The castle-palace of Tyrosh lay smothered beneath the sweltering heat of late summer.
Hugh sat in the high-backed chair that had once belonged to the Archon of Tyrosh.
It was an opulent seat inlaid with ebony and ivory, its back carved with the heraldic emblem of the Free City. Now, part of those carvings had been crudely hacked away.
In their place hung a hastily mounted three-headed Targaryen dragon, cast in bronze and poorly made. One of the dragon's heads had even been nailed on crooked, making it look as though it were smirking sideways at someone.
But Hugh couldn't have cared less.
Cradled in Hugh's arms was an infant.
Sparse silver-gray hair clung to the baby's scalp, and his eyes were a pale shade of violet.
The posthumous son of Jacaerys Velaryon and Saera.
The child slept restlessly, tiny fingers clawing unconsciously at the air while his lips twitched now and then.
Hugh lowered his gaze to him. One rough hand supported the baby's tiny head while his thumb slowly stroked the child's cheek.
But Nafas, the envoy from Volantis standing below, knew that wasn't tenderness.
This despicable bastard had brazenly launched a coup.
And he had succeeded. The Blacks had been forced to acknowledge him as Governor of Tyrosh, unable to make any reckless moves against him.
"Lord Hugh," Nafas said at last, lowering his voice.
"On behalf of the Black Wall Council, I am presenting our inquiry for the third time."
"According to the agreement we reached, you were supposed to transfer control of Tyrosh's harbor to our fleet."
"And Saera, as well as Silverwing... Bronze Fury..."
"You gave us your word."
Hugh raised his eyes and glanced at Nafas.
"Did I?"
He waved a hand dismissively.
"I don't remember that."
Nafas clenched his fists beneath the sleeves of his robe.
Drawing a deep breath, he suppressed the anger surging within him and continued in the same steady tone.
"We had an agreement."
"Lord Hugh, remember this..."
"Volantis is not a city that forgets its promises."
"Oh."
Hugh grunted and lowered his head again to look at the child in his arms.
Then he suddenly laughed.
"An agreement?"
Looking up, he smiled.
"Lord Nafas."
"Are you teaching me how to rule?"
Nafas's expression stiffened.
"What exactly are you trying to do?!" Nafas had barely begun to speak before Hugh cut him off.
"I want to do a great many things!"
Hugh laughed louder this time.
"Lord Nafas, you're standing in my palace, questioning the ruler of Tyrosh!"
"Who do you think you are?"
"And who do you think I am?"
Slowly, he rose to his feet and handed the infant to a nearby maid.
The maid kept her head lowered. Her hands trembled as she accepted the child before retreating to a corner.
Hugh walked toward Nafas.
The Volantene guards accompanying the envoy instinctively rested their hands on their sword hilts.
At the same time, Hugh's Bastard Guard fixed them with wary eyes.
Hugh stopped in front of Nafas.
He stood half a head taller than the Volantene envoy, broad-shouldered and thick-armed. Years spent hammering iron had left powerful muscles bulging beneath his coarse linen shirt.
Lowering his head, he looked down at Nafas from above, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Do you know what I'm capable of now?"
Nafas met the giant's gaze without backing down, though his Adam's apple bobbed involuntarily.
"Lord Hugh, allow me to remind you that the Volantene fleet is anchored just outside the harbor."
"Three Elephant-class warships, twelve Tiger-class warships, and two thousand Fiery Hand warriors."
"Your walls cannot stop fire-oil shells, and your men cannot stop—"
"Silverwing and Bronze Fury..." Hugh interrupted.
The words caught in Nafas's throat.
"Silverwing and Bronze Fury..."
Hugh repeated the names.
"Have you ever heard of them? Those two dragons."
"How large are they again?"
He slowly raised one hand before Nafas and curled his fingers into a fist, as though crushing something to pieces.
"You have a fleet," Hugh said.
"I have dragons."
Hugh extended a finger and tapped Nafas on the chest.
"Listen, Nafas. I am the Dragon King of Essos now."
"The Blacks can't do anything to me. The Iron Throne can't do anything to me."
"As for Volantis? You can do even less." His voice suddenly rose, echoing through the hall.
"If I wished, I could hang your head from the city walls at any time. I could burn your pitiful fleet to ash whenever I pleased."
The hall fell silent.
Nafas stared at Hugh, his chest rising and falling violently.
"You dare threaten Volantis?" Nafas finally spoke, his voice carrying the coldness of a man whose anger had been fully stirred. He even smiled, though the smile was dripping with mockery.
"A bastard?"
"Do you even know who you're speaking to?"
"Of course I do," Hugh said with a grin.
"I'm speaking to a man who thinks he's better born than I am."
Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed the finger Nafas was pointing at him.
Crack.
The sound was crisp and sharp, like a dry branch snapping.
The color instantly drained from Nafas's face.
The agony made his body hunch forward uncontrollably, and a hoarse cry burst from his throat.
An uproar swept through the hall.
The Volantene guards drew their swords in unison. Hugh's guards stepped forward at the same moment, steel meeting steel.
The air tightened to the breaking point. One command was all it would take for blood to stain the polished stone floor red.
"Don't move," Hugh said calmly.
He was still holding Nafas's broken finger.
Nafas gritted his teeth. Cold sweat streamed down his forehead, but he didn't cry out a second time.
He merely stared at Hugh, his eyes burning with bone-deep hatred.
"That's better."
Hugh released him, letting the broken finger hang limply at his side.
Smiling, he looked at Nafas and the hatred blazing in his eyes.
"You know," he said, "when I gained a dragon..."
He paused.
"From that moment on, I understood that there was nothing in this world I could not take."
He had already returned to the high-backed chair, though he did not sit.
One hand rested on the chair's back as he leaned forward slightly, looking down arrogantly at the man below.
Nafas stood in the center of the hall, his broken finger dangling at his side.
He drew several deep breaths, unwillingly trying to calm his turbulent emotions, before finally speaking in a hoarse voice.
"Volantis will recognize you as Prince of Tyrosh."
Hugh merely looked at him and smiled without speaking.
That smile left Nafas feeling helpless. This bastard was far more cunning than they had imagined.
"Do I need your recognition?" Hugh finally asked.
"Tyrosh is already mine."
"Whether you recognize me or not, I am the king here."
"Your recognition changes nothing."
He raised a hand and lightly wagged a finger in the air.
"However..."
"I'll consider your proposal."
"Consider?" Nafas frowned.
"Consider," Hugh repeated, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Go back and tell the nobles behind the Black Walls that Tyrosh welcomes Volantene merchant ships and Volantene friendship."
"If you're willing to trade with me as equals, then we can talk."
"If you want to turn me into a vassal..."
He waved a dismissive hand.
"My dragons will answer for me."
Nafas fell silent.
Hugh truly did have dragons.
He now controlled Tyrosh, as well as Lucerys Velaryon and two Targaryen princesses.
Those bargaining chips alone were enough to force the Blacks to sit down and negotiate with him.
"I will convey your words to the council," Nafas finally said.
"But I must remind you..."
"Today, you tore up our agreement."
Hugh laughed.
"And what exactly can you do about it?"
Nafas said nothing more.
He gave Hugh a slight bow—neither respectful nor insulting—then turned and headed toward the doors of the hall.
His guards sheathed their weapons and hurried after him.