Hizdahr and I wedded before the eyes of the gods of Ghis, [ Dany tells her, accepting the fruit bowl. ] In the ritual, he bathed my feet in oils. I thought perhaps if he had such gentle hands, I could grow to love a gentle heart.

[ But she does not. He had bought her her peace, true, but it had come at the cost of bitter concessions, the victories small. And the day she had flown out of Daznak's pit on Drogon's back, someone had tried to poison her. He needed her, as she needed him, yet ... Who else could it have been? Some freedman cook, dissatisfied with my terms? Some woman of Pahl, wishing to take my head for her slain husband? A juicy plum is plucked from the bowl between delicate fingers.

The curiosity for her world draws a faint smile. What questions would a Green Witch ask? Many that Dany would not have chosen for her own interests, she does not doubt. ]

You may ask. We are worlds away, and my seneschal cannot prattle of propriety when he is deaf to my gossip.