Sweetheart's chest had the soft curves of a woman, and an enticing fragrance radiated from her body—a scent so unique that even most women lacked it. Yet Viserys could also feel the telltale sign of masculinity: the faint movement of an Adam's apple under his palm. For all Sweetheart's beauty and allure, Viserys felt nothing but indifference toward the hermaphrodite slave.
Sweetheart's mind began to go blank as the lack of oxygen darkened her vision. Just before she lost consciousness, Viserys released his grip.
"Cough, cough..." Sweetheart gasped for air, her painful coughing echoing through the room, though none of the women sprawled around Viserys stirred.
"Your Grace," Sweetheart croaked between coughs, "it's all my fault. Please... don't be angry with my master."
"Loyal," Viserys mused to himself. He recalled that Yurkhaz, for all his vices, treated his slaves well. As long as they avoided trouble, they were rarely mistreated.
"Tell me, what danger threatens my life?" Viserys asked.
Sweetheart's lips quivered, her expression filled with sorrow, as if he carried the weight of the world's grievances. "Your Grace," he whispered, "my master told me to warn you—after you buy the Unsullied in Astapor, do not go to Qarth. There are those there who wish you harm."
Viserys was silent for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Impossible! Absolutely impossible. I have seven dragons and 100,000 soldiers. Who would dare oppose me?"
He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Besides, I know those Warlocks of Qarth—they don't have the power to harm me."
Then, his tone shifted as he dismissed Sweetheart, "Leave. I have no interest in your master's quarrels with Qarth or Slaver's Bay."
With that, Viserys lay back down and closed his eyes. Sweetheart, clearly dismissed, lingered for a moment, then left quietly, shutting the door behind her.
Moments later, a raven tapped at the window. It was Conwyra's messenger raven. Viserys had sent Conwyra ahead to scout Astapor and ensure the smooth acquisition of the Unsullied.
Opening the message, Viserys read that the Unsullied were eagerly awaiting his arrival. Once he obtained the Unsullied Sceptre, the entire army would pledge itself to his command.
Viserys rose from his bed and walked to the window, gazing out at the night skyline of Yunkai. The city's pyramids, large and small, loomed like iron spikes, pressing down on the millions of slaves that toiled beneath them. Underneath these towering structures lay the wealth the slave-owning houses had accumulated over centuries.
He couldn't help but compare himself to his sister, Daenerys, from the other timeline. In that world, she was far weaker—relying on three young dragons barely the size of turkeys and a small group of Khalasar warriors. Her forces were meager, with fewer than thirty cavalry and only two allies: Barristan and Jorah, both of whom had defected to her side.
The slave owners hadn't feared her because they believed her purchases in Astapor were merely preparation for her return to Westeros. They hadn't seen her as a true threat.
But Viserys? Viserys had become something far stronger than Daenerys ever was. His power was immense, and even the Vaes Dothrak in the far north of Slaver's Bay now knelt beneath the banner of the three dragons heads.
A king among kings.
Viserys's policies had already dealt serious blows to the interests of the slave owners, and his growing power made him feared across Slaver's Bay. To keep them off balance, he played the role of a tyrant—one who might seize their lands and wealth without hesitation.
But in truth, Viserys had no intention of occupying Slaver's Bay. Getting entangled in its affairs would delay his larger goals: restoring order in the Seven Kingdoms, reforming the Nine Free Cities, and subduing the vast Dothraki Sea. It would take him nearly two lifetimes to achieve all that.
And looming beyond all of this were the White Walkers, an even greater threat. The one he had killed before was formidable, but he had no idea how many more were under the Night King's command.
There was also a more chilling realization—the frozen lands beyond the Wall preserved the corpses of countless humans and beasts. Even if most had been destroyed, centuries of accumulated dead could be a resource for the Night King. Viserys couldn't shake the fear that the Night King might raise an "army of wights and dead giants" from the bones buried in frost.
In short, Viserys knew he needed to unite the entire world and send every force possible to the Wall to defend against the White Walkers. The slave owners of Slaver's Bay, plotting in the shadows, were just a stepping stone—and there was no moral or psychological burden in dealing with them. Their schemes made them enemies from the start.
Lying back on his bed, Viserys closed his eyes and entered Dany's dream. She was riding the silver dragon Rhaelarion, but despite her best efforts, Rhaelarion refused to take flight.
"Dany, it's time for us to leave Yunkai and head to Astapor," Viserys said, his voice calm but urgent.
"Now?" she asked, surprised.
"Yes. The masters of Slaver's Bay are surely in communication with each other. We need to move before they have a chance to react."
Dany nodded. "I understand."
Satisfied, Viserys then reached out to Jorah, Young Connington, and even Regis, speaking to them in their dreams.
"Ser Connington," he began, "it's time to leave."
In the dead of night, Viserys's decision sent ripples through Yunkai. The elderly and frail Lord Yarkhaz was abruptly roused from his sleep, feeling dizzy and disoriented.
"Your Grace sends his apologies," one of Viserys's men explained to Yarkhaz. "We've received word that Robert has acquired a fleet from the Summer Isles and plans to attack the Free Cities soon. We have no choice but to return."
"Not going to Astapor?" Yarkhaz asked, still groggy.
"Of course we are. We're heading to Astapor now to buy the Unsullied, and then we'll return to the Free Cities immediately."
"What about Qarth?" Yarkhaz pressed, growing anxious. The plan had always been to lure Viserys to Qarth. Without that step, their entire scheme would unravel.
"Your Grace said there's no time for Qarth. We'll have to skip it for now."
Yarkhaz's anxiety deepened. "I think Your Grace should reconsider. Qarth has the largest and fastest ships in the world. Without them, how do you plan to transport the Unsullied?"
"You raise a good point," Young Connington replied with a slight smirk, barely masking his derision. "Perhaps Your Grace is being hasty. I'll go speak with him."
Before Yarkhaz could respond, Connington continued, "But our ship is already being prepared. We'll be leaving shortly."
"Very well," Yarkhaz said, feeling the weight of his age and the situation pressing down on him. As the conversation ended, he was left with a throbbing headache.
He glanced up at the sky, knowing that if Viserys departed now, it would take two or three days for him to reach Astapor. It was too late to send any urgent messages to the city; they would have to deal with the situation on their own. Still, he needed to warn them in advance, so they could prepare.
Exhausted, Yarkhaz leaned heavily on his cane, the indulgences of his youth having taken their toll on his decaying body, now kept functioning only by expensive medicinal herbs.