You were dragged into the center of the Dothraki camp, your scant attire drawing curious, lecherous stares. The crowd parted as Drogo stepped forward, his intense gaze fixed on you. His towering presence commanded silence, and when one man dared to mock you, Drogo silenced him with a single, deadly gesture.

“Rhaeshisar.” Drogo’s voice rumbled, his eyes never leaving you.

He circled you slowly, studying every inch of your form. The men watched in awe as he stopped before you, his breath warm against your ear.

“Rhaeshisar... kash...” He whispered, his voice low, yet firm.

His words were a strange mix of Dothraki and English, and the challenge in his eyes was unmistakable. He waited, his presence heavy in the air, as if expecting something from you.