Daenerys tossed her clothes aside. A pair of quick-handed slave girls immediately stepped forward to gather them up.
She slipped slowly into the bathing pool and let out an unashamed sigh of pure pleasure.
In Volantis the ancient arts had not been lost. The water in these pools stayed at the perfect warmth forever.
Whether it was magic or some clever mechanism, she had no interest in knowing right now.
All that mattered was lying here in peace, eyes closed, truly feeling like a princess—for the first time, the sister of one of the three Triarchs who ruled Volantis. The feeling was intoxicating.
A month earlier Viserys had sat her down for a serious talk.
He told her that from today onward she must help him carry the fate of House Targaryen. She could no longer be the little girl sheltered by sellsword captains with nothing to do.
The Targaryen siblings had stepped into a real nest of vipers. They had to survive here and defeat every jealous, treacherous enemy.
Just as Viserys said, he could not handle everything alone. He needed his sister's help.
Even so, he had no intention of throwing her straight into the poisonous world of politics. Everything would begin small.
That was when he placed the palace they had won by contract entirely in her hands.
Security remained under his personal control. Everything else he entrusted to her.
Daenerys had thrown herself into the task, determined not to disappoint him.
From early morning she dealt with household affairs: checking accounts, meeting merchants and suppliers, learning to judge slaves and servants, and keeping order inside the palace.
Even after all this time she still had not fully adjusted.
Of course, under her brother's protection she had never gone hungry or faced real danger.
But the difference between comfortable tents and ordinary houses compared to this true palace was almost impossible to describe.
Dozens of grand halls, over a hundred elegant rooms, servants bowing everywhere, slaves trembling at every command—everywhere the eye fell there was only luxury and wealth.
And what thrilled her most was realizing she was the mistress here.
Today's celebration was supposed to be her own small victory.
For an entire week she had worked without rest, throwing herself completely into preparing the feast.
Merchants tried to cheat the new Triarchs for huge profits. Others passed off riverland swill as Arbor gold. Some even dared serve spoiled meat to her brother's guests.
Together with the Keeper of the Foundation, Daenerys had planned every detail of this vital ceremony from the start, securing the necessary gold from the Temple of Vhagar.
She had personally directed the garden decorations, decided seating, chosen the male and female slaves who would serve the nobles, drawn up the detailed menu, hired musicians and players, and managed an ever-growing procurement list that took hours to review.
But all the hard work was behind her now. She had done everything she could.
In six hours the celebration would begin.
For the moment she could finally relax, enjoy a little peace, and trust completely in the gentle, practiced hands of her maids.
The skilled and reliable Doreah stood behind her, working fragrant oil through the long, damp silver strands of her hair.
It required clever hands, and the woman from Lys was perfect for the task.
The other maid was called Naera and still lacked experience.
Not long after Volantis fell, a girl barely grown had been sold to slavers by her parents so they could eat. Daenerys had noticed her…
With her striking looks and gentle nature she had become private property of the Targaryen siblings.
Now the former butcher's daughter served as a bathing slave in the palace, preparing her mistress for her first true public appearance.
Looking at Naera, Daenerys had to admit the girl was eye-catching—and for good reason.
She was the same height as Daenerys, with a pretty, pleasing face, dark curls, pale skin, a narrow waist, and an especially full bosom.
The slave girls in the palace baths wore nothing except the iron collars around their necks.
Daenerys could have quietly studied her, but every time her gaze lingered Naera seemed to grow more embarrassed.
The girl still had not grown used to this particular "uniform"—or rather, complete nakedness—so her movements remained hesitant and slow.
In the end Daenerys simply closed her eyes and let the new girl work in silence.
"My princess, I'm truly glad you are the one managing this palace," Doreah whispered softly beside her ear.
This favored slave always liked to start light conversations at moments like these.
Daenerys never minded. The idle talk helped the time pass more pleasantly.
"It was well-run before, but under your hand it has come alive with new energy. Every corridor is spotless, every hall shines, and beauty meets the eye wherever one looks."
"Mmm, thank you, Doreah." Daenerys sighed with such pleasure she almost hummed. "And you, Naera? What do you think of your mistress?"
"Lady Daenerys is very kind," Naera answered timidly. "I only hope I am worthy of that kindness…"
The moment the words left her mouth the scrubbing board slipped in her hand and scraped hard across the princess's foot.
"Ah…"
It did not really hurt. It was simply too sudden.
"You only hope?" Doreah snorted coldly at once. "What are you doing, you fool? Is the woman before you a wild boar or a princess?"
"P-princess…"
"Then remember it! Be gentler! Is a lady's skin not delicate? Is that so hard to understand?"
"N-no…"
"Lady, may I slap her?"
"Enough, Doreah," Daenerys said gently. "That's enough. Haven't you ever made a mistake? Besides, I barely felt it."
"Where I grew up, my princess," Doreah continued in the Common Tongue as Daenerys preferred, "a maid who made that kind of error would already be thrown onto the street to service men. This silly girl would be spreading her legs for dozens of stinking brutes every day."
"Your rules were truly that strict?"
"Lady Rhaenella's establishment was famous throughout Lys." Doreah's clever fingers worked through Daenerys's silver hair as she spoke. "A reputation like that isn't earned with lazy, incompetent girls. The competition there is fierce, and the training… very thorough. That's exactly why the master is satisfied, and you are satisfied too, yes?"
"Yes—of course."
She had to admit it was true.
Today all the great nobles of Old Volantis would gather to pay respect to the new Triarch, Viserys Targaryen the Third.
And she, Daenerys Targaryen, would appear before them for the first time in her true capacity.
No longer the little girl who followed sellsword captains with no home of her own, but the mistress of this magnificent palace, sister of a Triarch… and, perhaps not long from now, his wife.
That was why she had come to bathe and be adorned.
At tonight's celebration she had to shine—flawless and radiant.
Doreah was unmatched when it came to a woman's grooming and bearing.
Naera was still clumsy, but she could handle the simple but necessary chores.
The sound of water rippled. The scrubbing board was set aside. Time for the oils.
In the past such cleanliness and comfort would have seemed like a dream.
"My princess, have you seen your noble brother today?"
"No. He's buried in work again and won't return until deep in the night. Why?"
"I was only wondering what he will wear to the celebration." Doreah spoke to her like a close confidante, and Daenerys never minded. "The fashionable Volantene style, or will he insist on his own?"
"Most likely whatever he prefers." Daenerys smiled. "Truthfully I love seeing him in his war gear—practical, masculine, full of a soldier's strength. Besides, Volantene robes have no house sigils. How could he appear without the red dragon?"
"Lord Viserys should still wear local clothing," Naera offered timidly as she shifted position. "Otherwise the other lords and ladies might gossip about him…"
Daenerys opened her eyes at that.
Doreah immediately delivered a light slap—more a formal warning. This favored slave took her master's dignity more seriously than anything.
"Prince Viserys is the master," Doreah said coldly. "All those lords must follow his wishes. Remember who you are serving, stupid girl. Otherwise this good fortune of yours won't last long, and you'll only have yourself to blame when your arrogance costs you everything."
Frightened by the older slave's scolding, Naera lowered her head and silently continued washing her mistress.
"Enough, Doreah," the princess said soothingly. "I know you're loyal, but she is new. Mistakes can be forgiven. Besides, she had a point—a full sellsword outfit would look rather plain for such an occasion."
"Even if those gold-plated lords aren't fit to lick the master's little finger," Doreah still grumbled. "Still… I don't understand why we must deal with such people at all. Why not just get rid of them all and divide the palaces among the captains? Now that would be a pleasant life, wouldn't it, my princess?"
"That's called politics, and it's not so simple," Daenerys replied with the air of someone who understood such matters. "But you don't need to understand. Just do your duties well, and everything will be fine."
"Of course, my princess. Who would dare disagree? I never doubt the master's wisdom."
"Everything will be as my lady commands…"
"My lady wishes you," Daenerys said gently, lifting Naera's chin so she could look straight into the girl's eyes, "to wash my legs now. Don't worry—I don't bite."