[148] Fire, Coin, and Fear

Chapter 148: Fire, Coin, and Fear

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The golden inferno consumed me whole.

Viserion's dragonfire wasn't merely hot—it was liquid sunlight given malevolent form, a torrent of destruction that could melt castle walls and turn armies to ash. The flames clung to my naked form like an angry girlfriend’s desperate embrace after a dozen stabbing, wrapping around muscle and bone with intimate fury. Pain bloomed across every nerve ending, giving me agony that would have driven lesser men mad.

I smiled through it all.

[Fire Resistance has reached A rank!]

The System notification flickered across my vision as Viserion finally cut off her stream of destruction. Steam rose from my skin in lazy spirals, the stone floor beneath my feet cracked and blackened from the heat. My clothes had been reduced to memory and ash, but my flesh remained stubbornly intact—angry red, yes, but already fading to pink as my Regeneration worked its magic.

Three weeks of this, and I barely feel it anymore. What would the Mad King think, seeing his son dance in dragonfire?

"You are no fun anymore, Human." Viserion's deep voice carried the petulance of a child denied her favorite toy. An image flashed through our bond, a mighty flame failing to melt stubborn stone. "My fire should melt castles, not just tickle you."

I reached up to scratch beneath her massive jaw, feeling the heat still radiating from her scales. "Patience, my golden fury. Soon you'll have entire cities to melt. This is merely practice to ensure this King can stand beside you in the inferno."

She rumbled with satisfaction at the promise of future destruction, her great head lowering to nuzzle against my chest. In the shadows of the Dragonpit's vast expanse, Rhaegal stirred in his sleep, green scales catching what little light filtered through the ancient vents. The air tasted of brimstone and old magic, the kind that had built empires and reduced them to ash.

Power demanded sacrifice. Even if that sacrifice was feeling your own flesh burn away morning after morning. My dragons couldn’t hurt me with their flames usually, but if I commanded them to, it overwrote that rule. So my training had progressed effortlessly.

Initially, I trained with normal fire, waiting for my [Regeneration] to heal the wound, and continued. The rank rose high, fast, since Regeneration worked fine here, allowing me to progress faster. These days, I trained using Dragonflame during the day, while at night, I drank poison and fell asleep. [Poison Resistance] had reached C Rank.

"Your Grace."

I turned to find Ros standing at the entrance, maintaining a respectful distance from my dragons. She moved with practiced confidence while waving at Viserion, who yawned in response. The fur-lined robe in her arms looked wonderfully soft compared to the scorched stone beneath my feet.

"I hope your morning exercises were productive."

She approached with her hips swaying in that particular way that suggested she knew exactly what effect the motion had. The dark dress she wore today hugged her generous curves, the neckline cut just low enough to be interesting without sacrificing the authority of her position. When she helped me into the robe, her fingers lingered on my unburnt skin, tracing patterns that had nothing to do with checking for injuries.

Looks like she’s lost all her usual awkwardness that had become her second habit since the moment she learned my true identity. After showing my vulnerable side to her for so many days, that was understandable.

"The guest you were expecting has arrived," she continued, her voice steady despite the oppressive heat. "The representative from the Iron Bank is waiting."

"Excellent." I tied the robe closed, my mind already shifting from physical endurance to political warfare. "Have him shown to the Small Council chamber. I'll be there shortly."

As she turned to leave, I caught the way her dress clung to her ass, the fabric shifting with each step in ways that made concentration difficult. How different her life was, compared to whatever she led just two years ago.

Evolution took many forms.

****

The Small Council chamber felt like a tomb compared to the Dragonpit's inferno. I'd chosen my appearance carefully for this meeting. Black silk shot through with red thread, the three-headed dragon of my house embroidered in rubies across the chest.

Power dressed in elegance, with just enough flamboyance to remind visitors whose presence they graced.

Nero Antaryon stood like a statue carved from Braavosi marble, his severe features betraying nothing as he waited. Where Tycho Nestoris – the man whom I’d once met to plead for debt during my beggar days – had been all oily charm and calculated smiles, this one radiated the cold efficiency of a blade. His dark silks were cut with precision, not a thread out of place, not a wrinkle to suggest mortality.

I let him stand there, taking my time with a goblet of Dornish red. The silence stretched like a bowstring, each second adding weight to the eventual release. Lady Commander was present outside the door, standing alongside Braavosi guards. Here, it was just me, him, and Ros.

Ros had positioned herself near the wall, close enough to observe everything while remaining unobtrusive. The way she leaned against the stone made her breasts strain against her bodice. Calculated, no doubt, to provide a subtle distraction. Yet, the man never looked at her once.

Finally, I acknowledged him. "Nero Antaryon, I presume?"

His bow was a masterwork of precision, exactly deep enough to show respect without admitting inferiority. "Your Grace. I am here to discuss the Crown's outstanding accounts."

"Accounts?" I savored another sip of wine, letting him see how little his presence concerned me. "Ah, yes, let's clear those up."

I gestured lazily toward Ros. "My Master of Coin has already reported everything that’s to be known to my Mistress of Whispers, who you can consider my personal assistant. She has been kind enough to handle our finances this time around. She has the figures."

She moved forward with intentional grace, producing a leather portfolio that she placed on the table with theatrical care. When she leaned over to open it, the motion provided Antaryon with an excellent view of her cleavage. His eyes never wavered from my face, professional to the last.

"We will be settling the entirety of the Iron Throne's debt," I announced, watching for cracks in his marble facade. "Using Lannister cash, which is now a Crown asset. In full. Today."

There, the slightest widening of his eyes, quickly suppressed. He'd come prepared for negotiation, for leverage, for the dance of debtor and creditor that had defined his institution for centuries.

He hadn't expected the dragon to have already won.

"I... see." He recovered admirably, though his posture had shifted from predator to something more cautious. "The Iron Bank is pleased to hear of the Crown's... improved circumstances."

"Improved?" I laughed, the sound echoing off stone walls like distant thunder. "My dear Antaryon, we haven't even begun."

Rising from my seat, I moved to the great map of Essos that dominated one wall. My fingers traced the coastline from Pentos to Myr, each city a pearl waiting to be claimed.

"Now that our past business is concluded, let us discuss a new venture." I didn't turn to look at him, letting him come to me like a supplicant approaching an altar. "I am planning a campaign. A rather extensive one. It will require significant capital flow."

The game had shifted. No longer was I a king begging for time, I was a conqueror offering opportunity. Opportunity they didn’t want to be part of, I was certain.

"The Iron Bank has a reputation for funding ambitious enterprises," I continued, finally turning to meet his gaze. "I trust you'll offer the Dragon King a most favorable line of credit."

His throat worked as he swallowed, processing the reversal. From creditor to potential partner in the span of minutes. "The Iron Bank would be... honored to discuss terms, Your Grace. Might I ask the scope of this campaign?"

"Every city that matters." I let the words hang between us like a blade. "From the Free Cities to the Dothraki Sea. Perhaps beyond."

Let him chew on that. Let him run back to his masters with tales of dragons and ambition. Let them wonder what the fate of Braavos would be since I was already targeting the other Free Cities.

"Speaking of Braavosi enterprise..." I moved closer, close enough to see the pulse quicken in his throat. "I hear your city offers sanctuary to all sorts. Even to disgraced lions and flightless mockingbirds."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Antaryon's professional mask never slipped, but his shoulders tensed like a man preparing for a blow.

"The Iron Bank is a financial institution, Your Grace. We do not concern ourselves with the residency status of Braavos's visitors, so long as their accounts are in good order."

A masterfully crafted non-denial.

"Of course." I smiled, showing just enough teeth to remind him that dragons were predators first, kings second. "I simply expect my partners to be discreet."

Moving back to my seat, I settled into the chair with casual dominance. "If the Iron Bank chooses to fund my campaign, Nero Antaryon, the Iron Throne will direct a great deal of the world's future commerce through your institution in return."

That wouldn’t happen. Even if they accepted out of some stupid scheme, I would deny their choice. I just wanted this fool to report to his masters.

Some might consider my choice stupid, to let Braavos know about this. But they’d realize the truth anyhow, the moment I spew flames across Myr. I was just making a statement by declaring it myself.

I stood again, bringing the meeting to an abrupt end. "To quote one of my Highlady lovers’ House Motto, the Dragon King pays his debts, and he rewards his friends. See that the Iron Bank remembers which side it is on."

This time, his bow held genuine respect. The kind born from understanding that the world's axis had shifted, and he'd been standing too close to the fulcrum.

"The Iron Bank never forgets, Your Grace."

“Head outside, the Lady Commander will take you to the Master of Coin, who must have prepared the gold by now,” I said, watching him nod.

As he left, I caught Ros's eye. She moved to stand beside me, her presence warm against my side. "You enjoyed that," she murmured, her fingers finding my arm.

"Power is meant to be enjoyed." I pulled her closer, inhaling the scent of roses and ambition that clung to her skin. "Otherwise, what's the point of having it?"

Through the window, I could see the city sprawling beneath us, unaware that their king had just bragged about the war he planned against his enemies that would reshape the known world.

The dragon had learned to breathe more than fire. He'd learned to breathe fear itself.

Not much time left before I have to leave. According to Yara’s raven, she reaches Myr in no less than two weeks. I should use this time without wasting. Observe what my wives are up to, understanding what roles they’ll fulfil in my absence, and apprehending the state of my city.

It was time for some disguised King strolls.

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