Rhaenyra intervened, her voice firm, though not openly aggressive.
"We do not seek war, but the law must be upheld.
My father, Viserys I, named me his heir, and the princes of the Seven Kingdoms swore their oaths of fealty to me.
Yet now someone has usurped my position and seized King's Landing.
I must set things right—for my father, and for the Seven Kingdoms."
She spoke sincerely, with a trace of sadness in her tone.
Several representatives of the Iron Bank exchanged glances and gave slight nods.
At the very least, the reasoning sounded legitimate.
But the Iron Bank did not concern itself with legitimacy—only with risk.
"And what of repayment?" Tommo asked. "At present, the Greens control King's Landing and the royal treasury. What is your source of income?"
"Dragonstone is rich in mines," Daemon said.
"Production is declining, and extraction costs are high," Lylia countered at once, studying the information on Dragonstone laid out on the table.
"And once war begins, will the mines even continue to operate?"
"Driftmark is prosperous."
"But war will devastate Driftmark," she replied coolly.
"Piracy, blockades, burned ports… what tax revenue will remain after the war?"
"We will win," Daemon repeated, his voice cold as steel.
"And if we do, the taxes of all Seven Kingdoms will be our means of repayment."
"And if you lose?"
"We will not."
"And if you do?"
Silence fell over the chamber. Candlelight crackled softly.
Daemon looked at Lylia for a long moment, then laughed—a harsh, unpleasant sound.
"If we lose, we will most likely all be dead.
And the dead do not repay their debts, do they?"
"There is still collateral," Grover interjected.
"Your Highness, two million gold dragons is an enormous risk.
We require tangible guarantees. For example…"
He licked his lips.
"Can dragon eggs be hatched?"
Rhaenyra's face went pale at once.
Daemon did not move. His gaze remained distant as he slowly turned his head toward Grover.
"Say that again."
Grover swallowed, but did not retreat.
"Prince, you are capable of hatching dragon eggs.
The Iron Bank requires collateral of equivalent value. A living dragon egg is priceless, and—"
"And what?" Daemon cut in, his anger tightly leashed.
"And… it ensures compliance with the agreement. After all, dragon eggs do not hatch immediately, and during that time—"
"During that time," Daemon finished for him, "you would hold hostages to threaten House Targaryen?
You would threaten us with unborn dragons?"
He rose to his feet.
The chair shrieked across the stone floor.
Rhaenyra rose as well, her hands trembling slightly, fury burning in her eyes.
"We are leaving," Daemon said.
"Prince—Your Highness," Aquamen protested.
"Do not speak of dragon eggs again," Daemon snapped.
"This is no negotiation—it is an insult.
You would humiliate House Targaryen?
Is that your intent, Sea Lord?"
The hall fell deathly still.
Aquamen raised a hand.
"Please, Your Highness, sit.
Representative Grover spoke out of turn.
We respect the traditions of House Targaryen."
Daemon remained standing.
"Sit," Rhaenyra whispered, touching his arm.
Slowly, he returned to his seat, though the cold in his eyes did not fade.
The negotiations continued—but the atmosphere had changed.
Daemon abandoned all courtesy, cutting sharply through every figure and clause.
The representatives of the Iron Bank shed their pretense and weighed risk with naked calculation.
"One million eight hundred thousand," Daemon said.
"Ten percent interest."
"Too high."
"The risk is high; the interest reflects it."
"Seven percent."
"Nine—no lower."
"Eight percent. Final offer."
"Agreed. Repayment term reduced to eight years."
"Ten."
"Nine."
Quills scratched against parchment amid quiet arguments and calculations.
Servants brought food, untouched.
Rhaenyra watched as these Braavosi weighed her throne—and the future of her children—against gold.
Daemon endured.
He knew the cost of war, and the greed of such men.
At last, as daylight filtered through stained glass, the agreement was settled:
1.25 million gold dragons
8% annual interest
10 years, interest-only payments for the first three years
Collateral: mineral rights of Dragonstone, and 30% of Driftmark's tax revenue for five years after the war.
An additional clause granted Braavos most-favored status and exclusive import rights for certain goods after victory.
The terms were suspiciously vague—but Daemon signed.
"A wise decision," Aquamen smiled, raising a silver cup. "To cooperation."
Daemon clinked his cup without drinking.
The Iron Bank's representatives exchanged looks.
Even if the Blacks failed, it mattered little.
They wanted this war.
So long as Westeros burned, gold would flow.
And best of all—Targaryens would kill one another.
That had been decided long before dawn.
Departure
By the time they left, dusk had fallen.
Caraxes and Syrax waited in the courtyard of the Sea Lord's Palace, exhaling plumes of steam.
The guards stood far back, faces pale—fearful the ill-tempered beasts might devour them.
Daemon helped Rhaenyra mount her dragon, then leapt onto Caraxes' back.
Wings unfurled.
The downdraft forced men to stumble and retreat.
They soared skyward, passed between the legs of the Titans, and plunged toward the sea.
High above, the air was bitter cold, the wind like knives.
Rhaenyra tightened her cloak and waited until Braavos lay far behind before shouting:
"Daemon! I don't understand!"
"What?"
"Why take their money? Why agree to such terms?
We have Driftmark . We have Volantis' promise. We are not short of gold!"
Caraxes and Syrax flew side by side, their wingbeats nearly in sync.
"Listen, Rhaenyra," Daemon's voice cut through the wind.
"Braavos… will become our enemy sooner or later."
"What?"
"We intend to ally with Volantis and divide the Three Daughters.
If we win, a new power backed by dragons will rise in Essos—
and Volantis is Braavos' mortal foe."
Rhaenyra froze.
"Do they fear dragons?"
"They fear Targaryens returning to the eastern continent."
"Yes."
The wind howled.
"Then why borrow from them at all?"
Daemon turned his head, glanced back at her, and smiled faintly.
"Why should I repay money taken by force?"
Her eyes widened.
"Not repay it? But the agreement—
The Iron Bank will collect its due. They will retaliate—"
"Let them," Daemon said contemptuously.
"By then we will have united the Seven Kingdoms, bound Volantis and Driftmark to us, and raised dragons and fleets beyond counting."
He patted Caraxes' neck.
"That is a risk, Daemon."
"Life is a gamble," he said with a grin, looking at his wife.
"And we hold dragons—the greatest stakes in the world."
Caraxes roared beneath them, whether in agreement or challenge, none could say.