"Still ahead? I know what you mean, but when exactly?"
"In a few hours." Viserys smiled like a guardian doing everything he could to reassure her. "Once the required formalities are finished, we'll be free."
"Will there be… a bedding ceremony?"
"No. I won't let any man touch you, my Dany."
He kissed her full on the lips in front of everyone, drawing cheers from the entire hall.
"Just hold on a little longer. It'll be over soon."
Viserys returned to his meal, but Daenerys's thoughts drifted back to the day before.
She had secretly summoned Doreah, treating the Lysene woman like a co-conspirator.
The slave had been given a very special task: prepare the princess for tonight.
Doreah had been told to speak bluntly, and she had.
The princess needed practice—with fingers, lips, and tongue.
In the end Doreah had promised her she was ready and that Viserys would love it.
But was she truly good enough?
Viserys was used to very different treatment. He was used to other women—women far more experienced, far more uninhibited than she was.
Women who actually knew how to give him real pleasure.
Daenerys forced her mind back to the present.
The scene in front of her kept changing.
Right now the slaves were clearing one of the long tables.
At Viserys's order, space was being made for anyone who wanted to dance and celebrate wildly.
Those too old, too frail, or simply uninterested could stay at the other tables and keep eating the endless stream of new dishes.
Some guests were already so drunk they had to be helped out of the hall. The ones who remained grew even more unrestrained.
Knights and young nobles competed for the favor of noble ladies. Older men kept talking loudly. Beautiful slave girls were cornered and couldn't escape.
Some couples had already slipped away. Others sat on their masters' laps, whispering. Hands wandered freely over bare skin.
Daenerys bit her lip.
She remembered Viserys's words. A few more hours.
She had to control herself. Her moment would come.
No matter what, she had to tear her attention away from the growing heat low in her belly.
She decided to find Lady Elyn. That woman would never let her feel embarrassed.
But the princess's eyes, like so many others, were drawn to Merrytongue Martin.
Martin had climbed onto one of the long tables. Around him stood his usual crowd—Black Knights, old-blood nobles, ladies, and a few Westerosi musicians.
They all wore knowing smiles, as if they shared some enormous secret.
"I think it's time we had some real fun!" the singer announced loudly. "The local musicians are fine… but gods above, they're missing a certain spark!"
"Show us what you've got, Martin!" Viserys called from the throne.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please enjoy my newest creation…"
Martin paused dramatically, giving the other musicians time to prepare. "The Cuckold King of Casterly Rock! The tune is borrowed from The Rains of Castamere, but the lyrics are far more fitting!"
Martin waved to his companions. The instruments struck up at once—shrill, mournful, like a funeral dirge.
Completely at odds with the words he belted out.
"Take her, great dragon, my wife, I beg you…"
At first Daenerys was confused. The lyrics seemed like nonsense.
Then she understood.
It wasn't just a lion begging the dragon to watch over his lioness in exchange for seven gilded sheep.
It was singing about a filthy rumor the knights who had protected her on the Orange Coast had once whispered to her.
They said Lord Tywin Lannister had only become Hand because he offered his beautiful wife Joanna to King Aerys.
The exiles in Viserys's army loved repeating that dirty joke. It made them feel both relieved and amused.
Daenerys had no doubt the rumor was about as true as Mushroom's Testimony.
But these men who had fled Westeros kept repeating and embellishing it just to wound the lord who had betrayed them and forced them into exile.
And now someone had turned those crude words into a song!
Anger flared in Daenerys's chest.
What in the seven hells was Martin singing?
Who did he think he was?
How could he slander her father and humiliate her mother in front of everyone?
She knew her father had not been the best king, nor the best man.
But did that give anyone the right to mock him and drag her mother's name through the dirt in public?
Her mother had suffered so much because of that marriage!
And now people were turning it into entertainment?
The daughter of Queen Rhaella turned, furious, toward her royal brother.
She found Viserys laughing harder than anyone else in the hall.
He was practically roaring with laughter, setting an example for everyone with his infectious delight.
And firmly protecting Martin from any rebuke.
Daenerys was shocked at first. Then she remembered what both Lady Elyn and Doreah had told her in private.
The noblewoman and the lowborn slave, one respectable and one shameless, had said exactly the same thing.
It was impossible to fully understand a man.
No matter how long you lived with him, no matter how much he trusted you, no matter how many of his secrets you knew, there would always be moments that surprised you—shocked you. And they were rarely pleasant.
Maybe this was one of those moments?
Maybe sometimes you simply had to accept your lover as he truly was?
Martin's first performance earned thunderous applause.
Exiled knights, nobles, and ladies all congratulated the creator.
Some even tried to toss him into the air.
But Merrytongue Martin had clearly just hit his stride. He had no intention of stopping.
"That's enough about the cuckolded lion and his wanton lioness!" the smug singer shouted. "Let's have some real fun!"
The mournful tune of The Rains of Castamere was abandoned. In its place came rowdy ballads about brawls, mistresses, and distant campaigns.
The songs changed at dizzying speed. The singers jumped from one to the next without pause.
Martin had every musician backing him, slave and freeborn alike.
With every passing minute more people left their tables and joined the dancers.
To Daenerys the dancing looked more like the wild harvest-festival revels of peasants—completely lacking in dignity and utterly out of place at a royal wedding.
Where was the proper coordination?
Where was the royal grandeur?
Where was the elegance worthy of a future queen's court?
Yet the princess watched the chaotic movements with a strange kind of appreciation.
There was something wild and seductive about it, hinting at pleasures that were beautiful and shameless.
Her disapproval faded. Genuine interest took its place.
She could have watched for an hour—watched proud nobles and brave knights spin, embrace, and touch one another.
Then Viserys's calm voice pulled her out of her trance.
"It's time for us to go, Dany."
She didn't argue.
No matter how wild the dancing became, what waited for her was the wedding night she had prepared for so carefully.
The rest happened quickly.
Viserys rose from the throne and announced that he and his wife were retiring.
A few exiled knights asked to hold the traditional Westerosi bedding ceremony, but he refused them firmly and decisively.
Her brother had kept his word.
Today, no one but him would touch her.
To keep the mood light, the prince ordered more wine and told the guests they were free to stay as long as they liked.
The wedding celebration would continue for several days. There was no need to leave yet.
Even after the couple departed, the feast kept burning bright.
Eleonora's guards stood ready to handle any trouble without disturbing their lord and lady.
The walk from the feast hall to the bedchamber felt like it took only a heartbeat.
Viserys held her hand the entire way, as if offering her courage—though she didn't need it. The gesture still warmed her heart.
They walked in perfect silence—Viserys, herself, and the guards. No one spoke.
At the door, Ser Tristifer and Ser Kivan remained on guard, loyal and alert.
The Targaryen couple stepped inside.
Doreah and Naera had spent hours preparing the marriage bed.
The slaves had done their work with care. Scented candles burned everywhere. The bed was neatly made. A small table held a decanter of wine that had already been tasted, two goblets, and a plate of fresh fruit.
The slaves themselves were gone. They knew they would not be needed tonight and had left as soon as their work was finished.
The moment the door closed, her brother kissed his new wife with fierce passion.
She closed her eyes and surrendered to the sudden rush of joy.
She answered at once, her tongue meeting his.
Viserys clearly hadn't expected her to be so forward. He pulled her tightly against him and held her there for a long time.
Daenerys felt as if she were floating among the clouds, lost in new sensations, tasting something strange and wonderfully sweet.
"Shall I undress you," Viserys whispered when the kiss finally broke, "or would you rather do it yourself?"
"Which do you prefer?" Daenerys answered exactly the way Doreah had taught her.
Let him feel in control of you.
"You undress yourself." Viserys stepped back to get a better view. "I have all the time in the world… to get to know you slowly."
Daenerys smiled and obeyed.
The elaborate gowns worn by Volantene noblewomen were beautiful and elegant—and remarkably easy to remove.
Whether for bathing, sleeping, or lovemaking.
The local tailors understood exactly what the old-blood nobles wanted.
Even Daenerys, nervous as she was, managed to shed the gown in just a few minutes.
At last she stood before him in all her pure beauty, fighting the urge to cover herself or look away from his male gaze.
"He should see all of you."
"Do you like… what you see?" she asked softly, needing to know the performance had worked.
Viserys nodded in silence. But the hungry, greedy look in his eyes was more convincing than any words.
"Now… your turn." Daenerys barely managed to keep the nervous laugh out of her voice.
Part of her still couldn't believe any of this was real. Another part of her was struggling against the desire to throw herself into her husband's arms.
"You undress yourself too."
Viserys was a warrior. His hands moved with a warrior's speed.
His fine clothes were on the floor in less than a minute, revealing his perfect, powerfully muscled body.
At last Daenerys understood where Doreah's earlier praise had come from.
She felt she could stare at this masterpiece of the gods for hours, greedily memorizing every detail.
But Viserys gave her no time.
He stepped forward again and pulled her into his arms.
Their bodies met. Their lips met again.
A sudden, uncontrollable shiver ran through Daenerys.
Nerves?
Fear?
Exhaustion?
Or fear that he would find her lacking?
Viserys felt it at once.
In the gentlest, most tender voice, he whispered just a few words against her ear:
"Don't be afraid. Do you trust me?"
She answered just as softly.
"I do."
"Don't worry, Dany. Everything will be fine…"