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The exiled Lucas Velaryon, rightful Lord of Driftmark, lives in the Free City of Volantis in Essos under a false name but remains determined to someday return to Westeros. When Lucas learns that the similarly exiled Princess Daenerys Targaryen is alive and is travelling Essos with her brother in search of a suitor, he makes arrangements and acquires her, setting off a series of events that change their realm forever.
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LUCAS
Lucas and Daenerys sat in silence across from each other. The only sound either made was the rustling of the satin cushions they sat upon when they slightly shifted their bottoms or legs. They were being ferried in a palanquin on the shoulders of a half-dozen armored guards whose services Lucas had purchased only for the day. Palanquins and other litters were a typical choice of Volantis's wealthy residents to avoid the filth and stench of the streets.
Volantis was a hot and humid port city located on the largest mouth of the Rhoyne river where it met the Summer Sea. It was the most southeast of Essos's Free Cities, the furthest from Westeros. That title, 'Free City,' was accurate only in the sense that it was self-governed and that no distant tyrant ruled it. True freedom was scarce in Volantis. There were five slaves for every freeman in the city. Volantis may have had a surface that was rich, grand, and majestic, but its underbelly was as depraved and sadistic as anywhere else in the known world. Lucas held no love for the city. Though he had now lived in Volantis longer than he had anywhere else, it was not his true home, and it never would be.
Lucas sat with an air of calmness and confidence. His visage was masculine and handsome, with a strong nose and stronger jaw. His eyes were a pale blue. His wavy hair was brown in color and combed to perfection, and he was clean-shaven. He was tall and fit, no shorter than six feet. His skin was naturally fair in complexion, but it had a slightly golden hue to it, lightly kissed by the sun. His attire was lavish but simple, consisting of a cream-colored doublet, white, spotless trousers, and beige, polished boots. A magnificent longsword was fastened to his hip, sitting in a bejeweled scabbard, with a wide, sea green gemstone embedded into the center of its crossguard.
Across from him, Daenerys was strikingly fair and beautiful. Hers was a soft face, with a straight nose and full lips. Her eyes were as violet as amethysts, and they shone just as brilliantly under light. Her silver-blonde hair was long and brushed smooth. It cascaded down her shoulders, falling to the small of her back. Two locks of it were woven into seamless braids around her head, like crowns. Her eyebrows were the same silver color. Daenerys was reasonably slim and somewhat short in stature; she was no taller than five-foot-three, and could not have weighed much more than eight stone. Her pale complexion was noticeably fairer than Lucas's, almost milky in color. Her face was only lightly and tastefully painted, most notably with a pink gloss on her lips and a black shadow around her eyes. The sleeveless, plum-colored gown she wore was cinched at the waist. It hugged her body, showing off the form of her figure, displaying the narrowness of her tiny waist and the swell of her smallish but perky breasts. Her white sandals bared most of her soft, pedicured feet.
Both were meticulously groomed and smelled of sweet perfumes. As their palanquin left the clustered lower city and neared the bay, the thickness and humidity of the air thinned into brisker breezes courtesy of the sea. They had departed minutes earlier from a third party's manse wherein the gaudy magister Illyrio Mopatis had brokered the sale of Daenerys by her brother Viserys. Though he may have claimed otherwise, Lucas suspected that Viserys in truth had no interest in keeping his sister by his side. A princess could serve only one purpose to a ruthless, would-be king: wedding her off to the highest bidder. Knowing the allure of Daenerys's beauty and her status as the last maiden of a usurped dynasty, Viserys desired either a small army of sellswords or enough coin to hire one. Lucas gave him the latter. That had meant handing over damn near every treasure and heirloom he and his father had brought from Westeros years ago ... but even so ... it was worth it.
Daenerys held her hands together at her waist. She seemed timid and meek, but not fearful, not quite. She had seemed more frightened in the presence of her brother. Lucas wondered just how cruelly Viserys must've treated Daenerys for her to be more at ease with a stranger than with her own kin.
Viserys is in the past now, Lucas thought, quelling his revulsion. Daenerys is where she belongs.
Daenerys's gaze was cast out the glass window at their side. She watched the distant reflection of the golden sun as it hovered above the vast, blue sea. It was the middle of the evening. The sun would sink from the sky in less than a few hours.
Their palanquin tilted upwards as the guardsmen bearing it began ascending a tall hill. Lucas pinned his right arm against the wall, preventing himself from falling into Daenerys's lap. Daenerys looked to him when she noticed his movement. "Are we leaving Volantis?" she asked softly.
Lucas shook his head. "We're going to my manse on the south edge of the city, on Ivory Hill," he told her.
Daenerys looked to the window once more. They let the silence return.
Eventually, the palanquin leveled. Lucas let his right arm rest at his side. Daenerys looked back to him. "You said Orello is your name, my lord?" she asked.
Lucas shook his head again. "That's a false name I use here in Essos. Lucas Velaryon is my true name."
Daenerys gave him a curious look. "I see. Well ... my name is Daenerys. I don't know if Viserys ever bothered to tell you."
"I know your name. I knew it long before I met your brother. Daenerys Targaryen."
Lucas's voice hung on her name, breathing the words a little slower than the ones before it. As for Daenerys, she seemed to pay no mind to his. She did not recognize his house. It seemed Viserys did not teach her much history outside of her own family's. But it mattered not. It simply gave Lucas the chance to present his family to her. He would save that for later, for the more lavish environment that such a revelation truly deserved.
"Did Viserys tell you why I purchased you from him?" Lucas asked.
"He told me I'm to be your bride."
"Does that make you nervous? You can be honest."
Daenerys held on the question for a moment. "Yes," she admitted.
"There's no shame in that. But you've no reason to be." Lucas joined Daenerys in gazing upon the sun. "I've centuries of ancestors watching me today," he mused.
"Is this day important to your family?" Daenerys asked.
"No. But you are."
Daenerys turned her head towards him. She was visibly confused, her silver eyebrows lowered. "What do you mean?"
That moment, the palanquin was eased to the ground, and the single door on its side swung open. Tobas, Lucas's middle-aged steward with balding, salt-and-pepper hair and deep lines in his face, poked his head inside and looked to Lucas. "Welcome home, my lord," he said. When his head turned and his gaze found Daenerys, his eyes widened and bulged. "My lady."
A few minutes later, Lucas strode through the halls of his manse with Daenerys following close behind and his steward at the far rear. Daenerys's eyes wandered as they walked, her head turning from side to side as she took in the sight of the grand abode. Teal sashes adorned every pair of curtains, and the same coat of arms of a silver seahorse on a field of sea green adorned all the shields and tapestries hanging from the walls. They soon passed by a doorway to the kitchen, where billowing steam and mouth-watering smells emanated from within.
"It may not be the castle those of our blood and birth deserve, but it's the best we'll have for now," Lucas remarked.
"We deserve better than this?" Daenerys asked with disbelief.
Lucas smiled and chuckled. "Yes, we do. I suppose that seems a strange thought to you."
"Viserys always said we deserved better. This is what I imagined 'better' was."
