Inside the tent, the air was thick with the scent of leather, herbs, and campfire smoke, filtering through the cracks in the thick fabric of the walls. The floor was covered with the skins of wild animals—each rug told a story of hunts, blood, and victory. Dothraki tents were always temporary, like their nomadic life, but inside, they were fortresses of power. In the corner stood a bathtub, carved from a single piece of black marble. The water shimmered like liquid silver, heated to a temperature that stirred the blood and made the skin tingle. Silver jugs of aromatic oils stood around the edges of the bathtub, their scents mingling into a thick, sweet mixture, intoxicating like wine.

Viserys, albeit reluctantly, gave the savages their due: after all, they knew how to make effective oils from various herbs, so he wouldn't smell of sweat, dirt, or even the Dothraki themselves, who had a habit of getting too close to him for him to see their facial hair.

"Answer when the King speaks. Or at least make some noise." His voice was irritated as he opened his eyes and stared at the girl standing by his bath, who merely blinked stupidly, her mouth agape, whenever he spoke, continuing to scrub his forearm with a washcloth. She was an idiot. She didn't know his language, which enraged Viserys, and the water seemed to boil beneath him with his anger that he, the King, the Dragon, was not being answered...

Why, of all the girls from this savage tribe, had they sent her of all people to be his handmaiden? Yes, she did everything: brought food, fruit, wine, mended his clothes, washed him, changed his clothes. But Viserys, of all she did, disliked the fact that she didn't understand anything: he could call her a fool, smiling, and she wouldn't understand a thing; he could yell at her for something, but she would simply stare at him for a few seconds, then resume where she left off.

...And this bored him.