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desireangel · 5 months ago

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Dark Cherry [3] | Aemond Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Summary: after months of a marriage that hardly harbours the passion that you'd dreamed about, you stumble across the reason for your husband's indifference and decide enough is enough. Aemond will learn just exactly what he's been missing out on.

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: MDNI 18+!! smut, angst!!!!!!, unedited, infidelity, revenge cheating, oral (m receiving), kinda slightttt dub con if you squint w/ Aegon x reader, Aemond is frustrating, so is reader tbh, slight deviation from canon? again, if you squint, soft!aemond if you also squint. But also---angry Aemond (rahhhhhh), tell me if I've missed any warnings!

Author's note: my APOLOGIES on the wait, y'all. Hopefully this scratches an itch!! it's 11PM here, which is the earliest I've ever posted a fic funnily enough. I also reallyyyyy appreciate the love on this series so far!!! Love you all. As always, please don't hesitate to comment or to interact or hmu in my inbox w/ me bc I LOVE yapping with you guys. Send in feedback or criticism (but like I'll cry if it's super mean) or some headcannons!! or even your best dad joke. Anyways, xoxo kisses!!! <3

Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen was an intelligent man. Yet for some reason, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been acting as the realm’s largest imbecile.

Time and time again, Aemond had let his ego and his pride run ahead of his brain, and had failed to think of the effect that his actions had on people other than himself. Sure, he cared for those who were important to him. His sister, his mother, his grandfather, Ser Cole, Aegon (although Aemond may not have realised it) and even to some extent his wife.

He realised, perhaps too late, that you may as well be a stranger to him. And at one point, Aemond had truly believed that keeping whatever unlucky woman he was to wed at arms length would be for the best.

The first time he met you was insignificant. It was as per tradition and formality. Aemond’s interactions up until the wedding was mainly with your family, despite the efforts you made to acquaint yourself with him properly. You were much more timid then, shyer than Aemond had expected from the to-be wife of a weaponised prince. But then again, he had only assumed that a Lady like his mother would have been chosen for him; confident, cunning and strong-headed.

At the time he had begun to understand you better, Aemond had lost track of himself. A sort of descent into darkness where he went from a young prince to a man, eager to prove himself at whatever cost. Satisfied by the control he gained through fear, strength and reputation. Now that he had stopped to think about his marriage, after you had left him hard and desperate in his own bed, Aemond came to realise a few things.

You were a purity among the wickedness and politics of the Red Keep. An inherently good person and a woman of grace, kindness and compassion. He had already noticed the dwindling of those traits brought on by your new life, confined to the walls of a fortress that was littered with deceit, distrust and gore. Aemond was a far darker entity than you–he had accepted this fact after the first true conversation you shared.

Corrupting you was both tempting and terrifying. Aemond had always been loveless–deprived of the affection he craved and deserved but also clueless about how to give that affection. And while he wished he could learn how to right himself and how to quell the carelessness of his temperament and the destruction that was left in its wake, Aemond didn’t know how to.

Perhaps it would come naturally. He was a lot more open to that notion now, despite the fact that most of him was convinced he was incapable of such change.

Aemond regretted–something he didn’t feel often–how he had pushed you away. Even if he had not intended to.

Because now, he was starting to see you as you were. A woman who had far more of an influence over his emotions than he realised–a woman who he had begun to crave the affections of in such an intensity that it only served to scare him away from you. At one stage, you had been another stranger among the walls of his home bound to him in nothing but title but, at some point throughout this ridiculous game that he had stupidly encouraged, Aemond had started to see you as his wife.

The whore that he had let into his bed was not actually a whore. It was a woman Aemond had known–a witch whom he had shared the pleasures of his body with before the two of you had wed. Alys was always eager for him and once, he would have returned it with his own enthusiasm. Not anymore. She was simply an easier option. A whore would never sully the sanctity of his chambers. It wouldn’t have made a difference if he had been honest and told you that Alys was not from the Street of Silk.

To anyone who came asking, including you, Aemond would first admit to taking a whore into his bed than a lowly witch.

He cursed himself for letting his honour fall so short that this is what it took for him to wake up. For him to have tainted his loyalty to you, to have let a woman whom he could barely get it up for shatter the confines of his marriage, for him to have been left unwound with a hard cock, his hand and only the scent of you on his thigh to release the tension that was driving him mad.

Aemond wished he hadn’t been so short sighted. He would subject himself to whatever punishment he deserved should it be the burn of a whip against his back or the sickening ache of starvation if you were to demand it.

All of a sudden, in the days that had passed since your encounter on his bed, Aemond found himself looking for you throughout his day. He hoped you’d cross each other in the halls, cursed the world for keeping him too busy to spend an afternoon with you in the gardens, sworn at the war that was raging for binding him to his duties and keeping you apart.

So at the first opportunity he had to take time for himself and for the first time in your short marriage, Aemond had called upon you to join him for afternoon tea.You stared at the young servant who had been sent to retrieve you, half wondering if you had heard the boy incorrectly. Had he called you simply one moon ago, you would have dropped everything you were doing to meet your husband for tea with a grin and a skip in your step at the prospect of finally spending time with him on his own accord.

But now? It both excited you and infuriated you.

You gave the boy a soft smile, holding your reserve together when his face dropped at your refusal. “You may tell my husband that I am otherwise attended to for my tea.”

It wasn’t a lie. You had important plans for the afternoon with the other Targaryen son.

The servant stood still for a moment. “Yes, my Lady.”

“The rest of my afternoon is already engaged with the King,” you purposefully added, a mixture of adrenaline and excitement beginning to simmer in your belly. “Tell him I will take tea with him another time.”

You were walking away from your chambers before the servant had turned to leave. A part of you felt bad for him. Anyone would be wary of delivering rejection to a prince. It felt as if you were sending him to his death in a way, knowing that the seemingly innocent excuse was balancing on a wire that was already frayed. If the young servant had known of your sly plan for revenge, he would have spoiled his breeches.

There was a chance Aemond would catch on straight away. There was a chance that he would take a little longer.

Either way, so long as he caught on, everything would unfold in your favor.

Aegon had been waiting for you, a mischievous smile on his lips at the sight of you eagerly rushing towards him. He was an immature and distracted King, and he was definitely not without his flaws, but he had never been bad to you. Sometimes, you even appreciated Aegon’s efforts to involve you in conversation or to pull a smile out of you when you had clearly been distressed. Nonetheless, he was still an infuriating cad and you had often considered giving in to violent urges at the way he treated Helaena.

Helaena.

A stab of guilt in your gut at the thought of her. Sure, she had confided in you on numerous occasions and you knew she felt little care for Aegon’s outwards ventures with women but you knew she was saddened by the state of her marriage. And here you were, as wretched as the whore that Aemond had bedded. It was no different; you were doing the same thing as her. Only it wasn’t your job; you weren’t doing it for the money.

The satisfaction of bringing Aemond down to the same level he had brought you to was all the motivation you needed. It would be treading a thin line but it would be worth it.

“I had wondered how long it would take you to find yourself in my chambers, Princess,” Aegon’s voice held that boyish shrill he had never grown out of. The way he had stepped aside to let you pass, eyes holding yours through his lashes as he dipped his head with a grin. “For a cup of tea, of course.”

Comparing Aegon’s chambers to Aemond’s was instinctual. It was brighter here, messier and there was an unkempt feel to the furniture despite the servant’s having kept things relatively put together. A King’s chambers, it was; grand and large and adorned with all sorts of artistry. Aemond’s chambers had held a darker tone; presumably because Aemond was sensitive to light on his blind eye and somehow even the glow of light from the lamps were deeper and warmer.

You liked Aemond’s chambers better.

“It has been overdue, Your Grace,” you weren’t sure of that. “Thank you for indulging me this afternoon. I wager a King such as yourself is no short of duties to tend to.”

Aegon scoffed, pouring himself a cup of wine as he watched you take a seat at the small settee from the corner of his eye. “My family seems to be taking care of my duties on my behalf. I am a king in nought but title, you see.”

There was nothing you could say at his unbridled honesty. Aegon was different to most of the people who presided here in that way. He cared little to hide behind a facade of false indifference and stoicism.

He fell to the cushion beside you, close enough so you could smell the drink he balanced in his hand. Aegon laid back lazily, resting on his elbows and watching you as you sat pin-straight and brought the piping tea to your lips. “‘Tis not a concern. I would much prefer to have more comely company than those clueless cunts who sit on my counsel.”

“I do not doubt that, Your Grace,” you coughed lightly, growing alarmingly aware of the fact that you hadn’t thought about how this was going to play out. There was absolutely nothing that you knew about seducing a king. No less, a king with Aegon’s track record. “I beli-”

“You have been different,” He cut you off. Swiftly pushing himself up so that his face was beside yours, breath tickling the strands of your hair that had fallen loose across your cheek. Aegon’s lips were gently turned up as his eyes traced every curve of your face.

Swallowing thickly, you will yourself to meet his eye with confidence. The curiosity in his familiar violet eyes was paired with an immature lust and you wondered if he had any idea how easy it could be to use his forward thinking cock against him were you a woman of cunning ambitions. You didn’t miss how his gaze flickered across your throat and towards the curve of your chest.

But something in the way that Aegon looked at you in that moment, like you were a woman of such beauty that he would risk whatever consequences were sent his way just to feel your touch sent a slither of saddened longing across your chest. Not even your husband had made you feel as if you were so captivating.

It made the knowledge of how ever long you’d be alone with him far easier to stomach.

“I do not know of what you mean, Your Grace.”

Aegon laughed, bringing his face so close to yours that the point of his nose touched against your cheek. His hand fell to rest flat just above your belly, brazenly close to where your dress tucked underneath the curve of your breasts.

“I know well when a Lady is not…” he dragged his nose across your soft skin, eyes carefully watching your reaction. “Sufficiently satisfied by her husband.”

Your breath hitched at how quickly Aegon had set his target. “If you mean to-”

“Does my dear brother forego his duties for the comfort of whores, perhaps?”

Pursing your lips, you gently turned your face so that your lips were centimetres away from his, Aegon’s fringe brushing across your forehead. There was a ringing in your ears, a nervousness about how you were so close to betraying your husband and how you were unsure that you could handle the fallout of what was definitely about to happen. Things are much different for women; infidelity and adultery would be grounds for far worse than simply an annulment. This world was not so kind to a lady who partakes in the same treachery as a lord.

Above all, you were conflicted.

“It seems my husband is no different to any other man who does not hunger for his wife.”

“I hunger for his wife,” Aegon all but moaned at the way your lips nudged closer to his. He cocked his head to the side and pressed his fingers into your flesh. “But I am no fool, my Lady. Aemond has always been the sole object of your gaze. You are here for more sinister reasons, I suspect.”

You blinked. Why did these Targaryen princes so often seem to be one step ahead?

It was a relief that he had not moved away from your closeness. In fact, Aegon leaned further into it. His smile never faltered and he waited patiently for you, watching as you thought of your next moves. There was a flush of embarrassment that prettied your skin and it was clear that your facade was close to crumbling. Aegon was not a man you desired in such a way. Merely a means to an end.

So you sighed, resigning to the fact that being honest with Aegon would be best.

“You are right,” you muttered. He shook with a silent laugh at your bravery and the way your chin remained turned up. “I-I believe you are aware of my intentions, Your Grace. Will you have me dragged back to Prince Aemond’s feet or will you allow my scheme?”

Aegon was in front of you in a matter of seconds, bending down so that he met your height as you stayed seated. “I would risk meeting the wrath of a man whose temperament and pride are unchained.”

“Teach me how to make it worth it then, my King,” you held strong in forcing the tremble out of your voice. You didn’t want to bed him entirely–absolutely not. Just what you had seen through the gap in Aemond’s door would be more than enough and there was a bubbling gratification in your stomach knowing that Aemond would not be able handle what he had so easily served out.

His hand held the back of your neck and he jerked forward to catch your lips, grunting when you turned your head from him. You couldn’t kiss him. You weren’t interested in kissing him–only fulfilling the steady thrum of excitement at the need to both experience what you had been teased with and show your husband that he should be sorry.

In fact, and you were loathsome to even rationalise it, you felt sick at the thought of kissing him. And you felt a little drop in your gut at the thought of taking him in any kind of way but it was different. Less frightening than kissing a man you were trying so hard to convince yourself was sexy enough.

There was no man for your body’s desires aside from Aemond Targaryen-–

A deep breath and you looked at Aegon through your lashes, bringing your fingers to feel the softness of his lips. “I do not want you to fuck me, Your Grace. But show me how I may give you pleasure with my mouth. And how a man can satisfy me with his.”

Aegon became excited at your use of such foul language, his hand remaining behind your neck as he straightened and guided you roughly to his hips, groaning as your hands instinctively found his thighs and moved upwards. He was painfully hard in his breeches–he had been since the first moment you looked at him with that stubborn intent and purpose.

There was a strong urge to push him away but you fought through it.

“I am sure your husband is already searching for his brazen little vixen,” Aegon watched as you breathed heavily, your chest heaving and your soft breasts pressing against the tightly laced corset of your dress. “And I am sure you wish for him to find us. Very cunning of you, I must say.”

His touch didn’t pull that feeling from you. The feeling of Aemond’s touch that had made you feel as if you were floating in lava and drowning in a molten heat that could only be quelled by him. But it made your blood rush down, growing sensitive between your thighs at the prospect of pleasuring a man who openly lusted for you and had no care for hiding it.

Aegon didn’t care for games that shattered your self-worth. He didn’t care to make you feel lesser than a whore for your curiosity of how it felt to have a man tremble from your mouth. All he wanted was to feed his appetite for you–the beautiful Lady who he had envied his brother for having to himself.

“I want to learn how to do it,” you whispered, melting into Aegon’s guidance as he hastily fiddled with the embellishments on his tunic to undo half of it and push the velvet fabric out of the way. The laced belt at his waist was discarded in seconds and you took little time to pull him out of the confines of his breeches. “So I can–so I can show him.”

There was a certain light headed nervousness that you felt when you realised that you don’t actually know how to do what you wished to. It seemed easy enough when you watched how that woman had given Aemond her mouth but now that you were faced with trying it out yourself, you worried how you would fare. Aegon triggered a natural response from you, one that you had learned was instinctual of human bodies, but you just could not find him desirable.

Momentarily, you doubted you could find it in you to disregard your aversion to the King. An aversion that suddenly became more pressing an issue than it was merely seconds ago.

Aegon must have noticed your apprehension because he guided you forward, the hardened length of his cock brushing against your face. He was breathing heavily when he spoke. “Lick it. Use your tongue first and then-fuck, that’s right-” you hesitantly followed his instructions, dragging the tip of your tongue across the sides of him, gentle flicks down to the base and then a long stripe up to the top. It was an invigorating thrill when you felt him throb against your mouth. His hips jerked when you hesitantly wrapped your lips around him.

It was slightly uncomfortable but it was not a bad feeling. Aegon tasted musky and salty, and a little bit sweaty. You took a moment to find the best way to stop your teeth from grazing against him and started to move along him, watching as he threw his head back, eyes shut tightly.

The image of your husband stayed ingrained in your head. Would Aemond taste the same? Would he feel the same on your tongue? Would his cock react to you in such a way? Would you enjoy taking him in your mouth more than whatever this was?

Shamefully or not, you let yourself pretend that Aegon was not the man standing above you. That it was Aemond instead, enjoying what you were keen to give him and praising you for being so eager to taste him.

You wished so hard that it was Aemond instead, that for a moment, when you gazed upwards it was him looking down at you with his hair falling perfectly and his eyepatch discarded. Alas, it was King Aegon, who revelled in staring at you with an amusement coupled with bliss that only felt belittling.

It did set your body into a light rush of arousal but you couldn’t stop the doubts that flooded your mind. Were you dishonouring the sanctity of your body out of spite? Were you betraying the man you almost loved just to have a jab at him? Guilty tickles grew in your ribcage but you distracted yourself from it, focusing on the way that Aegon steered your movements.

“Shit,” he hissed. Aegon’s hand found the back of your head and he adjusted your pace how he preferred. “Use your hand. What doesn’t fit–hold it.”

It became slightly easier once you found your rhythm, following each instruction that Aegon gave, drinking in the way his thigh trembled under your hand that rested against it, holding yourself stable as you hollowed your cheeks. Whatever you did, it almost came naturally and Aegon seemed to be enjoying it far more than you had expected.

But it quickly became too much–Aegon started thrusting in a way that didn’t match your movements and you gagged, eyes burning at the ache of him hitting the top of your throat. You made a noise, pulling off and gasping for air, whining as he tugged your mouth back to him and chuckling. Lungs burning, you tried to meet whatever pace Aegon was moving at in an attempt to make things more comfortable.

You reminded yourself of why you were here. The image of Aemond, head thrown back and groans slipping past his lips as he let that woman take him in his mouth. The image of Aemond, head buried between her legs, the skin on his chin glistening as he smirked at you while pleasure another woman.

The feeling when your courtly acquaintances who you once thought of as friends would slyly belittle you for failing to give your husband an heir, belittling you because word of his infidelity had reached their gossiping mouths, belittling you because the Prince who they loathed you for having was hardly yours after all. The looks that they had given you, the way that they snickered and sneered at your failures as his wife. Whispers you had overheard from Lords alike; that for such a pretty thing, you must have been dreadfully dull in the ways of pleasure if Prince Aemond of all men had resorted to whores.

That was how they all saw you; a failure. Because it was never a man’s fault but always his wife’s.

You loathe to think that Aemond harboured the same thoughts. But you would show him how mistaken he was and make him feel what you had felt so that he would regret it all.

“Fuck-” Aegon let out a drawn out groan as he pushed your head down, pushing himself as far down your throat as he could. You struggled to breath and you gagged twice but let him move you as he pleased, a satisfactory moan vibrating against his sensitive skin when he threw his head back and grumbled about spilling himself down your throat.

It was a chaotic moment.

The protest of the kingsguard through the wall and the bang of the door slamming open and you didn’t even need to turn and look. Aemond was seething, barely given the chance to put the pieces together before Aegon simultaneously groaned and laughed, the salty taste of his seed gliding past a sensitive part of your throat and pulling another gag from you as you yanked yourself away from Aegon.

Everything seemed to pause for a moment. And despite the obnoxious laughter coming from the King as he tucked himself back into his breeches, the heavy breathing of your husband and your gasps for air, everything felt silent.

Your blood ran hot at the way Aemond looked between you and Aegon. Nonetheless you met his eye, holding your chin up and wiping a bead of Aegon’s peak from your lip.

It felt good. Watching as Aemond forced himself back into his stoic resolve; only bothering to subdue the way his eye filled with the same betrayal you still felt in your gut at the thought of the whore who had been on her knees for him in an almost identical way.

Stoicism and slow, simmering, silent rage.

The air around you turned hot enough to light a candle. Aemond’s presence alone had proven to be enough to send you spiralling from the heat he encased you in whenever he was in the same room but this? You were choking, sick to your stomach and doing your best to keep your knees from buckling at his intensity.

Aemond heard Aegon ramble out some hideous insult, watched how you frowned at him and heard the echoes of his cackle. But the ringing in his ears overwhelmed it all and he had no clue what his brother had taunted him with before his fist met Aegon’s cheek with a loud crack.

He didn’t bother sparing his brother a second glance. Aemond was stood in front of you and despite his obvious anger, he pulled you up from where you were seated with a gentleness which had your mind reeling.

There was a threat hidden in his voice. “Come with me. Now.”

Perhaps you had made a mistake. The gentle fury in Aemond was terrifying and even though you knew he would never raise a hand at you the way he thoughtlessly did at Aegon, there were so many ways that a Prince could ruin you.

You felt a pit of regret now that it was over and the curtain of lust had lifted. It was easy to see how simple it is to get lost in the touch of another but it was easier to see how simple it is to avoid it.

There was satisfaction. And you felt it simultaneously with the adrenaline of being caught and the doubts of your actions. Princes and Princesses and Kings and Queens were so unaware of their hypocrisy until it was spat back into their faces.

Aemond would never in a million years have understood what he was doing to you if you had just been a submissive little wife and forgiven him. But now? Now he would know. And now things would be balanced and your desire to hurt him as he had done you has been fulfilled. And now you could see how this marriage would really stand against such tests.

And now, you may finally know whether Aemond truly did not care for you. Because if Aemond did not care for you–or even in part; love you–then he would not be hurt and he would not be feeling such betrayal.

Right now, as Aemond silently walked you towards his chambers, hands fisted, jaw clenched tightly and his gaze fixed ahead, you were fearful of how things would fare. As strong as you wished for your resolve to stay, Aemond’s disappointment was showing you a new weakness. And his words, you knew, if they were used as weapons then you would stand little chance against them. There was a heavy weight against your lower back where his hand sat, pushing you gently so that you glided through the halls faster.

It wasn’t a long journey back to Aemond’s quarters. But it felt like hours to the Prince, the nausea in his gut silencing him the entire way. He felt like a child again, presented with a pig instead of a dragon, the shrill laughs of his cousins and his brother striking him with flashes of humiliation.

Again and again and again, Aegon would do whatever he could to see Aemond crumble. Aegon would always take Aemond’s dignity, his honour, his crown. And now he just had to take his wife?

Aemond shut the doors to his chambers roughly and you were quick to put some distance between the two of you. There was a hollow ball of guilt and fear that caught in your throat but you couldn’t deny the elation at the mixture of emotions in Aemond’s eye as he turned to face you.

It was a reflection of how you had felt upon finding Aemond in bed with another. He would finally understand.

Only Aemond was worlds away from the damned arousal you had felt and instead it was replaced with a youthful dread, a panic that you had never seen from him before now.

There was hardly a moment for you to register the harshness of Aemond’s grip on your bicep as he pulled you toward the bowl that was kept by his bath, filled with clean water and accompanied by a tray of freshening oils. He lightly shoved you toward it as he let you go, unfazed by the sound of shock that you could not hold back.

“Wash your mouth,” he spat. Although your back was to him, you could feel how he suppressed the extent of his rage as he was ever so good at doing. “And then we will talk.”

You bit your tongue and did as he said, wincing at the ice in his words and the angry strain of his voice. There was a lot that you wanted to say, to scream at him. He was angry–and to some extent he had every right to be–but how could Aemond have expected you to be okay with something that he clearly could not take on the chin?

But the way he had held you, the tone of his voice and the harshness in his glare had you wondering if revenge was worth whatever comes next. Because, amongst the whirlwind of fear and guilt and regret was gratification and fulfilment.

The prickle of Aemond’s glare had disappeared before you were ready to dry your mouth with a towel. Quiet as ever, he had snuck away and by the time you had realised, the sound of the door shutting and the click of the lock had notified you of his absence.

Aemond had locked you in. When you had swiftly tried to push the doors open, unaware of where you would go and truthfully not intending to leave in the first place, it didn’t budge. And when you called for the kingsguard who stood at the other side of the door, you went unanswered aside from a curt reply that he had been ordered not to let you leave.

So you had resigned yourself to sitting atop Aemond’s bed rather than the seating arrangements scattered around the rest of the quarters. It smelled strongly of lavender, leather and Aemond’s very own scent–the one that always had you on the verge of drooling. But it only sent your nerves into overdrive, afraid that the consequences of your vengefulness, no matter how satisfying it was initially, may be too dire to recover from.

The thought of whatever Aemond had planned for Aegon was not nice. You were correct in assuming that your tryst with Aegon would only cut your husband deeper because it was Aegon. The depth of whatever issues these brothers shared was far beyond you but you had only assumed that all second born princes would be affected in such a way. And Targaryen’s were full of complexities, each believing that they were better than everyone. Even their own siblings.

Aegon had known that his younger brother would become nothing short of murderous. But he had never been a man to avoid even the slightest of temptations. Both the idea of indulging in you and inflaming the ever unresponsive Aemond were far more than slightly tempting. It would be worth the bloodied nose, the split lip and the sick that he’d spewed over his shoes when Aemond had returned to grace him with an inhumanly strong hit to his balls. Somehow, Aemond had made that act of violence seem like child’s play with the threats that he had rained down upon Aegon.

King Aegon, who simply did not know when to keep his mouth shut and had all but asked for it with the way he taunted Aemond with a sentence he never had the chance to complete. “Seeing as you cannot satisfy even your own wife-”

He wasn’t there long. Aemond’s angry mind was racing and he couldn’t think past the red of his rage. But Aemond still knew better than to stay where he would surely commit a treason he would regret.

Whatever fury Aemond had unleashed upon Aegon in the short time he was away had seemed to calm him down. He was still clearly angry when he stepped back into his quarters but there was a far less frightening storm brewing in his eye.

At his return, you had stood from the bed. The air was sucked right out of the room when Aemond stood right in front of you, so close that you could count the creases in the leather of his eyepatch. There was a tense silence in which he stared at you, waiting for you to fold but you only held your head high and met his gaze stubbornly.

Minutes had passed before Aemond spoke. His voice was far softer than you had expected and he seemed to have settled down a bit as he dragged his knuckles across your cheek, only to grip your chin so that you could not look away from him. Aemond held you tightly but not tight enough that it hurt.

“Enough of this,” It was an order, stern and unrelenting. “No more. This was a step too far-”

You scoffed in his face. “A step too far? Had you not done the same thing?”

Aemond had never in his life apologised for anything. He never felt sorry. And he never wished to admit to his mistakes. But here he was, face to face with the effects of one of the biggest mistakes he had made. If there were anything he could have done aside from apologise, he would have done it. But it was the only thing that would ease the mess of guilt that had arisen inside of him. For what he had done with the whore and for everything he hadn’t done for your marriage.

“It was a mistake. If I could undo it, I would,” I’m sorry. “This was childish of you. Vengefulness is unbecoming.”

There was a beastly disgust that Aemond felt when he thought of another man even looking at you. The image of Aegon’s cock in your mouth, his seed leaking from your lips made him want to burn the entire realm to ashes. Aemond’s eye trailed along your jaw, to your neck and then down past your stomach. Did Aegon touch you where only he was to touch you?

Fuck treason. Aemond would feed Aegon to Vhagar if he had indulged in your body.

“It is more than vengeance. You would not have understood what I felt. How I suffered because of you and your whore,” you tried your best to keep your voice stable. The lump in your throat and the tears that blurred your vision forced you to pull out of Aemond’s grip and turn your back to him. “You promised me you would never do that. You dishonoured me. You insulted me. You hurt me–Aemond, do you have any idea the things that they say about me?”

Aemond frowned and you could not see how he reached for you, only to drop his hand back to his side. “I–”

“That I am a failure. That I am-that I am so repulsive and so dull that you cannot even lay with me to produce an heir,” you couldn’t help the sob that escaped you. “And I saw what she was doing to you, what you were doing to her. I could never even have imagined the existence of such an act that had given you so much pleasure-”

“There was no true pleasure with her.” Aemond mumbled. Pathetically.

Pathetic was exactly the word. Aemond may have been good with a sword, in a fight, with his dragon and when strategizing wars. But he was a pathetic husband–a pathetic partner, a pathetic lover. And he had the urge to take out his good eye for being so mindless and so ignorant.

Hindsight was his worst enemy, it seemed. Because in hindsight, Aemond would have done everything differently, right from the moment you were introduced to him.

“Lie. It was clear, Aemond. They are all right, are they not?” You felt him step into you, his warm chest against your back. Leather and lavender and him. “I have failed. My womb is still empty. The last time you visited my bed was moons ago. I know you do not love me, my Prince, but I have love for you. Men are not the only ones who need intimacies of the body–I needed that and you have never given me anything. Yet you gave it to her. I wished to hurt you as you had hurt me.”

There were no words that Aemond could find. So he settled for shaking his head and watching you as you sat yourself down on the edge of his bed, staring down at your hands on your lap. You were so wrong in your perception of him but he couldn’t find the words to explain that. But Aemond decided in that moment that he would show you, one way or another. He hesitated before sitting beside you.

You couldn’t meet his eye if you tried. It was as if your body was telling you to stop talking, that these thoughts were too painful to share, feelings too abstract and tender to put into words.

“It is wretched, I know–to have turned to Aegon,” you felt him tense beside you and against your better judgement, you placed a hand on his thigh in an attempt to give him some comfort. “I wished to hurt you but I also wished to learn. I thought maybe if I knew how to-how to do things that would make you feel good so that maybe you would feel for me as I have for you. Aegon said he could show me. It is ridiculous, I understand that now.”

Aemond took your hand in his, the heat of your skin against his was fierce for such an insignificant action. He hated that it was easier for you to turn to Aegon than it was to turn to him. “I could have shown you. I can show you so much more. If only we had been honest with each other from the beginning.”

“I thought you do not want me.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. It would be less painful to drive his own dagger through his heart. “I crave for you, my love. I was just too stubborn to admit it and too afraid of what it means. And I did not know how to show you how badly I burn for you.”

The sight of tears had never fazed him until they were yours. Aemond was not particularly pious, he prayed simply because his mother had raised him to pray, but he would be on his knees every hour of every day if it meant that he could take these feelings away from you. If it meant that he could take it all back and start over.

“I am sorry. No more of this,” you said. “No more seeking out the touch of anyone else in place of each other.”

“I will be a better husband,” Aemond stated, as if he were telling it to himself as much as he was to you. “I will try for our marriage and our duty. And for you.”

“Your promises haven’t proven to mean much to me. All is not forgiven just because we have talked,” You sighed, but gave him a weak smile, turning to look at him.

He gazed down at you with determination, his jaw tight and his eye glistening with tears that wouldn’t fall. There was no attempt to push you away when you reached up to take off the leather that covered his bad eye. You wanted to see him as he was, even if only for a moment.

Gods, he was beautiful.

As you stood you forced your smile to turn lighthearted as you teased him through your heavy hearts. “Jealousy motivates you well, my Prince. I shall remember that.”

Aemond hummed, mostly serious as his hands tightly grabbed your hips. “Do not jest like that. I will not be able to look at Aegon without dreaming of murdering him for defiling you how only I should. I cannot afford such treasonous fantasies.”

There was a silent threat in his words. Nonetheless, you leaned down to his ear, gasping gently at the harshness of his fingers squeezing the flesh of your hips. Just his hands on your body alone set you alight.

“Perhaps my husband should leave the door to his bedchambers open tonight,” you let out a small laugh at the way that he pulled you to straddle his lap so suddenly, gently nipping the skin of his earlobe. You weren’t quite done messing with him.

“Is that so?” He smiled and you thought that it made him all the more beautiful.

“Yes,” you smirked, when he groaned frustratedly at your next words, softly throwing you onto the bed. “I may wish to show you exactly what I have learned.”

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humanpurposes · 6 months ago

Text

August

Part 1: Possibilities and Peace Offerings

Your family has been invited to spend August at Dragonstone, where things get a little tense after an unfortunate first encounter with Aemond Targaryen, one he's determined to put right.

Aemond Targaryen x Reader // Modern AU

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

Warnings: 18+, nothing too bad here, eventual smut, slight enemies to lovers, mutual pining

Words: 7k

A/n: Summer romance is here!! hope you likeeee. This is going to be three parts in total.

The impending summer exists beyond time, beyond the rest of the world. Exams are over and you’ve already received a mark for your dissertation. The dorm room you called home for three years is packed up and returned to its prison-like appearance, just as it was when you were an eager and excitable fresher. Suddenly the world is an endless sea of possibilities and you’re standing on the water’s edge with nothing to lose.

You spend a few weeks with your friends, drinking in pub gardens and driving down to the rammed beaches along the coast near King’s Landing, but this summer of possibility takes an unexpected turn when your father receives an invitation to spend the month of August at Dragonstone, as a guest of Viserys Targaryen. Viserys and your father have been business partners for just under a decade, but to be welcomed into his inner circle, to the ancestral home of the Targaryen family, is another honour altogether.

Your parents are beside themselves with excitement. You’re a little more sceptical but you won’t let them know it. So once your uni friends have gone back to their hometowns, you pack an array of swimsuits and summer dresses into a suitcase, and bundle into the backseat of your father’s car.

The aircon is on full blast. You sip on the last of your water as an 80s playlist blares through your headphones to block out the conversation of investments, clients, lawsuits and legal fees from the front seats.

Dragonstone is three things; an island, a town, and a castle. You drive out of the city, red and grey buildings blurring into greenery and vast spaces of blue, the sky and the sea. A ferry takes you from the mainland to the island’s port. The song you were listening to fades away as you slip your headphones off your ears. The town is utterly charming, from the rows of fishing boats in the harbour to the cobbled streets and obscure little buildings, bookshops, bakeries and butchers. The sun shines brightly, heat pulses through the window even with the blast of cool air.

A few more miles and you reach a gatehouse, ancient stone walls smothered with ivy, guarded by two stone creatures with their jaws wide open— dragons with spikes and sharp teeth. The driveway is lined with thick trees and foliage. Suddenly you turn a corner and there it is, towers and turrets reaching up into the summer sky, hundreds of windows, more carvings of dragons looming proudly over where Blackwater Bay becomes the Narrow Sea.

The man who greets you by the doors is not a Targaryen. He has dark hair, dark eyes, a crisp white shirt and a radio on his belt. Your father seems to know him already. He greets him as “Cole,” and introduces him to you and your mother.

Cole offers his hand to you. “Criston,” he insists, “I’m the head of Mr Targaryen’s security.”

Two identical butlers take your bags from the car while Criston shows you into the entrance hall. He comments on the antiques and the 14th century timbers, leading you through to the room he calls “the waiting chamber”. It has high ceilings, wood panelled walls, an enormous fireplace and aged but comfortable looking leather sofas at the edges of the room. You note the portraits on the walls, the more recent photographs on the mantle, but before you can get a proper look, someone announces their own arrival into the room.

Viserys Targaryen has his arms open, dressed far more casually than you’ve seen him at various galas and events, he even has a pair of aviators keeping his silver hair out of his face. He greets your father with a smile and a firm handshake, his eyes sharp but somewhat hollow.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting,” he says, moving onto your mother and then to you. “We’re having drinks on the patio, enjoying the sun. Why don’t you join us?” He chuckles and you don’t really understand why. You’re not sure how any of this works.

Viserys leads you through the house, stopping by the great hall and the library, pointing out details like Criston did. His home is devoted to family and every furnishing carries some sentimental value. The curtains and the sofas in the library are Arryn blue for his first wife, the shelves are laden with books that belonged to his grandfather. There are items here which have belonged to the Targaryens for generations and their house’s sigil is carved into the walls and wooden beams.

At last you come to a hall with tall windows, glass chandeliers and marble floors. Viserys calls this “the west gallery”, a more modern addition to the castle, built in the 17th century. He opens a double glass door and you can already see the sprawling green gardens, the unnatural blue of a swimming pool somewhere in the distance. Before all that is the raised patio, an array of chairs and the people sitting in them.

You step into the heat of the garden, into cigarette smoke and the sounds of laughter, loud and seemingly rehearsed. Your father knows most of these people, other associates of Targ Corp, Corlys Velaryon and his wife Rhaenys Tagraryen, Jason Lannister and his wife Joanna, Lyonel Strong and his son Larys. Even Otto Hightower is lounging back in his chair, sunglasses over his eyes, a pale pink cocktail in a crystal glass.

Your parents smile graciously, your mother clutching her handbag over her shoulder, your father wiping the sweat from his brow, trying to air out the damp patches in his shirt. They’ll want to make a good impression. Each person staying at Dragonstone this summer is another opportunity for your father.

You glance down at your denim shorts and your sandals— an outfit for comfort, not for networking.

Viserys directs the three of you to a cushioned wooden bench and you squeeze in beside your mother. Another butler appears and offers you all a drink. Your parents both ask for a gin and tonic. You’re thinking that you’d like to dunk yourself in the pool, so you ask for a large glass of water.

“With ice and lemon, miss?”

“Yeah, please, if you have it?”

Your mother nudges you with her elbow and whispers in your ear. “This is Dragonstone, if you want it they probably have it.”

“If I asked for the Prince of Pentos’ phone number, do you think they’d bring it out on a silver tray?” You return with a grin.

The minutes drag by. Lyonel Strong asks your father about his law practice. Corlys Velaryon and Jason Lannister enter a heated discussion about yachts. Otto Hightower mentions the name “Daemon” and the other voices go quiet. You take large gulps of your water, occasionally sharing silent looks with your mother.

The heat is sweltering. You feel your head pulsing, your skin becoming damp and you worry you may end up as a puddle on the patio if you don’t find a reason to escape soon.

The glass doors open and two women enter the garden, one with auburn hair, dressed in a floral dress and high heels. The other, younger, blonde hair cut into a fashionably short fringe, barefoot, dressed in denim shorts and baggy t-shirt, goes straight to Otto. She doesn’t look at anyone else. She stands behind Otto and leans down to wrap her arms around his neck. This must be Alicent Hightower and her daughter.

Alicent makes her rounds elegantly. She’s familiar with all the people present, except for the three of you, the outsiders, piled onto a single piece of garden furniture. Her eyes are wide and brown, her lips full and fallen slightly even when she smiles. She asks about the journey from King’s Landing, if you’ve had a chance to explore the town.

She asks you a lot of questions too, what you do, where you studied, what your plans are for the Autumn. And once she’s found out what she wants from you, she starts telling you everything about her children, unprompted.

“Helaena’s starting a PhD in a few weeks, staying in King’s Landing– King’s college, of course, not KLU, seven heavens. We didn’t want her to be too far away from home,” she says, looking back at her daughter and her father. “Etymology. Well, she’s always had a thing for insects, I could never understand it, but it’s easier to let her follow her interests, she’s that sort of girl.

“Now Aegon is like that too, he likes a lot of things, would be nice if he could be interested in something that makes him money. Oh well, he’s into the arts, fancies himself a photographer, directed a few plays at university– Oldtown. He wrote a screenplay, you must remind me to show you, it’s really quite clever. It’s about injustice or something like that.

“Daeron is at Oldtown too, at Citadel Boys. He’s the only child I sent to board, I just felt he might be happy with a bit of space from all of us. He wants to go to Oldtown like his brothers. His father wants him to do economics, but he’s very good at history.

“Aemond did history, but then he trained in accountancy. He’s worked all over, Oldtown, Storm’s End, Harrenhal, but he’s looking to stay in King’s Landing now–”

“Mum, you’ll bore her to tears,” Helaena says and it’s only now you notice that she’s moved to stand in front of you.

Alicent frowns.

You stifle a smile and raise your brows hopefully.

“Do you know where you’re sleeping yet?” Helaena asks, looking at her mother.

“I’ve put her in the moat room,” Alicent says. She turns back to you, “I’m sorry, darling, you’re probably tired, aren’t you? Helaena can show you your room.”

You kiss your mother's cheek and agree to reconvene for dinner in the evening.

“Sorry about mum, she just jumps at the chance to talk about her kids,” Helaena says as you walk back through the west gallery.

“It’s sort of cute,” you say, staring up at the gold detailing on the ceiling. “Very informative.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she says with a wicked smile.

When Helaena laughs she scrunches up her eyes and her nose. She sways her arms by her sides as she walks and trails her fingertips on the walls. Unlike Criston or Viserys, she doesn’t have little anecdotes about any of the vases or paintings on display. She’s a juxtaposition of her family’s ancestral home, airy and lighthearted, earthy and inexplicably real.

“Your parents are probably in the west wing,” she explains as you come to a winding stairwell. “That’s where everyone else will be too. The moat room is on the other side of the house.”

You nod along, stealing glances out the windows, at the gardens, and from higher up, you can see the sea.

“Don’t be too disheartened though,” Helaena says, “that means you’re with us.”

She shows you your room first. It sits at the very corner of the castle with windows to the north and the east. The moat in question isn’t a moat, it’s more of a well kept ditch. By the rest of the house you were half expecting the room to be medieval, but to your surprise it’s bright, carpeted, sans priceless antiques and heirlooms. A queen-sized bed waits for you piled with pillows.

“I’m down the hall, and the boys are in the next corridor,” Helaena explains. “If you smell something suspicious, it’s Aegon.”

She helps you unpack your suitcase, admiring your swimsuits and looking through the small collection of books you’ve brought to pass the time.

She shows you her room which is further down the corridor. It’s much larger than yours, far more personal. She has worn patterned rugs over the wooden floors, dark blue wallpaper and accents of gold everywhere, the mirror over her vanity, the handles on the drawers and the wardrobe. You’re most intrigued by the framed taxidermies on the walls, butterflies with the most beautiful wings you’ve ever seen, moths, beetles, even a scorpion.

You’re a little relieved when you see a cat curled up on her bed, with a thick white coat, brown ears.

“Dreamfyre,” Helaena says, scooping the cat up in her arms. “She’s named after the Valryian god of prophecy and wisdom.”

You hold your hand out for Dreamfyre to sniff. She considers you for a moment, and runs her head against your fingers. “So can she tell me my future?” you ask.

Helaena stares at you. “Don’t be ridiculous, she’s a cat. Why, hoping for something in particular?”

“I like to see where life takes me,” you say.

After exchanging phone numbers and scrolling through each other’s Spotify playlists, Helaena tells you that she thinks the two of you are going to be friends.

Dinner is surprisingly more pleasant, where you all eat around a table on the patio. Being outside is far more bearable once the sun starts to set and a breeze sweeps in from the sea. You’re served white fish, potato salad coated in herbs which Alicent says she grows herself, summer vegetables, grilled courgettes, red and yellow peppers, sweet and tangy tomatoes, washed down with white wine.

You sit beside Helaena, opposite two of her brothers, Aegon and Daeron. Daeron is far taller than his older brother but his face is clearly younger. His pale blond hair is slightly overgrown, his nose a little pink and his skin freckled from being in the sun. “Aemond managed to beat me at tennis today,” he says.

Aegon rolls his eyes, far more concerned with scratching the ears of a golden labrador perched on the floor beside him.

You look to Helaena for an explanation.

“Daeron’s looking to go pro. Aemond can’t stand that he’s not the best at something.”

There’s an empty space at the head of the table, between Aegon and Helaena. You’ve yet to see any other evidence that the elusive middle brother exists.

“There’s a tennis court here?” You ask.

“Towards the water garden, you should be able to see it from the moat room.” Helaena says. “You should have a look.”

Dessert is pistachio ice-cream, then everyone starts to disperse. Aegon grabs a bottle of wine and he and Daeron traipse over to a firepit at the edge of the patio, followed by the labrador. Your parents follow Viserys and the others into the house. Corlys and Rhaenys linger at the table, staring up at the sky and taking long drags from their cigarettes.

You trail Helaena to a neatly kept kitchen. Some of the staff pass through, into a far larger back room with metal surfaces, where the real cooking is done. Criston sits at the kitchen island on a stool, eating a pasta salad from a glass bowl. Helaena pats his head as she passes him. He doesn’t seem surprised by it, perhaps it’s a common occurrence.

“Feel free to grab anything you want, by the way. There’s all sorts of snacks and stuff, and if you want more of something give Criston a shout,” Helaena says, picking out bags of chocolate buttons and sour sweets from a cupboard.

“That’s kind,” you say, twisting your fingers over each other in front of you. “I’m quite tired, I think I might just have a shower and go to bed.”

“Darling, it’s summer, you can do whatever you want,” Helaena says. “See you at breakfast, yeah?” She pulls you into a quick hug and disappears out into the garden.

Not wanting to linger when Criston’s phone starts to ring, you decide to brave it and find your way back to your bedroom. Aegon and Daeron seem like fun, maybe too much fun for tonight, you just need to sleep off the fatigue from the sun.

This place is far too big for you to feel settled just yet. It amazes you how everyone can navigate the castle so easily, it’s like a maze. Eventually you find your way back to the entrance hall. You think you might know the way to the east wing from here, but when you see the sky beyond the windows, lilac and orange, dotted with grey clouds and the first few stars of the evening, you want to make the most of the dying light. Maybe you could head towards the water garden and find the tennis court.

Your sandals crunch against the gravel which stretches out into paths leading in three directions. The central one leads to the driveway and the gatehouse. To the left is the gardens past the edge of the moat, and to the right is an outlook and a downhill path which disappears from sight, which you assume leads down to the sea. You can hear the waves in the distance.

The sunlight is fading fast. You cross your arms over yourself, shivering and regretting the lack of a cardigan. You tell yourself you might warm up with a bit of a walk.

You take a few paces down the path towards the gardens– a dog’s bark has your heart leaping out of your chest. It’s deep and loud, coming from behind you. Your head darts around. An enormous dog has emerged from the downhill path and is bounding towards you, covering ground quickly.

You keep your feet planted on the ground, out of fear

The dog, a great dane, stops before you— it truly is huge, its head would come up to your torso if you were close enough, and you don’t really want to find out– barking viciously. Its teeth flash, flecks of saliva dripping from its mouth.

“Back off! Come, Vhagar!”

You look back along the path. A man in a black t-shirt and black shorts is walking quickly towards you and the dog. He grabs it by its collar and yanks it back, fastening it on a leash.

His eyes dart up— eye, you realise. The right side is a bright blue, the left is clouded, framed by a scar slicing down from his brow to his cheek.

“Who are you?” He asks like an accusation.

You hesitate, your heart still racing in panic.

You say your first name, then your family name, at that the man tuts and raises himself to full height, keeping the great dane on a short leash. “Right. What are you doing out here?”

“Just… looking around.”

“Just looking around someone else’s house?”

Gods now you’re really starting to panic. He’s glaring at you as if it’s your fault his dog just made a break for you.

He huffs irritably through his nose. “Look, Vhagar’s not always friendly and especially not around strangers. Be careful, yeah?”

Vhagar now seems content enough sitting by her owner’s side, wagging her tail and panting with her tongue out. Her grey coat is covered in sand, especially her paws and her nose.

“If your dog’s not always friendly why wasn’t she on a leash?”

His face hardens. Frowning suits his sharp features and the intensity of his eye. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this is my fucking house.”

That explains the blond hair, and you suppose now he has the same lanky look as Daeron and the same gauntness in his face as Aegon.

“Right, your dog could have just mauled me but thanks for the friendly reminder.” You turn towards the house and mutter loud enough for him to overhear, “prick.”

You can’t shake the frustration. Nothing takes the edge off, not the hot stream of water from the shower, the routine of your skincare or the feeling of sinking into an impossibly soft mattress. Dragonstone is perfect… and all you want to do is scream, just a little.

Breakfast is served in the morning room, next to the kitchen, according to the text you got from Helaena. You put a swimsuit on, a patterned one piece and pull on some shorts. Before you head downstairs you grab a pair of sunglasses, a bottle of suncream and a book, determined that your morning will be peaceful and idyllic.

People flitter into the morning room as they please. Helaena is still in her pyjamas, tucking into a bowl of yoghurt and fruit. Daeron comes in and starts eating toast off Alicent’s plate, having already run a casual 5k about the grounds.

The man from last night is hovering by a side table, placing sausages and bacon onto a small plate. He glances sideways at you as you enter.

You keep your teeth pressed together as you reach for a plate and go for the platter of pastries, reaching for an almond croissant.

His elbow must be a few inches from yours. “Morning,” he mutters.

You were half expecting him to act like you don’t exist. “Morning,” you mumble back.

“Have you two already met?” Helaena asks loudly from the table.

“Briefly,” he says.

“And you didn’t actually tell me your name,” you say, adding some strawberries to your plate for good measure.

“The boy has no manners,” Daeron says in a mocking voice, earning him an exasperated chide from his mother. Helaena giggles to herself.

He faces you fully. “Aemond,” he says.

“Good for you,” you say, and go to take a seat beside Helaena.

“Tea or coffee?” she asks you, reaching towards the two silver pots in the middle of the table.

“Coffee, please.”

Helaena makes a shocked expression. “Blasphemy. I’m a tea girl.”

As Helaena pours some coffee into a china cup, Aemond takes the free seat opposite you. Your heart races a little, infuriated at the sight of him, somewhat guilty that your time at Dragonstone has already soured and his entire family is there to see it.

You add just a dash of milk to your coffee. In the corner of your eye you see him watching you, fork hovering in front of his face. You muster the confidence to look up and he averts his eye.

After you’ve finished your breakfast you head out to the patio, down the stone steps and to the pool, settling on one of the lounge chairs. Helaena has gone back up to her room to change and bring you both down a towel.

You lather suncream on your limbs, face and neck, and open your book. This is a nice kind of heat, one that you’re more prepared for. You can almost feel it permeating your skin, breathing new life into your blood.��

You get a few moments of bliss until a silhouette appears beside you.

You raise your eyes from the page, over the edges of your sunglasses, staring ahead at the surface of the pool. You can smell a man’s aftershave, and you can tell he’s too tall to be Aegon.

Ice clinks against glass. He leans down to place something on the small table beside you. “Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

You don’t want to turn your head, that might be misinterpreted as you actually caring.

But then Aemond’s voice takes on a lighter tone and he says, “Are you reading Crime and Punishment?”

You scrunch your brows in bewilderment as you look up at him.

His eye moves between your face and the book in your lap

“Yeah,” you say, shifting your legs and drawing your knees closer to your torso, “I’m finding it a bit boring to be honest.”

His lips are parted ever so slightly and you can see the tips of his teeth. “It’s one of my favourite books.”

“I think that might explain a lot,” you say.

The corner of his mouth flickers like he might smile. He holds it back.

“What’s this?” You ask, looking down at the glass of iced coffee he’s placed on the table.

“A peace offering,” Aemond says. “I really am sorry about yesterday evening. I just… panicked. Vhagar isn’t always good around people she doesn’t trust. She bit my nephew once actually.”

“Oh, not good.”

“It was years ago, and to be fair to her—” he doesn’t finish that sentence. He presses his lips together. “I just thought I should apologise to you.”

Even when apologising he sounds smug.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” you say.

He hums, it’s cryptic and it throws you off a little. He looks at you like he has a secret, like he’s managed to spot something that you haven’t.

You feel aware of yourself and now you can’t breathe without doing it consciously. You feel beads of sweat forming at the back of your neck, the warmth of your own skin with your thighs pressed together, the pulse in your chest, the restless feeling in your stomach. You’re worried you might do something stupid, but how could you? You’re only sitting in a swimsuit and sunglasses, while Aemond is doing nothing to hide the fact that he’s looking at you– studying you with a hint of excitement in his eye.

And after about a minute of this he says, “enjoy your morning,” turning and strolling towards the patio.

You clench your jaw, determined that you won’t look back at him, but you listen to his footsteps as they move away.

With each line you read, you can only think of Aemond pouring over every word and making this book his bible. You imagine his hands holding the cover, his fingertip dragging over the page, his lips parted in concentration. It feels intrusive, it feels too involved. You couldn’t possibly put this book down now.

Aemond is an understated presence amongst his own family. He often lurks in the library or in a corner of the sitting room with a book. He wanders the gardens with his headphones on. He takes Vhagar down to the beach every evening and some nights you steal glances of them from a window at the front of the house. He gets these headaches, something to do with the scar over his eye, and when he does he likes to retreat to his room. When he is around for dinner he sits at the head of the table, opposite his father but miles away from him. He’s not a big talker but when he does have something to add to the conversation he commandeers it. Everyone stops to listen when he speaks.

You like watching him, the way he fiddles with anything within his reach, how he strokes his fingertips over his hands, the edge of his jaw. You look for his microexpressions, the twitches of his brow and the quirk of his lips when he finds something amusing, and how at the mentions of sensitive subjects or certain names, his eye widens.

He smirks when he sees you looking, you don’t mind that he knows that you are.

You don’t want to seek him out, but you don’t try to avoid him either. He’s always somewhere in your periphery, his hand brushing against yours at the dinner table, the smell of his Marlboros wafting from the patio when you’re sitting by the pool which makes you wonder if he’s watching you. In the evenings after dinner, you and the Targaryen siblings hang around the firepit late into the night. Helaena and Daeron talk about constellations and roast marshmallows, Aegon plucks on a guitar, and you and Aemond fall into a game of pretending like you’re not looking at each other.

Some nights you sit across from him, your view distorted by the heat and the flames. Other nights he dares to sit beside you, close enough that his leg will rest against yours. He keeps his voice soft until you’re leaning in closer to catch every word he says, this insufferable man who bings you a coffee every morning and asks you about the books you read.

One night Aemond is sat beside you. Helaena sings along to Aegon’s guitar, Daeron drums his fingers against his legs, gazing in wonder at his siblings because moments like this are a rarity for him.

“Do you forgive me yet?” Aemond asks, his arm draped along the back of the bench you sit on. Maybe he can read your mind because you’ve been silently begging for him to come closer… closer…

Your senses are hazy, the smoke of the fire, the scent of cigarettes and aftershave lingering on Aemond’s shirt, the glasses of wine you had with dinner, the clear, cold night air piercing the backs of your arms. He notices you shivering and slips his arm around your shoulders, slowly, so you have a chance to tell him to stop. His heat is white hot. Your chest feels hollow and weightless.

Everything about him is hypnotising, the curve of his mouth, his self-assuredness, the look in his eye that’s gentle and intense all at once.

Your body feels heavy; you should probably go to bed soon. “Do you care if I forgive you?”

He frowns, less disappointed, more intrigued and lifts his hand to brush your hair from your neck, fingertips grazing over your skin. Your body stiffens in his wake, like electricity coursing through your shoulders, down your spine.

“I’d hate to have it hanging over my head,” he mutters.

You turn your head and now your faces are inches apart. His nose twitches as he breathes, you notice.

His palm comes to rest on your bare thigh, below the hem of your shorts. In the corner of your eye you see heads of silver hair glancing across the firepit. Aegon chuckles. You’re content to let the distractions fade away. “Keep bringing me coffees and I’ll consider it.”

The next day you’re laying on your bed, enjoying the cool of the early evening against your damp skin and hair after a shower. How you can be so exhausted after a day of reading by the pool makes you despair a little. It’s the heat, it messes with your brain.

The music through your headphones is interrupted by a notification.

Helaena Targaryen: Aemond said he’s off to walk the dogs if you want to join him.

You frown at the screen. Did he want Helaena to ask you? You specifically?

Surprisingly, you were getting on rather well with Aemond today, not enough for him to text you himself, or ask for your number for that matter. At the very least, things have been less hostile since your first encounter. You saw him at breakfast and he asked you how you were getting on with Crime and Punishment, if you had finally realised that it’s the best piece of literature put to the world (his words). You said you were not convinced, only because it was fun to argue about it with him. While you were sitting by the pool he came down in a pair of black trunks and no shirt, swam twenty laps in twenty minutes, then dried off in the lounge chair next to yours. Later, while Helaena was sitting with you, he appeared from the kitchen with two bowls of strawberries with the stems cut off. And then at lunch he sat between Aegon and Daeron, and hardly looked at you.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, painfully conscious that Helaena will be able to see that you’re typing.

Helaena Targaryen: I think it’s part of him ‘making amends’ with you.

Helaena Targaryen: He probably still feels bad about it.

Helaena Targaryen: Loser.

You smile to yourself and type out your reply: Yeah, why not. Where does he want me?

While Helaena starts to type you quickly pull on some shorts and a clean t-shirt. Your phone dings while you’re in front of the mirror, dabbing concealer under your eyes.

Helaena Targaryen: Front door. Five mins. Have fun :)

It will probably take you five minutes to find your way down to the entrance hall anyway. You finish your face off with some blush on the apples of your cheeks and a thin amount of mascara on your lashes. There’s not much you can do about your wet hair, but other than that you’re mostly satisfied with yourself, so you pull on a pair of trainers, slip your phone into your back pocket and hurry through the corridors of Dragonstone.

He’s waiting for you in the entrance hall by the door, Vhagar, the great dane on one leash, Sunfyre, the golden labrador on another. He gives you a half smile as you approach them.

“Who am I walking?” you say.

“My girl stays with me,” he says, offering you Sunfyre’s leash, which you take, ruffling his ears.

“Vhagar is your girl then, is she?” you ask as Aemond leads you out the door and down the front steps, past the spot where she scared you half to death. The dogs are eager to storm ahead but Aemond keeps Vhagar on a tight lead, so you do the same.

“I suppose. We’ve had great danes forever, my father’s very fond of them. We got Vhagar when I was sixteen and well, we just like each other a lot I guess.”

“What about Sunfyre?”

“He’s Aegon’s really, but mostly he stays at the Keep with mum and dad. Aegon doesn’t really stay in the same place long enough.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Yeah well, he does what he wants. This way,” Aemond says, nodding towards the downhill path to the beach. You’ve been down here with Helaena already, a winding gravel path lined with bushes and brambles down the cliff face. Vhagar plods along leisurely, Sunfyre can’t get down fast enough. When you stumble, Aemond steadies you, a large hand wrapped around your forearm. “He can run off now anyway,” he mutters, undoing the leash, and Sunfyre darts along the path in a golden flash.

Low in the sky, you see the sun dancing along the surface of the sea, waves rolling orange and blue into white foam as they meet the shore.

“What about you?”

Aemond looks at you with a brief look of bewilderment.

“Are you not doing what you want?”

He tries to conceal a frown, pouting his lips slightly. “Maybe I did for a bit, wound up working for Targ Corp, so I don’t see what difference any of it made.”

Once you reach the sand and Sunfyre is sniffing at some rocks along the base of the cliff, Aemond looks at you. “Are you alright if I take her off the leash?”

Vhagar looks pleadingly up at her owner, her tail thrumming against the ground.

“Yeah, of course,” you say.

“I just didn't know if you’d be comfortable after…”

“Oh,” you say, “thanks for considering it, but yes, it’s more than fine.”

Aemond grins as he undoes the clasp connecting the lead to Vhagar’s collar.

“What?” you ask.

“Does that mean you forgive me now?”

You fold your arms, your cheeks straining as you try to withhold the extent of your smile. “You do make a good coffee, I’ll give you that.”

Sunfyre and Vhagar entertain themselves, chasing each other, running to the edge of the water where the waves rush over the sand and retreat again. You and Aemond walk along the shore where the sand is damp and stable. Aemond says the tide will be coming in within the hour.

“So why work for Targ Corp if you don’t want to?” you ask him.

Aemond contemplates this for a moment, making a low humming noise in his throat. “If I really didn’t want to, I wouldn't.”

“But if Aegon gets to do what he wants, why don’t you?”

He looks down at his shoes, white sneakers, and digs his hands into the pocket of his joggers. “I remember thinking when I finished my bachelor’s, there were lots of things I was good at.”

You make a teasing face.

“No, I just mean there’s lots of things I could have done. I thought about being a curator, or something, you know? I did my dissertation on that actually, how museums and exhibitions can distort the past as well as preserve it–” he interrupts himself with a short tut. “Sorry, I don’t need to bore you.”

Your eyes trail along the curve of his jaw and his chin in the fading light. The wind is gentle, whispering over the bare skin of your cheeks, your arms, your legs. The smell of sea salt lingers in your nose and on your tongue. “I’m not bored,” you say.

With a shy sort of smile he tells you more, how he used to spend hours in the museums in Oldtown, looking at exhibits on Dorne, Essos and Valyria, the papers he read, the cultural memory and the dissonance. “History and heritage, when you think about them, are inherently vague concepts,” he says, “because they’re all based on claims and narratives that are difficult to determine and if they are clear cut, they’re biased. So how do we find the truth? How do we know that what we’re claiming is the right story is actually accurate?” You find yourself watching the parts of him you usually do. He speaks with his hands, indicating and gesturing and moving them randomly when he’s trying to think of a word or explain himself. Occasionally he runs his fingers through his hair or rubs his chin. And his single eye is wide, looking up as he pieces together a thought, looking back to you so he knows you’re still listening.

“But after all that, you went and trained to be an accountant?” you ask.

“You should have seen the look on my father’s face when I told him I wanted to do a masters in museum studies. So yeah, accounting it was.”

It makes you sad, but you don’t want to tell him that. The entire time you’ve been here you’ve never seen Aemond so animated, talking about something he seems to love.

“What about you? What are your big life plans?” he says.

“Anything but accounting.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I bet.”

“I’ll do a masters eventually, but I want to work for a little bit. I’ll start applying for jobs when I’m home.”

“In King’s Landing?”

“Yeah.” You look back up at the dark stone of the cliff, the layers and straight lines, the tops of the castle’s turrets just visible from the shore. “Yeah, yeah I think there’s so much pressure to find something to do. I mean, I was trying to focus on my dissertation and my exams, and I kept having these weird moments where I’d think, what’s the point? I don’t have a job ready to go. I don’t have a place on a masters course. I don’t have any plans to travel or volunteer at an orphanage in Meereen. It was like there was a timer going off in my brain and if I didn’t make something of my life before my exams were over, well it was all going to be a waste.” Now you’re the one moving your hands mindlessly, and you don’t know why but saying it all out loud makes you nervous. “Sometimes I feel like I’m running out of time.”

You look back at Aemond and realise you’ve stopped walking. Somewhere along the beach the dogs bark and splash in the shallowest part of the water. Aemond is watching you. He still has his hands in his pockets, his lips curled into a vague smile. “You have plenty of time, don’t worry,” he says.

It suddenly strikes you what Alicent had mentioned, about him moving back to King’s Landing.

Without stepping away from him you take a mental note of him, your eyes glancing up and down. You want to remember his silhouette, his posture and how he stands, the way he angles his chin, the way he likes to hold his hands behind his back, the joggers and the shape of his torso though his t-shirt. You think you could recognise him at a brief glance, a single body in a crowded city. You think you’d find him.

Aemond meets your eye and raises his brow.

You smile slightly to fein innocent interest. “We’ll be neighbours, we might see each other wandering around the city.”

But you realise you’ve made a mistake. His amusement starts to fade from his face, his shoulders stiffening. He turns and puts his middle finger and thumb in his mouth to whistle the dogs. They both freeze and bound back towards you. “Tide will be coming in soon,” he says to you.

He has Vhagar and Sunfyre on their leads again. By the time you come back to the path on the cliff the sky is a dull shade of dark blue. The castle looms in darkness and the light comes from within, golden through all of its windows.

“I’m sorry if I was a bit of a downer,” you say.

“You’re fine,” Aemond says. Your steps sound in perfect time along the gravel, up to the front steps. Vhagar and Sunfyre huff and pant, pulling on their leads and eager for a rest.

You reach the door and Aemond opens it. Down the hall one of the butlers is waiting to take the dogs.

“It’s just, I thought we were getting on.”

“We are,” Aemond mutters. “Do you think we are?”

It’s hard to tell with Aemond. He’s polite when he needs to be, easily irritated around his siblings. He’s so calm and composed, but you can see it in his eye when he’s thinking– you just don’t know what. But then there are moments like this, when you think you’ve scratched the surface, when his gaze lingers on you and his eye is soft but intent. When he brings you a coffee in the morning, when he tells you about his favourite book and the things he wishes he’d done with his life.

You’re standing in the entrance hall. Dragonstone is alive, filled with people and distant sounds. Beyond the ancient walls the wind picks up and the tide is coming in. If you took one step closer to Aemond, your navel would be pressed against his.

“I want us to get on,” you say.

“Me too.”

“And I thought we were getting somewhere.”

“Maybe we are,” he says. “I liked this, you’re a good listener.”

“I don’t get that a lot.”

“Do you not?”

“Well I suppose it helps if the person speaking has something interesting to say.”

“Oh,” he says with a little nod, “I thought you were going to say you just liked me that much.”

“That helps too.”

No taglist, follow @ficsbygee and turn on post notifs for updates <3

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intheupside · 9 days ago

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Crosby to be Canada's 'security blanket' as captain at 4 Nations Face-Off

Indeed, is anyone more deserving of the title of Captain Canada?

“He’s up there,” Tocchet said. “And look, I don’t want to embarrass Sid. But from sitting in the locker room across from Wayne Gretzky, the way Wayne’s demeanor is, the way he acted around his teammates, the way he acted in front of the public, Sid’s got that.

“And then you’ve got the Mark Messier type, not afraid to say things to your teammates if needed at the right time. And I’ve seen Sid do that too, using his voice to let them know something is unacceptable. He’s willing to do that. That to me is a great leader. In all facets. One hundred percent.

“The bottom line: When he puts that jersey on, you can sense the calmness come over the entire country of Canada. It’s almost like he’s our security blanket.”

“From the time I first met him, it’s just the way he always looks to raise the bar,” Bergeron said. “We’ve been teammates and linemates in a lot of these tournaments, and he’s never satisfied. He’s always looking to the next thing. He’s able to enjoy the success but at the same time wanting more. It’s his drive, his determination, there’s a lot of reasons why he’s been so clutch and so important in, what you could say, [is] history.

“He commands respect. I think the country is proud of who he is as a person and how he represents us on the international stage. There’s no missteps. It’s been going on since he’s been 14 years old when they started aiming cameras on him. He’s never had a misstep.”

Bergeron is considered one of the top leaders of his era and won the Mark Messier NHL Leadership Award in 2021, an honor Crosby received in 2010.

“I accomplished a lot in my career,” Bergeron said. “But I have to say, I’m so proud that in my time playing, that Sidney was the face of our league and for Canadian hockey. Well deserved.”

Crosby already had his eyes on the 4 Nations prize five months ago, long before he would officially be given the “C” for Team Canada.

Back in early September, Crosby helped organize an unofficial training camp of sorts under the watchful eye of Andy O’Brien, his longtime trainer, in Vail, Colorado. Among those invited to the event were some of Canada’s top players, including Avalanche center Nathan MacKinnon, who like Crosby is from Cole Harbour; Edmonton Oilers center Connor McDavid; and Toronto Maple Leafs forward Mitch Marner.

Crosby insists it wasn’t an official Canada team-bonding exercise, pointing out that there were players from other countries there as well. At the same time, he admits it was productive for some of the Canadians on hand to get the opportunity to develop chemistry and play together, something that could come in handy at the 4 Nations and the 2026 Olympics.

Marner, for one, was appreciative of the invite extended him by Crosby and O’Brien.

“It was great,” he said. “Getting to know Sid and some of those guys both on and off the ice, well, I was grateful that they asked me to join them.

“You get to know them on and off the ice a bit. Such great guys. And so much talent out there with guys like Sid, MacKinnon and McDavid.”

And, according to Team Canada and Tampa Bay Lightning coach Jon Cooper, it was just another example of Crosby’s leadership ability to bring players together for a common goal.

“It’s what he does,” Cooper said. “It’s who he is.

“Look at what he did [last] month when we were in Pittsburgh.”

Cooper was referring to a postgame scene after his team had defeated Crosby and the Penguins 5-2 on Jan. 12, a game in which Tampa Bay scored three goals in the final 3:03 to break a 2-2 tie. The uber-competitive Crosby was upset that victory had eluded the Penguins, but still took time to see Cooper afterward to chat about the 4 Nations.

At one point, Crosby asked Cooper to bring out Lightning forwards Brayden Point, Brandon Hagel and Anthony Cirelli, his future 4 Nations teammates, to talk about the upcoming tournament.

“He here is, angry that his team had just lost a game, and he put that aside to talk Team Canada with them,” Cooper said. “They sat there for 20 minutes. They were like kids in a candy store.

“That right there is what true leadership is.”

And, according to Tocchet, what Crosby is all about.

“It’s unbelievable,” Tocchet said. “He’s a guy that carries the torch, and is willing to pass the torch on when he’s done.

“That’s what he’s doing with Cirelli, Hagel, those guys. He basically comes in and says, ‘Hey, you guys are my teammates in a month, I just want to get to know you real quick and let you know what’s at stake.’ He’s done it with other players. I just think it goes so far with his teammates. They legitimately badly want to play with him, to be his teammate.”

#good article #pittsburgh penguins #sidney crosby #cale makar #connor mcdavid #patrice bergeron #boston bruins #team canada #4 nations face off #nathan mackinnon #toronto maple leafs #colorado avalanche

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flowerandblood · 6 months ago

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The Price of Pride (7/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, mutual masturbation, targcets stuff, infidelity, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, violence, some kind of sexual harassment (unwanted touch), death threats, bad things ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Waiting for the arrival of his betrothed in the courtyard of the Red Keep, forced to do the deed by his mother, he thought, staring blankly ahead, that he longed to be anywhere else.

In his bed, in the Small Council chamber, on the back of Vhagar flying through the skies.

Even the vision of an evening spent with his cousin in the library teaching her the language of Old Valyria did not sound as awful as the prospect of what he would now have to do.

He was not good at pretending or lying – false flirting, sweet gestures and gifts to win the heart of a beloved woman were not his domain and aroused his pity. Conversing about nothing or romantic walks were also not what he wanted or needed.

He should be planning the war with Criston Cole, not courting a woman who was indifferent to him.

Worse, now that he had managed to forget what he had done to his nephew, he knew that along with Floris Baratheon's face all the memories, nightmares and unbearable pain in his eye socket would return.

He sighed, straightening up, standing with his hands folded behind his back as a couple of carriages drove through the gate, one with only the chests, the other surely with the person to whom they belonged.

Gods, how long was she going to stay here?

The door opened and he moved ahead reluctantly, needing to show at least a bit of courtesy, giving her his hand – Floris smiled at him gratefully and placed her soft palm on his, stepping out the carriage like the princess she surely longed to be.

"My Lady. Welcome to the Red Keep." He said, letting go of her hand, folding it behind him again.

A squeal and a cry of a little boy before Luke was swallowed by the Vhagar's maw.

He swallowed heavily, feeling a cold sweat on the back of his neck and an unpleasant stab of pain in his eye socket.

His betrothed bowed before him.

"My Prince. I am tired after my journey. Please, guide me to my chamber." She said, and he nodded, hoping that she was very tired and would not require any other effort from him.

He took a breath, surprised, feeling discomfort when they moved ahead and her fingers slid under his arm right away, snuggling into his side as if they were a pair of lovers.

He closed his eye and swallowed hard, feeling a tightness in his throat, rage, humiliation and shame, aware that the guards and servants might have been watching and mocking him, knowing how much he hated such familiarity.

For her, however, what was more important was not how he felt, but what she imagined in her head.

He was only to adapt to her fantasies.

As they walked into the chamber his mother had specially chosen for her, Floris smiled – her windows looked out onto the harbour itself, the beautiful sea and the sun.

He hummed, wondering if he would be able to escape.

"Get some rest, my Lady. I will see you at the supper." He said, wanting to take a step back and leave, but he heard her sigh quickly, seeing out of the corner of his eye her furrowed brow.

"I was hoping that we would get to know each other more closely. That you were also looking forward to this moment like I was. We could take a walk in the royal gardens and talk." She said with a hopefulness that made him feel a discomfort in his stomach.

He thought that he had not been waiting for this moment at all.

His brother had told him to get Borros Baratheon's daughter, and he did.

It was a decision dictated by politics, not the desire of his heart.

Deep down, he wished that as soon as the war was over their betrothal would be undone.

Storm's End would then no longer be of any use to them.

But he couldn't tell her that.

He finally looked at her, seeing her gaze full of desire but also excitement, as if she had already imagined what this marriage would give her – that he would surely slowly fall in love with her, that his behaviour was only due to embarrassment and his shy nature.

It didn't even occur to her that she could be indifferent to him, and that was exactly the case.

How was he supposed to make something out of nothing?

"What would you like to discuss with me?" He asked, wanting to shift the burden of this awkward exchange of words onto her.

His betrothed exhaled quietly, as if comforted that he hadn't left, though she smiled, something in her gaze that he didn't like.

"My heart broke when I learned of your lonely expedition. I understand, my Prince, that you did it for the good of the Kingdom, but you must know how awful and difficult the experience was for me, knowing that there was a young, unmarried woman at your side." She said in a way that indicated, in his opinion, that she was not sad because of it, but angry and irritated.

He hated it when someone did not say directly what was on their mind.

"At my brother's request, the Maester has dispelled your doubts, my Lady. My cousin remains untouched." He said coldly, however his grin was wide, menacing – he knew by the look on her face that she understood that she had frustrated him.

She, however, instead of accepting his explanation or negating it, decided to probe deeper into the subject.

"But did you touch her, my Prince? With your hands or your mouth?" She asked, looking at him proudly, as if she recognised that these questions were necessary for her to feel that her position remained unthreatened.

She felt his hands clench into fists behind his back.

"I touched her with my hands. It's hard not to when you're flying together on the back of a dragon."

"So I also want to fly with you on the back of a dragon." She communicated, like a child demanding the same toy from him.

He felt his teeth clench in his jaw, his heart pounding like mad in his chest with rage.

Who was she to demand anything from him?

Stupid cunt.

"I cannot agree to this, my Lady, for the sake of your safety. Your father has placed you under our protection." He said lightly, smiling so that for a moment he exposed his teeth, as if he wanted to bite through her artery.

"With you, I will certainly be safe." She didn't give up, clearly annoyed that he was denying her what he had given to another woman.

"I do not agree. Rest, my Lady. I will see you during supper." He replied and, without waiting for her farewell or a word, left the chamber with a slam of the door.

He felt like shouting, hitting someone, a guard or a servant, beating them until they lost consciousness.

And then he remembered.

Tyland Lannister's fucking servant.

It was time to make him pay for his lack of discretion.

"Robert is no longer serving in the fortress, Your Highness. He was moved to Casterly Rock by Lord Lannister." Said one of the boys when asked where he could find him.

His brother knew what he would want to do and removed the man from his sight so that he could not take revenge on him for his betrayal.

Fucking bastard.

He pounded his palms on the top of his table and cursed in rage, feeling like he was about to explode – he had the urge to ride to Vhagar, get on her back and burn everything he came across in his path.

He closed his hands into fists and leaned forward, panting heavily, feeling like a caged animal.

Why were there traps waiting for him on every side, set for him by his mother and his brother?

Why did he still experience from them the two feelings that caused him such pain: rejection and humiliation?

Sitting at the great table among the lords and their families, staring blankly ahead, pretending not to see the expectant glances of his betrothed in his direction, hoping for any kind of conversation, he thought for the first time in his life that he wished he simply didn't exist.

He wanted to disappear so that he didn't have to deal with all this.

What did he get in return?

A sad, disappointed look from his mother and a sneer from his older brother.

"What's that grave look, brother? Do you not rejoice at the sight of your chosen one, Lady Floris? She has come a long way to see your displeased face." Said Aegon and laughed, licking his lips, none, however, echoed him.

If it had been the first time, or the fiftieth time, but he could no longer count how many times he had humiliated him in this way in the presence of others, and he always, every time, felt the same squeeze in his throat, sadness and emptiness.

Why didn't he instead take him aside, ask him what was happening?

Doesn't he need help?

His brotherly understanding, advice, support?

Was he not worthy of this honour?

He sighed, deciding it didn't matter, when he heard the chamber door open and his King's attention turned to another guest.

"Ah, here is my dear, fearless cousin. Come here, my Lady, I have assigned you a seat next to my brother. Perhaps your presence will lift his spirits." His brother called out, and he closed his eyes and swallowed hard, not even bothering to look at the expression on his betrothed's face, hearing her twist next to him in her chair.

He wondered if it wouldn't be better if he just killed him.

He heard her footsteps behind his back, and a moment later he smelled her pleasant, floral scent – the servant had pushed back her chair for her. She sat down beside him, to his right, and for some reason he felt a little better.

She was by his side.

He didn't understand why, but he struggled to restrain himself from slipping his hand under the table and placing it on her thigh, wandering up and down, wordlessly letting her know that he missed her in some strange, twisted way.

She was always honest with him, his little dragon, her and her sweet, sharp tongue that cut like a dagger.

"My Lady." He heard Floris's voice to his left, leaning forward to see her better.

Gods, have mercy, he thought.

She was going to express her jealousy in front of everyone.

"I congratulate you on taming a dragon. No one expected you to succeed." She said with feigned admiration from which he rolled his eyes and shook his head, glancing at his cousin.

She, to his surprise was smiling broadly, her eyes shining dangerously, as if his betrothed amused her but also irritated her at the same time.

"I didn't believe it myself, my Lady. I was convinced that I would burn and become dust." She said with such light-heartedness that he and several people at the table chuckled at her words.

Why did he feel satisfaction?

"The gods have spared you. Will you stand to fight your father?" Floris continued, deliberately changing the subject to one that was uncomfortable for her, to force her to make a mistake and say something she shouldn't.

"Enough." He said impatiently, wanting to spare her this, however, his cousin decided to respond, finding her question surprisingly easy to answer.

"My dragon lacks experience and composure. I will be a mere support for the King and the Prince."

He smirked under his breath, thinking she had been clever in answering politely and cordially, while giving his betrothed no reason to mock or cause him or the King himself to distrust her.

To his relief, Aegon interrupted this exchange of words by ordering music to be played, and he decided to eat something, feeling that, indeed, his cousin's presence by his side had lifted his spirits and restored his appetite.

He pressed his lips together and sighed when Floris's hand brushed his wrist.

Did she have to touch him all the time?

Did she think it was romantic, that she was arousing his desire in this way?

The only feeling he felt was frustration.

"Will you pass me a tray of goose pate, my love?" She asked in a whisper, as if she was telling him some important secret, and he simply nodded, handing her the platter.

"Thank you." She said, but he answered her nothing, concentrating on his roast, hoping she wouldn't make him speak to her with his mouth full.

When he had quenched his thirst and satisfied his appetite, he thought it was time for him and his cousin to leave, however, they could not do so together – that would arouse the displeasure and curiosity of his betrothed, and he did not want that.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, trying to get her attention, but she was focused on cutting the meat, immersed in her own world, not caring about what was going on around her.

The desire to sink his fingers into her thigh returned to him with redoubled force making his manhood pulsate softly in his breeches, but he limited himself to pressing his knee against hers, hoping she would understand what he meant.

He saw that she froze and breathed a sigh of relief when she finally stood up, communicating to all assembled that she would retire to bed, to which his brother-king, already completely drunk, agreed.

He waited a long time before getting up himself.

"My brother. Are you leaving us already?" Aegon asked.

"I am tired." He explained, looking at him coolly.

It was not a lie, he thought.

"I will escort you to your chamber, my Prince." Floris said, immediately rising from her seat, and he nodded, wanting nothing more than to escape from this room as quickly as possible.

This was what his evenings were to be like for days, weeks, months, years, once she became his wife.

He swallowed hard, stepping out into the corridor, feeling the contents of his stomach and the roast he had eaten rise to his throat as if he was about to vomit.

He closed his eyes and pulled away from her as she tried again to grab his arm.

"No." He growled more harshly than he would have liked, feeling his heart pounding like mad as he simply walked ahead.

Her silhouette walked beside him, her face raised at him filled with bitterness.

"Why? We are betrothed. I long to feel your closeness, at least for a moment."

He stopped, looking at her as if he was about to tear her apart, feeling himself breathing loudly through his mouth.

"But I don't want it." He said in a breaking voice, thinking that perhaps if he played the wounded boy it would give him at least a little peace and space.

"It's just a touch of the hand, my love. Nothing bad." She said, against his request touching his arm again, stroking it in a gesture of comfort.

He closed his eyes and grinned coldly, shaking his head, feeling tears of despair under his eyelids.

He thought he hated her.

"Sleep well, my Lady."

"This corridor. This is not the way to your chambers." She said in a trembling voice.

He looked at her over his shoulder, feeling his heart thump harder in his chest.

"I need to do one more thing."

"Do you..."

"That's enough. One more word from you and I'll lose patience. Don't provoke me." He said and turned away, walking towards the library.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he looked over his shoulder and saw that she was gone.

He ran his hand over his face, thinking that he couldn't stand it.

That he had to somehow get rid of her from the Red Keep and his life.

His brother was not worth such a sacrifice.

He felt at home in the library – the old oak bookcases filled to the brim with thick volumes reminded him of his childhood, the years he had spent in that great hall, hiding from the world.

He pulled out a few of the books he had used himself to study, knowing most of them almost by heart, and spread them out on one of the tables where one of the servants had lit some candles.

"You may leave." He said, and the boy nodded and left.

When the door finally opened and he saw her, he froze.

She was wearing his mother's robe thrown over her nightgown, that was certain, however, he did not understand why she had put it on now – that attire should only be worn in the privacy of her own chamber, outside of it being in a degree of negligee.

He swallowed quietly, watching as her girlish figure moved across the floor towards him with a quiet rustling of the shiny, delicate fabric tied at her waist.

He had a feeling that if he pulled at the ribbon, he would reveal her entire beautiful, bare body before his eyes, hidden only beneath the thin layer of her linen shirt.

He grunted as she sat down beside him, smelling her pleasant, fresh scent, sliding a few books towards her.

He knew what he wanted to practice with her and he was doing it deliberately.

He needed to take it out on someone and she had become his victim.

"We'll start with the basics. The most important and simplest terms." He said, pointing his finger at one of the words.

"Jelmor." He hummed. "North."

"Jelmor." She whispered, her voice soft and calm, clearly focused on her task.

She really wanted to learn, he thought with surprise and pride.

The heritage she so despised had become dear to her.

He felt a pleasant warmth in his lower abdomen and satisfaction at the thought.

"Ñāqon. East."

"Nāqon." She said, however, with a mistake, not making the right sound at the beginning of the word.

"No. Roll your tongue at the n." He explained, and she swallowed hard, as if gathering the courage to say it again.

"Ñāqon." She said, slightly better this time.

"Better. Vēzor. South."

"Vēzor."

"Endia. West."

"Endia."

"Muña. Mother." He hummed, looking at her intently, and saw exactly what he wanted.

She froze completely, and her body tensed all over as if he had hit her.

"Muña." She said softly, warmly, her voice trembling slightly, betraying the pain she felt.

"Mmm. Kepa. Father." He said, and she looked at him in a way from which his manhood instantly swelled and pulsed hard, causing his lips to part in a sigh.

Her brown eyes were glazed from tears, her eyebrows arched in pain as if she was asking him why he was doing this to her.

"Repeat." He whispered.

"Kepa." She said, as if she was praying to one of the gods.

Kepa.

A single, lonely tear ran down her cheek, a sign that she still loved him, her father who had abandoned her, after all these years remaining a small child craving attention and praise, helpless and powerless, beautiful in her suffering.

Noble.

He lifted his hand to her cheek, for some reason wanting to relieve her, to let her know that he understood her, that he didn't think what she felt was a cause for shame.

She shuddered as his thumb brushed the wet mark from her plump cheek, the gaze of her doe eyes fixed on him, only on him.

"Trēsy. Son." He said softly, quietly, as if he was afraid to frighten her, his index finger running over her jaw, admiring the shape of her smooth face.

"Tresy."

"No." He said. "Trēsy. The letter 'ē' needs to be read deeper, as if you want to sing."

"Trēsy."

"Tala. Daugther."

He saw her shake her head, pressing her lips together as if to tell him that she was incapable of doing it, of uttering a word the meaning of which remained foreign to her.

She didn't know what it meant to be someone's daughter, just as he didn't know what it meant to be someone's betrothed, someone's son, someone's brother.

He pressed his forehead against hers, sinking his hand into the back of her neck, stroking soothingly her soft skin, feeling himself grow hard, his breath deep and uneven, filled with desire.

Her closeness was never forced, he thought with tenderness, to which his heart thumped harder in his chest.

Just like with her dragon, she allowed him to approach her when he wished, watching her from afar, circling around her until he himself, of his own accord, fell again and again into her arms.

"Tala."

"Hāedar." He hummed, feeling his erection throb hard in his breeches, his gaze fixed on her face. "Little sister."

She opened her eyes upon hearing those words, and he saw what he wanted in her hazy, hot gaze.

She was wet.

She merely sighed as his other hand did what he had longed to do since supper, touching her knee, travelling lazily upwards to her place of pleasure.

"Hāedar." She exhaled, her puffy, pink lips parted sweetly, her hard nipples peeking through her robe.

Gods, how he craved her.

I'm going to caress her, he thought, and then I'll take her here, on this table.

"Lēkia." He breathed out in a trembling voice, closing his hand over her womanhood, her eyebrows arching in disbelief as a quiet, innocent moan broke from her throat. "Older brother."

Say it, he thought, feeling his cock twitch in his breeches in impatience, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"Lēkia." She moaned as if calling out to him, begging him to end her suffering, and his hand immediately clenched in her hair allowing his mouth, swollen with desire, to close on hers in a greedy, hot kiss.

She gasped in his throat as their one lustful kiss turned into a second, a third and a fourth – a surprised murmur of delight broke from his lips as her soft hand touch his cheek, combing through his hair at last, her closeness so unforced, tender, warm, innocent, desired.

He thought he had never allowed himself to be kissed on the mouth by Madam, while his lips sank again and again into her helpless sobs of pleasure, breathing hard with the loud clicks of their saliva, his impatient, slick tongue forced its way deep into her hot throat as his hand lifted the material of her robe higher.

She mewled and shuddered all over, clasping her hands on his body as his fingertips finally dug into the leaking, silken structure of her folds – he groaned low, surprised to feel her cunt pulsing all over, hot and moist under his fingers, ready for his further caresses.

She wanted this.

She wanted him inside her.

He thought his cock was about to burst with desire, but he knew he couldn't take her yet, so in an act of desperation he grabbed one of her hands and pressed it against the throbbing, hard bulge in his breeches.

They both groaned, panting into each other's mouths, teasing each other with the tips of their wet tongues as, while his fingers circled around her little pearl, she trailed over his long, swollen manhood.

He pulled her to him, embracing her around the waist, feeling her sweet nipples pushing against the material of his tunic as her swollen lips and soft thighs parted invitingly before him with her cry of pleasure, the tips of his fingers pushing against her slit, ready to slide into her and feel how tight and warm she was.

A voice stuck in their throats and they both pulled away from each other as if burned, terrified when they heard someone open the door – in some subconscious, involuntary reflex he wiped his fingers, sticky with her wetness against his breeches, her hands quickly leaving the material of her robe down.

When he saw Floris's grave face he closed his eyes and sighed, feeling his heart pounding like mad in bitterness and disappointment, his cock pulsing and twitching in his trousers, not understanding why he had interrupted their caresses when what he had experienced was so pleasurable.

So right.

"The guards told me I would find you here, my Prince. I did not know you would have company." She said quietly, and he looked ahead with a blank stare, wondering how he could believe that she would just go to sleep, that she would not move after him, suspicious and full of concerns.

Rightful concerns, moreover.

"I am teaching my cousin the language of Old Valyria. It is the only way she can communicate with her dragon." He said, feeling only weariness and fatigue, not having the strength to look at her or speak to her.

He knew he had been cruel, but there was nothing he could do about it.

If she had been wiser, she would have seen that he did not care about her or her welfare and would have asked her father herself to break off their betrothal, not wanting to suffer such humiliation.

She, however, preferred to remain the prince's betrothed, even if unwanted one.

Floris walked over to the table and flipped through one of the pages, pretending to understand anything of what was written there.

"May I join you? I would also like to learn the language of your ancestors, my love." She said, and although he clearly asked her not to touch him, her hand laid on his shoulder.

He closed his eyes, feeling an unpleasant shudder.

Her hand on his shoulder or between his thighs, what difference did it make?

"I will not be able to concentrate with you standing by my side, my Lady." He whispered in a weak voice, for some reason feeling humiliated, having the urge to cry like a child.

Take your hand off me, he thought, but her hand slipped lower, to his forearm.

"Does my presence disturb you, my love?" She asked, but more than her question, his attention was drawn to the fact that his cousin wanted to get up from her seat.

"I'll leave you alone. With your permission." She said, and he pressed his lips together, feeling panic.

No, he thought.

Don't leave me alone with her.

"Daor, hāedar."

She looked at him in shock, her lips parted slightly in disbelief, her eyebrows arched in pain, in her eyes warmth, tenderness and something else from which he felt a pleasant tingling in his fingertips as he watched her sit back in her seat.

She stayed.

"What did you say, my love?" Floris asked, and he licked his lower lip, feeling impatience.

"I don't allow it. We are not finished yet. Soon her dragon will move to fight at my side and she must be ready. I ask that you never interrupt us again. If you wish, we will take a walk around the royal gardens tomorrow, just as you desire." He said, willing to give her what she wanted as long as she left him alone and took her hand off him.

"Is it because she is your cousin? Like any Targaryen you prefer your own kin?" His betrothed asked with anger, and something snapped inside him – his fists hit the table with all his might, both of them jumping as he stood up like an enraged lion, thinking he was going to kill this whore with his own hands.

Who the fuck was she to speak to him like that?

He could have had her tongue for that and sent it in a small casket to her father as a warning so that none of his daughters would appear in the Red Keep again.

"Lēkia." He heard her pleading voice, her soft hand gently touching his arm in an attempt to stop him.

He looked at her, at his hāedar, at her sweet face red with emotion, her gaze full of request, her puffy lips parted in an uneven, deep breath.

If he could, he would kiss her again, her moist lips, her long neck, her plump breasts, her hard nipples, her smooth stomach, to finally sink his face into her leaking, soft cunt.

For a moment he considered doing this, he decided, however, that doing so would humiliate her, and he did not want that.

Her hand let go of him when she saw that the first wave of his anger had passed, replaced by a second, much more threatening one.

He looked at his betrothed, at her face twisted in a grimace of anger and pain, at her eyes filled with tears.

She had come to marry the image of a man, not him.

"I will consider that you never said it, my Lady. Otherwise I would have to recognise that you intended to insult me and my family. And that would mean, in turn, that my betrothed is a fool. Is that how it is, my Lady?" He asked with a sneer in his voice, the corner of his mouth twitching when he saw the frown on her forehead at his words.

"No, my Prince. I am not." She said, looking at his cousin in a way he didn't like, before he could say anything, however, Floris turned and walked away, leaving them alone.

Silence fell – he glanced at his cousin out of the corner of his eye, partly hoping that they would finish what they had started, still half-hard, but he saw that her face was turned away in embarrassment, her figure bent.

Unlike him, she had a sense of shame, he thought regretfully.

"You may leave." He said.

She nodded and moved towards the door, as if she was afraid that if she looked at him she wouldn't hold back and they would both sin even more than they already had.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard as the door closed behind her – he sat down in his chair, undid the belt from his tunic and untied his breeches, immediately putting his hand inside them.

He groaned throatily and leaned his forehead down, pressing it against the wooden table top, imagining that he was actually cuddling it to her sweet breasts, gripping his erection in his palm.

He imagined how he would do this to her – how gentle his thrusts into her delicate, warm body would be, rocking his hips lazily back and forth, rolling them each time his fingers squeezed the base of his swollen, pink cock, sighing in pleasure.

"– hāedar – oh, fuck –" He exhaled, speeding up, panting hard, imposing a more aggressive, faster pace on himself, squeezing his painfully hard erection with loud smacks of his palm against his stones, feeling that he would reach his peak embarrassingly quickly.

"– ah –" He moaned like a little boy, feeling tears under his eyelids at the thought of how great the relief that shook his body was, his mouth wide open as his pearly, sticky spend trickled down his fingers.

For a moment more he moved his hips in rhythm with his hand, imagining that he was deep inside her, in her warmth, snuggled between her soft breasts, calm and safe.

And then he opened his eyes and felt a squeeze in his throat, seeing the books and the candles all around him, feeling an embarrassing, painful emptiness.

His jaw trembled, his breath became heavy, but he did not allow himself to shed any tears, getting up from his seat, bringing himself to order.

He was just fastening the belt of his tunic when one of the guards suddenly rushed in, terrified.

"My Prince. Your prisoner has been attacked."

He stood over her bed feeling that he was quivering with rage, not hearing his mother's or his brother's discussion, looking at her gentle face immersed in sleep.

"Will she survive? We need her. How the fuck could this happen?" Aegon said, pacing around the room furiously, running his hand over his chin.

"In my opinion, she was hit in the back of the head with a long, heavy object, after which her head hit something hard again, probably the stone floor. This night will determine her death or life. If there has been bleeding inside her skull, nothing can be done." The Maester said, and he looked away, staring at Floris' face, who stood beside his mother, pale, afraid to lift her gaze to him.

For a moment he wondered, sure that it was her doing, whether to expose her in front of his brother, then, however, he decided that she might begin to say something about what she had seen, to spread rumours about his and his cousin's relationship.

He had to deal with her himself.

"We have fucking enemies everywhere. Maybe it was her father who sent someone to get rid of her?" His brother continued, thinking out loud.

Floris looked at him and nodded.

"It is very possible, Your Grace. Certainly Prince Daemon is furious that she managed to tame a dragon. Poor girl." She said, as if she was actually worried and sympathised with her, and he looked at her, grinning broadly.

I'm going to fucking kill you, he thought.

"Aemond. Do you find this amusing?" His mother said to him, snapping him out of his reverie.

"I find it very amusing, mother, because I think I know who did it." He said lightly, glancing at his brother, who spread his arms in a gesture of invitation.

"So tell us this secret." He said, and he looked at his betrothed with a smile.

"As soon as I am sure. Meanwhile, I will escort my betrothed to her chambers. She must surely be tired, and I do not wish to see her suffer a similar fate to my poor cousin." He sneered, cocking his head, stepping towards her.

"No need, my Prince, don't bother." She muttered, panicking, unable to look him in the eye as he towered over her.

"I insist."

Floris Baratheon's head slammed into the wall with all his strength as soon as the door to her chamber closed behind them – he grabbed her by the throat, holding the blade of his dagger against her chin.

"You will return to Storm's End and tell your illiterate father that our betrothal was broken because of you. Furthermore, you will tell him what you did to my cousin. You will say that the Crown could not, because of your unacceptable behaviour, bring about our marriage, but that the agreement between your father and the Realm is still in force. If your father objects, I will come to Storm's End on Vhagar once more, and I promise you that you will meet the fate of my nephew, you dumb, insolent cunt." He growled and let her go – Floris fell to her knees, drew in her air loudly and burst out sobbing, curling up in fear.

"– why are you hurting me? – I have nothing to do with it, I swear –" She mumbled, choking on her own tears.

"– and I swear you that if you insist on becoming my wife, I will hurt you every morning and every evening, for all the days of your life, and then I will fuck my cousin in the chamber next door so that you can listen to what pleasure means, which you will never know from me – you are to leave the Red Keep with the first light –" He said coldly and left, closing the door behind him with a loud slam.

When he returned back to her chamber, there were only the physicians and the Maester, who was supervising their work, laying cold cloths on her forehead.

"Did she get a fever?" He asked, sitting down beside her on the soft bed, touching her cheek.

It was hot.

"Yes." He said, bringing a new bowl of water and ice.

"Leave it. I'll do it myself." He said, rising from his seat, undoing the belt and buckles of his leather tunic, staying only in his white linen shirt tucked into his breeches.

"I will come to examine her again in an hour, my Prince." Said the Maester and bowed to him, leaving him alone with her.

He sat back on the bed beside her, pulling the cloth from her face, sinking it anew into the cold water only to place it on her warm forehead again.

"– umbagon lēda nyke, zaldrītsos (stay with me, little dragon) –" He hummed tenderly, his hand moving from her forehead higher, combing her soft hair with his fingers.

"– kepa –"

He froze, looking at her in pain, her brow arched in misery.

She thought he was Daemon.

He swallowed hard, leaning toward her, stroking her head with his hand as if she were a small child.

"– shhh –" He hushed her, his full lips pressing a soft, warm kiss on her hot forehead. "– you're safe now –"

She opened her eyes – he saw her tears, glistening in the candlelight, running down the sides of her face, as if his words had both hurt and soothed her.

He sighed as her small hand lifted to cup his scarred cheek, the tips of her fingers brushed against his skin.

"– lēkia –" She mumbled, something about the way she said it, the relief he saw in her eyes, made their lips press together in a sticky, tender kiss.

"– mmm –" She sighed as he repeated the caress with a quiet click of their saliva, running his thumb over her jaw and chin, sinking into the moist sweetness of her plump lips again and again, uniting with her in that innocent, intimate way.

They both breathed heavily as he pulled away from her, looking at each other for a moment, his erection pulsing hard in his breeches, letting him know he had to stop.

He couldn't take her now.

He hummed, seeing that she closed her eyes again, stroking her hot, rosy cheek with his thumb, her face nuzzled into his hand.

"– sleep, little sister – your brother will stay by your side –"

451 notes · View notes

manmuncher777 · 1 month ago

Text

SHADOW

Daemon x Hightower!reader

Description - You’re alicent’s sister, back in kingslanding after years away, fed up of being overshadowed by your sister. But Daemon sees you potential, what you can be… with his help of course

SMUT!! 18+

Porn with loads of plot, dark!Daemon, manipulation, preying, sex, oral f!recieving, mentions of kidnapping. Daemon Is just devious. I did not proof read lol

a/n - huge thanks to @calmingmelody96 for helping inspire me to write this request, its so long but I had so much fun making this charcater!!!

Your dress was tight, too tight. As if the green fabric adorning your waist was trying to kill you. For that, you thought, a small part of you might be thankful. You didn’t feel natural being in Kings Landing again after so long, after all these years. Childhood memories which carried much joy now feeling tainted as you glance to the looming towers of Kings landing. The air was thick with the mingled scents of the city, Salts from black water bay, the tang of smoke from coutless chimneys, and the unmistakable stench of the teeming masses that calle the capital home. For her, it was both familiar and alien, like an echo of a song half forgotten.

It all looked the same, yet so strikingly different. Your dresses green was mirrored by the banners that fluttered proudly on the walls, mixing with the stark red dragon of the targaryen’s.

The sight of it all set your heart twisting - a pang of longing that was tainted with the bitterness you have harboured all these years. This was Alicent’s domain now, Alicent’s world.

The air here was thicker than the skies of Oldtown. The sound of your boots tapping along the cobble stone as you made you way to the red keep, it felt strange that you knew the way all by yourself. Granted you did live here for years, but it still all felt very unnatural to you coming back again

You had left kinglanding not long Alicent’s marriage to the King. Despite being a few years younger than them both, you would join Alicent and Rhanerya as they caused troubled around the castle, listening intently as rhanerya would tell you of what a warrior she would be one day as she rode on dragon back, and giggling as alicent taught her how to become a proper lady of the court. That was the time when your father loved you equally.

But soon, things changed, the girls grew up and so did you. Rhanerya and Alicent got into a fierce fight - Alicent telling you about it later in her frustrations. Rhanerya had laid with Ser Criston Cole, putting her honour on the line. And then Alicent was to marry the king. You were made aware far later than you should have been, you father always dragging Alicent away, secretly talking with her about things he deemed you not worthy of understanding. That was when your relationship truly faultered, Alicent no longer had time to be your sister, only your Queen. Your father had no time for you, Only his other daughter

At first you had tried to stay, trying to find a role in court. You just wanted to be close to Alicent. But the bing you once shared withered, turning you into a shadow of a family obsessed with power and position.

The descion to leave was your own, no one even thought about trying to stop you. Alicent had kept you away from rhanerya, you only other friend. How you wished you could listen to her stories once more. But as you bind with your sister died, so did the one with you friend. when you passed her in the halls, you were once again a shadow, nothing there to acknowledge.

Deep down that childish part of you had hoped for a latter or a visit, anything on your night of leave. None came. And so you buried the hurt, and buried the little girl who had grown up here, convincing yourself you were far better on you own, out of the vile web of lies and twisted politics

Each step up the stairs you took bringing a tight feeling on your chest.

The doors of the red keeps grand hall swung open - and there she was. Alicent. Your sister stood on the far side of the room, bathed in the white light shining from the tall windows. Time had refined her beauty, her soft childish features now sharpened and regal. Clad in a deep green gown, her every movement measured, elegant and deliberate. She truly was the Queen your father had modded her into.

Seeing your sister again only brought back the flood of memories you share, for a moment you were certain you could hear her giggle, echoing in your mind. The faint scent of the lavender perfume you would brain into each others hair.

But those memories were gone almost as quick as they came, replaced by the sharp sting of reality.

Alicent’s Gaze met yours, and for the briefest moment something flickered there - recognition or perhaps even guilt. But then it was gone, replaced by her polished mask of queen.

“Sister,” Alicent begins, stepping towards you with open arms “It gladdens my heart to see you, it had been far too long.”

Your heart twisted at the sound of her voice. It wasnt fair - how could she act as if nothing had happened all these years., You wanted to shout, to demand answers. But all you could do was stand there, frozen.

“Indeed, it has been.. long” You manage a stiff nod.

“Far too long dear sister, I have missed you.” Alicent replied, her smile unwavering

‘dear sister” the words felt hollow, like a polished piece of fruit, rotting inside. Missed you? why had she never written never sent word. You only heard of her children due to word of mouth.

“How have you been?” Alicent asked, her tone so light, so casual, as though they had parted only yesterday. Her hands grasping your unwilling ones.

You pulled her hands back slowly, your jaw tightening. “I’ve been as well as one can be,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “It seems you’ve been… busy.”

If Alicent noticed the edge in your tone, she didn’t show it. “There is so much to catch up on,” she said, linking their arms as though nothing had changed. “Come, walk with me. You must tell me everything.”

As Alicent led you deeper into the keep, talking as though the years of silence had never existed, you felt your bitterness churn like a storm. you wanted to shake Alicent, to force her to acknowledge the hurt she had caused. But instead, you let herself be pulled along, your mind spinning.

It was clear Alicent wanted to erase the past, to pretend the years of abandonment didn’t matter. And maybe, for the sake of the queen’s peace, she expected you to do the same. But as they walked, one thing became certain—you wouldn’t make it so easy for your sister to forget.

The chamber was quieter than you had expected. Outside, the sounds of the bustling castle filtered through the walls—servants hurrying down corridors, the clang of preparations echoing from the kitchens, and the faint hum of voices carrying snippets of conversation. Yet here, within these four walls, it felt as though the air had stilled, wrapping around you like a suffocating shroud.

you sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting in your lap, fingers twisting the edge of your sleeve. Alicent’s words still echoed in your mind—a feast. A grand gathering to celebrate your return, Alicent had said, her voice warm and full of purpose. But beneath the surface, you knew there was more. There was always more with her sister now.

Your gaze flicked to the small mirror on the table, catching your own reflection. You barely recognized the woman staring back at you. The years had changed you—softened some features, hardened others—but it wasn’t just time. It was everything you had lost. Everything you had left behind

Your mind was now flowing with thoughts and worries. How would Rhanerya greet you? Would she be indifferent? Hostile - you knew her an Alicent’s relationship was over now. Or would she wear the same mask as alicent, pretending the past had never happened? you weren’t sure which would hurt more.

And then there were the others—the courtiers, the lords, the ladies, all of whom had watched you fade from the capital without a word, without a care. What would they think, seeing you now? A woman called back by her sister, thrust into the court she had abandoned, a pawn in games she no longer wished to play.

Perhaps tonight would be a reckoning. A chance to remind them all that you were not a woman to be forgotten or dismissed.The thought sent a flicker of fire through your veins, though it was quickly doused by the nerves coiling in your stomach. You stood and approached the window, looking out at the Red Keep bathed in the light of the setting sun. The feast would begin soon, and with it, the weight of a past you could no longer avoid.

With a deep breath, you turned back to the gown on the bed. If they wanted you to play the part tonight, you would. But it would be on her terms.

The dress you adorned that evening was not of your typical house style, your gown was crafted from a get black silk, small peaks of green lace poking through around the hem and bodice. You gave up all symbols of your house, not picking any of the gold jewellery you had. Instead a necklace. A silver one your mother had left you - you expressed your dislike for the family colours, this was something she left you an only you. Beautifully cast, shinning sharply in the light a small emerald in the middle, dangling on your chest. The necklace was tight, framing your neck and features. It fitted the low cut of the gown, you were no longer a child. Your gown sat delicately off your shoulders, the sleeves are embroider with the same green lace, yet a see through material. Silver chains frame the front of the bodice, you felt like a warrior, a knight maybe as they fit your snug and securely. No symbols of your house - other than the mild green adorned you that evening. You were a shadow, the black of your dress embracing that fact.

You step into the feast hall, deliberately late, and the moment the doors creak open, everything comes to a sudden, charged halt. The room falls into a heavy silence, like a breath held too long. You feel it—the weight of every single eye on you, the way their gazes burn into your skin. It isn’t unfamiliar, this attention. But tonight, it’s different. It’s not curiosity this time. It’s judgment, suspicion, and something colder, sharper. You feel the moment you’ve become the center of it all, and you savor it.

Your gown, the deep jet black of midnight, flows around you like a shadow, its silken fabric whispering against the floor as you move. It’s simple yet striking—elegant, with just a hint of rebellion woven into its very design. The silver chains draped across your bodice glint softly in the candlelight, the thin, intricate lines sharp and strong, like armor beneath the dark silk. The lace sleeves, almost ethereal, brush your arms like whispers of something long forgotten. The gown feels heavy in its defiance, the stark contrast to the rest of the court, and as you move through the room, you know it’s all they can see.

You catch his gaze—Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince. He sits there, as still as a shadow, his eyes never leaving you. There’s something in his stare, something unreadable and intense, that lingers a moment longer than it should. You feel it pull at you, as if his gaze could reach deep inside and expose what you refuse to show. You look away quickly, trying to push aside the strange fluttering in your chest. You’ve come here for yourself, for your own reasons, and not to be drawn in by anyone’s attention, not even his.

You remember the small moments, the ones that made your heart race, even though you knew they meant nothing. Daemon wasn’t cruel, not exactly. He would glance at you sometimes, when you were playing with Rhaenyra in the garden or lounging in the courtyard, his eyes flicking over you with a brief, almost imperceptible glance. It was nothing—a momentary flicker of attention that was gone before you could even process it. But it was enough to make your heart race, enough to send a jolt of excitement through you every time he acknowledged you, even if only for a split second.

He would never say anything to you directly, never linger long enough to make you believe there was any real interest. Instead, it was those little gestures—how he would ruffle your hair playfully, as though you were still just a child, but the touch lingered a moment longer than necessary. Or the way he would give you a smirk when you said something, as if amused by your words, as if you had somehow caught his attention, even for just a fleeting second. He never made it obvious, never let on that he cared about you more than anyone else, but that was what made it so intoxicating. It was always just enough to keep you wondering, enough to keep your heart tied up in knots.

When Rhaenyra would run off, lost in her own world, you would find yourself alone with him in the garden, and the silence between you would stretch out, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Sometimes, when he caught your eye, his expression would soften ever so slightly, and your breath would catch in your throat. You’d feel the heat in your cheeks, but you’d never look away. Not then. Not when he was looking at you like that, even if it was just for a moment.

He would lean in just a fraction closer as he spoke, his voice low and teasing, making you feel as though the conversation was just between the two of you. The others were never around, not when he let himself be just a little more relaxed, a little less of the untouchable prince. You lived for those brief moments, those stolen seconds when Daemon’s attention was on you, however fleeting it might be.

It was never more than that—a flicker, a smile, a brush of his hand against your arm—but it kept your heart bound to him, kept that crush alive even as the years passed. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that it wasn’t real, that he wasn’t interested in you the way you dreamed. But still, when he glanced your way, when his eyes lingered just a second longer, it made your world spin just a little faster.

You force yourself to keep walking, straight-backed and steady, as you approach your sister. The silence follows you, the gazes still locked onto your every movement. When you reach the high table, you see her—Alicent. She looks so much the same, yet so very different, and when you sit beside her, the space between you feels like an abyss. You can sense the tightness in her posture, the way her fingers clutch the edge of her goblet just a bit too tightly. The anger that simmers beneath her calm exterior isn’t something she’s even trying to hide now. It’s there, thick in the air, the silent wrath that she’s been holding back ever since you returned.

But you don’t flinch. You don’t look at her directly. Instead, you sit down with your back straight, your hands resting calmly on your lap as though nothing in this room could touch you. You can feel her tension, feel her eyes burning into you from the side, but you refuse to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it. The game has changed. You are no longer the girl she could command with a glance.

The air between you two thickens, like a storm that’s already begun to break. You feel it, the undeniable shift, as Alicent’s anger seethes just beneath the surface. But you hold your ground, your mind focused on the present moment, on the power you now hold in the space you’ve carved for yourself.

The moment you sit down, your eyes inevitably find him—your father, Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King. He’s seated just a few places away, his posture as straight and composed as you remember, the weight of duty etched into every line of his face. He looks older, though. Perhaps it’s the years of maneuvering the chessboard that is court life, or perhaps it’s simply time catching up with him. But his eyes... they haven’t changed. They are still sharp, calculating, always looking for the next move.

For a moment, you’re struck by the sheer oddity of it—how he can seem so familiar and yet so distant all at once. You’d spent so many years trying to earn those eyes' approval, only for them to shift away from you and settle on Alicent the moment she married the King. You can still hear his voice echoing in your mind, dismissing you as if you were an afterthought: “You are no longer needed here.” The sting of those words hasn’t faded, even after all this time.

Now, though, his gaze has found you again, drawn there almost magnetically. But it isn’t approval you see. No, it’s something else entirely. His brow furrows ever so slightly, and you notice his eyes catch on the necklace resting just above the neckline of your gown. Your mother’s necklace—silver, not the greens or golds of your house. You haven’t worn it in years, not since the day he told you it didn’t “suit your station.” It had been easier, back then, to simply put it away, to avoid the argument, to not feel the heavy weight of his disapproval every time he looked at you. But tonight, it sits proudly against your skin, a subtle but deliberate act of rebellion. And you know he sees it. You see the flicker of recognition, the way his lips press into a thin line, the tightness in his jaw that betrays his otherwise stoic demeanor. He’s never been one for outbursts, not in public, but you know the signs of his displeasure as well as you know your own reflection.

Alicent notices too. Her eyes flick briefly to your necklace, her expression unreadable. She’s perfected that, hasn’t she? The calm mask that reveals nothing of the thoughts swirling beneath. But you see the slight shift in her posture, the way her hand stills on her goblet for just a moment too long. She recognizes it as well—your mother’s necklace, the one that had been left to you and only you. And though her face remains impassive, you can sense something stirring beneath the surface. Guilt, perhaps? Or simply discomfort? You can’t be sure, and you don’t particularly care.Your father, however, is a different story. You meet his gaze, refusing to look away, refusing to shrink under the weight of his disapproval. There’s a part of you that wonders if he’ll say something, if he’ll try to admonish you here, in front of the entire court. But he doesn’t. Instead, he simply looks at you, his expression unreadable save for the faint flicker of annoyance in his eyes.

And for the first time in years, you feel a strange sense of power. It’s not much, just a small spark, but it’s there—a quiet defiance that burns brighter with each passing second. Let him stew in his disapproval. Let him wonder if you wore the necklace for this very reason, to remind him of what he cast aside. Because in truth, maybe you did.

The feast continues, but for you, it’s like you’re in a different world—your heart beats steadily, and a quiet sense of satisfaction hums through you. You’ve made your choice. Tonight, you are no longer just a pawn. Tonight, you are the one who will shape the story.

And as Daemon’s gaze lingers on you once more, you smile to yourself, knowing that he—like everyone else in this room—will soon see that you are a force to be reckoned with.

The feast hall hums with life, the air thick with the clink of silverware, the rustle of rich fabrics, and the soft murmur of conversation. You sit in silence, the noise of the room all but fading into the background as you watch the scenes unfold before you. Lords and ladies cluster in small groups, their voices low but eager, whispers floating like smoke in the air. They glance at you now and then, no doubt wondering what’s behind the change in your appearance, the subtle defiance in your gown, in your presence. They can’t decide whether you are the same, or something new. You don’t mind. Let them wonder.The soft strains of music begin to fill the hall as the dancers step onto the floor, swirling in delicate steps as the violins and lutes carry the rhythm of the night. The bright, flowing colors of the dancers’ gowns blur in the air as they move, their laughter light and carefree. The court seems to forget its formalities for a brief moment, caught in the frivolity of the dance, the sound of soft feet tapping against the stone floors. You feel like an observer, watching them from your seat, your own heart at a steady, deliberate beat, disconnected from the joy that surrounds you. You don’t dance tonight. Tonight, you are simply here, marking your place.

The King, kind-hearted as he always was, leans toward you with a smile, his voice gentle as he speaks. “It’s good to see you back at the capital,” he says, his tone warm, almost fatherly. He’s never been anything but kind to you, his eyes always carrying that same genuine kindness that made it impossible to feel anything but at ease in his presence. You nod politely, your lips curling into a small smile, but you can’t help but feel the weight of the room shift around you. It’s not uncomfortable, not exactly. But it’s different now. There’s something in the air tonight that you can’t quite shake. You sense the tension in the corners of the hall, in the soft glances exchanged when they think no one is watching.

You see Alicent’s head snap to the king, you could tell she did not approve of his kindness, but she didn’t care say anything. After all, she needed this night to go incredibly well.

Before you can respond fully, Rhaenyra leans toward you, past her father, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. “I’m glad you’re back,” she says, her words a comfort, a reminder of the past. “I know I haven’t written... I should have. I’m sorry for that. Things have been... complicated.” Her smile is genuine, but her eyes—those familiar, warm eyes—hold something more, something unspoken, a shared understanding of how much has changed since the days when you were just children.

“Thank you rhanerya, its so lovely to see you again” a soft smile graces your features and youre glad that something positive has managed to from from this night. Alicent one more looking frustrated by the kindness of rhanerya’ a words, yet the princess paid her no mind.l

Rhanerya opens her mouth to carry on, when a new voice breaks in, cutting through the conversation like a blade. “A dance, my lady?”

Daemon Targaryen.

He stands at the edge of the table, a playful smirk on his lips, his eyes glinting with mischief as he surveys you. He’s always had that look about him—the kind that makes your stomach tighten, the kind that draws you in despite yourself. You feel the room’s attention shift again, as if everyone is waiting for you to respond, waiting to see what you’ll do. You know what they expect, what they want to see: a game, a flirtation, perhaps even a refusal that will keep the air buzzing with gossip for the rest of the night.

But you’re no fool. You know the rules here, and you know Daemon well enough to know that he’s never one to simply walk away. He stands there, waiting, his smirk deepening as he looks from you to the others at the table, all too aware of the eyes on him.

Rhaenyra’s expression falters just for a moment, but only for a brief second—something in her eyes, a flicker of recognition. You can’t tell if it’s jealousy or something else, but it’s gone before you can truly understand it. She shifts, her gaze quickly returning to Daemon, then back to you. You can almost hear her soft, unspoken question: What will you do now?

You know what the court expects. You know the rumors that swirl around Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince, the dashing yet dangerous man who can make any woman’s heart race. But tonight, you are not the girl you once were. You are no longer the one who swooned at his glances, who dreamt of him in secret. Tonight, you are your own woman, unafraid to carve your own path, even if that path leads into the whirlwind of trouble Daemon inevitably brings.

But still, when his eyes meet yours, you feel that familiar flutter, that rush of something old and dangerous stirring within you.

“A dance?” you repeat, a slight smile tugging at your lips. You hesitate, just a fraction of a second longer than necessary, before you rise, the tension in the air palpable. The music swells around you as you step forward, your gown trailing behind you like a shadow, as the hall watches you, the game already set in motion.

And for just a moment, you wonder if this night will change everything.

Daemon extends his hand, his grin sharp as a blade, his silver hair catching the glow of the hall’s countless candles. His confidence is infuriating and intoxicating all at once, and you can feel the room’s collective breath catch as you place your hand in his. The warmth of his palm against yours sends a ripple of something electric up your spine. He leads you to the center of the dance floor with the grace of a man who knows exactly what kind of chaos he inspires.

The music shifts as the two of you step into place, the tempo slow and seductive, perfectly suited to the swirl of your gown as he begins to guide you. His movements are precise yet effortless, and you find yourself matching his steps with an ease that surprises you. His smirk deepens as his eyes meet yours. “The Queen of Shadows,” he says, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “How fitting. A shadow is all they’ve ever let you be... but tonight, you’ve turned it into a crown.”

Your breath catches at the words, a mixture of disbelief and... something else. The way he says it, it’s not mockery. It’s a compliment—a rare, genuine acknowledgment of your defiance, your power. For years, you’ve been invisible, cast aside, an afterthought. And yet here you are, the center of attention, with the Rogue Prince himself spinning you around the room as though you are the only one who matters.

The corners of your lips twitch upward, and you meet his gaze head-on. “Careful, Prince Daemon,” you reply, your voice laced with a confidence you haven’t felt in years. “Someone might think you mean that.”

“Oh, I do,” he murmurs, twirling you effortlessly before pulling you back against him. His hand rests at the small of your back, firm yet not restricting. “You’ve always been wasted in the shadows. Tonight, you remind them all what a mistake that was.”

You can feel the heat of countless eyes on you, but none more so than Alicent’s. She sits rigid at the high table, her expression betraying a flicker of worry as she watches the two of you glide across the floor. You know exactly what she’s thinking. This isn’t part of the plan. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. She’s fretting over the arrangement she’s carefully orchestrated, the marriage she’s likely secured for you without your consent. But you don’t care. Not tonight.

Otto’s face is a mask of controlled tension, his fingers gripping the armrest of his chair just a fraction too tightly. He, too, is calculating, trying to figure out how to intervene without causing a scene. But Daemon doesn’t give them the chance. He spins you again, drawing you further into the crowd of dancers, further away from their reach.

“They’re furious, you know,” Daemon teases, his voice laced with amusement. “Your father, your sister... I’d wager half the room is scandalized.”

Good,” you reply, your voice firm. “Let them be.”

He chuckles at that, a low, rich sound that makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t fully understand. “That’s the spirit. Perhaps there’s more fire in you than they realize.”

The music swells, and Daemon guides you through the intricate steps with a practiced ease, his hand never faltering as he keeps you close. He leans in slightly, his lips near your ear. “But tell me,” he says, his tone quieter now, more intimate, “did you wear this gown for yourself... or for me?”

Your heart stutters for a moment, but you catch yourself before you falter. You tilt your head slightly, your own smirk forming. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

His laughter is soft and wicked, and as the dance carries you both across the floor, you realize that, for the first time in years, you feel truly alive. Let them watch. Let them whisper. Tonight, you are no longer a shadow. Tonight, you are something more. And the Rogue Prince, with all his dangerous charm, seems to see it too

You were far to busy to notice you father and sister slipping away from the feast

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

The murmur of the feast hall echoes faintly down the corridor, but here, in the shadowed alcove behind a tapestry, Alicent stands with her father, their voices low. Her fingers nervously trace the edges of her green gown, her expression carefully measured.

“She’s drawing far too much attention,” Alicent murmurs, glancing toward the faint glow of the hall. “Daemon, of all people. If she continues like this, the lords will start talking, and that cannot happen.”

Otto, ever composed, clasps his hands behind his back. “She won’t have the chance. The arrangement has already been made. The match is strong, politically advantageous. Once it’s announced, her theatrics will be irrelevant.”

Alicent nods, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—hesitation, perhaps? “Does she truly need to be told tonight? This was meant to bring her back into the fold, not alienate her further.”

“She has no choice,” Otto says firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “The King has agreed. It is done.”

Alicent swallows, her throat tight as she lowers her gaze. “She’ll hate me for this,” she whispers.

Otto’s voice softens slightly, but it remains resolute. “Better that she hates us now than jeopardizes the stability of the realm. She’ll come to see the wisdom of it in time.”

The sound of laughter swells from the feast hall, and Alicent straightens, smoothing the fabric of her gown as she forces a calm expression onto her face. “Very well,” she says quietly, before stepping back toward the festivities

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

The feast blurs around you, the laughter and music fading into the background. The weight of Daemon’s gaze pulls at you, as if tethering you to him despite the chaos swirling in the hall. You’ve tried to ignore him, to keep your composure, but when he suddenly appears at your side, leaning in close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, it’s impossible to pretend he’s not there.

“Are you bored yet, little shadow?” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You glance at him, trying to mask your curiosity. “And why would that concern you?”

His smirk is wicked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Because I know how much you hate being their obedient little puppet. And because I have a much better idea for how to spend the evening.”

Your brow furrows, suspicion flickering in your chest. “What are you suggesting?”

He leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks. “Come with me. Let’s give them something to really talk about.”

Part of you worries the man is toying with you, you were no fool, you knew what he was like. But you cant help be drawn into his trap.

The air between you feels charged, dangerous. You know you shouldn’t. You know whatever he has planned will only make things worse. But the allure of defiance, of stepping out of the role they’ve forced you into, is too tempting to resist.

He was the wolf, guiding you to slaughter. Daemon knew what he wanted, and if toying with you was what he had to do, then so be it.

A dark streak in him loved to watch as you fell into his plan, just as he thought you might.

Before you can overthink it, you find yourself nodding.

The cool night air greets you as Daemon leads you through the darkened corridors of the castle. Your gown whispers against the stone floors, and the sound of the feast grows faint behind you. You should feel nervous, but instead, there’s a strange exhilaration coursing through your veins.

“Where are we going?” you whisper, your voice tinged with both curiosity and unease.

Daemon glances back at you, his smirk still firmly in place. “You’ll see.”

He leads you out onto a narrow balcony overlooking the courtyard below. The city of King’s Landing sprawls beyond, its lights twinkling like a sea of stars. Daemon leans against the railing, his posture relaxed, but his eyes are sharp as they study you.

“Do you know what they see when they look at you?” he asks suddenly, his tone softer now, almost contemplative.

You blink at him, caught off guard. “What?”

“They see a girl too afraid to claim what’s hers,” he continues, his gaze locking onto yours. “Too afraid to break the rules they’ve chained her with. You let them shape you, define you, when you could be so much more.”

His words sting because they’re true, and he knows it. But there’s something in his tone, something almost cruel in the way he peels back your defenses. The way he’s sculpting you into what he needs you to be.

“And what do you see?” you ask, your voice quiet, almost a challenge. You desperately wanted to know.

A flicker of something unreadable passes over his face before he steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush against the silver chain of your mother’s necklace. “I see someone who doesn’t belong in their world. Someone who could burn it all down if she dared.”

The words are intoxicating, and you hate how much they resonate. He steps even closer, his presence overwhelming, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

“They think they can control you,” he says, his fingers lightly tracing the necklace. “Prove them wrong. Let them see what happens when you step out of their grasp.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at him, caught between the urge to pull away and the desire to stay. “How?”

Daemon’s smirk returns, sharper now. “By doing what they’d never expect. By doing exactly what they forbid.”

He gestures out toward the city, the suggestion hanging in the air between you. Sneaking out of the castle with him would be reckless, dangerous—everything they would hate. And he knows that.

“You want to unsettle them?” he says, his voice laced with dark amusement. “Then let’s see how far you’re willing to go.”

There’s a challenge in his eyes, and you can feel the weight of the decision pressing down on you. You know he’s playing on your desire for freedom, on the resentment simmering in your chest. But the temptation to follow him, to throw caution to the wind, is impossible to ignore.

Temptation was all Daemon was, he thrived off it. Relishing in how you gave into it so easily.

As you stare back at him, you realize that Daemon isn’t just dangerous—he’s intoxicatingly so. And tonight, he’s offering you a taste of that danger, knowing full well it’s something you can’t resist

The air outside the castle walls is thick with the scent of the city—smoke, spice, and the faint tang of the sea. It’s noisy here, alive in a way the stifling halls of the Red Keep never are. Daemon moves through the labyrinth of streets as if he owns them, his steps confident, his silver hair catching the glow of lanterns as he glances back at you.

“Try to keep up, little shadow,” he calls over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You quicken your pace, trying not to let the unfamiliar surroundings overwhelm you. The streets are crowded, lined with vendors, performers, and people shouting over one another. It’s unlike anything you’ve experienced, and you feel the weight of every curious glance thrown your way.

“Daemon,” you hiss, catching up to him. “Where are we going?

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you closer as a group of rowdy men stumble past. The touch is possessive, almost territorial, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re with me. No one will dare lay a hand on you.”

His words are meant to be reassuring, but there’s an edge to them, a reminder of his reputation. You don’t pull away, though, and he notices, his smirk deepening.

The tavern is dimly lit, filled with the smell of ale and sweat. The din of laughter and shouting washes over you as Daemon leads you inside. It’s a far cry from the elegant halls of the castle—crude and chaotic—but Daemon seems entirely at ease.

He tosses a coin to the barkeep without breaking stride, securing two goblets of wine before steering you toward a corner table. The wooden bench creaks as you sit, and you feel the weight of curious eyes on you.

“You’ve done this before,” you say, watching him over the rim of your goblet as you take a cautious sip.

“More times than I can count,” he replies easily, leaning back in his seat. “The city is far more entertaining than that gilded cage we left behind.”

You glance around, the noise and unfamiliarity pressing in on you. “I’m not sure I belong here.”

His eyes narrow slightly, and he leans forward, his voice dropping. “That’s where you’re wrong. You belong wherever you choose to be. The problem is, you’ve spent your entire life letting others decide for you.”

His words sting, but there’s a truth to them that you can’t ignore. You look away, swirling the wine in your goblet, and he chuckles softly.

“You’re too used to being told who you are,” he says, his tone softening just enough to draw you back in. “But tonight, you get to decide. No one here knows your name, your bloodline. You could be anyone.”

You glance at him, searching for any sign of mockery, but his expression is unreadable. “And who are you when you’re not the rogue prince?”

His smirk returns, but there’s something darker beneath it. “Exactly who I choose to be.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something dangerous.

As the night wears on, Daemon’s attention never wavers from you. He teases, flirts, and challenges you at every turn, his words laced with a mix of charm and provocation.

When a musician begins to play, he stands and extends a hand to you. “Dance with me.”

“Here?” you ask, glancing around nervously.

“Why not?” he counters, his smirk daring you to refuse.

You hesitate, but the weight of his gaze and the pull of his confidence draw you to your feet. The floor is uneven, the space too crowded, but Daemon moves as if none of it matters. His hand finds your waist, his other clasping yours, and he guides you into a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“You’re nervous,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

“I’m not used to this,” you admit.

His smirk softens into something almost resembling patience. “That’s the point, little shadow. You’ve spent too long hiding. Let them see you.”

His words sink deep, stirring something inside you. But even as you let him lead, you can’t ignore the way he looks at you—as if he knows exactly what he’s doing, as if every word and gesture is calculated.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask suddenly, searching his face for an answer.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate. “Because you deserve to know what it feels like to live.”

But there’s something else in his eyes, something he doesn’t say. And as he spins you across the uneven floor, you realize that with Daemon, the line between freedom and manipulation is razor-thin. He’s offering you a taste of something intoxicating, but at what cost?

The tavern hums with the chaotic noise of its patrons, but in this small corner, everything feels unbearably still. Daemon’s eyes are fixed on yours, the intensity of his gaze drawing you in like a magnet. The warmth of his hand rests lightly on your waist, the touch sending a strange shiver through your body. You can feel your heart racing, uncertainty curling in your stomach.

“Daemon...” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intend.

He leans in closer, the proximity making it impossible to breathe normally. The scent of wine and something darker—more dangerous—lingers around him, but it’s intoxicating, and you can’t seem to pull away.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Daemon whispers, his lips barely grazing your ear. “I won’t hurt you, little shadow. Not unless you want me to.”

Your breath hitches at the weight of his words. You know better than to be so close, to let him get under your skin like this, but something inside you trembles with curiosity, with an aching desire to know what he’s offering.

But there’s still hesitation, a voice in your mind warning you to be careful, to stop before things go too far. You glance around, but the world outside this little bubble of silence feels distant. There’s no escape.

“I... I’m not sure,” you whisper, your heart pounding.

Daemon’s fingers trace along the edge of your jaw, the touch soft but purposeful, sending a wave of heat rushing through you. He smiles, a slow, knowing thing that sends an uneasy thrill through your veins.

“I think you are,” he murmurs, his breath mingling with yours, the words laced with something darker, something you don’t fully understand yet. “You’ve always known, haven’t you? You just needed a little push.”

Before you can respond, he’s pulling you closer, the kiss coming so swiftly you don’t have time to think, to pull away. His lips are firm against yours, and the world fades. You can taste the wine on his breath, the heat of his body pressing into yours, and for a moment, you forget everything else.

But then, a flicker of awareness creeps back into your mind—his hands, too deliberate in their hold, the force behind the kiss, the way his tongue brushes against yours with an almost possessive edge. You want to pull away, but the pull of his touch keeps you rooted, his lips deepening the kiss, coaxing you further into the storm he’s created.

For a moment, you let it happen—because you want it, don’t you? There’s no mistaking the way your pulse quickens, the way your body reacts to him, to the dangerous thrill of what’s happening between you.

But then, a small voice inside you whispers that this isn’t what it seems. Daemon isn’t just taking what he wants; he’s testing you. He’s pushing you, knowing you won’t resist, and that thought should terrify you, but instead, it only deepens the knot in your stomach.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes watching you with a glimmer of something—triumph, perhaps, or perhaps it’s something more complex.

“You’re so innocent,” Daemon breathes, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down your spine. “So naive. But you’ll learn.

The words hang between you, heavy and loaded. And for the first time, you realize that the weight of his care is just as suffocating as his manipulation. He sees you as a puzzle, something to unravel, and in doing so, he’s slowly drawing you into his world—one where rules are bent, and where the only thing that matters is getting what you want.

You blink, your breath shaky, trying to regain your composure, but it’s hard with Daemon so close. You can’t tell if the heat in your chest is desire or something darker.

“What... what do you want from me?”

Daemon chuckles softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Everything, little shadow. Everything.”

The moon is a silver crescent, casting shadows across the streets of King’s Landing as you and Daemon slip through the dark alleys, hearts still racing from the night’s escapade. The thrill of defiance still buzzes in your veins, but something else gnaws at you—a feeling you can’t shake, a creeping sense that this is all too dangerous, that you’ve stepped too far into a world you can’t control.

Daemon walks beside you, his hand briefly brushing against yours. You can’t tell whether it’s for your comfort or his, but you don’t pull away. His grin is still mischievous, his eyes sparkling with the kind of dangerous energy that makes your heart skip a beat.

“I do enjoy watching them squirm,” Daemon murmurs, more to himself than to you, but you hear it clearly. “You, little shadow... you do have a knack for it.”

Your chest tightens with a mixture of exhilaration and guilt. This was reckless—this was too much. But just as quickly, your rebellious streak rises again, and you refuse to be the one to regret. Not yet.

However, as you near the castle gates, you realize too late that you’ve already lost the luxury of freedom. The looming figures of your family stand before you, gathered like statues carved from ice. Alicent’s face is pale with fury, her lips tight in an unforgiving line. Otto stands at her side, his expression unreadable but sharp as a blade. The King, normally so composed, stands with furrowed brows and clenched fists.

Rhaenyra’s presence only makes it worse—her eyes flick between you and Daemon, her gaze mixed with concern and a subtle understanding of the storm that’s about to break.

Before you can even take another step, Alicent’s voice slices through the air like a whip.

“There you are. Thought you could slip away unnoticed, did you?” She doesn’t wait for a response, her voice tightening. “You’ve ruined everything. Do you understand that? You’ve ruined your future. Your marriage to Lord Harroway... gone. All because of this.” She points an accusing finger at Daemon, her eyes filled with disdain.

Daemon, ever the provocateur, gives a lazy smile. “Ruined? Hardly. She’s free for once. Shouldn’t that be celebrated, dear sister?” His voice oozes mockery, and you can’t help but feel a spark of anger at his casual disregard for the consequences.

Your heart lurches as Alicent’s words sink in, the anger bubbling up inside you. “I didn’t know! You—you never told me! I didn’t even know about this... this arranged marriage!”

“You don’t have the luxury of ignorance,” Otto’s voice cuts in, cold as ice. “The plans were made. Your future was decided long ago. And now, thanks to your impulsive behavior, we have to start from scratch.”

“I have to start from scratch? What about you?” you snap, your temper flaring. “You’ve decided my life for me without even asking what I want, without ever giving me a choice!”

Alicent steps closer, her voice hissing through gritted teeth. “You have no choice now. You’ve made your bed, and you’ll lie in it. There’s no room for him in it. Not anymore.” She points at Daemon again, and you feel a pang in your chest. The venom in her words cuts deeper than you expected.

Daemon, undeterred, steps forward with that same cocky smile, his eyes glinting with something darker. “What’s the problem, sister? Afraid my presence will overshadow your perfect little plans? Your little puppet of a daughter?” His words are sharp and deliberately cruel.

Daemon’s voice becomes dangerously soft. "You think you can just control her, that you can marry her off like some prize? You should be grateful, Otto, that I didn’t choose to go even further."

Daemon leans in just a bit closer to Otto, eyes gleaming with twisted satisfaction. "After all, I kissed her. Right under your nose. I took what you thought you could control." He lets the words hang in the air like a heavy, biting taunt, the cruelty of the statement drawing a sharp intake of breath from Otto and the others.

You see Alicent’s hands tighten at her sides, her jaw locking in fury, but it’s Otto who steps forward next, his voice low and dangerous.

“Enough. This ends now. I don’t care if you’re the King’s brother. You’ve risked her honor—my daughter’s honor—and I will not tolerate it.”

Daemon doesn’t back down, though. He looks at you with a mixture of annoyance and something deeper, more calculating. “You know you can’t cage me, Otto. She wanted this. She wanted the freedom.”

For a moment, Daemon leans into otto, right next to his ear muttering something only otto can hear “How about I fuck her next, then you’ll truly be ruined.”

You have no idea what Daemon said, but Otto pushed him away with such hatred in his eyes, you knew it was bad. “You bastard!” otto bellowed

Daemon chuckles darkly. "I’m not done yet. If you try to stop me again, Otto... you’ll regret it. I’ll take her whenever I want—no one, not even you, can stop me. I’ll just steal her away from you. And if you so much as look at me wrong, I’ll make sure your precious plans fall apart for good."

He grins, his expression both teasing and threatening, a dangerous mix of arrogance and cruelty. "The marriage is ruined, Otto. She’ll never be yours to control, not after this. You’ve lost."

Daemon then turns to look at you, eyes cold, calculating. "And don’t think I’m done with you either," he sneers, amusement flickering in his voice. "You were so willing to follow my lead tonight, to sneak away with me. And yet you stand there like you’re innocent. Do you really think I’ll let you just go back to your life?"

His words hit you harder than expected, and you can’t help but feel that the power Daemon wields over you is suffocating. You want to speak, to argue, but his presence is overpowering, his smirk twisting your insides into a knot.

Before you can react, the King steps forward, cutting off Daemon’s threat with a sharp command. "Daemon!" The King’s voice rings through the night like a hammer. "Enough of this insolence!"

Daemon’s gaze flickers briefly toward the King, his smirk returning. "Ah, the old man finally speaks. Are you afraid of losing control of everything, Your Grace?"

The King’s face hardens. "No one is taking her anywhere. You will not leave this castle with her. And if you try anything... there will be consequences."

Daemon’s smirk falters for just a moment, but then, in the blink of an eye, he gives a slight, mocking bow. "Of course, Your Grace. I understand." His voice is laced with sarcasm, and though he’s feigning submission, the air of threat still lingers in his every word.

Daemon turns back to you, his eyes still dark, but with a hint of something more—something that could be regret, or perhaps satisfaction at having rattled the cages. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he steps away, his presence still hanging heavily in the air.

Later, you find yourself in the cold, sterile confines of your chamber, the door slamming shut behind you with an echoing finality. The guards stand at attention outside, their presence a silent reminder that you’re not free to leave.

The anger inside you refuses to fade. How could they do this to you? How could they keep this marriage a secret, control every part of your life like this? Your hands tremble as you sit on the edge of your bed, staring at the floor. This was your life. Your choice. But now...

“You will marry Lord Harroway.” Otto’s voice, gravelly and severe, breaks through your spiraling thoughts. You look up to find him standing in the doorway, his face set like stone.

“I will not,” you say, your voice low, but steady. “You can’t force me into this. I won’t be some prize to be handed over for a political alliance.”

Otto takes a step closer, his eyes cold with an authority that’s suffocating. “You have no choice in this. You’ve ruined everything. Daemon has ruined everything. You will do what’s expected of you.”

Your chest tightens, and the tears you’ve been holding back threaten to spill. “I don’t want him,” you whisper, the truth cutting through your anger like a knife. “I want me. I want my freedom. Why can’t you see that?”

Otto’s expression hardens further, his jaw clenched as if the mere thought of your independence disgusts him. “You don’t get to decide that. It was decided long before you were born. You will marry Lord Harroway. If you want to see Daemon again—if you want any part of your life back—you’ll accept the life we’ve planned for you. There are no more choices.”

The finality in his words hangs in the air like a death sentence. You stand abruptly, your legs shaky beneath you.

“I won’t... I won’t do it.”

“Then you’ll live with the consequences,” Otto replies, his voice colder than ever. He turns to leave, but then pauses. “You’ll stay here until your head is clear. And if I hear of Daemon again, if I even hear his name from your lips...”

The threat is left hanging, and you can’t help but shudder at the coldness in his tone. The door slams behind him, leaving you alone in the silence of your prison.

Anger burns hot in your chest, a tangled mess of fury at your family, at the life they’ve forced upon you, and yet, there's something darker festering within. You’re furious with Daemon too—furious that he pushed you into this, egging them on with his recklessness, his devil-may-care attitude. Did he ever stop to think about the consequences? About how you would bear the weight of his actions? Of course not. He took what he wanted, without a second thought, and now, you’re left to pick up the pieces. And the worst part? You still want him

The days drag on, suffocating you in your solitude. Your chamber has become a prison, and every second spent there is a constant reminder of how tightly your family has bound you—your father, your mother, Alicent, all of them shaping your life without a care for what you want. They’ve planned your marriage, decided your future, and left you with no choice but to accept it.

The anger you feel burns hot inside you, but it’s a quiet rage, simmering beneath the surface. And then, just when you think you might explode, you hear it—the sound of your door creaking open.

Daemon.

He steps inside without hesitation, as if he’s done this a thousand times before, and his eyes sweep over you with an unsettling familiarity. The way he looks at you—it’s like he knows something you don’t.

For a second, your heart skips in your chest, and a twinge of excitement rushes through you. But then, the anger floods back, sharp and bitter. You feel it, and you want to lash out at him. He’s the reason everything has gone to hell. He’s the one who pushed your family to this point, his reckless actions leaving you to clean up the mess.

“just in your night gown my lady? How scandalous” he jokes, a sultry look in his eyes

“Daemon…” you hiss, not bothering to hide the fury in your voice. “What are you doing here? You’ve ruined everything! My life is no longer my own, and now you show up like it’s some kind of joke?”

He smiles, the kind of smile that promises trouble. “You think I don’t know that?” His voice is laced with amusement, as if the destruction of your life is just another game to him. “But let’s not pretend you didn’t enjoy it a little. You did, didn’t you?” His eyes gleam, dark and knowing. “I didn’t make you do anything. You chose to play, and now we both have to face the consequences.”

You flinch at his words. It’s true—you did enjoy the attention, the excitement, the flirtation. But you didn’t sign up for this. You didn’t expect him to abandon you, to let you suffer the consequences of his actions.

You cross your arms, trying to steady your breath. “How dare you speak to me like that the other night?” Your voice comes out harsher than you intended, but it doesn’t matter. You want him to know how deeply he’s hurt you, how careless he was with his words.

Daemon chuckles lowly, a sound that sends a shiver of unease down your spine. He stops just in front of you, his eyes glinting with something darker, something that makes your stomach tighten. “Oh, darling,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Did you think I didn’t mean it?”

You recoil slightly, the words stinging. “What’s wrong with you?” you snap, your voice wavering despite your efforts to remain composed.

He’s too close now, too overwhelming. His presence fills the room, making it feel smaller, suffocating. Daemon’s fingers brush against your arm as he leans down, his breath warm against your ear. “I know you’re angry,” he whispers. “I know you want to hate me. But you can’t. Not really. Not when you know how much I’ve ruined you...”

You swallow, the accusation hanging in the air. His words have a way of finding their mark, cutting deep into the places you thought were safe.

“I’ve ruined your little plans,” he continues, his voice mocking. “But you followed me, didn’t you? You followed me just as easily as you’ve followed everything else. And I know you can’t stop thinking about it. About me.” He pauses for a moment, eyes trailing over your face, reading every flicker of emotion. “You can’t stay angry at me, not when you know you want to be with me.”

His hand slowly reaches for your chin, tilting your face up toward him, forcing you to look him in the eye. His grip is tight, possessive, and for all your anger, you don’t push him away.

Daemon’s smirk widens, cruel and knowing. “You’ve always wanted to be a part of my world. Don’t pretend you didn’t. You couldn’t resist me then, and you won’t resist me now.”

His words are like a gentle caress to the skin, but they’re coated with venom, sharp and cruel beneath the surface. The accusation burns, and you want to deny it, want to push him away with everything in you. But something in the pit of your stomach churns—doubt, confusion, and a pull that you can’t seem to escape.

Daemon leans closer, his lips hovering just above your ear, his breath tickling your skin. “I can see it in your eyes. You hate that I’ve made you feel this way. But you know, deep down, that you’ll forgive me. Because, whether you like it or not, you belong to me now.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and Daemon watches you carefully, his gaze a mix of amusement and satisfaction, as if he knows exactly how deeply his words are cutting into you. He’s playing you like a stringed instrument, and you’re helpless to resist.

His lips brush against your ear, whispering softly, “You’ll forgive me, because you have no choice. You’ll forgive me because, no matter how much you deny it, you want me. And you know, darling, that’s the hardest truth you’ll ever have to face.”

You close your eyes, anger mixing with confusion, as Daemon straightens up, his fingers lingering on your chin a moment longer before he releases you. He steps back, seemingly content with himself, watching you, waiting for you to break, to give in.

“And don’t pretend you’re above it,” he adds, his voice low and cutting. “You’re not. You’ll forgive me. You always do.”

Daemon steps closer, the air between you thick with something charged. His presence is overpowering, and every part of you wants to pull away. But you can’t. You’re drawn to him in ways you don’t want to admit.

His voice softens, and he places a hand on your arm, his touch far too intimate, far too familiar. “Don’t be angry with me,” he murmurs, leaning in just a little closer. “I know you’re upset. But we both know you’re not some delicate flower. You’ll weather this storm better than anyone else.”

You can’t help but feel a flicker of doubt. The way he speaks, like he understands you, like he’s the only one who truly gets you—it makes your resolve start to crack. Your anger still lingers, but it’s harder to hold onto with him standing there, looking at you like he’s the only one who sees the real you.

“I’m not some pawn in your game,” you snap, even though part of you wonders if you already are. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you to come here and tell me everything will be fine, Daemon. Because it won’t be.”

He smiles again, but this time, there’s no humor in it. It’s predatory, like he’s toying with you, pushing you into a corner you didn’t even know existed. “You’re angry,” he says, his voice low, almost a purr. “I understand that. But don’t mistake my actions for cruelty. I did this because I knew you were strong enough to handle it. You’re not like the rest of them. You’re... different.”

You swallow hard, the words stirring something inside you. He’s right, in a way. You are different. You’ve always felt out of place, like the world around you was something you had to adapt to instead of shaping it for yourself. Daemon makes it sound so... tempting, as if he’s offering you a chance to be something more than just the dutiful daughter.

But then he steps closer, and the moment your skin touches his, something shifts. His presence is overwhelming, and your breath catches in your throat. He’s dangerous. You know this. He’s the reason your life is in chaos. But the way he looks at you, the way he makes you feel seen, it draws you in like a moth to the flame.

“You’re stronger than you know,” he says softly, his fingers tracing the line of your arm. “But you don’t have to face this alone. Not if you don’t want to.”

His words are so smooth, so convincing, and in that moment, you want to believe him. You want to believe that he’s telling the truth, that maybe, just maybe, he’s the one who will help you find a way out of this mess

“You can’t fix this, Daemon,” you say, though your voice cracks, betraying the doubt in your chest. “You’ve already made everything worse.”

“I’m not here to fix it,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper now, as if the words are meant for only the two of you. “I’m here to offer you an escape. An escape from them. An escape from the life they’ve planned for you.”

The weight of his words hits you hard. You’ve been trapped for so long, your fate sealed by others, and the thought of escaping it, of finally having control over your life, is a temptation you can’t ignore.

Daemon watches you closely, reading the turmoil in your eyes. “You don’t have to be their puppet anymore,” he says softly, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush your skin. “Come with me. Leave this place behind. I’ll make sure you’re free.”

Your heart races. Every part of you wants to run, to escape this suffocating existence. But you hesitate, because you know that following him means crossing a line you can never uncross. Yet, his gaze pulls you in, and for just a moment, the desire to be free, to be anything but the person they’ve molded you into, is stronger than anything else.

You look up at him, your breath shallow, and before you can stop yourself, the words slip out. “What do I do now?”

Daemon’s smile is slow, almost too pleased with himself. “Come with me,” he says, his voice thick with promise. “I’ll show you.”

Before you can say another word, his hand is on yours again, and he pulls you toward the door. Every step you take feels like a leap into the unknown, but you follow him anyway, trusting him more than you should, believing in the words he’s whispered into your ear

Daemon’s chambers are dimly lit, the flickering flame of the candles casting shadows that stretch across the stone walls like ghosts. The air is thick with the quiet of the night, but the tension is palpable. You stand near the door, heart racing in your chest as your nightgown clings too tightly to your skin, an innocent, exposed fabric that makes you feel both vulnerable and strange in Daemon’s presence. It’s just the two of you in this room now, and every breath feels heavy, weighted with the electricity that hums between you.

Daemon leans casually against the stone wall, one arm draped lazily over his waist, his gaze fixated on you with a curiosity that’s both unsettling and magnetic. His eyes—those stormy, knowing eyes—never leave you, studying you like a puzzle he can’t quite figure out, yet is intent on solving.

“You’ve made quite a habit of defying your family,” he says, his voice low and smooth, with that mischievous edge you’ve come to know all too well. “It’s... interesting. They thought they could control you, tie you down with a simple marriage, a pretty little contract. But here you are, free as ever. It suits you.”

You shift uncomfortably, his gaze like a weight pressing against you. The room suddenly feels too small.

“I’m not free,” you murmur, trying to push back against the pull of his words. “I’m just... running from one cage into another.”

Daemon’s lips curl into a smile, but it’s not comforting. It’s dangerous, calculated. He pushes himself off the wall slowly, almost lazily, as if he’s savoring the moment, the game. He steps closer, and the space between you grows smaller, until he’s only a few feet away.

“No,” he says, his voice dropping, lowering the temperature of the room even further. “You’re not running. You’re... escaping. There’s a difference.” His eyes flash as he takes another step, and you can’t help but notice how his movements are predatory, yet effortless. He makes it look so natural. “You’ve never really had a choice, have you? Always being told what to do, who to marry, where to go. You’re always playing by someone else’s rules.”

Your throat tightens as his words sink in, and the breath you didn’t realize you were holding escapes shakily. You swallow, trying to ground yourself. But then he’s there—right in front of you—close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body.

Daemon’s hand brushes against yours, just barely, like a spark flickering in the dark. It’s light, teasing, but it sends a jolt through you. His touch is a reminder that he’s not just another man in the room. He’s Daemon Targaryen, and you’ve never been able to ignore the effect he has on you.

“You know,” he says softly, his voice like a velvet whisper against your ear, “they’re never going to give you the freedom you crave. They’ll always keep you in your place, a pawn for their schemes.”

Your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat, but you refuse to let him see the way his words are hitting you. You look away, trying to gain some semblance of control, but Daemon won’t let you. He steps closer again, his body brushing against yours just enough to make your pulse quicken. His fingers graze your wrist—just a light, fleeting touch—but it burns like fire.

His lips twitch upwards at the reaction he knows he’s getting from you. “You’re so... tense,” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower, thick with promise. “You can let go, you know. No one is here to judge you. Not tonight.”

The words dance around your head, teasing, tempting. You try to step back, but Daemon is there again, his hand on your arm, pulling you gently but insistently toward him.

His touch is light, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric of your nightgown, but it feels like more. He’s too close now, his breath mingling with yours, and the space between your bodies has evaporated entirely. The tension thickens, coiling tighter with every second that passes.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he says, his voice hushed, but with an edge of challenge. His fingers trace the edge of your collarbone, a soft caress that has your heart racing. “I’m not like the others. I won’t trap you. I’ll give you what you want... freedom.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words fail you. You feel like you’re drowning, suffocated by his presence and the way he’s watching you. You can’t escape from the intensity of it, the way he’s pulling you in without saying a word, drawing you closer, making you forget the consequences.

Daemon’s gaze darkens, and for the first time, you see something sharper, more dangerous. He leans in, so close now you can feel his breath on your skin. “You’re not a little girl anymore,” he says, his voice soft but full of intent. “You don’t need to play by anyone’s rules. Not mine, not your father’s... no one’s.”

His hand moves up to cup your cheek, and you close your eyes, caught in the heady warmth of the moment, the world narrowing down to just him, just the two of you.

“You can take control. You can have power, be free, just by making one choice.” His eyes flicker to your lips, and you feel the magnetic pull again, impossibly strong. “Let me take what no one else can have. Let me take your honour.”

The words hang in the air between you like a tangible thing. A weight that presses on your chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. You should step away. You should say no, because you know this would ruin everything. You know the consequences. But as Daemon watches you, waiting for your answer, a part of you—something deep, something far more primal than logic—feels the lure of his offer.

He’s not offering you love, not truly. He’s offering you freedom. A chance to slip from the chains that have held you your whole life.

“Daemon,” you whisper, your voice trembling, though you’re not sure whether it’s from fear or desire.

“Think about it,” he breathes, his lips brushing the edge of your ear. “I can make you untouchable. No one can force you into that marriage. You’ll be free, and no one will stand in our way.”

The temptation lingers, heavy and oppressive. You know it’s dangerous. You know you should walk away. But the thought of being free... of being his... tugs at something deep inside you.

Daemon’s eyes gleam with satisfaction as you hesitate, and you wonder—just for a moment—if you’ve already fallen too far to turn back.

The room is suffocating with heat, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that seem to grow and stretch as Daemon’s gaze never leaves you. The space between you feels charged, like the air itself is thick with something unsaid, something dangerous.

Daemon’s breath is steady, controlled, but you can see the flicker of something dark in his eyes—something that mirrors your own longing. His body is impossibly close, towering over you in a way that makes you feel small, vulnerable, but also alive, in a way you’ve never felt before.

You want him. That much is clear. His presence, his touch, everything about him makes your heart race, your pulse quicken, and your breath catch in your throat. But with that desire comes something darker, something you can’t quite put into words—fear, maybe. Or uncertainty. The price of giving in to this feels high, and you know it.

Daemon, however, knows this too. And that only makes him more determined, more insistent. He’s watching you intently, as if waiting for the very moment when he’ll break down the walls you’ve spent your life building. His hand is still lightly resting against your cheek, and his thumb brushes over your skin in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

He can sense the hesitation, the inner battle. You can see the smile tugging at his lips, but it’s not kind. It’s triumphant, as if he knows something you don’t. That, in this moment, you are his.

“You know what you want,” he says, his voice low, smooth, almost like velvet, but it carries an edge—a hunger you can almost taste. “You’ve been running, hiding behind your family’s expectations, but the truth is... you’re not like them. You’ve always been different. You want to be free, and I can give you that.”

His words hang in the air, thick and heavy, like a spell being woven around you. You know the consequences. You’ve heard them, felt them. And yet...

Daemon leans in just a fraction more, his lips brushing against your ear, and you can hear the quiet, dangerous satisfaction in his voice when he speaks again.

“You want to feel something different, don’t you? Something real, something you can’t get from your family or their precious plans. Let me show you what it feels like to have control, to finally feel alive.”

The moment stretches out, and all you can hear is the sound of your heart pounding in your chest. Your thoughts are swirling, spinning, but at the center of it all is him. Daemon Targaryen. The man who holds your future in his hands, a future that could break you, or free you.

You’ve never been so conflicted in your life, yet his words have found a way into your soul, pressing on every vulnerable part of you. You can feel the walls you’ve built around yourself beginning to crumble, and there’s a part of you—a deep, secret part—that wants to surrender to him, to let him take you and leave you with nothing but the promise of freedom.

And yet, you can’t quite breathe without wondering if you’re making a mistake. If you’re giving up something too precious. But when Daemon’s lips move closer to yours again, his breath hot against your skin, you know that it’s too late to turn back. The decision has already been made. The temptation is too strong.

You nod, just barely, but it’s enough.

Daemon doesn’t need more words. He sees the shift in you, the acceptance in your eyes, and a glimmer of satisfaction flickers across his face. It’s not just triumph. It’s something else—something darker. He’s won, but the game is far from over.

He moves, quick and decisive, pulling you into him as his lips crash against yours. The kiss is everything you’ve been afraid of and everything you’ve wanted, all at once. His hands move to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if he’s afraid you might slip away. And for the first time, you stop thinking, stop questioning, and simply feel.

This is it. This is the point of no return.

This is unlike any other, this kiss was so different to the one that you shared in the tavern, it was hungrier. Filled with something more than just innocence and tension. It was full of passion, a feeling that had you mind going foggy despite Daemon having hardly touched you.

The feeling of his possesive grip on your neck had you whimpering lightly into the kiss, a sound that he moaned at. Relishing in your innocence, your taste, the smell of your flesh, the way you looked so angelic in you gown, in the candle light of his room.

He had backed you into a wall now, leaving no room for your escape. His lips dominating yours with each kiss.

“Are you sure of this my lady, once I start, I don’t think I can stop” he pulls away to mutter breathily in your ear, the both of you panting lightly. All you can do is will yourself to nod your head, a small smirk gracing his features at your wordlessness.

You weren’t sure what he was going to do, but the burning pit in your stomach told you to accept it greedily. You watched as the silver haired prince lowered himself between you legs. Lifting one onto his shoulder as his head dissapred beneath your night gown. You stood in silence for a moment as you back leant against the cold wall, until a sharp gasp but through the silent air.

You weren’t expecting anything like this, for him to kiss you down there. You had never even heard of such a thing. You didn’t have it in you to comparing however, moans ripping from your throat as Daemon slopping kissed your pussy, tongue gliding through your slick folds.

He sucked and licked to his hearts content, he could feel his pants tightening at your taste, it drove him wild, so sweet and innocent, he was so lucky to be the first to touch you he thought. He sucked gently on your clit, listening to the shrill moans you let out as he played with your virgin cunt. Your hips bucking involuntarily against his face as he licked fat stripes along you.

You didnt know what to do with yourself, eyes screwing shut with pleasure as you took whatever he gave you, whatever this was it felt amazing, unlike anything before

A feeling in your belly rose, a band tightening, a coil winding. You felt like you were going to snap, your breathing becoming more and more erratic as Daemon did nothing to slow his action. You were positively dripping, your slick smeared over his face.

“Daemon, oh gods- Daemon it feels-“ You didnt get a chance to finish that sentence before that band inside you snapped, your nerves on fire as Daemon didnt dare slow is assault

“That’s it little shadows, scream for me.:” he murmured into your cunt as it gushed on his face. You were screaming in pleasure as this point, trying to pull his off of you when it got too much, you had never been so sensitive before.

When he was finished he rose from his knees, wiping his face on the back of his sleeve, something that you shouldnt have enjoyed watching - an action so filthy - but you couldn’t help it.

Your head all dizzy and mushy from the after effects of your orgasm still flowing over you. You scared at each other for a moment, you hooded eyes glancing at the man with nothing but want written all over his features.

Not breaking eye contact for a moment, he rid himself of his shirt. Slowly stepping over to you, like you were some scared animal, hands reaching for your dress, slowly raising the garment over your head.

There you stood, naked in front of the man who’s eyes were running over you like you were fresh cut meat and he was starving.

Your arms instinctively rose to cover your bare chest, your nipple perk as the night air brushed against them, Daemon stops you, ringing your hand down to your sides so he can look at you, mutterly sweetly in you ear about how you mustn’t fear him and there’s no need to hide from him.

His hands meet your hips as he guides you to his bed, laying you down on it. He rids himself of his trousers as well and you cant help but watch, an admirable length stands tall between his thighs and you gulp. You knew that was meant to go inside you, but how would it fit.

He could read the nervousness on your face as he pressed his body on top of yours

“whats wrong my lady?” he asks in betweeen his kisses on your neck and chest, biting and licking the skin, making it harder for you to talk

“..Serving girls my lord, they mentioned how… bedding was painful, not enjoyable.” you can hardly make eyecontact with the man as his kisses stop as he looks at you.

“Trust me my lady, It might hurt at first, but what we are about to do will be very, very enjoyable I can assure you.” he pulls your chin to force you to look at him, you can feel him prodding at your wet entrance as you cant help but squirm at the feeling, all you know is you trust the prince, and you need more of whatever this is

Slowly, watching your face he pushes inside, inch by inch. One of his hands holding yours.

The stretch burns, and when he finally sheaths himself fully inside of you, You gasp out from the pain. It certainly did hurt, but you wanted to believe what Daemon said, that it was going to get better. you whine at the pain.

Daemons breathing heavily now as he is still inside you, what he wouldnt do to take your virgin cunt like a street whore, but he’s trying to be considerate, pausing and allowing you to adjust to his size first.

After a short while he finally began to move, building slow thrusts in and out of your weeping cunt, your wetness was dripping down onto the bedsheets beneath you. Daemon slipping into you with ease. Gods your cunt was so tight it was practically choking him, you virgin pussy sucking him back in with every thrust.

NOw you understood what Daemon meant, now he was moving inside you, it felt increadibly.

His mouth sucking lazily on your nipples as moans reverberated through his chest. His hand still gripping yours, dwarfing your smaller one as he kept it pinned to the bed.

Your chest heaving with every gasp, this feeling was so foreign to you, yet it had your legs turning to jelly, your mind fogging as your eyes glossing over.

“My prince- please” In truth you didnt know what you were begging him for, but you knew that you needed more.

He chuckles to himself, watching you fucked out state “oh whats this, You want more my lady?” His thrusts now picking up in both speed and strength, kicking the air out of your lungs as moan after incoherent moan left you.

“What would dear father think if he saw you like this, hm?” he teased, relishing in the blush along your face, and the innocent pout you gave him at his suggestion. He wouldnt mind if otto walked in right now and saw how he was defiling his daughter.

Daemon was fucking you with such hunger, yout tits bounced with each thrust, entrancing him to the supple skin. The vulgar squelching noises of you cunt could be hurt, you were truly embarrassed, but in that moment you didnt have the capacity to be bothered about it.

“Such a good lady, taking me so well” he muttered, out of breath as his silver hair now dangled handsomely in front of his face. He couldnt help but look down at where he was entering you, moaning at the sight or his cock pushing into your virgin walls.

“You like this don’t you? You like that im ruining you for any other stupid lord” You squealed at his suggestion as he punctuated it with a particularly harsh thrust. His fat tip was bu;;yung that gummy spot inside of you, the one that left you quivering and shivering.

“Yes!- yes my prince, I love it” Daemon chuckled darkly, he knew he would break you. Getting you to be completely his, completely ruined and improper. He had destroyed you an turned you into something else, something darker.

That band was building inside you once more, that feeling that you loved so much. ONly it was stronger now, as if the previous time had only made this one stronger. Daemon could tell you were close by how tightly you were gripping him, and the cute way your eyes screwed shut.

He was close also, your cunt milking him for everything hes got. “Come on my lady, fall apart for you prince. Fall apart on my cock.”

The words he was saying to you were so vulgar and crude, but you couldn’t help that they helped push you were that edge. You released over your prince with a cry of his name. It was the only thing you could think to do, sing his praises.

You were dripping around his cock, your release all over his thighs and abdomen. His hand squeezed yours tighter as he fucked his way to his orgasm.

Hips stuttering as he came, shooting his seed deep inside of you. A moan leaving his chest as he finally stilled, collapsing into of you whilst he was still inside. Giving you a final sloppy kiss of the night. In that moment you couldnt have been happier, falling asleep in freedom, in your princes arms

The first slivers of sunlight spill into the chamber, casting a golden glow over the bedchamber. You stir, caught between the haze of sleep and the memory of what you’ve done—what he has done to you, with you. It was a night unlike any other, one where you let your defenses crumble entirely, and Daemon made sure there was no going back.

He stirs beside you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as if he can read your thoughts. “Awake already, my Lady? Don’t tell me you’re regretting it,” he teases, his voice low and full of self-satisfaction.

You rise, unable to match his ease, your nerves already fraying. “You know what day it is,” you mutter, more to yourself than him.

Daemon stretches leisurely, as if the weight of the world isn’t about to come crashing down. “Your wedding day,” he replies, unbothered. “How fitting. A celebration, just not the one your father planned.” His smirk is infuriating and maddeningly attractive.

He insists you dress and follow him, his presence a steadying force even as your stomach twists. By the time you reach the hall where Otto, Alicent, and the King await, the adrenaline has numbed your nerves, leaving only a simmering defiance in its wake.

The three of them are gathered in quiet discussion, Otto pacing, Alicent biting her nails, the King seated with furrowed brows. All eyes snap to you and Daemon as you enter, arm in arm, his hand resting on yours with a casual possessiveness that sets the air ablaze.

“Good morning,” Daemon announces with his usual audacity, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “We have some rather exciting news to share.”

Otto’s expression darkens instantly, his calculating gaze narrowing on Daemon’s smirk. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands, though his voice trembles slightly.

Daemon’s smirk deepens, and he gives your hand a squeeze, silently daring you to speak. You open your mouth, but he beats you to it.

“Lady Hightower will not be marrying that dull lord you’ve chosen for her,” he says, his tone dripping with mockery. “Not after last night.” He glances at you, his expression full of dark amusement, and then back to Otto. “Consider her... unavailable.”

Alicent gasps, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes dart between you and Daemon, searching for denial that doesn’t come. The King slams his cane on the ground, his face a thundercloud of barely contained rage. “Daemon, explain yourself,” he barks.

Daemon steps forward slightly, still keeping you close. “She’s mine now, brother. Fully and irreversibly,” he says, his voice calm but layered with unyielding dominance. “So unless you wish to see this house embroiled in scandal beyond repair, I suggest you stop meddling in her affairs. Or mine.”

Otto’s face flushes with anger, his composure crumbling. “You’ve disgraced her! Disgraced this family!”

Daemon laughs darkly, as though he’s savoring every second of Otto’s fury. “Disgraced? I think I’ve done the opposite. She’s more than a pawn now, wouldn’t you agree?” His eyes flicker to you, softer but no less intense. “She made her choice.”

You glance at Alicent, who stares at you in shock and something akin to betrayal, and then at your father, whose fury burns hotter than the sun. For the first time, you meet their gazes without fear. Daemon is a menace, yes, but with him by your side, you feel untouchable.

“Daemon is right,” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “I will not marry a man I don’t know, don’t want. You can’t make me.”

Otto’s mouth opens, but no words come out. The King lets out a sigh, his fury abating into tired frustration. “Daemon,” he says, “you have gone too far.”

“Perhaps,” Daemon replies with a shrug, “but far is the only place I’ve ever been comfortable.”

The tension in the room is suffocating, but you stand your ground, knowing there’s no turning back now. Daemon’s grip on your hand tightens, his smirk a silent promise that, come what may, he’s not letting you go

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