The voice continued as measured footsteps drew closer:
"And besides, whether my aunt wishes to marry is a matter for the family to discuss, not something to haggle over in a marketplace."
The footsteps tapped a steady rhythm against the courtyard's flagstones, each step seeming to strike the hearts of everyone present.
At last, the speaker emerged from the shadows of the gallery.
Daylight and the courtyard's lamplight fell upon him together.
His silver hair flowed like moonlight, gleaming coldly in the flickering torchlight.
His violet eyes swept calmly over the gathering, lingering on Daenerys for a moment before settling on Illyrio at the head of the table.
He wore finely tailored robes of deepest black.
His face was young and handsome, its contours as sharply defined as carved stone.
Silver hair and violet eyes might not have been uncommon in Essos, but coupled with that seemingly inborn majesty...
The open courtyard fell deathly silent.
Even the murmur of the fountain sounded painfully loud.
For the first time, the customary genial smile froze completely on Illyrio's fat face.
The fingers resting on the back of his chair trembled slightly as an absurd thought grew wildly within him... No. Impossible.
But he forced down his turmoil and managed a smile. "And who might you be, my lord...?"
The newcomer did not answer immediately.
His gaze shifted to the Golden Laurel Crown on the ground, then slowly rose and swept across the gathering.
The three Dothraki envoys reached for the Arakhs at their waists almost simultaneously, the instinctive wariness of warriors facing an unknown threat.
Their eyes sharpened and their muscles tensed, like beasts catching the scent of blood.
At last, the newcomer spoke. His voice was quiet, yet every word reached every ear clearly:
"Aegon Targaryen."
He paused, then continued, each