Chapter One.

They could fly down and breathe fire on them. The cloaks they wore couldn't protect them from flames or teeth sharper than a hundred swords.

A merchant they met told them that dragons were like dogs to the Targaryens and sometimes they killed each other just like how they killed the Queen who never was, Rhaenys Targaryen in the Dance of Dragons.

If a war were to happen, mere men like the merchant would suffer. The reason Y'olanda wanted them to go to Essos one of the Free Cities, withal, that she believed Mysaria would have a haven for them. A haven where things could be better.

Her makai's naivety would get them slaughtered.

The sisters approached the towering gates, their cloaks pulled tight against the chill of Dragonstone's salt-tinged winds. Two guards flanked the entrance, their hands already gripping the hilts of their swords. They eyed the sisters warily, the gleam of suspicion in their gaze.

"State your business!" one guard barked, his tone unyielding.

W'yonna faltered, her voice catching in her throat. "I... We..."

Y'olanda stepped forward, her gaze unwavering as she met the guard's glare. "We are here to see Lady Mysaria, the White Worm."

The guards exchanged a look, their brows furrowing with a flicker of distrust. One of them lifted his sword, its blade hovering near Y'olanda's throat, the edge gleaming in the waning sunlight. She did not flinch. Slowly, she reached up, pulling back her hood to reveal her face.

Her skin was a warm, rich brown, catching the light in a way that made her seem almost luminous. The simple copper jewelry around her neck and wrists—a contrast to the glittering gold and gemstones favored by the Westerosi—spoke of a beauty unadorned by luxury. Her gaze was fierce, steady, as she looked from one guard to the other.

"We are not your enemies. We have journeyed from afar to seek asylum with the one true queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen. We are not of Westeros." She could hear her heart beating, nails digging into her palm but she held their gaze like Mother had taught her.

"The secret to making a man bend to your will lies in the strength of your eyes."

The guards hesitated, their swords still drawn but their eyes darting between the sisters as if trying to weigh the truth in Y'olanda's words. One nodded reluctantly, motioning for W'yonna to reveal herself as well.

With trembling fingers, W'yonna lowered her hood. Her features mirrored her sister's, yet there were subtle differences—the soft roundness of her face, her eyes a deeper, almost black shade.

While Y'olanda's braids were bound tightly, W'yonna's hair spilled loosely in soft curls, framing her face. Her copper earrings swayed gently, glinting with hints of embedded jade, unlike the jeweled pieces the guards were accustomed to seeing on the nobility of Westeros.

A flicker of disdain crossed one guard's face as he glanced at their plain jewelry, unadorned by the costly metals and stones that Westerosi highborn's wore. These were not women of riches, nor power, he thought, dismissively.

They were dressed in flowing fabrics—Y'olanda's deep blue gown with a low neckline and long sleeves, W'yonna's ivory dress with its gathered sleeves—but it was clear these garments, though elegant, were made from materials foreign and simple compared to the heavy silks and brocades worn in the courts of Westeros.

Without warning, one guard seized them both by the arms. W'yonna gasped, struggling against his grip. "There is no need to treat us like prisoners! We carry no weapons!"

The guard sneered, "I'll hold them here. You—inform the Queen."

Y'olanda shot him a withering glare, her voice low and dangerous. "Is this the way of the Westerosi? To treat peaceful travelers with disdain?"

The guard faltered, his confidence waning beneath her intense stare. He averted his gaze, muttering under his breath as his companion disappeared into the depths of Dragonstone. Y'olanda's fists clenched, her copper bangles jangling softly, defiant in their simplicity against the cold, unyielding steel of Westerosi armor

It screamed power and terror at the same time. The braided sister wondered how many had been killed here or burnt alive by the Dragons. She was told in a tavern that the Queen searched for bastard Targaryens to bond with the remaining dragons and lots of people died in the process. What a way to die! Screaming as your insides and skin were being melted off.

The man held them in a place like they would break away, find the Queen or an important member of this place, and kill them off.

The guard knocked on Queen Rhaenyra's door. "Yes?" Came her voice on the other side of the door.

"My Queen, there are two foreigners who claim to be here to see the Lady Mysaria."

Rhaenyra sat on her low, cushioned settee wearing a red dress, fitted at the waist with long flared sleeves that had intricate designs of silver dragons woven into them.

Her fingers drummed on the arm of the settee. Alicent had come to visit her to beg for peace, so what if all of that was just a ploy? She got to her feet, her boots clicking on the stoned floor and she opened the door.

"Take them to the Thron Room and fetch the Lady Mysaria." She walked ahead of the soldier as she gave the orders.

The silver-haired Queen claimed the throne, guards standing protected at her side and her son, Jacaerys Targaryen, rumored to be the bastard son of the late Harwin Strong. His black hair was a contrast to his mother's.

They had many beautiful women in Westeros, like his mother and bethroed, Baela but the women being brought before them were striking. The pieces of jewelry they wore weren't gold but copper with beads on each one they wore on their wrists, neck, and ears.

One wore a flowing blue gown that was off the shoulders with long sleeves and the neckline low and in a heart shape exposing the natural curves of her breasts.

The other was in an ivory dress with a square neckline, and fitted bodice offering some coverage, and the sleeves were voluminous gathered at the shoulders and tapered at the wrist.

The guards let them go harshly making them stumble forward. W'yonna bowed, slightly but Y'olanda's icy stare met them. How dare they?

"Is that any way to treat our guests, ser Danver?" Jace asked with a frown.

"My apologies, my Prince." He bowed and backed away.

"Why are you apologising to him? Was he the one you treated poorly? Or is this the way of the Westerosi?" She delivered the words, slow and biting making Rhaenyra tilt her head, intrigued.

W'yonna signaled for her sister to bow to the Queen.

"Forgive my Makai, my Queen. She has never been one to mince her words."

Stiffly, Y'olanda bowed not quite used to the position. They never bowed to anyone. They didn't have Queens or Kings only village chiefs and people never bowed to them. She wasn't the daughter of the chief but the niece, so royalty, as the Westerosi would call it flowed through her veins.

When they heard footsteps, both of them raised their heads and W'yonna gasped.

"You may rise," The Queen's voice boomed in the halls. From head to toe, Power seemed to be embedded in her bones. Both of them rose and when Mysaria standing at the foot of the throne saw W'yonna her eyes softened.

"W'yonna!"

Everyone looked between them.

"You know these people, Lady Mysaria?"

"Yes, my Queen. They are foreigners just like me from a small country in the Jade Sea. I know you have no reason to trust them but this one," she pointed at W'yonna, "saved my life. Just like you did, my Queen."

Rhaenyra turned her head to them, "Is this true? You come from a place further than Essos and Yi Ti?"

"Yes, my Queen. We come from Nefer to seek refuge. Our home has been destroyed and we have nowhere to go. Lady Mysaria has told us about your beating heart and how you take mercy on the weak."

The words made Rhaenyra's chin raise slightly, pleased. "We are at war and people have threatened to take away what is mine, do you bend the knee to me and swear your fealty to the one true Queen?"

W'yonna got on her knees followed by Y'olanda who was slower. "We do."

"Then, welcome to Dragon Stone." She nodded and Mysaria smiled.

Jace, however, thought the sister in blue wasn't delighted by his mother's kindness.

"What are your names?" Jace inquired with authority and the girls got to their feet.

"I am W'yonna Secreste Kembel, and this is my younger sister, Y'olanda Yaquinn Kembel." She introduced with a graceful smile while Y'olanda's face hardened, almost glowering at Jace.

"I will have a maid escort you to a room and you are free to move about as you like, however, there are places you aren't allowed to enter." With that, Rhaenrya stood up from her seat, making everyone bow and say, "My Queen" before she left.

Y'olanda didn't want to do anything that might involve being beheaded or set aflame. The two sisters could finally breathe.

Mysaria walked up to W'yonna and they embraced each other.

"It is good that you made it here, safe and unharmed! When you sent me the letter I was not myself! My condolences, W'yonna." She pulled away, arms still linked.

"All of that is in the past, Mysaria. We have come here to start afresh and that is what we shall do." Mysaria nodded and ushered, "Come now, I will escort you to your rooms!"

"You have to! Otherwise, how would I know how you became a Lady and are close to a Queen?" She laughed and Mysaria smiled.

Watching the two interact, Y'olanda shook her head. Though she had to admit that the Queen made her skin tingle there was something about this place she didn't quite like. It was too peaceful, too quiet.

As she was about to follow them, someone grabbed her by the arm.

"Let go of me!"

"Not until you tell me why you are here? What is your plan and who sent you?"

"You're the Prince, right? Why are you beside yourself about what my identity is and how I jeopardize your Mother's claim when you should be staring at yourself in the mirror." She never spoke too fast so that every word would be heard. Her eyes trailed up to Jace's head, more precisely his hair.

Jace scowled, tugging her arm harshly. "What do you mean, you foreign whore?"

"Me? I mean nothing at all. It's those people who whisper about Targaryans having silver hair that shines in the sun that means something, my prince."

Confronting a prince with a dragon made her whole body recoil. She could be executed for this but the thrill excited her heart. Life without risks was not worth living. Something W'yonna and her father resented hearing.

He let her go, disgusted, "If you think about betraying my Mother and our cause, I will slit your throat and feed your body to my dragon."

There was a tick in her jaw, glaring at Jace before walking away. That was all they had, she concluded. Their dragons were the only thing keeping the wolves at bay. She prayed that the dragons would raze all of them to the ground.