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Chapter Text

When Rhaenyra was a child, she dreamt about her wedding as any girl her age would. She dreamt of the music and the dances. Of the pretty dresses she would wear and the intricate braids her mother would braid. She would giggle about it with Alicent. Whisper and sign about her prospective husband. She knew that as a Princess, her marriage would be less for love and more for an alliance to strengthen their House. It was the duty of a Princess of the realm to marry into a House that would bring riches and armies to her father’s cause. Her future House would strengthen her brother's claim to the throne as she was meant to support him. 

Despite that, she hoped that she would have a marriage of love. Her parents’ marriage was an arranged one, but they fell in love. Theirs was a marriage of true love and respect. She wanted something like that. She prayed that she would have something that resembled love in her own marriage.

Today was her wedding. It was the day she dreamt of since she was a child.

Today was her funeral. It was the day she was going to die.

A bride wore white with her family cloak wrapped around her shoulder. A bride’s mother was meant to braid her daughter’s hair as she imparted her motherly wisdom for the last time before her daughter left her mother behind. There would be some tears shed. The bride’s companions would soothe her tears and try to make her laugh.

There were no tears on her wedding day. No mother to braid her hair as her mother, the Queen, died years ago. No companion except for Alicent to soothe her tears, but it was Alicent’s tears dripping instead of Rhaenyra’s.

There was no dress in beautiful white. Rhaenyra would not wear white. She refused to put up with this farce of a wedding. She refused to let him win.

She held her head high as she marched down the Hall of her home toward the throne room. She had no one to walk her down the aisle. Her father should be the one to be by her side today. He would have cried happy tears to see her marry. 

Or he wouldn’t if he knew who his daughter was marrying. 

Her brother would joke and try to make her laugh. He would probably make faces at her during the vows to try and get her to giggle. It was an unbecoming behavior from the Crown Prince, but Baelon always doted on Rhaenyra. He was the cause of her being the most spoiled girl in the whole realm. If he were here, he would do everything he could to try and save her. He would rage and wage war for his beloved little sister.

But it was a war that got her here.

The door to the throne room opened.

It was silent as she walked towards the throne. The only sound was her own footsteps. .

People looked at her in pity, some even shedding tears for the princess, as she walked toward her death. Some looked scandalized when they saw her dressed in black. The color of mourning. The color of the dead.

She stands in front of the throne. Her gaze doesn’t waver as she looks at him . It takes everything in her to not spit at the man sitting on her father’s throne. The throne that was meant to be her brother to sit upon when their father passed.

Now they are both lost to her.

“Princess.” He crooned, a smirk on his face. If the circumstances were different, she would admit he was handsome. But now, she would stab herself before she ever called him anything other than a monster. A snake.

A monster with a beautiful face.

Rhaenyra refused to speak to him. She refused to call him by a title that didn’t belong to him.

His smirk widens at her smile. He looked delighted to see her hateful glare.

He makes his way down the throne and stands beside her. 

A valyrian priest starts to recite. Rhaenyra doesn’t hear much of it. Not that it would even matter if she did. She was never good at Valyrian. Her brother barely spoke it. Her mother knew none of it despite being the daughter of a Targaryen Princess. Her father rarely ever spoke Valyrian. He preferred Common despite his love for their Valyrian history. All Rhaenyra knew was enough to command Syrax and murmur a few words to her Lady.

She didn’t flinch as he cut her lip. She would not give him the satisfaction to see that he hurt her. He would have none of her tears. She dug the glass harshly onto his lip and could only get angry when she saw that he didn’t flinch either. On the contrary, he seemed delighted by the pain. She cut her palm and held his hand, their blood dripping into the goblet filled with wine. She drank a sip from it and swallowed it harshly, refraining from the urge to vomit it out. 

A farce wedding. She did not even believe in the Valyrian pantheon. Then again, she did not believe in the Seven either. Alicent was the devoted one. She would pray religiously to the Seven. If things were different, Rhaenyra would be marrying in the Great Sept with the vows of the Seven ringing out.

The Priest ended the vow, and everyone waited with bated breath to see what would happen next. Rhaenyra refused to lean in and kiss the monster. 

He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. 

It was soft. Perhaps it was a bit too far-fetched to think that his lips would be harsh and poisonous. She thought that anything he touched would be poisoned and drop dead. But she was still alive.

It only lasted for a few seconds before he leaned away.

“All Hail Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen of the House Targaryen! Consort of King Daemon of House Targaryen, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdom, and Protector of the Realm!”

Everyone kneeled.

“Long live the Queen!”

It was almost funny to hear them wish for her long life. Rhaenyra had no plans to live a long life.

Today was her wedding.

Today was her funeral.

Today she will die.

But she would die with her husband. If he was willing to bind their souls in the ways of Old, then he should be willing to die with her.

It started like this. Nearly two centuries, Aegon Targaryen conquered Westeros with his sister wives. He united the Seven Kingdoms under one banner and ruled the land till his death. Upon his death he left behind his two sons with equal claims to the throne. The warrior Maegor and the kind Aenys. Rather than throw the realm into a civil war, a different step was taken to prevent the bloodshed. The realm was again divided in two, but this time it was the two brothers who ruled. Both crowned Kings in their own land.

There was peace as the brothers loved each other. They would not encroach upon the other’s territory. 

Things changed after the passing of Aenys and Maegor. The House that was once united was now divided in two. Their descendants had none of the love and respect that the brothers had. Each had the greed to rule one realm as their ancestor, Aegon, had. The wars were gruesome and bloody. Neither side gave up despite their mounting losses. There would be treaties regarding the ceasefire, but everyone knew it was temporary. The longest reign of peace came under King Jaehaerys. He created a peaceful realm after a treaty with King Aegon the second. The realm was at peace. It was thought that this treaty would continue once Prince Aemon took the throne. But the Prince passed away, leaving his only son, Prince Viserys, as the heir.

Prince Viserys became King Viserys, the first of his name. The King of half of Westeros. Alas, Viserys was no ruler like his father would have been. He was more a scholar than a King. He was gentle, far too gentle for a King of the House of the Dragon. He had no dragon of his own. Balerion passed away when he was seven and ten. He wielded Blackfyre, but he was no warrior. He was a weak King, and people waited to see him pass so the throne could be handed to the better heir, Prince Baelon.

But with the death of King Aegon came his grandchild, Prince Daemon Targaryen. Rider of Caraxes, the blood wyrm, and the wielder of Dark Sister.

With him on the throne, the realm once again descended into war.

A bloody, gruesome war that took everything from Rhaenyra. 

Her brother perished under a storm fighting against King Daemon, taking his dragon with him. Her father was heartbroken after the death of his son. He barely had the strength to continue the war after Baelon died. Then came the offer from King Daemon. Viserys could surrender the throne to Daemon, or he could fight against him and defeat him in battle. 

Rhaenyra begged her father to stay.

“What sort of King would I be if I left my people in the hands of that monster?”

“What sort of Father would you be if you left me alone at his mercy?”

Her father walked away from her, deaf to his daughter’s cries begging him to not abandon her. Alicent held Rhaenyra as she crumbled down to the floor and wept for her family.

Hours later, her father died. 

Rhaenyra’s screams echoed around the Keep. 

That was the last time she shed tears. 

The next morning she got up and wore black. She walked to where her father’s body lay. She commanded Syrax to burn her father’s body just as she had commanded her to burn her brother’s body before their father’s. 

She watched as the last of her family burned to ash, and she vowed she would not rest until she had her revenge. She knew what would happen to her. Daemon wanted one realm. He had no sisters of his own to marry. He could marry Laena Velaryon, but she knew that a Targaryen Princess who rode a dragon would appeal to him more. That sadistic bastard would delight in taking the last person left with the right to rule this side of Westeros and bind her to him.

So when she was ordered to marry him, she agreed. Despite Alicent’s protests, she agreed.

She would marry him.

She would become his wife.

She would become his executioner. 

She stares at the bottle of wine perched on the table. Her ladies left her alone. Alicent was the last to go, pressing a thin vial into her hand.

She could see the reluctance in her. Alicent was all she had left now, but she had to do this. For her family, she would kill this monster.

She waited for her husband to join her. The vial was now disposed of, and the bottle of wine opened as she poured wine for herself and her husband.

He entered the room so silently that she didn’t even notice him.

“Wife.” 

Rhaenyra straightens and looks at him.

“Husband.”

His lips tilt at her tone. He enjoyed seeing her rage. He delighted in her hate.

It was the last thing he would see before he died. 

She watched him pour wine into his own goblet. She picked up her own as she did his. She was about to drink as he was about to drink his own.

“Poison?”

She paused.

He looked at her humorously. As if she was a child who knew nothing.

She clenched her teeth.

“You might want to try it differently next time. Poison is easy to spot for someone who has been almost poisoned numerous times. I would then force the one who tried to kill me to drink the poison.” 

He put his goblet down. 

“But I have no intention to kill you, wife. Am I not a kind husband?” He mocked.

Rhaenyra quickly tried to drink her wine before he sprang forward and wrenched it out of her grasp.

“Now, now dearest, why would you do this? Dying so easily without even a second attempt? Are you so weak as to give up so easily? Here I thought you were a dragon.”

Rhaenyra snapped. She grabbed the bottle and swung it at him. He laughed as he jumped back. The bottle crashed on the floor, spilling the blood-red wine everywhere.

“A bit better. Element of surprise can work on your opponents. If they are stupid. Alas, I am not such a simpleton.”

“I will kill you.” She seethed. “I will rip off your head.”

“I look forward to seeing you try!” He cackled. “Until then, we are stuck together, my love.”

Rhaenyra glared at him, her hands clenched so hard she could feel the blood welling as her nails dug into her skin and opened the cut again. She watched as he walked towards the door.

“Where are you going?” She demanded.

He looked at her. “To my own chambers, of course. Unless you wish for me to stay with you.” 

He looked pointedly at the bed.

Rhaenyra would swallow the poison before she lay with him.

“I thought so.” He shrugged. “Fear not, my love. I will not touch you until you ask me.”

As if she would ever do that.

With one last smirk, he walked out of her chambers. 

Rhaenyra flung her goblet at the door.

She hears her husband laugh.

She will succeed next time. She won’t die tonight, but she will die soon.

And she will take this monster with her.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra breathed out as she let go of the arrow. She watched as the arrow landed in the center of the target before grabbing another arrow. Most men around her kept on going about their daily duties. The clanging of steel against steel was a background noise for her as she drew her bow again and again. She grew up in this palace. She was only six when her brother handed her a bow for the first time. She wanted to learn how to fight with a sword but both her parents were unwilling. Baelon gave her the bow to console her. He told her he would teach her to use a sword when she was older.

It took her a while to understand that her brother wouldn’t, couldn’t, teach her how to wield the sword. It didn’t matter that their ancestors did. Didn’t matter that Rhaenys and Visenya flew on their dragons and fought wars alongside Aegon to help him win his throne. All that mattered was that they were Westerosi now and the women of Westeros do not wield weapons. 

But she was good with a bow. She practiced it religiously until she could hit every target in the practice ring. She’d be here early in the morning and then later in the evening after her lessons were done. An oil lamp burning for her as she practiced in the dark. A strong hand guiding her form every time she would falter until she no longer needed that help.

Now she picks up her bow and arrows and shoots over and over again until her fingers hurt. Even then, she does not stop. It helped if she pictured her husband’s face instead of the red painted target. It almost made her enjoy this.

“Darling.”

And there goes her good day.

Rhaenyra scowled as the arrow she shot swerved off and hit the outer ring instead. She looked at her husband and stared at him blankly. She sees the flicker of annoyance before it’s wiped away with a smile. It took everything in her to not gloat at his ire. She found out early on how he reveled in her anger. Every time she would scowl or glare at him, his smile would widen. As such, she refused to let him have this win. He won’t have her anger. He won’t have her hatred. He took so much from her, she will not give him any more of her.

“Husband.” She says.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

She looked at him and then the bow in her hand and then at him again as if to state the obvious. Which it should be seeing that she was dressed in pants and tunic with a bow in her hand.

He smiled tightly. “You are the Queen.”

“Is that so?” She mused, before turning away from him and picking another arrow. “I could not tell. I thank your grace for informing me.”

Breathe in. Aim. Hold. Let go.

She felt her husband’s frown and smirked.

“You have duties to attend to.”

“Is that so? I did not know.”

She did.

Rhaenyra was young when her great grandmother passed away, but she still witnessed the Good Queen perform her duties as a Queen. But she went beyond the duties that were expected of her. Alysanne Targaryen was a true equal to her husband as she helped him with his kingdom. She cared for the people and set up orphanages and charities for people. She cared for the small folk and made sure to hold courts to listen to the women of the Kingdom. She did good for the people.

Her mother tried to do what the good Queen did, but she was only alive for a few years before she passed away trying to give birth to her third child. Even then, Aemma Targaryen did as much as she could to assist her husband. She tried to pick up where Alysanne left off and helped with the orphanages around King’s Landing. She could not travel far like Alysanne did on Silverwing, but she made sure to reply to letters asking for the Crown’s help.

Rhaenyra was four and ten when her mother died. After her mother’s death, most of the duties that were up to the Queen were picked up by others. The Master of Coin still tried to keep the charities and orphanages running with funds from the Crown. Her brother tried to keep up with the letters from women from prominent families even as he felt shy about it. There were things being done to keep up her mother’s legacy.

But those were all done by her father and her brother. She had no hand in it. Rhaenyra was a Princess. She would not be Queen. She would not wear her mother’s crown. Her brother’s wife would. It was expected of her future sister-in-law to continue what Queen Aemma continued from the Good Queen.

But now the crown was on her head and the duties were on her plate. She had to do what was expected of her.

Except she didn’t want to. Doing these meant she accepted her role as the Queen and Daemon won.

She would not do that.

“Now that you know, will you assume your duties or not?”

“Hmmm.” 

Breathe in. Aim. Hold. Let go.

“I take it that is a no? Shame. All the orphanages will need to find other means to support them. And I suppose all the letters sent to the Queen from other courts can burn.”

Rhaenyra lets the arrow loose and turns away before seeing it hit the target. She knows that it didn’t hit the center. She didn’t aim right. She didn’t hold it right.

“What?” She whispered.

He smirked as if he realized that his words had hit the intended target.

“Well I am not taking over those duties. And the Master of Coin has much more important things to do than sit and read through every file from every orphanage. As for the women of other courts… well it is up to them to fix their matters.”

Rhaenyra contemplated how quickly he would be able to stop her if she grabbed another arrow and shot it at him. He was quite a bit away from her. She could stab him with the arrow as soon as he was close enough but he was a warrior. He could dodge. If she had another hidden weapon it would make things easier.

“You wish to dismantle everything my mother and Queen Alysanne built?”

“I would not be the one doing it. You will. It is the Queen’s responsibilities. Not the King’s. What Lord Beeseburry did was meant to be temporary until a new Queen ascended. Now here you are. If you cannot do your duties and would rather brood and be pathetic it is no fault of mine or others.”

Rhaenyra only waited for a moment before she nocked an arrow and shot it at Daemon.

She knew it would not hit him, but she prayed to the gods it would. She prayed it would hit him right in the face and it would kill him. 

But he stepped out of the way and she watched as the arrow hit a bag.

The others around them quietened. The Kingsguard unsure whether to apprehend the Queen for trying to kill the King.

“I wish you were dead.” She spat.

“You and many others, my love.” He says as he saunters towards her with a wide smile. 

Rhaenyra gripped her bow tighter.

“Sadly, I do not plan to die easily. You must work harder for it.” He caressed her cheeks gently.

Rhaenyra slapped his hand away. “Do not touch me.”

“ Ao jurnegon gevie hae bisa.  Hae iā zaldrīzes nūmāzma naejot paghagon perzys se zālagon nyke. ” He said, his eyes flashing darkly before he stepped away. (You look beautiful like this. Like a dragon about to breathe fire and burn me.)

Rhaenyra looked at him confused. She didn’t understand him except for the few words she managed to catch. She knew the word for ‘dragon’ and the word for ‘fire’, but everything else was unclear to her.

“What?” She asked.

He merely raised an eyebrow. “Do you not understand Valyrian?”

Her silence was an answer. She could not tell him she did know their language. Could not admit that she was embarrassed that he spoke it so fluently as if it was more his language than Common while when she spoke Valyrian it sounded broken. Could not admit that hearing him speak Valyrian almost left her breathless because of how beautiful it sounded.

“What a pity to see how far the House of Dragon has fallen on this side. To not even know your own mother tongue.” He clicks his tongue.

Rhaenyra scowled.

“I’ll teach you.”

“What.” 

“No wife of mine, especially one with the blood of the dragon, will not know how to speak our language. I shall teach you. Every night before we retire.”

“There are maesters to teach me.”

“Those withered cunts can’t teach you shit. Valyrian was meant for us. We are the blood of the dragon. The last of Aegon’s blood. There is no one else but us who will ever understand this language. I will teach you.”

“And leave me to suffer in your presence even more than I already have to?”

“Well,” he smirks. “Maybe you can make more of your assassination attempts if you do so. Maybe one night Arrax will smile on you and you will have your justice.” 

He steps away before she can slap him for his words.

“Until tonight then, my love. As for your duties… well that is up to you. If I see that you aren’t doing what is required then I shall do what I said I would. I am a man of my word. You should know that.”

Targaryens love their dragons and Rhaenyra was no different. Syrax was her most beloved. Born in her cradle and grew up by Rhaenyra’s side. She slept by her side, trotted along her side when the Princess wandered around the hall, and finally flew with her when it was her time. She shares a bond with Syrax that she would never share with anyone. In a way, it felt like Syrax was a part of her and she, a part of her dragon. 

Her  mother never understood her nor did Alicent. But her mother was more Arryn than she was a Targaryen and Alicent was a Hightower. Her father understood her to an extent, but he lost Balerion in less than a year. He could not fathom the bond between a dragon and rider growing as years passed. It grew until it latched to your very soul and then more. Her brother understood it well enough. His bond with Quicksilver was almost like Rhaenyra and Syrax. He understood Rhaenyra’s need to be at the Pit almost every day to see her dragon. He would fly beside her. He would keep her company.

Now, her dragon’s company was the only solace in the stifling city that no longer felt like her home. Syrax her only company. Her family dead and her best friend, her sister, sent away because she could not bear to keep Alicent near him because she feared what he would do to her. Daemon did not mask his disdain for people without their blood. Even more so when it came to the Hightowers. She knew that Maegor and Visenya hated the Faith. She knew that in that part of Westeros people were allowed to practice their Faith modestly. Nothing like the way it was here. 

No, Alicent could not be allowed to stay in the Keep. No matter how she begged and cried.

So she was alone without anyone but her dragon. No one who could understand her and her dragon.

Except her husband.

She sees him in the Pit with Caraxes almost as much as she is seen with Syrax. Never hears what he murmurs to his dragon. Doesn’t look at him when she climbs on Syrax and flies away, but can feel his stares. Wishes she could turn around and breathe fire on him.

But that would also mean doing the same to Caraxes and she could never. Dragons were precious. Caraxes was precious. It was once her grandfather’s. It was the first dragon she rode on. She could not harm Caraxes.

She could harm her husband.

Most days, she would take to the skies. Some days, she would simply curl up beside her and whisper. A mix of Common and her broken Valyrian. She would see her husband as she left or when she walked in. She would see him in the skies miles away from her, a speck of red amongst the white or gray clouds. She never spoke with him. Never even looked at him. 

She knew he watched her every time they were in the Pit. As if he knew that she wanted to command Syrax to burn him to ash like she burned her family. After all, wasn’t she the only of his kin to live? Unless they count her Aunt Rhaenys. But Rhaenys was a Velaryon, and Daemon would not let a Velaryon burn his pyre.

She would be a kind wife and burn his body.

Or whatever was left of it.

Her grandfather fell in battle while he rode Caraxes. She heard stories about the dragon’s cry when its rider fell down. She heard that it was heartbreaking even for the enemy soldiers. Even those who did not understand dragons could feel Caraxes’ pain at the sudden severed bond. Moreso, at his own incapability of protecting his rider.

She does feel slight guilt of doing the same to Caraxes again.

She waited weeks for this. 

It was a slow game. One that took her almost a month. She was not a patient person. Her family used to tease her about it. Her mother had told her over and over again that patience was a virtue. It would help her. She never listened to her mother then.

Now…

She almost makes her way to the Pit that day. She wants to see his fall. Just as she was made to witness his rise she would see his fall.

But she stayed in the Keep. Work piled up on her desk and she sat down on her chair, opening each letter and reading it faithfully.

Whether she survived or not after this was another thing. She would not care if she died.

But if she didn’t die she was the only one with the Targaryen name. She would have the throne.

With a pleased smile she took a fresh parchment and dipped her quill in the inkpot.

Her maid comes to her study, harrowed and nervous as she says the Queen’s presence is required in the throne room.

She did her best to hide her smile.

She calmly got up and nodded.

Her maid followed her with her Kingsguard.

She was prepared to see the Hand, Lyonel Strong, tell her that her husband fell to her death.

An unfortunate accident, he would say. His saddle came undone.

Rhaenyra would not cry. No one would expect her to. She would nod and accept it. She would ask for his body and prepare for his funeral. When she was alone with his body she would smile down at him.

She stood in front of the throne room. The doors were closed.

At the sight of her, the doors opened.

She stepped in ready to walk towards the Lord Hand.

Her steps faltered slightly at the sight in the throne room.

Her husband sat on the throne. Untouched. Unharmed.

She clenched her fists as she walked towards him. His eyes glittering at the sight of her. She could see the slight tug of his lips. The smirk on his lips that grew as it turned back towards what was in front of both of them.

A man, no, a boy in chains bound in front of him. Rhaenyra tried to not falter as she saw him. Knew who he was. He helped her saddle Syrax so many times. A boy only a few years older than her.

Stands beside her husband, gaze unwavering from the boy in front of her. She would not look away. She knew what was coming and she would not turn away.

Hears the accusation laid on the boy’s feet. 

“You stand accused of conspiring to kill your King. You cut his saddle and loosened it. How do you plead?”

The boy, even bound and on his knees, looked up defiantly. “He is no King of mine.” He spat.

Rhaenyra swallowed.

Her husband smirks.

“Do you know what happens to King slayers, boy? Especially when the King is a dragon rider?”

He tries to be brave. Rhaenyra can see him try. But he quivers at the statement. For a second, his eyes flit over to Rhaenyra’s.

Rhaenyra wonders if he will speak the truth. If he will say that it was the Queen who ordered her to do it. 

He looked to the King again and stayed silent.

Daemon smiles at him. Cold. Cruel.

“String him up. Cut him into pieces and throw his carcass to the vultures. No need for Caraxes to eat the traitor’s body.”

Rhaenyra starts forward. She wanted to protest. It was cruel . It was monstrous.

“On second thought,” He paused and looked at her. “I have a better idea.”

Rhaenyra feels her palm sweat. Her heartbeat quickens.

“Dear wife, you must be frightened. And positively furious on my behalf.” He smiled and caressed her cheek. Rhaenyra resisted the urge to flinch. They were not alone. “I am sure my wife would want revenge for her loving husband?”

Rhaenyra swallowed. “Of course.”

“Then we can feed the traitor to Syrax.”

He knew.

He knew and he was doing this to punish her.

Her first attempt with the poison was humorous to him.

Her second attempt with the bottle of wine was fascinating to him.

Her third attempt with the arrow was a childish attempt easily ignored.

This… was planning. Careful planning. Beyond that, it wasn’t just her this time. This was with someone who was loyal to her and not him. He could not tolerate that.

She wanted to protest. She did not want to do this.

She looked at the boy. She sees the acceptance in his eyes. He knew what he was doing.

“Of course.” She says. “For my husband.”

She commands Syrax to burn his body.

She commands Syrax to eat him.

She does not turn away. She would honor him. She would not look away from the death her failure caused. 

Later on, she lit a candle in the Sept and bowed before the Stranger. She did not believe in the Seven but the boy was of Westeros. She thinks he believed in the Faith. Recites the prayer Alicent taught her.

Goes to speak his name and ask for safe passage for him when she realises.

She does not even know his name.

Swallows her tears and gets up.

If this taught her something then it is that she cannot bring others into this war.

Her husband would not kill her. He needs her until she gives him an heir.

So she will do it alone.

Chapter Text

It does not take long for things to fall back to how they were before the incident with Caraxes. The King was alive. The assassin was dead. It only solidified the fear people had of the King, and now Rhaenyra was part of it. People saw what she did with Syrax. How she had ruthlessly killed a boy for her husband. 

It made people question her loyalty.

Was she loyal to her family or her husband?

Her husband is her family now. Some argued.

He murdered her father and brother! Some argued back.

Rhaenyra said nothing. 

She woke up every day, dressed, and attended to her duties as the Queen. She’d walk around in the garden. Visit Syrax to speak to her and to fly. She tolerated her husband when he arrived in her room every night to teach her valyrian. She said nothing even as he looked cautious. 

She stays silent.

She stays dutiful.

Life in the Keep returns to how it was before.

Quiet. Monotonous.

One could say that it was too quiet. Too silent.

Rhaenyra would smile.

What a silly thing to say. How can it ever be too quiet? She would write to Alicent.

Rhaenyra sees her husband study her when they pass by each other and then again during the evening when she is forced to be in the same room as him and listen to him speak to her in valyrian and copy his speech. 

He was a patient teacher, she would admit. Under his tutelage her valyrian gets better. She will not be fluent like him in mere weeks. It will take months or even years. Maybe she will never speak it with the eloquence that her husband possessed. But she will learn it. She will tolerate his presence because it serves her purpose. She was a valyrian like him. She had the blood of old Valyria in her. Valyrian was her mother tongue, and she would learn it.

Every evening, he is in her chamber, two goblets of wine on the table as they spend an hour together, somedays it passes the mark and he is still there refusing to leave until she can perfectly enunciate the words he spoke.

She doesn’t let her anger or frustration show on her face. She spent too long in the company of ladies who were better at sewing than her. Ladies who could play musical instruments better than her. Ladies who could sing better than her.

She would never be better than them at things that a woman of noble birth should be. Sewing, singing, dancing are not her forte. 

But this will be. She will be better at this than others.

So she tolerates his presence every day. 

That should be it.

Except he decides one day to break their routine.

A routine of silence that she thought they both agreed on.

“Why a bow?”

Rhaenyra glanced up from her book in surprise. He was frowning at her. 

“What?”

“You use the bow. Why?”

Rhaenyra blinks, not knowing what to say. Figures that he might have seen her more often in the training ground after everyone left. Like she did before. It was a habit that was hard to break.

“What is it to you?”

“A bow isn’t a weapon of our house. It is harder to use on dragonback.”

“The only weapon that can be used on dragonback is dragon fire.”

“True.” He sipped his wine. “But traditionally swords are more our weapon. Visenya and Aegon used Valyrian steel.”

She knew he carried Black Sister. It was passed from Visenya to her son while Aenys received Aegon’s sword. Her father wore the sword. Kept it strapped on him even though they all knew he was not a warrior who could wield it like it was meant to be wielded. But many Kings in her family were not the warriors that Aegon was. It seemed it was Visenya’s blood that got the blood of the warrior. 

She expected him to flaunt Blackfyre in front of her and everyone. She thought that he would wear it to spite her and remind her, as well as the court, that he was the warrior King. Not her father or her brother.

But he boarded it up. Kept it locked away somewhere she didn’t know.  

He only took out Aegon’s circlet. He cast away her father and her great grandfather’s golden circlet. The circlet on his head is the Valyrian steel of black and red rubies that Aegon wore. Crowned by Visenya, wielder of Dark Sister.

She supposes for him it would be easier to assume women can wield steel seeing as he carried the sword of a Queen. She heard stories of his mother, Princess Alyssa, dressing up in breech and wielding swords. She heard that she bested many men when it came to sword fighting. 

Perhaps things were different for them.

“Noble ladies of Westeros do not wield steel.” She said, looking back down and reading the book, trying to translate the words in it and writing it down on a piece of parchment.

“You’re not any noble lady. You’re a Targaryen.”

“And yet I am still a woman. As long as I live here I will be bound by the laws of men.”

Her brother could only hand her a bow. He could only help her practice in secret. Even then she knew others, even Alicent, did not particularly approve of her interests.

“You’re a dragon. Would you allow the laws of men to bind you? You’re the Queen now. What you say is the law.”

She huffed. “It’s not that simple. Queens don’t always get a say. We are showpieces. To be flaunted to people. We are not meant to rule.”

She knows how her aunt Rhaenys suffered. She was older than her brother by seven namedays, but she always felt lesser for the realm wanted a Prince and not a Princess. And her mother died birthing her son, Viserys. It did not matter that she was better at him in almost everything. Her aunt did not have a cock while her father did. She knew it caused an argument between the King and Queen, but the King refused to change his decision even as his Queen left him.

“Men find it easy to talk and assume things. I cannot wield a sword no matter how much I want to. I cannot fly on my dragon to places like you can or my brother did. I am meant to stay here. I am meant to die here.”

Like her mother.

“Is that so?”

She doesn’t bother to reply to him. She was tired of this conversation already. Besides, she did not like to talk to him. 

Even if he was the only company she had with whom she could talk to. Alicent was gone. She had no other ladies. She did not trust anyone. 

He was all she had.

She closed her book and pushed the parchment towards him.

“Done.”

She says nothing as he looks over the parchment. 

Says nothing as he pours more wine for himself. 

She can’t wield a sword.

She can wield other weapons.

The next day one of her maids came in carrying a long, black box.

She puts it in front of Rhaenyra, on her table and bows before heading out. Rhaenyra looked at her confused then pulled the box towards her.

She freezes when she opens it.

There lay a dagger. A beautiful dagger with velvet gold hilt and the steel dark. 

There was a small parchment tucked underneath it.

Dagger first. Then sword.

Maybe.

She touched it slowly, fingers sliding on the hilt and the blade. She thought of how to thank her husband. Whether she should thank him. He gave her something that no one else in her life would. Perhaps it seemed like a little thing.

But it wasn’t. Not to her.

Rhaenyra sent no replies back to her husband.

But next time she saw him, she saw the pleased smile on his face when he saw the dagger strapped on her waist. 

She will let him smile. She will let him think that perhaps she will slowly forgive him. 

Surely, time heals all wounds. She is a lonely girl of eight and ten. She will forgive him one day.

She doesn’t have much forgiveness in her.

She did not forgive her mother for leaving her for a dead babe. She did not forgive her father when he turned her back on her to walk to his death because he could not bear to live in a world without the son he loved so much. Did not forgive the Gods for taking them away. She still resents them.

She always will.

Her husband will learn that she can resent him for life too.

She can look at the dagger and learn how to wield it. She can be thankful to him for giving her a weapon.

But it will not lessen the hatred she has for him.

She knows as she looks at the perfume in her hand that this would be her last chance.

There would be no more opportunities after this. No more attempts because she will die with this. 

She wonders if her aunt will order Meleys to burn her pyre. She hopes she does. She always liked her aunt. Even if she kept her distance due to the brother she hated. The brother that took her mother’s life. Despite that, Rhaenys was kind to her. She was a good princess who married Corlys Velaryon to try to make them neutral, or sway to their side, despite the Velaryons years of allegiance to Rhaenyra’s husband’s family.

It seemed like it failed.

But her aunt was kind to her. As kind as someone in her place could be. 

She hopes she is kind enough to burn her to ashes in the place where her father, brother and mother’s bodies were laid to rest.

The first time she heard about it was from a maid.

She heard her whisper it to another maid who wore high necked dresses and covered her face with her hair. The maid who flinched whenever someone would brush up against her.

She heard the whisper to go to a shop. A shop run by an old woman and her daughter that sells beautiful rouges and perfumes.

Even we can buy them with our meager wages!

She was young. She did not understand, but something about the way they spoke about it, hands shaking, voice quaking, gazes flitting to see if someone was near them, told her to keep it a secret.

So she did.

When she was older she understood it. When she ventured into the streets in secret after taking the secret passage  with her brother. When she ventured in there alone and giggled as she saw the plays and danced in the streets, her hair carefully hidden. It was a tale passed from women to women. 

Only the women.

Of a shop that sold rouges and perfumes for peasant women. Cheap and beautiful. Can make them look beautiful.

And can make them deadly for it sold poisons. Slow acting poisons. So slow you’d need to feed it to your husband for many moons before you see the result. 

Meant for women who wore high necked dresses and flinched when people came too close.

Rhaenyra was none of those. Maybe it was a small mercy that she wasn’t. But she was vengeful and she was determined. 

Patience was something she was slowly learning. 

Her husband was least likely to suspect poison. He knew the quick acting ones like Tears of Lys. He did not know the poisons of the peasants. Not yet. Maybe in a few years he would. His spies might inform him if they find out. But this was a closely guarded secret. It was the saving grace for many.

It would be hers as well.

Her husband was confident in his ability to discern poisons.

Her husband was a fool.

Rhaenyra was almost bored as she saw the men being dragged out of the throne room, wailing and pleading for their life. Begging for mercy from a man who would give them none.

Honestly it was annoying and grating to her ears.

She took a glance at her husband, who seemed amused by the ordeal. He then looked at her and looked triumphant. His eyes glistened with his obvious win.

It was sometimes fascinating to her how he could look so excited. How he could look like he was just so beautiful and not a monster.

But the most poisonous things are always the prettiest ones.

Rhaenyra hoped that her face showed some form of regret. Farce, of course, but it would not do well for him to suspect that she wasn’t attempting to take his life anymore. Hence, this annoyance that she had to tolerate today.

She thought she would hold back from attempting something outrageous to try and kill him. She was already doing her best to make sure he did not notice the poison that he consumed every day, but then he started getting suspicious.

Her husband looked at her suspiciously when he noticed that it had been far too long without an attempt on his life. She thinks he finds her attempts amusing.

But also it will not do well to make him too suspicious.

She knew she had to make an attempt, even if it was an obvious one, to take his life once again. If it succeeded well it would seem that the Gods finally favored her. If not, she still has her options.

So she seized an opportunity on the day he was out in the city. 

The preparation for this was sloppy. It wasn’t her intention for a sloppy assassination attempt. But she was quick about it and something needed to be done. She heard in the council of talks of a band of men that looted and murdered people in the city. That recently they have been causing chaos and trouble for the Gold Cloaks. They were no faceless men of Braavos. They were greedy men, but she could make use of them. 

Rhaenyra merely wanted to use them. If in doing so she gets rid of two problems at once then it was no issue.

Finding a way to send money to them was no problem. She had been out in the city for a long time now. She knew the ins and outs and how to contact certain people in a certain way.

She did not expect them to succeed.

She just did not expect them to fail in such an abysmal way because there was not even a scratch on her husband.  She expected a graze at least, but he looked as disgustingly perfect as always. And beautiful but that was not the point. 

She expected some sort of injury, but he waltzed into the throne room with a slight skip and looked really happy at the prospective murder.

Rhaenyra wondered if the talks of Targaryen madness were true as she looked at him for how can a man be so happy at the idea of someone constantly trying to kill him?

She said nothing to him. Merely thanked the Gods for making him return to her safe and unharmed. He looked very amused at that. They both knew she was the cause of this and that every word out of her mouth was a lie. But he seemed to love hearing her lies.

That night, he sat in front of her as she translated another book once again.

“Alas, it seems as if you’re meant to fail every time, my love.”

“Who knows? One day Arrax might smile down on me and you will be dead. Perhaps struck by a bolt of lightning when you’re flying.”

He laughed at that.

“You’re a delight!”

“Yes, that was my moniker.”

“Was? Is there anyone in this Kingdom more worthy of you to claim the title of Realm’s Delight?”

She looked at him curiously. “If I didn’t know better I’d think that was a compliment, husband.”

“Have I not complimented you enough?”

Rhaenyra cocks an eyebrow.

A grin on his face. “You are one of the most ruthless women I know.”

“Is that meant to be a compliment?”

“Is it not? Your beauty is known to all and is something that many would easily sing songs of, but your ruthlessness is something only known to me. Is it not a compliment if I praise a quality of yours that no one else is privy to except for me? Do they know how beautiful you look when you look as if you want to claw my face off?”

Rhaenyra says nothing. She could feel her cheeks heat once he explained himself but she didn’t know what to say. He was right at least that her beauty was something that everyone praised her for. She had the Targaryen beauty. She was not so ignorant of her beauty. She thrived on compliments. It made her smile when she saw how people would stop and stare at her. 

But her anger and her hatred was something very few were privy to. Her mother before she died had always told Rhaenyra that a lady should not lose her temper easily. Alicent had tried to temper her in. Told her to not resort to vicious manners and it was unsightly. Her brother was no different. They had all in their ways disapproved of Rhaenyra’s anger.

Her husband was the first.

“I suppose I should say thank you for the compliment.”

“If you want to.”

“Then I shall ignore it.”

“Of course, my love.”

He looked pleased when she glanced at him again, his eyes never once looking away from her.

Rhaenyra says nothing as she sees him pick up a lemon cake that was set for her. 

Something was wrong with her husband. More so than what was already wrong with the man. It seemed that after her acceptance of the dagger he took it as her accepting anything he sent her. 

A week after the dagger came a pair of earrings.

Then a dress of black with purple myrish lace.

Then more jewels.

More dresses.

Why, she asked him one night.

Is a man not allowed to give gifts to his wife?

Wife. She was his prisoner. 

She said as much.

He only smiled at her and leaned in to caress her cheek. Rhaenyra resisted the urge to slap it away.

“You would know if you were my prisoner, my love. Besides, these are mere trinkets. None of these are worth anything when compared to you. You are priceless.”

Rhaenyra turned away from him, praying he would not see the blush on her cheeks.

They had this unspoken agreement of both of them living their own lives separate from each other with the exception of her Valyrian lessons and attempts to murder him, but it seems that recently he is under the impression that such an agreement was never made.

Of course, it was not made verbally but Rhaenyra thought that her husband was aware of it.

She did not understand this need for him to converse with her. She thought they would live a life separate from each other until she kills him or he tires of her attempts and kills her.

Apparently he was not aware of it as a few days later he followed her to the Pit and asked her to fly with him.

“What?”

“Fly with me. A race, my dear.”

“You… Want to race against me? Why?”

“Why not?”

Rhaenyra was baffled. This was ridiculous. First the forceful lessons and now she has to endure him while she flies? Absolutely not.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“What makes you think that I would like to suffer your company any more than I have to?”

“If that’s so then how about a wager?”

“Wager?”

“A race. If you win then I shall not bother you for a week.”

That was… tempting. A week of not having to hear his voice was tempting. Not having to hear his compliments and tolerate his slight touches.

(not having to lie to herself that she craved it. That it has been so long since she has held someone that she was desperate enough to be touched by him.)

“And if you win?”

He smiles. “Nothing.”

“I find that hard to believe. You wish for nothing if you win?”

“I already have everything I want. Is there anything you own that you can offer to me?”

She hesitated. She did not trust him. He could ask for anything from her and he wanted nothing? It seemed hard to believe.

But.

“Two weeks.” She says. “If I win I do not wish to talk to you for two weeks unless it is about our lessons.”

He smiled and bowed his head mockingly.

“Where to?”

“Dragonstone.”

Dragonstone.

The ancestral seat of the Targaryens when they arrived from Valyria. Once an outpost of the Valyrians that became the only home they had after the Targaryens fled the Doom. It passed from Father to Son. Lord to Heir. Then King to Prince. At least, until Aenys and Maegor divided the Kingdom. Dragonstone belonged to the Targaryens but no one knew which side. Both had equal claims to it. Both deserted it and left it to rot due to the dispute.

Well, not really rot. She knew Dragonstone had caretakers to look after. The Keep did not fall into a decrypt state. But she had never been there.

She could now. Now there were only two Targaryens left.

“As long as I get to Dragonstone before you-”

“I shall leave you alone for a week.” He says. “Two weeks.” He amended when he saw her glare.

She nods.

She climbs up on Syrax and watches as she makes her way towards Caraxes.

She only waits for him to be seated on his saddle before she commands Syrax to take flight. He didn’t cry out when he saw her fly before he was prepared. At least, she gave him the grace to sit on his saddle before she flew away. He should be thankful for that. 

She wasn’t in the air alone for too long before she felt him. She only needed to turn her head a bit to see the red dragon in the sky. Caraxes was larger than Syrax. But Syrax’s smaller and leaner size only meant that she could fly faster. Especially during a clear sky like this. 

But Caraxes was gaining speed. He drew closer and closer.

“Faster, Syrax. Faster!”

Syrax let out a cry and Caraxes echoed it. It almost made her smile. She was sure if she were to look back right now he would be smiling.

But all she did was urge Syrax to fly faster. She could see the looming Keep in the distance growing bigger and bigger. She had never seen it before. She imagined what it would look like. But her imagination didn’t do it justice. It was beautiful. 

But her moment of distraction cost her as Syrax only slowed for a bit and Caraxes flew faster. Soon, she heard the shrill whistle of her husband’s dragon and snapped out.

She cursed when she realized how close he was to her now.

Only a bit more. She could see the beach now. She only needed to land on the beach and she would win.

But Caraxes swept past her and Rhaenyra cried out.

Her husband’s dragon landed on the beach and he waited for her, a smug smile on his face. Rhaenyra’s anger only grew when she saw his face.

“A pity.” He said. “Perhaps next time you can win.”

“There will be no next time.” Rhaenyra snaps.

Her husband laughed.

There was a next time.

And another.

And another.

And she lost every time.

It wasn’t always to Dragonstone that they flew. Sometimes, they would fly Northwards. Sometimes, Southwards. He would point to a place on a map and they’d race there. Nowhere too far from the Keep, but nowhere too close either.

And every night, he would make his way to her room where he’d make sure she was learning Valyrian.

At least, this way she could make sure that he would take the poison every day. He seemed to be the kind of person who liked to hear his own voice. He tended to get thirsty when he talked and would end up drinking more and more of the wine.

At least, she soothed herself, her loss from every race doesn’t mean that she is losing this. 

It was all that was to it.

It certainly wasn’t that she might be enjoying flying with her husband.

Or maybe, she did.

There were days when she looked forward to their races. She always loved flying but most of her life she flew alone. Baelon was always so busy being the Heir and assisting their Father. Neither of her parents had dragons. Her Aunt lived away in Driftmark, visiting the Keep so rarely.

But now she had someone who could fly with her. Someone who truly understood what joy flying brought to her. Someone who looked and listened .

She was loath to admit that she even started looking forward to their lessons. It was talking with someone who wasn’t the maid brushing her hair or helping her wear her dress.

But can one blame her? She was all alone. Is it so wrong to accept little bits of joy every now and then?

Even if the joy comes from a monster?

Some days, she stares at the vial of perfume on her table. She stares and stares as her hair is brushed and braided and pinned. Some days, she takes it in her hands and looks at the remaining liquid. It was so low now. She knew the poison was starting to act. She knew it because she felt it as well. She looked paler. She felt weaker. And there was a splitting headache that never seemed to go away.

She knew soon it would be worse. Soon a sickness would appear that would make them both incapable of getting up from their bed.

She prayed it would take them fast.

She also prayed that it would be painless for her sake.

It was only for her sake.

“I heard Syrax was born in your cradle.”

They were on Dragonstone once more. And once more, she had lost the race. 

“Yes, she was. I was less than a month old when she hatched.” Rhaenyra said with a slight smile.

“I would lie if I said I do not envy you.” He patted Caraxes’ snout. “My own egg went cold in my cradle. And we did not have an abundance of dragons lying around for one to claim. My father had Vhagar and my mother had Meleys. Beyond that, there were none. I thought I could claim Meleys after…”

After his mother died. Princess Alyssa who died in the birthing bed like Rhaenyra’s grandmother and mother. She wondered which was worse. Losing your mother and sibling or losing just your mother. She wondered if she would be like her Aunt, resenting her brother for taking the life of her mother if her brother had lived.

Something that they’ll never know.

“My aunt claimed her.”

“Yes, I heard.” A slight sneer on his face. “Well, better her than anyone else. At least, she is an apt rider. In the end I had Caraxes.”

“My grandfather’s dragon.”

“Yes.” Now he smiled when he looked at her. “Fitting I suppose. She gets my mother’s dragon and I get her father’s. Your father must have hated me even more for it.”

She swallowed, her hands stilled on Syrax’s scale. Her father. He rarely broached the topic of her family. Never mentioned them in any form except for hinting at her revenge plans. 

Until now.

She looked at him, willed herself to not flinch or show any form of emotion. “My father was the rider of Balerion.”

“Yes, and it died in a year. By the time your father claimed Balerion it was old and weak. It would let anything claim it because it could not stop it. Do you disagree?”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to refute his claims and then stopped. Her father was never a strong man. If Balerion was in his prime she doubts her father could have claimed him. She was under no illusion of her father’s capabilities. 

“I heard a rumor. It says that your father tried to claim Caraxes after the death of his father. But Caraxes escaped the Pit.”

There must be some truth to it. Her father had no dragon and no strong backing to him. Her aunt had the Velaryons. He must have been desperate. And perhaps desperate to cling to the memory of the only parent he had.

“I suppose that pleases you? To know that Caraxes was unwilling to be claimed by my father and flew away?”

“Of course.” He admitted bluntly. “Am I meant to pretend otherwise? A dragon chooses its rider. It cannot be forced. Your father was shunned and I was chosen. Am I not meant to gloat about it?”

She could not blame him for wanting to gloat about it. Caraxes was a war dragon. He may not be Balerion or Vhagar, but he went to war with her grandfather. And then again with her husband where he defeated another dragon. It was a dragon worthy of a King. 

“You’re arrogant.”

“It’s part of my charm.”

Yes, it was.

There was a horrible pain in her stomach and she couldn’t stop vomiting.

It took everything in her to stand up and get ready. Her maids flutter around and dabbing powder under her eye to reduce the bags. She could barely swallow a single bite before she pushed the food away.

It was another day when she was meant to see Syrax and perhaps race against her husband.

But when she saw him, she saw that he looked pale. There were bags under his eye and a slight wobble in his steps.

Neither of them flew that day. 

She ignored his looks.

That night when he came to visit her, he quietly observed her as she studied.

By the end of the night there was no conversation between them aside from her lessons. But he drank the wine. So did she. 

Even if she wanted to throw it out. Even if she wondered if it was worth it anymore.

She wondered as he looked at her whether he suspected anything.

He shouldn’t, right?

If he suspected something he would not drink the wine, right?

They still race now. But not as much as before.

Rhaenyra hates that she misses it. 

She hates it even more that she misses him when he isn’t flying with her.

The monotonous routine was interrupted once again when they received a letter that the Velaryons would be visiting. Her aunt, Princess Rhaenys, intended to visit with her family to greet the King and Queen.

Her husband said nothing but only mused that it took the Princess a while to greet him. 

“Can you blame her? You killed her brother.” Rhaenyra said.

Her husband only gave her a look. “You think your Aunt is visiting now out of concern for you? Or for your family?” He sneered at her. “Do not be so stupid as to think that the Velaryons don’t have their own purpose. It is no secret your aunt was not fond of your father. Her husband even less so. Now they’re coming here. If I were you I’d worry, my dearest.”

Rhaenyra only glared at him before walking out of the council room.

She knew he had a point. Her aunt would probably not shed a tear over her father’s death. She would feel sorry for Rhaenyra for they are both Princesses who were used and sacrificed for their family but beyond that it would be nothing. 

There was no change in her power from when she was a Princess. She was not a valued member in her husband’s council. She had no power. Queens do not have power unless they have children. 

Unless they have sons .

She had no child. She will never have a child. It was not just because of her husband but also because of the death of women in her family. She will never be in their position. 

But then again, she hates her husband so she will not need to think about it.

She does not care.

She does not.

She stands by his side as her aunt enters with the Velaryons. She was not yet born when her Aunt married and Corlys Velaryon rarely ever visited the Keep after the death of his father-in-law. Along with him, his own children rarely visited.

Rhaenyra never saw them except for the few visits one every few years during a feast or tourneys. Nothing beyond that.

Last she saw Laena she was a child of two and ten. Now, she was a young girl of six and ten. A beautiful young lady marching behind her mother and father with a smile on her face.

Rhaenyra smiled as she greeted her Aunt and cousins. She stood tall when they curtsied and bowed. She welcomed them with open arms (or at least in front of everyone she did) and even went to hug her Aunt once the greetings were done.

“Aunt, it has been a while.” She murmurs.

“Your grace, it is good to see you so good in health.”

What a lie. Rhaenyra looked terrible, hidden under a pile of powder and rouge to make her look like she wasn’t sick. 

“Thank you, Princess. It pleases me to see you so well.” 

That at least was not a lie. Rhaenys was family. Rhaenyra was pleased her aunt was well.

Introductions were made with her cousins, both of whom greeted her with a warm smile. She studied Laenor when he kissed her hand and smiled at her. In a different world, she might have married him. A valryian who was the heir to the Driftwood throne and a dragon rider. He was the son of a Princess and the richest man in the Seven Kingdom. There was a benefit to marrying Laenor. But that was probably a different life. 

When she greeted Laena, she hugged her and greeted her as if they were friends.

“It has been far too long, your grace. I hope during our visit you and I can spend more time together.”

“Of course.” She smiled. It would be nice to spend time with someone that was not her husband. Laena seemed pleasant and friendly. Maybe in a different life they would be sisters if she had married Laenor. Maybe if the war did not happen, her husband would have married her because she was of Valyrian blood. Even if she did not have a dragon.

It was ironic to her that Laena would be standing here in her position right now if only she had a dragon.

“Perhaps we can even ride together.” Laena said.

“Of course. I think Syrax is capable enough to take two for a ride.”

She laughed. “No need for that!”

At Rhaenyra’s confused look Corlys spoke up. She had never spoken to him before. Never had the need to as her brother was the one who usually spoke with him. Corlys might have had some interest in her once as the Princess, but she is sure that he dislikes her now for taking the throne. He might even be insulted that once more a woman of his family lost the right to call herself a Queen of the realm.

“My daughter can fly on her own, your grace.” Corlys said with a proud grin. “She has recently claimed Vhagar.”

All of a sudden she wanted to hurl. Her husband on her side looked at Laena, surprised.

“My father’s dragon.” He said, a small smile on his face. “And the dragon of my ancestor, Visenya. You must be proud, Lady Laena. You should tell us how you accomplished such a task.”

Laena curtsied and thanked him, her cheeks flushing at the compliment. Laenor and Corlys grinned proudly. Rhaenys had a small smile on her face but even Rhaenyra could tell how proud she was of her daughter.

A Velaryon. Daughter of the richest man. Now rider of the biggest dragon to exist.

She did not need to look at Corlys to see that man’s eyes shine with his obvious greed.

Later that night they had a feast to celebrate the ‘gathering of family’. Rhaenyra sneered into her cup of wine as she drank. 

As custom, her husband and her were the first one to dance. Rhaenyra liked dancing. She liked to move from arm to arm, giggling as she twirled around with Alicent as her mother and father looked at her warmly. She liked the attention.

She did not know how to feel about her husband’s attention. It was different when they were alone. She could chalk it up to it being that she was the only other person in the room with him. 

But here when they were dancing surrounded by many people, she did not know what to feel about how his eyes never turned away from her. She did not know whether she wanted to revel in it or shy away from it. He was her husband. He should look at her. He should only look at her.

He was her enemy. She shouldn’t want him to look at him Shouldn’t want him to touch her and only her.

She was thankful when they both parted and she took someone else’s arm and danced. She danced with Laenor, the Lannisters, the Baratheons and others. 

She hated that she kept on looking over at her husband, turning away whenever she saw that he kept on staring at her.

She hated it even more when she saw that he never once looked at her when she danced with Laena.

She doesn't like to share things. She remembered a toy she had as a child. Does not remember which toy it was for she had many but she remembered she was bored of it. She played with it for a few days and was prepared to whine to her brother about her lack of toys. A lie seeing that she was spoiled and had too many. But then someone else looked at it.

It didn’t matter that she was bored of it. It was hers.

She would not give it up.

So she burned the toy. She burned it in front of the little girl who liked it. A child of one of the Lords. It did not matter. It was hers to do as she pleased.

She hated him. She hated her husband but he was still hers. Until one of them breathed their last breath, he was hers.

So isn’t it fair for her to hate that Laena could so easily snatch his attention? That she was clearly here to take what was Rhaenyra’s?

“You will marry Laena?” She asked.

“Is that a question or a statement, my dear?” He did not look at her as he read his own book.

“You tell me.”

“Would you be happy if I married her? If I marry her then you are free.”

“Free?” She laughed coldly. “There is no freedom. The only way out of this marriage is my death. You can only marry her if I die.”

“Not necessarily.” He frowned at the book. “I could give you a way out. A passage to Essos where you can live a free life. I can marry Laena and say you died. She will be Queen and you will be free. And I will have a Queen willing to do her duties to the realm.”

She swallowed roughly. She wanted to grab the bottle on the table and smash it against his head for even daring to say such things in front of her. How could he say such things so easily?

“It’s so easy to replace me isn’t it?” She smiles sarcastically. “Might as well kill me and be done with it then. You might even enjoy it.”

“Is that what you think? That I enjoy needless bloodshed?”

“Do you refuse to admit it?”

“I don’t enjoy needless bloodshed. I am a soldier.”

“How funny. Is that what you say to yourself to convince yourself that your atrocities were right?”

“What atrocities? War? Then would you call Aegon a monster?”

“Aegon burned down Dorne for his Queen.”

“Do you think I would not burn down kingdoms and armies for you?”

She stills. She will not… she cannot think of that. She cannot let herself think that-

“It is surprising to me how you still pretend to not see the obvious.” He says, looking at her with something akin to pity and sadness.

She hates it. She hates it because in her heart she knows why he looks at her like that. Knows that if she thinks about it-

She stands up and walks out of the room. It was good that he moved the lessons to his chambers for the past few nights. Let the Keep think that the Queen does entertain the King in his bed. Let the Velaryons think that.

She doesn't think of the conversation. She doesn’t allow herself to think on his words.

Because to do so would mean to accept things are changing and she can’t accept that.

She thinks accepting it would break her.

They entertain the Velaryons for a few more days. She spends time with her Aunt and Laena. Especially with Laena. She wishes she could hate her. She wishes Laena was vindictive and greedy like her father.

But she was kind. She was so kind and so friendly. She had no ill intention. She simply wanted the company of another girl who she could befriend.

“I only had Laenor growing up but a brother is not the same as a sister.”

It wasn’t the same. She had wanted a sister. Her father had wished for a spare heir but Rhaenyra had wanted a sister.

Visenya , she would call her.

The babe was a boy but it did not live past a day.

She wanted to hate Laena. But she couldn’t hate her for her father’s greed. 

She wanted to hate her for the possibility that she could take away Rhaenyra’s revenge from her.

That was all.

(It was getting harder and harder to lie to herself.)

She smiled politely when Corlys was appointed the position of Master of Ships. She wanted to stab him with her dagger, the one her husband gave to her, when she found out Laena was remaining with Corlys while Rhaenys and Laenor would leave.

“What will you do?” 

“About what, Aunt?”

“Will you remain here in this limbo where you’re not a Princess but you’re not a Queen either for you hold no power that a Queen does or will you do something?”

“What would you have me do, Princess?”

“You decide. Do you want to be a Queen or do you want vengeance?”

Queen or Vengeance.

It rings in her head the whole day.

Queen or Vengeance.

(Anger or happiness)

There is a door that connects the King’s chamber to the Queen’s chamber. For months now Rhaenyra had the one on her side barred since the day she married him. He never tried to enter it. He only looked at with amusement when he entered her room for her lessons before. 

Tonight, she waits. Waits until it is late enough that she knew her husband would be asleep. She waits before she quietly makes his way to her room.

She holds the dagger in her hand. Her dagger. His dagger. 

She slowly makes her way towards his bed. She hesitates when she draws close enough to see his face. No smirks. No taunting smiles. Just peace.

Peace that he took from your father and brother, she said to herself.  

She climbed up on his bed, careful to not wake him. Just as she sees him stir, she quickly straddles him and holds the dagger against his throat.

It doesn’t take him long after that to wake up.

She doesn’t know what she expected when he would see her.

(She did. She expected anger. Betrayal. Anything like that. It was better than anything else.)

He smiles at her. Delighted when he realizes it is his dagger she holds to his throat.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to do this.”

“You expected this?”

“I’m a soldier. Do you think others did not try to sneak into my tent and try to slit my throat? So will you do it or not?”

She hesitates. She should do it. It should be easy.

Her hands shake.

“You’re shaking.” He observes quietly. “You need to firm yourself if you want to take a life, my love. You can break after. The first is always the hardest. It comes easy after that. Shall I tell you my first kill? I don’t remember his face. Or name. Just a nameless fool who tried to stab me with a knife when I was eight. It was a quick death. A bloody one but quick. Even at eight I was faster than a grown adult. My father said I was born to be a warrior.”

“I could tell you about when I killed your brother. Or your father. Which would you prefer?” He taunted.

She tightened her hold on her dagger, pressing it against his throat harder and seeing the blood well up against the blade. His smile grew at that.

“Caraxes ripped your brother’s dragon’s throat and then I stabbed your brother through the head. As for your father it was embarrassing how easy it was to kill him. At least, your brother put up a fight. Your father could not even lift up his sword properly. I was merciful to him. A King like that is shameful.”

Rhaenyra did not want to slit his throat. She wanted to stab him. She wanted to stab him over and over again and make him scream. She wanted to rip him apart and cause him pain. She wanted him to break.

She did not realize she was crying until she felt his fingers wipe her tears.

She should hate him. She should hate him.

But he looked stunning as he spoke such cruel words to her. He’s smiling as he speaks, his eyes unhinged. She should be horrified. She should be angry. She thought looked beautiful. The most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

“Or should I remind you of your mother? Your mother who chose a spare over you?”

“So did yours.” She snarled. 

“I suppose we both aren’t enough for the ones we once loved the most.”

Remembers the death of Princess Alyssa. She was so young then. A girl of only five when she heard that the Princess died. Remembers a feast being thrown a week later, disguised as the King’s whim but known to everyone that it was a taunt. 

The favor was returned when Queen Alysanne died a few years later. And again when her own mother died. 

“Did you know your father was the one who suggested the feast to celebrate my mother’s death?” He asked. “Even sent a letter expressing his sympathy.” 

A cold smirk on his face. 

Rhaenyra’s heart froze. 

Her father.

“But then again, he killed his mother to live. What does he know of what it is like to love your mother?”

Rhaenyra swallowed. She thought of her husband. She thought of him being as old as she was when he lost his mother. She thought of what she would do if someone had dared to send a letter to taunt her mother’s death.

“I had my revenge. If you want yours then you must take it with your own hand, Rhaenyra.”

She pushes away from him, unable to bear hearing him say her name. He shouldn’t say her name like that. He shouldn’t say it as if it hurt him to say her name.

He surges up and presses his lips against hers.

She gasps and he swallows it, parting her lips with his tongue until her mouth was open and pliant. 

She wants to shove him away. She wants to run away.

She puts her hands around his shoulders and grips him tightly. 

He pulls back slightly to nip at her lips before pulling her closer again. Rhaenyra trembled as he touched her. As his hands slowly made their way from her waist to her hair. As her own hands tangled in his hair as she kissed him again and again. 

She could hear her whimpers. She could hear him .

She wanted him closer. She wanted to rip him apart and climb into where his heart was. 

She wanted more. A kiss wasn’t enough. Kissing him would never be enough. 

She wanted everything.

She wanted-

“Daemon.” She whispered.

He jerked back when he heard her whisper his name.

For a moment they both stared at each other. Panting. 

He looked at her as if she was the answer to all his questions. As if she was everything he could ever want.

And she.

She ran.

Chapter Text

She once asked her mother what love was. She, like every child, assumed that her parents were in love when they married. They seemed like they were in love when she saw them. They smiled together. Laughed together. Held hands. Kissed each other gently. That gentleness had to be love, right?

Her mother said love was happiness. It was being in the presence of the one you love and feeling nothing but happy and content.

She wonders then if it was really love if all it did was make her feel horrible. If it only made her angry and want and want and want. Love was meant to be selfless and beautiful. Then how can this ugly feeling be love?

Rhaenyra does not see him after that night. She barred her door once more and pretended to be too ill (or not really because she was ill) to meet him in the Pit and for her lessons. He granted her the mercy and stayed away. She did not know if that made her happy. 

Some days, she wished he would burst in her room at night and demand her to speak out the words she kept forcing down.

Some days, she wishes she could hear his voice again. She wishes she could talk to him again about anything. About the little things he would say and the way he would ask her about her own life.

Some days, she ached to just see him. She did not need to fly with him. Or speak with him. Or have him look at her. She wanted to look at him.

She was almost glad she was sick. Too sick to move from her bed on most days. Her maids fretted around. Maesters coming in and going out. Laena stayed by her and kept her company. She almost asked about him. She wanted to know if he was sick as well. If he was suffering like she was.

He hoped he was.

He hoped this sickness was driving him insane. He hoped he was so ill he could not get up from his own bed.

He hoped he was sick of not seeing her like she was.

Laena looked worried as she wiped her forehead.

“The Maesters are working hard. They will find a way.”

Rhaenyra was too tired to say she did not want help.

She wanted-

She feels hands caressing her face. Slowly wiping her forehead and singing softly. A voice too rough to be Laena’s. A valyrian song. Laena did not speak Valyrian. She did not have the fluency that Rhaenyra did now.

Only one person spoke Valyrian to her.

“Daemon.” She whispers.

She opens her eyes to see him smile at her. He looked healthy. His skin was not pale like it was when she saw him a few weeks ago. He smiled at her softly. Lovingly. 

She leaned into his touch. It had to be okay. This was a dream. It was okay to want him in a dream. She’d forget it when she woke up.

“You look terrible.” He says.

“I thought you said I was always beautiful.”

A huff of laughter, Rhaenyra smiles at that. 

“You are. Even now when you are pale and weak you are stunning. No one could compare.”

“Flattery.”

“Truth. I never lie to you. I’ve never once lied to you.”

“Hmmm.” Doesn’t know if he is telling the truth. Doesn’t care. Is too bothered by how much it hurts . Her head. Her body. Everywhere. Feels like it was burning.

“It hurts.” She whispers. “I’m burning.”

“I know, little dragon.” His eyes turned sad, his hands once again softly caressing her face and hair. “But fire cannot kill a dragon.”

“It will kill me. I know it. I made sure of it.”

“Did you now?”

“Yes. It will kill me. And you.”

“Is that so? Do you regret it?”

“I… don’t know. I just want it to stop hurting. I want my mother.”

“My brave girl,” he whispers. “Do you want me to make it stop? The pain?”

“Yes.” she breathes. “Will I die?”

“My Rhaenyra,” his voice is so tender when he says her name. “You and I are bound for life. You are never leaving me.”

Doesn’t register the vial in his hands. Doesn’t feel it as he puts it against her lips and coaxes her to drink it. Simply drifts off to sleep at the sound of his voice. Singing to her again a Valyrian song that she has never heard before.

She wakes the next day and remembers. 

It was a dream. She was sure of it. He looked too healthy. 

It was a dream.

She expects her sickness to get worse. She expects the pain to worsen until it takes her. She was ready to see her family again. She wanted her mother.

Except that she did not get what she wanted.

She got better .

She did not understand. It made no sense why she would get better. She made sure she took the right poison. Every night, with her cake or wine or something else that they were both served. She ate it. Even if she knew she would die, she took it every single day. Even as slowly it became harder and harder to drop the poison inside their drinks or their food. She still did it.

So why was she still alive?

Laena looked so happy to see her getting better. She smiled and hugged her. Thanked the Gods, old and new and even the Valyrian pantheon, for it.

“You never know which one is real. Might as well thank them all.” She shrugged.

Rhaenyra would laugh if it weren’t for the fact that she couldn’t. This was terrible. She was getting well. 

“What happened?” She asked.

“Some cook in the kitchen.” Laena scowled. “He poisoned you and the King over many moons. Slowly! Ha! Traitor.” She sneered. “You need not worry, your grace. The King said the cook will be punished as a traitor.”

Rhaenyra swallows down her bile. She smiles at Laena uneasily as her cousin smiles at her brightly, unaware of the torment that she was facing herself. She wanted to scream. She did not want to smile and pretend to be happy when an innocent kitchen cook was being sentenced to death because of her.

It was right on the tip of her tongue. She could say it right now. 

She kept on smiling as Laena recounted to her everything that happened.

She wonders if it was truly a dream.

She prays it was. Cannot imagine if it was anything else.

Prays that he was not the one who fed her the antidote. Does not even want to think about how he knows which poison she was feeding him. Or how he looked so healthy. Wonders when he knew about the poison and when he started to take the antidote. 

Did he want to see her suffer?

Was that why he hesitated for so long before giving her the antidote?

He visits her again at night. But this time she is sure it is not a dream but reality. She is lucid now. She knows this is reality and not a dream.

“Darling.” He greets, a bright smile on his face as if he is truly greeting his wife and not someone who tried to kill him, and probably almost succeeded, once more. 

“Husband.” She greets coldly.

“No name? Last time I was here you called me by my name.”

No dream then. She willed herself to not flush with embarrassment. She remembers bits and pieces of it. She does not want to remember more than what she does. Better to pretend it never happened. 

“I thought it was a dream.”

“You dream of me often then? You sounded so pleased. Almost as good as when you kissed me.”

Now she did flush. She did not want to remember… how it felt like to touch him. How it felt like to kiss him. It felt like she was burning, but unlike the burning of the poison which she wanted to run from, that was the fire she would willingly embrace. That fire would not burn her.

Fire cannot kill a dragon.

“You kissed me.” She snapped.

“We can debate on that if you want. How you kissed me back. How you wanted me to kiss you. Only if you want to, of course dearest. I don’t want you to tax yourself. You are still so unwell.”

“And why do you think that is?” She snarled at him.

“Will you blame me for your own doings? It was not I who poisoned you. It was you.”

“So you know.”

“Of course I know.”

“You should have killed me. You should have let me die.”

“Oh Rhaenyra,” he sighed, walking over to where she was and sitting down beside her. He leaned in, pulling her closer to him. Rhaenyra could feel her heartbeat faster. “Dying is so easy. It’s the coward’s way out. You are going to live. You are going to live to torment and love me for the rest of our lives together.”

“I don’t love you.”

“Don’t you?” he smirked.

She swallows.

Love.

She does not love him.

She cannot love him.

“I hate you.” She whispers.

“ My little dragon,” he leans his head against hers, noses touching, lips almost touching. “You will find that there is a very thin line separating love and hate. There is no one else for you to love but me. I am all you have now, Rhaenyra.”

He asks her to ride with him. Not summons. Never orders her. Leaves it up to her to choose.

She hates this. 

Wants to go but doesn’t want to see him. Cannot see him after what happened the last time she saw him. Feels helpless because it is the truth. He is all she has. Rhaenys is not hers. Laena is not hers.

He is hers.

And she is his.

She ignores every single one of his invites.

“Laena?”

“Yes, your grace?”

“What would you do if you were me?”

“I… I apologise your grace I do not understand..”

“If he killed your father and Laenor. If you were me. What would you do?”

Silence.

“I would want revenge.”

Rhaenyra sighs.

“I would also look for happiness. Or whatever is close to it. I am not you, Rhaenyra. You are not me. You will not do what I would and I will not do what you would do. We are different people.”

She wakes up that morning and decides to visit the Pit. It has been a long time since she has seen her girl. She misses her. Does not care if he is there as long as she gets to see Syrax.

Dresses up in her riding gear and rides out to see her dragon. Feels like laughing and crying when she sees Syrax who roars when she sees Rhaenyra.

Whispers apologies to her for ignoring her for so long. 

Does not realize that she is not alone anymore until he speaks up.

“A race?” 

She turns to see him. Dressed in his own riding gear, he looks pleased to see her. 

She wants to refuse him. She just wants to fly but not with him.

She opens her mouth.

“Yes.”

A wager again. She was too sick to continue her lesson so she could pick something else. 

She was sick only a while ago.

She didn’t expect to win.

She won.

Doesn’t know if Syrax felt her desperation to win at this because she needed this. She needed to win for herself. Her dragon answers her call and flapping her wings faster, freezing winds against her face that Rhaenyra knows is not going to help her get well.

She lands a few seconds before he does.

“Well my love,” he smiles. “What is it you want?”

Your head, she could say.

Freedome, she could say.

You.

“Are you sorry?” She asks instead.

He looked curious at that. Does not understand what she means.

Does not explain herself and simply waits. It only takes him a few more minutes to understand. She can see as he realizes what she means.

Is he sorry for killing everyone she loved?

“Do you want me to tell you the truth or lie?”

One would be merciful. The other would not.

“You said you never lied to me.”

“Then I’ll say the truth. I am not sorry. I wanted the throne and the realm so I took it.”

She knew what he would say. She knew it and yet it hurt. So she marched up to him and slapped him. 

He did not stop her. Did not look angry or frustrated. Simply accepts it.

“I will never forgive you.” She whispered.

“I do not need your forgiveness.” 

“What do you want from me?” She begged him. She needed to know what it would take for him to stop tormenting her.

“You know what I want.”

Desire. 

Love.

Her.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she was meant to torment him for the rest of his life.

But maybe he was meant to torment her as well.

Receives another gift from him once they resume her lessons. This time he gives it to her personally.

Holds the necklace of dark steel and red ruby in his hand to show it to her.

“Do you know what it is?” He asks.

She touches it softly, reverently. Knows what it is before he even thought to ask her.

“Valyrian steel. Like Dark Sister.” She whispers.

She tries to take it from him before he pulls it away.

She looks at him angrily. Was he teasing her?

He smiles amused, “turn around.”

She turns around, brushing her hair over her shoulder and unclasps the golden chain she was wearing.

Feels the weight of the cold metal on her neck as he slowly clasps it on her.

“Now we both have pieces to connect us to our history.” 

Says nothing as his touch lingers on the back of her neck.

Feels it for hours after. Even when he leaves.

Wishes he touched her more .

She receives a letter inviting her to a wedding.

Wedding of Alicent Hightower. 

She stares at it for a while. Stares at the words her dearest friend wrote asking her to come see her marry.

We talked about this day for years. Do you remember? It’s here now. I wish you were here too.

Does not hesitate to reply that she will be there. She will fight armies if needed to see her friend marry. This is all Alicent dreamt of. Marriage, husband, children. She was on her way to achieve her dreams and Rhaenyra would be damned if she didn’t get to witness it.

Informs him that she will be traveling to Oldtown for the wedding.

He looks displeased. She knows he does not like the Hightowers. Visenya and Maegor hated the Faith. But he accepted that they were a powerful House and would allow them their freedom as long as they didn’t try to push their Faith on him.

“We shall go together.” He tells her.

“You wish to go with me?” She was surprised. 

“You think I will let my wife go to the nest of vipers alone? No. We go together.”

She does not say anything. As long as she can see Alicent again that’s what matters.

She nearly cries when she sees Alicent again. She looks so beautiful. She was glowing with happiness when she saw Rhaenyra. Barely curtsied before Rhaenyra pulls her into her arms. Does not care what the crowd thinks. Or what anyone thinks.

She missed her only friend.

When she looks at Alicent again, she sees her crying. 

“Silly girl, why are you crying?”

She laughs at her and hugs her again.

She spends all her time with Alicent. She lets her husband do the politicking. She does not care about it. She only cares about Alicent. Sees her in her wedding dress and smiles. Dances with her to prepare her for her wedding feast. Gossips with her as if they were little girls once again.

She was happy.

Daemon never asks for her.

But he looks. He looks and looks. 

Sometimes when she looks back at him

He looks at her so softly.

He looks at her like she is the sun.

But it is her who turns her gaze away because it hurts.

She sees her friend marry and she wants to cry. She might have shed a few tears. Alicent looked so beautiful in her white dress. She looked so happy as she looked at her now husband. No shred of unhappiness on her face. Exactly how a bride should be at her wedding.

Nothing like her in her mourning black and hate filled heart.

She smiles brightly when Alicent looks at her, wishing nothing but happiness for her. Let her not feel the misery that Rhaenyra felt.

“Are you unhappy?” Alicent asks her.

“I do not know.” She says.

She doesn’t really know anymore. She used to be angry, furious and so, so sad. Now… she does not know.

“Well,” Alicent smiles softly. “It’s better than nothing.”

A moment of silence.

“Is he cruel to you?”

She thinks.

Dragon rides. Valyrian lessons. Daggers. 

Touches the necklace on her neck. 

“No.”

They return to their daily lives. Both of them are far too busy after being away for almost a moon. Piles of work on both their desks that have them unable to see each other often or see their dragons.

It is the first time she was not seeing him due to work. Not because she did not want to.

She eats dinner alone. Sometimes, Laena joins her. She talks with Laena and she thinks.

She wishes it was him.

A much needed break after days and days of work.

She goes to see Syrax and sees him with Caraxes. He turns to look at her.

She does not say how she feels an overwhelming sense of something when she sees him again. When he sees her and smiles at her happily.

“Race?” She asks.

He grins.

A loss.

Both of them sitting down on the shores of Dragonstone. 

They never venture inside the Keep. It wasn’t home to either of them really. Perhaps it should be.

But it wasn’t. 

It would be home to the future Crown Prince.

If there was ever one.

“What do you want?” She asks him.

He looks at her for a while. Long enough for her to turn to look at him. Does not know what he is looking for in her face.

“Do you love me?” He asks.

She stops breathing.

Love. She once asked her mother what love is. She said love was content and happiness. 

She knows love. Knows the love of a father and a mother. Of a brother and a sister.

But what does it mean to love a man? In the books and poems she used to read,  it is described in beautiful words. Butterflies in one's stomach. The world seemed more beautiful. You hear music. Load of poetic rubbish. Rubbish she once believed was true. Words she believed were true as a child.

She was no longer a child. She did not believe in fairytales anymore. She does not think love is just feeling content and happy. She thinks love is also feeling anger and helplessness. It’s wanting someone so much that you feel like you cannot breathe if you’re not near them. It’s burning constantly.

Or maybe, that was just love for her.

She does not answer him.

The next time she wins, she asks him the same question.

“Do you love me?”

“As much as someone like me can love someone.”

She wonders later what that means. 

Does he mean as much as possible from a person? Or does he mean as much as a monster like him could care for someone?

Hating is easier than love.

She still has not answered his question when she opens the door again. 

This time she has no dagger in her hand.

This time it’s just her.

He sits on his bed, a book in his hand and looks up to see her. Sees no weapon on her and tilts his head. Looks at her and waits.

She walks towards him and stands in front of him.

“I want..” she hesitates.

He closes the book and sits up. Even sitting down on the bed he was almost her height. She could not look down at him.

“What do you want?” he asks.

She wonders if she should walk away. 

Hate is easier than love.

Desire is much easier than both.

“You.”

Daemon pulls her down towards him.

She starts to spend more nights with him. She cannot stop it. She crossed this line and now there’s no coming back.

Now all she can think about is his lips on hers. His hands touching her. The peak that she could never reach with just her own hands. The way he whispers her name.

All she can think about is him. 

She wonders if he burns like she does. If he cannot wait for the sun to set so that he can find his way to her.

“Do you love Harwin?” She asks Laena.

Today she flew with her cousin. They were on a small patch of island near Driftmark, both of them lying on the sand and staring up at the sky. 

Laena’s father, Corlys, has started to look for a husband for her daughter. Especially when the rumors were already circulating that the Queen frequents the King’s bed. Ever since one of her maids came to wake her up and saw her bed was empty. Was frantic and alerted the guards who alerted the King, only to find out the Queen was in his bed.

There was no child yet. Corlys could still push.

But the man had pride. And Laena was a noble lady wanted by many.

But she seemed to want the captain of the Gold Cloaks.

“I do.” 

She says it so easily. As if admitting it was as easy as breathing.

Rhaenyra tells her so.

Laena laughs.

“Love is easy. It is one of the easiest things in the world. It is us who makes it complicated.”

She makes every thought in Rhaenyra’s head sound stupid.

“Do you think they’ll forgive me?” She asks.

Laena stops laughing. She looks at her with pity and understanding. She holds her hand.

“I think they love you Rhaenyra. And when you love someone you wish for nothing but their happiness.”

She wonders if her family would truly be happy. If her father and mother would be happy that she beds a monster. If her brother would be disappointed in her. If they would all think she is a monster for feeling like this for a monster.

She thinks and thinks late at night as her husband sleeps beside her.

She wakes up one morning before he does. A rare occurrence seeing that her husband was always awake before the sun was up.

She watches him sleep. Traces his features with her fingers as the sunlight slowly filters into th-his room.

Watches as he stirs in his sleep, frowning and then slowly waking up. Eyes blinking lazily, a soft yawn before his gaze focuses on her.

She sees his eyes light up when he sees her.

He smiles.

“Ask me again.” She tells him.

Another day. Another race. Another loss.

Sand underneath them. The setting sun. Orange and red sky.

She waits for him to understand what she means. Sees him realize what she means and sees his smile.

“Do you love me?” He asks.

She agonized over this for so long. It ripped her apart. Caused her pain.

She finds that saying it was much easier than keeping it hidden. 

Easier than desire.

Easier than hate.

“As much as someone like me can love someone.”

As much as it was possible for one to love someone.

As much as it was possible for someone as selfish and horrible to love someone.

She looks down at the beach and smiles. Doesn’t hear what they are saying but she can hear their laughter.

Doesn’t realize she is not alone until she heard the question.

“Are you happy?” 

She looks at Alicent, dressed in blue and smiling at her. She looks back down at the beach. She sees Daemon with a wooden sword and their daughter with another. Sees her husband laugh while their daughter tries to hit him. Sees her son on the side with Laena’s children cheering for the ones they support.

The answer was so easy.

“Yes.”

Alicent beams at her.

Below them, her daughter stomps back towards her brother, dejected but still determined, while her husband shakes his head. 

He looks towards where she is and he smiles.

She smiles back.