aemond retorted, his mouth twisting into a scowl.
“Again.”
“I believe we have done enough for today.
You must rest.”
“I will rest when I am dead.
Again.”
Ser Criston released a strangled breath, clearly unused to being ordered about so brusquely.
“If you wish, my prince, but you will forgive me if I rest.”
His half-uncle snorted, his pale fingers clutching at his sword hilt.
Jace swallowed hard when he realized the steel was live.
How could Cole allow live steel during sparring sessions?
“Fine then, I shall find someone else.” Aemond turned, combing through the gathered crowd with his one fierce eye.
None of the men stepped forward to answer his challenge.
“No one?
It seems all the men here are even more tired than you are, Ser Criston.”
Light chuckles followed his declaration.
“Perhaps some fresh blood, then.
Nephew?”
Jace’s muscles seized.
He had taken great care to blend in with the press of spectators, to always hover on Aemond’s blind side.
Still, his half-uncle had unearthed his hiding spot, his purple eye lashing him like a whip.
“What do you say?
Would you spar with me?”
His gaze invited the gawking of others.
Suddenly, all the gathered turned to face him, and a torrent of whispers began.
Jace felt the weight of their attention pressing down on him, heavy and unwelcome.
I am the blood of the dragon.
And he was not afraid.
“Hello to you as well, dear Uncle.” He stood straighter, forcing a smile onto his face.
“I must say I am disappointed.
Eight years apart and you seem to have forgotten your courtesies.”
“And you seem to have forgotten your balls.” Snickers rang in his ear as Aemond approached.
The crowd parted in his wake like a curtain before a king.
“Has time on Dragonstone turned your blood to water?
Come, let us spar for a bit.
I give you my word that I will be gentle.”
Jace gritted his teeth.
“I do not need the mercy of a boy I used to kick about in the training yard.”
To his relief, the snickers he heard were louder and went right to Aemond.
His half-uncle did not appreciate the jab.
“Things have changed.
And if your craven self would pick up a sword, I would be more than happy to prove that.”
For a moment, Jace just about swung at him.
That smug, self-satisfied scowl on his face was too much to bear.
But the thought of his mother’s reaction made him stop.
“As much as I would enjoy reliving our youth, I must decline.
I came as an escort, not a warrior.”
“A coward’s excuse.” Aemond’s sparse brow shot up, dragging the corner of his lips with it.
“No, a brother’s reason,” Jace retorted, moving to sidestep him.
For a moment, he thought Aemond would not allow it.
But the sound of creaking hinges distracted him long enough for Jacaerys to walk past him.
The oak and iron gate parted open to allow a group of men on horseback to ride in.
Jace frowned when he spied the green fret of House Hayford on their doublets.
Crownlands House.
Not what he was looking for.
His confusion shattered when a plain chestnut filly rode in after the Hayford men.
The willowy figure betrayed the rider as a woman, and the second she threw the hood off her head, Jace’s heart soared.
She is so different.
Like with Aemond, he could scarce recognize her.
Gone was that pudgy, sullen face and the wild, unkempt hair.
In their place stood delicate cheekbones and a thick, well-crafted braid that fell over one shoulder.
Even her posture was different.
Tall and straight, oozing the kind of dignified elegance he had only ever seen on their mother.
Jace had not even noticed he was drawing nearer until he was right at the foot of her horse.
“You are late,” he blurted, right as she dismounted with a loud thud of riding boots.
His surprise turned into familiar annoyance when his sister frowned, the same sour scowl she had given him since they were children.
“Three years apart and the first words you have for me are criticism?”
The chuckle escaped his lips before he could contain it.
Maybe not so different.
“Forgive me.
How about ‘you got taller’?”
Lucera released a labored sigh.
“So have you.
But not smarter.”
With a scoff, he swept her up in a tight embrace, crushing her against his chest.
“I have missed you,” he whispered, allowing that tender familiarity to blossom in his belly.
“Forgive me.
I wished to come sooner,” she murmured into his hair.
“But we were delayed.
At the Fingers, someone from my escort caught the flu, and it spread.
We were forced to make port at Wickendon.”
Pulling apart, she quickly adjusted the buttons on his coat.
He could feel curious eyes burrowing into him but resolved to pay them no mind.
“I meant to come here on dragonback, but Ser Joffrey insisted I take a ship with a smaller party and go ahead of them.”
Jace arched a brow.
“Ser Joffrey?
Cousin to Lady Jeyne?
The one who stands to inherit the Vale?”
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“The very same.”
“So you have brought an army.”
“Per your request.”
Relief bathed Jace like a wave crashing against the sand.
An ally at last.
“When will they be here?” he asked, scouring the yard for any sign of more arrivals.
“The main party?
At least a month’s ride away.
But the escort Ser Joffrey sent with me should be outside the city.
I left them there to fly to the pit on Arrax.”
It was his turn to smirk.
“Well, you did always enjoy dramatic entrances.”
“It does us good to remind the folk of this city of the blood that runs in our veins.”
He blew out a breath and averted his gaze.
Without a word, Luce’s hand slid into his.
Amid the tension, he found time to feel warmth.
Even after three years, she could still read his moods to a fault.
“Has Vaemond arrived yet?”
“No, he has not set sail.
Myrish pirates are circling Driftmark.
And since Grandmother is not too keen to mount Meleys to chase them off, he has been delayed.”
“Good, that means we have time to prepare.
I should go see Mother.
I have kept her waiting long enough.”
Jace averted his gaze.
“Well, not exactly…”
Luce frowned.
“You did not tell her you called me?
Jacaerys…”
“Because she would not have let me!
Part of the reason she sent you to the Eyrie is to keep you away from this nonsense.”
Shutting her eyes, a tired smile grazed her lips.
Jace felt such pity.
Still dreaming of adventure.
He may not have understood her yearning for the life of a commoner, but he valued the joy it brought her nonetheless.
“Would that that were possible,” she said softly.
Releasing a breath, Jace straightened.
“I will take you to her.
Explain everything…”
“No.
You will go to the old gate.
Ser Fedryn will be riding through there.
You want to give him a royal welcome befitting of his house.
I will handle Mother.”
Jace released a breath, a genuine smile spreading across his face.
“I really did miss you.”
Brushing her lips against his cheek, Luce dusted off her riding britches and smirked.
“I know.”
Side-stepping him, she handed him the reins of her chestnut filly.
Jace watched her trot toward the stairs, ignoring every pair of evil eyes gazing pointedly at her.
Sadly, she could not ignore the voice calling her name.
“Princess.” With a curt smile, Ser Criston Cole stepped forward, forcing the gathered spectators to disperse.
With his swarthy cheeks flushed and dark eyes alert, he looked like a stalking bobcat ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.
“You are back.
We were not expecting you.”
Jace just about leapt to put himself between the weasel and his sister, but Lucera’s easy grin stopped him.
“Oh trust me, Ser, I had no desire to leave the comforts of the Vale either.
But my mother had need of me.”
Ser Criston’s brows shot up in surprise, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
“Of course.
Shall I escort you to her?”
“No need.
I still know my way around.
But you can have Ser Harold and a few men escort my brother to the old gate.
We are expecting guests.”
Again, the knight’s dark brows creased, but he said nothing.
Jace scratched the filly behind the ear.
Years on, and she still knew how to handle their enemies.
Sadly, her next opponent proved to be a greater challenge.
No sooner had she passed Ser Criston than Aemond Targaryen materialized right before her, his purple eye wide and unblinking.
He stared Luce down, frozen in place, a most bitter scowl playing on his lips.
The malice was so palpable that Jace half expected him to lunge and impale her with the sword he had been waving at Criston.
Not today.
Grabbing his dagger hilt, Jace readied himself.
If the bastard wanted vengeance, then Jace was going to answer his demand with blood.
Luce denied him the chance.
Before Aemond could say or do anything, she merely sidestepped him and bolted up the stairs, not a single word spoken or glance exchanged.
Jace did not know whether to laugh or feel relieved.
She has put that business behind her.
The strange friendship they had shared had ended on the day she had taken his eye.
But the guilt, the guilt, had stayed her companion.
Jace worried she would carry it all her life and burden their cause with it.
No longer, it seems.
He needed to write Lady Jeyne a letter of gratitude.
She had pushed Aemond Targaryen out of his sister’s mind and heart.
Jace vaulted up onto the filly with a smirk.
Now we can really focus on the future.
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