Rhaenyra's hands clenched slightly at his sides, then relaxed.
"Your Highness is dealing with official business." Mesalia's voice was soft and polite, as if she was speaking to a guest she met for the first time, "Your Highness, would you like to go to the side hall and wait first--"
"No need." Rhaenyra interrupted her, her voice so calm that there was no fluctuation, "I will leave after talking to him."
She walked past Mesalia, her shoulder almost brushing Mesalia's, and walked into the study.
Her boots made no sound as they stepped on the soft carpet, but her presence was like a sharp, unsheathed sword, leaving an invisible but impossible-to-ignore trace in the air.
Mesalia stood at the door, watching Rhaenyra walk in, the smile on her face did not change at all.
She turned slightly sideways and winked at the maid at the door. The maid immediately lowered her head, took small steps and retreated deeper into the corridor, disappearing around the corner.
Then she herself left, and the hem of her white dress swayed slightly in the candlelight, like a white cloud that was drifting away.
She walked neither fast nor slowly, her steps were calm and graceful, but her fingers were slightly clenched at her sides.
She didn't look back.
The study door is not closed.
Maybe he forgot, maybe he didn't need to close it - in this castle, what Redd says is law, and the decision Redd makes is fate. No one dares to approach his study without permission, and no one dares to eavesdrop on his conversation.
It makes no difference whether the door is open or closed.
Rhaenyra walked to the desk and stood still.
Redd raised his head and looked at her. Her figure was reflected in those black eyes - the cloak had not yet been taken off, her hair was messy in the wind, her face was still flushed from the wind while flying, and there was a layer of fine beads of sweat on her forehead.
Her breathing had not yet completely calmed down, her chest was rising and falling slightly, and her purple eyes were shining with a complex and indescribable light.
He was silent for a moment, then buckled the belt he had gathered around his waist, leaned back on the chair, folded his hands on his abdomen, his posture was relaxed and casual, as if he was waiting for an old friend to sit down and drink tea, rather than receiving an heir to the throne who flew over from King's Landing and Seven Kingdoms.
"Sit," he said.
Rhaenyra did not sit down. She stood there, her hands hanging by her sides, her eyes swept across Redd's face, and then landed on the open letter on the desk.
The envelope is stamped with the fire seal of Prince of Dorne - a golden sun pierced by a spear.
The envelope has been opened, and the letter paper is spread out on the table. From the angle of Rhaenyra, the words on it cannot be seen clearly, but you can see that the handwriting on the letter paper is neat and smooth, and it is obviously written by a well-educated person.
"Dorne?" she asked, not a question, but a confirmation.
"Yes." Redd folded the letter, stuffed it into the envelope, and threw it to the corner of the table, "Prince of Dorne agreed to declare himself vassal to Iron Throne again."
Rhaenyra's pupils shrank slightly.
Dorne. This is the only kingdom in Seven Kingdoms that has never been truly conquered by House Targaryen.
Aegon the Conqueror rode a dragon, carrying fire, sword and blood, and brought the six countries into the territory of Targaryen one by one. Only Dorne, that sandy, mountainous and thorny land, stood stubbornly like a thorn stuck in Iron Throne for more than a hundred years.
They killed the Targaryen dragon, killed the Targaryen king, and killed countless Targaryen soldiers and generals. They used deserts and canyons, guerrillas and ambushes, and the will to never surrender to preserve their independence and dignity.
And Redd - her husband, the man who sat on Essos and owned a three-headed dragon - only needed one letter to get Prince of Dorne to agree to surrender to Iron Throne again.
A letter.
Not a war, not a conquest, not blood and fire. Just a letter.
You don't even need to write any threats in the letter, you just need to let Prince of Dorne know that Stepstones is already his, the Three Cities Alliance no longer exists, his fleet can land from Dorne's coastline at any time, and his dragon can fly in the Dorne sky at any time.
Rhaenyra Don't know what to say.
She should be happy - Dorne has once again surrendered to Iron Throne. This is what her father Viserys wanted to do but couldn't do. This is what House Targaryen has wanted but couldn't get for more than a hundred years.
She should be proud of Redd - her husband only used one letter to accomplish what countless previous kings could not do with swords and blood and fire.
But she couldn't be happy.
Because she knows that Dorne surrenders to Iron Throne, not to Viserys, not to House Targaryen, but to Redd.
Prince of Dorne was not conquered by the power of Iron Throne, but by the power of Redd.
This surrender will not increase the majesty of Iron Throne, but will only increase the prestige of Redd.
Dornish will not say "We finally bowed to House Targaryen", they will say "We bowed to the man riding the three-headed dragon".
This is a world of difference, a fundamental difference, and the cruelest political reality that Viserys can never understand.
"I'm not here to come to you about Dorne." Rhaenyra's voice came from above the desk. It was calm, dignified, and without any emotion, as if it was coming from a very far away place.
Redd looked at her without saying a word. His eyes moved from her face to her hands - the hands that were tightly clasped together.
The corners of his mouth raised slightly, revealing an almost invisible, somewhat playful smile.
"Father wants to give you a title." Rhaenyra's voice was still calm, "Narrow Sea King."
Redd tapped his fingers on the table twice, making a crisp sound like a heartbeat.
"King of the Narrow Sea." He repeated the title in a calm tone, as if he was tasting the taste of a dish, "Sounds good. What next?"
Rhaenyra's lips pursed slightly. She heard the implication of Redd's words - any title comes with a price, especially in politics.
Viserys gave him the title "King of the Narrow Sea" not to commend his achievements or to bring them closer, but in exchange for something.
Those things have not been written into any documents, and have not been spoken by anyone, but they exist, just like air, they are everywhere, invisible and intangible, but everyone is breathing it.
"Narrow Sea includes all the sea areas around Dragonstone," Rhaenyra said, "all of which are assigned to you. Iron Throne recognizes your ownership and dominion over that sea area.
You will no longer be called 'Prince Dragonstone' or 'Governor Narrow Sea', but 'King'. An independent king who is equal to King Seven Kingdoms."