Nefas found himself momentarily bereft of words.
Hugh, however, remained unhurried; he picked up his wine cup, took a measured sip, and leveled a knowing gaze at the Volantene envoy.
"Silverwing and Vermithor. You want those two dragons."
Nefas's expression tightened, but he remained silent.
"But Silverwing has a rider," Hugh continued.
"That little wench, Sara. Bastard or not, she is a dragonrider, and she answers to the Blacks."
"Vermithor is riderless, but he follows Silverwing. Wherever she flies, the Bronze Fury follows."
"So, if you want to claim those two dragons, you have to deal with Sara first."
Nefas's expression shifted further, the mask of the polite diplomat beginning to crack.
"And how do you deal with her?" Hugh reasoned smoothly.
"Kill her? Then Silverwing becomes a feral beast. Which one of you could tame her? There is no guarantee."
"So, you cannot kill her. You must control her."
"And what do you use to control her? That boy she just birthed. As long as you hold that child, Sara will have no choice but to obey you."
Hugh set down his wine cup, the heavy clunk echoing in the quiet room.
"Am I right?"
Nefas was silent for a long moment before he slowly nodded.
"Lord Hugh is indeed clever."
"I'm not clever." Hugh shook his head.
"I've just seen too many of these tricks. You Volantenes are no different from the high-and-mighty nobles of Westeros. You spin grand tales, promise the moon, and then expect others to bleed and die for you."
Nefas's face changed, a flash of genuine alarm crossing his features.
Hugh looked at him and suddenly laughed, a deep, booming sound.
"Don't be nervous, Lord Nefas. I didn't say I wouldn't do it."
Nefas blinked, and the oily smile quickly reappeared on his face.
"Lord Hugh truly understands the greater good..."
"But I have conditions," Hugh interrupted smoothly.
"Please, speak."
Hugh held up three thick fingers.
"First, I want Myr. Not as a governor or a magister, but as a Prince. The Prince of Myr."
Nefas's smile froze.
"Second," Hugh continued, "I want Volantis to provide the coin. I will build an army. Three thousand fully armed men under my command. Pay, rations, equipment, you cover it all."
A muscle in Nefas's jaw began to twitch.
"Impossible!" he blurted out.
Hugh looked at him, completely unbothered.
Nefas took a deep breath, fighting to compose himself.
"Lord Hugh, your conditions... are absurd. Myr was won with Volantene blood; it cannot be casually granted away to an outsider."
"I know," Hugh cut in ruthlessly.
"That's precisely why I'm asking for it."
He leaned back in his chair, idly toying with the magnificent Valyrian steel sword resting on the table.
"Lord Nefas, I know exactly what you Volantenes want. You want dragons. You want to forge a new Dragonlord family and restore the ancient glory of the Valyrian Freehold. For that kind of power, you would pay any price."
He paused, locking eyes with Nefas.
"Am I right?"
Nefas said nothing.
Hugh pressed his advantage.
"Can you steal the dragons yourselves?"
He shook his head mockingly.
"You cannot. You can only achieve your grand ambition by controlling Sara. But that woman is no fool. Will she listen to a Volantene?"
Hugh lifted the sword, watching the light ripple beautifully along the dark, folded steel.
"But if it's me... that is different. I can make her listen."
He lowered the blade and leaned forward.
"Buy one, get two free. Isn't that a magnificent bargain? My Lord, you must realize the sheer risk I am taking by betraying the Blacks. Prince Lucerys elevated me, Queen Rhaenyra trusts me, and the castle guards follow my command. With a single word, I can take that child. But the moment I do, I become a traitor, an oathbreaker with a target on his back."
He stared intently into Nefas's purple eyes.
"Tell me... is all of that not worth the title of Prince of Myr?"
Nefas was silent for a long time.
He remembered his aunt Aeriona's strict command:
'Get Sara, and then marry the bastard girl.'
House Lancer desperately needed dragons. They needed Silverwing and Vermithor. Only with that absolute power could Volantis truly rise and conquer the East.
As for Myr... what was Myr in the grand scheme? Merely a piece of land.
As long as they possessed dragons, the Lancers would possess the world.
"Fine," Nefas finally said, his voice tight. "I agree."
Hugh looked at him, a flash of genuine surprise in his eyes.
"You agree so quickly? You won't even consult your superiors?"
"I have made the consideration," Nefas said coldly.
"The Principality of Myr, the funding, all of it, I can grant you. But there is one prerequisite."
"Speak."
"You must prove you can do what you boast. Secure that child and bring Sara to heel. Only then will we finalize our arrangement."
Hugh let out a harsh laugh.
"Rest easy. I command the castle guard; the men answering the gates are mine. Taking that infant will be effortless."
He paused, his expression hardening. "But first, you must give me a guarantee."
"What guarantee?"
"A Blood Oath."
Nefas's expression darkened.
A Blood Oath. An ancient Valyrian tradition, a vow sworn upon one's own lifeblood.
Legends proclaimed that those who broke such an oath would suffer a horrific blood curse, ensuring neither they nor their descendants would ever find a peaceful end.
It was, of course, just a myth; no one had ever proven it real.
But for the pure-blooded descendants of Old Valyria, it remained the most solemn, sacred covenant imaginable.
"You overstep!" Nefas glared at him, his aristocratic pride flaring.
Hugh remained entirely unmoved.
"Lord Nefas, it is not that I do not believe you. It is simply that you swore an oath to aid the Blacks, and now you sit here conspiring to betray them. Forgive me if I don't place much faith in your honorable word. What is to stop you from discarding me once the deed is done?"
Nefas took a slow, deep breath, wrestling down his fury. Myr was a small price.
With those two dragons, Volantis would dominate the entire continent.
Braavos, Lys, Pentos, they would all turn to ash beneath them.
He, Nefas Lancer, would become the founding Emperor of a New Valyrian Empire. What did a Blood Oath matter compared to godhood?
He slowly stood up and drew the dagger from his waist.
It was forged of Valyrian steel as well, far shorter than the sword in Hugh's hand, but equally exquisite.
The dark blade bore the inscription: Flowing Light.
He dragged the edge across his palm. Blood welled up instantly.
Unrolling a piece of fresh parchment on the table, he began to write, chanting slowly in High Valyrian:
"I, Nefas Lancer, swear by blood and the witness of the gods. If Hugh can secure Jacaerys's son and bind Sara to our cause, I shall fulfill my promise and crown him Prince of Myr. Should I break this oath, let me and my descendants suffer the curse of blood and fire, and fall into ruin for eternity."
The blood dripped from his palm onto the floor, seeping into the cracks of the stone.
Hugh watched the display with a highly satisfied smile.
He stood up, took the dagger from Nefas, sliced his own palm, and wrote his corresponding oath in blood:
"I, Hugh, descendant of King Jaehaerys, swear by blood. I shall control Jacaerys's son and make Sara serve our cause. Should I break this, let me suffer the agonizing punishment of dragonfire, and leave no place for my bones to rest."
The two men looked at the blood-stained parchment, then at each other, and broke into simultaneous laughter.
Nefas raised his wine cup. "To the future Prince of Myr. Let us drink."
Hugh raised his cup to meet it. "My Lord. Cheers."
As the rich wine flowed down their throats, the smiles on their faces grew deeper.
Yet, behind their eyes, their minds were spinning with entirely different treacheries.
Hugh thought:
'Prince of Myr? Who gives a damn about Myr? The blood of King Jaehaerys flows in my veins; I am a rightful descendant of House Targaryen. Once I control that child, Sara must obey me.'
'Then, Silverwing and Vermithor will be mine to command. With two massive dragons at my back, and the Blacks and Greens bleeding each other dry, it will be the perfect moment for my rise.'
'Prince Lucerys? I'm sorry you promoted me, but you are merely an obstacle now. I'll seize Lucerys and Prince Daemon's two daughters as hostages; the Blacks won't dare lift a finger against me. When the war leaves them ruined, I'll make my move... The Iron Throne. Why shouldn't I take it for myself?'
Across the table, Nefas was thinking:
'Give you Myr? Keep dreaming, you lowborn brute. Once the dragons are secured, what use will you be? Silverwing and Vermithor will belong exclusively to Volantis.'
'Once I, Nefas Lancer, marry the dragonrider Sara, I will become the founding Emperor of the New Valyrian Empire. The Lancers will be the supreme Dragonlords... As for this Blood Oath? It is nothing but an old wives' tale.'
The two men shared a final, lingering smile, each perfectly content in his own treacherous scheme.
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