Every morning at dawn, Drogo would stand on the eastern deck of the ship, silently counting the trailing vessels.
The fleet was vast, with ships both large and small. To avoid collisions in strong winds, they kept wide spacing between them, making it difficult to tally them precisely.
Sometimes he might miss one—or even ten—or count the same ship more than once. But what did it matter?
His fearsome reputation resounded far and wide. Wherever the fleet passed, all sea trade ceased. Merchants and fishermen dared not set sail in his waters.
He believed that if any of the newly added crew had any sense, they would cling tightly to his command—he had wealth to spare and guaranteed they wouldn't be bullied.
So, any ships missing from the count, he believed, would show up tomorrow or the day after.
Once the counting was done, it was time for Drogo's leisure. The fleet's navigator, Collensar, would take him and his bloodriders out on a skiff to the southeast to fish—word had it that region teemed with delicious red squid.
The sky and sea both shimmered a merciless blue. The rising sun turned the water into molten glass, and before long, the ships under its light would be scorching hot to touch.
A gentle sea breeze wafted in as Daenerys, freshly risen, leaned on the railing, breathing in the salty, humid air. She keenly felt the oppressive heat.
She longed to dive into the deep, mysterious sea and swim like a mermaid—but she didn't dare. What if a sea monster was lurking nearby and swallowed her whole? Such beasts cared little for beauty or grace.
Her husband's outing granted her a rare freedom as a wife.
No sooner had the Khal left than a messenger from Kerry arrived by skiff, bearing word that the commander of the Golden Company had prepared a sumptuous breakfast and hoped the Mother of Dragons would honor him with her presence.
Upon hearing Missandei's report, Daenerys gave up on the beauty sleep she had been craving and decided to prepare herself properly.
Two sailors brought over a bathing tub, filling it with cool seawater, then stepped aside, stealing cautious glances at their queen.
Daenerys felt their furtive, heated stares but didn't mind. She even stretched lazily, like a kitten reaching out a paw, exhaling fragrant breath from the night before—showcasing herself at her most goddess-like.
If her beauty could tempt more people into wicked thoughts, all the better—it fed her vanity. She longed to stand at the peak of allure, worshiped by all men.
Once, she had feared Drogo might stray, afraid of losing his affection. But now, she wanted the love of everyone.
The sailors couldn't stop sniffing—probably from the tantalizing scent. As her handmaid poured fragrant oils into the water, she scolded: "The queen is cleansing herself—get out at once!"
Only then did the sailors bow and leave, muttering to themselves, "The queen didn't mind, so what's this servant girl fussing for?"
Daenerys, watching their slightly turned heads as they departed, gave a sly smile.
Her seductive expression did not escape Missandei, who had noticed that since becoming a dragonrider, the queen's modesty seemed to have blown away with the wind.
After her bath, Daenerys stood in a secluded spot and let the sea breeze dry her hair.
As Missandei applied rouge to her cheeks, she asked, "Commander Kerry's ship reeks of sweat and foot rot. Shouldn't the queen stay in her mint-scented cabin to enjoy breakfast instead?"
Daenerys smiled sweetly. "Those mercenaries of the Golden Company want to see me, sweetling."
Missandei replied anxiously, "With your leave, Your Grace... the Khal would not want to see other men at your table."
She was right, and the queen knew it. But it didn't matter.
"Kerry isn't a bloodrider. He knows proper decorum. Besides, a queen belongs to her people—not just herself."
Daenerys sounded somewhat irritated, and Missandei quickly changed the subject. "What shall you wear today, Your Grace?"
After a moment's thought, Daenerys said, "The purple silk one—the sheerest."
Missandei hesitated, then retrieved it from the cabin wardrobe.
Once her hair was done and her nails painted, Daenerys set off.
But rather than take a skiff with Missandei, she mounted Rhaegal—Drogo's green dragon, which he had left behind—and soared boldly toward Kerry's flagship.
Though people were used to the sight of their queen riding dragons, it never ceased to amaze. Kerry and his officers knelt in reverence as the Mother of Dragons descended.
As Daenerys dismounted and stood before him, the well-traveled Kerry was momentarily dumbstruck.
It wasn't an act. Her minimal, almost primal attire was too disarming, and he forgot to greet her—until Daenerys spoke.
"Commander Kerry, I hope I'll remember this morning."
Snapping out of his daze, Kerry quickly responded, "Thank you for honoring your word, Your Grace. I promise this morning will be unforgettable."
"Gods, he won't even look away," Daenerys thought, her heart pounding.
His bold gaze made her blush, though she tried to play it off. "Lead the way. I'd like to see what sort of breakfast is so memorable—and why you chose a time when Drogo's away."
"Is she hinting something!?" Kerry screamed internally.
"As you command, my queen."
He bowed low and led the way like a court eunuch.
Daenerys followed, but Missandei tugged at her sleeve and whispered, "Your Grace, did you notice how disrespectful he was?"
Daenerys gave a serene smile. "He's a loyal young man, is he not?"
Kerry Enyr was of average height, broad-shouldered, with a pockmarked face full of blemishes—gray-haired, blue-eyed, a typical Valantene. Handsome he was not, and Missandei found his appearance rather revolting.
She couldn't fathom what was going on in the queen's head.
In truth, this meeting wasn't just Kerry's invitation—it was practically a date they had arranged. Lately, they'd grown quite close—nearly close enough to meet in the pitch-dark cargo hold.
Kerry's quarters were spacious and well-lit, befitting a commander of his stature.
Human ingenuity knew no bounds. The head chef of the Golden Company, tired of going without citrus, had learned from local drinkmakers in New Ghis how to process and preserve fresh produce. He'd turned perishable fruit into bottled drinks that staved off scurvy and invented a method for making dried carrots, turning a rabbit's favorite into baskets of nutritious snacks.
The table in Kerry's cabin was full of his proud creations—zesty drinks, spiced wine, honey-glazed roasted lamb on crisp flatbread, steaming apple pie, and more.
He had even prepared Daenerys's favorite: large, dark, sugar-soaked ripe figs.
Her love of figs dated back to the hellish red desert, where, in the starving, waterless City of Bones, the taste of sweet figs had left a lifelong impression of gratitude.
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🐉 Dragon King of Ice and Fire
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