The Merchant-Queen's Tribute
The gates of Cair Volakar opened under torchlight and storm. The air shimmered with sulfur as a gilded convoy from Volantis crested the obsidian causeway. At its head rode Aelthara Vhoryn, the self-declared Merchant-Queen of the Black Canal—richer than some Freehold archons and deadlier than most.
She was a woman of striking beauty and crafted mystery: long sable hair pinned with rubies, a serpent tattoo curling up her thigh to just beneath her breastbone. Her eyes, one pale gold and the other ink-black, missed nothing.
As she dismounted, servants scrambled to present her offerings: chests of goldleaf, smoked sapphire, spicewine, and something rarer still—a dragon egg, grey as winter stone and veined with molten bronze.
Kaerys Velaryon stepped forward to receive her, helm tucked under her arm, eyes sharp as flint. "Your name and purpose?"
Aelthara smiled and tilted her head, stepping close. "Queen Aelthara of Volantis, come to offer tribute… and discuss intimacies of empire with your fireborn lord."
She handed over the egg, her gloved fingers brushing Kaerys's. "Will he see me tonight?"
Kaerys's mouth twitched. "He will."
The Chamber of Ash and Desire
That night, Neron stood by the hearth in his private chambers, overlooking the great inner caldera. His bare chest was still scarred from the Ash-Binder's blade, and his hands trembled from overuse of the Skyshard's power.
A knock came. Soft. Rhythmic.
He said nothing, but the door opened.
Aelthara entered, robed in midnight silk, a jeweled knife at her hip, and no guards in sight.
"You did not summon me," she said, approaching with the confidence of a panther.
"I don't recall inviting you," Neron replied without turning.
She circled him, slowly. "You hold the Skyshard. You survived the Binder. You've bound a wyrm and forged an army in less than a year. All the old families whisper your name—and some tremble."
He turned to face her, and for a moment, they simply studied each other.
"I came to see if the man matched the myth," she murmured, fingers trailing along his collarbone.
"Then judge for yourself," Neron said, voice low.
She rose on her toes and kissed him—rough, claiming. He responded with a force born not of lust alone, but of power, of fire barely restrained.
Her robe fell away. His hands traced the serpent tattoo, now glowing faintly with hidden glyphs. She undid his belt with a deliberate grace, and the blade on her hip clattered softly to the stone floor.
They crashed into each other like storm and flame, heat building between mouths, skin, breath. She pressed him back against the obsidian wall, her thighs coiling around his waist like a serpent of smoke. Each movement was a battle—dominance exchanged, pleasure contested.
She whispered things in Old Valyrian—dark names, binding oaths, and trader's secrets—between moans and gasps, until Neron answered in the same tongue, threading power into his voice like fire through silk.
When at last they collapsed onto the furred bedding, her nails digging into his back, and the dragonfire burning low in the hearth, she whispered in his ear:
"I will give you ships. I will give you ports. I will give you enemies to devour."
He exhaled, still catching his breath. "And in return?"
Aelthara smiled against his throat.
"Make me your queen—of fire, coin… and conquest."
Whispers in the Embers
Elsewhere in the stronghold, Kaerys watched the storm roll across the mountain. She heard the distant cries from Neron's chamber but said nothing.
M'Koro approached. "You won't stop her?"
"She has wealth. A navy. And dangerous ambition," Kaerys replied. "Stopping her would be foolish."
"But trusting her…"
"I don't trust her," Kaerys said, eyes still on the storm. "I trust the fire. And I trust that if she betrays us…"
She turned, one hand resting on the hilt of her sword.
"…she'll burn just like the rest."
Plans in Motion
Three days later, Aelthara's galleys unfurled Neron's phoenix banner over the Volantene Gulf.
In Mantarys, Tyragas Maegyr watched the news arrive with quiet fury.
"The merchant queen bows to a bastard lord," he said to his masked court. "Volantis is lost."
He turned to his emissary.
"Unleash the Red Vaults. Call forth the Blood-Pledged. And send word to the lost city of Gar Valon."
The emissary flinched. "They're half-mad. Even the Doom feared them."
Tyragas smiled. "That's why we need them."
End of Chapter 14