Chapter 50: The Inevitable Betrayal

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Lanak Town, Inner Citadel — Governor's Study

"Here, the two of you take a look at this letter as well," said Jacaerys, his tone calm but laced with a hint of gravity.

Seated in a tall-backed chair carved from deep mahogany, the Dragonlord extended the letter he had just finished reading, handing it over to Stone who stood to his right.

Stone accepted the letter and read it carefully, his brows knitting together in thought. Once finished, he passed the document to Rudy, standing across from him.

Rudy scanned the contents quickly, then spoke without hesitation.

"Your Grace, Lord Baelor is requesting that you intercept the enemy fleet at the Straits of Lys. I believe it's a feasible plan. That strait is the only passage connecting Lys to Tyrosh and Myr. If we prepare that wildfire oil salve you devised ahead of time, we could annihilate even the largest of fleets in a single strike."

"The combined fleet has already fallen into an ambush once. I doubt they'd be careless enough to walk into another one so soon," Stone responded, not missing a beat. "Besides, I keep wondering whether the Kingdom of the Three Daughters has truly fractured, as we have been led to believe."

As soon as Rudy finished his statement, Stone picked up the thread of discussion, clearly not content with a one-dimensional reading of the situation.

Jacaerys let out a soft chuckle, his smile cold and sharp.

"You're both overlooking the key detail in that letter," he said, his voice calm yet compelling. "Let me give you a hint. The fleet of Volantis."

Stone and Rudy both grew quiet as the room fell into a moment of tense reflection.

"The Volantene fleet was divided in two," Rudy mused aloud. "One half joined us to pursue the enemy fleets that retreated from Lys. Wait, Your Grace… are you suggesting they lied? That they are setting us up to face both enemy fleets alone?"

Stone shook his head slowly, part in disagreement, part lost in thought.

"Volantis has no reason to lie. His Grace could simply mount his dragon and conduct reconnaissance himself. It would be child's play for him to track the movements of all three fleets."

He paused, eyes narrowing slightly as the pieces began to fall into place.

"One half of their fleet is chasing the enemy ships. The other half remains behind to lay siege to Lys… but why would they divide their forces like that?"

"Why?" Jacaerys echoed, his voice low and grim. "Because both enemy fleets are fleeing in our direction."

"But… they could've ignored us entirely," Rudy argued. "The enemy's strength has already been reduced by two-thirds. They could've focused all their might on taking Lys."

Stone frowned. "We are their allies."

"That's enough."

Jacaerys raised a hand, cutting the discussion short. His expression hardened as he delivered his conclusion.

"If I were in Volantis's position, I would do exactly what Stone suggested. Concentrate all my forces on capturing Lys first. As for us, and the two enemy fleets? Let us wear each other down. No matter who survives, their strength would be drastically diminished. And then Volantis could sweep in and finish off whoever is left."

His eyes flashed with cold insight.

"The Stepstones… every disputed island and channel would fall neatly into Volantis's hands. Abandoning all that for the sake of an alliance? I do not believe it for a moment."

A chill ran down Rudy's spine as realization dawned. His voice trembled slightly.

"Then… this is a trap. Meant for us?"

Jacaerys nodded with calm certainty. "Perhaps not only for us."

He then turned toward Stone and issued his command without hesitation.

"Stone, go inform Coleman. Tell him to personally oversee the preparations of every warship. At dawn tomorrow, we set sail. All forces will mobilize."

Stone was taken aback.

"All forces? But, Your Grace… what about the defenses of Lanark Island?"

Jacaerys's lips curled faintly.

"Why do you think Baelor was so insistent we move toward the Straits of Lys?" he asked rhetorically. "Because they fear the wildfire oil salve as well. Until the truth behind the destruction of the combined fleet is revealed, they won't dare enter Lanak's waters. That fear will hold them back."

Stone and Rudy looked at one another, awe flickering in their eyes. As they absorbed the full weight of their king's analysis, admiration welled up from deep within their hearts.

Since Jacaerys had set foot in the war-torn Stepstones, he had yet to taste a single defeat. He always foresaw the enemy's intentions, always struck before they could act.

In a world where power was everything, Jacaerys stood unmatched. In their eyes, there could be no greater king.

Stone had just turned to leave, orders fresh in his mind, when a sudden thought struck him. He halted, turned back, and asked,

"Your Grace, are we heading to Myr?"

Jacaerys's gaze turned distant.

"No," he replied quietly. "There is a debt that remains unpaid. It's time we collected."

---

Straits of Lys

The Straits of Lys was a narrow passage of water nestled between the island of Atlanti and the war-torn region known as the Disputed Lands. In the past, it had been a vital maritime hub, held firmly under the control of the combined fleet of the Kingdom of the Three Daughters.

However, ever since the devastating battle at Lanark's surrounding seas, this strategic corridor had been left unguarded. In the power vacuum that followed, it became a haven for small-time pirates and petty marauders, who preyed on passing merchant ships with impunity.

Today, the tides of fate shifted once more.

A massive fleet loomed on the horizon, slowly making its way toward the Straits of Lys. Over forty large warships took point, accompanied by more than a hundred medium and smaller vessels. The armada stretched across the sea in a dark line, blotting out the waves like a looming shadow.

The pirates who had thrived in these waters—scavengers who survived by extorting defenseless traders—were struck with terror at the sight. Faced with such overwhelming force, many fled at once, steering clumsily in their panic. Others abandoned ships entirely, throwing themselves into the sea in a desperate bid to escape what they believed would be certain death.

Yet there was something strange about the fleet's formation.

The smaller vessels had been positioned at the front, sailing far ahead of the medium and large warships that followed. It was clear to any seasoned sailor that the light ships were meant to serve as cannon fodder—sacrificial bait in the event of an ambush.

This vast force was, in truth, a patchwork of the two fleets that had recently retreated from Lys.

What should have been a single-day journey through the strait stretched into three long, cautious days

And then, as they emerged into the open waters beyond, they saw it.

Warships flying the roaring tiger-head banner of Volantis filled the sea before them, sails billowing as they caught the wind. The Volantene fleet had taken the longer route around the outer sea, arriving in time to block their escape.

What happened next defied belief.

For nearly thirty years, Volantis and the Kingdom of the Three Daughters had been bitter enemies, locked in brutal war, their hatred etched into every battle-scarred hull and every bloodstained deck.

And yet now, they floated side by side in an eerie, uneasy silence. No arrows were loosed. No challenge was issued. The sea, which had so often run red between them, remained still.

Soon after, the leaders of both fleets gathered aboard the Lyseni flagship, a vessel grandly named the Perfumed Garden.

"Lord Baelor, welcome aboard the Perfumed Garden," said Magister Aloma of Lys, his smile broad and polished. He extended both arms in a theatrical gesture as Baelor stepped aboard with several dozen well-armed guards.

But Baelor, stern-faced and cold-eyed, ignored the pleasantries. His voice was sharp, his words direct.

"You swore, the other night, that this trap would succeed. So where, Magister Aloma, is Jacaerys Velaryon's fleet?"

Aloma's smile faltered, but he maintained his composure. "Perhaps he spotted your fleet from the sky, riding his dragon. He may have seen your maneuver around the outer sea."

"Impossible," Baelor snapped, waving a dismissive hand. "We've kept watch over the skies without pause. Not even a seagull could have passed without our notice."

His sharp gaze shifted to the men standing behind Aloma—the other commanders of the Combined Fleet. His voice dropped, thick with suspicion.

"Or perhaps... this Valyrian alliance we forged is nothing more than a ruse. A ploy by the Kingdom of the Three Daughters to buy time for themselves—at our expense."

"Bah!" A burly man with a long scar down his cheek barked in fury. "You're nothing but a Volantene pirate dressed in noble robes! If you don't want the alliance, then let's keep fighting! Don't think we fear you!"

That man was Magister Kumani of Tyrosh, known for his explosive temper and tasked with overseeing Tyrosh's contingent of the fleet.

"Compose yourself, Magister Kumani," another voice interjected coolly. "Magister Aloma speaks the truth in the High Council—we are all descendants of Old Valyria. Whether our roots lie in Volantis or the Kingdom of the Three Daughters, the same blood runs through our veins. It is the Targaryens and Velaryons who fled to Westeros that are the true traitors. Cowards, every last one of them."

"And let's not forget," added another, "that demon commands more than a dragon. He wields a fire that could only have come from the depths of the Seven Hells."

"Yes, yes, let's all remain calm," several commanders chimed in, voices raised in an uneasy chorus as they tried to temper the growing tension.

Kumani snorted derisively. "To hell with your High Council! The last time you called a meeting in Lys, our Archon of Tyrosh, Pachek, didn't even attend. I don't recognize its authority!"

"Magister Kumani."

Aloma's voice was suddenly cold. He turned to face Kumani directly, his tone devoid of its earlier civility.

"Do you know why I insisted on blending our soldiers from all three cities into mixed units?"

Kumani squinted, confused. "Didn't you say it was to spread out the damage from that hellfire?"

"That was the secondary reason," Aloma said quietly. "The real reason... was to make it easier to eliminate Tyroshi traitors like you."

Before Kumani could react, Aloma drew a slender, gleaming dagger from his sleeve and drove it straight into Kumani's heart.

The sound of tearing flesh echoed across the deck.

And as if triggered by that single motion, chaos erupted.

Aboard the Perfumed Garden, the Tyroshi soldiers, unaware of the trap, were suddenly and violently struck down by their supposed allies. Lyseni and Myrish soldiers turned on them without hesitation, cutting them down in a brutal and coordinated ambush.

Baelor, standing to the side, watched the carnage unfold with a faint smirk curling the corner of his lips. The Kingdom of the Three Daughters had turned on itself, just as he had expected.

With the Tyroshi forces either slaughtered or captured, the betrayal was swift and ruthless. It was a calculated bloodletting, veiled as military necessity.

And so the act of betrayal, so natural and so inevitable in the eyes of those who wield power, was carried out with chilling efficiency.

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[Chapter End's]

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