GoT and House of The Dragon: The Last Valyrian Dragonlord.

Tangled strands of pale gold hair and beard, matted with dust and blood, framed lifeless blue-violet eyes that stared blankly at the boy. The gaping mouth seemed to form words, but whatever it had wanted to say was lost forever.

It was the son of the former Triarch of Volantis and his mother.

Rhae recognized the severed head.

"No—"

The scream echoed only in his mind.

Please, let this not be Rhaegel's doing.

Kinslaying was a grievous sin.

"What are you looking at, Rhae?"

A voice spoke behind him. Rhae spun around, terror still glistening in his violet eyes, meeting the deep purple gaze of his brother.

The silver-haired youth smiled, his features calm. He was tall and lean, no older than fifteen or sixteen. His short silver hair curled faintly, and his deep violet eyes held a quiet warmth. Even among the famously beautiful Valyrian nobility, he stood out. His violet silk tokar draped coolly over his frame, and the silver dragon armband on his forearm gleamed—a subtle reminder of his heritage.

"Brother!" Rhae pointed at the head, his voice tinged with horror.

Rhaegel ruffled his brother's hair before turning his gaze to the chaotic courtyard. His once-warm expression hardened like cold steel. "Amor, you frightened my brother."

"My apologies, young master." A burly man with a curled beard lifted his bloodstained battle-axe and bowed slightly toward Rhae. The wyvern tattoo on his cheek shimmered under the sun. "Master, this man infiltrated the estate, attempting to steal from you. I executed him according to the Black Wall Codex of Volantis."

With that, Amor nudged the corpse with his boot, signaling to the Unsullied guards to drag it away.

"Rhaegel, this is kinslaying!"

The accusation rang sharp in High Valyrian, though the speaker's pronunciation was clumsy, and the grammar was off.

A corpulent silver-haired man, his face twisted in fear, pointed at Rhaegel, his sausage-like fingers trembling. The damp stain on his trousers made his terror even clearer. He stood flanked by Unsullied, their spears poised for violence.

Yet more Unsullied, along with silver-masked household guards, surrounded them all.

"Him too," Amor lifted his axe again. "According to law, leading armed men into a noble's estate is an act of war."

Rhaegel patted Rhae's head, signaling him to step back before shifting his attention to the fat man.

"Who are you?"

"You—!" The man nearly fainted from rage.

"Ah, I remember now." Rhaegel snapped his fingers. "You're Caevado of House Pentaro. The younger son of the former Triarch."

He stepped forward, motioning for Amor to lower his weapon. "I just returned from the workshops of Velonseris and am not yet caught up. So, Lord Caevado, care to explain why you brought armed men into my estate?"

Caevado was already regretting letting his half-brother manipulate him into this mess.

"Lord Rhaegel." Sensing no immediate expulsion, Caevado shrank behind a particularly burly Unsullied, peeking out nervously. "Forgive my intrusion. I only came on behalf of House Pentaro to express condolences for the passing of your late father, Lord Cleorius Velaryon. As for the soldiers—"

He glanced around the courtyard, his own Unsullied, and the trembling slaves nearby. His voice grew more confident. "They are my slaves. Volantene law permits nobles to bring their slaves when visiting others."

He patted a nearby Unsullied, who remained motionless. "They ensure my safety. And the male slaves carry me. As for the women—"

Before he could finish, Amor lifted his axe again, his silence more menacing than any threat.

Caevado swallowed his words instantly.

"The Velaryon estate holds no slaves. Even the Unsullied serve as contract retainers under the sigil of the Laurel and Silver Dragon." Rhaegel took another step forward, spreading his arms. "Our house welcomes those who respect our traditions."

His gaze fell upon the bloodstains. "But we do not welcome thieves and schemers. Lord Caevado, why are you really here?"

"I-I came to mourn Lord Cleorius," Caevado stammered.

"And him?" Rhaegel tilted his head toward the bloodstained ground. The body was long gone, efficiently disposed of by the Unsullied. "If I'm not mistaken, he was your—"

"Lord Rhaegel, please do not misunderstand! He may have been distantly related, but I did not come with him, nor did I know him well," Caevado blurted.

A commendable attempt at disowning a dead man, Rhaegel mused, shaking his head.

"Then why did you accuse me of kinslaying?"

Trapped under Rhaegel's gaze, Caevado visibly shrank. Even his head disappeared behind the Unsullied's shoulder.

"Lord Rhaegel, please forgive me." He switched to High Valyrian, this time with a Volantene accent.

Much better.

"Perhaps I misspoke. My Valyrian is not very refined. I swear upon R'hllor and the Old Gods of Valyria, upon the honor of House Pentaro."

From behind, Rhae scoffed inwardly. Honor? According to Maester Viserys, Caevado's father had bought his Triarchy seat with bribes, even throwing gold in the streets to win over the common folk.

Movement in the corner of the courtyard caught Rhae's eye. A group of young men whispered among themselves. He glanced at his brother, then cautiously made his way toward them.

Rhaegel, meanwhile, observed Caevado's men. They avoided his gaze, lowering their heads. He finally waved a hand, signaling his own guards to stand down.

"Lord Caevado, convey my gratitude to House Pentaro."

"House Pentaro mourns Lord Cleorius deeply." Sensing his reprieve, Caevado forced out a few tears. "As a gesture of sympathy, I personally offer the lands between the Little Rhoyne and the Ben Audur estate, along with two thousand tiger pelts for the funeral rites. House Pentaro will send additional gifts later."

"Thank you, Lord Caevado." Rhaegel bowed slightly, lifting his hand to dismiss him.

Two Unsullied helped the trembling man to his feet, escorting him and his retinue out with all the grace of fleeing rats.

Rhaegel rubbed his temples.

Caevado wasn't fool enough to be ignorant of the dead man's identity. That severed head had belonged to his own bastard half-brother—also Rhaegel's half-brother.

A remnant of Princess Saenela's legacy. Though Rhaegel had gathered most of their mother's scattered children, some had always been thorns in his side. Fortunately, most had already joined the gods.

All but one.

Alexio Pentaro. The poor fool Amor had decapitated.

Alexio had even attended the Great Council of 101 in Westeros. But no matter how clean his lineage, he could never sit the Iron Throne. Not with Saenela's reputation. Not with his bastard's blood.

Even in death, Rhaegel knew exactly why he had come.

"I'm not so easily fooled."

He stepped toward the courtyard's central fountain, extending his palm. A single droplet of shimmering silver blood fell into the water and vanished.

"Mother's debts are settled."

Turning, he strode toward his brother, who had joined the whispering youths.

Amor shouldered his axe and followed.

"Amor, where is Valar?" Rhaegel asked, inquiring after his twin.

"Lord Valar is at the Silverblood estate on the Orange Coast, training with the Unsullied's 'Silver Scorpion' captain."

"Good."

Rhaegel's deep violet eyes flickered as he assessed the gathered retainers, his most trusted allies. A new game was unfolding, and he had every intention of winning.