"The Prince is in the West."
That sentence, like a red-hot iron poker, instantly seared through her more than a decade of darkness and despair.
The West... a king from Westeros, riding three ice dragons.
A Prince who would awaken her bloodline with a "kiss of ice and snow."
That was not imagination, not a dream.
That was the oracle of her ancestors!
It was a call from deep within her bloodline!
A strength she had never felt before quietly blossomed from the depths of her battered heart.
She was not merchandise.
She was not a lamb to be slaughtered.
She was Daenerys Stormborn, and the inheritor of the Targaryen bloodline!
She had to meet that Dothraki Khal, she could not defy Viserys's command.
But, she could choose how she would meet him.
Daenerys slowly stood up and walked to the mirror.
The girl in the mirror had swollen cheeks, but her eyes were no longer purely fearful.
Beneath that familiar timidity, a tenacious spark was quietly burning.
She could not openly defy him; that would only invite more insane torment from Viserys.
But she could... act.
She could pretend to be a weak, timid, unsophisticated plaything.
A defective product unworthy of a Khal.
As soon as this thought appeared, it grew wildly... In Magister Illyrio Mopatis's courtyard, guests had already gathered.
The air was filled with the rich aroma of spices and the char of roasted meat.
But all of this was shattered by the arrival of a group of uninvited guests.
Khal Drogo and his bloodriders were like a herd of wild bulls crashing into a china shop.
They exuded a strong scent of leather, sweat, and wild horses, completely out of place among the silk-clad Pentos nobles in the courtyard.
Khal Drogo himself was like a moving mountain.
He was bare-chested, his bronzed skin covered in scars, and his waist-length black braid was adorned with gold and silver bells that jingled as he moved.
His gaze, like a hawk on the prairie, was sharp and filled with wild scrutiny.
Viserys stood beside Magister Illyrio, a smile he believed to be noble on his face.
But his eyes, constantly darting towards the entrance, betrayed his inner anxiety and anticipation.
Finally, Daenerys appeared.
She was supported by two maidservants, slowly descending the steps.
She wore that almost transparent purple gown, her silver hair meticulously combed.
She looked beautiful, like a delicate flower carefully cultivated in a greenhouse.
But... that was all she was—beautiful.
Viserys's brow furrowed unconsciously.
Daenerys's steps were somewhat unsteady, as if she might fall at any moment.
Her head was constantly bowed; she dared not look at anyone.
She looked exactly like a startled little quail.
What angered him most was that on her face, there were still faint traces of swelling!
This idiot!
Didn't she know to cover it with makeup!
"Khal," Magister Illyrio said with a smile, introducing her in the Common Tongue.
"This is Princess Daenerys Targaryen, Stormborn, of the House Targaryen bloodline."
Khal Drogo said nothing, simply took large strides and walked in front of Daenerys.
His tall figure completely enveloped Daenerys in shadow.
Daenerys's body trembled uncontrollably, even instinctively shrinking back half a step.
This movement clearly registered in Drogo's eyes.
He walked around her once, as if inspecting a mare he intended to buy.
His gaze swept from her silver hair, across her trembling shoulders, to her small face filled with terror.
He stopped, extended a rough large hand, and pinched Daenerys's chin, forcing her to look up.
Daenerys's eyes instantly welled up with tears.
That wasn't an act.
The oppressive presence of Khal Drogo, that aura of a predator at the top of the food chain, instinctively filled her with fear.
But beneath that fearful teary gaze, Drogo saw nothing he wanted to see.
No challenge, no defiance, and certainly none of the fire and madness legendary to House Targaryen.
Nothing at all.
Only a fragile weakness waiting to be slaughtered.
There was even a hint of disgraceful timidity.
Drogo's brow furrowed.
He released her hand and said something to his bloodriders behind him in Dothraki.
His voice was low and hoarse, grating like two stones rubbing together.
Viserys didn't understand Dothraki, but he understood expressions.
He saw Khal Drogo's face reveal undisguised disappointment.
"Khal... what did Khal say?"
Viserys looked at Illyrio eagerly.
Magister Illyrio's face was a bit awkward; the fat on his face squeezed together as he forced a smile.
"Uh... Khal said, Your Royal Highness... is very beautiful."
"Bullshit!"
Viserys instantly exploded.
He wasn't an idiot; he could feel the atmosphere was wrong!
He rushed to Khal Drogo, pointed at Daenerys, and loudly touted his sister in his broken Dothraki with a Westeros accent.
"Queen! She is a Queen! Pure Targaryen blood!"
Khal Drogo merely glanced at him.
That look was like watching a monkey jumping around.
He spoke again, his voice now clearly impatient.
"Me vos save."
(She is afraid of her own shadow.)
"Me chek asshekh."
(She is not worthy to be my Khaleesi.)
After speaking, he didn't even bother to look at Daenerys again, turned and strode towards the long table laden with food, grabbed a roasted lamb leg, and began to tear into it.
The entire courtyard fell into a dead silence.
Everyone's gaze was fixed on Viserys's face, which had turned from red to green, then from green to white.
It was over.
Everything was over.
His dream of restoration, his hope of regaining the Iron Throne, his forty thousand Dothraki army... all ruined by this useless, pathetic sister!
A scorching rage surged from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head.
The sleeping dragon's wrath was completely awakened at this moment!
"You..."
Viserys spun around abruptly, his violet eyes bloodshot.
He walked towards Daenerys step by step, each step feeling like it was treading on her heart.
Daenerys backed away in fright.
"You useless waste!"
Viserys grabbed her arm.
The force was so great it nearly crushed Daenerys's bones.
He dragged Daenerys aside, lowered his voice, and hissed venomously in a tone only they both could hear:
"I'll kill you!"
"I'll kill you tonight, you slut!"
"You've ruined everything for us! You've ruined the last hope of the Targaryen!"
Daenerys cried from the pain but dared not make a sound.
Her arm ached from being pinched, but in her heart, a cold satisfaction arose.
She had succeeded.
She had rejected that barbaric Khal in her own way.
The crucial first step, she had achieved it.
But what would she do next, facing this "sleeping dragon" who had now gone completely mad?
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