Ser Robert Quince chatted with Logar for another minute, then hurried off toward the keep, practically skipping with excitement to deliver the news to the queen and the Sea Snake.
Logar watched him go, then glanced at Baela—hood low, head down, still tucked in the corner. When he was sure she hadn't been recognized, he finally exhaled.
"Jealous someone else got a dragon?" Baela slurred, cheeks flushed bright red from the strong malt beer. Her eyes sparkled with liquid mischief. "If you keep me happy, I'll take you dragon-hunting myself."
Logar frowned at her swaying form. "All right, you've had your drink. Time to get you back. Promise kept."
"I'm not going back!" Baela's true colors flashed instantly. "You still haven't taken me to a brothel! If you break your word, I won't help you find any wild dragons—and I'll tell Mother you defiled me on the ship!"
Logar pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd walked straight into her trap. "Fine. Let's go."
Just one quick look, he told himself. She'll take one step inside, see what really happens in those places, and beg me to leave.
He was wrong again.
The moment Baela stepped into the brothel, her eyes went wide with wonder, like a child in a sweets shop. She waved cheerfully at the painted whores, nodded politely at the sweating patrons, and stared at everything like it was her personal kingdom.
The madam eyed Logar warily, clearly mistaking him for some royal tax collector, and kept bowing with a nervous smile.
From one of the back rooms came a rhythmic, throaty moan. Baela's curiosity ignited. She reached out to pull the curtain aside—
"Don't!" Logar snatched her wrist and dragged her back outside, teeth clenched. "Enough. I'm taking you home right now."
Baela's face was scarlet, her breath coming short. The strange sounds had clearly gotten to her.
She yanked her arm free and stuck out her tongue. "I'm not listening to you! It's still early. I want more of that malt beer!"
Logar was about to chase after her when a surprised voice called from the street behind him.
"Kind sir… is that really you?"
He turned. A ragged girl with a face full of freckles stood under a lantern, four or five dirty little kids trailing behind her—Nettle and her younger siblings from Driftmark.
"Nettle?" Logar blinked, genuinely surprised. "What are you doing here?"
Nettle lowered her head shyly. "The queen called for all the bastards with Targaryen blood to come try claiming dragons. I think I might have some… so I brought my brothers and sisters to try our luck."
She lifted her eyes again, full of awe. "I never imagined the kind man who helped us on Driftmark would turn out to be the famous Sea Burner everyone's talking about!"
Logar's name had been on every tongue since the Stepstones victory—thirty ships burned, over two thousand Dornish and Triarchy soldiers dead or captured. The whole island buzzed with it.
And Nettle had watched the grand ceremony where he was named Lord of the Stepstones. The shock on her face when she realized her savior was the same hero was still fresh.
Logar remembered how, in the stories he knew, this girl would one day tame the wild dragon Sheepstealer. He gave her an encouraging smile.
"Keep trying. You'll claim a dragon of your own, I know it."
Nettle shook her head, cheeks pink. "Someone like me… even if I did claim one, it wouldn't mean much. Only a hero like you deserves a mighty dragon."
"Don't say that," Logar said gently. "Anyone can be the hero of their own life. The only difference is whether you're brave enough to reach for it."
Nettle froze, eyes slowly lighting up.
Logar noticed the smaller kids hanging back—all except the boy he'd saved last time. "What happened to your brother? The one I helped on Driftmark?"
"You mean Tommen?" Nettle's voice dropped. Her eyes dimmed. "He tried to steal a purse so the little ones could eat… someone chased him, and he fell into the sea. He drowned."
"Drowned?" Logar's stomach twisted.
This fucking world.
He'd thought the silver stags he'd given them would be enough. Apparently not.
"Maybe that's just how it is," he muttered, chest tight. Countless orphans like Tommen were fighting to survive every day. What could one man really change?
He noticed the fresh bruise on Nettle's nose. "Where'd you get that cut?"
Nettle shifted uncomfortably. "I… tried stealing too. Got caught."
She added quickly, "But don't worry, my lord! I've found honest work washing fishing nets now. I still have most of the silver you gave me—I haven't spent it all!"
"Good." Logar relaxed a little. He reached out and gently ruffled her messy hair. "Promise me—no more stealing. Take care of your brothers and sisters, all right?"
Nettle went completely still, face burning crimson at the unexpected kindness. She didn't know what to do with her hands.
"Hey! What are you doing over there?"
Baela suddenly reappeared, grabbing Logar's arm. "I've been calling you forever! Still want me to take you dragon-hunting or not?"
Logar looked at her flushed, swaying form and sighed. "I was just talking to an old acquaintance. What's the rush?"
He caught the heavy smell of beer on her breath and frowned. "How much more did you drink?"
"Not that much…" Baela was clearly drunk. She leaned her head against his shoulder, voice turning petulant. "That common girl wasn't even pretty—and she was filthy. Didn't think you'd go for someone like that."
Logar pushed her upright. "I was just helping someone in need. Nothing more. Come on—we're going back right now."
Before he could move, Baela stepped in close, rose on her toes, and kissed him hard.
It was fierce, clumsy, tasting of cheap malt beer and the sweet scent that was purely her. Logar's hand, already rising to push her away, froze in mid-air.
The kiss lasted a full minute before Baela finally pulled back, chin high and eyes gleaming with triumph.
"Good. Since you don't like any other woman… remember this. I'm the only one you're allowed to like for the rest of your life. And I don't share my men with anyone."