Below deck, Kartiga slept like the dead. No sounds stirred him—not the creaking wood, not the splash of waves, not even the distant shouting from above.
Tanaka stood outside the chamber door, arms crossed, face flat.
He knocked once.
No answer.
He knocked again. Harder.
Still nothing.
He sighed.
"Sure enough," he muttered.
Without waiting further, he opened the door and stepped inside.
The room was dim. A single lamp burned low in the corner. Kartiga lay sprawled on the low bed, one leg dangling, hair a mess, half-naked. His sword rested against a chair. His mouth hung open. The only thing alive in the room was his snoring.
Tanaka walked over, leaned down, and called out calmly, "Master."
No response. Only louder snoring.
His eye twitched.
He tried again, louder. "Master."
Nothing.
He stared at Kartiga for another beat, then finally exhaled and cupped both hands around his mouth.
"MASTER!"
Kartiga shot upright with a yell, eyes wide in full panic, arms flailing. "What—WHERE?!"
Tanaka stood straight, brushing dust off his sleeves. "You're awake. Good."
Kartiga blinked like a stunned cat, heart pounding. "Tanaka?! What the hell, I was dreaming of... wait. What?"
Tanaka didn't blink. "They brought her."
Kartiga stared at him, bleary-eyed. "They brought who?"
He was already lowering himself back into bed, pulling the blanket up.
Tanaka answered plainly:"Daenerys Targaryen."
Kartiga froze mid-motion.
"...What?" he said slowly, voice dry.
Tanaka raised one brow. "You heard me."
The next moment, Kartiga rolled out of bed like a man on fire. He rushed to the small basin, splashed water on his face, half-tucked his shirt, and stormed out barefoot with water still dripping from his hair.
....
Tanaka was already waiting just outside the door. He didn't say anything as Kartiga rushed past him—only fell into step behind.
Kartiga walked fast, still fixing his belt. "I don't remember ordering anyone to kidnap her, Tanaka!"
Tanaka's tone didn't change. "You didn't."
Kartiga stopped at the top of the stairs and slowly turned to him.
"Then why is the Targaryen girl on my ship, Tanaka?"
"Kai's doing."The words were short, clipped.
Silence fell between them for a second.
Then something changed in Kartiga's face. Gone was the sleep, the jokes, the sarcasm. What replaced it was a rare, cold seriousness.
He stared ahead. "Where is she?"
----------------
The halls of Illyrio Mopatis' manse smelled of fruit, spice, and rising heat. It was nearly midday, and the silk curtains swayed with the breeze from Pentos harbor. But the tension inside the balcony was anything but light.
Viserys paced like a restless dog. His silver-blond hair was tangled, sticking to his sweat-damp brow, and his hands wouldn't stop twitching as he muttered and cursed to himself.
"She's gone. Stolen from me. My sister!"
He spun around, eyes wide and glassy. "I told you to keep her safe, Illyrio! I told you—she is mine!"
Illyrio Mopatis, seated in his cushioned chair beside a table of figs and chilled wine, exhaled loudly through his nose. His face glistened with sweat, and his robes strained at his large belly as he leaned forward, trying to maintain calm.
"Lower your voice," Illyrio said sharply, wiping his forehead with a scented cloth. "Walls may have ears."
But Viserys wasn't listening.
"She was supposed to marry him! Today! The Khal comes today! How do you think they'll react when they find the bride is gone?"
He laughed bitterly, his voice rising. "Do you think the Dothraki will just smile and wait while we go looking for her like she's a lost dog?"
Illyrio's eyes narrowed. "You forget yourself, Your Grace."
"No," Viserys snapped, pointing a finger. "You forget who I am! I am the Dragon! I am the heir of Aerys! You think you can insult me like—"
"Enough!"
Illyrio stood up with surprising speed for a man his size, his face flushed with anger now. "You are a guest in my house, Viserys. Do not mistake my hospitality for obedience."
Viserys blinked, startled.
Illyrio took a moment, inhaling deeply, then smoothed his beard. "The Dothraki are not patient men. To break a word with them is to break honor. If Daenerys is not returned before Khal Drogo arrives, there will be blood. Not theirs. Ours."
Viserys said nothing, only breathing heavily, shoulders tense.
"She is not dead," Illyrio added, quieter now. "Or the city would be screaming. Someone took her, yes. But not to kill her. That means we still have time."
Viserys stepped closer. His lips curled in disgust. "She is mine. When I find her, I will remind her who she belongs to."
Illyrio didn't answer. He only looked at the boy—the so-called dragon—and saw what he had always seen: a starving, bitter exile playing king with no army, no crown, and no idea what real power looked like.
Instead, he turned toward the doorway and called, "Send riders. Quietly. Search the harbor, the alleys, the brothels. Find her before the Khal arrives."
Viserys turned away again, muttering to himself.
And Illyrio poured himself more wine, but his hands trembled as he lifted the cup.
---------------------
Daenerys Targaryen stood still, hands bound, eyes watching.
Her heart pounded, but her face showed nothing. Not fear, not anger—just a quiet, tired calm.
Then he came.
The man the others seemed to be waiting for.
He wasn't tall. Not broad. Not dressed like a lord. Just a dark-haired man with sun-kissed skin, black eyes, and a face that seemed…ordinary.
But the moment he appeared, the mood shifted.
The men holding her—armed, hard-faced men—stepped back. Others moved aside without a word, clearing a path for him like wind brushing the sea.
Daenerys blinked.
Who is he…?
She studied him as he walked, almost lazy in his pace, like he had all the time in the world. But no one dared stop him. Not one.
The man's gaze landed on her only briefly, and she noticed something strange: it wasn't hunger. It wasn't cruelty.
It was curiosity.
Then his eyes shifted to someone else.
Kai.
The man named Kai stiffened, then dropped to one knee without a word. Like he already knew what was coming.
The black-eyed man walked up, slow and steady. He didn't raise his voice.
"Kai," he said, quiet but firm. "Did I tell you to do this?"
Kai didn't look up. "No, my Lord."
The man sighed. Pulled out his sword, clean and smooth. Rested it on Kai's shoulder.
"You act on your own now?"
Kai flinched. "I thought—"
"That's the problem." He tapped the flat of the blade gently on Kai's other shoulder. "You're my tail. I move, then you move."
He took a breath.
"That was your first mistake…"
The sword lingered for a moment longer.
"…and your last."
Then he stepped back, sliding the sword into its sheath like nothing happened.
Kai stayed kneeling, his face tight, like he was swallowing hard.
The dark-eyed man turned to Daenerys again. Looked at her properly now.
His face was calm. Too calm.
Like he'd just walked in on a quiet dinner, not a girl tied up by his men.
Daenerys met his eyes, trying to guess what he'd do next.
He raised an eyebrow, almost amused.
Then he turned and walked away.
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