No wonder the entire hall's attention locked onto this procession.
The herald rushed forward and announced the guest in a ringing voice.
"Hilra Ogeneris, noblewoman of the old blood, mistress of the House of Highest Pleasure."
"I must offer Lord Viserys a thousand and one apologies," Hilra said, lips curved in a charming smile as she looked straight at the host of the feast. "For my lateness. It was not intentional."
"What delayed you, my lady?" Viserys asked evenly.
"I had to make certain," she replied, stepping aside so every slave girl behind her stood fully in view, "that my gift was in its absolute best condition. My great-great-great-great-grandmother Lady Serla always said that if you want perfection, you never settle for 'good enough.'"
Serla?
A thought flashed through Daenerys's mind.
She remembered Viserys telling her that descendants of Serla Targaryen's bastard children still lived inside Volantis.
These people had built staggering wealth despite their questionable bloodline.
Could this noblewoman be one of them?
"You, Lord Viserys, Lady Daenerys, are my distant but very real kin," Hilra said, her smile growing even brighter. Daenerys felt an unexpected sting of jealousy. "Therefore the gift I bring must be the very best. Please allow me to present forty slave girls—four different styles, ten of each—displayed before your noble eyes. Valyrian beauties full of grace, exotic Quarthi temptresses, passionate Summer Islander women, and obedient Andal girls… From this moment on they belong to you forever."
"Your gift is generous and pleasing," Viserys answered carefully, choosing his words. "Any man with sense would not deny their beauty. Still, Lady Hilra, your choice surprises me. I love the wife I chose, yet you offer me slave girls."
"Oh, Lord Viserys! A husband needs a wife to continue his glorious line, while slave girls exist for the pleasures of the flesh. So it has always been. The old dragonlords were wise men! Besides, my gift belongs to your beautiful wife as well. She may enjoy them exactly as you do, or the two of you may share them—however you both wish." Her smile never faltered. "And if you prefer not to use them in bed, they can still please you in other ways. Among them are skilled seamstresses, devoted masseuses, and lovely singers…"
"I accept your gift with pleasure and my heartfelt thanks." Viserys nodded and, for the first time, gave this wild kinswoman a genuine smile. "Lady Hilra, please take your seat and enjoy the celebration."
A slave immediately brought her a brimming cup of fine wine.
"To the dragonlord rulers—the most beautiful people Volantis has ever seen!" Hilra declared, raising her cup high. Daenerys had no choice but to drink with everyone else.
Hilra Ogeneris then glided toward the table she favored. The line of slave girls bowed and withdrew, ready to be assigned by the palace steward.
The feast surged forward. With every passing hour the atmosphere grew wilder and more unrestrained.
The finest musicians were summoned. Their instruments shifted from stately melodies to bold, fiery rhythms.
Some guests pulled beautiful slave girls onto their laps. A few bold young noblewomen openly flirted with the Black Knights, who were more than happy to entertain them at the tables.
The men dropped their old grudges. Sellswords and Volantene lords drank together, laughed together, and talked freely—past wars, future campaigns, women loved and women still desired, history that was gone and the new age just beginning.
Toasts rose and fell without pause.
Daenerys angrily pushed aside another picked-clean chicken bone and signaled for a fresh slice of swan.
The intoxicating wine, the sweet music, the exquisite food—they all wrapped around her like a gentle lullaby. A sudden wave of exhaustion crashed over her.
The fatigue of a sleepless night, the tension of the ceremony and the feast, finally caught up.
She leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and fought to stay awake.
"Your Grace." A familiar, painfully dear voice spoke right in front of her.
"Oh… Martin?" The princess opened her eyes and saw the young singer adored by every Black Knight standing before her.
"Yes, Your Grace." He bowed with his usual graceful flourish. "A humble singer, struck dumb by your beauty and your husband's valor, finally has the chance to offer his modest gift."
Singers and musicians in the Free Cities always dressed brightly to catch attention.
But Merrytongue Martin's outfit was outrageous even by their standards. Yellow, red, and blue scraps of cloth had been stitched together by some mad but talented tailor. He wore bright green boots and a gold chain around his neck, with a flamboyant peacock feather stuck in his black hair.
Even in that ridiculous costume he failed to steal the spotlight. Only the newlyweds, a few close friends, and a visibly displeased Lady Elyn turned their eyes his way.
"So what are you giving us, Martin?" her brother asked in a mild tone, the stern mask slipping for a rare moment. "A new song?"
"Your Grace." The singer shrugged as if the most sincere feeling had been insulted. "A true gift requires effort, otherwise it means nothing. I could write a song while sitting on the privy—that takes no work and no sacrifice."
"Then," Daenerys couldn't help laughing, "what did you prepare for us?"
"Our respected Lady Elyn is right—a king must remember history. Who am I to question her wisdom?" Martin pulled a surprisingly thick book from behind his back. "This book was made for that noble purpose… and believe it or not, it's also extremely entertaining!"
"What's it called?"
"Mushroom's Testimony." Martin smiled and looked straight at his former employer and the man's sister. "The complete version, saved by a Volantene collector of Westerosi curiosities from the foolish bans of Baelor the Blessed and the lies of later copyists. Every word here was written by the fool who once served the king and queen in person."
Daenerys laughed.
Of course she knew this book!
Lady Elyn had mentioned it during lessons, however reluctantly, and Daenerys had heard fragments of its stories from others.
Intrigue, plots, love affairs, seduction and betrayal, secret whispers and base deeds… it sounded like the most fascinating read imaginable.
And right now that collection of scandals and crude jokes sat within reach.
She only hoped Viserys would accept it!
She really hoped he would.
"A rare item." Viserys nodded. Daenerys saw the corner of his mouth lift. "You must have worked hard to obtain it."
"Oh, Your Grace, I nearly turned it into a song myself." Martin relaxed once the gift was appreciated. "I'm still deciding on the title. Which do you like better—'Book by the Window Moon' or 'History for History's Sake'?"
"You didn't steal it, did you?" Daenerys asked with mock seriousness.
"My lady, I only steal women's hearts." Martin shrugged with a sly grin. "Maybe that collector simply didn't like his wife coming here to congratulate me and walking away with the book."
"We accept your gift." Viserys inclined his head. "But you should stop chasing other men's wives. Sooner or later you'll run into a jealous husband who won't care how much we enjoy your little tricks. His knife won't show mercy."
"What can I do, Your Grace? It's my fate. When a man loves beauty, he accepts the suffering that comes with it."
A dark-skinned slave girl brought Martin a cup of wine. He raised it toward the entire hall and declared loudly:
"To our red dragon!"
The exhaustion that had swept over her moments earlier vanished as quickly as it had come.
Only pure joy, steady contentment, perfect peaceful happiness, and quiet pleasure remained in her heart.
After drinking so much wine she still felt this clear-headed—either the Arbor red had been watered down, her brother had quietly ordered her cup switched to something lighter, or she was simply a better drinker than she'd thought.
She preferred to believe the third possibility, but reason leaned toward the second.
Her brother's thoughtfulness was easy to understand. Today of all days he had every reason to take special care of her.
"Do you like it?" Viserys suddenly turned to her.
The gift-giving was finished. Business between the Triarchs was settled. At last he could give her his full attention.
"Oh, I love it! Everything is wonderful!" Daenerys nodded quickly, wanting to reassure him. "It's all so dreamlike, so perfect."
"Are you drunk?"
"No! Of course not!" She felt no dizziness at all.
"Then why is your tongue tying itself in knots?"
"I'm just excited!"
"All right, all right." The Triarch laughed softly and reached over to gently smooth her tousled silver hair. "Because, my dear wife, the very best part of the night is still ahead of you."