The throne hall of Conquest Keep was filled with faces from every corner of the Known World.
The long tables in the hall overflowed with delicacies and wines of every hue, while the air hummed with the mingling sounds of hundreds of languages. Merchants and nobles from across the realms had gathered to witness the wedding of the king who had swiftly risen to power with dragons and armies, now ruling the Narrow Sea and the Three Daughters' Lands.
Their attire was a kaleidoscope of extravagance. Wealthy merchants from the Free Cities, draped in luxurious brocades and wearing large gemstone rings. Princes from the Summer Isles, their dark, gleaming skin wrapped in vibrant feathered cloaks. Tribal chieftains from the Basilisk Isles, their bodies adorned with intricate tattoos. And slave masters from Slaver's Bay, dripping with jewels yet unable to hide their cruelty and arrogance.
Even more striking were the faces from the Further East. A group of Yi Ti people, black-haired and dark-eyed, wearing monkey-tail crowns, stood nervously to one side. On the other side, several exceptionally tall women with honey-colored skin stood out. They wore silk belly-baring gowns and bustiers, their graceful waists and snow-white, flat abdomens on full display, their arms and ankles jingling with gold and silver ornaments. These were the legendary people of Leng, famous for their gemstones and beauties.
Throughout the hall, waves of conversation in Valyrian and Yi Ti languages could be heard. They were descendants of Valyrian immigrants from Lys and Yi Ti settlers sharing Lo Quen's heritage, who had quickly amassed great wealth in Crown Town through royal favor and shrewd business acumen, swiftly rising to the upper echelons of the new kingdom. At this moment, their faces beamed with pride and loyalty, lavishly praising the king at every turn.
Of course, the hall also contained distracted figures like Ser Waymar, one of the Seven Kingdoms' men, who longed for an army to return to the Vale and avenge his house.
The guests indulged freely in the massive spread of food on the long tables. Whole roasted suckling pigs gleamed with golden fat. Oriental lamb stewed with saffron and cinnamon filled the air with its mouth-watering aroma. Large silver platters were piled high with Dornish green oranges, southern mangoes, and exotic fruits from the Summer Isles. Fine wines flowed without limit—from the rich reds of Dorne to the golden vintages of the Arbor, from Myrish firebrandies to pear brandies from Tyrosh. As goblets clinked and toasts were made, the atmosphere grew ever more jubilant.
When the time drew near, the boisterous hall gradually fell silent. All eyes turned toward the great doors. The doors slowly swung open. For a moment, it seemed as though even the very breath of the hall had stopped.
Seven brides, each draped in a distinct yet equally magnificent floor-length gown, entered the hall side by side, guided by attendants. Jewels and silk shimmered in the light, their every step graceful and swaying, as if goddesses from ancient legends had stepped into the world. Their appearance undoubtedly stirred complex emotions among the Western guests. One king, seven queens. This defied the customs of most Western civilizations, a tradition rooted entirely in the ancient Yi Ti practices of the Further East.
Lo Quen, wearing a dark velvet ceremonial robe, stood before the Blackstone Throne, awaiting his brides. The seven queens approached him, each bearing a blend of bashfulness and allure.
The Belaerys sisters, with their signature Valyrian silver-gold hair and violet eyes, had nearly flawless features, like carved jade. They had emerged with Lo Quen from the ruins of Valyria, having faced life-or-death trials that forged their deep bond. Though their cheeks were flushed, their gazes held more profound affection.
Chai Yiq possessed an Eastern beauty, with black hair and violet eyes, tracing her lineage to the Yi Ti Yellow Emperors, whose blood had forged a marriage alliance with Valyria. She had stood by Lo Quen's side since his time in the Torturer's Deep. As a Yi Ti native, she was accustomed to polygamy. Her expression was the most serene, her gaze lowered slightly, and a gentle smile played at the corners of her lips.
The other four brides from Westeros were clearly overwhelmed by the grandeur of the occasion and the dramatic shift in their status.
Ynys, hailing from Dorne, had golden hair, blue eyes, and skin as pale as milk. Her fiery nature allowed her to adapt more quickly than the other three Westerosi girls. Though her cheeks flushed crimson, she could lift her head and even steal a bold glance at Lo Quen. Her astonishingly curvaceous figure, accentuated by the ornate gown, was so voluptuous it drew Lo Quen's admiration.
In contrast, Daenerys, Myrcella, and Sansa were far more tense. Their upbringing had never exposed them to such a wedding. Seven brides marrying one man. The three maids' faces flushed crimson like ripe apples, nearly dripping with blood. They kept their heads bowed low, eyes fixed on their shoe tips, unable to meet Lo Quen's gaze. Their slender fingers nervously tugged at the ornate hems of their gowns.
Daenerys had shed her former frailty and youthfulness. Under Lo Quen's devoted care, she had blossomed into a tall, curvaceous beauty. Her silver-gold hair flowed like molten platinum, and even when her violet eyes were lowered, they could not conceal her astonishing radiance. Her poise now rivaled that of the Belaerys sisters.
Sansa inherited her mother's House Tully beauty and tall stature. Even the elaborate gown could not conceal her increasingly alluring curves, though the reserve of a North noblewoman made her seem particularly flustered at this moment.
The youngest, Myrcella, resembled a doll in exquisite packaging—sweet and adorable, though not yet fully blossomed. For her, this wedding was more about establishing her status; matters of bearing children would come later.
Lo Quen's gaze swept tenderly over his girls, taking in their varied expressions of shyness. A faint smile touched his lips. His eyes lingered a moment longer on Ynys's formidable talent and Daenerys's increasingly radiant beauty, finally settling on Sansa and Myrcella—both still slightly green but already showing the makings of peerless beauties.
As for Chai Yiq, her unique Eastern charm and serene demeanor held an enduring allure for him. Her beauty ranked second only to the Valyria triplets, while her figure fell just slightly short of Ynys's—truly a woman without flaws.
Amidst the resonant proclamations, the ceremony swiftly concluded. The seven brides were now officially queens of the Triarchy and the Narrow Sea. This wedding eschewed both the Seven's elaborate prayers and Westeros' boisterous "bedroom pranks" tradition.
Lo Quen had explicitly abolished the latter in the invitation. Dragon Soul Guards now stood solemnly around the hall, maintaining strict order to ensure no unwelcome intruder disturbed his brides.
In a heavily guarded section of the hall, Lady Lynesse and Lady Roslin sat solemnly observing the proceedings. Lynesse's complexion now glowed with health, her eyes sparkling with contentment. Roslin appeared more reserved, her hand unconsciously caressing her barely noticeable belly, her face radiating a gentle maternal light.
Watching the seven new queens in their peerless gowns, a flicker of envy crossed their eyes. Compared to those masterfully crafted robes, studded with pearls and gems, their own wedding attire from years past seemed like the simple dress of a country girl. Yet this envy was swiftly replaced by a deeper sense of happiness.
Roslin felt the new life stirring within her, filled with eager anticipation for the child's arrival. The King had promised this child would one day journey to the Riverlands to inherit House Tully's legacy at Riverrun. This promise brought her peace, yet also a sense of urgency. She glanced at Lynesse beside her.
Lynesse's firstborn, a healthy boy, had arrived three months prior and was now being tenderly cared for by maidservants within the palace walls. Surprisingly, her own belly was already showing a slight roundness, indicating a second pregnancy.
Roslin silently resolved that once she delivered her first child, she would strive to conceive a second swiftly. The King had told her that House Frey, architects of the Red Wedding, were now enemies of the realm, their downfall imminent. The future of Pinkmaiden required a new lord—and that would be her second child. If possible, even the vast, ancient Harrenhal might one day be inherited by her third child. The thought made her heart beat a little faster.
In contrast, Lynesse seemed far more at ease. Though she had felt a pang of disappointment upon first learning that Sansa's future children would inherit the North, the King's subsequent compensation far exceeded her expectations. Lo Quen promised that her child would receive the now-ownerless Highgarden.
As a woman of the Reach, she was born to crave warm climates, lush blooms, and fertile green fields. The harsh, frigid North had never been her dream. Besides, she already had a child destined to inherit Bear Island.
This generous gift filled her with wild delight. That very night, she used every trick in her arsenal to "repay" the king's favor, swiftly conceiving a second child. She stroked her belly, her face radiant with anticipation and happiness.