The crowd was abuzz with discussion. Daenerys's husband, Hizdahr, was speaking with Khal Drogo about Wright's appearance, while only a handful among them were on the verge of breaking under the tension.
Daenerys sat upright, forcing a strained smile onto her face. Asha's palms were so drenched in sweat that it seemed they might start dripping. Theon's hands trembled uncontrollably, his expression twisted with uncertainty—was it fear or excitement? Quentyn and the knights who had accompanied him were gripping their golden goblets so tightly that the metal had bent out of shape.
Several officers of the Golden Company recognized Wright. They had seen him years ago at the Sealord's Palace, though Wright himself had no recollection of these minor figures.
From the moment the fighting began, Wright had already reconsidered his original plan to kidnap Daenerys. The Greyjoy siblings had spent years getting close to her. Wright himself had carefully orchestrated his presence in Meereen, even disguising himself as a pit fighter, all to wait for the dragons and Aegon's arrival—so he could kill them.
But things had refused to go according to plan.
"Sigh." Wright let out a quiet breath before speaking in the Common Tongue. "We'll talk tonight." His gaze lingered on Daenerys as he spoke, then shifted toward Quentyn.
Daenerys possessed magic—so long as she remained within Wright's range of perception, she had nowhere to hide. The vineyard estate was situated in the hills, with only two possible escape routes to the north and south. Even if she ran, he could easily track her down.
Now that his identity was exposed, Wright wouldn't kill Daenerys before her dragons appeared. His immediate target was Quentyn Martell.
He had no quarrel with the Dothraki khals present. If he started slaughtering people here, the Dothraki, with their warrior nature, would surely join the fight. He wasn't afraid of them, but they were a nuisance. Right now, he was focused on settling the wildlings in the Disputed Lands—if the Dothraki got involved, he'd be forced to deal with them daily, constantly riding his dragon for patrols.
Both Daenerys and Quentyn quickly nodded, relieved that Wright hadn't erupted into violence. The others also breathed easier.
Wright put his mask back on and prepared to return to his camp for dinner. As he passed Theon, he whispered, "You and Asha, stay close to Daenerys."
Theon looked at Wright and nodded without a word.
After the gladiatorial spectacle, the formal feast began. Servants carried in large platters of roasted meat and fresh fruit.
Daenerys, maintaining a facade of composure, whispered quietly with those behind her. Meanwhile, the knights around Quentyn had gathered around him, their debate growing heated.
Back at his camp, Wright sat by his bedroom window, chewing on a piece of smoked meat while observing the feast from a distance. Daenerys would surely send word of his presence to Aegon—but would Aegon muster an army or attempt to flee? Wright wasn't concerned either way. With no allies present to hold him back, he was free to act however he pleased.
Quentyn had come as Dorne's heir to propose marriage to Daenerys, and the men accompanying him were all Dornish nobles. Among them were two knights from House Yronwood—one of Dorne's most powerful families—Ser Cletus Yronwood and Ser Archibald Yronwood. Cletus was the house's heir.
There was also Ser Gerris Drinkwater and Ser William Wells, as well as a maester named Kedry, who was recording key events of their journey.
The five men surrounded Quentyn, offering him advice.
Cletus Yronwood's handsome face had lost all trace of his usual smile. "We have to leave before the feast ends. You came here to propose marriage. Even if it failed, as long as you remain, Wright—being of House Baratheon—can kill you at any moment."
Maester Kedry hesitated. "Didn't Wright say he wanted to talk? I think we should stay and hear him out."
Ser Gerris Drinkwater, equally handsome, scoffed. "I disagree. Wright wants you to stay so he can pass judgment on you. If I were in his place, I wouldn't let you live."
Quentyn, the youngest among them and far from the best-looking, wore a troubled expression. "Can we even escape?"
Cletus nodded. "Wright's dragon is massive. I asked around—no one has seen it recently, which means it's not here. If we flee on horseback, he has no mount and won't be able to catch us."
Maester Kedry frowned. "Wright is both a mage and a warrior. According to the records in the Citadel, he can summon a skeletal horse."
Cletus scoffed. "Have you seen it yourself? At Tyrosh, only his dragon fought—he never personally killed anyone! All his so-called power comes from Oberyn and his men exaggerating his deeds."
The death of his cousin, Daemon Sand, had only deepened Cletus's hatred for Oberyn. Daemon had been killed by Oberyn's own hand because of Wright, and ever since, House Yronwood had distanced itself from the Red Viper. To Cletus, Oberyn was nothing—just Prince Doran's younger brother. Meanwhile, House Yronwood was among Dorne's greatest families, and Cletus, as its heir, had no reason to fear the likes of Oberyn.
Ser Gerris added, "A skeletal horse is still just a horse! As long as it can't fly, we can ride to Meereen's port, board a ship, and once we're at sea, he won't be able to follow."
Quentyn hesitated, peering through the gap in the canopy. Through the slit, he spotted Wright eating by the barracks' window.
Maester Kedry spoke, "We have never seen Wright's personal prowess ourselves, but his apprentice, Ashara Dayne, she—"
"Ashara?" Cletus scoffed. "As long as I'm on horseback, I can shoot her down with an arrow! She wouldn't even be able to reach me with those tiny legs!" Then he turned to Quentyn. "Let's go! If we don't leave now, we'll lose our chance. I've arranged for a few men to take our place here. If we run, there's still a chance we survive. If we stay, we're dead."
"You're right! We leave!" Quentyn agreed, unwilling to endure the torment of hesitation any longer.
The banquet continued, and before long, several individuals in identical robes took their seats in their place.
Meanwhile, two serving maids brought an extravagant feast of food and wine to Wright. They placed the platters on the table and filled his cup before inviting him over. The moment Wright turned, the group used the noisy atmosphere of the banquet to slip out of the vineyard estate.
Once outside, Quentyn and his men crouched low, moving swiftly through the rows of grapevines. They continued until they reached the estate's blind spot, beyond the line of sight of the barracks. There, six horses and a few slaves awaited them.
"Mount up!" Cletus, leading the way, shouted as he vaulted onto a horse.
Quentyn and the others rushed forward, just about to mount when a crimson flash cut through the air. In an instant, Cletus Yronwood—still in the saddle—was cleaved in half, his upper torso tumbling to the ground.
Everyone froze, staring in horror at the source of the red light. From behind the grapevines emerged Wright—shirtless, wielding a massive greatsword that shimmered with a bloody glow.
Wright couldn't see them clearly through the canopy, but the act of leading out several horses had drawn his attention.
"Wright! Why did you kill Cletus?" Archibald roared as he unsheathed his longsword, stepping forward to confront him.
Archibald was a towering brute, a full head taller than Wright. His arms and legs were as thick as Wright's waist, his gut rounded—half muscle, half fat. However, childhood illness had left him bald and not particularly bright.
Wright didn't recognize him or the man he had just killed. Their Meereenese robes bore no house sigils. Ignoring Archibald, he turned to Quentyn. "Quentyn Martell! You came to Daenerys seeking marriage. That is an attempt to overthrow Robert's rule and restore the Targaryen dynasty. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Quentyn and his men unsheathed their swords. "Wright! Daenerys is already married. She is kin to me. I was merely invited to attend the gathering."
"The Targaryens are fugitives in the Seven Kingdoms, stripped of all lands and titles. And yet, the Martells remain sentimental fools."
Wright tightened his grip on his greatsword and swept it in a devastating arc. A crimson crescent tore through the air, slicing across Archibald's abdomen before continuing onward, shearing through an entire row of grapevines before vanishing over the distant hillside.
"AAAHH—" Archibald's upper half crashed to the ground, his intestines spilling in a grotesque mess. He clawed weakly at the dirt, sword still in hand, before falling still.
The blood-red flash caught the attention of the watchtower guards. Soldiers rushed down to alert Hizdahr, while Daenerys, overhearing, ordered, "Asha, explain everything about Wright to my husband. I'll go see for myself."
Quentyn gasped, "I am Prince Doran's only son, the heir to Dorne! We have committed no crime! You cannot kill me and my men!"
"No crime?" Wright sneered. "This is the Baratheon reign. Associating with Targaryens is a crime punishable by death."
Garris Drinkwater and William Wells exchanged glances, realizing Wright would never let them live. Garris urged, "Prince Quentyn, run! We'll hold him off!"
Both knights charged forward, longswords raised, while Quentyn swung onto his horse and spurred it into a desperate gallop.
Two crimson crescents shot forth. Before either knight could reach Wright, they were cleaved in half. One of the bloody arcs continued on, slicing through Quentyn's horse's legs.
"AAAHH—"
Quentyn was thrown to the ground, the weight of the dying horse crushing his legs. His agonized screams echoed through the grape-covered valley. Maester Kedry stood frozen in terror.
Quentyn, gritting his teeth, shouted, "Oberyn was also with the Targaryens! Why haven't you killed him?"
"After the Tyroshi War, Oberyn realized his actions might be exposed. He has avoided me ever since. Even my wife doesn't know his whereabouts—he only communicates through intermediaries."
Wright had been watching Oberyn's actions ever since. The Red Viper had been making amends in his own way, and keeping him alive still served a purpose.
Wright strode over to Quentyn, grasping his collar and pulling it open to expose his pale, trembling throat.
"I am the heir of Dorne! The future Prince of Dorne! You cannot kill me! You cannot kill me!"
Quentyn struggled, his shouts dissolving into broken sobs.
Wright looked at the Maester standing in the distance, squatted down beside Quentyn, and whispered something.
Quentyn's eyes widened, filled with hatred as he stared fixedly at Wright. The blade swept across, Wright pressed his eyeball forward, and holding his hair, placed the head into the hands of Maester Kedry.
"Which family do you serve, Maester?"
"Maester Wright, I serve House Yronwood," Maester Kedry replied, his voice still trembling.
Maesters are ostensibly neutral, and Wright had no intention of killing him: "You will arrange for their bodies to be collected and report today's events truthfully to the king, then announce it to the other nobles! News will soon spread from Tyrosh as well."
Maester Kedry: "Shall I say that you, Maester Wright, killed the five of them?"
"They conspired with House Targaryen to restore their rule. Just tell the truth. It's better that I killed them myself than have them die on the gallows." Being hanged is a disgrace for nobles. After speaking, Wright hoisted his greatsword and walked towards the manor.
Daenerys stood by the window of the main building, with Theon standing behind her. Although they couldn't hear what was being said during the distant fight, seeing Wright kill even the heir of Dorne without hesitation, she quickly asked Theon:
"What should we do next?"
Theon: "Send a message to the Golden Company immediately!"
Daenerys: "I've already sent the letter. You said Wright wants to talk to me tonight. Is he going to kill me or what?"
Theon was about to say that Wright is interested in your dragons, but after a moment's thought, he changed his words: "I don't know. Wright is the most peculiar member of House Baratheon. Many nobles can't figure out his way of doing things."
Daenerys: "I've seen Wright use fire and lightning. Was that red light that flew out earlier also magic?"
Theon: "I've heard that Wright can forge Valyrian steel. That must have been the effect of the weapon in his hand."
Daenerys turned to look at Theon: "If he loses his weapon, his combat ability would be reduced. Can you steal that greatsword?"
That would be a suicide mission! Theon was startled: "Your Grace, I think with his weapon, Wright only kills a few people at a time. Without it, wouldn't he resort to large-scale magic like he did in Braavos?"
Daenerys thought for a moment and then looked at Wright in the distance: "Then forget it. If he used those larger fire magic, probably only he and I would survive here."
After the banquet, the Dothraki, uncomfortable in houses, moved into tents set up by slaves outside the manor. Daenerys found Wright, and the two met in a small garden.
By the time Wright arrived at night, Daenerys had been waiting for a long time. Her hair was not tied up, and she gently brushed away the strands blown by the wind, tying them up with a rubber band.
A little girl watching from a small building in the distance retreated from the window, and several knights rode out of the manor at full speed.
In Wright's sensory magic, a cluster of red dots quickly dispersed and left the manor. Wright let them go; if they didn't spread the information, Wright would have a harder time proceeding.
"What do you want with me?" Daenerys, dressed in thin gauze, walked up to Wright with a smile, her chest held high.
Wright smelled her fragrance, looking at her beautiful face and purple eyes: "When did you become like this? According to my intelligence, you're not a woman who enjoys toying with men."
Daenerys stepped back a few paces, her smile immediately vanishing. She stood on a stone chair, leaning forward to glare at Wright, her small, pretty face now showing a hint of authority: "What can a girl in exile do against a powerful enemy who killed my entire family? Wright Baratheon!"