Ulf had never been this nervous in his life.
The guards leading him forward didn't say a word. Clad from head to toe in black armor and black helmets, they marched ahead like moving iron pillars.
Ulf swallowed hard.
They had arrived.
A guard pushed open a pair of heavy black iron doors.
The Stone Table Hall.
Ulf narrowed his eyes.
At the far end of the hall, someone sat upon a stone chair.
Rhaenyra Targaryen.
He took one glance before hurriedly lowering his eyes.
Beside her sat another figure.
Daemon Targaryen.
The instant Ulf's eyes met the man's, goosebumps spread across his back.
Prince Daemon didn't even look at him. His attention remained lazily fixed on the wine cup in his hand.
"Kneel."
The voice came from the side. It wasn't loud, but it cut through the silence with unmistakable authority.
Ulf turned his head.
A man in gleaming black armor stood beside the stone table. The armor was polished to a mirror shine, completely devoid of sigils or ornamentation.
His helmet concealed his entire face, leaving only two narrow slits through which a pair of pale blue eyes could barely be seen.
Ulf's knees buckled on their own.
With a thud, he dropped onto the icy stone floor. The chill crept up from his knees, crawling all the way to his groin.
"Hugh sent you?" Rhaenyra asked.
"Y-Yes... Your Grace." Ulf lowered his head, staring at the flagstone before his knees.
"Speak."
A single word.
Short. Decisive. Leaving no room for hesitation.
Ulf drew a deep breath.
The cold air filled his chest, leaving his whole body damp with unease. He had spent three days aboard ship rehearsing these very words to the rhythm of the waves.
"Lord Hugh is willing to return your son, Lucerys Velaryon," he blurted out in one breath, afraid he might stumble over the words.
"As well as Princess Baela and Princess Rhaena."
"In return, my lord asks that Your Grace grant him the Targaryen name and recognize him as the Prince of Tyrosh."
When he finished, he shut his mouth.
Silence settled over the hall.
Then Rhaenyra laughed.
Ulf lowered his head even farther.
His forehead nearly touched the stone floor.
"A blacksmith's bastard," Rhaenyra said slowly, her voice carrying an emotion that was difficult to name, "wants the Targaryen name?"
She paused.
"Is he worthy of it?"
The final three words drifted down as lightly as a feather settling onto the ground.
"Your Grace..." Ulf's voice tightened. "Lord Hugh said he is willing to fight for you with Vermithor and Silverwing."
"So long as you acknowledge his name and his princely title, he will bring the full strength of Tyrosh into the war against the Greens."
"Two dragons?" Daemon finally spoke.
Ulf didn't dare raise his head, but he could feel Daemon's gaze leave the wine cup at last and settle upon him.
"He can't tame Vermithor."
Ulf's Adam's apple bobbed.
"T-That's correct..."
"As expected. Worthless is still worthless..."
Ulf didn't dare argue with Prince Daemon.
Daemon continued.
"So Silverwing is in his hands?"
"Y-Yes..."
"So," Daemon interrupted, a trace of amusement in his voice—though that amusement was colder than ice—"he comes to bargain with us using one dragon he hasn't tamed and another that was ridden away by a woman?"
Ulf opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Daemon asked nothing further.
He simply stood there with his hands clasped behind his back, looking down at the kneeling Ulf from above.
Rhaenyra fell silent.
Ulf cautiously stole a glance upward.
Rhaenyra sat upon her stone chair, one hand resting on its armrest.
Ulf could feel the atmosphere shifting.
"Lucerys..." Rhaenyra suddenly spoke.
"Is he well?"
Ulf hurriedly nodded.
"He's alive, Your Grace."
"The prince has been treated well..."
He stole another glance at the silent Daemon, who was staring at him, then quickly added, "The two princesses are well too. They've been treated just as before..."
He didn't finish.
Rhaenyra's fingers had stopped moving.
Tap.
The final tap.
Her fingers froze upon the armrest.
Her eyes had begun to redden.
Ulf lowered his head, not daring to look any longer.
Queen Rhaenyra would agree.
He could feel it.
And that thought rampaged through Rhaenyra's body like a wild beast.
"Your Grace."
The knight in black armor spoke first.
Rhaenyra turned to look at him.
It was her former husband...
Laenor, who had faked his own death. Now living under a different name as Addam, rider of the dragon Seasmoke.
To avenge his mother, Rhaenys, he had willingly returned.
Now he served as one of her sworn knights, his identity hidden beneath that suit of armor.
"Your Grace," Addam said.
"Hugh is a traitor."
"He murdered Symond Velaryon."
"He staged a coup and seized control of Lucerys... as well as Baela and Rhaena..."
"You cannot so rashly agree to a traitor's demands," Addam continued, his purple eyes fixed on Rhaenyra.
Rhaenyra's lips parted.
She seemed about to say something, but in the end, no words came.
Then Prince Daemon moved.
He stepped away from the stone table, his pace slow and unhurried.
His boots echoed softly across the stone floor.
Ulf kept his head lowered, staring at the ground.
A hand reached out.
It caught him beneath the chin.
The grip wasn't strong, but it was precise. Thumb and forefinger locked around his jaw like iron tongs, forcing his head upward.
Ulf had no choice but to meet Daemon's eyes.
"Ulf," Daemon said softly.
Ulf scarcely dared to breathe. His Adam's apple bobbed with an audible gulp.
"We can grant Hugh the Targaryen name."
The corners of Daemon's lips curled into a faint smile.
It was a handsome smile. Daemon Targaryen had long been acknowledged as one of the most handsome men in the Seven Kingdoms. Even now, with age upon him, that face had lost none of its charm.
But to Ulf, that smile only sent a chill down his spine, as though a venomous snake were slithering upward along his back.
"He may also remain Prince of Tyrosh forever."
Ulf's eyes lit up instantly.
"Really?" His voice trembled, but he couldn't stop himself from asking. "Prince, you..."
"But there is one condition."
Daemon's smile widened.
He released Ulf's chin, straightened, clasped his hands behind his back, and slowly paced before him.
Ulf's eyes followed him.
He didn't dare do otherwise.
"What... what is the condition, Prince?"
Daemon came to a stop.
He turned around and looked down at Ulf.
"Kill every other bastard."
The blood drained from Ulf's face.
From head to toe.
The cold swept through him so quickly it felt as though someone had poured ice water into his veins. His fingers had already begun to tremble.
"W-What?"
"Kill every other bastard," Daemon repeated.
He smoothed out his clothes and continued with a smile.
"If Hugh wants to become a Targaryen, very well."
"But first, he must prove he deserves the name."
"And how does he prove it?"
"By killing every bastard who betrayed us, just like he did."
"Not a single one left alive."