32: Chapter 32 Footsteps at the Door

5:10 AM. The flagship corridor.

White Mane patrolled, carrying her arakh. This was her own request—she did not trust the quality of the Unsullied's security.

Her armor was still being repaired. She was wearing the Unsullied's duty uniform. Dark-colored. Very simple. But her shoulders were too broad, and the sleeves were a bit short, exposing her bronze-colored wrists. On her wrist was a new red mark from gripping her blade. It had been rubbed raw tonight.

When she walked to the door of the captain's quarters, she stopped.

Her amber eyes looked at the door panel. Beneath the bandage on the back of her neck, the brand was slightly warm. She could feel it.

Drogon was behind that door. In human form. And he was not alone.

She stood at the doorway. Her fingers tightened on the hilt of her blade. Her knuckles turned white. Then she relaxed them. She continued her patrol with an expressionless face. Her footsteps were heavier than before. Each step echoed as she trod on the wooden planks.

After walking a dozen steps, she stopped. She leaned against the ship's railing, looking out at the sea.

In the dothraki language, she whispered in a voice so low that only she could hear.

"So—I am not the only one. Not even the first."

She touched the bandage on the back of her neck. The brand was still hot. But the heat was directed the wrong way. It was hot toward that door, not toward her.

"Interesting."

Seagulls cried out. At the top of the mast, the night watchman blew the horn for the changing of the guard. The fleet began to weigh anchor. The iron chains rattled as they rose from the sea, crashing onto the deck.

The first ray of morning light shot through the porthole, landing on the head of the bed.

Daenerys opened her eyes. Her neck was sore—she had fallen asleep sitting up. Her back was against the headboard, in a posture as if she had been reviewing petitions all night.

Then she felt a weight on her lower leg.

In his sleep, Drogon's tail had unconsciously wrapped tightly around her leg. The tip of his tail was pressed against the inside of her ankle. It was warm. Not the scorching heat of yesterday, but a normal body temperature.

She looked down at the foot of the bed. Drogon had slid down from the bedpost. He was curled up into a ball, his head resting on his own arms. His dragon tail was still coiled around her lower leg. His face was turned toward her. His brows were slightly furrowed. A small, dark stain of saliva had bloomed on the sheet at the corner of his mouth.

She stared at him for a long time.

She reached out and gently brushed the hair from his forehead. Her fingers traced the scales at the corner of his eye. They were fine and warm. There was no defensive reaction. He was completely relaxed.

She revealed a tired but gentle smile.

"Greedy for wealth. Lustful. Loves to act cool. And you even drool in your sleep. You really are—not even a year old."

Carefully, not wanting to wake him, she tried to pull her leg out from the entanglement of his tail.

Sensing the movement in his sleep, the tail instinctively wrapped even tighter.

Drogon murmured in his sleep. It was slurred, with a small trill of draconic guttural sound.

"Mmm... Mother... don't move... that's mine..."

Daenerys shook her head helplessly. She whispered.

"Everything is yours, according to you."

The door was knocked upon.

Missandei's voice came from outside the door. As serious as always. Every word clear and precise.

"Khaleesi, breakfast is ready. Commander Grey Worm asks if the fleet should assemble in the reef area outside Meereen as planned—"

The door wasn't locked. Missandei habitually pushed it open. This was a privilege Daenerys had previously granted her for the convenience of government affairs.

Then she saw the scene inside the bedroom.

Her Queen was leaning against the headboard. Her silver-gold hair was scattered over her shoulders. The strap of her nightgown had slipped down, hanging off her arm.

And that black-haired youth, who had crushed the heart of the Great Masters during the day and fought a mercenary captain of two thousand alone, was curled up at the foot of the bed. His head was buried in his arms. He was shirtless. His tail was tightly wrapped around the Queen's lower leg. He was still snoring.

The snoring was very light. Like a cat.

Missandei froze in place.

Her large amber eyes blinked five times. Then her entire face turned red from her neck to her forehead. Not light red. Deep red. Her ear tips were about to smoke.

"I, I didn't see anything—I'll come back later—very sorry—"

She backed out of the door at three times the speed she had arrived. Her knee hit the doorframe. She let out a muffled groan. Then she gently closed the door.

The moment the door closed, a suppressed panting sound, mixed with panic and some strange excitement, came from outside the door. There was also the dull thud of her bumping into a wooden barrel in the corridor. Then came even faster footsteps. She had started running.

System pop-up: "Shock value +500. From Missandei. Type: Misunderstanding."

Drogon was woken up by the sound of the door closing. He opened his eyes, half-asleep. Slurred.

"...Hmm? Who?"

Daenerys Targaryen was expressionless.

"Missandei. Came to deliver breakfast. You scared her off."

"...Oh."

He closed his eyes again. Continued to sleep. His tail was still wrapped around her leg.

8:00 AM. Officers' mess hall. Long wooden table.

Daenerys sat at the head of the table. Jorah, Barristan, Grey Worm, and Missandei were seated around it. Breakfast was laid out on the table—hard bread, salted fish, oatmeal, and a few slices of dried fruit.

Drogon was not there. After he woke up, he found his tail had tied itself into three knots, and it took him a long time to untie them. He was still in the bathroom taking a cold shower.

Missandei kept her head down the entire time. She dared not look directly at Daenerys. She twisted her braid with her fingers. Round and round. Her face was red enough to fry an egg. She had only eaten half her porridge, and she had scooped the spoon into the empty bowl three times.

Jorah noticed. He glanced at her.

"Missandei? What's wrong? Your face is so red. Do you have a fever?"

"No. No. The cabin is a bit stuffy. Stuffy."

She lowered her head to eat her porridge. The spoon scooped empty air again.

Jorah did not pursue the matter. He turned to report to Daenerys.

"Meereen's defenses are more than twice as strong as Yunkai's. They have at least thirty thousand defenders. And hundreds of war elephants. If we launch a frontal assault—we will suffer heavy losses."

Barristan continued.

"And the Meereenese will definitely push the slave army to the front as cannon fodder. Those are the people we want to liberate."

Daenerys regained the calmness and majesty of a Queen. She tapped her fingertips lightly on the tabletop.

"I need a plan. One that can avoid a frontal assault while minimizing slave casualties."

The door to the conference room was pushed open.

Drogon walked in. He had changed into a clean trench coat. His hair was still dripping. Water droplets flowed down his neck and into his collar. His tail dragged behind him.

His face had completely returned to his daytime "cool guy" mode—the corners of his mouth slightly curled. His eyes were lazy. His gait was languid. Like a rich young master who had just had a good night's sleep.

But his slit pupils contracted slightly when they swept over Daenerys. Only she noticed it.

He pulled out a chair and sat down. His gaze swept over the blushing Missandei. It swept over the expressionless Daenerys. Then, as if nothing had happened, he spoke lazily.

"Leave the frontal assault to me. Dragon form. Fly in from the sea at night. First, burn their granaries and armories. Cut off their water and food for three days, and those Great Masters who grew up eating the flesh and blood of slaves will know what it feels like to go hungry."

Grey Worm frowned.

"But this action may affect civilians."

Drogon turned to look at him. A cold sneer curled the corner of his mouth.

"The civilian district is in the south of the city. The noble granaries are in the north. My flames—are more obedient than you imagine."

He turned to Daenerys.

"Mother. Leave this matter to me."

Under the table, his tail secretly curled around. It touched Daenerys's fingers, which were hanging by the side of her chair. She wanted to pull them back. It was too late. Her fingertips were gently hooked by the tip of his tail.

Drogon remained calm. He continued.

"Additionally—I need to go out alone tonight. There is a place called Dragon Tooth Reef near the coast of Meereen. According to local fishermen, there is something glowing inside. It might be dragon glass. I will go alone. I will be back before dawn."

Jorah put down his fork.

"Alone? That's too dangerous."

Drogon picked up the cup in front of Daenerys—it was her tea, which she hadn't drunk yet—and took a sip. He put it back.

"I am a dragon. The sea is the blood relative of the volcano. To me, the dangers in the sea—are nothing more than a plate of sashimi."

He added in his mind: Plus, I need to find a place to cool down. Soaking in seawater all night is better than running to her room again.

Daenerys looked at her cup that had been sipped from. She didn't speak. She picked up the cup. She drank the remaining half-sip.