Aegon's voice swept through the entire Throne Room like an invisible cold front, freezing the air in an instant.
The carefully maintained humility and hope on Monford Velaryon's face froze.
The vassals around him looked up in shock, their bewilderment swiftly turning to disbelief, then settling into an ever-deepening, bone-chilling fear.
They had imagined all manner of reactions from their new master... gentle reassurance, perhaps, or a harsh rebuke, or a demand for a substantial tribute as proof of loyalty, even punishment for certain houses that had not been sufficiently obedient.
But they had never imagined that anyone would so calmly, so matter-of-factly, tear apart the ancient institutions and privileges they had followed for generations and considered inviolable, shredding them with a few words as easily as a scrap of old parchment.
Aegon sat upright on the enormous blackstone throne. Against the heavy shadows cast by the throne itself, his figure seemed unusually distinct and sharp, like a drawn blade held motionless above its scabbard.
"From the moment I set foot on Dragonstone."
He spoke again, his voice steady. He made no effort to raise it, yet it carried with uncanny clarity to every ear in the hall, where one could have heard a pin drop.
"From the moment I annihilated Stannis Baratheon's fleet off Dragonstone, from the moment I sat upon this blackstone throne belonging to House Targaryen..."
His gaze slowly passed over every frightened face below.
"Dragonstone, and every island, territory, and stretch of sea under its rule, everything within it, became mine."
"Your fleets, your ports, your castles, your soldiers, your taxes, the people under your rule..."
He paused, letting his final words fall like spikes of ice:
"Without exception."
"Your Highness!" Monford's voice sounded as though he had forced it out of a strangled throat, dry