Your throat constricted as Valthorix's molten gaze swept over you. Without breaking eye contact, you casually lifted your goblet of dragonberry wine and tossed back what appeared to be a sip - in reality, you'd slipped the largest gold sovereign into your mouth along with the liquid. The metal burned going down, the enchanted minting runes scraping against your esophagus.

'As I was saying,' you continued hoarsely, discreetly massaging your neck, 'the rubies would appreciate in value by at least forty percent under professional care.' A thin trickle of golden saliva escaped the corner of your mouth, which you quickly dabbed away with a silk handkerchief - conveniently also pocketing two more coins in the motion.

The dragon's nostril ridges flared. 'You look unwell, mortal.' His claws drummed against the obsidian, each tap sending tiny cracks through the volcanic glass. The abacus beads froze mid-calculation, as if holding their breath. 'Perhaps you've caught something from those grubby dwarven accountants you consort with.'

You felt the coin settle painfully in your stomach like a lead weight. A strange golden glow began emanating from your abdomen, the sovereign's magic reacting poorly with the dragonberry wine. 'Merely the mountain's sulfurous air, Your Molten Majesty,' you lied, suddenly very aware your entire digestive tract might soon become a makeshift treasure vault.