Corlys suddenly asked, "So… these are the only names we can claim?"
Eluna's gaze fell on the famed "Sea Snake."
"After the war, the island of Tyrosh will be yours—a free city-state with a population of over 400,000."
Corlys immediately considered this and nodded.
She turned to Phaenyra.
"Princess, we Valyrians are also your people.
As long as you are willing to join, the future empire will be ruled by the Targaryens and Valyrian nobles.
Even if you do not wish to join, we can still form an alliance to defeat the Tri-City Alliance and divide the lands together."
She spoke with gravity.
"In return, Valantis will also send 20,000 elite infantry and 100 warships to fully support your war in Westeros."
Phaenyra was visibly stunned.
The kingdom's armies were in desperate need.
Eluna smiled and clapped her hands.
"We also have a welcoming gift."
The secret door opened again, and three figures emerged—two men and a woman, all with silver hair and violet eyes, stunningly beautiful.
They were dressed in simple Valyrian garb and seemed timid.
All three fell to their knees together.
"Allow me to introduce them," Eluna said, placing her hand over their heads.
"Sarah, twenty-five; Varros, thirty; Mirax, twenty-seven.
They are all descendants of Princess Saera…"
Phaenyra covered her mouth in shock.
Saera—the youngest daughter of former King Jaehaerys.
The princess, known for her scandalous ways, had fled to Valantis and bore a group of children by unknown fathers…
"They… are all of them?" Phaenyra whispered.
"Yes." Sarah lifted her head, tears welling like a spring.
"Your Grace, Princess… we have always longed to come home.
My mother told us before her death that we, too, carry the blood of the Dragon King in our veins…"
Varros and Mirax kept their heads lowered, shoulders tense.
Daemon crouched, pinched Sarah's chin, and examined her.
"Aunt Saera… I met her once when I was a child."
Then he released her, looking slightly cold.
"But in the end, you are still bastards."
The three crawled on the ground.
"We are illegitimate children, but we are ready to fight for the Targaryens," Sarah wept.
"We do not need the Targaryen name—we only wish to be a branch, like the Baratheons…"
Daemon said nothing.
Phaenyra silently observed the three kneeling and finally nodded. The three bowed joyfully.
She turned to Eluna.
"Madam, the kingdom accepts Valantis' offer of alliance—but with three conditions."
She raised a finger.
"First, Valantis must send its army. We want to see you in action."
"Second, after the defeat of the Tri-City Alliance, you must provide ongoing army and naval support."
"Third…" She met Eluna's gaze.
"As the leader of the Black Wall nobility, I want you to swear by the gods of Valyria that Valantis will never betray the Black Faction in the midst of war and will have no contact with the Greens."
The stone hall fell into dead silence.
After a long pause, Eluna slowly raised her right hand and recited an oath in ancient Valyrian:
"By the Fourteen Flames, by the blood of Valyria, by the shadow of dragons that once darkened the skies…"
Her voice echoed through the stone hall.
"I swear, Valantis will stand with House Targaryen until the usurpers are overthrown and the rightful queen sits upon the Iron Throne. Betrayal will bring death to us all."
Thus the covenant was established.
Meanwhile, on the black-sand beaches of Dragonstone's eastern coast, five children walked along the cold waves.
Jacaerys led the way.
The fourteen-year-old boy was blind in one eye, a black patch making his delicate features look grim beyond his years.
He stepped barefoot across the volcanic sand, his gray robe flapping in the sea breeze.
Behind him followed his younger brothers, Lucerys and Joffrey, both half a head shorter and equally silent.
Behind them were Prince Daemon's two daughters—nine-year-old Rhaenys and eight-year-old Baenella, inheriting beauty from both father and mother, yet their faces were puzzled.
"Jacaerys, where are we going?" Rhaenys could not help asking.
The two sisters had spent these days with Jacaerys.
Once sunny and cheerful, now he had grown somber and increasingly stern.
Even Lucerys and Joffrey had become more like their older brother.
Jacaerys did not look back.
"I'm taking you to these illegitimate children."
"Bastards?" The two sisters were slightly confused.
They rounded a rugged reef, and suddenly a fishing village appeared in the bay.
Hundreds of low treehouses were built upon the reef, with drying fishing nets stretched across like a giant web.
The most striking thing—some villagers had silver hair and violet, blue, or pale gray eyes.
Upon seeing Jacaerys and his retinue, the villagers ceased work and fell to their knees.
"These people…" Baenella's eyes widened.
"How…?"
"All carry Targaryen blood," Jacaerys said coldly, "or rather, they once did."
He approached an old fisherman mending a net.
The man had faint silver streaks at the roots of his white hair, and his eyes were a pale, cloudy violet.
"My lord," the old man struggled to rise.
"Sit," Jacaerys crouched to meet him at eye level.
"Name?"
"Matros… Matros, my lord."
"Who is my father?"
The old man's lips trembled.
"My grandfather—Maegor Targaryen…"
He was an illegitimate descendant of the infamous Maegor… Children behind him gasped, and the nominal line of Meghar was broken.
Jacaerys addressed his brothers and sisters.
"Dragonstone, as Targaryen land, held the right of the first night for centuries, until former King Jaehaerys, at Queen Alicent's insistence, abolished this custom across Westeros.
But before that, how many children were born in such fishing villages?"
Rhaenys' face went pale.
"So… they are all…"
"Bastards. Or offspring of bastards."
Jacaerys stood.
"Because they carry dragon blood, they are forbidden from leaving Dragonstone and are under the watch of the Dragonstone fleet.
Farming, marriage, birth, aging, sickness, and death—this has been the way for generations."
He gestured toward the village.
"There are four such settlements on the island.
In total, over a hundred illegitimate children, all carrying dragon blood, but abandoned to the corners of the world."
"Why did you bring us here, Jacaerys?" Rhaenys asked softly.
Jacaerys turned, his untouched violet eye fixed on her, pointing to the kneeling villagers:
"Loyalty. Their devotion to the Targaryens has never waned. They still take pride in their silver hair and violet eyes, and still bow when they see us."
Lucerys realized: "So you want to recruit them?"
"I want to give them a choice. Instead of staying here fishing… they would be better off taking up arms and fighting for the Targaryens."
Joffrey spoke timidly:
"Brother, but they are civilians… untrained…"
"Then I will train them." Jacaerys interrupted.
"During my years on Tidalhead Island and Dragonstone, Lord Corlys trained me in naval warfare, and Prince Daemon in swordsmanship.
I know how to turn these fishermen into soldiers."
Suddenly Baenella asked:
"They are all illegitimate… and what of dragons? You said they carry dragon blood…"
Jacaerys' eyes sharpened, and silence fell.
Now the kingdom had many dragons, but no riders.
He, Lucerys, and Joffrey's dragons were confined in King's Landing.
Only three adult dragons remained—the mother of Phaenyra, Prince Daemon, and Lady Rhaenys—and the young dragon of Baenella, Moon Dance.
Phaenyra's dragon egg had yet to hatch.
The Greens had Aemond with Vhagar and Lotern; Aegon had Sunfyre; Helena had Dreamfire; Darren had the Blue Queen, and even the youngest twins were hatching companion dragons.
Suddenly, an idea sparked in Jacaerys' heart: what if one of these illegitimate children could ride a dragon?
Perhaps… the lineage of these illegitimate children…
Jacaerys looked at the silver-haired bastards kneeling, a faint fire kindling in his one-eyed gaze.