It was afternoon when the Sea Snake's fleet dropped anchor at the docks of Claw Isle. Sunlight filtered through the mist of Blackwater Bay, plating this island in the sea with a layer of hazy golden light.
Claw Isle wasn't large, but like a curled crab, it embraced the harbor. The castle of House Celtigar sat at the highest point of the island. Its grey-black stone walls gleamed coldly in the sun, and the banner flying atop the tower was faintly visible—on a white field, countless small red crabs were scattered like spilled blood beads.
"That is the sigil of House Celtigar." Corlys Velaryon stood on the deck of the Sea Snake, handing Daemon a Myrish lens. "See those little crabs? Bartimos Celtigar is just like them—shrewd, troublesome, and everywhere."
Daemon looked through the lens. Countless eyes seemed to be peeping from the castle windows. "I will remember."
The Sea Snake patted his shoulder, a hint of advice in his tone. "This fellow is a pure merchant; he sees only profit. His goodwill towards you is merely because he eyes your Targaryen blood and those two dragons."
He paused, lowering his voice. "Don't be deceived by his sweet words, and don't reveal your fangs easily."
Daemon smiled. "You are a legend who has completed nine voyages; you should know that for a 'ship,' a 'storm' can be both an aid to the 'voyage' and the source of its destruction."
Surprise flashed in the Sea Snake's eyes, followed by loud laughter. "Well said! Truly Aemon's son and my Rhaenys's brother." He turned toward the gangway. "How can a sailor fear the voyage because of wind and waves? The greater the storm, the more expensive the fish. I await your news in Braavos."
As the fleet slowly left the dock, Daemon could still see the Sea Snake waving to him from the deck.
The Cannibal and Dreamfyre circled high above, letting out low dragon roars, as if seeing off this legendary fleet.
"Prince Daemon, welcome to Claw Isle!" A shrill voice suddenly sounded. Daemon turned to see a slightly portly middle-aged man walking briskly "just right." He wore a deep red satin robe, collar and cuffs embroidered with gold-thread crabs. His face was piled with an enthusiastic smile, but his eyes were like abacus beads, quickly scanning Daemon and the retinue behind him.
"Lord Bartimos Celtigar." Daemon extended his hand for a loose shake.
The man's palm was very soft and carried the scent of spices.
"It is I." Bartimos bowed, his movements exaggerated and fawning. "To welcome a Prince and Princess of Targaryen is Claw Isle's honor, and the glory of House Celtigar." His gaze landed on Gael, calculation flashing in his eyes before he piled on the smile again. "This must be Princess Gael? Truly the image of Queen Alysanne in her youth, beautiful and moving."
Gael nodded slightly, expressionless. Mysaria stood behind her, warily watching this overly enthusiastic lord.
The luxury inside Castle Celtigar far exceeded Daemon's imagination. Myrish carpets hung on the corridor walls, smooth marble paved the floors, and Volantene glass lamps every few steps illuminated gold and silver vessels and jeweled goblets in the corners.
"The Celtigars have actually been wealthy since the Conqueror's time," Rayford Rosby whispered to Daemon.
Daemon didn't speak. His gaze was drawn to a portrait on the wall—the man in the painting wore the robes of the Hand of the King, his face somewhat resembling Bartimos.
"That is my great-great-grandfather, Lord Edwell Celtigar, Hand of the King to Maegor the Cruel and Jaehaerys the Conciliator." Bartimos noticed his gaze, pride in his tone. "Our House Celtigar has been House Targaryen's most loyal ally since before the Conquest."
Dinner was held in the castle's Great Hall. The long table was laden with delicacies—roast swan, stewed sea turtle, honeyed figs, and countless bottles of wine from across the Narrow Sea.
Bartimos sat beside the main seat, constantly serving Daemon and Gael food, flattery pouring from his mouth like a tide.
"I heard the Prince won the hearts of many nobles on Crackclaw Point?" Bartimos sipped his wine, asking seemingly casually. "As the Guardian of Crackclaw Point, House Celtigar is naturally willing to pledge allegiance to the Prince alongside the peninsula."
Daemon's fingers paused on his cup. He knew about House Celtigar self-proclaiming as Guardian of Crackclaw Point, and that the locals didn't recognize it at all. "Lord Bartimos jokes. I merely quelled a wildling rebellion; I cannot speak of winning hearts."
"The Prince is too modest." Bartimos laughed, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes bunching up. "I also heard many Crownlands lords sent their second sons to follow the Prince. A pity, besides a bunch of daughters, I only have my eldest son Clement; otherwise, I would also want to send offspring to follow the Prince." He clapped his hands. A thin boy and several young ladies in gorgeous dresses walked in. "This is my son Clement; he's only good at counting accounts since childhood, no other skills. These are my daughters and nieces. If the Prince and Princess deem them worthy, please take them as attendants."
Clement bowed to Daemon, eyes dodging, clearly uncomfortable in such a setting.
The young ladies lowered their heads, cheeks slightly red, stealing glances at Daemon.
Gael frowned slightly, leaning closer to Daemon.
Mysaria also sensed the atmosphere was off and quietly blocked in front of Gael.
Bartimos seemed not to notice their discomfort, continuing: "Prince, think about it. Your and Princess Gael's dragons, plus Princess Rhaenys's dragon—three great dragons against Prince Baelon's family's two. Who is stronger is clear at a glance. Plus our Celtigar and Velaryon fleets... it's practically the Conqueror reborn, enough to conquer the Seven Kingdoms again!"
As soon as these words came out, the atmosphere in the hall froze instantly.
Rayford Rosby's hand subconsciously went to his sword hilt. Mycah Rivers also looked at Bartimos warily.
Daemon finally set down his cup, his face calm and rippleless. "My Lord, I am tired." He stood up. "Besides, Uncle Baelon treats me extremely well..."
Gael and Mysaria stood up immediately. Daemon's retinue also rose, the sound of chairs scraping filling the hall.
Bartimos froze, clearly not expecting Daemon to refuse so directly.
But he quickly piled on the smile again. "I misspoke; Prince, do not blame me. Come, take the Prince and Princess to rest."
The young ladies hurried forward, wanting to support Daemon and Gael, but were stopped by a look from Daemon.
Back in the room, Gael finally breathed a sigh of relief, leaning pale-faced into Daemon's arms. "That Lord is scary."
"Don't worry, I'm here." Daemon stroked her long hair. Mysaria tactfully and skillfully leaned nearby.
Late at night, Daemon looked at the sleeping Gael in his arms, then at Mysaria curled up in the outer room, and couldn't help thinking of Bartimos's fawning face.
This man was indeed disgusting, just like in history—shrewd as a burrowing rat, unscrupulous for profit.
But undeniably, he was capable. House Celtigar accumulating such wealth and holding important positions multiple times in the Targaryen dynasty was no accident.
"Noble knights and wise ministers are precious," Daemon muttered to himself, "but villains and ambitious subjects also have their uses." He genuinely loathed a petty man like Bartimos. But perhaps one day, the calculations of someone like Bartimos Celtigar could also become a knife in his hand.
Outside the window, the waves of Claw Isle crashed against the rocks, making a dull sound, like countless crabs crawling in the dark.
Daemon knew that on this seemingly peaceful island, undercurrents were already surging. And his tour had a long way to go.
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