66: Chapter 64 A Judgment Point of 90

Drogon looked down at the red-robed woman kneeling before him. His tail drew a circle behind him extremely slowly.

His expression did not change much, but his slit pupils dilated slightly. It was not shock. It was some kind of dragon instinct being triggered by her words.

She said he was not an accessory. She said he was the primary subject. She was the first outsider to say so. Not because he crushed the hearts of the Great Masters, not because he breathed Ice Fire, but because she saw in him a complete, independent prophetic existence.

"This woman is the first. The first outsider who doesn't treat me as an accessory to Daenerys Targaryen. She sees me as an independent prophetic existence. Her judgment—I'm willing to give it ninety points. Ten points deducted because she isn't wearing a ring on her finger, she knelt before me empty-handed, with no tribute."

His tail drew another circle on the floor. Another voice was ringing in his mind—Daenerys was tapping her fingers. Chain warning. The peak of the mating season is still two days away. Now is not the time to take in people.

Melisandre stood up. The red robe was gathered from the ground, the hem dusted with a layer of fine obsidian ash.

She took out a tiny, teardrop-shaped dragonglass pendant from her sleeve.

The pendant shimmered with a warm, dark gold under the blue-green light of the night fire. Sealed inside was a drop of long-dried blood. The blood glowed with a dark golden luster in the faint light of the dragonglass.

It was extremely similar to the color of the blood from Drogon's reversal scale—dark gold, thick, with fine golden light spots flowing in the light. Only this drop had been dry for hundreds of years, and the light spots were motionless.

She offered the pendant with both hands.

"This is a token passed down to my ancestors by the Dragonlords of Old Valyria. The blood of the Dragonlords and their human spouses flows in my veins. Although only a very faint trace remains—the Lord of Light confirmed to me in the flames: The true dragon will eventually awaken, and my mission is to offer this token when he awakens, and to offer myself. My eyes. My knowledge. My bloodline. Everything."

Drogon took the pendant with his tail. The tip of his tail curled around the chain of the pendant and lifted it before his eyes to examine it.

Although the blood in the pendant had been dried for centuries, it did indeed emit the aura of dragon blood originating from the same source as his. It was very faint. Diluted for dozens of generations. But it was still there. Like a cup of tea that has been steeped thirty times, with a trace of color still remaining in the water. But the color was correct.

"You said offer yourself—what does that mean?"

Melisandre's red eyes stared directly at him. No hesitation. No blinking.

"Literally. I am a priestess of the Lord of Light, but at the same time, I am a distant descendant of the Dragonlords. My mission is to become his attendant in the fire, the eyes of prophecy, and—if the true dragon is willing—to breed a purer bloodline for him. The blood of the Dragonlords and their human spouses has been diluted to 0.3% in me. If you are willing to accept me, the bloodline concentration of the next generation will increase significantly. This is not love. This is a mission. My mission, and your freedom to choose whether to accept it."

White Mane let out a very slight snort behind her. Not a scoff. It was just her nostrils flaring slightly while breathing. Only Drogon could perceive it through the Brand resonance.

The emotion coming from the Brand was not anger. It was a kind of helplessness of "another one has come." And a trace of very faint nervousness that she herself would not admit to.

Daenerys remained calm on the surface. But her right index finger began to gently tap her left wrist. That was the place where the chain had once been fastened. She tapped three times. Stopped. Then tapped three times again.

She didn't speak. But Drogon's blood bond resonance perceived the faint acceleration of her heartbeat. Not anger. It was a kind of alertness of having her territory touched.

Just like that night when she was waiting for him to return at the dressing table. Only this time, the intruder was not a bathhouse worker spraying three-copper perfume, but a red-robed priestess.

Drogon's tail stiffened for a moment behind him. Only one thought in his mind.

"The atmosphere has suddenly become very dangerous. My mating season peak is still two days away, why is someone jumping the gun now? And—Daenerys is tapping her fingers. That's a chain warning. System, does this prophetic marriage contract have any clauses in the Old Valyria code?"

"Code Volume 5, Chapter 12, Section 3: Dragon mating contracts do not exclude bloodline alliances based on prophecy. But all such alliances must be agreed upon in writing by the core spouse; otherwise, it is considered a breach of contract. Method of punishment—"

"Chains. Got it."

Drogon returned the dragonglass pendant to Melisandre. The tip of his tail released it, and the pendant fell back into her palm. His voice was flat, but his wording was extremely cautious.

"Keep the token for now. I've heard the prophecy. But offering yourself—this matter, I cannot make the decision. My spouse is her."

He pointed to Daenerys with the tip of his tail. The tip of his tail drew an arc in the light of the night fire.

"If you want to join, go talk to her. She calls the shots."