But the moment she opened the door of her bed chamber, she found a naked Drogo, already waiting for her. And the moment Daenerys saw her favourite toy, the little-big-Drogo, she had no choice but to change her mind about just getting a good night's sleep.
…
The birth of the Eastern Empire
Daenerys woke up early in the morning. Thanks to her request, Drogo had left her only after a couple of rounds of passionate love making. That was the reason why only her thighs and crotch had the marks of his potent white seed. Despite her somewhat aching pussy Daenerys was quite grateful for Drogo's assistance in her stamina recovery. Otherwise only 5 hours of sleep could never have allowed Daenerys to feel so refreshed. Thanks to his super Soldier physique, Drogo was quite a beast in bed. While he left Daenerys with an aching pussy every time he fucked her, he made the fatigue from the rest of her body disappear like it never existed in the first place. That's why despite taking many other men to her bed Drogo was still the favourite man of Daenerys.
After doing some stretches, Daenerys left her bed chamber without bothering to wear anything. She made a beeline to Jiqhi's chamber just beside her own chamber. As the closest handmaid of Daenerys and the main caretaker of Goku, Jiqhi had more security than Daenerys herself. Her entire chamber was surrounded by multiple guards and warriors. And Daenerys walked towards the entrance of her chamber, butt naked and with a clear mark of Drogo's seeds around her inner thighs and crotch. But neither the unsullied guards nor the Dothraki warriors reacted to the nudity of their empress. Daenerys didn't care either.
She had realised that it was the effect of her embracing the culture of Dothraki. And since nudity was approved and was also very common in many cultures all across the Essos, Daenerys had gotten used to it.
The guards simply made way for Daenerys to enter Jiqhi's chamber, once they saw her.
Exactly like Daenerys, Goku was also an early riser. While the little prince was still asleep, Daenerys knew that he would wake up soon and immediately throw a tantrum for her milk.
"Khalessi…" Jiqhi bowed to Daenerys and silently handed over Goku to his mother.
"Go and tell the others to prepare for my bath." Daenerys ordered Jiqhi in a hushed voice before turning her attention to Goku.
It was a special day. The day that will be remembered in history.
Today the Eastern Empire will be born with her as its Empress.
…
The city of Meereen had never looked like this before.
For centuries its pyramids had cast their shadows over streets filled with chains, misery, and markets of flesh. Today the same streets were lined with banners in red and black, the new colors of the Eastern Empire. Flowers were scattered along the stone roads, filling the air with a heavy fragrance that clung to the morning heat. Freedmen and women stood shoulder to shoulder, crowding every alley and plaza. Children sat on the roofs, waving scraps of cloth dyed to mimic the banners, their laughter mixing with the sound of drums echoing from the city's squares.
Every corner of Meereen pulsed with life. Where once the statues of harpies stood, only rubble remained. In their place were simple wooden poles wrapped in ribbons, holding lanterns ready to glow when night came. Food stalls lined the roads leading to the Great Pyramid, each handing out bread, dates, and roasted meat. Slaves who once starved on their masters' scraps now held full plates, their voices raised in songs of freedom.
The Great Pyramid itself had become the heart of the city's transformation.
Once the private fortress of the highest masters, it had been remade into something new. Daenerys had ordered its reconstruction as the parliament building of her new Empire. For fifteen days the city's most skilled craftsmen worked without rest, tearing out the rotting decadence of the old masters and shaping something meant to last centuries.
From the outside, the pyramid kept its familiar shape, but the surface was polished and cleaned until it gleamed in the sun. Wide stone steps climbed toward massive bronze doors large enough for a dozen men to walk through at once. The doors bore a new sigil: a three-headed dragon above a rising sun, carved deep and painted with black lacquer so it stood out against the bronze.
Inside, everything had changed.
The entrance hall stretched wide, supported by thick columns carved with patterns of fire and waves. Each column had been fitted with iron sconces designed to hold glowing glass orbs lit with oil lamps. Unlike the dark chambers of the old masters, the hall was bright and open, designed to welcome, not to intimidate.
Beyond the hall lay the central chamber. Here the work of the craftsmen shone brightest. Rows of wooden benches lined the circular floor, polished and curved to face the center dais. The design was simple, but strong — not unlike the parliaments of Braavos or even the council halls of Pentos, though larger, grander in scale. From above, wide balconies gave space for observers, a place for freedmen to watch debates when the Empire's council gathered.
The walls were freshly plastered and painted with scenes of freedom: chains breaking, fields being plowed, ships sailing under banners of dragons. Where once masters had displayed their wealth in gold and silk, Daenerys had demanded reminders of the Empire's principles.
And above it all, a grand balcony had been carved facing outward, opening to the largest plaza in the city. It was there she would stand today. The space below, once the courtyard where slaves were whipped and sold, was now cleared and rebuilt. Stone tiles stretched across the wide ground, bordered by steps that allowed thousands to pack shoulder to shoulder and still see the pyramid.
From early morning, the plaza filled. Freedmen came with their children, craftsmen left their tools, farmers rode in from the outskirts with baskets of fruit to throw into the air in celebration. Music played constantly — drums, pipes, even crude horns — as the people waited for their Empress. The noise rolled like waves, swelling every time someone thought they saw movement on the balcony above.
Inside the pyramid, Daenerys prepared.
Her guards and advisors stood ready — Drogo at her side in leather armor cleaned and polished for the day, Rakharo, Aggo, and Jhoqo posted near the doors. Missandei adjusted her white dress, smoothing the fabric along her shoulders. The dress was simple but flawless, made of the finest silk Meereen could offer. It hugged her waist before flowing outward, a gown that made her look both regal and untouchable.
Her silver hair had been brushed until it gleamed, falling loose down her back with small braids interwoven, clipped with tiny dragon-shaped clasps of gold. A thin circlet of pale metal rested on her head — not a crown heavy with jewels, but a mark of her rule nonetheless.
When she stepped into the light of the balcony, the plaza below erupted.
The roar of thousands of voices rolled upward, louder than any storm. Men shouted her name. Women raised their children high above their heads, crying out, "Mysha! Mysha!" — mother. The sound of it struck like thunder against the walls of the pyramid.
Hands reached out, though she was far above. In the press of the crowd, freed slaves clawed to touch her even from a distance, pushing forward as if her presence alone could heal every scar left by chains. The atmosphere pulsed with something more than joy — it was hunger, devotion, a need to see the woman who had turned their misery into freedom.
From the balcony behind her, Drogo watched, his eyes unreadable. The bloodriders stood silent, but even they seemed unsettled by the sheer force of the crowd's adoration. They had seen Daenerys lead armies, hatch dragons, and burn cities — but here, without a blade or flame, she commanded something else entirely.
The cheers did not die. They grew, louder and louder, filling every street, carrying to the edges of the city. Children climbed higher, waving cloth scraps, their voices shrill above the roar. Old men cried openly. Women beat their fists against their chests, shouting her name again and again.
"Mysha! Mysha! Mysha!"
Daenerys lifted her hand. The crowd's voice somehow swelled louder, as if her simple gesture was a blessing. She did not speak… not yet. She only stood there in the sunlight, white silk glowing, silver hair shining, dragons circling in the distant sky.
It was enough.
The people of Meereen, the freed slaves of the Eastern Empire, had their Empress. And they shouted her name until the stone beneath them shook.
…
Next chapter: The Dragon Empress