Khal Drogo arrived with thunder.
Not from the skies—those were clear—but from the earth. His khalasar moved like a storm across the plains outside Pentos, thousands of horses thundering into position with the precision of a dancer's footfall. Men with long black braids and curved blades, women with whips, even children who could shoot a bird from the air at full gallop.
And at the center of it all: him.
Drogo sat tall and silent atop a dark stallion, his braid long enough to brush the ground. Muscles like carved stone, expression like unbroken obsidian. His eyes were unreadable, but his presence filled the entire courtyard before he'd even dismounted.
Viserys's hand trembled at his sword belt.
I didn't bother hiding my smirk.
Illyrio greeted the Khal with a grand show—silks, roasted boar, dancers, wine from three kingdoms. The manse buzzed with whispers and perfume, but I saw the truth behind it.
This wasn't a wedding proposal.
It was an auction.
And my sister was the prize.
No.
Not if I had anything to say about it.
Daenerys stood beside me in the receiving line, her hands cold in mine.
She wore a soft lavender gown that shimmered with each step, the color perfectly chosen to match her eyes. Her hair was brushed to silver silk, threaded with tiny pearls. She looked like a princess from a painting.
But I saw the tension in her neck.
The way her eyes never left Drogo's horse.
"He looks dangerous," she whispered.
"He is," I replied. "But not to you."
She glanced up at me. "Because of you?"
I squeezed her fingers. "Because I won't let him be."
Viserys stepped forward first, puffing up like a peacock.
"Khal Drogo," he said in heavily accented Dothraki, "I offer you the most precious gift of the dragonlords. A Targaryen bride. You shall have your golden crown."
I saw the twitch in Drogo's eye.
He did not like being spoken to as if he were being paid for a wife.
Before things could unravel, I stepped forward.
"In the tongue of my ancestors," I said clearly in perfect Dothraki, "we do not sell sisters like cattle."
A hush fell.
Even Illyrio blinked.
Drogo looked at me properly then. For the first time. Not as some decorative noble girl—but as someone who understood.
"I am Aelya," I said. "Daughter of Rhaella. Twin to Daenerys. I speak your tongue. I ride horses. And I know what it is to be underestimated."
Drogo's gaze was unreadable.
But he nodded.
Just once.
Later, at the feast, Viserys seethed.
"You embarrassed me," he hissed between sips of Arbor Red.
"I saved you," I corrected. "Drogo nearly walked away. You insulted him."
"He needs us," Viserys snapped. "He wants her."
"No," I said. "He wants a queen. And you acted like a whoremaster."
His goblet slammed against the table.
"Do not forget your place—"
"I won't," I said, standing. "And neither should you."
I walked away before he could shout.
Dany met me at the corner of the garden, eyes wide.
"You spoke to him."
"I did."
"What did he say?"
"He listens," I said. "More than he speaks. And he respects strength."
She hesitated. "Do I have to marry him?"
"Only if you choose to."
"But if I say no, Viserys—"
"Will have to deal with me."
The next day, I arranged a private meeting with the Khal.
Not in the throne room, not under Illyrio's supervision. Just us.
I rode out with two guards to the open fields where his camp had formed, dismounted, and approached on foot.
No weapons. No titles. Just honesty.
He watched me come with the stillness of a statue.
"I don't fear you," I said.
"I know," he replied.
His voice was deeper than I expected. Rough, but calm.
"I'm not here to beg for Dany's hand," I continued. "I'm here to offer you something more valuable."
He said nothing. Waited.
"I know the lands beyond this sea. I know the lords of Westeros. Their weaknesses. Their ambitions. I know the gold flows. The supply chains. The betrayals yet to come."
He raised one brow.
"You want her?" I said. "Fine. But you take me too."
A pause.
"Wife?" he asked, almost amused.
"No," I said with a smile. "Partner."
He agreed.
Not with a ceremony. Not with fire and speeches. Just a nod.
In Dothraki culture, that was more than enough.
When I returned, Dany was in our shared room, brushing her hair.
She looked up, nervous. "Well?"
"You'll be married in three days," I said softly.
Her face fell.
"But I'll be there."
She looked up again, uncertain.
"I convinced him," I said, sitting beside her. "He agreed to take both of us. Not as wives. As queens."
She blinked. "Can he do that?"
"He can do anything he respects."
"And he respects you?"
I leaned in, brushing her hair from her cheek. "He will learn to."
She breathed out slowly.
Then whispered, "You always make me feel safe."
"You are safe."
"I don't want to leave Pentos without you."
"You won't."
And she kissed me.
A soft press of lips, sweet and trembling. Her first.
I didn't push. I just held her.
And kissed her back.
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