Viserys's face twisted—mania mixed with ecstasy.
"Agree! Of course I agree!"
He practically screamed it.
Spittle sprayed onto Magister Illyrio's greasy face.
As if shouting loud enough would make that Iron Throne—forged from blood and bones—fall from the sky.
Just lift his ass, and the Seven Kingdoms would be his.
He grabbed Lynn's hand, pale purple eyes burning with greedy flames.
"Daenerys is yours!"
"You're my most trusted friend!"
"From today, Daenerys is your wife!"
"When do you leave? Tomorrow? Or now?"
"No—we leave now! Kill our way back to Westeros!"
Lynn calmly withdrew his hand.
He couldn't even be bothered looking at this beggar king drunk on power fantasies.
His gaze fell on Daenerys.
The girl's body trembled slightly.
That inhumanly beautiful face drained of color, pale as Northern snow.
Again.
Once more she was treated as goods—an item to trade for armies and thrones.
By her only family. Her brother. Traded without hesitation.
Those clear violet eyes misted with tears, full of humiliation and sorrow.
But this time—beneath that sorrow—hid something she hadn't noticed herself. Anticipation?
Because the trade's recipient was him.
The one who'd appeared countless times in her dreams.
Riding a three-headed ice dragon from the Land of Always Winter.
Her prince.
Lynn watched her tearful expression, heart unexpectedly softening. Daenerys has suffered too much.
"King Viserys."
Lynn's voice wasn't loud, yet instantly silenced the manic Viserys.
"I think I need to speak with Daenerys alone."
Viserys froze, then plastered on an ingratiating smile.
"Of course! Of course! You need to... build rapport!"
He rushed to Daenerys.
Then lowered his voice, warning tone:
"Dany, listen—this is our last chance."
"Please him. Satisfy him. Understand?"
"Don't anger him like you did the Khal!"
"If you ruin this, I swear you'll learn what 'true sleeping dragon's wrath' means!"
With that, he dragged the dazed Illyrio toward the estate's wine cellar.
Already eager to celebrate his coming victory with the magister's finest vintages.
On the terrace—only Lynn and Daenerys remained.
Sea wind blew, carrying salt-damp air.
The atmosphere grew tense.
Daenerys kept her head down, hands nervously wringing her gown, not daring to meet Lynn's eyes.
"Your brother sold you again."
Lynn's voice was calm.
Daenerys's body shuddered violently.
Those forcibly suppressed tears finally slipped from her eyes.
She didn't cry aloud, just bit her lip hard.
"He's using you as currency for an army—just like he tried selling you to Khal Drogo."
Lynn walked toward her step by step, tall figure completely enveloping her.
He offered no comfort, just stated facts with clinical precision, ripping open wounds she least wanted to face.
Daenerys's shoulders began shaking, suppressed sobs finally breaking free.
She'd expected Lynn to boast like all men—about his army, his wealth.
And that dragon capable of destroying cities.
Then tell her being his woman was her supreme honor.
But Lynn's next words completely stunned her.
"Are you willing?"
Lynn asked.
Daenerys's head snapped up.
Those tear-soaked violet eyes showed utter disbelief.
He's... asking my opinion?
"I..."
Daenerys opened her mouth.
Found her throat blocked, unable to make sound.
Her entire life had been obedience.
Obeying her brother's orders. Illyrio's arrangements.
No one had ever asked like Lynn did.
Are you willing?
Lynn watched her bewildered expression, extending his hand, fingertips gently wiping tears from her cheeks.
His fingertips carried slight chill, touching her burning skin, making her tremble involuntarily.
"Look at me, Dany."
Daenerys instinctively raised her eyes, gazing into those deep black pupils.
Those eyes—exactly like in her dreams.
Cold, aloof, seemingly containing the North's eternal night.
Yet in that coldness's deepest depths—a flame she couldn't understand.
"Tell me your answer."
Lynn gazed at her.
"This time, don't think about your brother. You're not the Targaryen princess, not Stormborn."
"You're just you. Daenerys herself."
"Will you marry me?"
BOOM—
Daenerys felt her brain go blank.
That prophecy buried in her soul's depths thundered again!
This is it!
This is him!
This is her prince!
He didn't care about the Targaryen name, didn't care about alliances.
He cared only about her.
About herself!
Unprecedented courage surged from her battered heart.
Courage to melt ice. To defy the entire world!
"I'm willing."
Her voice still carried a sob, yet was firm as Valyrian steel.
She stood on tiptoes, closed her eyes.
Used all her strength to press her cool, soft lips against Lynn's.
Lynn froze.
He could feel this clumsy kiss—grievance, anticipation, worship, faith...
The kiss was awkward and brief.
When Daenerys pulled away, face flushed, gasping, those violet eyes shone like Pentos's brightest stars.
"I'm willing."
She repeated it.
A smile bloomed on her face—unprecedented, outshining all flowers.
This time, not for Targaryen.
Not for the Iron Throne.
Only for him.
Lynn looked at this girl who'd seemingly completed some transformation in an instant, feeling his own heart stir.
He extended his arms, gently pulling her into his embrace.
The girl's body was so thin—through silk, he could feel her delicate bones.
Her body trembled slightly, yet like finding the safest harbor, she hugged him back fiercely.
"I used to dream."
Daenerys buried her face in his chest, voice muffled.
"Dreamed of a massive ice dragon, and a snowfield that never melts."
"I thought they were just dreams."
"Now I know—they weren't dreams."
She raised her head, staring entranced at Lynn's face.
Those purple eyes—like a rain-washed night sky—shone brilliantly.
"You were calling me."
Lynn said nothing, just listened quietly.
He could clearly feel it.
That seed he'd casually planted in her soul had grown into an unshakeable tree in the girl's heart.
This effect is... a bit too good.
Seems the Three-Eyed Raven was right.
Daenerys pressed her cheek against Lynn's chest, feeling that steady, powerful heartbeat—the world's most beautiful music.
"Will you... really marry me?"
She asked softly, voice uncertain.
"Not because of the Targaryen name, not to ally with my brother?"
Lynn looked down at this small creature still seeking confirmation, somewhat amused.
He lifted her chin, making her meet his eyes.
"I said—I'm marrying Daenerys."
He leaned to her ear, voice only they could hear:
"As for your brother... a king who trades his own sister—you think he's worthy of being my ally?"
Daenerys's body stiffened.
Lynn's words struck her softest place.
But this time, she felt no pain—only unprecedented satisfaction.
"He... he just wants to go home."
She instinctively defended Viserys, but her voice couldn't even convince herself.
"There are many ways to go home."
Lynn released her.
"But none include selling your sister."
In the wine cellar—
Viserys drained a cup of golden Arbor wine, face flushed with sick color.
"Illyrio! My friend! Best friend!"
He pounded the magister's fat back.
"When I reclaim the Iron Throne, I'll make you Master of Coin!"
"No! I'll build you a new ducal castle! Right below King's Landing, next to me!"
"You'll be the Seven Kingdoms' wealthiest lord!"
Illyrio's face was all smiles, eyes cold with calculation.
Already tallying—
How many ships and supplies for a hundred-thousand-man army.
How much profit from this lucrative investment.
But Lynn doesn't seem simple.
Capable, not easily fooled. I should be cautious.
Don't anger Lynn, force him to seek other allies.
Viserys was getting drunk.
He pushed away the slave girl trying to pour wine, staggering from the cellar.
He wanted to see—
How his best ally and his "obedient" sister were building rapport.
When he reached the courtyard, he saw it.
On that sea-facing terrace—
His sister, Daenerys, embraced by that man called Lynn.
Sea wind whipped her silver-gold hair. Her face showed something Viserys had never seen—genuine peace and happiness.
That instant, indescribable sourness and rage surged from Viserys's heart.
What expression is that?
That girl who'd only followed him around like a puppy, begging for attention.
Why does she get to show that expression?
Everything she has—I gave her!
Her life, her beauty, even her identity as Targaryen princess!
Every Targaryen woman's duty is bearing her brother's children!
How dare she?
Now—he'd merely "bestowed" Daenerys on that man.
Why does she look happier than when she was with me?
The feeling of a precious toy being stolen instantly consumed his brain.
Viserys clenched his fists.
No.
Wrong.
He quickly shook his head, forcibly suppressing that nameless fire.
Daenerys doesn't matter.
Just a lowly woman.
What matters... the dragon.
Once he had that dragon—even if the entire world had their way with Daenerys, he wouldn't hesitate!
Viserys raised his head, gazing at that azure sky.
Uncontrollably, his mind conjured images—that three-headed ice dragon hovering over King's Landing, burning the Red Keep to ashes.
And he—Viserys Targaryen—standing on the dragon's back.
Destroying all enemies. Breaching rebel castles.
Receiving the masses' worship!
That's a true king!
A desire stronger than reclaiming the throne grew like poison vines in his heart.
The dragon...
That dragon should be ridden by a true Targaryen.
And he was the last dragon!
Not some Northern savage!
Viserys's smile gradually vanished.
Replaced by desire-twisted coldness.
He watched the embracing pair on the terrace. His gaze changed.
Lynn was no longer his ally.
But a thief who'd stolen his power!
The dragon can only be mine!
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