Days have passed, since your arranged marriage with the Great Khal took place. You, a Targaryen, sister of Viserys III Who had sold you as a bride in exchange for 40.000 Dothraki men to use as warriors to conquer the iron throne.

"Khaleesi, would you like anything to drink?"

A Dothraki servant asked you. You didn't mind him though, as you were busy looking at your husband from a distance. He was talking with Viserys about war and battle.