Doubts vanished the moment the slave girls unfurled the banner.
On the traditional red field, a magnificent emerald-green dragon coiled proudly.
The beast had three heads—one green like its body, one snow-white, and the third, highest head black as midnight.
"This banner symbolizes the role you played in bringing the dragons back," Elyn said, perfectly controlling her voice so no one could see how proud she was of the design and its execution. "I hope you will find it worthy of you."
"It's absolutely perfect."
Daenerys finally steadied her breathing and spoke softly.
"From this day forward, this banner belongs to our princess forever."
Viserys announced it loudly.
The words filled his wife with pure joy and drew thunderous applause from the entire hall.
The Black Knights sang her praises, sang his, sang the glory of House Targaryen.
When the applause finally died down, Lady Elyn signaled another slave to bring forward a small chest.
"My prince."
Elyn continued, turning her loving gaze to Daenerys's royal brother. "Hundreds of seamstresses worked on banners for you. I didn't want to steal their bread.
But I have another way to remind you of home, of the people waiting for your return, and of the ancestors who placed their hopes in you."
"What way?"
"Coins, my prince."
The woman nodded toward the chest. "Inside is an astonishing, nearly complete set of coins from the Seven Kingdoms.
A dozen or so date back to the time of the Doom… but most were struck by order of your royal ancestors.
From Aegon the Conqueror all the way to your father, this collection shows that entire history.
The pure-gold dragons of the old king, the lighter coins from Rhaenyra's time, the vigorous Aegon the Fifth, the idle bookish Aerys…
My prince, what lies inside this chest is a history that must never be forgotten."
"Lady Elyn, thank you for this generous and elegant gift. Have you examined every piece yourself?"
"Yes."
After a short pause Viserys asked slowly, "Then tell me… are there any coins of the rebellious Black Dragon inside?"
"There are. Three coins bearing the likeness of the pretender Daemon sit in this chest. The Narrow Sea protected them from Bloodraven's spies and the executioner's axe."
"A king must remember everything—victories and defeats, friends and enemies, heroes and traitors.
No matter how tragic or shameful the history, a king must know it."
Viserys spoke in a strange, thoughtful tone. "Thank you for this precious gift, Lady Elyn Longsword."
"My prince."
The final speaker was Admiral Haemon Goneris of the Volantis fleet.
He was older than everyone who had spoken before him, yet he looked far more warlike than any of them.
Weymond loved to boast of his achievements and show off his swordplay before the ladies.
But Haemon needed none of that.
Anyone could see the marks of battle on his lean face, and the sharp voice he used to give orders left no doubt about his profession.
"I'm not much for pretty speeches.
I prefer the song of the wind in the rigging over the tinkling of instruments.
I usually deal with ordinary sailors, not Triarchs and princesses."
The bold old seaman got straight to the point.
Daenerys liked his directness and quietly filed his name away in her mind.
"But I will say this—before you came, Volantis was only staggering along.
The Triarchs in power were dried-up old men with dead cocks.
The treasury was squandered on insane monthly festivals while the art of war was forgotten.
Everyone looked only to the past instead of the horizon.
What you brought this city was more than the new hope Renigar spoke of. It was a hard kick in the ass that sent it flying toward the future."
The slaves already stood beside their master.
The admiral's servants knew him well enough not to waste time.
A powerfully built Summer Islander handed Goneris a fearsome short knife. The admiral lifted it easily in his right hand.
"Lord Viserys, this bloodthirsty little knife is made for cutting Lysene whelps. I offer it to you.
We're about to sail on a long voyage… fighting on deck with a knight's longsword is like trying to cut silk with a razor. It might work, but it's unnecessary."
"I accept your gift with pleasure and my heartfelt thanks."
Viserys repeated the standard phrase he used with the old blood.
Just then Daenerys felt the admiral's pale-violet eyes settle heavily on her.
She had no choice but to meet them.
"Lady Daenerys, for your beauty I can offer only this pearl necklace I brought back from the Summer Islands.
The local priestesses say it symbolizes many children and great fertility."
The admiral couldn't resist a crude little joke.
"And the dragonlord family, well… they could sure use that."
"I accept your gift with pleasure and my heartfelt thanks."
Daenerys echoed her husband, trying hard to hide the blush that rose anyway.
The admiral had barely sat down when the groom gave the order the guests had been waiting at least ten minutes to hear.
"The feast begins!"
The celebration roared to life.
Guests raised their cups and toasted the Triarchs and their lady with a hundred voices at once.
In Volantis the first toast was always drained in a single swallow, and Daenerys followed tradition with everyone else.
The excellent Arbor red from the Reach filled her with confidence, swept away every trace of melancholy, and erased all possible doubts.
It let her relax completely.
This feast was held for her.
She was going to enjoy every moment of it.
Music swelled. A hundred tables erupted in loud conversation.
In the noise Daenerys couldn't make out every word…
but she could tell which fragments came from old-blood mouths and which from Black Knights.
"The age of quill-pushers is over! The new Triarchs are Valyrian steel!"
"I've always said the elephant party should know their place. Ever since House Darennis was exiled they've become unbearable…"
"We're going to crush the Three Whores. We're going to march on Pentos…"
"The glory of Valyria is returning. The red comet is a sign from the gods, just like the dragons."
"…and on the ruins of the Titan we'll carve the words: slaves should wear collars!"
"Long live the king!"
On the other side of the hall the talk was completely different.
"To His Grace! To the lady!"
"Praise the red dragon!"
"Steel is with us, dragons are with us. I believe the Seven will bless…"
"His Grace will take us home!"
"…break the stag's antlers, pull the lion's tail, and count the teeth in those northern whelps!"
"Do they even have teeth left? Have you heard the latest news…"
"To the king!"
Daenerys could have kept listening with interest…
but her brother's considerate whisper reached her ear and cut the moment short.
"Eat something, Dany. The night is still young, and drinking on an empty stomach will have you under the table before long.
You don't want to spend your wedding night in a drunken haze, do you?"
"I don't!"
The girl answered playfully… then quickly picked up her utensils.
Viserys had struck exactly on her fear. She had no intention of sleeping through such an exciting night.
Fortunately the food that arrived was a masterpiece worthy of the gods themselves—no matter what names they went by.
Daenerys started with some light, crisp vegetables as an appetizer.
But after the second cup of Arbor red that toasted her beauty on Renigar's behalf, she turned straight to the honey-glazed roast chicken.
The bird practically melted in her mouth. She attacked it without mercy until nothing remained but clean bones.
Under Viserys and Elyn's care she had never truly gone hungry in her life. The food had been decent, if not luxurious.
But right now she was certain she had never tasted anything more delicious than this poor chicken.
She was very, very willing to believe this was a good omen for the future.
She hoped the days ahead would be just as sweet and pleasant.
She knew how naïve and foolish that thought was.
She understood perfectly well that only new trials and dangerous hardships lay ahead.
The toasts kept coming, endless and loud.
"To the lady's beauty!"
"To the Triarchs' wisdom!"
"To the destruction of the Three Whores!"
"To the death of that bastard usurper!"
"Valyria will be reborn in flame and blood!"
"To our king's strength!"
"May the gods grant him many children!"
Toast after toast. More and more guests presented their gifts to the newlyweds.
By custom the meal did not stop for them.
No one expected the same level of attention given to the handful of high-ranking guests.
If a visitor wanted to stand out, they had to do something worth the effort.
The great doors opened again and a large group poured in.
Daenerys had never seen a procession like it in her life.
Leading them was a Volantene noblewoman whose age she could not guess no matter how hard she tried.
Thirty? Forty? Forty-five?
Time had not destroyed her beauty, had not changed her stride, and had not diminished her confidence or her awareness of her own allure.
Even at her own young age, Daenerys would never have dared wear such a revealing gown in front of a hundred men.
But the old blood had long grown used to such displays.
Even if the woman had walked in naked they would not have spared her more than a minute's glance.
Yet behind their mistress, keeping a respectful distance, marched forty slave girls—ten in each row.
The first row looked strikingly like their mistress, dressed in scraps of silk with golden bracelets on their arms and necks.
Every one of them displayed classic Valyrian beauty.
The second row was made of girls with astonishingly pale skin and delicate, refined features, their snow-white breasts fully on display.
Right behind them, for sharp contrast, came Summer Islander women whose bodies were covered only by colorful bird feathers.
Last came the fourth row—completely naked blonde girls whose only adornment was the rough iron collars around their necks.