The Master of Dragons - A lioness and a Dragoness. (Patreon)

Desmella Casterly, Council Headquarters – Oldtown.

Desmella was a very intelligent woman.

Her life had been privileged; the young blonde was fully aware of that. Being a daughter of the prestigious Casterly family, Desmella had always been destined for only one thing.

Greatness.

From a young age, like all Casterlys, she was instructed in the secrets and wonders of magic, always under the tutelage of the best teachers money could afford. Therefore, when she turned eleven and was sent to the Saint Harry's Academy of Magic, Desmella, like the rest of the Highborn Nobility of the First Men, had an enormous advantage.

Like all Casterlys, the young witch excelled in Transfiguration and the elemental magic of Earth, being named prefect in her fifth year and Annual Award winner in her seventh year, graduating with honors and therefore avoiding having to wear the white robe of initiates and being promoted directly to her green robe.

It had been about five years since then. Desmella had been accepted into the Auror Corps and eventually earned her blue robe, the highest non-political rank she could ever achieve, unless one of the Lords or heirs took an interest in her and took her as his wife.

But throughout her entire life, her grandfather had made sure to instill one particular lesson in the blonde witch, one that, in the Lord's own words, was the most important one and one that Desmella must never forget.

Don't fuck with the Starks.

The Arcane Council functioned with Lords and Ladies having the same influence and value within the administrative and political system of the Continent. That meant that Desmella's grandfather's word carried the same weight as the word of Lord Lyonel Strong or even the Chief Warlock Stark.

However… that did not mean that every family did not have its own tricks, its own grimoires, and its own spells.

And from a very young age, Desmella had learned that the Starks were the most powerful magical house in Westeros.

Something that, apparently, Lord Harald cared very little about, the blonde thought as she swallowed hard and watched the interaction between the new Lord Black and the powerful Lord Benjen Stark.

Desmella knew the Stark Heir very well, a wizard as powerful as he was wild, undoubtedly a consequence of his gifts as a warg. The Starks were normally calm and quiet, but the moment someone threatened a member of the pack…

Things did not usually end well, although on this occasion, Desmella was not sure the outcome would be in the Starks' favor.

Lord Benjen stared intently at Lord Harald, icy eyes and stern face, staring directly into the amused and challenging emerald orbs of the dark-haired man.

"May I know why you attacked my son?" the man asked politely, but with an edge and warning in his voice.

Normally, having Benjen Stark speak to you in that manner would be truly concerning. However, to Desmella's astonishment, Lord Harald simply shrugged and replied.

"Because he was being an annoying and disrespectful brat, insulting that young lady," Lord Black said with complete calm, insulting a Stark… to his father's face.

With an amused and challenging smile.

By Sirius, Lord Black was insane, Desmella thought to herself.

The result was instantaneous. Lord Benjen frowned while tightening his grip on his staff with obvious fury, although he managed to restrain himself and avoid falling for Lord Black's obvious provocation.

Something his son Bennard failed to do.

The young Stark's face twisted with fury and indignation as he took a step forward.

"You defend this thing? She's a disgusting Valyrian whore. Sirius the Great's only mistake was the armistice with that disgusting foreign mud blood. In his benevolence, he allowed these animals to associate with us as our equals, when it is well known that the Westerosi wizards and witches enslaved by the Freehold suffered atrocious fates. They were shown a mercy that the Dragon Lords would never have shown our people," Bennard spat with fury and indignation.

And Desmella, no matter how much she disliked the young Stark, could not help but agree with him. The cruelty of the Valyrian Lords was well known, even toward their own people. She also knew that many wizards and witches, even two hundred years later, still questioned Lord Sirius's decision regarding his dealings with the Targaryens and Valyrian descendants in general.

Even now, as the number of wizards and witches with Valyrian blood began to increase.

Many minor Lords and Ladies, wizards and witches who were not powerful or important enough to belong to the Council but possessed enough economic power to be relevant, were concerned about some kind of uprising.

Lord Harald looked directly at Bennard, his icy face expressionless as he channeled all his magical power into the young man's body, silencing him instantly.

Desmella winced sympathetically as she watched the young man fall silent. She herself had been subjected to the Lord's monstrous magical power and knew perfectly well what he was feeling.

However, Lord Benjen's response was instantaneous.

The Chief Warlock's heir stepped forward, placing his son behind him protectively while Lord Benjen released his own magic, neutralizing Lord Harald's influence over young Bennard.

Desmella watched as the young man gasped in relief before looking with respect and a hint of fear directly toward Lord Black. Lord Benjen did the same, though with icy and calculating eyes, his brow furrowed, his hand gripping his staff tightly, the weapon releasing tiny particles of frost.

Behind the Lord, the enormous Direwolf, larger even than a warhorse, bared its terrifying fangs at Lord Harald, ready to attack at the slightest command from its master.

"I advise you to be careful, Lord Black. You are a newcomer in our land, that much is obvious, unfamiliar with our customs and rules. You should learn to conduct yourself better. Nothing good will come from courting the Valyrians. We learned that through blood and tears in the past," Lord Benjen said calmly, although the threat was quite clear.

Lord Harald frowned, focusing all his attention on Lord Benjen, his wand in his hand glowing with magical power, waiting to be unleashed at the slightest command.

"I'll make that decision for myself, Lord Stark. So far, I have received nothing but courtesy from the valyrians, something I am afraid I cannot say about House Stark," he replied with false sadness.

That statement made all the wizards and witches nearby gasp and begin whispering among themselves, undoubtedly able to feel the tension between the two Lords.

Desmella knew Lord Benjen's reputation, but she was far from certain that he had what it took to fight Lord Black.

And although things were quite tense, apparently the Old Gods would not allow the situation to escalate, because at that precise moment, Lord Rickon Stark, the Chief Warlock of the Council, made his presence known.

"Benjen, enough."

The Stark Lord exclaimed as he entered the confrontation, walking with a serene stride and escorted by his immense and terrifying Direwolf, even larger than Lord Benjen's beast, with black fur and red eyes.

The moment the Chief Warlock made his appearance, both Lord Benjen and Lord Bennard bowed their heads in complete submission, acknowledging the old man as the Alpha and patriarch of the Stark clan, who merely looked firmly at both of them.

"I heard what you said, Bennard. That is not how a noble wizard speaks about anyone. We will discuss this again in Winterfell," the old man said, causing the young Stark to grimace uncomfortably before slowly nodding.

"Aye," was all he replied before the old man looked at Lord Benjen and the two began speaking rapidly in the Ancient Tongue. The heavy northern accent and the speed of their words made it impossible for Desmella to follow the conversation.

"What the fuck are they saying?" Lord Black asked with a frown, his gaze never leaving the enormous wolves, and Desmella could only shrug and answer.

"I don't know, My Lord. No one masters the Ancient Tongue like the Starks. The dialects spoken by the Casterlys and Gardeners are not as… wild as the one used by the Wolf Lords," the Auror said calmly, making the man nod softly, evidently displeased at not knowing what the two Starks were discussing.

The silence was interrupted by the Valyrian initiate, who, against all protocol, dared to address Lord Harald on her own initiative.

"My Lord…" the young woman said in a tiny voice, filled with desperation, even daring to touch the Lord's robe.

The audacity of this insolent witch! Desmella thought, preparing to intervene and put the initiate in her place, until Lord Harald casually raised his hand, silencing the young Casterly instantly.

And allowing the initiate to continue.

"My sister, Rhaella… Bennard said she was claimed by Garth Gardener… please… save her," the young woman said, desperation and pleading evident in her eyes.

Desmella snorted, although she felt a certain sympathy for the young woman, knowing very well that the life of a Valyrian initiate woman would not be very pleasant.

Most likely, she would see her professional future cut short and end up as a bed warmer.

And that was the best-case scenario, the blonde thought uncomfortably.

Lord Black's eyes softened before he nodded gently.

"We'll see what we can do," he said, before focusing his attention on the Chief Warlock, who had finished reprimanding his heir and grandson and was approaching Lord Black.

"An apology for my grandson's stupidity, My Lord. Unfortunately, he turned out just as stupid as his mother and nothing like his older brother. I will make sure he does not interfere with your property again," the old man said bluntly, causing the young man in question to blush with fury and embarrassment.

Lord Black merely nodded and replied.

"Young people tend to be foolish, Chief Warlock. Let it not happen again and we will have no problems."

With that, both Lords said goodbye with a small nod of their heads, and they began walking in different directions.

Desmella followed directly behind Lord Black, as was proper.

"This way, My Lord. I will take you to the Black office assigned at the Headquarters. The Bank's envoy will arrive there to make the official claim," the blonde witch said, guiding both Lord Black and his new pet toward the office in question.

One day into the position and Lord Black already had tension with the Starks.

Things in Westeros were going to become very interesting from now on.

Viserra Targaryen, Black Office – Oldtown.

Viserra did not consider herself a particularly powerful witch.

Her grades at the academy had been quite satisfactory, even outstanding, but she was perfectly aware of her place in the world. She knew perfectly well that her future prospects were… cloudy, to say the least.

Or at least, that was what she believed until the Old Gods smiled upon her and placed her in the path of her savior and owner.

Lord Harald, the new Council Member and Patriarch of the Noble and Ancestral House of Black.

The first in more than two hundred years, since Lord Sirius the Great.

And since the Dragon Lords had been defeated, humiliated, and destroyed during the Battle of Valyria.

"This is it, My Lord," the blonde Auror said respectfully, with… something more in her voice, but Lord Black merely nodded and entered, Viserra following behind her like a faithful and silent shadow.

The moment young Viserra entered the Black office… the breath left her body at what her stunned eyes were witnessing.

"By Sirius!" the stunned witch whispered, entering the most luxurious and imposing room she had ever seen in her life, so very different from her humble stone-floored room at the Academy.

Lord Black's office rose like a tribute to Power itself. High vaults of black stone supported columns carved with ancient runes unknown to Viserra but which, to her lack of surprise, were familiar to Lord Harald, judging by the way his hand caressed the strange yet magical symbols.

The fireplace cast shadows over shelves filled with grimoires, maps, and scrolls, all completely immaculate, without a single speck of dust. Something truly curious and incredible, considering that this office had not been opened in more than two hundred years.

In front of her stood an enormous dark-wood desk covered with documents, seals, and magical objects unknown to Viserra. Behind it, on the main wall of the office, an immense arcane map of Westeros occupied almost the entire wall.

Tiny lights traveled along its coasts and roads like stars trapped beneath glass.

Viserra remained standing in front of the desk while Lord Black took all the time in the world to explore the place. He was taking his time, and the young witch did not know whether it was to make her nervous or simply because he had never been in this office before.

Although, honestly, that mattered little to Viserra, as she tried to hide her uncertainty beneath a mask of dignity.

She knew very well how these situations ended. Muggle-blooded wizards were workers in the service of the Lords, generally tending magical crops or arcane beasts. The most skilled could occupy important positions within the Council. Generally, the laws of Westeros were quite strict and prevented abuse even toward wizards of mundane blood.

But the Valyrians…

Valyrians like Viserra, like her sister Rhaella… were scarce and were generally claimed quickly by the great noble families, not because of their magical skill or benevolence.

But because of their physical attractiveness.

Before her sister, Viserra had heard of the tragic fate of Monterys Velaryon, claimed by an old Bolton widow… and never seen again, an uncertain fate.

And although, being honest with herself, she found no problem with being Lord Harald's whore and bed warmer, considering that at first glance he seemed to hold no grudge against Valyrian blood, but Viserra would keep her guard up.

However, if he keep his word and saves Rhaella...Viserra would serves him on her knees with pride for the rest of her life.

The young woman calmly watched as Lord Black sat at his desk, placing his hand on some kind of stone orb in its center, which glowed with a soft magical radiance before becoming inert once again.

And then, those beautiful and terrifying emerald eyes focused on the young witch, who felt her breath and words leave her body instantly.

Viserra prepared herself. This was the moment her sister and the other witches had warned her about. When a Lord claims you, he always takes possession of you as quickly as he can.

Many times without being gentle or considerate in the attempt, much to her inner fear.

"How may I serve you, My Lord?" the young woman asked with extreme caution and a soft voice, kneeling as was proper and lowering her gaze, displaying total submission toward her superior and Lord.

She expected something humiliating, such as being ordered to crawl beneath the desk and please him with her mouth, an extremely humiliating and dominant act to which all witches were subjected by their wizards, without exception.

Even the Nobles ones.

However, that was not what happened. Instead, Lord Harald spoke in a masculine and firm voice, but with evident gentleness.

"Stand, Viserra," he said, surprising her and making her raise her gaze, shocked by the fact that Lord Black had spoken to her respectfully.

As if she were a person.

However, the young woman could say nothing more, because Lord Harald continued speaking.

"What do you know about your father, Viserra? Or about your family?" he finally said, and those words made my world stop.

"My father?" Viserra asked incredulously before blushing and bowing her head in apology for her insolence.

But Lord Harald did not relent.

"Yes, your father and your mother. Do you know anything about them? What have they told you?" he asked intensely, while his magic enveloped her with strength and gentleness, making her feel as if an enormous and powerful blanket were covering her delicate body.

Therefore, swallowing hard and feeling safe beneath the Lord's magic, she answered.

"We do not know anything about them, My Lord. Only that they were Muggles and that my sister and I were separated from them for our own safety, that Muggles are filthy and disgusting animals who do not understand magic, which is why we have lived our entire lives at the Academy," the young woman said sincerely, making Lord Black frown with evident fury, at the same time as the flames of the fireplace behind him began to roar fiercely, changing into an intense golden color so magical that neither Viserra nor Auror Casterly could help but shudder.

"I see."

That was the Lord's only response, who was evidently furious, although it did not seem to be directed at Viserra.

However, before the young Valyrian could say anything about it, someone knocked on the door, followed by a masculine voice.

"Lord Black, it is Lord Strong, with guests. We need to talk."

"Come in," the Lord ordered, at the same time as the door opened, revealing the familiar sight of Lord Lyonel Strong, dressed in his family's colors and carrying his staff. However, he was not alone… but accompanied by…

"Lord Martell?" Desmella Casterly asked curiously, as she stood up.

Viserra could not help but try to make herself smaller, finding herself in a room with three of the most powerful people on the Continent. They made her feel insignificant.

Oh, but the surprises were not over, because… accompanying Lord Martell was another figure, a woman, hidden beneath a thick cloak bearing the orange and gold colors of House Martell. The cloak concealed almost her entire face, leaving only the sight of a pair of mismatched eyes visible to Viserra.

Eyes that, for some strange reason, looked at Viserra with longing, regret, and…

Love?

"Lord Martell, Lord Strong, to what do I owe this visit?" Lord Harald asked as he stood, an action Lady Desmella imitated.

Quickly, Viserra positioned herself behind her Lord, as was proper, showing her loyalty and sheltering herself beneath his protection, and simply waited.

In response to Lord Black's question, the hooded woman stepped forward and, with extreme slowness, allowed her face to become visible to everyone present, revealing…

"Are you Valyrian?" Viserra asked in astonishment, staring at the vision of the beautiful but mature woman with platinum-blonde hair and mismatched eyes.

The woman's answer chilled the young woman's blood, as well as leaving Viserra's new Lord in a state of shock.

"I… I am. My name is Alyssa Targaryen," the woman said with extreme softness and longing, her eyes fixed upon young Viserra as if she wished with all her strength to approach her and touch her, but lacked the courage to do so.

And then.

"And I am your grandmother," the mysterious woman whispered in a broken voice before bursting into tears, paralyzing not only Viserra but also Lord Black, who, frowning, looked at Lord Strong and ordered.

"You have a lot of explaining to do."

The surprises had only just begun.