Chapter 470

“You’re insulting me, Miss Greyjoy,” Aegor said coldly, his tone now devoid of the casual friendliness it had held earlier. His choice of address had shifted to something distant and formal, a clear indicator of his displeasure. “Since I believe your words weren’t spoken with malicious intent, I’ll pretend you didn’t say them. Our conversation is over. Return to your quarters and rest. Tonight will be your last night in the inner keep. Tomorrow morning, inform the guards of your decision regarding the liquidation of the ‘Lightbringer.’ As for now, I have work to attend to.”

With that, Aegor straightened in his chair, reached for the topmost document on the stack by his desk, and began flipping through it with deliberate indifference. His actions left no doubt that his dismissal wasn’t just for show.

Asha stood frozen, her fingers still tangled in the loose straps of her leather jacket. Her entire body trembled with humiliation and rage.

As the princess of the Iron Islands, the most renowned female captain in its history, and the only woman to have ever participated in a kingsmoot, she had never relied on her appearance to curry favor. Even as a prisoner, she had suitors lining up, eager to win her attention. When had she ever needed to degrade herself like this?

No one could fathom the depths of shame and disgust she’d endured to make such an offer. Yet here she was, having her sacrifice interpreted as an insult.

Who was insulting whom?

(Was it my inexperience in choosing the wrong time and place for this ‘bargain’? Or has Daenerys’s beauty spoiled his tastes? Or… could the rumors that he prefers men actually be true?)

The reasons didn’t matter. Knowing them wouldn’t change her current predicament. For a moment, her mind went blank before humiliation and fury surged in to fill the void. Yet after standing still for a few seconds, she summoned a level of restraint and resolve she hadn’t known she possessed, swallowing the urge to kick over the table in front of her.

Under the eaves, one must bow their head. As the one asking for help, she had to endure even greater humiliation if necessary. Compared to that, mere rejection was nothing.

Unclenching her fists, Asha noticed that her nails had bitten into her palms, drawing blood. But it was a shallow wound. She raised her hands to retie the straps of her jacket, deliberately tightening them as if to punish herself, returning to the composed image she had upon entering the room. Then, she moved to her backup plan—a path far riskier and thornier than the first.

“Please forgive my earlier offense,” she said, forcing calm into her voice. To be rejected outright and then apologize for her proposal—it was a surreal humiliation that she could neither laugh off nor rage against. “The Ironborn contributed nothing to the Night’s Watch’s war against the White Walkers. Worse, we were a hindrance at critical moments. I have no standing to demand your support for my ideals. But I trust you’ll find no reason to deny my next request.”

Lifting her chin, she declared what she had resolved months ago: “I hereby formally apply to join the Night’s Watch.”

If she couldn’t ride inside the winner’s carriage, then clinging to its roof—or even the axles—would suffice.

Aegor’s gaze rose from his document, cold and sharp, as he studied her again.

Her earlier suggestion had irritated him, but not to the extent his reaction suggested. The abrupt dismissal was less about anger and more about saving himself the trouble of further arguments. He hadn’t expected Asha to adapt so quickly, immediately abandoning her failed offer and proposing something far more measured and plausible.

Even so, Aegor had no intention of agreeing. This was a buyer’s market, and he had all the leverage. Accepting her into the Night’s Watch would grant her status, access, and influence—precisely the things he didn’t want her to have.

To put on the black was to become part of the Night’s Watch. Asha, as an educated and capable noblewoman, would never start as a mere foot soldier. Once inside, she could maneuver her way up the hierarchy, potentially creating problems Aegor didn’t have time to deal with. The safest course was to shut her down entirely.

“My answer hasn’t changed, Miss Greyjoy,” Aegor said, pen in hand, his tone icy. “The Night’s Watch does not accept women.”

“Don’t try to fob me off with that,” Asha retorted, a hint of her earlier confidence returning. “Arya already told me you promised her she could join after the war, as the first female member, to escape her betrothal.”

Damn that kid. I knew she couldn’t cut ties with Asha.

Aegor’s expression briefly faltered. He had long been aware of Arya’s continued contact with Asha, despite his warnings. Hearthguard was his stronghold, with spies and informants everywhere; nothing escaped his notice. He had tolerated Arya’s defiance only because Asha’s actions had shown no malicious intent.

But for Arya to have shared this particular detail? It stung—not because it was unexpected, but because it highlighted how little Arya had understood the delicacy of the situation.

Suppressing a sigh, Aegor prepared to issue yet another flat refusal. But before he could speak, Asha pushed forward.

“I won’t exploit my status as a member of the Watch to demand anything,” she said, her tone steady. “In fact, I’ll leave the Gift immediately after joining to deal with my uncle Euron. All expenses and resources I need for this will come from the value of the ‘Lightbringer’ you planned to award my brother. If I fail, I’ll exile myself and never return to Westeros—or show my face to you again.”

The word no hovered on Aegor’s lips but refused to come out. Her offer caught him off guard, forcing him to reconsider. She wasn’t asking for free resources; she was proposing to use her share to eliminate Euron Greyjoy—a notorious and dangerous figure.

Supporting an assassination mission wasn’t exactly aboveboard, but it wasn’t as though the Night’s Watch had ever been bound by conventional rules. If Asha succeeded, the Iron Fleet would lose its leader, leaving the Iron Islands vulnerable and easier to manage. If she failed, her death wouldn’t impact his plans in the slightest.

It was a win-win scenario.

Aegor tossed his pen aside and leaned back in his chair, regarding her with a calculating look.

“Very well,” he said after a long pause. “But the terms are mine to set. The value of one ‘Lightbringer’ will be provisionally set at ten thousand gold dragons. Within this limit, you may draw on resources from the Gift—manpower, materials, or supplies. Every request must be formally submitted to the Night’s Watch and approved by me. Each expense will be deducted from your account.”

He continued, his tone unyielding. “As for your request to join the Watch, that will have to wait. Success must precede reward. If you fail, this conversation will never have happened, and you will disappear. Only if you succeed will I consider revising the Watch’s recruitment rules to admit women, with you as the first.”

He smiled faintly, adding one final clause. “Should you succeed, I will also prioritize bringing the Iron Islands into the realm’s fold. While you won’t become its ruler, I’ll propose to the queen that you be made its governor, with full administrative authority—though not ownership. It’s a modest compensation, but if you’re as selfless as you claim, it should be enough.”

Asha’s jaw tightened. The terms were harsher than she’d expected, but just barely within the limits of what she could accept. Her fists clenched briefly before she forced herself to relax.

“Deal,” she said through gritted teeth.

And so, the pact was struck.