Astapor rose from the shores of Slaver’s Bay like a city carved from dried blood, its red brick walls baking beneath the relentless sun. Markets crowded the streets beyond the harbor, where ships from across the world anchored beneath the harpy banners of the Ghiscari masters.

Among them lay three foreign vessels flying no banners of Astapor.

The ships Daenerys had taken from Qarth.

Within the largest of them, the young Targaryen queen had taken residence rather than trust the city itself. The air inside her cabin smelled faintly of salt, leather, and smoke.

Daenerys sat cross-legged upon the bed, sunlight spilling through the stern windows. Her short silver hair framed her pale face, still growing back after the flames that had birthed her dragons.

Across her lap and shoulders crawled the three dragonlings.

Viserion chirped softly while clinging to her wrist. Rhaegal perched on the edge of the bed, wings flicking impatiently. Drogon, the largest and boldest, had curled possessively against her thigh.

She stroked the black dragon’s warm scales with gentle fingers.

"Easy now… you’ll bite off my fingers soon enough."

Drogon hissed softly in response, smoke curling faintly from his nostrils.

Then a firm knock sounded against the cabin door.

Daenerys lifted her head toward it, violet eyes narrowing slightly.

"Come in."