We left the khalasar at dawn.
Not for good. Not yet. But for something that mattered more than gold or horses.
A beginning.
Drogo allowed it without question. He had seen the dragons. He had seen Daenerys walk among fire, and me speak with flame curled on my shoulder. His silence was trust. And in his way, respect.
"You return," he said simply, before kissing Dany once, hard and firm, and riding off again into the plains.
She watched him go with soft eyes.
Then turned to me and said, "Let's build something no one can burn."
Qarth was hotter than Pentos.
Not in temperature, but in tension. The streets shimmered with luxury, and every corner whispered of knives behind smiles. Silken robes swept over broken cobblestones. Spices masked rot. Riches lived in one breath, poison in the next.
Illyrio's contact met us at a private garden overlooking the water.
His name was Balan Xho, a Qartheen merchant prince draped in sheer robes and gold chains. His face was smooth, unreadable, and painted faintly with shimmerdust.
He bowed deeply. "Two dragon queens in my home. A prophecy come true."
I stepped forward before Dany could reply.
"I don't deal in prophecy," I said. "Only in plans."
He smiled faintly. "Then you'll love this place."
The Bay of Serpents lay just beyond the eastern cliffs.
No law ruled there. No council, no prince, no trade guild. It was swampy, half-wild, and crawling with thieves and pirates.
Perfect.
"There are a few stone ruins," Balan explained, sipping blue wine. "Old watchposts from a forgotten empire. No one claims them. No one dares to."
"I will," I said.
He chuckled. "And how will you keep them?"
I smiled.
And set Vaedron on the table.
The little dragon flared his wings and let out a puff of smoke that caught fire.
Balan paled.
"I see."
We sailed at dusk.
Dany stood at the bow, her hair tied in a braid that caught the wind like a banner. Drakaina perched on the railing beside her, wings half-spread, eyes alert.
I stood at her side, map in hand.
"There," I said, pointing to a narrow inlet between two jagged cliffs. "If we clear the brush and reinforce the base, we could build a stronghold in six moons."
Dany squinted. "It looks haunted."
"It probably is."
She grinned. "Perfect."
We made landfall the next morning.
The air was thick with brine and wildflowers. Vines curled around the ruins, stone cracked with time and salt. Crabs scattered at our steps. The skeleton of a forgotten tower leaned toward the sea.
I stood in the center of it all and spread my arms wide.
"This is ours."
Dany turned in a slow circle, eyes wide. "It's beautiful. Ugly. Broken."
"Like the world," I said. "But we're going to fix both."
Work began immediately.
Illyrio sent men—stonemasons, guards, builders, cooks. All loyal. All silent. Balan Xho made sure they arrived without attention.
We started with clearing.
Then building.
And beneath it all, the dragons watched.
Vaedron flew for the first time two weeks later.
Only for a minute—but it was enough.
He leapt from the roof of the old watchtower, wings flapping wildly, and glided across the bay before crashing into a tree.
Dany shrieked with laughter, running to scoop him up as he squawked in indignation.
"Idiot," she cooed. "You're not ready."
"I don't think he cares," I said, helping her brush the leaves from his tail.
Drakaina took flight the next day.
She didn't crash.
She soared.
That night, Dany pulled me aside.
We stood on the half-built balcony of what would one day be our throne room, overlooking the dark water.
"You did this," she said softly.
"We did."
"No." She stepped closer. "You saw it first. You made this happen. I'm just walking beside you."
"You're wrong," I whispered, taking her hands. "You're the reason I want to build anything at all."
Her lips parted.
Then she kissed me—deep and lingering.
Later, beneath silk sheets and the hum of summer insects, she whispered, "What comes next?"
"More dragons," I said.
She laughed. "Really?"
"Yes."
"Yours and mine are already too much."
I turned toward her, brushing hair from her eyes.
"There was a third egg in Illyrio's gift," I said. "Green and bronze. The color of sea storms."
Her eyes widened.
"It's stirring."
Far below us, in the deepest chamber of the keep, the third egg rested on its pillow of ash and salt.
The coals around it hissed softly.
And from within the stone—
thump.
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