40: Chapter 40 The Mark

The moment the dragon blood made contact with her blood, a golden light exploded.

It was softer than the golden light from her breakthrough moments ago. It was not a shockwave, but a curtain of light.

The golden curtain of light began to spread from her wrist, crawling up along her veins. It crossed her forearm—every single vein was traced in gold. It crossed her elbow joint—the golden light was brightest at the joint, lingering there for two seconds.

It crossed her shoulder—her collarbone was dyed gold. It spread throughout her entire body. She could feel a warm current moving through her veins. It was not scalding; it was warm. Like taking a sip of hot tea in winter, warming her from her throat to her stomach, and from her stomach to her fingertips.

The golden patterns finally converged on her left chest—the location of her heart—forming a golden dragon claw mark the size of a thumbprint. It was not printed on the skin; it was branded into the flesh.

Through the collar of her military uniform, it could be vaguely seen glowing. The light shone through the black scale armor, flashed three times, then dimmed into a faint glimmer.

At the same time, a silver mark identical in shape to the wound on her wrist appeared on the dragon scales on Drogon's left chest, right beside his reverse scale. It was positioned symmetrically. The silver patterns spread outward from the center of the scale like frost flowers, covering the three surrounding scales.

Both of their hearts skipped a beat simultaneously.

It was not their own heartbeat, but the other's. Daenerys could hear it—thump, thump, thump—steady, powerful, and carrying the unique low-frequency vibration of the dragon race. That was his.

Drogon could hear it—thump, thump, thump—lighter, faster, and carrying the soft rhythm unique to humans. That was hers. The dual heartbeats echoed in both of their chests simultaneously, like two sets of drums playing the same piece of music.

System prompt: "blood bond established. Contract subject: Daenerys Targaryen. Contract type: Core Spouse—the highest covenant of the dragon race."

"Effect 1: Life Perception. Bidirectional and permanent. Can perceive the other party's general location, emotional fluctuations, and fatal danger."

"Effect 2: Fatal Damage Transfer. Unidirectional. One-time use. When Daenerys suffers fatal damage, the damage will be transferred to Drogon. This effect can be refreshed each time a major rank breakthrough is achieved. Current available charges: 1/1."

"Effect 3: Soul Resonance. Passive. When the distance between both parties is ≤ 100 meters, attribute recovery speed +20%."

"The contract is irreversible. It cannot be abolished. I wish you a pleasant time together."

The golden light dispersed. Daenerys looked down at the golden dragon claw mark on her chest.

She touched it lightly with her fingertips. The surface of the mark was slightly warm. The moment she touched it, the heartbeat belonging to him in her chest quickened by a beat, as if saying to her—"Did you feel that?"

She raised her head and looked at his massive dragon face. Her voice carried a hint of choked-up teasing.

"Satisfied now? You left a mark on me just like the one on you."

A satisfied, deep guttural sound rumbled in Drogon's throat, like a cat's purr, but several times louder. The stone slabs on the city wall were vibrating. Several loose stones rolled off the battlements. He rubbed his snout against her face. The scales on his snout were cool, making her face itch.

"Hmm. Don't use water that's too hot when you bathe from now on. I can feel it."

Her face instantly flushed red. She wanted to slap his nose, but he dodged it. His dragon head retracted, his movements even more agile than when he dodged the ice crystal short spears just a moment ago.

"How dare you!"

"Whether I dare or not—I'll know whenever your heart rate speeds up while you're bathing."

"...I want to break the contract."

"The system says it's irreversible. The permanent kind. You're done for, Mother of Dragons."

Barristan knelt on one knee.

The old knight's sword was thrust into the rubble on the city wall. He rested his hands on the round pommel of the sword, his head bowed. His voice trembled with excitement—not out of fear, but out of reverence.

His white beard was soaked with sweat and stuck to his breastplate. The veins on the back of his hands were bulging—he was gripping his sword tightly, fearing he might stand up from excitement.

"Lord of Light above... this is... the true dragon and his spouse from the prophecy. I have lived a lifetime, and finally, I have seen a miracle with my own eyes."

Grey Worm stood by the siege ladder, expressionless. But his eyes widened slightly. On the face of an Unsullied, this was already an expression of extreme shock.

His fingers loosened on the spear shaft, then tightened again. This was the only way the Unsullied expressed emotion—releasing the weapon and then gripping it again. It meant, "I have seen it, but I do not know what to do."

He struck his spear against the ground. Clack. The spear butts of the eight thousand Unsullied behind him struck the ground simultaneously. Clack—the sound waves merged into one.

It drowned out the sound of hooves below the city and the distant ocean tide. The Unsullied in the front row still could not see what was happening on the city wall, but they did not need to see.

The striking of the spear butts was passed from the front row to the back; by the time it reached the last row, the sound waves had merged into a low, rumbling hum.

"For the Mother of Dragons. For the dragon. Until death."

White Mane leaned against the broken wall. Her arakh was stuck by her feet. The tip of the blade was embedded in a stone crevice, the blade still vibrating slightly. She crossed her arms over her chest.

Her amber eyes stared fixedly at the silver mark on Drogon's chest, then looked at the golden dragon claw mark on Daenerys's chest. The positions of the two marks were symmetrical. One was on the left chest, the other in the center of the chest. The colors were different.

The shapes were different, but the frequency was synchronized—they glowed at the same moment and dimmed at the same moment, like two hearts beating in unison.

The brand on the back of her neck had been burning hot from the golden light just moments ago. Now, it was slowly cooling down, shifting from burning to warm, and from warm to cool. But the sensation had not disappeared; it had only changed.

Her right hand subconsciously reached for the bandage on the back of her neck. Her nails dug into the gaps of the bandage. Her fingertips could clearly feel the dark golden dragon claw mark beneath the bandage. On the back of her neck. Not on the chest. The position was wrong.

She bit her lip. She had no expression, but her clenched jaw made her jawline taut. Her mind was racing, turning quickly. A taste of rust welled up in her mouth—she had bitten through her lip.

"Spouse mark. The one on the chest—is the spouse mark. And my mark is on the back of my neck. Therefore—I am not a spouse. I am a conquered accessory."

"She is the Mother of Dragons. The core spouse. I am a lioness. A secondary possession."

"His 'core spouse' in dragon society is her. My position in his dragon society—is secondary. It is an accessory. It is a marked conquest."

She clenched her teeth even tighter. The wound on the web of her hand was squeezed until it split open again. Blood seeped out once more.

But at the same time, a feeling of relief that she herself could not explain welled up.

She did not know what it was. Perhaps it was the brand after being forcibly marked soothing her. Perhaps it was something she herself was unwilling to admit. Perhaps it was—he didn't need her to block damage. The one shielding him from damage was the woman with the golden claw mark on her chest.

And she only needed to hack people down behind him. Wasn't this more in line with her identity? She was the strongest warrior of the Dothraki. Not someone else's spouse.

She repeated this sentence to herself three times.

Drogon sensed her emotional fluctuations. The brand was bidirectional. Anger. Loss. Confusion. And a trace of stinging pain from the possessiveness toward him that had gradually sprouted after being forcibly marked, which had now been dealt a blow. It all traveled through the brand. It was vague, but clear enough.

He did not turn back to look at her. He just silently made a note of it in his heart. The tip of his tail tapped the stone slab on the city wall lightly.

"Little White. I'll settle your account later. For now, let the lioness be jealous for a while. Sour things are good for your health."