The Dragon's Power

Even though Daenerys had tried to prepare herself, nerves still tightened through her. She stopped in front of Ronan and kept her eyes carefully still, as though a single careless glance would betray her.

Even so, she could not help being drawn to him. His body held the clean, dangerous strength of a man shaped by battle rather than comfort.

As Daenerys tried to hide how much she had noticed, Ronan's voice came close beside her ear.

She almost could not believe what he was asking. Yet Lord Ronan looked perfectly serious. He did not seem to be teasing her.

Daenerys swallowed. While she hesitated over whether to obey, Ronan took her hand and guided her through the last part himself.

"Have you ever felt the power of the dragon?"

Daenerys shook her head.

"Then try to feel it."

Through Master of the Forge, Ronan had gained an affinity for flame. Dragonfire and ordinary fire were not the same thing, but the breath of dragons still belonged to that deeper mystery of heat and burning.

Having Daenerys sense that power was Ronan's way of testing a possibility. She did not disappoint him.

A small flame suddenly bloomed in her palm. Ronan's eyes lit, and Daenerys stared in disbelief.

"Is this the dragon's power?" she whispered.

The flame in her hand touched the wick and brought the candlestick to life. Ronan's guess became clearer.

He might truly be able to practice true firecraft. No one could refuse a power that crossed the line between ordinary steel and the supernatural. For that, he had Daenerys to thank.

To lay a firmer foundation, Ronan had her continue trying. He did not stop until he had fully grasped the method of reaching for that heat himself.

Their cooperation was effective, though their states were very different. Ronan remained at ease. Daenerys kept her head lowered, her face flushed too deeply for dignity.

"Daenerys."

"Mm..."

Her beautiful eyes held both embarrassment and reproach. Ronan realized the Targaryen princess did not truly reject this kind of closeness. At most, she was shy.

If he had gone further, he suspected Daenerys would have accepted even a more shameless request. As time passed, her reaction grew stranger.

Her cheeks burned red, and her eyes lingered on him with shy, reluctant longing, as if desire itself had seeped into her blood.

Ronan could not tell whether magic had deepened her response or whether the desire was entirely Daenerys's own. Either way, he felt as if he had stepped into a narrow passage with no easy turn back.

Something rougher entered his gaze, something violent and wanting. Daenerys seemed to sense it. She did not grow afraid. Instead, an almost knowing tenderness rose in her, and when she looked at him, expectation filled her eyes.

Before the moment became madness, Ronan forced himself back under control. The sensation was no less dangerous than opening a box better left sealed. Once released, it would not be easily put away.

He did not want to be ruled by instinct. Enduring it cost him more than he cared to admit, but he understood this was only temporary.

At least the moment had not been wasted. Daenerys looked far less composed. When she looked at him again, her gaze was full of grievance, hurt, and reluctant hunger.

"Lord Ronan..." she complained softly, the words trailing into a helpless little sound.

The way her body shifted told its own story. That sight gave Ronan a deep, quiet satisfaction.

This was the future dragon queen. Even when she had sworn fealty to him, the achievement had not struck him this strongly.

Yet this simple baptism made the future feel far more promising.

...

Downstairs, Viserys had no such comfort. His safety stood on one side. His pride stood on the other. Neither was something he could bear to abandon.

Hesitation invited defeat, and Viserys was a man with ambition but almost nothing useful behind it.

When he saw inn servants going up and down the stairs yet again, he finally could not endure it. He glared at one particular room above, then stormed out.

He would wash away this shame. Before matters were settled beyond repair, the chance had not completely left him.

Unfortunately, he had once again overestimated his own importance. The guards at the Sealord's Palace told him the Sealord was no longer there. Viserys naively believed that was only coincidence.

So he requested an audience with Magister Illyrio again. This time, there was no coincidence.

Illyrio received him warmly. Viserys failed to notice that the warmth no longer meant what it had before.

The magister listened patiently to Viserys's useless complaints. His face remained calm, but in his mind he had compared Daenerys and Viserys countless times. The result was obvious.

This arrogant prince had no brains and a great deal of pride. To describe him kindly, he was foolish. To speak plainly, he was beyond repair.

Illyrio saw no profit in wagering on such a commodity. Still, with an eye toward the future, he kept Viserys under his roof for the moment.

As for when to deal with him, Illyrio believed tomorrow morning would provide the answer. Yes, the decision now depended on Daenerys.

What use did he have for a prince who had nothing to offer? A beautiful princess was the true treasure.

Whether as a bargaining piece with the Dothraki or something to be kept for himself, she was far more valuable.

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