Celtigar's Flattery

When the Sea Snake's fleet dropped anchor at Crab Island's docks, it was midafternoon. Sunlight filtered through the mist over Blackwater Bay, draping the island in the sea with a hazy golden glow.

Crab Island was not large, yet it resembled a curled-up crab, cradling the docks in its embrace. House Celtigar's castle stood at the island's highest point, its dark gray stone walls gleaming coldly beneath the sun. Flags fluttered faintly atop the towers—countless tiny red crabs scattered across a white field, like a handful of blood droplets flung across it.

"That is House Celtigar's sigil." Corlys Velaryon stood upon the deck of the Lord of the Tides and handed Daemon a spyglass. "See those little crabs? Bartimos Celtigar is just like them—shrewd, troublesome, and everywhere at once."

Daemon peered through the spyglass. Countless eyes seemed to be watching from the castle windows. "I'll remember that."

The Sea Snake patted him on the shoulder, his tone carrying a subtle warning. "That man is a merchant through and through. All he sees is profit. He is only currying favor with you because he has his eye on your Targaryen bloodline—and those two dragons."

He paused and lowered his voice. "Do not let his sweet talk fool you, and do not bare your fangs too readily."

Daemon smiled. "You are a legend who has completed nine great voyages. You should know that a storm can both aid a ship on a long voyage and be the source of its destruction."

A flicker of surprise crossed the Sea Snake's eyes, followed by a burst of laughter. "Well said! Just as expected of Aemon's son—my Rhaenys's brother." He turned toward the gangplank. "What sailor would fear a voyage because of wind and waves? The bigger the waves, the more expensive the fish. I'll await your news in Braavos."

As the fleet slowly sailed away from the docks, Daemon could still see the Sea Snake waving to him from the deck.

Glutton and Dreamfyre circled high overhead, their deep dragon roars sounding as though they were bidding farewell to the legendary fleet.

"Prince Daemon, welcome to Crab Island!" A shrill voice suddenly rang out. Daemon turned and saw a slightly plump middle-aged man striding briskly toward him at just the right pace. He wore a dark crimson silk robe, its collar and cuffs embroidered with golden crabs. His face was piled high with an enthusiastic smile, but his eyes flicked rapidly over Daemon and the party behind him like beads on an abacus.

"Lord Bartimos Celtigar." Daemon extended his hand and gave his a light shake.

The man's palm was soft and carried the scent of spices.

"That would be me." Bartimos bowed extravagantly and fawningly. "To welcome a Targaryen prince and princess is the honor of Crab Island and the glory of House Celtigar." His gaze fell upon Gael, calculation flashing through his eyes before his smile returned. "This must be Princess Gael. You look exactly as Queen Alysanne did in her youth—beautiful and captivating."

Gael gave a slight nod, her expression unreadable. Mysaria stood behind her, watching the overly enthusiastic lord with caution.

The splendor within Celtigar Castle far exceeded Daemon's expectations. Myrish carpets hung along the corridor walls, smooth marble covered the floors, and Volantene glass lamps stood every few steps, illuminating the gold and silver vessels and jeweled wine cups displayed in the corners.

"House Celtigar has been quite wealthy since the time of the Conqueror," Rayford Rosby murmured to Daemon.

Daemon said nothing. His attention had been drawn to a portrait on the wall—a man dressed in the robes of the Hand of the King, bearing some resemblance to Bartimos.

"That is my great-great-grandfather, Lord Alton Celtigar, Hand of the King to His Majesty Aegon I the Conqueror." Bartimos noticed his gaze, pride coloring his voice. "House Celtigar was Targaryen's most loyal ally even before the age of the Conqueror."

The feast was held in the castle's great hall, where the long tables were laden with delicacies—roast swan, stewed turtle, honeyed figs, and countless bottles of wine from across the Narrow Sea.

Bartimos sat beside the seat of honor, constantly serving Daemon and Gael food while flattery poured from his mouth like a tide.

"I hear Your Highness has won the hearts of quite a few nobles on the Crab Claw Peninsula?" Bartimos took a sip of wine and asked as if casually, "As the protector of the Crab Claw Peninsula, House Celtigar is naturally willing to join the peninsula in swearing loyalty to Your Highness."

Daemon's fingers paused slightly around his wine cup. He knew House Celtigar had proclaimed itself protector of the Crab Claw Peninsula, and he also knew the local people did not recognize that claim at all. "You jest, my lord. I merely suppressed a wildling rebellion. It would be presumptuous to call it winning anyone over."

"Your Highness is far too modest." Bartimos smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes bunching together. "I also heard that many lords of the Crownlands have sent their younger sons to follow Your Highness. Alas, aside from a bevy of daughters, I have only one son, my eldest, Clymont. Otherwise, I too would have sent one of my children to serve Your Highness." He clapped his hands, and a thin young man entered with several girls dressed in lavish gowns. "This is my son Clymont. Since childhood, he has only known how to keep accounts and has no great talent. These are my daughters and nieces. If Your Highness and Her Highness the princess find them suitable, please take them into your service."

Clymont bowed to Daemon, his eyes shifting evasively. Clearly, he was not accustomed to such occasions.

The girls all lowered their heads, their cheeks faintly flushed, though they secretly stole glances at Daemon from the corners of their eyes.

Gael's brows drew together slightly, and she moved closer to Daemon.

Mysaria also sensed that something was wrong and quietly stepped in front of Gael.

As though he had not noticed their discomfort, Bartimos continued, "Your Highness, consider it. Your dragon and Princess Gael's dragon, together with Princess Rhaenys's dragon—three great dragons against Prince Baelon's family's two. Which side is stronger is obvious at a glance. Add the fleets of House Celtigar and House Velaryon, and it would be like the Conqueror reborn, enough to conquer the Seven Kingdoms once more!" The moment he spoke, the atmosphere in the hall froze.

Rayford Rosby's hand instinctively went to his sword hilt, while Mys Rivers watched Bartimos warily.

Daemon finally set down his wine cup, his face utterly calm. "My lord, I am tired." He rose to his feet. "Besides, Uncle Baelon has always treated me very well..."

Gael and Mysaria immediately rose with him, as did Daemon's attendants. The great hall filled with the scraping of tables and chairs.

Bartimos froze for a moment, clearly not expecting Daemon to reject him so directly.

But he quickly piled on another smile. "I spoke out of turn. Please forgive me, Your Highness. Someone, escort the prince and princess to their chambers."

The girls hurried forward, intending to support Daemon and Gael, but Daemon stopped them with a single look.

Once they returned to their room, Gael finally let out a breath and leaned pale-faced into Daemon's embrace. "That lord is terrifying."

"Don't worry. I'm here." Daemon gently stroked her long hair, while Mysaria, with practiced tact, leaned against him from the side.

Late that night, Daemon looked at the sleeping Gael in his arms, then at Mysaria curled up in the outer room, and could not help thinking of Bartimos's fawning face.

The man truly was repulsive. Just as history had recorded, he was as shrewd as a scheming rat and would stop at nothing for profit.

Yet it could not be denied that he was capable. It was no accident that House Celtigar had amassed such wealth and held important positions so many times throughout the history of the Targaryen Dynasty.

"Honorable knights and wise ministers are certainly valuable," Daemon murmured, "but petty men and treacherous ministers have their uses as well." He genuinely loathed people like Bartimos. Yet perhaps one day, the schemes of someone like Bartimos Celtigar could also become a blade in his hand.

Outside the window, waves from Crab Island battered against the reefs with dull crashes, like countless crabs crawling through the darkness.

Daemon knew that beneath this seemingly tranquil island, undercurrents had long been raging. And his journey still had a long way to go.