To Aegon's slight surprise, the guards standing straight at the entrance with expressionless faces and hollow eyes were actually Unsullied.
These eunuch warriors from Astapor in Slaver's Bay were famous for their absolute loyalty, harsh discipline, and fearless fighting style; they were extremely expensive slave soldiers.
Using Unsullied to guard a place of pleasure spoke volumes about the wealth and taste—or rather, the perverse sense of humor—of the master behind this "Perfume Garden."
Handing a few silver coins as "admission" to the receptionist at the door, Aegon and his group entered smoothly.
The Unsullied inside didn't even spare a glance at the weapons they carried; as long as they didn't cause trouble, the rules here seemed quite lax.
Stepping into the garden, a more intense and sweet mixed floral fragrance hit them, mingled with the scents of fine wine, food, and a more hidden, decadent air.
The courtyard was exquisite, with winding corridors, trickling water, and fine sculptures and comfortable couches everywhere.
Beautiful maids and young men in light, elegant clothing moved like butterflies, or sat beside guests with charming smiles.
Soft music and ambiguous laughter drifted through the air.
Aegon's outstanding looks and conspicuous silver hair, combined with the presence of guards behind him, immediately attracted many gazes.
The girls in the Perfume Garden had eyes that sparkled, boldly throwing him flirtatious glances.
Some noblewomen resting also stopped their conversation, half-hiding their faces with fans, watching him with burning gazes and whispering appraisals.
Even a particularly revealingly dressed, still-charming middle-aged woman walked over with a swaying posture.
"This handsome gentleman looks like a new face; is it your first time here?" The woman's voice was soft and seductive, as she leaned almost against Aegon, her fingers seemingly brushing against his arm.
"How boring it is to be alone. Why don't I show you the true... charms of Lys?" She breathed like orchids, her eyes enticing.
Behind him, the two Bloodsworn soldiers tried hard to stifle their laughter, their shoulders shaking slightly, their eyes screaming "His Highness is amazing."
Henry, on the other hand, acted as if facing a great enemy, quickly stepping forward half a pace, wanting to block her but not daring to completely, his face turning even redder as he looked at Aegon as if for help.
Aegon's face appeared calm and cold, but in truth, the tips of his ears were slightly warm.
He was not a stone; such blunt and explicit teasing was a first for him across two lives.
He could feel his cheeks burning slightly, but his strong willpower forced him to suppress that bit of embarrassment and instinctive restlessness.
He turned slightly, avoiding the woman's touch, his voice steady yet polite, but with a clear distance: "Thank you for your kindness, Madam, but I have important business and cannot be disturbed."
Having said that, he didn't wait for her to speak again, signaling to Henry and the others to walk straight toward the deeper part of the courtyard, the core area marked by a golden light on the system map.
Leaving the woman somewhat stunned, she then stamped her foot unwillingly, her gaze becoming even more heated as she watched Aegon's tall back.
"Business first," Aegon muttered to himself, clearing those floating stray thoughts and fixing his gaze firmly on his destination.
Check in, get the reward, and then leave this place of floating thoughts and trouble as quickly as possible.
He was here for business... Meanwhile, on a small single-masted sailing ship heading toward the port of Lys.
The salty sea breeze, carrying the sweet floral fragrance unique to Lys, drifted into the dilapidated cabin ahead of time.
Daenerys wrapped her faded, coarse cloth cloak tightly around her and walked to the side of her brother, Viserys, who was standing at the bow, trying hard to straighten his back.
Her pure and youthful face bore the fatigue of a long voyage, her purple eyes looking toward the increasingly clear, brightly lit port in the distance.
The faint music coming from there and the dilapidated silence here felt like two different worlds.
"Brother," her voice was soft, carrying a hint of unease, "why are we coming here? Lys... will the people here really help us?"
Viserys turned his head.
He had the Targaryen family's signature silver hair, but it looked somewhat dry due to lack of care.
His face still showed the handsome contours of the past, but it had been deeply etched by long-term anxiety, anger, and malnutrition, with pale skin and sunken eyes.
The purple velvet coat he wore, once magnificent but now with worn and frayed edges, was the "kingly" dignity he insisted on maintaining.
Hearing his sister's question, especially the confusion hidden in her tone.
Viserys's chin lifted slightly, and he spoke in a tone that tried to sound profound and hopeful but was actually thin and hollow: "Dany, my dear sister, you know too little of history."
"Lys, this city, has ancient origins with our Targaryen family."
"Our great-great-grandfather, Viserys Targaryen II, visited Lys as an envoy when he was still a prince."
"He won the friendship of the most powerful family in Lys at that time! They even entered into a marriage contract. See, this is the power of blood! This is the mark our family left on this land!"
He became more excited as he spoke, a sickly flush appearing on his pale cheeks, his eyes shining with an abnormal light: "Now, I, Viserys Targaryen III, the lawful King of the Seven Kingdoms, the blood of the dragon, am here in person!"
"Those Lysene nobles, magisters, and wealthy merchants, as soon as they hear of my arrival and witness the grace of the dragon's heir, they will surely remember the ancient pact, the glory of dancing with the dragon kings!"
"They will prostrate themselves, offering their fleets, their gold, their swords, begging me to allow them to swear fealty and help me reclaim everything that belongs to us!"
His words drifted in the air, completely out of place with the saltiness of the sea breeze.
Daenerys watched her brother quietly.
She remembered the last time in another city-state, her brother had also said how the magister there would treat them warmly, but in the end, they only received a perfunctory dinner and a few silver coins barely enough to buy bread.
She remembered how, on the busy streets, her brother would talk about the iron throne to a drunken sailor, only to receive mockery and shoves in return.
Wandering, begging, watching people's faces, from one Free City to another, like rootless duckweed, like a beggar begging for honor... "Brother... can we... stop doing this? I don't want to go and beg them anymore."
"I'm tired... Brother, I want to go home... Can we find a place to settle down, even if it's a bit broken, a bit small, as long as it's our home..."
"Home?!"
This word was like a red-hot iron, suddenly searing Viserys's most sensitive nerve.
The pride he had barely maintained on his face collapsed instantly, replaced by a distorted fury.
He spun around, his eyes wide and bloodshot, staring intently at Daenerys.
"Go home?! You want to go home too?! Huh?!" His voice suddenly rose, sharp and piercing, "Daenerys! Open your eyes and look! Where is our home?!"
His trembling finger pointed suddenly toward the pitch-black distance across the Narrow Sea.
"Our home is in Westeros! In the Red Keep! On that iron throne!!" He was almost screaming, "But it's occupied by the Usurper! Occupied by that filthy boar!"
In his rage, he violently waved his hand, knocking the simple rag doll Daenerys was holding, which she had sewn herself, to the ground and then kicking it away.
The doll rolled to the edge of the ship's railing, covered in stains.
Daenerys cried out and tried to pick it up, but was roughly shoved against the railing by Viserys, her thin shoulder hitting it painfully.
"Dry your tears, Daenerys!" He lowered his voice, but it was even more terrifying.
"Dragons do not cry! We were born to take back what belongs to us! Before we reclaim the iron throne, we have no home! Any weak thoughts are betrayal!"
He shook Daenerys's thin body frantically, the old fabric making a sharp tearing sound due to the violent movement.
Daenerys was shaken so hard she couldn't stand steadily and fell onto the cold, fishy deck.
Tears fell silently as she curled her body, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably, her mind a blank, leaving only cold fear and helplessness.
She looked at her brother's distorted face; it was so strange, so terrifying.
Viserys looked at his sister crying on the deck, and his movement suddenly stiffened for a moment.
His chest heaved violently, and a flash of complex emotion—perhaps guilt—passed so quickly through his eyes that even he might not have noticed it.
But it was immediately drowned by deeper irritation and stubbornness.
He snorted heavily, as if to dispel some thought he shouldn't have.
"Remember your identity! You are Daenerys Stormborn! A Princess of Targaryen!"
"If you don't want to wake the dragon's wrath again, don't let me hear these weak words again." He finally roared these words and turned away abruptly, not looking at Daenerys again.
His back was straight, but it was full of desperate fragility and madness.
Daenerys curled up on the deck, the cold sensation seeping through her thin clothing.
She looked at her brother's back, a huge sense of loss and hesitation overwhelming her.
Home... turned out to be such a luxurious and unreachable dream.
She didn't even know what to do next, only instinctively feeling cold and afraid.
The small boat rocked slightly in the waves, continuing toward the port of Lys, toward the city famous for perfume and desire.
Not far away, the magnificent silhouette of the Perfume Garden was already in sight.
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