41 A true kings will

I wake to the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of Daenerys' breathing. Her body is pressed against mine, her silver hair splayed across the sheets, her lips curled into the softest of smiles—even in sleep, she radiates devotion. My jaw aches, a dull pain that reminds me of the night before. She had been eager. Fierce. I close my eyes for a moment, letting the silence linger, but I do not sleep. There is much to do, and tonight, the world will change.

A knock at the door.

My eyes snap open, turning toward the sound.

"My liege, we have news." The Hound's voice, gruff and steady.

I untangle myself from Daenerys and rise, pulling on only a pair of trousers. A king wears what he pleases—hells, I could walk the streets of my city naked, and no one would dare speak against me. Such is the power of wealth, might, and fear.

I open the door to see the Hound standing there, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he turns and starts walking. I follow. Whatever he has to say, it's not meant for wandering ears.

We make our way through the corridors until we reach the treasury. The guards push open the doors, and once we are inside and the doors shut, the Hound finally speaks.

"The special squad has finished their mission."

My eyes gleam. I only have one special squad on assignment. There can only be one result.

"And?"

The Hound steps to the side, dragging a heavy chest toward him. With a grunt, he lifts the lid.

Inside, nestled on silken cloth, is a single dragon egg—deep crimson, veins of black running across its shell like the cracks of an ancient curse. A thing of legend. A thing of power.

I step forward, running my fingers over its surface. It is warm. Alive.

"They succeeded."

"Aye," the Hound replies. And then, in a rare moment, he smiles.

A sharp, barked laugh bursts from my lips. I can't contain it. The thrill courses through me, a fire in my veins. I knew it.

"And what of Euron Greyjoy?"

"He lives," the Hound says, "but he was… displeased. My men, those who had infiltrated his ranks, struck him down and slew some of his men before making their escape."

"Perfect," I murmur, still touching the egg. "Absolutely perfect."

"How did you know he'd have one?"

I smirk. "I didn't. But a witch told me he would find it—and that the fool would throw it into the sea."

The Hound frowns. "And so your men waited?"

"For months. I knew neither when nor where he would find it, only that he would. And now it is mine."

He exhales, shaking his head. "What now?"

I turn, standing taller. "Now, I have four dragon eggs. And soon, they will hatch. With them under my command, we will bring every city in Essos to its knees."

The Hound crosses his arms. "And the Seven Kingdoms? The king will be furious."

I grin, wicked and sharp. "So what? I have his daughter—and soon, I will have dragons. Even newly hatched, they will be mine. The Seven Kingdoms will be too busy tearing themselves apart to cross the sea for war. When I strike, they will be too weak, too scattered, too late."

The Hound studies me for a long moment. Then, his voice low, he asks, "And the end game?"

I chuckle, leaning in. "World domination. To spread my seed across the lands, to carve my name into history, and to die in my bed—an old man, drowning in wine, with a woman's lips wrapped around my cock."

Silence.

Then the Hound laughs. A deep, rough sound. "So I'll be a lord, then?"

"As long as you follow me, you can do whatever the fuck you want."

He stares at me for a moment longer. And then, slowly, he kneels.

"As you will it, my king, I shall do."

I nod. "Good. Leave me."

The Hound rises and departs.

Once the doors close, I move deeper into the treasury, toward the secret chamber where my greatest treasures lie. Three eggs rest there already, gleaming in the dim candlelight. Now, I set the fourth among them. I trace my fingers over their shells, feeling the heat within. Soon, they will break. Soon, fire and blood will be mine.

I close my eyes, exhaling. I will not live forever. But my name will. They will fear me for generations. They will whisper my name in the dark, tell tales of my conquests to frighten their children. That is all any man truly desires—to leave something behind. Whether it be in love or in terror… it does not matter.

History will remember Caesar Lannister.

Hours later, a young acolyte finds me in the sorcerer's guild. A child, barely more than ten, marked for magic.

"High Sorcerer," he says, bowing. "The Master bids me tell you that everything is ready. They await you."

I close my book. "Then lead the way."

The night air is thick with incense as I step before the altar. Ten virgins stand in a line, draped in white, their eyes glazed over—dosed with potions to keep them calm. The sorcerers stand in a circle, murmuring their incantations, the language of old gods and magic twisting the air.

In the center, Daenerys waits. Her gown is white, her crown of thorns digging into her pale skin, a single drop of blood running down her temple. But she does not tremble. She stands tall, proud, waiting for me.

"Step into the circle."

I do.

The Sorcerer approaches. He lifts the ceremonial blade. One by one, the virgins fall, their blood collected into a great bowl. The chanting rises. The scent of iron fills the air.

Daenerys does not flinch as he takes her hand, drawing the blade across her palm. A single crimson drop rolls down her wrist.

Then, he comes to me. The sorcerer dips his fingers in the blood, tracing runes across my bare chest.

"Drink," he commands, handing me the bowl.

I do not hesitate.

The blood is thick, hot, writhing as it touches my tongue. My heart slams against my ribs. My veins burn. The world tilts. I drop to my knees, gasping.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

The only sound I hear is my own heart, a war drum in my chest. The moon looms above, massive, watching, laughing.

Pain. Fire. Agony.

The chanting continues, but it is distant, a whisper behind the roar of blood in my ears. I lift my gaze to the sky, and I see. The night is alive. I am alive. I am becoming.

Then, silence.

I collapse backward, staring at the sky. My breath slows. My body hums with new energy. Daenerys kneels beside me, holding a mirror to my face.

I lift it.

And I see them—my eyes.

Bright red. Slitted like a dragon's.

A grin splits my lips. A low chuckle spills from me, growing louder, rising into a mad, victorious howl.

"I fucking did it."

I throw my head back and laugh, the sound echoing into the night.