29: Chapter 29 Night at Sea

The fleet sailed through the night.

There was no moon. The clouds hung low, swallowing all the starlight. The sea was as black as ink, with only the foam from the prow slicing through the waves showing white.

Nearly a hundred warships of various sizes were arranged in a wedge formation. The three-headed dragon banner of the Targaryen flew from the masts, the corners snapping loudly in the wind.

The flagship was in the center of the fleet. The lights were still on in the cabin.

Jorah was standing watch on the deck. He paced to the stern, looked up at the illuminated porthole, then lowered his head and scribbled a few lines in the ship's log.

"The Mother of Dragons is suffering from insomnia tonight."

He bit on the end of his pen, muttering to himself.

"Ever since that woman called White Mane arrived, she hasn't been herself. And that youth form of Drogon—I don't see it as some divine miracle; it's a nuisance."

The tip of his pen poked into the paper, bleeding a blot of ink. He closed the log and sighed.

Drogon's room was not large. A bed. A table. A porthole.

There was no quilt on the bed. It was covered in gold coins, dragon glass, and gems. He insisted that this was dragon-nest decor, not greed.

Now, he lay on his back on the pile of gold coins, his hands behind his head, his vertical pupils staring at the ceiling. His tail flicked back and forth behind him, causing the gold coins to clatter.

Hot.

Very hot.

It wasn't the heat of a fever. It was a heat steaming from deep within his bone marrow.

Moisture seeped from the gaps in his scales; the scales at his neck flared slightly, and his skin was flushed an unnatural dark red.

Low, repressed guttural sounds escaped his throat from time to time—like the whimpering of a beast trapped in a cage.

He rolled over. The gold coins dug into his face painfully. He rolled back.

"Damn it. What is wrong with this broken body?"

He tapped the system.

The system panel popped up. It wasn't the usual cold data stream. This time, the font was red.

"Host physical condition analysis in progress—"

"Body temperature: 39.5°C. 1.8°C higher than the normal value for human form."

"Hormone levels: Testosterone secretion has reached 320% of the normal value. Dopamine 280%. Serotonin has dropped to 40% of the normal value."

"Diagnosis: Physiological reaction of the dragon race during the mating period. First occurrence."

Drogon stared at that line of text for three seconds.

"Trigger analysis—"

"First: The first release of the 'Dominance Mark' today, pheromone bidirectional feedback led to physiological arousal."

"Second: High-intensity physical conflict with a high-combat-power individual of the opposite sex—White Mane—activated the dragon race's instinct to conquer."

"Third: There was an unidentified Ghiscari Empire aphrodisiac magical metal in the Yunkai vault. The host absorbed a trace amount through the scales while rolling in the vault."

"Fourth: The possessiveness toward the core bond object—Daenerys—encountered a challenge today. Triggered subconscious compensation mechanism."

Drogon closed his eyes. He read through the four triggers from beginning to end again.

He sat up. He grabbed his own tail, which was still thrashing about, and held it down firmly.

"...What's the recommendation?"

The system popped up options.

"Recommendation 1: Immediately contact the bond object to express submission/possession needs."

Drogon's mouth twitched.

"Recommendation 2: Go to the seabed for low-temperature suppression."

"Recommendation 3: Seek a secondary mate—White Mane—to balance pheromones."

"Recommendation 4: Handle it yourself."

Drogon crossed out the fourth option. He crossed out the third. He stared at the first two.

"Find White Mane? I just bit her nape today; going to find her now is the same as showing my cards and telling her I'm controlled by instinct. How can I act cool in front of her after this?"

"Jump into the sea? I, a majestic dragon, go for a midnight winter swim; if a sentry sees me, the whole fleet will know tomorrow that Lord Drogon went crazy and jumped into the water."

A pause. The third option flashed through his mind. It wasn't given by the system. It emerged on its own.

"Find Daenerys Targaryen?"

His tail went rigid instantly. Then it started wagging frantically. Like it was nodding.

Drogon slapped himself.

"No, no, no."

He stood up and circled on the pile of gold coins. His tail dragged behind him, sweeping out a groove.

"She is Mother. Although I only treat her as a business partner and my primary protection target—but the way she looks at me is the way she looks at a son. Isn't that messed up?"

Another voice welled up from the depths of his consciousness. It wasn't his own thought. It was instinct. It was the bloodline.

It was something older than a human soul. The voice was lower. Deeper. Every word carried the unique guttural tremor of the dragon race.

"She is your reverse scale. She is your core bond. She is the only object you have initiated physical contact with multiple times since taking human form."

"Tonight—you must confirm."

"Confirm that she has not been swayed. Confirm that she has not been affected by the scent of that woman called White Mane."

Drogon's footsteps stopped.

"What does this have to do with you making me crawl into her bed in the middle of the night!"

Instinct did not answer. But his tail answered for him. The tip of his tail curled up, pointing toward the door. Once. Twice. Three times. Like it was poking the door.

"...You traitor."