Chapter 3
Chapter 3: The Queen and the Conqueror
Sansa
Sansa sat before a golden basin of water, her reflection rippling as the servants gently poured scented oils over her skin.
The bath was warm, a stark contrast to the cold fear that still coiled in her stomach. She should be planning an escape. She should be searching for answers, fighting for some sense of control.
But what could she do?
She had no allies, no weapons, no understanding of this world beyond what she had studied in books. She was trapped in a time that was not her own, in the palace of a queen she had only ever read about in myths.
And tonight, that queen had summoned her.
A silk garment was draped over her shoulders—soft, weightless, shimmering like molten gold in the candlelight. The fabric clung to her as she rose from the bath, its design unmistakable: the attire of a ruler.
Her heart pounded.
Daenerys wanted something from her. But what?
Missandei stood by the entrance, watching her with an unreadable expression.
“You are ready,” she said at last.
Sansa turned to her, fingers tightening around the fabric at her waist. “Why is she doing this?” she asked.
Missandei hesitated. “You intrigue her.”
Sansa let out a dry, bitter laugh. “I don’t want to intrigue her. I want to go home.”
A flicker of something crossed Missandei’s face, something almost like pity. “Then you must survive first,” she murmured.
Before Sansa could respond, the doors opened, and two guards stepped inside.
“The Pharaoh waits.”
Daenerys
She sat at the head of the long banquet table, adorned in white linen and gold, her silver hair woven into intricate braids. A conqueror, a ruler, a god among mortals.
And yet, as Sansa entered the chamber, Daenerys felt something strange stir in her chest.
The woman was stunning, bathed in candlelight, the golden silk of her gown clinging to her curves. She wore power well, even if she did not yet know it.
Daenerys took in every detail—the uncertainty in her step, the tension in her shoulders, the fire hidden behind her eyes.
Yes.
She was not the queen Daenerys had prepared to face.
But she was something else entirely.
“You look like a queen tonight,” Daenerys said, watching as Sansa approached.
Sansa stopped at the edge of the table, her blue eyes cold. “Is that what you want me to be?”
Daenerys gestured for her to sit. “I want to know what you are.”
A servant poured dark wine into a golden goblet before Sansa, but she did not drink. Instead, she met Daenerys’ gaze, unflinching.
“I told you the truth,” she said. “I am not this woman you were at war with. I don’t belong here.”
“And yet here you are.”
Sansa’s jaw clenched. “You don’t believe me.”
“I believe that you believe it,” Daenerys said.
Sansa exhaled sharply, gripping the stem of her goblet but still refusing to drink.
“If you think I’m an imposter,” she said, “then why keep me alive?”
Daenerys smiled, slow and deliberate. “Because I am a conqueror, not a fool.”
Sansa stiffened, but Daenerys continued.
“If you are truly Queen Sa-Ra, then I will break you,” she said, voice smooth as silk. “And if you are not—then I must discover what you are before I decide what to do with you.”
A tense silence fell between them.
The power in the room shifted, but not in the way Daenerys had expected.
Sansa did not cower. She did not beg.
Instead, she leaned forward, her voice softer—but no less dangerous.
“And what if I break you first?”
For a moment, Daenerys said nothing.
Then, to her own surprise, she laughed.
It was a genuine sound, something rare in these halls of war and conquest.
“You are bold,” she admitted, swirling the wine in her cup. “A woman with no power should not be so reckless.”
“Maybe I have nothing to lose.”
Daenerys studied her for a long moment. Then, slowly, she reached
Sansa
The grand hall was bathed in firelight, the golden carvings along the walls shimmering like molten metal. The scent of roasted figs, spiced lamb, and honeyed wine filled the air, but Sansa had no appetite.
She was being watched.
Not just by the Pharaoh’s court, who whispered behind their cups, their eyes flitting between her and their queen.
No, it was Daenerys’ gaze that burned the most.
Sansa could feel it like a brand against her skin, weighing her down even as she tried to sit tall, composed, unshaken.
She had been dressed like a queen—adorned, displayed, paraded—but she was still a prisoner.
And now, she was expected to dine with her captor.
“You have barely touched your wine,” Daenerys said, her voice smooth as silk, yet edged with command.
Sansa lifted the goblet, but did not drink.
“Should I?” she asked. “Or would that be unwise?”
A quiet hush fell over the table. A challenge.
Daenerys’ lips curved, amusement flickering in her violet eyes.
“If I wished you dead,” she said, “you would not have woken in my palace at all.”
Sansa studied her, fingers tightening around the cool metal of her goblet.
“And if you wished me dead, would you tell me first?”
Daenerys tilted her head, considering. “Perhaps.”
The room felt smaller, the air thicker, as the weight of their words settled between them.
Sansa finally brought the cup to her lips, taking a slow sip. The wine was rich, laced with something unfamiliar, but she did not flinch.
She would not show weakness.
Not before this woman.
Not before the dragon who had stolen her from everything she knew.
Daenerys watched her with quiet interest, then leaned back against her throne. “Tell me, Lady Stark,” she mused, “what do you think of my kingdom?”
Sansa set her cup down carefully. “You expect me to admire the city you stole?”
A flicker of something passed over Daenerys’ face. Interest? Amusement? Something sharper?
“I expect you to be honest,” she said.
Sansa met her gaze, unwavering. “Then I think it is beautiful,” she admitted. “And I think you will burn it to the ground before you are done with it.”
A tense silence settled over the hall.
Missandei’s fingers twitched against the stem of her cup. Grey Worm, standing by the entrance, did not move, but Sansa could feel the tension radiating from him.
The court was waiting for a reaction.
Would their queen strike her down? Would she have her dragged from the table, punished for her insolence?
But Daenerys simply laughed.
It was quiet at first, a low hum in her throat, before rolling into something richer, something unexpected.
“You think you know me so well?” she asked.
Sansa’s pulse thrummed, but she refused to look away.
“I know what conquerors do,” she said. “They take. And when there is nothing left, they destroy.”
Daenerys’ expression did not change, but something in her eyes shifted.
“And what does that make you?” she murmured. “A queen who has lost her throne? Or a woman who does not belong to any world at all?”
Sansa exhaled slowly. A test.
She was always being tested.
“Perhaps I am neither,” she said.
“Perhaps,” Daenerys mused.
Another pause.
Then Daenerys lifted a hand, and the tension broke as the musicians in the corner struck up a soft melody.
The conversation was over—for now.
But as the court shifted, whispering once more, Daenerys did not stop watching her.
And Sansa knew, without question, that she had only just begun to play this game.
Daenerys
She was a mystery.
A woman with a queen’s face but not a queen’s mind.
Daenerys watched Sansa as she spoke with Missandei, as she traced the rim of her goblet with delicate fingers, as she held herself with a quiet, burning defiance.
She did not cower.
She did not weep.
She had been torn from her world, thrown into Daenerys’ own, and yet she still held fire in her bones.
Daenerys admired that.
More than she should.
She leaned forward, resting her chin against her knuckles as she studied her.
“You do not belong here,” she said, voice soft.
Sansa stiffened but did not look away.
“And yet, here I am,” she said.
“Yes,” Daenerys murmured. “Here you are.”
The court continued to feast, but the real battle was happening here, between them—wordless, charged, something neither of them fully understood.
Daenerys had conquered many lands. She had broken queens before.
But Sansa Stark?
She was something new.
And Daenerys did not yet know if she would break her—or if she would burn alongside her instead.