The sea wind hit him full in the face, carrying a cold, salty bite.
Viserys shivered and pulled his cloak tighter, trying to trap whatever warmth he could.
House Targaryen was like the dragon on their sigil—lovers of heat, haters of cold. He had zero appreciation for this night sea wind.
Most of Volantis was still asleep. Dawn hadn't broken yet, but the harbor was already packed with sailors, soldiers, and dock workers moving like ants.
No surprise there. The fleet of the First Daughter was about to weigh anchor, and even though Gemon Goneris had done everything he could to organize it, the chaos and noise far exceeded what the three Triarchs had expected.
The army had been boarding since last night. Only now was the assembly finally winding down.
Viserys arrived at first light with his most trusted nobles, a small escort of Black Knights, and his wife.
He'd deliberately skipped any grand send-off ceremony and chosen this early hour when the streets were quietest and enemy spies would see the least.
It wouldn't fool the Three Daughters or anyone else with bad intentions—news that he was personally leading the fleet out would spread everywhere within hours.
But at least it cut down on confusion and delay.
In war, time was the most precious resource. Not a single minute could be wasted.
And war was already breathing down their necks.
While the Targaryens had been busy with the wedding and planning the next campaign, the first clashes had already broken out in the Disputed Lands.
Myr and Tyrosh sellswords had hit Volantene border villages and outposts west of the Orange Coast.
So far the attacks were just the usual raids and skirmishes the region saw every other week, but the reports coming in were getting worse by the day.
Villages burned. Patrols vanished without a trace.
The new Triarchy of the Three Daughters still didn't dare push deep into the First Daughter's heartland, but everyone knew their appetite was only going to grow.
To head trouble off at the pass, Commander Weymond had to move fast and hard.
Viserys was confident Dorya could handle the job. The enemy alliance was loose, loud, and constantly bickering—that was Volantis's biggest advantage. Their opponents could never coordinate fast enough to strike as one.
That was exactly why the three Triarchs saw a real chance for a quick, decisive victory.
While Weymond hammered the Myr lines head-on, he and Gemon would sail across the Summer Sea.
Winter was coming. That stretch of water was only going to get more dangerous.
The Lyseni already knew they were the main target. They were scrambling to strengthen their island defenses and begging their allies for help.
Goneris had promised Viserys that if everything went according to plan, they could slip past the Lysene fleet patrols and strike the city directly—avoiding a major sea battle altogether.
One savage assault and the city would fall.
Even if they were forced into a fight at sea, the admiral was certain he could crush the pleasure-loving Lyseni without losing too many ships or men.
Despite his lingering doubts, Viserys had approved the plan.
"You look like you're already seasick," Daenerys laughed softly, fingertips brushing her husband's cheek. "All gloomy and unhappy."
"I'm just thinking ahead," Viserys sighed. "I'd rather feel a warhorse under me than rock around in this iron bucket. Seven hells, I've even gotten used to riding those giant elephants here, but this ship… it does not agree with my stomach."
"I think you're scared," Daenerys snorted.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Viserys frowned.
"You know exactly what it means. At sea, the all-powerful Triarch of Volantis, future King of the Seven Kingdoms, is just precious cargo that needs sailors to babysit him." Daenerys reached up and smoothed his hair, then kissed him lightly on the lips in front of everyone. "That's your terrible little secret."
"Looks like I've aged too fast if you can see right through me." Viserys gave a heavy, theatrical sigh.
The joke hid more truth than he wanted to admit.
After crushing Khal Drogo's khalasar, plenty of people were calling him the greatest commander east of the Narrow Sea. Maybe it was even true.
But at sea his skills meant nothing.
Commanding a fleet and leading an army were two completely different arts.
He'd studied the basics during the preparations, but real experience? Worthless compared to what the sailors lived every day.
Right now, with ten thousand elite warriors under his command, he could only rely on Goneris's orders and the skill of the crews.
"Daenerys." Viserys lowered his voice, serious and firm. "Your new duties start today. You remember everything we've talked about these past months?"
"I remember." Daenerys nodded gently. "I won't let you down. I promise."
A simple promise, but it calmed him more than all the flowery flattery he'd heard for months.
The chief Triarch was going to war. He needed someone to rule Volantis in his place until he returned.
Since the Century of Blood, when a Triarch led a campaign, power usually passed to the ruler's eldest son or wife.
He couldn't hand that kind of authority to anyone else—the old-blood circle was a nest of lies and betrayal.
And there was no one closer to him, no one he trusted more, than Daenerys.
But both of them knew she wasn't ready to run the entire massive city by herself—especially not a city that had just survived one war and was about to dive straight into another.
Even Viserys had learned how to rule through countless painful mistakes.
After weighing everything, he and his advisors had settled on a plan: while he was gone, the actual regent would be Menyx Renigar.
The wealthy, experienced merchant and administrator was more than capable of handling the job.
To keep the former elephant-party man from getting any dangerous ideas, Viserys had ordered him to move into the palace under constant Black Knight watch.
Renigar had understood immediately and accepted without a single complaint.
To further secure the rear, Eleonora and Ser Jorah would stay behind to command the city's defenses.
Daenerys wouldn't be sitting idle either.
By custom she would act as her husband's voice, holding equal power.
She would help Menyx govern Volantis, learn the city's problems firsthand, and begin learning how to rule.
Being queen wasn't just about wearing a crown and showing off at feasts. She was the king's right hand, his most loyal friend, his closest companion.
Fortunately Daenerys understood that perfectly and took the responsibility seriously.
Viserys had left her plenty of guards and advisors so the nobles wouldn't dare try anything foolish.
"Triarch, the fleet is ready. We only await your order," Admiral Goneris reported in his rough voice.
Viserys nodded silently.
The admiral turned and headed toward the massive carrack flying purple sails.
Storm's Fury—flagship of the Volantis fleet and the proudest creation of the city's shipwrights.
He and Gemon would sail on her.
Viserys scanned the people around him one last time.
Eleonora's brows were drawn tight, her expression uneasy.
After years fighting side by side, she was being left behind to guard the things he valued most—his wife's safety and the fragile young dragons.
Truthfully, when he'd first announced the decision, he'd never heard her curse so much in his life.
The Sword Saintess had zero interest in playing guard dog.
Ser Jorah beside her looked equally unhappy.
The Northern knight had never fit into this city of Valyrian descendants. He hated the rules, didn't understand the customs, and found both the R'hllor zealots' fanaticism and the old-blood arrogance equally disgusting.
But a prince's order was still an order.
In contrast, Daario Naharis and Allyn Wood—coming with him—were practically vibrating with energy, already dreaming of Lysene pleasures and rich spoils.
Loren Rayne also looked pleased, probably counting the days until he could reclaim his ancestral seat of Castamere.
White-haired Barristan Selmy smiled, his eyes full of quiet determination. He was ready to prove his loyalty with steel.
"Time to go," Viserys said.
The Black Knights closed around the dragon banner bearer and moved toward the flagship.
Daenerys silently unbuckled the sword at her waist—scabbard and all—and handed it to her husband.
Sunset!
This Valyrian steel blade had come into Viserys's hands along with Volantis itself.
Until now it had been mostly ceremonial. From this moment on, it would taste war again.
Viserys passed the sword to an attendant, then pulled his wife into a tight embrace.
"Honestly, choosing Lys makes me uneasy," Daenerys whispered in his ear.
"Don't worry. The Lyseni forgot how to fight a long time ago. We'll take the city easily."
"I'm not worried about that." Daenerys gave a soft laugh. "I never doubt you'll beat them. I'm worried about what comes after."
"Worried about what?" Viserys raised an eyebrow.
"You know exactly what… Lys. Courtesans. Exotic beauties. All those temptations. And you'll be alone, so far from me." The girl's eyes held a playful smile.
"Ah, so that's it. And what about you? Volantis has plenty of temptations too—especially for a young woman like you." The Triarch smiled back.
"Then hurry back before I get tempted away." Daenerys said softly.
Viserys didn't answer. He simply lowered his head and kissed her.
Daenerys answered with heat and joy. After a long embrace he reluctantly let her go and boarded the flagship.
The dragon banner slowly climbed the mast.
Viserys drew Sunset, raised the Valyrian steel blade high, and roared with every ounce of strength he had:
"We will return!"
Hundreds of Volantene sailors and warriors answered their prince with a thunderous cheer.