Daenerys stood at the bow of the Edenite yacht, gripping the rail as the vessel cut through the calm waters with eerie grace. The sleek white hull reflected the golden light of the setting sun, gliding forward with a quiet hum—like a creature alive, propelled by unseen magic or technology. She had never traveled on a ship like this before. No sails to flap in the wind, no creaking of wood beneath her feet—just the steady hum of energy. It was unnervingly smooth, almost unnatural.
Illyrio Mopatis stood beside her, smiling smugly beneath his heavy mustache, his robes trailing behind him in the gentle sea breeze. He had paid handsomely for the vessel, acquiring it from a private Edenite luxury yacht company, and spared no expense to ensure the journey was as comfortable as possible for his guests.
Behind her, Viserys paced impatiently along the deck, muttering to himself, casting occasional glances toward the horizon. When the shimmering spires of Londonium first appeared in the distance, his face lit up with delight—the rare kind that didn't make Daenerys flinch. "We're finally here," he whispered to himself. "Our new beginning."
Daenerys allowed herself a small, hopeful smile. When Viserys was pleased, he was kind. And when he was kind, she felt almost safe.
But as the yacht glided closer to the city, her sense of safety was replaced by awe.
The city of Londonium rose from the water like a vision out of a dream. Its towers were impossibly tall, made of shimmering glass and polished stone, catching the sunlight like prisms. The buildings were not arranged in chaotic clusters like the cities of Essos, but in perfect lines, each street flowing seamlessly into the next. Bridges arched gracefully over canals, and the distant hum of the city reached her ears like the soft whisper of a well-tuned instrument.
The people on the streets below, even from afar, looked as if they belonged in a storybook—tall, graceful, and strikingly beautiful. Their movements were fluid, their postures upright and elegant, as if trained from birth to embody perfection. Their clothes—soft silks, flowing fabrics, and tailored suits—gleamed under the sun with muted opulence. Daenerys had never seen a place, or people, so flawless.
"It's... perfect," she whispered, though the word felt too small to capture the enormity of what she saw.
Viserys came to stand beside her, his violet eyes wide with wonder. For once, his face wasn't twisted with anger or frustration—it was lit with childlike excitement. "This is it, Dany," he whispered with fervor. "This is where our destiny begins. Mark Lantrun will see us, and with his blessing, we will reclaim everything we have lost."
For the first time in years, Daenerys felt a glimmer of hope. If Londonium could turn a bitter man like Viserys into someone joyful, even briefly, perhaps it held the power to change their lives for good.
---
Their first day in Londonium was surreal. The streets beneath their feet were immaculate, polished so thoroughly that Daenerys could see her reflection in the stones. The air smelled faintly of flowers, and there was no trace of dust or smoke anywhere, as if the city's very existence repelled imperfection.
Viserys was delighted by everything. They wandered through markets where merchants sold strange devices powered by Edenite technology—small glass orbs that hummed with energy, mechanical birds that sang in perfect harmony, and foods that changed color and texture with every bite.
They dined at a restaurant where the chairs molded to their bodies, and their plates were filled with delicacies neither had ever imagined. Viserys laughed—laughed—as he tried a dish that fizzed and popped on his tongue like magic. Daenerys allowed herself to relax in his rare moment of joy. If this place could keep Viserys happy, maybe they could finally escape the cycle of fear and violence that had defined her life for so long.
But deep down, she knew better than to believe happiness could last.
---
The gala that evening was held in a vast hall that seemed to be made entirely of glass, illuminated by thousands of tiny lights that sparkled like stars. Music drifted through the air—soft, elegant, and hauntingly beautiful—while servants in perfect uniforms glided through the crowd with trays of shimmering drinks.
Daenerys wore the finest dress Illyrio had provided for her—a flowing gown of silver silk that clung to her slender frame, glittering faintly in the light. Her hair was braided in intricate loops, and she wore delicate sandals that made her feel taller and more graceful than she had ever felt before.
But all the beauty and elegance she carried meant nothing.
From the moment they entered the hall, it became clear that they were outsiders. No matter how hard they tried to approach the Supreme Leader, they were politely but firmly redirected by smiling officials.
"This way, Lord Viserys, Lady Daenerys," a woman in shimmering robes said with a smile, guiding them toward a different cluster of guests.
"We'll arrange an introduction soon," another man promised, his words smooth but empty.
Each time they moved closer to Mark Lantrun, someone new appeared to divert their path. And each time it happened, Daenerys saw Viserys' expression darken. His excitement faded, replaced by frustration, and that frustration began to simmer into anger.
The Supreme Leader remained at the center of the room, surrounded by Eden's most powerful figures, untouchable and distant. The message was clear—they were not welcome among the elite. They were to remain on the periphery, like curiosities on display but never truly part of the scene.
By the time they left the gala, Viserys was seething.
---
When they returned to their rooms, the dam finally broke.
"You ruined everything!" Viserys screamed, his face contorted with fury. "You were supposed to catch his eye! You were supposed to make him see us!"
Daenerys barely had time to brace herself before the first blow landed. His hand struck her cheek, sending her reeling. She stumbled to the floor, her vision blurring from the force of the impact.
"You're useless!" he snarled, kicking her in the ribs. "How will we reclaim the throne if you can't even do this one thing?"
She curled into herself, arms wrapped around her head, waiting for the storm to pass. Every blow was familiar—every insult, every bruise, part of a life she could never escape.
Eventually, Viserys tired himself out and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Daenerys lay still on the cold marble floor, tears burning her eyes, the taste of blood on her tongue. The brief hope she had carried with her to Londonium now felt like ashes in her heart.
---
When the pain dulled, she pulled herself to her feet, staggering toward the bed. As she reached for the silk sheets, her fingers brushed against something unfamiliar.
A letter.
It was sealed with a delicate emblem—a flower with intricate petals pressed into soft wax. Daenerys blinked, recognizing the mark. It was the seal of Saint Clara Lantrun, the mother of the Supreme Leader.
Her heart raced as she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.
You are invited to join me for afternoon tea tomorrow.
The message was simple, but its implications were vast. A personal invitation from one of the most powerful people in Eden.
Daenerys clutched the letter tightly in her hands, a flicker of hope reigniting in her chest.
Perhaps, despite everything, all was not lost. Tomorrow, she would meet Saint Clara. And perhaps, with her help, she could change her fate.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: DAENERYS WILL NOT BE THE QUEEN I JUST ALWAYS FELT BAD FOR HER SHE HAD A TOUGH LIFE SO I KINDA WANNA GIVE HER A SOMEWHAT HAPPY LIFE