The night passed quickly. Daenerys had changed her behavior since she woke up that morning: she was kinder, more prone to physical affection. She hadn't suddenly become a loving and devoted wife, but it was clear that she felt more comfortable with him, seeking his touch naturally.
Vlad, for his part, continued roaming Illyrio's mansion, dedicating himself to perfecting the ritual with the help of his spellbook. His plan went beyond simply awakening the dragons; he intended to imbue them with his essence and, at the same time, absorb some of theirs. In theory, this would not only grant him the fire immunity typical of dragonblood, but it would also strengthen the creatures, since his own existence was essentially blood and magic.
As for Daenerys, her role in the ritual remained uncertain, or whether she even had one. Vlad knew she wasn't a chosen one whose blood was essential for the process. The Valyrians had started as humble shepherds; it was the magic that bound their blood to that of the dragons, and there was no reason why he couldn't replicate it. The problem was that, for now, he simply didn't know how.
He could take his time to study the matter... or simply include her in the ritual. Her blood could act as a bridge and a catalyst, and he might even gain some benefit from it, like an increase in his magical abilities.
Meanwhile, his wife was making an effort to stay busy. He often saw her walking through the hallways while he read, bringing him snacks of her own accord or quickly removing his cloak when he returned from his walks.
Vlad was almost moved. The young woman seemed genuinely trying to be a good wife. At those moments, he was almost sure that the poor girl simply longed to cling to the only man who had treated her like a human being.
He understood that. Codependency was far more believable than love that appeared out of nowhere. In fact, he had considered sleeping with her again in a few days, just to see how she would react.
But apparently, the girl had other plans. Days before he could do anything, she decided to "confront" her husband.
The door to the study creaked open. Vlad didn't look up from his spellbook, but he recognized the soft rustle of Daenerys' sandals on the floor.
—Do you need something? —he asked, turning a page.
She didn't respond immediately. She stood there in the doorway, visibly nervous. Vlad could hear her quickened heartbeat and smell the fear emanating from her skin. Finally, she spoke, in a voice lower than usual:
—Don't you like me?
Vlad paused, his fingers halting over the scroll. Slowly, he looked up.
Daenerys remained tense, her lips tight and shoulders slightly hunched, as if bracing for a blow. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, but her eyes — those violet eyes — didn't look away from his.
—Where did you get that idea? —he asked, closing the book.
She swallowed hard.
—You haven't... You haven't tried again...
The words got stuck in her throat.
Vlad understood.
—Ah. —He leaned back in the chair, watching her. The fragility of her posture was almost painful to witness—. It has nothing to do with you, Daenerys.
She frowned, as if the simplicity of that answer didn't convince her.
—Then why...?
—Because I didn't want to rush you —he interrupted gently—. I thought you'd prefer some time to... adapt. The other night was very nice, but you were in mourning, not thinking clearly. So I thought I'd give you time to reconcile.
Daenerys blinked, perplexed. As if the idea of someone offering her "time" was absurd.
—I... I am your wife —she murmured, as if that explained everything.
—And does that mean I can't treat you with respect? —he replied with a playful smile, but she didn't respond to his humor.
Vlad understood her insecurities. In this world, the concept of consent simply didn't exist. If a husband wanted sex, it was accepted, whether his wife wanted it or not. But he was different. Killing on the battlefield and his behavior in daily life had nothing to do with each other. Vlad lived by a simple phrase: nobility obliges.
—It's my duty —he insisted, though it seemed more like he was trying to convince himself than her—. And if... if there's something I should change or do differently...
Vlad stood up with a fluid movement. She didn't step back, but her breathing became shallow as he approached, stopping just a step away.
—You don't need to change anything —he said, raising a hand to caress her cheek. She held her breath. Vlad knew exactly what his touch did to her —and he enjoyed it—. But if you insist on fulfilling your duty...
The irony in his voice was unmistakable. Daenerys, however, nodded seriously, too embarrassed to meet his eyes.
Vlad let out a chuckle, half-amused, half-exasperated.
—Very well. —He gently took her wrist—. Let's go.
She barely had time to protest before he led her down the hallways, straight to the master bedroom. When the door closed behind them, the nearby servants scattered quickly.
Minutes later, the first muffled moans from Daenerys echoed against the walls.
After that night, Vlad's married life turned out to be surprisingly pleasant. Daenerys proved to be a passionate lover, and she seemed to genuinely enjoy spending entire afternoons receiving his attention. Vlad attributed this to the lack of sexual creativity among the lords of Westeros; usually, the only ones who knew what they were doing in bed were the prostitutes, while the powerful nobles focused solely on producing as many heirs as possible.
So, while he waited for the arrival of his khalasar outside the city, Vlad found himself juggling between perfecting the ritual and pleasing his wife. Anyone could guess which activity he preferred.
But all good things must come to an end. Several days later, his men finally arrived, and Vlad went out to meet them... accompanied by his khaleesi.
Their khalasar had arrived: nearly 30,000 men. Obviously, Pentos was in turmoil, but Illyrio made sure that panic didn't spread. After all, they were leaving.
One of his bloodriders stepped forward and bowed as they approached the group.
—Khal, Khaleesi.
—What do the scouts say? —Vlad asked.
—Clear path ahead, blood of my blood —Talan replied.
—Make sure everyone is ready. We march at dawn —Vlad ordered, then took his wife's hand to lead her to a more private place.
—How do you control all this? —she asked, looking at the camp.
Vlad smiled and responded with another question:
—Have you ever wondered how someone like me managed to gather a khalasar of thirty thousand riders without having to fight for leadership every day? I know I have presence, but that alone isn't enough; I'm not Dothraki.
She tilted her head.
—Yes, I've wondered. You don't seem as cruel as the bards say...
—The answer is simple —he said, raising a hand—. I wield my sword with the same ease with which I wield magic.
Vlad drew a dagger from his belt and spun it in the air. Before it fell, flames engulfed it without consuming it.
—Fear is useful, darling. But magic... magic is a universal language that every man fears —he said, extinguishing the flames with a gesture of his hand.
And with that revelation, Daenerys' world changed just a little more.