Soon after, Meizo led Viserys and Daenerys inside.
The siblings stepped into the grand and resplendent throne hall, awe written across their faces.
Viserys instinctively tried to lift his chin, but when his gaze met the young Eastern king seated upon the throne, an invisible weight tightened in his throat. He forced down the anger that had festered through years of confinement in Crown Town and managed a strained, polite smile.
"Good day, Your Grace. May I ask what business brings you to summon us?"
A flicker of desperate ambition glimmered in his eyes.
Lo Quen skipped any formality and spoke directly. "Prince Viserys, I've decided to sponsor your campaign to reclaim your throne."
Viserys froze, then a rush of euphoria surged through him, heating his face and neck. He almost jumped to his feet, voice sharp with excitement.
"Your Grace—how many soldiers will you give me? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand? When do we march?"
"Patience, Prince."
Lo Quen raised a hand, smiling faintly. "My support comes with conditions."
"Conditions?"
Viserys blinked, then thumped his narrow chest in a show of eagerness. "Name them! Whatever Viserys Targaryen can do, I'll do it—I'll give everything I have!"
Lo Quen's gaze drifted to Daenerys, standing half a step behind her brother. The young girl seemed to sense what was coming. Her slender frame tensed ever so slightly, and her violet eyes quivered with unease.
Lo Quen smiled. "I want your sister, Daenerys Targaryen, to marry me—and become my Queen."
"What?!"
Viserys blurted out, his shock vanishing almost instantly, replaced by unrestrained delight. To gain a powerful king's full support in exchange for his sister—this was nothing less than divine providence.
He turned to Daenerys at once, his tone commanding.
"Daenerys, did you hear? His Grace wishes to marry you! This is an honor—the foundation of our family's rebirth! Quickly now, agree to His Grace! Serve him well! It's your duty!"
Daenerys felt as if lightning had struck her. Her violet eyes widened as she looked at her brother in disbelief, then at Lo Quen upon the throne. The first wave of shock and the sting of being treated like a bargaining piece faded, replaced by an unfamiliar flutter of anticipation.
The young Eastern king before her was handsome, powerful, ruler of a vast realm—and master of the fabled dragons. Yet unlike the leering merchants and nobles she had met at banquets, his gaze held no greed. There was depth in Lo Quen's eyes—something like affection, but without crude desire.
A shy, guilty spark of joy stirred within her. If she could marry him, perhaps it would not be so bad. Viserys's repulsive urgings sounded distant now.
"Brother…" Her voice trembled softly.
"What are you waiting for?!"
Viserys snapped, shoving her roughly. "Say you'll do it! Thank His Grace properly!"
Daenerys stumbled forward, lifting her gaze to meet Lo Quen's calm, steady eyes. A tangle of emotions swirled inside her—fear mingled with a faint hope for what lay ahead. The thought of escaping her brother's cruelty sparked a glint of determination in her eyes.
"I... I am willing, Your Grace."
Viserys exhaled deeply, as if he'd just sealed a monumental deal. His face contorted into a fawning smile as he turned to Lo Quen.
"Your Grace, this is splendid! Daenerys serving you is her supreme glory—and a testament to the great alliance between House Targaryen and your realm!"
He rubbed his hands together, his voice urgent.
"And the army... when might it be ready..."
"Assembling and training troops takes time."
Lo Quen replied coolly, his gaze drifting over Daenerys's youthful, delicate features.
"Wait a few more months, Prince. I shall provide you with sufficient forces."
"A few months?! Fine! Fine! I can wait!"
Viserys nodded ecstatically.
What were a few months? He had waited over a decade!
He immediately turned back to Daenerys, adopting a feigned "concerned" expression while lowering his voice to a warning, almost commanding tone.
"Daenerys, stay put at Conquest Keep. Serve His Grace well. Remember your place. Don't cause me any trouble!"
With that, he didn't even glance at his sister again. As if shedding a heavy burden, he left the hall with a lightness bordering on exuberance, following Meizo's gesture.
The heavy doors closed, shutting out Viserys's figure.
The vast Great Hall was left with only Lo Quen, Daenerys, and several Dragon Soul Guards standing in the corner.
Daenerys stood alone in the center of the hall, her hands unconsciously twisting the hem of her long gown. Her head hung low, unable to meet Lo Quen's gaze. Silver-gold strands of hair fell, obscuring most of her face, her slender shoulders trembling slightly.
The profound disappointment and hurt of being so decisively "sold out" by her closest kin weighed heavily on her spirit.
Lo Quen descended the steps of the throne, his footsteps echoing through the vast hall. He approached Daenerys but did not speak immediately, standing silently for a moment.
"Look up, Dany."
His voice was softer than before.
Daenerys's body trembled as she slowly raised her head. Her violet eyes were misted with moisture, tiny droplets clinging to her long lashes like dew on violet.
She looked at the man before her, soon to be her husband, her gaze holding tension, timidity, confusion, and a hint of hope for the unknown future—a hope even she hadn't fully recognized.
Lo Quen watched her. Nearly two years had passed since their last fleeting encounter at the coronation.
After securing the Targaryen siblings, Lo Quen not only ensured their protection but also provided them with lavish living conditions, allowing the displaced siblings to enjoy several years of comfort.
Daenerys, in particular.
At the age when her body was developing most, his generous upkeep had made her noticeably taller and more curvaceous, revealing the delicate contours of a young Maiden. Her complexion glowed with a rosy flush that conveyed health, while her silver-gold hair grew thicker and shinier, like flowing molten silver.
Most striking were those violet eyes, inherited from the ancient Valyria bloodline. Now brimming with tears, they appeared even clearer and more profound, radiating a breathtaking beauty woven from innocence and fragility.
Lo Quen reached out, his motion not exactly gentle but not aggressive either, gently brushing aside the strands of hair beside her cheek. His fingertips inadvertently touched her smooth, slightly cool skin.
Daenerys flinched like a startled fawn but did not pull away.
"Dany, this will be your home from now on. You don't need to be so formal."
Lo Quen smiled.
Feeling the warmth of his touch and hearing his gentle words, a flicker of her timidity seemed to melt away. Summoning her courage, she asked,
"Your Grace, may I ask you a question? Why did you refuse my brother last time, yet now..."
Lo Quen's fingertips lingered on her silvery-white hair, savoring its silken texture. He leaned closer, his face near enough to catch the faint, sweet scent of youth emanating from her.
Lo Quen hesitated. He couldn't very well say he'd waited all this time to let her brother Viserys stir up trouble across the Seven Kingdoms, could he?
Finally, he offered a casual excuse.
"Because back then, you were still too young. But now, you've blossomed into a breathtaking beauty."
His admiring gaze swept over her increasingly slender form, finally resting on her cheeks, flushed with bashfulness.
Hmm, this little minx was indeed beautiful—so beautiful he almost believed his own excuse.
Daenerys's face instantly turned crimson, the blush spreading all the way to her ears. Her heart pounded wildly, as if trying to break free from its confines.
The hurt and resentment from being "sold" by her brother swiftly melted away in the face of this direct praise, replaced by a warm sensation mingled with shyness and joy.
Watching the bashful expression on the maiden before him, Lo Quen smiled inwardly.
He took her slightly cool hand.
"Come with me. I'll introduce you to my family and show you the dragons."