The next morning.
The Plaza of Punishment.
Rows of bare-chested Unsullied stood in perfect formation in the square, like lifeless figures molded from clay.
They gripped spears and shields, pointed bronze helmets revealing only their hollow, numb eyes.
Before them, a man as fat as a ball of flesh reclined on an ornate couch carried by four slaves.
Kraznys mo Nakloz.
One of Astapor's wealthiest Good Masters, and its largest supplier of Unsullied.
He wore a loose Tokar robe, his greasy skin gleaming in the sunlight. A few carefully tended braids of black and red hung from his bald scalp.
A small, thin figure stood beside him.
Missandei.
Led by Jorah Mormont, Lynn and his party slowly entered the square.
Viserys walked at the front, his head held high as he tried to project a king's bearing.
But his eyes, which wandered involuntarily before the Unsullied formations, betrayed the cowardice beneath his bluster.
Daenerys followed close behind Lynn, her beautiful violet eyes filled with disgust for this wicked place.
Kraznys lazily raised his eyelids, his tiny eyes scanning Lynn's party from behind folds of fat.
When his gaze fell on Daenerys, lust and contempt showed without the slightest attempt at concealment.
He spoke to another Good Master beside him in coarse Ghiscari.
"Look at that silver-haired little whore. Nice pale skin. I wonder how much pounding she can take in bed."
The Good Master beside him burst into lewd laughter.
They assumed these barbarians from the west could not understand their noble Ghiscari.
What they did not know, however, was that Daenerys had lived in exile in the Free Cities since childhood.
She had learned several languages to survive.
She heard every insulting word perfectly clearly.
Her cheeks instantly flushed crimson, her hand clutching Lynn's sleeve.
Lynn acted as though