#Prince Daemon Targaryen

[happilyhertale]

"Daemon kneels in a jagged pool of light, presenting the castle he has captured. Rhaenyra’s banner hung above the ruined structures, unfurls into the space. We see the the “Blacks” banner framed by another jagged pool of light streaming through the ruined structures beyond, suggesting the cursed and dangerous history of Harrenhal."

"Rhaenyra is deep in thought, perhaps contemplating her father Visery’s words: “The control of dragons is an illusion..it is a power man should never have trifled with… one that brought about Valyria's doom. If we don't mind our own histories, it will do the same to us. Targaryen must understand this to be King… or Queen.” The “Blacks” banners hang from the walls and the space beyond."

"I envisioned the sequence as character vignettes separated by dark expanses, alluding to the fog of war, where each character’s motivations are hidden. True to Game of Thrones fashion, danger and intrigue are just around the corner, lurking in the darkness, creating an ever present tension."

Creative Director Vadim Turchin

Art Director Roger Hom

[calmingmelody96]

The Dragon's Niece

Chapter 19 - The Dragon's Regret

Warnings: medival sexism, forced marriage, uncle-niece incest, kidnapping, holding captive, dirty talk, possessiveness

Masterlist

The fire crackled low in Daemon’s solar, casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. He stood by the hearth, hands clasped behind his back, as the young maid was ushered in. Thalia curtsied deeply, eyes lowered.

He didn’t turn to face her right away.

“So. It was you.”

His voice was calm and cold, slicing through the quiet like a drawn blade.

“The moon tea. You brought it to me.”

Thalia lifted her chin only slightly, her voice steady. “Yes, my prince. I thought you should know… I only wish to serve your house faithfully.”

Daemon turned then, his expression unreadable. There was no amusement in his eyes now, only weariness.

“And serve, you shall.”

He walked toward her, slowly, and dropped a small velvet pouch into her hand.

“A reward. For your loyalty.”

Her fingers curled around the pouch, lips parting in surprise.

“From now on,” he said, “you will serve in my wife’s chambers. Quietly. Without drawing suspicion. Her previous maid’s loyalties wavered. I trust yours won’t.”

Thalia's breath hitched in her throat as he stepped closer, his tone sharpening.

“Make her believe you are on her side. Tend to her gowns. Prepare her favorite meals. Braid her hair. Watch everything. Hear everything. And report to me directly.”

Thalia swallowed, then nodded.

“Yes, my prince.”

He met her gaze.

“You did well, Thalia. I don’t like being lied to. Especially by my wife.”

“I understand, of course” she said softly.

“Keep close to her,” Daemon went on, gaze turning hard. “If she sends for tea again... I want to know before the cup touches her lips.”

Thalia nodded. “I’ll keep watching.”

He gave a short nod. “Good. You may go.”

The chamber was silent but for the occasional crackle of the hearth. Maeliora sat curled on the velvet-cushioned window seat, knees drawn to her chest, chin resting on them as she gazed out into the mist-veiled sky above the Dragonmont. Her eyes were dry, but her heart beat heavy with confusion, sorrow, and the ache of something she couldn’t name.

Daemon had not returned ever since. The door had closed behind him with finality, and the silence that followed had grown louder by the hour.

She touched her throat absently, remembering his voice... not the sharp, commanding tone of earlier, but the gentler one that used to be reserved just for her.

“You’re so beautiful, sweet girl,” he had once whispered when he took her for the very first time, all those years ago, brushing her hair away from her face as she lay trembling in his arms. “So brave. So obedient. You did well, Melly... I’m proud of you, little one.”

The memory came unbidden… warm and delicate, like silk brushing against her skin. She had been nervous that first time, not of him, never of him, but of the unknown, of herself. Afraid of what was right and what was forbidden, of the laws of the realm, of faith, of her father’s judgment… of disappointing him. But Daemon had guided her with such tenderness. Every touch was reverent. Every kiss a quiet promise meant to soothe.

He had stroked her hair as she trembled beneath him, praising her softly. Afterwards, he hadn’t just turned away. He had fetched a cloth and cleaned her with care, then tucked her against him, arm wrapped around her shoulders, lips brushing her ear.

“You’re mine now, sweetling. You’ve made me the happiest man in the realm.”

That night, she had fallen asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, wrapped in warmth and safety. If only she could have stayed in that moment forever. If only morning had never come, if only that foolish maid hadn’t burst into her chambers and found her cradled in her uncle’s arms. If only her father hadn’t found out… hadn’t exiled him. If only she hadn’t been forced to marry Gwayne Hightower. She might have had Daemon’s warmth forever.

And now?

Now the warmth was gone.

She curled tighter against herself, unable to stop the thoughts from flooding her mind. Is it my fault? she wondered bitterly. Did I drive him to this?

Daemon's anger had scorched her. His words still echoed in her ears. Not the soft ones, not the ones she cherished... but cold commands, sharp reprimands, and looks that held judgment instead of adoration.

She hated it when he was angry with her. Hated how distant he became, how his eyes, once filled with such pride, now looked at her like a misbehaving child.

But worse than his anger was the absence of the man who once cradled her so tenderly. She missed him — her uncle, her husband, her protector, the man who had once chosen her above all others and sworn to make her feel loved.

She blinked rapidly, trying to swallow the knot forming in her throat. She couldn’t let herself cry. Not now. Not when she had to appear strong.

Still, a whisper in the back of her mind asked, What if I’ve lost him? What if his lips never call me ‘sweetling’ again?

The ache settled low and deep, familiar now. She closed her eyes and leaned against the window stone, letting the quiet suffocate her guilt. Outside, the sea roared faintly against Dragonstone’s cliffs, but inside her chambers, the silence was too loud.

The door creaked open.

She turned slightly, expecting Lyra’s soft shuffle and mumbled apologies. But it wasn’t Lyra who entered.

A girl stepped in — young, with dark curls, a calm expression on her face. She curtsied low and smoothly.

“Princess,” the girl said, voice measured. “Prince Daemon has asked that I be added to your service. I’m Thalia.”

Maeliora blinked, thrown off. “Where is Lyra?”

There was a pause. A small one.

“Reassigned, my Princess,” Thalia said gently. “His Highness was… displeased.”

Maeliora’s stomach twisted. So he had found out that Lyra was the one that helped her. And acted accordingly.

“Displeased,” she echoed quietly.

Thalia nodded once. “I will try my best to fill her space for you, Princess. I’ve worked in the kitchens, mostly, but I’ve tended to chambers before.” Thalia replied, her tone gentle. “Who knows, you might find me helpful, Princess. I am quiet and hardworking. I promise I won't disappoint you.”

“Very well,” Maeliora said, sitting straighter. “You may begin.”

Thalia stepped smoothly into place, eyes already noting where hairbrushes were laid, where linens had been folded. Her presence was soft-footed, efficient.

“Would you like your hair brushed, Princess?” she asked, her voice pleasant. “Or shall I prepare something for your bath?”

Maeliora didn’t answer at first. Her gaze lingered on the silver brush Lyra used to wield every evening. She missed her. But she also knew better than to protest.

“Brush it,” she said finally.

As Thalia came behind her and began to untangle the strands with practiced hands, Maeliora stared into the mirror, into her own eyes.

He replaced her, she thought. Just like that.

The air in the Red Keep’s solar was thick with incense and dust motes. King Viserys sat slouched upon a cushioned chair, his back aching from the strain of age and throne. He held the parchment in a trembling hand, his expression unreadable as he read it for his ever so loyal Hand — Otto Hightower.

To Prince Daemon Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone,

Your sudden and unannounced union with Princess Maeliora has reached my ears, and though I have long grown used to your defiance, this matter touches the throne more deeply than you realize — unlike your previous affairs, which did not involve a clandestine ceremony and your self-serving whims.

The realm is watching us, Daemon. I urge you to return to King’s Landing, with your wife and son, so that this union may be properly recognized and addressed. I would have words with both of you.

King Viserys Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men.

He sealed the scroll with wax and pressed the dragon stamp deep into its center. Then, he handed it to the steward without looking up.

Otto stood nearby, hands clasped behind his back, watching the king carefully.

“When Daemon reads this,” Viserys said softly, “he will do the opposite of what I ask.”

Otto spoke carefully, “Shall we prepare for their arrival regardless?”

Viserys gave him a sidelong glance. “Prepare? No. Wait.”

The heavy door opened with a low groan, stirring the quiet like a blade through silk.

Maeliora looked up from the chaise where she sat curled in silence, wrapped in a deep plum shawl. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting flickering shadows across the carved stone walls. Her gaze flicked to the doorway — Daemon.

He entered without a word, his violet gaze sharp but unreadable as it swept over the room. He didn't stop to greet her. Instead, he unbuckled his sword belt with a practiced flick and tossed it onto the chair beside the bed. His silence was heavier than steel.

“Uncle,” she said softly, testing the water.

He said nothing, just shrugged off his black cloak and began unfastening the silver clasps of his doublet. His face was hard, his mouth drawn in a line she knew too well. Not cold, not cruel, but guarded. Wounded pride wrapped in armor.

She stood, hesitantly.

“I... wasn’t sure if you would come,” she offered, voice low.

“I live here,” he said flatly, not looking at her.

She tried again, voice light. “I can help you with that—”

“No need. I’ll manage.” he cut in, sharp and dismissive.

Maeliora shifted in her place, fingers brushing against the embroidered edge of her sleeve. She hated the silence. It coiled around them like smoke.

After a beat, she offered, “Do you want me to braid your hair before bed? It will tangle otherwise.”

He paused mid-motion. A long, heavy pause.

“No. Leave it.” he said at last.

Still, she approached him slowly, carefully, as he sat at the edge of the bed, his back to her, pulling off his boots. She didn’t touch him, not yet. Just stood beside him in the quiet.

“You’re still angry with me,” she said softly.

“I am,” he replied without looking at her.

A long pause.

She stepped a little closer, voice soft. “Are you going to keep punishing me in silence?”

His jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer.

She stepped behind him, her hand hovering before settling lightly on his shoulder.

“Uncle please... I was scared. Angry. Lost,” she whispered. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Then you should have come to me,” he said, meeting her gaze over his shoulder. “Not lied. Not gone behind my back like some petty court girl playing at rebellion.”

That struck deeper than she expected. Her lip trembled before she bit it back.

“I never meant to lie. I regret it now. But I couldn't just forgive you. Couldn't let go of my grudge... I wanted to hurt you. To cause you pain. To make you regret ever abandoning me and Daeron back then.”

He didn’t move. But he didn’t pull away either.

“I did not leave you by choice. You were there, in that damned throne room when your father exiled me. I was prepared to wed you. I fought for it, fought for you... I tried everything to make it happen,” he said after a moment, “But I came back for you. Came back to claim what was mine. Did I hold grudges against you for marrying my enemy, or hiding my son from me, sweetling?”

Her throat tightened. Tears shimmered behind her lashes.

“I miss you, Uncle… I miss how you used to be with me. All these years, every time I looked at Daeron’s face, I saw you. I never stopped thinking of you.” she swallowed, her voice trembling, “I hate it when you're angry with me, please don't be angry with me anymore.”

He was quiet for a beat, then nodded once, just barely.

“Me too, sweet girl. When I was bleeding in the Stepstones, it was the thought of you that kept me going.” he said. “But no more secrets. No more moon tea. No more defiance. I’m going to take care of you and you’re going to let me.”

She nodded, voice barely audible. “I promise.”

Another long pause.

He stood slowly, stepping closer. For a heartbeat, he just looked at her. Then his hand reached up, fingers brushing a tear from her cheek.

“Come here,” he murmured.

She stepped into his arms, burying her face against his chest. He held her, firm and warm, his chin resting atop her head.

They stood like that for a long moment, letting the fire warm what cold words had strained.

At last, he pulled back slightly, eyes on hers.

“Let us get some rest now,” he said quietly. “We'll talk more tomorrow.”

She slid beneath the covers beside him, the space between them once heavy with unspoken words now softening, their bodies drawn together by the quiet aftermath of the storm. As they lay there, side by side, the silence between them filled with a gentle knowing, their closeness needing no words, only the steady rhythm of shared breath.

♥️❥♡❦♥️❦♡❥♥️♥️❥♡❦♥️❦♡❥♥️♥️❥♡❦♥️❦♡❥♥️♥️❥♡❦♥️❦

Taglist: @aoi-targaryen, @claud012, @aleemendoza2425-blog

[sankta-wraith]

Not sure if this is common knowledge or not but I just realized that the reason Daemon was looking for eggs in the first place was so that he would have one ready when Rhaenyra gave birth.

[idkyetxoxo]

Daemon Targaryen - Our Little Dragon

Summary - She battles through excruciating labour, consumed by pain and fear, desperate for her husband's presence. As the chaos around her intensifies, his calm arrival becomes her only solace. In the midst of agony, their shared strength will shape their future.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Childbirth, strong language

Word count - 2397

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Daemon! Where is Daemon?!" I cried, my voice breaking, as I clutched the collar of the handmaiden standing before me. Her wide, terrified eyes met mine, but I could barely focus on them. 

A surge of pain ripped through my body, and I moaned, doubling over as another contraction tore through me like a blade.

The girl recoiled from my grip, her hands trembling, and instinctively took a step back. "I do not know, Princess," she whispered, her voice quivering with fear.

I looked around the room, the faces around me blurring in my vision, but their voices grew louder, muddled, a cacophony that only fed the storm of rage rising inside me.

I was drowning in pain, in fear, and in helplessness. My stomach was like a battleground, each wave of agony tearing through my body, but I was determined.

With a growl of frustration, I staggered to my feet. But before I could take another step, several hands reached out to steady me, pulling at my arms, my shoulders, as if they could contain me. 

As if they could control this fury, this pain.

"Back. Away. Now!" I roared, my voice laced with command. I clutched my swollen belly, my body trembling under the weight of another contraction, and my breath came in sharp, desperate gasps. 

The room swirled around me, but I couldn't focus on them. I needed him. I needed Daemon.

Each breath felt like a betrayal, my own body fighting against me, my mind warring with the impossible task of bringing life into this world. 

I had wanted this—had prayed for it—but no one had told me it would feel like this... like breaking into pieces, shattering and trying to put myself back together.

"Find me my fucking husband!" I howled, my forehead pressing against the bedpost, my body quaking with the intensity of it all. 

The frantic movement in the room seemed endless, people darting about as if they could make a difference.

"Princess, perhaps you should lie back down," Nysah, my most trusted handmaiden, murmured gently, her voice calm, almost too calm in the midst of the chaos. 

She stepped closer, her face etched with concern, her hands hovering as if unsure of what to do.

But I didn't want comfort. I didn't want softness. All I wanted was him.

I turned my head, my gaze fierce, and shot Nysah a look that could have withered stone. 

"Nysah, you have served me for eight years. You know me better than anyone in this room. And for that reason alone, I haven't already thrown you out of this chamber," I snapped, my voice low and cold, dripping with the weight of my frustration.

She frowned, taking a step back, and I felt the ache in my body intensify. The contraction was unrelenting, but so was my need to find him. To feel his arms around me. Daemon...

The door to the chamber creaked open, and the room fell into an almost eerie silence. Everyone froze. The air seemed to hold its breath as a figure stepped into the doorway—Daemon.

His presence was immediate, commanding, but there was a certain ease about him, as if he were strolling through a casual afternoon, not amidst the chaos of a woman in labor. 

His eyes flicked over the room, landing on me with an expression that bordered between amusement and concern.

He raised an eyebrow as he took in the scene. "Well, well," he said, his voice dripping with that unmistakable smirk. "Yelling at everyone, are we, my fierce little wife?"

A quiet, collective sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the room as the tension lifted with his words. His command over the situation, even with the chaos around us, was palpable. 

For a moment, I almost hated him for it—he was always so calm, so unruffled—but the sight of him steadied me in a way nothing else had.

I could barely stand, my body racked with another wave of pain, but Daemon was there in an instant, his arms wrapping around me with that familiar strength, his touch grounding me. 

His hand pressed gently to my back, guiding me back toward the bed with the ease of someone who had done this countless times before.

As I sank back onto the soft sheets, the sharp, biting pain eased for a moment, and I allowed myself a deep breath. 

But then, the words slipped out before I could stop them: "Where the fuck were you?"

Daemon's lips quirked, a light laugh escaping him as he carefully tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. 

"Relax, love," he said, his tone warm but teasing. "I was just out retrieving an egg for our little one."

I blinked at him, my mind struggling to make sense of the absurdity of it all. 

"An egg?" I repeated, incredulous, a bitter laugh almost choking me. "How nice. While I feel like I'm being ripped apart from the inside, you're out egg hunting?"

Daemon chuckled softly, shaking his head as he sat beside me on the bed, brushing more strands of hair from my face, his touch gentle, almost reverent. 

"You know I would never leave you if I thought you didn't need me," he murmured, his voice softer now. "But I wanted to ensure that our little dragon has a dragon of their own."

His words, simple yet filled with such affection, made my chest tighten, even as my body screamed with pain. He always had a way of making the impossible seem so... effortless. 

I wanted to snap at him, to remind him that I was the one who had to endure this agony, but in that moment, I couldn't bring myself to.

Instead, I simply closed my eyes, letting the sound of his voice soothe the chaos in my mind. If he could make light of it all, then perhaps I could, too. But only just a little.

"You're insane," I whispered, my hand reaching for his, gripping it tightly as another wave of pain rolled through me.

He laughed again, low and rich, and squeezed my hand. "And yet, I still make sure you're never alone in the madness, don't I?" 

His eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam as he leaned closer, pressing his forehead to mine.

"You're right," I muttered, my breath shaky but steadying. "You do have a way of making everything better."

Daemon smiled, brushing a final kiss across my brow, his voice a soft promise in the midst of the storm. "Just wait, my love. Soon, we'll have a dragon of our own to raise."

The hours seemed to stretch on forever, each one a new battle as the pain intensified, waves crashing over me relentlessly. 

I couldn't tell where one contraction ended and the next began—only that my body felt like it was being torn apart, stretched and strained beyond its limits. 

Yet through it all, Daemon remained at my side, unwavering. His presence was a steady anchor in the sea of chaos, his hands never leaving mine, his voice constantly soothing.

"You're doing wonderfully," he whispered each time I gasped for breath, his fingers gently stroking my palm. "My fierce girl, keep breathing."

His words were a balm, though they did little to quell the fire burning inside me. But I clung to him, to his quiet confidence, because it was the only thing keeping me from losing myself entirely to the pain. 

When the pressure built again, and I could feel the moment coming closer, I wanted to scream at him—ask him why this was so difficult, why my body had to go through such torment to bring our child into the world. 

But I knew he was feeling it too. 

His worry was barely hidden behind his calm demeanour, his eyes darting to the door as though expecting someone to burst in at any moment or perhaps hoping for something that might make it easier for me.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, the moment arrived.

I cried out as the final contraction ripped through me, my body tensing, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I squeezed Daemon's hand so hard I thought I might break it, but he didn't flinch, didn't pull away. His eyes never left mine.

"Almost there, love," he murmured his face inches from mine, his voice a low murmur against the deafening noise of the room.

And then, with one final, soul-shattering push, everything shifted. I felt her—a tiny, warm life slipping into the world. 

I breathed in ragged, exhausted breaths as the handmaiden placed her on my chest, her small, wriggling form warm and soft against my skin.

Daemon's hand gently brushed my damp hair from my face, his voice barely a whisper. 

"It's a girl," he said, his eyes wide with awe as he looked down at the tiny creature in my arms. "A little dragon."

I gazed down at the baby in my arms, her face red and scrunched in that unmistakable newborn way. She had tufts of silver hair, her tiny fingers already clutching at the fabric of my gown. 

Her eyes were still closed, but there was something so perfect about her, so fragile, so ours, that I couldn't help the tear that slipped down my cheek.

"Daeneys," I breathed softly, the name slipping from my lips as if it had always been there, waiting for this moment. It felt right, the name resonating deep within me. 

Daeneys. She was our little flame, our legacy.

Daemon smiled, his hand brushing over her tiny head. "Daeneys," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion, as though the weight of the moment was finally settling over him. 

He leaned down, kissing my forehead gently, and I could feel the quiet pride radiating off of him. "She's perfect, my love."

I nodded, blinking back tears, my exhaustion making everything feel hazy and distant, but there was a fierce joy in my chest that no pain could ever erase. 

"She is," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "She's ours."

Daemon carefully reached over, taking Daeneys gently from my arms. His hands were steady as he cradled her, and I watched in awe as he looked down at the tiny girl in his arms. 

There was a look in his eyes—so full of wonder, so full of love—that I had never seen before. It was the look of a father, and in that moment, I knew he would be everything for her.

"She's going to be a great woman, just like her mother," Daemon said softly, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips as he looked up at me. 

His voice was warm, full of pride, but there was a spark of mischief in his eyes as if he knew the future ahead of us would be as full of challenges as it was of love.

I laughed weakly, the sound soft and unsteady as I watched him with our daughter. 

"Let's hope she doesn't inherit my temper," I joked, feeling an unfamiliar sense of peace settle in my chest, the weight of the pain slipping away.

Daemon's laugh was low, filled with affection as he brushed his thumb across Daeneys's tiny hand. 

"If she has your temper," he said with a wink, "she'll be a force to be reckoned with."

I watched as Daemon cradled our daughter with a tenderness that left me breathless. It was then that I realized: this little girl, our little Daeneys, was not just the beginning of something new for us. 

She was the bridge between two worlds, a little dragon who would carry both our legacies, and perhaps even forge her own path. 

A new chapter had begun, and I couldn't wait to see what it held for us.

Daemon leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, "I promise you, she'll never be alone. Not while I'm here."

I nodded, my hand slipping into his as I watched him with our daughter. It was over. The pain, the uncertainty—it had all led to this perfect moment.

Daemon moved gently as if the world might shatter if he moved too quickly. 

Cradling Daeneys in his arms, he carefully walked toward the small cradle beside the bed, where the freshly acquired dragon egg lay. Its smooth, cool surface gleamed softly in the dim light, an unspoken promise of the future. 

He placed Daeneys down, her tiny body nestled comfortably in the soft blankets, and for a moment, he stood there, gazing down at both her and the egg with a look of profound pride.

I shifted in the bed, exhausted but unable to tear my gaze away. 

My heart swelled as Daemon reached out to tenderly adjust the blankets around Daeneys, making sure she was settled, her small chest rising and falling with each breath. 

His hands were careful, deliberate, as though he feared disturbing the fragile peace of this moment.

Then, slowly, he turned his eyes to me, his lips curling into a small, satisfied smile. "She's perfect," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion, as he looked from our daughter to the egg in her cradle.

I nodded, my heart full, my body still heavy from the hours of labour. "She is," I whispered, my voice hushed, reverent.

Daemon stepped back a bit, just enough to take in the sight of the two things that would forever tie us together—the tiny, fragile girl who had changed everything, and the egg beside her, a symbol of the future we would build for her.

He glanced down at Daeneys, then at the egg. "One day, our little dragon will have her own dragon," he said, his tone light, yet full of a quiet certainty. "She'll grow into her name."

I smiled, watching the two of them—Daemon, so sure, so steady, and Daeneys, so fragile yet full of promise. 

I could already see the strength in her, the legacy we would build for her, and I knew without a doubt that she would carry it forward in ways we couldn't even imagine yet.

Daemon brushed a hand through his hair, still gazing down at the cradle, his fingers brushing over the egg. 

"Our little dragon and her dragon," he repeated, his voice soft, almost a vow. 

And for a fleeting moment, the world outside that room faded away, leaving just the three of us—Daemon, me, and our daughter—and I knew that whatever came next, we would face it together. 

Proud, unbroken, and with a future ahead that no one could take from us.

A/n - Not my fav tbh I didn't really know what direction it was going until I finished so it may be a bit all over the place.

[scentedmiracleobject]

Aemond learns that Daemon sent assassins after him

Aemond in the brothel:

[wholoveseggs]

Small Victories

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen X Reader} After a tourney in which Daemon places second, he seeks solace from his loss and finds it in his little northern maid.

♡♡ Hello darlings! I'm branching out slightly and writing about a new character {Don't worry, I'm still writing Elijah} xoxo ♡♡

5.3k words - Warnings: smutt, size!kink, rough sex, dom!daemon, slight choking, virgin!reader, northern!reader, servant!reader, pre-dance Daemon, huge power imbalance...

♡♡ Hey! I didn't tag anyone because I'm unsure if you want to read Daemon content. If you wish to be tagged in future Daemon let me know ♡♡

You didn't like the Red Keep, it was too grand for your liking. Even with all of the people in it you still felt alone. At night, you could hear voices echoing throughout the halls, sometimes they were singing or laughing and other times they were screaming or moaning.

You could never tell where the sounds were coming from, it gave the place an odd feeling of being haunted. Ghosts weren't something you put your faith in, but that didn't stop the hair from standing up on the back of your neck whenever you heard a strange sound.

If it was up to you, you wouldn't live here. You would be back in the little cottage you grew up in, far into the north and as far away from King's landing as you could possibly be. It was a funny contradiction, that such a grand place in a warm environment could feel so cold, while a small house in the cold north could feel so full of warmth.

The last thing your mother said to you, was that you should be grateful. That your place in the Red Keep was the highest honor your family could ever hope to receive, and that you should do anything to stay here. To be a lady's maid to the queen, was the highest achievement a low born could achieve.

You tried to be, even though your heart yearned for the snowy landscape of your childhood. You wanted to be happy, you were thankful, but you couldn't help the way you missed the north.

So to try and capture just a bit of personal freedom, you would walk the halls at night. It was the only time you could pretend to be somewhere else, even if it was only for a moment. You would close your eyes and imagine yourself somewhere new and exciting, and when you opened them you would be reminded of where you really were.

Tonight you were in a particularly adventurous mood, there was a tourney the next day for Prince Viserys and his wife Aemma to celebrate their wedding. The Red Keep would be full of guests and it would be loud and full of life, you were sure to be very busy, and so you decided to stay up late and postpone sleep for a few more hours.

There was a room in the library that had a view of the city, one you liked to frequent often. It had a large window and a balcony that was rarely used. It was a nice place to go to clear your mind and think about home.

When you entered, nobody was around except for a cat that was perched on the windowsill. She was a lovely thing with black fur and bright green eyes, the perfect color of a dark forest at night.

"Hello, beautiful." You greeted her with a smile and a light stroke along her back. You looked out the window with her at your side, watching the moon reflect off the ocean and the waves crashing against the shore.

The sound of footsteps behind you made you look over your shoulder, your eyes landing on a man with a face that made you stand up straight and bow your head.

"Prince Daemon." You greeted him, not looking up from the floor.

"Young maidens like yourself shouldn't be out so late." He said, stepping closer to you. You didn't dare move or even breathe, his presence made you feel like you were caught doing something wrong.

"I couldn't sleep, my lord," You answered, not meeting his eyes. This was your first real meeting with the prince, but you knew the rumors that surrounded him.

He didn't respond to your answer, instead, he turned his attention towards the view. Leaning against the window, his posture was dismissive, as though you weren't there. He gave you a side glance that read, 'leave,' and so you did, not wanting to get in his way.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to intrude." You said, walking past him, heading towards the doorway.

"You are from the north," he spoke, still looking out into the water.

"Yes, my lord," You answered, stopping when he started speaking.

"How did you find yourself as a maid in the south?" He asked, looking at you, his eyes piercing through you.

The truth of the matter made you feel shameful, even though it was beyond your control. So you decided to tell him what you've been telling everyone.

"I was given as a gift for our new queen," You said, looking down at the floor.

"Is that what they call it?" Daemon laughed, his laugh was as harsh as his voice, the kind of laugh that could cut you open if you let it. "I heard you were given away as payment for a debt."

Your cheeks reddened and you looked at the ground, your throat closing up at the mention of your family's failure. Pride wasn't something you could afford anymore, but you couldn't stop the words that came out of your mouth.

"I didn't realize that princes were so fond of gossip." You said, meeting his eyes, your words were meant to cut, and they did.

He stood up straight, his expression unreadable as he closed the distance between the two of you, towering over you.

"Ahh, so they did sell you." He smirked, looking down at you. "Whoring can make you better coin… recover a debt quicker."

Your hands balled up into fists and you took a step closer, a defiant glare on your face.

He chuckled and tilted his head, he reached out and touched your chin, his hand was soft but firm as he turned your face to look at him.

"With a pretty face like yours, I'm sure you would make quite a bit of coin," His voice was a purr, a seductive growl that made your insides feel tight. "I could show you a better use for those lips."

His words were shockingly vulgar, his voice was rough and commanding and his eyes were hungry, but you didn't move away, you stayed still. You knew the dragon prince was a scandalous man, but you didn't think he would ever be so bold.

"There is no honor in a whore's coin." You answered, pushing his hand away from your face.

"Is there honor in emptying the queen's chamber pot?" He retorted, grinning slightly at how red your cheeks had become.

"Not all of us have the opportunity to choose what sort of honor we can acquire,” You said, standing your ground as best as you could.

He towered over you, his tall frame casting a shadow that almost completely covered you. He wasn't like the king or queen, who were kind and generous. There was something dark and malicious about him, as though the great beasts of his house lurked just below his skin, waiting to come out.

"You have a smart mouth, little northerner." He mused, his eyes drifting down to your lips. "It's a wonder that the queen has not put a gag in it."

"It's a poor quality I have yet to overcome." You responded, pulling away from him and putting some distance between the two of you.

He watched you move away, his eyes following your movements and the shape of your body, making you feel hot.

"I will think of you when I win the tourney tomorrow." He said, his tone smug and confident. "A sweet northern flower to bring back with me."

"You will be bringing back nothing, prince Daemon." You said, your voice a warning.

He laughed and looked at you, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"We'll see about that."

And with those final words, he left the room. You felt flustered and annoyed, a strange mixture of feelings that confused and angered you. You didn't like the prince, but he made your heart race, his voice and his eyes made you feel a strange sense of heat.

You wanted to be disgusted, and yet all you could think about was seeing him again.

It was a hectic morning, with all the knights and guests arriving, and you were late. Your tardiness had earned you a sharp reprimand from your head maid, but you were too distracted by the upcoming event to care.

The prospect of seeing the prince again was something you weren't sure you wanted, but couldn't stop thinking about.

You didn't like the way his eyes lingered on you, or how he made you feel things that shouldn't be felt. The rogue prince was indeed a fitting title, he was a scoundrel and a liar, a man of dishonor.

You thought that maybe he was the sort of person that the south created, perhaps they took people like you and turned them into someone like him. But then again, he wasn't really a southerner, no, he was a dragon.

The sound of cheers and laughter outside made your ears perk up. The queen was already seated with the other royals in their viewing box, and you were in a nearby tent, preparing more wine and food.

The tourney had just begun, and so far the knights had all performed well. You had only been paying a bit of attention, trying to do your job and keep out of the way.

The head maid was a cruel, vindictive woman, and she had been taking out her frustration on you all day. Her temper was short and her hands were rough, she was the kind of woman that would slap your hands or pull your hair if she was upset. But today she decided to simply make your life miserable with her words.

She gave you the worst jobs and the heaviest items to carry, and when she did allow you to stand and rest, she would hit your feet with her broom and tell you to get back to work.

"Once you are finished pouring wine, I want you to go to the prince's tent and serve him." She ordered, her eyes were sharp and her words were harsh.

"The prince has a squire to serve him." You protested, the idea of facing Daemon again made your cheeks turn red.

"The prince requested a woman's company,” She smiled, her eyes looking at you with an almost wicked satisfaction.

"I believe what the prince is looking for can be found on the street of silk, not among the ladies maids." You countered, hoping to change her mind.

"It's an honor to serve the prince, and he has specifically asked for a northern girl." The head maid was adamant, not willing to let this go.

You clenched your jaw and took a deep breath, biting your tongue as you looked at the floor.

"Very well, madam."

You held back tears as you climbed the stairs to the viewing box, pouring wine into the cups. Keeping your eyes low and only lifting them when absolutely necessary as you made your way down the line of royals.

Everyone began to stir and chat as the final round was announced. You turned to face the arena, watching as the prince mounted his horse, the sight of him made your heart flutter.

He was a handsome man, there was no denying that, his long blonde hair was braided and tied back, and his purple eyes were focused and determined.

His horse was a massive stallion, black as night, and he rode him as though they were one. He moved with a grace and confidence that was captivating.

The final round began, the two men charging at each other. You were nervous and excited, not knowing what to expect.

The clash of steel was the only sound in the air, it echoed throughout the entire arena. The crowd was silent, their eyes locked on the scene before them.

The two men passed each other, once, twice, three times. The tension building with each near miss, until finally the two knights clashed again.

Daemon's opponent had a slight edge over him, being bigger and stronger, but Daemon was quicker. But on the fourth pass, his opponent managed to catch him off guard, sending him flying into the dirt.

The crowd gasped, their hands covering their mouths as the prince's horse bucked and ran, leaving him in the dust.

You winced at the sight, it wasn't a good fall. He landed on his back, hard, and he lay still for a moment, his eyes squeezed shut as he caught his breath.

Only when the head maid cleared her throat did you realize you had been holding your breath.

"You are needed in the prince's tent, girl." she commanded, grabbing the jug from your hands and giving you a stern look.

You nodded, taking the tray of food and wine from the table and heading out of the box. Your heart was racing and your palms were sweaty, the thought of seeing Daemon after such a public humiliation was not something you were looking forward to.

The air was alive with the roar of the people, and the thumping of their feet sounded like thunder. They were chanting for the champion, something that would surely upset Daemon even more.

When you got to his tent, you hesitated, taking a moment to calm your nerves. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, letting the noise of the crowd fade away.

You stepped inside, finding him sitting in a chair, his shirt was off and his squire was cleaning a nasty gash on his arm.

"I'm sorry for intruding, Prince Daemon." You said, placing the tray of food on the table and pouring a cup of wine.

"Leave," he barked at his squire, his voice was gruff and his jaw was clenched.

"But my prince-" his squire protested, looking up from the wound he was treating.

"Now."

The boy left quickly, leaving you alone with the brooding prince.

"Would you like some wine, my lord?" You asked, your voice soft and timid, the last thing you wanted was to make him even more upset.

"No," he hissed, his voice sharp as a knife. "Bring me a new shirt."

You did as he asked, walking over to the large chest in the corner. It was full of clothes, the colors and fabrics were fine and beautiful. You selected a clean white shirt and brought it over to him, your eyes focused on the ground.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice was quiet, but it was a demand, not a request.

You lifted your eyes, meeting his gaze. His eyes were cold, the same shade of violet that had captivated you was now a glare.

You did very well, my lord," You tried to reassure him, your voice soft and comforting.

"Is that meant to be comforting?" He asked, his tone was harsh and his expression was a scowl.

"Fine. I have never seen a worse display than the one you put on today," you said, the words slipping from your mouth before you could stop them.

He smiled, then laughed, his shoulders shaking as his amusement grew. Only his brother the king would ever talk to him this way, and here you were, a young low born northerner, mocking him. He didn't know why he enjoyed it coming from you, perhaps it was because your words meant nothing. You were no one, and he was the prince, and yet he found himself intrigued.

"That was quite a show, wasn't it?" He chuckled, the sound was hollow, not at all humorous.

"It was humiliating," you answered, the words escaping before you could stop them.

"Careful," he warned, his eyes narrowing. "You're lucky I find your insolence amusing."

"I thought it was why you had asked for me," you retorted, setting the shirt on the table and taking a step back.

He stood up from the chair, closing the space between the two of you. The air was thick with tension, his eyes boring into yours, his face was inches from yours.

"I didn't lose the tourney," he stated, his voice a low growl.

"You didn't win either," you countered, your cheeks flushed red, your heart racing in your chest.

He smiled, the gesture was almost predatory, he reached out and grabbed your face, his hands were rough and his grip was tight.

"You are quite the mouthy little wench," his words were a harsh whisper, his breath hot against your skin.

You didn't answer, afraid of what he would do if you spoke. He seemed to be enjoying himself, his eyes dancing with amusement as he stared at you.

"On your knees," he ordered, his tone demanding.

"My lord, I-" you protested, trying to pull away.

"Kneel," his voice was louder this time, and you knew that he was not going to repeat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, but he was the prince, and you couldn't disobey him. So you lowered yourself onto your knees, looking up at him, waiting for him to tell you what to do next.

"Is it true that northern girls can take a cock better than southern ones?" He asked, his hand still holding onto your chin.

You didn't know how to respond, his words making your cheeks burn. You could only stare at him, your mind reeling as you tried to figure out what he wanted.

He smiled, and the look in his eyes made your heart race. "Open your mouth, little northerner."

You did as he commanded, your eyes never leaving his. He pushed his thumb past your lips and slowly pressed down onto your tongue, rubbing it in circles before slowly dragging it out.

Your lips parted and your breathing became heavier as he traced his wet thumb across your bottom lip, his eyes fixated on the movement.

"Beautiful." He whispered before sliding his thumb back into your mouth, pushing it all the way into your throat, causing you to gag.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth and wiped the spit off on your cheek before grabbing you by the arms and lifting you up, turning you around and pushing you face first into the table.

"My lord," you gasped, struggling against his strong grip.

Daemon laughed at the look of shock on your face, his cock growing harder at the sight. "See? I knew you would make a great whore," he smirked, his words bringing a flush to your face.

He pulled your dress up, exposing your ass and legs. His hands were rough as he groped you, squeezing your thighs and your cheeks.

You pushed against him, trying to free yourself, but his grip was too strong. He pushed your thighs apart, his hand trailing up to your cunt, his fingers stroking your entrance, teasing you.

He softened at your defiance, a smirk crossing his lips. "I enjoy you, little northerner. Perhaps I should keep you," he mused.

He slid his finger into your cunt, his touch gentle and slow. You whimpered, pushing against him again.

"You would be my little northern flower," he murmured, his finger moving in and out of your cunt, the pace becoming quicker. "A blue rose in my garden."

You were ashamed of how aroused you were, the prince's touch was intoxicating, and you couldn't stop yourself from grinding your hips against his hand. You had never been with a man before and the pleasure he was giving you was beyond anything you had ever felt.

He slid another finger inside of you, his movements quick and rough. You moaned, biting your lip as you felt yourself getting closer to release.

He suddenly pulled away, the sudden absence of his touch made you whimper. He spun you around, knocking objects off the table and pinning you against it. Your hands went to his chest, pushing him back, but his grip was too strong, his eyes filled with lust.

"You're a feisty one," he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands gripping your ass, lifting you up and pressing you against his hips. "I guess it's true that the fires always burn hotter in the north,"

You shivered as he sucked and bit at the skin on your neck, his teeth scraping across your sensitive flesh, leaving red marks behind. You couldn't help but moan, the feeling was so intense, and the sounds were so sinful.

"My prince... I..." You stuttered, trying to find the words, but he cut you off with a kiss.

The feel of his hands on your body, his lips on yours, his cock hard against you, was intoxicating. You had never felt this way before, this desire, this want. He made you feel like you were drowning in the fire of his touch. He was a dragon, and he would take what he wanted.

You couldn't resist, you gave in, kissing him back, letting his tongue explore your mouth. He smelled of blood, dirt and sweat, a combination that shouldn't have been appealing, but was.

You could taste his lust on your lips, and it made you hungry for more. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing yourself closer to him, and he moaned, the sound rumbling in his chest. He was so much larger than you, so much stronger, and you felt so small in his arms.

His hand trailed down your chest, slowly untying the strings that held up your dress, his fingers tracing over the fabric, teasing you.

"Sweet little northern girl," he teased, his voice a low growl. "Are you going to give yourself to me?"

"Yes," you whispered, your cheeks flushed pink.

He kissed you again, his lips rough and demanding, his hand pushing your dress down, exposing your breasts. "You've never touched yourself before, have you?”

"No, my Prince," you whispered, your little hands curled into his chest, your nails digging into his skin.

"That's alright, I'll show you how it's done."

His hands slid down to your thighs, his fingers trailing up, his touch light and teasing. You let out a gasp as his fingers brushed over your cunt, touching a spot that made your body tremble.

"This little spot right here," he said, rubbing his thumb against it, "is the most sensitive part of your body. The more pressure, the better."

You nodded, gasping and moaning as he pressed his thumb against it, circling it. You could feel the heat rising within you, the pleasure building.

"Feels good doesn't it?" He whispered, his voice husky, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Y-yes," you stuttered, your hips moving, grinding against his hand.

He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

"Do you like being my little whore, hmm?" He asked, his lips trailing down your neck, his kisses hot and wet.

"N-no," you moaned, pushing him back, trying to fight against him.

He laughed, his teeth nipping at your collarbone. "Liar," he whispered, his tongue licking over the marks he'd made.

His hands reaching down to his waist, undoing his breeches and pulling them off, his cock springing free. You gasped, your eyes wide as you took in the size of him.

He took your hand and placed it on his cock, his eyes burning into yours. "Go on, feel it," he whispered.

Your fingers curled around his cock, your small hand barely able to fit around him. You moved your hand, sliding it down the length of his shaft, his cock thick and pulsing in your hand. His skin was so warm and smooth, his breathing deepening as you began to move your hand up and down, stroking him slowly.

You could see the scars from battle stretched across his chest and torso. Small claw-like marks around his pectoral and a deep line that stretched down the left side of his rib cage. He was a hardened warrior, and you could tell by his scars, he had been through much to get where he was now.

You squeezed his cock, moving your hand up and down, his breathing deepening and his eyes growing hazy. He watched you, his gaze following every movement you made. You were starting to get more comfortable, taking pleasure in watching him, in making him feel good. You found the nerve to press the pad of your thumb against the tip, feeling the moisture leaking from him.

"Good girl," he praised, his voice low and husky.

You felt a wave of pride, knowing that you were pleasing him, that he liked the way you were touching him. You continued to stroke him, squeezing and pulling at his cock, watching his face, seeing the pleasure on his features.

He groaned, his eyes closing and his head tilting back, his breath catching. You could feel his cock throbbing in your hand, and you knew that he was getting close.

He let out a low growl and grabbed your wrist, halting your movements. "If you keep that up, I'm going to spill my seed all over this pretty little dress of yours," he said, his eyes full of heat.

"Is that so, my lord?" You asked, unable to hide the hint of amusement in your voice.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you under him, his body caging you, trapping you beneath him. He was breathing hard, his face flushed, his cock hard and resting on your stomach. His eyes burned into yours, his gaze intense, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady.

You weren't talking back anymore, he could see the fear in your eyes, the hesitance, and that only made him want you more. His hand went to your throat, applying gentle pressure, a silent warning.

He could feel you trembling beneath him, and he tightened his grip, a primal, possessive urge rising within him. Your small hands pushing into his chest, clutching at his heated flesh.

"Open for me," he growled, his eyes fixed on yours.

You parted your thighs, allowing him to press closer to you. He growled, lifting your legs and wrapping them around his waist, his cock brushing against your cunt. He felt you tighten, your eyes widening with trepidation.

He chuckled, loving how terrified and eager you were at the same time. He gave you a moment, and then he slowly pushed into you. You whimpered, your nails digging into his back, your eyes closed, your face twisted in pain.

"Breathe," he said, rubbing his thumb against your cheek, "it will hurt for a just moment and then I will make you feel good,"

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you felt his cock hit your maidenhead.

"Are you ready, little northerner?" He whispered.

You gripped his forearms and nodded.

He pushed in slowly, breaking through your barrier. You cried out, the pain was intense and immediate. He groaned, the feel of your tight cunt was intoxicating.

He stayed still, giving you time to adjust. Your nails dug into his arms, leaving deep scratches in his flesh.

"Such a pretty, tight little cunt," he growled, nipping at your neck.

You kept your eyes closed, trying to focus on his words and not the pain. He began to move with slow, deep strokes, his cock stretching you, filling you. He was bigger than he felt in your hands, and you swore you could feel him everywhere.

He moaned, his hips rocking into you, his hand still on your throat, making you feel lightheaded. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your lips parted, your cheeks flushed. You felt so full of him, stretched open, the pain and pleasure mixing into one.

He watched your reaction with a smirk, amused by your shocked, satisfied expression. He was moving slowly, enjoying your warmth and the feel of your cunt clenching around him. He knew you were enjoying it, too, your eyes half-closed, a soft moan escaping your lip. Your small frame was arched to his body, your hands holding on to his neck.

You were surprised at his gentleness. You'd heard that the dragon prince liked to rough up women, but he was being as careful as if you were made of spun sugar. You felt so small and helpless underneath him, his large body nearly engulfing yours, and yet he wasn't hurting you. His touch was delicate, reverent. The way he spoke to you, calling you pet names, made your heart skip a beat.

You arched against him, a soft cry leaving your lips as his strokes got faster, deeper, hitting a place inside you that sent a sharp, hot pleasure through you.

"Does my little northerner like her prince's cock?" He said, a laugh in his voice, he began to pick up the pace, pounding into you.

You squeaked and pushed on his chest, the sensations becoming too much. He grabbed your hips and held you still, fucking you hard and fast, his eyes full of fire.

You felt your release rising up inside you, the tension in your body winding tighter and tighter. You could feel yourself clamping down on his cock, the pleasure almost too much, the sweet pain sending you over the edge.

He groaned at the sight of you coming undone, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you shattered around him. He could feel the tension in your muscles as your climax tore through you. He slowed his movements, easing out the last waves of pleasure, drawing it out until you were a shuddering, moaning mess.

He was close behind, his thrusts erratic, his breathing harsh. He pulled out and spilled his seed across your stomach, his hips bucking. He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a contented sigh leaving his lips. At least he had one victory today.

Your face was hot with shame, your mind unable to comprehend what just happened. The prince's seed was cooling on your stomach and chest, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. Your hands went to your face, covering it as tears came to your eyes, you had never felt so good and so embarrassed at once.

He moved off of you, his eyes locked on yours, a smirk crossing his lips. He looked satisfied, his gaze wandering over your body, lingering on the wetness between your legs, the mess he'd made of you. He tossed you a cloth to clean yourself with. You wiped his seed off your skin, watching him dress, his blonde hair still braided back, his purple eyes full of lust and desire. He was a warrior, a dragon, he was beauty and strength, power and masculinity. He was everything you wanted and feared, a beast who could destroy you.

He gave you a side glance, his eyes full of amusement. "You may go," he said, shooing you away with a hand.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, as you took a shaky breath. You stood up, gathering the pieces of your dress and your underclothes. Your legs were wobbly, and you felt weak, sore, and full of shame.

"Yes, my prince," you said quietly, looking at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, the sound of his voice making you shiver. "Don't be so timid, little northerner. This is the beginning, not the end," he said, his words sending a jolt of fear and excitement through you.

He was right, this was only the beginning. You were his servant, and he could do with you as he pleased. He would have you come to him whenever he chose, on the warmest summer nights and the coldest winter days. He would take what he wanted, when he wanted.

He was a dragon, and his will was as strong as his blood.

And deep down, you knew you would enjoy it. He was the perfect thing to distract you from the mundanity of your life, the endless monotony of serving others.

Perhaps the Red Keep wouldn't be so terrible, not if it meant serving him.

[yandereunsolved]

Thicker than Dragon's Blood - ,, yandere Daemon Targaryen pining over Rhaenyra's friend

"𝘖𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥: 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯��𝘦." word count: 3.8k cw(s): yandere themes, suggestive themes (slight nsfw), grooming, dubious consent, purity culture, misogny, & stockholm syndrome

✧ It all began the day that both you and Rhaenyra met in the nursery. Without the ability to speak, only to wail and babble, the two of you were instantly the closest of friends. There was no place where she went that you weren't either. You balanced out her reckless and bratty behavior. She wasn't the best friend to you, but you were stuck to her hip. You always took the fall for her so that she could keep her reputation untarnished. In those moments, you forgot your standing as a child of a noble—a Lord or Lady of a house standing strong. You always gifted her little things that you found as reminders of your bond. She paid you back through adventure and gossip. Occasionally, she would gaslight you if you heard something bad about her, but who wouldn't? She couldn't lose her best friend.

✧ In the back of those red-tinted memories was Daemon. Whenever he happened to be at the Red Keep, he always kept a close eye on what transpired between the both of you. At first, he saw an opportunity to stake his future claim as king by marrying Rhaenyra. Although his eyes always wandered to you. There was something about you that was just so innocent and corruptible. As you grew, so did Daemons intrigue with you. It soon ignited into a fiery infatuation, burning brighter than any flame in Old Valyria ever could.  

✧ His interest, a word far too shallow to explain his attraction, was not unnoticed by your father, the head of your house. Daemon had many talks with your father. Your father did your best to sweet talk Daemon, but obviously he was able to see through it. He didn't need any convincing. That's how he became your tutor. He would spend all his free time dragging you away from Rhaenyra, forcing you to learn whatever he felt like teaching you that day. He wanted to cause a rift in your relationship with her. He was also beginning to feel possessive over you. Why has his neice caught your favor and not him? He could not allow this seemingly 'platonic' relationship with Rhaenyra to further escalate.

✧ The content of his teachings would seem less than savory to most. You had just barely risen past the age of a blooming maiden; that makes you fair game, correct? When you were in your younger years, he never taught you anything that could cause rumors to spread. After all, rumors in the Red Keep spread faster than a dragon's fire. He needed to make sure that you were old enough to keep your mouth shut. He needed to make sure that your age wouldn't be a problem. An age gap wouldn't cause rumors, but a child noble engaging in intimate acts like an adult prince? Unthinkable. He wouldn't ruin his reputation because of that.

✧ However, no gap in age or experience could stop him once you were old enough to be considered of age. He began teaching you the finer things in life, like how to please a man and how to please yourself. You were naive. You didn't know more than how a babe was made. You didn't realize everything was so complicated and embarrassing. He always stifles your moans during your private 'tutoring' sessions. He encourages you and tells you how good you are being. He speaks dirty words in your ears in High Valyrian. He gives you an extra reward if he can see you recognize some of the words in his teachings. It's an addiction for him. He can't get enough of your body and your figure. You had grown into yourself. It was a sight no other whore's body could even begin to match. The gods must have gifted you to him after everything he has done for the kingdoms.

✧ He gives you 'homework' and does more than just scold you if you don't complete it to his liking. Most of the time, he just enjoys watching you. Even after all his teachings, you are still so inexperienced. He hasn't taken the final step with you. He wouldn't take your full maidenhood yet, no. He simply couldn't. Not for any moral reasons. He just wanted you to keep your virtue a bit longer. That's one of the things that attracted him to you in the first place. He would have immediately taken any other slut, but you weren't that. You are a god(dess) among men. You deserve a romantic night filled with passion. A night where he can put a babe in you, fertile or not.

✧ As you began drifting away from Rhaenyra due to your tutoring sessions with Daemon, you were confronted. She clung onto you with tears in her eyes and asked why you didn't care about her anymore. She silently begged and pleaded for a good reason. Then she became enraged. She slapped you and demanded to know once again why you were drifting from her. 

"Is it because of my uncle? Is your knowledge truly worth more than our lifelong partnership?"

You couldn't tell her the truth. You knew what you were engaging in with Daemon was scandalous. If you told Rhaenyra she may hate you, or even worse, use it to blackmail you so you are always by her side. You made up some flimsy excuse. You just said that you were insecure about always being near her, and Daemon said that she didn't like you anymore. That part about Daemon was partly true. He has been whispering lies to you about your relationship with Rhaenyra for years now. For better or for worse, you both are still as close as you were during your younger years, if not even closer now.

She finally calmed after you made your excuse. She didn't question its validity. She was just happy to finally have you back. She made you promise to stay away from Daemon as much as you possibly could. So, you did. Who were you to disobey the command of a princess, your closest companion?

✧ A sense of shame and dread fills you. You don't need a tutor anymore. After an hour-long argument with your father, he finally relents. He threatens that if their house falls out of the Targaryens good graces because you refused to be tutored by Daemon, he'll sell you out to a pleasure house. He didn't know how hard that hit you. You felt impure. You enjoyed what you did with Daemon. Why is that wrong? You were taught only to find pleasure in your future spouse. You found pleasure in him, and look where it got you. A strained relationship with your best friend that you had to fix, and your father threatening to sell you out to a whore house.

You feel like you are being attacked from all angles. Daemon begins to stalk you to get your attention. That's what you can call it, right? Stalking? You swear he's following you, even when he isn't. You thought you heard the guards speaking about reporting back to him. Something just feels more off about him whenever you get near him. Your mind began to repress all the memories of your intimate moments together. You just felt so confused, so lost, and so paranoid. Nothing felt right. You could barely remember your own name. At least you'll be able to find a suitor soon. You'll be able to put this all behind you. Not if Daemon has anything to do with it.

✧ After a few months, everything seems to be back to normal. There are no more of those weird tutoring sessions; you have rebuilt your relationship with Rhaenyra, and you even have some decent choices for a future spouse. You did have to carry on the bloodline as the eldest, after all. 

Daemon, however, was far from 'normal'. Not that he ever was. Over those few months, people could notice the changes in him. He became more unhinged, erratic, and easily angered at the tiniest of mistakes. Behind closed doors, he was drinking all of the spirits he could get his hands on. He was spending triple the amount of time at brothels that he usually did. He forgot about everything else, except for the problem of the bronze bitch in the back of his mind. You were nothing like her. You were like a precious piece of jewelry made out of the finest gold and precious metals that were melted down by a dragon's breath. All he knew was that he needed to court you. 

Not even commanding the Nights Watch could tame the beast within him. He flew Caraxes to contemplate. He would eye over where, somewhere off in the distance, you were in the castle. You were probably spending time with his neice, or gods forbid, another man, one of his men that he commands. 

He's just never wanted anything more than you. He knows you aren't his kin or his blood. He knows that marrying you would be an impossible task. It would mean decreasing his chances of taking the throne. You had something, though; you had the Targaryen spirit in you. He could feel it every time he touched you. He could feel the heat simmering just beneath the skin. You were worthy of his seed and worthy of carrying his kin. He could always bribe one of his family members to use as a surrogate in case you have male genitalia or are infertile. Your babies would still be pure Targaryens that way. It just disgusts him to have to think of impregnating anyone but you.

✧ You had a tournament in honor of Rhaenyra finally being old enough to be courted. It was one that would end on a much lighter note, as opposed to the last one, which ended in her mother's death. It was partly your tournament as well. Well, that is what Daemon thought of it as. He would fight for you, and you alone. He understands that voicing this would be improper. You do see it in the way he glances at you while fighting in the rounds he is participating in. When he is not, he's staring into your soul. His eyes never leave your figure. You feel queasy; something is even more off about him now. Your ex-tutor didn't have any feelings past merely using you as another one of his flings; you tried to assure yourself. Only when the last round of the tournament was to commence did he ask for your favor instead of Rhaenyra's.

The crowd was shocked; some gasped, while others questioned the meaning of this. Was Daemon choosing you over Rhaenyra due to the infighting over who was to be the true heir of the Iron Throne? Was he simply being contrary, as always? Or did he want your favor because he harbored more than platonic feelings toward you?

It was unheard of, as it was customary for Targaryens to only ask for the favors of their family members.

He did the tournament. His actions made clear the message he intended to send; he did it for you. 

Rhaenyra wasn't pleased. She threatened her uncle behind closed doors to stop hitting on her best friend. He laughed it off. He taunted her.

"As if there is anything you can do about it. They want me. They crave my touch."

✧ You only tried harder from then on to separate yourself from him. You purposefully avoided him, and it only became harder to do so. It was as if he had memorized your schedule by heart. Little notes and gifts began to be left on your bedding. They weren't signed, but you had a suspicion that it was Daemon's doing. You tried to express your concerns to your mother and father, only to be given a dismissive response. You tried to confide in your siblings, but your female one(s) only giggled and swooned over him. Your male one(s) simply huffed and waved you off, half-heartedly saying that they'd offer you some protection against the prince if the time came. 

✧ You try to confront him. He admits that the gifts were from him. He doesn't admit the extent of his infatuation for you yet. You already seemed adamant on avoiding him. Scaring you off wouldn't do him any good because he still doesn't have a strong hold over the council or his brother. He promises to stop gifting you things and back off if you just do one thing with him. You reluctantly agreed without knowing what he was planning. If you knew it was to ride on Caraxes with him, then you would have simply walked off and not given his compromise another thought. 

✧ You were intimidated by dragons; dare you say fearful of them. They always seemed to be able to pierce one's soul with their eyes. You refused to be near Rhaenyra's dragon, Syrax, for that exact reason. Now you were within ten feet of one, and you were practically trembling. Daemon was positively ecstatic underneath his facade of poised indifference. He would be able to exert control over you because of his title of dragon rider, if nothing else. 

Syrax seemed like an innocent hare in comparison to Caraxes.

However, you surprisingly felt safe as Daemon placed your hand on Caraxes's scales. There was a certain vulnerability in Daemon's eyes that you had not seen before. He seemed to treasure these moments. Caraxes almost seemed to... like you? The dragon could sense his riders affection toward you. In turn, Caraxes felt the same need to protect you and be gentle. The beast even allowed you to scratch under his chin, a purr-like reaction emanating from his long throat. It was like nothing you had ever experienced before. 

☾ The ride was breath-taking, both figuratively and literally. That's the only way you can describe it. It was the first time you felt safe around Daemon. He was in charge of making sure you felt comfortable in the air, his arms possessively at your sides as he controlled the reigns. He could feel your relaxed muscles against his toned chest. His heart swelled even further with an all-encompassing ecstasy that he had never had the pleasure of feeling before. Caraxes responded to both of you with a comforting roar, somewhere in between intimidating and reassuring. You had never felt true freedom in your life. For once, you felt it, even in the arms of someone you could consider an oppressor. 

☾ You were aware of his wife. You knew that these strange feelings Daemon harbored for you had to be temporary. You at least admitted to yourself that he did hold some sort of romantic attraction to you. He admitted the least of it. Still, you fooled yourself into thinking they were temporary. Not just a fling, something more intimate but less binding than a marriage. Even with this knowledge, even after being introduced to Caraxes and riding him with Daemon, your hesitance was still fully rooted within your heart and mind—your soul. He took advantage of you before. You shudder at the thought. You enjoyed learning those things, but were you truly able to consent to them? You were of age. You push it away within your mind. It is the deepest reason for your hesitance, but you didn't want to think on it. Thinking of your tutoring sessions with Daemon only proved to fill you with heat and shame simultaneously.

☾ You chose to do your best to shake all of the invasive thoughts from your mind. You spent as much time as you could with Rhaenyra. She looked at you with such love and cowered behind you whenever things got too tough. From the shadows of the small council, one man in particular envied your relationship: Otto Hightower. He has taken to calling you 'Daemon's whore'. He has been the one since the beginning to spread whispers amongst those in the court about your loyalty to the crown.

Would you choose Daemon over Viserys?

That was a question many asked with their eyes and not their tongues. It was humiliating. You don't even want to associate with Daemon, and yet your time as his student has left your reputation forever scarred. Not to mention how many times you have chosen to state that Rhaenyra's mistakes were your own, for the sake of your friendship. Even with the whispers, it was not enough for Otto. He needed them to be screams. He needed everyone to see you as the whore you were! He has never grown soft towards you because of one simple fact: you threaten his entire plan for his family's ascension to the throne. Alicent has never been able to catch a Targaryen's attention, yet you are the best friend to one and the whore of another.

☾ It was a mistake for you to align yourself so closely with Rhaenyra. She ranted to you about what her fears were and how terrified she was at the possibility of not being the sole heir. You had to listen while Daemon plotted at Dragonstone. You hadn't seen him since the day you rode Caraxes with him. That was well over half a moon ago by now. You were relieved to finally be rid of his presence. Only you thought so. When the gods rose the moon high into the sky and nestled the sun beneath the cusp of the earth, he returned to you. That very night, after Rhaenyra had left your chambers, Daemon had snuck in. He surprised you and urged you to hush yourself.

You had no choice. He led you to the empty cradle, where the last heir passed after living for less than a day. There was a dragon egg in it. He whispered to you about all the things he wanted to do to you. He made a promise that one day your babe would be in the cradle, with his features and your personality.

It felt like a dream you would have after a fever. You still can't be sure it happened. After he left, the realm of dreams tugged you in once again. You woke up, and no trace of him was there. Daemon was getting bolder in his advances toward you. He still feared scaring you off completely, but he has to take what is rightfully his. He is the heir to the Iron Throne, after all.

☾ Years passed, and you grew older. Daemon was off fighting a war in the Stepstones; Alicent gave the king a male heir with another babe on the way; and Rhaenyra stuck closer to you than any tree sap could. Otto was less of a thorn in your side these days. As this time passed, you were plagued with tragedies every time you tried to take a lover. You were the eldest, and yet you were failing your house dearly. They tried their best to get you courted as well. Your entire family was just perplexed. Every suitor you were supposed to marry showed up dead before your wedding day. Were you cursed by the gods? It couldn't be Daemon, could it? It was so far away. He couldn't simply be orchestrating this while so far away.

It simply left you in tears every single time. Rhaenyra was your only solace. She grew more bratty and defiant of her father. She refused to marry that Lannister fellow. She rejoiced when your newest one came up dead. She couldn't help but smile. She didn't want you to get married and leave her. You both were meant to be companions. You are companions, the closest of them. 

Still, your soul was aching, and your body was deprived of something it yearned for. 

Were you really missing Daemon's odd behavior?

No, never.

Well, maybe.

☾ You didn't realize that perhaps you were even worried about him until he returned to the castle. It felt like a piece that had gone missing had finally returned. The king, his brother, was thankful for his submission and offered him one thing behind closed doors. What was that one thing you ask? Your hand in marriage. When Daemon strolled over to you and told you this, you were flabbergasted, even bamboozled. You couldn't just marry your best friend's uncle. 

☾ You tried every excuse under the sun. You tried to say that you weren't up to the Targaryen standards of beauty; he said that you were created by the gods, so graceful and divine. You brought up the fact that you had no blood tied to Old Valyria; he stated that your soul was that of a dragon, more than worthy of his hand. You tried to reason with him by saying that he had another wife who he already struggled to take care of. That angered him. 

"Don't ever speak about the bitch again, dear. Understand me?"

She died as you would learn later. Some sort of riding incident that led to her demise. You offered your condolences to Daemon. He laughed and said that he'd happily spit upon her rotting corpse. He didn't need to lie to you. He also wasn't compelled to tell the truth when you didn't ask for it. He'll make sure the whispers of him murdering his wife never reach your ears.

☾ Rhaenyra simply shrugged and thought that you marrying her uncle was at least a close match for her. She would still be able to speak with you. You would now be closer to her! She wasn't ecstatic, but pleased—maybe even smug. Whatever negative feelings she had toward her uncle being around you were clearly resolved. It only struck terror in your heart. 

☾ Your family would help, right? No. Such a laughable thing. They were overjoyed. They also told you not to screw it up. Talks of the heirs you two would produce, the tie to the Targaryens bolstering your house's status, and many other reasons you didn't care to listen to.

☾ You were—are trapped. You were to marry a man that you couldn't make up your mind about. It could be worse. Every strange thing must have been because of the gods, right? If only you knew the lengths Daemon went to marry you. The people he threatened, the people he beheaded, the poisons traded in markets that aren't pure of heart but dark and foreboding. He finally felt at peace. So did Caraxes. Your family would be so perfect. He could already see you holding a babe in your arms that he had bred into you. Is this what you truly want? Or is that hesitancy in your soul still strong enough to pull you out of his hold and help you escape him?

[arabellasleopardcoat]

To Conquer (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Incest is common amongst Targaryens, Daemon assures you. Unfortunately, Alicent got to you first.

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Cursing. Arranged marriage. Periods. Daddy issues. Religious guilt. One death aside from canon ones (Daemon murders a man)

A/N: In which I rewrite the scene of my first encounter with incest in a book. If you get it, you get it.

YOU NEVER dared call Alicent mother out loud. But in your mind, she was.

The woman who had birthed you had passed away the same day you had been born. Out of her womb you had been pulled, alongside your twin. He had not survived the day.

Queen Aemma Arryn was a mere name to you, a woman who existed in paintings and shadows, a ghost that lurked on the Red Keep. Your father never once spoke of her too you, too consumed by guilt and grief. In fact, he did his best to never speak to you at all.

You were an uncomfortable reminder of the crime he had committed. Robbing a woman of life so a man may live. It hadn’t even worked in the end. Your brother had faded from this world, nothing of him remaining.

Against all odds, you had. You had clung to life, the Maesters would later say. Fought tooth and nail to stay in this world. And somehow, it hadn’t been enough. Your father avoided you like the plague, but Alicent, guilty, scared, lonely Alicent, did not. She was all you had.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Despite your dramatic entrance to the world, and your eventful first few months of life, your life had turned out to be quite lackluster. There were no exciting adventures or claiming of dragons, much less a moniker attached to your name like there was to Rhaenyra or Daemon. You wondered why this, out of all things, had to be different.

The robes looked graceful enough on you, you supposed. Your father had called you a true Valyrian beauty, the very image of your mother. You knew it wasn’t true. King Viserys didn’t remember her. How could he, if he had done his best attempts to erase her? He had replaced her at once, and he never once spoke of her again. At least, not with you.

His presence in your life could be defined with one word: Absence. But he had thought it fair to reappear when he needs you to do something for him. The least he could have done would have been asking for your input about the wedding.

If you had been asked, you would have chosen a traditional wedding ceremony, with a Septon and a hand fasting. You would have worn a Targaryen cloak… To be exchanged for another Targaryen cloak. No. Perhaps it had been for the best, not to desecrate such a beautiful ritual with this nonsense.

Still, you couldn't shake the feeling of not being really married. You didn’t like it. And you liked the man who was waiting for you on the other side of the door much less.

“Are you done, niece?” The knock on the door forced you into action, once again. You reached into the basin, watching the cool water shift under your fingers. There was something about the cold that cleared your head, helped you think. You took a deep breath, and tried to focus.

Alicent had told you that you should obey him in all things. That you had to do your duty, just as she had done hers. But you had seen the fear in her eyes when you were getting ready for the ceremony, and how her hands had grasped at you desperately during the feast. It had taken Ser Otto’s intervention to make her let go of you.

Your bedtime stories had not prepared either of you for this. When you were a young girl, plagued by night terrors, she would sit at the foot of your bed and pretend to read your destiny.

“One day, you will fly to the moon wearing spiderwebs as wings.” She would squint at your hand, making a show of reading the lines there.

“Tell me more!” You would squeal, fears forgotten. Despite not being the motherly type, she would always indulge you. Perhaps, because she saw herself in you. Another little girl, her mother dead, her father defined by his lack of presence.

“It says here…” Alicent would tickle your palm. “That you will grow up into a beautiful, beautiful princess who will marry a handsome lord. He will love you very much.”

Out of all the lies you had been told, it was your favorite. Each night, you would ask to hear it again and again, and think, tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow I will be all grown, and the lady of a great castle. My father will love me then.

It had been a consolation you had clung on through all your childhood. You were a princess, worthy of being appreciated by your future husband. He would love you, you knew. You would build something together, something only yours. You would raise your children to be better than you, following Alicent’s example. You would be happy.

You had never realized how much she had clung to that thought too. Her frustrated dreams for herself had been turned into hope for your future. Alicent had spoken them into the night like an enchantment, as if she could bring them to life by repeating the words over and over. So you could have what she hadn’t had. Like all parents wished.

What both of you had imagined wasn't this. You wanted to scream from rage.

“Just a bit more.” You said, your resolve hardening. The faith of the Seven dictated that laying with a relative was a sin, the same for laying with a man who was not your husband. They barely recognized Valyrian wedding ceremonies.

Had you really married him? Your High Valyrian was sloppy. Your mother had not taught you much, and your lessons had often been interrupted because of Aegon. Out of all your siblings, Aemond had been the most proficient one. He had not been present at the ceremony, being judged too young to attend.

It had been your parents, Daemon, Aegon. An intimate ceremony, just as they liked. Could your father betray you so? Give you away as a whore to appease his brother?

You opened the table’s drawers. Daemon’s bathing room was unfamiliar to you, but he must have used something to shave and you would find it. You riffled through various oils and soaps before finding the blade you were seeking.

With your non-dominant hand, you bunched the robes up. Bracing yourself, you used your other hand to slit your upper thigh. At first, you didn’t draw blood, despite feeling the sting of the blade. Your grip was too shaky. But your determination didn’t waver. Your father had asked too much of you already, there was no power in the world that could force you to share your Uncle’s bed.

Your second attempt was much more successful. Despite having tensed the muscles of your thigh anticipating pain, it didn’t hurt as much as you expected. Blood rushed out. You grabbed a rag and rubbed it on it. You examined it, coldly. No matter how Valyrian, you bled red, like any Andal.

You schooled yourself into faux embarrassment before you spoke.

“Could you… Husband…. Could you fetch my mother?”

Despite your calculations, you make the mistake regardless. The noun slips from your tongue, unprompted. A slip. The first of many to come. The temperature dropped in the room, Daemon’s anger a near palpable thing.

“Your mother is dead, niece.” He stressed the last word in a way you didn’t like. Despite the door separating the two of you, you could tell his mood had shifted from bad to something much worse. You feared what he might do to you, were you to backtrack in your plan. “Whatever Alicent has been teaching you, you should know you are not hers.”

“Queen Alicent.” You corrected, annoyed. How did he dare criticize the way she had raised you, when there had been literally no one else around up to the task. How did he dare speak down to you, as if you were a simpleton? You fought to keep your tone steady and stomped on the anger bubbling up. “I have… lady troubles.”

“Lady troubles?” Daemon asked, sounding puzzled.

You pondered the merits of skirting around the issue. You weren’t in the mood to enter a euphemism’s discussion, and so, decided to be more graphic.

The bloody rag was held gently between your fingers when you opened the door. No more words were needed. Daemon cursed and went to get your mother.

HE DOESN’T dare ask at first. Daemon understands that women’s bodies work different from his own. He has never bedded one in her moonblood, and doesn’t intend to start with you.

Despite your beauty, Daemon felt oddly disappointed. He had hoped, with you being fully Rhaenyra’s sister and not half, like his younger nephews, that you would be similar to her.

You weren’t. You lacked her fierceness and the respect for your heritage. The only thing Valyrian about you was your looks. You didn’t even have a dragon of your own, and were so damn timid, he might confuse you with a mouse rather than a Princess.

Because of that same reason, he let you be during your moonblood. While Daemon didn’t object to some blood, he doubted you would be the same. Bedding unwilling maidens wasn’t his thing. He preferred his girls willing, be it from the promise of coin or delirious from their own lust.

Somehow, he was getting the feeling you weren’t going to be the second type anytime soon. Every time he attempted to kiss you, you squirmed away, as if he were initiating something sinful and not simply trying to kiss his wife.

“Seven Hells, would it kill you to remain still?” He asked as you nervously avoided his grip on your waist. “I am not trying to initiate anything. I know you are still on your courses. Stand still. I command it.”

“I… I…” You had looked at him, all hesitant eyes. Alicent had done scarcely any things right when raising you, but at least she had instilled you obedience. But blood couldn’t be denied, and every so often your Valyrian nature reared its head. Mostly, playing against Daemon rather than in his favor. Little dragon that you were, you weren’t keen on following orders.

Ah, but bring you a Septa. Then you were jumping out of your seat to offer the damn woman your chair and observing her earnestly for non-verbal cues, tending to her every need like a commoner. Ridiculous.

“The Mother obeys the Father, from what I understand.” Daemon kept his tone matter of fact. He wasn’t certain that the Seven Pointed Star said that, but it sounded right, and it suited him, so he spoke the words with as much conviction as he could muster. In truth, Daemon had never opened the damn book in his life. A waste of time. The Septons he knew were a bunch of cunts and their followers weren’t any better.

“Maidens are supposed to be demure.” You protested. “Not indulge on indecent displays.”

“You are not meant to be a maiden any longer.” He grabbed you by the waist regardless, coaxing you to stroll next to him. “And wives obey their husbands.”

While you remained unconvinced, you allowed him to lead you around the Red Keep’s gardens. He kept a constant stream of chatter, using all his best lines, but you answered in monosyllables. Not only did Daemon wish to cultivate a better relationship with you, but he also wanted to flaunt his new bride. It was only fair that the other cunts here got a look at Targaryen superiority. Kept them from being too uppity.

Like everything else in this marriage, though, that too proved elusive. Soon, whispers began to circulate about his virility. One of your maids had a loose tongue, it seemed. The whole castle was snickering about it not even a week later. You, like usual, were oblivious.

In a fit of anger Daemon would later not be proud of, he got all the little chits whipped. But their attitudes about your moonblood made him begin to suspect something was amiss. A fortnight of bleeding seemed… Strange. While he was never particularly interested in women’s bodies beyond fucking them, something had to be wrong. An inquiry with the Maester proved him right. Apparently, over a week was unusual, a fortnight near impossible.

That night, he sat on the foot of your shared bed, watching you fret around the room. Daemon had asked for shared chambers, thinking it would bring the two of you closer. With his constant exiles and marriages, and the fact that Alicent had coddled you during your whole existence, you were a stranger with a familiar face. He had hoped to entice you by appealing to your curiosity about marital duties. Safe to say, it didn’t work.

You had put up barriers. Both metaphorical and physical ones. Right now, you were at it again. Laying down a towel on your side of the bed and a pillow in the middle of it. As he watched you, he found himself struck by the beauty of your hands. They were firm and precise in their movements, fixing down the towel and then neatly delimiting your side of the bed with the pillow.

You were wearing the most hideous nightshirt know to man, more adequate for a Septa than a newlywed. Slightly bent over, fluffing up your pillows, Daemon noticed that it was as white as fresh snow. Now that he thought of it, all your shifts were. And yet, none of them had ever been stained. Nor had the towel you placed on the bed and loudly proclaimed it was to avoid leakages. An effort to make yourself more unappealing, perhaps?

Somehow, the realization didn’t anger him. Instead, it made him more curious. Was this your way of rebelling? Were you scared? What went on behind your eyes, inside that skull of yours?

“Wife.” Daemon finally spoke, when you were starting to kneel for your nightly prayers. You paused, kneeling gracefully. You looked up at him, all curious eyes and nervous smile. “Have your courses always been this long?”

This time, he watches your reaction closely. During these past days, Daemon has not pressured you about it. But now, he waits on bated breath.

Your eyes widen. The hands you have clasped in prayer get even tighter pressed together.

“Oh, you shouldn’t… These are womanly concerns.” You are a terrible liar. He would laugh, were it not such a cruel thing to do when in the face of a little fool.

“I insist.” Daemon arches an eyebrow at you. You squirm on your knees like there are ants on your shift. You are visibly distraught. Does it pain you, pious girl that you are, to be committing a sin?

“Yes, they are.”

Another lie. He had asked some of the fools in Viserys’ employment. Yours didn’t last more than a week. But Daemon finds all the twitching you are doing entertaining, and so, decides to give you more rope to hang yourself.

“And yet, your father promised that you were fertile.” He drawls, cruel amusement almost leaking into his tone. He can’t help the way his lips twitch. This is too entertaining. It’s like toying with a mouse before eating it.

“I… I am.” You weakly defend yourself. Your face is looking more distressed by the second. And is that..? Oh, wonderful, you are starting to sweat a little.

“No, you are not. You are either lying about that, or about your moonblood.”

“I am not!” You protest, finally getting up from your kneeling position. A shame. You looked positively delicious in your predicament.

“Yes, you are! But I am giving you a chance to tell me the truth. Which one are you lying about?”

“I am not.” You look about to flee the room, so Daemon gets up and places himself on your path. You flinch a bit, but stubbornly refuse to admit the truth. His amusement at your attitude is starting to turn sour. Not only it is unflattering that you are making up excuses to avoid bedding him, but they are so stupid half the court is laughing at him behind his back about it. And you, absolute fool, can’t admit it.

“Wrong answer, niece.” He steps closer, trying to intimidate you. “I know the truth.”

“You do?” You startle. You take a step back, nearly tripping on the hem of that ugly nightgown. Daemon reaches to steady you, his grip on your arms punishingly. You twitch, as if sensing that you are caught in the maws of a hungry beast that could pounce at any moment.

“You are not on your moonblood. You can't be every single day of the moon!” He shakes you a little, making you yelp. But then, the most astounding thing happens. Because instead of going very still, as the frightened bird that you are, you shove him hard.

“What would you know!” You scream at him, pointing one finger at his face. Daemon wishes to say he is unbothered by your hysterics, but instead, he grabs your accusing hand and tugs it. The delicate bones shift inside his hand, threatening to snap, and you're left with no choice but go towards him or break your finger.

Wisely, you choose the second. You are breathing hard, and looking up at him in righteous indignation.

“Brute!”

“I asked your maids.” Daemon smirks at you, something ugly appearing on his face. In truth, whatever you see spooks you because you deflate a little. “So? Shall you tell me the truth? Or must I find it myself?”

He makes it as if to lift your shift. You bat his hand away, hard. Interesting enough, you harden then.

“What else is there to know? Beyond that I am not on my moonblood?”

“We can start with why you lied. Or why you don’t wish to lay with me.” Daemon suggests, gripping you tightly so you cannot escape. He brings his face closer to yours.

Your eyes are wide. Your face is frozen into a terrified expression, like you are realizing all your lies are catching up to you.

“I didn’t want you to force me.” You say, voice barely a whisper. Who do you think he is? Some sort of monster? Your depraved half brother, perhaps? Daemon had already heard the exploits that one was up to. Jerking off in a window, of all things.

“Force you! If I wanted to force you, I could already have.” Daemon rolls his eyes. You were not trained in any sort of combat, and you were the kind who had her head in the clouds more often than not. You were not a match for him. If Daemon wanted to force you, he just had to pin you down or pull out Dark Sister.

You stay quiet, perhaps coming to the same realization. You have gone to bed next to him for nearly two weeks, only in thin shifts. Every day, you have woken up untouched. Doubt starts to cloud up your face, as if you are noticing how vulnerable you truly have been and how well Daemon has behaved.

As if he were going to be deterred by a little blood. He was a true Targaryen. It was in his house’s words. Plenty of maidens bled when being split open on his cock. Your moonblood would not be very different.

Daemon decides to appeal to your more… Hightower side. Perhaps that would get you to yield to him. He uses his more Otto-like tone, trying to sound as cunty as possible.

“It’s your duty.”

You shake your head, frantically.

“We can’t. It's not right. You are my uncle.”

Your words are spoken with such conviction, he has to fight the urge to scream. That was your problem? You? A daughter of the house of the dragon, complaining about incest?

“It is not unprecedented. Our whole line begins because Aegon the conqueror had his sister wives. And then, Maegor married his niece, too.” Daemon’s words are sharp. He lets go of you and starts to pace the room. Good Gods, what had Alicent done to you? Had she twisted your mind so, you now thought marrying him was wrong because you were related?

“And their marriage was cursed. No child was born out of their union.” You reply, with an ugly smile. He wants to slap it out of your little face. Smug little girl, thinking she knows everything about the world.

“Jaehaerys married his sister, the Good Queen Alyssane. They had plenty of children.” He insists, trying to get you to notice the flaws in your argument. Everyone knew that the only way to preserve the Valyrian bloodline was by marrying other Valyrians. Otherwise, the magic in their blood would dilute, and they would no longer be able to claim dragons. It was common sense.

“All of them turned out very… queer.”

“My parents..!” But you interrupt him before he can finish.

“Exceptionally queer, too.”

Daemon feels his face heating up. No one before has managed to infuriate him so. He wants to shake some sense into you. His hands itch for something to punish you with. Impudent little thing, daring to suggest his parents had been queer!

Queer! The queer one here was you! A Targaryen who opposed incest!

“Listen here, you awful little…”

“Stop that. Stop insulting me, by the Seven. You won’t change my mind.” You raise one of your hands, in the universal halt sign. “I will never share your bed.”

At that, Daemon thinks actual steam must be coming out of his ears. Never. As if. You would change your mind, he knows it. No one can resist him for long. He is experienced, charming, and handsome. A prince and a true dragon. What more could anyone want?

He would make you regret your words. He would show you. Under all your repressed, Hightower ways, you were a dragon. Targaryen blood ran thick. Daemon would have you eating out of the palm of his hand before you could realize. Before, he hadn’t really been trying. But now? He was ready for war.

“Come here.” He orders. You stare at him, and do not move. “You will disobey me in this, too?”

You step closer, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I wish to make a deal.” Daemon says. You cross your arms over your chest. “You don’t have to bed me if you don’t want to. But you will have to give me something in exchange.”

“What?” You tap your foot against the floor, impatiently. Yet your face, as always, betrays you. His offer has made you lower your guard, interested in what he has to say. Probably because you are seeing a way out of this whole issue.

“I want you to let me be as affectionate as I wish with you.”

“Fine.” You snarl at him, trying to look fierce. But you are too new to this game of pretending for Daemon to not see through your mask. You are confused.

He steps closer. He gathers you into his arms, and hugs you.

At first, you tense. Your arms remain glued to your sides, body stiff in his arms. Daemon enjoys the feel of it regardless. You smell like innocence, sweet and young. Your body is soft and feminine, nothing like the hard muscles of his first wife. He allows himself to relax into you.

Eventually, your body sags a bit. You relax into the hug.

“I wish… I wish….” You start speaking, face hidden in his shoulder. Daemon doesn’t let go. His gut tells him that whatever you are going to say, it is important. “I wish I wasn’t ashamed. And that… In our wedding ceremony, I would have liked to know what was being said.”

Daemon’s heart aches. His poor little Hightower, denied of her birthright. And then, a giant grin spreads on his face. Here it was. The opportunity he needed.

“I will teach you.” Daemon whispers, against your hair. He kisses it. It’s a lovely thing, an icy blonde that doesn’t fit your warm personality. Now that you are not fighting him, he is starting to notice you are very sweet natured. “I promise.”

“You will?” You look up at him, wary. “And what will the price be?”

Daemon chuckles.

“No price.” He caresses the bridge of your nose, tracing your features. You seem bashful at the attention, and it is so adorable, he can’t help but kiss you.

You startle. All coltish, you nearly elbow him in your haste to move away.

“What are you doing? We said no bedding!”

“I know.” Daemon smiles at you, indulgently. Now is the time to tread carefully, less you spook, and he ends up losing all his progress. “I just want to kiss my wife. Affection, for the sake of it. Kissing doesn’t need to lead to anything.”

You nod. You don’t seem convinced. But he soon discovers your hesitance comes from something else.

“I have never kissed anyone.” You whisper, almost ashamed.

“Then let me teach you that too.” And he is leaning in, and capturing your mouth with his.

“I GOT you something.” Daemon suddenly says, one morning. You lift your gaze from your book, an historic account about the doom of old Valyria, and watch him with curious eyes.

Your husband is carrying a bundle of cloth on his arms. He is back from his usual shenanigans in the city. Betting and drinking, but no longer any whoring, he assures you. The Lord of Flea Bottom is no more, or so he says.

It is quite early. You have just broke your fast with your mother, after the two of you did your morning prayers together. It is a ritual you find great comfort in, despite Daemon doing his best to discourage you. He doesn’t like that you worship the Faith of the Seven.

He has grown slightly more tolerant of Alicent as time goes by. You cannot say the same for her. Despite the fact that Daemon treats you well, she still can’t seem to get over the fact that he is Daemon Targaryen, the same man who had terrorized her father, courted her best friend and possibly murdered his last wife.

The bundle of clothes moves in Daemon’s arms. You place your book down, and creep closer, wondering about its contents. It’s then that you hear it. A soft, quiet mewl.

A grin spreads across your face. You cross the distance between the two of you, and watch as a small paw reaches out from the cloth, flexing its tiny claws. It is covered in white fur, the cushions on the bottom of it a soft pink.

“A kitten!” You say, delighted. You take it from Daemon and cradle it against you. The kitten can’t be older than a few weeks. His eyes are already open, a cloudy gray that takes your breath away. It’s love at first sight. “Oh, husband, thank you!”

“I saw it when I was coming back this morning. Thought you would like the damn thing.” Daemon says, gruffly. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I will name him… Quicksilver!” You say, cheerily. It makes his lips twitch a bit, unable to hide his amusement. This week, Daemon has been helping you practice your High Valyrian by reading a more recent text, accounting the times of King Aerys.

The language practice has brought the two of you closer. You are no longer as resentful or scared of him as you once were. You spend nearly all your evenings with him, pouring over gigantic tomes written in the language of your ancestors. Daemon patiently corrects your pronunciation, teaching you the right way of rolling the vocals, and how to accentuate your consonants.

You would have never thought you would enjoy learning so much. He is a very compelling teacher, clearly passionate about the subject yet stern enough to make you do all your assignments before their due date. Daemon is patient and encouraging, willing to explain things to you over and over again until you understand them fully.

The kitten yawns, showing a row of tiny white teeth and a pink tongue. You coo.

“Tiny but fierce.” Daemon smirks. “The Seven preserve us all.”

“How pious.” You tease, and Daemon steps closer. He grabs your waist and pulls you in for a kiss, Quicksilver still in your arms.

Despite having kissed him many times before now, you feel as weak to his advances as you had felt the first time he had kissed you. Daemon kisses like he is conquering, nipping at your lower lip until you open for him, and taking complete ownership of your mouth. His hands grasp at your nape, holding you against him. There is no escape from his kisses, and it fills you with a thrill you had never expected to feel before. Daemon wants you. He desires you, as a man desires a woman. There is no headier feeling than that.

At first, you had thought he was lonely. Why else would he ask for affection, when he was able to ask for anything else from you? That night, when he had found out you had been lying to him, Daemon could have asked for anything, done anything to you. Not a man in the realm would have judged him for it.

His behavior after that only seemed to confirm it. When the two of you were in public, his hands would linger on you, as if fearing you would leave his side. When someone told a funny joke, his eyes would seek yours before laughing, making sure you were still there.

It was an urge you understood too well. Abandonment was something you had learned to fear as well. Your mother had left you unwillingly. Your father and sister had both been eager to wash their hands from you. You guessed Daemon’s life had been a bit like that, too. From what you had heard, his mother had passed when he was a child. Your father had grown tired of him. And your sister… Well. That had been his fault.

When you grew up like that, you clung to every kindness, to every slice of warmth you could get. It was no wonder Daemon clung to you as hard as he did. It was difficult to live like that, not knowing what kindness feels like, grasping desperately to any scraps of it until you can almost piece together what the real thing feels like.

Despite having all reasons not to, Daemon’s attention never turned suffocating. Perhaps, you too, were starved for affection. You had gone your whole life with no positive male attention, being overshadowed by your sister and forced into almost a Septa-like life by your mother. His touches were never beyond the proper attention a man would show his wife in public. It felt almost… fatherly.

As a child, your father had never sat with you, or listened to anything you said. Daemon, instead, seemed to pay close attention to everything you did or told him. He sat for hours with you, pouring over myths and historical accounts, correcting your pronunciation of High Valyrian, teaching you the meaning behind old rituals.

It was as if a door had been opened for you. One you could use to glimpse inside his mind, and your father’s and even Rhaenyra’s. You understood now much more about how they behaved, and why they did. You didn’t necessarily agree, but you understood.

Some confusing feelings had begun to arise with all this new information stuffed into your head. You liked Daemon’s attention. He was charming, and it made you feel good about yourself, being able to keep someone as worldly and cultured as him interested in you. It made you wish, sometimes, to have been his daughter instead of King Viserys’. But at the same time, the way you felt and the things you did with him weren’t the kind of things you imagined daughters feeling for their parents.

When Daemon kissed you, as he did now, you felt your stomach swoop. His skilled mouth made your skin tingle, and all your hairs stand up on edge. It made you feel ashamed of yourself. You weren’t supposed to feel such things for your uncle. No matter how Valyrian, it was just not right.

What made you feel even more ashamed was the fact that sometimes, when he kissed you for too long, the place between your legs would get slick with arousal. You wanted him too, you realized, with the utmost horror. You wanted him like a woman desires a man. A wife desires her husband.

It is then the game starts. Daemon kisses you, and you kiss back, eagerly exploring his mouth and learning how to play his game. You make out with him for what feels like hours, until you feel drunk from his kisses and become as pliant and soft as clay being molded in his hands. It is then that you let him touch you a bit more, push the boundaries your previous truce has set. His hands grasp at your hips, his lips mouth at your neck. And when the edge of your shift starts to ride up, or his lips trail too close to the neckline of it, you jolt out of your stupor.

Shame licks at your spine, grabs tightly at the back of your head. Makes you stiffen under him, body set into a hard line. How can you be so wanton? Why do you behave in such whorish ways? You struggle then, overcome by the embarrassment you feel at your own behavior.

Daemon tries to subdue you. Sometimes, you fold, other times you spend the night tossing and turning on the bed, trying to get the upper hand. Sometimes, he wins, and pins you down on the mattress. But instead of forcing you, he kisses you again and the game begins anew.

You spend the nights like this. Kissing and struggling with anxious violence, until it has begun to replace the act of love. You can tell Daemon enjoys your struggles, the feel of your buttocks against his clothed crotch. You can feel the weight of him against your hip, burning hot and hard.

Eventually, he tires and heads out. You don’t know if he pleasures himself then, or if he just ignores his arousal until it goes away. You prefer the second when it comes to yourself. For hours, you stare at the ceiling, willing the heat in your blood to go away. Sleeps evades you, yet when it does not, it feels even more torturous. You dream of him, of the act, conjuring lewd positions and thoughts, until morning comes, and you feel like you have not slept at all.

This precarious balance could never last. You are not good at the court’s games, having been a wallflower most of your life. You are a stranger to waging tongues, and malicious comments, but Daemon is not. He is doomed to always be the center of attention, this husband of yours.

Someone notices that almost three moons after marriage, you are still a maiden And someone remembers Daemon’s lack of children with his first wife. One plus one makes two.

He comes to find you in the Royal Sept, as you are lighting candles with your mother. He grabs you briskly by the arm and drags you away, the match still alight between your fingers.

“Have you heard?” Daemon asks, breathless. It is clear that he has rushed to you. “What they are saying about me?”

You shake your head.

“How would I?” You are, after all, as isolated as you were before the wedding. Your only companions are Quicksilver, Daemon, your mother, and your siblings. And Aegon is at that terrible age, where he behaves like a little deviant. The others are too young to provide true companionship, Helaena stuck on her imaginary worlds and Aemond not quite a boy, not yet a man.

“They say I am impotent. That your womb has not quickened because I have not taken you. Because I am unable to.” The crude words Daemon speaks make your eyes widen. You have grown protected from the nastier side of court life, forgotten as you were. You cannot believe how someone would dare comment on a married couple’s bedroom activities, which are meant to be one of the more sacred things to happen between man and wife according to the Seven. Much less, how someone would dare to utter such poisonous slander.

“We know it’s not the truth.” You place your hand on his arm, trying to soothe his wounded pride. Daemon is, above all, impulsive. You fear he is about to do something rash, even if you do not imagine yet what.

Isn’t it enough that the two of you know the courtiers are in the wrong? You have felt the press of his member, hard against your hip, in the nights the two of you struggle. You have felt his hips rutting against yours, as his kisses mapped unknown constellations on your shoulders. What does it matter if Daemon hasn’t taken you? How can these people dare interfere, or even mention what the two of you do or do not do?

Shame, once again, grips you in its clutches. You feel your face warm at the thought of how these strangers must view you. Queer. Twisted. You wonder if they blame his inability to perform on your blood ties. If they think the Seven are cursing your marriage, just as they had with the ones of King Maegor.

“It isn’t.” Daemon says, coldly. He walks away, a tense line on his shoulders, and you walk back inside the Sept.

Alicent is still lighting candles. You sense that there are not enough of them to make a difference for what is about to happen.

That night, a disgruntled looking Harwin Strong wakes you up. He tells you how he is there to supervise your packing. You are leaving the city, he explains, to your bewilderment. Effective immediately.

As you place your dresses inside some linens, and ready Quicksilver, you manage to coax the story out of him.

Daemon had been at his usual haunt in Flea Bottom, betting on some cockfights. You could picture the scene clearly. Daemon, lazily counting his winnings with that infuriating smug look he got when he was proud of himself. An angry patron, getting up and on his face after losing to him.

“Maybe that cock will work for your wife!”

The whole establishment erupting into laughter. Daemon, cold smile on his lips.

“Go to your manse, and arm yourself. Because I am going to kill you tonight.”

After that, there was little he could say in his own defense to King Viserys. It had been a premeditated act, in front of multiple witnesses. No way of denying it, or trying to shift the blame.

You stood outside the city gates, observing Caraxes. He looked as done with Daemon’s antics as you felt. In front of you, stood the world.

Daemon strode by, being dragged by Ser Harwin. He was chained, but managed to look as carefree as any free man.

“You know the rules.” Ser Harwin said, unchaining him, before turning towards you. There was a bit of sorrow in his brown eyes, perhaps feeling pity for you. “Farewell, Princess.”

“Where to, Lady Wife?” Daemon asked, cheekily. There was no hint of remorse on his face. It seemed exile reinvigorated him like nothing else.

Your lips pursed into a thin line. You didn’t want to leave. It was scary, the thought of being away from home. The times you had been outside the Red Keep could be counted with the fingers of your hands alone. And what were you to do, friendless in the big world that opened in front of you?

You wanted to punish him. If he was giving you a choice, you were going to give him a lesson.

“To the North. Perhaps that hot blood of yours will fare better there.”

“ARE YOU sure?” You ask him, all pleading eyes. Daemon nods, already sitting inside the hot spring. You are strangely fearful of the warm water, perhaps, having already grown used to the cold of the North.

“If this scalds me alive, I will come back to haunt you.” You warn, turning to face away before beginning to undress. Daemon can’t help but let his eyes linger on your body, despite knowing how indignant it would get you were you to notice. He has promised to avert his eyes, after all.

Naive as you are, you never check to see that he actually does.

He watches as you remove your furs, and unlace your dress. It has taken him quite some effort to get you to feel comfortable enough to be naked in his presence. There might come a day when you are desensitized to nakedness, but Daemon guesses you are still far away from it. He has to keep trying.

You are worth the effort, though. His precious niece, sweet as the Maiden herself and twice as pretty.

“Dragons don’t burn.” He answers, absentmindedly. You are only wearing your chemise and your hoses, and as you lean down to remove those, he gets a perfect view of your cute rear.

“Perhaps. But I am no dragon.” You pull the chemise over your head, unaware of the fact that you are being watched. Daemon drinks in the sight of your naked legs, strong yet delicate, leading up to beautiful hips and a soft back. As you pull your hair up, he notices how the muscles of your arms and back move in a graceful combination that can’t be anything more but a natural gift. He spends a few seconds mesmerized by you, before you start to turn around and Daemon remembers he is supposed to be averting his eyes.

He fixes them politely on the other side of the hot spring, careful to not let you catch him looking out of the corner of his eyes. You are becoming sloppy in your old age, he scolds himself. Daemon can't help it. Lately, he feels more like the boy he once was than the man he is. His attempts at seduction are fumbled, he gets carried away by his passion, a single one of your smiles can render him tongue twisted.

Everything that you do is charming. The slight sway of your hips as you walk, the way your eyes light up when you laugh, but most of all, your personality. Freed from the cage of Alicent’s judgmental stares, you seem to be growing into yourself. Life on the road seems to suit you, despite your fearful nature. Surrounded by strangers, you no longer feel the weight of being judged for imaginary sins.

“You are. Just one with a more…. Fragile constitution.” How he wishes to be able to turn back time, sometimes. Gather the girl you once were into his arms and soothe all the old hurts. Raise you the right way, give you all the attention you had desperately needed and watch you bloom into an impressive woman. You were already a creature of impossible beauty. How much better could you have been, if they hadn’t stunted your growth?

You were too much of a Hightower, Daemon himself had thought once. But Alicent had thought you not Hightower enough, and she had tried to mold you into one, keeping you well away from what she thought of as queer customs.

Who had told you weren't a dragon? And how had they made that awful lesson stick, until you felt adrift, and belonged nowhere?

The sudden sound of water shifting, and you hissing makes him jolt out of his contemplation. Daemon turns his head the barest bit, managing to catch sight of your hips sinking into the water, and the shape of one of your breasts. There is one puffy nipple crowning it, hard and proud and begging to be bitten. He fights the urge to pounce on you, and instead remains sitting on his side of the natural pool and tries to relax into the warm water. Patience is of the essence in seduction, after all. You need to come to him convinced it is your idea.

“Ready.” You say, sounding a bit too close. He turns and there you are, right in front of him. You sit on the shallower end, water covering you to nearly your collarbones. Daemon playfully reaches out with his foot and touches your leg, making you jump. He laughs.

“It isn’t so bad, is it?” Daemon’s voice still carries a bit of mirth. He can’t help it, you have such cute reactions.

“No. Almost like a warm bath.” You fan your face with your hands. Seeing you lose your composure a little, Daemon feels a bit guilty about pressuring you to enter the pool. It’s true you are not as used to extreme heat as he is. He rushes to your side, uncaring of his own nakedness.

“Too hot?” He asks you, wiping away a stray drop of sweat before it can get into your eyes. You mumble something incoherent, so he presses a hand to your forehead. He doesn’t want you to swoon from heat exhaustion, out of all things. But your temperature is normal. It is then he realizes your eyes are fixated on his chest.

Ah. Poor thing. Daemon can feel his lips stretching into a proud smile. Finally, succumbing to your lust. He should press his advantage, but he finds himself hesitating to do so. Despite how appealing he finds you, he understands that you are different. A being that walks the world of the divine and the mundane that skirts the two but was not made for the more carnal things.

Instead, he commits the sight to memory, for when he decides to touch himself. Perhaps tonight, even. It is something he has been doing more and more often. Daemon has found intercourse with whores is nowhere near as fun as laying on the bed, with you by his side, and tugging at his cock until completion.

He is never quiet about what he is doing. Soft grunts and moans fill your chambers each time he does. You pretend to be asleep, but Daemon can tell you are listening. The next day, you turn fevered with lust. It is you who kisses him, who rakes her claws along his back.

There is no consummation yet. But it is becoming clearer than once fully freed from the judgment of your family, there will be.

You sway slightly. Daemon opens his arms, and lets you curl into him. He guides the two of you into a sitting position, placing you firmly on his lap. Your hair falls into a mess of curls thanks to the humidity, up do barely resisting. He fixes it for you, tightening the ribbon keeping it up. Then, he starts massaging your neck and shoulders.

The pleasure of your bare skin under his hands is undescribable. It’s a luxury he has worked hard to get, and for that, tastes even sweeter. Your sweet little face is scrunched up, in a rare show of pain and pleasure. Daemon wonders if it is the face you would make when he spears you open on his cock.

An annoying hardness begins to make itself known in his groin. He feels like a mere boy, getting excited about the smallest touch. You are driving him mad. And Daemon is enjoying every second of it.

Almost as if listening to his inner monologue, you shift on his lap. Something seems to be bothering you. You can’t get comfortable, and you squirm on his lap more than a seasoned whore. Daemon can pinpoint the exact moment you notice what you are squirming on. Your eyes go wide and you freeze. An embarrassed look takes over your face.

He fights the urge to laugh, wrapping his arms more firmly around you and encouraging to rest against his chest. Daemon could spend years like this. Denial is a fun game. Months have passed, and he has yet to grow tired of it, of taking away your innocence little by little.

You lean in. You give him a playful little smile, and you bite, hard. The pain from your teeth blooms on his shoulder, making his cock throb.

“Impudent little thing.” He chastises, softly. “I should spank the defiance out of you.”

You laugh. You have come to realize that he is not as much of a brute as everyone painted him to be, and that he is too soft to make good on his threat. Ever since your argument, Daemon has never hurt you. He likes you too much for it. He wouldn’t force you to bed him, nor would he willingly do anything to upset you. Not even if you announced you didn’t want him touching you ever again.

Was this what love felt like, he wondered? Being happy with just sharing the same air you did, watching you play with your cat, being honored that he was trusted enough to feed the damn thing?

It probably was. But hell, if he was going to let it stop this corruption of your innocence. No. Instead, Daemon grabbed you by the shoulders and bit down on the hollow of your throat, playfully. You made a small sound, like a caught animal. He could tell you were getting ready to succumb to pleasure once more. His hedonist little wife, always ready to be put in a kiss drunk state. You turned liquid in his arms when it happened, going lax over him.

Daemon could tease you some more. Or… He leans in, breathing in your scent, before blowing a giant raspberry by the side of your neck. You shriek in laughter, squirming on his lap. Water is sent flying everywhere. He peppers your face and neck in kisses as you do, laughing st your squeals and squirming.

“Daemon.” You say, after a while, when the both of you have calmed down. Your head rests on his shoulder, expression hidden.

“Little niece.” He whispers, and you tremble at the endearment.

“I have decided something.” You whisper back. Somehow, your voice feels loud in the cave of the hot spring, nothing but the soft murmur of water being heard.

“You have?” Daemon asks, heart thumping in his chest as if he has just taken to the skies in Caraxes. He pulls you out of hiding, lifting your head towards him.

“I want to marry you right.” You say, shyly. You look deeply embarrassed. “Under my faith. So we can…” You trail off, averting your eyes.

“So we can..?” Daemon asks, feeling a triumphant grin spread over his face.

“Have a child.”

And oh, it is the most wonderful thing he has even heard. He will buy you a cloak, and a couple of ribbons for the hand fasting. He will find the two of you a home. Daemon says all this, as he presses his forehead against yours. Not even his conquest of the Stepstones felt as sweet.

[valyrianvibranium]

NOCTURNAL WORSHIP.

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; dub/non-con, somnophilia, canon typical incest/targcest (uncle/niece), p in v, fingering, possessive and dark (or rather canon) Daemon

WORDS: 1.2 K

NOTES: Something older I had posted with another blog.

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

A deep slumber has overtaken you after a day full of lessons in the tongue of your ancestors, and an hours long flight on the back of your precious mount. Deep enough that not even the creaking door leading to one of the secret passageways of Maegor‘s Holdfast is able to get you to stir awake. 

Not quite so stealthy as one might know him, the man they dub the Rogue Prince steps into your chambers, his heart beating fast with the blood pumping straight down to his cock upon spotting you laying on your side, sound asleep despite his intrusion. 

It’s almost ridiculous how hard his cock gets the closer he stalks towards your canopy bed, straining uncomfortably against the laces in the front of his breeches. “Ñuha dōna lēkianna,“ he drawls with a strain to his voice, the predatory gaze of his lilac eyes taking in your sleeping frame. My sweet niece. 

A devilish smirk that’s usually only reserved to the people that dare to challenge him is draped across his lips, growing as he slowly peels the Quartheen silk sheets off your body. Only a fool would miss the fact that you’re not wearing any undergarments beneath the rather flimsy, creamish nightgown you wear, clearly indicating that you have listened to your uncle prior to your departure to your quarters. 

‘Expect me at the Hour of the Owl, sweet girl,’ he had said to you as your lesson ended. ‘And I shall teach you what is expected of you on your wedding night.’ And the sheepish nod and the blush on your cheeks let him know you truly endorsed it. 

Daemon sits down on the bed next to you and brushes his fingers over your skin, starting at your knee to push the nightgown up and reveal your bare cunt, glistening with your arousal for the long-awaited. His deft fingers drag through your folds, circling your sensitive pearl.

A quiet sound slips past your slightly parted lips, resembling something between a moan and a whimper, and in your sleepy state he finds you snuggling against him to inhale his comforting scent, your hand resting on his stomach and your face buried in his side.

His fingers toy with your pearl briefly before he gently nudges you over to lie on your back, parting your legs to grant him better access to what lies between them. Ghosting the tips of his fingers along your navel, he trails them down again to ease them inside your cunt, pushing in and out to prepare your maiden core for him.  

The thread of restraint he’s held before grows thinner and thinner with your walls starting to clench steadily around his digits, practically sucking them in and begging for more. And when he feels your small hand fisting his tunic, pulling him closer with your hips rutting meekly against his hand? That’s the moment it snaps.

Withdrawing his fingers from your cunt, he brings them up to his lips, sucking them clean of your essence. Any rational thought is quit with the taste of your arousal spreading over his tongue, making him long for more. 

He climbs between your legs, sitting back on his haunches as he undoes his breeches and frees his cock from its confines. There’s not a second wasted by him,  burying himself inside of you with such urgency in one, swift thrust. 

All efforts not to wake you up are fruitless as he increases the pace of his thrusts, snapping his hips in and out of you over and over again, not able to hold back any longer. 

The hazy glimmer in your eyes as you blink up at him indicates that you have a hard time processing what is happening, although your body perfectly knows with quiet moans and whimpers toppling past your parted lips. 

“K… Kepus?” you mumble, having trouble speaking with the burning of your cunt struggling to accommodate his size clouding your thoughts. You blink once, twice, to allow your eyes to adjust to the dim light the moon casts through your chambers windows.  

Daemon doesn’t stop his ministrations, if anything, your dazed reaction only manages to spur him on, feeding the fire that courses through his veins. He dips down, pressing his chest flush to yours and putting his weight onto you, caging you in between his arms with no way to escape. 

Your uncle rests his forehead against yours, stopping his movements briefly. “I told you I would come, didn't I?” 

Biting your bottom lip, you momentarily close your eyes at the proximity. Opening them again, you nod your head and stare up at him with a wide, innocent gaze. “Y… Yes.”

“And you want to learn from me, do you not?” It isn’t a question, more a coercion for you to give him what he wants. “About the… wifely duties you must perform for your future husband.” 

You nod again, speaking in feigned confidence, “yes.”

His words are very much that of truth. More than once have you thought about him in ways that are not proper for the youngest daughter of the King, especially after your older sister has told you about the little foray she and your uncle went on that ended in one of the brothels of the city.

Daemon starts to grind his hips against yours, causing the pressure inside of you to become more and more notable — until your peak catches you in an ambush. 

Your body acts on its own as you arch your back against his sturdy frame, parting your legs just a bit more to willingly rut your hips in rhythm with his, chasing the pleasure. 

Not one coherent thought runs through your head as your body works itself through the several emotions and trembles that soar through you, suddenly not so tired anymore. 

You‘re not so sure what to expect as he proclaims his desire to spill inside of you, yet you eagerly accept, damned be the repercussions, and bite through the overstimulation to chase the addictive feeling of his throbbing cock. 

Tipping his head back, your uncle releases a groan so raspy the bump in his throat twitches, the sight causing a renewed wave of your arousal to drip down his shaft, forming a creamy ring around the base. 

Only once the thrusting of his hips ceases, you‘re able to feel the flimsy pulsating of his cock, spending itself inside of you. 

“That’s it–” His words catch in his throat as his head topples forwards. 

Meeting your gaze, he gets so lost in the blissed out expression on your face that he knows there is no going back now — not when he just got a taste of you, his darling niece. 

He presses a kiss to your temple as he pulls out, the uncomfortable feeling of loss causing you both to grimace. Climbing off the bed to readjust his trousers, he can‘t seem to take his eyes off of you. 

“I expect you, tomorrow night, to come to my chambers,” he states bluntly and nonchalantly, walking towards the door he came through before. “Your husband will not be gentle on the first night of your marriage, lēkianna, and I think it is only fair that I teach you a few more things. So when the time comes, you‘re well prepared.”

With these words, he closes the secret door behind him, leaving you all by yourself. Where you have been in a very deep slumber before, you struggle to fall back asleep again, mind plagued by what tomorrow will bring for you. 

Daemon Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @schniiipsel @avalyaaa @baizzhu @yn-jackson

[happilyhertale]

My dragoness – Daemon Targaryen x fem!niece!reader

Summary: Weeks have passed since the announcement of your betrothal to your Uncle Daemon. Since then, hardly a night has gone by without Daemon visiting you - without disregarding your wish not to take the final step yet. But tonight, on your wedding night, you will finally be fully his.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!niece!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Fingering, sex (p in v), breeding kink, size kink, loss of virginity

Author’s note: English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

This is another part of my Shared Future series.

x3 When @targaryen-dynasty asked me if I would like to participate in celebrating her 3K follower milestone, of course I agreed x3

Some have asked for another part for the Shared Future series, which is why I'm celebrating Laura's milestone with this story.

I hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 2.5 k

Other stories of mine

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Your eyes are closed and your shaky breath echoes in the chambers. The rooms that you will share with your husband from now on.

The ceremony seems only distant in your memory and now so surreal as you lie here on this bed. How all eyes were on you when your eyes only looked into your uncle's. How you couldn't suppress a grin when you recognised the slightest smile around his lips. How he gently cupped your cheek with his rough hand before enveloping your lips with his…

"Hey... open your eyes," you hear Daemon say - almost softly.

You obey him and your eyes slowly open. The scenery shoots in on you as you lie on the bed in just your nightgown, your husband standing in front of the bed, looking at you, slowly opening his shirt.

"That's better," he says gently and smiles at you.

You don't know why you're so nervous. He's seen you naked countless times, driven you to ecstasy with his touch. But this time it's different, it's your wedding night.

He slowly approaches you as he slowly opens his trousers. Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your nightgown as you try to breathe more calmly. Without looking at him, you hear his trousers slide down.

Daemon's eyes linger on you. He takes in every nervous twitch and quickened breath and he moves closer.

"There's no need to be nervous. I've seen every inch of you, explored every curve, and tasted your sweet surrender. Tonight, we seal our union, and I will show you just how much you belong to me," he purrs, his voice low and seductive, "It will be special," his soft voice sounds and you hear the words you whispered to him countless nights ago.

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel a mix of anticipation and excitement bubbling within you. You know that Daemon is a man of passion and intensity, and tonight, he intends to leave his mark on you in more ways than one.

Daemon's eyes flicker with a mixture of amusement and possessiveness as he watches you fidget and nervously avoid his gaze.

He reaches out, his hand gently caressing your cheek before trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His touch is both tender and possessive, a contrast that only adds to the intensity of the moment. His fingers curl around the hem of your nightgown, slowly lifting it up, revealing your body to him in all its vulnerability.

You feel the mattress give way as Daemon kneels on the bed. You look up and your purple Targaryen eyes meet. A gasp leaves your lips as his hand brushes across your thigh, gently grasping the underside of it and spreading your thighs slightly - his rough hand, a stark contrast to your soft skin. His other hand slides to your face, his index finger and thumb cupping your chin, lifting your head slightly.

"Look at me... focus on me..." he whispers and you nod slightly as you look into his eyes. Carefully, he pushes your legs apart as he kneels between them. His lips glide over your cheek, over your neck, while his hand slides further up your thigh.

Your eyes flutter shut as you concentrate fully on his touch. His warm breath glides over your skin as his lips caress you. The sweetest moan escapes your lips as his fingers grip your inner thigh.

"That's my girl... concentrate on my touch..." he whispers against your skin. You nod slightly again and gasp as his fingers cup your folds - you'll never get tired of this feeling. Slowly, his fingers move, smearing the wetness along your folds. His fingers find your sensitive bud, light circular movements follow and as if of their own accord your hips move to follow their movement.

Daemon follows your movements, sliding his fingers to your soaked opening, applying light pressure. His fingertips are literally sucked in and a mewling sound comes from your lips. You exhale heavily, his fingers thrust deeper, your eyes still closed.

Daemon's lips curl into a smug smile as he watches your reactions, relishing in the way you respond to his touch. He takes pleasure in knowing that he can easily bring you to the edge with just his fingers alone.

His fingers continue their exploration, sliding in and out of your wetness, gradually increasing the depth and pace of his thrusts. He watches as your hips buck against his hand, seeking more of the pleasure he's giving you.

"You're so wet... I don't even really need to work to get inside you," Daemon murmurs and you blush slightly, but your moans don't let up.

"Open your eyes" he whispers, "I want you to watch as I prepare you for me. See how wet and ready you are for my cock."

As you obey again, your eyes meeting his, Daemon's fingers quicken their pace, delving deeper into your core. He revels in the way your breath hitches, your body trembling with anticipation.

"Such a good girl," he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "You're ready for me, aren't you? You want my cock inside you, filling you completely."

You blush even more - you know that Daemon loves to fill your mind with filthy words. Even if they have the desired effect on you, you can't help but blush.

But suddenly you feel him pull his fingers out of you and a soft whimper leaves you. You feel your nerves again as you look down and see him pulling down his undergarments. You've seen his manhood many times before, on the nights he's visited you - but this is different.

His length is released and you gasp slightly - it's never seemed so big to you, so thick. His hand slides along his throbbing length and you hear him grunt slightly.

"Daemon... this... this won't fit..." you suddenly whisper nervously and your hand slides to his arm.

Daemon smiles, still pumping his hardness.

"Hey... look at me," he whispers again and you look up. But then he kisses you, wrapping his lips around yours, swallowing your doubts.

The kiss is filled with a hunger that ignites a fire deep within you. His hand roams your body, claiming every inch, as if marking you as his territory. The intensity of his touch, the way he dominates your senses, leaves you breathless and wanting more.

"It will fit... we will make it fit... It will hurt at first, but the reward will be all the better," he whispers against your lips. You can't help but nod as he slides the tip of his hardness through your folds.

Your eyes flutter shut and you inhale sharply. Your fingers dig into his skin as his length presses against your pearl. Again your hips move towards him, seeking more of that touch.

Daemon looks down, between your bodies, watching closely as your wetness and his precum mingle. His growl echoes through the chambers. You concentrate fully on the sensation as he guides its length to your entrance.

Slowly he pushes forward and you feel the pressure as his manhood tries to penetrate you. A slight whimper leaves you as your heat envelops his tip. He growls slightly, senses your tightness and starts to move slowly.

"You're doing great..." he whispers in your ear, gently kissing your cheek as he pushes further. You feel the pressure, biting your lip as he impales you on his hot length. The feeling of him stretching you, filling you, is overwhelming. Your walls clench around him, trying to accommodate to his size. Daemon's pace is slow and deliberate, relishing in the tightness and warmth of your core.

But Daemon still feels a lot of resistance, he's nowhere near all the way in yet.

"Love... it's going to hurt for a moment now... but it has to be," he whispers and your eyes open again, looking at him. You whimper, but you nod slightly. He leans his forehead against yours, lets his nose slide gently along yours before kissing you softly again. His rhythmic movements don't let up as his tongue searches for yours and you moan slightly.

When suddenly he thrusts and you cry out as the sharp pain runs through your abdomen. He swallows your cry, his hand on your hip as his thick length works you open. "Uncle Daemon..." you whimper into his mouth as he slides in and out.

"I know..." he whispers, but he keeps moving. The pain slowly subsides. Your cunt, clenching around his cock in protest, slowly gives way. He feels the fluttering of your walls and closes his eyes briefly.

"Gods you feel so good," he growls. Slight mewling sounds leave your lips as your hips begin to move with him. He smiles at you, "That's my girl," he whispers a little breathlessly as his hips move faster. He can feel you soaking his cock, your pleasure increasing, and it spurs him on.

His thrusts get harder as he tries to bury himself completely inside you. He revels in the feeling of your tightness around him, the way you yield to his every thrust. Moans escape you now as your hands grip his upper arms. His hand still on your hip, holding you in place.

He watches your face, observing every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His grip tightens on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, marking you as his.

"You're so tight, so wet," his voice filled with a mix of satisfaction and hunger. "You were made for me... Made to be filled by me," he grunts as he feels the tight grip of your cunt.

You are completely overwhelmed by the sensation as your cunt is fully stretched. You feel his balls slapping against you with every thrust and you whimper. His grunts echo through your chambers as he feels the continuous spasming of your wet walls. His eyes drift down again, seeing his glistening length disappear into your perfect womanhood again and again - the moment he's been waiting for so long, finally fulfilled.

He looks at your face again, sensing your impending climax - your eyes closed, your lips slightly parted as you try to follow his movements. Your noises a mixture of moans and whimpers. His hand slides to your abdomen, pressing lightly against it. He wants to feel his hot length sliding into you, bringing you to climax.

His thumb begins to tease your bud as he thrusts harder and faster into you. You cry out slightly, but you can feel the pressure in your abdomen. Your fingernails dig deeper into his skin as he pumps in and out, his thumb rubbing faster.

"Come for me... Soak my cock, suck up my seed..." he growls in your ear and you moan again. You open your eyes and look into his - blown wide with lust.

As your climax approaches, Daemon's pace quickens, his thrusts growing more powerful. He can feel the walls of your core tightening around him, signaling your imminent release.

With one final powerful thrust, he plunges deep within you, his cock pulsating as he finds his own release. The sensation of him emptying himself inside you pushes you over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

You moan out, your walls milk his cock and he grunts loudly. He watches your face contort with pleasure as moan after moan leaves your lips while your warm walls spasm around him. He's never seen anything so perfect - you're finally his.

He leans down, kisses you, swallows your moans of pleasure.  His hips move more slowly as you come sliding back to reality from the veil of lust.

When his movements slow down completely, he releases the kiss. You can still feel him inside you, his nose slides gently along yours, you see him smile slightly.

"Are you all right?" he whispers a little breathlessly. You just nod and a breathless "Okay," leaves his lips. You whimper slightly in protest as he slowly pulls out of you. His length glistening with a mixture of your fluids. He watches you, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and satisfaction, before leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

In this moment, there is no one else but the two of you, lost in the aftermath of your shared passion. Your bodies are entwined, your souls connected in a way that words cannot describe.

Your heavy breathing echoes in your chambers as he slowly releases the kiss, his gaze travelling down your body as he leans back.

His gaze is fixed on your womanhood and you feel something unfamiliar dripping out of you. Your hand instinctively wants to slide between your legs, but you only notice a slight shake of his head before he stops your hand. His other hand slides to your folds and slowly he pushes his fingers inside you, but you are overstimulated, your hips jerk back slightly.

"Don't," he whispers, "My seed must stay inside you.... I want a perfect heir to grow inside you"

You blush slightly, but his fingers slowly slide inside you, pushing the seed deeper inside you. Your eyes flutter shut slightly as you surrender to this feeling.

Daemon's eyes darken with possessiveness as he watches your reactions, his fingers still buried deep inside you. He can feel the wetness and warmth around his digits, evidence of the pleasure he has brought you. The thought of his seed filling you, the possibility of creating an heir, sends a surge of pride through him.

His thumb brushes against your sensitive pearl, eliciting a shudder from your body. He can sense your sensitivity, the overstimulation that threatens to overwhelm you. But he doesn't stop, his fingers continuing their relentless assault on your pleasure.

"You're mine… My dragoness" he murmurs, his voice low and almost commanding. "And I will fill you with my seed until you bear me a child. You will be the mother of my heir“

Daemon watches you, his fingers still buried deep inside you. His fingers move faster, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. He can feel the tension building within you, your body on the precipice of another climax. He wants to take you there, to see you come undone in his arms once more.

As the waves of pleasure begin to build once again, you can feel his fingers curling inside you, hitting that sweet spot that sends sparks of ecstasy coursing through your body. It's almost too much to bear, the pleasure threatening to consume you.

And as your moans fill the air, your body convulsing around his fingers, he knows he has succeeded. He watches with satisfaction as your pleasure washes over you, your walls clenching around his fingers. In his mind, your precious womb sucks up his seed with every contraction.

Finally he slowly pulls his fingers out of you – a mixture of his seed and your arousal covers his fingers. He smiles and collapses next to you on the bed, his breathing still heavy and laboured.

He looks at you, his eyes glowing with satisfaction. You smile almost shyly before his arm wraps around your middle and pulls you closer. He buries his face in your hair, inhaling your scent. His fingers glide gently over your abdomen as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear - your heavy breathing and light giggles fill the air.

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[hisfavegirl]

Beneath The Crown - Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader

Summary : You became more than just the daughter of Otto Hightower and the sister of Alicent—you became the woman who had captured the heart of Daemon Targaryen, the woman who would stand beside him in the face of the dangers and challenges that lay ahead. But love, especially one born of such fire and conflict, was never easy. The world around you was shifting, and as much as you wanted to embrace this new chapter of your life, you knew that the path ahead would be fraught with obstacles. Yet, in Daemon’s eyes, you saw a future that was worth the fight.

Daemon Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

It had been a year since your father, Otto Hightower, had decided to send you to King’s Landing. A year after Alicent had settled into her new life as Queen, after all the adjustments and challenges had been faced and overcome. Now, it was your turn to step into the complex world of the royal court. But unlike your sister, you were not as eager to embrace it all.

You had learned to navigate the winding corridors of the Red Keep, and although there were many unfamiliar faces, you had grown accustomed to this new life. You were beautiful, much like your sister, with the signature appearance of House Hightower. The people had taken to calling you the “Gem of Oldtown,” a title that carried with it both praise and pressure. The men of the court, and even those from other noble houses, flocked to your father with offers of marriage, eager to make you their bride.

But Otto, ever calculated, rejected every offer. You were not just any woman; you were a pawn in a much larger game, and your father had bigger plans for you than a simple marriage. Every suitor, no matter their rank or wealth, was turned away. But with each rejection, you felt the weight of your father’s ambitions press heavier on your shoulders.

Still, despite the countless men who courted you, there was only one who caught your eye—Daemon Targaryen. The infamous Prince of the Targaryen family, whose reputation preceded him. Daemon, with his sharp wit, silver hair, and mischievous smirk, was different from the others. He was not like the polished, calculating men who sought to marry into power. There was something untamed about him, something that intrigued you.

Your encounters with him were brief—fleeting moments before he left for the Stepstones, where he waged war on the free cities. The two of you would exchange words in passing, but it was enough for you to notice the way his gaze lingered, the way his smile was both playful and knowing. It was a connection that felt electric, and each time he left, you found yourself thinking about him long after his departure.

But you knew better than to act on these feelings. Daemon was not a man you could trust in the way you could trust a suitor brought to you by your father. His world was one of violence, ambition, and danger. He was no mere pawn in Otto’s game. He was his own master.

Still, despite your better judgment, you couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him. Every glance, every word exchanged between you, ignited something deep inside you, and you found yourself eager for the next brief encounter.

As you sat in your chamber, gazing out at the bustling streets of King’s Landing below, you couldn’t help but wonder what your future would look like. Would your father’s plans for you come to fruition, or would you carve your own path? And if you did, would Daemon Targaryen play any part in it? The possibilities seemed endless, but one thing was certain—your life was about to change in ways you could never have imagined.

The evening air was cool and fragrant as you walked through the gardens of the Red Keep. The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the meticulously maintained greenery. The soft rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds provided a serene backdrop to your thoughts.

You had just spent the afternoon with Alicent in her chambers. She was glowing with the joy of motherhood, having recently given birth to her second child, a beautiful baby girl. The bond you shared with her had only grown stronger since your arrival, and it warmed your heart to see her so content. Yet, as you left her chambers and wandered into the gardens, a different set of emotions began to stir within you.

As you meandered through the winding paths, your eyes were drawn to a familiar figure standing beneath one of the ancient trees. His silver hair caught the last rays of the setting sun, glinting like polished metal. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back slightly as if savoring the tranquility of the moment.

It was Daemon.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. It had been some time since you last saw him, and his sudden presence here felt almost surreal. You took a hesitant step forward, then another, until you were standing just a few paces away from him.

“You’ve returned,” you said softly, your voice carrying a hint of surprise and warmth.

Daemon’s eyes opened slowly, and for a moment, he simply looked at you, as if making sure you were truly there. Then, a smile curved his lips, a smile that was both familiar and disarming.

“I have,” he replied, his voice smooth and calm. “It seems the Stepstones can do without me for a while.”

There was a glimmer in his eye, a spark that made your pulse quicken. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but you held your composure. It was difficult not to be captivated by him, standing there so effortlessly commanding yet at peace.

“I trust your campaign was successful?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation light, though your heart was pounding in your chest.

Daemon shrugged, a casual gesture that belied the weight of his accomplishments. “Success is a relative term. The battles are never truly over.”

His gaze remained fixed on you, intense and unyielding, as if he were trying to read your thoughts. There was a tension in the air between you, an unspoken understanding that neither of you dared to voice.

“And you?” he asked, his tone softening. “How have you fared in my absence?”

“I’ve been well,” you replied, though the words felt inadequate to convey the myriad of emotions you’d experienced since he left. “King’s Landing has its charms, though it can be… suffocating at times.”

Daemon nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I can imagine. This place has a way of making one feel trapped.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was comfortable, filled with the unspoken connection that had always lingered just beneath the surface. It was in these quiet moments that you felt most drawn to him, to the man behind the legend, the man who seemed to understand you in ways few others could.

As the last light of day faded into twilight, Daemon extended a hand toward you. Hesitant but curious, you placed your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours.

“Walk with me,” he said, his voice a gentle command.

You nodded, your heart racing as you fell into step beside him. Together, you strolled through the gardens, the world around you fading into the background. In that moment, it was just the two of you, bound by something deeper than words, something that neither of you fully understood but couldn’t deny.

The soft rustling of leaves accompanied the rhythmic sound of your footsteps as you walked alongside Daemon through the garden. The scent of blooming flowers filled the air, and the cool breeze caressed your skin. The tranquility of the evening seemed to wrap around you both, creating a bubble of quiet intimacy.

After a few moments of silence, Daemon’s voice broke through the calm. “I hear your father has been turning down every marriage proposal that comes your way,” he said, his tone casual but laced with underlying tension.

You glanced at him, noticing the way his jaw tightened slightly, a subtle sign of his discontent. You nodded, keeping your expression neutral. “Yes. He says he only wants what’s best for me.”

Daemon gave a short, humorless chuckle, his gaze fixed ahead. “Otto Hightower always does have a peculiar way of defining ‘what’s best.’”

You could sense the bitterness in his words, the disdain he held for your father. It was no secret that Daemon and Otto were often at odds, their ambitions clashing in the complex game of power that unfolded within the Red Keep. But beyond the political rivalry, there was a personal animosity that seemed to fester between them.

“I know how you feel about my father,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his. “And perhaps my sister as well.”

Daemon stopped walking, turning to face you fully. His eyes, sharp and piercing, locked onto yours. “It’s no secret that I don’t hold either of them in high regard. Your father… he sees you as a pawn, a piece to be moved on his chessboard. And your sister, well, she's too easily swayed by Otto’s manipulations.”

You felt a pang in your chest at his words, the truth of them cutting deeper than you cared to admit. “They are my family,” you replied, your voice steady but tinged with sadness. “I cannot simply turn my back on them.”

Daemon’s expression softened, and he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. “I don’t ask you to. But know this—your life is your own. You are not a piece to be played in their game.”

His touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself leaning into it, drawn to the warmth and sincerity in his eyes. In that moment, it was as if the weight of expectations, of duty and loyalty, fell away, leaving only the two of you and the unspoken connection that bound you.

“I wish things were simpler,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Daemon’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “Simplicity is a rare luxury in our world. But perhaps… we can find moments of it, here and there.”

He stepped closer, his presence commanding yet comforting. “You deserve to choose your own path, to live for yourself and not for the ambitions of others.”

For a fleeting moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of your heartbeat and the intensity of Daemon’s gaze. In that space between words and actions, you felt a flicker of something more—something that both thrilled and terrified you.

“Walk with me a little longer,” you said, your voice steady but filled with a quiet plea.

Daemon nodded, offering his arm once more. As you resumed your stroll through the garden, the tension between you eased, replaced by a mutual understanding. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges and choices that would shape your future. But for now, you took solace in the presence of the man beside you, and the shared moments of simplicity that seemed to defy the complexities of the world you lived in.

Your steps faltered as you and Daemon came to an abrupt halt. Standing before you, with his usual stoic expression, was your father. His gaze flickered briefly to where Daemon’s hand rested lightly on your arm before returning to your face.

“The King is waiting for you both in the council chamber,” Otto announced, his tone formal and devoid of warmth.

You exchanged a quick glance with Daemon, noting the subtle tightening of his jaw. His distaste for your father was evident, but he kept his composure, offering a small nod of acknowledgment.

The furrow in your brow deepened. It wasn’t unusual for the King to summon Daemon, but to include you in such a meeting was puzzling. What could King Viserys possibly need to discuss with you?

“Me?” you asked, unable to mask the surprise in your voice. “What does the King wish to speak with me about?”

Otto’s expression remained impassive, though there was a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. “You will find out soon enough. It would be unwise to keep him waiting.”

With that, he turned on his heel and began walking back toward the Keep, expecting you both to follow. Daemon’s hand lingered on your arm for a moment longer, a silent gesture of reassurance, before he too began to move.

As you followed your father through the winding halls, your mind raced with questions. The Red Keep’s stone walls seemed colder, more imposing, as you approached the council chamber. The weight of the unknown settled heavily on your shoulders, each step bringing you closer to whatever fate awaited.

Daemon walked beside you, his expression a mask of calm, but you could feel the tension radiating from him. His presence, though steady, did little to quell the unease that coiled in your stomach.

Finally, you reached the great doors of the council chamber. Otto pushed them open, revealing the grand room beyond. At the head of the table sat King Viserys, his crown glinting in the dim light. His expression was kind, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that set your nerves on edge.

“Ah, there you are,” Viserys greeted, his gaze settling on both you and Daemon. “Please, come in.”

You stepped forward, your heart pounding in your chest. Whatever this meeting was about, it was clear that it was significant. You could only hope that whatever the King had to say would bring clarity to the storm of uncertainties swirling around you.

Your breath caught in your throat as Viserys’ words echoed through the chamber. “I have annulled Daemon’s marriage to Lady Rhea. It is my wish that Daemon marry you, to solidify the bond between House Hightower and House Targaryen.”

The room seemed to tilt around you, the weight of his declaration pressing down on your chest. You stood frozen, your mind racing to comprehend the gravity of what had just been said. Daemon, your confidant, the man whose presence had always been a source of comfort and intrigue, was to become your husband.

You cast a glance toward your father, who stood silently at the side of the room, his face unreadable but his intent clear. The puzzle pieces began to fall into place—the countless suitors turned away, the meticulous grooming of your image, the careful orchestration of your future. He had been maneuvering toward this moment, toward securing an unbreakable tie between his lineage and the Targaryens.

Daemon remained silent beside you, his expression unreadable, though you sensed a flicker of something in his eyes—was it surprise, or something else? His demeanor, however, was composed, as if he had anticipated this turn of events.

Viserys’ voice softened, attempting to alleviate the shock that he must have seen on your face. “I believe this union will bring strength and unity to both our houses. You are a remarkable young woman, and I can think of no better match for my brother.”

Your gaze dropped to the floor, your thoughts a whirlwind. The idea of marrying Daemon, a man who had always held a complicated place in your heart, was daunting. Yet, the political implications, the expectations of your father, and the desires of the King left little room for refusal.

Finally, finding your voice, you lifted your eyes to meet Viserys’. “Your Grace,” you began, your voice steady but laced with uncertainty, “this is… a great honor. But I must admit, I am taken aback. I would need time to… adjust to such a change.”

Viserys nodded, understanding in his gaze. “Of course. This is a significant decision. Take the time you need.”

Otto, however, took a step forward, his tone firm but respectful. “Your Grace, my daughter has always understood her duty. She will do what is necessary for the good of the realm.”

You felt Daemon’s hand brush lightly against yours, a subtle gesture that brought you a sliver of comfort amidst the turmoil. His eyes met yours, a silent communication passing between you—one that spoke of understanding, of the shared burden now placed upon both your shoulders.

As the meeting concluded, you followed Daemon out of the chamber, the weight of your father’s ambitions and the King’s decree settling heavily upon you. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges and choices that would shape not only your future but the fate of two great houses.

Leaving Daemon and your father behind at the doors of the council chamber, your steps carried you swiftly through the corridors of the Red Keep. The weight of the King’s decree pressed heavily on your mind, each thought a whirlwind of uncertainty and emotion. You needed someone to confide in, someone who could offer you solace and understanding.

Reaching Alicent’s chambers, you knocked softly before pushing the door open. Inside, you found your sister seated before her mirror, brushing her auburn hair with a calm, methodical rhythm. She looked up at your reflection in the mirror, her brows knitting in concern as she noticed the tension in your posture.

“Sister,” Alicent greeted gently, setting her brush down and turning to face you fully. “What troubles you?”

You crossed the room, sitting on the edge of her bed, your hands nervously clasped in your lap. “Alicent,” you began, your voice trembling slightly, “something… unexpected has happened.”

Her expression softened further, and she reached out to take your hand, offering a comforting squeeze. “Tell me,” she urged, her voice warm and soothing.

Taking a deep breath, you recounted the events that had transpired in the council chamber—the King’s announcement of Daemon’s annulment, the proposed marriage between you and Daemon, and the realization that your father had orchestrated it all. Alicent listened intently, her eyes wide with surprise and concern as you spoke.

When you finished, there was a moment of silence as Alicent absorbed the weight of your words. She reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, her gaze filled with empathy. “I cannot believe he would do this without speaking to you first,” she murmured, her voice tinged with frustration. “Our father… he always has his plans, but this…”

You nodded, the knot in your chest loosening slightly under her understanding gaze. “I don’t know what to do, Alicent. Daemon… he’s always been… complicated. And now, to marry him?”

Alicent leaned closer, her hand still holding yours. “Daemon is many things, but he cares for you. I’ve seen it in the way he looks at you, the way he speaks to you. This may not be what you wanted, but perhaps… it could be something good.”

Her words were meant to comfort, to offer a glimmer of hope in a situation that felt overwhelming. You appreciated her kindness, but the uncertainty remained, a constant hum at the back of your mind.

“I need time to think,” you whispered, your gaze dropping to your lap.

Alicent nodded, her hand resting on your shoulder in a gesture of support. “Take the time you need. And remember, you don’t have to face this alone. I’m here for you, always.”

Her reassurance brought a small smile to your lips, a fleeting moment of peace amidst the storm. For now, you had a decision to make—a decision that would shape the course of your life and the future of your house.

A month had passed since King Viserys’ announcement of your betrothal to Daemon, and the court was abuzz with whispers wherever you went. Every step you took seemed to draw the attention of nobles and servants alike, their eyes following you, their voices low with speculation. Despite the scrutiny, there was a surprising shift within you—a growing affection for Daemon that you hadn’t anticipated.

At first, your interactions were formal, marked by the awkwardness of an arranged match. But gradually, the walls between you began to crumble. It started with simple gestures—Daemon inviting you to ride Caraxes together, the exhilarating flight through the skies creating a bond that only the shared thrill of dragon-riding could forge.

The first time you soared on Caraxes, you were both terrified and exhilarated. Daemon’s reassuring presence behind you, his hands steadying you as the wind whipped around you, made you feel invincible. As the dragon dipped and soared, you felt a freedom that you hadn’t known you craved.

When you weren’t in the skies, Daemon often suggested horseback rides through the lush countryside surrounding King’s Landing. These rides were your favorite moments—just the two of you, away from the prying eyes and endless expectations. Daemon’s wit and charm surfaced during these quiet times, revealing a man who was not just the fierce warrior and unpredictable prince but also someone capable of tenderness and understanding.

It was during one of these rides that you realized how much you enjoyed his company. As the sun set over the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the fields, you felt a sense of peace and contentment in his presence. Daemon, ever perceptive, noticed your smile and leaned over, his voice soft and teasing. “You seem happy,” he observed, his violet eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

You nodded, meeting his gaze with a sincerity that surprised even you. “I am,” you admitted, feeling the truth of your words settle over you like a comforting cloak.

Daemon reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch lingering. “I’m glad,” he murmured, his tone unusually gentle. “I want you to be happy, truly.”

The simplicity of his words struck a chord within you, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to hope that this union might be more than a mere arrangement. It might be the beginning of something deeper, something genuine.

As the days turned into weeks, the bond between you grew stronger. Daemon’s presence became a constant in your life, his unpredictable nature tempered by a growing affection that mirrored your own. In his company, you felt seen, understood, and valued—a feeling that was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

Despite the whispers and the ever-watchful eyes of the court, you found solace in the knowledge that, in Daemon, you had a partner who cared for you beyond the obligations of duty. And as you prepared for the next chapter of your life, the possibility of love no longer seemed like a distant dream but a burgeoning reality.

The preparations for your wedding were a constant buzz throughout King’s Landing, with every noble and servant whispering about the grandeur and significance of the upcoming union. As the younger sister of Queen Alicent and betrothed to Prince Daemon, your wedding was set to be one of the most spectacular events the realm had ever seen.

Alicent, ever the meticulous planner, took it upon herself to ensure that every detail was perfect. From the lavish decorations to the feast that would rival any in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, she left no stone unturned. But her most fervent attention was on your wedding attire.

You often found yourself being whisked away by Alicent to the royal seamstresses, where you were fitted for the most exquisite gown you had ever seen. The gown was a masterpiece, a stunning blend of white, gold, and silver threads intricately woven together. Each color held deep significance: white symbolized purity and new beginnings, gold represented House Hightower’s wealth and prestige, and silver reflected the Targaryen blood that now coursed through your veins by your impending marriage to Daemon.

Alicent watched every fitting with a critical eye, ensuring that the gown was nothing short of perfection. She would adjust the drape of the fabric, examine the embroidery, and insist on the finest embellishments. “This is not just a wedding,” she reminded you, her tone both stern and loving. “It’s a statement. A union of two great houses, and it must be reflected in every detail.”

Despite her stern demeanor, you could see the genuine care behind her efforts. She wanted you to shine, to be the epitome of grace and beauty as you walked down the aisle. You appreciated her efforts, even when the endless fittings became tiresome.

One afternoon, as you stood on the dais, the seamstresses bustling around you, Alicent approached with a soft smile. She adjusted a stray strand of hair from your face and said, “You’ll be the most beautiful bride the realm has ever seen.”

Her words, filled with sisterly pride and affection, warmed your heart. You reached out, taking her hand in yours. “Thank you, Alicent. For everything.”

Alicent squeezed your hand gently, her gaze filled with a mix of pride and wistfulness. “You deserve this happiness,” she whispered. “And I will ensure that you have it.”

As the days drew closer to the wedding, the anticipation grew. The palace buzzed with excitement, and you found yourself looking forward to the day not just as a duty, but as a promise of a new beginning. The whispers and glances no longer bothered you; they were the murmurs of a realm eager to witness the union of two powerful houses.

And in the midst of it all, Daemon’s presence remained your constant. His occasional smirks and whispered comments during the preparations reminded you that, beyond the pomp and ceremony, this wedding was about the two of you—a bond that had grown stronger with each passing day.

The day had arrived faster than you could have anticipated. As the morning sun bathed King’s Landing in a golden glow, the realization that you would soon be wed to Daemon filled you with a mix of nerves and excitement. The grand ceremony was set to take place in the Throne Room, a choice Daemon had insisted upon, refusing to set foot in the Great Sept.

In your chambers, a flurry of activity surrounded you. The seamstresses and handmaidens worked meticulously, ensuring every detail of your gown was flawless. The luxurious fabric shimmered as the light hit the intricate embroidery, each thread of white, gold, and silver representing the unification of your house with Daemon’s.

You stood before the mirror, taking in your reflection. The gown hugged your form perfectly, the delicate embroidery accentuating your figure. Your hair was styled elegantly, adorned with a few subtle, yet exquisite, pieces of jewelry. Despite the whirlwind of preparations, there was a calmness in the air, a sense of purpose that steadied your nerves.

As you adjusted the last piece of your attire, the door creaked open, and Alicent stepped into the room. Her gaze swept over you, a soft smile gracing her lips as she approached. “You look radiant,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and pride.

You turned to face her fully, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Thank you, Alicent. I’m… nervous, but excited.”

Alicent reached out, placing a reassuring hand on your arm. “It’s natural to feel that way. But remember, this is your day, and you are ready for it.”

She moved closer, adjusting a strand of your hair before pulling you into a gentle embrace. “Daemon is a complex man, but I can see how he looks at you. There is something real there. Trust in that.”

Her words brought a sense of comfort, a reminder that amidst the grandeur of the ceremony and the expectations of the realm, the union was ultimately about the bond between you and Daemon. You nodded, drawing strength from her encouragement.

As she pulled back, Alicent gave you a final once-over, ensuring every detail was perfect. “It’s time,” she said softly, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions—pride, hope, and perhaps a touch of wistfulness for the journey you were about to embark on.

You took a deep breath, steadying your nerves. The moment you had been preparing for was here. With a final glance in the mirror, you straightened your shoulders and turned toward the door, ready to step into the next chapter of your life.

As you made your way to the Throne Room, the weight of the moment settled over you, but so did a sense of anticipation. The doors would soon open, revealing Daemon waiting for you, and with him, a future that promised both challenges and possibilities.

The grand doors to the Throne Room swung open, and you walked forward, your heart pounding with each step. Your father, Otto, stood by your side, his presence unwavering as you made your way down the long, imposing aisle. Every eye in the room was on you, the whispers of nobles and courtiers filling the air, but you hardly noticed. The only thing that mattered in that moment was the man waiting for you at the end of the aisle—Daemon.

His figure was regal, standing tall in his formal attire, his gaze locked on you as you approached. The way he looked at you, intense and unwavering, made your heart race. The noise of the room seemed to fade as you drew closer, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. Your thoughts blurred together, and all that remained was the certainty that you were about to marry the man you had come to care for so deeply.

As you reached the altar and stood beside him, the whispers died down, leaving only the echo of your footsteps in the vast hall. Daemon’s presence beside you was steadying, though his usual air of confidence seemed tempered by something else. He looked at you with a mixture of affection and quiet anticipation.

His voice, a low whisper, reached your ear, ensuring no one else could hear his words. “You are more beautiful than I imagined,” Daemon murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You felt your cheeks flush, your heart fluttering with both excitement and the hint of nerves. You tried to steady yourself, but Daemon’s words lingered in your mind, calming your restless thoughts.

As the ceremony began, you focused on him, the man who would soon be your husband. There was no more doubt, no more uncertainty. With Daemon, you had found a place where you truly belonged.

The ceremony began, the High Septon’s voice echoing through the Throne Room as he led you through the ancient vows. Each word spoken brought you closer to the moment where you would be bound to Daemon, not just by the will of your families, but by your own choice.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby see you these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words."

"Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his/hers, and s/he is mine, from this day, till the end of my days."

As you exchanged vows, Daemon’s eyes never left yours, his hand gripping yours with a firmness that spoke of his resolve. When it came time for the rings, he slipped the band onto your finger with a gentle touch, sealing your bond with a promise.

Daemon turned toward you, his eyes alight with something deeper than the ceremony could capture. “You are mine now,” he whispered, as if sealing the promise that had been made not just in front of the court, but in the quiet moments between you two.

As the High Septon’s final words echoed through the Throne Room, declaring you and Daemon husband and wife, the tension that had hung in the air all evening melted away. The weight of tradition, the whispers of the court, and the eyes of the realm were no longer on you. The only thing that mattered was the man standing beside you.

Daemon’s gaze was fixed on you, his eyes dark with emotion. Without hesitation, he reached for you, his hand sliding around your waist as he drew you closer. The silence in the room felt heavy, the world outside of the two of you vanishing entirely.

He didn’t need to say a word. His lips found yours in an urgent, possessive kiss. It was everything you had imagined, and more. His kiss was a promise, a culmination of everything that had led you both to this moment. It was fierce and tender at once, as if he had been waiting for this kiss for a lifetime, just as you had.

You kissed him back, feeling the strength of his embrace, the warmth of his body pressing against yours. In that moment, you understood. He had waited for you, respected your decision, your wish to wait until you were truly married. And now, as his wife, you could feel the intensity of his feelings, his affection for you pouring through the kiss.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, Daemon’s hand gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. His eyes were filled with a mixture of passion and affection, his smile slow and genuine.

“You are mine now, fully and completely,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You nodded, your heart racing in your chest. In his arms, everything felt right, as if the world had finally come into alignment. The decision to marry him, to give him your heart and soul, was no longer just an obligation. It was a choice, a choice you were proud to make.

Daemon smiled again, leaning in to kiss you once more, sealing the promises that had been made not only in front of the court but in your hearts. This was the beginning of your life together, and nothing could tear it apart.

You sighed, your breath heavy with the effort of trying to keep up with Aemond’s quick strides. Your growing belly made every step a challenge, the weight of your pregnancy slowing you down more each day. Frustration bubbled up as you called out his name, your voice tinged with irritation. “Aemond, wait!”

He turned back for a moment, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips, but he continued walking, not slowing his pace. You groaned and came to a stop, placing a hand on your back as you tried to catch your breath. Behind you, the sound of soft laughter drew your attention.

Alicent approached with a warm smile, her hands reaching out to support you. “Come, let’s take it slow,” she said gently, her arm wrapping around yours to offer balance. She guided you through the garden, the fragrance of blooming flowers surrounding you as the sun cast a warm glow over the Red Keep.

“You’ve been cooped up too much,” Alicent remarked softly. “Daemon’s protective nature has grown even more intense.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “He won’t even let me walk to visit you. He insists you come to us.”

Alicent chuckled, shaking her head. “He’s just worried about you, about both of you.”

The thought of Daemon’s constant concern made your heart swell. His protectiveness was both endearing and suffocating. You understood his fears, especially after everything the two of you had been through. But sometimes, you longed for the simple pleasures of walking through the gardens or sitting in the courtyard, feeling the breeze against your skin.

“Thank you for coming to me,” you said, squeezing Alicent’s hand. “I know it’s not easy, being the queen and all.”

Alicent smiled warmly. “Family comes first. Always.”

You leaned into her support, grateful for her presence. The garden was peaceful, a small escape from the confines of your chambers. As the two of you walked slowly, your mind drifted to thoughts of Daemon. Despite his overprotectiveness, you knew it came from a place of love. The thought of him made you feel safe, cherished.

“Do you think he’ll ever let me out on my own again?” you asked with a teasing smile.

Alicent laughed softly. “Perhaps after the baby is born. Until then, I’ll make sure you have company.” She glanced ahead, where Aemond was waiting by a fountain, his arms crossed as he watched the two of you. “And perhaps I can convince your dear nephew to slow down next time.”

You both shared a laugh as you continued your slow walk through the garden, the bond between you and Alicent strengthening with every step.

Your peaceful walk came to an abrupt halt at the sound of Daemon’s voice, firm and laced with concern. “Why aren’t you resting in our chambers?” he asked, his gaze fixed on you, a hint of worry in his eyes.

Before you could respond, Alicent stepped in, her tone calm and reassuring. “She needed some fresh air, Daemon. Being cooped up isn’t good for her.”

Daemon, however, wasn’t convinced. His eyes softened as they met yours, but his protective instincts were clear. “Fresh air or not, she needs rest,” he replied, his voice gentler now but still resolute.

In a swift motion, he closed the distance between you, scooping you up into his arms with ease. The suddenness of his action made you gasp, but the warmth of his embrace was comforting. “Daemon,” you protested lightly, “I can walk.”

“I know you can,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. “But I’d rather carry you.”

Alicent stood nearby, shaking her head with a soft smile. “You’ve become quite the overprotective husband, Daemon.”

He glanced at her briefly, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I have every reason to be.”

You nestled against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. His protectiveness, though overwhelming at times, was a testament to his deep care for you. Despite the exasperation you sometimes felt, you couldn’t deny the comfort his presence brought.

As Daemon carried you back toward your chambers, you allowed yourself to relax in his arms, the worries of the day melting away. Alicent followed behind, her expression a mix of amusement and understanding. She knew the depth of Daemon’s love for you, and though it bordered on overbearing, it was also undeniable.

Once inside, Daemon gently placed you on the bed, ensuring you were comfortable before sitting beside you. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining. “I just want you safe,” he whispered.

“I know,” you replied softly, squeezing his hand. “And I appreciate it. But a little fresh air won’t hurt.”

He chuckled, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “Maybe. But next time, let me join you.”

A smile tugged at your lips. “Deal.”

Alicent watched the exchange with a knowing smile, excusing herself to give you both privacy. As she left, she couldn’t help but admire the love between you and Daemon—a love fierce, protective, and deeply devoted.

The quiet of the room was broken only by the soft crackling of the fire, casting a warm glow over the chamber. You lay reclined on the bed, the weight of your growing belly a comforting reminder of the life you and Daemon had created together. Beside you, Daemon knelt, his hand resting gently on your stomach, his touch tender and reverent.

A small flutter beneath his palm made both of you pause. His eyes widened with wonder as he felt the movement of your child. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your belly. His voice, low and filled with affection, murmured words meant only for the little one within.

“You’re already so strong,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “Just like your mother.”

Your fingers found their way to his hair, threading through the silver strands with a gentle caress. The sight of him, so devoted and tender, filled your heart with a warmth that words could scarcely convey. His rough exterior seemed to melt away in these moments, leaving behind a man deeply in love, not only with you but with the family you were building together.

As he continued to murmur softly to the baby, you couldn’t help but smile. His hands, so often associated with swordsmanship and strength, now held a tenderness reserved only for you and the child you carried.

“Daemon,” you whispered, your voice filled with emotion.

He looked up at you, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that took your breath away.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “To be loved by you.”

His expression softened further, and he rose slightly to meet your gaze, his hand still resting protectively on your belly. “You’re not the only lucky one,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve given me a reason to be better, to love more fiercely than I ever thought possible.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. The love between you was palpable, a bond that had only grown stronger with the impending arrival of your child.

As the evening wore on, the two of you remained in that quiet intimacy, sharing whispered dreams of the future. The weight of your love and the promise of the life you were creating together filled the room, wrapping you both in a cocoon of warmth and hope.

Tag list : @danytar @zaldritzosrose @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

[fantasydreamland]

I think I might have a type…

[idkyetxoxo]

Daemon Targaryen - Taming the Fierce

Summary - Daemon and Caraxes are a wild and fierce pair, their fiery temperaments unmatched. Yet, there is one who holds the secret to taming these formidable beings, weaving a spell of serenity and love that binds them together in ways no one else can.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2048

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

The room was draped in a serene silence, only occasionally disturbed by the soft splashing of water mingling with the soft rustle of fabric. Daemon's voice cut through the calm as he entered, his tone rich with an undertone of amusement. 

"Well, isn't this a welcoming sight," he said, a smile playing on his lips.

I opened one eye, catching sight of my handmaiden pausing in her duties, her soapy cloth resting against my legs. I could sense Daemon's presence even before he spoke, a blend of familiarity and reassurance that seemed to fill the room.

"Husband," I greeted him, my voice carrying a mixture of warmth and mild surprise as I settled deeper into the bath.

Daemon's approach was deliberate and measured. He reached out to gently trace his fingers across my water-beaded arm, his touch a comforting reminder of his presence. 

"You may take your leave," he instructed the handmaiden, his gaze remaining fixed on me.

The handmaiden's eyes flicked to mine, seeking a silent nod of permission. I exhaled softly, a small gesture of acquiescence, and she set aside the cloth, bowing gracefully before retreating, leaving us in a cocoon of privacy.

As the door closed behind her, I turned my attention back to Daemon. 

"Daemon, I have no desire to indulge whatever impulse you are conjuring," I said, reaching for the comb that lay beside me and beginning to run it through my wet hair.

Daemon observed me with an intent gaze, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

"I am far too large and uncomfortable," I pointed out, glancing at my swollen stomach that peeked above the surface of the water. "I am surprised I still fit in this tub."

With a soft hum, Daemon took the comb from my hand, settling himself behind me. 

"My sweet wife," he began, his voice soothing as he began to comb through my damp hair. "I only wish to sit in your company."

The gentle strokes of his hand through my hair were calming, and I sank deeper into the warm water, relishing the sensation. 

"Has it been a rough day?" he asked, his hands moving from my hair to my shoulders, where he began to rub a cloth gently against my skin.

"I find comfort only in the water," I replied, shifting slightly to make myself more comfortable. "I wish to stay like this until the babe is born," I added, which drew a soft chuckle from him.

"It will be over soon," he reassured me, his touch both soothing and firm as he continued to move his hands along my chest and arms.

I pushed myself up slightly, struggling to maintain my grip on the slippery edges of the tub. "How was your day?" I asked, curiosity evident in my voice.

Daemon's expression shifted to one of mild concern. "Caraxes is restless," he replied, and my interest immediately piqued at the mention of the red dragon.

"He misses me," I said with a smile, pleased by the thought. "He misses my songs and stories," I hummed, feeling a sense of contentment at the idea that Caraxes longed for my presence.

Daemon attempted to dismiss my sentiment with a teasing tone. "Caraxes is a dragon of war, not a pup who enjoys songs and stories."

I laughed softly, the sound light and untroubled. 

"He is called the Blood Wyrm for a reason," Daemon continued, his voice taking on a tone of mock seriousness as he tried to downplay the dragon's affection.

"Daemon, my love," I interjected, my tone gentle but firm. "Even the fiercest creatures have a softer side."

Daemon shook his head, a small smile lingering on his lips. "You are too sentimental. Caraxes is a fearsome beast, bred for war and destruction."

"Maybe," I replied, "but he has a heart too. When I sing to him, he calms. When I tell him stories, he listens."

Daemon's gaze softened, but he continued with playful scepticism. "He's probably just curious about the strange noises you make," he said, though there was admiration in his eyes.

I met his gaze with unwavering confidence. "Curious or not, he responds to me," I asserted. "You cannot deny that he has formed a bond with me."

Daemon sighed, a mixture of exasperation and affection in his expression. "You have always had a way with creatures, taming the wildest of them."

A playful smirk appeared on my lips. "And you," I teased, "are no exception."

Daemon's laughter filled the room, warm and genuine, bringing an easy warmth to the atmosphere. "I suppose that's true," he admitted, his voice carrying a touch of fondness. "You tamed my heart as well."

"You know," Daemon continued, adopting a mock-serious tone, "you're spoiling him. He is a dragon, not a pet to be coddled."

"Nonsense," I replied with a dismissive wave. "A little affection does not spoil him. It strengthens our bond."

"He'll forget he's a dragon of war with all your affection," Daemon countered, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

I raised an eyebrow, considering his words. "Do you think a few songs and stories will make him soft?" I asked. "He is still the Blood Wyrm, fierce and formidable."

Daemon shook his head with a bemused smile. "Still, you're indulging him too much," he insisted, crossing his arms in mock sternness. "Next, you may even knit him a blanket."

"Don't tempt me," I said with a grin, the image of Caraxes wrapped in a hand-knitted blanket making me laugh. "He might enjoy that."

Daemon rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress his smile. "You're impossible," he said, his voice tinged with affectionate exasperation. 

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards as he looked at me with warmth.

"And you love me for it," I replied, reaching out to brush my fingers along his jawline. His skin was warm, and I could feel the faint stubble beneath my fingertips.

"Indeed I do," Daemon admitted, his voice softening as he took my hand in his. He brought it to his lips for a tender kiss. "But you should be cautious not to coddle him too much," he added, his tone growing more serious.

"I am simply showing him that he is loved," I said, my tone gentle as I looked into Daemon's eyes, seeing the familiar depths of his concern and affection. "Is that so wrong?"

"No," Daemon conceded, his gaze unwavering. He leaned in to kiss my forehead, the touch of his lips lingering with unspoken affection. "I suppose even dragons need love."

"And you, my dear husband," I said, pulling him closer, "could learn a thing or two from Caraxes about appreciating my songs and stories." I rested my head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"I'll leave the singing to you," Daemon chuckled. "But I do appreciate the stories."

"Good," I said, "because I have many more to tell."

The room was quiet except for the occasional drip of water and the soft hum of our shared breath. I felt the weight of my body sink into the warmth of the bath, the gentle pressure of Daemon's hands a constant reminder of his presence. His touch moved from my shoulders to my arms, each stroke slow and deliberate, as if he was savouring every moment.

"I remember the first time you sang to Caraxes," Daemon said, breaking the comfortable silence. "I thought you had gone mad."

I chuckled softly, the memory warming me. "And now look at him. He's practically a lamb in my presence."

"A lamb with fangs and fire," Daemon corrected, though his tone was light and teasing. "He's still a formidable dragon, no matter how much he enjoys your singing."

"Perhaps we can visit him?" I asked, sitting up fully in the tub as the water sloshed around me. 

The thought of seeing Caraxes brought a spark of excitement, and I felt a deep longing to be near the magnificent beast.

Daemon's practical nature surfaced. "It is late, and the sun is setting. Perhaps we should wait until tomorrow," he suggested. 

He reached out to steady me as I shifted in the tub, the water rippling in response to my movement.

"No, I insist we go today. We can be quick," I said, determination lacing my voice as I struggled to stand up in the tub. 

The prospect of seeing Caraxes outweighed my discomfort, and I was willing to brave the chill of the evening for it.

Daemon laughed, the sound rich with affection. He watched me with amusement as I tried to manoeuvre in the slippery tub. "If you insist," he hummed, extending his arm to support me. 

His strength was a comforting anchor, and I gratefully leaned on him as I got to my feet.

With a gentle but firm pull, Daemon helped me out of the tub and wrapped my robe around me. The cool air hit my damp skin, but the excitement of our impromptu adventure kept me warm.

"Let's not keep Caraxes waiting, then," I said with a playful smile as I hurried to get dressed. Daemon led me toward the door.

As we walked through the dimly lit corridors of the castle, the setting sun cast long shadows, and the air was filled with the soft murmur of distant conversations. Daemon's hand remained on the small of my back, guiding and supporting me.

We finally reached the dragonpit, where the cool evening breeze greeted us. Caraxes lay sprawled out, his massive form silhouetted against the twilight sky. 

Upon spotting us, he let out a low, welcoming rumble.

"See?" I said, my heart swelling with affection. "He misses us."

Daemon chuckled, his arm tightening around me. "Let's not keep him waiting any longer."

Together, we approached the great dragon. I began to hum a soft melody, one I knew Caraxes favoured. The dragon's eyes closed in contentment, and he lowered his head, allowing me to stroke his scales.

"Even the fiercest creatures have a softer side," Daemon remarked softly, watching the interaction with a mix of awe and admiration.

"Now come, we cannot have you growing ill," Daemon said after a while, his voice filled with gentle concern as he tugged softly on my arm.

I sighed, reluctant to leave the comforting presence of the dragon. "Just a little longer," I pleaded, but Daemon shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips.

"You know how prone you are to getting ill," he replied, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "And I cannot bear to see you unwell."

I sighed again, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "You worry too much."

"It is my prerogative as your husband," he teased, guiding me away from Caraxes. 

The dragon let out a low, mournful sound, but I reached back, brushing my fingers against his snout one last time.

"I'll sing to you again soon," I promised, and Caraxes seemed to understand, his eyes closing in acceptance.

Daemon's grip on my shoulders tightened slightly, a protective gesture as we walked back through the dimly lit courtyard. The cool evening air wrapped around us, and I shivered involuntarily, prompting Daemon to pull me closer.

"You spoil him, you know," Daemon said, his tone light and teasing once more.

"Nonsense," I replied with a playful roll of my eyes. "A little affection strengthens our bond. You said it yourself."

Daemon chuckled, his breath warm against my ear. "I did, didn't I? But perhaps you are right. Even a dragon of war needs a bit of tenderness."

"And what about you?" I asked, glancing up at him. "Do you not crave a bit of tenderness yourself, my fierce warrior?"

Daemon paused, turning to face me. His eyes, usually so guarded, were open and vulnerable in the fading light. "From you? Always."

I smiled, reaching up to cup his face in my hands. "Then let me spoil you too, Daemon."

He leaned down, capturing my lips in his.  His touch was gentle yet filled with deep affection. The kiss was warm and tender, his stubble brushing lightly against my skin, contrasting with the softness of his lips.

It was moments like these that reminded me of the depth of our bond, the love that had grown and flourished between us. 

When we finally parted, his forehead rested against mine. His eyes stayed closed as if holding onto the moment just a little longer. Our breaths mingled in the cool night air, and when his gaze met mine, there was a quiet understanding, a connection that didn't need words.

A/n - Word vomittt imagine a hand-knitted blanket around Caraxes though 😝

[paulyenvol6]

Acting Out Of Love

Based on this request

Your husband Daemon and you have an ugly fight after which you don't speak to each other. Your children are quick to notice it though and come up with a plan to make you reconcile.

I loved this request and I had so so much fun writing this so thank you very much <3 Also, please feel free to send me your requests and tell me what you would like me to write

Contains: angst, fighting, fluff

Wordcount: ~5.67k

Masterlist

You had your lips pressed together and head turned away.

Your hand gripped the edge of the table tightly, anger controlling your senses and you felt so heated that you just wished for a cold rain soaking your body.

"I said no, Daemon.", you hissed at him.

Your husband had his eyes closed as if he tried to calm himself but it clearly didn't worked because he pushed himself away from the wall against which he had rested and restlessly walked back and forth.

"And I'm asking you once again, why?! Why, y/n?"

You exhaled loudly and threw your hands in the air.

"Because she is too young. I can't believe I even have to discuss this with you. Visenya is 8 years old. Not old enough to climb on a dragon on her own. She can fly with you but she is not going to take off with Sirmai alone."

He rolled his eyes.

"Gods be good, y/n! Our daughter is made of fire. She belongs on that dragonback. It's where she is alive."

You laughed out madly and approached him with quick steps.

"Yes. I want her to be alive. And if she is on that dragon alone nothing can assure me that she'll get back on the ground alive."

Daemon shook his head and lowered his head. "Visenya claimed Sirmai, she is not going to get her in danger."

"But she is eight, Daemon! Saena was 10 when we first let her fly on Cloudchaser and Wyllam as well."

Your husband raised his chin and defiantly chewed on his buttom lip. "Visenya is tough. And she wants it too."

You threw your head back.

"This is so stupid, Daemon. I said no. I'm her mother and I'm not going to risk my daughter's life because you act irresponsible and emotional and without reason."

"Oh so I'm the bad father now, is that what you're trying to say?"

You crossed your arms in front of your chest.

"No, but it in this case, yes. You're putting your honor as a Targaryen and as a dragonrider above Visenya's well-being."

Now it was Daemon who laughed and rubbed his tired eyes.

"I can't believe you just said that…"

He abruptly turned around and lifted his finger to point at you.

"I love our daughter as much as a father can love his child. But she is ready and maybe you can't see that but I can. I'm telling you, we should allow her to mount Sirmai."

You shook your head, trying to make your expression look as cold as possible.

"No, Daemon. I will not allow it and so it's not going to happen."

He exhaled loudly and shook his head in disbelief.

"And I can't believe you are always coming up with 'she's meant for it as a Targaryen'. Yes, the blood of the dragon runs in her veins but that doesn't mean that you can use that fact as a justification. She is still my daughter and as much as I respect Targaryen tradition, she is still half dornish and sometimes I have the feeling that you think of your side as superior and more distinctive."

He turned to walk away from you.

"This is stupid…"

You glared at him and narrowed your eyes. "No it's not, Daemon."

"It is and I have no desire to listen to any more of your childish outbursts. I'm going to bed now."

You watched him with flashing eyes as he hasted through your chambers but before he passed you you held out your arm to stop him. Your head hit his chest and his eyes shot down to meet yours.

"You will not sleep in here tonight," you whispered dangerously and Daemon frowned.

"You're not being serious, are you?"

But you remained persistend and gestured to the door.

"I am. I don't want you in here."

He grinded his teeth and his eyes twinkled and yet he did as you had demanded and was quick to leave your chambers.

Once he was outside you inhaled deeply and sat down on a chair. You closed your eyes in a desperate attempt to make your boiling blood calm down but it took you some time until you opened them and you were able to think normally again.

~~~~~~~~~~

You saw your husband again the next day for breakfast. Your children were playing by the fire surrounded by maids and servants and septas and when you entered Daemon was just reading a piece of parchment but lowered it when he saw you.

You on the other hand completely ignored him and didn't look at him for a mere second. You had decided to give him the silent treatment and just act like he wasn't there. So instead of giving him a morning kiss like you usually would have done you walked to your children and caressed your daughter Saena's dark hair.

Your children were a mixture of your husband's and your features. While Visenya, Wyllam and Meradith came more after Daemon and his Targaryen looks, your eldest daughter Saena and Orlyn had your thick brown hair and darker eyes and skin as their siblings. Meralith on the other hand was the pure image of her father. Silver straight hair, light eyes and the only difference to Daemon was her darker tan. The girl would soon turn 6 and you lovingly watched your children while ignoring your husband's presence.

Orlyn, your youngest just brought you a little dragon that his uncle had gifted him for his name day and pulled it through the air.

"I called him Aero, mother. And when I have my dragon one day I'll call him Aero too."

You smiled softly and caressed your son's shoulder.

"That's a name fit for a fierce dragon, my darling."

Your son smiled contendly and babbled something while shifting his attention to his toy again. You straightened up again now and walked towards the breakfast table, still not giving a glance at Daemon. He on the other hand watched your every move but when he realized what it was you were doing he lowered his head as well and folded his hands in front of him.

He was way too proud to give in and talk to you. He was pissed and hurt (even if he wouldn't admit it) but definitely wouldn't communicate with you about his feelings now that you seemed so indifferent. So his expression changed to cold as well and he leaned back in his chair grabbing the parchment once more and fixed his eyes on the letter beneath him. If you were to treat him like this he would play along.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next days you spent almost entirely ignoring each other. Of course you saw Daemon during the meals and when you spent time with your children but you didn't say more than necessary, never looked at him and especially never exchanged any sort of loving affection. You were stubborn and still furious and wanted him to feel that.

In your head Daemon had acted unreasonable and childish and you just hated it because you felt like he didn't actually listen to you. Why was it that you always had to keep a light head while he came up with dangerous ideas and plans and acted as if you were too controlling and scared. You weren't scared, you simply wanted your children to be safe, seven hells.

Daemon on the other hand was equally angry and couldn't understand your behaviour any better. To him, his suggestion was the perfect proof of his love to his children and he simply knew that Visenya would be perfectly fine on her dragon. He felt like you were controlling him and taking part in a piece of his family history that you just couldn't understand that well because you weren't a dragon rider yourself. Daemon was secretly hurt because in his understanding you were trying to claim that part of his identity and that translated in his anger.

And yet through all of his fury, he couldn't help but glance at you when you entered a room. Just like you also took care of him from afar, he had to make sure that you were alright, that you were eating enough and that you weren't overwhelmed with taking care of the children.

One time you didn't attend supper and Daemon had been worried when he found out that you had a headache. Everything inside of his screamed to approach you to take care of you but he couldn't get over his pride and he also wasn't sure whether you would even want him there.

So instead of visiting you, Daemon sent servants to your rooms every 10 minutes and ordered them to make sure you were fine and ask you whether you needed anything. In the meantime the prince walked up and down in his chambers and nervously nibbled at his nails. He hated this so much but what was he to do? He was a stubborn and proud person and remained angry with you. He certainly wouldn't be the first one to give and come apologizing.

~~~~~~~~~~

Four days after your fight, things shifted though because while Daemon tied his hair in the morrow there was a knock on the door.

A part of him hoped that it was you who finally wanted to discuss things but once he had ordered the person to come in the door slowly opened. He turned to see who it was and his face softened when he saw his daughters one by one peeking into the room. Daemon smiled gently and gestured them to come in. The three girls walked to their father who sat down on a chair and lifted his eyebrows at their careful and uncertain expressions.

"What is it, girls? You seem serious."

Saena, your eldest daughter nibbled at her thumb while glaring at her sisters.

"I-Is there something wrong?"

Daemon frowned. "What do you mean, darling?"

Now it was Meralith who stared at her father with big eyes and seemingly was sad.

"You almost haven't spoken to mommy yesterday. And the day before. And the day before," she mumbled and Daemon felt a little stitch in his heart.

He reached down to grab the girl under her arms and lifed her onto his lap. Then he caressed her silver hair out of her face and determindly looked into his daughters' eyes.

"Everything is fine, girls. Your mother and I have been very stressed the past days and sometimes there isn't a lot of time to talk to each other. But we cherish and love every second we get to see each other, alright?"

The only one who looked a little more relieved was Meralith on his lap but Saena and Visenya frowned and pouted.

"But it's never like that," Visenya claimed and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You never talk to mother or kiss her or even look at her."

Daemon shook his head.

"I promise you that we have everything under control. In a few days there will be less things going on and your mother and I will have more time for each other again. You on the other hand – " He caressed his daughter's head. "Don't need to worry about anything."

Visenya sighed while Saena still looked suspicious but the three girls decided not to uphold the discussion any longer and told their father they would go in the gardens to play now. Daemon nodded feeling relieved and told them he would have to attend a small council meeting and reminded them of their lessons with their septa later.

What the rogue prince didn't know was that you just had had quite a similar conversation with your sons only a few feet away. Because Wyllam and Orlyn had knocked on your door even earlier. Orlyn with his four years was your youngest child and Wyllam had come to you with him because his brother had felt very anxious the past days because just like his sisters, he had sensed that his parents weren't on good terms with each other.

And so you had assured your sons that everything was perfectly fine, just as Daemon had your daughters. Of course you knew that you shouldn't lie to your children but this whole situation was already exhausting enough so you didn't additionally need your children to suffer from this. It was easier that way. Telling them that mommy and daddy were fine and they didn't have to worry about anything. And perhaps you would be. Maybe.

But Daemon and you didn't know that your children were way too smart to be tricked like that. They had left the both of you alone and pretended to believe you to some extent but once your three daughters had left Daemon's room and walked outside the castle to sit on a bench in the gardens Visenya looked at her older sister with a deep frown between her eyebrows.

"Do you believe father, Sae?" she asked and Saena thoughtfully bit her buttom lip.

"I don't know. I can't believe that we imagined this."

Tears were glistening in Meralith's eyes as she pulled at her sister's sleeve.

"I-I want mommy and daddy to love each other," she whimpered and Saena caringly wrapped her arms around the little girl.

"It's fine, Mera. They do love each other."

But then she turned to Visenya again.

"But if father says so we are to believe him. He says we shouldn't worry and maybe – "

But her sister crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"I don't care what he says. I know that something's wrong."

Meralith stared at her other sister now and pouted.

"B-But no… Please Sae, do something."

Her eldest sister sighed and chewed on her lower lip. She wanted to say something when they were interrupted by their brother Wyllam who had sneaked up on his sisters from behind a tree.

"Arghhh," he made and Saena shrieked. "Oh Wyllam, stop it!"

Her brother laughed and held his stomach while Visenya angrily flashed her eyes at him.

"Not funny at all," she hissed.

Orlyn stumbled towards his sister behind his brother and as with his sister Meralith tears swam in his eyes. Wyllam turned to him and then sighed.

"He is sad all the time and I wanted to play with him but he didn't want to so I thought you could take him."

Visenya reared up in front of him.

"So you thought you could just bring him to us whenever he bores you?"

Her brother rolled his eyes and attempted to pat her head but the girl pushed away his hand.

"Relax, sister. You are… girls. You are better with emotions."

That made Visenya jump at Wyllam and her fists came down to hit him in his stomach.

"I make you feel emotions now, you little – " Saena came forward and wrapped her arms around her sister to pull her back.

"Oh stop it, the both of you."

Being older and stronger Saena was able to separate the fighting siblings and then once everyone was at calm again and Wyllam and Visenya only angrily glared at each other the eldest sibling kneeled down in front of Orlyn.

"What is it, little brother?"

The boy sucked on his thumb and stared up to his sister without bringing out a word.

Wyllam shrugged. "It's because of mother and father. He believes they are fighting because they haven't spoken that much and now his whole world has been destroyed."

He rolled his eyes and indifferently plucked an apple from a nearby tree which he examined closely for holes or worms.

"Oh Orlyn," Saena sighed and hugged her brother.

"I don't think there is reason to worry though," said Saena then. "We've spoken to father and everything is fine between them."

Visenya cleared her throat while her youngest brother looked from one sibling to the other.

"At least that's what he said. I believe that they have fought. It's always like this when they fight."

Saena shifted her attention from Orlyn to her sister. "What do you mean, always? They don't fight often."

Visenya rolled her eyes.

"Yes, I know. But when it happens they always ignore each other. Like today and the day before."

Saena tiredly rubbed her eyes.

"I mean… Maybe you are right after all. I sensed something as well but I thought now that father has claimed that we shouldn't worry…"

Wyllam had started to eat his apple but now that even his eldest sister doubted their parents' reassurances he also looked a little worried.

"I've taken Orlyn to mother in the morrow. He was so sad that I thought if we spoke to her, mother could calm him. But though she did, Orlyn remained panicky."

Visenya lifted her eyebrows. "You've spoken to mother? And she said that as well?"

Wyllam nodded. "Yes. She said that her and father were perfectly fine."

Saena put a hand to her lip and hummed to herself. "What should we do now?"

Everyone stared at each other as if they would find a solution in their sibling's faces but no one came forward with a suggestion. It was Meralith who opened her mouth first.

"I want mommy and daddy to love each other again," she whispered again with her eyes dropped to the ground.

Saena, who felt the most responsible and caring towards her siblings took a step towards her sister and pressed the girl's head to her chest.

"They still love each other even when they're fighting, Mera. They are just not talking at the moment but they are still in love, do you understand me?"

Saena kissed her hair and felt her sister nod slightly. So she pulled back, having made sure that Meralith was fine and questioningly looked around in the circle. Visenya cleared her throat and rested her hands on her hips.

"We should do something. Give them no choice but to talk to each other."

Wyllam agreed and nodded.

"We could lock them in the same room," he suggested, but Saena shook her head.

"That goes too far, brother. And how would you even do it? No, we have to come up with something else. Though I'm not sure if we even should interfere…"

Visenya rolled her eyes and walked back and forth.

"Of course we should interfere, sister. Otherwise they're never gonna speak again."

Her youngest siblings looked shocked at her words and fearfully stared at her with big eyes.

"Stop scaring them," complained Saena.

"She is not being serious," she then spoke to Meralith and Orlyn. "Of course mother and father are going to speak again."

Then the eldest girl sighed and looked at Visenya.

"Fine. Maybe we could try it. We should make them talk again."

Her sister nodded contendly and clapped her hands. "Perfect. I already have a plan."

Wyllam frowned. "You do?"

She nodded and pointed at Orlyn. "What is your favourite game?"

The boy widened his eyes and his gaze wandered over his sibling. "Hide and seek."

Visenya nodded. "Exactly. Mother and father will notice that Orlyn is feeling a little weary and sad. So he will go them, perhaps separately and tell them that he would love to play a round of hide and seek with the whole family." She smiled mischieviously. "And then we will manipulate the game so mother and father are in the same team. Then they will have no choice but to talk again and everything will be fine."

The girl smiled proudly and looked from Saena to Wyllam waiting for their admirations but her sister frowned.

"What if they don't have the time? Or they don't want to? Father said it himself, they're very stressed at the moment."

But Visenya shook her head and sighed. "You forget that this was only an excuse, sister. And Orlyn just has to be persistent with them."

"I can do that," her brother claimed and raised his chin.

Wyllam also thoughtfully hummed.

"But what if they won't talk? They can play the game with us and still just ignore each other…"

Visenya realized that he had a point and his sisters remained silent for a moment. Then it was Saena who shrugged.

"We could try it though, right? It's not a perfect plan but it's better than doing nothing."

Visenya nodded enthusiastically while Wyllam hesitatingly tilted his head but it was decided. Meralith and Orlyn were seemingly merely glad that something was happening to make their parents reconcile and so in the afternoon Orlyn shyly knocked at your door while your handmaidens were brushing your hair that always got so messy over the day.

When you saw who it was you smiled softly and sent away your servants. Your son still looked a little sad so you took him into your arms, lifted him and caressed his dark hair.

"My sweet boy," you purred while holding him closely to you.

Orlyn crouched against your neck which made you close your eyes simply enjoying the closeness to your youngest child.

"Mommy?" he then hummed against your neck after a while and you felt the vibrations in your whole body.

"Yes, love?"

"Can we play a game in the gardens? Please."

You sighed and drew your face in a painful smile.

"Oh Orlyn, it's really… I have so much to do…"

Your son pouted at you and you felt a little stitch in your heart at his dissatisfied expression. "Please mommy."

You chuckled at his dark puppy eyes that looked so much like your little sister's and suddenly you remembered the way she had looked at you as a child when she used to ask you to play with her and so you knew you couldn't refuse your son.

"Alright, sweetling. What do you want to play?"

Your son shrieked excitedly which made you deepen your smile and his hands grabbed your shoulders.

"I want to play hide and seek. With Meralith and Wyllam and Visenya and Saena."

You nodded and put Orlyn back to his feet. "Fine. As you wish, love."

And so the two of you walked out of your chambers and to the gardens where your other children were already waiting. You hadn't lied when you said that you had a lot of things to do, but when Orlyn had come to you earlier to ask about Daemon and you, you had sensed that your son was feeling a little worried and anxious, even after you had assured him that everything was the way it was supposed to be. And so you had decided to make some time for your youngest son to give him your love and affection and make sure he didn't feel sad and concerned anymore.

Now you stood with your children but just when you were about to ask them what teams each of you were playing in Orlyn excused himself. You didn't see the wink that was exchanged between your son and Visenya because their plan was it to get your husband now and in that way give Daemon and you no choice but to talk about your differences.

You didn't know that though and just watched your son haste inside the castle with a surprised expression but were quickly distracted by Meralith who showed you a bunch of beautiful flowers she had collected. You admired and complimented each of it and were leaned down to closely examine the flowers when suddenly your daughter shrieked and twitched. A bee had stung her on her arm and tears filled her eyes at once.

"Owww," she cried and you were shocked when you saw the sting starting to swell.

"Oh no no," you made and grabbed your daughter's arm to look at the sting. The girl cried in panic while your other children gathered around their sister.

"What is it, mother?" Wyllam asked, his voice thick with concern and you kneeled in front of Meralith.

"Saena, get the grand maester. Quickly."

Your eldest daughter looked equally shocked as your other children and swiftly ran off inside the castle.

"It's alright, sweet girl," you tried to sooth Meralith even though you felt really scared yourself. Her whole arm was swollen by now and your daughter looked pale in her face though you weren't sure if it might be caused by her shock.

"Everything will be fine, Mera. Just look at me and breathe."

You had to keep a clear head and clam your children who all nervously wandered around and Wyllam had started nibble at his thumb, a habit he had since he was a young boy.

"Mother, what's happening? It looks so scary," he asked.

You caressed Meralith's shoulders and tried to breathe steadily.

"It's just a bee sting. Saena will be back soon with the grand maester and then everything will be fine."

Your daughter's cheeks were coated with her tears and you just prayed that your words would turn out to be truthful. And then finally your eldest daughter returned, old grand maester Simon hasting behind her. He was breathless and held his chest as he kneeled down in front of your daughter.

"Oh gods be good. What happened here?" the old man asked and Meralith's lower lip trembled.

You took a step back to let Simon take a look at the sting and wrapped your arm around Wyllam and Visenya. Anxiously you bit your lip and waited while watching the grand maester doing his work when there was suddenly someone else entering the gardens. You had totally forgotten about Orlyn and the fact that he had mysteriously left the scene to get back to the castle but now your son walked out with Daemon.

All of a sudden there was a tightness in your throat and you felt the need to cry and just hug your husband. He narrowed his eyes when he understood the scene and hurried to Meralith who was still crying.

"Darling! What happened?"

It wasn't you who answered although you wanted to. Simon explained it to Daemon while your youngest frightened son ran to you and pressed himself to your legs. You petted his hair while you watched Daemon talking to his daughter with his eyebrows drawn together. His hands held hers tightly and then you head Simon speak again.

"First she should go to bed now and rest. I'll bring the medicine that she might require."

And so your husband picked your daughter up from the ground and carried her inside with Simon following close behind. For a brief moment Daemon and your eyes met and all he could see was the worry and angst on your face. Then they were inside and as much as you wanted to hurry inside too to by at your daughter's side, you had to calm and be there for your other children now.

~~~~~~~~~~

And that you did. You stayed with Orlyn, Wyllam, Saena and Visenya by the fireplace, read them from their favourite books and assured them that their sister would be fine.

It had gotten late and soon Wyllam expressed that he was tired and wanted to go to bed so that was what you did next. It took some time bringing each child to their rooms, covering them up with their blanket (the only exception was Visenya who insisted that she was old enough to do it herself), wishing them a good night and promising them that in the morrow they could see Meralith.

It was the hour of the owl when Saena drifted off to sleep and you sighed as you left her chambers. Your plan was to finally look after Meralith but just when you were about to enter her rooms grand maester Simon opened the door and put his finger to his lips.

"Shh. She has just fallen asleep."

He closed the door behind him so you didn't have a chance to peek inside the room.

"How is she? Please, I need to see her."

Simon looked pitiful as he shook his head.

"She is fine, my lady. She will be fine. But you shouldn't disturb her now, it has taken hours until she was calm enough to drift away to sleep."

You exhaled bitterly. Everything was just so overwhelming and the worry about your daughter restricted the air coming to your lungs.

"Fuck," you breathed because you had held back your emotions all evening and now all you wanted was to see that Meralith was fine and not even that you could do.

"I'm sorry. But she needs her rest, I recommend you come and see her first thing in the morrow."

You nodded though you felt disappointed and sad. Simon bowed his head and then turned to walk away from you. You were left feeling cold and lonely and in desperation. You inhaled a few times and then unwillingly returned to your chambers.

Once you were there you felt empty and numb but knew that you wouldn't be able to sleep now. You wished you could fall asleep next to your daughter because you were certain that her presence was all you needed right now to be calm. Knowing that you were denied that, you walked up and down in your chambers so close to tears but they just wouldn't spill for some reason.

Suddenly there was a knock on your door and absently you called "Come."

Only after the words had left your mouth did you realized what you had done. You couldn't bare the presence of anyone who was not Meralith right now and you wanted to slap yourself for not thinking before speaking.

But when the door opened your eyes rounded and it felt as though a weight dropped from your heart.

Daemon stood in the door watching you with tired eyes that in an instant made a warmth spread in your body. The lump in your throat seemed to somehow increase in size and now you felt that the tears started to form in the corner of your eyes.

You saw him gulp and then walk towards you and without speaking a word Daemon wrapped his arms around you. You held him equally tightly and for a moment you felt so relaxed and at calm that you forgot every worry or concern and the comfort of his body so close to yours made a few tears escape your eyes.

"She'll be fine, y/n," Daemon hummed against your hair and you nodded against him.

"Yes. Yes, she will be."

Then you pulled away from him but still had your hands on his shoulders.

"Did you see her? Is she in pain?"

Daemon smiled softly and caressed your back.

"I did see her. She was scared, but… no, she wasn't in great pain."

Then he pressed you against his chest again so you felt the warmth of his body and now you realized how much you had missed him these past days. Gods, how had you done it? How had you survived without laying next to him at nights, without smelling his familiar scent?

"I'm sorry, y/n," he now whispered against your ear and your thumb soothed his collarbone.

"Me too," you said and then once again pulled back to watch your husband.

"I know that all you did was act out of love for Visenya. I'm sorry for what I accused you of and I know that I perhaps was too hasty and I… I didn't think about what I was asking of you," Daemon stuttered and you smiled softly.

"And I shouldn't have said that you were acting like a bad father. I know that you're not."

He grabbed your hand while watching you with these puppy eyes that immediately made you melt.

"I know that you're right. Our daughter should always be safe and I-I don't know what possessed me. There's nothing wrong with waiting another year until she will mount her dragon and I want her to be safe too. I just… I guess I just felt hurt hearing you speak about how dangerous it is to be on dragonback. It felt like you thought of dragonriders as ridiculous and imprudent. And then... I thought you were trying to take this part of me and my identity away. And then maybe I was scared that you would never allow Visenya to mount her dragon and that made me act irrational and emotional. Gods… I know that it was so childish of me to come forward with this idea and stubbornly insist on it."

He kissed the back of your hand and then you reached up to hold the side of his beautiful face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to feel you like that. And I know that you acted out of love as well. I know that you're proud of your family and your traditions and I respect that so much, love. I know that you want Visenya to carry this tradition as well and share it with her and just like you, I can't wait until she will. I don't think of dragonriders as imprudent. I think of them as fierce and brave and I know that Visenya will do an amazing job."

His eyes lovingly looked into yours and he squeezed your hand tightly.

"Thank you," he merely spoke and then you leaned forward to kiss Daemon on his lips.

That night you didn't throw out Daemon. That night you didn't feel cold or lonely.

That night you held your husband tightly with his arms wrapped around your back while your hands were buried in his hair. You both knew that it would probably get way too warm in the night because a thick blanket was additionally covering the both of you but you didn't care. All you wanted was to feel Daemon again and so you drew patterns on his scalp while the both of you drifted away with your thoughts.

"I love you, y/n. So much."

You smiled with closed eyes. "I love you, too, Daemon."

And then you fell asleep with your last thought being that you promised yourself you would never let such a stupid fight get between you.

[wholoveseggs]

Pretender

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen X Reader} Working in a brothel was never easy, but when a man claiming to be the prince comes to visit, it can be downright dangerous.

7.5k words - Warnings: smut, whore!reader, mild dubcon, oral sex m!receiving, face fucking, riding, ffm threesome, rough sex, mentions of rape, graphic violence, choking, gold cloaks, deception & Daemon being Daemon...

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@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer

There were far worse fates than being a whore. If it meant that you were able to make it another day in this world, you were willing to do it. Even if that meant selling yourself for a few crowns.

It wasn't all bad, there were some who treated you with kindness and respect, others who didn't, and some who weren't even sure how to treat a woman. They were the ones you felt most sorry for, the ones who just wanted to feel a bit of kindness and were too afraid to go and get it from elsewhere. Or simply had nowhere else to turn.

Tonight was one of the quieter nights. Most of the men were either gone or asleep. You could hear the low murmurs of the few that were still awake, soft moans from the rooms next to you as they had their fun. The smell of sweat and sex hung heavy in the air, it had become something you'd grown accustomed to over the years.

You were lounging around with the other girls, laughing and talking as the night dragged on, when you heard the sound of hooves against the dirt outside, and the creak of a cart.

One of the girls, named Lina, came stumbling in, she was extremely drunk, almost tripping over herself as she tried to regain her balance. Her dress was askew and her hair was messy.

This was a common occurrence for her these days, ever since her man had died she had thrown herself into a bottle, trying to forget. You couldn't blame her for it, she was in pain and she needed an escape, you just wished that her solution didn't cause such destruction.

She plopped down onto the floor next to you and laid her head in your lap. "You're always so warm and soft, just like a pillow" she giggled and rubbed her head into you, like a cat seeking comfort.

You softly ran your fingers through her hair, untangling the knots as best you could. "How are you feeling, sweetie?"

"I feel great," she slurred. "Any work?"

"Not at the moment, no" you sighed.

"That's a shame," she said, looking up at you with big, sad eyes. "I'm low on coin,"

"We all are," said another of the girls, a pretty blonde girl by the name of Kari. She was less sympathetic to Lina's situation than you were.

"If you don't have coin, then leave. Don't stay here and take up our space," she snapped.

"Kari" you hissed, trying to get her to back off, but she ignored you.

"What? I'm right" she scoffed.

You were interrupted by a group of men entering the brothel, loud and obnoxious. They were all dressed in fine clothes, reeking of alcohol and crowns, just what you had been waiting for.

Lina was instantly on her feet, swaying a little but keeping her balance as she walked over to greet the newcomers.

"What can I help you with, my lords?" she asked, her voice a low purr as she batted her eyelashes.

Kari gave you a pointed look and went off to tend to another customer, leaving you alone to deal with the new arrivals.

They all looked like typical nobility. Clean-shaven and dressed in silk. You had a good eye for these sorts of things. It was easy to spot the difference between a merchant and a noble, and these men were definitely nobles.

They were also clearly drunk, slurring their words and stumbling around the place, laughing at everything.

Lina was already leading two of the men away, no doubt eager to earn a few coins and keep her drinking habits intact.

You turned your attention to the man standing to the side of the group. He was tall and slender, with fair skin and long blonde hair. His eyes were a piercing blue, like two pools of ice.

He smiled at you and stepped forward, extending a hand towards you. "Have you ever had a prince before?" he asked, his voice low and smooth.

You took his hand and returned his smile. "No, my lord, I can't say I have,"

You have heard many men claim to be one noble or another, sweet little lies they tell you as a way to seem important. It mattered very little to you, they were all the same when it came down to it.

Kari came sauntering back into the room, her dress slipping off her shoulder as she walked. She looked over at you and the blonde man and raised an eyebrow.

You smiled at her and leaned in closer to the man. "Kari, this one is a prince, isn't he handsome?"

Kari's eyes widened and she let out a small gasp, bowing dramatically, her dress slipping even further down her chest, revealing her cleavage.

"Prince Daemon Targaryen," he announced, his chest puffed out.

"I've never met a prince before," she said, her voice filled with awe. She was over doing it just a little, and you had to fight the urge to laugh at her performance.

"Oh, but I can change that," he replied, a smirk on his face.

Kari grinned and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her body against his.

"I'm sure you can," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear.

His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his side.

You felt a tingle run down your spine, he was quite handsome and you could see the appeal of bedding a prince, even if you didn't actually believe his claim.

"Why don't we all get comfortable," he said, his voice low and deep.

You and Kari exchanged glances, grinning at each other, rich men usually pay well.

 The two of you led the prince up the stairs, his arm still wrapped around you, his hand resting on your hip. The three of you entered the room, the door slamming shut behind you. He wasted no time in grabbing hold of Kari and kissing her, his hands roaming her body.

You watched with fascination as the two of them kissed and touched each other, their bodies moving together. Without looking at you, he reached out and grabbed you, pulling you towards him and kissing you passionately.

"Double the pleasure, double the coin, my prince," Kari stated gently, breaking the kiss and stepping away from him. She was always keen on making the payment clear, before the fun could begin.

"Are you questioning my generosity?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kari shook her head. "No, of course not. I would never do such a thing,"

You nodded in agreement.

The man looked at the two of you, a slight smile on his face. "Do you think a prince cannot afford two whores?" he asked, his tone playful.

You smiled at him, "No, we know you can," and you hoped that you were right.

He grinned and kissed you again, a little more aggressive this time. He nipped at your bottom lip, his teeth grazing against the sensitive skin.

"Kneel for your prince," he commanded, his voice firm.

You and Kari exchanged amused looks, then both kneeled before him. She began to untie the laces of his trousers while you looked up at him with innocent eyes, your tongue running across your bottom lip.

"What's it like? To ride a dragon," you asked him, genuinely curious.

"Like nothing else," he replied.

You could tell that he was getting impatient, his eyes darkening with lust. His hand ran through your hair, gripping it tightly and pulling your head back.

"Suck," he ordered, and you obeyed, wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock. You slowly took more of him into your mouth, using your tongue to pleasure him.

"Gods, that feels amazing," he moaned, his hips bucking forward.

He was rough and demanding, but it was nothing you and Kari couldn't handle. You continued to suck and lick him, while she stroked him and kissed his thighs.

The two of you worked in tandem, bringing him to the edge and then pulling him back. You could feel him growing more and more frustrated, his hand gripping your hair tighter.

Finally, he could take it no longer, he grabbed Kari by the hair and pushed his cock all the way to the back of her throat. His hand pressed against the top of her head as he fucked her mouth hard.

She gagged and coughed, but still tried her best to please him. You could see her discomfort and you slowly stood up, kissing his neck and touching his chest, trying to calm him down.

After a few more moments, he released her, shoving her back. She fell back on the floor, coughing and sputtering.

He was breathing heavily, his eyes wild. Without a word, he pulled down your dress, revealing your naked form beneath. He was on you in an instant, pushing you down onto the bed and climbing on top of you, his hands on your throat.

Your head spun, and the room seemed to grow hazy as the pressure on your throat increased. He parted your legs with his knee and pressed himself inside you, groaning with pleasure as he buried his cock deep within you.

He was a wild man, taking you roughly, with no thought of your own comfort or pleasure. Grunting and growling like an animal as he claimed you. You could feel the tears pricking your eyes as his hand tightened around your throat.

"How does it feel to fuck a dragon?" he asked, his face mere inches from yours. You couldn't reply, his hand still holding your windpipe in a vice-like grip. His eyes were cold and calculating, the passion of a moment ago now gone.

You scratched at his wrists, but he just laughed, slamming into you with a savage ferocity. He was like a beast, taking you for all you were worth.

When men were rough like this, a part of you would disappear inside yourself. You would no longer feel as if it was you who were being manhandled, the parts of your body no longer connected to your mind.

You could smell his sweat, feel his hands on you, hear the low rumbles of his voice, but you were no longer here. Your body was simply an object, a vessel, and your mind had retreated somewhere far away, watching from the shadows.

Kari had composed herself enough to join the two of you on the bed. She climbed behind you, running her hands along your body. You were just lying there, allowing yourself to be used, but Kari's touch was a small comfort.

He slammed into a few more times before climbing off of you and grabbing Kari, flipping her on her stomach, pinning her down. He wasted no time entering her, thrusting in and out like an animal, the sound of slapping flesh filling the room.

You lay there, listening to the sounds of the two of them, trying to make sense of things. He didn't last long, men like this rarely did. After a few minutes, he let out a strangled groan and pulled out, his seed spilling out onto her back.

He rolled off of her, panting and laughing to himself, a satisfied grin on his face. She sat up and brushed some hair from her sweat-soaked forehead, looking over at you.

She crawled towards you and wrapped her arms around you, kissing your cheek gently. Her hand intertwining with yours. The two of you had certainly experienced worse customers than him. He didn't appear unhappy with what you did. You were fortunate in that sense.

"I shall take you both on my dragon, fuck you on his back while we fly," he said, a wicked grin on his face.

You had no idea how one would manage to do such a thing, but you were certain he was just trying to impress you.

"That would be something," Kari replied, a smile on her lips.

He was sitting there, his hand lazily stroking his cock as he watched the two of you. "Kiss," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You and Kari exchanged a look, then leaned in and kissed each other, the feeling of her soft lips against yours making your heart skip a beat.

He was watching the two of you with rapt attention, his eyes dark and hungry. He reached out and pulled you away from her, his lips crashing down onto yours. His hands roamed your body, his touch rough and demanding.

"That's a good girl," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

He grabbed a tankard of wine from the nightstand, drinking it down and tossing it aside. You observed the muscles on his back, the way they flexed in the dim light, you could see long scars down his back. They looked like the marks caused by a whip, you knew the scars well, having seen them on many of the men and women in the brothel.

"My Prince, forgive me, but those scars, where did they come from?" you asked, unable to contain your curiosity.

He flinched at your question, not looking at you. "Tourneys," he said sharply, bending over and grabbing his shirt from the floor.

You didn't press the issue, he clearly didn't want to talk about it.

He pulled his shirt on, the silk material stretching over his muscular frame. Then he collapsed onto the bed, pulling you down with him, wrapping his arm around you.

You looked at him and saw a haunted look in his eyes, the same look that many of the others in the brothel had. He was running from something, or someone.

"Call me your prince and tell me you love me," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

"Of course, my prince," you replied, and the words felt hollow.

"I love you my prince," Kari purred, cuddling up to him.

"Yes, I know you do," he said, his eyes glazing over.

The two of you stayed with the prince all night, his talk turning into ramblings, bragging about dragon riding, flying in the clouds, great battles and tourneys he had won. He talked of nothing but how good he had it, how great he is, of all the wonderful things he owned.

While it was not the worst experience you'd had, it wasn't a pleasant one either. Kari kept encouraging him to keep bragging, praising him and showering him with compliments. All you wanted was to close your eyes and drift off to sleep, but his obnoxious voice made it nearly impossible.

By the time the sun came up, he was fast asleep. His snoring so loud you were sure he was going to wake up the rest of the brothel. 

You and Kari were counting the coin he had given you, making sure it was all there. It wasn't as much as you were expecting, considering his claims of royalty. But you'd make do, it'd tide you over for a while. You would certainly sleep comfortably tonight.

Although he was Prince Daemon, you didn't want to fuck him again, not for any amount of coin. If he returned to visit, you would simply make yourself scarce.

Much to your disappointment the prince had turned into a regular at the brothel. At least once a week he would return, bringing with him a small fortune and a lot of drink.

Lina was very pleased, she was the one he favored most of all. And as long as she was getting her coins, she was happy. You supposed she was too numb from drink to feel the pain or humiliation of his treatment.

You and Kari, on the other hand, were less enthusiastic about the prince's presence. Always trying your best to avoid him, finding ways to keep yourselves occupied while he was there.

But you had a feeling that he knew what the two of you were doing, and that you were avoiding him. He didn't seem upset by it, but there was a look in his eye that made you nervous.

He was in the main room tonight, with Lina in his lap, the two of them drunkenly talking about who knows what. But his eyes were on you, and it made your skin crawl.

You quickly got up and looked for a place to hide, not wanting to be caught in his sights. He was a dangerous man, you could sense it, and you had no interest in being alone with him.

You made your way through the halls, between tapestries of silk and dimly lit rooms, keeping your head down. It was almost too easy to disappear here, to find the dark corners and hide away from the world.

You weren't looking where you were going, and you found yourself crashing into someone.

"Sorry, sorry," you muttered, moving to continue walking.

You felt a hand grip your arm, and you looked up at a man dressed in dark clothing, a hood covering his face. There was an air of danger around him, the way he held himself was confident and commanding.

He looked you over, his gaze roaming over your body. From what you could see of his face, he was handsome, with a strong jawline and sharp features. His hair was blonde, resting on his shoulders.

"No need to apologize, little dove," he said, his voice deep and rich.

His hand slid down your arm, his fingers brushing against yours. "Come, let's have a drink," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

You nodded, grateful for any excuse to get away from the prince. You could also do with some extra coin, and this man seemed willing to pay.

He followed you to one of the private rooms, the curtains hanging around the bed were a soft blue, the room dimly lit by candles.

He gently leaned his sword against the wall, his fingers tracing over the hilt. It had an odd looking pommel, the metalwork intricate, the hilt the shape of a gold dragon.

He turned and sat on the bed, his hood falling down, revealing his face.

He was handsome, his blonde hair tumbling over his shoulders, his eyes sharp and bright. He was tall and lean, with a muscular build.

"So, what brings you to a place like this?" you asked, standing in front of him.

"Curiosity," he replied, reaching out and pulling you into his lap.

You gasped, your face inches from his. He smirked, his fingers wrapping around the silk ribbon around your waist, untying it. The thin dress fell open, revealing your chest.

"You are a pretty thing," he whispered, his eyes raking over your body.

You blushed, your heart beating faster. You were used to men commenting on your looks, but something about the way he said it made you feel warm.

"I bet you tell all the girls that," you teased, your hand reaching out and resting on his chest.

"I bet you pretend to enjoy it," he countered.

"And if I do?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He laughed, his fingers tracing the curve of your neck.

"I'll know the difference," he said, leaning in, his breath ghosting over your lips.

"Is that so?" you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, his other hand coming up and resting on your lower back. He pulled you closer, his lips brushing against yours.

He was surprisingly gentle, his lips soft, his hands caressing your body. He kissed you like a lover, not like a man who was paying for a whore.

You melted into his touch, your hands moving up and tangling in his hair. He groaned, his fingers digging into your skin.

You knew the brothel had men of all shapes and sizes, some kinder, others rougher, but he was a different breed altogether. You were enjoying yourself in a way you never had before.

"See? You're not pretending,"he whispered against your lips.

You laughed softly, your eyes fluttering open, looking into his. He was staring at you with such intensity, it made your heart skip a beat.

He smiled at you, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. You could feel the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms around you.

"What kind of men do you usually entertain?" he asked, his lips moving to your neck.

"All kinds," you replied, letting him undress you, the silk pooling at your waist. "From beggars to princes," you said.

"Princes, hmm? I suppose a prince would have more coin than most," he said, gently cupping your breasts, his thumbs grazing over your nipples.

"Some," you replied, trying to keep your breathing steady. “The prince does come here often. Although he is not the most agreeable of men," you explained.

"You know a lot about the prince?" he asked, his lips grazing against the shell of your ear.

"Indeed, he told me he would show me his dragon," you said, smiling, tracing your finger down his chest, playing with the hem of his shirt. "Caraxes, is it's name," you added, taking hold of his shirt and pulling it off.

"Oh? That's an interesting promise," he replied, his lips pressing kisses along your shoulder, his teeth nipping at the soft skin.

"He said I could ride it too," you said, feeling his lips curve into a smile against your skin.

"I'm sure you would be more than capable," he breathed, his nose brushing over the curve of your neck. "Perhaps you can practice on me," he murmured.

You giggled, a warmth blooming between your legs. He was handsome and charming, his touch gentle, he knew what he was doing. His hands moved over your skin, leaving a trail of heat wherever they went.

You shifted on his lap, feeling his arousal pressing against you. "Is that so?" you asked, your lips ghosting over his.

"Mmm," he groaned, his eyes darkening, his lips claiming yours.

His hand cupped the back of your neck, holding you close. You could taste the sweetness of the wine on his tongue, his kiss full of passion and desire. Your hands went to his breeches, unlacing them and pulling out his cock.

You stroked him, feeling the velvety skin beneath your fingers. He groaned, his lips breaking away from yours.

"If I were to ride you, I'm not sure I would be able to walk away afterwards," you whispered, looking down at him.

"Maybe that's my plan," he said, as his hand slipped between your legs.

You gasped, the pleasure rippling through your body. You had a feeling this was going to be the best coin you had ever earned. It was always a nice treat when you could be with a man that you actually enjoyed touching.

"You're bigger than most of the other men I've had," you purred, running your hand up and down his length.

"I bet you say that to all the men," he teased, his fingers dipping into your cunt, feeling the wetness there.

"I'll say whatever you want me to," you said, kissing his neck, his jawline.

"Such a sweet little liar," he said, his hand cupping your cheek, tilting your head up.

You looked at him, your eyes meeting his. They were a deep blue, almost purple. There was a gentleness to them, but also a fire.

"Am I bigger than the prince?" he asked, a playful smirk on his lips.

"Would it be treason to say yes?" you whispered, your teeth grazing his earlobe.

"I won't tell him," he said, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss.

You smiled into the kiss and slowly rocked your hips, rubbing your slit against the underside of his cock. He groaned, his hands gripping your waist, his thumbs brushing over your hip bones.

You pulled away from the kiss, sitting up slightly and lining his cock up with your pussy. You sank down onto him, keeping your eyes locked with his.

You began to ride him, slowly at first, then you increased the pace. He let out a low groan and his hands squeezed your ass, helping you bounce on his cock.

You leaned down, capturing his lips in another passionate kiss. Your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.

You pulled away from the kiss and rested your forehead against his.

"Fuck," he hissed, his fingers digging into your thighs.

You let out a breathless laugh and began to ride him faster, grinding down onto his cock. You could feel his length pulsing inside of you, his breath hot against your neck.

He suddenly flipped you into your back, your hair splayed out across the pillows. He grabbed your thighs and pushed your legs back, sinking his cock inside you once more.

You moaned, feeling him pound into you. He leaned down and captured your lips in another kiss, his tongue invading your mouth. Your hands went to his arms, they were made of pure muscle, the corded veins bulging under his pale skin.

His hips started to falter, a sure sign he was close to his release. He buried his face in the crook of your neck as he let out a low and desperate groan. You could feel his cock throb as his seed filled you.

"I can see why the prince likes you," he said, a small smile on his face as he rolled off of you.

You chuckled, moving to cuddle up next to him.

"Oh? What makes you say that?" you asked, nuzzling into his chest.

"The way you fuck," he said, his lips curling up into a smirk. "It's truly fit for royalty,"

You giggled and buried your face into his chest, the smell of his sweat mixed with sex intoxicating.

"You are a far better lover than him, perhaps living up in a castle all his life has spoiled him," you said, tracing patterns on his chest.

He smiled, his arm wrapping around your waist, his thumb rubbing circles over your skin.

"I don't even know your name," you whispered, your hand reaching up and stroking his cheek.

"It doesn't matter now, does it?" he asked, his voice low and soft.

You watched him, wondering why a man would pay for a whore when he could easily get a woman willing. But then again, you knew the type of men who came to a place like this, perhaps he was married, or didn't have time for courtship.

He sat up and poured himself a cup of wine, the dark liquid spilling into the glass. He took a sip, then handed it to you.

"Thank you," you said, sitting up and taking a drink, the taste of wine sweet on your lips.

He leaned in and kissed you passionately. You hummed softly and cupped his cheek, his stubble scratching your palm.

He moved off the bed and grabbed his shirt, pulling it over his head. He picked up his sword, strapping the sheath to his belt.

You laid back, propping yourself up by your elbows as you watched him dress. He looked at you, a smirk on his face.

"You look lovely like that," he said, his voice a low purr.

You nodded in thanks, giving him a gentle smile and watched him pull out his coin purse.

"Keep the change," he said, tossing the bag onto the bed.

"Thank you, ser," you said, watching him walk out the door.

"Ser," he chuckled. "I am no ser," he said, looking back at you one last time before shutting the door.

The following evening was a busy one, you had spent most of the night serving drinks, the men rowdy and full of ale.

The drunker they got, the more coin they would spend, but that also came with its risks. Some of the men would become violent, the women in the brothel would often have bruises, sometimes it would be a black eye or busted lip.

You had gotten good at handling the rowdy customers, a few sweet words and a soft touch was enough to keep most men docile.

You hadn't seen Lina since yesterday, which was odd, usually she was down here, drinking and entertaining the men.

"Have you seen Lina?" You asked Kari, who was collecting a number of empty tankards.

"She's probably passed out in some room, drunker than a sailor," Kari replied, shaking her head.

You frowned, that didn't seem right. Lina had a habit of drinking, but never enough to not show up for work.

Kari could see the concern on your face and placed her hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Don't worry about her, she'll be fine," she said, giving you a reassuring smile.

"What if Prince Daemon comes in? I do not wish to deal with him," you whispered.

"Then don't," she said, pouring herself a glass of wine.

"I cannot refuse him, he would make my life a living hell," you sighed.

"Then you best stay out of his way," Kari said, patting your shoulder.

You nodded, but knew that was easier said than done. If he showed up tonight, you were sure to run into him.

You continued to serve drinks, doing your best to avoid the more aggressive customers. You felt a hand grip your wrist, and turned to see one of the regulars.

"Come sit on my lap pretty girl," the man said, tugging on your wrist.

You smiled sweetly and sat down on his lap, resting your arm on his shoulder.

"How have you been, my love?" you asked, batting your lashes.

"Better now that you're here," he said, his hand resting on your knee, his fingers rubbing circles on the inside of your thigh.

"That's sweet," you said, trying not to flinch at his touch.

You leaned in and whispered into his ear, "What can I do for you tonight?"

He smirked, his hand sliding further up your thigh, he looked over your shoulder and paused. His eyes were fixed on something behind you, his expression one of shock and disgust.

You turned to see Lina stumbling through the main room, her hair a mess, her clothes torn, blood trickling down from a wound on her head.

She was muttering incoherently, her eyes wild and unfocused. She stopped in the middle of the room, looking around, a terrified expression on her face.

"Lina?" You immediately got off the man's lap and rushed to her side, placing your hand on her shoulder.

She screamed, slapping your hand away and staggering back. Her eyes were wide, her breathing heavy, she was looking at you as if you were a stranger.

"Lina, it's me," you said, trying to calm her.

She shook her head, backing away, her eyes darting around the room.

"You're alright," you said, stepping towards her.

She raised her hands in front of her, as if trying to shield herself from something. You could see the bruises on her wrists and her hands were trembling.

You reached out to her, but she flinched, moving away from you. She backed into a table, knocking over a tray of drinks.

The noise drew the attention of the patrons, everyone was staring at her, murmuring to each other.

You grabbed her arm, gently leading her to the stairs. She let you lead her, her body tense, her breathing rapid.

You opened the door to her room and led her inside. You could see the dried blood and cum on her thighs, and the tears in her clothes.

"What happened to you, Lina?" you asked, but she remained silent, her gaze fixed on the floor.

You went to the washbasin and dampened a cloth, sitting next to her on the bed. You began to clean the dried blood from her face, gently wiping the cloth over her bruised skin.

"You are safe now," you said, trying to soothe her.

"It was him," she suddenly said, her voice quiet and strained.

"Him who?" you asked, dipping the cloth back into the water, the blood turning it pink.

"Prince Daemon," she said, her voice cracking.

Your eyes widened, the cloth slipping from your fingers and landing in the basin with a wet splash.

"Daemon did this to you?" you asked, a pit of anger forming in your stomach.

Lina nodded, tears streaming down her face, her body shaking. "You mustn't tell anyone, he will kill me," she cried.

"Lina, I...," you trailed off, unsure of what to say.

You wrapped your arms around her and held her close, letting her cry into your shoulder.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice breaking.

She pulled away, her eyes red and puffy, her lips quivering.

You felt your chest tighten, a wave of rage and despair washing over you. Daemon was a vile, evil man, and the fact that he had hurt Lina, filled you with an overwhelming anger.

You clenched your fists, feeling your nails dig into your palms, a stinging pain spreading over your skin.

"I... I lost all my coin...He took it," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

You wondered why a prince would bother stealing coins from a common whore, surely he had enough coin of his own.

"You can have whatever I earn tonight," you said, your tone serious.

"You don't have to do that," she said, shaking her head.

"Of course I do, you would do it for me," you said, gently cupping her cheek.

She nodded, her eyes glistening with fresh tears.

"Stay here, get some rest," you said, helping her lay down.

She pulled the blanket up to her chin, curling up into a ball, her body still trembling. You left the room, closing the door quietly behind you.

You walked back down to the main room, a burning rage coursing through your veins. You spotted Daemon, sitting at a table, drinking wine and laughing with a group of men.

You wanted to confront him, to pour hot tar over his head and watch him scream and writhe in pain. You looked around the room for a weapon, anything you could use to inflict harm upon him.

Your eyes landed on a serving tray, you picked it up, the metal cool against your palm. You were about to do something rash, something you couldn't come back from, when the man from last night caught your attention.

He was sitting at a table by himself, nursing a drink. He was wearing the same leathers as last night, and his sword was strapped to his hip.

He looked up, as if he could feel your gaze on him, and gave you a small smile. He gestured for you to come over.

You placed the tray back on the table, and walked over to him. You needed the coin for Lina, and he felt nice and smelled good, it would be a pleasant distraction.

"Back so soon?" you asked, swallowing your rage and fear, turning it to soft words and flirty touches.

You sat down on his lap, wrapping your arm around his shoulders, kissing his cheek and smiling sweetly.

"I missed you," he said, his hand going to your waist.

"Liar," you whispered, a playful smirk on your lips.

He laughed, the sound deep and rich, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He looked around the room then back to you, his gaze roaming over your body.

"Shall we?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

"Yes," you replied, sliding off his lap and taking his hand.

He followed you to the stairs, his hand on the small of your back. You glanced over your shoulder at Daemon, a scowl on your face as you walked away from the opportunity to harm him.

You quickly led the man to your room, shutting the door and leaning against it, letting out a sigh.

"Are you alright?" He asked, setting his sword down and untying his shirt.

"Fine," you said, watching him undress.

His chest was pale and well muscled, his body lean and strong. He looked up at you, a playful smirk on his lips.

"Lying once again," he said, unbuckling his belt.

"My friend was attacked," you said, walking over to him, running your hands over his bare chest.

"I am sorry to hear that," he said, his gaze focused on you, his hands reaching up to cup your face.

"She was beaten and raped by Prince Daemon," you said, leaning into his touch, his calloused palms rough against your cheeks.

He stiffened at that, but just for a moment, before untying your dress and letting it pool at your feet.

"You shouldn't say things like that," he said, his hands gripping your ass and pulling you closer.

"Why? It's the truth," You replied, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your naked body against his.

"It can get you killed," he said, his voice low and his breath hot against your ear.

You shivered, his words sending a chill down your spine. "I do not care, he deserves to die," you hissed, nipping at his bottom lip.

He smiled and lifted you up, carrying you to the bed and laying you down. His lips were soft against yours, his tongue exploring your mouth.

"Tell me, do you always have such violent thoughts?" He asked, his hands roaming over your body.

He gripped your hips and pulled you underneath him, his erection pressed against your pussy.

"When men like him exist? Yes," you replied, moaning softly as he ground his hips against yours.

"And what would you do, if you had the power?" He asked, his fingers ghosting over your clit, making you moan.

"I would cut him open, and feed him his own guts," you replied, arching your back, a jolt of pleasure shooting through you. "Or perhaps burn him alive," you added, a dark smile spreading across your lips.

He chuckled, a wicked grin on his face, his eyes flashing with desire.

"And what of me? What would you do to me?" He asked, his fingers slipping inside of you, moving slowly, his thumb circling your clit.

You kissed him, hard and fierce, nipping at his lip, a small bead of blood forming. You could taste it, sweet and coppery, the smell of iron filling your nose. He chuckled at your roughness, his fingers moving faster.

"You've not wronged me, yet," you moaned against his lips, your hands going to his cock, the speed of your strokes matching his.

"Yet?" He chuckled, a low and seductive sound.

"There is time," you teased, pushing him off you and onto his back.

You straddled him, lowering yourself onto his cock, moaning as you felt him stretch you. He gripped your hips, guiding you as you began to ride him, his eyes watching you intently.

You arched your back, rolling your hips, grinding against him, your hands on his chest. You could feel him hitting that spot inside of you, making you moan and pant.

He sat up, his hands gripping your ass, his lips finding yours, a soft and passionate kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close, his warmth enveloping you.

"Harder," you pleaded, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

He obliged, his grip tightening, his hips thrusting harder, deeper, filling you completely. You buried your face in his neck, muffling your cries of pleasure, your body tensing as you came.

He grunted, his cock throbbing inside of you, his hot seed spilling into you. You held each other close, panting and sweating, the room silent save for your labored breaths.

He captured your lips, a soft and gentle kiss, his fingers stroking your cheek. You pulled away, resting your forehead against his, a contented sigh escaping your lips.

"Is he here now? This prince," he asked, a bitter inflection to his tone.

"Yes," you replied, running your hands through his hair.

"Will you point him out to me?" He asked, his grip on your hips tightening.

You looked at him, a curious expression on your face. "Why?"

"Just curious," he replied, his fingers tracing circles on your lower back.

You looked into his eyes, a strange fire had crept into his gaze. You could feel a change in the air, the tension thick and heavy, the room seeming to grow darker.

"Okay," you said softly, a hint of trepidation in your voice.

"Good," he said, a sly smile spreading across his lips.

He helped you off his lap, standing and gathering his clothes, pulling his trousers and shirt back on.

You watched him, the way his muscles moved beneath his skin, his eyes focused and determined. He seemed to be lost in thought, his gaze distant, as if he was planning something.

"Who are you?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't respond, just held out his hand for you. You took it, and let him help you off the bed, your fingers intertwined.

You descended the stairs, the tavern full and bustling, the air thick with the scent of sweat and ale. You led him towards the corner where the prince was, his table surrounded by a group of men.

"Them," you said, pointing to the prince and his entourage.

He nodded, and pulled you close, kissing your cheek and placing a large bag of crowns in your hand.

"For you and your friend," he whispered, before releasing you and disappearing into the crowd.

You stared after him, confused and intrigued. You didn't know what was going on, or what he was planning, but you couldn't help but feel a strange sense of excitement.

You went over to Kari who was in the lap of the regular from earlier, her hands wandering over his broad chest.

"Where did you go?" She asked, glancing at you, a questioning look in her eyes.

"Upstairs, with the man from last night," you replied, showing her the coins.

She grinned, her eyes wide. "Look at you, making the big coin," she said, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Suddenly there was a loud crash, the sound of breaking glass. You turned to see the prince on the ground, his table overturned, a shattered bottle of wine next to him. The men he was with nowhere to be seen.

A number of gold cloaks had come storming in, and were surrounding the table, their swords drawn.

You watched the man you had just been with appear behind them, making his way through the gold cloaks, they parted for him without question.

The prince looked up at him, his eyes wide with fear, his body trembling.

"What are you doing? I'm the prince! Prince Daemon Targaryen!" He stammered, trying to back away.

The man laughed, and looked around at the gold cloaks, who were smiling and laughing with him.

"Funny," he said, looking down at the prince. "I could have sworn that was me."

The man who claimed to be the prince looked horrified, his eyes wide with shock.

"That's right, your grace," the man said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You've been caught," he continued, the smirk turning into a sadistic grin.

You watched in horror and amazement as the pretender prince tried to scramble away, only to be stopped by a sword being plunged into his stomach.

He let out a gurgled cry, his blood spraying out onto the floor, a look of pure terror on his face. You and Kari screamed and looked away, covering your mouths in shock.

There was a horrible, visceral wet sound as the real prince Daemon cut open the pretender's stomach, and pulled out his innards, feeding them to him.

The room was silent, save for the sound of the dying pretender, gagging and wailing, his blood pooling around him.

"Let this be a lesson to all those who would dare to impersonate a prince of the realm," Daemon said, his voice booming across the tavern. "All pretenders shall meet the same fate."

The pretender had fallen silent, his body lying in a pool of his own blood and guts. Daemon wiped his hands and sword on the pretender's clothes, and turned to the gold cloaks.

"Clean this up, and dispose of the body," he said, his tone commanding.

The gold cloaks bowed, and began to drag the pretender's body from the tavern. The real prince looked around the room, his eyes landing on you.

You immediately looked to the floor, bowing before him, your heart pounding. You couldn't believe what had just happened, that the prince was a pretender and that the real Daemon had just been in your bed.

He walked over to you, and you kept your gaze down, not daring to look at him. You felt his hand under your chin, tilting your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"I'll be sure to burn him too," he said, a small smile on his lips.

You could only nod, your voice caught in your throat. He smiled and released you, turning and walking away.

Everyone was in a state of shocked silence, people staring in awe and disbelief. Kari looked at you, her eyes wide and her face pale.

"What just happened?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I... I don't know," you replied, your own voice shaking.

It was a lesson, one you never forgot. That even among whores, the truth would always find its way to the surface. And for that, there was no mercy.

[queers-gambit]

And Let Me Love You Anyway [ part two of two ]

part one: Tell Me Every Terrible Thing

prompt: you embark on a secret but passionate affair with the Rogue Prince, and when his wife, Rhea Royce, passes away, he chooses you to wed next - a decision that angers his niece and changes history.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader -> hair color specified reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 6.3k+

note: what the fuck is this, Cherry? also two parts 'cause author gets carried away!

warnings: show spoilers, cursing, author has small bouts of feministic ideas, author also really likes the "little birds" storyline (let her live!), wonky brain is wonky, i think hurt and comfort, angst, very mild NSFW (female receiving oral), technically alternative timeline 'cause this goofy-ass author has an overactive imagination, #icanmakehimworse, another reader insert (this warning is for the fucking losers in my inbox).

"Alicent, we're late," you sighed with a frown, wiping your sweaty palms nervously as your necklace was latched in place and perfume spritzed on your pulse points. YES - that included your ankles.

"That's the point, sister, we're supposed to be late. It sends a message."

Your eyes rolled, snipping, "The King will not be pleased. I am not his wife, he can get angry at me, you know!"

"He'll manage," she snapped, glancing at Talya. She continued, "He dismissed Father for telling him a truth he would rather ignore. So much so, after years of service, he'd - "

"Yes, yes, the King removed Father as Hand, sent him back home," you nodded with understanding. "But we both know how he feels about his daughter, The Princess! The rumors circulating would cost him his life in the end, we are lucky he was only sent home!"

"Rumors! Rumors, sister, truly!? Tell me, do you think Father lied?"

"I know he didn't."

"Exactly why we're late to tonight's affair," she huffed, fixing her hair in the mirror again. "It's a statement, it's deliberate. We will stand out, prove we are not happy with the turn of events. Why offer Rhaenyra blind respect when she continues to do as she pleases - regardless of consequences."

You paused, sensing her anger brewing and trying to distract, "You know, Ser Lyonel Strong is not a bad replacement for Father."

"This is not about Ser Strong."

"Isn't it? Father's served long and faithfully, but perhaps it is time for a new guidance. Lyonel Strong is a smart man - qualified, even!"

"Yes," she agreed, turning to face you in a shimmering emerald gown. "But this is still an injustice to our family that I fear I cannot overlook any longer. It's been weeks..."

"Yes," you allotted, nodding with a sigh. "All right, yes, you are right, sweet sister. This is all just - it's a lot to take in, to try and digest. And we talk of playing a game with the Throne - I do not think we've the strength to endure alone."

"This is not about Lyonel Strong, sister! It's about Father and the disrespect the Crown continues to offer. Remember that," she advised softly.

You nodded, "I know, sister."

She frowned, "And remember... They aren't our kin. Despite previous displays of kindness, the Targaryens have made it clear that we are not family to them. They are not blood to us, sister; they will protect their own, not us. If we wish to survive, we will need to ally ourselves."

"I understand," you told your younger sister. "I am not arguing, I know what our reality is now - I merely implore to explore the routes that won't label us as traitors."

"I know, we have much to discuss going forward. But none of that for now," she took a long breath, smiling as she looked you up and down, complimenting, "you look stunning. Truly, you might outshine the bride tonight."

"Let's hope it doesn't come down to that, and that The Princess has a mature bone in her body - though I do not hold out hope." You smiled at her, "But enough about me, you look - you look like a Queen, sister-dearest. Gods, you're gorgeous, you look just like Mummy." The two of you shared an emotional, watery smile; embracing tightly as reality settled in your guts: it was you two Hightower Ladies against the whole of the Targaryen clan. "Come," you decided, taking a deep breath, "are we ready to go? Any later and I fear we might not get any cake."

"Oh, you and cake," she smirked, looking you over in a matching emerald, lighter-weight gown that had layers of thin fabrics clinging and dripping from your form. Golden jewelry was clasped around both your necks, wrists, tight around your fingers, and plugged into your ear piercings.

The Queen took your arm and left the dressing chambers you took refuge in, coming to a gasping halt when you were greeted by a well-groomed man in green velvet. "Father," Alicent exclaimed in shock.

"My daughters," he smiled, offering both arms, "I do believe we are now fashionably late. Hmm?"

"Exactly as we intended," you mused, taking his arm. "How is this possible? How are you here?"

"I was invited, if you believe that," Otto answered, the three of you walking slowly. "Though, I suspect your sister had something to do with that?"

"I only told Viserys I'd be deeply offended if you were ignored for this event," Alicent quipped.

"None the less, I am happy to escort my daughters to such a historic event," he spoke diplomatically, aware of the guards and servants milling around. Otto lead the way to the Throne Room - where you could hear King Viserys' echoing speech from the foyer.

None of you spoke, approaching the open doors and pausing to let everyone see the united Hightowers. Alicent wore her dark auburn locks pulled back from her face to cascade in thick ringlets down her back, your own Hightower-red hair left down around your face with the longer locks pinned off your neck. The entire room - the entire court - all wedding attendees and royal procession stared at you three in shock for entering during the King's speech. Your statement was clearly made.

Even from this distance, you could see how startled Rhaenyra was by your arrival, needing to fight off a smirk of amusement in order to keep your neutral façade.

You and Alicent walked arm-in-arm with your father, the once-Hand, down the stairs and up the aisle of banquet tables full of people, staring forward and giving no emotion away. The people buzzed in quiet gossip. The attending Hightowers of Oldtown, sitting closest to the royal banquet table because of their relation to the current Queen, stood first; everyone else following in a show of respect.

You and Alicent paused to let Otto sit with his relatives at the lower banquet table before joining arm-and-arm together. Over the muttering of the entire room, you whispered almost mutely, "Be kind, remain composed, we'll kill 'em with kindness."

Alicent gave a subtle flex to give indication she understood.

When you looked up at the table you approached under the King's heavy glare, you noticed there was an empty chair between Ser Strong and... Prince Daemon? Was that really him? When did he get here? Why was he back? It's only been a few weeks!

Your shock did not slow you, and as you approached the table reserved for the Royal Family, you saw Daemon smirking at your theatrics. Alicent did not let you part from her side as she greeted Princess Rhaenyra with a sickly-sweet voice, "Congratulations, stepdaughter. What a blessing this is for you."

She ignored any other reaction to let go of your arm, kiss her husband's cheek in greeting, stand beside him, in front of her chair, and stare forward with zero other emotion.

"Congratulations, Princess," you whispered, bowing your head. "Your Grace," you acknowledged, doing the same and taking the empty chair between Lord Hand and Rogue Prince only to stoically stare forward in silence. You did as Alicent did, not looking at any other, and just waiting for a pregnant moment that seemingly never ended.

"Please be seated," Viserys finally permitted, everyone sitting at his behest. He cleared his throat, whispering to Lyonel Strong, "Where was I?"

"The joining of the two Houses, Your Grace."

You swallowed when a warm hand laid on your right thigh, Viserys continuing his speech. You glanced at Daemon, seeing his smirk, and instead of throwing his hand off you, you laid your own over his to give a long squeeze. You had wrestled with the idea of his favorite whore, Mysaria, and the idea of whatever he did with Princess Rhaenyra for weeks. Then when you heard word that his wife, Lady Rhea Royce, had met her untimely end, you knew he was involved, yet said nothing. You could only think deeply about what it all meant - and how you fit into the equation that was Prince Daemon Targaryen.

Tell me every terrible thing you ever did...

All you could understand was the overwhelming affection you held for him. His shocked-wide-eyes found yours for a long moment, seeming communicating telepathically - you telling him you wanted him. His hand tightened to keep hold of yours, hidden from the public for the time being.

And let me love you anyway...

You tuned back into the King's speech in time to clap with the others, showing your support of the union you technically helped influence between Targaryen and Velaryon.

However, you caught the way Alicent glared at Rhaenyra, sighing to yourself; having heard through long private dinners what Alicent came to know and why this upset her so much. How strange to learn Ser Criston Cole admitted to Ali that he was coerced into soiling the Princess' purity - not her Uncle Daemon, like rumored. Yet none the less, the girl had sworn on her beloved, dearly departed mother to Alicent that she was still a maiden... A huge, glaring lie - that both you and Ali took personally.

You found all of this terribly interesting, yet did not let the distain show so boldly. After Daemon came to you in confession, you had yet to speak a word outside of public politeness to the Princess; feeling betrayed by what your lover had told you. He had been right: you were Rhaenyra's friend, she wasn't yours. So, you demoted yourself to create distance.

When the drums rumbled and the Princess took to the dance floor with her intended, you spared Daemon a look and muttered, "You do not have to look so annoyed."

"I'm not, sweet one."

"Nor so amused," you tacked on.

Daemon smirked at you, leaning in and pondering, "I am only wondering if you would care for a dance later, my Lady?"

You lied, speaking in a teasing tone, "I'm not one for dancing, my Prince."

"A single dance with me, then. Just one, pretty lady."

"You're pushy," you whispered, nudging him to keep quiet; but the grin on your lips assured him you were completely enraptured by his antics.

He sat back with a smirk, watching his niece and her fiancé dance. The entire courtroom clapped at the end, others flooding to the spaces around them. You glanced over as your sister stood from her seat, meeting your eyes and offering only a soft smile before descending from the table to approach your aunt and uncle from Oldtown - standing with your father on the side of the room. You sighed under your breath, your lover tightening his grip on your thigh.

Daemon made for a great distraction. "Did you hear the news?" He asked softly, reaching for his goblet of wine with his free hand.

"Which news would that be, my Prince?" You asked casually, pretending your heart wasn't hammering in your chest.

"Of my dear wife's passing."

"I did, actually," you fought off your smirk. "I am truly sorry to hear of it, I understand Lady Rhea was truly one of a kind. You shouldn't speak ill of the dead, love," you reminded in a whisper.

"Hmm. Don't be sorry, I'm not," he eased.

"You're not? Your wife died, Daemon..."

"I know," he met your gaze, "I'm not sorry because now it gives me vocation to follow my own desires."

You smirked, "Which desire will you follow first?"

His hand tightened to a bruising grip. He was not able to answer yet because your gaze was caught by movement, Rhea Royce's cousin approaching slowly, evidently a cup or two deep in the wine; making you remove Daemon's hand so you both could sit casually - without touching.

The man gruffly leered at Daemon, "In the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes." Your lover spared you an exasperated look as he tacked on, "Even Targaryens."

"Who are you?" Daemon asked dully.

"This is Ser Gerold Royce, my Prince," you told him softly, "of Runestone."

Daemon perked his brow, asking sarcastically, "An excellent show of your knowledge, my sweet lady, but what does that matter to me?"

You didn't answer, Ser Lyoel Strong (who was listening in) didn't answer, because Ser Gerold was approaching the table by climbing the stairs. He growled at Daemon, "I am cousin to your late Lady wife."

"Ah, yes... Terrible thing," Daemon offered. "I'm positively bereft. Such a tragic accident."

"You know better than anyone, it was no accident."

Through a smirk, Daemon quipped, "Are you confessing some guilt, Ger Gerold?"

"I am making an accusation."

You shared a look with Lyonel to your left, catching sight of the King's turned head - showing he was listening, too. Daemon easily deflected, "Here, in King's Landing, men are made to answer for their slanders. Even old bronze cunts like you." This angered Ser Gerold visibly, the man stepping closer, but obviously restrained himself. Your lover continued, "The truth is I'm glad you've come. I wish to speak to you about my inheritance."

"What inheritance?" Ser Gerold demanded.

"Lady Rhea and I had no heirs. As her husband, whatever she was due now passes to me. She stood to inherit all of Runestone. Did she not?" Daemon had Ser Gerold pinned by legality, the man looking disturbed by his own realization. So, naturally, Daemon taunted, "After my niece's wedding, I plan to fly to the Eyrie and petition Lady Jeyne myself. Perhaps I'll see you there, Ser Gerold."

The man sheepishly walked away, his inebriated mind whirling with possibilities. You glared, pinching Daemon's arm so you could scold him when he turned to face you, "That wasn't very kind."

"And?"

"You don't truly care for Runestone," you snapped. "Now that man will fear for his home, fret over the laws, and that's not very nice."

He sighed, "What would you have me do, sweet one?"

"Leave House Royce to grieve and rearrange their succession without your pettiness."

Daemon smirked, "Whatever my Lady wants."

"You're dreadfully annoying tonight, do you know that?" You whined. "I'm going for a dance, and no, this is not an invitation to follow," you warned him - albeit playfully - before standing to excuse yourself.

"Sister," Alicent paused you before you could pass her by. "Are you well?"

"Yes, yes, just felt like dancing, too much energy to just sit. Come join - "

"No, no, I should sit. Eat," she smiled. "Perhaps tonight will be when you meet your match and we can plan another wedding."

"Perhaps," you mused, squeezing her hand. "You all right? What did Father and Uncle say?"

"Later," she whispered. "Go on, go."

You joined the stream of people dancing, instantly grinning when you were welcomed joyfully by different suitors. The band played a lively beat, the crowd cheering in rhythm; you being twirled around men and women with matching grins.

You heard your name being cheered through a small giggle.

"Hi, Princess," you greeted Rhaenyra as you both marched along to the beat. You reminded yourself this was all a game and if you wanted to survive, you'd have to play your part strategically. So, you quipped as you danced with Ser Arryn Blackwell, "Nice party you've got, huh?"

"Oh, you know how we Targaryens do," she teased. "Where've you been lately? I feel as if I've hardly seen you."

"Just busy with chores since Father was replaced as Hand," you answered, spinning under someone's arm.

Nyra didn't comment on that, instead, waiting a few moments before complimenting, "That's a beautiful dress, really goes with your hair!"

"That's what I hoped for," you gasped girlishly, deciding to play nice when she reached for your hands. You felt weak for a moment, but the truth was, you missed your friend... So, you might've giggled a bit when you joined hands, dancing together instead of with anyone else. With kindness, you offered, "You look gorgeous, as well, Princess, I love this dress - "

"Yes, yes, we all look fantastic," Daemon interrupted abruptly, crowding over you, asking quickly, "can I speak to you a moment, my Lady? The Princess won't mind, right, Rhaenyra?"

"Uh, no, I guess..." She eyed the two of you with suspicion as she stayed in-beat with the music.

"Daemon, not now - "

"We need to talk," he pulled you from where you danced, glancing back at the head banquet table as he took your hand, and lead you deeper into the crowd. He turned you to face him, pacing a small circle around you, demanding, "Do you still want to marry me?"

"What? Why are you asking now?"

"Because I just asked your father for permission," he seethed, pausing in front of you, "and he outright refused, saying he's negotiating with the fucking Lannisters. I need to know what you want."

"I was not aware what I wanted mattered to you, the man who views marriage as a political arrangement," you eyed him with a curled lip of annoyance.

"What arrangement could I want? Your sister is Queen, my family is bound to the Hightowers already. My political marriage is recently dissolved, I am free to do as I please, regardless of what others want or say - "

"Then tell me what you want. Tell me plainly what you want from me, Daemon, no more pretty words and veiled truths. Be plain."

"You said I had a year, and look - it's been weeks. Weeks, my love, how much more plain can I be? I'm here, now, free to marry, and I need to know if you still want to marry me. I'll marry you tomorrow - "

"Oh, please! Would you steal me away?" You mocked with a chuckle. "Take me to Dragonstone? Make me your little wife that you'll come to resent, too? Just as you did Rhea?"

He reached out to aggressively hold your cheek and jaw. "I had no choice in my first marriage, I could never come to resent you - you're all I've ever wanted. I'd do anything for you," Daemon snarled over your lips, "including risking your father's wrath. I'd do anything to make sure we end up together, you are my heart - do not forget that."

"Then pull out your sword, cut them all down," you purred, feeling his hand tighten, "and claim me as your own - do not let anyone stop us."

His lips hovered over yours, breathing the same air, and before he could respond or kiss you, a woman screamed shrilly from behind you. Daemon instantly latched onto your body as a crowd formed to your left and right, and when you both looked, you were shocked to see the commotion happening at your feet.

"Love - "

"Daemon," you paused him, shocked as Ser Criston Cole was engaged in a fist fight with some Velaryon knight before Ser Laenor Velaryon, the groom, was tackling him to the side. What an interesting display of protectiveness from Ser Laenor over his knight.

Daemon rushed in your ear, "Do not look - come away with me."

"Wait," you held his hands to your waist, letting him crowd into your back as Cole had punched Laenor to the side and straddled the blonde on the floor once more.

He landed one blow before the knight was brandishing a dagger; but the White Cloak caught his arm and easily snapped it broken, startling the crowd. Beyond your ring of spectators, other men were trading blows and engaged in their own fights; total chaos taking over the whole of the Throne Room. You flinched back into Daemon's embrace when Cole screamed like a wild man in the mountains, repeatedly pounding his fist into the knight's face; literally caving it in, creating a human minced meat pie.

Someone better contact Mrs. Lovett!

"No more," Daemon decided, Cole rearing himself back as Daemon stooped to heave you over his shoulder. He was able to find safe (enough) passage through the people, approaching the royal banquet table. "Hey, hey," he whispered, setting you down and taking your face in his hands, the wailing of Laenor Velaryon seeing his murdered knight echoing in the Throne Room. "You all right? You hurt? Look at me, love, are you hurt?"

"No, no, I'm okay," you whispered, swallowing unsurely; reaching up to hold his wrists. "I'm okay."

"Sure? You shouldn't have seen that - "

"It's all right," you assured, stroking his wrists. "I'm okay, Daemon, truly. Just... A little startled, maybe?"

"What's this then?" Harwin Strong smirked, panting lightly from his rescue mission as the Princess was attending her father, the King. "You two hit it off then, yeah? Is it me or are sparks flying?"

"Something like that," you whispered, trying to regulate your breathing after the adrenaline-inducing scrimmage.

"Easy does it, love," Daemon whispered, keeping you close as you didn't let go of his hands; wanting to stay connected. He told Harwin, giving a half-shrug, "They aren't sparks. She's everything to me."

"Perhaps your second wedding will go better than this one," Harwin sighed, hands on his hips.

"In some cultures, deaths at a wedding are considered good luck," you muttered, Daemon snorting lightly in amusement before running his thumbs over your cheekbones in soothing gestures.

"Didn't your wife just pass, Prince Daemon?" Your father demanded publicly with a heavy glare. "You'd offer insult to her memory by remarrying so quickly?"

"I've grieved Lady Rhea plenty, Ser Hightower, it's time to look to the future," Daemon declared, eyes daring your father to challenge him. "The Lady Hightower and I will wed. The sooner, the better, in truth."

And history would never be the same.

"What?" Rhaenyra demanded, whirling around at the news, making all others pause in confusion. "What did you say?"

"That I intend to marry the Lady Hightower."

"Her? Her? Fucking her - who is more prude than woman?!"

Well, that was mildly offensive...

"Rhaenyra - "

"What makes you think you're worthy?" She demanded of you, turning from her father to stalk across the platform. "Worthy of a man like Daemon, of a husband like Daemon? You've done nothing to - to deserve such a title! The title of Princess, of wife!"

You were honestly confused to your core.

"I deserve a man like he - not someone like you!" She continued, shocking the group as the Kingsguard cleared the Room of any lingering stragglers to keep this as private as possible. "You think I didn't see you on my tour? You were fawned over, all wanted to talk with you, but were forced to line up for me! You rejected them all on your own, and now I see why! You wanted to wait until the Lady Rhea passed, which makes me wonder - what part did you play in that?"

"Rhaenyra!" You gasped.

"What? Honestly, it would make sense - the day Daemon's banished, you weren't seen! I wouldn't be shocked if you were seen somewhere lurking in the Vale! You cannot have it all - you've always wanted my life, and now look! You have to have what I have, and now you've taken a liking to my uncle after our scandal! What? He wasn't interesting before? You heard rumors about us and decided you wanted him for yourself? Just because he was mine first? You just want to be me, you always have - you've always reeked of jealousy! This is all you wanted, to steal my family, and - "

"That's enough," Daemon tried. "You are out of turn here, Rhaenyra, do not make this worse."

"Why? Because little Lady Hightower's façade of being a respectable, pure woman is now tarnished?"

"We share one dance, albeit intimate, sit next to each other at a single dinner, shared some conversation, and you now think it's appropriate to call my virtue into question? What of your own, Princess? You just admitted to scandal with Daemon - but I wonder why the service of Moon Tea if your virtue was unimpeachable?" You demanded, feeling defensive on a new level. Even Alicent straightened up at your words.

However, Daemon rushed to add, "With all due respect, Princess, I don't want you, and you can't claim me as your own when you never had me. You might be angry, but it is no use to take it out on my intended, she is of rare stock and breed - she will not be questioned. Nor will my intentions with her."

Rhaenyra snarled, "Yeah? You don't want me? Well, you wanted me enough to try and fuck me at that whorehouse!"

There were gasps and murmurs all around, but Rhaenyra was glaring at you and Daemon, still standing together. His arms actually dropped to hold your waist, keeping you close as he snarled at his niece, "But I didn't. If memory serves right, I walked away!"

"You wanted me!" Rhaenyra raged. "You always were and always will be mine - regardless of the whores you bed in the meantime! And I want you, I am not yet married - "

"Yet I will not be who marries you, I am betrothed to another," Daemon reminded with a venomous tone. "There's nothing you offer that I want, Rhaenyra."

"I am not some inexperienced little girl anymore, I'm a woman grown, and I could do more for you than she ever could!"

"Rhaenyra!" Viserys roared.

Everyone knew she had gone too far and there was no coming back from any this. After a beat, Alicent stepped in as if questioning for the first time, "And yet, sister, you said the Princess was served Moon Tea? If Prince Daemon did not touch the Princess, does this mean she still," she scoffed as if the idea were absurd, "sullied her maidenhood? Before marriage?"

It should be noted that Ser Criston Cole was already gone from the hall at this time. In fact, he lingered just outside a side door, listening, in case his name came up. When Alicent spoke, he straightened up and started the slow trek to the Godswood.

"Ser Lyonel? Do I misunderstand?" Alicent pulled the Hand into the fray.

"Well, that's what that would sound like, Your Grace," he agreed begrudgingly. "Moon Tea is beneficial to prevent unwanted consequences outside of marriage."

"From what I understand, she was served by Grand Maester Mellos himself," you told Ali, minds strung together by a common thread. "The castle likes to gossip, you can learn a lot if you just listen."

"This is..." Viserys seethed, "Unacceptable."

"I'm sorry, Your Grace," you instantly apologized.

"No, no," he deflected, hand held up, "you have a duty to the Realm to flesh out any deception. And this," he directed his glare at his daughter, "is a grand deception that cannot be undone, unknown, covered-up, anymore, Rhaenyra!"

There was a meltdown. Everyone began yelling.

Viserys was enraged. Rhaenyra was desperately trying to plead with her father. Lord Corlys was demanding to know what the hell was about to happen with the impending marriage to "the future Queen". Ser Strong was trying to keep the people from each other's throats.

His sons stood to the side and just let them all fight.

Daemon kept you out of the line of fire, away from the action; sighing as you deflated into his chest. Over it all, Viserys' voice was angriest, and you heard, "You are no daughter of mine! The position you have put me in tonight - I cannot undo this, Rhaenyra! I should have never disinherited Daemon for you, breaking centuries of tradition because I wanted to see your mother in you! You have spat in my face around every bend, but this? This is unforgivable, we will not recover from this and I will no longer endure your insolence!"

"Father, please, let me - "

"No," he snarled, "I have had it with your disresepct the past several years, this is beyond any scale." You blinked up at Daemon, his lips curving down as his hands tightened around your form. And then, Viserys said the words, "I made a mistake naming you my heir. You may marry Ser Laenor, if you so choose to, but after that, you will reside on Driftmark with your husband - you will no longer inherit the Iron Throne after me."

"Father!"

"No," he snapped, "you've exhausted my patience, Rhaenyra!" Viserys roared. "And while Daemon might be unpredictable, the woman he wants to marry is not - and from where I am standing, she will make a far better Queen than you!"

It was quiet as everyone forgot their own selfish woes as father disinherited daughter.

"Your Grace," your father tried to step in, "with respect, why not place your son, Aegon, in line after you?"

"Oh, for the love of the Gods, Otto," Rhaenyra raged, rounding on your father, "give up this campaign, you get all you want and more! Your daughter is Queen now and your other daughter will be Queen after that, aren't you listening? Your grandchildren will still inherit the Throne!"

"That's it," Viserys breathed, needing to hold onto the banquet table for balance as all eyes turned to him again. "It's time to do what I should've done all along. Rhaenyra," he shook his head, "I can no longer have you as my heir, this type of behavior cannot stand. I will give you permission to marry Ser Laenor, and if he chooses not to, I will allow you to reside on Dragonstone until a match is made. Until then," his eyes shifted to where you and Daemon stood, "I name my brother, Prince Daemon Targaryen, as my Heir to the Iron Throne."

"You would not name your son?" Alicent asked in mild disbelief.

"No," Viserys told her, "no, I would see my brother as my heir. Should Aegon prove to live up to his namesake, we can talk about succession again, but I know my brother is capable... And though he might be overly wanting, he will learn patience, because I know the love of a good woman can change a man for the better."

You smiled, feeling emotional for a moment, but Daemon asked for you both, "Brother, do you mean to give your blessing?"

"Of course," he nodded once, "why waste a good wedding tourney? We shall announce on the morrow our new intentions - to crown Daemon as heir and marry him to the Lady Hightower. This matter," he panted, glaring at everyone, "is resolved, I will not hear more. Make the preparations!"

It happened in slow motion. Rhaenyra's rage flared to a temperamental height previously unknown; lunging to seize her father's Valyrian Steel, prophesy-engraved dagger, turn, and charge straight for you as the remaining audience shouted in panic. You felt Daemon try to push you behind him, but instead, your own temper flared and you stepped up to meet Rhaenyra; catching both her arms to hold her at bay.

Daemon was at your flank if you needed him, otherwise, he kept the Kingsguard away from you two - knowing this needed to happen now. Or else something worse would happen later...

"For fuck's sake, Princess! What is this? Jealousy? Huh?" You asked through your tears, struggling to hold your old friend's weight away from you. "What is this jealousy, Nyrie, hmm?"

"Don't call me that," she grit. You just sighed, pushing her back a little but not enough to overpower her; the girl's anger making her stronger than you would've previously guessed. "You've gone too far," she seethed through tears.

“I? What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the Kingdom, the family, the law. While you flout all to do as you please! Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? It’s trampled under your pretty foot again!"

"You think you finally get my life, huh?" She snarled. "You won't ever be accepted - not as Queen - not as part of this family! You've wanted this all along! Haven't you!?" She struggled against you, hands sweating. "You've always wanted my life, that's why you stuck around! Your mother died - so you tried to take a place in my family, make them yours - and now, look! You're nearly there! Pouncing on my uncle the moment he's widowed!" She snarled, bearing her teeth.

“Exhausting, wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you are, Nyrie," you whispered with a broad smirk.

"You aren't fit to play this part! To have my life! You'll never be accepted as their Princess!"

"I wager I'll do a better job than you ever could," you hissed. "There's not much to live up to, you don't leave a lot of room to fill."

She screamed when Ser Harwin's arms seized around her waist, but the momentum of him pulling her back and Rhaenyra's thrashing cause the Valyrian Steel dagger to slice your forearm. You yelped and reared back amongst the startled gasps and panicked murmurs from the crowd, Daemon catching you. The dagger clattered to the floor as Harwin backed up several paces to keep the belligerent girl at bay. You whimpered quietly at the sting, a pool of blood forming to the side you held your arm at.

"Fuck's sake," Daemon growled, "lemme see, lemme see, my love, c'mere," he winced, looking around before using his own belt to yank free and tourniquet around your lower elbow. "You're bleeding a good bit," he whispered, "you'll need stitches, sweet one."

You pouted at him, wincing again in pain when he tightened the belt.

Around you, the Kingsguard was ordered to escort Rhaenyra to her chambers, and the moment she was marched out of sight, Daemon was warning his brother that she knew about her secret passage door and parts of the tunnels.

Go stand watch," a personal guard was ordered by the King. "Someone go - go find Ser Cole - I want him posted in the Princess' passage, he's trusted to us."

Alicent slunk off to do exactly that, and she'd tell you later that Cole was found only moments from taking his own life. He was overjoyed to hear the King had requested him personally to stand guard for such a sensitive situation.

In the meantime, Lord Corlys Velaryon and his wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, thought it best their son not marry Rhaenyra; now that she had been disowned, she was less appealing. Viserys was free to offer her again later if Laenor was not married in that time and if she showed true change, but after tonight, nobody thought that possible.

Daemon tried helping your wound, your father approaching as he laid a clean cloth over the cut. Your lover tisked, "It's deeper than I thought. We should get this looked at."

"A moment," Otto prevented.

"If it would please you, this is not an injury I'd like to wait to attend to," Daemon sighed, nodding at your bloodied forearm that he held.

"I only meant to say, you have my blessing to marry, my Prince," Otto nodded at him. "Seeing the kindness you show my daughter, I feel... Content knowing she will be loved and cared for."

"Thank you," Daemon nodded.

"Yes, thank you, Father, but we really must be going, this doesn't feel very nice," you rushed to explain, watching him nod and eye your injury with worry.

"This way," He even instructed, a few handmaids rushing forward to help herd you away.

"Doing all right, love?" Daemon muttered as you walked.

"Bit shocked," you admitted.

"I'd say," he mused.

"It burns," you pouted at him.

"We'll get everything tended to, you'll feel better soon," he soothed.

You peaked up at his worried brow, pouted lips, darting eyes; whispering, "You're heir, again, Daemon."

"So it would seem," he deadpanned. "Can we not talk about it now?" He requested quietly, "I only wish to see to this wound of yours."

You nodded, and once in Mellos' chamber, you were left alone with your father - since Daemon was not yet your husband. Otto was silent as your forearm was stitched carefully; the bleeding staunched, herbs stuffed in the wound to prevent pain and promote healing. As you let Mellos wrap you in gauze, you glanced at your father.

"So... Your blessing, is it?"

"He's different with you already," he nodded stiffly. "And after his nieces' display tonight, I can think of no better future Queen."

"I do not wish to talk about future station, Father, but instead, that... That Daemon makes me happy and I am relieved you have given us your blessing. It would've felt very wrong to marry without my father in attendance."

Otto wasn't affectionate in the least bit, but he showed his love by doing his best to understand situations before passing judgement. It created a sense of trust and security between father and daughter. So, he asked earnestly, "And you will overlook what he did with Princess Rhaenyra?"

"He told me of it all the morning after it happened, I've had time to think, and I've had time away from him. I know what I want, Father, and while Viserys has changed history - again - tonight by naming Daemon heir, I know he is the man I want for the rest of my life."

"I see," he nodded. "Then... By all means, I will see this union happen."

"Thank you," you whispered, the Maester tying the gauze. "Thank you, Grand Maester," you spoke calmly.

"Of course, uh, um, Princess."

"I don't think I'll get used to hearing that," you whined, standing off his table. "Will you talk to Daemon for me, Father? I think you need to clear the air... I will not say the King will instill you as Hand again, but if I am to marry the Prince, I will need there to be peace between our families."

He nodded, opening the door for you, "It will be arranged, my daughter..."

As Otto took his leave, Daemon, pacing the hall, approached you. He took hold of your waist, asking, "Are you all right?" You let him hold your injured wrist in a soft grip, viewing the wrappings.

"Yes, Your Grace," you teased, watching his pale face flush.

"Don't start with that."

"Mellos just called me Princess."

"You are," he grinned. "And we will be married in less than a week's time."

"I can hardly wait," you whispered, letting his lips find yours in a searing show of rare public affection.

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