Daenerys's POV
298 AC, Pentos
Two weeks had passed since that tense conversation with my brother Viserys and Lord Illyrio Mopatis, and every moment since had been a whirlwind of preparation for this day. Servants fussed over me, pampering me after a bath to make me appear the princess I was born to be. That bath was wonderful, I thought, wincing slightly as a comb tugged through my silver hair. The water had been scalding, or so the servants claimed, but to me, it felt like any other bath—warm, comforting, unremarkable. Baths were a rare luxury in my life, and I savored them, even if I didn't understand why the heat never bothered me.
The next two hours, however, were the most aggravating of my life. Viserys found fault with everything. My dress, a flowing lilac gown, didn't reveal enough of my body for his liking, and he demanded it changed. My makeup was too bold, then too plain, forcing me to scrub it off for a lighter touch. My hair, painstakingly braided, wasn't positioned to his satisfaction. His violet eyes burned with barely restrained fury, and I saw the threat of his hand in the way he loomed over me. He's so close to striking me, I thought, my heart racing. Thank the gods, scouts reported the Khal was near, sparing me his wrath—for now.
As the moment approached, my nerves frayed. Will the Khal like me? Will I face Viserys's dragon if I fail? The questions swirled, a storm in my mind. I watched my brother pace the hall, his silk cloak swishing with each step, his face twisted in irritation.
"How long does this savage expect us to wait?" Viserys snapped, turning to Illyrio. "I am a king, and this barbarian dares delay me?"
"I do not know, Your Grace," Illyrio said, his plump face glistening with sweat as he glanced nervously toward the gates. "The scouts said he would be here by now."
Before Viserys could unleash another tirade, a man hurried to Illyrio's side. "M'lord, a Khal is here to speak with you. He and his party await in the garden."
"Finally, this savage has wasted enough of our time," Viserys growled, seizing my arm and pulling me toward the door.
Oh no. This is it. My stomach churned as I walked between Viserys and Illyrio, my heart pounding. The garden tent loomed ahead, its silks fluttering in the breeze. This moment would change my life forever.
Inside the tent stood the Khal, a figure of terrifying presence. As we approached, I glanced at his guards. These aren't the Dothraki I've heard of. Their metal armor gleamed, unlike the leather and bone of typical riders, and their discipline was unnerving. Then a woman emerged from the tent, and my breath caught. If she's near the Khal, what chance do I have? She was close to my age, her ebony hair silky, her round face framed by striking blue eyes. Her dusky skin glowed in a white dress that hugged her curves, exuding exotic beauty.
"My Khal thanks you for your offer," she said, her voice clear and confident. "However, the deal made with Khal Drogo is void, as he has been bested and slain. If you wish a new alliance, my Khal will listen."
I stared, speechless, my heart sinking. All of this… for nothing? Viserys's face reddened, but Illyrio spoke quickly. "I am Illyrio Mopatis. We seek an alliance between your khalasar and the Targaryens of Valyria, sealed by the marriage of your Khal to Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen."
The woman retreated into the tent, speaking briefly, then returned. "My Khal is pleased with this deal. The alliance will proceed as planned. He wishes to rest before finalizing terms."
Viserys bristled. "I demand an audience! I am the rightful king of the Iron Throne. Illyrio—" His words were cut off as the guards drew their blades, their movements swift and synchronized.
"You dare demand from our king?" one growled.
Fear gripped me. Viserys's arrogance would get us killed. Before the situation escalated, a deep voice boomed from the tent. "Enough! Leave, or death follows. Bring the girl inside!"
My eyes widened. He wants me? "Brother…" I whispered, trembling.
"You will do everything to secure this deal," Viserys snarled, his grip bruising my arm. "You will not wake the dragon if you fail." The guards pushed him back, and I stumbled toward the tent, my legs weak. Terrified didn't begin to describe it.
The woman took my arm gently, whispering, "Don't worry. The king wanted you away from your brother. Madness seems to have taken him." Her kindness steadied me as we entered the tent.
"You are as beautiful as the rumors say," a voice said. I looked up, startled, at a man unlike any Khal I'd imagined. He wore a white shirt under an open red coat, black pants, and his raven-black hair was tousled, begging to be touched. His golden eyes glowed, piercing yet warm. A Valyrian steel blade, its design unique, hung at his side.
I bowed, my voice soft. "I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen."
He studied me, his presence commanding yet gentle. "Are you okay with this marriage, Daenerys?"
"Yes," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
He tilted his head. "Are you saying that because your brother demands it, or are you truly okay with it?"
I hesitated, then met his gaze. "I'm truly okay with it." And I meant it—something about him felt safe, unlike Viserys's cruelty.
He nodded, turning to a man at his side. "Aeron, go speak with the Beggar King. Tell him I'll take the bride, and he'll have the khalasar."
Aeron chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, I'll make sure they accept." He left the tent, his swords glinting.
Dominic gestured to a chair beside him. "Sit, Daenerys." I obeyed, my hands trembling slightly. He poured me a drink, a golden liquid that fizzed. I sipped it, the sweet, buttery taste surprising me. I couldn't hide my delight, and he chuckled. "Did you enjoy it?"
I nodded, smiling shyly. "It's wonderful."
"It's a specialty of ours," he said, his voice warm. "We call it butterbeer. We've just started exporting it."
Curiosity overcame my nerves. "How did you become Khal of the largest khalasar? My brother said Khal Drogo was coming."
Dominic leaned back, his golden eyes distant. "Some Dothraki attacked my city. I learned they had a deal with Targaryens and one of the biggest khalasars. By Dothraki law, I challenged Drogo to single combat. We fought, and now I'm here."
"You killed Khal Drogo?" I asked, shocked.
He nodded. "Yes." Then he shifted, his tone gentle. "But enough about me. Missandei, please see to our guest, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen."
I hesitated, then asked, "Will you really help us?"
"Daenerys," he said, and my heart fluttered at the way he said my name. "I'll help you. Your brother, unfortunately, is a lost cause. Once Valyrian madness takes hold, little can stop it."
"But…" I faltered, stunned.
"Missy, please," he said to the woman—Missandei. "Have the staff help with her things." He turned to me. "Your brother is part of the deal, I suppose. I'll ensure he has what he needs to live, but I can't help him take the Seven Kingdoms now."
"But the people sing of our return," I pleaded. "They wish for us."
Dominic's eyes softened, but his words were firm. "The people don't care, Daenerys. Only Dorne might, and that's for revenge, not loyalty. Go with Missandei. She'll guide you. Don't dwell on this. Aeron will speak with Illyrio, and we'll plan what comes next."
I nodded, my mind reeling, and followed Missandei out. For the first time, I felt a flicker of hope—not for Viserys's dreams, but for my own. This Khal, this king, was unlike any man I'd known. Perhaps with him, I could find a path to something greater than fear.