Under the cautious, cold gazes of the Dothraki, Xaro and his group chose to ignore them. Instead, they focused all their attention on the two dragons that remained beside Rhaenys and Daenerys.
It was obvious what their objective was.
The dragons.
The three visitors exchanged brief glances. Without needing words, they reached a silent decision: the merchant would take the first step, softening the atmosphere with sweet words and golden promises.
Xaro Xhoan Daxos had never felt any respect for the Dothraki. In his eyes, they were nothing more than uncivilized savages—naive barbarians of low birth, not worth negotiating with as equals.
But dragons… that was another matter.
Xaro had studied everything Qarth knew about them. Rebellious, proud creatures, bound only to those they recognized as their own. He observed carefully: the dragons tolerated the presence only of Rhaenys, Daenerys, and the large warrior who had stepped forward to protect them.
That told him who truly mattered.
Before moving ahead, he narrowed his eyes and observed Kerse for less than a minute… and then dismissed him entirely.
Xaro knew that among the Dothraki it was almost a natural law: the longer the braid, the greater the prestige. Khals wore their hair long, a symbol of victories and power.
Kerse, with his hair cut short, barely brushing his shoulders and without a braid worth mentioning, seemed to him a lesser warrior. A failed Dothraki who had lost his braid—or worse, had cut it off out of cowardice.
A nobody.
Xaro urged his camel forward. He passed beside Kerse without even looking at him and directed his practiced smile toward the two young women.
Especially toward the silver-haired one, whose beauty seemed unreal, almost divine.
He did not know—nor could he imagine—that this simple gesture had ignited the wrath of Khal Kerse.
Kerse's body tensed. He leaned slightly forward, like a beast about to pounce.
At that instant, the lips of the priestess of Asshai barely moved, without making a sound.
From her shadow, something answered.
The darkness twisted upon itself like a living serpent. From it emerged a black, formless figure that took shape with unnatural speed. A short sword condensed in its hand before the shadow sank back into the ground.
Everything happened in the blink of an eye.
No one noticed.
No one… except Pyat Pree.
The illusionist mage observed the scene closely, struggling to suppress a smile. A look of false concern crossed his face, as though he truly cared about the life of the Dothraki who was about to die.
Xaro, unaware of everything, continued forward.
When he was about three meters from Daenerys and Rhaenys, surrounded by Dothraki warriors, he pulled on the reins and stopped his mount. He placed his right hand over his chest in an exaggerated gesture of courtesy.
"Beautiful ladies, you must be the khaleesis of this group of Dothraki, correct?"
Molegro, still tense and angered by everything that had happened, answered in their place with a harsh voice:
"These are our khaleesis! What is it that you want?"
Xaro ignored him completely.
Without wiping the smile from his face, he addressed only the young women once more.
"Dear khaleesis, welcome to my vacation estate. You must both be tired, thirsty, and hungry. Please, accompany me to the palace I have prepared for you. The well water is warm and clean, perfect for washing away the dust of the road and restoring your beauty. We will prepare the finest specialties of Qarth for your enjoyment. And of course, your dragons will also be treated with the greatest care."
In truth, Xaro was only half lying. They had arrived recently as well, and their provisions were nearly exhausted.
But before Daenerys or Rhaenys could respond…
Kerse attacked.
He lunged like lightning toward the bald man who had ignored him, determined to snap his neck with his bare hands.
Just as his fingers were about to close—
A black figure burst from the ground.
The shadow leapt with terrifying speed, its short sword aimed directly at Kerse's heart.
The ambush was perfect.
There was no time to dodge. No time to defend.
"Ah!"
When death was an instant away from reaching him, a burst of energy erupted from Daenerys's feet. A crimson bolt tore through the air, accompanied by a sharp, unnatural screech.
The shadow was pierced through.
Kerse, surviving by the narrowest margin his first true life-or-death crisis in this world, did not relax. He sprang backward, retreating more than three meters.
He watched closely as the dark figure writhed on the ground, emitting sounds of agony, dissolving like smoke under the sun.
Then, Kerse slightly turned his head.
His gaze met that of the small three-headed dragon.
He gave it a silent look… filled with gratitude.