Viserys was growing louder.
Each day, his voice rang through the halls of Illyrio's manse—complaints, demands, rehearsed speeches about his so-called crown. He paced like a caged lion, growled like a man half in his cups even when sober. The servants had long since learned to scatter at the sound of his boots.
And Daenerys flinched.
Not every time. Not like before. But still. Her shoulders would tense, her lips would purse, her eyes would seek mine.
So I stayed close.
Always close.
"Why does he hate me?" she whispered one evening, her head resting on my shoulder. We sat beneath the wide silk canopy in the garden, the late summer air thick with orange blossoms.
"He doesn't hate you," I said gently.
She turned to look at me, skeptical.
I sighed. "He hates himself. He sees the fall of our house in every reflection. You're just... easier to hurt than the truth."
Dany was quiet for a moment. Then she murmured, "He'll sell me, won't he?"
The words were soft. Brittle.
I didn't answer right away. I traced patterns on her hand with my thumb.
"He's thinking about it," I said at last. "But I won't let him."
That made her lift her head. "How?"
I smiled, small and sharp.
"I have plans."
They began with Tomas.
A boy of thirteen, clever fingers, quicker tongue. He worked in Illyrio's kitchens, peeling fruit and stealing gossip. I caught him slipping a candied plum from a tray one afternoon and cornered him in the servants' corridor.
He froze, wide-eyed.
"You have two choices," I said. "Return the plum, or take three more and answer a question."
He blinked. Then grinned. "Three more."
Smart boy.
I built my web slowly.
Tomas became the first. He whispered to the washerwomen, who whispered to the guards, who whispered to the stablehands. I gave him silver. He gave me secrets.
Which merchants were asking about Dany. What Illyrio said when drunk. Which nobles Viserys met with after dark.
By the time I turned twelve, I knew more about Pentos politics than most of the councilmen.
And I began sending messages. Coded notes. Inquiries about ships, routes, ports. Traders with links to ancient tombs. I didn't sign my name, of course.
But my sigil—drawn in the wax of every seal—was always the same: a twin-headed dragon.
One night, I returned to my room to find Daenerys curled up beside the egg.
Not mine—the three gifted ones, still nestled in their velvet-lined chest in Illyrio's private vault. He let Dany look at them sometimes. Touch them. He thought it harmless.
She looked up as I entered.
"It was warm again," she said softly. "This one. The black one."
I crossed the room and sat beside her. The egg lay between us—smooth, dark, veined with crimson.
"Did you feel it move?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Not exactly. But I… I had a dream."
I tilted my head. "Tell me."
She hesitated, then leaned in close.
"I was standing in fire. But it didn't hurt. It felt like wind. Like music. There were wings all around me. I couldn't see them, but I knew they were mine."
I stared at her, heart skipping.
"And the egg?"
"It opened," she whispered. "And something looked at me."
Gooseflesh rippled across my skin.
"It's waking," I murmured.
She blinked. "What?"
"Nothing," I said quickly. "Just… stay close to it. When you sleep."
She nodded slowly, then yawned.
I helped her into bed, brushing her hair back from her face.
She caught my hand before I turned away. "Why do you always know what to say?"
"Because I know you," I said, kissing her forehead. "Better than anyone ever will."
Viserys cornered me the next day.
I was in the reading room, pretending to study trade law. He slammed the book shut with one hand and loomed over me.
"You think you're clever," he hissed.
I met his gaze calmly. "I am clever."
"You've been whispering to Illyrio. Meddling. Poisoning Daenerys's mind."
I stood slowly, tilting my head just enough to force him to look me in the eye.
"Daenerys has a mind of her own," I said coolly. "She just chooses not to waste it on you."
His face flushed deep red.
He raised a hand.
And I didn't flinch.
I just smiled.
That rattled him more than anything.
He lowered his arm and stalked out.
I waited ten seconds before relaxing my fists.
Illyrio found me in the library that evening.
"I hear you've been... taming dragons," he said with a chuckle.
I gave him a bland look. "Only the loud ones."
He studied me, swirling wine in his cup. "You've grown bold."
"Someone has to be," I replied.
A beat of silence. Then he asked, "What would you do, if I told you a great Khal across the sea was interested in your sister?"
I met his gaze.
"I'd ask what he wants."
"A wife. A queen. The mother of dragons."
"And what does he offer in return?"
Illyrio's eyes gleamed. "Forty thousand men. And a crown for your brother."
I smiled faintly.
And made a decision.
"I want to meet him first."
That night, I found Daenerys on the balcony, hair blowing in the sea breeze.
She turned at the sound of my steps, eyes wide.
"Is it true?"
"Yes," I said.
"A marriage? To a stranger?"
I walked toward her and took her hands in mine.
"No one will force you," I said gently. "Not Illyrio. Not Viserys. Not even me."
She swallowed hard. "But if I refuse…"
"You won't."
Her brow furrowed.
"Because I'm going with you."
She blinked. "What?"
"If you marry the Khal, I'll ride beside you. Live with you. Sleep under the same stars. Always."
Her breath caught.
"I'm not letting anyone take you," I whispered.
Not the world. Not the gods. Not fate.
No one.
Her fingers squeezed mine.
And in that quiet, wind-swept moment, with the sea below and the stars above, she leaned in.
Not a kiss. Not yet.
But her forehead touched mine.
And that was enough.
For now.
ADVANCED CHAPTERS:
patreon.com/CozyKy