Viserys Targaryen held the set of gorgeous dresses, a mixture of excitement and expectation on his face as he pushed open his sister's bedroom door.
The dress was indeed beautiful.
Magister Illyrio called it a small gift, but it was clearly a priceless treasure.
The silk, light as a cicada's wing, was dyed the purest purple. The hem was embroidered with golden thread in the pattern of a coiled dragon, and the neckline and cuffs were inlaid with small pearls that shimmered with a soft light even in the dim room.
"Dany!"
Viserys called out loudly, displaying the dress before his sister. "Look at what Magister Illyrio has sent! This is the kind of attire worthy of the blood of the true dragon!"
Daenerys Targaryen was sitting by the window, gazing at the withered flowers in the courtyard.
She turned her head, her purple eyes falling on the dress. There was no surprise, only a faint sense of detachment.
"It's very pretty, Brother." Her voice was very soft.
"Pretty?"
Viserys stepped closer quickly and thrust the dress into her arms without a word. "Dany, don't you understand?"
"This isn't just an ordinary dress; it's a battle robe! It's armor!"
He leaned down, his hands pressing on Daenerys's thin shoulders, his breathing hurried.
"Khal Drogo, the most powerful Horse Lord on the Dothraki Sea, has tens of thousands of Screaming Warriors under him! Tens of thousands! Do you know what that means?"
Daenerys's fingers touched the cool silk.
She thought of that Magister of Pentos.
After she and her brother had hurriedly "escaped" Lys, she thought they would return to their previous life of wandering among the Free Cities.
But shortly after leaving Lys, this Magister who called himself Illyrio sent people to find them. She didn't know how she and her brother had been so precisely "found" in the vast Narrow Sea.
Here, she and her brother were treated with courtesy, provided with comfortable lodgings, exquisite food, and decent clothing. Viserys said it was an investment in him as a King, but she instinctively felt something was wrong.
Until a few days ago, Magister Illyrio, still wearing that same kind smile, casually spoke the words that would decide her fate: "A glorious marriage alliance, Princess, for the restoration of your family."
A man she had never met.
A barbarian leader famous for pillaging and killing.
And she was to be his bride.
"Brother."
She looked up, her purple eyes staring straight at Viserys.
"I... I don't want to marry him."
Viserys's smile froze.
"What did you say?" His voice dropped, carrying a dangerous edge.
"I don't want to marry a stranger, a... dothraki."
Daenerys plucked up her courage, her hands gripping the dress in her arms. "We can find another way, Brother. Magister Illyrio said he could contact other city-states for us, we could..."
"Enough!"
Viserys cut her off sharply, his face contorting with the familiar anger of incompetence.
"Who do you think we are?!"
"The blood of the true dragon!"
He stepped closer, his finger almost poking Daenerys in the face. "The Usurper sits on my iron throne, he stole my kingdom, he stole our home!"
"I need an army to fight back!"
"You should be weeping with gratitude that your skinny little body can be traded for that barbarian's army of tens of thousands to help me reclaim the iron throne."
Daenerys's face was pale, but she did not flinch.
She looked at her brother's face, flushed with rage, and into those purple eyes so like her own, yet which had shown no warmth for years. Suddenly, she thought of someone else.
That silver-haired knight in the Lysian arena who had told her to "be brave."
He had deeper purple eyes that seemed to hide a starry sky.
His voice was calm, yet it carried a strength that put her at ease.
"I won't."
Daenerys heard her own voice, firmer than she had imagined. "I am not a piece of cargo, Brother. I am Daenerys Targaryen."
"Princess of Dragonstone!"
Viserys was stunned.
Then, a violent rage completely consumed him.
"You are my sister!"
He screamed, spittle flying.
"I was the one who took you and escaped from the Usurper's assassins! I was the one who raised you!"
"Everything you have—your bloodline, your body, your future—it's all mine! You are my property!"
He reached out and roughly grabbed the collar of the old dress Daenerys was wearing. "Look at you! Dressed in rags, as thin as a starving stray cat! And even like this, you dare to refuse me? You dare to refuse the will of the dragon?!"
"Take it off! Put on this dress!"
"Now! Immediately! I want those dothraki barbarians to see what a true, noble Targaryen princess looks like!"
Daenerys stumbled as he pulled her, but she used all her strength to break free.
Her back hit the cold stone wall, the pain making her groan, but her hands were held tightly over her chest, and for the first time, a clear fire of anger burned in her purple eyes.
"Don't touch me!"
Her voice wasn't loud, but it was like an invisible barrier that froze Viserys's violent movements in mid-air.
The siblings faced off in the dim room.
Viserys's chest heaved violently, his fingers trembling.
He wanted to throttle this ungrateful sister, he wanted to slap her, he wanted to make her cry and beg for mercy as she had countless times before.
But he couldn't.
The feast to meet the Khal was coming soon. He had to have Daenerys there intact, looking her most beautiful, to charm that barbarian.
Viserys's teeth ground together.
Finally, he slammed the gorgeous dress onto the floor.
"Wear it."
He squeezed the command through his teeth, his voice trembling with suppressed rage.
"Tomorrow night, at Magister Illyrio's feast, I want to see you wearing it, standing there like a true princess."
"Smile at Khal Drogo, nod, and accept this honor."
He leaned down, his face inches from Daenerys's, his breath hot against her face, smelling of wine and a frantic heat.
"If you dare to mess this up, Dany—if you dare to make me look bad in front of the Magister, in front of the Khal..."
He smiled, a twisted and hideous grin.
"I'll show you what the Wake the Dragon's Wrath really is."
"I promise you, it will be a thousand times more terrifying than marrying a dothraki barbarian."
With that, he turned and slammed the door as he left.
Silence returned to the room.
Daenerys leaned against the cold wall and slowly slid to the floor.
She looked down at the purple dress lying on the floor, still gorgeous and eye-catching, then looked up at the grey sky outside the window.
Her pale fingers slowly clenched at her side.
She didn't want to be traded like cargo.
She didn't want to marry a barbarian she had never met.
She didn't want to live forever under her brother's rage and arrangements.
She wanted... to control her own destiny.
This thought was like a spark falling onto the long-barren wilderness of her heart.
It was faint, but it burned tenaciously.
A maid's cautious inquiry came from outside the door: "Princess, shall I prepare a bath for you?"
Daenerys took a deep breath and released her clenched fist.
"Yes," she said.
The bath was in a side room connected to the bedroom, made of white marble with wave patterns carved into the edge.
The hot water was already prepared, with fresh rose petals floating on the surface, sending up fragrant steam.
"I'll do it myself."
Daenerys told the maid who wanted to step forward to serve her.
The maid hesitated for a moment, bowed, and retreated, gently closing the door.
Daenerys stood alone by the bath.
She untied the laces of her old dress and stepped out of her clothes, revealing a slender, pale, and still youthful body.
She stepped onto the slightly damp marble floor with bare feet and walked down the steps of the bath one by one.
The hot water rose over her ankles, calves, knees, waist... finally enveloping her completely.
It was very hot.
It was almost to a degree that an ordinary person could not endure.
But Daenerys did not flinch or cry out.
She only closed her eyes slightly, letting the scalding sensation penetrate her skin and wrap around her bones.
It was not painful.
On the contrary... it was very comfortable.
Like a cold winter night, finally drawing close to a campfire.
Like a thirsty traveler drinking from a sweet spring.
A long-lost warmth and peace, awakened from deep within her body, flowed slowly through her entire being along with the soaking of the hot water.
She submerged her entire body in the water, leaving only her face exposed. Her purple eyes opened in the mist, gazing at the blurred murals on the dome.
She thought of the silver-haired knight again.
She remembered the calm purple eyes when he spoke, the laurel on the blood-stained spear tip, and his words: "Be brave."
Where was he now?
If he knew she was about to be married to a dothraki barbarian, what would he say? Would he... come to help her?
The thought seemed absurd even to her.
How could he know where she was?
And why would a stranger she had only met by chance take such a risk for her?
But that faint flame in her heart seemed to brighten a little more because of this absurd imagination.
Daenerys raised her arm and watched the hot water slide down her skin.
The water was very hot, and her skin was slightly flushed, but there were no signs of burns.
She suddenly remembered the words Viserys always said to her when she was a child: "The Blood of the Dragon flows in our veins! Dragons are not afraid of fire!"
At the time, she thought it was just her brother's mad talk.
But now... Daenerys buried her face in the water, feeling the omnipresent, reassuring heat.
After a long time, she surfaced and let out a long breath, water droplets dripping from her silver hair.
She stood up, water splashing everywhere.
Her naked body in the rising steam was still slender, yet it seemed to have gained an indescribable, faint, but real... determination.
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