Settle's expression darkened as he looked at the two young Targaryens.
His mission was to help Prince Quentyn Martell propose marriage to a Targaryen princess.
Not to send their own princess away in marriage.
Of course, setting aside the relationship between the two nations, marrying Princess Arianne to Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen was still acceptable.
But a political marriage with a prince who held no real power? That was clearly out of the question.
After a moment of silence, Settle suppressed his frustration and said, "Your Highness, Prince Quentyn is requesting a princess in marriage, not offering one."
"Oh?"
Rhaegar feigned surprise. "Didn't you just say that a marriage alliance between our two nations shouldn't be hindered by personal factors?"
"Your Highness, Princess Arianne currently has no plans to marry outside Dorne," Settle replied, offering an excuse. "When I left, Prince Quentyn did not mention such a matter, and I do not have the authority to decide."
"No problem, we can take our time discussing it," Rhaegar said playfully, refusing to let the matter drop. "My two younger brothers are of the right age—they can wait."
Daeron glanced at him and, despite his young age, patted his chest in understanding.
He could tell that his brother was deliberately making things difficult for the Dornish envoy.
So, he played along, deciding to tease the envoy a little.
If a four-year-old child could see through this, how could Settle not?
His already dark complexion grew even darker as he fumed. "Since His Majesty and Your Highness have no intention of forming a marriage alliance with Dorne, I will report this truthfully to Prince Quentyn."
Rhaegar's smile disappeared. "And who exactly is unwilling to form the alliance? Does the envoy not know the answer in his heart?"
"The rejection of this proposal by both Targaryen princesses is an insult to Prince Quentyn!" Settle retorted angrily.
"Heh, take a look at this," Rhaegar sneered, pulling a letter from his sleeve.
Settle froze for a moment, an uneasy feeling rising in his heart.
Rhaenyra took the letter, walking toward him with a contemptuous expression. "The letter you sent back to Sunspear—I assume I don't need to read it out loud for you?"
"What?"
Settle couldn't believe his ears. He quickly snatched the letter and read its contents.
After just a glance, his vision went dark—he recognized it as his own message.
His hand trembled as he clutched the letter, panic setting in. "You intercepted my raven?"
He had released it in secret—how had it been stopped?
Viserys had also read the letter, his tone turning grave. "Envoy, neither Quentyn nor you were ever sincere."
The letter contained irrelevant intelligence along with objections to the marriage alliance—and derogatory remarks about Viserys himself.
With his facade of diplomacy ripped away, Settle grew increasingly anxious. "Your Majesty, please forgive my indiscretion. But I truly came with the intent to negotiate a marriage alliance."
"Silence, deceitful Dornishman!"
Leonor immediately rebuked him with open disdain.
Settle's face twitched, the surrounding gazes making him feel as if he were standing on needles.
Otto observed from the sidelines, frowning slightly.
The Dornish truly were more arrogant than expected.
Lyman Beesbury, the Master of Coin, stepped forward, his aged face filled with anger. "Your Majesty, Prince Martell is mocking the realm—utterly shameless!"
As the Lord of Honeyholt from the Reach, he naturally harbored no goodwill toward Dorne.
Grand Maester Mellos frowned and said slowly, "Dorne has no real intention of easing tensions with the kingdom. Should we expel the envoy?"
Viserys found this suggestion reasonable and barked, "The Dornish envoy came with ill intent—throw him out!"
Ser Steffon Darklyn of the Kingsguard immediately stepped forward, grabbing the panicked Settle.
Although Settle was outwardly terrified, he secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
Being expelled from the realm wasn't the worst outcome—at least he would keep his life.
That was his thought, but not everyone agreed.
Rhaegar raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Rhaenyra.
Rhaenyra, sensing his intention, turned her head as well.
The two siblings exchanged a glance, each seeing the same dissatisfaction in the other's eyes.
Coming to propose a marriage alliance while harboring ulterior motives—only to walk away after being exposed?
The world was not so kind.
Rhaegar's expression turned cold, a glint of calculation flashing in his eyes.
Rhaenyra lowered her gaze slightly, offering an almost imperceptible nod.
No words were needed.
As Settle was being escorted out, a voice rang out.
"Wait."
Rhaegar's eyes darkened. "Do you think King's Landing is some place where you can plot and leave unscathed?"
"Your Highness, I meant no offense," Settle said, trembling as he begged for mercy.
Rhaegar remained unmoved. "But you already have."
His expression icy, he slowly advanced on Settle.
Viserys, unwilling to let the situation escalate to bloodshed, warned, "Rhaegar, he is an envoy. Just send him away."
"Father, the Dornish are our enemies. One does not show mercy to enemies," Rhaegar countered, drawing his Valyrian steel dagger, Blackfyre, in one swift motion.
His gaze swept over the wide-eyed Aemond and Daeron as he spoke solemnly. "Watch carefully—this is how a Targaryen man solves problems. I will only demonstrate once."
The room fell silent.
Realizing the severity of the situation, Viserys shouted, "Rhaegar, what are you doing?!"
Rhaegar ignored him and signaled the Kingsguard to step back.
"No! I am an envoy—"
Settle was petrified, struggling to break free from his captors as he bolted.
"When Dorne sent troops to attack the Stepstones, did you ever consider that you might die?"
Rhaegar's voice was eerily soft as he swung his sword, the steel gleaming in the dim light.
In a flash, half of Settle's head was severed.
A sickening *plop* echoed in the chamber.
Half of the man's head tilted as it separated from his body, falling to the ground with a splatter of colorful, putrid matter.
The incomplete corpse wobbled for a moment before collapsing, still in a running posture.
"Ah!..."
Witnessing the gruesome scene before her, Alyson gasped, her face pale.
Aemond and Daeron stood frozen in place, staring blankly at their older brother, Rhaegar.
Rhaegar turned around, lifted the corner of his robe, and wiped the blood off his sword. His voice was calm as he asked, "Did you learn anything?"
*Gulp...*
Aemond swallowed hard, his gaze toward Rhaegar filled with three parts fear and seven parts admiration.
Daeron, still too young, was so frightened that he shut his eyes and buried his face in Aemond's chest.
Rhaegar glanced at both of them before his eyes landed on someone unexpected—Helena.
Her wide eyes shone with excitement and longing as she unconsciously took a step closer to Rhaegar.
She was completely unfazed by the bloodshed, showing not a hint of fear.
Deep down, she thought to herself, *As expected, dragons do inspire courage!*
The impact of Rhaegar's actions wasn't limited to the young Targaryens.
The councilors present all turned pale, shocked that the prince had killed without hesitation.
Otto deeply furrowed his brows and lowered his head to hide his expression.
He saw Daemon's shadow in Rhaegar.
And he *hated* Daemon.
"Rhaegar, look at what you've done!"
Viserys shot up from his seat in fury, pointing at the corpse lying in a pool of blood.
*Killing an envoy during wartime was unheard of.*
Slaying the Dornish messenger so recklessly—was he trying to provoke Qoren Martell?
Rhaegar calmly sheathed his sword and replied firmly, "Father, Dorne has involved itself in the Stepstones conflict. A war with the kingdom is inevitable."
Viserys roared in frustration, "Even so, you should have let the envoy return! You shouldn't have killed him in public!"
"The Dornish don't play by the same rules we do."
Rhaegar lowered his head like a child caught misbehaving.
Historically, Dorne had killed countless envoys and prisoners of war.
More than anyone could count.
"You..."
Viserys was momentarily speechless. He turned to the Kingsguard and snapped, "Well? Don't just stand there! Get rid of the body! What, are you waiting for it to dry out?!"
Unable to win an argument with his eldest son, he redirected his anger toward the nearest unfortunate soul.
Ser Steffon Darklyn shrank under the reprimand, his already prematurely aged face contorting into an awkward grimace.
"Dismissed!"
Viserys, seething with frustration, stormed out of the hall.
The others exchanged glances before quickly following suit.
No one wanted to invite trouble at this moment.
Rhaegar merely shrugged, showing no regret.
He had wanted to get rid of the Dornish envoy for a long time.
"You should go apologize to Father later," Rhaenyra whispered, slipping her arm through his.
She shared responsibility for the envoy's death.
Rhaegar smiled—he had already planned to.
Their father had a fragile mindset and often doubted himself.
Jeyne approached and naturally took hold of Rhaegar's other arm, her voice gentle. "After you apologize, come with me to the Dragonpit. I've taken quite a liking to that little dragon, Blizzard."
"Let go, Jeyne!"
Rhaenyra's almond-shaped eyes widened in anger, and she spat her words through clenched teeth.
Jeyne gave a sheepish smile and instead clung to her friend's arm.
---
**Later that afternoon.**
After lunch, Rhaegar sought out his father to apologize, receiving a scolding from Viserys in return.
Once it was over, he left the room as if nothing had happened.
As he opened the door, Otto Hightower, dressed in his signature green robes, appeared before him.
"Lord Otto, do you need something?"
Rhaegar asked, puzzled.
Otto nodded solemnly. "There are some matters regarding street cleaning that need to be reported to His Majesty."
"Keeping the streets clean is no easy task. I appreciate your efforts, Lord Otto."
Rhaegar responded with understanding before brushing past him.
The street-cleaning initiative had been his idea.
Alyson had fought hard to secure the responsibility for her father, Otto.
It allowed the former Hand of the King to return to King's Landing and reclaim a seat on the Small Council.
Yet, a month had passed, and the city's appearance hadn't changed much.
The newly appointed Master of Laws needed to work harder.
---
**That Night.**
Otto emerged from the King's chambers.
He and Viserys had discussed the management of King's Landing's streets at length.
It wasn't just about *cleaning*—it was about *managing* them.
To maintain cleanliness, there had to be proper oversight.
To complete his mission, Otto had hired a group of impoverished laborers.
At dawn, they took to the streets with shovels and brooms, cleaning up the filth.
He arranged for carts to transport the waste outside the city for disposal.
But this method only tackled the symptoms, not the root cause.
Every day, the people of King's Landing defecated directly onto the streets.
And after seeing the streets freshly cleaned, they dumped even more trash, worsening the burden on the workers.
Otto attempted to persuade the citizens to stop discarding their waste in the streets.
It didn't work.
He deployed the Gold Cloaks to enforce new sanitation laws, prohibiting public defecation.
That *definitely* didn't work.
It sparked a massive backlash.
The people cursed him relentlessly.
And if the Gold Cloaks tried to intervene, the citizens responded by *throwing* their waste at them.
Otto himself became a target of widespread criticism.
Before long, he had earned an unfortunate nickname:
**"The Shitlord Minister."**
It is well-known in the most chaotic and lawless parts of Flea Bottom.