Chapter Text
Where a fire had burned only seconds before, Rhaenyra felt the damp chill of the night air. He had left her!
“Daemon,” she called out.
Pulling up her pants and straightening her clothes, she gracelessly made her way out of the pleasure house past the sound of slapping bodies locked in heated rhythms, past the moans of ecstasy, beyond the sound of the beating drums, and into the street.
Did he really just abandon her? Leave her alone with the ache of unsated desire and a mind awakened with unfamiliar yet exciting thoughts?
A marriage is a duty, yes. But it doesn’t stop us from doing what we want.
In a single night, Daemon had managed to erase years of fear.
You can not live your life in fear, or you will forsake the best parts of it.
She was a dragon. Born of blood with fire in her veins. Fuck the rules. Fuck the system that would try to box her in.
This is where people come to take what they want.
Daemon had given her a gift far more valuable than her valyrian steel and ruby necklace. He’d given her autonomy, shown her that it was right there with her all along. Just as Maegor’s hidden passageways ran alongside her bed chambers and emptied themselves into the cacophonous streets of Kings Landing, her own freedom ran alongside every duty she must perform.
Thanks to her little jaunt to the Street of Silk with Daemon, she had re-discovered her sense of self-determination. It had not eroded away or slowly crumbled under the weight of obligation to the realm and family.
It had simply been hidden behind her walls, waiting to be found anew.
Rhaenyra smiled. She knew exactly who she could ask to satisfy her recently aroused lust. Ser Criston wouldn’t know what hit him.
***
6 MONTHS LATER
***
He sat in the great hall watching her dance and couldn’t look away. A woman grown, spun of fire and white silk, her hair piled on her head in intricate silver braids, a Targaryen.
She had been wed to Laenor Valaryon, a sturdy lad whose tastes ran more towards men. Her marital bed would be as dry as a husk of corn.
At least he was of their blood, bonded to the dragon Seasmoke, and had proven himself in battle alongside Daemon in the Stepstones.
The royal wedding festivities carried on. Copious amounts of wine splashed out of near empty cups as the movement of revelers grew more exaggerated and erratic. The sound of music carried across the dance floor, mingling with laughter and jeers and raised voices.
Her dance concluded, Rhaenyra made eye contact. The music changed to something slow and sensual, a dance meant for couples.
Between one breath and the next she had made her way towards him, a smile lighting up her flushed face.
“Daemon,” she said. “Come dance with me.”
Her hand grabbed his and carried with it the electricity of connection. He had not touched her since that night.
“It would be my pleasure, Princess.” He replied in High Valyrian.
She led him to the dance floor, then pulled him into her embrace. He waited a breath or two to find the rhythm, then gracefully began to lead them. One hand high on her slim waist and another joined with hers, he was nearly overwhelmed by the depth of his attraction. Glancing around the grand hall, he noticed many conversations had hushed as they gained a rapt audience.
He turned his eyes back to Rhaenyra.
Fire. She was pure fire. Everywhere they touched burned. He bathed in the flames.
“I have missed you, Uncle,” she said softly.
“And I you, my beloved niece.” He led her into a spin, and like magnets that could not resist the pull any longer, they came together even closer than before. “Are you enjoying your wedding?”
“I’m trying to.” Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks grew more red. “I may be indulging in too much wine.”
“Nonsense. I’ve found there’s no such thing on wedding nights.”
She smiled broadly. Enchanting. He reminded himself to breathe.
“What is he like? My new husband.”
Daemon’s eyebrows raised. “I expect you would know more about him than I. Didn’t you choose him out of all the suitors in the realm?”
“Did I?” she frowned. “No, my father chose him. It was marry Laenor or be disinherited for causing a scandal.” She leaned in, pressing her lips near his ear and whispered, “Apparently you took my maidenhood.” She leaned back, “I agreed on the condition he let Otto Hightower go.”
Pride bloomed in his chest. Even in the midst of navigating a disadvantageous rumor, she had played the game and moved chess pieces to her advantage.
“Why didn’t you have the maesters confirm you were intact? That could have bought you more time, or possibly some leverage.”
She broke eye contact and dipped her chin low, as if embarrassed. Looking up at him through her lashes, she spoke, her voice barely audible over the din of the crowded hall. “But I was not. Intact, that is.”
His hand spasmed around her, and he gripped her more tightly. He tamped down a flare of jealousy, yet still felt trapped and somehow outmaneuvered. “Who?”
It was the only word he could speak.
“Does it matter?” She looked at him cautiously.
“I would have his hands for daring to touch you. I would castrate him for daring to think himself worthy of you. Let me have his name.”
“Maybe someday,” she said. A beat, then, with narrowed eyes, “Why do you even care? I belong to another now anyway. Isn’t it his job to defend my virtue now?”
Daemon closed his eyes and kept pace with the steps. “You know why, Rhaenyra,” he said as if pained. Opening his eyes, he met her amethyst ones. They looked thoughtful. Gorgeous. “I asked your father to let me take you to wife,” he found himself saying against his will. “He was not inclined to let me do so.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. She had not known. Before she could speak a reply, he spoke again. “I do want you. Do not doubt it,” he held her gaze. She was hypnotic. “When you are not with me, I ache from your loss.”
He moved her into another spin and pulled her back gingerly into the frame of his arms. Looking away from her, he caught his brother’s disapproving glare.
Fuck it. He pressed his palm flat against her lower back, dangerously close to cupping her ass, and possessively pulled her even closer. The king’s stare turned to daggers.
He could feel her breasts against his chest, her thighs moving between and around his own. His arousal bloomed into something more fierce and tangible than the simmering hum it had been mere moments before; he grew hard. She was sinful and decadent, the sweetest indulgence. Rhaenyra wrapped an arm around his neck and rested her cheek flat against his shoulder. Wicked girl. She had to know what she was doing to him. He breathed her in like a man starved for air.
The hall erupted in not-so-quiet whispers. Let them look.
“Would he hold me like this, do you think, Uncle?”
He thought about Laenor’s love of men. “I do not know, Princess.”
“Would he give me gifts like you do?”
His mouth was suddenly full of saliva. He swallowed. “If he doesn’t shower you with jewelry and praise, he’s a fool.”
“In all your time with him on the battlefield, did he seem the type to use harsh words or lose his temper?” Her voice trembled as if she were speaking her greatest fear. She was not afraid of a loveless alliance, not naive enough to assume passion could grow from rocky, lifeless soil. Perhaps she already planned to take her pleasure elsewhere, as Laenor himself was surely bound to do. But she did fear a man’s anger, it seemed.
“If he lifts a hand against you, I will carve out his heart and bring it to you so that Syrax may feast upon it.”
She sighed, “I don’t think I could ever love another as I love you, Uncle.”
“I know, my sweet. I know.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
She pulled back slightly and looked him in the eye, then smirked. “I did stab a boar to death once. Maybe I’ll carve his heart out myself.”
“That’s my girl,” Daemon grins. Rhaenyra beams. The dance ends.
They slowly step away from each other, hands trailing down the other’s arms as if reluctant to part. He squeezes her hands briefly, a promise, lets go.
He takes one more step back, winks at her, then turns and walks back toward his seat.
“If only my husband looked at me the way her uncle looks at her,” he hears one of the court ladies whisper loudly to a sea of titters.
He keeps walking.
“If she’s a maiden, I’m a monkey’s uncle,” he hears a lord opine.
How much further is the table?
“So improper,” an elderly lady openly judges him while looking directly into his eyes. The bitch.
We are dragons, he thinks. Your petty rules do not apply to us.
At his table at last, he pours himself a generous cup of wine and downs it in one shot. He needs to smother the fire in his veins. Viserys is seated two chairs down from him, the seats currently empty. As he looks at Daemon, his expression melts from consternation into fond exasperation.
“Try to rein yourself in the next time you want to make such a public spectacle with my daughter.”
“Of course, Brother.” He pours himself another cup of wine and takes a sip.
“This is a happy occasion. I could not ask for a better son by law.”
Daemon does not roll his eyes, but his expression does turn pinched. “Rubbing salt in my wounds, my king?”
“Reminding you of your place.”
He does roll his eyes now. “I am not as ambitious as you make me out to be, Your Grace. I do, in fact, love her.” He leans towards Viserys as if he’s imparting a secret. “I would gladly have her now, or even twenty years from now when her teats sag and her skin grows wrinkled. I would have her even if you disinherited her. The fire in her blood sings to me.”
The king shakes his head, “I wish I could believe you.”
“You can.” He pushes every ounce of earnest yearning into his words that he possesses.
His brother’s face softens. “Well, it matters not now. She is wed to another. As are you still.”
Daemon’s lips curl in disgust, “Must you remind me of my bronze bitch too?”
“I will keep reminding you of her so long as you keep forgetting her.”
“Trust me, my king, she is much happier when I ignore her. The entire Vale loathes me with a passion that rivals a dragon’s flames.”
“And whose fault is that?” Viserys tosses back.
“Not mine,” he replies indignantly. He takes another swallow of wine and looks out towards the crowd, eyes searching for Rhaenyra.