Redd nodded.
He has known this information for a long time, from Jasont's report, from Mesalia's intelligence network, and even from Viserys's subtle changes in his attitude towards him.
But knowing it is one thing, hearing it from Rhaenyra is another thing.
He knew that Rhaenyra was not conveying Viserys's words, she was telling him - she understood those words, she understood what Viserys was planning, she was not a princess who was kept in the dark, knew nothing, and could only convey messages.
She is a true crown prince.
"What are the conditions?" Redd asked.
His tone was still calm, but there was a hint of seriousness and scrutiny in his black eyes.
He is re-evaluating his wife, a woman he married more out of political considerations than emotional impulse.
She is smarter than he thought, bolder than he thought, and more sharp-edged than he thought.
Rhaenyra was silent for a moment. She knew what kind of person her next words would make her in the eyes of Redd - whether it was Viserys's mouthpiece or her own spokesperson.
Her hands were slightly clenched behind her back, and her nails were almost embedded into the flesh of her palms. The subtle stinging kept her awake and prevented her from getting lost in front of Redd's black eyes.
"Dragon King's army must not cross Driftmark and appear on the territory of Blackwater Bay and Seven Kingdoms."
She said this, and every word seemed to be squeezed out of her throat, with an almost pleading tone that even she herself was not aware of.
She is not speaking for Viserys. She is speaking for Westeros, for Seven Kingdoms, for those people who live outside the sight of Redd and do not know what they are about to face.
She has seen the ruins of the Lys port, seen the corpses burned to charcoal by Wildfire and Dragon Breath, and seen the two Dragon skeletons that were eaten by King Ghidorah, leaving only residue.
She doesn't want Westeros to become the second Lys.
She didn't want King's Landing's city wall to be erased by golden lightning, she didn't want Red Keep's tower to be burned to ashes by dragon's breath, and she didn't want her father - no matter how many wrong things he had done - to die at Redd's feet.
Redd looked into her eyes, into those purple eyes burning with some kind of flame.
He was silent for a long time, so long that the candle burned short again, so long that the envelope on the desk was reflected in the candlelight as a long, crooked shadow.
Then he laughed.
It's not a sneer, it's not a mockery, it's not the kind of smile that sends chills down your spine, with murderous intent.
It's a genuine, heartfelt smile with a bit of appreciation and a bit of surprise.
The smile stayed on the corner of his mouth for a moment, and then dissipated, but that brief, true smile left a deep and indelible mark on Rhaenyra's memory.
"You are more honest than your father." Redd said, with a rare, almost gentle touch in his voice. "You said what he didn't dare to say. You made the conditions that he was embarrassed to mention."
He raised his hand from the table and drew a semicircle in the air, as if he was drawing an invisible line that separated the two worlds.
"Driftmark." He said, his tone as calm as if he was pronouncing a name, "Okay. West of Dragonstone and end at Driftmark."
My fleet will not cross Driftmark, my army will not set foot on the shores of Blackwater Bay, and my dragon--will not appear in the sky of King's Landing."
He looked into Rhaenyra's eyes, and her face was reflected in those black pupils - that calm, dignified, mask-like face that remained expressionless after hearing his promise.
"This is my promise to you." He said, his voice was as soft as telling a secret, "It's not to your father, not to Iron Throne, not to Seven Kingdoms. It's to you."
Rhaenyra's lips moved slightly, wanting to say something, but in the end he said nothing.
She just stood there, her fingers trembling slightly behind her, as if something had hit her heart.
She didn't know whether she should believe his words or doubt them.
Would an ambitious Dragon King, who conquered nine Free Citiess, killed Daemon and Tormund, and made Dorne surrender with just one letter, really give up his ambition for Westeros just for the sake of a woman's words?
Her reason told her no.
But her heart - the heart that had not been touched by any man for a long time, and was wrapped in layers of armor and masks, as hard as iron - was slightly loosened at that moment.
"Thank you," she said, her voice almost inaudible.
Redd has no answer.
He lowered his head, picked up the letter from Prince of Dorne again, and opened it, as if the conversation just now was over, and as if Rhaenyra was no longer in his study.
Rhaenyra turned and left. Her boots stepped on the soft carpet without making any sound, but in Redd's ears, the sound of her footsteps was as clear as a drumbeat reverberating in the empty corridor.
She walked to the door and paused.
"Messaria," her voice came from the door without looking back, "Is a great helper."
Redd's fingers paused slightly on the letter paper, then continued reading.
Rhaenyra walked out of the door, her cloak lightly rubbed against the door frame, and then slid over.
Her footsteps got farther and farther, and finally disappeared around the corner of the corridor, covered up by King Ghidorah's deep snoring coming from deep within the castle.
Redd put down the letter in his hand, leaned back on the chair, folded his hands on his abdomen, and looked at the mural on the ceiling depicting House Targaryen conquering Essos.
That mural was left by the original owner of Dragonstone. It painted the ancestor of Aegon the Conqueror - the ancestor of Targaryen who escaped from the doomsday catastrophe of Valyria and carried the three-headed dragon.
He suddenly felt that the dragon on that mural was too small compared to King Ghidorah.
He closed his eyes and raised the corners of his mouth slightly, revealing a faint, somewhat playful smile.
Driftmark. He promised Driftmark to Rhaenyra.
His army will not cross Driftmark, his fleet will not appear in Blackwater Bay, and his dragon will not appear in the sky of King's Landing.
What he did not promise was that he could land anywhere west of Driftmark and then attack King's Landing from overland.
"Word play." He whispered, his voice was as soft as talking to himself, "Rhaenyra, you are smarter than I thought, but you are also more naive than I thought."
He raised his hand from his abdomen, pressed it on the letter Prince of Dorne on the desk, and lightly rubbed his fingers on the fire seal.
The golden sun, pierced by a spear, shone faintly like gold in the candlelight.