"Your Grace," Yara murmurs, her eyes downcast. The corner of her upper lip lifts, like she's reigning in a smile. Dany imagines those lips on hers.
"You must expect something from me," she says, with a quick side glance to Tyrion who is waggling his eyebrows at Yara and making lewd hand gestures. Dany frowns at him and raises her head in exasperation.
"That doesn't even make sense," she hisses at him effectively cutting Yara off. Theon shifts restlessly from foot to foot. Dany has half a mind to send him and Tyrion off, where they can bond over their mutually rejected masculinity. She eyes Yara speculatively and and smiles to herself. If only.
"Sorry Yara," she says smoothly, and stands. "Would you like to continue our talk somewhere more...private?" At Yara's pleasantly disbelieved expression, and Tyrion chortling behind her, Dany rolls her eyes. "Somewhere less public, with less annoying men." She cuts her eyes across to Tyrion who quietens but still grins at her. She jerks her wrist at Theon and Tyrion pulls an aggrieved face.
"I assure you, Your Grace," Yara begins, looking from Tyrion to Dany, "My brother has never had trouble navigating foreign spaces on his own."
Dany has a sudden vision of a young Theon wandering around the cold of Winterfell by himself, not knowing who he was or why. She clenches her teeth and smiles at Tyrion. "It should be no trouble Yara, Tyrion has confided to me that he's felt bored here lately. He could use your brother's company."
Tyrion probably makes another, less lewd and more rude, gesture at her but she's focused on Yara. Yara who lights up and nods at Theon without taking in his mournful expression. Dany beams and beckons for Yara to follow her into Dany's private chambers.
"You were quite clever in finding the similarities in our fathers," Dany says wryly from where she's sliding onto her bed. Yara hesitantly steps through the doorway and looks around her, as if cataloging escape routes.
"Yes," Yara says distantly, taking in the simple grandeur of Dany's room. "Yes, well," and then Yara turns fully around to face Dany and she appears lost for words.
"I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable," Dany says lazily, "I find that the clothing this far East tends to be quite itchy."
Yara doesn't seem able to speak for a moment until Dany gestures at her.
"Your Grace," she says, for the formality of it. She bows low in a mockery of a bow. Her hair falls over her breastplate and the glint of its bright metal reflects in her eyes. Yara stands again and rests her hands on her hips confidently. Dany smiles wickedly.
"Yara." She says it firmly. She leans back onto the bed until her head hits a soft pillow. "Come."