For 30+ Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
"My monster," Daenerys repeated, the word a soft, dangerous whisper in the perfumed air.
She was not afraid. I saw it instantly. Loki's mind, which had dissected the desires of gods and mortals, analyzed the look in her lilac eyes. It wasn't fear. It was a chemical reaction of awe, curiosity, and a new, unsettling brand of arousal. This slip of a girl, who had walked from fire, was not frightened by the dark. She was drawn to it.
David's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird in a cage. She was so incredible, standing there in the moonlight, swathed in Qartheen silks that draped her form like a second skin. The robe, a gift from Xaro, was designed to seduce—it left one of her shoulders completely bare, the pale, smooth skin a stark contrast to the deep violet fabric. My gaze drank her in, the soft swell of her breasts cupped by the silk, the delicate line of her collarbone. She was heaven on earth, and she was looking at me like I was the miracle.
"You are not afraid," I stated, my voice a low murmur. It was Loki who spoke, cool and certain, though David's hands were trembling slightly.
"I have been afraid all my life," Daenerys replied, taking a small step closer. We were alone, the sounds of Xaro's palace a distant, muffled song. Here, in the garden, there was only the scent of night-blooming jasmine and the thrumming tension between us. "Afraid of my brother, of Khal Drogo, of the Dothraki, of the Red Waste. I am done with fear."
Her hand, small and pale, lifted. She hesitated, then laid her fingers against my cheek, just above the leather collar of my armor. Her touch was a jolt, a spark of her own innate fire against my skin, which always felt cool to the touch—a trait of my new Asgardian physiology.
She was studying my face, her eyes tracing my features as if memorizing them. "They looked at you like you were a god," she whispered.
"And you?" I murmured, my own hand rising, resisting the overwhelming, primal urge to cover hers, to pull her closer. Loki stayed my hand. Control. "What do you see?"
"I see..." Her thumb brushed my cheekbone. "A weapon. A shield. A key." She paused. "I see the man who showed them my true power. I have dragons, but you made them believe in magic."
"I merely… augmented the presentation," I said, a slow smile touching my lips. "The awe was for you, my Queen."
"Liar," she breathed, but she was smiling. The chemical reaction between us was undeniable now, a pounding magnetism. David was drowning in her lilac eyes, in the scent of her skin. Loki saw the moment, the perfect convergence of gratitude, power, and desire. He leaned in, his gaze dropping to her lips, parted and waiting.
"Khaleesi! My apologies for interrupting!"
The oily voice of Xaro Xhoan Daxos shattered the moment like glass.
We sprang apart, though we hadn't been touching beyond her hand on my face. Daenerys looked flustered, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. I turned, my expression a mask of cold, polite indifference, though a burning spike of fury shot through me. David was annoyed; Loki was incensed at the interruption.
Xaro glided towards us, his purple robes whispering over the marble tiles. His eyes, dark and greedy, flickered between us, and I knew, with absolute certainty, that he had seen. He had seen her touch me. He had seen the look on our faces.
"Ah, the garden is lovely at night, is it not?" he said, his smile all teeth. He offered his arm to Daenerys, pointedly ignoring me. "But I have so much to show you, my Queen. So much that Qarth can offer you."
Daenerys, recovering her poise, took his arm. "Your hospitality is generous, Lord Xaro."
"It is nothing," he said, leading her away, forcing me to follow like a common guard. "Qarth is a city of wonders. We have the finest silks, the rarest wines, the greatest markets in the world. And ships. Hundreds of ships."
He led us into a vast hall, the walls covered in murals of Qarth's imagined history. Servants brought wine in golden cups.
"You speak of your Iron Throne," Xaro said, settling beside her on a silk cushion, his proximity to her making my jaw tighten. "A worthy goal. But you have no army, no gold. You have dragons, yes, but they are... small."
"They will grow," Daenerys said, her voice firm.
"Of course, of course!" Xaro laughed, a high, thin sound. "And while they grow, you shall be my guest. I will fill your chests with gold. I will drape you in silks. I will give you a thousand ships."
David's mind reeled. A thousand ships? That was everything. But Loki knew nothing was free.
Daenerys was stunned into silence. "You would... give me all this?"
"I would invest in you, my Queen," Xaro corrected, his hand covering hers. I watched the movement, my own hands clenching into fists. "All I ask in return is... a trifle."
"What?" she asked, wary.
"Your hand in marriage."
The words dropped into the room with a sickening thud. Jorah, who had entered and was standing by the door, stiffened. Daenerys looked horrified.
"Lord Xaro," she began, trying to pull her hand away, "I am a new widow. I cannot-"
"A political marriage, my dear! A joining of the ancient blood of Valyria and the new power of Qarth! With my wealth and your... assets," his eyes flickered to me, then back to her, "we would be rulers of the world. Think on it."
"I... I must have time," she stammered.
"All the time in the world," he said, rising. "You are safe in my home. You and your... Vizier. Quarters have been prepared."
The quarters were a mockery of luxury. Vast rooms, filled with soft silks and golden statues, but the windows were high and barred, and the doors were heavy bronze. A gilded cage, just as Loki had surmised.
"He wants my dragons," Daenerys said, the moment we were alone, her voice trembling with a new fury. She tore the silk robe from her shoulder, disgusted. "He thinks he can buy them with ships and gold, like a merchant haggling for spices."
"He is a merchant," I said, walking the perimeter of the room, my Seidr, my magic, feeling for weaknesses, for wards. The place felt... empty. No magic, just the cloying scent of wealth. "He sees you as an asset, and your dragons as the mine that produces the gold. The marriage is just his way of securing the deed."
"I will not marry him," she said, her voice flat.
"Good," I said, turning to her. "Because you won't have to."
"But the ships... the army..."
"He lies. Or, at least, he exaggerates. He doesn't have a thousand ships to give you. He's one of thirteen. He needs their approval for any such fleet, and they already dismissed you as a beggar."
She sank onto a silk-covered divan, her head in her hands. "Then we are trapped. We have nothing. My people are still outside."
The thought hit me like a physical blow. Jorah. The Dothraki. Her tiny, loyal khalasar. Still outside the gates, in the Garden of Bones.
"He left them out there," I said, my voice dangerously low. "He separated you from your only protection."
"I must bring them in," she said, standing up, her eyes blazing. "Jorah... my people... I will not abandon them."
"Xaro will refuse," I said, already calculating. "They're savages to him. Beggars."
"Then I will go back out. I will not stay in this... this cage while they die at my gates."
"No," I said, my voice sharp, cutting. She stopped, startled by my tone. I stepped towards her, my mind racing—David's panic versus Loki's frantic calculation. "You will not leave. Leaving now shows weakness. It shows you are a guest who can be dismissed. You must act as the Queen. You must demand."
"Demand? I have nothing to demand with! You said your power was a bluff!"
"A bluff that worked," I reminded her. "But I can't pull it again. Not so soon. My Seidr is nearly drained from that... display. No, we don't use magic. We use him."
"Xaro?"
"We use his greed. His ambition. His desire for status." I began to pace, Loki's mind finally seeing the path. "He wants you. He wants your dragons. But more than that, he wants to be the man who has them. He wants to show you off."
"He wants a pet," she spat, her voice thick with disgust.
"Exactly," I said, a slow, predatory smile spreading across my face. "And what better way to show off his new, exotic pet than to show off her entire collection?"
Her eyes widened as she began to understand.
"I will speak to him," I said. "Tonight."
I found Xaro by his ridiculous, diamond-studded pool. He was lounging, being fed grapes by a servant girl.
"Lord Xaro," I said, my voice smooth as silk.
"Ah, the Vizier," he said, not bothering to sit up. "Have you convinced your Queen to accept my generous offer?"
"The Queen is... overwhelmed by your generosity," I lied. "She is resting. But I come on a matter of... presentation. Status."
His eyes sharpened. I had his attention.
"The Queen is grateful for your hospitality," I continued. "But she is... incomplete. A Queen is nothing without her court. Her subjects. Her... honor guard."
"The Dothraki," he sneered. "They are filthy savages. They will not set foot in my palace."
"Of course not," I agreed, shocking him. "Not as they are. But imagine, Lord Xaro. You are the host of the Mother of Dragons. The Qartheen elite are whispering. They are craving a glimpse of this miracle. You could throw a reception, a grand gala in her honor."
"Go on," he said, intrigued.
"And at this gala, you present her. Daenerys Stormborn. And with her, her barbaric Dothraki warriors. Cleaned up, of course, but still savage. Her dragons on her shoulder. Her knight by her side. And her Vizier—her monster—at her back." I leaned in. "It's not just a Queen, Xaro. It's a spectacle. It's a story. You wouldn't just be the man who has a dragon queen. You would be the man who has tamed the storm. You would be the most talked-about, most powerful man in Qarth. The Thirteen would be green with envy."
Xaro's eyes glittered. I had him. I had appealed not to his non-existent compassion, but to his pounding, burning greed and his pathetic ego.
"They... would need to be cleaned," he mused.
"Of course. Housed in the outer compounds. Disarmed, save for the Queen's personal guard."
"Yes," he said, a slow, greedy smile spreading. "Yes, I see it. A grand reception. It will be the event of the season!"
I returned to Daenerys's chambers. She was pacing, her form a frantic shadow against the moonlight. "What did he say?" she demanded.
"Your people will be brought in by morning," I said simply.
She stopped, staring at me, her mouth parting in disbelief. "How?"
"I convinced him it was his idea. That it would make him look powerful."
She was silent for a long moment, simply watching me. The pounding tension from the garden, interrupted but not forgotten, flooded the room. The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken words, with the chemical reaction that had been building since the pyre.
She walked towards me, her bare feet silent on the marble floor. The silk robe whispered around her. She didn't stop until she was standing directly in front of me, so close I could feel the heat radiating from her skin.
"My monster," she whispered again, but this time it was not a question. It was a statement. An anointment.
She raised her hand, not to my cheek this time, but to the center of my chest, her fingers splayed over the cool leather of my armor. She could feel the frantic, pounding beat of David's heart, a betrayal of Loki's calm facade.
"You saved them," she said, her lilac eyes burning into mine. "You saved me. Jorah would have fought. I would have begged. You... you moved the mountain with a whisper."
"Words are my weapons, Khaleesi. As fire is yours."
"Daenerys," she corrected me, her voice aching with a vulnerability that shattered my defenses. "My name is Daenerys."
"Daenerys," I repeated. The name felt incredible on my tongue.
Her eyes searched mine, looking for the man behind the monster, for David behind Loki. "I am in your debt."
"A queen is never in debt," I murmured, Loki's voice taking over, deep and seductive. "She merely... accepts tribute."
"And what tribute do you want, Loki?" she asked, her voice trembling, shameless.
This was it. The climax of the night, of the entire journey. David's morality screamed. Loki smiled.
I did not hesitate.
My hand rose, cupping the back of her neck, my fingers tangling in the soft, silver-fuzz of her hair. Her skin was velvet. She gasped softly at the sudden, possessive contact.
"I want..." I whispered, drawing her closer, "what you offered in the garden."
I didn't give her time to answer. I closed the distance and crushed my lips to hers.
It wasn't a soft kiss. It was an explosion. It was chaos meeting fire. It was starvation meeting a feast. Her lips were soft, yielding, and tasted of wine and desperation. She made a small sound in her throat, a mix of surprise and surrender, and her body leaned into mine, her hand clutching my armor.
I deepened the kiss, tilting her head back, taking control. It was heaven on earth. It was fury and desire and power all colliding.
This was not a request. This was a claim.
She was my queen. And I was her monster.