"Are these your new followers?" Mysaria took a sip of tea and continued calmly.
"Wild seeds left behind by Princess Saenera."
"Silver hair and violet eyes—such a textbook Targaryen look."
Jacaerys's remaining eye narrowed slightly.
"They have Targaryen blood.
My mother and Prince Daemon accepted them."
"The prince accepts them because they are useful," Mysaria said with a faint smirk.
"As for your mother, Rhaenyra has rewarded them…"
She set the cup down.
"So what is it you're doing—showing them off?
Still trying to prove something, Jace?"
Jacaerys's fists clenched beneath the table.
This woman seemed able to see straight through him. Every conversation with her felt like being flayed alive.
"I need your help with something," he said at last, steering away from the subject, his eye fixed on her.
"It's important."
Mysaria leaned back in her chair, her expression relaxed.
"It's written all over your face," she said lightly.
"It's murderous—almost smoking."
Jacaerys spoke, his voice low and thick with restrained killing intent.
"Aemond is betrothed to Helaena."
"I want you to help me kill Aemond."
The air in the chamber froze.
The faint smile vanished from Mysaria's face. She stared at Jacaerys for a long moment.
"Say that again."
"Aemond Targaryen," Jacaerys said, forcing out each word through clenched teeth.
"I want him dead."
Mysaria shook her head.
"I can't."
"Why?" Jacaerys rose to his feet.
"You control the criminal intelligence networks.
You've operated in King's Landing for more than ten years—surely you still have people."
"I had," Mysaria interrupted.
"Do you know what Aemond did in King's Landing?"
Jacaerys shook his head warily.
"He kept a flock of little birds," Mysaria said.
"Street children. They beg, they steal—or so it seems. In truth, they memorize faces and listen."
She sighed.
"He also planted watchers inside the Red Keep.
They don't arrest. They don't interfere. They only observe and record."
"When he learns something, his men descend like sharks smelling blood."
"My entire intelligence network—ten years of work—was dismantled by him in half a year."
"What remains, I keep dormant for the sake of others."
"And now you ask me to throw those precious hands into a suicidal mission?"
Jacaerys stood rigid behind the table, chest heaving. He slammed his fist down.
"Then what about Helaena?"
"Kill her. If she dies, Aemond will suffer."
"He'll lose control. He'll make mistakes."
Mysaria looked at the furious youth.
She rose, walked around the table, and stopped before him.
She had always been calm—almost cynical.
Now there was something else in her eyes.
Gravity. Even… compassion.
"Look at me," she said.
"Look into my eyes, and say it again."
"Say you want me to kill Helaena Targaryen."
"You want me to murder a princess who has never harmed anyone—
just to make Aemond suffer?"
Jacaerys turned his eye away.
Then the hatred flared again.
"She's a Green!"
"Her family is usurping my mother's throne!"
"So you want to punish her?" Mysaria asked quietly.
"Use her blood to avenge something she never did?"
"Jace," she said softly,
"do you hate Helaena… or do you hate yourself for never being able to have her?"
The words struck like a dagger, precise and merciless.
Mysaria sighed.
She crossed to a wooden cabinet, opened a drawer, and removed a small vial of dark violet liquid.
"Essence of the sleeping flower," she said, placing it on the table.
"It will calm you."
"Drink a little. You need it."
"I don't need—"
"You do," Mysaria cut in sharply.
"You're like a rabid dog—unleashed, snapping at everything in sight."
Jacaerys stared at her, fists clenched.
At last, he grabbed the vial, pulled the stopper, and drank.
The sweet-bitter liquid slid down his throat, cool and numbing.
When his breathing steadied, Mysaria continued:
"Listen. Even if I were mad enough to gather what little strength remains and strike at him in the Red Keep—what are the odds of success?"
"And even if it worked—what then?"
She raised a finger.
"First, the Greens would go mad—and you would be provoking open war."
"Second, the lords of the Seven Kingdoms would rally to the Greens. Killing an innocent princess is moral suicide."
"Third—what would your mother think of you?
Kinslaying. Would Rhaenyra ever forgive that?"
She watched his face drain of color.
"And more importantly—do you think the Greens are incapable of the same?"
"They have more gold. More men."
"The reason I never sent assassins after your mother, after Daemon, after you—
was not mercy."
"It was because I despise such methods."
"And because the line has not yet been crossed."
"Once it is, this stops being a succession conflict and becomes slaughter."
Jacaerys sank back into his chair, numbness spreading through his limbs from the drug.
"So… there's nothing we can do?"
"We just wait here?"
"Watch them win?"
"Who said you can do nothing?" Mysaria said, folding her fingers on the table.
"There is one thing—and only you can do it."
Jacaerys looked up.
"Your dragon," Mysaria said.
"Vermax.
And Arrax, ridden by Lucerys.
And Tyraxes, ridden by Joffrey."
"Three young dragons, now confined in the Dragonpit of King's Landing."
"But not all the guards there are Green dogs."
Jacaerys's eye widened as he leaned forward.
"You mean—"
"There are our people in the Dragonpit," Mysaria said, a faint smile touching her lips.
Fire flared in Jacaerys's gaze.
"When?"
"How do I contact them?"
"Not yet," Mysaria interrupted.
His excitement collapsed.
Seeing the disappointment in his eyes, she softened slightly.
"Patience, Jace.
Wait until the enemy reveals weakness.
Wait until every condition favors you—and then…"
She did not finish.
Jacaerys understood.
"I can wait," he said quietly.
"But when the time comes, I must take back what is mine."
"Vermax is my dragon. He knows my blood."
"As long as I can reach him—"
"You will reclaim him," Mysaria said.
Then she added casually:
"I've also heard…
you're training those Targaryen bastards on the island."
Jacaerys stiffened.
"How do you know?"
Mysaria smiled.
"Jace, I run intelligence."
"On this island, I know how many holes the rats dig."
"You think you can secretly train bastards and I wouldn't notice?"
Jacaerys was silent for a long moment.
"The Blacks need more people," he said at last.
"They have Targaryen blood. They're naturally bound to the family."
"They'll be the most loyal guards my mother could have."
"Just guards?" Mysaria stared at him.
Jacaerys met her gaze steadily.
"Just guards."
"Very well," Mysaria said, looking away.
"Go back and rest, child."
She lowered her head and returned to her work.