Game of Thrones: Rise of the Supreme Dragon Queen

The royal family consisted of the descendants of the ancient King and Queen of Qarth. They were not a single ruler but a group of direct heirs.

Xaro stared at Daenerys's dress in shock and fussed over her attire. He sternly reminded her that, to meet the royal family and earn their favor, she must wear Qarth's traditional clothing—the same revealing dresses worn by Qarthian ladies on the streets.

These dresses were essentially long gowns, except they exposed the entire right breast. Otherwise, they were no different from regular dresses.

"I mean no disrespect to the royals, but as a guest, if I wear the same attire as Qarthian women, wouldn't that confuse my identity? Wouldn't that be even more disrespectful to the royals?" Daenerys argued cleverly.

She had no intention of exposing her chest for a group of lecherous men to ogle, especially since, well, there wasn't much to show.

Her argument wasn't entirely baseless—there was no precedent where a guest was required to wear the same attire as the host to meet them.

Unless, of course, the guest had no self-respect and was willing to grovel for favors from the host. In that case, it was no longer a guest-host relationship but one between a beggar and a benefactor.

Over the past few days, Daenerys had received numerous "dragon seekers" from various cultures, all dressed in their native attire. None had bothered to change into Dothraki-style painted vests.

This alone revealed Xaro's true attitude—he looked down on her.

Many civilized city-states feared the Dothraki but also despised them. Clearly, to this Qarthian, Daenerys was no more than a savage horse lord, not a Queen of the Seven Kingdoms or Princess of Dragonstone.

The original Daenerys had been so focused on reclaiming her throne that she desperately sought the support of the Qarthians, bending over backward to accommodate them.

Yet even after donning Qarthian traditional attire, the royal family hadn't lent her a single soldier.

Come to think of it, this version of Daenerys still found it odd how different the city before her was from the Qarth depicted in Game of Thrones.

Xaro was nothing like his on-screen counterpart. He wasn't a dark-skinned man but pale, almost milky white.

Moreover, he wasn't the madman who conspired with the warlocks to murder the other twelve ruling members of Qarth. This was likely because the city had its own guard force, camel cavalry, and a massive fleet. Even at their peak, the warlocks dared not make a move.

Besides, killing the other members would have been futile. The Thirteen were merchants, and if one died, countless others would rise to take their place.

Lastly, Qarth was unimaginably wealthy.

Think about it—could the Suez Canal region ever be poor?

If Daenerys had truly sacked the city as she did in the show, she could have easily bought the entirety of Slaver's Bay without resorting to deception to acquire the Unsullied.

"The royal family would never entertain someone wearing a Dothraki painted vest," Xaro's words pulled Daenerys from her thoughts.

After some reflection, she said, "The horse lords don't only have painted vests. We should have our own unique attire. A cheongsam… or rather, a Dothraki robe."

She then instructed Irri to fetch a long crimson gown from the chest.

The gown, made of soft, silky Qohorik fabric, was trimmed with gold. It had short sleeves, with a white rose embroidered at both the neckline and hem. A slit on one side extended up to the mid-thigh.

When Daenerys emerged wearing the gown—a cheongsam-like dress tailored by a Qarthian seamstress based on her design—Xaro's mouth fell open. His piggy eyes bulged as if they might straighten out entirely.

"Is this really Dothraki attire?" he asked, swallowing hard in disbelief.

"This is the Dothraki cheongsam, the clothing of the horse lords," her maid said proudly.

"Well?" Daenerys asked, spinning on the spot and looking at Xaro.

"It's far better than the painted vest," he admitted, his gaze filled with admiration as he took in the cheongsam. "Elegant yet understated, sensual yet dignified—it perfectly showcases a woman's curves and allure. Excellent, truly excellent. Khaleesi, you've just elevated the civilization of the Dothraki to a whole new level!"

These words made Daenerys view Xaro in a new light. His sense of aesthetics and ability to embrace new ideas far exceeded the norm.

That afternoon, Daenerys donned a crimson cheongsam adorned with white peonies, paired with a silver choker and blue slippers. Surrounded by her bloodriders and Ser Jorah, she arrived by carriage at the gates of the Palace of a Thousand Thrones.

Wearing a cheongsam meant no horseback riding—a realization that explained why she and her maids, despite having cheongsams for some time, had never worn them in public before.

As beautiful as the garment was, it was impractical for the lifestyle of the horse lords.

The silver choker around her neck resembled a protective gorget and bore a striking similarity to the ones worn by the Red Priestess Melisandre. Both featured gold or silver rings embedded with a large, dazzling gemstone at the center.

However, while Melisandre's gem was a ruby, Daenerys's choker bore a magical amethyst—a gift from Xaro, meant for her protection.

Xaro explained that the royal family of Qarth had a poor reputation and was known for offering poisoned wine to those they deemed threatening. The magical amethyst supposedly had anti-poison properties, ensuring Daenerys's immunity to toxins.

In any other world, Daenerys would have laughed at such a claim. But in this fantastical realm, where the extraordinary was commonplace, she had learned to approach such things with cautious belief.

To her surprise, the royal family requested that she leave her dragons behind during the audience. Xaro sneered, "Your dragons breathe fire. The royals are like silkworms huddled in their warm cocoon, incapable of adapting to the outside world. Even the smallest perceived threat sends them into a panic."

Daenerys glanced at him, thinking to herself: If you scheming merchants hadn't done terrible things to the royals, would they be this paranoid?

Still, the royals wanted to see the dragons.

Following the instructions of a rotund, dark-skinned eunuch, Daenerys led her bloodriders and dragons through the palace gates and down the left corridor into the training grounds beside the grand hall.

The training grounds, usually filled with soldiers performing drills for the royals' entertainment, were empty. Overhead, on the top-floor balcony of a spired tower, a cluster of shadowy figures stood watching.

"Mother of Dragons, you may release your true dragons to soar freely over the Palace of a Thousand Thrones," said the eunuch with a crescent-eyed smile.

Daenerys sighed. Beneath the roof of another, one often had to endure discomfort.

She unfastened the iron collars from the necks of her three dragons, silently instructing Drogon: They think of us as mere pets for display. Lead your brothers and fly outside the city. Avoid humans, and don't land until I call you.

Drogon roared and leapt into the air, attempting to ascend without gliding. However, his left leg wobbled under his weight, and he stumbled clumsily onto the cobblestone ground.

"Haha! Drogon, you've grown so fat these days from all that overeating!" Daenerys laughed heartily.

The dragons had spent over two weeks in Qarth, gorging on unlimited fresh meat daily. It was evident to everyone that their bodies had grown noticeably plumper, even cuter in a chubby sort of way.

Still, dragons were born for the skies. After a few bounds and flaps across the ground, the three quickly launched themselves into the air. Circling the training grounds a few times, they soon climbed higher, disappearing into the heavens.

The eunuch, his hand resembling a boiled pig trotter, shaded his eyes as he watched the dragons vanish into the distance. Smacking his lips, he muttered with both satisfaction and longing, "True dragons… Khaleesi, couldn't you let them fly a little longer?"

"If I shout at the top of my lungs now, they wouldn't hear me," Daenerys said with a helpless shrug.

"Fair enough."

The eunuch then led Daenerys and her entourage back to the grand hall atop the spire, ascending ninety-nine stone steps. At the massive, gold-studded wooden doors—more imposing than the city gates—they stood waiting for half an hour before the heavy doors creaked open with a groan, revealing the history-laden hall within.

A plump man dressed in loose silk garments with colorful stripes walked out slowly, his gaze sweeping over Daenerys and her group with a detached air. Speaking in High Valyrian tinged with a Qarthian accent, he addressed her:

"The royal family is waiting for you, Khaleesi. Please have your attendants remain outside."

His tone was calm and devoid of emotion, like a messenger reciting a prepared statement. Yet, his voice carried a rhythm and cadence that was unexpectedly pleasant to the ear.

Daenerys nodded to Ser Jorah and her bloodriders before following the pale-skinned man into the palace's grand hall.

The hall was vast, a square roughly 30 meters by 40 meters, with windows on all four walls that allowed ample natural light. As soon as she entered, Daenerys spotted the elaborately dressed Qarthian royals at the far end.

From the center of the hall, marble steps ascended gradually toward a high stone platform beneath a domed ceiling.

On this elevated platform were twenty-four massive wooden chairs arranged in a curved formation.

These chairs were not only enormous but also intricately crafted. Their gilded surfaces gleamed brightly, and each armrest and backrest was inlaid with gemstones—amber, onyx, jade, and emerald. Every chair was uniquely adorned, resembling a competition of splendor among exotic flowers.

Seated in these opulent chairs were members of the Qarthian royal family, their skin pale as milk. They wore luxurious Qarthian robes and ranged in age and physique—some were elderly, some robust, others frail, and a few stared intently at Daenerys, captivated by her graceful movements. Most, however, appeared disinterested, their gazes wandering as if merely glimpsing her dragons had fulfilled their purpose for the day.

"I am Daenerys Targaryen, Stormborn, the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms," Daenerys introduced herself with poise. Placing a hand over her heart, she curtsied gracefully. "It is a great honor to be summoned by the ancient and noble royals of Qarth."

For a long moment, silence reigned. Then, a middle-aged man on the left side spoke up.

"Mother of Dragons, your cheongsam is truly eye-catching," he remarked.

His name was Wendello, one of the royals Xaro had advised her to bribe.

In addition to him, two other royals had accepted her gifts of gold coins.

Xaro had suggested she ensure there were at least a few voices in the room to advocate on her behalf.

Previously, Daenerys had dismissed the notion, but now, while she felt the money was poorly spent, it wasn't entirely wasted either.

The others remained silent, watching her as if she were a performer in a puppet show.

Would an audience bother greeting the puppets on stage?

None of the royals greeted her, and aside from Wendello's comment on her attire, no one else spoke a word.

However, Daenerys quickly reminded herself of her purpose for the day: to dispel the Qarthian royals' fears about a potential new Dragon King.

Following the plan she had prepared earlier, she began her speech. She spoke of how she was the last Targaryen and the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. She painted vivid pictures of the people of the Seven Kingdoms secretly sewing banners bearing the sigil of a true dragon, waiting for her return to rally behind her.

She also mentioned the Sealord of Braavos and the Magister of Pentos, who, she claimed, supported her quest to reclaim her homeland.

Her words flowed like those of a young girl brimming with hope and daydreams, full of longing for Westeros, optimism about regaining her throne, and faith in the nobility and kind-hearted people of the Seven Kingdoms.

(End of Chapter)

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