The ornate and magnificent gates of the Governor's Mansion soon appeared in their sight.
Two rows of guards stood at the entrance, wearing armor decorated with ornate crests and feathers, which looked more suitable for a parade than actual combat.
They stood straight, looking neither to the left nor the right.
However, Xiao Griffin's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
These guards... their aura was sowhat off.
Their posture was too upright, their eyes too calm and sharp, and the muscle lines of their arms holding the halberds appeared too taut under the ornate armor.
It was a fierce aura of those who had experienced real slaughter and seen blood, completely out of place with the long-standing peace and general slackness of Lys.
Perhaps Governor Dorian transferred them from the elite forces under his direct command? Xiao Griffin thought to himself, montarily suppressing this trace of doubt.
They passed through the gates and entered the Governor's Mansion.
The mansion was brightly lit, forming a sharp contrast with the silence outside.
In the spacious banquet hall, the long tables were already covered with a dazzling array of fine food and wine, with silver tableware and crystal glasses shimring under the lights.
Twenty or thirty elegantly dressed noble n and won were gathered here; seeing them enter, they stopped their conversations one after another, casting curious or implicitly eager glances.
These faces matched the intelligence Xiao Griffin and Jon had received earlier; most were representatives of families with considerable power in Lys who held a positive or wait-and-see attitude toward cooperation with the "Targaryens."
Sa lis led the two near the head table and said softly, "Please take a seat. The banquet will begin soon. The Governor will personally co to apologize later."
Since they were here, they might as well make the best of it.
Xiao Griffin put on an impeccable, gentle, and reserved smile and began to socialize with the nobles who ca forward to greet him.
His speech was appropriate; he could quote classics and chat about the interesting sights and customs of Lys. He seed to have a good understanding of each family's situation, always hitting the mark, which caused the surrounding nobles' eyes to light up with brilliance as they conversed happily.
Jon Clinton stood slightly behind him, watching the youth who was like a fish in water, his brilliance gradually showing. That sense of gratification and pride welled up again, almost washing away the trace of unease brought by the surroundings.
He was doing so well, as if he were born to stand in such a place, accepting everyone's attention and flattery.
However... as ti passed, the wine and food were served, and the guests had mostly arrived, but that Governor Dorian, who was supposedly resting from his injuries, had yet to show his face.
Only so mid-to-low-level nobles were here providing warm hospitality. No matter how one looked at it, this was a bit too dismissive.
Jon's brow slowly furrowed again.
Just then, Sa lis, who had left briefly, reappeared. She walked straight to Jon Clinton, her face wearing a perfectly asured expression of respect mixed with difficulty, and whispered:
"Lord Clinton, the Governor said that before the banquet officially begins, he would like to speak with you alone... regarding so matters concerning Prince Aegon."
"What do you think...?"
Speak alone? At this ti? Jon Clinton's guard was instantly raised.
He did not want to be too far from Xiao Griffin in this strange place.
"Lord Griffin, since the Governor has invited you, you should go." Xiao Griffin's voice sounded from the side. He had just finished exchanging pleasantries with a noble and turned around, a smile of understanding and support on his face.
"The Governor hasn't recovered from his injuries yet, yet he's still thinking of eting you first. This shows his sincerity. I'll be fine here."
His smile and eyes were full of trust, as if saying: Don't worry, I can handle this.
Jon looked into his foster son's deep blue eyes, which were filled with composure at this mont, and then at the surrounding nobles who seed harmless but whose true natures were unknown. Finally, he gritted his teeth.
"Fine," he said deeply, then turned to the captain of the guards he had brought, commanding in a tone only they could hear clearly: "Stay here and protect him well."
"If there is any abnormal movent, sound the alarm imdiately and take him away."
"Yes!" The guard captain nodded heavily, his hand on his sword hilt, his gaze instantly becoming as sharp as a hawk's.
Only then did Jon Clinton nod to Sa lis: "Lead the way."
Sa lis led Jon through an archway at the side of the banquet hall, past several corridors hung with exquisite tapestries, and into the depths of the mansion.
The servants beca fewer and fewer, and the environnt grew quieter, with only the sound of their two footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.
Finally, they stopped before a carved wooden door leading to a garden.
The door was slightly ajar, and a faint fragrance of flowers drifted from within.
"The Governor is waiting for you inside." Sa lis stopped by the door, bowed slightly, and signaled for Jon Clinton to enter by himself.
Jon Clinton glanced at her. Sa lis kept her eyes down and looked submissive, showing nothing unusual.
He took a breath, pushed open the heavy wooden door, and stepped inside.
The door closed gently behind him.
Before him was an exquisite and quiet garden, not large in scale, but the exotic plants were well-trimd, and a path paved with white pebbles wound forward.
The afternoon sun filtered through the sparse leaves, casting mottled light and shadows on the stone path.
Deep in the garden, with his back to the entrance, stood a figure.
He wore simple black casual clothes; the fabric looked ordinary but was well-tailored, perfectly outlining the person's figure, which was as upright as a pine tree.
A head of long hair, like molten pure silver, was unrestrained and draped casually over his shoulders, flowing with a cold and dazzling luster in the sunlight.
Just this single view of his back made Jon Clinton's blood seemingly freeze in an instant.
That height, that shoulder width, that posture... a sense of familiarity that spanned twenty years of ti and was deeply etched into the depths of his soul, accompanied by a violent throbbing, slamd hard against his heart.
The sound of footsteps startled the person.
He slowly turned around.
The sunlight happened to brush past the treetops, clearly illuminating his profile.
A well-defined outline, a straight nose, thin lips pressed together... and, when his face fully turned, those eyes that gazed calmly and deeply at Jon Clinton—
Violet eyes.
Boom—!
It was as if a silent thunderclap had exploded in the depths of Jon Clinton's mind and soul!
Blasting all the perceptions, beliefs, and persistence he had built over twenty years into pieces!
His pupils suddenly contracted to the limit, the color drained completely from his face in an instant, and his body swayed uncontrollably, as if struck by an invisible heavy hamr.
He opened his mouth but could make no sound, only a broken, almost suffocating gasp squeezed from his throat.
In his vision was that young and handso face, which bore a startling similarity to another equally handso but more gentle face in his mory.
Those unique violet eyes belonging to the true dragons of Targaryen overlapped with the figure of the black-clad, silver-haired youth before him, finally transforming into a dream he thought had been completely buried with the Battle of the Trident.
"Rhae... Rhaegar... Your Highness...?"
A trembling na, almost like a sleep-talker's, finally escaped with difficulty from his dry lips.
The black-clad, silver-haired youth, Aegon Targaryen, looked at the old knight before him—who seed to have aged ten years in an instant, his eyes a mix of extre shock, bewildernt, wild joy, and even deeper fear—and slowly spoke.
His voice was steady and clear like the striking of jade, yet it carried an indescribable weight that seed to pierce through the dust of years, echoing clearly in this quiet garden:
"Lord Griffin... or rather, my father's most loyal subordinate and friend, Ser Jon Clinton."
Aegon's gaze was like a calm deep lake, reflecting Jon Clinton's violently shaking soul.
"We finally et."
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