Sunlight sparkled across the Narrow Sea. Seabirds wheeled overhead, crying into the wind. Logar's nine warships sailed in tight formation around the three captured Driftmark merchant vessels, sails snapping full, everything peaceful for once.
Inside the main cabin of the lead ship, Logar wasn't pacing the decks or drilling with his sword like usual.
Instead, he had changed into a loose silk robe and was actually reading — an old leather-bound book he'd grabbed during the Dornish raid. Its yellowed pages told the history of the Targaryen dynasty in Westeros.
Two days out from Driftmark, he'd handed day-to-day command to Femon and the others. The merchant crew knew better than to cause trouble, so for the first time in weeks he had real quiet.
The stories of Targaryen kings stirred memories from his old life — the books, the shows, the endless theories. Reading sharpened his High Valyrian and helped him polish his Common Tongue for the coming meeting with the Sea Snake. More than that, the book's cold lessons on power, betrayal, and shifting alliances felt exactly like the world he now lived in.
He was deep in a chapter when noise erupted outside the cabin.
"I want to see your captain right now! Get out of my way — I'm going crazy in there!"
"Little princess, behave! Don't make us—"
"Try it! I dare you!"
A fierce, almost feline snarl cut through the voices, and the cabin door flew open.
Femon and two guards stood in the doorway looking sheepish, clearly outmatched.
"Tell your dogs to stay away from me! They stink!"
Baela Targaryen stormed in, hands on hips, short silver hair messy, violet eyes flashing with pure defiance.
She had figured out over the last few days that Logar wasn't going to hurt her, so her spoiled royal temper was back in full force.
When she burst in and saw the young captain — the same man who had slaughtered pirates without blinking — sitting calmly at the table reading a book, genuine surprise flickered across her face.
Logar looked up, brow slightly furrowed, and waved his men off. "It's fine. Leave us."
Femon and the others practically sighed in relief, scratching their heads as they backed out. They knew she was a real Targaryen princess now, and with Logar's orders they didn't dare get rough. Glad to dump the problem back on their captain.
"What is it this time?" Logar closed the book and rubbed his temples, half-exasperated. "We've been feeding you well, giving you everything you ask for. Still not enough?"
"Hmph, you savage—"
Baela started to call him a barbarian, but her eyes caught the open book on the table and heard his flawless Common Tongue. She switched mid-sentence. "You lowlife pirates steal our ships, lock me up like a prisoner — it's outrageous! When we reach Driftmark I'm telling my grandfather everything. He'll make you regret the day you were born!"
"Oh?" Logar raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curving. "And how exactly will the Sea Snake punish us? Cut off our hands? Feed us to the fish?"
Baela's cheeks flushed at his smile. The boy in front of her was stupidly handsome — even more striking than her betrothed, Prince Jacaerys.
She quickly steadied herself and glared. "Hands and feet first, then straight into the sea! That's what happens when you disrespect House Targaryen!"
"Terrifying," Logar said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock fear.
"Hmph. But… if you swear loyalty to me right now and behave, I might consider forgiving you."
Thinking she had the upper hand, Baela reached behind her back and pulled out a small silver dagger, waving it in front of him, blade glinting.
She never got another word out.
Logar moved like lightning. He rose, twisted the dagger from her grip, and in the same motion hooked an arm around her waist and lifted her clean off the floor.
"Little girl, don't play with knives around me."
He held her effortlessly with one arm — she was only a little shorter than him — while the other hand spun the dagger between his fingers like a butterfly.
Baela's eyes went wide with shock and fury. She couldn't believe his strength.
Her small chest heaved. She pounded her fists against his solid torso, but it only hurt her own hands.
"Put me down! You crude brute! How dare you!" Her voice cracked, eyes starting to water. "I'll kill you! You're dead!"
No man had ever dared hold her like this since she was a child. For a headstrong girl like Baela, it was the ultimate humiliation.
Worse, the faint masculine scent rolling off him made her whole body tingle and go weak.
Logar's grip didn't loosen an inch no matter how she kicked and cursed.
"Right now you're in my hands, princess. I decide whether you get steamed or roasted."
His voice stayed calm but carried real warning. "Keep pushing and I might just make sure you stay unmarried forever."
He'd had enough of her wild temper. If he didn't scare her a little now, the next two days would be hell.
Baela was the wild one of Daemon and Laena's twin daughters — short hair, loved horses and danger, nothing like her quiet, artistic sister Rhaena. She had always driven her family insane, and the older she got the more trouble she caused.
This latest stunt — sneaking aboard her grandfather's ship just because she was bored — had dropped her straight into Logar's lap.
Still, she wasn't stupid. She knew when she was beaten. Staring at her own dagger flashing in his hand, she swallowed her rage, lowered her head, and went silent.
Logar set her down.
The second her feet touched the deck she spun and slapped him hard across the face.
Crack.
"That's for treating a lady so rudely!" she hissed, tears shining in her eyes. Then she bolted out of the cabin without looking back.
Logar touched his stinging cheek, looked at the silver dagger still in his hand, and let out a low chuckle.
"Damn… that girl's got fire."
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