Before the Roman prince could continue, the atmosphere in the throne room palpably shifted.
The pulsing glow of the colossal emerald crystals abruptly dimmed. My eyes immediately darted upward toward the dais. The Emperor had risen from his seat. He took slow, deliberate steps down the seven marble stairs, the encroaching shadows clinging to his heavy velvet coat. Though the afternoon sun still hung in the sky outside, the loss of the magical light revealed just how naturally dark the cavernous hall truly was. In the gloom, the Emperor's emerald eyes glowed with an eerie, internal luminescence.
"I believe you have had ample time to measure their temperament, Octavian. Let us not waste precious hours. Speak the truth now."
The voice of the Emperor rolled through the hall. It carried a deep, ancient resonance, strikingly similar to the absolute, regal weight my own father commanded when passing judgment. As he spoke, the massive iron chandeliers hanging high above the throne room spontaneously ignited, bathing the hall in warm, flickering firelight. It was another mesmerising display of casual power.
The Emperor reached the base of the dais and took the seat at the head of the transfigured table. Vaegon, Daemon, and I immediately stood out of ingrained respect, but the immortal merely waved a hand, wordlessly commanding us to sit. Up close, his smooth features were even more unnerving. I could not fathom how a man older than my own father looked exactly the same age as myself.
Octavian clicked his tongue—a shockingly informal gesture in such a monumental setting, though none present possessed the authority to reprimand him.
"As my father stated, we are not truly incensed by your defensive posturing. We hope to conclude this matter with mutually beneficial cordiality," Octavian declared smoothly. " We will require two vials of blood from all three Targaryens present as a foundational compensation, along with six hundred thousand Swarnas for the extensive structural and mortal damage caused by Prince Daemon and his beast. Furthermore, as a show of good faith, we require Prince Daemon to travel with my sister to the western frontier. He shall aid the Legions in the efforts to secure and restore the newly incorporated territory of Qohor for a strict period of three moons."
I was completely wrong-footed by the rapid, whiplash shift in his diplomatic approach. While my mind reeled, trying to process the staggering demands, Vaegon thrust himself back into the fray.
"Absolutely not. The sum demanded is astronomically high," the Archmaester snapped. "Six hundred thousand Swarnas is the equivalent of nearly one million gold dragons. And that is to say nothing of the utterly preposterous notion of surrendering royal Valyrian blood."
My brother was entirely correct. A million gold dragons were roughly equivalent to the entire annual tax revenue gathered from the Vale of Arryn. Forking over such an obscene amount of coin would strike a massive, destabilising blow to the royal treasury. Yet, it was the demand for our blood that truly unnerved me. The harrowing thoughts of what a family of god-slaying sorcerers could achieve with the blood of the dragon offered me no comfort whatsoever.
"What do you propose, then?"
It was not the Princeps but the Emperor who spoke.
Vaegon leaned forward, his expression deeply concerned but his tone unyielding. "The Iron Throne can pay four hundred thousand gold dragons for the release of Prince Daemon. Royal blood cannot be part of this transaction. Furthermore, instead of Prince Daemon helping in the restoration efforts, the Iron Throne is willing to add a substantial measure of additional coin to your coffers."
The Emperor slowly raised his eyes.
Suddenly, my head was violently jerked forward, slamming brutally onto the marble table. An unholy, crushing pressure pinned my skull against the stone. No matter the amount of desperate effort I exerted, my muscles refused to obey; I could not lift my head a single inch. With my vision swimming, I managed to dart my eyes upward, finding the Emperor staring directly at me.
"I believe you are operating under fundamentally incorrect assumptions, Targaryen," the immortal stated, his voice a freezing current. "While this may wear the trappings of a negotiation, it is most certainly not one. This is a summary of demands made by me to your father. Did you not decipher the letter, boy?"
He stared right into my eyes, and a terrifying, unnatural compulsion forced the truth from my throat.
"We did."
"Then you remember exactly what my demand was, do you not?" his icy voice echoed.
"We do," I answered against my will.
"So you choose to antagonise me even after knowing the truth. It was not wise of you, Baelon, nor your brother. If you will not meet us at this table in good faith, then you will suffer for it."
The Emperor's voice dropped to a cold, deadly whisper as the crushing pressure on my body drastically increased. I could hear Vaegon and Daemon grunting in sheer agony from their own seats, their bodies similarly pinned, but I stubbornly swallowed my own groans.
"I will agree to it!" I spewed out in pain and desperation. "But you must assure us that nothing untoward will be done to my family using that blood!"