-Chapter 185-
-3rd POV-
Two days had passed since the death of the future King Consort Laenor Velaryon, and since then, the undercurrents of the capital had been churning restlessly, especially with the investigation led by the new Goldcloaks.
The latter, commanded by the Hand's cousin, tackled the task with vigor and tried to find the perpetrator of the misdeed.
In vain.
Identification had not been a problem, as the culprit had immediately deserted.
Unfortunately, no matter how ardently the search was conducted, no one managed to lay hands on the assassin, which only increased the number of raids by the Guard as well as the tension in the city, deeply worrying the population.
They could not have known that the man they were looking for was already no longer of this world, having been chopped into pieces to be served in bowls of brown in the slums of the capital.
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-POV Aemon Targaryen-
"DRACARYS"
"We won't find him, will we?" Laena asked me softly.
Looking at her in profile, I could see her focused and tense expression as she watched Meleys incinerate her brother's corpse at her mother's command, avoiding fully engaging in our conversation so as not to reveal the swirling emotions raging within her.
I placed a hand on her waist and whispered seriously in her ear:
"I will find him."
"But will you find him alive?" she asked me.
I remained silent for a moment, because even though I desperately wanted to find Laenor's lover, I could not ignore the possibility that the true mastermind had already killed Qarl.
Laenor's lover was no longer of any use.
He was a useless thorn in the side of the person who ordered the murder, as he was the only one who could accurately identify the one who gave the order.
'If it were me, I would have killed him without hesitation,' I thought coldly.
I had learned from Larys.
"I will find the culprit," I said. I couldn't promise her anything else.
I had a fairly good idea of who the mastermind behind the assassination could be, as the main beneficiary of this death was quite obvious.
Although slight doubts had begun to arise ever since I learned that she had tried to propose an alliance between our children.
'Which will obviously never happen.'
And if Rhaenyra decides she is strong enough to no longer fear anything, because I still outwardly support her legitimate claim to the crown, I will blow in the opposite direction.
'Alicent will no doubt seize the opportunity,' I thought, reflecting on the surprising behavior she had shown since her father's death.
She constantly sought my approval, my attention, and I even had the impression she was trying to… seduce me.
'She's giving it her all,' I thought as I turned slightly to glance at the queen, who remained dignified despite still being in mourning.
Aside from sleeping with a woman who wasn't one of my wives—which already prevented me from giving her the attention she seemed to seek—it was also the fact that I couldn't forget that I had killed her father.
'And neither could she.'
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-3rd POV-
While the royal family and their close ones gathered to attend the incineration and funeral of the late Prince Consort Laenor Velaryon, in a dark alley of the capital, two men met, both cloaked in brown capes hiding their faces.
"I did what you asked of me, Ser," said one of the two, who seemed to be the servant of the other.
"What did you do with the body of the sword swallower's lover?" asked the knight, whose calm tone still betrayed a certain anxiety at times.
"I did everything as planned," the other man replied, without elaborating.
"Give me the details," said the knight more pressingly.
"Just as I told you beforehand, I had some commoners deal with his body as they would with a pig," the servant answered.
"And then?" the knight pressed again, looking quite tense.
Without hurrying, the servant replied calmly:
"Then they will dispose of him by serving bowls of brown to the starving beggars in the slums, erasing all trace of him forever."
"And the rest?" asked the knight, still tense.
"His bones were buried outside the city…" the servant replied, but he didn't even have time to finish his sentence before the knight cut him off:
"And his clothes? His gear?"
"His clothes and the items he was carrying with him were melted and burned in a forge run by a man I paid. He knows nothing and will keep his mouth shut," said the servant in a confident, reassuring tone, showing how much he trusted his methods.
The knight let out a slight sigh and calmed down before finally asking:
"Do they know who that person was?"
"No, but they're not fools. Some have their doubts because of the aggressive arrests made by the Goldcloaks," the servant said, then quickly added upon noticing his master's frown: "But no one will talk, because they're already complicit. They'd all risk the gallows."
The knight nodded, visibly reassured, before looking up again and asking:
"You didn't tell them who you were working for, did you?"
"No, never. I'm ready to swear it before the Seven," the man said, pulling out a seven-pointed star attached to a necklace he wore around his neck.
"Very well," said the knight, reassured by his henchman's explanation, slipping back into his thoughts.
"So, about my payment?" the servant asked after a few moments.
"Once some time has passed, I will make sure Lyman Beesbury dies peacefully in his sleep, and that you become the new Lord of Honeyholt," the knight replied calmly, assuring his servant he would deliver what he had promised.
"Thank you," said the servant, who clearly belonged to House Beesbury.
His joy was quickly stifled by the icy words of his master, who added:
"During this time, make sure not to attract any attention. Don't disappear, but don't do anything that might raise suspicion from those who know you well."
"Very well, Ser," said the man from House Beesbury in a servile tone, barely able to contain his excitement, as he was about to go from being a member of a noble house's collateral branch to the lord of that powerful House.
"Good. We'll meet again in a week, at the same time, same place," said the knight before pretending to leave and turning around, which the man from House Beesbury also did.
But it was just a ruse, because once halfway turned, the man from House Beesbury no longer paid attention to the knight, who took that moment to draw his dagger swiftly and discreetly, hiding the motion with the angle of his half-turned body, and lunged at the other man.
A brief struggle ensued, and after a few moments, a muffled cry escaped the lips of the man from House Beesbury, whose life slowly faded from his body until it finally vanished—just like his ambition to one day sit at the head of House Beesbury.