Just as suddenly as it had arrived, the crushing weight vanished. I slumped back into my chair, my chest heaving as I finally regained control of my own limbs. I raised my head, feeling the blood rush back into my skull. A sudden warmth dripped onto my lip; I reached up, realising I had bled heavily from my nose.
Before I could even reach for a cloth, Princess Liliana raised her slender wooden stick, swiping it through the air. Instantly, all the sweat and blood upon my person vanished without a trace. The same cleansing magic washed over Vaegon and Daemon. She offered me a brief, faintly apologetic nod.
I barely registered her. My entire focus remained locked onto the terrifying entity sitting at the head of the table.
The Emperor levelled his glowing emerald eyes at me. "Your terms are agreeable."
I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs, but I forced the heavy, defiant mask of the Spring Prince back onto my face. "We have no way of ensuring that you will actually abide by these terms. You are functionally all-powerful. What happens if you break your word? We will be left utterly defenceless before you."
The Emperor let out a deep, mirthful chuckle. "You Targaryens are all exactly the same. Visenya said those exact words to me when we met fifty-six years ago."
He leaned back, resting his arms upon the marble table. "It is alright. I will teach you the Valyrian blood art of forging oaths—binding contracts that are strictly enforceable between individuals through ancient magic."
That single statement simultaneously confirmed my darkest doubts while completely upending my understanding of the man. To think he had not only exchanged dark letters with Queen Visenya but had met with her. There were a thousand desperate questions I wished to ask, and I could see the exact same hunger burning in Vaegon's eyes, but we dared not voice them. We needed to survive these negotiations first and foremost.
"That would be acceptable," I answered truthfully, "but I do not possess any affinity for the magical arts."
The Emperor smiled, an expression utterly devoid of warmth. "You do not. But blood oaths can be struck between any two men. The only requirement is that one of the parties must possess genuine Valyrian blood—a condition you most certainly fulfil."
I was deeply unsettled by how much knowledge he possessed regarding our own people, while we, the supposed legacy of Old Valyria, had lost it all to the ashes of the Doom. I offered a stiff nod to show my acceptance of the blood pact.
"I must ask that the coin demanded for compensation be lowered," I pressed, keeping my voice steady. "It is far too great a sum for the royal treasury to render without severely destabilising the realm."
"I require only the blood of you three. The rest of the terms are to be negotiated with my son," the Emperor stated dismissively. He turned his gaze to the Princeps. "Octavian. Will you handle the rest?"
The Princeps offered a crisp nod.
CRACK.
A deafening sound ripped through the air, and the Emperor vanished instantly from his seat, leaving the three of us staring in pale, stuttering disbelief at the empty chair.
"Do not mind that," Octavian voiced smoothly, folding his hands atop the table. "My father remains engaged with a vast assortment of tasks across the continent, any of which may require his immediate attention. Now, let us continue. I am entirely agreeable to lowering the financial remuneration... provided you fulfil a secondary condition."
I let out a long, internal sigh of relief. The suffocating, heavy pressure that had saturated the throne hall lessened perceptibly with the Emperor's departure, significantly calming my frayed nerves.
Vaegon leaned forward, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What condition would that be?"
"The financial compensation can be lowered to three hundred and fifty thousand Swarnas in exchange for a formal declaration from the Iron Throne, officially recognising Rome's absolute conquest of Qohor. As for Daemon's charge of serving the restoration..." Octavian trailed off, leaning forward. "That remains non-negotiable. It is a visible consequence of his actions that the Roman people must see. Thus, he must serve the sentence. Besides, it affords him ample time to spend with my sister. Is that something you truly object to, Daemon?"
The Princeps asked the question with a dangerously knowing smile playing upon his lips.
Daemon, who had remained entirely mute throughout the harrowing ordeal, finally seemed to rediscover his tongue. He cast a fleeting glance toward the Princess. A silent, profound understanding passed between them, culminating in a brief, mutual nod.
"I have no qualms about aiding in the restoration of the frontier," the Valyrian stated, his voice finally regaining a fraction of its former strength.
His immediate capitulation would have struck me as deeply suspicious under any other circumstance. Yet, having witnessed his thoroughly broken state upon our arrival, coupled with the glaringly obvious affection shared between him and the Imperial Princess, I understood the boy's motivations entirely.
"Excellent. Then it is agreed the terms are fair for both sides," Octavian declared smoothly. His smile remained flawlessly polite, but I could clearly see the fierce, predatory satisfaction burning behind his green eyes; the young Prince thoroughly relished the act of putting the Dragonlords in their place.
I turned toward Vaegon. The Archmaester let out a heavy, defeated sigh before offering a stiff nod of concession. I silently shared his grim relief. While this negotiation had been physically and mentally taxing, the King had prepared us for an outcome vastly more devastating.
This resolution, while incredibly costly to our pride and our treasury, left us alive and provided several vital political avenues for the Iron Throne to exploit in the future.
I turned my gaze back to Octavian and offered a single, decisive nod.