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Chapter Text

This was not the first night Viserys had dreamt of his late lady wife.

Aemma was a constant in his mind, and in his heart; of course she was there when he closed his eyes and found restless sleep.

The day's events had been long; the return of his brother from his war in the Step Stones, paired with the surprise return of his daughter from her tour, two months too soon. Viserys loved them both, but the emotional scale they wrecked on his heart was bound to press him permanently to his cups, or to an early grave.

The reprieve in sleep, to see the love of his life once more, was a welcomed balm.

“My love,” she was even more ethereal than he could recall, as her hand reached up to touch his face, but he felt no contact. Their surroundings were a faded blur; the only light seemed to emit from her very being, “I haven’t long. But you must be made aware of the path you have set upon.”

“Aemma,” he wanted to touch her, but his hand passed right through her body; as if she were nothing more than smoke.

“Listen to me, now, my love,” her lyrical voice had darkened with warning, “For I have seen what is to come, and have but this chance to make it right.”

Viserys frowned, for his dreams of his wife were usually much happier, her smile his favorite memory…this grimace felt out of place.

“What do you mean, Aemma? What is to come?”

She stared sadly at him, “War, my dear husband. A war that will tear our family apart; bring ruin to our legacy, and begat an end to the reign of Dragons.”

Questions struck his tongue, but she spoke again before he could give them voice.

“You have named Rhaenyra heir, but your son by your new bride will always be a threat to her succession. The halls of the Red Keep fill with more Hightowers than Targaryens and our daughter has been left alone.”

“She is not alone,” he insisted, affronted that such a thing would be suggested by this echo of his lost love, “My support for her has not wavered, and-”

“And yet you are not immortal, my love,” Aemma insisted, a sympathetic expression on her face, “And when you are gone, who will Rhaenyra have left to support her? What lord, what House? The Valeryon’s, as you hope?”

Viserys gave pause, thoughts reeling, “I…I have given her leave to choose a match for herself. So that she may have an attempt at the happiness I found with you. If she chooses wisely, then-”

“Our daughter is as naive as she is willful, my love,” Aemma gave a true smile for the first time, “And perhaps we indulged her a little too much as a child. She will need a strong match. One she will not find in Ser Laenor.”

Revelation hit the King with her tone.
“You have seen the outcome of her choice?”

“I have seen choice removed for many years,” Aemma sighed, drawing her arms around herself, “And no great deal of regret and pain to follow it. Force her hand to Ser Laenor, and the events to unfold will set you all upon a path to destruction.”

Her hand reached up again, this time to rest over his eyes, and though he could not feel the physical touch, it seemed as if something did seep through their connection, into his mind.

Flickers and muted flashes, but he saw her words take form. Fire. Pain. Death. Brown haired heirs, Targaryen heraldry aflame, dragons fighting dragons, himself sickly bedridden, and the tearful voice of his sweet girl, older with years that had yet to pass.

“I thought I wanted it…but the burden is a heavy one…it’s too heavy.”

She spoke of the throne. Of the duty he had shroud over her by naming her his heir. Rhaenyra, his fiery little girl, nearly burnt out from the weight of expectation. Had he done this to her? Had he left her to carry it alone?

The ever present knots in Viserys’ stomach tightened, as the mirage of visions faded, and he was before his late wife once more.

She was solemn, expectant.

“What can I do, Aemma?” he whispered, emotions gripping his throat, “How can I stop this?”

A deep exhale passed through her lips, “I fear…you will not enjoy my answer.”

Viserys awoke with a start, his heart hammering in his chest. It was dark, Aemma was gone, and reality settled around him. Alicent lay in the bed with him, asleep. He gained his bearings as memory returned.

Dreaming…he had been dreaming. Of course. But…

Aemma’s warning haunted him, her suggestion still ringing in his ear, and he recoiled from what it implied; what he would have to do.

Perhaps it was just a dream. Not all dreams have meaning. After all, Daemon and Rhaenyra had both returned just yesterday, would it be entirely far reaching of his mind to conjure an idea of the two of them…

He shuddered, but decided it was very likely that his imagination could turn so sour. And to have the words come from the mouth of his dear love…it was almost cruel.

The King took a few settling breaths, and tossed his feet over the side of the bed. It took but a moment to gain his bearings, then he stood, found a robe to draw around himself, and decided that a short walk would do him good.

Help clear his head.

He hadn’t intended to go to Rhaenyra’s chambers, and told himself it had nothing to do with what Aemma had warned him of. A dream, only. The likelihood that Daemon had truly, on his first night home, snuck the Princess from the castle to galavant around the city, and worse the Streets of Silk, was preposterous!

Yet doubt sunk in when Viserys arrived before his daughter’s door and found it absent her guard.

Where was Ser Criston? Why was no one standing watch? Perhaps because his daughter was not in her chambers?

It was that thought alone that had him barging through her doors, praying to find her warm in her bed, sound asleep.

But his prayers would not be answered this night, or again for a long while it would seem, because while he did find his daughter in her room, she was not alone.

Criston Cole was half stripped of his armor, and Rhaenyra herself was as Aemma had warned; dressed as a page boy in clothes that were now unlaced and falling off her shoulders and hips.

They both jumped apart at his loud entrance, but not before he had seen their intent.

“Father!” Rhaenyra gasped, from embarrassment or surprise, he was not sure.

Ser Criston had gone completely pale and had frozen in place.

Viserys expected anger to come, to feel it boiling beneath his blood and roar out like the dragon he was sometimes capable of being.

But no…this confirmation brought nothing but sad revelation.

His vision had not been a mere dream after all. Aemma had come to him to save their daughter; their family. And he loathed what must now be done.

“Leave us, Ser Criston,” Viserys said in a voice so calm, it surprised even him as it left his lips.

The guard dropped his head in an awkward bow, before gathering his things in a hurried scuffle and disappearing out the door without a single backwards glance.

Rhaenyra stood less ashamed, her chin high and her eyes defiant.

“Change your clothing,” Viserys told her with a sigh, “Then meet me in my apartments.”

She blinked, uncertainty breaking through her mask, “Father-”

“Do as I say,” he affirmed, then departed without another word.

“Wed her to Daemon,” Aemma said, so quietly, Viserys worried he had misheard her.

“What?”

“It is the only way to avoid what the gods have allowed me to foresee,” she insisted, “And it will happen whether you approve or not. They are drawn together; I know you have seen it.”

Viserys’ mouth dropped open, closed, then opened again.

“But…he…he is already wed!” he floundered for an excuse. Any excuse.

Aemma chuckled at him, the sound so painfully familiar.

“An unconsummated marriage easily put aside by the signature of the King,” she said, “And to do so would save more than just our daughter.”

Viserys scoffed, “I hardly think betrothing her to Daemon is saving her.”

“Then do not,” Aemma challenged, “And in ten years time, she will wed him anyway. This, you can not stop, Viserys.”

He tensed, and hated himself for wishing he could turn away from her. He did not want to miss any of the moment he was granted with his Aemma, but he also did not want to hear these things.

“She is with him now,” she recaptured his attention, “Our restless girl.”

“What do you mean, she is with him?” he demanded.

“Daemon snuck her from the castle dressed as a page boy, and as you well know, she would follow him anywhere.”

It was true, Rhaenyra held a certain fascination for her uncle; she always had. And Viserys would have been hard pressed to ignore the way the two of them had stared at each other in the garden earlier that day; reunited for the first time since Rhaenyra had come of age.

“He has taken her to a brothel,” Aemma pressed further, and Viserys’ breath caught, even as she reassured him, “She shall leave there with her virtue intact, husband, but not unaffected. He will open her eyes to her own pleasure and she will never close them to the lesson.”

“Then I will stop him!” Viserys insisted, spinning in the nothingness for his sword. It did not appear.

“Wed them,” Aemma insisted, “And she will never seek another. Her children will be true Targaryen’s in blood and in appearance. Her claim will be solidified, and with Daemon at her side from the beginning, she will not wilt beneath the scrutiny of the court.”

Viserys blanched at the suggestion, “He threatens her reputation and you would have me reward him for it?”

“I would have you look beyond your own emotion,” Aemma bowed her head slightly, “And see the truth for what it is. Daemon and Rhaenyra share the blood of the dragon. They are chaotic and restless, yes,” she met his gaze once more, “But they are strong; more so together than apart. Or do you think it coincidence that Rhaenyra’s spark returns the same day that your brother does? That Daemon genuinely enjoys and desires her company, while merely tolerating all else?”

“He desires the throne,” Viserys spat, “Rhaenyra is only a means toward that end, for him.”

“Do you truly believe that?” Aemma frowned, “Or are those Otto Hightower’s words tainting your tongue?”

“Otto-”

“Is the one with desires toward your throne, my King. He would see Aegon upon it, and would ruin Rhaenyra to have it so.”

Of this, Viserys had no counter. He was not oblivious to his Hand’s self serving interests, but nothing the man had done or counseled was treasonous.

“Otto has our daughter followed,” Aemma’s own fire sparked with disdain, “Waiting for the moment he can have her supplanted. And he will come to you on the morrow, with news of her activities tonight with Daemon, towards that purpose. By then, my love, you will have to have made your choice.”

Viserys stopped only a moment outside of his own chambers to address his Kingsguard.

“Find my brother, even if the Gold Cloaks must scour the city for him. Have him brought to his rooms here at the keep, and notify me once he is.”

He went into his room then, and found his young wife awake upon his entrance.

“Your Grace?” Alicent’s voice was still heavy with sleep, and a little confusion.

“Sorry to wake you,” Viserys crossed the space between them, “But something has come up, despite the late hour. I think it best you return to your own chambers.”

Alicent was unlike Rhaenyra in many ways, but never was the difference so obvious as when he gave command.

Where the Princess lived to challenge him, Alicent only nodded and gathered herself to leave.

And when the room was cleared, Viserys lit a few candles and settled at his desk. There were quills and parchment. His royal seal. He detested the letters he must now write, even as he wrote an address to the Sept, and then the Vale.

A knock sounded on his door by the time the ink had dried, and when a guard entered, announcing the arrival of the Princess, Viserys took the letters to him.

“Allow Rhaenyra in, but have these taken to the ravens.”

Again, his order was followed, and a moment later, Rhaenyra entered the room.

She was more put together now. Her hair pulled back in a simple braid, her clothing appropriate for bed but with a thick robe pulled over the nightgown.

“Father?”

He waved her further into the space, and noticed the hesitation that followed her steps. She feared reprimand for her actions, as he knew she should, but what was to transpire was much bigger than the mistake she had almost made.

“Sit,” he instructed, motioning to a chair before the fireplace, where dying embers were still cooling.

With little effort, Viserys worked to restart the fire, and for once, Rhaenyra had done as she was told.

When the flames lit the room, the King stepped back and sat in the chair across from his daughter’s. Silence laid thick between them as he stared at her and she stared back.

Gods, she was still so young, especially compared to the half-vision of her he’d seen of the future. Her features yet to mature, pain yet to etch its way in tears down her cheek.

She was young, but he had to admit, there were more traces now of the woman she was becoming than ever before. She was of age; a woman grown by law and expectation. Holding the notion of her eternal innocence would benefit no one now.

“It is hard,” he began, and she straightened, “For me to look upon you and not see my little girl. For me to admit that you are, in fact, a woman now. And with that truth, comes change.”

Rhaenyra did not speak. He was sure she wanted to, but her brows had drawn together and she seemed to be waiting to see what direction he was taking this conversation.

He decided on a direct approach.

“Tell me the truth of what happened tonight,” he held her eyes without blinking, “Were you with Daemon?”

It did not seem likely that anything Aemma had said was wrong, but part of him still hoped.

A hope that diminished the moment Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, “How did you-”

“I am King,” he said by way of answer, “And your father. Did you think I would not find out?”

Rhaenyra swallowed, “I…I did leave the castle with him. But I have not seen him in ages. We just went out for a little fun.”

“At a pleasure house?” Viserys challenged, and was answered again by her shocked expression.

Damn him. Damn him to all seven hells.

“Rhaenyra,” he sighed heavily, pinching his nose, “You are the crown Princess-”

“Nothing happened!” She insisted quite quickly, “We didn’t…Daemon wouldn’t-”

Color touched her cheek now, and Viserys knew he did not want to know the sordid details of what his brother did or did not do.

But Aemma’s voice echoed strongly in his mind, and the truths she had given him was to protect them all. Therefore, he must see this through.

“Tell me the whole of the truth now,” he said, and Rhaenyra sighed.

“We went out. Saw a play, drank some wine, and yes, ended up at a pleasure house…but there was a show; we were spectating-”

The harsh blush to her cheek spoke of much more, though, and he flinched to ask, “I said the whole truth, Rhaenyra.”

Her jaw flexed as she swallowed, and her gaze hardened.

“I am still a maiden, and for anyone to question my virtue would be a treasonous act.”

“Then do not make it so easy for the masses to do so!” he scolded, “You appear with Daemon in a pleasure house and think people will not talk? You are of age to marry and appearance is everything. If rumor were to spread that you-”

“That I what?” she fired back, sitting on the edge of her seat now, “That I left the castle after dark? That I drank wine, and saw a show? The lords of the realm have done far worse!”

“Yes, but you are a girl,” he reminded her, “And can not afford to so openly disregard propriety and duty in favor of finding pleasure in a brothel!”

She faltered again, and swallowed hard, “What…what were you told?”

Annoyance, rather than shame, flickered across her face, and Viserys leaned back in his chair.

“Did Daemon touch you? I ask for the truth.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes moved to the fire then, crackling in the hearth, “I remain a maiden. Have your maester’s check me if you do not believe me.”

“I believe you,” he said, or rather he believed Aemma, “But that was not my question.”

When no answer came, he grit his teeth together and exhaled. Taking an arrow to the chest was surely less painful than this.

“Do you desire him?”

That got her attention, and her cheeks were burning again as she flushed, “What?”

“You are a woman grown,” he begrudged, “And I can not ignore the fact that this means you will have feelings as a woman does. Do you desire him, as he apparently does you?”

Something changed on Rhaenyra’s face then, the solemn expression growing heavy; almost sad.

“He does not desire me.”

There was enough conviction in her voice to cause Viserys to pause.

“His actions suggest otherwise.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, “He took me to the pleasure house, yes. But…in truth, nothing really happened. Daemon…he left before…”

Her hands clasped together in her lap and her head dropped, “He left me there. Sent a gold cloak to escort me back to the castle while he found his cups, or a whore…I don’t know.”

There was a hint of anger to her words; and a disappointment Viserys was not fond of, but further proved the point Aemma had made.

“It is well that he did stop,” the King allowed, and reached over to grip his daughter’s arm, reclaiming her attention, “Taking you that way in a brothel, in front of gods know how many witnesses, would have ruined you. Not that you attempting to claim your sworn shield in the privacy of your rooms is much better, mind you.”

Rhaenyra threw up her hands, “Of course not. Because I am a woman, and therefore can not have desires or pleasures or bastards or anything resembling fun without the entire city being involved in my business.”

Viserys found himself chuckling at her outburst; at the hint of the child still within her.

“A price paid for the privilege of our station, I’m afraid,” he drew back into his chair, “And a price to the duty we bear…that is…if you still wish to bear it.”

This, more than anything, stilled her.

“You would replace me as heir?” The question was accusatory.

“No,” he swiftly answered, for all that Aemma had shared with him, his mind had not changed in that regard, “But I would see you happy. I would see you have a choice.”

Rhaenyra still did not seem convinced, but the initial panic left her face, “I want to be your heir.”

“Yet shuck the duties that come along with the title,” he pointed out, and she sighed.

“Only because I am not sure how much longer it is a title I will hold. Everyone seems to think that Aegon will replace me! And you give me a choice, yet still seem hurried to have me married off! My title an elevation to another lord’s House, Valyrian blood for another lord’s children! A line to the throne so coveted among the great Houses!”

Viserys did not respond right away, as Aemma’s point solidified even further, much to his grand annoyance.

Daemon would require no such elevation, as he was already of House Targaryen. His children would inherit Valyrian blood through him, no matter their mother. And even married to the future queen, he would never sit the Iron Throne.

“I know you are frustrated by the necessity of what must be done,” he allowed, choosing his words carefully as Rhaenyra fumed, “And yet a choice must still be made, my girl. And while I had hoped for you to entertain the idea of a match with Ser Laenor Velaryon,” he forced his next words past the lump in his throat, “Might, perhaps, you consider Daemon?”

Her eyes widened again, in shock rather than panic this time, and as much as Viserys hated making the suggestion, there was a little joy to be found in the way she stuttered over it.

“I…we couldn’t…he…but you would…he doesn’t…he’s already married!”

The fact that she arrived at the same initial conclusion as himself brought another laugh from Viserys, and his daughter stared at him like he had gone half mad.

“Not for much longer,” he explained, “After tonight, I thought it best to move forward on the annulment Daemon has begged me give him for years. Whether or not he is your choice, there was nothing to come from his match with the Lady Rhea.”

Rhaenyra gaged him closely, her eyes darting all over his face, searching for something he did not know.

“You would never permit me to marry Daemon, or you would have made the suggestion before now.”

She was quite observant when she wanted to be, he would give her that.

“It is not what I wish,” he admitted, “But…it is a match that would assuage your concerns. Daemon does not need you for those things that you have mentioned; and you have always been happier in his company than not.”

Rhaenyra’s head shook, but even so, Viserys could see her thoughts churning behind her eyes.

“Daemon hated being married; to give him freedom only to chain him once more would-”

“Daemon hated the insult of who our grandparents married him to,” Viserys corrected, “And he long loathed that he was not given a wife of Valyrian blood, as I was. I dare say he would not be against such a match with you.”

She stared him down again, her mouth parting, “You do not jest?”

“I have never been less in a jesting mood,” he assured her, “And while I have many aversions to Daemon as a contender for your hand, it is something your mother advocated for.”

No need to mention that the advocation had started this very night, and only through a Dragon Dream was it revealed to Viserys.

“M-mother?” Rhaenyra gasped, “She wished for Daemon as my husband?”

“Yes.”

In truth, Aemma had once brought up the possibility in passing, when she was still alive, though the moment had been so brief that Viserys had nearly forgotten it.

Rhaenyra had been only nine years of age, an accomplished dragon rider already, and had spent a near solid week in the skies with Daemon on his visit for her name-day. He and Caraxes had patiently instructed Rhaenyra and Syrax for hours, until the pairs were drifting smoothly through the clouds as easily as they walked on solid ground.

When the time came for Daemon to leave, Rhaenyra had launched a fit worthy of a dragon. She had wanted to leave with him; confident in her flying capabilities to handle an adventure now, and was quite put out when she was refused.

Only Daemon’s promise of taking her on a flight to Dragonstone upon his next visit had calmed her anger, and when she tearfully clung to his neck while saying goodbye, Aemma had mentioned that it was a pity he was already married off.

“What do you mean?” Viserys had asked.

“That if he were not, we could promise him to Rhaenyra,” she’d smirked, “Perhaps that would be enough to appease her tantrums every time he is to leave!”

He had laughed at the time, but could summon no such humor now that the proposition was to be seriously considered.

“Your mother had thought that consolidating your claims would help stabilize the succession,” he said instead, not too far a stretch from the truth, “And it was also her belief that the two of you are enough alike that you might find happiness and strength in one another.”

This revelation seemed to baffle her, as Rhaenyra’s head still shook without her noticing, and her lip was captured by her teeth.

“What do you think?” she asked, and the inquiry was surprisingly genuine.

When was the last time she had sought him for counsel?

“I think that your mother’s points make sense,” he conceded most unwillingly, “Daemon is Targaryen. Your heirs will be pure Targaryen. He cares for you; he always has, and I have no doubt he is capable of protecting you….but if he will be a good consort? If he will be a good husband? Of that, I have less faith. However-”

He recalled the quick flashing image of his own future; the ghastly whole in his face; the disease of his skin taking all the life from his body.

“I have told you before that I will not live forever,” he said, “And when the time comes for me to pass on, I do not wish to leave you alone. Daemon is a dragon, same as you. Your claim will be stronger with him at your side.”

Silence once more settled between them, as the Princess contemplated his words. Viserys was hard pressed to condone the match, but with Aemma’s warning, what else could he do? Though, at the very least, it would be Rhaenyra’s choice.

“Before tonight,” she began, once she had sorted through her muddled thoughts, “I think I might have readily agreed.”

The admission returned the blush to her cheeks, “Daemon has always been handsome and fearless. A dragon rider. And now a war hero, even. I am not oblivious to his less appealing tendencies either, yet they do not worry me. He listens to me; shows respect-”

“But still, you hesitate to consider him?” Viserys asked, surprised at how much thought she was truly giving this.

Rhaenyra sighed, “I can not perceive to understand all of his motives, but tonight…he abandoned me. If he wanted me, as I wanted him, he would not have left me alone in such a state!”

“I thank the gods he did,” Viserys argued, “Though of the two of you, I would not expect restraint to have come from him.”

“Curse his restraint,” Rhaenyra muttered, “He was cruel to leave me, when I so wanted-.”

She trailed off, as if just realizing what she was about to say, and finished instead with a huff, “He should never have asked me to leave the castle.”

Viserys smiled dryly, “Of that, at least, we can agree.”

The fire cracked again, drawing their eyes, and Rhaenyra pursed her lips.

“Though…I suppose, if it did have to be someone…if I truly must marry sooner, rather than late…”

Viserys could almost imagine Aemma nodding her approval, as surely as he wished he could recoil from it.

“I will not make move on this, my child, until I hear you say the words,” he told her, giving a final chance at mercy on his heart.

But when her head turned toward him, and the King saw the resolve in his daughter’s eyes, he knew it was for naught. The future might be saved, but he felt as if he was handing the most precious gold to a vile beggar.

Rhaenyra nodded, once; a tilt of her chin, then spoke his nightmare to truth.

“I concede to marry my uncle, Daemon Targaryen…if he will have me.”

Viserys forced a smile that was more of a tight grimace, “He is a fool if he will not.”

And by the gods, he so hoped his brother was such a fool.

Chapter Text

By the time Viserys’ Kingsguard reappeared at his door, Rhaenyra had returned to her own chambers. It had been difficult for him to get a true sense of her emotions, but she did not seem displeased as she left. The promise of marriage, one that was almost completely of her choosing, finally a possible relief to her rather than a dread. They would speak again in the morning, after he dealt with his brother.

“You’ve found him?” he asked the Commander, who nodded.

“He was at a tavern on Eel Alley with some of the Gold Cloaks. Getting well sloshed.”

“Eel Alley?” Viserys repeated in surprise, “Not the Street of Silk?”

“No, your Grace.”

Viserys considered that his brother might have literally run across the city to put distance between himself and Rhaenyra, and the image would be quite comical, if not for its implication.

“Where is he now?”

“His rooms, your Grace,” Ser Harrold smirked, “We have asked an attendant to bring in a cold water bath, so that we might sober him for you.”

Viserys chuckled, but shook his head, “No need, Ser. I am just as capable of dunking my brother as the lot of you.”
Ser Harrold bowed, “Of course, my King.”

The man had not exaggerated.
When Viserys entered Daemon’s chambers, he found his brother sprawled out, stomach against the floor, looking enraged but unable to much move, while two more guards stood watch. One sported a bloodied lip.

“That will be all,” Viserys spoke out, dismissing the guard and the maids preparing the requested bath, as he strode between them.

In a moment’s time, he was left alone with his brother.

Daemon rolled over, from his stomach to his back, with no small effort.

“If you required an audience, brother, I would have been perfectly willing to meet with you on the morrow. No need to have arranged a personal escort.”

Even drunk, an obvious contempt laced his voice, though that could have just as much to do with being dragged back to the castle than anything between them.

“This could not wait,” Viserys said flatly.

It was easier, he found, to be angrier at his brother than his daughter. Where Rhaenyra’s actions were impulsive and naive, Daemon’s were calculated. Purposeful.

“Tell me,” he moved slowly, coming to stand next to his brother’s form; close enough for a solid kick to the ribs if he were so inclined, “At what point upon your arrival did you decide to ruin my daughter? Tonight? The moment you set eyes upon her again? Or was this a plan years in the making?”

Daemon’s eyes were glazed, but focused as realization clouded his expression, “Does word spread so quickly?”

Viserys scoffed at his aloofness, “You do not deny your intent?”

“What is the need of denial?” Daemon groaned, stretching out more fully against the stone, “Your judgment of the matter is already decided.”

“The gods themselves have not enough judgment for your depravity,” Viserys spat, “But it is your decision we are discussing. The decision to take a young girl, my named heir, to the bowels of a pleasure den with the purpose of defiling her!”

The kick came after all, as anger re-sparked within the king, more sharply this time. He felt no pity as his boot connected with Daemon’s ribs, and the answering grunt of pain was satisfying.

“Rhaenyra is a woman grown,” Daemon insisted roughly, “Better her first experience be with me than some whore or half-wit lord’s son.”

There was a taunt to the words; and if Viserys did not already know the evening’s outcome, he would have been tempted to draw a sword to his brother’s throat.

“Her experience was not yours to claim,” Viserys crouched down and gripped the front of Daemon’s shirt, lifting him as much as he could, “She is the heir to the throne, and your niece. You should seek to protect her virtue, not exploit it!”

“Oh what does it matter, brother?” Daemon rolled his eyes, “When we were Rhaenyra’s age, we fucked our way through most of the brothels on the street of silk. No one concerned themselves with our virtue.”

“I forget there was a time you had any virtue at all,” Viserys disparaged, glaring at his brother’s drunken state with disgust.

It was obvious that dark ale had been spilled down the front of his tunic, probably from the scuffle with the guards as they retrieved him, and the stench of that drink was one of several that flooded the King’s nose. Sweat was another. And the arousal that tainted Daemon’s skin from the brothel.

The combination did not meld well.

But the smell struck Viserys cold as he recalled that the guards had not found his brother near the pleasure houses, had they? And in lack of whore, there was only one other source in which that very distinct scent could have come from.

Bile coated the back of his throat, and Viserys hit his brother. The scent of Daemon’s blood was added to the mix.

“You are a plague; a curse from the gods,” he released his hold and Daemon fell back against the stone, “Clean yourself up. So that we may talk without my wanting to slit your fucking throat.”

He felt quite the need for a drink himself, and found a bottle of wine amongst Daemon’s stash of belongings along the far wall, as the younger Targaryen did as he was told for once.

There was a hiss as Daemon sank into the tub, still clothed; the cold water hopefully unpleasant.

Viserys took a swig straight from the bottle; then another, as Daemon quickly washed the night from his body. By the time he turned; his brother was climbing from the tub, unsteady on his feet; but considerably more alert.

The split in his lip from the punch, as he stripped and dried off his body, hardly called any attention. Viserys was distracted by the new scars that lined his brother’s chest and shoulder.

“By the gods, Daemon…” he put the bottle aside as he sank down in one of the armchairs the room provided, “Did you offer yourself as an arrow pincushion?”

That drew a short jolt of laughter from his brother, who threw on fresh clothes and ran a cloth over his now damp hair, before sitting on the edge of the bed before him.

“Something of the like,” Daemon answered, more clearly than before, but gave no elaboration.

Viserys waited, to see if he would speak again, then sighed when he did not.

“I had hoped when you returned,” he swallowed thickly, “It would be as a changed man.”

Daemon discarded the cloth onto the pile of his wet clothes.

“I have changed.”

“Not in the ways that I had wished,” Viserys pressed, “You are still reckless; with little thought outside your own desires.”

Daemon’s jaw flexed as his gaze fell to the blankets on his bed. He picked at the threading of one.

“A true curse then,” he said, “Perhaps I was born as evil and vile as you believe me to be.”

The sarcastic front was not unfamiliar to Viserys, and he knew this much of his brother. Daemon did not like to show vulnerability. Better to appear a villain; even while he nearly was that in truth.

But Viserys had a point to be made; a future to set, and as loathsome as he found it, he was a mere man to the will of the gods.

“A truly vile man would have taken Rhaenyra’s maidenhead without thought,” he admitted quietly, “Yet you did not; even though she was willing.”

Daemon’s eyes flashed to his, widening slightly, and Viserys chuckled without humor.

“You think I did not go to Rhaenyra for the truth first? She was not overly forthcoming, I will admit, but did attest that you left the brothel before defiling anything more than her reputation.”

Daemon gave a huff of displeasure; as if the truth took ammunition from him; and Viserys’ curiosity spiked.

“What was your purpose, then? What was the point, if you did not follow through with-”

“You would have preferred I fucked her, after all?” Daemon jeered, and Viserys scoffed.

“I would have preferred you not have touched her in the first place, let alone rile her to the point that she would seek her own ruin at the first available cock, but gods,” Viserys huffed, “The girl is more like you than I care to admit. Willful and determined to have her way.”

He doubted his brother even heard the last half of his statement, as his head snapped up and his eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean, the first available cock?” Daemon demanded, and the look on his face was surprising to the King.

“That you awoke her desire before leaving her and she sought another to finish what you did not.”

Something close to a snarl ripped its way across Daemon’s lips, “Oh seven hells, Rhaenyra…” He exhaled slowly, and said through gnashed teeth, “Who was it?”

When Viserys did not answer him, Daemon stood to his feet, “Who touched her?”

Viserys stood slowly as well, keeping his eyes locked on his brother’s, but ignored his inquiry.

“Is this jealousy, Daemon? Or mere concern for Rhaenyra’s wellbeing? I can tell you the latter comes too late. You left her alone, in a place like that.”

“Ser Harwin brought her back to the castle, unharmed. He reported as much to me,” Daemon insisted, “I will have his tongue if he has lied, or if he has not, she found someone in the castle…who was it?”

Viserys crooked his head, studying his brother’s reaction, “Her shield. Criston Cole.”

“...Crispin,” Daemon spat the name like poison, “Did you take his head for it?”

“As I should take yours for instigating the same crime?” Viserys remarked, and Daemon made a growling noise.

He began to pace, frustration stiffening his muscles until he looked more cobra than dragon, ready to strike at the first chance.

Then just as suddenly, he stopped, froze really, and his head hung.

“She…she chose him?”

“It appeared that way,” Viserys said, again watching for the reaction.

Daemon ran a hand over his face and sighed.

It took a long moment, but he settled back on his heels and turned to face the King. His expression was unreadable, but for once there was no hint of jest or sarcasm in his eyes as they met Viserys’.

“Wed her to me.”

Of all the things his brother could have said, those were not the words Viserys had expected.

“What?”

“When I offered up my crown, you said I could have anything,” Daemon took a step closer to him, honing in, “I want Rhaenyra. You claim her ruined, but I’ll take her as she is and wed her in the tradition of our House.”

He knew it was accidental, but the barely concealed note of desperation to the proposal brought more revelation to Viserys than Daemon had probably intended. And while, for the purpose of the future that must come, Daemon wanting a true match to Rhaenyra was favorable, the King was vengeful enough not to cave so easily.

“The true purpose to your actions tonight,” Viserys glowered, “You wished her reputation ruined, to tie my hands so that you might claim her? Always a plan to get what you want.”

“Tonight was not about what I wanted,” Daemon passed him, heading for the discarded bottle Viserys had left near the chair, and tilted it back for a long swallow.

He returned to his seat at the edge of the bed, and offered the drink to the King. Viserys took it and chugged a generous amount of his own; certain he could not finish this conversation with complete sobriety.

It was quiet for only a moment as they shared drink, then Daemon leaned back onto his hands and exhaled deeply.

“Rhaenyra fears the confines of marriage,” he said in a softer voice, “And by extent, the expectations of coupling and producing heirs. And who could blame her, given the way she lost her mother?”

Viserys could only listen; reclaiming his seat too, as Daemon continued.

“I took her out tonight to remind her that she is a dragon and should fear nothing; especially a loss of freedom. The pleasure house…I only wanted her to understand; to see that fucking was more for a woman than lying on her back while some lord forces his seed into her for children! As for the rest…”

He sought his brother’s gaze, then, unwavering, “I will not make apology for wanting her, Viserys. You said yourself, she is as I am. The blood of old Valyria. And she is of age.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, palms open.

“Give me Rhaenyra to take to wife. And we will return the House of the dragon to its proper glory.”

Viserys’ fist clenched over the arm of the chair, but he held Daemon’s eyes.

“Why should I?” he challenged, unable to pass on the chance to see his brother’s reasoning, “You stand to gain the title of consort, a Valyrian bride, and a throne for your children. But what do you offer that I should give you my daughter?”

“I offer you nothing,” Daemon admitted, “But Rhaenyra? As her husband, there is nothing I would deny her.”

“You already deny her nothing.”

Daemon laughed at that, “We have all done our part in spoiling her. To the point now that any mere lord will be a great bore to her. I can make her happy; I do make her happy.”

Viserys made a noise, “She wasn’t too happy with you tonight…and have you forgotten that you are already wed? What of your duty to the Vale?”

“The crown has already secured the Vale through Aemma’s blood,” Daemon hissed, impatiently, “And the Lady Rhea cares no more for me than I her. My duty is here; to our family, to Rhaenyra. I can protect her; shore up her claim, give her Targaryen heirs, and more so, give her the peace of mind that she will always come first.”

“The realm comes first-” Viserys corrected, but Daemon waved him off.

“For the crown, the realm comes first, and as you have consistently pointed out, I would do it ill service. Perhaps you are right,” he raked his eyes over Viserys’ form, “I see the burden it has been to you, and in truth, sitting the throne requires a patience and tact that I lack. Rhaenyra is better suited, you were right in that regard, too; but as her consort, my only concern need be her. Loving her. Protecting her. Not allowing her to be butchered for the sake of a son that I do not care one way or another to have.”

Viserys flinched at the reminder, but there was no malice in Daemon’s expression. He was not trying to cause pain, but sell a point.

He had been forced to act as King, attempted to save the heir; and it had cost him his love. Had cost Rhaenyra her mother.

Daemon would not have such pressure, nor inclination to choose a babe over his Queen. Could the same be said for a lord of one of the great Houses? Which of Rhaenyra’s suitors would not happily cut her open to retrieve his son for the throne?

While he prayed Rhaenyra was spared the pain her mother suffered on the birthing bed, Viserys could understand where her fears had rooted, and was sure he had done little to help soothe them over the years.

“You make bold claims,” Viserys blinked hard as his eyes stung with tears, “But can you see them through? You say to support Rhaenyra as your Queen and your wife would be the essence of your duty, but what when her desires do not align with your own? When she gives command that you disagree with? Would you defy her then, as you so often have me? To what depth does your loyalty truly reach?”

“I am loyal,” Daemon stated coldly, “But loyal does not mean mindless obedience. I have defended you. Followed your commands, and only spoke out when you were too blind to see the truth. Such as the war in the Steps, and in regards to your Hand. But Rhaenyra is not so sightless.”

Sightless. Not an entirely inaccurate description of the events that had transpired since he’d lost his dear wife, Viserys supposed; though it ruffled his pride to have it so blatantly pointed out. But his brother was right, in the one regard.

Rhaenyra would be a better queen than he had been king.

“Rhaenyra is the best of her mother and myself,” he agreed, “I have no doubt that when she takes the throne she will form a High Council that is more than the over-reaching mess my own has become. She will need you, then, your experience…to build a strong gathering of advisors to help her rule…to help you both rule.”

It was not often that one could catch the Rogue Prince off guard, but the sheer disbelief that crossed Daemon’s features, that had his jaw falling slack and words failing him, told Viserys that he’d successfully done so.

“What are you saying, brother?” Daemon’s entire body shifted; a glimpse of hope evidently thrumming through his nerves.

Viserys took a final moment to curse the gods, his brother, his daughter, himself, the Hightowers, and even his late lady wife. Everyone and everything that had caused the necessity of the words he now spoke.

“I made a promise to Rhaenyra; that she might choose her own match,” Viserys uttered, “And when I spoke to her tonight…she chose you. A raven is being sent to the Vale, to notify House Royce, and another to the Sept, to draw up the necessary scrolls that will annul your marriage to Lady Rhea.”

Viserys stood as Daemon took in his words, and felt no joy as he gave a final confirmation.

“Congratulations, brother,” he said bitterly, “By nightfall tomorrow, you will have all that you have desired.”

The king took his leave, not sparing another glance toward the brother he so despised in this moment.

And if his step faltered slightly when he heard, to his great disbelief, Daemon utter a word of gratitude, it made no difference.

The deed was done, and for tonight, so was he.

Chapter Text

This was the last thing Rhaenyra should be doing. The hour was late and she had suffered enough embarrassment in one night to last a lifetime. That show in the city, where the smallfolk called her feeble; Daemon rejecting and abandoning her in the pleasure house. Her father finding out about it, and also catching her in attempt to relieve the ache her uncle’s fingers had left behind, with Ser Criston.

An ache that remained, despite the distraction of conversation with her father. His declaration that he would give her the one person she had assumed was beyond her reach. She had left his chambers with a promise of engagement, a troubled heart, and a restless mind.

Upon reaching her rooms, Rhaenyra found it nearly impossible to settle. She stripped her robe, climbed into bed and had spent half the next hour watching shadows dance along the wall from the flames that blazed in her fireplace.

Her father had promised to talk to Daemon. Daemon might soon be her husband.

The part of her that had been a young girl with a great infatuation for her warrior uncle practically preened at the thought. A handsome dragon knight. Rider of Caraxes. Wielder of Dark Sister. Her Rogue Prince.

She had thought to have outgrown the girlhood affection she’d held for him, but it seemed their time apart had only stoked the embers of the fire that burned between them.

Daemon was a dragon, a true dragon; like her. He encouraged her ire as much as her favor, and basked in the attention it earned him; whether good or bad.

All her life, he had doted on her, challenged her; schooled her; and at rare times, even reprimanded her.

His influence had helped shape the woman she had become, and when he had taken her from the castle tonight, she had felt her heart reflected in his. He understood her, where her own father was unable to do so, and moved to address her fears.

For the first time in so many years, Rhaenyra hadn’t felt alone.

“The blood of the dragon runs thick,” Daemon had once told her, the High Valyrian falling as easily from his lips as the common tongue.

He was right. For her dragon had returned to her, and from the moment she had sensed Caraxes in the sky above her ship, she had breathed easier.

Maybe that was the reason the night’s events had unfolded the way they had; her unexplainable comfort in Daemon’s presence.

All things considered, she should have known better. The brothels on the Street of Silk were notoriously visited by varying high lords and noblemen, her uncle included, but it was no place for a Princess. She hadn’t questioned why Daemon had taken her there; she hadn’t felt the need to.

From the moment her eyes drank in the depraved acts happening all around them, she had been entranced; appalled but curious; intimidated yet unable to look away as an unfamiliar warmth flooded her body.

She hadn’t planned on kissing Daemon; if in fact she had been the one to kiss him. He might have kissed her first. Rhaenyra could not recall.

All she remembered was the heat; the swirling scent of the coupling act in the air, a thing she had only read about in lessons before then, and Daemon…oh gods, how beautiful he had appeared in the half light of that room.

The music playing had harmonized with the moans of pleasure around them, and he had been so close; his voice sending shivers down her spine.

“Fucking is a pleasure, you see. For the woman as it is the man.”

That pleasure was promised in his eyes as he stared down at her; his forehead pressed against her own, barely a breath of space between them…

Then his lips had found hers, his hands touching the whole of her body as if he had been waiting ages for the permission to do so.

His fingers brushed her hair, her lip, her cheek…and they had spun, her back had hit the wall.

Daemon’s eyes had been dark with desire as he tore at the laces on her tunic, exposing the curve of her breasts to his eyes. She’d felt his breath catch more than she’d heard it, and when he turned her away and glued himself to her backside, that shiver had become a full body tremor.

Flames licked through her blood, and her pants were being pulled down by both their hands. Daemon’s fingers continued to touch, sliding down her stomach, to the place she wanted him most, but had no idea what to ask for.

It turns out she needn’t ask at all.

Daemon’s skilled strokes on her most sensitive flesh had sent her headlong into oblivion as all rational thought left her and all she could do was feel. Want. Demand.

She was a dragon, and she desired more. She wanted to know the feel of his body inside her own; she wanted to be consumed, and devour in return. Fears gave way to a scorching she had never anticipated she could feel, and she had turned in Daemon’s arms; determined to crawl inside his very soul until they both faltered to ruin.

Instead, her uncle had sobered. He’d stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time; as if he did not recognize her. The hunger was still there; in his touch and in his eyes, but he had pulled away. Then he had disappeared.

It had been a further embarrassment for Rhaenyra, as she’d pulled her clothes back into place and attempted to follow his departure, only to be intercepted by Daemon’s Gold Cloak, Ser Harwin.

He’d been given instruction to take her back to the Red Keep. Like she was but a child who needed a safe escort to bed.

She’d told Ser Harwin exactly what she thought of his escorting her; cursing him and her uncle to the moon and back; but the man had hardly seemed phased by her anger. She’d stormed back to her room; ignorant of all but her own disappointment and frustration.

When Ser Criston called for her, she had only intended to silence him. But he was handsome and she had been left wanting…no, needing to finish her first true taste of freedom. He had served her loyalty; protected her, acted as a friend when she had few others…

In hindsight, Rhaenyra realized it was selfish of her to put him in such a position. He was her sworn shield; having promised to obey and serve her. To make a command of him that would require the breaking of his oath was…unfair. Not that he had been unwilling, but perhaps she had not given him a real choice in the matter.

All for naught, though. Her father had somehow learned the truth, and intercepted.

Now, her maidenhead was still intact, her guard had not soiled his oath, and she was on her way to being an engaged woman…a long, eventful night.

Yet the ache still remained.

She had managed to ignore it at first, replaying the night's events, particularly that of the conversation with her father, through her head on a loop. But she kept circling back to that moment in the pleasure house; Daemon’s sword-callused fingers slipping through her wet folds, his warm breath a tease upon her neck.

Rhaenyra lacked her uncle’s experience at pulling pleasure with the simplest touch, but the ache between her legs was almost painful now, and demanded to be addressed.

She slipped a hand beneath her blankets, down the planes of her stomach and to the juncture between her thighs. Her hand was not Daemon’s, but maybe it would be enough to calm the fire within her.

It took Daemon several long minutes after his brother’s departure to convince himself he was not having a drunken dream. He stalked over to the bath and splashed a bit of the cool water against his face, just to make certain. The chill was staggering, but did the job. He was indeed awake.

Which meant that Viserys truly had just promised him all his desires. His annulment was being granted; he would be freed of the Royce’s and the Vale…and Rhaenyra would be his. Truly his.

Before the new gods and the old; bound by law and blood.

”She chose you,” Viserys had said.

Rhaenyra, his darling little dragon, wanted him for her husband.

His defeat of the Crab Feeder was a hollow victory compared to the way he felt now.

He knew it was a press of his luck, to seek her out again after already testing his brother’s patience, but he was unable to stop himself.

Maegor’s hidden passages were all too easy to manipulate, bringing him to his Princess without needing to alert whatever guard might be standing watch at her door.

He doubted it was still Criston Cole.

Daemon’s internal dragon roared at the thought of the Dornish knight’s hands upon his niece; claiming what he had coveted for longer than he should have…but there was also a lick of pride beneath the anger.

Rhaenyra had taken his lesson to heart and had sought out her own pleasure; consequences be damned. She was a Targaryen and she was to be queen. Why should she ever be denied her indulgences? The men of the realm certainly were not.

No doubt she had taken her fill of Cole and then cast him aside, as the creature of lesser worth he was. What did it matter if the knight had claimed her virtue? This night was all he would ever have with her; for she was to be Daemon’s bride, and he would never leave her wanting again.

He found his way to the secret entrance of Rhaenyra’s room by memory alone; as dark had fallen and he had brought no flame to light the hall. The fire from her hearth outlined the hidden arch with an orange haze, beckoning Daemon closer; guiding his steps.

When he was upon the stone, he hesitated; unsure if he should announce his presence first, or just enter and pray Rhaenyra wished to receive him.

He decided on the former; lifting a hand to knock against the door. Her rooms, while she occupied them, were her private space and it would be better that she grant him entrance.

“Daemon…”

Her voice calling his name stopped his fist midair as he froze. Rhaenyra knew he had come? Had she sensed his presence, as he could sense hers just beyond the door? Had she hoped that-

“Oh, Daemon...” a moan this time.

Fuck.

No, Rhaenyra had not found him out. In fact, he doubted she was much aware of anything else right now, besides her own body.

Gods be good, his niece was pleasuring herself…and she was thinking of him while she did so.

There was a knock on her door; sharp and short, and Rhaenyra nearly screamed. In all seven hells, was she not allowed an end to her torment?!

She had been so close to the edge of…something. Her body coiling and shaking, pressure climbing and blossoming into something just beyond her reach as yet another interruption stopped her from discovery.

She prayed whoever stood opposite her chambers was prepared to meet the Stranger, because her frustration burned as strong as the desire she was yet again denied!

Rhaenyra scrambled from her bed, thrashing the blankets away angrily and half stomping toward her door when another knock echoed across the room.

Wait…

The sound was not coming from her chamber door, but from the covered wall that opened to the secret passage. And only one person in the entire castle, if not the entire kingdom, would be using it to visit her at this hour.

Rhaenyra darted back into the round section of the room that held her bed, and found the latch on the stone that released the hidden door.

As she had suspected, Daemon stood on the other side, looking no less wrecked than when she had last seen him as he’d left the brothel.

The memory turned her blood cold, even as he offered her a half smile.

“Why in the seven hells are you here?” She demanded, turning her back to him as he entered her room.

She heard him chuckle as the door closed behind him.

“Is that any way to speak to your betrothed?”

Rhaenyra stumbled as she spun around, but was too shocked to feel embarrassed.

“My father has already spoken to you?”

“Aye, he has,” Daemon nodded, crossing her space too casually, until he was barely a foot from her, “...But is this truly what you want?”

The switch to their mother tongue was effortless, and created a sudden air of intimacy that Rhaenyra both craved and loathed in that moment.
And his concern riled her.

“I was not aware that what I want mattered to you ,” she fired back, stiffening her shoulders as if for an attack.

Daemon stalked around her like he meant to attack her; his eyes as dark as they had been at the brothel. She followed his lead, turning when he turned, moving when he moved; as if they were enacting a dance that they alone knew the steps to.

“You are all that matters,” he breathed, and Rhaenyra’s rage snapped.

“Do not!” she snarled at him, “Do not come at me now with flowery words and mock concern! Not after abandoning me, so exposed, in that place!"

“I only meant to spare you,” he insisted, and her teeth ground together so hard, Rhaenyra forgot to step away as he moved closer, “I lost control of the situation, and you deserved better."

“What I deserved was for you not to be a coward!” she would admit it was a bit low to call a victorious war hero a coward, but that was how his actions had felt!

Daemon’s nostrils flared at the insult, but she was not done.

“You could have brought me back to the castle yourself. You could have taken me to the privacy of your own chambers. Hells, you could have taken me to Caraxes and flown us to Dragonstone so that we would have this whole night to ourselves, but no! You left me all alone, burning!"

She made to shove against his chest, but Daemon’s hand shot out and caught her wrists in a vice grip. Rhaenyra struggled against his hold, but that only caused Daemon to drag her closer.

“Is this burning why you sought your knight upon your return?” his voice in the common tongue was thick with his own ire, or maybe it was still desire that coated his words; she could no longer tell the difference.

Daemon squeezed one of her hands, lifting it higher, toward his face.

“Criston must not have done the job right, if you still have to seek your own pleasure.”

“Criston?” she paused in confusion, but Daemon was set to purpose.

He brought her hand even closer, inhaling deeply and groaning at the scent of her arousal, which still coated her fingers.

Rhaenyra was too on edge to feel ashamed of that fact, and any objection died the moment Daemon’s head bent and he took her fingers into his mouth, sucking the proof of her desire from them.

It was the single most attractive thing she had ever experienced, and when his eyes flickered up to hers, tongue still lapping her fingers, Rhaenyra lost all semblance of control.

She yanked her hands free from his grip, but locked her own fists into his tunic, knotting the fabric into her palms as she pulled her Prince forward and took his mouth with her own.

If Daemon was surprised by her enthusiasm, he hid it well. He was right there with her, in perfect synchronization once more as his arms looped around her body; hers around his neck.

They stumbled through the room, kissing and biting at any bit of skin they could reach until Rhaenyra’s back was once more pressed against a wall.

Daemon’s mouth released her then, as his forehead pressed against hers. Her hands clung to his sides, as if her grip alone could stop him from leaving again.

“I did not mean to hurt you,” he murmured; the knuckles of one hand lifting to stroke her cheek, “But I so easily forget myself when I am with you.

A hard press; their noses brushing, “If I had not left in that moment, I would have had you right there, against the wall in that pleasure house, for the whole of Flea Bottom to see.

A quiet whimper escaped Rhaenyra’s throat at his erotic promise, and Daemon was not immune to the sound. His hips swiveled against her, as if of their own accord, and the desire she’d only gotten a hint of in the brothel was obvious in the thick weight of him outlined against her stomach.

Then have me now, she pleaded; dignity all but forgotten, “We are alone here, you are to be my husband…and I want you.

Maybe it was her shameless offer, or perhaps the use of his soon-to-be title that spurred such a noise, but Rhaenyra shivered as Daemon let out a groan that was pure sin.

He leaned away from her, so that she could see the entirety of his face, and he looked as she felt; desperate and wanting.

But the smirk he flashed her was proud, and he cupped her face in a way that was almost gentle.

My insatiable, little dragon, he purred, placing a small kiss to the tip of her nose, “It would be painful for you, to fuck so soon after losing your maidenhead.

Her maidenhead? Oh…oh.

“I did not fuck Ser Criston,” she told him, realizing her father must not have clarified as much, “We had gotten no further than a kiss before Father interrupted.”

Truly, he must be blessed by the gods this night. Daemon felt as though the very ground was shifting beneath his feet, as Rhaenyra’s wide eyes spoke the truth his brother had denied him. She was yet untouched.

And wasn’t that just like Viserys, to leave him to torture, thinking someone so unworthy had claimed what was to be rightfully his. Though, considering all he had put the man through on this night alone, he did not entirely fault him the satisfaction.

He could not help but laugh, “Your father punishes me, to let me believe it so.”

Rhaenyra’s smirk matched his own, the vicious intent behind it doing wonders for his hardened cock, “It would serve you right, though. Your wife’s virtue taken by another since you could not be bothered to complete the act-”

She gasped as he grabbed her face, pulling her chin up so that their mouths nearly touched. Her gaze flickered down to his lips, and his entire body ignited with the knowledge that this was a true match of fire and blood. A dragon for a dragon. The spark, the heat, the taunt…he would not find this in any other.

“You are more than your virtue,” he drank in the fire of her eyes, the shimmering lilac a paler copy of his own amethyst, “But I am selfish, and you will find me to be a possessive husband.”

All of her firsts would be his; her body, her heart, her children…all his. But they would do this the right way; leaving none to contest their match or to question the intent that brought them together. Not when there were too many who would see Rhaenyra passed over in favor of the King’s half-green son.

“Then take what is yours, husband,” Rhaenyra’s body shifted beneath his own, pressing against him in an invitation he could not completely ignore as his blood roared at that word on her lips.

Her husband, soon he would be.

“I will,” he promised, “But not until our bedding ceremony.”

She let out a groan befitting the spoiled Princess he knew her to be, “There is no need to-”

Daemon silenced her with a firm kiss, and did not release her until he felt her body melt within his hands; sinking into him.

“When you bleed for me on our wedding night,” he scraped his teeth against her bottom lip, “It will erase all doubt that anyone else has claimed you. A distinction important to those who would move to have you supplanted.”

She groaned again, her forehead falling forward to press against his chin, but this time the sound was one of reluctant acceptance.

“I loathe these hypocritical lords and their expectations of modest propriety.”

Daemon laughed in earnest, lifting a hand to cup her face once more, “As do I. But it is only a short while longer that we must wait. We shall press your father for a short engagement.”

“Any amount of time is too long,” Rhaenyra pouted, her small hands clenching at his sides as her feet shifted.

The restlessness was not unfamiliar to him, and knowing the cause was enough to bring his cock back to full attention.

But he had been truthful in his words to Viserys; tonight had not been about him. Not at the brothel, and certainly not now, with his Princess so worked up and unsatisfied.

“Have you pleasured yourself, before tonight?” he asked, and the turn of the conversation rekindled the heat in her eyes.

“Before tonight,” she licked her lips slowly, ““I did not know a mere touch could offer such pleasure.”

She would be the death of him, Daemon was certain.

“Lie on your bed,” he instructed, and she livened at the order, “I needn’t use my cock to teach you the true meaning of pleasure.”

Rhaenyra did not know what to expect, as she followed her uncle’s command, but she trusted him. Even as she sprawled out atop her mattress while he lingered at the foot of it, she did not think he would leave again; not now…not like this.

He stared down at her, the fire’s light all the illumination the room had to offer, but it was enough to see the hunger on his face; the desire.

She wiggled against her blanket, eager for whatever he planned.

“Remove your chemise,” he said, leaving no room for defiance…as if she would think to deny him now.

Her hands moved thoughtlessly, stripping the cloth from her body while her eyes fought to remain locked with Daemon’s; an impossible thing once she was naked, for his gaze feasted upon the revealed flesh.

Rhaenyra had never been bashful; not even as a child, and her confidence only soared as Daemon’s expression darkened with need. He swallowed as he drank her in, eyes lingering on her neck, her breasts, then further down.

She was proud that her betrothed found her so attractive, and felt emboldened by his reaction to her. Enough to part her thighs and draw his gaze to the part of her that most wanted his attention.

“Satisfied, uncle?” she couldn’t help but taunt, and his answering smirk dripped of filth.

“Not as much as you shall be,” he promised, and Rhaenyra’s breath stuttered.

Gods, she wanted him.

He took a step forward and touched her leg, just below her knee. His eyes left her body to briefly flicker up to her own.

“We are to be wed,” he stroked her skin, “So you can forget whatever lesson the Septa has given you over what is proper between a husband and wife. I want all your pleasure, all your appetites, in whatever forms they take…and I so long to show you each and every one.”

He climbed onto the bed, then, spreading her thighs so that her legs fell on either side of his body. His shoulders took up the entire expanse of space as he shifted down to his stomach.

Rhaenyra barely had enough time to feel confused before he was on her.

There was no warning, no preamble. His mouth came against her cunt with the desperation of a starved man being served his last meal.

Rhaenyra had not even known a man could kiss a woman there, let alone do whatever torturous thing Daemon was doing with his tongue.

“Fuck-” she gasped, as every nerve in her body was set ablaze and her pleasure from before doubled, then tripled.

Her hips moved without discipline, fighting to escape the onslaught of fire at her core, while wantonly pressing closer to its cause.

Daemon’s hands did not remain idle, as she ground herself against his face. One had hooked around her waist, holding her in place, while the other traveled up her ribcage, brushing over her breast, thumbing her nipple to a hardened point.

The sensations were overwhelming; too much. Not enough.

“Daemon-” she moaned his name, shamelessly begging for whatever peak she was climbing toward, and trusted him to get her there.

His hand left her breast, returning to her core, where he stroked her in tandem with his tongue. Rough fingers teased her entrance, and she felt the foreign pressure as he dipped them inside her body. Not much, but enough that she felt deliciously stretched and clenched around the intrusion.

He groaned as he felt her response, and the vibration was enough to finally launch her into the abyss that had been calling to her all night.

She might have screamed, as blinding hot pleasure overtook her body, but Daemon shot up, his mouth capturing hers as his fingers on her cunt drove her higher still.

He tasted of her, and she chased the evidence of their forbidden act until her body could handle no more and she fell into a whimpering mess; muscles losing all strength as blissfulness numbed her mind.

Daemon’s kisses slowed, his tongue withdrew as did his fingers. The back of his knuckles brushed over her mound, through the soft silver curls of her sex, where she was less sensitive, and his nose nuzzled against her jaw, peppering small kisses along her neck.

Rhaenyra basked in the affection, settling against her bed as he adjusted their positions. His body was drawn out next to hers now, their legs intertwined, her hand against his chest.

He was so hard and soft, all at the same time, and she couldn’t stop her hand from wandering; over his hips, his still hard erection, his chest, his neck, his lips.

All of him was hers; or would be soon, and she completely understood his desire to be selfish. She would never share him or that wonderful tongue of his with anyone else.

“You are mine, husband,” she said, and was surprised at how exhausted her voice sounded. Her body had finally relaxed, and the night was catching up to her, “If we are to marry, I would have no one else given this pleasure. Dragons do not share.”

Her hand stroked over his erection again, delighting when it jumped against her palm.

Daemon leaned into her touch, seeming as calm as her despite not having reached his own pleasure yet, and chuckled.

“What need have I of whores when I shall share a bed with you?” he rubbed his nose against her own, “Blood of my blood. As hungry as I am.”

She frowned when his hand covered her own, pulling her away from his still clothed cock.

“There is time for that later,” he assured her, “Tonight was for you, my little love.”

The words struck a yearning in her heart.

“Do you, really?” she asked, with as much challenge as she could muster, and elaborated when his brows drew together, “Love me. As a man loves a woman?”

Lust was one thing, of course, but love…true love…was that necessary for a happy marriage? Was it what she felt for her betrothed? Or was her affection clouded by the desire she felt?

“Blood of my blood,” he repeated, “I would love you for that alone, even if you were not my match in every other possible way. But we need not explore all that tonight…not when we have years yet upon us to do so.”

Years. Years and years of Daemon and dragons, and ruling, and pleasures.

Rhaenyra wanted to cry in relief that, for the first time since her brother’s birth, she was truly supported; a champion to stand her corner and fight her enemies. She was safe, and loved, and would be from this day forward.

She closed her eyes as a lone tear slipped free.

“Do not leave me again, Uncle, she whispered against his chest, “I need you.”

Daemon’s arms around her tightened and his lips pressed softly to her forehead, relaxing her even more.

“Sleep, little dragon. I am going nowhere.”

Chapter Text

Viserys once again found Aemma in a dream. She smiled at him, the moment his consciousness gave way to sleep, and this time, when her hand lifted to touch his cheek, he could feel the warmth of her palm, the gentle scratch of her nails against his beard.

The haze around them was hint enough that he had returned to the realm between worlds; where the gods had seen fit to bless him once more.

“I have missed you so much, my love,” he pressed his forehead against his wife’s, craving the intimacy that had flowed so easily between them, “I am so sorry. So sorry that I couldn’t save you. That I didn’t-”

“Shhh,” she smiled at him and it was heavenly, “The past is of little consequence here, Viserys. There is nothing you could have done to change my fate, if the gods had so willed it…the guilt is not your burden to bear.”

“But I do bear it,” he admitted quietly, “Every day, when I look into our daughter’s eyes, your eyes, and lose you all over again.”

Aemma shook her head, leaning away so that she could grab his face.

“You will never lose me, sweet husband. Nor will Rhaenyra. But she needs more than a guiding light on her journey to being Queen. She needs you. That is your purpose, now. Preparing her for the years that she will be without you.”

Her expression was gentle, and she let her hands slide back to run through his hair. It was thinner now, due to age or his illness, though, he was not sure.

“I long for the day we are truly reunited,” Aemma lifted, brushing her lips against his, and Viserys sighed against her.

It had been so long, and he had missed her so damn much.

“Aemma,” he breathed her in, letting their foreheads linger together, even as they withdrew from the kiss.

“I love you, Viserys. And you have done well this night, setting the course of the future to a better path.”

“Will it work?”

Aemma sighed, “I do not know. The gods gift me insight, but it is not all encompassing. I only know that the fates are changing. Rhaenyra will have a chance; but you must be patient with her. And your brother.”

He grumbled at the reminder of what had been arranged tonight, and Aemma laughed, “You will see it as I do, one day soon. A moment of clarity will strike you, and you will understand their love to be as genuine as ours.”

“I rue the day,” Viserys muttered, and Aemma smiled.

“It will come,” she teased him, “And when it does, you will know that I am right there with you, boasting of how right I was.”

He laughed, but the sound seemed to flicker, growing distant then loud.

Aemma’s expression became one of a strange contented sadness.

“Our time together is coming to an end, my King…but I am always within your heart. Trust that my hand will guide you, as I wait for you to join me in the afterlife.”

“I do not wish to say goodbye,” he admitted, but already his vision became hazy.

His beautiful Queen leaned in for a final kiss.

“It is not goodbye,” she insisted, “Simply a postponement. Live happily, Viserys. Protect our family from the vultures that would feast upon us and see the House of the dragon rise into a legacy that will surpass all before it. So that when you join me, you will know that what you leave behind is good. It is strong. And you can truly rest.”

Viserys awoke too early, the sun barely risen, but the pleasantry of his dream lingered. Aemma’s soft skin, so pale and lovely; her dazzling smile, the comfort he felt in her mere presence. He did not realize how much his memory of her had faded in the past years. The refresher was welcomed.

The intrusion upon his sleep, however, was less so.

He groaned as he climbed from bed, certain he knew who impeded his peace so early…and what their purpose was.

“Come in.”

His door opened, and sure enough, his Hand walked through it.

“I apologize for the early hour, your Grace,” Otto Hightower did not sound very apologetic at all, but he certainly looked the part; all modestly reserved, “I have…discomforting news. I thought it best shared discreetly, before the council convenes.”

The hesitation, the inflection toward righteous purpose…Viserys could see how well his Hand thought this scheme planned. With Aemma’s warning still so fresh, however, he knew exactly what Otto was hoping to accomplish with this all too considerate discretion.

“What is it?”

“I’m afraid it concerns the Princess, my King.”

Of course it did.

“What of her?” Viserys demanded, tightening his robe around his body, and Otto’s head lowered.

“It is no easy thing…to tell a father of his daughter’s exploits,” the Hand said, and he might have been convincing, any other morning before this one, “I had considered saying nothing, but-”

“What has she done?” Viserys urged, struggling to keep his tone neutral.

Otto had never considered saying nothing; of that, he was certain…and he was a bit curious, to see how this tale was to be spun.

“The Princess was spied last evening.” Spies sent by whom, he wondered. “Beyond the walls of the keep…in a pleasure house.”

Gods, he was going to have to pull the entire story out of his Hand, at this rate; the words falling in pieces from the man’s mouth.

“What of it?”

Otto’s expression faltered.

“She…was carrying on with her uncle,” he said, in the same despondent tone, “They were engaged in behaviors unbecoming of a maiden...of a Princess.”

But of course, had the roles been reversed and Rhaenyra been a Prince, this meeting would not be happening.

“What behaviors?” Viserys glowered; challenging the lie to his Hand’s lips.

Again, Otto hesitated.

“Well…must I say it, your Grace?”

The dragon that had long slept in Viserys’ chest roared now at the display of cowardice.

“You enter my chambers,” he pointed out, “Accuse my daughter of something. Now speak it. Plainly.”

He would not risk a miscommunication.

Otto straightened, his fists clenching at his side, “Daemon and Rhaenyra were seen together, in the bowels of a pleasure den…coupling.”

“Mhmm,” And there it was.

He felt a true fool, for not seeing sooner the threat that his Hand could pose to his daughter; to his last piece of Aemma.

Gods, how could he have been so blind?

“And who is responsible for this gossip?” he strode forward, stopping just before Otto, to the point that the man leaned back.

“As your Hand, I must maintain trusted sources of information,” Otto insisted, “And this one, as yet, has never led me astray.”

Meaning this was not the first time Otto had employed this spy in the hopes of gaining leverage against those he was meant to serve.

“And several of the servants have now admitted to seeing the Princess creeping through the Gates from King’s Landing, disguised as a page, during the hour of the owl.”

An hour later than it had been in truth, Viserys noted, which led him to wonder how many of the servants were giving honest accounts, and how many were being well paid or threatened to do so.

He narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin, “Are you so sick with ambition that you would have my daughter stalked? Spied upon? Awaiting the chance to ruin her reputation?”

Otto stared back with faux offense, “I have no such intent, your Grace.”

“Do not lie to your King,” Viserys hissed with disgust, “And do not assume that I am so unaware of my daughter’s actions.”

This took the Hand by surprise, “Your Grace-”

“Just get out,” Viserys waved toward the door, “And know that I will handle my House as I see fit.”

It was a testament to the seriousness of his voice when Otto simply bowed his head and did as he was commanded, rather than attempt to argue back. He had allowed the man far too many leniencies, Viserys was coming to realize.

Perhaps Daemon had been right, in that regard…

He shook away the thought, and focused on getting dressed. There were things that he would need done before the small council meeting in just a few hours, and he had much to plan for.

Rhaenyra awoke to the feeling of warm breath against her neck. Warm breath connected to a warm body that had melded against her naked backside. She hummed an approval, and felt soft lips follow the trail of air, dragging down the column of her neck, to the junction of her shoulder.

“Morning,” the gravelly voice made her squirm, and caused a stir of desire in her belly; the belly her betrothed’s large hand was rubbing against.

The motion felt intentional, and she couldn’t help but giggle.

“You know,” she turned in his arms, “There are a few more steps involved before that babe you’re imagining will start growing there.”

Daemon was as handsome in the morning light as he had been in the dim cast of the fire the night before, though his short hair stuck out in a desperate need to be combed.

He smiled sleepily, his gaze stroking over her face as his hand did the same with her hip.

“If a babe is to grow in your womb,” she reached up as he spoke, brushing his hair from his face, “It will be at the time of your choosing. I am simply enjoying the feel of my future wife.”

“Oh,” she snuggled closer through the blankets, until she could press a kiss to his lips; one he gently returned, “Then I have no complaints.”

“Mhmm,” he laid flat, pulling her with him so that she ended up half on top of his body; her slight weight not seeming to bother him at all as she rested on his chest, “Nor do I, if this is how I shall awake every morning.”

Rhaenyra grinned at him, lifting a brow, “There could be much more pleasurable ways of spending our morning, if you had not become so suddenly insistent on following the rules.”

He laughed, a rough, happy sound that ran a flush through her skin.

“The sacrifices I am willing to make for your honor,” he agreed, “I expect to be well rewarded.”

“You have been rewarded,” she teased, “With permission to marry me.”

His smile was as genuine as she had ever seen it, at the reminder, “Ah…a worthy recompense, I suppose.”

Rhaenyra slapped his chest, earning another laugh, and gave a shout of her own when he quickly flipped them, tangling her in the sheets as their positions switched and he hovered over her.

“You dare strike your husband,” he growled, burying his face into her neck and nipping playfully at the skin, “Whatever am I to do with such insolence?”

“Not my husband until you have wed and bed me, uncle,” she squirmed for freedom, but did not hate the pressure of his body against hers, “Until then, I am free from your reprimand!”

“Actually, you seem quite trapped,” he pointed out, pinning his hands on either side of her head, before dipping down and kissing her forehead, “But for you, I shall show mercy.”

He rolled away and she immediately missed his warmth…especially as he stood from her bed, rumpled clothes looking entirely too attractive over his form.

“You should dress,” he told her, grabbing a robe and offering it over, “Your maids will soon-”

Before he had even finished the sentence, there was a knock on her door, and Rhaenyra stood.

Her attendant entered before she could tell Daemon to disappear, followed in step by the King himself.

Rhaenyra grasped at the lapels of her robe, drawing it tightly around herself as her maid bowed.

“His Grace, Princess.”

“Yes, thank you, I can see that,” Rhaenyra huffed, and dismissed the girl. She swallowed hard as her father took note of her appearance…and Daemon’s presence.

While her uncle seemed unbothered, the King’s face pinched with frustration.

“Seven hells, you two!” he practically bellowed, “I give you all you desire and can not have one day of peace in return?!”

“Oh, relax, brother,” Daemon sauntered over, the taunting smirk he usually wore back in place, “You can check the sheets; no blood has been shed.”

“Blood is about to be shed,” Viserys warned with a glare, and Rhaenyra decided to intervene before he could make good on the threat.

“We only wished to talk,” she told the half truth, and quite believably so she thought, “About all that transpired last night. It was a comfort, to find clarification in our…expectations.”

She felt Daemon’s amused gaze shift to her, but refused to look at him in fear of revealing too much.

Viserys had no patience for either of them though, as he only bristled at her response before stating his purpose.

“At least I do not have to waste time tracking you both down,” he said, “We need to be in agreement on the truth of your…adventures last night.”

Rhaenyra frowned, confused, for they had already discussed the truth, but Daemon nodded and the two men shared a look.

She felt suddenly young; inexperienced, and found she did not care for it.

“What truth?” she asked, and her father’s attention shifted back to her.

“The circumstances of your betrothal,” he said plainly, and tilted his head towards the table where, just last night, Daemon had left the page’s clothes for her to change into.

The three of them moved there to sit down.

“Daemon returned yesterday,” the King continued, “And sought a private audience with me after our celebratory lunch in the gardens…where he requested permission to court you.”

Daemon made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, but her father’s sharp glare kept him from making further comment.

“Permission I granted, due to my promise that the Crown owed him a debt for winning the war in the Steps. However, you Rhaenyra, had grown tired of being courted, evident by your early return from the tour, and expressed desire for the match when I presented the possibility.”

Rhaenyra’s mouth parted as her father spoke, not sure if she was scandalized or impressed by the way the truth twisted to match his version of the events.

“No one is unaware, in truth, of the affection the two of you have had for each other,” he continued, seeming less happy about this fact, “Not with the way Daemon has doted and lashived gifts upon you for half your life. And it is a Targaryen custom as old as Valyria herself, for those of the dragon’s blood to interwed.”

Her father leaned forward, planting his elbows on the wood of the table as he clasped his hands and stared them both down.

“If anyone asks, we agreed upon your engagement early in the evening yesterday, but planned to hold off on the announcement so as not to offend the high lords that Rhaenyra so rudely disregarded upon her leave of the tour.”

It was hard to feel poorly about that decision now, but she schooled her expression into one of apology, for her father’s sake.

“Daemon took you out last night, in celebration,” he finished, “You went to the pleasure house to spectate a show, and in your joy at the match, overindulged for what was appropriate in the public eye.”

“Because it is not wrong that a betrothed pair show affection to one another,” she realized, “Even in public.”

“Wrong…no,” Viserys allowed, “But to such an extent, and considering the location, it is still unseemly and a display of poor judgment. Which is why, when news is broken to the Small Council, you will offer apologies and express regret for your actions.”

It was far from the worst compromise, so Rhaenyra nodded her agreement, and her father turned to Daemon.

“Now, I know better than to expect you to make an apology, but-”

“On the contrary,” Daemon's expression shifted with his tone, “I deeply regret that my actions would reflect poorly on the Princess, or ever bring her virtue into question. I have been at war, battling for years long, and forgot upon my return that the expectations of court are to be held in a higher regard.”

He leaned forward, matching the King’s stance, but lowered his head in reverence, “The Princess’ innocence remains unblemished, and I can pull several witnesses who would attest to such, if the council so requires…but Rhaenyra is very important to me and I shall take great care to avoid situations that would make spectacle of her in the future. Of that, you have my word.”

The air hung heavy for a moment when he had finished, Rhaenyra’s eyes jumping back and forth between her uncle and her father, until the King lost some fight and succumbed to a reluctant smile.

“I dare say that would do it.”

Daemon’s somber expression transformed with a devious smirk of his own, and Rhaenyra decided that she was impressed after all.

Oh, they were good, these two. And it would seem she still had much to learn.

It was almost a shame, Daemon concluded, how much his brother’s approval still meant to him, but he could not deny the feeling he got watching Viserys fight a smile was a pleasant one.

For so long, they had been at odds, one offense after another being struck between them, but this…this mattered. Viserys had come to them. He was willing to manipulate the truth for his family.

Perhaps the dragon Daemon had long believed dead in Viserys had been given the breath of life once more. Perhaps there was yet a chance to salvage the future of House Targaryen, when he had so long thought his brother to be the one to bring it to ruin.

If Viserys was willing to challenge his advisors, the gods, and reality itself on behalf of Rhaenyra…then there was hope.

“You should know that Otto visited me this morning,” his brother said, looking weary as the humor faded, “Suffering to tell me of your endeavors last night.”

“I’m sure it caused him great pain,” Daemon rolled his eyes, certain that the Hand’s ambitions had not lessened in his years of absence, “How wild did he spin his tale? Was Rhaenyra shared among the common folk? Stripped of all regality and used as a whore?”

“Crude,” Viserys scolded lightly, but sighed, “No, I fear his tale is much more believable, and just as damning. That the two of you were seen coupling together.”

“But we did not,” Rhaenyra declared, indignantly, “Otto is a liar!”

The fury and conviction in her annoyance was of great amusement to Daemon, considering the reaches that they themselves were making to dilute the truth. But they were royals; Targaryens. Their words were truth; their rulings were the law…no matter what the Hightower cunt believed.

“There is not a person in the capital who is not a liar,” he told Rhaenyra, and fought the urge to reach for her hand with her father already so unhappy with them, “It is a matter of being the better one…or having undeniable proof.”

Proof, such as a maiden’s blood.

“Wed us soon, brother,” Daemon advised the King, “And at the bedding ceremony, Otto Hightower will see first hand that Rhaenyra’s virtue was not priorly compromised.”

His brother and his niece turned identical shades of red at the proposition, but the reminder of what was to come would only serve to benefit their cause.

Rhaenyra recovered first, clearing her throat even though the blush remained on her cheek. He quite enjoyed having caused it, and was reminded of her lack of shame last night as she fell apart on his tongue. Claiming him as her own by forbidding the touch of all others.

She had been far from a blushing maiden, then, his possessive little dragon.

“Daemon does have a point, Father,” she attempted to persuade, “How could your Hand, or anyone else, deny the truth with such evidence?”

“I will inform the council today,” Viserys avoided the question, and the topic of Rhaenyra’s eventual bedding in its entirety, “By the end of the week, we will announce it to the public. That should be sufficient time for the Vale to send back any response they feel is warranted about the annulment of Daemon’s marriage to the Lady Rhea.”

Daemon scoffed, “The only response we might receive to that regard is word of a party celebrating the end to such a farce.”

“All the same,” Viserys said, dismissively, “It is a courtesy we can, and will, afford them. In the meantime, we shall plan for a feast at the week’s end, invite enough of the lords that they feel their houses were truly considered, then make the announcement of your betrothal. I’m not expecting it will be a very happy affair.”

“It would not have been, no matter my choice,” Rhaenyra pointed out, “Too many wounded prides amongst the lords at being passed over…however, since they will already be in attendance at King’s Landing, might it be of sense to host the wedding before they depart? It would be difficult for some to make the journey twice.”

Daemon was impressed by such logic in the attempt to move the event along, but Viserys shook his head.

“No. A wedding too rushed will only make it appear as if you have something to hide. The end of summer should be good. Enough time to plan, agreeable weather, and-”

“Summer’s end is still months away,” Rhaenyra groaned, and while Daemon shared her frustration, he did not bother to voice his.

“The months will pass quickly,” Viserys assured her, “And as they do, I expect the both of you to behave yourselves. I mean it! We can not afford another scandal, and if you are unable to help yourself-”

He pointed at Daemon, “Know that I am not above sending you to Dragonstone to await the date in solitude. Though, I would prefer us not be divided now.”

Which is why Daemon knew the threat was empty, but he managed to water his smile to a mere lift at the corner of his lips, “As you command, your Grace.”

Viserys hardly seemed convinced, but left them not long after, insisting that they were to break fast and be ready to join the small council within the hour. For the first time, Daemon actually looked forward to the meeting, and could imagine the look on the members’ faces when the announcement was made of his engagement to the Princess.

Rhaenyra was apparently of the same mind, as there was a smirk on her lips when she turned to face him, after shutting the chamber door behind the King.

“Otto Hightower is going to be so angry when he discovers Father has matched us.”

“Mhmm,” Dameon smiled lazily as she came back over to him, “Does the thought delight you as much as it does me?”

“He’s a self-interested vulture who is attempting to bring about my ruin so his own blood may sit the throne,” she said, “Delighted is not a strong enough word to describe my anticipation.”

The small vengeances they live for.

Daemon grabbed Rhaenyra’s arm and yanked her down into his lap, still occupying his seat at the table.

She squealed as she was thrown so off balance, but settled quite easily into his arms.

Once comfortable, she looped her own around his neck, and studied his face.

“You will behave, won’t you?” she asked, sobering into a more serious presence, “Otto will spend this entire week trying to change my father’s mind before he can make the public announcement. It wouldn’t be wise to give him more weight to levee against us.”

“Otto can try,” Daemon ran a hand over Rhaenyra’s hair, loose from all braids and flowing freely to her waist. It was inches longer than when she’d challenged him on Dragonstone.
“But your father is a dragon for you alone,” he concluded, “ And now he knows Otto is a threat to you. I’m not sure he will cave as easily as that Hightower cunt thinks.”

Rhaenyra smiled, “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve heard you sound as if you respect my father.”

“This is the first time in many years he has done something worthy of respect.”

She shook her head, but still seemed amused, “Well, I don’t think that is the sort of thing you should boast upon the Council.”

“I will be a model of propriety at the Council,” he assured her, and laughed when she narrowed her eyes in disbelief.

“No, you are right,” he explained, “Though it would give me no greater joy than to run Dark Sister through Otto Hightower’s heart, we must stand a united front with your father. Our sigil is a dragon with three heads, after all. We will need him.”

She made a noise of agreement, as her fingers dallied at the neckline of his tunic. The material was thin, and she easily pushed it aside. Her thumb stroked the top of the scar that covered much of his upper body.

He watched as her eyes took in what was revealed, and saw the curiosity as well as concern flicker across her features.

“A flaming arrow,” he answered before she could ask, and her eyes shot up to his, “It struck me while I was astride Caraxes. The heat was trapped between my armor and skin.”

Her touch lightened, “Does it hurt?”

“No,” he covered her hand with his own, “Not since it healed.”

She squeezed his hand, but soon her attention returned to the scar, and she shifted in his lap.

Daemon fought a groan as she turned to fully face him, her robe splitting as her legs parted over his hips, and his cock jumped at the heat of her core so close and exposed.

Rhaenyra, however, paid it no mind as she reached for the bottom of his tunic and tugged the material up.

“If you wanted me naked,” he jested as he pulled the tunic over his head, “You needed only to ask.”

She rolled her eyes, but ate up the sight of his bare skin as it was revealed to her.

The scarring from his burn was quite brutal, he knew, covering parts of his arm, his back, his neck and chest. Rhaenyra seemed more fascinated than repulsed, though; her hands stroking over the ridges of his skin with a gentle touch.

“You truly are a warrior now,” she acknowledged, and he strangely thought she sounded a bit jealous of the fact.

“What was it like?” she implored, “The war in the Steps?”

While there was no doubt her body had matured into that of a young woman, the excitement in her question reminded Daemon of years past, when as a little girl she would demand stories of his adventures away from King’s Landing.

He indulged her now as he had then.

“Long,” he said, letting his hands settle on her hips, “Bloody on occasion; mostly boring.”

“How can war be boring?” her nose scrunched in disbelief, and he smirked.

“You’ve been listening to too many of the songs, Princess. War is more than battles of glory and heroic knights clashing swords. There are weeks of waiting to make a move, needing food or supplies; gaining advantage, losing it…the fighting itself is invigorating and dangerous, but short-lived. The recovery is longer.”

Rhaenyra crooked her head, and spread her palms over his shoulders, “Is that why you were gone so long? You were recovering?”

“In part,” he admitted, “We fought, we won…but myself and several of the soldiers needed a Maester’s attention before we were fit to travel.”

She sought out his other wounds, hands exploring his bare torso and all the places where an arrow had struck him, or where a lucky sword had managed to fit between the slots of his armor.

“I wish I could have been there with you,” she said, “When Lord Corlys was still asking Father for the crown’s assistance, I suggested he send us dragon riders. He declined.”

Daemon smiled, “For the good of the realm. It wouldn’t do to have the heir to the throne in such danger.”

“I wouldn’t have been in danger,” she insisted, “I’d have been with you.”

“And I would give my life for yours,” Daemon swore, surprised by how much he meant it, “But I must admit that this was a much more favorable outcome.”

He squeezed her hips, emphasizing his point.

“Favorable, yes,” Rhaenyra agreed, “But being here, alone, while Father married my dearest friend and had children with her was not much fun. The realm forgets me as heir in favor of Aegon, as you have seen.”

He recalled the distasteful play they had watched just the evening before, and could only imagine how much slander had been spread since her brother’s birth. Viserys had been a fool to marry the Hightower girl, let alone give her a Targaryen son. It was the exact leverage Otto had no doubt been waiting for to shore up his own standing with the crown.

Daemon hated to think of how his niece had suffered in his absence, with no one to show her favor or support while the realm and its King doted on the new Prince. But that was in the past. He was home, now, and would not be as far from her side again.

Rhaenyra was a dragon, fit to rule…not some Hightower half-breed who just so happened to have a cock and the king’s blood. But it was good that she be aware of the threat to her succession. Naivety would not serve well, even if he intended to make sure Aegon would never come close to sitting the throne.

“We shall remind them of your position,” he said, reaching up to cup her face in his hands, “And I will put to sword any who dare denounce you as the future queen.”

Rhaenyra accepted his oath with parted lips and flared eyes. She knew, as he did, that together they were a force to be reckoned with. And with the King himself supporting their union, who could truly stand against them?

“I do not plan to be a tyrant,” she said in the tongue of their ancestors, “But it pleases me to know I have such a sword to wield, if it be necessary.”

“Dark Sister and I are yours to command,” Daemon promised, and pulled her closer so that their lips nearly brushed as he spoke, “I swear this to you, Princess. When your father passes, you will sit the Iron Throne.”

Rhaenyra closed the distance between them, kissing him as hungrily as she had last night in the brothel…and again, upon her bed. Daemon’s hands slipped into her hair as he returned the kiss with equal passion.

He felt drunk off of her and longed to lay her back and dive his head between her thighs once more. But they had years for him to drown in her taste, and in just a few months time she would be welcoming more than just his tongue into her cunt. For now, he could show restraint and, as his brother would say, behave.

“Daaaaemon,” Rhaenyra let out a whine when he pulled away from her mouth and refused to let her reconnect them, “Don’t tease.”

He allowed her one last kiss; chaste compared to their others, before sighing.

“We must prepare to meet with the council soon,” he reminded her, “And you need to eat.”

“I do not want for food,” she bit at his jaw, before running her tongue over whatever mark she’d left.

Daemon groaned at her implication, but stood his ground.

“Nor I, when I could feast on you…but your father was right. We can not create more spectacle and others will come looking for you soon. I should return to my rooms and get dressed for the day.”

Rhaenyra’s lip jutted out in a pout, but she could not deny the truth of his words.

“The nights will be ours, little dragon,,” Daemon assured her, and pressed a kiss to her cheek, “But the day is owned by tradition and decorum. We must endure it to further our purpose.”

She nodded, although reluctantly.

“Promise me that you will return here tonight,” she said, more order than request, “And perhaps the day shall pass more easily.”

Daemon smiled and pressed his forehead firmly against hers, “Oh Princess…The gods themselves could not keep me from your bed tonight.”

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra had finished dressing, and had even eaten some of the food her attendants had brought into the room not long after Dameon’s departure. She had just pulled her hair back into a simple braid when someone knocked on her door and it opened slowly.

“Princess?”

Ser Criston.

Rhaenyra stood from the seat before her looking glass and smiled over at the knight, waving him into the room. He was in full armor once more, and held his head low, even as he followed her command.

“I am here to escort you,” he said, “…unless you wish to have me dismissed…”

It made her feel a bit guilty, the way she had nearly used him last night. He had been a loyal friend, and she’d put him in a poor position. The awkwardness in the air; his belief that she would be offended of him…it was her doing.

“Not at all. Actually, I am glad you are here,” she said honestly, hoping they could put the night behind them, “I wanted to apologize to you, Ser Criston.”

His head snapped up, confusion on his face, “You haven’t a reason to-”

“I do, for last night,” she insisted, lessening the space between them but keeping enough to give an illusion of formality, “It was wrong of me to proposition you so…”

“Princess-”

“Please. Let me say this, Ser,” he fell silent at her request and Rhaenyra sighed, reaching out and placing her hand on his arm.

“You have been a loyal companion and confidant these past few years,” she said, “Not just my protector, but my friend. It was wrong of me to put you in a position where your oath was compromised.”

“I compromised myself-”

“At my behest,” she reasoned, and squeezed his arm before dropping her hand.

Still, the knight frowned, “I’m not sure your father will much care as he orders my head removed.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, “He will not. I was in a poor mood last night and acted out. He knows the fault lies with me, and I will speak to your honor if ever he should ask. Though, truthfully, I think he would rather forget the entire ordeal.”

Criston looked at her then, holding her gaze with an expression she did not quite recognize.
“And you, Princess?”

Was he asking if she would rather forget? Rhaenyra considered the night she’d had and all that had come of it. The freedom she’d felt, the moans in the brothel, the taste of Daemon’s kiss, her anger at him, her father’s anger at them both, their betrothal…

“I will focus on moving forward,” she answered, “And honoring the duty of my position.”

“Even the parts you loathe?” Criston pressed, and Rhaenyra smiled as she recalled lamenting over such to him just days ago.

How quickly Daemon’s return had changed her circumstance.

“I do not loathe all of my duties,” she said, “But even if I did…I am my father’s heir. The duties are mine to uphold. The bad and the good. It is time enough that I commit to them.”

Criston looked, for a moment, as if he wanted to say more, but the hour was waning and Rhaenyra would need to get to the Council meeting.

“I appreciate your service,” she finished, “And hope that you accept my apology and we can remain as we have; honor intact.”

Again, she found it difficult to place the look on Ser Cristion’s face but, after half a moment, it was gone and he bowed his head.

“Of course, Princess.”

She left her rooms, trailing a step behind Criston, who did not say another word as traveled through the Red Keep, but the silence was not unpleasant. There was much to think about, and to anticipate, as she imagined the reactions of the Council to the news of her match with Daemon.

And as if she had summoned him by thought alone, her Uncle appeared in the hall. He was dressed similarly as he had been in the gardens the day before; the red and black of their House colors a great compliment to his fair complexion.

He smiled at her as he approached, then took notice of Criston.

Anyone who was less familiar with Daemon than she was would not have noticed the subtle change to his person, but she saw it. The way he stiffened, the shift of emotion on his face as his smile became sinister and his eyes narrowed.

“Princess,” he addressed, the silky word a formality while his eyes stayed on her knight, “You are heading to the Small Council meeting?”

As if he did not know. “I am.”

He nodded, and took a step closer to Ser Criston, that dangerous smile still in place, “I will escort the Princess from here.”

When the guard hesitated, Daemon’s expression lost all hint of civility, “You are dismissed, boy.”

“It’s alright,” Rhaenyra moved quickly as Ser Criston tensed, fitting herself in the limited space allowed between the two men. Her guard took a step back. Daemon did not.
“I shall be safe with my uncle.”

Criston did not look as if he much believed her, but recognized her dismissal more than Daemon’s. With a dark look to the Prince, and a shallow bow towards her, Ser Criston retreated.

Rhaenyra waited until she was alone with Daemon before turning on him.

“Must you really-oofmh,” she was cut off as he suddenly kissed her, hard enough to steal her breath, but so short lived that no one would have the chance to happen upon them.

“Mhmm,” she hummed as he pulled away, though he remained well within her personal vincity, the heat from his body bleeding into hers.

“You look lovely, Princess,” he said, smirking down at her instead of answering, and Rhaenyra sighed in exasperation.

“You do recall me telling you that nothing happened with him last evening, don’t you?”

“Enough happened that it gives me joy to see him scamper off like a dog with his tail tucked,” Daemon’s hand came up to the necklace she wore; his necklace, and he ran the pendant through his fingers, “Would you deprive me of my amusement?”

“Someone must,” she teased, “As I doubt you have ever deprived yourself much of anything.”

“Not true,” he argued and lowered his voice, even as he switched to their private tongue, “Just this morning I deprived myself of you. Your taste. Your gasps of pleasure which followed me into my dreams.”

His hand moved from her necklace to her jaw, as his body shifted impossibly closer; until all she could see and feel was him. Daemon’s gaze fell to her lips, which felt suddenly dry as his thumb brushed against it.

“I deprive myself now, of taking you as I wish. My brother and the council be damned.”

Rhaenyra’s knees felt weak as his breath drifted over her face, so close and inviting. His full lips parted in a way that made her wish she could lift, ever so slightly, and kiss him until her legs gave way completely and nothing but his arms and the nearest wall would hold her upright. And she might have done just that, if not for yet another interruption to their morning.

“Rhaenyra?”

Alicent’s surprised tone had her nearly jumping away from Daemon’s touch and spinning around to face her old friend.

The Queen seemed more confused by their presence than bothered by what she had witnessed, but then again, she knew that Daemon and Rhaenyra had always been close. In fact, there was once a time she had playfully scolded Rhaenyra for staring too long at her uncle in a tourney, insisting that it was improper. Rhaenyra hadn’t cared then, and cared even less now.

“Your Grace,” she gave a nod at Alicent, and straightened with her arms behind her, as if she had not just been moments away from attacking Daemon most inappropriately.

Alicent returned the respect, then did the same towards Daemon.

“Prince Daemon.”

“We were going to the council meeting,” Rhaenyra hurried to explain, not wanting to give Alicent the chance to think about just how close the two of them had been standing upon her arrival.

“Oh,” Alicent nodded, “Of course. I’ll um…I was just coming back from breakfast.”

Her eyes fell to the floor, as they often had when she and Rhaenyra were younger, and in the presence of other royals. It would seem that even after years of being queen and birthing two royal children, Alicent still felt intimidated by them. Rhaenyra also noticed that Alicent’s eyes looked red, as if she lacked sleep…or had been recently tearful.

“You go ahead,” she cleared her throat as she glanced up at Daemon, “Tell my father I will be along shortly, but I wish to speak with her Grace first.”

Daemon’s expression did not change, but Rhaenyra could see the way his eyes studied her, trying to work out her true purpose. She silently bade him to trust her.

“Don’t take too long,” he said finally, gathering himself as he moved a step back from them, “It is not a trait of the Council to be patient.”

Rhaenyra smirked, knowing his words were a jab at Otto, but nodded.

“I will be right there.”

Alicent seemed surprised by her request, but waited until Daemon was nearly gone from view before mentioning such.

“If you need to go, then I don’t-”

“What is wrong?” Rhaenyra interrupted her, letting proper words fall to their more intimate history, “You look as though you have been crying.”

Alicent blinked at her, taking a moment to register the question.

“I…No, I am fine.”

Rhaenyra gave her a look that showed her disbelief, and reached for Alicent’s hands. As she’d expected, the skin around her old friend’s nails had been recently picked raw.

“You do this when you are bothered,” Rhaenyra pointed out, and when Alicent mumbled a half denial once more, she gripped her wrist and pulled her down the hall.

“Rhaenyra!” Alicent half gasped, “What are you doing?”

“Giving us a place to speak in private,” she insisted, finding the first room she could.

There was a single attendant inside the space that hosted a few tables for gatherings, and Rhaenyra dismissed her quickly. The maid bowed before disappearing.

“Here,” Rhaenyra propped herself back against a table, leaning on it more than sitting, “We may speak freely. Tell me what ails you.”

Alicent had always been a poor liar, and that had not changed with the years, “I am fine. Really.”

Rhaenyra sighed. She had spent so long being angry at the girl before her; letting their friendship suffer as her discontentment grew…but upon returning from her tour, she’d noticed a darkness growing in Alicent as well. The same restless discontentment; but where Rhaenyra’s was fed from anger, Alicent’s seemed to stem from a deep sadness.

She had expressed being lonely, having no friends…missing her days as the Lady Alicent Hightower, rather than Queen Alicent Targaryen.

In the past, Rhaenyra would not have pressed further into the source of Alicent’s pain, the years of strife too wedged between them, but today she found herself more open. Maybe it was because she no longer felt as threatened by Alicent’s children; not when she had the support of Daemon and her father behind her.

And in getting to choose a match that she was pleased with, Rhaenyra felt more sympathy towards her friend, who had not been granted the same option, no matter that it gave rise to her station.

Rhaenyra knew she would have to put her own emotions aside, to truly be a good queen. She’d seen the way her father and uncle had spoken this morning; the way they challenged the truth and made it their own. The way their comradery gave strength to her own claim.

Perhaps she could do the same now. Preserve what had remained of her friendship with Alicent, but also ensuring the loyalty of the mother of her only challenge to the throne.
She reached for the girl’s hands again, and held them as she had so many times in the past.

“Yesterday, I told you that I had missed you on my trip,” she said, “And that was the truth…but more than that…I miss the way we used to be. Before.”

She didn’t have to elaborate. The guilt that swarmed Alicent’s face was proof enough that she knew exactly what Rhaenyra spoke of.

“I miss that, too,” Alicent admitted, barely above a whisper.

Rhaenyra squeezed her hands, “Then speak to me as you once would have. Not as the queen, but as my friend. You seem unhappy, and I worry for you.”

A crack in the shell began to break. Alicent let out a shaky exhale, and returned the grip Rhaenyra had on her hands.

“I…I do not wish to seem ungrateful,” she admitted slowly, gaging each word, “I have been so blessed and would not wish it otherwise.”

Rhaenyra motioned for the chairs at the table, but did not release their clasped palms as they both took a seat.

“I do not think you ungrateful,” she promised, gently urging for more.

Alicent nodded, “I am not. It’s just that….it is…hard sometimes.”

Rhaenyra frowned, “Being Queen?”

“And a mother,” Alicent sighed, “Helaena is sweet, and I love Aegon dearly, but…”

She flinched a little, “I find myself wanting to escape sometimes. The crying, the screams, the tantrums. Even with the attendants and the wet nurse, it feels relentless, and now I fear…”

Another pause, longer this time. Rhaenyra squeezed her hand again, and Alicent swallowed a sob.

“The realm will never be satisfied,” she said, eyes growing tearful once more, “They will want for more heirs. It is my duty to provide them, but-”

She shook her head as the tears fell, and Rhaenyra’s surge of sympathy was genuine this time.

“Oh, Alicent.”

She reached forward and hugged her friend. The girl who, like her, had too many expectations placed upon her, but lacked the support to bear them.

“I am sorry.”

Alicent hugged her back, her arms tightening around Rhaenyra’s neck like she’d been dying to hug her this way for years.

“Please do not hate me for saying such. I do love Aegon, and I am proud to have done my duty, but-”

“I do not hate you,” Rhaenyra promised, leaning away so that they could look upon each other.

“For a long time, I was angry,” she admitted, “Hurt by my father choosing you so soon after losing my mother; hurt that you had given him such comfort behind my back…but I think I realize now, more than ever, how little choice we have ever had in our own futures.”

Except she had been granted a relief in that regard, a blessing she had hardly expected…and was grateful that her father cared so deeply for her happiness that he would allow it. Otto Hightower had never given thought to the happiness of his daughter.

“You were right, yesterday,” Rhaenyra admitted, “That you were not granted the same as I, when it came to making a match. Nor have you had a choice in much else that has happened since…and for that, I am sorry.”

Alicent gave a watery sigh, “I am sorry that it hurt you. I wanted to speak with you on the matter…on all of it. This life now…it is not how I saw our future when we were girls. Your father is a good man; kind…but…”

“But he is not without faults,” Rhaenyra allowed, “Nor is he the heroic knight or handsome young lord we used to jest of marrying when we were young.”

“We knew so little back then,” Alicent laughed harshly, “I have often felt a fool for romanticizing it all. Being your Lady-in-Waiting and choosing a husband together. The weddings and dances, the sweet marriage and perfect children of whom I would be the perfect mother; as my own mother was. I imagined our friendship growing as we raised babes together. I would attend you on the birthing bed, assuaging your fears. Your children would take mine for rides on dragonback, for I doubted they would fear as I did…but nothing feels as it should have been.”

The life they could have had played out in Rhaenyra’s imagination, and her heart broke. For the girls they were. For the women they had become.

She swallowed hard and made a decision in that moment, that enough was enough. The men of the realm had controlled her life for so long, and she had only just discovered her own agency and the power she could hold when she refused to cower to their beliefs and desires.

She was the future queen. And as she had once told the Princess Rhaenys, she would implement a new order and make right all the things that should never have been.

“It is not too late for some of those things,” she said, and the fierceness of her tone caught Alicent’s attention.

“What do you mean?”

“Come to the Council meeting with me today,” she said, “You are Queen consort. Our people are your people, too. You should know the happenings of the realm. Sit at my side and when the day comes that I am queen, act as one of my advisors. Together, perhaps we can start making changes for those who come after us…for our daughters and theirs.”

Alicent’s eyes went wide.

“Would…is it even allowed? Surely the-”

“My father will allow it,” Rhaenyra insisted, certain that at the very least, Viserys wouldn’t forbid it.

“I worry at my father-” Alicent admitted quietly, and Rhaenyra couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t. He has a position of power, but he can not override a royal’s decision. And I wish to have you there. You deserve a place in the realm as more than the mother of the King’s children. You can no longer act as my Lady in waiting, but there was a time you were my most trusted friend…perhaps it is not too late to build that trust once more and do better than those who preceded us.”

When Alicent still seemed hesitant, though a spark in her eye spoke to hope, Rhaenyra went even further, “Besides…this particular meeting is one I would much like for you to attend. It is not yet public knowledge, but my father has agreed for me a match. He plans to announce it to the council.”

Alicent jolted at that and her eyes grew even wider as her jaw dropped, “You have chosen a husband! And you let me drone on about duty without mentioning this?!”

Rhaenyra laughed, “I was not going to express such joy while you were pained. What sort of friend would that make me?”

The bewilderment on Alicent’s face deepened, “Joy? Yesterday you suffered over the very idea of marriage, and now it is a joy? What has changed?”

Maybe it was dangerous to share the news now, but it was a risk Rhaenyra knew she needed to take, to further mend the bond between them.

“My father has promised me Daemon,” she said, and felt a little flush at the admission; at being able to say it out loud for the first time to someone else.

Alicent’s mouth opened even further, and it was almost comical, “Daemon?! Your uncle? But how is that possible? Isn’t he married?”

“Not anymore” Rhaenyra explained, “My father has annulled his marriage to Lady Rhea in favor of a marriage to me. It is what Daemon asked for, in exchange for his crown…and my father allowed me the choice.”

Alicent gapped, the motion thoughtless, “And…this is what you choose? You could have anyone in the realm-”

“I am not as sure of any other as I am of Daemon. We have long been close, you know that…and he is already of Valyrian blood. He needs nothing from me.”

“Except a throne,” Alicent said warily, and Rhaenyra shook her head, “If he only wanted the throne he could have taken it years ago, before Aegon was ever born. I will be Queen, and he will be my consort and protector. I trust him. And that is more than I can say for many of the High Lords.”

Alicent’s gaze softened then, and the hint of a smile replaced the shock on her features, “Well, I suppose you Targaryens have always had queer customs…and Daemon has always brought you happiness upon his returns…but are you certain, Rhaenyra? You know Daemon’s reputation as well as I, after all…”

“I have little concerns for his reputation before our betrothal,” Rhaenyra shrugged away the doubt, “He cares for me. And he is a Targaryen Prince, with real war experience now. Who better to be at my side when I take the throne?”

Alicent smiled in earnest now, something of her younger self shining through, “Oh, so this is only a political arrangement then? A smart match with no personal interest at all?”

“There is as much interest as there needs to be without giving my father a heart attack,” Rhaenyra smirked coyly, making her friend laugh.

“However did you get Viserys to agree to such a match, anyway? He was quite frustrated with you as it were, and Daemon is barely back from banishment.”

The fact that her father had agreed, even seemed to slightly encourage her choice, had been quite surprising to Rhaenyra. Though she imagined he was mostly doing what he could to preserve her reputation after he’d heard news of Daemon taking her out into the town. Her father was not often a fool…but still, his willingness to this match was unexpected.

“I think he wanted to honor his promises,” Rhaenyra worded carefully, recalling the half-truths her father had decided they would spin of last night, “To Daemon, for his victory, and me in choosing my own husband. I am of age now, and my father knows how I feel about marriage…perhaps this compromise was worth whatever headache it shall cause him, if it sees me wed and producing future heirs for the realm.”

“Royal wombs,” Alicent sighed and Rhaenyra crooked her head, “What?”

“It is what your mother called it, once. I remember her telling you such. That having a royal womb is a service to the realm.”

Rhaenyra smiled sadly, as she recalled that conversation, “One we must face with a stiff lip…for all the good it did her.”

Alicent reached for her hand again, and squeezed it in sympathy, “It is not so for everyone. My own births were quite quick and though the pain was great, it was easy to recover from. I pray all the time that it shall be the same for you.”

“Our battlefield,” Rhaenyra squeezed back, “Much more exciting than actual war, if my betrothed is to be believed.”

She couldn’t stop the smile from crossing her face as she thought of their conversation earlier that morning, nor the stirring in her blood as she recalled the scars that now marked Daemon’s body. Reckless and brave; her dark knight. Her Dragon Prince.

“You truly are happy with this match,” Alicent observed, having noticed the change in Rhaenyra’s face.

“I am,” she promised, then stood, pulling the queen with her, “And I will be even happier when the announcement is made public to the council…which we should hurry if we are to attend.”

Alicent’s hesitance seemed to give way to excitement as Rhaenyra laced their arms together.

“You’re sure?” Alicent’s breath came fast, as if they were children once more, sneaking off to places they were not supposed to.

Rhaenyra nodded, “I think you have been too long from my side. Any of the lords who disagree can fuck off.”

They broke into laughter, and with arms still linked, left the room and started for the chamber of the Small Council.

Chapter Text

Viserys held off on calling the council to focus, as the lords began gathering into the room. Chatter and jesting exchanges were often made as the seats filled, and today was no different. A small wave of silence did fall though, when Daemon entered the room, composed and dressed in fine Targaryen colors; Dark Sister ever at his side.

Otto’s eyes in particular trailed the Prince as he walked around the table to take the seat adjacent to Viserys’, but Daemon ignored all others completely.

“Brother,” he addressed simply, leaning forward as he sat down, “Rhaenyra and your wife were speaking in the halls; she might be a few moments more.”

Viserys nodded, but was surprised by the information. Rhaenyra had made no secret in the past of her feelings toward his marriage to her friend. He had often regretted causing such a rift in not only his relationship with Rhaenyra, but Alicent’s as well. He had assumed time would allow his daughter to adjust to the idea, but Rhaenyra had further imposed an isolation upon herself and ignored all attempts made to balm any offense.

With the flickers of the future he had seen, and the threats Aemma had told him of still so fresh, he had started to wonder if his daughter hadn’t been right all along. Still…he could not undo what had been done in that regard; but he knew his purpose moving forward.

Rhaenyra did arrive some time later, once most of the conversation had settled and Viserys himself was reading to start the meeting. Alicent was with her, their arms linked as they had so often been when the girls were younger and inseparable. Despite the reservations his dreams had given him toward the Hightowers, the sight gave him relief; as did the mischievous grin on his daughter’s face. It had been so long since he’d seen her look truly happy…

The men stood at the arrival, of the Princess or the queen, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t miss the way confusion clouded their faces and their eyes shot to one another as Rhaenyra requested an extra chair be brought over for Alicent. Even he wasn’t entirely sure of the purpose, but Rhaenyra smiled brightly at him and explained with a short, “The queen shall join us today.”

A few whispers answered her declaration, but no one spoke an objection out loud, so Viserys simply nodded. Rhaenyra was to be queen one day. If she wanted Alicent at the Council’s table, there was no reason she shouldn’t be in attendance.

“Very well,” Viserys cleared his throat and everyone settled. Rhaenyra took a seat next to Daemon, their eyes meeting for a long moment, but they exchanged no word or touch. Alicent sat directly across from Rhaenyra, next to the Hand.

Otto still looked confused; his gaze flickering subtly between Alicent, Rhaenyra, Daemon, and back again.

But when Viserys spoke next, the man’s attention shifted.

“Onto the meeting, then. There are important matters that need be discussed this morning.”

All eyes turned to him, even those of his brother and daughter, whose betrothal laid on his tongue like dragonfire. How much destruction would be left in the wake of this news? He knew how some of the council felt about Daemon, and also how many of them perceived Rhaenyra in the position as his heir.

But he would not allow the destruction of his House to begin with his reign, and if joining the dragon’s blood was the only way to preserve it, then he would see it done.

“As I’m sure all of you know,” he began, “My brother returned yesterday to King’s Landing, having won the Crown a great victory in the Stepstones.”

A murmur of agreement sounded out; a glass or two were raised in salute.

“Daemon and I spoke at length last evening about the past and about the future of our House and the Realm,” Viserys paused for a moment, wanting his point to be clear, “I do not seek advisement, but merely wish to inform this council first, that I have decided to annul Daemon’s inefficacious marriage to the Lady Rhea Royce, in favor of a more promising match.”

He took a breath, and focused on his daughter’s smile before launching chaos, “With my blessing, at summer’s end, Daemon will wed the Princess Rhaenyra, and act as her royal consort when the time comes for her to take the throne.”

Rhaenyra expected gasps, shoutings, an upheaval of disagreements and verbal backlash from some of the council members. The absolute silence that followed her father’s declaration was a surprise. But it was done…she and Daemon were officially engaged, announced and nearly publicized.

It took a moment more, but the shock of the news slowly wore off of the audience, and emotions began to seep across faces. She studied each, sorting allies from oppositionists. Her foot began to thrum under the table, anticipation getting the best of her, especially as her gaze landed on Otto.

The Hand was often good at controlling his emotions, leveling his voice and contorting his features into neutrality, but she knew from past experiences that no one could quite boil his blood the way Daemon did, and the way the skin of the man’s face was turning red, she figured he was fighting to temper his reaction with everything he had.

Daemon seemed to realize this too, as she felt his hand fall upon hers, on top of the table for all to see, while his own stare remained focused on Otto as well.

“You can not be serious,” the man finally spoke, turning toward her father with barely concealed contempt, “My King, I can not allow you to-”

“Allow?” Daemon had been waiting for this. Though his body remained relaxed in his seat, his words dripped venom, “You are but a servant to the King, Lord Hand, you allow my brother nothing.”

Otto’s lip curled, obvious hatred twisting his expression, “I am a servant to the Realm, and will not see it fall to squalor under your rule!”

“My daughter’s rule, you mean,” Viserys coldly corrected, and Rhaenyra was caught off guard by the harshness of her father’s voice, “It is she who will sit the throne, Otto. Or do you believe her so weak that she can not maintain her own opinion in opposition to her husband’s?”

Otto was losing favor, fast, and it was satisfying to watch him realize it. Rhaenyra fought a smirk as the Hand simmered and clenched his fist.

“The Princess is still young, Your Grace, and we have already seen Daemon’s influence on her…as you can recall.”

“I recall you having my daughter followed like a criminal,” Viserys straightened in his chair, a rare rage contorting his expression as he appeared for once, a truly mighty King, “I recall being woken to reports of her celebrating her engagement, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, but nevertheless-”

“Enthusia-your brother took her to the dregs of the city and defiled her!” Otto’s voice raised, his own anger too great to contain.

A few at the table gasped with the news, but next to her, Daemon laughed.

“Do you think that if my intentions were to defile my betrothed, I would have left the castle, taken her to a public place, and made a spectacle of the act? Her apartments are down the hall from mine own. If I really wanted-”

“Rhaenyra remains untouched,” her father cut him off, due to his own annoyance with Otto or because he did not wish to hear what Daemon could have done, Rhaenyra wasn’t sure, “A fact a Maester could attest to, if you refuse to believe your King.”

The Lords at the table dropped their gazes, and Rhaenyra fought any signs of embarrassment from showing on her face as Otto simmered over the prospect of her virginity.

Why should she be embarrassed? She had enjoyed her time last night; had gotten a husband of her choice from it. And while her father’s declaration that she was untouched was not entirely true, their meaning was. She remained a maiden and would until her wedding night, if Daemon’s resolve held. The man was quite stubborn, unfortunately.

So fuck Otto. Fuck him and the spies he had put on her. The reminder was enough to raise Rhaenyra’s hackles. Who in the seven hells did he think he was?

“I mean no disrespect,” Otto shifted to a tone of persuasion, “Nor to sully the Princess’ reputation, but her naivety is a weakness your brother will exploit. Betrothed or not, she followed him to rumor of her own ruination. I fear that such influence could only affect her reign in-”

Rhaenyra scoffed at the implications, earning the attention of the Hand who had a lot to say about her, it would seem, while completely ignoring her presence in the room.

“The influence of an accomplished officer of war?” she challenged him, “As a Prince the smallfolk admire? Of the Commander who’s City Watch has slowed the activity of our city’s criminal element for years now? I hardly see how the counsel of such could impact negatively upon my education as a ruler.”

Otto’s eyes narrowed at her, “As a ruler, you will have to make decisions that are best for all your people. Daemon’s accomplishments do not outweigh the threat he presents, and he is ill suited as a match for you, Princess, as he is also Targaryen. He offers you and the crown nothing you do not already possess-”

“That issue was non-apparent when you were suggesting I betrothe the Princess to her half brother Aegon,” her father argued, “A child of three with even less to his name.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened as she looked over to the King, then back to his Hand. The man had suggested what?! That she be betrothed to a baby?! Probably in hopes that she would be past child-bearing years before Aegon would even be of age to produce heirs, furthering his claim over hers.

Anger boiled through her blood and Daemon’s hand, suddenly firm on her own, was all that kept her in her seat.

“Wait,” he murmured to her in Valyrian, and her body responded to the command, even as her mind continued to reel.

Rhaenyra took a settling breath but blanched at the audacity of the Hand to want his own blood upon the throne so badly, he would seal her fate to a husband that could just as easily be her son!

And it would seem she wasn’t the only one appalled; Alicent’s own eyes had widened at the news, and the way she stared at her father now was full of disgust.

“You wanted to betrothe Aegon to Rhaenyra?” Alicent was stiff in her seat, her body pivoted towards Otto, “Without even mentioning such to me?”

But Otto was as unapologetic as ever.

“It was a discussion with the boy's father, as is Westerosi custom, in an attempt to stave off future complications.”

“He is a child!” Alicent found her own anger, and Rhaenyra felt pride for her friend. She might have loathed the duty, but she had been truthful about the love she bore for her children. It shone through now, creating a fierceness Rhaenyra had not known the girl capable of, “You should have told me-”

“I do not report to you, girl!” Otto snapped, turning on his daughter, “And I have had enough of your complaining when-”

Rhaenyra wasn’t sure who moved first. Daemon and her father both stood at the same time; Dark Sister drawn and pointed across the table at Otto’s chest, while Viserys’ palmed his dagger.

“Enough!” The king shouted, but for once the angry command was directed at his Hand instead of his brother, “You will mind your tongue!”

“While Alicent is your daughter, Otto, it would serve you well to remember that she is also the Queen consort-” Daemon spoke with a deadly calm, “-and according to the Westerosi traditions you so love, resides beneath her husband’s authority…not yours.”

If looks could kill, Rhaenyra was certain her betrothed would be ash by now. Otto’s glare was as heated as any dragon fire.

“Speak to my good-sister that way again and I will have your tongue.”

Otto’s teeth flashed as his fury turned to the King, “Your Grace, surely you will not allow for this-”

“I see no fault in my brother’s reasoning,” Viserys sat back in his chair, looking annoyed but rather over the display, “Your disrespect to the Crown has spread far this day. Ser Herrold-” he beckoned the white cloak over, “See to it that Lord Hightower is escorted to his apartments in the tower of the Hand. Perhaps some solitude and rest will allow him to later rejoin discussions of the council with dignity.”

Alicent basked in the look on her father’s face as the King ordered him removed and sent to bed like a child. It was equal parts mortified and enraged.

The King’s guard members allowed her father to stand on his own, and though he apparently had enough sense not to fight the King so openly on this matter, she knew the ordeal was far from over.

Her father was a smart man; he knew when to pick his battles, knew which moves would give the most benefit to his agenda, and too many times she herself had been a part of his game; whether she realized it at the time or not.

He had always been a force, Otto Hightower; a second son raised through position to a place of power that nearly rivaled that of the King. His expectations had consumed most of her young life; one look or word controlling her as easily as a harsh hand or verbal lashing.

But this time, she had not cowered. Her father had not won. And dragons had come to her defense. She stared at them now, as the guard escorted her father from the room, and felt something soften in her heart.

Gods, she’d felt alone for so long. She’d prayed and prayed for comfort, for ease in performing her duties to the realm; for the strength to be a good queen, wife, and mother. She wanted so badly to reflect well upon her family…she hadn’t considered that the concept may take on a new meaning.

After all, what was blood compared to loyalty? Viserys had chosen her over his Hand. Prince Daemon had risen a blade in her defense. Rhaenyra had looked about ready to turn the table over to come to her aid when her father’s voice had spiked.

Alicent had felt alone in the castle, alone in motherhood, and even in her marriage to a kind man who could never truly love her. But she did not need love. Her father loved her and still he used her. Pushed her right up to a position even higher than his own, and hadn’t considered the consequences. Why would he? She was a good and loyal daughter. Of course she would do as she was told…

But she was also a queen. A good and loyal wife. A mother…a mother to Targaryen children. A Targaryen family name added to her own. The King’s own cloak had covered her shoulders at their wedding, symbolically drawing her under his protection.

Alicent had always respected the fierceness and beauty of the House of the Dragon, but never before had she felt like she belonged to it…not until that very moment.

“Are you okay?” Rhaenyra mouthed at her, reaching a hand out across the table. Alicent stretched her own over and took it, squeezing as she nodded.

Prince Daemon watched their interaction, sheathing his Valyrian steel sword and sitting once more between the Princess and the King.

Silence was left in the Hand’s departure, and Viserys released a long sigh, “Now. Would anyone else like to voice an objection to your King’s decision?”

It was Lord Strong who spoke up, clearing his throat before doing so, and Rhaenyra released Alicent’s hand as she turned to listen to him.

“Lord Otto does bring up considerable points, your Grace, but I fear his…prejudice against the Prince clouds his judgment. Daemon is a smart choice for the future King consort.”

Daemon’s lips lifted in a handsome smirk, “I thank you for your support, Lord Strong.”

He gave the gratitude with the casual arrogance that seemed especially characteristic of the man. A confidence that was even more potent now than it had been four years ago when he’d last been in King’s Landing. No wonder Rhaenyra was so agreeable to the match. Even sitting next to each other, the two struck a powerful image.

“It is more than mere support, my Prince,” Lord Strong stated, and beseeched the King, “I’ve counseled in the past the importance of bringing the Valeryon fleet back into the fold, and Prince Daemon has just won a war for the Sea Snake. Knowing Daemon will be Rhaenyra’s king might be enough to put the crown back in favor with Lord Corlys.”

“Lord Corlys would be even more agreeable to serving the crown if the Princess were to wed his son,” Grand Maestor Mellos suggested, and Prince Daemon laughed sharply.

“I fought with his son in the Steps,” he said, “Ser Laenor is a good man and a fine knight, but he would find me a more appealing match than the Princess. He is not fond of women.”

It was a poorly hidden secret, Alicent knew. Rumors had circled for many years about the company Laenor Velaryon preferred. It surprised her to hear it spoken so brazenly.

“What of it?” Mellos shrugged, “I am not fond of fish, but when fish is served, I eat it.”

Daemon’s expression darkened at the suggestion.

“Yes, but our Princess is more than a meal to be devoured,” he argued.

Alicent did not blame him for sounding agitated. Her own lot for the future had been chosen for her; and now these men attempted to do the same to Rhaenyra.

“She deserves more than a husband who can simply tolerate her long enough to put a child in her, do you not agree?”

Mellos sputtered at the blatant question, but Daemon did not ease off until Viserys’ hand dropped to his shoulder.

“The Princess was granted a choice,” the King cleared the air, shutting down any further argument, “She chose Prince Daemon. If we are to one day entrust the realm to her, the least we can do now is allow her to choose the man who will stand at her side when that day comes.”

No one dared contest that now, and Viserys waved his hand through the air.

“I think that is plenty enough this morning. We will reconvene tomorrow, once we’ve all had a day to clear our minds.”

The lords agreed, and Viserys dismissed them. Alicent made to stand, but her husband stopped her.

“Stay,” he said, then looked to his brother and daughter, “All three of you.”

Alicent slowly sat back down, confused.

The door shut behind the last council member, and only then did something of weariness bleed through Viserys’ composure, and he slumped forward.

“That was…eventful.”

Alicent rested her hand on the King’s arm in sympathy, but Rhaenyra chuckled.

“They will move on to the next set of problems soon enough,” she said, “You will announce my engagement to Daemon and your political headache will be at an end.”

“You are my political headache,” Viserys accused, but there was so much affection in the words that they lost their sting. He sighed again, “One of them, at least.”

His eyes shifted to the empty seat between them, where Alicent’s arm reached over the place her father had occupied.

“I wanted you to hear this,” the King addressed her directly, “To know that it is no reflection upon you…but Otto can not remain as my Hand.”

The decision, at this point, was expected to Alicent, but both Daemon and Rhaenyra straightened at the news.

“You would remove him?” Daemon implored, sounding as surprised as he looked.

Viserys offered a glance to his brother, and nodded.

“He is too self-interested to offer an unbiased opinion. I would not remove him from the council…he has been in faithful service to the Crown for many years…and in truth, I would feel better having him remain close than left to scheme in Oldtown,” he turned to her again, “I hope this transition can be made without offending you, Alicent.”

It took a moment to realize he was expecting a response from her; that they all were. And the attention was unsettling. Alicent had long forgotten what it felt like to have a voice that mattered.

“You are the King,” she said firmly, “Whatever your decision, I will support it. As my father should have done.”

Viserys smiled kindly at his wife. She was sweet, if not quiet; usually a meek reprieve from the heightened emotions thrown about by the others in his life…but in this, he was glad to see her so strongly resolved. Perhaps it would not be too late to change the course of all of their futures.

“Very well…I suppose I will need to appoint a new Hand,” he decided, and his gaze shifted instantly to Daemon.

There was a loaded pause as the past fell unspoken between them. The decisions that he should have made, the things Daemon shouldn’t have said…how different this all could have been.

”He doesn’t protect you, I would!”

The words had cut through his pride years ago. Anger at his brother had always come so easily. He’d only heard the insult of being weak, of being in need of protection. He hadn’t seen the plea for what it was. But this was yet another wrong he might now have the chance to make right.

“Daemon-”

“No.”

The answer came swiftly, and Viserys frowned, “No?”

Was this not the very thing his brother had wanted? Had accused him of withholding?

“I am quite content to resume my role as Commander of the City Watch,” Daemon said, “But as your Hand, I am no less biased than Otto-”

Rhaenyra grabbed his arm.

“Your only bias is toward our House,” she objected, and Daemon smiled at her.

“Yes, Princess, and I would put our House over all others in the Realm. As Prince, as your consort, even as City Commander, this is no issue. But the Hand must be someone who can levy opinions free from personal influence or gain,” the soft expression Daemon often saved for Rhaenyra turned in Viserys’ direction, “Something I did not appreciate years ago.”

There was humility in his brother’s voice and, dare he say, a reflection of maturity. When Daemon had returned yesterday, along with his usual flair for theatrics, Viserys had been doubtful of any positive changes.

The humble tone struck a chord within the King, who placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Another shared look passed between them, and something long fractured suddenly seemed within reasonable grasp of mending.

“The post of City Commander remains yours, brother,” Viserys cleared his voice of the thick emotion that now clogged it, “As does your place of counsel at my table.”

Daemon dipped his head in deference, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

The moment between them broke as Rhaenyra asked, “Who will act as your hand, then, Father?”

Viserys considered her question, the curious lift of her brow and the way she leaned toward him in her chair, fully engaged for the first time in so long.

“Who do you think should be the replacement?” Daemon asked her, and Rhaenyra’s attention shifted toward him, “Me?”

“This Hand could very well end up serving you, too,” Daemon pointed out, “Who would you choose?”

Rhaenyra smiled at him, her bright eyes making her look so much like Aemma it hurt Viserys’ heart, but also gave him a small measure of comfort. She and Daemon would one day rule together. Seeing them discuss such things, knowing it was a small matter compared to future challenges, gave him a glimpse of something he wasn’t sure was possible.

Rhaenyra, taking her position seriously, settling back into her chair as she truly considered the choices, and Daemon sitting so patiently, awaiting her decision.

“Lord Strong,” she said, after another moment, and Viserys was surprised. Lyonel Strong was someone he himself would have considered.

“He has always counseled unbiasedly, and has no outside obligations or perceived shortcomings on his House,” she explained, “His wife has passed and he has sons to inherit Harrenhal in his stead. He is loyal to you, Father, and has bent the knee to me, accepted my position as your heir, and has defended it since. That would be my choice.”

“A smart choice,” Daemon agreed affectionately, and Rhaenyra beamed at his praise.

Viserys was not sure if Daemon truly thought Lord Strong as the best replacement, but he did not demean Rhaenyra’s choice, and he was glad for it. If Daemon were to be husband of the queen, he would need to support her and honor her decisions. Asking her opinion now showed Viserys that his brother was capable of such. Of giving Rhaenyra the room to act as a ruler.

“You’re right,” Viserys nodded, as he sought his heir’s gaze, “It’s a smart choice. And it is time I start allowing you more involvement in the decisions of this council. Tomorrow, Lord Strong will be offered the position, and Ser Otto will replace him as Master of Laws should he accept.”

Everyone found the trade acceptable, and it felt good to have gotten something right for once. His brother, his daughter, and his wife, all content. Viserys sighed with relief.

“I will speak with them. In the meantime, Daemon, gather your Gold Cloaks and reconstruct their training to your like. Rhaenyra, perhaps you could-”

“Actually, Father, I was hoping to spend more of the day with Alicent…perhaps take Aegon down to visit Sunfyre? It has been too long since I’ve seen Syrax as well” she turned to the queen, who seemed taken aback by the offer, but pleased.

“I would enjoy that greatly,” Alicent glanced at him, as if for permission, and Viserys hadn’t the heart to deny them the rekindling of a friendship; and perhaps the chance to avoid some of the devastation he had gotten a glimpse of in his dream.

“Of course,” he agreed, “But perhaps we could all dine together, tonight? It has been too long.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened, and she stood from her chair, walking around to embrace him from behind his chair. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her cheek pressing against his own.

“We shall see you then,” she promised, and placed a kiss upon his temple before releasing him and grabbing Alicent’s hand, helping the young woman to her feet as well.

“Shall I look in on Caraxes as well?” she asked Daemon, whose eyes had not left her for far longer than Viserys was comfortable with, “Make sure he’s settled in alright?”

“You may,” he said, “But I planned to go to the Dragon Pit myself, perhaps after meeting with the Gold Cloaks, to make sure he’s behaving.”

“He behaves better than you,” she teased, as she began leading Alicent toward the door, “But I’m sure he will enjoy your presence nonetheless. Maybe we will see you there.”

“Until then, Princess.”

He bowed his head as Rhaenyra waved to them, and the door closed firmly behind her and the queen upon their exit.

Alone with his brother once more, Viserys could not help but feel the difference in this moment to the one they’d shared just last night. How quickly the gods had disrupted all their fates.

Daemon seemed in no hurry to leave his side. His mood one of casual relaxation, as if he sensed the King had more to say before he left.

But Viserys could only stare at his brother. The man who he had both loved and hated, envied and pitied, missed terribly and just as strongly resented. Was it the blood of the dragon that destined them to feel things in such extremes? To never simply be brothers, but to be each other's strongest defenders and at times, worst enemies? Save his daughter, there was no one he loved more. No one he’d felt as angered by either. Daemon was an enigma in that way. A dragon made flesh who refused to be tamed. Loyal and strong where Viserys felt his own shortcomings all the more obvious.

His brother would be king one day. He would be Rhaenyra’s husband. The realm and the Realm’s Delight so easily placed into his bloodstained hands as if they were not the most precious things Viserys had to give. He just hoped Daemon had enough love for him, for Rhaenyra, to honor these gifts for what they were and to do right by them.

“Lord Strong is a good choice,” Daemon spoke after a moment had passed, possibly interpreting Viserys’ silence for doubt on the decision, “I probably would have chosen him as well. Though there are few I would not choose over Otto Hightower.”

Viserys chuckled, the sound lifting the heaviness that weighed on his mind, “A fact you have never hidden.”

Daemon smiled in return, but it was short-lived, “She will be a good Queen. She’s smart. She thinks. But Otto was right in saying she still has much to learn. Lord Strong will offer her wise counsel, even while serving as your Hand. She will learn from us all.”

Viserys nodded, “I plan to uphold my word, allow her more of a voice on the council…while I am still here to guide her in the process of making such decisions that impact the Realm.”

“She will have you for that for some time yet,” Daemon reasoned, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table, and Viserys sighed.

“Of that…I am less certain, brother.”

Daemon frowned, but Viserys continued before he could speak his confusion, “I am not in good health. Those festering wounds that plagued me even before Aemma’s death have only grown worse with the years, and do not heal. The Maesters think I have some years yet, but they can not account for how many. They have done all they can to slow the process.”

Daemon’s eyes flared at his declaration, and he shifted in his seat, “Have you sought the advice of other sources? There are more than the Maesters here who are practiced in medicine. Perhaps an alchemist or one of the Priestesses of-”

“I could search to the end of the known world for an answer to this problem,” Viserys cut him off, “But I fear it would be a poor use of my time. Valar morghulis, lēkia. And I am no exception.”

Daemon was quiet as he studied him, clearly unhappy with the news, but unable to argue. After all, what could be said when an end was inevitable for all. Man, dragon, commoner, king…death remained the great equalizer.

“Aemma came to me,” Viserys found himself admitting, the subject of his own mortality so fresh, “In a dream. I know you have always put little stock in such, but I believe it was truly her.”

Daemon did not interrupt or question the sudden change of topic, but it was obvious he was surprised by it.

“She spoke to me of a future I never wish to see; one that might have become truth if I did not change my path, and that is what I seek to do,” Viserys sighed, “It was she who advised me to marry Rhaenyra to you…but perhaps it is something I should have considered years ago…you have never been happy with your current bride, and I have always denied you the means of making your own match, of finding the same happiness I found with Aemma.”

He forced himself to hold his brother’s stare, no matter how uncomfortable the topic made him. Daemon did not flinch; but he had always been the braver of the two of them.

“I want that for you,” he said, “To be happy. I want it for Rhaenyra, too. I want to believe that I’m making the right choice, heeding Aemma’s advice and allowing the two of you to marry.”

He swallowed hard, blinking back sudden tears, “But she is my daughter, Daemon. The crown and everything else aside, she is my greatest joy. She is all I have left of my Aemma, and I am giving her to you. I beg of you, do not let me regret it.”

Daemon, who was so often quick to jest, to rile and provoke, reached across the table and gathered Viserys’ hand in both of his own. He lowered his forehead to the ring there, the silver hair of their ancestry glinting in the early sunlight pouring in through the window. The words he spoke were of their ancestry as well, the language falling flawlessly from his tongue in a way Viserys himself had never mastered.

“I swear it to you, your Grace, as I will swear it to her. I will live my life in service to Rhaenyra as her consort. I will protect her, honor her, devote to her my fealty and act as her word and will. She will be safe. Happy. That is all I have ever wanted for her, as well.”

Viserys exhaled at the promise, and lowered his own head to rest upon his brother’s.

“Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Dragons were a mighty presence that caused both awe and fear when spotted, flying swiftly overhead the land. Even though she’d been an accomplished rider since childhood, Rhaenyra still respected the power of the beasts that had granted her family their royal position. Save for her Syrax, she knew dragons could be unpredictable and dangerous. Her mount was bonded to her, protective rather than threatening, but she never once forgot the capability of such a creature.

That having been noted, it was still of great amusement to see a hatchling as small as Sunfyre. Roughly the size of a dog now, Aegon’s dragon was unsteady in his own body. He expanded his wings and expelled smoke as he and the toddler chased around the expanse of the Dragon Pit, but was unproportioned and gangly; feet and tail too big for his body’s current size.

Alicent stood at Rhaenyra’s side, watching the pair run around with a tension that had not eased in the years since the dragon had been hatched to the young Prince.

“Breathe,” she teased, and Alicent shot her a look.

“I am breathing just fine, considering my child is near a creature who is learning to breathe fire.”

Rhaenyra laughed, “Sunfyre will not harm him. And the keepers will ensure that any mishaps remain under control.”

The men who worked with the dragons stood nearby, eyes trained on the Prince and his future mount.

Alicent was clearly unconvinced, but didn’t press the matter.

“Syrax will surely be in a good mood today,” the queen changed the topic instead, “You have always said she is favorable towards Caraxes.”

The reminder that Carexes was back in the Dragon Pit because Daemon was back in King’s Landing, made Rhaenyra grin. So much had happened in the whole day that had passed since their return, she still felt like part of it might be a dream.

“I am sure she will be,” she said, “I know she is getting of an age that the Keepers have recommended breeding her, but she does not tolerate any of the other dragons coming near her, save for him.”

“She is like her rider then,” Alicent playfully nudged her, “Very particular in her choice of mate.”

Rhaenyra didn’t bother to deny it. She’d been on tour for months, hearing every House and Lord’s argument and offer for her hand and hadn’t felt drawn to accept a single one. None had felt genuine or right. It was as if her heart had already known, before her brain had become aware, that it had already chosen a match and none other could serve as replacement.

“When one is given a choice, they must take great care to make the right one,” Rhaenyra smirked, “If I had rushed to choose a husband, then Daemon’s request to my father to court me would have been for naught.”

“And you are certain of his intentions?” Alicent asked, a little warily, “He is home but a day, after years at war, and makes such request…I can’t help but think that-”

“That his intentions in marrying me are politically motivated?” Rhaenyra guessed, and sighed when Alicent nodded.

“What does it matter if they are?” she challenged, “Every single proposal I received from the lords of the land were with political inclination. It is unavoidable as the Princess and heir. Daemon may have many motivations pressing his desires, but he is the only one of my suitors with genuine affection for me.”

That much, she knew without a doubt. Daemon loved her, even if it was not yet the love of a husband and wife. And he desired her; as a man desires a woman. The memory of his tongue upon her sensitive flesh was testament enough to that, and she was so eager for the chance to re-explore her first taste of pleasure later in the evening.

“I suppose that itself is a great blessing,” Alicent allowed, her eyes shifting back to Aegon and Sunfyre.

Rhaenyra caught the note of sudden sorrow that darkened her tone and was reminded of how empty her old friend’s marriage must feel by comparison. Viserys was a good man, but Rhaenyra knew he would never love another the way he had loved her mother. At first, she’d been glad for it; part of her still was. But it saddened her for her companion. She knew the dreams Alicent had once had for her future as a good wife to some noble knight or lord. Perhaps it was always going to be a fantasy, but it could not be wrong to dream of love in your marriage.
She reached down and took Alicent’s hand in her own. Together, they stood and watched the Prince and his dragon.

“It is good for them to play,” Rhaenyra changed the subject, “It will help foster the bond needed one day for riding.”

Alicent’s smile appeared a bit forced, “I know. I would not begrudge my son the opportunity, but that does not mean I have a sudden fondness for the idea.”

Rhaenyra laughed, “Has so little changed since the days you chose to sit for hours in a carriage over riding with me on Syrax?”

“I had many a book for company during your rides,” Alicent argued, easily allowing her attention diverted, “And found much more joy in their adventures than any found on those beasts.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, “One ride, and your opinion would be forever altered.”

Alicent smiled, truly, as Aegon giggled, having tired of running and plopped down on the stone floor, allowing Sunfyre to nestle his head against him.

“I am Targaryen only in name,” she said, “I believe I shall leave the dragon riding to those of you with dragon’s blood.”

Rhaenyra accepted this; for it was true that those who shared the blood of old Valyria understood the connection of their line to the dragons more clearly than those who did not share the same. And better still, a part of her thought, that the distinction be kept. But her half-brother, however unfortunate his existence, was of Targaryen blood and had his dragon egg hatch mere months before his second name day. He would grow bigger, as would Sunfyre, and together they would take to the skies, as she had with Syrax.

She knew some of the smallfolk would press for Aegon to supplant her, and though Rhaenyra was far from a strategist, she figured that there was only advantage to be gained in fostering a connection with the boy before such rotting ideas could take place in his head.

Dragons needed other dragons, after all, and if she had managed to tame one to her will by the age of seven, surely this small boy would be no difficult feat to impress affection upon.

Rhaenyra left Alicent’s side to join her brother, cautious while approaching, as Sunfyre’s head immediately swiveled toward her.

“Calm,” she ordered the dragon in a firm voice, though she admired the protective glint in the beast's eyes as he watched her approach his charge.

Aegon was oblivious to the dragon’s tension, though, and stood as soon as he saw her approach.

“Nyra!” her brother called, “Sunfyre got bigger!”

She knew it had been a few weeks since his last visit with the hatchling, which would be unthinkable for a bonded rider with their dragon. But her father had long since needed to visit the dragon pit and it wasn’t as if Alicent understood the ways of dragon bonding enough to know the importance of a frequent connection.

“That he has,” Rhaenyra leaned down as she reached them. She offered the palm of her hand for the young dragon to inspect. He sniffed at her, huffed a light bit of smoke, then seemed to deem her safe enough as he turned his attention back to Aegon.

“A few years from now and the two of you shall be flying next to me and Syrax,” she smiled at Aegon, whose eyes widened, “I fly?”

“Not yet,” she grabbed one of his smaller hands, “You must learn how to do so properly, and Sunfyre will need to grow even larger before it is safe.”

Aegon did not appear overly upset by the prospect of having to wait, but then he’d been led to view his dragon as a pet to visit rather than an extension of himself. Rhaenyra’s own opinion on what it meant to have a dragon and be a dragon rider had been sharply cut by Daemon’s influence in her life.

As a babe, younger than even Aegon now, he’d taken to the skies with her on Caraxes, that altered whistle as commonplace to her as any story or song. He’d spent hours with her on dragonback, encouraging her to learn the histories of their family and the relation they had to the mighty creatures that were their blood and sigil.

Part of her wished to now take on the mantle of mentor; to invite Aegon to ride with her atop Syrax and to experience first hands the joy she had felt at his age…but again there was a voice of strategy; one that sounded suspiciously like her uncle, warning her that it would better suit her purpose to allow the boy’s bond to Sunfyre to remain as it was. A visiting amusement. One day, perhaps, he would figure out the depths of the connection, but for now, the visits would be enough.

“I think it is time we say goodbye,” she decided, knowing she still needed to visit her own she-dragon, “It will be time for lunch soon, for both you and Sunfyre. Perhaps the kitchens will make up some lemon cakes.”

At the prospect of his favorite sweet, one of the few things he had in common with Rhaenyra, Aegon agreed to a departure, and the Princess waved forward the dragon-keepers to come take the young dragon back to his enclosure. Then she led the Prince to his mother.

“I am going to go down into the holdings,” she told Alicent, “You are welcome to accompany me, but I believe I already know your answer.”

Alicent chuckled, reaching down to lift her son back into her arms, “I shall see you back at the Keep, then?”

Rhaenyra smiled, “By supper, if not before. My father wishes us all to dine together, as a family. I think it’s a good idea.”

She still felt a twinge of bitterment, considering Alicent family by way of being her father’s wife…but as girls, they had always stood as such. Bonded sisters. There was no room for their past differences along the path that would move Rhaenyra forward to her crown. She could not placate the childish impulse to stand against her father’s decision when it served her nothing.

Better to make allies and foster mentors. To repair some of the bond long lost, though it might never be what it was in girlhood, was a start toward her future position as Queen. Alicent had been hers, before she was the Kings, and perhaps a part of Rhaenyra had been as angry for the loss as she was the slight. Dragons do not like to share, after all.

“I would like that,” Alicent was hopeful, her voice lighter.

They parted ways, Alicent leaving with Aegon to the carriage, and Rhaenyra strolled across the gray stone, to the lowered walkway that two of the Keepers had just taken Sunfyre through.

She passed by those who remained without sparking protest. They were long used to her ignoring them. She knew the danger that breathed beneath the floor, yet felt no fear. The dragons were used to her presence, and she respected their space enough to not pose a threat.

The darkened path was illuminated only by torchlight, scattered in spaced droves along the wall. Rhaenyra was surefooted on her path to Syrax’s enclosure, having visited it many times. The scent of dragonfire and melted rock grew thicker the further she ventured, and she knew the smell would cling to her for hours.

“There’s my girl,” she cooed, finally reaching her destination.

Syrax was curled up along the high wall, but alert; as if she too had been anticipating the reunion with her rider. Rhaenyra smiled widely as she approached and Syrax climbed to her feet, her large body expanding and filling the space of her stablement.

The two came together in one motion, girl and beast, the silver of Rhaenyra’s hair pressed against the gold of Syrax’s snout as she hugged herself to the large jowl, breathing deeply to imprint that burning scent to her very lungs.

“Oh, I missed you!” she laughed when Syrax nudged her, nearly toppling her over in greeting, “Did you miss me as well?”

Syrax let out a huff of air, as if she understood the question and was expressing her disgruntlement at the separation.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rhaenyra playfully scolded, “It wasn’t my idea, I swear it. Apparently it would not have been appropriate for me to arrive at each location on my tour astride you. Lest the High Lords find having a dragonrider wife unappealing.”

She rolled her eyes and reached up to stroke her fingers over her girls’ scales. The thinner ones along her neck gleamed and shimmered from the torchlight.

“They fear you. And they should. If you had been with me on tour, I might have been inclined to burn several of the keeps to rubble,” she jested, “You should have seen the offerings, Syrax. Old men, or mere boys, and those who were of an appropriate age were ignorant or arrogant. At times, both. As if I were so easily impressed by the wealth and history of their Houses.”

She huffed in true annoyance, recalling the audacity of a few particular contenders. Not that it mattered any longer, now that the position of her consort had been claimed.

“But I am to be married,” Rhaenyra declared.

She sat down in front of Syrax. The dragon eyes her for a moment, gaging her intent, then settled back down with her, curling her legs beneath her in a dainty rest; if such a creature could ever be considered dainty.

There was straw on the floor and Rhaenyra picked at it.

“Father has agreed. I am to wed Daemon at the end of summer…I never thought I would so look forward to being married.”

She laughed again, a flush crawling up her cheek, even as her confession only fell onto the ears of her dragon.

“In truth, I dreaded the entire thought of it until last night. Until Daemon-”

She whirled around, being sure no Keeper lingered too near, overhearing her words. Two could be heard conversing in the distance, the hint of Valyrian on their tongues, but it was muffled. They were too far away to be listening to her.

“He has shown me how it can be good,” Rhaenyra lowered her voice, even after switching to the Dragon-tongue, “To have a husband. And he will be a strong force as my consort. He knows how the politicking works, how these Lords think and scheme. And he is of my blood; my family. Who better to help elevate our House?”

Syrax blew air at her again, and Rhaenyra giggled, “Oh, am I boring you? Should I mention then that Daemon being at my side means Caraxes shall always reside with you? Caraxes stays.”

The words recognizable to the she-dragon made her head perk, lifting as she let out a soft cry; a muffled call. Off in the distance, a higher pitched whistle answered.

“Yes, that’s what I thought,” Rhaenyra said smugly, and stood to scratch Syrax’s snout.

“I shall go check on him as well, then later, we will go riding. I think you should like that after my extended absence.”

Another stroke along her scales, and Rhaenyra said goodbye to Syrax.

Dipped along the hall was the stable in which Caraxes resided upon occasion when Daemon stayed in King’s Landing. The Blood Wyrm was as Rhaenyra remembered him, long and large and only a little terrifying. Like his rider, he too seemed to wear proof of war, more healed scrapes and scars along his body that had not existed before. A dent in one wing that looked like it could wear into a hole.

She approached him slowly, making firm steps to announce her presence, and Caraxes uncoiled as she grew closer. He knew her. He was the first dragon she had ever ridden, of course he knew her. But he was much like Daemon; alert and distrusting by way of survival. And like his rider, she knew it would take very little time for her presence to be welcomed.

“Calm, Caraxes,” she stopped at the entrance of his space, lowering her head to allow him the first move in closing the distance between them.

She heard him move, ears pierced by the broken chirp he gave in acknowledgement, then dragon’s breath warmed her scalp, blowing through her hair.

Rhaenyra smiled and lifted her eyes. Caraxes had lowered his head to be level with her, eyes still in cautious slits, but he at least seemed accepting of her approach.

“Beautiful brave boy,” she lifted a hand and placed it flat against his scales, “You’re a seasoned warrior as well now, aren't you?”

She moved her hand slowly down his neck, making sure not to surprise him with any sudden motion.

“Are you glad to be home? I think Syrax is glad to have you here.”

He shivered beneath her touch, the full shake of his body making her smile, “You like that, do you?”

She stroked him again, focusing on the particular spot that made him preen, “Has Daemon not been giving you enough attention? Even after you brought him safely home from war? That simply won’t do! I shall have him punished for you.”

“And what shall my punishment be, Princess?”

Rhaenyra and Caraxes both lurched at the sudden appearance of the Prince in question. Rhaenyra smiling through a blush and Caraxes growling out a happy whistle at his rider's presence.

Daemon was dressed differently than he had been at the council meeting, having traded the finer clothes for those which fit under armor.

“You have already met with the Gold Cloaks?” she realized, unable to hide how his early arrival pleased her.

Daemon chuckled, moving forward with purpose and pressed his head against his mount’s snout as a greeting, before reaching for her.

“I met with a few of my officers to discuss where matters are at present and to determine future training,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist, “It was less disappointing than I had anticipated, but there is work to be done with the newer recruits.”

Rhaenyra cared only a little for his words, too focused on the way his mere touch captivated her thoughts as the space between them closed.

“I’m sure you will have them up to standard in no time at all,” she said, and her eyes dropped to his lips as he smirked.

“They will be perfect, or they will return to whatever shithole they were pulled from,” he promised, “I would have no less defending your city.”

“Our city,” she corrected, “And while I commend your dedication to its safety, there are some among the small folk I think ill deserving of it.”

“Mhmm,” he lifted a hand to her cheek, stroking the skin with his knuckles, “Still upset about that play, are you?”

“They called me feeble,” she reminded him, “They think me weak.”

Daemon’s expression burned, “You are anything but that, little dragon. In time, they will see. We will show them.”

The Valyrian crafted so perfectly on his tongue was more than Rhaenyra could resist at the moment. She grabbed the front of Daemon’s tunic and pulled him further into Caraxes enclosure. The dragon made another short noise, but otherwise didn’t seem to mind the intrusion.

“When I am Queen, I could have them punished for saying such things, ” her back hit the stone wall, tucked into the dark corner of the stable.

“You could,” Daemon agreed, “If you want their respect I would not recommend it, but it is fun to imagine.”

His hands were on her neck then, forcing her face up as he lowered his to the point that their noses brushed.

“How would you do it?” he asked, bright with anticipation.

Rhaenyra swallowed, staring up into his eyes as she considered the question.

“I would have the performers dragged before the court,” she decided, “And forced to reenact the play with the crown watching. See if they still speak so boldly.”

Daemon laughed under his breath, the warmth of it brushing over her face. He moved, pressing his lips to her cheek, dragging them to her ear.

“What else?” he nipped at her lobe and Rhaenyra shivered.

“I would wait for them to finish the play, and if they dared speak the same blasphemy, I would have their tongues removed and fed to Syrax. They can decide how feeble I am, then.”

She gasped as Daemon’s teeth found her neck, a light bite against the flesh that made her entire body squirm.

“And if they change their script?” he challenged, pulling away so she could see his hellish grin.

“Then they are cowards,” Rhaenyra snarled, “And will die a coward's death in the dungeons.”

Daemon laughed in earnest now, but there was too much pride in the sound for her to think he was making fun of her. His hands cupped her face once more, drawing her rough against his body.

“I long for the day I can follow your command to blood.”

Desire sparked between them like dragon flames and Rhaenyra’s grip tightened where it had fallen to Daemon’s lower back.

“And what if I commanded you to something else?” she licked her lips, nearly tasting him there, and the message was not lost on her betrothed.

He closed whatever space remained between their mouths, kissing her harshly. Rhaenyra relished in the taste of him, so at place here amongst the scent of dragonfire that clung to the scorched stone he pressed her back into. Under Daemon’s touch, it felt as if he’d never left; as if there were never a time they had been anything but this. They were the blood of Old Valyria, as untouchable as the gods themselves in this moment.

But it was only a moment.

Daemon soon, too soon, pulled away with a breathless sigh, though his hands lingered on her face, thumbs stroking over her swollen lips.

“While I am sure my brother’s wife and her wean have departed, we should take care not to flaunt our affections too openly before our betrothal is announced.”

Rhaenyra didn’t bother to hide her contempt for his rationality.

“Was it the war or just age that has softened you, Uncle?” She grinned as his eyes narrowed, “There was a time that the risk would have excited you most.”

“Rhaenyra-”

“We are alone here,” she argued, sidling up to his body, wrapping her arms around his waist, “And after abandoning me last night, you have much to make up for.”

“I thought I had,” his voice had deepend, he didn’t back away, “Or was your desire soaking my tongue not apology enough?”

His hand was wrapping in her hair, holding her in place as she trembled against his touch.

“It was a start.”

She ran her hands up his sides, clinging to him tightly as his fist tugged her hair back, angling her face up to his.
He towered over her like this, his expression easily mistaken as one of anger, to anyone less familiar. She recognized the frustration for what it was. Felt the same in her own blood.

She swallowed, “But I want more.”

Daemon’s face hovered just out of reach, his eyes dark and hungry, flickering lazily over her face. His lips brushed against hers when he spoke.

“It seems I have created a monster.”

“A dragon,” she corrected, and felt slightly smug when he made a noise of agreement, “And I need-”

“I know what you need,” he cut her off, tugging her hair hard enough that she closed her eyes and winced, but oh, it was a delicious agony, being at his mercy.

She licked her lips in anticipation.

“Would you care to take a ride?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes opened in confusion, “A ride? On dragonback?”

“We have some time before needing to return for dinner, and-” He released his hold on her so swiftly, Rhaenyra might have stumbled if it wasn’t for the wall at her back, “There are places the dragons can take us where we will not be followed .”

She understood then what he was suggesting and nodded eagerly, “Yes…a ride sounds perfect.”

He extended his hand out to her and with a smile, she took his palm into her own.

Chapter Text

There were a collection of small islands off the coast of Blackwater Bay, not as far as Dragonstone or Driftmark, and vastly unused due to their uninhabitability. Rhaenyra had landed on the small stretches of land, mostly sea-worn rock and sand, several times in the past when she and Syrax were first learning to expand their distance in flights. Daemon knew of them too, and led her there upon Caraxes, now.

Usually Rhaenyra could spend hours in the clouds with her Syrax, had thought for many years that there was no greater joy than the weightless feeling of flying on dragonback. It balmed something deep within her, to be above the world, the chaos and the pressure, where no one could ever reach her.
Having been faced with the duty of marrying and producing heirs, she’d taken to riding much more frequently. There had been no cage in the skies, no sense of impending doom to loom overhead while she raced Syrax over King’s Landing and across the waters. There were times she had even entertained the idea of flying away from her troubles permanently; crossing the sea to Essos, to Pentos, to freedom.

Yet every time, she returned home. She bore the weight of her demands and resigned herself to the chains of duty. She was heir to the seven kingdoms, after all, and one day she would sit the Iron Throne. Whatever other fantasies she may have granted herself, paled when paired to the truth. She was a dragon, and the Crown Princess. She would not cower.

Today, however, felt different. This flight not one of escape, but excitement. The duties that awaited her hardly seemed as such, because Daemon was a dragon, too. He would not seek to cage her, but would bask in the glory of her free reign. A marriage to him would require no need for escape. It would not be the death sentence she had feared.

Caraxes landed first, Syrax just behind him, and Rhaenyra had dismounted before either had even fully settled. She ducked under Syrax’s wing and saw her uncle coming between the two beasts.

His mouth opened, mostly likely to make some jab about having beat her to the ground, but Rhaenyra felt too coiled, from the build of anticipation and from the sheer delight of her changed future, to allow it. She rushed toward him, jumping the moment she came against him, and on instinct, Daemon caught her in his arms.

Her feet did not reach the ground as he swayed with her, and in a small way the action was reminiscent of how he’d held her as a child, sharing her joy in reuniting after one adventure or another had taken him far from the capitol. But she did not feel like a child as he pressed a desperate kiss to her lips and her legs wrapped around his waist.

In the solitude provided by the carved rock and crashing waves, Daemon made good on his teasing and stripped her riding leathers from her body.

For the following half hour, he was relentless in his hold on her pleasure, bringing her to peak several times with his fingers and tongue while Rhaenyra reveled in the fact that she did not have to keep quiet here. She cried out with moans, curses, and her uncle’s name until she could no longer speak at all. Only then, did Daemon show her mercy.

He leaned back on the overgrown moss coating the ground, and with heavy bones, Rhaenyra sank into his embrace. The overcast made the sky and sea appear the same gray tone, disrupted only by the colors of their dragons, who’d taken to air once more.

Together, they laid watching as Syrax and Caraxes chased each other through the clouds and she sighed with deep contentment.

“Am I forgiven, yet?” Daemon asked and Rhaenyra rolled onto her side to better face him.

“No,” she said just as casually, “I anticipate I will need much more convincing. Several moons, in fact, where you can-”

Daemon maneuvered quickly, lifting her so that she landed astride him as he flattened onto his back. The position was quite advantageous, as she could feel his hardness for her pressing against sensitive flesh. She shifted her hips, much as she would while riding, and Daemon released a soft groan.

The single layer of fabric offered by his breeches was the only thing truly separating their bare flesh from touching, as her clothes still remained discarded on a nearby rock. Daemon’s shirt had joined them at some point, but he’d refused, once more, to allow the removal of that final barrier. Which seemed incredibly unfair to Rhaenyra, as her desire to explore his body as intimately as he had hers was overwhelming.

Daemon’s hands were on her hips, fingers spread wide across the skin of her waist, making a small path up her ribcage and back again. His eyes fixated on her chest, where his Valyrian steel necklace rested just above the swells of her breasts.

Her own gaze devoured the rawness of Daemon’s bare skin, his body and the scars it bore igniting a burn deep within her core.

She wondered if it would always be like this for them. Volcanic heat simmering beneath a thin surface, ready to overflow with the smallest allowance. An undertone of want, layered among every look they shared and word they spoke.

“Did you ever imagine this would be our fate?” she asked, running her fingernails through the light cover of silver hair on his chest. It darkened as it trailed down his taut stomach, disappearing beneath his leathers.

“Did I imagine your father would free me from the Vale and give me his heir for a bride after I returned from a war he’d not granted me leave to start?” Daemon smirked at her, “No, Princess, I can not say I could have anticipated such an outcome.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, and her hips at the same time in punishment. Daemon hissed and she was the one left smirking.

“I only meant our fate together,” she elaborated, “That we should marry. It had crossed my mind before, over the years…even though I knew, well, assumed it impossible.”

“As did I,” Daemon admitted. He sat up, holding her close as he resettled with her still in his arms.

She let her own come to rest on his shoulders and her hands immediately sank into the hair at the nape of his neck, brushing over the short strands with soft caresses.

“It wasn’t an idea I allowed myself to truly entertain until seeing you again, in the gardens, upon my return.”

“Never?” she frowned.

He shrugged and ran his nails against her lower back in slow patterns.

“Maybe the once, when you confronted me at Dragonstone, did I see you as the woman you were becoming, but even then you were still so young.”

“Compared to the crone I am now?” she jested and he laughed sharply.

“Hardly. But I did come home to find you a woman grown, and realized how much I had missed during my absence from the capitol.”

“The comforts of home,” she recalled, and Daemon tilted his head to place a kiss upon her bare shoulder. He seemed to breathe her in.

“The comfort of you,” he corrected, “I did miss you, Rhaenyra. You are truly my only equal.”

She smiled, holding his head to her chest, the silver of her hair identical beside the silver of his, “No, uncle, I am your better.”

He bit where his lips had kissed, and she squealed out a laugh, slinking herself from his embrace quite easily. Daemon lifted onto his knees as she found her feet and ran backwards towards the shoreline.

It was a taunt that he recognized, and she was gone the moment he sprung to his feet, running naked through the sand and waves. There was nowhere to go, though, with the rest of the island blocked by a slide of rocks into the sea and he caught her the moment she ran out of beach.

“Daemon!” Rhaenyra shrieked, when he tossed her over his shoulder as if she were little more than a sack of potatoes. His grip was firm and his hand came hard against her bottom as she struggled, making her laugh…then moan. The heat was doused before it could grow into anything more though. Daemon tossed her out into the waves.

She landed with a loud splash.

The cold water might have been refreshing if it wasn’t such a shock, and Rhaenyra choked on the taste of salt and revenge as she resurfaced and found her barings.

“That could be counted as treason, you know!” She wiped the water from her face and glared at her uncle who was grinning from where he’d thrown her, calf deep in the water, “I could have drowned! And then you would have had to explain to my father what we were doing out here, all alone…”

Rhaenyra splashed a handful of water in his direction, which was easily deflected.

“Come here, and I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, a hint of dark intent crossing his expression.

But two could play at that game. Rhaenyra turned her back to him, ignoring the request, and wrung out her hair before throwing a glance over her shoulder.

“If you want me, Uncle…come get me.”

It wasn’t as if Rhaenyra had expected him to back down, but it did surprise her how quickly Daemon was able to traverse through the waves, boots and breeches soaking through as he easily joined her in the water. She also did not expect for him to grab her by the waist and drag her further into the deep, until the water was nearly to their chests, and gripped frantically to his neck as he did so.

“I have you,” he promised softly, “Be calm, little dragon. I have you.”

Rhaenyra was comforted by his words. She knew how to swim, of course, but was rarely given such an occasion that she lacked confidence amongst the waves. But Daemon, who had warred for years on an island, seemed perfectly content in the sea.

She tucked herself into his neck as he bore their conjoined weight and cradled her to his body. Even against the cool water, heat appeared to expel from Daemon’s very being, warming Rhaenyra in every place they touched. She exhaled deeply, trusting him to hold them both afloat. Trusting easily, entirely, that she was safe in his arms.

With the reflecting sea, Daemon’s eyes were a dark hue, more plum than amethyst, when she pulled away to look at him. He appeared as content as her, the tenderness in his gaze not having faded as he stared back at her.

“I trust you,” she said aloud, declaring the truth for both of their sake in a voice barely above a whisper, “Is that foolish of me?”

Daemon must have recognized the shift of her tone, the jesting falling away to something much deeper and important. Rather than offering her a simple yes or no, he took a moment to contemplate his answer before giving it.

“Your instincts have always guided you well,” he told her, “When you are queen, you will have to rely on them often. It matters less that you trust me and more that you can trust yourself. Do you think it foolish?”

Rhaenyra arched her brow, “I think it quite eloquent, how wise you speak while avoiding an actual answer.”

Daemon chuckled, and she sighed.

“My instincts tell me that I am safe with you,” she said, “Even years ago, on Dragonstone, when you had every reason to take my life, I did not believe you would. Not that you were incapable, only unwilling. But I knew better your motives, then.”

Caraxes whistle sang through the air somewhere far above them, but Daemon’s eyes did not leave hers.

“And now?” he pressed.

“I think it is naive not to consider all possibilities,” she decided, “My life has never been endangered by your presence, but I am less quick to believe that your intentions lack motive. Would you tell me what they are?”

“Motive,” he said, the word rolling over his tongue as if it were Valyrian, “As if I have orchestrated some grand scheme to yield an outcome of my desire-”

“Have you?” she challenged him, “Because I am not so naive to believe you incapable of scheming. You took me out into the city last night, made certain we were seen at the pleasure house. You said it was a place people go to take what they want. Did you take me there because you wanted me, Uncle? Or was it on a whim, when you realized you could ruin my reputation and attempt to force my father’s hand?”

Daemon was unphased by the accusation, “What do you think?”

“That you came back to King’s Landing for a reason beyond reconciling with my father,” she said, “I had asked you of it, in the gardens, and you deflected quite well.”

“I answered your question-”

“You gave an answer, but it was hardly one of transparency,” Rhaenyra insisted, “I know how you like your games, Uncle, but I am not a child anymore. If you are to be my husband, my king…then I would have the truth.”

She paused for a moment, drinking in his expression, before running her fingers down his cheek.

“Last night could have ended a thousand different ways. You hid my clothes and hair, so you did not mean for us to be caught at first,” she reasoned out, “But you removed our disguise in the place you had to know would be most damning for us to be seen. I dare say you are happy with the results, but was this your plan? To end up as my betrothed? Or was I a mere tool for you to use against my father? You knew ruining me would hurt him. Was that the plan? Or was the entire night just another of your whims? The truth will not change my mind, but I deserve to know it.”

It was almost easy to forget the waves around them, the vastness of the sea, as intensely as Daemon held her gaze. Everything else faded away in comparison. She waited, not so patiently, as he considered all she had said before responding.

“I came home,” Daemon said, after a long moment, “No matter my travels or your father’s exiles, or the attempt of my grandparents to chain me to the Vale, my home has always been with my family. Dragonstone is the closest tether we have to Old Valyria, but the history within its walls is hollow as long as it remains bare of other Targaryens.”

His arms tightened around her, “I love my brother, I wish him well. But he is weak. You have seen this. He caves to the influences of others too easily, even mine. So concerned with maintaining peace at all costs that he allows himself to be manipulated and used. But not you, little dragon.”

The pride that bled into his voice made her shiver.

“You’ve refused your whole life to be told what to do. You came after me on Dragonstone against all advice, you defied your father and abandoned the tour he set for you to find a husband, and you accompanied me last night, of your own decision. You wanted me as much as I wanted you in that pleasure house, and you didn’t give a damn who might have seen us. You are a Targaryen, a dragon, and you were taking what you wanted.”

They’d shifted to the shallows now, enough that Rhaenyra could probably reach the ground, but she remained wrapped around Daemon’s body, refusing to allow even an inch of space between them as she clung to his words.

“It was not my intention to hurt you,” he admitted, “You spoke to me yesterday of your fears. Of a desire for solitude. I could not stand to see your fire so squandered, and I knew my brother was at fault for it. I only wanted to show you the truth of our city, of our blood. I watched you explore, I watched you come to life, and yes, Rhaenyra, I realized I wanted you. Even more, I realized I could have you. I could see you to the throne, have a real Targaryen govern us once more, and kill all who would stand against you.”

“You asked me what I wanted,” he grabbed her hand in one of his own, “And the truth is as it has always been. I want to see our House rise to its proper glory. I want dragons to rule over Westeros and for our name to be made immortal throughout the seven kingdoms as we bring the Valyria of Old back to life. And I believe that begins with you, Rhaenyra.”

That dark purple burned now, “You, who Viserys would have given to any power hungry lord for the sake of peace and propriety. As if any of them deserve you. As if any could withstand the fire that rages within you without needing to douse it for their own ego.”

He shook his head, “So, no, sweet niece, I did not intend your ruination when we set out last night, but when the opportunity presented itself, I could not resist. I could have taken you there, against that wall for all to see, and you would have been ruined for any other lord. Your father’s hand forced, as you said, to make you mine.”

Rhaenyra swallowed, salt air tainting her tongue, “But you did not…”

“Because you would have let me…and I could not risk being wrong,” he said, “Viserys might have been too angered. Disinherited you and given your birthright to his half-Hightower welp. You were in my arms, willing and wanting….and I found that, against my very nature, I could not be selfish with you. You are the future of House Targaryen, Rhaenyra, and on my life you will be Queen.”

The declaration was given stronger than any oath of fealty sworn to her by the high lords, and Rhaenyra dropped her forehead to Daemon’s. She breathed him in, her blood, her dragon, and their heartbeats aligned. One sound, one entity.

“Thank you,” she said.

For the truth. For the consideration. For coming back and saving her from the fate that had loomed overhead since she’d come of age.

Daemon leaned forward and brushed his lips against her own. This kiss was not one of heat and want, but a furtherance of his promise.

He was home now, and she would never be alone again.

Alicent was not sure if she was surprised when a knock on her apartments opened to a page announcing the King’s arrival. Their children resided within the nursery she currently occupied, and Viserys had visited on numerous occasions. Still, she was not expecting him this afternoon.

“Your Grace,” she lowered her head as he entered, waving off the servants who were tending to Aegon and his toys as he did so.

“I had hoped you would be back by now,” he smiled kindly at her, “Is Rhaenyra with you?”

“No,” Alicent said, as he made his way over to Helaena’s cradle, “She wished to remain at the Dragon Pit and spend time with Syrax.”

The babe was awake and cooing softly from where she rested. Viserys reached down and brushed his fingers over her silver hair. His expression was gentle, affection obvious as he admired his youngest daughter.

Alicent had long given up hope that the King would ever devote such love for the children she had bore him as he did his firstborn, but a part of her understood it. He would never love her as he had loved Aemma, his true match, and as such, could not love her children as much as Rhaenyra.

But he was good to them, at least; doted on them…showed them more affection than she’d ever received from her own father. That in itself was more than she had hoped for.

“Probably riding, then,” he sighed, “I heard Caraxes’ cry just hours ago. No doubt Daemon has joined her.”

It was not Alicent’s place to question the decisions of the King, but the weight in Viserys’ voice piqued her curiosity. The entire ordeal of Daemon’s return and his engagement to Rhaenyra was something she was still attempting to make sense of.

“It is good that they enjoy each other's company, is it not?” she asked carefully, “If they are to be wed…Rhaenyra has been surprisingly agreeable to the match.”

Viserys made a noise deep in his throat, and turned from Helaena with a bitter smile to look at her.

“Daemon and Rhaenyra share the blood of the dragon,” he said, “They are restless and chaotic…too alike for their own good. But that is also their strength, I fear.”

He let out a heavy sigh and dropped onto a chaise by the cradle, “They understand each other in ways I have never managed. She tempers his fire, and Daemon strengthens hers.”

“So you do believe he will make a good consort for her?” Alicent asked, moving to sit next to him.

Viserys rested his arms onto his knees, “I can hope. Only time will truly tell. But as you said, Rhaenyra is agreeable to the match. That alone means a great deal. And I want her to be happy.”

Alicent wanted the same. To find some spark of the girl who had been her best friend for so many years, who had been hidden under layers of hurt and impending duty. Whatever was transpiring, it was bringing Rhaenyra back to her, and she back to herself after being little beyond the Queen since the day she was wed.

“I think it is honorable,” she said, placing a comforting hand on her husband’s, “That you are upholding your vow to her, letting her have a choice in her match.”

He made another noise, a low hum of consideration. He turned his palm to take hers, and his eyes lingered on where they joined.

“Do you wish you were granted the same? A marriage of your own choosing?”

Alicent startled, “Your Grace-”

“I owe you a great deal, my dear,” he said sincerely, and squeezed her hand, “I was blinded in my grief and you were a comforting light. I did not realize until it was too late that perhaps you were merely being dutiful to your father’s wishes.”

“I wasn’t-” she quickly began to deny, her cheeks flushing red to address the matter, but the half-truth caught in her throat.
Viserys looked over at her and she sighed.

“It was my father’s advice that placed me in your path,” she amended, “But I…I did care. You were always so kind to me. I did not like to see you in pain. It pleased me to be of aid. Our visits, our talks…they were enjoyable.”

Viserys chuckled, “You were sweet to have entertained my mad rambles about the arts and history of Valyria, and kindly you still spare me. I have not regretted our companionship, Alicent, but I understand that this is probably not what you would have chosen for yourself. Surely we can speak the plain truth to each other now.”

A heavy precipice clouded the air of the room, and Alicent battled the prick of fear she always felt at being a disappointment in her duty. But her father was nowhere in sight, having been shamed and cut down from his oppressive position. This was her husband, the father of her children, badeing her to be truthful.

“It…is not what I would have chosen,” she admitted, though she had to clear her throat to get the words out, and her hand tightened further in Viserys’, “But it is a choice I never would have been given.”

She fought the urge to pick at her nails as she met the light purple eyes of the king, “My father would have seen me married sooner rather than late, to whichever suitor would have been most advantageous for our family. He suffered under the weight of being the second son, and I under the weight of being a daughter. I would have never been given a choice.”

This fact must have struck the king as upsetting, and he frowned deeply.

“I could have given you a choice; a chance-I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I did not.”

“But you did,” Alicent insisted, touched by the unexpected sentiment, “You have given me the chance of a comfortable life, close still to home, to those I most love. If my father had married me to any other, I…” she laughed a little as the revelation struck her, “It could have been anyone. I could have been sent anywhere in the whole seven kingdoms. To Dorne, to the Riverlands, to the North. I might have been mistreated, or found myself ill adapted.”

She straightened, feeling a strange lightness in her chest, “Instead, I was able to remain here, in the only home I have ever known. Here I am queen, my every discomfort addressed, my every need met. I have a kind husband of whom I have never had to fear. I have beautiful children of royal blood. And even Rhaenyra has warmed toward mending our friendship. You have blessed me a great deal; better than I could have hoped. Our marriage is not a love match, of that I am not concerned, but I am fond of you, your Grace. I am content with the outcome of my life.”

“And I am fond of you,” he assured her, bringing her hand to his lips and placing a short kiss on her knuckles, “But I do wish you more than contentment. I can not change the past, but you are a part of this family now. I would have you happy.”

Tears began to well in Alicent’s eyes before she could stop them. For her family, she was means to an end; she had known this for nearly all her life. Something to barter and trade for the biggest profit, as if she were little more than a lowborn whore. To have someone see her, truly see her, and find no fault; to instead lay claim on her with soft reverence…it hadn’t seemed possible.

She joined in this marriage knowing she was to be a vessel for royal heirs to be breached upon the world until Rhaenyra married and took the responsibility from her, and she had been resigned to that. But perhaps she should not have been. Perhaps Rhaenyra was right to not settle for such either, as she promised a better future.

For our daughters, and their daughters after them.

Alicent glanced at sweet Helaena, gurgling happily in her crib, then across the room to where Aegon still played with his nursemaid, too far away to hear the plain truths spoken between the King and Queen.

“I do not wish to change the past,” her voice did not waiver now, “And I am proud to have wed your House. You are a good and fair king, Viserys. And Rhaenyra will carry your legacy well, ushering in the next age of Dragons.”

“May the gods be good,” he nodded, then stood to his feet, “We shall all dine together this evening, a true family, and lay aside all qualms to instead look toward a better future.”

Alicent smiled, and for once it did not feel forced, “Yes, your Grace. A better future.”

One she was beginning to believe in.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra could not remember the last time she actually enjoyed a meal. The past few years had been a soured routine of breaking fast alone in her rooms and chewing her way through supper as quickly as possible to avoid the inevitable tension that crawled over her skin like bugs during the moments she was forced to spend time with her father’s family.

Their very line seemed split as such after Aegon’s birth. She and her mother both to be replaced by Hightower blood, everyday growing more obsolete.

However, with Lord Otto’s absence and the lengths of attempts made to mend her friendship with Alicent, Rhaenyra felt a new sort of hope in the air. It did not hurt, either, that Daemon would be at her side, his presence as reassuring as it was exhilarating.

They had returned to King’s Landing with a race, Syrax touching ground before Daemon’s Blood Wyrm by the mere breath of a moment. They’d left them to the Dragonkeepers, keeping up a modicum of distance and civility until they were inside the carriage that would take them back to the Red Keep. Daemon had not kept to himself then, and she had hardly complained, gloating her victory against his lips.

Their clothes and hair had mostly dried on the ride back home, but the idea of bathing before supper sounded too lovely to pass up. She and Daemon went separate ways, a kiss pressed against the back of her hand in parting.

Rhaenyra had walked down the halls to her chambers with a smile, and had almost made it to her door when she was called after.

“Princess-”

She turned to see Ser Criston rushing toward her, slowing as she stopped. He was in too good of condition to be out of breath, but his face was tinted red beneath his helm, which he removed as he approached.

“Am I your sworn shield or am I not?” he demanded in a huff that confused her.

“Wha- of course you are.”

A weary exhale, “Then would you please stop disappearing from the castle without giving notice?! How am I to protect you if you keep slipping from sight?”

A laugh broke from Rhaenyra in amusement at his exasperated tone.

“I am not sneaking! Well…today, I have not sneaked and I have already made apologies for last night. I had told you that I would be with the queen-”

“Yes, the queen who returned hours ago without you,” Criston pointed out, and Rhaenyra fought her smirk and placed her hand upon his arm.

“I went riding. We were gone for some time on my tour and I missed my lady. And it is not good for a dragon to be confined for too long.”

The knight calmed beneath her touch, but his expression was still pinched with something resembling agitation.

“The guards said that your uncle accompanied you.”

Rhaenyra nodded, “He did. We have had much to catch up on since his return from war, and my Syrax enjoys the company of his Caraxes. We rode together.”

Criston’s dark eyes brimmed with an intensity Rhaenyra did not quite understand, and he took a step closer, placing his hand over hers on his arm.

“I should like to know when you are with him, Princess. I do not think it safe to-”

“I am always safe with Daemon,” she snapped, and immediately regretted her tone when Criston recoiled.

She had to remind herself that he had reason for concern. He did not know Daemon as she did, and the news of her betrothal had not yet been revealed beyond the family and the council. When it was, then Criston would understand, that no one was safer from the Rogue Prince than she was. Rhaenyra schooled her expression into an acceptable indifference.

“My uncle cares for me,” she attempted again, “And he is quite an accomplished swordsman, as I am sure you remember, Ser. I am safe while I am with him, you needn’t worry.”

Criston studied her face for a moment more, before sighing deeply.

“Just be careful, Princess. I do not trust him.”

“Nor he, you,” she smiled, recalling a few of the comments Daemon had made of her sworn knight, “But it is of little consequence. I trust my uncle and I trust you. Now, if you are finished scolding me, I would like to clean up for supper.”

Criston’s eyes narrowed at the jab, but the hint of a smirk played across his mouth.

“Of course, Princess. I shall be posted here, should you need anything.”

“Thank you, Ser.”

Their conversation had slipped from her mind by the time Rhaenyra was able to step into her filled tub. Her body, having gone too many moons without riding, was sore from the exertion. Still, she denied her maid’s offer of assistance as she scrubbed the salt from her body. She then took extra care in choosing aromatic oils for her hair. It was relieving to again feel so clean.

After drying off, her lady’s maid twisted her silver hair into a few loose braids, then helped her into a new gown for supper.
It was one of the dresses commissioned for her tour of the kingdoms, fit closer for the woman she was becoming, than the maiden she remained. The deep black velvet hugged to her body while flashing the striking red silk of the undercoat. That same red crawled up her arms in satin sleeves, stopping and belling out before covering her shoulders, so that her neck and collarbones were left bare. A few rings and Daemon’s necklace were the only jewelry she would wear, and it would be all that is needed to make her appear every bit the Queen she would be.

Criston was waiting outside her door when she left her room, and his eyes widened slightly as he took in her appearance. He lowered his head in deference after she smirked.

“You look lovely, Princess.”

“Thank you, Ser,” she started forward and he fell into step at her back, “My father wishes for the whole of our family to supper together tonight, as it has been so long since this many Targaryen’s resided within the Red Keep. Seemed a worthy cause for celebration, I suppose.”

Criston made a noise, but otherwise did not comment.

They traversed the remaining way to the family’s dining hall in silence, passing the occasional servant or lord along the way, each one taking in her presence before dipping their head in a bow, their reverence clear. Rhaenyra wondered if it was the gown alone that made her feel as if she had truly come into her age, or the prospect of marriage to someone who was so very clearly a man grown. Daemon did not speak to her like a child, or like she needed shielding from the harsher realities of ruling, as her father so often had. It made her feel important, more the heir of the Iron Throne than the day all the Lords of the Realm had sworn their houses to her.

She kept her head high as she entered the dining room, leaving Criston at the door with her father’s Kingsgaurd. Her father was already at the table, several drinks into his wine from the way he was laughing full heartedly, head thrown back, at something Daemon, who was sitting to his left, had murmured. Alicent and the children were still absent.

Rhaenyra caught the attention of both Targaryen men as she walked toward the table, her father smiling brightly at the sight of her.

“There you are, my dear! Come! Sit! You must hear this story about your cousin, Laenor in the Steps!”

Daemon’s eyes found hers and he was much less subtle in the way he drank her in, scanning her body at his leisure, smirking his approval at their House so clearly represented in her choice. His gaze was different than the others that followed her; steadier, hungrier. He did not look away.

“I should like to hear a great deal about my uncle’s war efforts,” she said pointedly, taking the seat at her father’s right, “But perhaps we should wait until everyone is in attendance? Where is Alicent?”

“She should be along soon,” the King promised, hardly put off as he turned back to his brother with an eagerness Rhaenyra was unaccustomed to seeing since her mother’s passing.

“Go on, brother! You were saying, about the dragon-”

Daemon’s eyes finally left hers, as he turned back to Viserys and picked up whatever story he had been sharing about Laenor and Seasmoke. Rhaenyra only half paid it any attention, her greater focus on the easy way her father and uncle interacted. Daemon had turned, hand on the top of her father’s chair as he leaned in, animating his voice as Viserys laughed once more, and there was something in the familiar way her father clapped his shoulder. A lifetime of history between them, the good and the bad. Daemon brought her father to life, just as he did for her.

Dragons needed other dragons.

Perhaps this was the beginning of mending that bond as well.

A servant had just filled her cup when the door to the room opened once more, pulling Rhaneyra’s attention to the arrival of her siblings and the queen. Alicent smiled when their gazes locked, appearing younger than she had in a long time. As the men were still deep in conversation, Rhaenyra stood to offer a greeting.

“I feared some misfortune had befallen you,” she partially teased, tapping Helaena’s nose as the babe snuggled against her mother’s chest, “You are hardly ever late.”

Alicent scoffed with a short smile, “I dare say punctuality died the day Aegon was born. Cats are easier to catch and dress than this boy.”

Rhaenyra chuckled and crouched down as best she could in her gown to be at eye level with her only competitor for the throne. He was a wild thing, she knew, rambunctious and loud. It was strange to feel a new affection for the child.

“Are you driving your mother to madness, little brother?” she asked of him, and only laughed when Aegon shook his head ferociously.

“I only wanted to play!” he insisted, and Rhaenyra smirked, “Well luckily there will be plenty of play time after supper. We should sit quickly to eat, so that you may get back to your toys.”

This placated him for the time being, and Alicent sighed in relief as Aegon sprinted over to the table, calling to their father.

“Thank you,” Alicent sounded genuine, “It had already taken two fits to get him from the rooms.”

“He is young,” Rhaenyra waved her hand in her brother’s direction, “He will grow from it in time.”

They made their way to their seats as the food was brought into the room. Aegon had crawled up to her father’s lap, and Viserys was letting the boy fiddle with one of the rings on his finger while their plates were filled.

“How was your ride today?” Alicent asked, looking first at Rhaenyra, then to Daemon.

She supposed it was quite obvious that he had accompanied her.

“Much needed,” Rhaenyra fought to keep her voice level as she avoided Daemon’s eyes, “Syrax was happy to be back in the sky.”

“She has grown since I was last home,” Daemon commented, his words as casual as her own, “It was a pleasure to watch how quickly she could…peak, through the cloudbank.”

The subtle pause was missed by the queen, who merely smiled in agreement, and by the king who was a drink too far in to catch the suggestion of his brother’s statement. Rhaenyra heard it though and arched a brow at her betrothed for his brassiness. Daemon merely grinned and leaned back in his seat, a challenge written across his face.

“Caraxes is quite the flier himself,” she said, taking the bait, “Of course he is a fair bit older than my lady, so one does have to wonder how much longer he can withstand the skies before giving in to his need to land. Slow has never been his style, but Syrax did beat him home, today.”

“Don’t you worry, Princess,” Daemon had heard exactly what she hadn’t said, “There are years of flight left for both our dragons.”

“Time shall tell.”

The heated glare she received was worth the shiver of desire that shot down her spine, though she managed to pass it off as she reached for a knife to cut into the meat on her plate.

“Dragons live for several decades, almost always outliving their riders,” her father, bless him, added obliviously, “Caraxes is in good health, even after the war.”

He certainly was, Rhaenyra allowed herself an appreciative glance over her betrothed and the clothes he’d changed into for supper that complemented his lean figure and light complexion.

“Balerion was more than one-hundred when he passed, was he not?” Alicent asked the King, shifting Helaena on her lap.

Rhaenyra reached for the babe as her father answered, allowing Alicent free hands to eat some of her own meal. The women exchanged smiles as Viserys spoke of dragons, Old Valyria, and times passed for their House.

The evening was more enjoyable than Rhaenyra had anticipated. It warmed her heart to see her father so happy, and speaking with Alicent as if they were the girls they used to be was healing to the ache in her chest. She was not sure she could ever forgive the secrecy involved with her old friend’s actions, the betrayal she had felt…but she was beginning to believe that they could move past it, that they must, if they were to have a better future.

She wanted Alicent’s loyalty. The loyalty of Aegon and Helaena, as well. So that on the day her father did pass and the throne became her own, none would dare contest it.
Those reasons made sense in her mind, and seemed strategic. But there was also the smallest part of Rhaenyra that had just missed her friend, missed the innocence they had possessed. Before lines drawn had split her family into an us and a them. The past could not be changed, but there was still so much hope to be had for the days yet to come.

The food came and went as the four royals sat and spoke, the conversation light and on topics that would not shed too much light to the cracks they were trying to mend. They spoke of dragons, Alicent of the children and some of the court gossip, Daemon of his war.

Rhaenyra recalled the small council meeting where an issue regarding the Sea Snake had been brought up.

When the room cleared of the servants who had brought a dessert of lemon cakes, she voiced a concern on the matter, recounting the conversation of the small council on the matter for Daemon’s benefit.

“Lord Corlys sailed directly to Driftmark, rather than accompany you here,” she told him, “As much as I’m sure his decision was spurred by a desire to be home and see his wife and daughter, it was also about his pride. He’s still slighted by Father’s refusal of Laena?”

“Aye,” Daemon pushed his empty plate away before leaning forward to put his elbows on the table, “He’d hinted as much, though enough time has passed that I’d say it is more principal than offense that coldens him toward our House. I’m not sure what this new arrangement would grant him that would be worth making an enemy of the crown.”

“Maybe it isn’t about the crown. He wants power,” Rhaenyra reasoned, “And will marry Laena to a lord in the free cities to get it.”

“Corlys wants the throne he felt his wife was due,” her father argued, then looked to Daemon “Though you probably know best of his ambitions than anyone, brother.”

“Rhaenyra is right,” Daemon frowned slightly, “Marrying his daughter to a Braavosi lord would be a move for power, but makes little sense. It removes him further from the throne…”

Helaena reached up and tugged a strand of Rhaenyra’s hair as her uncle questioned the authenticity of the message. She untangled her hair from the babe’s fist and smiled softly at her as Viserys explained the news had come from Old Town.

“And we trust it is true?” Daemon scoffed, “Words from a man who has little regard for anything beyond his own self interest.”

“It would do him no favor to lie about Lord Corlys’ intentions,” Viserys weighed the options, “But we have no word on the source of Old Town’s information. It could be wrong.”

“Then I will take flight to Driftmark myself,” Daemon decided, “Discuss the possible alliance with the free cities and the truth of the Velaryon loyalty with Corlys in person.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze shot to her uncle, but he was looking to the king, as if challenging a restriction. Viserys, however, was in agreement with the idea.

“Very well. He would better receive you than any envoy I might send. But do remember we are attempting to broker peace, Daemon. The Sea Snake is a proud man, but you-”

“Are capable of civility when the situation requires it,” Daemon assured him with a smirk, “It is not my goal to cross swords with Corlys for promise of his allegiance.”

“I was more concerned you would attempt to feed him to Caraxes,” her father seemed to only be half jesting, and Daemon shook his head.

“Caraxes had his fill of salt-sodden meat in the Step Stones,” he said, “I mean only to talk to Lord Corlys of his intention.”

The king nodded, “At the week’s end, then. Send a raven ahead of your arrival so that they might expect you. And by then, news of your engagement to Rhaenyra will be shared. Perhaps Lord Strong is right and the information will sway the Sea Snake’s favor back toward House Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra listened to the exchange, but remained silent in her seat as her mind whirled through possibilities. She picked at her food, holding Helaena firmly in her arms, and considered what she might be able to do with the situation presented.

Her father turned his attention back to his supper, and to Aegon, who had crawled under the table to reach his mother’s side. Alicent indulged him in half of her own lemon cake, also silent as the plans for Daemon’s departure had been made.

Rhaenyra pressed her lips against the top of Helaena’s head, breathing in the sweet scent of the silver hair on top of the infant’s head. There was something she could offer the Sea Snake that he would want more than an alliance with Braavos, she was sure, but the risks of such an offer were also great. She hadn’t much experience in politicking and strategy, but she would have to soon be fluent in both if she was to one day take the Throne.

She became aware of Daemon watching her, after a few moments of being lost in thought, something flickering in his eyes; gone before she could place it. Rhaenyra shook her head, ever so slightly; a signal that they would talk later, when there was even less of an audience.

That moment would come soon, shortly after the last of the wine was drunk, and the family began to part ways. Helaena had fallen asleep against Rhaenyra’s neck and she passed her on to Alicent with an affectionate rub against the little girl’s shoulders. She recalled, years ago, telling her mother that she wished for a sister.

”We will call her Visenya,” she’d insisted with great excitement, ”And I shall teach her to speak Valyrian and how to dragon ride.

Every son her mother had birthed had died. Perhaps Rhaenyra had wanted for a sister so that for once, the babe might live.

Helaena was different than Aegon; not the sister she would have hoped for, but a sister nonetheless.

“We should take her to the gardens tomorrow,” Rhaenyra said, squeezing Alicent’s arm, “The roses are in bloom, and she might like the colors.”

Alicent beamed at the suggestion as the king approached them both, a still rowdy toddler trailing behind.

“Time to get these little ones to their beds,” he chuckled, noting the sleeping babe, and turned his attention to Rhaenyra.

He lifted his hand to her cheek, cupping her jaw affectionately and lowering a kiss to the top of her head.

“Good night, my sweet girl. We shall talk in the morning, yes? Before the small council convenes.”

Rhaenyra nodded and wrapped her arms around her father’s neck. For a long moment, he held her and she felt like a child once more. For a moment she could close her eyes and be transported through time; the scent of his beard oil, leather, and model paints as engrained in her memory as her own name.

Daemon had called him weak, and in ways, she knew it was true. But her father was also kind. Forgiving. A good man, when such rare few existed.

“Good night, Father.” She kissed his cheek and pulled away.

Daemon came to her side as Viserys bid Alicent and Aegon good night.

“I’m going to escort him back to his rooms,” he told her, so quietly she barely made out the words, “Then I’ll come to you.”

The promise was heated, even in its near whisper, and she risked a glance up to those purple eyes, already locked on her own. Daemon was closer than she realized, too close for propriety if she were being honest, but rather than allow distance between them, Rhaenyra lifted onto her toes and placed a kiss to his jaw.

Her lips lingered as she breathed into his ear, “Don’t take too long, uncle.”

Quick as a viper, he had her wrist in his grip. Their eyes met, his burning, and she ran her tongue over her lips. He was close enough to smell the wine on his breath.

Daemon brought her hand up between them; slowly, not even blinking as he touched her knuckles to his lips.

“Sweet dreams, little dragon.”

Armor laid heavy after a long day of wear. The knight stood against the weight of it, duty bound to his position, as two nursemaids passed by him to enter the royal dining hall. The hour had grown late, the meal would be ending, and all would be readying for bed soon.

A moment later and the doors were opened wide and the King walked out of the room, followed closely by the Rogue Prince. The knight’s eyes narrowed behind his helmet, even as the members of the Kingsguard flanked to their liege’s side.

Daemon Targaryen had been back in King’s Landing not even a week and was already stirring trouble in his wake.

Rumors had spread through the Red Keep; the Prince was spotted with the Princess in a brothel. The knight did not wish to believe it true, but Rhaenyra had been shut into her room for the night, only to have somehow ended up not in her rooms, but entering through the hall in boys' clothing. He still had not figured out how she had snuck out undetected, but had an inkling the Prince was behind it. The same Prince who had disappeared with her yet again, for hours, on dragonback.

The closeness of the Crown Princess and her uncle was of a disturbing nature to those who knew enough to pay attention to the way the rogue’s gaze lingered possessively on the girl, stood too close, spoke too intimately in the language of their shared blood.

It was not the Princess’ fault, of course; she was just a girl, after all. A pawn tossed about at the whims of those in power, just like him. He knew he needed to protect her; it was his sole duty, after all. But the task seemed nearly impossible when so many lay in the shadows, waiting for a bite of her kingdom, to take advantage of her free spirit and passionate heart. His own lips still burned with the memory of her kiss upon them.

His grip closed tightly over the tip of his blade, as he watched the Prince and the King fade down the hall, as oblivious to his presence as the tapestries on the walls. He’d been lowborn, fought his way to status. Being treated as invisible by those who were born to better Houses was nothing new.

But Rhaenyra had seen him, hadn’t she? The brightest light of his dimmed life. She’d singled him out for protection, spoke to him as a friend, kissed him as an equal. He’d lost his sense under her touch, her playful smile irresistible as she’d teased him. But she had her honor. The king had broken the sinful spell that had been casted over them, and the Princess had come to him in the morning with apologies unowed; proof that she felt the same guilt as he. She was good; too good for all of the nonsense these higher lords, her uncle, and the king himself had forced upon her.

“Ser Criston?”

He turned, finally tearing his gaze from where the men had disappeared, and saw that the Princess and the queen had stepped from the room, followed by the two nursemaids who were attending the royal children.

“Princess.”

“I am ready to return to my apartments,” Rhaenyra’s smile was sweet, and after he nodded, she turned to the queen who was being greeted by her own shields.

“Lunch tomorrow, in the gardens.”

Queen Alicent reached for the Princess’ hands and squeezed their grips together between their bodies, “I shall see you then.”

Criston dropped his gaze as the two embraced, allowing them their goodbye. Then the queen was leaving, and Rhaenyra’s light was his alone once more.

The grin she flashed at him was mischievous.

“Between the stiffness of this dress and the weight of your armor, who do you think would win if we raced back to my apartments?”

He felt the tug of his own lips as he smirked at her childish challenge.

“Only one way to find out, I suppose.”

She took off with a happy laugh that echoed through the halls, and he followed, same as ever, a step behind.

Chapter Text

Daemon regretted his curiosity, as his brother removed the thick clothing he had donned for supper and he saw for the first time the extent of Viserys’ sickness.

From his seat by the fireplace, across from the King’s ever growing model of their ancestral homeland, it was easy to make out the large expanses of skin that were scabbed and raw. The festering sores were heavily salved with some sort of medicinal pulp. It did not appear to be helping the man.

“Do they cause you pain?” he asked, his voice as grim as his expression.

Viserys’ smile was forced, “Not as much as the whipping I received from our father when he discovered those vases you had broken on grandsire’s name day. Do you remember that?”

Daemon scoffed at the memory, at Viserys taking the blame, at his big brother, twice as powerful and half the man he had been back then.

“I remember you making me cart your armor for weeks as repayment.”

Viserys laughed, “And you complained so much it was hardly any fun after the first two days.”

Daemon gave a reluctant smirk, one that quickly faded as his brother pulled a sleeping robe over his back, hiding the damage. Viserys walked over to a table across the room, grabbing a pitcher of what appeared to be water, and filled a cup.

“The Maesters are sure they’ve done all they can do?” he asked.

“My condition has been growing steadily worse for years, brother.” He drank the cup dry. “They’ve tried all they can.”

Pressing further would only lead to a disagreement, but Daemon’s mind spun with plans. He had contacts across the sea, he could find Volantian healers, or perhaps a Red Priestess. He even had more faith in elder Maester on Dragonstone than he did in those that resided in King’s Landing. Too many enemies hid in the shadows here, who would benefit from his brother’s demise.

“I would recommend a second opinion,” he left no room for denial of the suggestion, as Viserys took the chair across from him, “I’ll send some ravens out, messages coded for discretion.”

“Daemon-”

“It is not as if a different healer could do any worse,” he reasoned.

Viserys paused, as if he wanted to say more, then sighed, sinking further into his seat.

“Very well. If it pleases you to search for answers that the best Maesters in Westeros have been unable to find, by all means, do not let me hinder you.”

Now Daemon chuckled, recognizing the hint of affection in the disgruntled indulgence.

“You always were a sore loser.”

Viserys threw his cup at him, though the assault lacked any real effort, “And you remain a thorn in my side.”

Daemon wiped at the sprinkles of water that had dripped onto his overcoat, but left the cup on the floor where it had fallen. The fire light danced off its silver rim, glittering against the stone floor.

“I could have some years yet,” Viserys murmured, his thoughts much further away than the room they sat in, “But in truth, the idea of death…sometimes it sounds quite peaceful.”

Daemon huffed, “You’re drunk.”

“Possibly,” Viserys chuckled, “But the wine does not shift my thoughts on the matter. I live for my children now, my duties…but I miss Aemma, Daemon. She waits for me in the afterlife. How can I fear death when I know this to be true?”

“Because of these visions you claim to have seen?”

Viserys nodded, “They were real. As real as you and I sitting here now, Aemma spoke to me. She told me what must be done…and that I may one day see her again.”

Daemon knew the long told stories of Dragon Dreams, and while he put little stock in prophecy and illusions, he was at least willing to entertain the idea for his brother’s sake. After all, he wasn’t convinced that there was much else that would have swayed Viserys so strongly toward his choices over the past few days. Dismissing Otto. Granting Daemon’s annulment. Betrothing him to Rhaenyra. If this vision of Aemma was who he had to thank, then he’d toast a barrel to his good sister.

“I wish it true,” he offered, “That you shall be joined with her again one day, brother. I know how you loved her.”

Viserys had been lucky, in that regard. A wild youth had been tempered by a sweet young bride so clearly of Valyrian blood. Aemma had been beautiful, bold, and kind. The Realm had adored her and she had cared for Viserys with her whole heart. Their bond was something precious and rare.

“I used to be envious of it,” Daemon found himself admitting, memories swirling in his head of his brother’s past happiness, “How well you were matched to your bride. How much she loved you in return. It is all anyone can hope for.”

Viserys remained silent for a long moment, perhaps lost in the same memories. The fire crackled between them. The king exhaled, slow and deep.

“It is what I had hoped for you,” he said wistfully, “That you would find a way to love your wife, and she you. I prayed for it. I wanted you to be happy, Daemon.”

Daemon let out a dark, quiet laugh, “Rhea Royce and I despised each other from the day we discovered we were to be wed. There was never going to be any affection there, I can assure you, no matter what gods you prayed to.”

“Yes, well,” Viserys sighed, “I suppose it is of no consequence now.”

He made a noise of agreement. Viserys leaned forward in his chair.

“I pray for Rhaenyra, too. Since the day she was born, I prayed that she would survive her infancy. Then after her second name day, when it seemed promising that she would live a full life, I prayed that it would be a happy one. Now, she has already lost her mother, and when I am gone-”

“Viserys-”

“When I am gone,” he repeated firmly, and Daemon swallowed, “You will be the only one left to ensure that happiness. That the weight of the burden I have placed upon her shoulders does not crush her with its might. It is my prayer now that you will keep her safe, brother. Keep her smiling. Find a way to love her.”

“I already do,” he insisted. Rhaenyra was one of the few people in the entire world of whom he could boast as much.

From the time she was first placed in his arms as a child, he had loved her.

Viserys smiled, and even though his expression was soft, there was a bitterness to his tongue.

“I know you love your niece,” Viserys said, “But what I want for Rhaenyra, the reason I granted her permission to choose her husband, is the chance of a true match. As I had found in Aemma. And she chose you.” He laughed dryly, “Her childhood yearning for your attention has matured into something I do not, in truth, wish to think about. My daughter being wed to you…bedded by you…it is not what I would have chosen for her; our history runs too deeply for that. But the gods had other plans.”

Viserys swallowed hard, “And if you can love her, as a husband loves his wife; as I loved my Aemma…then it will be worth something. Happiness for you both…it is worth this.”

Daemon watched the fire burn in the hearth; it’s warmth paling next to the blood running through his veins, the ghost of Rhaenyra’s smile in his head; her eyes, Aemma’s eyes, staring up at him with so much trust as they drifted on the waves of the Narrow Sea.

He’d taken many lovers in his past, but he’d never known real love…not like his parents. Not like what Viserys had felt for Aemma. What he might be starting to feel for his little dragon.

Rhaenyra was the only woman in the world he would swear his fealty, bend his knee to, kill and die for. She loved him; she always had. For her, he was more than a second son. More than the King’s brother. More than mere blood. They were dragons. Two halves of the same coin, flipped by the gods and left spinning. What was love to destiny?

“A fucked up answer to your prayers,” he said and Viserys’ eyes closed.

“Yes,” the fire danced shadows across his face, his tired expression, “The gods have such cruel humor, do they not?”

Rhaenyra dismissed her servants the moment she was free of that entrapping gown, and was sure to secure her door shut behind them, so as not to risk anyone barging in unannounced. She hoped Daemon would turn up soon, and she listened for a faint knock as she readied for bed.

It was a different experience, knowing that he would come, and anticipation curled in her stomach. None of her sleeping gowns felt appropriate, felt like something a woman might wear. So she pulled a robe over her naked form and worked to brush her hair out of its braids.

Her fireplace burned bright and assisted the candles around the room in lighting up her space enough to see the reflection in her looking glass. Her cheeks were flushed, but her face was otherwise unblemished. She washed it with the basin of water she’d asked her lady’s maid to leave behind, and cleaned up with a dry cloth. The water felt cool against her heated skin. She then rubbed herself down with one of her favorite oils, derived from fresh lemon and crushed petals of the lavender flower.

As she did so, she thought of her uncle, of supper, of the plans that were being laid and all the uncertainty attached to them. The trip to Driftmark was a good idea, she had to admit, but neither her father nor her betrothed had asked for her opinion on the matter with the Sea Snake. An oversight she had a mind to immediately rectify.

She could see logic where her men saw only the possibility of war. She had held sweet Helaena to her chest and worked out several possible outcomes to the situation that awaited them. She was to be queen. She would see them through.

The secret door next to her bed opened without warning.

“Daemon,” she scolded as her uncle appeared before her, but his name became strangled as it left her lips, sounding more like a whine than a reprimand, “I was wondering when you might-”

He was on her before she finished the sentence, his hungry mouth latching to her own and she giggled as they stumbled, landing softly on her bed. She kissed him back most welcomingly, until he pulled away.

“Hi,” he said with a smile, placing a final kiss to the tip of her nose.

Rhaenyra laughed again, “I shall part from you more often if that is your greeting upon return.”

Daemon’s arms wrapped around her and he rolled them, so that they were positioned correctly on her bed, facing each other on their sides with their heads near soft pillows.

“No one is being sent away tonight,” he nuzzled his head against hers, and she settled into his embrace, breathing him in. He smelled of bathing oils as well, but there was no denying the scent of Caraxes clinging to his very being, as she somehow always smelled of Syrax no matter how hard she scrubbed her skin.

“Not tonight,” she agreed, but had not forgotten the ideas that had begun to take form in her mind, “At the week’s end, however…”

Daemon's head crooked, “You speak of my going to Driftmark.”

She nodded, “I want to accompany you.”

If he was surprised by the declaration, he didn’t show it, “I’m not sure if your father-”

“I do not plan to ask for his permission,” she stated plainly, “Nor do I require yours. I can read a map and Syrax could follow Caraxes scent over the expanse of miles. I will find my own way if I must.”

Daemon’s lips curved up in amusement, “Then why tell me at all? Do you wish for my support in defying our king?”

“As if you do not live to do just that,” she snarked, earning an indignant, “hmph” from her uncle, “But no. I ask your support in my telling him I am going with you. I should go with you.”

“The heir to the throne to leave King’s Landing, without guards, to help broker peace with a House that might be considering turning their allegiance from the crown?” He did not say such with condescension, but rather as a challenge for her to overcome the obstacles presented.

“You are representing me,” she reasoned, “To discuss a future in which House Velaryon will give allegiance to my rule. I should be there…as I am the only one who can assure Lord Corlys that he might have what he wants most.”

She fought a blush as her deliberations after dinner rushed to the forefront of her mind, “Velaryon blood on the throne.”

To her surprise, Daemon’s expression darkened. He sat up before a question could form on her lips.

“Daem-”

“You would set aside the betrothal we are lucky your father granted us to instead wed Laenor?” he practically hissed, “Rhaenyra, what would that-”

“No!” She immediately interrupted, scrambling up to her knees so that she could reach him. She placed her hands on his neck, holding his gaze to hers, “No, you misunderstand. I do not wish to set you aside. Ever. I want to marry you.”

He relaxed beneath her touch.

“I only meant that…” she bit her lip, “That we will have children one day, if the gods are good.”

“You said just yesterday that-”

“That I will not be forced to bear children until it kills me,” she explained, “But it is my duty to provide at least an heir to take the throne in my stead and I accept that. It is an inevitability, once we are wed.”

Daemon said nothing else, so she pressed her point, “We can offer Lord Corlys the marriage pact my father denied him, further join our Houses, and ensure that our child will be given a Valyrian match. The promise of the throne should be enough to vie for his loyalty.”

Surely it would be.

Daemon’s hand found her thigh and he pulled at her, dragging her over his leg and into his lap, where she settled, facing him.

“There are many variables to consider,” he began, and Rhaenyra nodded, “I know. But a favorable outcome offers us great advantage. You said you wanted to see Valyria rise anew; what better way to secure that legacy than to strengthen the Targaryen line with the only other House that holds Valyrian blood?”

“I do not fault your reasoning,” he assured her, “But do you have a plan for achieving such desires? Corlys is not likely to be told whom he might marry his children to, based on the possibility of a match for his grandchildren who are yet to exist.”

He was not wrong, but Rhaenyra knew something of the Sea Snake’s ambition. A man willing to give his only daughter up to be bred by a man nearly thrice her age for the sake of his family’s legacy was not going to say no to an offer that would achieve that very goal through lesser effort.

“Laenor and Laena are both of age to wed,” she recalled the thoughts that had plagued her mind earlier in the evening, “Yet Lord Coryls has continued to use Laena as his leverage to powerful houses…why?”

Daemon considered her question, “She’s young, said to be beautiful, and according to rumor, has claimed the last dragon of Old Valyria as her mount. Many men would offer everything they have to declare such as a wife.”

“Can the same not be said for Laenor?” she argued, “I know the rumors of his…tastes, but he is of royal blood, he’s a warrior, a dragon rider. You might think the great lords would be willing to secure him as a match for their daughters as well.”

“Alright,” Daemon agreed, “Yet you believe Corlys is preferable to marrying Laena off first?”

“I think he knows Laenor is the future of Driftmark,” she said, “Whatever children he may have would also fall in line to the Driftmark throne, and it matters to Corlys to keep his blood there, most of all. He can not just give Laenor away to honor another House, otherwise he would have already made move to do so.”

“Or perhaps he is waiting,” Daemon countered, “For the right offer.”

His fingers tightened where they rested on her hips, “He knows you have come of age, and that the Realm will expect you to marry sooner than late. He never said as much during our time in the Steps, but we heard things. Your tour. Lords gathering to vie for your hand. No doubt Lord Corlys has a mind to present Laenor as an option, making the future Lord of Driftmark the next king consort. More power than House Valeryon has had since the Doom.”

“Corlys wants power,” she agreed, “But everyone always speaks to his pride. I do not believe he would offer Laenor as a contender after father’s dismissal of Laena. It is why he seeks the alliance with the free cities. Your war is over and he is in need of allies now that he has returned home, out of favor with the King.”

Daemon studied her face, soaking in her words, before nodding.

“It is certainly a possibility.”

Rhaenyra smiled, “Then we must offer him a security that will ensure his loyalty and tether the Valeryon fleet back to our cause.”

“A marriage pact.”

Her grin grew and her teeth flashed, “Several marriage pacts, actually. Starting with Laenor.”

“Who you do not plan to marry,” he confirmed, and she laughed.

“No, Uncle. I do not. However, I do think that Helaena might be a suitable replacement.”

More than anything else she had said, this made the Prince’s eyes widen, “Helaena? She is barely more than two. Laenor would be fourteen years her senior.”

“And you are sixteen years mine,” she pointed out, “What of it?”

“You are of age,” he smirked at her quip, “Helaena is still a babe.”

“Yes, she is,” Rhaenyra wrapped her arms around Daemon’s neck, feeling smug, “And if you are right about Laenor’s preferences, one might think he would be grateful for another ten years before he would have to face being wed to a girl.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, as if he could not quite figure out her intent.

Rhaenyra sighed, “Helaena is a Targaryen who will be coveted as she grows, just as I was, for her Valyrian blood. Laenor, if he is as you say and as I remember, will be a kind husband to her. And if he has his own preference in paramour, I’m sure he will allow Helaena the same. You were the one who said marriage was only a duty, after all.”

Daemon made a face at the reminder and she couldn’t help but tease him, “In fact…I believe you said that once you are married, you can do as you like, isn’t that right?”

He had grit his teeth, and she knew she was winning this round soon, “That it is nothing more than a political arrangement and doesn’t stop you from fucking whomever you want.”

“I was trying to appease your fears,” he bit out, his body coiling beneath her own.

Rhaenyra wasn’t convinced, “No, Daemon, you were trying to say that, married or not, I could still fuck you.”

He threw her from his lap and she bounced against the bed as he sprung from it. A laugh escaped her at the physical distance he put between them.

“Your tongue on my cunt has no effect, but my accusing you of wanting to fuck me is too much?” she taunted.

Daemon half turned from where he now stood in front of her fireplace, “That is quite the bawdy language you’ve learned, little dragon.”

She crawled from the bed, letting her robe fall open as she sauntered over to him. His throat diluted as he swallowed, eyes taking in the flashes of her revealed skin.

“I wonder whose tongue taught it to me,” she licked her lips and let her hand come up to rest on his chest.

Daemon didn’t push her away.

“I’m right, you know,” she scraped her nails over the fabric of his overcoat, “Laenor is the future of House Velaryon. Give him ten more years of freedom and we will have his favor. He has to know it is only a matter of time before Corlys arranges a bride for him. We can ensure that Helaena will be…a good fit. And in return, she will never need fear her own life traded for the betterment of some unworthy Lord.”

Daemon grabbed her chin between his forefinger and thumb, “And you think that you will bat your pretty eyes, smile that sweet smile and Lord Corlys will grant this match? Not to mention your father would have to agree…Alicent…”

“My father and Alicent can be convinced easily enough,” she assured him, and at that Daemon nodded.

“You are wise to curry her affection,” his thumb ran over her bottom lip, “Alicent may not be a viper as her father is, but it can do no harm to keep the Hightowers close. The more she cares for you, the less Otto will have influence over her. I want to watch him realize he’s lost her to you.”

“He will lose her to us all,” Rhaenyra insisted, “I can not forgive the past, but for better or worse, Alicent is a Targaryen now. She is ours. Aegon and Helaena are ours.”

Daemon arched a pale brow, “Is that the other part of your offer then? Aegon for Laena?”

Rhaenyra nipped at his finger and he dropped his hand to her neck instead, holding her in place.

“Aegon is too young for Laena to wait for. Unlike you men, the time in which women can create a child is limited. Laena is of age to be married and her future children will be of Velaryon and Targaryen blood, without being sequestered for the Driftmark throne.”

Daemon’s grip kept her neck arched, her chin lifted up to face him and he was so deliciously close.

“If our child comes soon after we are wed, then it is likely Laena’s will as well. She was prepared to have married my father at the age of twelve. She will do her duty in this.”

Of that Rhaenyra felt certain. It was the burden of being a woman, was it not? Even she, as heir to the throne and future queen of Westeros, could not escape the demand that had led her mother to an early grave.

“If Corlys can be convinced of this,” Daemon’s hand drifted down, pushing the fabric of her robe off her shoulders, “We will have to offer a suitable match.”

Rhaenyra shivered as his fingers grazed over her collarbone, brushing strands of her hair back behind her shoulder.

“It will…will need to be someone that will interest her as well,” she fought to keep hold of her thoughts, “It should be an easy choice. Someone young and handsome enough to be worthy of attention, whose family garnishes respect, but does not outshine House Velaryon.”

Daemon’s head dipped to her neck, his voice lifting her skin as he spoke next to her ear, “They will need to have room for Vhagar as well…and more dragons, if her children inherit our family’s proclivities.”

Rhaenyra managed a nod, “A great House with wealth, then. And he will need to be a first son, with lands to inherit. Lord Corlys might be insulted by less.”

Daemon hummed against her throat, as he worked the robe the rest of the way off. It slipped from her arms and pooled at her feet on the floor.

“House Lannister commands the second largest fleet and-”

Rhaenyra jerked away from his touch, scoffing, “No. Jason Lannister is an arrogant pig who believes wine and coin can win him the hand of any maiden he wishes. I would not have it so.”

Daemon smirked at her indignation, “Had an altercation with him, have you?”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, “If you can call it an altercation that he plied me with Lannisport wine while going on about building me a dragon pit so I might be satisfied as his lady wife as Aegon takes my place on the throne…then yes.”

Daemon laughed, “You would eat him alive.”

“So would Laena,” she insisted, “I may not know much about my cousin in recent years, but she was fierce even in our childhood. Now that she has made claim on Vhagar…no, a Lanniseter will not do. I would not have anyone of my blood subjected to such an insult.”

Her lips pursed as Daemon moved closer again, wrapping his arms around her waist. She considered the viable options; ran the list of all the men and Houses that had been presented to her over her tour. None felt right.

“It should be someone who will respect her and their future children as dragons,” she said, as a kiss was pressed against her shoulder, “Someone who will not want for their own House enough to interfere with our plans. If their children would be married to ours someday, then we should ensure that they are raised by someone good. Someone brave and strong and…”

Daemon must have felt her freeze, for he straightened again, just as a smile spread across her face.

“What?”

“Strong!” she repeated, excitement bleeding into her voice, “Ser Harwin. He’s perfect! His father is about to be given the most respected position on the King’s council; he’s set to inherit Harrenhal, he’s a fine knight, not easily intimidated, and has proven loyal to us.”

Recollection of the insults she’d hurled at the knight as he’d brought her back to the castle at Daemon’s behest hardly dimmed her hopes for the match. Ser Harwin had only smiled at her tirade, annoying her that he seemed more amused than reprimanded by her words. He was a man who could no doubt handle a dragon wife.

“He led the Gold Cloaks as their Commander in my absence,” Daemon considered, “And kept the men on task well enough.”

Rhaenyra’s smile widened, “So you agree? Corlys would consider him a good match for Laena?”

“Perhaps,” Daemon took a step back, his expression growing more serious as he turned her idea over; she could see his mind at work, how he weighed the possibilities and the outcomes against potential risks, brows furrowed in concentration as he strategized.

“We will have to receive permission from your father to propose the matches,” he said hesitantly, “Then ensure Lord Strong and Ser Harwin are in agreement as well. I can not imagine they would give protest, but a united front is always best. If they are in agreement, we should have them accompany us to Driftmark, so Lord Corlys can be assured the offer is real and will take effect immediately upon his acceptance.”

Rhaenyra’s heart was thrumming faster than the wind against Syrax’s wings when they flew together, “Do you think he will accept? If the offer comes from us and not directly the king?”

Her concern bled away at Daemon’s smile, and his warm palms found her lower back. He leaned down and pressed their foreheads together, breathing deeply their shared air.

“It is as you said, Princess. We are the future of House Targaryen. You are the Queen to come. These matters are arrangements for the days in which you will rule. Your word will be truth and law. Better the Lords of the Realm learn to accept that now, than later at the end of my sword.”

He spoke with such fierce certainty that Rhaenyra knew he meant every word. Had he not told her that his sword was hers to command? That he was hers and she was his, as promised in the Westerosi vows they would soon proclaim.

Her heart stuttered for a different reason now.

In the firelight, Daemon was every inch a Targaryen Prince. Fire and blood reflected in his eyes, which bore into hers with an unflinching devotion. She had felt the sting of dragonbreath upon her body before, but that heat was nothing compared to the way every inch of her burned now beneath his scrutiny.

“Rhaenyra.”

He said her name like a prayer, like he knew anything of holy, and she longed to feel him worship at her pleasure once more.

“Our plans can wait for the morrow,” she said, proud that her voice held steady as she pulled away from his touch and took a step back from the hearth and its blazing heat, “Come to bed.”

Daemon did not follow her right away, even as she sank back onto her sheets and watched the deliberation on his features as he observed her movements.

Rhaenyra flashed a wicked grin at him and very deliberately ran a hand between her breasts, taking full advantage of her naked form.

Her touch was clumsier than his, less sure, but pleasurable nonetheless. She teased a fingertip over one hardened nipple and delighted when Daemon’s eyes flared at the sight.

“Are you going to join me?” she asked thickly, following the path down her stomach, where she stopped just before reaching the slit of her cunt, “Or do I have to entertain myself?”

Daemon knew his lovely niece had no practical experience in seduction, but gods, the way she beckoned him was more effective than the talented tongues of the most expensive whores.

Perhaps it was because she was not entirely aware of the power she wielded that made it so compelling to give in to what she wanted. The demands little more than that of a spoiled child…a child he had spoiled by never being able to deny her, and not much had changed in the years that had passed. A sweet smile, a soft plea, and he was clay in her hands, molded to her will and wants.

Daemon took his time, stripping himself of his clothes as he started toward the bed. His boots were kicked off, his overcoat thrown haphazardly across a chair. His tunic soon followed. He had reached Rhaenyra by the time he’d managed to untie the lacing of his pants and she waited for no permission before sliding to the bed’s edge to join her fingers with his, tugging at the last bit of fabric that separated them.

It was a great risk he was taking, he knew, as his traitorous cock sprang free of its confinements, already hard for her. He had never before bothered controlling his own impulsivity, and Rhaenyra was perfectly willing to throw them both off the edge of oblivion to further explore her own desires. But he was powerless to deny her now, and if he had his wits about him, perhaps that truth would be reason for concern.

As he stepped out of his pants, her gaze fell to what had been revealed, and had he not already been erect, her response would have done it for him. Her eyes widened slightly and her lips parted just enough for him to imagine the way they might feel closing over his length. She trembled as he stepped closer, but did nothing to hide her attention.

Rhaenyra gave him no warning. One moment she was studying his form with heavy breaths and the next she had reached out through whatever space remained between them and wrapped her dainty little hand around his cock, fully stroking him.

“Fuck,” Daemon jolted, his forearm falling to her shoulder as he nearly lost balance. Would her boldness ever cease to surprise him?

Rhaenyra’s hand quickly dropped, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any discomfort. Did I-”

He grabbed her face and kissed her, swallowing her words and the moan that followed, until her hand came back, first to graze the bones of his hips, then lower again, taking him into her palm at a much more careful pace.

Daemon growled against her mouth, biting at the soft flesh of her lip when she gave him a long, slow stroke.

“Show me what to do,” his little dragon demanded between kisses, “I want to see you finish….kostilus, Kepa...teach me how to make you feel good.”

If he were a younger man, those words alone might have been the end of her lesson. As it were, his cock jumped against her demand, a willing participant, and Daemon had to fight back a hiss. If her simple touch was this perfect, how would her mouth feel? Her sweet, tight cunt? It was torture in the best of ways to be delayed an answer.

He reached down and wrapped his hand around hers on his cock, speeding her movements and changing the angle.

“Just like that, zaldrītsos ñuha,” her lips strangled his words, “Positioned here…relax your grip,” she whined as his fingers tightened on her wrist and he leaked from his tip, down to their combined hands, “Gods, Rhaenyra, you’re perfect.”

The crest of pleasure was a familiar feeling for Daemon, but even after several moments of tethering upon it, he still denied himself release. The pressure was building up, nearing pain, but Rhaenyra was squirming beneath him, one hand on his cock, and he knew the other must be aching to slip down between her parted thighs from the way she was rubbing them together.

He was not ready for this to end; not yet. Not when she looked like this and it was all for him. Gods, all he would have to do is lift her hips off the bed. A little pressure and she would be on her back, wet and open for his cock to finally slide inside. All he would have to do is-

“I want to taste you.

His cock flexed in her hand, sputtering, coating her hands and chest as he climaxed.

Rhaenyra was stunned for a moment, watching Daemon’s sharp breath get caught in his throat just before releasing his seed. She hadn’t expected her simple words to have such an effect, but it pleased her to know that the thought of her mouth on his cock brought him pleasure.

Daemon had leaned forward, bracing himself on the carved wood that made the frame of her bed, as she sat still, unsure if she should take her hand from him or not. His hips, which had been moving, almost mindlessly, pumping him against her palm, had stalled completely. They both had frozen, letting the moment stretch on.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed before Daemon’s hand wrapped around her wrist, softly now, and pulled her from his cock. It was not as it had been before, though through the few lessons she’d received from her septa about being bedded by a man, she knew this was to be expected.

“Apologies, Princess,” he chuckled, sounding a million miles away, “I lost myself.”

Rhaenyra smiled, pride replacing the shock as she brought up her hand and examined the mess he’d made of it. Curiously, she brought a finger to her lips and tasted his seed.

“Gods Rhaenyra,” Daemon stuttered over her name, “You have no idea what you do to a man.”

She giggled; he tugged her to her feet.

“I need to clean you up.”

He took great care, using the basin of water she’d long abandoned to wipe his spend from her skin. Her hands were cleaned first, then her chest, where a few ropes of seed had reached her collarbones and breasts. Daemon used a cloth to quickly discard the mess, then replaced the fabric with his own lips, suckling her hungrily as he led her back to the bed.

She lost sense of time again, as their naked bodies brushed against each other, Daemon’s fingers bringing her to her own pleasure as his mouth did sinful things to her chest, her neck, her lips.

She basked in his touch until they were both satisfied, and when he wrapped a thick quilt around her shoulders and pulled her against his chest, she was certain that there was nowhere in the world she would rather be.

She ran her fingers over his skin, admiring the toned muscles that stretched beneath, the scars that marked him as a warrior, the spread of silver hair that spoke of their dragon blood. If she were on the precipice of sleep, she might pray to all the gods: the old, the new, Westerosi, Valyrian, and even those of the First Men, to thank them for whoever’s hand had moved the fates of her life, allowing her this moment. This man.

“I am so glad you returned to me,” she whispered against his skin, and she felt the kiss he placed on the crown of her head.

“Va moriot, zaldrītsos ñuha. Va moriot.” Always, my little dragon. Always.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra awoke with the break of day and the sound of birds outside her balcony. A chill had reached her skin, due to the fact that she was still bare and had rolled out from beneath her coverings at some point. The place next to her was empty.

She grew more alert as she sat up, rubbing a hand down her face and taking a sweeping glance of the room. She was alone, but there was something on the pillow next to her.
She reached for it, realized it was a piece of parchment, and unraveled the note to find a Valyrian message, written in Daemon’s hand.

Princess,
I thought it best to be gone before your maids arrived and had not the heart to wake you when you seemed so peaceful in sleep. We will meet with your father before the small council convenes today, to discuss the plans you spoke of to me last night. Come find me after you have broken your fast.
Yours,
D

She stood and walked over to the embers burning in her fireplace and set the note among them. She watched as it caught flame. The robe that had been left discarded on the floor the previous night offered some warmth, as Rhaenyra picked it up and slipped it over her body. Covered, she made her way to her chamber door and unlocked the bolt.

A kingsguard was standing post, as Ser Criston had probably retired at some point in the night to get some rest himself. She frowned slightly, wondering if anyone had heard the noises that she and Daemon had undoubtedly made. Unlikely, or they would have been interrupted.

“Good morrow, Princess,” the guard lowered his head as she stuck hers out the door.

“Good morrow, Ser. I should like to break fast now, if you could send for a maid to bring something from the kitchens?”

“Of course, Princess.”

The morning blurred on, with fruits and breads filling her belly, and gowns of silk and Myrish lace chosen to drape her skin. She liked the intricate design of this one in particular; gray embroidery resembling dragon scales across the bodice, which flowed into a skirt that was the sky blue color of her mother’s House.

“Perhaps the golden rope, my lady?” one of her attendants offered, holding up the jewelry.

Rhaenyra shook her head, “No. I shall keep to my Valyrian steel necklace today.”

The deep red of the amulet’s center did not exactly match her dress, but she could not bear to be parted from the very thing she’d drawn so much comfort in over the last several years. Daemon’s last gift to her had been a poor place holder for the man himself, but now that he had returned, she found that she desired the proximity of them both.

After she had dressed and allowed her hair to be twisted up in an elaborate Westerosi style, she left the room in search of her uncle. Her father, too; though she had a feeling she might find them together. An inkling proven right when the guard took her to the throne room, which was already alive with members of the court coming and going.

Daemon and her father stood near the foot of the steps which led up to the throne that seemed to loom larger with each passing moon. Their heads were leaned in close as they conversed, the words quiet enough that she had no hope of making them out from a distance.

“Rytsas, Kepus” she announced her approach, grateful for once that “father” and “uncle” shared a Valyrian word.

Both men looked up as she joined them. She greeted her father with a perfunctory kiss to the cheek, but stalled as she turned to Daemon, who was just as beautiful in the light of day as he had been while shrouded in the shadows of her room.

What was the proper public address expected to give the man she was to marry, though the knowledge wasn’t common? How was she meant to casually brush her lips to his skin when last night they had nearly been around his cock? The memory alone was enough to inflame her cheeks, as she recalled what delicious pleasure resided beneath the dark clothes he’d donned for the day.

Luckily, Daemon took charge before anyone, even her father, could note her hesitation, reaching for her hand and bringing it to his mouth.

“Morning, Princess,” he placed a chaste kiss to the back of her knuckles, squeezing her fingers as he did so, lingering on the release, “I trust you slept well?”

“Quite,” she played along, and Daemon’s eyes flickered to her father. She took the hint, “Though I did stay up for a while, contemplating the possible problems that might await at Driftmark. And I believe I may have found a solution.”

Daemon smirked, and Viserys’ head crooked curiously.

“Problems?”

She made a show of looking around the room, at all the people gathered, “Yes. Something I think we should discuss now, before the small council convenes…may we go somewhere private?”

“The small council chambers should be empty at the moment,” Daemon suggested, “Or easily made so.”

Viserys agreed, “We have some time before the meeting. Let us hear your thoughts, my child.”

Rhaenyra was pleased at his willingness to allow her to voice her ideas, and happily looped her arm through his as they left the throne room. Daemon stayed close behind them.

Once they were in the Chamber of the Small Council, Daemon made quick work of securing the room, making sure no one could overhear them, then ordered the Kingsguard to stand watch outside as he pulled the door closed.

Rhaenyra waited for him to take his seat at the table, to the right of her father as she took the left, before bringing up the plans they had previously discussed. She told them as if this was the first time Daemon would hear them as well, thinking it best that her father did not know he had spent yet another night in her room. She suggested the marriage pacts, between Laenor and Helaena, and Laena to Ser Harwin, and gave sound reasoning as to why Lord Corlys might accept; why her father should as well.

The king listened in silence as she made her point, and when it was done, Rhaenyra could not determine his thoughts on the matter. Daemon, too, studied his brother’s face as if trying to read the intentions behind his passive expression.

After a weighted moment, Viserys spoke.

“Lord Corlys has desired a path to the throne for his blood since the Great Council passed over his wife to name me heir. Your offer gives him this. But is wholly contingent on your having children.”

“I know.”

His doubtful eyes locked on hers, “You have voiced…reluctance on the matter in the past, and Lord Corlys will expect your word to be kept.”

Rhaenyra reached over and placed her hand atop her father’s on the table.

“The other night,” she recalled, “When you asked me if I still wished to be your heir, you accused me of shucking the duties that accompany the privilege…and you were right. I was not convinced that I would not be sold off as a wife for a High Lord and have Aegon named heir in my stead.”

“Rhaenyra,” her father frowned, “I have told you-”

“I know,” she insisted, “And you have proven your words, by allowing my betrothal to Daemon. It does not change my fear of childbirth, but it is a duty I am willing to endure for the sake of the realm and my position as your heir, now that I am sure I will not be butchered for a son.”

It was a low blow, she knew, but no less the truth. Her father’s guilt was still a heady thing that lay between them, and she saw the way it weighed on his shoulders now. He did not argue against her point, because he knew it true. Just as she knew. Daemon would not do to her what had been done to her mother. He was selfish, in truth, and would not sit idly by as her father had, to allow his wife to be stolen from him by such a tragedy.

Rhaenyra squeezed her father’s hand.

“I do not say this to cause pain,” she insisted, “But to offer assurance. I will do my duty. And I will see this alliance to fruition, because as everyone on the Small Council insists, we need the Velaryon fleet on our side.”

Viserys brought his free hand up to clasp hers between his palms.

“I will regret until my dying day that I did not make you my heir before it cost me your mother,” he said thickly, “But I know that she would be proud of the woman you have become; as I am. You will be a fine queen, Rhaenyra. A better ruler, by far, than I ever had hope to be.”

“I shall try,” she promised, and her father nodded.

“Then I grant you your wish. Offer the marriage pacts to Lord Corlys with my blessings, assuming Lord Strong agrees.”

Rhaenyra smiled, “Thank you, Father. I would inform Alicent as well. Helaena is her daughter. Otto was prepared to marry her son off without notice to her, and I would not have us do the same.”

“Very well, then,” Viserys sat back in his seat, “Discuss it with her. And I will discuss with Otto his demotion on the council.”

Daemon smiled darkly, “I will accompany you to do so.”

“You can not kill him,” Rhaenyra reminded him, the silent not yet passing effortlessly between them, and her uncle chuckled.

“I merely intend to assure your father’s safety.”

“I am not yet unable to lift my sword,” Viserys jibed, “And I doubt Otto would be foolish enough to levee an attack against his King over a council position.”

Daemon sobered, the hollows of his cheeks deepening as he grit his teeth, “Men in power do not like to lose it. I do not expect Otto Hightower to differ in that regard.”

Viserys exhaled a laugh, “You only hope as much, so you would have reason to finally strike him down.”

Daemon shrugged, “I think his head would look quite nice upon the walls overlooking the gate.”

“Then we would have to contend with the stench,” Rhaenyra made a face, though she hardly found sympathy at the thought of Otto’s head meeting Dark Sister.

The man had abused his position for far too long, weighing poison in her father’s ear. He offered nothing but disrespect for her, for Daemon, for Alicent, often hidden behind proper words and a passive face. But she knew him for the viper he was, and she would gladly see her family protected from such venom.

“I would never allow it to reach your nose, Princess,” Daemon promised her, his gaze softening.

It lingered on her long enough that Viserys cleared his throat. Rhaenyra hid a smirk, looking down to her lap. She would allow her father his contentment while she and Daemon were still restricted by courtly expectations of appropriateness. The desire that twisted in her stomach only grew hotter with each passing day, and she knew the moment they were allowed, she and her betrothed would not be modest in their affection. For Daemon burned just as hotly as she did. Let her father have his peace while it lasted.

“Otto is to meet me here soon,” Viserys informed them, willfully ignoring the look they had shared, “He is my Hand and I will dismiss him myself, before the council meeting. I doubt he will be of a mood to attend it.”

“Regrettable to us all, I’m sure,” Daemon said, not sounding very regretful, but had stood before the king could comment, “If you need nothing else, your Grace, Rhaenyra and I will leave you to deal with the Hightower cunt-”

Viserys raised a hand, halting his words, “Actually, there is.”

Rhaenyra straightened as her father reached into his overcoat and removed a scroll. She recognized the blue ribbon without even needing to see the sigil, and apparently so did Daemon, for all jest left his voice.

“The Vale has responded?”

“Quicker than I anticipated,” Viserys nodded, “A raven arrived with the letter this morning and it was brought directly to me.”

He handed it to Daemon and said, “The Lady Jeyne Arryn accepted the annulment on behalf of House Royce. On the understanding that you forfeit the rights of inheritance to anything belonging to Lady Rhea and any children she may yet bear.”

Daemon had unraveled the note and read its contents entirely before the corner of his lip turned, “Gladly.”

“Then the matter is settled,” Rhaenyra wasn’t sure if her father sounded relieved or regretful of the fact, “And in two days time, I will announce your betrothal.”

She kept her face free from emotion as she stood to mirror Daemon, and leaned down to kiss Viserys’ cheek.

“We will return in time for the meeting,” she told him, “But for the love of the gods, at least keep Ser Herrold in the room with you while you break the news to Otto.”

“I will be fine,” he assured her, the dramatic roll of his eyes watered down by the affectionate smile he seemed to save only for her, “See to your arrangements with Alicent, if you wish to give an offer to Lord Corlys so soon.”

Rhaenyra nodded, and briefly met eyes with Daemon as he turned to offer a rare show of deference to her father, who was now standing himself. The letter of freedom clasped firmly in one hand, he took the King’s with the other and lowered his forehead to the ring that adorned it.

“Lēkia,” he said in parting, and perhaps her father’s affection wasn’t saved for her alone, after all.

He placed a hand on Daemon’s shoulder, squeezing once, “Brother.”

The moment they had parted from the Small Council chamber, Rhaenyra looped her arm through Daemon’s. He halted, briefly, to address the two Kingsguard at the door.

“Stay with the King,” he ordered, and was answered with a loyal nod from Ser Harrold, who turned through the archway of the room they’d just abandoned.

Alone at last, Rhaenyra turned to her betrothed.

“How does it feel?” she asked him, “To finally be free?”

Her gaze fell to the letter clenched in his hand and Daemon chuckled, lifting the thing between them. He twisted it between his fingers, then hid it away inside his overcoat.

“It pales with the desire to be chained again, to a more deserving wife.”

Rhaenyra fought a smirk, “So in ten years time I will not be called your Silver Bitch?”

Daemon laughed genuinely now, using their looped arms to pull her close while the hall was still yet empty. His eyes sparkled with satisfaction as they raked over her, a hand lifting to catch her jaw.

“That is not the tongue of a lady,” whatever chiding he had attempted was lost in his prideful tone. It was obvious he liked her tongue just fine, and the crass words she had learned from his very own lips.

“The tongue of a dragon,” she reasoned back.

His thumb brushed over her lips and, as it had that night in the brothel, Daemon’s gaze darkened with the motion.

“I have a secret to share with you,” he told her, lowering his voice “But you must promise to be quiet.”

If his words didn’t send a shiver of anticipation to the very core of her womanhood, Rhaenyra might have believed time had melted away, turning her into a little girl again, eager to brace upon a new adventure with her uncle. As it were, she could only imagine the secrets he now felt inclined to share with her as a woman grown, and what pleasures they may yet bring.

She nodded eagerly in response, and Daemon chuckled. He released her hold so that he could take her hand and pulled her along the hall, much as he had just a few nights ago as they’d explored King’s Landing. She liked the warmth of his palm against her own, his long fingers wrapping around her smaller ones; his calloused thumb stroking her soft skin.

They didn’t venture far, to Rhaenyra’s surprise and slight disappointment. She’d half hoped he would take her back to his bedchambers, where they would have true privacy to explore the secrets he’d promised to reveal, but that did not seem to be the plan.

Daemon stopped at a spot along the wall, where thick tapestries of bright colors told of their family’s histories. He moved one over, and Rhaenyra giggled at the ridiculous way he started patting at the wall with his free hand, massaging the stone.

“What are you doing?”

Answer was given almost as quickly as she’d voiced the question. The stone Daemon had pressed upon gave way, sinking down and moving to reveal a hidden passage, much like the one attached to her bedchamber.

“Another of Maegor’s passages?” she realized, and Daemon’s nod confirmed it.

“It took me years to map them all out,” he said, pulling her into the confined space and ensuring the wall had closed again, saturating them in darkness, “They run throughout most of the castle. And no one else knows.”

“My father-”

“No one,” Daemon swore, and she could barely see his face but she believed his words, “I never told anyone else about them, not even Viserys, and Maegor never kept any written records of their existence. I found them by accident, in my youth.”

Rhaenyra smiled, imagining Daemon as a young boy, ever restless and giving his attendants the slip to explore the castle on his own.

“I hope that means you know where this goes,” she teased, and felt him shift by her in the small space.

It was almost like a hallway, except much more narrow, with gray stone walls on either side. Daemon’s hand was still in hers and the pressure as he began to walk down the pathway was an easy guide to follow.

“There is a widening ahead,” he said, “There will be more light, but I meant my words, Rhaenyra. We will have to be quiet to avoid discovery.”

She squeezed his hand, letting him know she understood, and allowed him to lead her in the darkness.

His claim proved true after a few more moments of weaving through the carved walkway. Glimmers of light ahead, an end growing nearer.

“Where are we?” she whispered looking up at the wall that seemed to be made of stone with embedded glass, too thick to allow anything but a glow of light to pass through, the color of honey.

Daemon tugged her closer, positioning her next to the wall as he crowded the space behind her.

“Listen,” he breathed against her neck.

She did as she was told, making out the gentle hum of voices on the other side. She recognized one as her father and understood the second to be Ser Herrold.

“The Small Council Chamber,” she gasped. The one room in all the realm specifically set to have the utmost privacy. Of course Daemon would be the one to find its flaw and had, obviously, exploited it before.

“Let your father have his pride,” Daemon murmured into her ear, “It is still better for us to know how Otto responds to his demotion, to determine if he might be a further threat.”

Rhaenyra turned her head, grinning up at him, “Using safety as an excuse is beneath you, Uncle. Admit it. We are here because it will please you to see Otto finally set aside; you would not miss witnessing this moment.”

Daemon’s eyes flared, and she knew she had found him out. Rather than deny her claim, he shifted closer, looming over her in the limited room they had.

“There are many a thing that please me, niece,” his words were a gravelly breath as he kept conscious of the sound, “Otto’s dismissal is on that list. But as you might have noticed, we can not see much through this wall.”

Rhaenyra knew he was making a jest, taking her words at their direct interpretation instead of what she had been implying, but the humor was lost as she became aware of the glaring truth he had just pointed out.

“We can not see through the wall,” she parroted back, just as quietly, “So no one can see us, either.”

It did not take long for Daemon to catch her meaning, or perhaps his thoughts were already there; they had always been so aligned with her own, and that amber glow from the thick honeyed-glass burned like an ember across his smirking lips

“No, Princess. We can not be seen.”

Like the brothel, like that first night in her room, like every moment she’d ever looked into his lilac eyes, Rhaenyra felt the urge to jump into Daemon’s very bones, imprinting herself so permanently onto his person that they might never be separated. Her lips parted to breathe his name, or a curse, she wasn’t sure; as they had always been the same, hadn’t they?

Daemon was the first to move, swallowing whatever word her tongue attempted to birth with his own in a ferocious kiss. Her dress snagged on the jagged edge of an unpolished stone and she hardly noticed. Her hands found his hair, the silver a beacon of light in the dim surrounding, and she buried her fingers into it. She missed it long; missed the warrior braids he’d been teaching her to weave since she was old enough to hold a brush, but the shorter strands, so foreign to her touch, offered further excitement.

His mouth slipped off her lips, catching her chin, then her jaw. His teeth grazed her, not for the first time, and she grit her own to keep from moaning out. Daemon played her body like a harp that had been especially made for his hands, plucking her strings with skilled fingers. Those calloused palms cupped the swell of her hips, pulling her against his strong form.

She liked that he did not treat her gently, like fragile glass, like a precious jewel to be treasured and kept in a state of perfection, untarnished. She was not delicate or feeble. She was a dragonrider, a Targaryen Princess; the very blood of their ancestral home coursed through her veins with all its fiery glory. She was not born to be easily broken and Daemon’s bruising grip was proof that he knew it as well.

It was an effort, straining on the tips of her toes, for Rhaenyra to press herself up to Daemon’s mouth, deepening the kiss and feeling all the more hungry for it. He responded in kind, growling against her, lifting her body with arms toned by years of wielding a sword, until they were flushed, every inch of her pressing against the hard planes of him. The hilt of Dark Sister dug into her thigh.

She had never felt desire so strong; had never understood why some women were so eager to be married and birth babes…but under Daemon’s hands, she knew. She wanted more of this; all of this. As many times as she could get it.

A new voice broke through the haze they were losing themselves in, and Rhaenyra would have missed it, if Daemon’s body hadn’t stilled in response, his head lifting.

“Five days,” she heard her father say.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace?” Otto Hightower.

She straightened, untangling herself from Daemon as he released her back to her feet; they both shifted closer to the wall, alert.

“Though it was some time ago. The details…they fade in memory,” her father sounded distant, more firm than she could remember him being in recent weeks.

“My father was a hale and healthy warrior, and dragonrider at the peak of his abilities. Jaehaerys named a great royal hunt to celebrate him being named the Hand of the King. Five days later, my father lay dead. Tourneys last longer.”

He paused, and Rhaenyra looked up at Daemon. A frown had curved his lips as he listened to his brother’s words.

“Baelon the Brave, rider of Vhagar, heir to the Iron Throne…dead of a burst belly. The gods have a dark wit.”

“It was a grim day,” Otto responded, though she had to strain to hear his raspy falsehoods, “I recall it all too well.”

Viserys scoffed, ““It was a good day for you. Jaehaerys named you Hand in Baelon’s stead.”

Rhaenyra was surprised by her father’s boldness; she was less surprised by Otto’s aghast tone of denial.

“That’s hardly how I viewed it, Your Grace. It was a duty-”

“You served my grandsire nobly in his final days,” Viserys cut him off, “You are the man that taught me how to be King.”

“You honor me, Your Grace.”

Her father sighed, heavily enough that she could hear it through the glass.

“Just five days,” he repeated, “You went from being another man in Jaehaerys’ court, to the second most powerful man in the realm…I wonder, how long did it take you to choose yourself over your King?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened; her father had actually done it, made accusations of Otto’s selfishness. She saw Daemon’s hand wrap around the pommel of his sword.

“Your Grace?” Otto sputtered, and Viserys wasted no time, his voice growing louder as he moved closer to where she had to guess Otto was standing.

“I will never recover from Aemma’s death,” he said, and the pain of loss echoed so stoutly through his words that Rhaenyra felt her own chest clench.

“But Alicent…she took me through the worst of my grief. She was a calculated distraction. I only now realized how well-calculated it was.”

Daemon scoffed from beside her and Rhaenyra shifted.

“That is an absurdity,” Otto’s tone grew more insistent, “The Queen loves you, as I know you love her.”

Rhaenyra couldn’t vouch for the validity of that assumption now, but for Otto to declare that the betrothal was made as a love match was the real absurdity. Her father might have come to enjoy Alicent’s company, but he never looked at her the way he’d looked at Aemma.

Viserys also seemed disinclined to entertain the excuse.

“Your interests no longer align with those of the realm,” he said simply, “Your judgment has been compromised.”

There was a moment’s pause, then Otto spoke, a level of stern to his voice that irked Rhaenyra to her blood.

“A loyal Hand must tell his king a discomforting truth from time to time, Your Grace. Even truths he may not wish to hear. I would have failed as a servant if I were not honest with you, especially in regards to the Princess.”

“The Princess is no longer your concern,” the king said sharply, and in the huff that followed, Rhaenyra imagined her father had just removed the Hand’s pin from Otto’s coat, “You were a faithful servant, Otto, but I can no longer trust your judgment.”

“Because your brother, whom you have exiled already, says that you can not?” Otto sounded truly spiteful now, “He makes move on your crown through Rhaenyra, yet you would punish me for telling you of his motive; of his influence over the actions of the Princess that you would have rule us?”

“This has naught to do with punishment,” Viserys countered, “I would have you stay at the council as Master of Laws. But your attitude toward my blood, toward my heir, is severely affected by your desire for Aegon to be King. You know not what transpired.”

A sigh, “Your Grace, the realm-”

“The realm will accept the word of their king. The Lords of the Great Houses have already sworn fealty to Rhaenyra as my heir and I mean to assure those promises honored upon my death.”

He left no room for argument. A dragon, truly, in defense of her. Rhaenyra felt a rush of affection for her father and placed her hand against the wall that separated them.

“I fear the Lords may look poorly on a Princess ruined,” Otto tried again, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. Always back to this.

“It is not a ruin to share a kiss with one’s intended,” Viserys insisted, “Anyone who says more happened is a liar and I will have their tongues removed for treason.”

“Your Grace-”

“Pack your things, Otto. A member of the Kingsguard will escort you from the Tower of the Hand to your new apartments. And I will hear no more from you on the matters of my daughter.”

Rhaenyra strained to hear whatever response Otto grumbled. She could not quite make out the words, but it sounded like a submission, and the doors opened shortly after, proving he had been dismissed. Daemon’s hand on her arm captured her attention, and he tugged her from the wall, further down to the darkness. She followed without protest.

They did not return to the hall in which they had entered the passage; but Daemon seemed to know where he was going, as their darkened path turned, narrowed, widened, and dropped. There seemed to be no sense to the maze, but before long, they had stopped and she heard Daemon pressing against the stone. Something shifted and a doorway was revealed.

They emerged in his bedchambers, the space only vaguely familiar to Rhaenyra now; she hadn’t been inside them since she was a little more than a child. Daemon had often preferred spending his time in the city among the small folk rather than at court.

“It is done,” she exhaled her relief, as Daemon closed the passage behind them, “Otto has been dismissed as Hand. Though it seems he still believes you did more than touch me in the brothel. You might be right about our wedding night; I doubt much else besides a proper bedding ceremony will convince him or any others who doubt that I yet remain-”

Her sentence faded as she realized Daemon was still staring at the hidden passage wall, his eyes distant in lost thought.

She walked over to him and placed a hand on his chest. The touch thawed him and his gaze found hers, burning with something she could only guess at.

“I know that you are not using me for the crown” she assured him, “Otto speaks falsely and my father knows it.”

Daemon shook his head, “It’s not his tired insults that bother me.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Something Viserys said,” He leaned back against the wall, the ornate carvings of their ancestry peering over them from the high stone, “Otto replaced my father as Hand, after his death.”

Rhaenyra had heard the history well before that day, “Yes?”

“Viserys claimed it a dark wit of the gods. He scoffed Otto’s good fortune, how it worked in his favor,” Daemon’s jaw flexed, ideas turning in his mind, “I can not help but wonder if it were more than that.”

Rhaenyra’s brows drew together as she made meaning of his words.

“You think it was intentional.”

Not a question. She knew this was his thought.

“My brother was right,” Daemon insisted, “Our father was at the peak of his health. Still young, strong. Illnesses can strike anyone, I know, but the timing…”

“Five days,” she recalled, “But surely if my father thought something was amiss, he would not have-”

“I’m not sure he realizes what he voiced,” Daemon exhaled, “Viserys was always a blind fool when it came to those he cared about. I doubt he would think Otto capable of it.”

Rhaenyra frowned. It was one thing to offer disrespect to the crown and to stretch above one’s station, as Otto had done, but what Daemon spoke of was treason. It wasn’t that she could not believe the man capable of it, but Otto was smart. Perhaps too smart for such a risk.

“Even if he were, would there be a way to prove it?” Rhaenyra asked. She crossed her arms as a chill ran through her body, “Otto isn’t the kind of man who would stain his own hands with the crime.”

“No, he’s not,” Daemon agreed, the pinched expression deepening on his face.

He let out a heavy sigh.

“I’ll look into the matter myself. There are ways to confirm the suspicions, but it will take time.”

He reached out between them, his palm up, beckoning hers. Rhaenyra crossed the little space between them and let Daemon take her hands. His fingers tightened around hers as he brought their clasped grips up to his chest. His eyes bore heavy into hers.

“You should not be alone in the coming weeks,” he said without a hint of his usual mock or taunt, “If I am not with you, a Gold Cloak will be.”

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile at his concern, “I have my sworn shield, you know.”

Daemon tensed, “You speak of Ser Crispin.”

“Criston Cole,” she corrected, “Yes, he-”

“Made a choice that compromised his position,” he spat, “He would have broken his vows to put his cock where it doesn’t belong, and has proven himself untrustworthy. He is not fit to serve you.”

Rhaenyra laughed, “You’re only angry with him because he nearly had me first. Perhaps you would not have desired me, so ruined by another.”

Daemon dropped her hands to grab her waist instead. In a blink, he had turned them, so her back was against the wall and his body caged hers in.

“Pleasure is not a ruin,” his grip hurt in the most delicious way, “You could have fucked whoever you liked for years and it would not have changed my desire for you. But Cole was your sworn protector. How can he watch over your back if you have him on his?”

She flushed at the image he painted, but Daemon was serious, “There can be no confliction between duty and desire, Rhaenyra. He can not protect you while he thinks of fucking you.”

It was difficult to resist playing with fire. “Funny. You’ve somehow managed it.”

Daemon blinked at her response, then a sinister smile broke through his ire. He lifted his hands to the sides of her neck, his fingers pressing into her face as he tilted her head back.

“ We are Targaryen, capable of more than mere men. And you, little dragon, have been mine to protect since the day of your birth.”

“Yours to protect,” she agreed, breathing heavily, “And sooner than late, yours to fuck.”

She wasn’t entirely convinced he wouldn’t take her right then and there, the way his eyes darkened.

“Not soon enough.”

Of that, she completely agreed.

Chapter Text

Daemon Targaryen was not a patient man. He’d grown up as a beloved Prince in the city. He was knighted young, claimed a dragon shortly after, and had indulged in every pleasure offered to him for as long as he could recall. If he wanted something, there was a way to get it; it was only a matter of price. Or in this case, time. He loathed the need to wait, but he prided himself on his wit and ability to smartly strategize, and in this endeavor a little patience would serve him well.

He wanted Rhaenyra. Since he had returned to King’s Landing and laid eyes upon his Princess again, a desire unlike any he’d ever felt had coiled deep in his stomach and it refused to be satisfied. She had the soft curves of a woman now and the vicious tongue of a dragon, capable of beckoning him and enslaving him all within the same breath.

It was unsettling, in truth, how easily her daring smile and quick wit made it seem as if all was right in the world and he’d finally made it home. But that was not all he’d found unsettling of late. His brother’s words to Otto Hightower ran rampant in his mind.

Otto had a hand in his father’s death; of this, Daemon had no doubt. The extent of such treason, however, and what he could prove of it, was so far unknown. Baelon had been dead too many years to offer much answer and Viserys had always been too blind to the treachery that threatened to devour him. But if that fucking Hightower cunt was willing to levy a generational attack on the Crown, Daemon would see him exposed before it ever rested on Rhaenyra’s head.

“Are you troubled, My Prince?”

He was pulled from his thoughts by his companion, a frown setting deeply into the knight’s face, “Is the training not to your liking?”

If treachery had an opposition, Daemon was certain it was the man before him.

Ser Harwin Strong was a large and honorable man. He had trained beneath Daemon when he first constructed the City Watch, never once uttering complaint at the rigorous regiment. And Daemon had not gone easy on the men.

Harwin had proven himself even further in the years Daemon was at war, leading the Gold Cloaks in his absence. The man was loyal, true to his morals, and unafraid to swing his fist as well as his sword when the need called for it. Daemon did not trust many, but Harwin Strong had earned his respect time and time over.

“The training is acceptable,” he assured the knight, turning from the recruits to lean against the railing of the observation deck where they stood, “The men however…time shall tell.”

Harwin chuckled, twirling his sword over in his hands, “You’ve made more of less. This lot has no less potential than I, when you first formed the Watch.”

“Coming from the knight they call Breakbones.”

An easy grin was his only response, the well earned title needing no defense.

“I suspect such strength will soon serve you well,” Daemon continued, “If Lord Corlys agrees to the crown's offer.”

Rhaenyra’s plans and the impending transitions had been easily accepted at the council meeting that morning. No doubt Lyonel Strong was still coming to terms with his new elevation, but his son needed no such adjustment.

Harwin nudged Daemon’s arm with his elbow before resting them against the rail.

“I’ve heard many rumors of the Lady Laena of late…I look forward to seeing if they are true.”

The sound of swords clashed below, followed by a shout from one of the officers. Daemon allowed the amused silence to fall between them as they watched one of the trainees fall to the ground by his opponent. Another attempt to strike was made, another mouth of dirt was eaten.

“Gods be good, this is painful to witness,” Harwin laughed. “There is no need for you to suffer it as well, my Prince. I can oversee the training, if there are more important matters you need to attend?”

A shout from the piss poor trainee cracked as the officer pummeled his nose with the hilt of his sword.

“And what matter would be worth missing this fascinating display?” Daemon droned with a wave of his hand over the scene below. He wished he had a jug of wine nearby.

“The Princess Rhaenyra, perhaps?” Harwin had never been one for subtlety. “It seems that your betrothed needs frequent attending as of late.”

Daemon smirked, glancing over at the knight, “I should thank you, for ensuring her safe return to the Keep this night past. I’m certain she did not make it pleasant, if her frustration with me was anything to judge by.”

“She has quite the edged tongue for a maiden so recently bloomed,” Harwin agreed with a grin, “Though I suppose we should expect no less from our future Dragon Queen.”

The Dragon Queen .

The title did not evoke quite the same image of feeble innocence as The Realm’s Delight, but Daemon had no doubt that Rhaenyra would don the role as thoroughly as she had the first.
Ser Harwin was right. Despite Viserys’ desire to cling to her youth, Rhaenyra was blossoming into a woman true, a once precious crowned jewel growing sharp teeth, worthy of a dragon. She would be revered and feared, a much better ruler than her predecessor.

It was disappointing that Viserys would pass before her reign, though Daemon intended to make sure it was some years yet.

He’d sent letters to his contact beyond the sea shortly after the council meeting had ceased, but expected it would be days until a response was rendered. In the meantime, he would personally monitor his brother’s health and oversee the safety of the crown’s heir.

Daemon’s gaze raked over the few other persons on the overseeing perch. A protection guard, two servants with pitchers of water. He waved a hand to dismiss them.

“Leave us,” he commanded when the guard hesitated. The man bowed and followed the attendants from the perch.

Ser Harwin had turned to him fully, ever intuitive and ready for action.

“I have a request of you, Ser.”

“Speak it, my Prince,” Harwin offered without pause.

“Until further arrangements are made, I want you to act as Princess Rhaenyra’s sworn shield.”

Harwin tilted his head, his expression curious, “As you command, of course. But I am not a Kingsguard. My vows as a Gold Cloak do not limit as-”

“I do not give a fuck about the vows of the guard,” Daemon cut him off, “Bed whom you like, remain the inheritor of Harrenhal. I do not ask that you don a white cloak. Though,” he considered, “If you wish to rip Ser Criston’s from his back, I would have no qualms.”

The grin returned to Harwin’s face, “The Princess’ personal guard has found ill favor with you?”

Daemon made a noise of agreement, non-committal as it was.

“Can’t say I think much of the lad,” Harwin mused, “He fights well enough, but rose too quickly with Rhaenyra’s favor. She is young and perhaps allowed him too much leave.”

“She thinks him a friend,” Daemon scoffed, “An object of sation to her whims. But I have seen his eyes upon her. He dreams of sheathing his cock more than his sword and that presents a liability.”

“I doubt he’ll favor the demotion.”

“His favor is not my concern,” Daemon said, thrumming his fingers against the pommel of Dark Sister, imagining how easy it would be to rid himself of Cole all together, “If his tongue insists on wagging complaint, I’ll relieve it from his head.”

As all who would take such liberties deserved. Cole. Otto. The fucking Grand Maester if falsehoods were revealed in Viserys treatment. Corruption had been allowed to bleed into the walls of the Red Keep during his time at war, and Daemon was determined to rid his home and House of all betrayal.

He imagined Otto’s head spiked on the city wall and could not deny the pleasure the idea brought him. Food for the flies, the deceitful cunt deserved no better. He had always spoken against Daemon, doing all in his power to turn Viserys against him, and now to think he may have also had a hand in Baelon’s untimely demise?

Daemon would not lay in wait to see how such a threat would reach Rhaenyra. With the birth of the king’s son, the Hightowers had gained all needed motivation to remove her from the line of succession. And had they not already attempted to soil her reputation?

Daemon had known it was a risk, taking Rhaenyra out into the city, especially to a brothel on the Street of Silk, but he had been unable to help himself.
He had not expected, upon his return home, to find a Rhaenyra that was jaded, sharp-tongued, and flourished in Valyrian beauty…and on the receiving end of his brother’s ire. He himself had been the object of Viserys’ wrath enough times to recognize the coldness in which the king had treated his heir.

When Daemon had heard of his niece’s tour of the kingdom, heard that she was seeking a husband among the Lords of the great houses, he’d known immediately that it had not been Rhaenyra’s idea. He had imagined the convincing his brother had done to get her to entertain such a farce. He was not surprised that she had returned to King’s Landing before its conclusion. Rhaenyra had always been a willful thing, and Viserys should have known that he could not force her to an action she did not desire.

The anger between father and daughter had been tangible, and it all came back to Aemma. Of course it did. Aemma, and Viserys being ever the fool.

Rhaenyra feared marriage and fucking and childbirth. After bearing witness to the life drawn from her mother’s body for years in strain to produce a male heir, how could she not? The end result to each was the same: death.

When opportunity presented itself for Daemon to show her that the same future did not have to await her, he’d taken it. While far from selfless, his intentions with Rhaenyra were commonly to her pleasure rather than his own. The bond that had always tethered him to his beloved niece derived from their shared interest, even when she was yet a child, and he had spent years spoiling her, doting on her, loving her as his blood.

She had matured in his time away, in body and in mind, and this new being before him was fascinating. Her fears so easily given to him in the language of their ancestors bode of the trust she still placed in him, despite the years apart. Yet she was quicker than ever with witty retorts and saw into the truth of his intentions as well as she ever had.

“There is surely more to your return than simply taunting my father…so, what do you want?”

She had known, even as Viserys remained oblivious, that there was further reason for his homecoming. Had bade the truth from him in the waves of the sea, her Valyrian eyes darkening against the gray skies as they bore into his own. She had demanded answer from him and he had given it.

“I want to see our House rise to its proper glory. I want dragons to rule over Westeros and for our name to be made immortal throughout the seven kingdoms as we bring the Valyria of Old back to life.”

Their ancestral homeland was a blood calling that could never be answered. Daemon saw it in his dreams, felt the longing in his very soul, to return to the seat of the old magic, where dragons were born and fire ruled. He’d studied the histories, learned the language, and wondered if it would ever be enough to quench the ache for a home that no longer existed.

Valyria was gone, the might of which maybe never to be seen again.

But dragons lived.

The blood of Old Valyria ran through the veins of precious few, but it was not yet gone from the world.

Daemon had several reasons for his return to King’s Landing.

He’d wanted to test his brother’s resolve; to see if enough time had passed that Viserys would take any action against his appearance. Another part of him had wanted to show his brother that he’d won the Steps, without the help of the crown, and that Viserys had been wrong to ever doubt him. A smaller part of him had missed his family, his blood. But with a list of all the encouragement to return, his one desire remained true above all else.

Targaryens had ruled over Westeros for a hundred years, yet their glory dimmed and their power grew ever more hollow. If something did not change soon, Daemon feared the dynasty of his House would reach its end. His brother alone had almost seen to it; his only saving grace was that he still held firm to Rhaenyra as his heir.

Rhaenyra.

Gods, she was a true Targaryen. A dragon to the bone and fit to rule with proper guidance. She’d proven that to Daemon the day she had confronted him on Dragonstone, levying Syrax as a weapon to her advantage and showing no hesitation to demand answers for his insolence. And she had been still near a child, then.

Now…

Maybe it was the dwindling of their bloodline that had first struck the idea into Daemon’s head, but from the moment Aemma was given to Viserys, he’d desired a Valyrian match for himself. Dragons were supposed to be with dragons.

Rhaenyra was his match. A part of him had always known it, and their night in the city had sealed any doubt. She was more like him than Viserys probably wished, daring and angry and beautiful and spoiled. But she was also kind. She was smart.

With her, the age of the Dragon would not end, but flourish. Daemon intended to be the sword at her side, making it so.

“Oversee the men for today,” he said decisively, straightening as a plan of action took root in his mind, “Then get some rest so you may relieve Ser Cole in the morning.”

Ser Harwin nodded, and Daemon turned, leaving the deck as he considered the foes of the crown and the threats they may present to his future bride.

Otto had been given a report of his night with Rhaenyra in the pleasure house by someone who’d have something to gain from obtaining the information. And Daemon knew exactly who in the city dealt in both the skin trade and secrets of the realm.

The cobble stone cracked beneath the weight of his boots as Daemon found himself on the Street of Silk. In the light of day, it appeared no more appealing than any other aspect of Flea Bottom, though the scents from the night lingered and more than one patron who had found themselves lost in their cups were slumped against a wall or door, unconscious.

Those who were moving about, selling their wares or otherwise busying their day bowed in deference as he passed, scrambling from his path as though he might trample them if they did not. He supposed he struck a different image now, armored and carrying his sword at his side. His own golden cloak swirled near his ankles with each step.

He thought briefly of the new recruits as he neared his destination. It was unlikely even half would have withstood his training before his time at war…now, the number would be even smaller. Despite being royal, he had always fit well within the city and its lower born citizens…but Kings Landing and all of Westeros would soon be Rhaenyra’s to rule. The Kingsguard, eventually turned Queensguard, would protect her person, but Daemon intended to scorch the Capital of the petty crimes and hidden dangers that would reflect ill on her reputation. With Otto dismissed as Hand it would be easier to accomplish the original intent for his Gold Cloaks, and by the time Rhaenyra took the throne, the city would be safe. It was important that the common folk associate the depletion of the criminal element with Rhaenyra’s crowning.

“My Prince!” A hushed exclamation recaptured his attention as he entered the receiving room of a particular brothel. The woman who had spoken was vaguely familiar to him, a madam, and she bowed her head as he approached.

“We were not expecting you,” she said apologetically, “But I have some girls who are more than suitable to-”

“I’m not here for your offerings,” he waved away her words, then lowered his voice, “I’m looking for another madam. Mysaria. Do you know of her?”

The woman nodded and, taking his cue, spoke quieter as well, “Yes, sire, but she no longer works as a madam. She has a room in a place near Shae’s Manse.”

Daemon wasn’t sure if the news surprised him or not.

“Are you literate?” he asked. The woman nodded. “Good. Write down the path to this place as best you can. Then forget we spoke of the matter.”

Another bow, “Yes, my Prince.”

It took little effort to find Mysaria’s new home with the directions the woman had given him. He thought, for a moment, as eyes followed him through the city that it might be best to conceal himself and slip inside the holding unnoticed…but he’d known Mysaria for too long to expect her not to know he’d come anyway. She had always been exceptionally good at reading people, after all. It was what made her such an accomplished madam. Former madam. Whichever.

So he entered the home without caution and found a simple, empty room where little more than some dresses and womanly care items would hint that anyone occupied it at all.

He was not a patient man; but this was not about him. Rhaenyra had been followed the night he’d taken her through the city, and the culprit had reported back to the Hand, whose sole purpose was to hurt Rhaenyra. And when it came to the protection of his little dragon, Daemon had all the time in the world.

Helaena may have less Targaryen blood than she, but Rhaenyra could not deny that her half-sister had inherited the best of the Valyrian traits. Her eyes were a soft blue, rather than purple, but there was a certain lavender tint to them in the light of the midday sun. And her sweet curls were an identical silver to the loose braids that fell from the crown of Rhaenyra’s head.

“She is going to be a great beauty,” she declared, and Alicent, who was sitting next to her on the grass, let out a hum.

“She is a Targaryen princess. The beauty is well known.”

Rhaenyra smirked, holding a sticky fruit out to the babe. She took it and began to gum it with the few teeth she had grown in the past months.

“I think she looks like her mother,” she offered, “If her mother had lighter hair and less furrowed brows.”

“They are not furrowed,” Alicent insisted, sitting straighter.

Rhaenyra pulled a blade of grass from the dirt and tossed it at her, “Liar. You’re troubled. It’s a beautiful day and you’re troubled.”

Alicent had been at the council meeting earlier that morning. Otto had not glanced her way once, and Rhaenyra had not missed the slight. The elder girl sighed, and it was so easy to see her that way, as a girl still, rather than the queen and a mother of two. How many days had they spent just like this, the two of them alone in the gardens, wasting hours to confide their thoughts and future hopes.

“Your father remains in the city,” Rhaenyra pointed out, “He accepted the position of Master of Laws.”

“I know,” Alicent’s hands folded into her lap as Helaena tapped Rhaenyra’s leg, wanting another treat. She complied with the toddler’s wish, but did not break her gaze from Alicent.

“I suppose I thought that he might not,” she finally admitted, “And that I would no longer feel as if his shadow loomed over me.”

“It doesn’t,” Rhaenyra said.

“It does, though,” Alicent watched Helaena and smiled sadly, “He already makes plans for my children…he does not see me as the Queen. I am still his daughter. Still a piece to use towards his purpose.”

The belief was so hollow in her eyes, that Rhaenyra was once again struck with the desire to toss Otto from one of the Keep’s high balconies. It had all been so terribly unfair…but no longer.
She reached for Alicent’s hand and squeezed in tightly within her own until the young woman looked at her.

“You are the royal consort. You are a Targaryen now. Aegon and Helaena are your children, not Otto’s. He decides nothing anymore.”

Alicent looked doubtful, but a small smirk teased the corner of her lip, “Is it that simple? You say it is so, and so it is?”

“Yes!” Rhaenyra grinned, “Because we are young and our fathers grow older. Our wills and desires will create a new order for the Realm.”

“You spend too much time in the clouds,” Alicent jested with a laugh, and Rhaenyra arched her brow.

“Really? Then I suppose you wouldn’t believe that my father gave leave for us to decide whom your children will be betrothed to?”

Alicent’s smile slipped, a blank shock taking its place, then a frown, “I don’t think the king would allow such a choice to be left to the likes of us, Rhaenyra.”

A week past, Rhaenyra might have agreed. But things were changing. She was changing. And the realm would have no choice but to fall in line.

“I had an idea,” she admitted, not bothering to look sheepish over the conspiracy, “A match for Helaena that might allow her to avoid the same pageantry of being auctioned that all Targaryen princesses endure. I mentioned it to my father and he was agreeable, but we both decided that no move would be made without your approval as well. Helaena is your daughter, and you are one of us.”

The furrow returned to Alicent’s brow, but smoothed as she worked through the information presented. After a quiet moment, her hand squeezed Rhaenyra’s back.

“Who did you have in mind?”

Perhaps they were not still the girls they had been, after all. The lazy spring days spent giggling over attractive knights and court gossip had fallen way to political planning and courses of action that needed taking. Rhaenyra did not overly divulge in the big picture of what she and Daemon had discussed. She wanted to trust Alicent completely but felt that, for now, things were better to remain on a need-to-know telling.

She told Alicent of Laenor. Of the kind of husband he would be for Helaena and how rare it was to find such a man in the kingdom. How he was a dragonrider and that if Helaena ever claimed a mount, Driftmark was a suitable place for them both. She spoke of the importance of gaining favor with Lord Corlys and how, if Laenor took over for him in the future as the Crown’s Master of Ships, then Helaena would always remain close to the capital and to her mother.

By the end of her explanation, Alicent had drawn Helaena into her lap and was nodding her head.

“Viserys agreed to the match?” she asked, and Rhaenyra nodded, “He agreed to allow Daemon and I to extend the offer when we visit Driftmark at the week’s end…so long as you agree to it.”
“And what of Aegon? Will we be rushed to betroth him, being the elder, once Helaena is spoken for?”

“An engagement as long as this is placed to hold the alliance,” Rhaenyra reassured her, “To keep the pressure off of Helaena’s shoulders as she grows. No one would risk the Sea Snake’s ire by interfering with an agreed upon match. And as for Aegon, there is plenty of time to arrange his match. As a Prince, one of the few in the realm, the options will be carefully chosen and probably politically inclined…but my father will allow you to voice your input, the same as now.”

There was still a hint of doubt in the queen’s eyes, but she continued to nod her head.

“If…if you are certain that Viserys will allow it…”

“He will,” Rhaenyra insisted.

“And what of Laenor’s…proclivities?”

Of this, Rhaenyra had to be a bit more careful with her words. She knew Alicent kept the faith of the seven and had strong beliefs of honor and custom that were shared among most of the Andals.

“Laenor is a man,” she stated firmly, “He will do as he wishes, as men are allowed. But in ten years time, he may be less inclined to pursue such desires, in favor of the duty his father will expect of him.”

As Alicent considered that, Rhaenyra sighed, “His desires matter less than his character. He is a decent man, by all accounts. He will be a kind husband for my sister, and no older than my own husband shall be from me.”

The hint of a smile flashed on her friend’s face, though it was quickly stifled.

“Yes,” Alicent said, “Though I am not as sure that Prince Daemon is as inclined to abandon the pursuit of his desires.”

She leaned forward, adjusting Helaena in her arms, “Are the rumors true, Rhaenyra? Did he really take you to a pleasure house?”

The hint of a blush colored the Princess’ cheeks, but she nodded, “He took me out into the town, yes, and we spectated a show at one of the brothels.”

“More than spectated, the way I hear it,” there was a chiding tone to the tease, “Gossip spreads so easily, you could have called into doubt your virtue.”

“Oh, let the high lords doubt and the ladies gossip,” Rhaenyra leaned back on her arms, “I know the truth of what happened. I do not regret going, and I would do it again.”

Now it was Alicent who was blushing, releasing the wiggling toddler in her lap to focus fully on Rhaenyra.

“So, you…you did not…”

“Fuck Daemon in a pleasure house?” Rhaenyra finished, arching her brow, “No. I did not.”

Alicent dropped her head, “Apologies. I did not mean to imply that-“

“I do not take offense,” Rhaenyra assured her, “I chose to go with him, and I knew, even in the moment, how things may appear but I could not help myself. Daemon made me realize things about myself that I…”

She sighed heavily, chewing her bottom lip as she considered how best to word the enlightenment he had given her.

“I have been afraid of marriage since my mother died,” she said plainly, “Afraid of my own life being discarded so my husband may have a son to take my throne. I do not fear that from Daemon.”

“I suppose I can understand that,” Alicent admitted, “He cares for you.”

“He does,” Rhaenyra nodded, “And that night at the brothel, though I remain a maiden, he showed me that the marriage bed could hold more purpose than just producing heirs. There is pleasure to be had in it. For the woman as well as the man.”

Of this, Alicent seemed less certain.

“Our pleasure is of no consequence,” she said, straightening, “It is not required for children.”

“No, but it sure makes the idea of the act far less dreadful,” Rhaenyra laughed shortly.

Alicent’s expression grew somber, “It is a duty, no matter the outcome. One we must uphold.”

“Uphold, perhaps,” Rhaenyra allowed, “But not dread. No matter what the Septas teach as proper.”

Alicent sighed, “Septa teachings are all we had. Both our mothers were gone from the world before we were of an age to prepare for marriage. Those duties of marriage…how could we have known?”

Rhaenyra felt a retort touch her tongue, but bit it back as she looked over at her old friend. There was a far off look in Alicent’s eyes, and it dawned on Rhaenyra that she should hesitate to go down this particular path of discussion. After all, the duties in which Alicent spoke were shared with her own father, and did she really desire the details of that coupling?

No.

Yet, just as truthfully, Alicent was the only woman who may understand her position. The uncertainty and wonder of the unknown. The details of the marriage bed that the Septas did not speak of.

“Is the pain terrible?” She could not stop herself from asking.

Alicent blinked over at her, as if taken aback by the inquiry, and Rhaenyra added, “I do not ask for the details, of course…just a better idea of what to expect. You are the only one I can talk to who knows, who will give a truthful answer. The septa told us once that the pain of your first bedding is an honor…what is it really like?”

Alicent studied her for a moment, hand clenching as though she wished to pick at the skin of her fingers, before giving a short nod.

“There is pain, at first, though I suppose the extent is different for all. My ladies maids who attended to me after the ceremony brought me a salve from the Maesters. It helps. The next time was…less discomforting.”

Rhaenyra’s mind whirled. She wanted to ask so many things, but she did not want the images in her mind of her father and Alicent; did not want to imagine them sharing what she had just begun to share with Daemon.

“It helps if he is gentle with you,” Alicent said quietly, almost a whispered secret between them, “I admit, I have doubt that Daemon is capable of that. I worry that he might- that it might hurt you more if he is not. He has never made a secret of his appetites.”

“No,” Rhaenyra mused, feeling more humor than fear at the thought, “Though I suppose, if nothing else, my pain will serve to disprove the rumors, as it would seem brutality is the only thing the high lords understand.”

Alicent flinched slightly, and Rhaenyra frowned, trying to imagine how it must have felt for the girl to have endured that brutality alone. Forced to wed and bed a man not of her choice, being called upon like a broodmare, having no desire in the act of coupling. It was so very near what Rhaenyra’s own future could have been. What the realm would have expected and wanted of her.

Not for the first time, Daemon’s voice echoed in her thoughts, his words of fucking being a pleasure, of forgetting her teachings and giving him all of her desires. His touches and heated stare taunting her into forbidden acts, feeling starved for more and coiled with anticipation to finally have his body within her own. How rare was it throughout the realm, for a woman to have that in a match? She knew many women who loved their husbands, but this burning insatiable desire Daemon brought out in her?

Perhaps that was saved for those of dragon’s blood. After all, her parents had shared a bed every night between the times of pregnancies that required Aemma her own space. The Princess Rhaenys had flown her dragon to Driftmark to claim the husband she wanted, and had shown nothing but loyal devotion to Lord Coryls since.

Maybe that was the woman she should be talking to.

Helaena gurgled out broken words as she pulled at some flowers growing in the nearby grass, and Rhaenyra’s attention was drawn back to the garden.

“She is all but walking now,” she acknowledged, letting the heavier discussion fade as both she and Alicent watched the babe.

Alicent chuckled, “And soon she will be running and I’ll have two to chase around.”

They laughed and a breeze off the nearby sea brought the tainted scent of salt through the floral that surrounded them.

“It will be beautiful weather for the feast celebrating your engagement,” Alicent smiled, “Your father has requested musicians and a grand table adorned with your House colors. It will be quite the party, I expect. Have you chosen a dress yet?”

They fell into an easy conversation about the upcoming parade of celebrations that followed a royal wedding, and Rhaenyra thanked the gods that these were no longer things to dread. The thought of her father announcing to the realm that Daemon would be her husband filled her with joy unparalleled. The future, once a vague and lonely prospect, seemed to suddenly spark with promise and hope.

She leaned back and breathed in the salty floral air as Alicent spoke of plans to choose fabrics for her gown. Ivory silk, golden dragon scales, blood red rubies to adorn her hair. A Targaryen bride down to the Valyrian steel that wrapped around her throat; more collar than jewelry. But she found she didn’t much mind feeling claimed, even when her uncle had first fastened the piece behind her neck. It was just another tether between them, another unspoken promise that she was not alone. Beloved niece, beloved wife, beloved queen.

Yes, the future appeared very promising indeed.

Chapter Text

The sun had dipped much further toward the horizon line by the time Rhaenyra’s visit with Alicent was interrupted. The Prince they had been discussing appeared through the garden gate, still donning his armor. Dark sister was at his side; his helmet beneath the opposite arm. He struck quite the image.

“I thought I might find you here,” he called out, strolling over in that casual way of his; certain with each step as though he owned the very dirt he walked on.

Ser Criston was close behind him.
The knight had taken up post by the garden wall while Rhaenyra and Alicent visited. His eyes were now trained on Daemon, narrow and focused, as if expecting him to suddenly attack. Of course he didn’t, but Daemon’s voice, so suddenly present, did give Helaena a start and the toddler fell onto the grass in his path.

Rhaenyra and Alicent both climbed to their feet as Daemon chuckled and reached down to scoop the girl up as she began to cry.

He seemed determined to ignore Criston at his back and spoke quietly to the child. Helaena did not protest the attention, but her lip quivered until she was handed back to her mother.

“It appears we will soon have another princess terrorizing the castle,” Daemon smirked at Rhaenyra and only then tossed a glance back at Cole, “With hopefully as vigilant a dog.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, “Play nice.”

He made a gruntled noise at that and Rhaenyra smiled at Criston over his shoulder, waving a hand to assure him that all was well. He lingered hesitantly for a moment, then dipped his head and faded back against the wall; but remained within sight.

Rhaenyra did not fully understand the tension between the two men, other than some warped sense of duty and jealousy, but none the matter. Daemon was standing before her and she couldn’t help but admire how well suited his armor was on him, and how much wear it had sustained in his time at war. Marks and scratches in the metal where arrows and swords had tried to kill him. Each failing in their attempt.

There was also a splatter of red just beneath his chest.

“You’re bleeding,” she frowned, reaching toward the source, but Daemon caught her hand as it passed.

“Not my blood,” he promised and shot Alicent a look before smiling charmingly, “Small training mishap….We will discuss it later.”

He squeezed her hand as he shifted into the language only she would understand, and Rhaenyra met his piercing gaze. Her curiosity grew; she was never one for patience, but it was clear he wished to wait until they had privacy before divulging whatever had transpired.

“How is the training coming along?” Alicent asked, as polite and respectable as ever.

Daemon’s eyes went back to her and to the babe in her arms.

“The men have potential,” he stated, the casual air sounding forced to Rhaenyra’s ears alone, and she realized that something wasn’t right.

Daemon was aloft, but seeking out her eyes even as he answered Alicent’s questions. She felt he was trying to communicate something to her, but she could not be sure.

“We were just discussing the feast,” Alicent was saying, but dropped her voice since she too had noticed Rhaenyra’s sworn shield not far away, “Celebrating your engagement. It is shaping into a grand event. I can only imagine what the wedding will be like.”

“A ceremony worthy of the heir to the throne,” Daemon’s smile was more genuine this time, “Though if it were up to me-“

“You’d take me to Dragonstone today and make me your wife,” Rhaenyra smirked, knowing exactly how close her betrothed held to Valyrian traditions.

Daemon’s eyes flared with his desire to do just that, and he chuckled.

“As it were, I expect your father to insist on a proper ceremony in the Sept. It is where your parents were married, and mine before them.”

Rhaenyra nodded but the pageantry of such an event before the faith of the seven interested her very little. She was willing to endure for the outcome, but she would be just as happy with a Valyrian ceremony of blood and fire, especially if it meant not having to wait so many excruciating months.

“Soon,” Dameon told her, his voice deepening with their ancestral tongue, and the promise of her future was in the word.
Rhaenyra shifted with anticipation.

“Alicent, you had mentioned upon my return that the King was gifted new tapestries,” Daemon let the moment pass, floating his eyes from her to the queen consort, “If the offer still stands, I would like to see them.”

It was a kindness, Rhaenyra thought, as Alicent beamed at the request and nodded. She knew her father had rudely brushed the suggestion off when it had first been made, but she’d been so distracted by her own frustrations and her uncle’s return to really think much on it.

Daemon, however, seemed to understand that it meant something to Alicent and followed her across the garden to the hall where the tapestries were strung on display. Alicent’s lady’s maids trailed behind at a distance, accompanied by Ser Criston, who still appeared troubled.

Rhaenyra had a mind to talk with him later about whatever was the source of this problem. She frowned over at him as he settled against one of the far walls, far enough away that she could no longer read his expression, but he was tall and focused; she could feel his eyes on her. She ignored them, focusing instead on Alicent as she explained the significance of each tapestry and the images imprinted upon them. Daemon was solemn in his stance, staring at Alicent as Rhaenyra stared at him.

It was subtle, the way his body shifted, his head tilting as Alicent spoke, and it was strategic. Not a kindness, she realized.

Daemon could not care less for the explanations of the tapestries, but he had already spoken the importance of having Alicent as an ally. Perhaps that was why he indulged her; including her into their family, their histories as they discussed the woven images until Helaena began to fuss.

A fuss which soon turned into a fit with screams.

“Apologies,” Alicent sighed with a hint of weariness, “It’s time for her to rest.”

“Of course,” Daemon allowed her the dismissal, and reached a finger out to the child’s cheek, wiping away a tear.

“You are a fierce one, aren’t you?” he told her, and smiled slightly, “Perhaps you shall overcome the misfortune of your blood and I will not have to toss you and your brother into the sea.”

Rhaenyra elbowed him, hurting herself more than him against the armor, and Daemon smirked.

“Behave,” she reminded him, despite the fact that Alicent could not understand the words he’d spoken, and was too distracted now by the ladies maids who’d come over to assist the crying babe to think about what he might have said.

Criston took notice of Alicent’s impending departure and walked over.

“Princess,” he addressed, tossing a brief look at Daemon before focusing solely on her, “Are you ready to return to the Keep?”

“I will be escorting the Princess back to her apartments,” Daemon said firmly, before tilting his head in the slightest of bows to Alicent, “And I suppose we will see you at supper.”

Alicent nodded and they said quick goodbyes, but Criston lingered. His gaze sought Rhaenyra’s and she could read in his eyes an expectation that she didn’t quite understand. Was he waiting for her to argue against her escort? To allow him leave now that Daemon would be with her?

She bade him good evening, assuring him that she would see him after supper, but it did little to wipe that questioning look from his expression. However, he bowed lowly and turned, leaving her alone with her uncle without another word.

Daemon did not speak either, as they made their way to the Red Keep, arms linked appropriately as he led her along the halls. Members of the court bowed their heads or curtsied as they passed, but Rhaenyra was not oblivious to the curious stares that lingered. She noted the way some of the Lords eyed her arm wrapped around Daemon’s as if it should not be there. She wondered how far the rumors of their night out in town had spread.

It matters not, she reminded herself.

Soon enough, the entire realm would know of their engagement and all rumors would be put aside upon their wedding day.

“Go into your chambers,” Daemon told her in a quiet tone as they reached her apartments, “You will need to be seen entering alone. But come to me through the hidden passages.”

“I’m not sure I know how-”

“The path will be dark, but our rooms are not far apart. Follow the east facing wall with your hand, until you reach a divot in the stone. There will be a turn a few steps ahead, on your right. Take that path until it ends and curves to the left. There will be a door a short ways ahead. Knock once and I will let you in.”

Rhaenyra nodded, repeating the directions in her head. “East wall. Turn right, curve left, door. Simple enough.”

Daemon chuckled, “If you do not show soon, I will come find you..”

“I will not get lost,” she insisted, a bit indignantly, which did nothing to lessen his amusement.

But others were passing in the hall, and they had an image to portray that would not allow them to linger here.

“Until I see you again, Princess,” Daemon brushed her knuckles with a kiss, and released her, turning down the hall for his chambers, and she smiled before making a show of entering her own rooms.

It had not been an exaggeration, the darkness of Maegor’s passageway. Rhaenyra had been so rampant with excitement the first night Daemon’s instructions had led her through them that she’d hardly taken notice. She noticed now, but trusted the directions she was given as she pressed her fingertips to the east facing stone wall, allowing the rough, cool texture to act as a guide as she started along the worn path. She imagined Daemon doing the same the past few nights that he’d come to her.

It was a rather short distance, the interior tunnel cutting the travel time between her room and his in half, and a smug satisfaction filled her chest when she noted the lit arch that must be the doorway to Daemon’s chambers.

As she’d been instructed, she knocked once, and waited.

Daemon had only just entered his apartments when he heard Rhaenyra’s knock. She had certainly wasted no time, and he appreciated the haste in which she came to him. He toyed with the idea of making her wait, of seeing how long she could endure standing on the other side of the door before her impatience got the best of her…but this was not a time for games.

He opened the door and his Princess grinned back at him, confident as she strode into his chamber.

“I told you I would not get lost,” she boasted, and Daemon chuckled as he took a seat on the chaise near his bed.

“I had faith in you.”

She fell silent, watching as he began to unlace his gauntlet and vambrace. He’d finished one arm before she moved close, expression curious.

“You’re so quick at that.”

He smirked at her, “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

Her eyes flickered to his, then to the arm that still bore his armor, “May I?”

Her hands were on him before he’d even nodded permission, feeling the woven pieces of his ties and figuring out how to best release them. He gave no aid at first, caught up in watching Rhaenyra’s nimble fingers dance around his armor, stripping the pieces with surety and purpose. There was a longing on her face that he’d taken note of before, when she’d asked him about the war in the Steps. He imagined it sounded quite fascinating to one who had been as coddled and sheltered as she had.

“You’re rather quick yourself,” he teased, as she stripped the metal from his arms, then shoulders, and Rhaenyra grinned with a wicked intent.

“Perhaps I’ve had practice as well.”

“Have you?” he took the bait, standing to his feet as she began to pull at the straps that laced his breastplate up his sides.

When she merely nodded, he crooked his head, “And whose armor have you been removing, Princess?”

Her eyes flashed to his again and her cheeks tinted pink, despite the aloofness of her tone.

She was serious.

“Criston,” he realized, and huffed an unamused laugh, “You really did intend to have your way with him.”

“I intend to have my way with you,” she smarted, yanking hard on one of the bindings. Daemon groaned and reached out for her, halting her movements as his palm came against her neck, forcing her gaze back to his.

“Once we are wed,” he promised her, “You may have me any way you like.”

Rhaenyra swallowed, her throat constricting beneath his touch, then her focus went back to task, her fingers working until his breastplate was loose enough to slip from his body.

Daemon expected her to continue to the next metal piece, but noticed that she had paused and was looking down at her hands. A red smear stood in deep contrast to his niece’s pale skin and he sighed.

“This was no training mishap, was it?” she asked him.

“No,” he answered in the common tongue, wrapping his hand around hers, “It was not.”

Rhaenyra’s lavender eyes did not waiver as they lifted to meet his. Her expression was neutral and her voice was steady.

“Whose blood have you spilled, Uncle?”

It had been clear, when Mysaria entered the small room, that she was not expecting anyone else to be there. It was rare to catch such a woman off guard, but Daemon had found no delight in the endeavor as she startled.

“...My Prince,” her chin lifted as she regained composure, “I had heard that you were back in the Capitol.”

She looked much the same as he remembered. Soft features and hard eyes that the passing years had only seemed to make more sharp.

She pulled the cloak she’d donned around her shoulders free and discarded it onto the bed, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Have I needed reason to visit before?” he taunted, watching the unease roll tension through her shoulders as her gaze pierced him.

“I’ve left that life behind,” she said simply, “I learned that skin-trade could only take me so far.”

Daemon stood, using Dark Sister as a brace and twirling her pommel in his hands. The tip of the blade dug into the wooden floor.

“You never were one to stay idle,” he acknowledged and she scoffed with a smile.

“Yes, well, hard lessons are not welcomed, but suffered.”

“I agree,” he lounged back on his heels, studying her, “But tell me, upon what suffering were you pushed from the life of a common whore to a trade of whispers and rumor?”

Her expression revealed nothing at his thinly veiled accusation.

“I deal not with rumors,” she said, after a pause, “If you have something to ask of me, my Prince, then speak it plainly. Surely we can afford each other that.”

Daemon strode forward, and to her credit, Mysaria held her ground.

“A few nights ago, you told the Hand of the King that the Princess Rhaenyra was compromised in a brothel. Do you deny it?”

Mysaria’s brow arched, “I might have. So might one of the dozens of others who were there that night. The way I hear it, you all but flaunted the girl about.”

Her hand lifted, brushing over the armor that covered his chest, stroking down it with a small smile, “You are not a subtle man, Daemon. You can not tell me that discretion was your intention.”

“I speak of your intention,” he said, grabbing her hand to stop the exploration and his grip tightened on her wrist, “in selling information that would call into question the virtue of the heir to the throne. Spreading such slander about the future queen…some might call that treason.”

Mysaria yanked her hand free from his.

“Is it more damning on the Princess’ reputation for the truth to be known,” her eyes narrowed, “Or to have been taken into such a public set in the first place and treated as a common whore by the likes of a prince who has already suffered the King’s exile?”

Pretense was gone now, and her teeth flashed, “Or did you not expect your brother would discover what you had done with his daughter?”

Mysaria had always spoken plainly to him. He’d allowed her as much during their time together, because he’d held a modicum of respect for anyone who could fight and endure to survive in the way that she had. But the threat she leveed now was not against him, and whatever loyalty had existed between them had disintegrated with the years.

“My brother has betrothed the Princess to me,” Daemon spoke the revelation calmly, “We will be wed at summer’s end.”

He was pleased by her surprised expression to the news, and took a step closer as his tone darkened, “So you might understand why I would take issue with anyone following her, spying on her, reporting back to high Lords that would see her usurped.”

At this, at least, Mysaria seemed to finally read the threat of his intent. Fear flickered, for the first time, across her features, but she recovered quickly.

“The King blesses you with the child-bride you’ve always desired and your repayment is to defile her? This must go beyond mere impatience to have what you want,” she sighed; it sounded weary, “But she is means to an end, is she not? You are using her, as you used me.”

“We are speaking plainly, aren’t we?” he taunted, “We used each other. I offered you protection and left you with the coin you needed to start this new life of yours-”

“After claiming plan to wed and impregnate me to the King,” she hissed, “When we both knew that for a lie. Even upon Dragonstone, while you kept me for entertainment, it was not I whom you desired. It was not I that you wanted when you asked for whores with silver hair. Your heart has always been set on her.”

“Perhaps you are right,” he saw no point in denying what was probably true. Whether it was a longing for Valyrian traits or Rhaenyra specifically, he could not be sure. But he was sure now that he belonged to his Princess. He was hers, as she was his. “For all your talents, you are not Rhaenyra.”

His hand tightened on his blade, but Mysaria was staring at him too intently to notice.

“She is the most important person in the world to me,” he admitted, “And your actions have jeopardized her, weakened her claim to the throne, and have given false power to those who would stand against her. That is treason.”

Mysaria’s jaw set stubbornly, “If my actions are treason, then what are your own?”

Dark Sister swished effortlessly through the air, cutting through skin and bone like butter as Daemon removed his old lover’s head from her shoulders. It dropped to the floor with her body, thudding sickly against the wood.

“Justified,” he answered, and grabbed the coat she had discarded to wipe the blood from his blade.

He would do it again. He told Rhaenyra this, after explaining what had happened to Mysaria. She did not say much in response to his revelation, but had nodded when he’d assured her that it needed to be done. Then she’d removed the rest of his armor, slower but just as thoroughly, thoughts far away the entire time.

Daemon had spoken the same reasoning to Viserys at supper, later that evening, informing the King that he’d discovered the source of the rumors that were spread and had insured that Otto’s spy would no longer be offering whispers to Rhaenyra’s demise.

His brother hadn’t said much on the matter either. Just patted his shoulder and stated that it was within his right as Commander to disengage any threat against the crown. He would send someone to clean up the mess and declare Mysaria’s execution sanctioned on the crime of treason.

Daemon expected he should feel more for the loss of a woman who had shared his bed on multiple occasions, over the expanse of years. She had known him, he supposed, in a way he’d allowed few others. They had understood each other. They’d known what things were, and what they were not.

But he would do it again.

He had but to look at Rhaenyra, smiling down into her cup with wine blushed cheeks as Viserys joked about some days gone by, and he knew in his heart that he’d behead a thousand more if it meant keeping his promises to her.

Time passed too slowly as they ate and visited, and all he wanted was to get his Princess alone again. She would meet his eyes over the table and smile softly, but he could not anticipate the thoughts in her head. The words that she did not tell him but he could see swimming through her gaze.

He was relieved when Viserys announced plans to retire for bed, and watched his brother depart the room before saying to Rhaenyra in their shared tongue.

“Say your farewells to Alicent and the half-spawns. There is a Gold Cloak outside to escort you to your room. I will be awaiting you inside.”

She nodded in a quick affirmation, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “Good night, Uncle.”

“Good night, Princess.”

Ser Criston had not been fond of the added escort, as he and the Gold Cloak walked Rhaenyra back to her chambers.

“Do you doubt that I am enough to protect you?” he muttered as they rounded the last corner to her rooms.

Rhaenyra smiled over her shoulder at him, “Of course not. But there have been many a rumor spread around the Keep as of late. There is no harm in being cautious.”

He had no retort for that, and they had reached their destination. She left him and the Gold Cloak to stand guard at her door before entering her chambers.

True to his word, Daemon had utilized their tunnels to beat her there, and was standing near the lit fireplace, his back to her. His head turned slightly as she entered the room, their eyes meeting over his shoulder.

He appeared bothered, his brows furrowing and his lips set in a straight line. She reached him, placed a hand on the middle of his back.

“Talk to me.”

He released a heavy breath; it almost sounded like a laugh.

“Here I was, about to command the same of you.”

Rhaenyra’s head crooked as he turned to face her.

“You have been silent since our conversation before dinner,” he pointed out.

She supposed he was right. She hadn’t been sure what to say when he’d told her what he’d done. That he had killed for her. Hunted down a threat to her crown and disposed of it, despite what the madam had once meant to him. She still wasn’t sure what to say; wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

“Rhaenyra, if you have thoughts about what was done, I-”

“I do not regret what you did,” she cut him off, “And I understand why you did it.”

She could give him that truth, at least, but was unsure how to express the heaviness it put in her stomach, to know him capable of it. Not of killing, of that she was certain her Uncle had never had any qualms, but a woman he had bedded, taken to Dragonstone and claimed plans to marry; he must have cared for her in some way. She knew Daemon was brave. He was a warrior. But how callous did that make him toward any that might stand in his path. She had thought he was joking when he mentioned beheading Otto Hightower and throwing her siblings into the sea, but…

She stared up into his dark purple eyes, seeing nothing in them but the devotion he always saved for her. No hidden depth of malice or treachery.

If anything, he had proven his word, to be ever at her side and to defend her claim against any who might threaten it. The Hand of the King. Her half-siblings. Old concubines. There was not one who could stand against her that Dark Sister would refuse to cut down. And while the ruthlessness of the matter was terrifying, Rhaenyra also felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

She was not alone. The support for her inheritance, ever waning since the birth of her half-brother, now held as steadfast as the hand lifting to her cheek.

“ It is us against all, Uncle,” she leaned into his touch, “We do as we must.”

It seemed as if some weight had left Rhaenyra’s shoulders, as she leaned into his chest, and Daemon held her to him, willing to carry whatever she needed of the burden his brother had entrusted to her. A woman yes, but his niece was still young in many ways. Young, beautiful, and spoiled. With the heart and fire to make for a good ruler. That was her privilege and duty to bear.

His was to ensure that those dainty hands now clinging to his neck were never dirtied by the ugliness of what awaited her ascension. Her rule, her life…that was his greater purpose now. For her, for the preservation of their family; their blood, there was nothing he would not do. Rhaenyra seemed to recognize this, even accept it. He had killed countless men in the Steps, but the lives he would take in her name boasted of a higher honor.

They are Targaryen. The blood of Old Valyria. Liken to gods and beasts.

Us against all, indeed.

He held his Princess close, practically purring in contentment as she nuzzled against his throat, her hair tickling the side of his jaw. She fit so perfectly to him, especially like this, where their chests each rose with matched breath and their hearts fell into equal pattern.

Rhaenyra crooned as he wrapped his arms more securely around her and lifted, so that she was laying in his embrace. He carried her the short distance to her bed and managed to pull away the sheet and quilts before releasing her onto them. She did not release him, however, and he ended up at her side, where she clearly intended for him to be.

It was near child-like, the way she curled into him, sought his warmth and dug a space for herself against him. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply. Her frame was so small when dwarfed by his own, and the sight of her sleepy smile as she rested her head on the crook of his shoulder was enough to resurge some long abandoned memories. For all her life, Rhaenyra had clung to him. She had been his, from the moment she was placed in his arms, though neither of them had known it until now. His. And he was hers.

“My little dragon,” Daemon sighed into her silver hair. Her breathing had mellowed as sleep crept upon her, and he kissed the top of her head, “It has always been us.”

Rhaenyra did not answer. Her small body rested heavily against the mattress and she did not stir as Daemon smiled and pulled her tighter into his embrace. She slept and he curled his body around her own. A true dragon protecting its hoard; the greatest treasure in all the Seven Kingdoms.

His.

Chapter Text

The court was bustling with an energy that had not been seen since Rhaenyra was named heir and the lords of all the great Houses had sworn their allegiances to her. Even the birth of the king’s son had not rallied as much anticipation as this, as the city awaited to hear who had been chosen as a match for their Princess.

The throne room was grandly decorated, bouquets of late spring roses, beautifully woven tapestries, and the bold banners of House Targaryen at every turn, calling no doubt as to who this feast was meant to celebrate, no matter her choice of husband.

Ser Criston Cole stood against one of the tall pillars of the room, one of several White Cloaks in attendance as the King and his Queen consort walked about, talking with guests who had arrived early and assuring all plans were being met for that evening’s grand feast.

He stood tall, armored and ready with his sword, duty bound to protect the king should any threat appear. However, Criston did not wish to be here this day, guarding the king. It was not his place, even if he was a member of the King’s Guard.

Since she had donned the White Cloak to his shoulders, elevating him further than any in his House had ever reached, Criston had served Rhaenyra. He’d stayed faithfully at her side in the years since, offering her safety and comfort as she navigated the duties of being her father’s heir.

Until this week, there was not a morning he did not greet her, an evening he did not see her safely to her chambers and stand watchfully for his shift outside her door. But yesterday morning had been different.

Harwin Strong, son of the new Hand of the King, had come to him with a royal decree. The knight would be temporarily taking over responsibility for Rhaenyra’s protection while Criston was to report with the rest of the White Cloaks for their duty of serving the king. Ser Harwin had left no room for argument and had offered no other information for the severance. He’d just handed Criston the parchment and posted himself outside of Rhaenyra’s room with a stony expression, the gold of his cloak catching the morning sun as it peaked through the hall’s window.

The removal would have been insulting, if Criston had not been waiting for something of the like to happen. He knew the king was aware of what had almost transpired between him and the Princess the night she had beckoned him to her bedchamber. He had foolishly hoped that the return of Prince Daemon and the changes upon the Small Council would be enough distraction that the king may forget his near failure.

It had worked, for a short time; bought him a few more days with the Princess. But Rhaenyra had been distracted as well, the return of her uncle capturing much of her attention, and the parade of expectation he expected the king had bestowed on her upon discovery of what they’d nearly done that night.

Now, a husband had been chosen for her. It was all anyone was talking about as they flitted in and out of the throne room, all the staff whispered and the lords and ladies made jesting bets on who the king had found worthy of his daughter.

Laenor Valeryon seemed to be the running victor, as rumor had circulated that the crown was once more in discussion with the Sea Snake. It made sense and was a smart match. The Valeryon fleet was formidable, they were a Valyrian house, and Laenor was said to be an honorable man and a brave knight. Criston had seen the other offerings the realm had put forth for Rhaenyra’s hand, and he had to agree that Ser Laenor would have the most appeal of those options.

He admired the Princess’ dedication to her duties. He knew how she hated the tour, how she loathed feeling as if she were being auctioned off, how little she desired marriage. Yet, she was the future queen, and the queen must marry. She must have an heir to take her place on the throne one day. It was the way of the world and there was honor in the sacrifices women made to provide their husbands with sons, and in Rhaenyra’s case, to provide the realm with princes and princesses to further her family’s dynasty.

He imagined it was much to bear, and she had certainly spoken her complaints quite freely in the past. But now that the time was upon her and her father had decided on a match, Rhaenyra was apparently committed.

It burned him, that he was so removed from her now, but Criston understood why the king would have decreed such. Hells, he was lucky he was still allowed to serve at Court and had not lost his White Cloak for the dishonor he had nearly brought himself and the Princess.

He had caught sight of her today and that would be enough. She had been with the queen after breakfast, joining the king in the throne room as long tables were brought in for the feast to be held. She had seemed content enough, smiling in earnest and reaching to hold her father’s hands as he spoke to her in quiet tones.

It wasn’t until Daemon had appeared that she’d left her father’s side. Criston’s chest tightened every time the prince set eyes upon Rhaenyra. He did not care for the predatory gleam within his gaze and questioned how she could not recognize the danger that lurked there.

The distance he himself had felt with Rhaenyra had begun when Daemon returned. Criston knew they were close, she had often spoken of her uncle with fondness and worry during his time at war. But the way the Prince doted after her now, bending to whisper in her ear, freely let his hand linger on her waist or arm…what might have been fine when she was but a child was improper treatment for a woman grown. Even if there had been nothing particularly noteworthy of the way Daemon had looped his arm through Rhaenyra’s, escorting her from the throne room just half an hour ago, the way he’d clung to her spoke of trouble and Rhaenyra’s laughter had echoed off the high ceiling of the hall as they left.

She was too trusting, too oblivious for her own good. Here she was, the heir to the throne, a woman engaged to marry, and still the Prince took such liberties. Criston wanted to follow them, wanted to wrap Rhaenyra beneath his cloak and hide her from all eyes and ill intentions. But he was stuck here, watching a room being decorated for a feast announcing her betrothal. It did not matter who the king had chosen for her match. They would not be worthy.

“Ser Cole-”

Criston was jarred from thought by the sudden appearance of the former Hand. Otto Hightower had barely said a word to him in the past four years. He was surprised the man knew his name.

“Lord Hightower…” Criston addressed.

Otto turned to stand beside him, not meeting his gaze as he lowered his voice.

“Are you not the sworn protector of the Princess? What are you doing here?”

The reminder was a bristle to Criston’s side.

“I am…was…the king has given me reassignment. Ser Harwin guards the Princess, now.”

“Harwin Strong is a Gold Cloak,” Otto practically spat the title. The disapproval was quiet, but obvious.

“He is the son of the new Hand,” Criston said as if Otto did not know as much. As if it was some sort of explanation at all.

“And sworn by oath to Daemon,” Otto glanced across the room to where the King was deep in discussion with another high lord. He turned fully to Criston, “I have seen you at the Princess’ side for years. You have cared for her, protected her. Now you say the king decided to trade you out for a man utterly loyal to her betrothed?”

Criston, who was becoming mildly annoyed at the interruption to his post, snapped to attention at Otto’s claim.

“Her betrothed?”

Otto took another quick glance around before meeting his gaze.

“Yes. The king has betrothed the Princess to his brother. The announcement will be made at the feast tonight,” he released a long sigh, “I have argued against the match, but his Grace will not see reason, and it has cost me my position. Yours as well, from the look of it.”

Criston’s mind reeled too quickly to give answer.

Rhaenyra was betrothed to Daemon. She would marry her uncle, and the king had approved the match.

His stomach turned at the thought.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, somehow managing to keep his voice level.

The Princess had often described Otto Hightower as a man who never acted without motive, but Criston could not see the purpose of what he now shared.

Otto released a quiet scoff, “Since his return to court, Prince Daemon has been manipulating all to have his way. His access to the Princess is all but assured with you cast aside and his own man put on her guard. I meant only to inquire the reason for your removal, as I have my doubts that it was the king who commanded it.”

“If I was removed at Daemon’s behest…” Criston’s stomach twisted again, “Do you think he intends the Princess harm?”

“Harm her? No…not yet,” Otto spoke through grit teeth, “Daemon desires the throne. He will need to put an heir upon her first. One of his own blood. I would expect a babe to come soon, too soon, after they are wed…and for Rhaenyra’s life to end shortly after.”

The words made sense. It was the only way Daemon himself might rule, unobstructed.

Criston’s hand shook against his sword, where he gripped the hilt. It was difficult enough to think that Daemon, the one person in the world he wished it would not be a dishonor to cut down, was permitted to marry Rhaenyra; but to know that he would mount her, claim her maidenhead and force a child upon her, all so he might rule…

The man was a dishonorable cur, slighting his king, taking a whore as a mistress, starting a war without the approval of the crown, stealing Rhaenyra away in the night to parade around a brothel, if rumor was to be believed…

He would ruin her. For his own selfish fucking gain, he would destroy the purest light in the kingdom, and there was not a damn thing anyone could do to stop it.

“It is no longer your duty,” Lord Otto murmured, as his daughter the Queen started toward them from across the large room, “But keep watch on the Princess as best you can, Ser. Daemon’s intentions are never clear, but I can assure you, they are not for her good.”

He looked at Criston a final time, “Report any concerns of note to me, and I shall try to reason with the King.”

Criston barely had time to nod before the Queen was calling her father’s attention, and Otto’s expression changed to a neutral tone. He stepped away from Criston as easily as he’d appeared at his side, leaving the knight to stew, think, and plan.

Rhaenyra was engaged to Prince Daemon. No one yet knew, but soon the news would spread from Sunspeare to Winterfell. There was such little time.

Alicent wondered how long her father would greet her with coldness. Since his dismissal he had hardly said a word in her direction, and when he did, it was with the reluctant deference to her position as Queen, and not as his daughter. Even now, as she greeted him, he merely bowed his head before turning from her.

Annoyed, and a little hurt by the action, Alicent followed in step after him.

“Father, a moment-” she beseeched, as he neared the archway that exited the throne room.

He slowed his step, hesitation apparent, but did not stop his retreat. She started with him down the long hall.

“What were you discussing with Ser Criston?” she asked.

She’d taken note of the two standing together, her father’s shoulders straight and tense as the knight had stared back at him with glowering eyes.

“Protection details,” he answered stiffly and stopped so suddenly that Alicent nearly rushed into him, “Nothing for you to concern yourself with, your Grace.”

The title was as sharp and cold as any other word he’d offered her of late.

Alicent sighed heavily, “Please, father…I know you are upset with me, but it was not my intention to see you removed as Hand. The king-”

“The king made his decision,” her father said flatly, “And so did you. You chose Rhaenyra, and in doing so, made my removal possible.”

Alicent shook her head and insisted, “I am sorry, but your informant was wrong! Rhaenyra swears her innocence and I believe her. You insisting otherwise is on the border of treason, father. The king could have your head and I do not wish it so.”

Her father’s eyes narrowed, and Alicent fought the urge to drop her gaze, to hide herself in the shroud of propriety as she had always been taught. They stood alone in the hall, save a single guard who was some distance away, and it was so easy to forget that she was not powerless against her father’s wishes.

“I speak the truth as I know it,” he said, and surprised her by reaching forward to cup her face in his hands, “You are no fool Alicent, yet you choose not to see it. Rhaenyra is not like you. She will do as she wishes and her father will insist on turning a blind eye to it. That is why I was removed.”

Alicent felt tears burn in her eyes as she pulled from his touch, “No. You were removed because you were relentless in advancing Aegon as heir! Had you not been so…”

The dark expression that clouded her father’s face was enough to make the words falter. She shook as he stepped nearer, but did not move away.

“Listen to me, my daughter,” his voice had dropped low, the rough whisper that had been near her ear for half her life, “the King will die. It may be months or years, but he will not live to be an old man. And if Rhaenyra succeeds him, war will follow. The realm will not accept her.”

Alicent wanted to insist that he was wrong. The king had declared Rhaenyra his heir. She was quite willful and too naive, perhaps, but she would be a good queen. Alicent truly believed that. The people would see, they would understand…

Her father reached out and gripped her shoulder, squeezing hard enough that she fought back a wince, “To secure her claim, she will have to put your children to the sword, do you not understand that? She’ll have no choice.”

The tears that had built behind her eyes welled now, threatening to fall down her cheek, and her father sighed upon sight of them.

“The time is coming, Alicent,” he released her and straightened, “You either prepare Aegon to rule or you cleave to Rhaenyra and pray for her mercy.”

The tears fell, but Alicent shook her head against his words. She had to cling to what she knew to be truth.

“Rhaenyra wouldn’t….she wouldn’t harm them.”

Her father looked at her now with what could only be described as pity, with maybe a hint of disgust.

“She is marrying Daemon,” he all but hissed, “Do you think he would hesitate to kill your children if it meant securing the throne for his own? Why else do you think he wants to wed Rhaenyra?”

His declaration was wrong. All wrong. Daemon had been kind to her and to Helaena in the gardens, and Alicent had seen him with Rhaenyra for years. She’d seen the way Daemon’s eyes lit up when staring at the Princess, the way Rhaenyra was lighter in his presence; happier now than she had been in so long. The two had always been drawn together.

“Daemon cares for her-”

“You need to grow up, Alicent,” her father became stern, towering over her now, “And decide where your loyalties lie.”

She blinked at his declaration. Loyalty? He was questioning hers, when she had only ever done as was expected of her? She’d followed his every command, sacrificed her own happiness to do so, and still he spurned her. Where was his loyalty?

“Daemon cares only for himself,” he continued, unabashed, “as does Rhaenyra. They are Valyrian. Foreign blood, no matter how many generations pass. Your children have the blood of Westeros, the Andals. My grandson deserves the Iron throne.”

Her father was a man of composure, Alicent knew well, but in that single spoken moment, something had slipped away. There was desperation on his face and a hatred too aged to be in mere spite of Prince Daemon or Rhaenyra. It unsettled her. Angered her. She did not know what ends he sought, but she was tired of being used in furtherance of such goals and she would not allow her children to suffer the same fate.

Alicent forced her shoulders back, lifting her chin as high as she could manage and locked her gaze onto her father’s. There was no affection reflected back.

“Rhaenyra is the heir to the throne. That is the decision of the king.” her father opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it, “Should you continue to press for her to be supplanted, I will not only support, but encourage your removal from Council and Court.”

It was unclear whether the look on her father’s face was from shock or contempt, his eyes widened and lip curled.

“You would allow such shame to be brought against our family name?”

“Your name,” she insisted, her voice holding surprisingly steady under his scrutiny, “Your family. Duty and tradition determine that my loyalty lies here, with my husband, my children, and my future queen.”

“You are a Hightower-”

“I was. Now, by design of your own making, I am a Targaryen,” her tears were all dried up now, “I have done only my duty and will continue to do so. There is no shame or dishonor in that, and I will not have you say it otherwise. Not when your very words set my life to this course.”

Her father looked at her now as if he had never seen her before; perhaps he never truly had. He took a step from her, the distance as cold as a northern wind. She heard his exhale and watched as he tilted his head in a mocking bow.

“Then I pray Rhaenyra shows you the same favor you have shown for her today, and spares your life when she takes Aegon’s,” he spoke with a malice barely hidden by formality, “So that you may remember this moment and see what your loyalty has bought you.”

He departed without a single glance back and Alicent watched his retreat until he disappeared at the end of the hall. The tightening in her chest eased, and though her heart ached with the feeling of something loss, she felt certain that this was right. For beyond the childish longing for her father’s approval, there lied a deeper desire. One for freedom from his expectations, his judgment, his imposition. As Rhaenyra had pointed out, what he wanted from her no longer mattered, and maybe she could find happiness in the new order that her friend spoke of building.

“Your Grace?”

Her guard had joined her now, calling her attention from the empty hall where her thoughts had left her staring blankly.

“Shall we return to the throne room?”

Alicent considered it, and shook her head, “No…there is something else I would like to do. Find the Princess for me, will you? Have her meet me in her chambers.”

The guard nodded and bowed, departing to do as she had commanded, and the rush she had started to feel intensified as she realized just how capable she was. It was all or nothing now, and if she was committing her future and the lives of her children to the strength of House Targaryen, then it was damn well time that she was all in.

The ornate looking glass loomed large in Daemon’s bedchamber, reflecting back an impressive image. He ran his hand over his clothing, smoothing wrinkles that did not exist as he measured the appearance.

Tonight, the realm would learn of his betrothal to Rhaenyra. Even now, the lords of the high Houses gathered in the Throne Room for the celebratory feast. He wondered if Rhaenyra was yet among them.

They’d stolen a moment away together that morning, walking with arms linked on the outdoor balcony that overlooked the east gardens and the sea beyond. The still rising sun set Rhaenyra’s silver hair to a shimmer as she’d leaned against the railing to admire the birds that swooped on the horizon above the water.

She’d held no nerves for the night’s event, no doubt or second thoughts for her choice as she teased him about not stepping on her toes when they danced later. She had appeared so burdened when he had first arrived home that seeing her smile without care, and to feel that he was the cause of it, brought him immense satisfaction. It felt like further proof that they were meant to be together, and soon the entire realm would know it.

Content with his appearance, the black stones of his vest and the crimson sleeves of his shirt a loud declaration of his House, Daemon left his room and greeted the Gold Cloak awaiting to escort him. He did not need the shield, even if he was leaving Dark Sister behind in the room, but he wanted a report on his betrothed, who he had not seen since that morning when Alicent’s guard had sought her out.

Rhaenyra had left him to find the queen, an appropriately placed kiss to his cheek the only touch he’d been permitted. He was counting down the moment to have her in his arms once more, well aware that the public eye would be on them and it would matter not.

“The Princess is readying for the feast,” his guard announced without prompt, after a short bow, the two men fell into step with each other, “She and the queen had gone to the Dragon Pit earlier today, but returned before the sun had begun to set. I believe the queen is still with her, helping her ready.”

Rhaenyra had taken Alicent to the Dragon Pit? Now that was interesting. He’d expressed admiration to Rhaenyra for the initiative of keeping the queen in her graces. The strategist in him saw the benefit of such a relationship, but he knew it was more for Rhaenyra. She was fond of the girl, had grown up at her side as sisters for whatever else had happened after. He still believed Viserys a fool for marrying a Hightower, but could not deny the way Alicent cared for Rhaenyra. It sounded as if the two were making amends, and he wanted that, for the sake of his Princess and more selfishly, because he knew it would displease Otto.

The man in question was at the feast, already seated with his elder brother and a few other Old Town affiliates at one of the long tables, but Daemon paid them little mind as he descended the steps, his eyes seeking his brother at the center of the high table. He barely heard Ser Herrold announce his arrival to the room as he noticed the empty space at the king’s side. Rhaenyra nor Alicent had yet arrived, but Viserys’ expression brightened as he approached.

“Brother,” Daemon bowed, feeling the eyes of the room on him.

Viserys beckoned him to the table, pulling out the chair at his side, “You’ll need to move down a seat once Rhaenyra decides to grace us with her presence, but for now, join me!”

There was a wine pitcher and a half empty goblet in front of his brother that Daemon suspected was aiding the man’s good mood, but he did not deny the request.

He took a seat and looked around at the bustling room, screaming with heraldry of their house, their banners, and the perceived wealth of the crown. Viserys had not held back, and appearance really was everything, wasn’t it?

“After tonight, word is out,” Viserys said, leaning close enough that Daemon could smell the wine on his breath, “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Daemon chuckled, reaching over to grip his brother’s shoulder, “As you’ve pointed out, I stand to gain more than I deserve from this arrangement. So I believe the question should be, are you ready for it?”

“I’m ready to have the ordeal done,” Viserys admitted, leaning back in his seat, “And to see Rhaenyra content. She has smiled so much more of late. I am begrudged to think you have something to do with that.”

It was nearly a compliment and Damon’s gaze dropped to the table as he smiled. He didn’t expect that his brother would ever truly be happy with this arrangement. He’d made it clear that Daemon was not his first pick of husband for Rhaenyra, but just to hear his brother acknowledge that despite this fact, there was something good to come from it…that he had done something right…it meant more than it should.

“Though she has always been yours as much as mine, if I think of it,” Viserys continued, a harsh smile of his own spreading at the admit, “I used to feel jealous of that fact, did I ever tell you? The way she preferred you in her youth. Your stories, your company, your gifts. You made it hard for a father to compete with. I should be thankful for it now, I suppose, the bond she shares with you.”

Daemon detected the slight sadness hidden behind the words and tightened his grip on his brother’s shoulder.

“Rhaenyra loves you, Viserys. You hold your own place in her heart.”

“Oh I know it,” he insisted, “But so do you, brother. And it is well. Her heart and hand will soon be yours to care for. You’ve given me your word that you will honor that.”

“And I meant it,” Daemon promised, and Viserys met his gaze, “We have had our differences, you and I, but you are in my heart as well, brother. I wish only to see our family flourish. To see you and Rhaenyra safe, happy.”

Viserys gathered his hands in his own, his smile too soft now for the heaviness in his eyes, “I wish the same, Daemon, truly, I do.”

Daemon wanted to press the matter. Seek his brother’s thoughts on the future and assure him that their House would yet prosper as they combined their strength, but they were interrupted by the arrival of Jason Lannister, who had come to greet the King.

“Congratulations, your Grace,” the man only tilted his head, though in his defense, his vest was so tight against his chest and gut that Daemon was unsure it was possible for him to truly bow, “The realm has waited some time for a match to be made for the Princess.”

“Indeed,” Viserys straightened in his seat, “She is very happy with the choice.”

Daemon kept his expression neutral, but internally gleamed at the reminder that Rhaenyra had actually chosen him.

“Yes well,” Jason glanced around the entirety of the room, “If this is only the welcome feast, I admit, I cannot imagine what you might have planned for the wedding.”

Lack of imagination is a Lannister specialty, Daemon wanted to point out, but he’d promised Rhaenyra he would behave and it was early in the evening to yet be stirring prides.

“Well my daughter is the future queen,” Viserys said, his smile wide and as fake as Daemon had ever seen, but his emphasis on her imminent title could not be missed, “I wanted this to be a wedding for the histories.”

Jason seemed less pompous as the conversation wore on, and Daemon wondered if the man had truly still held hope that he was being considered for Rhaenyra’s match.

“Where is the Princess?” he asked, as if finally noting her absence, “And the queen? I had hoped to pay my respects.”

“They are still readying for the celebrations,” Viserys said, “But I’m sure they will join us shortly.”

Jason scoffed, “This is why men wage war; because women would never be ready for the battle in time.”

Daemon could not stop his eyes from rolling, even if he wanted to.

“When is the last time he has seen real war” he asked in High Valyrian, knowing his brother would understand the gist of his meaning, if not the words exact, “The closest he’s ever gotten to death is when he told Rhaenyra she’d make a good lady wife.”

Viserys choked on a laugh as Jason’s gaze turned to Daemon, then back to the king in confusion, his own smug smile faltering.

“Your presence is always a pleasure, Lord Jason,” Viserys said as he recovered, and thankfully, the man took the dismissal for what it was, bowing his head again.

“Prince Daemon. Your Grace.”

Viserys gave a departing wave, then smirked over at Daemon as he left.

“She told you about that?”

Daemon grinned, “Have you ever known her to hold her tongue over a slight?”

The two chuckled, and soon a few other Houses came up to pay their respects. Conversation flowed through the room, drinks were poured, and music played lightly in the background.

It all came to a sudden halt when the doors opened once more though, and Ser Herrold cleared his throat.

“The royal consort, Queen Alicent accompanying the Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne.”

Everyone stood, including Daemon, though it was less choice that brought him to his feet as much as sheer awe.

The two women were a reflecting pair, Alicent stark in Targaryen red, and Rhaenyra in a dress that nearly brought him to his knees.

The under silk was ivory, bridal by very design, but starting from the corset top and flowing down one side of the skirt in scattered pattern was layer upon layer of gold and black, hard and scale-like in shimmer and shape. She was her Syrax made flesh, with his Valyrian steel necklace ever at her throat and hair twisted up in intricate, traditional braids. A goddess, truly, a beauty of the Old world that did not feel at place here among mortals.

She and the queen walked side by side down the aisle to the high table, where they parted. Alicent came around the table to take her seat on Viserys’ right side, while Daemon did not give Rhaenyra the chance.

He was moving without command, reaching her before she had even finished curtsying to her father. He took her hands in his own, and fell to a knee, resting his forehead against the rings on her hand.

“Gieve,” he praised her beauty, for he was incapable of uttering anything else, and he felt her hand on his cheek, lifting his eyes to hers.

She said nothing, but her smile was blinding and spoke all that he needed to know. He stood, and looped his arm through hers, escorting her to her place at her father’s side before taking the chair next to her.

As they sat, Viserys stood.

“Be welcome,” the king waved the room to silence, “As we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning, as we honor my daughter, my heir, in accordance with tradition reaching back to the days of Old Valyria and the Age of Dragons.”

He smiled down at Rhaenyra and she beamed back; and it was with eyes on her that Viserys drew to his height and put forth the words that could not be taken back.

“Before summer’s end, the Princess will wed the blood of her blood, Prince Daemon Targaryen.”

The silence of the room broke, whispered voices, gasps, curses, cheers. Viserys faced them all with an impressive glare.

“I know there will be many opinions levied, both for and against my decision, but let there be no question. Your King is firm in his choice. Prince Daemon has been gone years long, fighting and winning a war for the crown in the Stepstones, and returns now to his seat at court and to uphold duty and tradition as a united House Targaryen heralds in a second Age of Dragons in Westeros.”

Objection waned in the seriousness of the king’s tone, and Daemon’s eyes scanned the faces of the crowd. Some of the high lords were clearly displeased, but the majority of the guests seemed intrigued, happy even, at the announcement.

Cheers echoed through the grand room more loudly now, the shock wearing off and excitement taking root.

“After tonight’s small affair,” Viserys gained a few laughs at the downplay of such grandeur, “We will begin a month of tournament and feasting, the hours of which to be announced on the morrow. And at summer’s end, a royal wedding, the likes of which will be remembered in song and written history!”

More cheers and clapping responded, and Viserys’ smile almost appeared genuine now.

“I bid you all to enjoy yourselves this evening,” he concluded, “With feast, dance, and the best wines you will find in Westeros!”

Servants stepped forward from the walls, carrying trays of finely cooked food and jug after jug of wine ranging from the Riverlands to Lannisport. With the feast started, Viserys sat, and Daemon watched as Rhaenyra leaned over and wrapped her arms around her father’s neck.

Viserys returned the hug, his eyes meeting Daemon’s over her head. The two held their gaze, understanding passing between them. In that moment, time stood still and Daemon felt true respect for his brother. The fierce love he felt for his daughter outshone everything, and it vibrated in Daemon’s own heart. For all the faults they’d thrown against each other, all the history and bad blood that had cut at them for years, the two brothers shared this one thing in common.

And she mattered more to them both than all else in the entire fucking realm.

Chapter Text

After the greeting of their guests and eating bits of the most exquisitely seasoned food, Rhaenyra was quite enjoying the celebration of her betrothal. Daemon’s hand had been in her own throughout the meal, but as the music shifted, he released her to stand.

“I believe I was promised a dance, Princess.”

Rhaenyra grinned, gathering the skirts of her dress in one hand and taking the palm Daemon offered with the other. The music shifted as he led her out to the middle of the floor, where the eyes of the court could observe them. She recognized the song; had long ago learned the moves to the melody.

“I was barely ten and one when last we shared this dance,” she murmured as Daemon circled around her. Everyone else faded from thought, “Do you remember?” 

“I remember you being much shorter,” he quipped, “And quite impatient when learning the steps.”

He stopped some feet from her, turning to position with effortless grace. He had always moved with such fluidity and as they fell into perfect step, she thought perhaps it was lucky she had learned at his hand.

“I never was much of a dancer,” she recalled, as he spun around her again and she matched his form, “But I remember that you made me feel like I was flying.”

That was how their dance had always ended, with her in his arms, lifted to the sky like a proper dragon. She could almost close her eyes and picture the moment, Daemon’s younger face etched with amusement as she spread her arms like wings and fell to fits of giggles.

“Flying was always in your blood,” Daemon’s expression now was much different than in her memory, heady desire in place of familial affection, but she soaked in his attention all the same, “The gods themselves could not have kept your feet on the ground, little dragon.”

They were back to back now, arms raised. She still did not hope to reach his height, but he no longer loomed over her as he had in her youth.

Another dip in the melody, a step out, a spin. They faced each other and bowed deeply, ending the opening of the dance, and the room erupted into applause. Rhaenyra could not pull her gaze from Daemon to spare attention to the rest of their guests as they joined them on the dance floor, filling the space as the music shifted again.

Daemon moved in tune with the song, reaching her and bringing her hands to his lips, pressing a hard kiss to them.

“You look beautiful, Rhaenyra.”

He was holding her then, arms looping around her waist, pulling her against his chest, leading her through the dance. It was not inappropriate, the way his grip covered her waist, his fingers dancing over her hips in a smoothing motion, but it brought a flame to her cheek all the same. People stared, even as they danced, with new eyes at the interaction of the Rogue Prince and their Princess. She knew Daemon’s reputation of doing as he pleased despite propriety. No doubt their guests were expecting something scandalous to occur, with him at the helm.

But all he did was hold her a bit closer than necessary, and once, just before the drums indicated the time to switch partners, his lips brushed a kiss to her temple. She was reluctant to release him as the spin took them away from each other and into the arms of the next in line.

“Congratulations, Princess,” her new partner, some lord from a lesser house, greeted stiffly. He probably had not expected to be faced with a royal counterpart so soon, and stumbled through the steps of the dance. Rhaenyra smiled kindly and held her breath for the next switch.

The flow of the dance soon picked up tempo, everyone finding their groove, and the next two men she was paired with managed to keep along. Each greeted her with similar congratulatory words, but the respects sounded false to her ears. She knew many in this hall had hoped to be chosen as her consort. She twirled, looking around the room as she did so.

Her father was still up at the table, in conversation with Alicent and Lord Strong. He seemed happy. Most of the guests did, ignoring the lords who were pouting over not being chosen. Wine was being shared and laughter was widespread. She noticed Ser Criston across the room, his presence as steady and silent as ever. He did not seem as pleased, though she supposed if she were on duty instead of being able to enjoy the feast as well, she might also appear stoic.

“Princess,” Ser Harwin stepped up as her next partner, an easy smile on his lips as he placed his hands against hers in dance, “You look radiant.”

“Thank you, Ser,” she curtseyed after he bowed, “You clean up nice yourself.”

He did look good, she could admit. Tall and built like a stone wall, with a handsome face and fine clothing that hid much less than his armor. And unlike many of the other lords, he did not act like a horse’s ass.

“I should congratulate you on your betrothal,” he said as they turned, and she laughed.

“And I should thank you for being the first of the lords to genuinely mean it!”

He shook his head, “Ignore them. They’re just jealous. Though perhaps they would be less so if they knew how cruel you could be when angry.”

Rhaenyra winced at the reminder, though she could tell he was jesting.

“Yes…I suppose I should apologize for what I said to you that night; for calling you a…a…”

She struggled to remember exactly what she had yelled at him as he carried her from the brothel back to the castle. The entire night had become a blur in light of all that had happened after.

“A son of a sour-cunt whore, I believe were the words,” he grinned, “Which begs asking, I understand why you were pissed at me, but what did my late lady mother ever do?”

Rhaenyra’s head dropped as she chuckled, only a little embarrassed, “Yes, that. I’m sorry. I’m also sorry I implied you were little more than a trained dog.”

His brows pulled together, “You didn’t.”

“Oh,”Shit. “I might have just thought that part. Sorry.”

Harwin laughed as he spun her around.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Princess. Besides, it seems that evening worked out for all. You’ve been given quite an honorable match.”

Now that was amusing.

“Daemon has his own honor,” she admitted, “But I’m not sure he is honorable in the way most would prefer.”

“Fuck ‘em, then,” Harwin sidestepped the next switch so that they could keep dancing together and Rhaenyra didn’t mind at all, “Daemon has done more for this city than any of those fat-bellied lords, that’s for sure. What more could they want in a future king? He’s a brutal swordsman, a dragon rider, and a victor of war.”

Rhaenyra smirked, “Perhaps you should like to marry him, then?”

Harwin’s step paused as he laughed, the sound warm and light.

“I’m a piss poor option in comparison to the Realm’s Delight,” he winked at her, “But maybe I can convince you to share him.”

The image that idea conjured turned Rhaenyra as red as the tapestries on the wall, but she giggled at the implication, thoroughly enjoying that Ser Harwin was unbothered enough to jest in such a way. She’d not been given chance for much interaction with the man, and she was realizing what a pity that was.

“You can not keep the bride all night, Ser Strong.”

Rhaenyra’s good mood fell as Jason Lannister appeared, a hand extended, “Might I have a dance with the Princess?”

Harwin’s parting smile to her was full of a teasing pity, “Of course. Congratulations again, Princess.”

Rhaenyra forced her face to hide the disappointment she felt as Lord Jason stepped in to dance, placing a firm hand to her waist.

“Enjoying your evening?” he asked pleasantly, and Rhaenyra nodded, “I am, thank you.”

“I must say, I was surprised when your father announced your match. It seems a shame to pass up the chance of forming stronger alliances with the Great Houses.”

Rhaenyra grit her teeth, but kept a smile plastered to her lips, “Does it? I can not personally think of a better man to be my consort than Prince Daemon.”

“Yes, well,” he cleared his throat, “It is Targaryen tradition, I suppose. Though I had heard the crown was conversing with the Velaryons once more. Many expected Ser Laenor to be a contender tonight.”

“Ser Laenor is a fine man,” Rhaenyra agreed, unsure of why Jason thought that worth bringing up, “He will make an excellent husband for someone, but Daemon was the better match for me.”

“Of course,” Jason nodded, “But forgive me, Princess, it does bring concern…if these interactions with Lord Corlys are not about a betrothal to Ser Laenor…well, as the supplier of the crown’s fleet, you can understand how important our alliance is.”

Politics. Of course.

She was not sure if she should feel insulted or flattered that Jason Lannister was feeling threatened by decisions she was trying to put into motion. She was mostly aghast that he would choose to address it here, of all places, and with her instead of the king.

“The crown values all its alliances,” she responded simply, “And if you wish to further discuss the matter, I’m sure my father will hear your concerns-”

“Your father has a great history with Lord Corlys,” Jason pressed, either oblivious to her cues, or choosing to ignore them, “And so does your betrothed. They fought in the Steps together, did they not? Can we expect that-”

“You can expect to set a meeting with the King once the celebrations of my marriage have concluded, as he decides the crown’s intentions.” Her voice was growing short as annoyance coursed through her bloodstream.

“This would require yet another trip to the capitol,” Lord Jason was actually complaining, “To include your wedding, of course. Casterly Rock is not so far as other holdings, but such travel costs time and coin.”

Something House Lannister was hardly lacking.

Rhaenyra’s teeth flashed in a cold faux smile, “I’m sure the coin you had set aside to build a dragon pit will help cover the expenses, my lord, and if it is time that concerns you, you might consider staying longer in the capitol to wait for a meeting with the king. I hear Flea Bottom is quite accommodating for a cheap price.”

Jason’s mouth opened, offense clear on his face, but whatever he would have said was cut short.

“May I, Lord Jason-”

Daemon was there, appearing from thin air and had maneuvered himself between Rhaenyra and Jason before the man had even given answer. Left with no other option, Lord Jason bowed slightly and backed away, “Of course, my Prince.”

Rhaenyra let out a sigh of relief as Daemon took her in his arms once more.

“That took you long enough.”

Daemon’s smile was wicked, “You did not look as though you needed saving.”

“Not I,” Rhaenyra insisted, “Him. I would feed him to Syrax if I did not worry it would make her sick.”

They both knew the threat was empty, but Daemon’s hand squeezed her hips in consolation.

“Probably not good for political relations, but I commend the desire,” he said, “You seemed to enjoy your dance with Ser Harwin, at least.”

There was something in his tone that made Rhaenyra smirk, “Strolling right into that one, are we?”

“What do you mean?”

She arched her brow, “Are you jealous?”

Daemon’s eyes smoldered as they dropped to her lips, “Of anyone who can bring that smile to your face, besides myself.”

She reached for his hand, swaying more than dancing now as they stepped out of the path of the crowd.

“Trust me,” she chuckled, “You have no worries there. I think Ser Harwin is more enamored by you than I.”

Daemon’s head crooked, “A man of fine taste, then.”

“Your arrogance knows no limit,” Rhaenyra teased, and he chuckled.

“That does not make my words any less true. Though, speaking of Ser Harwin…he escorted you and the queen to the Dragon Pit today?”

Of course he would know of this.

“Are you having me spied on now, Uncle?”

Daemon’s hand tightened in hers, pulling her closer, “Watched over. Never underestimate how many would see you dead”.

Rhaenyra supposed that was true, but the Dragon Pit had never been a place where she felt threatened.

“I am plenty safe with my Lady,” she assured him.

“Do you refer to Syrax or Alicent?”

“You’re funny.”

“And you’re deflecting.”

The words were teasing, but she could tell from Daemon’s tone that he really was curious about the reasons behind her whereabouts. Which presented too easy an opportunity.

“Do you really desire to know?”

He stared at her like the answer was obvious, and Rhaneyra grinned. She lifted her hand to his cheek, boring into his violently amethyst eyes, and moved so that they were nearly chest to chest.

She felt him swallow, saw the way his gaze darkened as her lips hovered just below his.

“It is good practice,” she breathed, fighting the need to swallow herself, “To desire something you can not yet have.”

She parted from him then, grinning as she moved away, through the crowd, knowing without a doubt in her heart that he would follow.

King Viserys sat contently at the high table, overlooking the entirety of the room below. Despite some immediate displeasure at the news he’d broken, the atmosphere was all he could have hoped. Lords and ladies from Great Houses all over Westeros were enjoying feast and conversation, wine and dance, filling out the grand hall. 

It was a proper celebration and he so wished his Aemma were alive to take part in it. She would have loved the festivities and the music, and seeing Rhaenyra so happy, dancing about with all the guests. 

Viserys turned to his side, where Alicent sat smiling, also taking in the scene. She was young and beautiful, glowing in a new way since she and Rhaenyra had begun to mend the crack he himself had caused to their friendship. She was not Aemma, but she loved Rhaneyra, and she was a kind and dutiful queen. Perhaps it was unfair of him to expect her to be only that.

“You may go down to enjoy yourself,” he spoke, capturing Alicent’s attention, “Visit, Dance. Do not feel as if you need to remain here if you do not wish it.”

Her face was set in a peaceful expression, the hint of that smile still on her lips.

“No, I’m alright,” she assured him, “It’s nice to see everyone in such high spirits. And if I am perfectly honest, I’m not sure this dress can handle much dancing.”

He chuckled with her, but had to admit that she was quite the sight. The dress she had chosen for the evening was new. It fell off her shoulders into long sleeves, cut to reveal more skin than she usually allowed, but flattered her nonetheless. The deep red was that of House Targaryen and she clearly found pride in her representation.

“You look lovely, my dear.”

Her hands flattened over the fabric, “Thank you, your Grace…Rhaenyra helped choose the design.”

Viserys smiled, “I thought she might have.”

It was something closer to what his daughter would wear, after all.

“Did the two of you enjoy yourselves today?”

Alicent nodded, practically beaming as she turned in her chair to better face him, “Oh, yes! We went and chose an egg for Helaena! Rhaenyra put it in her crib, so that she may sleep with it as is tradition for Targaryen babes.”

Viserys blinked.

“I…I should have considered that before her birth. Oh, I am sorry, my dear.”

“It’s alright,” Alicent reached over and placed her hand atop his, “You did choose an egg for Aegon. I suppose it was fair that it be my turn.”

He smiled at that, “Certainly. Though do keep in mind, some eggs take years and years to hatch, and some never do.”

“Rhaenyra explained it all,” she nodded, “She also said not every Targaryen is raised with a dragon, but tradition is tradition. And it was fun, seeing how the eggs are kept. Most belong to Dreamfyre, but the Keepers believe Syrax will soon enter her first breeding cycle as well.”

Viserys was pleased at how intriguing Alicent found the topic, dragons and histories had been a point of interest they’d shared in the past. However, the thought of Syrax’s maturity being reached as her bonded rider had come of age left him a bit less enthusiastic.

The realm needed heirs, of course, and Rhaenyra was the future of House Targaryen. He’d always known she would marry and have children of her own; had looked forward to one day becoming a grandsire. He’d just never imagined that the child would come as a result of his brother bedding his daughter.

He tried not to think of it, had accepted the harsh inevitability when he’d realized his vision of Aemma was right about what needed to be done. It did not, however, make the truth any easier.

He glanced out to the faces of the crowd again, searching for the silver beacon that was Rhaenyra’s high braids. He found her, near the center of the dancers. She was walking backwards, mischief on her face, and it did not take him long to realize why. Parting the crowd, Daemon was stalking toward her. Rhaenyra’s lips moved in muted conversation, her gaze shifting as she and Daemon circled each other, damn near glaring each other down with eyes unblinking. Viserys had only half thought to wonder what had sparked this change when Daemon reached out and grabbed the sides of Rhaenyra’s neck, dragging her mouth to his.

It felt as if someone had poured cold water down his back, the sensation tingling along his spine, causing him to jolt straight in his chair.

Daemon was kissing Rhaneyra, his hands covering the whole of her jaw, fingers threading through the braids on the back of her head. Tilted back just so, Rhaenyra’s own hands had moved to cling to Daemon’s arms, fisting the fabric as he pressed into her, devouring her like a predator to prey. The festivities of the room seemed to halt for Viserys as he watched the interaction, wishing he could force his eyes to tear away from the view. 

He’d known, gods he had known, that Daemon desired Rhaenyra. He’d practically begged to wed her the night he’d failed to ruin her. Hells, he had spoken what he wanted before ever uttering a word of it in the many gifts he’d bring her, the attention he lavished upon her, and the intimate way he’d whisper to her in Valyrian. Viserys knew Rhaenyra was important to Daemon, had always held some measure of fascination for him.

But this…

When he was still a young man, he and Daemon had often visited the brothels of the city together. He’d seen his brother indulge in all manners of depravity and desires. But he’d never seen this.

Daemon clung to Rhaenyra, though he towered over her, though he outweighed her, though he knew a hundred ways to end a life and held her delicate throat in his hands…he clung to her like she was the one with the power to end him; a vulnerability he had never afforded anyone else. And Rhaenyra held his body to hers tightly as they kissed, as if she knew it too.

It was the first time Viserys had witnessed a true display of affection between the two, and when Daemon finally pulled away, resting his head to Rhaenyra’s with his eyes closed as if in prayer, revelations came to surface.

Rhaenyra’s dimples flashed as she smiled up at her future husband and the radiance of her happiness was blinding. The feeling of ice in Viserys’ spine melted away and he slumped back against his chair. The room returned and he heard, for the first time, the reactions of the guests. The cheers and clapping. The loud whistles that he suspected were coming from Harwin Strong.

He couldn’t turn his head to check, too locked on the look being shared between his brother and daughter. A look he was painfully familiar with for he had seen it a million times, reflected back at him on the face of his own lady wife.

Aemma, you were right. His vision blurred with sudden tears. 

Rhaenyra was happy. The truth of this could not be denied. It was all he had ever wanted for her, even more after what he had taken from her.

He does make her happy, Aemma. And I have been a fool. Daemon will see to it that our daughter, that your blood, sits the throne.

His heart felt both warm and broken.

Aemma, you should be here.

His chest clenched with a physical pain.

Aemma, my love, I am so sorry.

Rhaenyra was absolutely flying. Daemon’s arms were around her, his forehead pressed tight against her own as her lips burned from his searing kiss, and she would swear that her feet were hovering above the ground.

The guests cheered their encouragements, the wine and celebratory mood heightening the public display that she had to remind herself was no longer forbidden.

Daemon could hold her now, could kiss her and court her and no one would bat an eye, for he was her intended. Of course, too many kisses like that and some rumors may begin to circulate, but tonight was in celebration of their marriage so the enthusiasm would be forgiven. She could have stayed in that moment forever, if a loud crash had not disrupted it.

She and Daemon turned toward the noise at the same time, as did half the guests, just to see Alicent jumping from her seat at the high table, to rush over the king who was now on the ground.

Daemon was moving before Rhaenyra’s mind had even made sense of what was happening, his hand in hers pulling her through the crowd, most of which had frozen. They reached the table at the same time as Ser Herrold and Lyonel Strong. She and Daemon both knelt beside her father, but he was already attempting to sit.

“What..what happened?” the king slurred and Rhaenyra glanced over to the others.

“I don’t know,” Lord Strong admitted, then Alicent said in a whisper, “He was fine, then he went faint.”

Daemon was frowning, eyeing his brother and the crowd gathering at the foot of the stairs. Then, to her surprise, he suddenly laughed.

He stood, looking over his shoulder at the guests.

“My brother forgets that even kings are subjected to drunkenness when celebrating with too much wine!”

The relief was immediately felt, like a brush of wind the tension released through the room and some laughs echoed in response.

Daemon’s grin faded though as he turned back to Viserys, who was now sitting up with the help of Rhaenyra and Alicent.

“Get him to his feet,” Daemon harshly whispered to the Kingsguard and the Hand, “And out to the hall, away from spectators.”

They nodded, and together managed to do as he had said. Rhaenyra tried to hide her frown as she straightened, knowing that Daemon was right and a drunken king being escorted out was a better portrayal than an ill king falling faint.

She forced herself to smile and to motion for the band to continue their music.

“Please, enjoy,” she called to those still watching, “We will bid the king goodnight and return to the celebrations.”

He’d been ushered into the passage to the left of the throne and Rhaenyra followed after the ensemble with Daemon right behind her. His hand on her back kept her steady as they found the others in privacy.

“Fetch the Maester,” Alicent commanded one of the Kingsguard, but Viserys was shaking his head, leaning against the wall now, but at least he was standing on his own.

“No, no, I’m fine. No need for fuss.”

“Don’t be difficult,” Rhaenyra chided, walking up to him, “You are not well, father.”

He smiled at her and it was painful, but his eyes were clear as they locked on hers.

“I am well enough, my girl. And I am so proud of you.”

“Father-”

“I think I should like to rest now,” he said decisively, interrupting anything else anyone might have said.

His voice was close to weak, but left no room for argument. Ser Harrold looked at Rhaenyra and she realized he was awaiting her command. Fear and power chased each other through her veins as she considered what that implied.

“Take him to his bed?” she asked Alicent, who nodded.

“He can rest,” she finished, but set her father with a hard glare, “But the Maester will look in on you. He must, Father, promise me.”

Viserys was still smiling, but his expression was heavy, “Okay, my sweet girl. Okay.”

Rhaenyra commended herself for how steadily she played her part, returning to the party. Alicent and the guard had taken her father and would alert the Maester. She had wanted to go with them, but was reminded with a quick whisper from Daemon, that they had a role to play first.

“The crown can not appear weak, Princess, not now. We will go back and convince them that all is well.”

And they had. Quite believably, she had to say. They’d spoken with some of the lords, fended off questions or doubts, danced some more, and saw the evening to an appropriate end.

When the hour grew late and guests began to leave, they were finally able to do the same. Ser Herrold found them in the hall with the departing guests.

“The Maester is with him now, Princess,” he told her quietly, “He said the excitement of the event was most likely too much with his condition. He’s been given a tonic to help ease him while he sleeps. Best we leave him to it.”

“Alicent is with him?” she confirmed, and the knight nodded.

That gave her a small relief, “Alright. Thank you, Ser.”

Daemon had stood close enough to hear, but did not seem as satisfied. She recognized the look on his face and sighed.

“I know you don’t trust the Maesters, but if we are seen going to his room, it will spark more need for concern.”

“Then I shall not be seen,” he murmured back, and she figured he must be referring to Maegor’s passages.

She chewed on her lip, weighing the risk, then nodded, “Go to him, be sure he is able to rest, then come to my chambers. I will see the last of the guests out.”

A short bow and a kiss to her temple and he was gone. She took a steadying breath and turned back to the thinning crowd.

“Thank you so much for coming, my lords…”

It had to be another half hour before she was free. Rhaenyra felt exhausted, tired of the heavy dress she wore, and worried for her father. She knew he had been having some health issues, enough that he had lost a finger due to incurable sores, but not to the extent that he would lose his seat at dinner.

A few of the Kingsguard lingered, servants passing through the hall with leftovers from the meal, and whatever nobles were remaining in rooms at the castle lingered about. Nothing else was left for her to stay for.

She started down the hall, aware that one of the guards was following her. She greeted a lord or two as she passed them, doing her best to keep her feet from sprinting down the way.

She’d climbed the long stairs and rounded the corner toward her apartments when her guard caught up to her, his hand closing around her arm.

“Princess, wait-”

It was Ser Criston.

She paused, turning just enough to see him through his helmet, “I’m sorry, Ser, but I must-”

“Just one moment,” he begged, and before she knew it, he was tugging at her, leading her into a nearby solar. The small drawing room was empty and he pulled the door closed after making sure of it.

“Criston, can’t this wait, it has been a long evening,” she half attempted to reason, sure that whatever he needed to discuss was of less importance than her father’s condition.

“I’m sorry, but I must speak with you Princess.”

She exhaled, but motioned for him to continue, “Then speak.”

He removed his helmet, setting it aside as he swallowed thickly. His fingers fidgeted with each other.

 “You’ve confided in me now and then, over the years of our acquaintance. I feel, forgive me, that I know you…a bit. And I…I can’t…”

He seemed to struggle over the words, his brows drawing deep.

“What is it?” Rhaenyra gently urged.

He looked up at her now and the fidgeting stopped.

“I’ve heard you say many times how you loathe the lot of your position. That you are to be married off at your father’s whim, with no thought given to the yearning of your own heart, and now the day comes…and it is Daemon that is chosen for you.”

Rhaenyra did not care for the way he gritted out her uncle’s name, the dislike he had for him ever apparent.

“What is your point, Criston?”

His hands suddenly grabbed her own, catching her off guard.

“I respect that you want to honor your duty…but if there were another path,” he was close to her now, closer than he had been since the night she had attempted to seduce him, “One that led to freedom. Would you tread it?”

She was confused of his meaning, but whatever it was did not change the truth of her circumstance.

“There is no other path for me.”

“There could be,” he insisted and squeezed her hands, “Rhaenyra, before I came here, I was a knight in the Stormlands. I have a deep knowledge of the port at Sunspear where I’ve seen the ships of Essos setting sail with their hulls full of oranges and cinnamon, and I’ve always wished to see where they went.”

She was even more confused now. “Are you asking for leave?”

He laughed; a short, bitter sound, “I am asking you to come with me. Away from what your father is trying to force you to do. Making you wedding your own uncle, it’s-it’s…I could help you escape the indignities of your inheritance. We can leave, go where we like, love as we like…”

The room was dark, lit by a single torch that danced shadows off his face, but Rhaenyra saw how serious his expression was. He meant the words he spoke.

“Valyrians have interwed for centuries,” she explained to him, “My father approved my marriage to Daemon and he-”

“But you don’t have to marry him, Rhaenyra,” His fingers dug into her wrists, hard enough that she flinched, “Leave with me. Tonight. And I can protect you. They ask you to dishonor yourself for the throne, put you in danger for the crown-”

Rhaenyra yanked her hands free and stepped away from the knight. His face burned in the torchlight, open and pleading.

She clenched her jaw, recalled every conversation they’d had on the matter of her future, and wondered how things had ended up here.

“I am the crown, Ser Criston. Or I will be,” Her father had chosen her to carry a legacy far greater than anyone knew, and she owed it to him, to herself and all of her blood, to see it through. “I know I have chafed at my duties, but do you think I would reject infamy in exchange for a bushel of oranges or a ship to Asshai?”

He was the one flinching now, as though her words were a physical blow, so she softened her tone.

“I appreciate what you think you are trying to do for me, Ser. Truly, I do. But my path is to be Queen. It is my choice to marry Daemon and he will be a strong consort at my side when I rule.”

“Rhaenyra-”

“The iron throne looms larger than me, larger than anyone in my family,” she said, “And yes, it is a burden, but it is mine.”

“He will kill you if you marry him,” Criston’s voice cracked, “Princess, please-”

“Daemon is not a threat to me.”

She said this firmly, believing it with every fiber of her being. Daemon was her champion. Her protector. Her dark knight. If ever he planned to harm her, he would have done it years ago, before their bond had grown into what it was now. Before she knew the warmth of his touch in her most intimate places and the breath of her name upon his lips. He’d come home to her and saved her in a way no other could. What need have she to chafe at her duties now, when she no longer carried the load alone? She would marry Daemon, she would be Queen, and together they would see his dream realized, leading the realm into the next age of Dragons.

How could Criston, or anyone else, think that Daemon was anything less than her perfect match? He was her looking glass, reflecting her own heart back at her. All the fire and chaos and love she held. And gods…that was it, wasn’t it?

Love.

She loved Daemon.

Of course she did, she always had, but it was different now, and the realization stole her breath from her lungs.

She needed to go. She had to see him, now.

“-you could understand that the only way-” Criston was still talking and she shook her head.

“Ser, please. Stop. I have heard enough and I must go-”

“Princess-”

“No!” her voice rose, startling him into silence. She took a breath, “You are a loyal protector, Ser Criston. I thank you for your concern, but it is not needed. Daemon is to be my husband and when my father’s time has passed, I will take my place on the Iron Throne. And this is the last I shall hear of the matter.”

She caught but the fleeting glimpse of his crestfallen face before pushing past him and sliding out of the solar. No others stopped her on her way to her apartments, and she all but ran down the last hall, knowing her love was just beyond the door.

He was propped on her bed when Rhaenyra burst into her room, laid out as if he had been there for hours. She felt breathless when their eyes met, whether from running or the revelation that she was indeed in love with him, she could not be sure.

Seeing him confirmed what her heart already knew.

“Daemon.”

He sat up, the light from her fireplace illuminating the concern on his face. In her mind, she could not help but compare him to Criston, the way both of their expressions had been drenched in shadow and orange flame. Where the Criston’s had bled desperation and misunderstanding, Daemon looked to be a god of old, Valyrian beauty painted across his sharp features as he stood to his feet, closing the space between them.

“He’s asleep,” he said, when she was finally in his arms again, and it took her a moment to realize he meant her father.

“The Maester gave him medicine?”

“If that’s what you can call it,” he snided, “He sleeps, but he has wounds that fester and the salve that Mellos gives him does not help.”

He exhaled deeply, “We leave for Driftmark tomorrow. On the way back, we should stop at Dragonstone. Maester Gerardys is well versed in disease and illness from all over the world. Perhaps he will fare better at curing your father.”

Rhaenyra felt as if she were on dragonback, the way her emotions had risen and fallen in so many measures this night.

“I should like to visit Dragonstone again,” she easily agreed, and let Daemon pull her into his embrace.

The love she felt in her heart for him competed with the fear she felt for her father and the realization that his condition was real and damaging and that all the weight of the crown would be upon her if ever he fell to it.

“Let us ready you for bed so you might get some sleep, little dragon,” Daemon began to coax the braids from her hair, “Tomorrow is the start of another long day.”