"Did you see his build?" Viserys pressed Daenerys. "Sellswords live by the blade. If they fail, they die. The Wolf King has never been defeated. He's the Breaker of the Disputed Lands, just like Aegon the Conqueror. That's how he rose so high, so quickly."
"But I don't want this," Daenerys whispered.
She looked at Gendry. His eyes were dark and bright, filled with strength and resolve, with the occasional flicker of warmth and restrained passion. They were hard to look away from. His movements were lithe and controlled; his shoulders broad, his arms thick and powerful like a smith's.
Even if he were hideous beneath that mask, she would still have to marry him. When Viserys woke the dragon's wrath, he would strike her, yet he was nothing like this man, who stood like an untamed alpha wolf. Daenerys felt adrift. She understood what this was—a bargain. She would leave this place and follow a stranger into an unknown future.
"Viserys, please… please, can we go home? Brother."
"Home?" Viserys hissed, fury flashing across his face though he kept his voice low. "Our home is gone. How can we go home?"
This was not their home. Their home had been lost—Dragonstone, King's Landing, the Iron Throne.
"I don't know…" Tears shimmered in Daenerys's eyes. Where was her home, truly?
"I need you to play your part in this," Viserys said sharply. "Marry the sellsword king. We need his army. Give me an army—twenty or thirty thousand men, two hundred warships—and I'd have you bed every one of them if I must. Even the horses, even the ships. Right now, all you have to do is share a bed with the king. Consider yourself fortunate. Compose yourself."
Daenerys hurriedly wiped her tears away.
The plump Magister approached with a beaming smile, accompanying the enigmatic king toward them. Viserys nudged his sister to lift her chin and stand straight, though there was little curve to her narrow chest.
Gendry stopped before them and took Daenerys's hand.
She had never set foot in Westeros. The wars and the Usurper were nothing but distant stories to her.
"None of the flowers tonight are half so beautiful as you, Princess."
Daenerys was slight and delicate, her figure still that of a young girl. Yet her face was breathtaking. Such details were easily overlooked. Hers was a beauty unlike any other, one that would one day be known across the Known World.
Gendry's voice rang like steel—firm, controlled, unmistakably strong. Daenerys hesitated only a moment before giving a timid nod of assent.
The fat Magister's smile widened. A fine outcome. The marriage alliance, it seemed, was secured.
"Magister, I believe our agreement requires a few adjustments," Gendry said, looking at Illyrio. "I am very pleased with the match you have arranged."
Illyrio's smile stiffened. He had not expected complications.
"I am quite fond of Princess Daenerys. However, I wish to wait until she comes of age before we wed. Until then, I will act as her guardian."
Illyrio felt as though a great bell were tolling inside his skull. The delay meant the cunning sellsword would not be sending troops anytime soon. Daenerys was only thirteen.
"As the Triarch wishes," Illyrio replied, forcing generosity into his tone while swallowing his frustration. These Westerosi were far more calculating than any Horselord. If this boy chose to play hard, then secrets might well find their way into the light.
"Then I shall take my betrothed for a walk."
Gendry paid no further attention to Illyrio or Viserys and led Daenerys toward the far side of the estate.
"This won't do!" Viserys burst out. "The Usurper sits on my father's throne. How much longer am I meant to wait? I cannot wait another moment. If I'd known, I would have given my sister to the Horselord!"
Gendry could not care less about Illyrio's displeasure. The cheesemonger and the Spider thrived on information and secrets. Their greatest weakness was their lack of soldiers. They schemed like beggars, hoping to borrow another man's strength. It would not be so simple.
The Unsullied at Gendry's side fixed Viserys with cold, iron-hard eyes. Under their gaze, Viserys finally bit back his curses.
Illyrio shrugged his broad shoulders.
"Your Grace, you have waited most of your life already. What are a few more months… or even a few more years?"
Ser Jorah added calmly, "The Lord Commander will not forget your friendship. He will repay you with a gift. But everything must be done according to his will. When a man seeks aid from one more powerful than himself, he would do well to mind his tone rather than speak from above."
Viserys rounded on him.
"Mormont, watch your tongue, or I'll have it cut out. I am no lesser man. I am the King of the Seven Kingdoms. The blood of the true dragon does not bow."
Jorah merely gave him a look of open disdain. Illyrio hurried to smooth things over, all smiles again.
"For the sake of your northern bluntness, I will not stoop to quarrel with you," Viserys said coldly. "But remember this—the true dragon never forgets."
...
Gendry led his betrothed into a quieter garden. The Free Company soldiers sent everyone away, including the Unsullied stewards Illyrio had provided. Gendry didn't trust them.
He gently guided Daenerys to a bench. Many flowers bloomed in the garden tonight, yet not one of them could rival a rose.
The night air was cold, like ice water against the skin. Gendry slipped off his cloak and draped it over Daenerys's thin silk.
Daenerys blushed, but she forced herself to hold steady, pushing down the fear in her chest. She reminded herself: I am Daenerys Stormborn, Princess of Dragonstone. The blood of Aegon the Conqueror runs in my veins.
She was confused, too. Was a king meant to be so impatient, so quick to demand rough affection the moment they met? He could have married her now, after all, instead of waiting for her to come of age.
"I have a beautiful gift for you, my Princess," Gendry said, and a moment later a present was brought to her.
"This is…!"
It was a delicate crown shaped like a dragon. The dragon's body was wrought in gold, slender and graceful, made for a woman to wear. Red gems, the color of House Targaryen, were set in as the dragon's eyes.
"Queen Rhaella's crown." Gendry smiled. It had cost him dearly. He had gone to extraordinary lengths to obtain it, and the merchants had not dared offend a sellsword king on the rise.
Gendry understood what Daenerys was now: a thirteen-year-old exiled princess, not yet the dragon queen she would one day become, hardened by the deaths of a husband and child and by betrayal after betrayal. For now, she was simply a fragile princess, hungry for the protection of a strong hand.
And Gendry had power. He had looks. He had no trouble with language or manners, and he was willing to spend the effort. Winning over an exiled princess was far easier than dealing with a savage Horselord.
"Thank you," Daenerys said, cradling the crown as though she had found a piece of herself that had been taken from her.
Then, very softly, "I… I want to see you."
Gendry lifted his hands and removed his mask.
Daenerys saw a flawless, handsome face—bright, masculine, and clean-featured. His hair was thick and coarse, black as ink, and his eyes were a striking blue, so clear they seemed to hold the sea.
"Do you want to know my past, Daenerys?" Gendry asked.
Daenerys nodded.
"This is a secret. I've told no one but you." He lowered his voice. "I'm like you. I'm a man without a home. I fled King's Landing and ended up here. I used to work as a smith in the capital. Later I went to the Disputed Lands and became a sellsword."
Daenerys's eyes widened. Even a king's exile could sound like a tale.
"Then… what about your family?" she asked cautiously.
"I'm a bastard," Gendry said plainly. "My mother is dead. I have a father with great power, but he never cared for me. He only cared for his whores and his pleasures. His wife wanted me dead. If I hadn't run, I would've been murdered like my other bastard brothers and sisters."
Daenerys's head rang. The truth stung, and one terrifying guess rose up in her mind. The Usurper was said to be as strong as a bull, and cruel besides.
"I am the Usurper's bastard," Gendry continued. "Cast aside. And like you, I hate House Lannister."
Daenerys's heart hammered. She didn't know how to face it.
She liked Gendry. He was strong, steady, someone who made her feel safe. He had even gone to such lengths to return a crown to her hands. And yet… why would fate mock her like this?
"We're the ones who were thrown away," Gendry said, holding her hands between his own. Daenerys didn't pull back. "Thank the gods we met."
"I'll give you a home," Daenerys said after a moment, and then she leaned in and kissed him.
Her lips were a little cold.
I am the blood of the Conqueror. I am fire.
And he was the Usurper's bastard, a man who had suffered and fled. At the very least, when it came to the Iron Throne and to her, he had been honest. He had not lied to her.
Daenerys convinced herself first. She was eager to please, and she had never known a strong man who treated her with such care.
Unlike Viserys, she could still be changed. The stories she carried were not things she had lived through herself. Until death truly reached for her, she had no clear purpose to cling to.