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Regardless of any flaws in the plan or the bloodshed it would inevitably cause, Clay remained indifferent. From the very start, he had never truly intended to agree.
Yet, as he observed Ser Aenys Frey—who masked his unease behind a facade of calm but whose eyes gleamed with a barely restrained madness and anticipation—a sudden thought took root in Clay's mind.
Why not feign agreement for now?
Mere words held no weight without being committed to parchment. He and Aenys alone would know the truth, and as long as he denied it later, there would be no evidence to convince others that such an agreement had ever existed.
If, when the Northern army marched south, he could incite chaos within the Twins, leading to internal strife within House Frey, and if the White Sea Guard acted within the castle, his chances of seizing the stronghold would greatly increase.
As for the consequences? There was nothing to worry about. Marriage was not something that could be arranged overnight. Even if Aenys sent envoys to White Harbor immediately, such matters would take months to finalize. By the time everything was settled, Clay would have already led his army southward.
And if he succeeded in taking the Twins, Aenys would come to demand the fulfillment of their agreement. But what of it? He would simply refuse. With the castle firmly in the hands of the Northern army, what could Aenys possibly do?
All he needed was an opportunity to make Robb Stark and the Northern lords realize that the true kinslayer of House Frey was none other than Aenys himself. And if that happened, Clay wouldn't even need to lift a finger—
As King in the North, Robb Stark would see to it that Aenys lost his head. After all, the Stark family, who upheld honor above all else, would never allow such a man to live freely.
---
That night, Aenys Frey returned to his tent with uncontainable excitement, for after much hesitation, intense bargaining, and the promise of grand prospects, Clay Manderly had finally pledged his support for his plan.
As part of their agreement, White Harbor would be exempt from taxes for fifty years. Furthermore, once the matter was settled, both houses would officially establish friendly relations. If the Manderly family ever faced an enemy, House Frey would stand by their side—anything less, Aenys declared, would be a blasphemy against the Seven.
Additionally, any child born to a Manderly bride would have guaranteed inheritance rights. To cement this promise, Aenys vowed to make a public declaration before the Riverland lords in Riverrun.
Before he took action, the Manderlys would send Clay's sister or younger female relative to the Twins, where she would be betrothed to his grandson, Robert Frey.
This Manderly woman would secretly bring a dowry worth fifty thousand gold dragons, which Aenys planned to use to bribe key figures within the castle.
Finally, once he had seized power, House Manderly would openly support his rule. Though the Manderlys belonged to the North, their influence in the region was undeniable.
Having reached this point, Aenys Frey felt as though his grand plan was finally falling into place. For years, he had struggled to gather wealth, as House Frey's finances were tightly controlled by others. He had already spent an unthinkable sum trying to win people over.
But once House Manderly's assistance arrived, his near-empty coffers would be replenished handsomely.
---
Clay had no idea what Aenys Frey, sleepless from excitement, was thinking. For his part, he had no burdens on his conscience. As always, his body's internal clock roused him at precisely six-thirty in the morning.
By the time Aenys Frey came looking for him, still high on his own schemes, Clay had already finished his breakfast and was engaged in his daily sword practice, an unshakable routine of his.
Watching this, Aenys could not help but feel a sense of admiration. This previously obscure young man, Clay Manderly, possessed a tenacity that set him apart. His swordplay was disciplined and methodical, showing not the playful carelessness of a noble lad but the honed precision of a true killer.
Clay sheathed his sword, took the towel offered by his guard, and wiped the light sheen of sweat from his forehead. His lips curved into a warm, almost brotherly smile as he greeted, "Good morning, Ser Aenys." His demeanor was noticeably friendlier than before.
Seeing this, Aenys Frey felt even more at ease. Clay suddenly seemed far more agreeable to him, and the pale-skinned knight returned the smile with a nod. "Young Lord Clay, your swordsmanship is truly impressive."
It was a simple courtesy, and Clay had no intention of fishing for further praise or downplaying his own skill. He merely nodded in response, letting the compliment pass.
His act ended there. He had more pressing matters to attend to.
Mounting his horse, Clay turned to Aenys Frey and said, "Ser, let us depart. We still need to find the debtor responsible for the White Harbor caravan's blood price."
With a light squeeze of his legs, he spurred his horse forward.
---
After several hours of hard riding, the last stretch of distance finally fell behind them.
Upon arriving, they were greeted by a group of Frey knights flying the sigil of the Twin Towers. Among them was the local landed knight responsible for this territory.
Clay wasted no time with unnecessary pleasantries. As soon as the knight began speaking, Clay raised his riding crop, cutting him off mid-sentence.
"Take me to the site where the bodies were found."
By now, the corpses had surely been cleared away. They would not still be lying by the King's Road. But that did not matter—Clay needed to see the scene itself. No amount of words could replace what the ground would reveal.
The knight silently cursed Clay's overbearing attitude but dared not voice his complaints. His rank as a mere landed knight was far below Clay's, and with Aenys Frey trailing behind in an openly deferential manner, he had no choice but to bow his head.
With a quiet "As you command," he turned his horse and led the way.
---
As they proceeded, Clay observed the surrounding terrain, and a chill ran through him.
Two hills rose on either side of the road, their slopes thick with dense vegetation. The King's Road cut through as the sole passage.
A perfect spot for an ambush.
From such an elevated position, an enemy could trap a convoy, blocking their escape route. The wagons would have no room to turn, and even mounted riders would struggle to flee.
He glanced at the captain of his guards. The grizzled veteran had seen his fair share of battles, and the moment his eyes swept over the landscape, he too understood. Without hesitation, he signaled with his hand, and at once, the cavalry behind them surged forward, racing toward the hilltops.
Aenys Frey was a beat slower to react, but when he realized the danger, he lashed his riding crop across the back of the guide, then urged his own men forward.
If there were indeed hidden enemies lying in wait, their elevated position would make them deadly. Even with three hundred men at his back, he himself would be an easy target.
"What a fool," Aenys fumed inwardly. "He didn't even think to warn us!"
At the same time, his eyes flickered toward Clay, who sat atop his horse, unmoving and silent, watching everything unfold with an unreadable expression.
This boy had never set foot on a battlefield, yet his instincts were sharper than his own—someone who had faced death many times.
Why had he been cursed with such incompetent sons?
For a brief moment, Aenys Frey envied Wyman Manderly. As he thought of his own sons, who wasted their days indulging in women and drink, he could not help but sigh.
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[Chapter End's]
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