The King is Lost, the Young Wolf Lord's Predicament

Inside the tower of Brownfort in Duskendale, the sea wind slipped through the cracks in the stone windows, carrying a salty, damp stench.

William Mooton stood in the middle of the room, his expensive silk robe soaked through with sweat and clinging tightly to his trembling fat.

The fat lord of House Mooton looked like a pig waiting for slaughter, his face frighteningly pale.

"Lord Suleiman..."

William Mooton's voice trembled, his teeth chattering.

"His Majesty Viserys... has gone missing at sea."

The words were like a boulder crashing into a deathly still lake.

William Mooton did not even dare raise his head to meet Suleiman's eyes. He only stared at the patterns on the carpet, as though a flower might grow there and save his life.

"Could it be..."

He swallowed, his voice growing even weaker.

"Could he have been taken by the Royal Fleet?"

"No."

Suleiman sat in a high-backed chair, idly turning a silver wine cup in his hand. His voice was flat and devoid of emotion as he cut him off.

"If Stannis or the royal army had captured Viserys Targaryen, the news would have spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms already."

Suleiman raised his eyelids, his gaze cold.

"They would have treated it as their greatest victory. They might even have put Viserys in a cage, paraded him through the streets on land, and displayed him to the public. Our army has already collapsed."

"The fact that there is no news at all means he is not in their hands."

The fat on William Mooton's face quivered violently, and sweat dripped from his double chin onto the carpet.

"Then... then could it have been a shipwreck..."

That was the worst and most irreversible outcome.

The storms of the Narrow Sea never cared who was a true dragon