The clamor of clinking cups and chatter from the courtyard was shut out by the walls.
Viserys dragged Daenerys through the dim corridor.
His handsome face was twisted with extreme rage, and his breath reeked of stale wine.
"Useless! You utterly useless piece of trash!"
His fingernails dug deep into Daenerys's arm.
"My army! My throne! My everything!"
"All ruined by you, you whore!"
Vicious curses rained down on her.
Daenerys was roughly shoved by him, stumbling and hitting the cold wall, her head throbbing from the impact.
Since childhood, every time the sleeping dragon's wrath was awakened, it meant an endless torment.
But this time, beneath that familiar dark swamp, a tiny flame flickered stubbornly.
"The Prince is in the West."
That prophecy echoed in her mind.
She was not a commodity; she had her own destiny!
A monarch riding a three-headed ice dragon was waiting for her!
She could not die here, not at the hands of this madman!
Viserys dragged Daenerys into her bedroom, slamming the door shut with a loud "bang."
Viserys advanced step by step.
His violet eyes were bloodshot, like a cornered beast.
"I will kill you, Daenerys."
"I swear, I will kill you today!"
He gritted his teeth, his voice squeezed out from between them.
Seeing Viserys raise his hand, the stinging pain from the previous slap seemed to still linger on her cheek.
Daenerys instinctively closed her eyes.
No!
She couldn't just accept her fate like this!
In a flash, her gaze swept over the small table beside her.
There, a plate of fruit the maids had just brought lay, and next to it, a small silver knife for peeling.
The blade wasn't long, but it was sharp enough.
The moment Viserys's palm was about to descend, Daenerys's body erupted with an unprecedented strength.
She suddenly turned, dodging the slap, and at the same time, her right hand snatched the small knife from the table with lightning speed.
The action was so quick it didn't even go through her brain; it was pure survival instinct.
Viserys swung his hand in vain, stumbled, and a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes.
He hadn't expected his usually submissive sister to dare to dodge!
Viserys steadied himself, his rage intensifying, and was about to lunge again.
However, he was met with a cold gleam of silver.
Daenerys gripped the small knife tightly with both hands, using all her strength to press the sharp tip firmly against Viserys's throat!
Viserys's movements instantly froze.
The whole world seemed to be paused at that moment.
He lowered his head, disbelievingly looking at the cold blade pressed against his neck.
The stinging sensation on his skin was so real.
A thin line of blood slowly seeped out along the blade.
Viserys looked up, meeting Daenerys's eyes.
They were eyes he had never seen before.
Gone was the usual fear, the timidity, and the pleading.
Only a burning madness remained.
"You..."
Viserys's voice was tinged with terror.
"If you dare touch me again, brother."
Daenerys spoke.
Her voice was soft, with a slight tremor caused by tension.
But every word carried the biting chill of the North.
"I will cut off your head with this knife."
Viserys's pupils suddenly constricted.
"Believe me, I will."
Daenerys stared into Viserys's eyes, enunciating each word.
sleeping dragon's wrath?
No, this was a true dragon!
A young dragon, pushed to the brink, finally baring her fangs!
Viserys was completely stunned.
He looked at this unfamiliar sister before him.
Her fair, delicate face, now seemed more terrifying than the most monstrous dragon in his eyes.
He felt his legs turn to jelly.
His so-called "sleeping dragon's wrath," his constantly touted bloodline and glory, seemed so ridiculous, so fragile before this cold blade.
He was a king!
He was a true Dragon!
How could he be held at knifepoint by a whore!
Humiliation and fear battled fiercely in his mind.
Ultimately, fear overwhelmed everything.
"Let... let go, Daenerys..."
Viserys's voice carried a plea he himself hadn't noticed.
"I... I am your brother..."
"Brother?" Daenerys laughed.
Her smile was tragically beautiful, like a blood-red rose blooming in winter.
"A brother who sells his sister as merchandise to barbarians?"
The blade advanced another fraction.
Viserys could even feel the edge had already cut his skin.
Warm blood flowed out, soaking his collar.
"No! No!"
Viserys finally broke down.
His body trembled like a puppy in the cold wind, and tears and snot flowed uncontrollably.
"I was wrong! Daenerys, I was wrong!"
"Please let me go! I'll never dare again!"
Viserys begged incoherently, his arrogant "Dragon King" mask completely shattered, revealing the weak, incompetent true self beneath.
Seeing Viserys's disgraceful state, the killing intent in Daenerys's heart gradually receded.
Kill him?
No.
He could not die by her hand.
Doing so would harm her reputation.
This coward did not deserve the Targaryen bloodline.
Daenerys slowly withdrew the small knife.
The moment the blade left his throat, Viserys felt as if he had been granted a great pardon.
His body went limp, and he collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.
He looked at Daenerys in terror, scrambling backward until his back hit the hard door, where he stopped.
Daenerys did not spare him another glance.
She simply looked down at the blood-stained silver knife in her hand.
It was her brother's blood.
Targaryen blood.
But what of it?
She slowly walked to the window and pushed it open.
The humid, warm night breeze of Pentos blew in, stirring her silver hair.
She tucked the small knife into her sleeve, her gaze passing over the lights of the Magister's mansion, out towards the dark, bottomless Narrow Sea.
On the other side of the sea was Westeros.
It was her home.
And the place where her destiny lay.
She gently touched her lips with her fingertip, as if feeling the "kiss of ice and snow" from the North, a kiss from someone she had never met.
From today on, she would no longer live for Viserys.
She would live for herself.
For the Prince far in the West, she must also survive.
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