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

Black marble foundations supported towering white columns, encircling the grand palace. Slave men and women moved in clusters through the long corridors, their paths converging in the central courtyard, where cool water flowed over stone channels, a luxury in the stifling heat of Volantis.

Ice-chilled streams meandered through specially designed aqueducts, offering respite from the oppressive summer. Manicured hedges created a labyrinthine pattern, dividing the courtyard into distinct sections. The air was thick with the fragrance of blooming flowers and ripe fruit, their scent carrying beyond the palace walls.

At the courtyard's center, jewel-encrusted lounging chairs lay scattered. Men draped in flowing togas reclined lazily, attended by scantily clad slave women, their tattooed faces adorned with floral and heart-shaped markings. The women raised trays of fresh fruit and pale green Volantene wine to their masters' lips.

"Doran, your plan failed." A burly man with an exaggerated beard took a sip of his wine, savoring the taste. "The swine and bastards of House Bentharo are dead, and their pathetic whelp ran crying to your father. If the old man weren't willing to eat the embarrassment, things would have turned out much worse."

Doran Maegyr plucked a roasted golden tortoise from a platter balanced on the back of a kneeling male slave. He dipped it in spice and bit down with an audible crunch. "They were fools. I told them to test the boy from House Varezys, not to steal from him. Hah! Did they really think it would be that easy to rob the old sorcerer's legacy?"

"The Tigers have been silent for too long." A lean man with a thin, rapier-like mustache interjected. "While the old sorcerer lived, the cravens in the Elephant Party kept us pinned down. Now that he's dead, what is the boy doing?"

He sat upright, drained his goblet in one swift motion, and kicked over the slave girl serving him. "Bring me Varezys silver wine, you worthless whore. That's the only drink with real fire in it."

The girl scrambled to her feet without raising her head, crawling away on all fours.

"The boy is selling his father's land." The lean man's voice turned sharp with resentment. "Doran, tell me—what does he intend? That land was the old sorcerer's lifeblood."

"I don't know." Doran Maegyr picked idly through the spread before him and grabbed a deep-fried worm stuffed with minced meat and fiery peppers.

"Whatever he sells, I'll buy. If not for those Elephant brats interfering, all of that land would already be ours."

"But is it only about land?" The voice belonged to an older man who had been silently sipping his wine.

"Lord Berysio," the bearded man immediately straightened, turning his face toward the Maegyr patriarch, the leader of the Tiger Party.

"Doran, your contracts—do they include the farmers working the land? The craftsmen in the workshops?"

Berysio's words sent a ripple of realization through Doran's mind.

"By tradition, slaves are sold with the estates."

"But the old sorcerer followed no tradition," Berysio said evenly. "His farmers, his craftsmen, his miners, even his soldiers—none of them followed Volantene customs. They were not slaves but hired workers, bound by contracts that still belong to the boy."

Doran paused in thought. "Lord Berysio, the land itself is already a prize beyond worth. These estates yield more than ours. Even without workers—"

"Without his trained farmers and artisans, without his techniques, how long can you sustain those yields?" Berysio looked as though he wanted to crack open his nephew's skull and peer inside. "Did you outbid the Elephants for the land?"

"Yes." Doran flushed. "But these estates matter, Lord Berysio. More than half of House Varezys' lands sit in Elephant-controlled territory. We can use this to infiltrate their voter districts."

"We are not at war with the Elephants." Berysio pinched the bridge of his nose. "Or do you believe we can win their votes?"

Silence followed.

"Forget it." Seeing no response, Berysio continued. "Doran, you may keep buying Varezys lands. If the boy wishes to sell, acquiring them is not a mistake. At worst, we earn his goodwill."

"I understand, Lord Berysio." Doran, reassured that his efforts were not entirely dismissed, regained his composure. "My intent was always to earn House Varezys' favor."

"But, Lord Berysio." The bearded man hesitated. "House Bentharo's pathetic whelp is scheming something. Should we—"

Berysio narrowed his eyes. "That is not our concern." He paused.

"Leave it alone."

"You're telling me that as soon as the boy finished burying the old sorcerer, he began selling off his family's estates?" Lady Clevena Visama, a leading member of the Elephant Party, surveyed her gathered councilors.

"Yes, my lady." Hamar of House Cyranica, younger brother to the ruling consul of their house and a likely successor, gestured to the map in the council chamber. "Whatever the boy is planning, his land is fertile. Even without the attached laborers, we can profit for years. Even without the old sorcerer's tricks, those fields will still yield abundantly. At worst, this earns us his favor."

"Hamar, I heard the Tigers outbid you on several estates." A tall man with a dyed-blue beard challenged him. "If House Cyranica lacks funds, we can finance your purchases. House Varezys may have been absent from the Senate for years, but they have always been our allies. We cannot afford to lose their support."

"Indeed, and their Silverblood Guard is formidable," a general of the Elephant-aligned Goldcloak militia added. "Their mere presence keeps the Tiger Cloaks at bay."

"Enough." Lady Clevena tapped the map, her mind working swiftly. "Do we know why Rhaenzel Varezys is selling?"

Silence.

Only Hamar ventured a theory. "This did not begin with Rhaenzel. The old sorcerer was already selling land before his death. This is not a whim but part of a plan—one we have yet to uncover."

"And his free citizens?" Lady Clevena pressed the key issue.

In Volantis, every land-owning free citizen could vote in the consular elections, though most pledged loyalty to the great families. The oldest ruling houses had tens of thousands of locked-in votes. If Rhaenzel wished to run for the Senate, his faction of free citizens alone numbered at least ten thousand.

"Only contract-bound workers remain with him. The rest transfer with the land."

Hamar reassured her. "The Varezys stewards assured me they would not let their votes slip away."

"Well done." Lady Clevena nodded. "Continue monitoring House Varezys. If the Silverblood Guard goes up for sale—"

"We must secure it at all costs," the general said.

"And their silk workshops."

"As for the Tigers, keep watch." Lady Clevena traced the division of party-controlled zones on the map. "Finances are no issue. House Visama will allocate three million honors in gold and silver for acquiring Varezys properties."

"House Hordan pledges seven hundred thousand honors," said the blue-bearded man.

"House Magorwyn pledges one point two million," the general added. "We cannot let the Silverblood Guard fall into Tiger hands."

The Elephants had no intention of allowing the once-powerful Tigers to regain their former strength.

In the underground laboratory of House Varezys.

Rhaenzel shed his clothing and accepted a Valyrian steel dagger inlaid with silver from a red-robed priest. Flames and dragons were inked across the priest's weathered face, his violet-blue eyes blazing with devotion.

"Begin," commanded High Priest Ben-Durro.

The younger priest did not hesitate. He plunged the dagger into his own heart.

Rhaenzel stretched out a hand.

Blood slithered along the carved symbols on the floor.

Then—

Fire.

Everything burned.