28: Chapter 28 Daenerys's Bedroom

Drogon pushed open the door to Daenerys Targaryen's bedroom. He didn't knock.

Daenerys Targaryen was sitting at her vanity, already changed into a silk nightgown of silver-gray. Her hair was still damp, cascading over her shoulders.

In her hand, she held that crooked hair ornament—the small gemstone on it had been replaced by him with a pigeon-blood ruby.

She was examining it, her fingers gently rotating the ornament as the ruby caught the candlelight.

The candle on the stand had burned halfway down, with wax tears dripping down the side.

Drogon stood at the doorway, not entering. His tail flicked once behind him.

"That..."

Daenerys Targaryen looked up, watching him through the mirror.

"I've had White Mane agree to swear her allegiance to you first thing tomorrow morning. She accepted, on the condition that I tell her the meaning of the mark."

He paused, scratching his head.

"I didn't tell her. I'll wait until she's sworn her oath."

Daenerys Targaryen set down the ornament and turned around to face him directly.

"That mark—what exactly is it?"

Drogon remained silent for a few seconds. His tail stiffened behind him, then slowly began to sway again.

"It's a dragon thing. A very ancient instinct. After biting her, she will... uh, how to put it... she cannot betray me. I will be able to sense her location and her emotions. That's roughly the feeling. It's like a radar. If she's angry, I know. If she's hurt, I know. She—"

"Will she fall in love with you?"

Drogon's tail lashed out. Snap. It knocked over a candlestick. The candlestick rolled to the corner of the wall, and the candle went out.

"...I don't know."

He answered truthfully.

"It's my first time using it. There might be that side effect, or there might not. I'll check after she swears her oath. The inherited memories are very long, and I haven't had time to look through them. At the time—"

"At the time, you were biting her."

"...Yes."

Daenerys Targaryen looked at him in silence for a long time. Then she stood up, walked over to him, and reached out. This time, she didn't ruffle his hair; she pinched his ear and gave it a twist, with more force than last time.

"Next time you use this 'instinct'—tell me first."

Drogon bared his teeth but didn't dodge, letting her twist it.

"Okay. Definitely. Absolutely. Next time, I will report it in advance, one hundred percent."

Daenerys Targaryen let go of his ear and turned back to the vanity. She picked up the ornament and pinned it into her hair in front of the mirror. Her hand was steady. She pinned it above her left ear. The pigeon-blood ruby looked like a drop of solidified fire in the candlelight.

"Does it look good?"

Drogon nodded, his tail curling up.

"It looks good. It looks much better than the one I pinned last time."

Daenerys Targaryen's lips curled slightly as she watched him in the mirror.

"Go to sleep. Tomorrow—we still have to go to Meereen."

Drogon turned and walked to the doorway, then looked back.

"Mother."

"Hm."

"That ornament—it really suits you. The ruby with your silver hair looks better than it does with black scales."

Daenerys Targaryen didn't turn around, but the curve of her lips widened slightly.

"I know. Go to sleep."

The door closed, with the tip of a tail caught in the crack, which was quickly pulled out.

Dawn. The port of Yunkai.

The fleet's sails had already been hoisted. The wind filled the canvas, snapping loudly. Thirteen large ships were lined up in a row. The sails were illuminated golden by the morning light, and the sea surface shimmered.

Eight thousand Unsullied were boarding the ships. Grey Worm stood by the gangplank, directing them personally. His face remained expressionless, but every movement betrayed a sense of satisfaction—not the mechanical satisfaction of the Unsullied.

It was the satisfaction of a living person. He was changing. Drogon could feel it. He was turning back into a person with emotions. It was slow, but he was indeed changing.

Illyse White Mane's two thousand cavalrymen were lined up on the shore. She rode a black Dothraki horse—its mane was also white, the same color as her hair. Her silver-white braids fluttered in the morning breeze. She had a new arakh—the hilt was set with a crossguard modified from the two valyrian steel daggers Drogon had given her the night before.

The daggers' sheaths had been removed, and the hilts and blades had been reforged and embedded on both sides of the arakh. The rubies reflected the morning light. She swung the new blade through the air. The sound of it cutting through the air was sharper and keener than before. She was very satisfied.

The look in her eyes as she gazed at the fleet was no longer that of an enemy, but it wasn't that of a subject either; it was something more complex. Her pupils would dilate slightly when she looked at the cabin window where Drogon was. She didn't realize it herself.

Daenerys Targaryen stood at the bow of the flagship. On her shoulder was Drogon—in his dragon form.

He had returned to the appearance of a black dragon hatchling, lying in the crook of her shoulder with his tail wrapped around her arm. His eyes were closed, like a baby, but his scales had gained an extra layer of dark golden luster. On the edge of every black scale, there was a thin, hair-like border of dark gold. That was a new change after his bloodline had improved to 725. You couldn't tell unless you looked closely.

Jorah walked over, lowering his voice. The expression on his face was a mixture of worry and caution.

"Khaleesi—Meereen already knows that Yunkai has fallen. They have assembled the last of Slavers Bay's armies. Thirty thousand. Perhaps more. They are waiting for us outside the walls of Meereen."

Daenerys Targaryen didn't turn around. The sea breeze filled her silver hair. She raised her hand—wearing a new ruby ring. The gemstone was large and cut into the shape of a dragon scale. It had been cut from the same raw stone as the necklace Drogon had given her the previous night. The craftsmen had worked through the night to finish it, and it had only been delivered this morning.

"Let them wait."

"Drogon."

"Hm."

"That necklace—you said it took you half an hour to find it?"

"...Uh."

"Half an hour. In the vault. Mountains of gold coins. Mountains of gemstones. You spent half an hour and only found this one necklace."

"..."

"Your tail is drawing circles."

The tail stiffened, uncoiled from her arm, and hung in mid-air. It remained motionless, as if dead.

Daenerys Targaryen's lips curled slightly, and she said nothing more.

The fleet sailed out of the harbor. Thirteen ships sliced through the azure water. The sails were full. The morning light cast the shadows of the sails onto the deck. Seagulls were startled into flight from the masts.

In the distance, in the direction of Meereen, a wall larger, darker, and more dangerous than Yunkai's faintly emerged on the horizon. Five layers of walls were stacked together, the outermost wall covered with inscriptions in Old Ghiscari—a history written in the blood of slaves. Black smoke rose from behind the walls. It wasn't the smoke of a city burning; it was the smoke of the forges. Meereen was preparing for war.

Two dragons circled in the sky. Eight thousand spears. Two thousand cavalry. A woman and a fleet.

And a black dragon hatchling lying on Daenerys Targaryen's shoulder, pretending to be asleep.