NOVEL NEXT WORLD Chapter 39: Is This Politics
I've cleaned up the structure, grammar, and flow while maintaining the intensity, worldbuilding, and immersive tone. Here's the refined version:
Red Keep, Dining Hall
A cascade of silver-white hair and differing shades of violet eyes surrounded the long, ornate wooden table. Among them sat a few brown-haired individuals—lesser in number but no less present. The sound of clattering plates and silverware filled the hall as the gathering dined.
Scattered around the room stood white-cloaked Kingsguard, their golden counterparts positioned behind the two figures at the head of the table—the new Queen and her King Consort. However, unlike the usual placement of the Kingsguard, behind them stood two towering Summer Isle women, their long spears resting against circular shields with daggers hidden behind them. Behind these warriors, ten more men loomed, clad in assorted armor, their scarred faces carrying a silent, lethal promise. Each bore a short cloak draped over the left side of their body, marked with distinct insignias—a black shark, a dolphin impaled by a sword, a man urinating, a snarling dog, a sleeping cat, and the rest, a crimson chair.
One of the men with the crimson chair insignia stood out—an invalid in all but presence. He had one eye, one hand, a crossbow slung across his back, a sword at his waist, and a spear wrapped in a tattered flag gripped in his remaining hand. While onlookers might scoff at his appearance, those who knew feared him. The Prince's Sea Guard—the ten men he led—were infamous. They were not ordinary soldiers but berserkers, warriors who could surrender themselves to bloodlust at will. In the chaos of battle and the darkness of the underworld, they thrived. They had routed out spies, crushed gangs in the city's underbelly, and secured the docks with ruthless efficiency.
The room was lively, yet tense, until a voice rang out, arrogant yet amused.
"Where are my cousin and sister on this fine morning?" Aegon the Elder spoke, his voice laced with smugness as he fed the woman on his lap—a courtesan, a gift from his cousin. His mother had disapproved, but after the simple statement from the Winged Prince—"Rats may not be dragons, but they can birth them"—the topic was never brought up again.
All eyes turned to the head of the table, where King Regent Daemon Targaryen chuckled before speaking.
"Captain Barron, where is my son?" he asked in an amused tone, already knowing the answer. Beside him, Rhaenyra nearly choked, having anticipated the response as well.
The one-handed man stepped forward, bowing slightly before speaking.
"Aye, your Graces. The Cap— I mean, the Prince—be tiring his queens, he said—"
Before the crude man could finish, another voice cut in.
"Forgive the First Captain's tone." The man with the black shark cloak spoke in a surprisingly refined manner. "The High Captain, Prince Aegon, is preoccupied with early matters of governance regarding his household holdings."
Daemon's amusement faded, replaced with mild irritation.
"Shark, I did not ask you. Barron, continue."
The scarred captain grinned. "Aye, Your Grace. As I was saying—the Prince be tiring his women. What with all the late-night shankin' we've been doing, he needed to spend some time with 'em. Said all the noise meant he had to be with his women. Ordered us to guard Your Graces while he enjoys his mornin'."
The improper grin on his face, the thick accent that mangled the Common Tongue—it was almost comical. Barron was no noble. He was one of the few pirate captains who had not only survived meeting Prince Aegon in battle but had earned his place at his side.
Daemon laughed heartily at the reaction around the table. Half the nobles had no idea what Barron had just said.
Rhaenyra, however, was not amused. She exhaled sharply before addressing another man. "Anders, speak. Your captain is not fit for noble company."
The comment was a jab, but Barron remained unfazed. Instead, he approached Daemon and whispered something in his ear.
Whatever it was, Daemon let out a roaring laugh, then—to the horror of the gathered nobles—handed Barron a plate of food.
Without hesitation, Barron took it and walked behind the Targaryen banner to eat, completely indifferent to the glares of the Kingsguard.
The ten men of the Prince's Sea Guard only closed their eyes, seemingly unaffected by their captain's antics. Their lack of decorum was not due to ignorance but indifference—they had been raised differently, forged under Aegon's brutal training. They did not fear men. They feared only one thing—the Winged Prince himself.
Rhaenyra massaged her temples, exasperated. Her half-brother, Aegon, chuckled before speaking up.
"How does that work? With his size and—"
Before he could finish, a voice cut through the hall.
The doors swung open, revealing a tall, shirtless man with draconic features. He strode forward, flanked by two women—one tall and dark-skinned, the other petite and fair.
"Carefully, cousin. Carefully," he answered smoothly.
Aegon the Elder choked on his words, his arrogance momentarily silenced.
The Winged Prince surveyed the gathering, his expression unreadable. Then he spoke.
"My family, seeing you all like this is quite the joyous sight for me. Alys, my Queen, my King—my time has come. No, our time has come.
"I will be taking half my fleet and returning to my seat of power. Aegon, Aemon—prepare your ships and your dragons. We sail for Dragonstone. Then—the Basilisk Isles."
The room fell into stunned silence.
Rhaenyra was the first to speak. "What do you mean you're leaving? You can't do that. What about the nobles? The Westerlands? What about—"
He raised a hand, silencing her.
"Calm yourself, cousin. I will leave half my men and ships with you. Barron and Anders will remain at your side—they will be your shadows. I will ensure your dragon sleeps nearby, not in the Dragonpit. You will be protected.
"No, cousin—I will truly secure your kingdom as I carve a path to our ancestral home."