**Chapter 221: The Peril of Lys**  

"How did you find me?" 

Rhaegar asked in confusion. 

Jeyne opened her mouth slightly, then cautiously said, "Rhaenyra couldn't keep control of the military authority and failed to borrow troops, right?" 

"Nothing gets past you," Rhaegar replied with a smile. 

"In a city as vast as King's Landing, there are no secrets." 

Jeyne spoke candidly, unafraid of displeasing Rhaegar, the master of the place. 

Rhaegar knew she was speaking the truth and did not deny it. 

"You want to counterattack the Three Daughters, but you don't have enough troops," Jeyne said worriedly, analyzing the situation for him. "You have 1,200 Dragon Guards and a few hundred men from the Second Sons. Given your influence, even if the king revokes your military authority, you should still be able to rally around a thousand men to serve you." 

"Altogether, that makes about three thousand." 

"But even with a strong defensive force on Bloodstone Island, it's still far from enough." 

Rhaegar listened intently and acknowledged Jeyne's calculations. 

After thinking for a moment, he said, "The Three Daughters are three separate city-states, their forces are scattered. It's a battle worth fighting." 

Jeyne took both of his hands in hers, her soft face filled with worry. 

"Jeyne, don't try to stop me," Rhaegar warned in advance. 

"Wrong guess. I never intended to stop you." 

Jeyne rolled her eyes at him with mock annoyance, then pulled him toward the gates of the Dragonpit. Her voice was firm: "I brought two hundred Vale knights with me when I arrived in King's Landing. Take them all—they'll give you a better chance of success." 

The golden glow of the sunset spilled onto the steps of the Dragonpit. 

Rhaegar looked down. 

Two hundred fully armed, imposing Vale knights stood at attention at the base of the stairs. 

"Prince!!..." 

The Vale knights shouted in unison, striking the ground with their spears in a synchronized, drum-like rhythm. 

Rhaegar was momentarily stunned, then asked in surprise, "You're giving me all your knights? Who will protect you?" 

"You need them more than I do." 

Jeyne's voice was resolute. 

"Jeyne, I may not be able to bring them back alive." 

Rhaegar warned her grimly. 

Jeyne stepped closer, cupping his face in her hands. She bit her lower lip gently. "Just come back... with news of victory." 

"You think I can win?" 

Rhaegar had thought that, after losing his father's support, no one believed he could defeat the Three Daughters. 

"You are a true dragon—you will win." 

Jeyne's words were unwavering, her gaze filled with deep affection. 

Rhaegar's breath hitched, his heart pounding violently. 

A sudden understanding struck him—an understanding more moving than any words. 

Jeyne leaned in even closer, their faces separated by less than the width of a finger. Her breath was warm as she whispered, "You once said that people should follow their hearts. You can't run from me." 

Rhaegar frowned slightly. 

"Stop overthinking. If worst comes to worst, just marry both of us." 

Jeyne was bolder than he had imagined. She kissed him directly. 

Their lips and tongues intertwined as they held each other tightly. 

Moments later— 

Jeyne glanced at the Vale knights below the steps and softly murmured, "Let's go back to the Red Keep. Not here." 

A flicker of thought passed through Rhaegar's eyes. Then, in a low voice, he said, "Alright." 

— 

The next morning. 

Dawn was breaking, and fresh morning dew clung to the budding leaves. 

Inside the chamber— 

Rhaegar's body was burning hot, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He leaned back against a rocking chair, his eyes unfocused. 

"Rhaegar, it's morning." 

A sticky voice, slightly husky, broke the silence. 

Jeyne straddled him on the chair, pressing tightly against him, her arms wrapped around his neck. 

Sweat dampened their tangled hair. 

Rhaegar tilted his head back, sweat dripping down his face as he exhaled warm breaths. 

After an exhausting night, he was completely spent. 

After a moment, he gently stroked the soft beauty in his arms and whispered, "You're really insatiable." 

"I couldn't help myself. It hurt me too, you know." 

Jeyne buried her face in his chest, savoring the lingering warmth. 

Everyone outside called her the "Maiden of the Vale." 

But after much effort, she had finally claimed the man she wanted. 

Of course, she had to indulge herself fully. 

After a brief moment of tenderness, Rhaegar slowly opened his eyes. 

Jeyne quickly lifted her hips and warned anxiously, "Rhaegar, you're still young. Don't exhaust yourself completely." 

Rhaegar took a deep breath and pulled himself out of the intoxicating embrace. 

Jeyne was completely satisfied. 

But he was dangerously close to getting addicted. He needed to know his limits. 

Wiping the sweat from his body, Rhaegar said, "I have to go. Stay in the Red Keep and don't wander around." 

"I'll wait for your good news." 

Jeyne slumped back in the rocking chair, too drained to even lift her eyelids. 

**Bang—** 

The door opened and then closed again. 

For a long while, there was only silence. 

Jeyne endured the soreness in her body as she walked back to the bed and lay down, sighing softly. 

"Baolan, come in for a moment." 

**Creak—**

The door opened, and a brown-haired girl walked in. 

Janie pulled a thin blanket over herself, propped a goose-feather pillow under her lower back, and bent her legs to lift her hips. 

After settling in, she gently said, "Go get me a cup of tea from Grand Maester Melros." 

"Yes." 

The brown-haired girl obeyed. 

Before long, she returned with a steaming cup of medicinal tea on a tray. 

Janie took the cup, blew on it forcefully, and gulped it down in large mouthfuls. 

Once she finished drinking, she noticed a peculiar gaze watching her. 

Janie valued this maid who had been serving her for a month. With a knowing smile, she reassured her, "It's fertility tea. Don't overthink it." 

Simply consummating wasn't enough—she needed to ensure everything went as planned. 

Baolan nodded, took the empty cup and tray, and left. 

Exhausted, Janie lay back and quickly drifted off to sleep. 

--- 

**Three days later.** 

On Bloodstone Island. 

Warships were moored along the coastline as soldiers boarded in an orderly fashion. 

On the deck, Rhaegar gazed toward Essos. 

"Rhaegar, are you out of your mind? You dare defy Father's orders?" 

Aegon rushed up from behind, his voice urgent with accusation. 

Snapping back to reality, Rhaegar replied, "I'm leaving you three thousand men to garrison Bloodstone Island. That should be enough." 

"That's not the point!" 

Aegon shook his head in frustration, nearly in despair. "You're taking two thousand men to attack Tyrosh! If Father finds out, he'll kill me!" 

The king's decree had arrived two days earlier. 

Yet Rhaegar had mobilized 1,200 Dragon Guards and 600 Second Sons. 

With an additional 200 Vale knights, the total force stood at exactly 2,000 men. 

Aegon had received a separate order: 

Keep Rhaegar in check. Prevent war. 

Or else, Father would break his legs. 

While Aegon was still losing his mind over this, Lannino came running up the deck. 

"Cousin, the ships are ready." 

Lannino hesitated for a moment, then said apologetically, "I can't disobey the king's command, but I can at least help cover for you—divert the attention of the Three Daughters." 

Rhaegar had assigned him a thousand soldiers and ten warships to approach the Three Daughters. 

But he wouldn't engage in battle—just create a distraction. 

Rhaegar clapped him on the shoulder and smiled. "That's enough." 

"Rhaegar, you're going to get me killed." 

Aegon, his hair a tangled mess, was practically jumping with anxiety. 

Rhaegar placed a firm hand on his shoulder, his expression serious. "I will take full responsibility for the consequences. You won't be dragged into this." 

But Aegon remained unconvinced. 

Seeing no other option, Rhaegar pulled him aside and lowered his voice. "Aegon, you're my brother—the eldest after me." 

Aegon blinked in confusion. 

Leaning in, Rhaegar whispered, "Hold Bloodstone Island. If something happens to me, you'll have to carry the burden of protecting our family." 

"What?" 

Aegon's eyes widened in shock, thinking he had misheard. 

Rhaegar's face remained solemn. "If I win, you'll be my greatest ally. If I lose…" 

He paused, leaving the sentence unfinished. 

A shiver ran down Aegon's spine as he instinctively filled in the missing words. 

If Rhaegar lost—if he died— 

Then wouldn't that mean…? 

Seeing his reaction, Rhaegar pressed further. "So? Can you hold Bloodstone Island?" 

Aegon's attitude shifted in an instant. He nodded decisively. "Yes! Unless the enemy steps over my and Sunfyre's dead bodies." 

"Good. That's my brother." 

Rhaegar smiled, leaving Aegon to stew in his thoughts. 

Everything was ready. 

The soldiers boarded. Departure was imminent. 

Rhaegar surveyed the gathered men, standing tall and proud. 

*Shing!* 

In the next moment, he unsheathed his dragon-claw sword and raised it high. 

"Men, our target is the Three Daughters! Let Essos remember the terror of dragons!" 

"Screeeeech—" 

Four dragon cries echoed through the sky as massive shadows swept across the sea, soaring toward the horizon. 

In an instant, the winds howled, churning the waves into a furious surge. 

The soldiers watched the scene unfold, their boundless courage surging as they shouted in unison: 

"Attack the Kingdom of the Three Daughters! Conquer Essos!" 

Sensing their fighting spirit, Rhaegar raised his sword and bellowed, "Set sail! Depart at once!" 

"Whoooo—" 

The departure horn sounded, and the fleet set off. 

… 

Tyrosh. 

Across the entire city-state, scorpion ballistae were mounted atop every tower. 

The port had been cleared of ships, and lines of slaves blocked the main roads, forming the first line of defense. 

Dense ranks of black-armored soldiers stood in perfect formation, gripping long spears and round shields. 

Each soldier wore a stoic expression, their eyes radiating killing intent—these were clearly the finest of the elite. 

They were the most formidable slave soldiers—the Unsullied. 

An elderly man in a brocade robe stood beside them, holding a whip engraved with a harpy. 

"Damn those Myrish black slaves, fleeing in the face of battle," he cursed after counting the Unsullied. 

One of Myr's governors, a dark-skinned, obese man, had deserted with the five hundred Unsullied under his command. 

Behind the elderly man, Lysandro spoke indifferently, "He spent his entire fortune to buy those Unsullied. It's only natural that he wouldn't want them to die." 

"Forget him. I'm heading back to the bunker." 

Uneasy, the elderly man left the slaves and the Unsullied to defend the port. 

Lysandro watched him leave, raising the whip in his hand slightly. 

The three thousand Unsullied had been a joint purchase. 

The elderly man had bought one thousand himself. 

Lysandro and four of Myr's governors had each acquired five hundred, totaling two thousand. 

After a moment of contemplation, Lysandro cracked his whip and commanded, "Unsullied, follow me!" 

Clatter— 

Five hundred Unsullied stepped forward. 

Lysandro led them to a secluded coastline, where several small boats lay anchored. 

Staying in Tyrosh to face dragons was an unwise decision. 

He was leaving, too. 

… 

Night fell in an instant. 

Once a city of bustling noise and endless revelry, Tyrosh now lay eerily silent. 

The elderly man and a group of high-ranking officials and wealthy merchants huddled in the bunker, praying that the Unsullied would defeat the demon dragon. 

They had already received the news. 

The warships of Bloodstone Island, accompanied by a dragon, were closing in on Tyrosh. 

A patrol ship had also spotted the fleet—its course was unmistakably aimed at Tyrosh. 

"Listen… do you hear anything outside?" 

They waited anxiously, growing restless in the suffocating silence. 

However— 

The waters outside the port remained eerily empty. 

No fleet appeared. 

… 

Lys, one of the Three Daughters. 

The port was packed with merchant ships. 

The city glowed brightly, its streets lined with brothels and pleasure houses. 

Laughter and indulgence filled the air. 

Out on the calm sea— 

Under the cover of night, warships silently approached from the distance. 

On the deck— 

Rhaegar, clad in a black robe, stood with a murderous gaze. 

(End of Chapter)