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The club was called Dark Sister. It was a ridiculous name, a foolish one even. You can’t be dark, broody, and mysterious while running a club named after the famous family heirloom everyone knew you owned. (Especially if you’re also trying to keep your brother from finding his way to your door.)
And yet, the club was called Dark Sister. The decor was just as predictable as one would imagine. Card tables, luxe leather banquettes, gogo dancer cages, VIP rooms. Everything was done up in blood red and glossy black tones; dragon scale patterns and gargoyles everywhere. Instead of money, patrons exchanged cash for RFID-chipped gold dragon coins that stored different dollar amounts, and the waitresses were dressed like ancient Valyrian temple priestesses (the kind who had considered sex to be a form of worship). It was a trendy but tacky nightmare that was packed to the rafters every night. Shady Flea Bottom inhabitants mixed seamlessly with King’s Landing socialites.
*Who wants to give it a whirl?*
And reigning over it all was her. The Realm’s Delight. Rhaenyra Targaryen. The gold bars on her private cage were studded in black and red gems, and a giant disco ball threw bright spotlights onto her dancing form. Her outfits never quite seemed to cover everything so that her every move granted the viewer brief glimpses of her smooth, pale flesh. Toned thighs, firm ass, maybe a pierced nipple. You could never really be certain and you certainly didn't want to stare too long. Who knew which fellow dancer was a potential informant, willing to sentence you to violence and more just to curry a sliver of favor with him .
Him . The Rogue Prince. Daemon Targaryen. A man who could inspire bone-chilling fear with one look. A spoiled son of privilege on the surface who had a hand in every pie, legal or less so, in the city his ancestors built. And, if the rumors were true, a man wrapped around her blood red fingernail tipped pinky. (Of course, no one would suggest such a thing within a block of his hearing.)
It had barely been four months since the youngest son of the country’s most powerful noble house had led his angelic looking niece into his club and helped her climb into her studded cage for the first time but the regulars had quickly learned that, unlike the other fair-haired women who had previously (but briefly) occupied the spotlight, Rhaenyra meant something to the fearsome lord.
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*Diamonds on my wrist, whiskey on my tongue*
Rhaenyra was in her own world, caught up in the music. She'd scammed a few pills from one of the cute girls in the bathroom (people were always so generous with her for some reason) and downed them with a shot of premium tequila from her favorite bartender (all the bartenders in Dark Sister were her favorite).
45 minutes later and she was dancing with the colors of the music. She looked around for her kepa . Eww. He was still up in the top office with Corlys Velaryon. She could practically smell the fish from here.
Rhaenyra pushed the cage door open and waved to a passing waitress.
“Hey, doll! Could you grab me another drink? Whatever’s fine.”
Blowing the waitress a kiss, Rhaenyra grabbed a nearby pole and swung around it a few times. Then she kicked her leg up, caught it at the ankle, and twirled a little. Sober, the move would have looked amazing, but Rhaenyra was not sober. She lost her balance halfway through her twirl and wobbled a bit. Her leg dropped, narrowly missing her guard’s head. He didn’t react, as he wasn’t allowed to speak to Miss Targaryen. The boss was very particular about things like that.
The waitress returned with a tray filled with various shots and offered it to Rhaenyra.
“I only wanted one, cutie. But thanks!”
“Um, sure.” The waitress hurried off.
Rhaenyra picked up two random shot glasses and downed them one after the other. “Yum!” She spun around some more, arms stretched towards the ceiling. She was having the absolute best night.
Then she fell…
and landed in the arms of a startled partygoer.
“Sorry sweetie!” Rhaenyra trilled at the guy, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
Her guard stepped in, not really sure what he should do since he was definitely not allowed to touch Rhaenyra either. He settled for getting in the face of the guy she’d landed on.
“Hey, man. No one touches Miss Targaryen. I think it would be best if you and your buddies left before this goes any further.” He gave the guy and his group an apologetic look and placed a hand on the gun at his waist. The boss wouldn’t care much who was at fault if he happened to look down; he needed to get these kids out of here ASAP. Rhaenyra slid from the guy’s arms and turned to her guard.
“Leave him alone, Erryk! He was just being a gentleman!”
Erryk couldn’t respond so he just glared at the guys behind her. They turned to leave, knowing they were lucky to be getting out of this alive. Of course, as soon as they had this thought, their way was blocked.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
*You were too nice for this world*
Harwin Strong was not in the mood for his employer tonight. First, he’d had to arrange for Lord Corlys’ special seafood platter, then there had been three bodies to dispose of. To top it off, one of their enforcers had been arrested so Strong had had to go threaten the guy’s mother to make certain he didn’t spill anything important about their operation to the White Cloaks. He’d been standing at silent attention behind the boss for a good two hours while Daemon had negotiated the Velaryons’ cut for a shipment coming in through their smuggling network.
Strong noticed the negotiations coming to an end and was just about to breathe a sigh of relief - his feet hurt and he needed a drink - when Daemon had happened to glance down at the main club floor to check on Rhaenyra.
Usually, Daemon conducted business from his private VIP booth that was perfectly positioned to look out onto Rhaenyra’s cage. It let him or Harwin keep an eye on her with ease, but he couldn’t have Corlys and his gross fish eating that close to Rhaenyra. She’d lose it. So it was his custom to bring him to the office that sat above the dance floor; a large glass window allowing him almost as much surveillance.
Daemon’s back had been partially to the window, but the pull in his blood that connected him to his niece started to do that thing.
That was when he looked down…
and saw her in the arms of some douchebag.
The pull pulled harder and Daemon saw red. Then he growled his displeasure.
Harwin groaned internally. He knew by the end of the night he’d have even more bodies to dispose of. He really should get a new job.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
*Babe you can see that I'm danger*
“Um, so sorry sir. We were just leaving.” The young man Rhaenyra had landed on, Jason, was trying to step around the large man who had materialized out of the darkness to block his way. His heart sank as another two impossibly large men appeared, flanking the first. Drunk and scared, Jason backed up and bumped into his friend, Brandon. Brandon was blocked in by another two goons and their other two friends weren’t having much luck getting any closer to the exit either.
Jason turned back to the first goon. “Is there, uh, is something wrong?” No answer. Jason felt like crying. He was pretty sure that he and his friends were about to die.
As if they’d heard some kind of silent signal, the five goons grabbed Jason and his group and started pulling them off the dance floor. The other dancers parted for them, not interested in being dragged into the situation.
Rhaenyra hollered out. “Hey! Hey! Stop!”
No one replied. She looked up and saw him scowling down. She looked him in the eye.
“Stop them, Daemon! Kepa !” He turned away from the window and she crossed her arms across her chest in a huff.
“Well fine then. I hope they get blood on your shoes, Uncle.” Then she giggled. She really did hope he messed his shoes up; Rhaenyra hated those stupid red shoes with the Valyrian steel-tipped toes. She had wanted that Valyrian steel for one of her piercings. Then she skipped back to her cage; it wasn’t her problem anymore. The tray with her shots was still sitting on the stage and she grabbed another one.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
*Glamorous but I’m deranged yeah*
Brandon was seconds away from pissing his pants. He and his friends had been pushed into a cold, dark room, their phones snatched along the way. Brandon had no idea if they’d been in this room for 10 minutes or 10 hours but he knew that he would rather sit in this room forever than face whatever would happen when someone else joined them. He wasn’t stupid, he knew who had ordered them into this room and what he did to people who pissed him off.
Drew glared into the darkness. Why did Jason have to catch that nut job anyway? This was all his fault.
The door opened and Brandon jumped, thanking God that he didn't wet himself. A low, hard voice filled the room.
“Hello, boys.”
A single light flipped on, blinding the four young men on the floor. They all stared up in terror, half wishing for the return of the darkness.
Illuminated in the doorway was Daemon Targaryen. His platinum silver hair was slicked back and his light lavender eyes seemed capable of staring into your soul. He wore a black dress shirt that was only partially buttoned, showing off the many tattoos covering his upper body. There was a sheathed sword gripped in his left hand and heavy gold rings on almost every finger. His smirking lips spread in a terrifying grin.
“And which one of you young men is the winner tonight?”
“I...uh…well…uh.”
A knife slashed through the air, embedding itself in poor Brandon's shoulder. He yelped and finally lost control of his bladder.
“I did not ask for frightened stuttering. I asked for the identity of the cretin who thought he could touch what is mine.”
Drew wasted no time in jumping to his feet and pointing at Jason. “It was him, Mr. Targaryen, sir. I had nothing to do with it.”
Daemon slid his eyes up the young man standing in front of him and raised a slender silver eyebrow.
Drew foolishly kept talking.
“Yeah, it was Jason.”
“And your name is?”
“Drew. My name is Drew. I promise, I never touched her. I barely even looked at her. Sir.” Drew was hoping that the rest of them would be let go. He'd grown up in Myr and didn't know as much about Daemon's reputation as King’s Landing citizens did.
Bang!
Daemon casually lowered his gun and turned to Jason before Drew's body could finish falling to the floor.
“And Jason, exactly what made you think that you could touch my darling niece? Hmmm?”
Jason did his best not to stutter. “I didn't mean to, sir. I...well, she literally fell off the stage and I caught her. It was instinct. I didn't mean any disrespect. I just hate to see a lady get hurt.”
Daemon laughed. “Well, Rhaenyra came to me because she was sick of being a lady so I doubt she’d appreciate the sentiment.” Another laugh. Then the gun was in Jason’s face.
“And did you enjoy yourself?” Jason couldn’t help it, he was terrified.
“I-I-I mean...sir?”
With an exasperated sigh, Daemon lowered his weapon. “More stuttering. Disgraceful.” He motioned to Strong. “Harwin, make our guest comfortable. These other two are not needed. And tell Rhaenyra that her ass had better be in the car by the time I get there or she can join her new friend here.”
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
*Sparkling in sequins, say "hey, yeah!"*
Rhaenyra examined her hair for split ends as she sat in the passenger seat of Daemon’s Bugatti Veyron. Where even was he? She was ready to get home; she was in the mood for a spanking or two.
She jumped a little when he wrenched the driver side door open and slammed it angrily behind him. Rhaenyra stole a quick glance at his shoes. She was satisfied to see a bit of drying blood and what might have been a bit of brain matter. With a grin on her face, Rhaenyra looked up at him.
“Ready to go home, Kepa ?”