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lyraoftheevergreens · 4 months ago

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The Realms Enchantress

Chapter 3

NSFW MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader!Niece, Daemon Targaryen x Niece!Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen x Female!OC,

Summary: For years Daemon never had a care in the world just, sex, wine and a good battle. With the exception of his favorite niece. His little dragon he called her. He swore to be there for her and he got himself exiled when she needed him the most. Now, he returns from war at the step stones and is determined to get her back. No matter the cost.

Warnings: minor errors in spelling and grammar, Targaryen Inscest, mentions of sex, oral female and male receiving, talk of nudity, mentions of death and blood, mother murdered, dead babies, depression, periods, vulgar language. If your watching hotd than you should already know that stuff written about it will not be clean in the slightest.

Author Note: Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out, life happened and as we all know it tends to suck at times

Word Count: 4.4k

Previous Chapter

“Come join me! ‘Tis quite warm!”

“No, how can I trust you speak the truth? I am quite content here enjoying the view.”

“Daemon! Please!” You yelled to him. In time he eventually caved and undressed to join you. By all means who was he to deny you what you wanted.

“You lie! It’s fucking cold!” He yelled walking to you.

“I don’t lie, I’ve just been in long enough that it’s quite nice.”

He wrapped his arms around you pulling you into him, stood in the ocean.

“I could live here, till the end of my days.” You whispered, head on his chest.

“On Dragonstone?”

“In your arms.” Just the two of you.

Eventually you both decide to return to your chambers for rest. Walking up with daemon barefoot in his breeches and you barefoot in his tunic. The staff looked at the two of you wide eyed as you both walked through the halls laughing and talking.

“Oh do you remember that time Rhaenyra got drunk?”

“I’m sorry, Rhaenyra?” He looked at you in disbelief given she is only 4 and 10 years of age.

“Oh no! You were away! I shall tell you the story than. She was only 10 years of age and I believe it was my father’s name day and he was drinking his wine at a faster pace than usual as well as consuming my mothers because she was with child as always. Nyra saw it fit to help him finish his own glass when he turned to drink mothers. Nobody had noticed what she was doing.”

“Well clearly you noticed if you are relaying the events.”

“No, actually. It was her who stumbled in laughing pissing herself into my bedchambers. When she woke the next morning I questioned her as to what she had gotten her self into the night prior and she told me. Although the fact that she was dancing and telling jest to about any lord or servant that would hear her should have given her away.”

Daemon listened to you as the two of you walked to your bedchamber. A fondness in his eyes. The servants were in shock and some shied away from watching the Rogue Prince appear happy. He smiled with you. None of them had seen him smile.

A warm bath was already prepared when the two of you entered the room. The maids knew not to linger. You laid against his chest as you both laid in the hot water enjoying each other’s presence. It was Daemon who spoke first ruining the silent bliss.

“We must start our journey back to Kings Landing on the morrow.”

“You swore 4 days to me.” You answered him back.

“We’ve stayed 3, our journey together will be the fourth. We won’t arrive till the hour of the wolf.”

“May we return here to Dragonstone as we wish?”

“If your father does not have my head for bringing you here then yes.”

“Daemon.” You whispered.

“Yes?” He answered. You turned between his legs to face him, the water spilling from the sides of the basin.

“I want you to…” you were unable to finish your own sentence from your own nervousness. Your face red unable to express your wishes to him.”

“What is it you want sweet girl. Tell me.”

“I want you to, to. Touch me.” You whispered the last part.

“Touch you how?” He asked feigning naivety.

“Fuck me.” You whispered. He threw his head back and groaned.

“Oh my sweet girl, how I wish I could. We must time such things. If I do so now your father will have my head and he will marry you off to the first lord who will take you.” He tried to reason with you. It was hard to given that he barely got 3 words in before your hand gripped his cock. Once in your soft hand he was rock solid. It took everything with in him not to have you as he truly wished every night here on Dragonstone.

“Wed me. In the tradition of our house, take me as your second wife.” You told him now working your hand up and down his length the water begins to rock due to your hand movements on his length threatening to spill from the tub.

“You are so much more than a second wife zaldrītsos.” He moaned out eyes clenched closed as you continued your movements. He laid there enjoying the feel of your hand working his length. His own hand never being able to bring the same relief yours was bringing him. He knows once he has your cunt wrapped around him, you will have ruined every whore for him, He will solely crave you.

Once the bath was ruined from his release the two of you got out and prepared for bed. Once in bed the two of you drifted off to sleep in each others arms. The next morning Daemon kept his word and the two of you left on Dyrax at sunrise and started your journey to Kingslanding. Once arrived at the hour of the wolf you and Daemon used the secret passageways to your chambers. The two of you held each other one last time. Tasted each other one last time.

When you woke the next morning it was Rhaenyra who had awoken you by jumping into your bed.

“You’ve returned! Oh I thought you would never return from Dragonstone! How was it with Daemon?”

“It was lovely. A much needed rest from court. I must ask. Is father aware?”

“He is unaware to my knowledge.”

“Perfect.”

“Tell me y/n!” She shouted at you, now realizing you would have no choice but to tell her everything. Well, excluding the intimate details. Your day continued on as usual as if you hadn’t been away for 5 days. Daemon returned to his gold cloaks, day time training and nightly patrols.

Otto fucking Hightower. You had returned to court your second day back from Dragonstone. When Otto the cunt of a hand asked you how your time at Dragonstone was, infront of your father.

“You were at Dragonstone? When?” Questioned your father.

“Just 2 days past. I needed to be alone to grieve mother.”

“Did you not arrive at the hour of the wolf with Prince Daemon?”

“Yes I did. It was his idea and it helped. I enjoyed the waters of Dragonstone and I was able to cry and sleep as I pleased. No court, no politics, no murmurs of my mother and brother’s death around the castle. Silence and rest.”

“That sounds lovely my girl. I’m glad you are rested.” Your father responded. One thing Otto didn’t know, is your father would be sure not to upset you after watching him choose a son over his wife. Now he has no heir, no wife and could possibly loose his two daughters.

“Thank you father.” She said smiling to him.

“We must discuss Daemon and the way he is abusing his city watch status. He is acting as judge and executioner, 2 horse pulled carriages were used to rid of the carnage. Many would say it a massacre and abuse of power. His first night back and the people are met with his blade.”

“Has crime not gone down?” You spoke up.

“Excuse me princess?” Answered Otto abruptly.

“He instills fear in criminals, should the people of kings landing remain honest, not steal and not rape than they should have nothing to fear by the gold cloaks nightly patrols.”

“The city watch is not to instill fear.” Otto retorts.

“Maester Fredrick, get me the crime reports please. From the last 3 years.”

“Yes princess.” Said the maester and quickly left.

“Ser Harwin strong was lead commander while your uncle was away. Crime remained down and there were no live slaughters.” Oh how Otto got under her skin.

“While that may remain true how long till the city’s criminals retaliate. If they don’t fear death or loss of limb who is to say that crime won’t raise once again. Daemon has returned, I propose we allow a fortnight to compare results and we will see if the matter requires further discussion with Daemon present. All who agree?” And with that everyone agreed, your father spoke.

“Marvelous idea my dear. We shall allow a fortnight and we will proceed from there. Your king is tired, if there are no further matters that require my attention I shall retire for the evening.” With that he stood, everyone else stood and he left. Once you exited the room you had crossed paths with Maester Fredrick and the records.

“Have them sent to my chambers please.” You asked.

“Of course princess.” He left in search for your handmaid, what you assume. Once you retired to your room’s Rhaenyra came running in.

“I can’t believe the way you put Otto in his place!” Rhaenyra threw herself onto your bed laughing.

“Do you notice the way it absolutely angers him that father allows me a seat on his council.“ you said laying down next to her.

“Yes! I really thought father was going to storm out the council room in search for Daemon after what Otto said.”

“As did I. Truthfully I’m relieved he didn’t further question it. Or that Otto didn’t press into it. You think Otto has spies on Dragonstone?”

“No. I don’t believe so. You?”

“No.” You laid there thinking about if Otto did. Surely he knew something to bring up your leave with Daemon.

Two days later another council meeting was called. You all took your seats and Otto spoke first. “Before we begin your grace, I have a report I feel compelled to share. Last night Prince Daemon bought out one of the pleasure houses on the street of silk to entertain officers of the city watch and other friends of his. He toasted Prince Baelon styling him the heir for a day. After he goes on to say how it will be him and his seed who sit the iron throne. “If his heir won’t sit the throne at least mine shall after I fill his daughter with my seed.” I corroborated this report with three separate witnesses. The evening was by all accounts a celebration.”

You sat in shock at Otto’s words. You watched as your father ordered his guards to have Daemon sent to the throne room. You left to your chambers. Rhaenyra followed close behind. Once alone she spoke first.

“I’m not sure what’s more upsetting, our uncles words or your betrayal.” Rhaenyra speaks coldly.

“My betrayal? Pray-tell sister, how do I betray you?”

“You let him take you to Dragonstone like some whore. Was it worth it? Being sullied by him just to have him run into the arms of another whore.”

“You dare call me a whore? You know nothing baby sister, don’t you dare act as if you do. I remain as virtuous as the day I was born. He may have ran into the arms of his whore but he has never had me! I swear it on the memory of our mother, I have not laid with Daemon in the matter of which you accuse me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Rhaenyra began to cry. You embraced her in a hug.

“It is alright. I forgive you. I know, what we heard was upsetting. Father will talk to him and then I. I will get us answers. I swear this to you.”

“Okay.” She whispered holding onto you. You waited a while before leaving to Daemons chambers once Rhaenyra fell asleep in your bed.

You found him being watched by a knight of your father’s kings guard as he packed his belongings.

“Leave us.” You command as you enter.

“I can’t do that princess.” He says.

“You can and you will, your princess commands it. Shall he escape I will ensure you will not face the wrath of the king. Now leave us.” You promise him. With this he takes your word and waits outside the door while you talk to Daemon.

“You heard.”

“Heir for the day?”

“Y/n.”

“No! I can’t believe you Daemon,”fill his daughter with my seed.” What kind of nonsense is that?” You shouted at him, all he could do is reach out to you. You quickly stepped back.

“Do not touch me after you lay with your whores. I truly hope it was worth it because you will never have me not after this. You swore you would be here for me! You don’t even last a fortnight before you get your self exiled! You made a mockery of my dead mother and brother. Of me!”

“Who is to say I want you! I’ve never made such a proclamation!” He shouts back at you. You stare at him in shock, was it all in your head? Did he just see as another one of his whores when you bare with him on Dragonstone, the nights spent in his arms. The kisses and care in his touch. You step back from him.

“Y/n” he reaches for your arm once more. You step back again.

“No. I apologize uncle. I believed something that was not there.”

“Y/n.” He called your name once more.

“I’m sorry I ever believed you to be the man I need.” With that you left him there and made your way back to your chambers. The guard escorted Daemon to the dragon pit. You heard of your father exiling your uncle to the vale with his wife. You stayed in bed. For days on end.

5 months after Daemons exile your father called you and Rhaenyra to the cellars of the red keep.

“What is it farther.”

“My darling girls. It has been sometime.”

“You have not talked to us in 6 months” Rhaenyra states.

“And I apologize. When you see dragons, what do you see.”

“Father what is this?” You question him.

“Just tell me what you see.” He repeats himself.

“I suppose I see us, they say Targaryen’s are closer to gods than men and they say that because our dragons. Without them we are just like everyone else.” Rhaenyra says.

“I’m sorry Y/n, Rhaenyra. I have waisted the years since you were born on wishing for a son. You are the very best of your mother and I believe it and I know she did that you could be a great queen, ruling queen.”

“Father. Daemon is your heir. Y/n your first born.”

“I understand but I believe that it is you that can unite the realm when the time comes. Only a strong ruling king or queen can do that. While you are strong and passionate Y/n is level headed. Y/n you will need to protect your sister, guide her as heir to the throne. It is you who I believe can do that best. You are caring and quick thinking, you have always protected and cared for Rhaenyra, more so now while you both mourn the loss of your mother you have remained strong and reliable through it all.”

“With Rhaenyra on the thrown and you as her council, her hand. The realm will remain strong long after my death.”

With in 3 days time the realm was pledging their loyalty to the crown, to king Viserys and heir to the throne Princess Rhaenyra. And while you would never admit it to your sister, you were hurt that your father named her heir and not you. You knew in your heart it was punishment for your time on Dragonstone with Daemon. Nonetheless you bent the knee pledging your loyalty to your sister.

~time jump~

1 month time has gone passed. Your mother dead 7 months. Your uncle gone for 6 months, squatting on Dragonstone. Apart of you wanted to fly to him be done with the politics, for him to take you as his wife in exile. But you were still hurt by the last words he spoke to you, and you were needed in kings landing. Your father, Rhaenyra. You sit at the small council table while your sister remains cup bearer. Frankly you and Rhaenyra are exhausted of hearing talk of your father needing to remarry. Lord Corlys keeps pushing for father to marry Laena. While you and Rhaenyra understand it was to happen with time, the vultures push to rush.

An emergency small council meeting was called. You and Rhaenyra hurry your way to the council room. Upon entering there is dragon keeper waiting to speak.

Ziry occurred isse se blackness hen bantis, issa lords, during se hour hen massa. Se thief eluded īlva pursuit

(It occurred in the blackness of night, my lords, during the hour of the Bat. The thief eluded our pursuit.)

Skorkydoso iksos ziry possible bona nykeā zaldrīzes’s drōmon istan stolen hen hen hen gōvilagon tolī than tōmēpsa zaldrīzes keepers?

(How is it possible that a dragon’s egg was stolen out of from beneath more than fifty Dragon keepers?)

Ziry istan prince daemon qilōni istan se culprit, aōha dārōñe…

(It was Prince Daemon who was the culprit, your grace…)

“Daemon?” Your father spoke in a questioning tone, questioning himself as to why Daemon would do such a thing.

“The prince left a missive, which I believe might explain.” Spoke Otto.

“It is the pleasure of Daemon Targaryen, the prince of dragonstone and rightful heir to the iron throne, to announce that he is to take a second wife in the tradition of Old Valyria. She is to assume the title of Lady Mysaria of Dragonstone. Her grace is with child and is to have a dragons egg placed in the babe’s cradle in the custom of House Targaryen.” Maester Mellows pauses. “The prince has invited you to his wedding, your grace. It is in two days time.”

“Gods be good” mumbles Tywin Lannister.

“Who is Lady Mysaria-“ Corlys begins to question but is interrupted by Otto.

“Daemons whore. This is nothing less than sedition.”

“I strongly agree, sire.” Agrees Lyonel Strong.

Skore drōmon gōntan daemon gūrogon?

(Which egg did Daemon take?)

Se drōmon istan dreamfyre’s, prince. Keskydoso drōmon bona ao iderēptan syt prince baelon’s cradle.

(The egg was Dreamfyre’s, Princess. The same egg that you chose for Prince Baelon’s cradle.)

That was all it took for your father to finally take action. Seeing the hurt in Rhaenyra face. It was one thing to try to get a rise out of your father but to hurt his daughters was another issue.

“Assemble a detachment, Otto. I will go to dragon stone and drag daemon back to face justice myself.”

“Your grace! My apologies your grace but I cannot allow it. It is to dangerous. Daemon is without limit. Let me go to dragonstone.” With that Otto begins to give orders to Ser Harrold to gather men to prepare the ship to set sail to dragon stone.

Rhaenyra pulls you aside away from your father and the other men. “We are going to Dragonstone.”

“Nyra. No.”

“It’s to prevent blood shed. You know just as well as I do Daemon would love nothing more than to have Otto’s head on a spike.”

“I suppose. I don’t see the harm that though.”

“Y/n. I can retrieve the egg and if Daemon sees you and Dirrax it will force him to keep his temper under control.”

“I’m not his keeper. If Daemon wishes to kill. He will. Nonetheless I shall go. Only for you though.”

I will meet you at the dragon pit at the hour of the bat in 5 days time. The journey will take a long while, especially with Syrax never having done the journey. Prepare him for it. We will arrive when the ships arrive.”

Thankfully she listened to you, and in 5 days you both had changed into your riding leathers and met at the dragon pit. You opted to wear your black cloak over yours and to take the secret passage ways. You followed her closely behind on Dirrax who was double the size of Syrax.

Once at dragon stone Otto’s men had already arrived both sides with their swords in hand. And a woman in white with brown hair stood next to Daemon. Must be his whore you thought to your self. You had heard of her, never seen her. Your heart ached to think that she was carrying his child. While it had been 5 days since you learned of his betrayal, you hadn’t allowed your self time to process it fully. Being to busy with Rhaenyra. You hear Caraxes screech as he crawls the hill behind his rider. He must sense Syrax and Dirrax who begin to screech in response. Rhaenyra and Syrax land first, and you second behind her. It is then that the men “sheath the fucking steel” Otto yells. Rhaenyra dismounts from her dragon while you remain on yours. You have faith in her ability to handle your uncle.

“Issa kepa brōstan issa prince hen zaldrīzesdōron. Bona iksos issa sombāzmion ao issi living isse, kepus.” Rhaenyra spoke first.

(My father named me Princess of Dragonstone. That is my castle you are living in, uncle.)

“Daor ēva ao become hen age. Plus hae iksos aōha mandia” your uncle remarked.

(Not until you become of age. Plus as is your sister)

“Ao emagon angered aōha dārys.”

(You have angered your king.)

“Nyke don’t ūndegon skoro syt. Bisa iksos nykeā tubis hen biarves. Nyke naejot sagon.”

(I don’t see why. This is a day of celebration. I am to be wed.)

“Ao emagon nykeā ābrazȳrys.”

(You already have a wife.)

“Daor mēre hen issa.”

(Not one of my choosing.)

“Se bisa ao naejot laodigon issa lēkias drōmon?”

(And this required you to steal my brother’s egg?)

“Ao se aōha mandia rūsīr nykeā zaldrīzes skori ao istan āzma. Nyke jaelagon keskydoso syt issa riñnykeā.”

(You and your sister shared a cradle with a dragon when the two of you were born. I want the same for my child.)

“Aōha naejot emagon nykeā riñnykeā.”

(Your to have a child?)

He looked back at his whore.” Mēre tubis.” (One day) with those words you scoff as you watch your uncles whore leave.

“I’m right here, uncle… the object of your ire, the reason that you were disinherited. If you wish to be restored as heir you’ll need to kill me. So, do it. And be done with all this bother.” With that he looked at the Otto and the other knights, to rhaenyra. To you. And turned to walk away and quickly tossed the egg to Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra placed the egg in pot of fire and mounted Syrax. She left on Syrax thrilled at her accomplishment, she yelled with joy as she flew away on Syrax. While y/n and Dirrax stayed on the wall.

“Sōvēs Dirrax.” Once well in the air y/n let out all her emotions. Crying and screaming

“Dirrax. Dracarys!” With that Dirrax let out a large breath of fire that filled the sky. And they stayed behind Rhaenyra the whole way back kings landing.

A knight alerts your father of yours and Rhaenyra return. You both are then taken to his chambers.

“You fled kings landing without a word. And you acted without the crowns leave. You two are my only heirs. You both could have been killed.”

“May we sit.” Rhaenyra ask.

“You went to dragon stone.” Your father repeats himself.

“And retrieved the egg without bloodshed. A feat I’m not sure Otto could’ve accomplished alone.” Rhaenyra points out.

“Yes, well…” he laughs. “ I sometimes forget how much you both are like your mother. Your mother’s absence is a wound that will never heal. Without her… the red keep has lost a warmth that I dare say it will never recover.”

“It pleases me to hear you say this. To know that y/n and I are not alone in our grief.”

“I wish I had known better what to say to you both in the aftermath. I struggled to realize that both my daughters had so quickly become women grown. But I know she understands what is now expected of me.”

“The king must take a new wife.” Rhaenyra says fighting back her tears.

“I could never replace your mother. No more than I intended to replace you as heir but you both are my only heirs and our line is vulnerable, to easily ended. And by marrying again, I may begin to ensure that we are better defended.”

“Against whom?”

“Whomever may dare to challenge us. I do not dare to make us estranged. The three of us.”

“You are the king and so, your first duty is to the realm. Mother would’ve understood this. Just as I do.”

“And I.” With that you and Rhaenyra leave to your chambers to sleep. And nothing could have prepared the two of you for the council meeting that would be held in the morning.

Your father stands at his chair with a nervous expression on his face. He looks to and Rhaenyra for reassurance. Rhaenyra nods her head and smiles in reassurance to him and he begins to speak.

“I intend to marry…. The lady Alicent Hightower before springs end.”

“This is an absurdity, my house is Valyrian. The greatest power in the realm.” Says Lord Corlys now stood from his seat.

“And I am your king.” With the Corlys leaves. And Rhaenyra fights back her tears in shock and betrayal. She then leaves before anyone else can see her emotions.

“Yes if you were to marry Laena. Not her only friend. This is a betrayal from not only you but Alicent as well. You mislead us both into believing you were to marry Laena.”

“Rhaenyra.” Your father calls out to her. Once she is gone your father looks to you.

“Last night, she said she understood.” He says to you.

“You assumed-“

“No! There was never any mention of Alicent in any of your conversations to wed. You walked with Laena. You questioned your council on whether marrying Laena was the proper thing to do.”

“Y/n.”

“No, now if you will excuse me. I have a mess to clean up that you have created.” With that you left to comfort Rhaenyra

Chapter 4

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unholly-reader · 5 months ago

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I will choose you for the rest of our life - Daemon Targaryen x f!OC!

Hello lovely people!

Daemon's charm has once again struck and so here is some well deserved Daemond fluff. I apologize in advance for any accidents caused by swooning over our favourite Rogue Prince.

Once again - English is NOT my first language!

Enjoy, my dragon lovers!

************************************************************

It was still a warm summer evening when Alanna returned from her journeys beyond the City limits where she accompanied Rhaenyra waiting in the prince on the ground while she took Syrax for a ride. It was a pleasant enough afternoon considering the Princess had a terrible fight with the King about her marriage prospects and the reality of spending a life with somebody which happened to be his favorite subject as of late. Unfortunately, Rhaenyra did not share her father's sentiments and was adamant on remaining unwed. The topic brought many a disagreement between the King and his named Heir, however the love they both shared remained unquestionable. It was clear for Alanna as well as everyone in Court that the day Rhaenyra decides to marry would be the day the nonsense arguments will end but until then the eldest Lady Hightower took vigilant care of the Princess keeping her company and advising if necessary.

- I must say Princess, it will never cease to amaze me how truly united you and Syrax are. It's as if you're two bodies and one soul - said Alanna, dismounting her horse after reaching the royal stables. Rhaenyra chuckled lightly, jumping off her golden mare with ease and smiling to her companion.

- I wish you could know how it feels, Aunt Alanna. The bond between a dragon and its rider is second to none, truly.

- I am quite content seeing you with Syrax, sweet girl. It brings me so much joy to see you smile, especially after rough mornings such as today.

Rhaenyra nodded gratefully at Alanna, walking towards her with a gentle, but saddened smile.

- I am so very thankful to have you here, Aunt Alanna. I don't what I would have done if your father had sent to Old Town.

- Luckily, we don't have to find that out. Now come, you must eat something and above all you need a long bath. You stink of dragon - laughed Alanna, putting her arm over the Princess's shoulders.

Rhaenyra joined her in laughter as they made their way towards the Keep when the gates opened themselves to reveal Ser Harrold Westerling approaching both ladies. Quickly he descended the stairs and walked to them, bowing dutifully.

- My Princess. My Lady. The King requires your presence in the throne room.

Rhaenyra sighed heavily, taking her gloves off.

- By Gods, we have only argued this morning. Can't whatever my father needs from me wait until tomorrow?

The commander bowed his head once again, looking at the Heir apologetically.

- Pardon me, Princess, but the King has asked for the Lady Alanna.

It was now Alanna's turn to snap her head to Ser Harrold in surprise. She glanced at Rhaenyra, shock painted on her face.

- Me? Whatever for?

- I couldn't say, My Lady. He only requested that you come down to the throne room and that the matter is urgent.

Lady Hightower nodded politely, turning to face Rhaenyra and put her hands on the girls shoulders.

- We shall meet for dinner, sweet girl. You go wash off that stench of yourself and I will come see you later.

Rhaenyra hesitated but eventually she kissed Alanna's cheek and walked on towards her chambers.

- Ser Harrold.

- Princess.

Alanna watched as the girl disappeared behind the doors and then turned her gaze to the knight. Ser Harrold held his arm out as if to invite the woman to walk with him, bowing his head slightly.

- If you please, My Lady.

The woman followed his direction in silence, entering the Red Keep and moving to the corridors leading straight to the throne room. The inside od the castle were brightly lit by many torches and candles surrounding the place, but here and there the setting sun crept inside the Keep's walls. Alanna held her skirt in one palm as the train of her dark blue gown swept the floors behind her, while she quietly walked by Ser Harrold's side. It was a short walk as they reached the throne room soon enough. Ser Harrold had the guards open the doors and he led Alanna inside, where the King sat upon his throne all by himself.

- Lady Alanna Hightower, Your Grace - announced Ser Harrold as Alanna stepped into the light, standing atop the stairs.

- Thank you, Ser Harrold. You may take your leave now - replied Viserys, waving his hand at the knight. The Lord Commander bowed and swiftly left the room, leaving the King and his sister by law alone.

- Please, do come in, Lady Alanna.

Suspecting nothing of the foul means Alanna descended down the stairs and walked up to the King, curtsying before the monarch with a polite bow of her head.

- Your Grace - she said respectfully, straightening her posture and looking at Viserys with a gentle smile - I do not mean any disrespect, Your Grace, but is there a particular reason why you asked to see me?

- Are you happy here, My Lady?

- Pardon me, Your Grace? - asked Alanna, baffled by the King's question.

And so Viserys repeated his query.

- I asked if you are happy here, in the Capital?

Alanna smiled bashfully, not quite sure what to say to that unusual question.

- I am quite happy, Your Grace. Spending my time with the Princess and my sister, the Queen is all I could ever ask for. I am truly grateful to you for allowing me to stay at Court.

- And what of your marriage prospects, my dear? Has there been any word from your father in that matter?

This question baffled Alanna even more so than the first one. She smiled politely at the King, trying to uphold the unsuspecting demeanor while in reality she kept wondering about where this conversation was leading.

- I could not say, Your Grace. My father has not been the most attentive towards me ever since my sister became the Queen. I believe it is the matters of the realm and those of your bedchambers that concern him more than myself, Your Grace.

Alanna did not register what words left her mouth until the moment they left it. It took her only a few second to realize what she ghat just said to her King and how disrespectful it was towards him and her father. Not to mention how unladylike this behavior was. Quickly she bowed her head, staring at the tips of her shoes peeking from underneath her dark blue dress, praying that the King would not feel insulted by her choice of words.

- Your Grace, I apologize. I meant no insult either to you or my father. I seem to have forgotten to hold my tongue.

Instead of hearing the angry King reprimand her, she heard a mere laugh. When she looked up, she saw the King smiling, almost grinning like a fool and laughing as if she had just told him something incredibly funny. It was a rare sight to see Viserys this joyful, especially since it has been a tough couple of days for him and his eldest daughter.

- You Grace?

The King’s laughter slowly died down as he walked up to Alanna, gently raising his hand to hold her chin up. Staring into the King’s lilac eyes she was reminded of her lover’s eyes, so bright and pure in the light of the setting sun.

- I could not see it before, but I do now - said Viserys with a thoughtful smile - You share the same spirit, but you also possess the fierceness to tame him.

Somehow Alanna knew he was speaking of Daemon, but she would not let it be known to the King. Without shifting her demeanor she continued acting clueless and unaware.

- I do not know what it is you are speaking of, Your Grace.

- I have been told that there were numerous occasions you were seen with my brother and you seemed to have been thoroughly enjoying his company. Is this true?

Alanna froze in place. She didn't know how to answer this, whether to tell the truth or keep on lying. It has been like a thorn at her side, not being able to stand by Daemon, speak with him, touch is hand. It would be risky to reveal her true feelings, especially to the King, but something was telling her it was the right thing to do. So she did it.

- It is true, Your Grace - answered Alanna, holding the King's gaze proudly.

It wasn't defiance or arrogance, but there was something that Viserys saw in her eyes in that moment. Like she had made a choice to stop hiding. There was this indescribable spark in her blue orbs, something the King could not quite put his finger on but he knew that may very well have been the reason his brother fell for this young lady. Gently he let his hand fall down, still holding her gaze with a kind smile.

- If you were given the choice to marry whom you desire, who would be your chosen husband?

This time Alanna did not falter nor did she hesitate. She wasn't sure what the game Viserys played with her was, but she somehow didn't care about the consequences. He was her King and she owed him her loyalty, and above all else - her truth.

- Daemon.

Her answer was loud and clear, no doubt in her voice or in her eyes and only a fool wouldn't see it. The King was no fool.

- Do you love my brother, Lady Alanna?

- With everything I am today and everything I ever hope to become.

Viserys did not expect such honesty. He knew only what Daemon had told him of his feelings for his sister by law, but it came as a surprise to the King to learn of her devotion towards his brother. She stood there with her head held high, eyes staring into the King's lilac orbs with no fear. Viserys hummed to himself, taking a few steps back and turning away to face the throne. He contemplated the circumstances while Alanna awaited her verdict. As it turned out patience seemed to have run thin within her mind as she spoke up, grabbing Viserys's attention.

- I do not know why it would matter to you, Your Grace, but whatever you may think of your brother, he is who my soul longs for - said Alanna, smiling dreamily like a little girl - I could never forget him or abandon him and no matter how many times he is exiled from Court, I will always await his return if only to gaze upon his face. He is my reason and my sanity and I am certain nothing could ever change that.

The King turned around swiftly, looking at his sister by law as if he saw her for the first time. Her eyes were glimmering like the night sky lit by showers of shooting stars. Her face was almost glowing as if the love she had for his brother illuminated her features. Viserys only ever witnessed this kind of devotion twice. The first was the love he was born from, the one that united his father, Prince Baelon with his mother, Princess Alyssa. Although blurry and somewhat worn-away, memories of the love his parents shared was imprinted on his mind, daily reminding him of what is supposed to matter to him most. His family.

The second time he witnessed this type of love was when he met Aemma. Even though they didn't fall for one another at first sight, she had made him the man he became, the King he grew up to be. Choosing his heir over her life would always be his worst nightmare, haunting him each and every night. Despite the tragic ending he knew he was truly loved and loved truly in return. Much like Alanna seemed to love his brother and from what the King could tell, Daemon loved her just as much.

- And is Lady Alanna the wife you would choose, brother? - asked Viserys, still looking at his good-sister.

Alanna felt her heart stop in her chest as Daemon emerged out of the shadows behind the Iron Throne. He was wearing his dark grey breeches and white linen shirt, his short hair ruffled as if he had just woken up but in her eyes he never looked more handsome. And she could swear he never looked at her with so much emotion in his eyes ever before.

- I would choose her now and every day for the rest of my life.

As Daemon approached the King and his beloved, Alanna could not mutter a single word. She was too stunned to speak. The Rogue Prince walked towards her but stopped beside his brother, never taking his eyes off his beloved. Viserys glanced at Daemon and then faced Alanna with a kind smile on his face, feeling his heart fill up with joy. Looking at the two of them he knew there was only one right thing to do.

- The day I married Alicent, you became my good sister and since then not a day has passed that you wouldn't serve me with your good word or the actions of your kind heart. In all this time I never thought to thank you for all that you have done for my family, for my daughter in the absence of her late mother, but maybe now I will repay my debt - said the King, taking her hand in his, at the same time grabbing Daemon's hand as well and joining them together.

Alanna felt tears gathering in her eyes as she looked at Daemon and their joined hands. When Viserys stepped back, his younger brother took a hold of Alanna's palm in both his hands, going down on one knee before her.

- I will choose you every day for the rest of our lives, my light. If you'll have me - spoke Daemon, gently caressing her hand.

The Lady Hightower was at a loss for words. She felt all her emotions go on a rampage as she looked down at the love of her life asking her to be his for eternity. She could not believe it was real, but somehow she knew it was. She had him right there at the grasp of her hands and all she had to do was say "yes". Instaed of saying anything, Alanna kneeled before him, putting her hand over his grasping her other palm and brought them to her lips. She looked up in his lilac eyes, so true and loving she could fall apart right there and then, and simply said the words.

- And I will choose you for the rest of our life, my love. Just like I choose you today.

#daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #fanfiction #rhaenyra targeryan #daemon targaryen one shot #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen x reader

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delulujuls · 6 months ago

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so cold | house of the dragon

hi, if you haven't watched s02e02 of hotd yet and you don't want spoilers, then please don't scroll below. but feel free to hit a heart button if you wanna came back later and check on this one.

all rights to ideas used here belongs to george r.r. martin, hbo and warner bros, i just added a bit to them from myself. title is inspired by so cold by ben coaks. also, in this one reader is viserys' fifth child, older than helaena but younger than aemond, aegon and rhaenyra.

summary: targaryens started falling into madness forgetting that they are family and a strong family needs love, not war

warnings: death of a child, murder, explaining of a killing

pairing: sister!reader x rhaenyra targaryen x aegon targaryen (ft. daemon the troublemaker)

Young mother cradled child in her arms, rocking her gently to sleep. She lovingly pressed her daughter to her chest, softly humming under her breath. The girl slept, nestled against her mother, who couldn't bear to let her go. She feared that if her daughter left her embrace, something terrible might happen to her.

Someone will hurt her like they hurt her beloved boy.

"Your grace, you should rest," one of the maids whispered, preparing the queen's chamber for the night.

At one point, the young woman didn't hear her words, staring into the candle flame and lightly rocking her daughter in her arms. After a moment, she looked up at the servant and, realizing she had momentarily lost touch with reality, only sniffed and nodded. She carefully laid the girl in bed, covering her with a blanket. She gently sat next to her, hastily wiping herself her tear-streaked cheeks. Young queen placed a hand on her daughter's head, tenderly stroking it.

"Your grace," the maid began again, trying to encourage her to rest, but the she didn't let her finish "Stay with her until I return, alright?"

She asked, but it sounded more like a command. Y/N lifted her gaze to the maid, who nodded quickly. The young queen glanced at her daughter one last time, leaning down to give her a gentle kiss on the forehead. She adjusted the blanket on her one last time and then stood up. The maid immediately took her place. She didn't look at the sleeping girl, but at her mother, who quickly put on a cloak and hood over her nightgown.

"Where are you going, my lady?" the maid asked softly, nervously clutching her apron. She knew there were two guards outside the queen's chamber, and no other entrance to it. Yet, she was terrified of the responsibility the woman was placing on her, leaving her child in her care, after everything that happened not so long ago.

"I need some fresh air," she replied, wiping her wet cheeks again. Despite her whisper, her voice was firm. "I'll be back shortly. You're safe here."

The maid nodded and watched the young queen leave. She disappeared behind heavy doors guarded by two knights of the Royal Guard, who straightened up as soon as they saw her.

"Your grace," one greeted her, about to ask where she was going, noticing her attire suggested an outing. However, she cut him off. "I need some fresh air before sleep. Until I return, there's a maid inside with Jaehaera. Let no one inside, and if anyone asks, I'm asleep."

She announced, scanning their faces to ensure they understood her words. The knights nodded and bowed, because who were they to deny the queen leaving the castle, especially in her current state? Each of the three people Y/N informed of her departure assumed the young queen would take a short stroll around the castle or stop in one of the gardens to clean her mind before going to bed. However, Y/N was heading to the Dragonpit, not even thinking about going to sleep any time soon.

When she arrived, the dragons immediately sensed her presence. Feeling her sadness and grief, they murmured softly, with their gaze following her steps toward Vermithor. The old dragon knew where he would have to fly before she even appeared inside. He would fly to Dragonstone.

The cold, night wind swept tears from the young queen's cheeks as she sat on the back of the Bronze Fury. She realized she didn't actually know what to say when she will arrive to the castle. Would the guards even let her in? Would Rhaenyra want to talk? Maybe Daemon was nearby on Caraxes, wanting to attack her?

However, no one attacked her from the air, and when she landed, no one awaited her with an army. As she reached the castle gates, she removed her hood, letting her white hair fell over her shoulders.

"Your grace," the guards bowed, but they would have lied if they claimed her appearance didn't shock them.

"I want to talk to Rhaenyra," she announced, looking at their faces. Seeing her swollen eyes and wet cheeks, they didn't even dare ask if she was armed. Before them was a grieving mother who didn't want war. She wanted explanations.

When Rhaenyra was awakened and informed of her sister's visit, she quickly went to the main hall, barefoot and in her nightgown. She felt like she was still dreaming and her mind was playing tricks on her, but when she saw her sister accompanied by two guards, she realized the reality. Sisters looked at each other in silence, unsure of what to say and how to begin. Rhaenyra felt a lump in her throat when she saw in what state Y/N was. She felt like she was looking at her reflection from a few weeks ago when she herself mourned her son's death. Y/N's eyes welled with tears again. She hadn't seen Rhaenyra for so long.

"Nyra-," she began, but her voice broke. The older woman started towards her, but a guard stopped her with a hand gesture.

"Your grace, we don't know-," "She's my sister," she said firmly, glaring at him. She passed the young knight and approached the girl, whom she immediately hugged. As soon as she closed her in her arms, Y/N began to sob. Rhaenyra held her tightly, feeling her own tears burning beneath her eyelids.

"They killed my boy," she cried, clenching her fists on Rhaenyra's robe. "They killed my angel, who did nothing wrong. Why? Why did they kill one of the two most innocent people in this cursed castle?"

Rhaenyra had no answer to any of her questions. Even if she wanted to say something, she couldn't, being completely out of words. She hugged her sister, who trembled in her arms. Despite her heavy cloak and cape, she felt her body shaking.

Still embracing young queen, Rhaenyra led her to one of the couches where they sat together. She held her hands tightly as she tried to sort out what she wanted to say. Y/N had no idea what to say either, she just wanted to rid herself of all the pain no one in the castle cared about. No one wanted to listen to her, no one even wanted to hug and comfort her; everyone needed to be heard and comforted as well. Of all the people, Y/N could only come to Rhaenyra, who was now an enemy to all of King's Landing. However, for the young queen, she was not an enemy but a sister and a mother who had recently mourned the death of her child, too. No one could understand her better.

"They cut off his little head as if he were a worthless pig," she said bitterly, staring into the flame dancing in the fireplace. Rhaenyra saw that Y/N still had her dead son's body before her eyes, and she knew that the sight would stay with her for a long time. She would give anything to relieve her pain.

"I've never seen such a small coffin. And it was still too big for him," Rhaenyra quickly wiped her wet cheeks herself, but it didn't gave much help.

"Instead of treating his funeral properly and with respect," Y/N began, but her voice broke. "Otto ordered a procession. They dragged him through the entire city along paths he was not even able to walk in his lifetime."

Despite the sadness, grief, and sympathy, Rhaenyra began to feel anger. The Hightowers turned the death of a child into a spectacle to portray them as victims and her as a murderer. It wasn't even about deciding to condemn her even more; it was the fact that they used the tragic death of an innocent child for it.

"He said Alicent and I should take part in the procession so that people would sympathize more. She…she-," young queen began to sob, to which Rhaenyra hugged her tightly. "When I said I didn't want to, she declared it was my duty. It wasn't my duty, was it?"

"Of course not," she answered, stroking her head. Rhaenyra's tears soaked her sister's hair as she hugged her. "You didn't deserve this, Y/N. I'm so sorry."

The young queen cried in her arms, and Rhaenyra continued to hug her tightly. All she could do at the moment was provide her with a little comfort, which she was so eager for. Y/N herself had not been a child so long ago and now she had to deal with such suffering.

After a while, when the wave of despair passed, Y/N moved away from her sister and looked at her face, desperately seeking explanations.

"What actually happened, Nyra?"

"There was a mistake," a voice came from the corner before Rhaenyra was even able to open her mouth to speak. When Daemon came out of the shadows, Rhaenyra hugged her sister tighter and gave him a fierce look.

"You have no right to be here," she said sharply, but her voice trembled on the last spoken word.

"I have the right to explanations," he replied calmly, looking at her and then at his niece. The young queen looked at him in silence, finally wanting to know the truth. The pain could be devastating, but she knew that moving forward would require it.

"Why-," she began, biting her lip painfully. She didn't want to cry in front of him. "Why did they kill my little boy?"

"Aemond was supposed to die," he said, approaching. "Son for son."

Y/N shook her head in disbelief, snuggling into her sister. She couldn't look at her uncle.

"They didn't find Aemond, but they found you and your children-" "That's enough," Rhaenyra interrupted sharply. "Leave, now."

However, Daemon approached even closer, still looking at his niece. He knelt in front of her.

"There are no words to describe how sorry I am," he said quietly but firmly. "I'm so sorry Y/N, that you got caught up in this conflict. You and your children shouldn't be involved at all."

The young queen sniffled and looked at him tearfully. She felt a cold hand tighten around her throat, struggling to breathe because of what she heard.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he repeated, this time looking her in the eye.

"How many more family members will I have to mourn for this madness to end?"

Rhaenyra kissed her temple and hugged her tightly. The three of them remained silent for an indefinite time. At one point, Y/N stood up, breaking free from her sister's embrace. She wiped her wet cheeks and took a deep breath.

"Aegon is angry and wants war," she began, looking around them. "But more than anger, it's grief that consumes him. He lost a child."

"We don't want war either," Rhaenyra assured, holding her hand. "The last thing I want is more death."

"I'll try to talk to him and appeal to his reason," she said, squeezing her sister's hand one last time. "I don't want any more death, too. This has to end."

She was about to leave, but Rhaenyra stood up and hugged her tightly one last time.

"I love you, bird," she whispered, holding her tightly. "I love you and I'm so sorry for all of this."

"I'm not your enemy," Y/N said softly, closing her eyes. "I'm your sister. And I too love you."

After a difficult farewell, the young queen returned to the castle. As she walked through the empty, silent corridors, she tried to be quieter than a mouse. However, as she passed Aegon's chambers, she heard sobbing. Her brother must have sent the guards away because there was no one at the entrance. The girl fought herself for a moment, but after a while she quietly entered the room. Aegon sat by the fireplace, leaning his elbows on his knees. He nervously rubbed his hands and his hair covered his face, but she could hear him crying.

Y/N still had her hand on the doorknob, unsure what to do or say. Since the news of their son's death, they has not spoken a word with each other.

"Aegon..." she began uncertainly, but he didn't react to her words at all. The girl left the door ajar and walked slowly to him, afraid of what she might expect from him.

"I just wanted to-" she didn't have the opportunity to finish, because he caught her around the waist and pulled her towards him, hugging her tightly. The young queen put one hand on his shoulder, the other stroking his head. She herself felt tears under her eyelids again.

"Why does this keep happening to us?" he asked, raising his head and looking at her from below. Aegon also desperately needed explanations that could help him digest the pain, but no one wanted to provide them to him. The girl touched his tear-stained cheek and wiped it off, shaking her head helplessly. She also didn't have an answer to the question that would haunt them for the next few weeks, months, maybe even years.

"I just wanted to be happy and have a loving family," he said, his voice breaking. "What did i do wrong?"

Y/N burst into tears again and sat on his lap, hugging him tightly. Aegon hugged her even tighter, ignoring her cloak and the smell of the night she brought with her into his chambers. At that moment, all he desperately needed was a little comfort and a silent assurance that everything would somehow work out.

She needed it, too.

Targaryens needed each other.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd one shot #hotd fanfic #hotd season 2 #hotd s2 #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #daemyra

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hisfavegirl · 14 days ago

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Sweet Little Family - Daemon Targaryen x Reader.

Summary : It's been six years since your marriage, your children have grown up to be like their father. You are very grateful to have a husband like Daemon, who can give you a sweet little family.

You walked slowly, following the quick, excited steps of your triplets. Their silver hair shimmered in the sunlight, flowing like silk ribbons as they ran ahead of you. Their laughter echoed through the stone halls, filling your heart with warmth.

“Slow down, little dragons,” you called gently, placing a hand on your growing belly. Your voice carried a mix of affection and mild exasperation. “Don’t make me chase you.”

Nearly six years had passed since their birth, and it was hard to believe how quickly they’d grown into such lively children. Each of them had their own unique energy — Maegon always leading the charge, Vaelya trailing close behind with a mischievous grin, and Aerion darting from side to side like a little whirlwind.

Footsteps echoed behind you, and you glanced back to see Daemon approaching. His eyes were locked on you with a mixture of pride and concern. “You’re pushing yourself too much,” he remarked as he reached you, his hand resting gently on your lower back. “Let them run wild. They’ll tire themselves out soon enough.”

You smiled up at him, feeling the warmth of his presence beside you. “If they tire themselves out, they’ll only have more energy later,” you replied with a knowing look.

Daemon chuckled softly, his eyes briefly flicking to your belly. “And soon enough, there’ll be another one running around with them,” he said, resting a hand over yours on your stomach. His touch was firm but tender, his thumb gently stroking the fabric of your gown.

“Or maybe two,” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Daemon’s eyes widened for a moment, then he laughed, tilting his head back. “Don’t say such things, my love. I can barely manage three of them as it is.”

You laughed along with him, watching as your children stopped at the end of the hall, waving for you both to hurry. Your heart swelled with love for them — for all of them.

Daemon carried you with ease, his arms strong and steady as he walked toward the garden. The warmth of the sun filtered through the leaves, casting soft golden light over the vibrant greenery. The sound of your children’s laughter echoed in the distance, drawing your eyes toward them. They were running freely, their silver hair glinting like threads of moonlight as they chased one another with boundless energy.

“Put me down, Daemon,” you said softly, your arms around his neck. “I can walk just fine.”

“Not while I’m here,” he replied with a teasing grin, his eyes filled with warmth. “Besides, you deserve to be spoiled.”

You shook your head, smiling at his stubbornness. He finally set you down beneath the shade of a large tree, making sure you were comfortable before sitting beside you. You leaned back against the trunk, your eyes locked on your children. Maegon was leading his siblings on an imaginary quest, waving a stick like it was a sword. Vaelya followed close behind, mimicking his movements, while Aerion kept zigzagging between them, laughing as if he were the dragon they were all chasing.

“They’ve grown so fast,” you murmured, your hand resting on your belly, feeling the faint flutter of life inside.

Daemon’s eyes flickered to you before settling on the children. “Too fast,” he agreed, his voice low and thoughtful. “Soon, they’ll be wielding real swords.”

“Not too soon, I hope,” you replied, glancing at him with a raised brow.

He smirked but said nothing, his gaze softening as he watched them play. Moments later, Maegon noticed him and waved eagerly. “Papa, come play with us!” he shouted, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Yes, Papa! Come chase the dragon!” Vaelya added, bouncing on her feet.

Aerion simply pointed at him, grinning with mischief in his eyes.

Daemon glanced at you as if asking for permission. You waved him off with a small laugh. “Go on, Rogue Prince. Your little dragons are calling for you.”

He stood, brushing the dirt from his clothes, and strode toward them with a grin that matched Aerion’s. The children squealed in delight as he lunged toward them, playfully growling like a dragon. They scattered in every direction, their giggles filling the air.

You watched them with a serene smile, leaning back against the tree. The sight of Daemon chasing the children, his eyes alight with joy, filled your heart with peace. It was moments like these — simple, fleeting moments — that you cherished most. For all the grandeur and power of the Red Keep, this was your true treasure: your family, happy and whole.

You gently rubbed your swollen belly, your fingers tracing soothing circles over the growing life within you. Your eyes stayed fixed on Daemon and your children, their laughter filling the garden like a melody of pure joy. It was a sight you never grew tired of — your family together, safe and happy.

A movement from the corner of your eye drew your attention. Turning your head, you saw Aemma approaching with little Rhaenyra toddling beside her. Aemma’s hand rested on her own growing belly, her steps slow and careful but graceful nonetheless. Her smile was warm and knowing, the kind only another expectant mother could offer.

“Look at them,” Aemma said, her eyes following the wild chase between Daemon and your children. “I don’t know who’s having more fun — the father or the little ones.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s always him. He acts like he’s doing it for them, but I know better.”

Aemma sat beside you, exhaling deeply as she shifted to get comfortable. Rhaenyra climbed into her lap, snuggling close to her mother’s side. “I think it’s sweet,” Aemma said, stroking Rhaenyra’s silver-blonde hair. “They’ll remember these moments forever. It’s rare for fathers to be so present.”

You glanced at Daemon, watching as he spun Vaelya in the air, her giggles sharp and bright as dragonfire. “He’s stubborn, reckless, and far too proud,” you said with a small smirk. “But with them… he’s soft. Softer than he’ll ever admit.”

Aemma hummed in agreement, her gaze fond. “It suits him,” she said, glancing at you. “It suits you, too. Motherhood becomes you.”

You tilted your head, raising a brow. “Says the mother of the Realm’s Delight,” you teased, nodding at Rhaenyra, who was now playing with the ends of Aemma’s sleeves. “She’ll have the realm wrapped around her little fingers.”

Aemma chuckled, brushing her fingers through Rhaenyra’s hair. “She already does,” she admitted, eyes full of love. “But soon, you’ll have more little ones to wrap you around theirs.” Her gaze flickered meaningfully to your belly. “How are you feeling? Any easier this time?”

You sighed deeply, resting your hand on your belly. “They’re strong,” you said softly. “Stronger than the first three. I feel them day and night, moving, stretching… sometimes it feels like they’re already fighting each other.”

Aemma laughed, eyes sparkling with amusement. “That just means they’ll be warriors. Like their father.”

“Gods help me,” you muttered with mock dread, though you smiled as you spoke. Your eyes softened as you looked back at your children. “One of him is already enough to handle.”

“True,” Aemma said with a grin, leaning back. “But I have a feeling you can handle them all.”

The two of you sat there for a while, sharing quiet conversation and laughter as your children played. The sun filtered gently through the leaves, warming your skin as the cool breeze kept you from growing too hot. It was a rare, perfect moment of peace in a world that often felt far too unpredictable.

And as you watched Daemon gather Maegon, Vaelya, and Aerion into a fierce embrace, spinning them all in a circle, you felt it once again — that steady, unshakable warmth of home.

You glanced at Daemon, watching as he tried to wrangle Maegon, Vaelya, and Aerion all at once. Maegon had climbed onto his back like a little dragon claiming its perch, Vaelya was tugging at his arm demanding he “fly her like a dragon,” and Aerion had taken it upon himself to chase a butterfly with absolutely no regard for the chaos he left in his wake.

Daemon’s face was a mix of exasperation and determination, his silver hair disheveled from the tiny hands tugging at him. He muttered something under his breath, likely a curse, but his lips twitched in a barely concealed smile. No one else would notice it, but you did. Despite his complaints, he was enjoying every second.

You pressed a hand gently to your belly, feeling the familiar flutter of movement from within. The knowledge of the secret you were carrying — two little lives, not one — made your heart swell with a strange mixture of joy and guilt. You hadn’t told him yet. Part of you feared his reaction, knowing how much effort it already took to manage your three lively children. Seeing him now, juggling their boundless energy with a patience only he could muster, made you hesitate.

Aemma leaned closer to you, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “You should tell him,” she whispered, her eyes flicking toward Daemon. “It’s not like he’ll love them any less.”

“I know,” you replied, eyes still on him. “It’s just… look at him, Aemma. He’s outnumbered as it is.”

“And yet, he’s still standing,” Aemma pointed out, giving you a pointed look. “If there’s anyone who can handle five dragonlings, it’s him. You’ve seen it yourself.”

You sighed, brushing your fingers over the curve of your belly. “I’ll tell him soon,” you promised, though you weren’t sure if it was more for Aemma or for yourself. “Just… let me enjoy this peace a little longer.”

“Peace?” Aemma snorted, tilting her head toward the scene in front of you. Daemon had finally managed to catch Aerion, only for Maegon to dart away with Vaelya close behind. “That doesn’t look like peace to me.”

You laughed, unable to deny it. “It’s our kind of peace,” you said, eyes soft with love.

At that moment, Daemon turned, his eyes meeting yours. He arched a brow, noticing you watching him. He narrowed his eyes playfully, as if suspicious of your hidden thoughts. Slowly, he shook his head, feigning defeat. “Stop looking at me like that, love,” he called, hoisting Maegon over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing. “Unless you plan to come help me.”

You smiled sweetly, leaning back against the tree. “You’re doing so well on your own, husband,” you called back, earning an exaggerated groan from him.

Aemma laughed at your side, and you couldn’t help but join her. Yes, you would tell him soon. But for now, you simply wanted to watch him — strong, stubborn, unshakable Daemon Targaryen — being the most chaotic, devoted father in the world.

Your children’s eyes lit up with excitement as soon as Daemon mentioned the Dragonpit. Maegon practically bounced on his feet, his silver hair wild from all his running earlier. “Dragonpit! Dragonpit!” he chanted, his little fists pumping the air. Vaelya clapped her hands in delight, her sharp, curious eyes wide with wonder, while Aerion’s face broke into a mischievous grin as if he were already planning some grand adventure.

“Only if you listen to me,” Daemon said firmly, his voice laced with authority but softened by affection. “No running off. No climbing. No touching anything unless I say so. Do you hear me, hatchlings?”

“Yes, papa!” they all chimed in unison, their faces far too innocent for it to be believable.

You folded your arms across your belly, raising an eyebrow at Daemon. “You know they’re only saying that because they’re too excited to think.”

Daemon smirked, his gaze flicking from you to the three eager children at his feet. “I’m aware,” he replied, bending down to Maegon’s level, giving him a pointed look. “But if they don’t behave, they’ll be back here so fast they won’t even know what happened.” He glanced up at you, his eyes softening. “You should rest, anyway. Aemma will keep you company.”

“I’ll do more than that,” Aemma said, sitting beside you on the bench with a knowing grin. Her hand gently cradled her own growing belly. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t try to follow you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you said, though both Daemon and Aemma gave you the same skeptical look.

Daemon moved to your side, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. His hand lingered on your belly for a moment, his thumb gently stroking over the fabric of your dress. “We won’t be long,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple.

“Just be careful,” you whispered, your fingers curling lightly around his wrist.

He grinned as he pulled away, his violet eyes filled with mischief and confidence. “They’ll be riding dragons before you know it, love. Might as well start learning now.”

You shook your head with a quiet laugh as you watched him round up the children. Aerion darted ahead, but Daemon was quick to grab him by the back of his tunic, lifting him off the ground like a cat snatching up its kitten. Vaelya tugged on his other hand, trying to pull him forward faster, while Maegon marched ahead like he was leading a grand procession.

“Dragonpit! Dragonpit!” Maegon started chanting again, his siblings quickly joining him in chorus.

“More like ‘Chaospit,’” Aemma muttered beside you, her tone light with amusement.

You laughed, leaning back against the bench with a sigh. Your hand came to rest on your belly, feeling a soft flutter from within. Twins. Again. You glanced toward Daemon one last time, your heart full of love and quiet awe as you watched him wrangle your little dragons with so much patience and care.

“Do you think he knows?” Aemma asked softly, following your gaze.

“Not yet,” you replied, your voice just as quiet. “But he will soon enough.”

Aemma smiled knowingly, her eyes flicking back to the scene before you. “He’ll be thrilled,” she said. “Overwhelmed, maybe, but thrilled.”

You nodded, your gaze softening as you watched him lift Vaelya onto his hip while holding Aerion’s hand. Maegon, of course, had run too far ahead, and Daemon called after him with that sharp, commanding tone that only he could use.

Yes, you thought, watching him with a full heart. He’ll be thrilled.

With each step down the stone corridors of the Red Keep, you felt the weight of your growing belly. Your hand rested protectively on it, fingers gently stroking as if to soothe the little ones within. The soft thud of your footsteps echoed through the halls, accompanied by the light chatter of Aemma and the occasional babbling of little Rhaenyra in her mother’s arms.

“Are you certain you should be walking so much?” Aemma glanced at you with concern, adjusting Rhaenyra on her hip. “You’re carrying two, after all. Perhaps it’s time to sit for a while.”

“I’m fine, Aemma,” you reassured her, though you did pause for a moment to catch your breath. “I won’t be locked away in that chamber for weeks just because they think I’m too delicate. I’ll rest when I must.”

Aemma gave you a look that was somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “Stubborn as ever, I see.”

“Have you met my husband?” you teased with a grin. “I think it’s rubbing off on me.”

The two of you shared a soft laugh, but it was short-lived as faint whispers reached your ears. It wasn’t unusual. Servants and courtiers alike always had something to say, and with your growing belly on full display, they had even more to gossip about.

“She should be resting, not wandering around like that.”

“Three children already and now more on the way. How does she manage?”

“Prince Daemon won’t be pleased if she overexerts herself.”

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to ignore it, but Aemma’s eyes narrowed. She turned her head, her gaze sharp as she scanned the hall. “Do you hear them whispering like rats in the walls?” she muttered, adjusting Rhaenyra in her arms. “If I were you, I’d have half the Keep scrubbing floors for talking about me like that.”

You smiled faintly, tilting your head toward her. “I’ve learned to let them talk. It gives them something to do.”

“Too kind, as always,” Aemma replied, rolling her eyes. “If it were me, I’d give them something else to do.”

The thought made you chuckle softly. The whispers didn’t bother you as much as they used to. You’d grown used to them. You knew they’d never be truly silent, especially when you were married to Daemon Targaryen. If they weren’t whispering about you, they’d be whispering about him.

When you finally reached Aemma’s chambers, the warmth of the fire welcomed you inside. The faint scent of herbs and honey filled the air. A servant poured fresh tea, and you gratefully took a seat on one of the cushioned chairs. The relief on your body was immediate, and you let out a soft sigh as you leaned back.

“I told you,” Aemma said with a playful smile, handing you a steaming cup of tea. “Sitting is much better, isn’t it?”

“Don’t gloat,” you replied, taking the cup with both hands. The warmth seeped into your fingers, and you inhaled the sweet aroma. “But yes, you were right.”

Aemma raised a brow, as if to say, Of course I was. She sat across from you, balancing Rhaenyra on her lap. The little girl reached out, grasping at Aemma’s braid with curious eyes.

The two of you sat in peaceful silence for a while, the crackling fire the only sound between you. Occasionally, Aemma would hum a soft lullaby for Rhaenyra, and you watched with a small smile, one hand resting on your belly as you felt the soft kicks of your own babes.

“Do you ever wonder,” Aemma said suddenly, her gaze distant as she watched the fire, “what kind of mother you’ll be to them?”

You glanced down at your belly, feeling the strong kicks of your unborn children. Your heart swelled with love, warmth, and a tinge of fear. “Every day,” you admitted softly. “I wonder if I’ll be enough for them. If I’ll be able to guide them the way they deserve.”

“You will,” Aemma said firmly, her gaze meeting yours with quiet certainty. “You already are.”

Her words settled over you like a warm cloak. You smiled at her, eyes glistening with gratitude. “And you’ll be there too,” you said with quiet affection. “They’ll have you, just as Rhaenyra has you.”

Aemma tilted her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. “I will,” she promised.

The warmth of the fire, the softness of the tea, and the quiet strength shared between the two of you made the world outside seem distant. For now, you let yourself feel safe.

You glanced at Aemma, her face bathed in the golden glow of the firelight. She was cradling Rhaenyra on her lap, her fingers gently smoothing down her daughter’s silver hair. Her gaze was soft, but there was a depth of experience in her eyes — one you understood better now that you were a mother yourself.

After a moment of hesitation, you spoke quietly, “Aemma… how was it for you? Your pregnancies, I mean.” You glanced at her with a mixture of curiosity and empathy. “I know this isn’t your first, and… I know you lost one.” Your voice softened at the end, not wanting to stir painful memories but needing to understand.

Aemma’s fingers paused for a moment as she looked down at Rhaenyra, her lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, you feared you’d overstepped, but she took a deep breath and nodded slowly.

“It was hard,” she admitted, her voice quiet but steady. Her eyes remained on Rhaenyra as if finding strength in her daughter’s presence. “The first time, everything felt so new. I was excited, nervous, and hopeful. Viserys was by my side through it all, and I thought nothing could go wrong.” Her eyes flickered with a hint of sorrow. “But the gods had other plans.”

She shifted slightly in her seat, adjusting Rhaenyra, who had begun to doze against her chest. “The second time, I was terrified from the start. Every ache, every twinge, I feared it was happening again. I barely slept, and neither did Viserys. I think he worried more than I did.” Her lips quirked into a faint smile at the thought of her husband.

Her gaze met yours then, her expression filled with quiet resolve. “But Rhaenyra came into this world strong and screaming, and I knew she was different. She had to be.” Her voice softened, full of love and pride. “She was my proof that even after loss, there is hope.”

You nodded slowly, her words sinking into your heart. “I think about that sometimes,” you confessed, running your hand over the swell of your belly. “I have three already, but this pregnancy feels… different. Heavier. Harder. I wonder if it’s because there are two of them, or if the gods are testing me.”

Aemma reached over and placed a hand over yours, her warmth grounding you. “You are strong,” she said firmly, squeezing your hand. “The gods do not test those they do not believe can endure. And you have already proven your strength time and time again.”

Her words settled over you like a soft cloak of comfort. You exhaled deeply, feeling the weight on your heart ease just a little.

“Thank you, Aemma,” you said quietly, your eyes meeting hers.

She smiled, and in that moment, you felt a bond between you grow stronger. Two mothers, two women who had faced the unknown with courage, bound together not just by family but by shared experience.

Aemma’s eyes softened with concern as she watched you prepare to leave. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice laced with worry. “I can have one of the guards accompany you to your chambers. You should take it easy.”

You smiled gently, reassuring her. “I’ll be fine, Aemma. I appreciate the concern, but I’m just a few halls away. I’ll be careful.”

She hesitated for a moment, as though unsure if she should insist, but then she nodded. “Very well. But if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

“I won’t,” you promised, your voice warm with gratitude. “Thank you for everything.”

With a final smile and a gentle pat on her hand, you slowly rose from your seat, feeling the familiar weight of your growing belly. You took a moment to steady yourself, before giving Aemma one last look and making your way toward the door.

As you walked through the halls of the Red Keep, the quiet sounds of the castle surrounded you, yet there was a sense of calm in the air. The path to your room seemed longer than usual, but each step you took, you felt more confident. You had endured much already—this small walk was nothing you couldn’t handle.

As you rounded a corner, you felt a gentle wave of dizziness, but you steadied yourself against the wall. A brief moment of unease passed, but you shook it off. Just a little longer, you told yourself, then you’d be able to rest.

When you finally reached your chambers, the door opened to reveal the warmth of the fire crackling inside. The sight of Daemon, seated near the hearth, brought a sense of relief. He looked up at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re back,” he said, his voice low and filled with affection. “Everything well?”

You nodded, though the slight heaviness in your chest told you that there was more to be wary of than you’d let on. “Just a walk,” you replied, trying to keep the weariness from your tone. “Nothing to worry about.”

Daemon stood up, his eyes scanning you with concern. “You should rest,” he said, stepping closer. “Let me help you.”

You smiled at him, the warmth of his presence easing the last of your unease. “I will,” you murmured. “But I wanted to be sure everything was in order before I lay down.”

Daemon’s hand rested gently on the small of your back, guiding you toward the bed. “You’ve done more than enough,” he whispered softly. “Now, let’s make sure you and the little ones get the rest you deserve.”

You leaned into him, feeling the safety of his embrace as he helped you settle back against the pillows. With his soothing touch and the quiet of the room, you finally allowed yourself to relax, knowing that Daemon would be there, watching over you and your growing family.

As the warm glow of candlelight flickered softly in the room, you sat back against your pillows, your gaze fixed on Daemon and the children gathered around the dinner table. Laughter and soft chatter filled the air, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of happiness watching them. Daemon, ever the protective father, kept a watchful eye on the children, though his usual stern expression softened whenever he glanced in your direction.

Your hand instinctively found its way to your belly, the slight flutter of your baby within making you smile. The babes was active, just like their siblings had been. You couldn’t help but wonder what this new child would be like—whether they’d share the same silver hair and sharp eyes as their brothers and sister, or if they’d be different in some way.

Daemon caught your eye, his own smile forming as he noticed your gaze lingering on the children. “Are you thinking about the little one?” he asked softly, his voice carrying a warmth that only he could convey.

You nodded, your hand still gently caressing your stomach. “Yes. They’re very active tonight.”

Daemon chuckled, his eyes glinting with affection. “Seems like they’re just as eager to meet us as the others were.” He turned to the children, who were quietly eating, their attention still on the food before them. “Your sibling’s already making their presence known.”

The three of them looked up, their faces lighting up at the mention of their future sibling. “Is the babe going to be like us, Mama?” Maegon asked, his silver hair falling over his eyes as he eagerly looked up at you.

Vaelya, ever the curious one, added, “Will it be a boy or a girl?”

You smiled, your heart swelling with love for them. “I don’t know yet,” you answered gently. “But I do know that the babe will be just as special as all of you.”

Aerion, who had been quietly playing with his food, looked up and said, “I want to teach them how to play with dragons.”

Daemon’s smile deepened as he leaned forward, his gaze softening. “I have no doubt they’ll be just as adventurous as their older siblings.”

The warmth in the room was palpable, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. As Daemon leaned in to kiss your forehead, you closed your eyes for a moment, taking in the beauty of the moment. In this little family of yours, there was so much love, so much joy.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur. “For everything.”

Daemon’s hand gently squeezed yours as he looked into your eyes, his own filled with nothing but tenderness. “There is no need to thank me,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity. “I’m just happy to be here with you, with our children. This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You smiled, content in the warmth of your family, your heart full. It wasn’t just the food, or the children’s laughter—it was this life, the one you had built together, that filled you with a sense of fulfillment.

Tonight, with Daemon and your children by your side, you truly felt at home.

You gazed at Daemon, watching the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed at something Maegon said. Your heart felt full, and for a moment, you hesitated. But then, as you looked down at your growing belly, you knew it was time.

“Daemon,” you called softly, your voice gentle but firm enough to catch his attention.

He turned his head toward you, his sharp gaze immediately softening. “Yes, my love?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, his curiosity piqued.

You glanced at the children, who were still focused on their food and small conversations. Then, you returned your gaze to him, eyes filled with quiet excitement. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Daemon’s brows furrowed slightly as he leaned forward, his full attention now on you. “What is it? Are you feeling unwell?”

You shook your head, letting out a small breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Your hand rested on your belly, your fingers moving in slow, thoughtful circles. “No, I’m fine. It’s not that.” You met his gaze, your eyes filled with both mischief and love. “It’s about the baby… or rather, babies.”

His eyes flickered with confusion for a heartbeat, his brow arching. “Babies?” he repeated, as if testing the word on his tongue.

You nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Yes, Daemon. Twins.”

For a moment, his expression was unreadable. He blinked once, then twice, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly. Then, a grin—wide, wild, and undeniably Daemon—broke across his face.

“Twins,” he repeated, but this time with the excitement of a man who had just won a great victory. He threw his head back, laughing—a sound so full of joy it echoed through the chamber.

“Seven hells, woman,” he said, his voice filled with unrestrained pride. He stood from his chair, crossing the room in a few long strides before kneeling at your side. His hands cupped your face, his eyes searching yours as if to make sure this was real. “You’re carrying two of them?”

You laughed, finally releasing the breath you’d been holding for so long. “Yes, two. The maester confirmed it weeks ago, but I wanted to be sure before I told you.”

Daemon’s grin never wavered. He pressed a firm kiss to your lips before lowering himself to his knees. His hands gently rested on either side of your belly, his forehead leaning against it as if he were speaking directly to the babies inside.

“Two more dragons for the world to fear,” he murmured, his voice thick with pride and love. “Do you hear that, little ones? Your father is waiting for you. You’ll be fierce and bold, just like your mother.”

The children had stopped eating, their eyes wide with surprise. “Two?” Vaelya gasped, looking between you and Daemon. “Two more babies?!”

Maegon’s face lit up, and he leapt from his chair, his silver hair bouncing as he ran toward you. “Can I name one of them, Mama?” he asked eagerly, climbing up onto the side of your chair.

Aerion was right behind him, his little hands tugging on Daemon’s arm. “Me too! I want to name one too!”

Daemon laughed and scooped up both boys, one under each arm, holding them with ease. “You can give them all the names you like,” he said, his grin never fading. “But the final say will be your mother’s.”

Vaelya crossed her arms, her face scrunched in thought. “I want a sister this time,” she declared firmly. “We already have too many boys.”

Daemon raised a brow at her, his grin still playful. “We’ll see, little dragon.”

You leaned back in your chair, heart light and full of love. Watching them all like this, the children’s excitement, Daemon’s pride—it was everything you could have hoped for.

For a while, you’d carried the secret alone, but now that he knew, it felt as if a great weight had been lifted. And seeing the way his eyes burned with pride and joy, you knew you’d made the right choice to wait.

The Targaryen family was growing, and with Daemon by your side, you knew there was nothing you couldn’t face together.

You lay nestled in the large bed, surrounded by warmth and the gentle weight of your family. Daemon’s arm was draped protectively over you, his body pressed firmly against your back, his warmth lulling you into a sense of peace. His breath was soft against your neck as he whispered, “Comfortable, my love?”

You nodded, letting out a soft hum of contentment. Your hand rested on your swollen belly, fingers tracing gentle circles over the stretched fabric of your nightgown. The soft glow of the firelight flickered across the room, casting golden shadows that danced on the stone walls.

Vaelya lay on your other side, her silver hair fanned out like a halo on the pillow. Her small hand was pressed firmly against your belly, her eyes wide with wonder. When she felt a kick, her face lit up with pure excitement. “I afelt it!” she gasped, turning her gaze to you. “They kicked, Mama! They kicked!”

You smiled down at her, brushing a hand through her hair. “They’re strong, aren’t they?” you said softly. “Just like you.”

Not wanting to be left out, Maegon and Aerion crawled up from the foot of the bed, each of them vying for a chance to feel the babies. “Me too! I want to feel it too!” Aerion declared, his face scrunched in concentration as he pressed his small hands against your belly.

“Move, I was here first!” Maegon argued, trying to shove his brother aside.

“There’s room for both of you,” you laughed, grabbing them both and guiding their little hands to a spot where you had felt movement.

The moment another kick landed, their eyes lit up with awe.

“Did you feel that?!” Maegon’s face was full of wonder, his mouth hanging open. “It’s like they’re fighting in there!”

“I bet it’s a dragon egg hatching,” Aerion said, his face full of seriousness, as if he had solved a grand mystery. “We’ll have dragons in Mama’s belly!”

Daemon let out a deep, hearty laugh behind you, his chest rumbling against your back. “If that’s the case, we’ll need a bigger bed,” he teased, his hand sliding down to cover yours on your belly. “No dragons in here, only warriors.”

“Or princesses,” Vaelya added quickly, shooting her father a defiant look.

“Or princesses,” Daemon agreed with a grin, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “Fierce and unstoppable princesses.”

Aerion yawned loudly, rubbing his eyes before flopping down beside you, his little head resting against your arm. Maegon wasn’t far behind, curling up on Daemon’s other side, his hand still lightly resting on your belly as if he didn’t want to miss another kick.

“Stay,” Vaelya whispered, tucking herself close to your side, her fingers curling against your nightgown. “Don’t go anywhere, Mama.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetling,” you whispered, brushing a kiss on her head. “I’m right here.”

Daemon shifted, pulling the covers up over all of you. His hand stayed protectively over your belly, his thumb moving in slow, soothing strokes. “Sleep, my loves,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I’ll watch over you.”

Surrounded by the warmth of your family, you let your eyes flutter closed. The soft breathing of your children, the steady beat of Daemon’s heart behind you, and the tiny movements of the babies within you all merged into a single, perfect melody.

For this moment, all was right in the world.

As you sat in front of the mirror, one of your attendants carefully braiding your hair while you worked on your daughter Vaelya’s hair. The soft silver strands glistened in the light as you carefully braided them into neat, intricate plaits. You could feel the weight of the day ahead settling on you, but it felt grounding to focus on these small moments. The quiet rhythm of the task, the closeness with your children, and the morning stillness were all moments you cherished.

Vaelya looked up at you, her big eyes full of curiosity as she wiggled in her seat. “Mama, will we see Papa today?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” you said with a smile, finishing the last braid. “After your lessons, we’ll go see him.”

Once you finished, you moved on to Maegon and Aerion, making sure they were dressed and ready for their own lessons in the garden. The three of them, though young, were already eager learners, each with their own personality and way of interacting with the world around them. They had all inherited the silver hair from you and Daemon, a constant reminder of your family’s strength and lineage.

After making sure they were all set, you stood up and led them out of the room, your attendants following behind to ensure everything was in order. You made your way through the Red Keep toward the garden, where the children’s lessons were often held, the smell of fresh flowers filling the air.

As you arrived, the children excitedly ran ahead, eager to see their tutors and begin their lessons. You watched them with a smile, feeling proud of how they were growing and learning every day. Once you were certain they were settled in, you turned your attention to the training yard. You knew Daemon would be there, focused on his sparring and practice, as usual.

Walking toward the training yard, you felt your anticipation build. You could already hear the sounds of swords clashing, the rhythm of battle, as well as the shouts of soldiers and sparring partners. Daemon’s presence was unmistakable, even from a distance. He was always a figure of strength, commanding attention without even trying.

As you entered the yard, you spotted him right away. He was engaged in a match with some of the guards, his movements swift and precise. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him—his dedication to his craft, the way his muscles rippled with each swing of his sword, and the focused look on his face.

You stood back for a moment, content to watch him from afar, savoring the sight of him in his element. The children were with their tutors, and now you could allow yourself to enjoy a quiet moment of watching your husband, feeling a mix of admiration and love for the man who had so much strength, both in body and spirit.

Daemon’s eyes immediately found you among the crowd, his gaze hardening slightly as he noticed the way you were standing there, watching him. His sparring partner paused for a moment, and Daemon stepped away, wiping sweat from his brow as he made his way toward you. His stern expression softened only when he reached your side, and despite his usual strong demeanor, there was a hint of concern in his voice.

“You should be resting, not standing around like this,” Daemon said, his tone laced with a gentle command, but his eyes showing a deep, protective care. “You know you’ve been through so much already. Come, let’s return to our chambers.”

You smiled at him, feeling a playful glint in your eyes as you reached down to touch your swollen belly. “They’re just excited to see you, Daemon. They’re as eager as I am to see you training.” Your words were soft but filled with affection. You felt a small, contented kick from the babies inside you, and you couldn’t help but laugh quietly.

Daemon shook his head, though his lips curled into a slight smile. “You can’t even let me finish one training session without being distracted.” He took a step closer to you, looking at your swollen belly and then back at you with a mixture of frustration and love.

“Please, just sit for a while,” he said, gesturing toward a nearby chair with a sigh. “You need to rest. You’ve been on your feet far too long already.”

With a small sigh of your own, you relented and nodded. “Alright, I’ll sit here, but I’m not going back to the room just yet.”

Daemon’s expression softened, and he placed a hand on your shoulder, gently guiding you toward the chair. Once you were seated, he stood next to you for a moment longer, his eyes scanning the training yard and then looking back down at you, his concern evident but softened by the love he had for you.

“You’ll always be stubborn, won’t you?” he murmured, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Only when it matters,” you replied with a wink, and you leaned back into the chair, content to watch him from a distance, knowing that you were surrounded by those you loved and that Daemon would always make sure you were safe.

One of your attendants, noticing your discomfort, approached you with concern. “Princess, are you alright? You seem to be in pain,” she asked softly, her eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress.

Daemon, still focused on his training, didn’t seem to notice the change in your expression. You knew he would worry if he saw how uncomfortable you were, so you hesitated before responding, not wanting to distract him.

“I’m fine,” you said, though your voice betrayed a slight tremor. “Just a little discomfort. Nothing to worry about.”

The attendant wasn’t convinced, however, and placed a gentle hand on your arm. “If you’re not feeling well, perhaps we should return to your chambers and let you rest,” she suggested, her tone gentle but insistent.

You sighed, realizing that the discomfort wasn’t something you could ignore much longer. “Perhaps you’re right,” you finally admitted, giving in to the pain. You turned your gaze back toward Daemon, your heart tightening a little at the thought of interrupting his practice.

But the attendant gently guided you toward your feet, offering support. “We can go to your chambers now, my lady. Let us help you.”

With a reluctant nod, you agreed, standing up slowly, your hand resting on your belly. You could feel the weight of the babies inside you as they shifted and moved. As you turned to leave the training yard, your gaze briefly met Daemon’s. For a moment, he looked up, sensing something was off, but you gave him a reassuring smile, not wanting to worry him.

“We’ll return to the room,” you said softly to him. “Resting for a while.”

Daemon nodded, his eyes still locked on yours for a moment longer. “Be careful,” he called after you, a note of concern in his voice despite his usual hard exterior.

With the attendants supporting you, you slowly made your way back to your chambers, hoping the discomfort would pass soon.

As you continued walking, the discomfort grew stronger, and you could feel the tightening sensation in your abdomen becoming more intense. The familiar pressure and cramps spread across your lower belly, and it became clear that this wasn’t just ordinary discomfort. These were contractions.

You stopped in your tracks, feeling a wave of anxiety wash over you. The attendants, sensing the change in your posture and expression, immediately stopped beside you.

“Princess, are you alright?” one of them asked, her voice laced with worry.

“I need to rest,” you said, though your voice trembled slightly. “Please, send for the maester. I think it’s time.”

The attendant nodded urgently, her face pale with concern. “At once, princess,” she said, and she quickly hurried off to fetch the maester.

The seconds felt like hours as you stood there, gripping your belly, the pain intensifying with each passing moment. You tried to remain calm, but the anxiety of what was happening weighed heavily on you. With the added weight of your growing belly and the pressure of the contractions, it was becoming harder to stand.

Your breathing became shallow, and you could feel a cold sweat on your forehead. It seemed like the universe had decided this was the time for you to deliver, and the reality of it all made your heart race. You could only hope that the maester would arrive in time and that everything would be fine.

You leaned against one of the guards for support as you waited, trying to steady yourself as the contractions continued to come in waves.

You heard the hurried footsteps and the familiar voice of Daemon calling your name with urgency. Turning your head, you saw him rushing toward you, his eyes wide with panic and determination. Relief flooded you at the sight of him.

“It’s time,” you said breathlessly, gripping your belly as another sharp contraction rippled through you. “The babies… they’re coming.”

Daemon’s eyes darted to your swollen stomach, his expression shifting instantly from worry to fierce resolve. Without a moment’s hesitation, he scooped you up in his arms as if you weighed nothing, holding you close to his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he said firmly, his jaw set in determination. “Hold on to me.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to him as another wave of pain coursed through your body. He moved swiftly but carefully, shouting for the guards and servants as he strode toward your chambers. “Clear the way! Call for the maester now!” His voice was loud and commanding, the kind of voice that no one dared to question.

People in the corridor stepped aside, some of them bowing while others moved to fulfill his orders. Your heart pounded in your chest, each throb echoing the rhythm of your breathing.

Daemon glanced down at you, his eyes softening just a fraction. “Breathe, love. Just breathe. We’re almost there.”

You nodded, though your breaths came in short, uneven gasps. The pain was relentless, and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on the steady thud of Daemon’s heartbeat beneath your ear.

By the time you reached your chambers, the maester and a group of midwives had already arrived. Daemon laid you gently on the large bed, brushing a strand of damp hair from your forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, his voice quieter now but no less certain. He knelt by your side, taking your hand in his, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your palm. “You’re strong. You’ve done this before, and you’ll do it again.”

You gave him a tired smile through the pain, gripping his hand tightly as another contraction seized you. “Stay with me,” you whispered, your eyes locked on his.

“Always,” he swore, his eyes never leaving yours.

You lay on the bed, gripping the sheets with trembling hands as another powerful contraction surged through you. The pain was unlike anything you had felt before — sharp, relentless, and all-consuming. A guttural scream tore from your throat, filling the room with echoes of your agony. The midwives moved around you with practiced precision, their calm voices urging you to breathe and push.

“Just a little more, my lady,” the maester said firmly but gently. “The first one is almost here.”

Daemon knelt beside you, his face filled with concern, his hand firmly clasping yours. His other hand brushed through your sweat-soaked hair, his eyes never leaving your face. “Breathe, love,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re stronger than this pain. I’m right here.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you squeezed his hand with all the strength you had left. “It hurts, Daemon,” you gasped, your voice strained and hoarse.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice breaking just a little. “I know, my fierce girl. You can do this.”

Another contraction hit, and you arched your back, crying out as your body bore down with all its might. You could feel the shift, the pressure intensifying as the baby moved lower. The maester’s voice was urgent now.

“One more push! Come now, my lady, one final push!”

With every ounce of strength you had, you bore down, your breath hitching with the effort. Daemon pressed his forehead against yours, grounding you, his murmured encouragements filling your ears. Then, all at once, a sharp release — and suddenly, the room was filled with the shrill, piercing cry of a newborn.

“It’s a boy!” the maester declared as he lifted the tiny, wriggling child into view. The midwives moved quickly, cleaning him and wrapping him in soft cloth.

Tears streamed down your face as you reached for him, but the maester shook his head gently. “Not yet, my lady. We still have another.”

Another? Your heart pounded in your chest. You had been so focused on the first that you’d momentarily forgotten. Daemon squeezed your hand tighter, his eyes wide with awe as he glanced at the newborn being carried to the side. He quickly returned his attention to you, his grip steady and unwavering.

“You’ve got this,” he said with renewed determination. “One more, love. Just one more.”

You nodded weakly, exhausted but driven by the knowledge that another life still waited to enter the world. Another surge of pain hit you, stronger than before. You cried out, and the midwives placed their hands on your belly to guide you.

“Push, my lady! Push!”

You gritted your teeth, bearing down again, sweat slicking your skin as every muscle in your body strained. Daemon’s lips brushed your temple, his words a constant reassurance. “Just a little more. I’m right here. Right here.”

Minutes passed in a blur of pain, tears, and the echoes of your own voice filling the room. Then, the sound you had been waiting for — the sweet, desperate wail of your second child.

“It’s another boy!” the maester announced, his voice filled with relief. The baby cried loudly, his tiny fists waving in the air as he was lifted into view.

“Two sons,” Daemon breathed, his voice filled with awe and disbelief. He leaned down, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to your forehead. “You did it, my love. You brought them both here.”

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you stared at the two crying infants being wrapped in cloth. Tears streamed down your face, and all you could feel was overwhelming relief and love. Daemon’s hand cupped your cheek, wiping away your tears with his thumb.

“They’re perfect,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Daemon’s gaze softened as he looked between you and his newborn sons. “Perfect,” he agreed, his eyes shining with pride.

You sat comfortably on the edge of the bed, cradling one of your newborn sons in your arms. His small fingers curled around yours, his eyes barely open as he nestled into your warmth. Daemon sat beside you, holding the other baby with a look of quiet awe, his silver hair falling slightly over his face as he gazed down at his son.

Both of you glanced up as the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway. The door swung open, and Maegon, Vaelya, and Aerion burst into the room, their faces filled with excitement and curiosity. Vaelya was the first to climb onto the bed, her wide violet eyes darting between the two babies.

“Are they here?!” Maegon asked breathlessly, his face red from running. He climbed up beside his sister, while Aerion peeked around Daemon, his eyes filled with wonder.

“Yes, they’re here,” you said softly, smiling as you leaned down to show them the baby in your arms. “Come, meet your baby brothers.”

“Two?” Vaelya’s face scrunched up as she looked at both of them. “No fair. I wanted a baby sister.” She crossed her arms with a huff, her silver hair falling over her shoulders.

Daemon chuckled, tilting his head toward her. “You’ll have to take that up with the gods, little one.”

Aerion, on the other hand, stared wide-eyed at the baby Daemon was holding. “They’re so small,” he said in awe. He reached out a careful finger to touch the baby’s tiny hand, gasping softly when the baby’s fingers reflexively gripped his. “He’s strong.”

Maegon knelt on the bed, peering over at the baby in your arms. “He looks like you, Mama,” he said, tilting his head in thought. “But smaller.”

You laughed softly, brushing a hand through his hair. “Yes, he’s small now, but he’ll grow big and strong, just like you.”

Daemon glanced between the three older children, his gaze warm but firm. “Now, as we promised, it’s up to you three to name your baby brothers. Choose wisely.”

The three of them exchanged looks, their little faces growing serious as they realized the importance of the task. Vaelya tapped her chin thoughtfully, still pouting a little about the lack of a sister. Maegon was already deep in thought, his brow furrowed like a man considering battle strategy.

“I want to name this one,” Aerion declared, pointing to the baby Daemon was holding. “His name should be… Aelor!” His eyes lit up with pride as if he had come up with something truly magnificent.

Daemon raised a brow, glancing at you for approval. You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Aelor. A strong name,” you said, looking at the baby in Daemon’s arms. “He looks like an Aelor, doesn’t he?”

Aerion puffed up his chest with pride. “Yes, he does!”

“I want to name the other one,” Maegon said quickly, his voice full of authority as if he had been waiting for this moment. He leaned closer to the baby in your arms, squinting at him with careful scrutiny. “He should be called… Vaegon. It sounds powerful.”

“Vaegon?” Vaelya wrinkled her nose. “That sounds like Maegon. You just took your name and changed it.”

Maegon glared at her. “It’s not the same! It’s different. Vaegon sounds like a prince’s name. A king’s name.” He crossed his arms, daring anyone to challenge him.

Daemon raised a brow, clearly amused. “Vaegon, is it? Fitting for a prince, I suppose,” he said, smirking as he looked to you. “What do you think, love?”

You gazed down at the baby in your arms, his face calm and serene as he slept. “Vaegon suits him,” you agreed softly, brushing your thumb along his soft cheek.

“Then it’s decided,” Daemon declared, his voice loud and firm. “Aelor and Vaegon Targaryen, sons of fire and blood.”

Vaelya huffed, still pouting but clearly not wanting to be left out. “Fine,” she muttered, leaning over to gently touch baby Aelor’s nose. “But if we have another, I get to name her, and I want a sister this time.”

Daemon laughed, his gaze flicking to you knowingly. “That is a bargain you’ll have to strike with your mother,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.

The older children gathered closer, their eyes shining with love and curiosity as they watched their baby brothers sleep. It was a perfect moment — one you would remember forever.

tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @julessworldd

#daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targeryan #hotd daemon #daemon x reader #daemon au #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd one shot #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #daemon x you #daemon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #prince aegon targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aegon ii fanfic #aegon x reader

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wholoveseggs · 3 months ago

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Kinktober ~ {Masterlist} {<- main masterlist}

18+

Hello Lovelies!

♡♡♡ Welcome to kinktober! Below is my masterlist of what will be posted each day {majority are Elijah ~lol}. I want to thank everyone for their requests!!!! Unfortunately, I couldn't get to all of them or in as much detail as some of them deserve {but they are all over 1k because I can't help myself...} Enjoy! ♡♡♡

~xoxo Lissa

Elijah - Cockwarming Gwayne - Overstim Daemon - Dom / Sub, Cockwarming Elijah - Praise, Inexperience, Teaching Stefan - Somnophillia, Praise, Breeding Elijah - Wax Play, Praise, Inexperience, Teaching Kol / Elijah / Klaus - Praise, Daddy, Overstim Elijah - Daddy, Size, Inexperience, Praise, Spanking, Choking, Rimming , m!reader Harwin / Daemon - Praise, Oral Fixation Elijah - Daddy, Inexperience, Oral Fixation

Klaus - Spanking, Bondage Kol - Overstim, Size, Breeding, Hair Pulling, Public, Squirting, Blood drinking, Inexperience Klaus - Teaching, Inexperience, Squirting, Oral Sex Elijah - Blood drinking, Wax play, Lingerie, Mirror Rebekah - Lingerie, Praise, Overstim, Blood sharing Elijah - Dom / Sub, Mirror, Inexperience, 1800s Daemon - Inexperience, Squirting, Breeding, Size Kink Kol - Size Kink, Inexperience Elijah - Jealousy, Dom, Choking, Sir

Klaus - Inexperience, hybrid!reader Damon / Elijah - Threesome, Squirting, Cumplay Elijah - Dom, Toys, Dubcon, plus!reader Klaus - Public, Inexperience, 1920s Elijah - Squirting, Daddy, Teaching Harwin - Spanking Elijah - Shower Sex, Mirror Klaus - Public Sex Elijah - Overstim, Daddy, Inexperience, Toys Daemon - Dubcon, Overstim, Breeding

Elijah - Dom / Sub, Shower, Praise Elijah / Klaus - Threesome, Blood Drinking

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paulyenvol6 · 3 months ago

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Wedding Night

Daemon x Stark!Reader (OS)

Y/n Stark only knows the Rogue Prince from tales and can't help but fear her wedding night with the King's brother. But he turns out to be not only an attentive and gentle but also a passionate lover who starts a fire in her when she feels his hands on her for the first time.

Contains: detailed smut, fingering oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, kissing, breeding kink, praising, dirty talk, arranged marriage, soft!dom Daemon, virgin reader, inexperienced and nervous reader, angst

Wordcount: ~4.65k

Masterlist

You had your head lowered so you could only see the stone ground underneath you.

You felt a pain on your scalp as your handmaiden was undoing your braided hair but then she was done and your hair fell down your shoulders. You wanted to step away and preferably sit down but suddenly another servant girl started to unlace your dress in your back and you twitched.

"What are you doing?", you snapped and the girl looked terrified. You felt a little bad because you had scared her but you had bigger problems right now so your eyes flashed at her.

"A-Apologies, my lady.", she stummered and looked at you with big eyes. Your handmaiden, a warm woman of about thirty years old patted the young girl's shoulder and turned to you.

"Do you wish to leave your clothes on? So that your husband can remove them?" You looked stern and felt numb as the handmaiden observed you and didn't know what to say. You didn't know what to do either, seven hells, you didn't know about Targaryen tradition or anything about marriage or the act of bedding. You didn't even know your husband.

"I-I don't know.", you breathed and suddenly your new handmaiden looked pitiful. "It is tradition for the bride to take off her clothes before the ceremony, my lady. So she can wait in the bed for her husband to claim her maidenhead."

You nodded but had your head lowered and the maidens took it as a sign for them to slowly take off your gown. It fell down to the ground and you felt exposed and vulnerable under their gaze even though they were professional and didn't look at you a second longer than necessary. And then they were done. It happened so quickly, the servants curtseyed in front of you and then left the room and you truthfully would have wished for them to stay longer. Perhaps never leave because now all there was left for you to do was wait.

You stood naked in the middle of your new chambers and felt so horrible and cold that after a few moments you grabbed a night gown that laid on the table that the maiden had probably prepared for after the bedding ceremony. And though you feared that your husband wouldn't approve of what he might regard as a disrespect towards his family's customs you couldn't help yourself and wrapped the gown tightly around your body even though it didn't hid a lot of you.

Then you sat down on the bed and stared at the door, waiting for Daemon Targaryen. The Rogue Prince. You had met him three days ago but the first words you had exchanged were your vows under the eyes of the sept. All you knew about him were the tales the small folk as well as the highborn ladies in court told about him. He was famous for sleeping around; you had heard that there wasn't a brothel in King's Landing that he hadn't visited. And he was known for being a warrior. The commander of the city watch who was as fine a knight as he was brutal and violant and was feared by his enemies. This you could say already: Your husband had seemed rather cold during the celebrations of your wedding and the feasts in the red keep.

And there was another thing: You had heard the rumours about the Rogue Prince and his niece, the Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. No details had reached your ears but they were supposedly more than only an uncle and niece to one another and even though that didn't shock you as the customs of House Targaryen weren't new to you, you still feared that your brown hair would not be to your husband's pleasing.

You were a Stark after all and couldn't look more different to Rhaenyra Targaryen. You had thick dark brown hair and greenish brown eyes and you just hoped that Daemon would be pleased with you. Because this far there hadn't been anything in his words or actions or even face expressions that hinted you that he was any more delighted by this marriage than you were.

You were torn from your thoughts when the door suddenly opened and there he was, your new husband who slowly walked into the room. You had expected him to be drunk as you had seen him sipping on his wine all night but he seemed to be sober when he approached you. His eyes met yours without saying anything and you immediately stood up.

"Husband.", you said and lowered your head. He chuckled which made you lift your gaze and his eyes looked curious while you tried to appear less nervous than you truthfully were. Your hands were shaking and you could feel your lower lip tremble with anxiety.

Daemon watched you for a moment, then turned away from you all of a sudden and your eyes followed his movement.

"You're nervous.", he spoke while slowly pouring some wine in a cup. You helplessly stood in the room with your bare feet beginning to feel cold and didn't know whether to follow him or climb on the bed so you remained in your position. The Rogue Prince turned once again and his eyes slowly traveled down your body.

"And you're still dressed." These words and the realization what was to happen now made your eyes teary and your face was drawn with fear. Your husband sighed and slowly approached you.

"Do you know what happens between man and wife in their wedding night?", he whispered. You nodded, that much knowledge you had. He raised his eyebrows and gently put his hand on your shoulder that was only covered by the thin gown.

"Are you scared of me?", Daemon asked softly and you didn't know if you were supposed to answer him truthfully or not. So you didn't answer at all and he smiled softly.

"I will not hurt you for telling me the truth, little girl." This gesture made you exhale slightly and you felt some of the heaviness on your heart vanish. You nodded, it was very slight and yet he noticed it.

"I will not harm you, you understand me?", he said and made sure the two of you had eye contact. You nodded again though the anxiety hadn't vanished entirely yet. Daemon sensed it too and sighed while gently caressing your shoulder with his thumb.

"What are you scared of, little one, mhm? Tell me." You gulped and slowly raised your gaze.

"That you don't like me.", you breathed. "And that it hurts too much. And that – that I won't know what to do and that you'll be angry." Daemon almost couldn't hear you because your voice had gotten so quietly and in the end you had lowered your head again. Tears threatened to fall onto your cheek and you bit your lip nervously.

"Shhh.", the Rogue Prince made and lifted your chin with his finger.

"I think worrying that I don't like you shouldn't be an issue.", he spoke and smirked slightly. "And I will be gentle with you, little one. I'll go slow and prepare you for me." His hand wandered up to caress your cheek and it felt surprisingly soft. "I willl help you, sweet girl. I will guide you and show you how to do it. Sit down.", he said and took his hand off you.

You stumbled towards the bed and sat on the edge of the bed. Daemon drank the remaining wine in his cup and then slowly put his cup on the table and walked towards you. He took his seat next to you and watched you mischieviously.

"What do you like to do? What are your passions?" You frowned, feeling surprised about the change in topics but smiled.

"I like to read. And I like to dance and listen to music." "What kind of books?" You thought about it for a second.

"I like to read about dragons. Targaryen history." Daemon's smirk intensed and he rested himself on his arms behind him. "Have you ever seen a dragon?"

"Only from the far.", you said shyly. "Well what a great coinicidence that I have a dragon."

You nodded excitedly. "I know. Caraxes. I've read all about him. And about the dragons of the Conquerer and his sisters. Balerion, Vhagar and Maraxes."

Daemon couldn't surpress a smirk seeing you finally showing another side of you and listened to you speaking about his ancestors, stories that he had heard a hundred times already. But then after the two of you had spoken a while about all sorts of things Daemon thought it was time to perform your marital duties. It was late already and the Rogue Prince and you couldn't spend the whole night talking. So he smirked at you and his eyes traveled down your body.

"Are you calm?", he whispered and you nodded slowly even though you didn't exactly know what he meant by asking this. You were still nervous obviously and though Daemon had proven to be a nice person this far you were still a little scared of him. Your husband leaned down to you and pressed his lips on yours. You tried your best to copy him and kissed him back as you felt his hands on your waist. It wasn't unpleasant actually; his lips felt soft on yours and you felt your heart beating a little slower.

But then Daemon slowly began to pull down your night gown and you tensed. He didn't notice your discomfort until you clung to the fabric and stopped him from exposing your body. He looked at you with a frown and your lip shivered.

"You don't want to take it off?", he whispered and you shook your head with teary eyes. "Why not?"

You just shrugged your shoulders. "Please.", you pleaded and the Rogue Prince nodded, different to what you had expected and just pressed a kiss to your temple.

"Eventually I'll see all of that but we can make it slow.", he whispered and you felt relieved. So his hands remained on your clothed body and he stroke your skin through the fabric in order to get you calm. After a while you relaxed and got used to his soft lips on yours and Daemon's hand wandered up a bit until he touched the underside of your breasts. It was a little odd at first but his touch was gentle and soothing so you let his thumb run over your body.

"Do you like that?", he mumbled against your mouth and you nodded. "Good."

Then you could feel his hands traveling further up to play with your breasts and nipples. But shortly after he grabbed your waist again while this time his mouth explored you and he kissed down to your neck. You liked what he was doing this far, at least you didn't feel disgusted or uncomfortable and you started to feel like this might not be the worst night of your life. And yet your heart was still beating loud as thunder and you feared you might do something wrong.

Now Daemon's hand pushed you towards the bed a little. "Lay down.", he whispered and you moved backwards to obey him. While you got comfortable, your husband took off his shirt and revealed his strong and muscular chest that was beautifully lid by the candle lights. You gulped and unconsciously bit your lips which didn't go unnoticed by Daemon. He slowly approached you and climbed on the bed to lay on top of you. He was careful not to press you into the bed with too much of his weight so he partly rested on his knee next to you. Daemon moved the hair out of your face and pressed a kiss on your forehead.

"I want this to be nice for you, my sweet Stark girl.", he whispered and his pretty eyes so close to you made you feel intimidated and you could feel yourself blush. "I won't hurt you.", he futhermore spoke and toyed with some strays of your brown hair.

And your husband's words actually helped your hasty heartbeat to come down and your tensed muscles relaxed a little. Seeing his face so close to yours, his weight on your body and his hand by the side of your face made you feel heated, almost as if the dragon lit a little fire in you. But that fire would increase highly in the next minutes as Daemon started to kiss your swolled lips again while his hands caressed your waist and breasts.

But soon he was eager for more and kissed his way down to your neck where he found great delight in nibbling at your skin and soothingly kissing it afterwards. You twitched a little when he pulled at your skin with his teeth and your husband smirked up to you. Then his journey led him farther south and soon his mouth brushed over your breasts though still covered by your night gown. Daemon looked up to you, questioningly perhaps, and now you decided to let him undress you. Not because you were convinced that he would love what hid underneath but rather because he seemed to be of gentle nature, different to what you had heard before in the tales told by the ladies in court. You kind of trusted that he would be kind to you and accept your body the way it was. So far he didn't seem like the kind of person to insult or complain, but was affectionate and caring.

But all your worries had been entirely unnecessary anyhow. After you had given him a small nod, the Rogue Prince pulled down your gown to reveal your bare chest. He looked down with a lustful glare in his darkened eyes and his mouth changed to a smirk.

"You most certainly didn't have to feel doubtful about this." You smiled and blushed and Daemon lowered his head to lick over your pearky nipples that looked so innocent and sweet to your husband. His tongue drew patterns over them and he took them into his mouth to suck on them. You grew more and more lustful and the fire in you became hotter. At some point you reached out to grab at the back of his head and Daemon smirked against your chest, noticing that you finally became a little bolder. Your fingers toyed with his hair and your breath went faster as well.

"Such sweet tits.", Daemon whispered and lifted his head again. His thumb ran over your chin and he smirked down to you. "You're very pretty, little one. There's no reason to feel frightened." You nodded and finally also opened your mouth.

"Yes.", you breathed and then your husband started to further pull down your night gown and you lifted your hips to help him. Once you laid entirely naked underneath him you pressed your thighs together feeling ashamed to be bare in front of him but Daemon wouldn't have this.

"Ugh uhm.", he made and pushed his knee between your legs. "Don't hide from me, sweet girl.", he whispered close to your ear which made you shiver. "I'm your husband now. And you shouldn't hide from your husband."

So you let Daemon run his hand down from your breasts to your belly and then between your legs. He cupped your sex which made your eyes widen at the new feeling and Daemon then ran his finger through your slit.

He was experienced, of course he was. At no point did you doubt the obscene stories about him visiting the brothels of King's Landing to fuck, celebrate and drink even at the young age of 15 years. He was older now, 24 to be exact, mayhaps too mature to live in this overflow and ecstasy and yet he had bedded countless of whores who each had contributed to his knowledge and skill. But of course your lack of inexperience didn't lead back to your younger age, 17, but the duty you had as a woman in this world. Your maidenhead was to be saved for your husband and this moment your deflowering grew closer and closer as your husband's finger ran from your hole up to… you didn't know what it was in truth.

His finger touched a spot that you hadn't know to exist but it sent shivers through your body. Daemon was content when he saw your reaction and pressed into that spot. "Uhmm.", you whined because it really was an indescripable feeling. He was beyond satisfied and watched your every facial expression as his finger drew circles and different patterns over your little pearl.

"I know, my sweet wife.", he whispered and kissed your cheek when you let out a particular loud cry. "I consider this little pearl to be holy.", he spoke with lifted eyebrows. "A holy gift by the mother, so sweet innocent maidens like yourself can be pleasured. Though I don't believe in the faith." Daemon smirked widely but you were too far gone in your desire to answer him.

Restlessly you shifted on your back but the weight of his body that pressed into you heavier the more you moved around didn't grant you a lot of space. You whimpered and sighed, panted and exhaled until his hand come to a stop and you immediately missed his touch. You were curious what he would do now and just wished he would continue but to your surprise Daemon kissed his way down on your body until he laid between your legs.

"What are you doing?", you asked breathlessly and your husband smirked. "I'm preparing you for me, little girl. And I'll give you pleasure that will have your soul leave your body.", he whispered and his words made your breath go faster. And yet you weren't convinced because what you believed he was about to do didn't seem… appropriate. And yes, he lowered his head and kissed right next to your pearl which made you grab his hair.

"But… With your mouth?", you breathed quietly and the Rogue Prince raised his eyebrows. "Yes. It is one of the finest arts, my sweet love. Just relax and you'll see how much you'll like it."

And he was right, it only took him a few twirls with his tongue around your little nub and you saw stars.

"Mhmm…", you moaned and your husband simply loved how responsive his new precious wife was to him. Daemon truly took your breath away and tears welled even up in your eyes as his tongue did magical things on your little pearl. It just felt so good, so overwhelmingly good that you never wanted it to stop. He grew even more lucious hearing your sweet noises and at the same time was motivated to let his tongue dance quicker on your nub.

His hands were on your hips, holding you down so you wouldn't be so restless and his eyes remained on you all the time. Sometimes Daemon demanded of you to keep your eyes on him and you tried your best to do as he said but every now and then you couldn't help but let your eyes roll back, so overwhelming was the pleasure. And yet so taunting… It felt as if you were being driven closer and closer to something you couldn't name. And you were eager to find out what it was.

"Daemon.", you whimpered and the Rogue Prince smirked, hearing you say his name. You were begging, pleading for him to get you there, to this place that felt close and yet so far away from you.

"Please, Daemon.", you whined and moved your head from one side to the other. "Please." He couldn't get the smirk out of his face and teasingly flicked your pearl.

"What is it, my sweet girl? What do you wish me to do?" You couldn't bring yourself to answer. You simply didn't have the power at this point and even if you did, no intelligent thought remained in your head. You just hoped that he would know what it was you desired without words and you were certain that he did but merely wanted to tease you.

But then he kissed right on your little pearl and drew tight circles with his tongue around it. "I know what you need, little one.", he whispered with his husky voice and this sound alone made you blush. It sounded filthy and obscene for some reason.

"I'm gonna get you there, love, I promise." And he did. His tongue didn't come to rest for a second and at the same time Daemon inserted a finger in you. It felt a little uncomfortable at first but you got used to it and after some time he even added a second. You couldn't say that you loved the feeling of it because it burned a little but Daemon made sure you were relaxed and calm by the movement with his tongue on your pearl and you were beyond soaked so his fingers could slide into you without problems.

Your sounds grew louder as well and you couldn't stay still. Without Daemon holding you down you probably would've fallen from the bed by now. And at the same time you felt getting closer and closer to the edge, everything inside of you tensed, a warm feeling spread throughout your body and then… the knot in your belly exploded. The feeling took away your breath and you widened your eyes in shock. This was something you had never felt before and you didn't even realize that you held your breath.

"Daemon.", you cried out and your hands had grabbed the bedsheets tightly. Your husband was still occupied by licking up every drop of your sweet juices but now soothingly caressed your thigh.

"Breathe, sweet girl.", he spoke against your cunt and you inhaled deeply. Slowly you felt your heartbeat slow down and enough air was entering your lungs again. And it seemed like Daemon was also done with savouring your cunt now because he licked up your slit one last time and then lifted his head. You were a little relieved because your pearl felt so swollen that his touch had made you twitch after you had reached your high. Daemon crawled up to lay on top of you and kissed you. You were able to taste yourself which made you blush.

"So sweet.", he hummed. "Never tasted a cunt sweet like yours, little wolf." His thumb ran over you lower lip and you shivered. Slowly your mind fully came back to you and when Daemon once again parted your legs with his knee you nervously bit your lip. You knew what would happen now. And you were scared of the pain. What if there was something wrong with your cunt and it just simply… wouldn't work? But the Rogue Prince caringly stroke your cheek and kissed you on your nose.

"It'll be fine. I'm gonna be gentle." With these words he removed his pants until you saw his cock that stood hard against his stomach. He looked so big and thick that you wondered how he was supposed to fit in your hole. But his cock was pretty though. You wanted to know what he felt like in your hand but that seemed to be a matter for another night because Daemon wrapped his hand around his cock and ran its tip through your fold stopping at your clit to rub against it.

You moaned and your eyes fluttered. And then after another few seconds the time had come. Your husband circled your entrance.

"Breathe in, love.", he whispered and watched your face for reactions. You obeyed and inhaled while you felt him thrust into you. There was a barrier and you felt a sharp pain in your abdomen which made you hiss out. The pain made tears well up in your eyes and you held on to Daemon's arms in an attempt to support yourself.

"Shhh.", he made and caressed your hair. "It's alright, I know it hurts." He didn't move yet and gave you time to get used to the feeling which you were thankful for because only slowly did the sorrow fade.

"Doing so well for me.", Daemon breathed, feeling overwhelmed by the tightness of your cunt. Your veins were pulsating and you panted uncontrolled trying to perceive your surroundings.

"It hurts.", you breathed and your husband immediately reached out to remove the tears from your face with his thumbs. He kissed your cheek while his hands soothingly caressed your shoulders.

"It'll be better in a moment. Just breathe." And you did, you inhaled and exhaled and after a time you started to feel better. It was such an odd feeling to be filled by his cock. Daemon now pulled out of you only to thrust back in and even though he was gentle, you once again whimpered at the pain.

"I'm sorry.", he mumbled against the crouch of your neck and your hands reached out to grab his hair. But this time it hurt less and soon your husband slowly thrusted in and out of your cunt. His eyes fluttered and it was clear to you that he received great pleasure from being buried in your cunt. By now the pain had also vanished almost entirely and yet you weren't stimulated as amazingly as you had been a few moments before when Daemon had used his mouth on you. Your husband panted heavily and kissed you hungrily while moving inside of you.

"Oh seven hells.", he moaned and held the side of your face. "Are you alright?", he asked and you nodded with big eyes. "Yes.", you breathed and your husband smirked while traveling his hand down between your bodies. You only knew what he was doing when you felt his hand on your pearl and your mouth formed an 'O'. He went around it in tight circles and you felt your knees getting weak. Together with his deep thrusts inside of you the stimulation was almost too much and your eyes rolled back. The two of you got closer and closer to the edge and his thrusts became sloppy.

"Look at me.", Daemon moaned when you closed your eyes. You did as he told you and tried to concentrate on his pretty face in front of you.

"Daemon. Please.", you whimpered and your hands helplessly clung to his back. "Yes, my sweet girl. I'll make you feel good. I'll fill you with my seed until you'll have my babes inside you. Now and every night from now on.", he whispered against your ear and it only enhanced your desire. The feeling in your tummy got more intense with each moment passing and then the two of you came simultaneously.

Daemon grunted deeply and collapsed on top of you while you arched your back and felt you legs shake in pleasure. His seed filled your cunt to the brim and then you laid with him on top and you both tried to catch your breath. Your heart was beating fast and sweat was covering your forehead. After a while Daemon lifted his head and looked at you. Your face was reddened, your eyes swollen from the crying and your hair was sticking to your forehead. You thought that you probably looked horrible but your husband had never seen a prettier sight so he smirked and kissed your lips.

"So sweet.", he grinned and you smiled weakly. "My little wolf. I can't believe this beautiful girl is mine now." You were too exhausted to answer him but your eyes glistened and it was answer enough for Daemon. As much as you had feared that night it had turned out to be one of the best of your life and you only hoped that many nights like this would follow.

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spicy30 · 2 months ago

Text

Modernness of 1400s

Series Masterlist

Pairing: HOTD x Fem!Modern!Reader

Premise: A modern reader in HOTD

Tags: Slowburn, age gap (Small), AFAB reader, No use of Y/N

General Warnings: Canon-typical violence, blood, assault, bullying, death (Death of Cannon characters)

Rating: 18+ (Generally)

Status: On-going

Current word count: 40.2K

001 6. 006

002 7. 007

003 8. 008

004 9. 009

005 10. 010

To be added on Tag list: !(•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

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aeralux · 5 days ago

Text

"Spellbound" - Daemon Targaryen

Daemon Targaryen x Witch!Reader

Summary: A witch doesn't cower to anyone... except maybe a dragon. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. Harrenhal seems to be riddled with darkness and mysteries, after all.

Warnings: SMUT (18+); rough sex; oral (f!receiving); fingering; foul language; talks of magick and its use; technically infidelity on Daemon's part; loss of virginity; mention of blood

Words: 8.3k

Notes: No description of the reader, except for dark hair. Takes place in Harrenhal when Daemon is staying there. I tried to be as accurate to Westeros lore as I could, I literally spent hours on their wiki, so I hope it shows through :)

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Harrenhal was a ghastly place. It had the biggest castle of all of Westeros. The castle had five dizzying towers, with equally monstrous curtain walls. The walls were incredibly thick, and its rooms were built on a scale that would be more comfortable for giants than humans—said to be haunted and eerie.

Perfect for sorceresses and sorcerers alike, the city had a coven of Witches who collectively went by the name "Wives of the Gods Eye." The name was an ode to Gods Eye, the largest lake of the Seven Kingdoms, located south of Harrenhal.

In the embrace of warm sunlight, the water of the Gods Eye shimmers in vibrant shades of blue and green, casting a magical glow. Yet, as winter blankets the land, its surface transforms into a steely grey, reminiscent of the coldest metal. Majestic black swans glide gracefully across the water. Just a short distance away, a winding lake road meanders near the storied Harrenhal, leading through a patchwork of rolling hills, sparkling streams, and golden sunlit fields. As one journeys further south, the landscape gives way to dense, shadowy forests, creating a clear contrast.

The lake, with its murky depths, bore a name of divine beings, yet here, amidst the towering pines and shivering mists, there existed no gods. Only monsters lurked in the shadows, and witches wove their secrets beneath the pale moonlight. As for you, you were a bastard of Pinkmaiden, an unwelcome child of a place that should have offered a home. At the young age of six, you were sent to Harrenhal, a castle steeped in blood and betrayal, to serve the lords and ladies of House Strong as one of the laundresses. The ancient stones watched over you with cold indifference, whispering the secrets of many who had come before.

Your raven-black hair flowed like a dark river down your back, framing your face and matching nicely with your unsettling eyes, which shimmered like a stormy sea. These features marked you as different, a reminder of your uncertain heritage. It was not long before the Lady of Harrenhal, with her porcelain skin and sharp gaze, grew wary of your presence. On the eve of your sixteenth birthday, she cast you out, her disdain cutting deeper than any blade.

Alone and bereft, you wandered the wilderness, uncertainty gnawing at your heart. But fortune smiled upon you when the coven of witches found you, their cloaks billowing like dark wings against the whispering wind. They took you in, offering a refuge far removed from the stone walls of Harrenhal. In their hidden glen, where wildflowers crowded beneath the trees, they made you feel cherished for the first time.

Nowadays, for most, magic is a little-understood force in the world. It has been so long since magic was truly potent that most understanding now exists only in superstition and rituals of questionable validity. But with them, you understood, the doubts of others have no claim.

"You are special," they insisted, words dripping with ancient wisdom. "You possess something otherworldly." Their voices wrapped around you like a warm embrace. For the first time, you believed there was a purpose to your existence—a spark that set you apart from common folk, a thread woven from the fabric of something otherworldly.

Under their solemn guidance, you began to practice the mysterious arts. You learned to mix herbs and roots, crafting potions that glinted with promise and danger. Each incantation you whispered held power, resonating with the essence of the world around you. The witching nights became your solace, and as you delved deeper into their teachings, the women of the coven began to call you their newest daughter—their black swan. In that embrace, you found your wings, soaring above the harsh reality that had sought to bind you.

There, in the shadows of Harrenhal, you discovered your true calling and uncovered your hidden talent: Glamour magic. The few ladies of the coven from Asshai welcomed you into their fold. Asshai, a mysterious and ancient port city nestled in the far southeast of Essos, was unlike any place in Westeros, you gathered from their stories. There, the Ash River wound its way through the land, flowing into the vast expanse of the Jade Sea, where the waters sparkled under the sun like jewels.

As you sat among the flickering candles in their dimly lit chamber, they taught you ancient spells in their native tongue. Words danced on your lips like whispers in the wind, each incantation holding power and mystique. They guided you in prayer, teaching you how to bow your head before the Red God, channelling your intentions through sacred rituals. The air was thick with incense, and the flickering shadows brought to life the stories of ages past, filling your heart with a sense of wonder and purpose.

When the wise ladies of the coven, cloaked in shadows and steeped in ancient lore, deemed you ready to embrace your destiny, they presented you with a striking necklace carved from deep black obsidian. Its surface shimmered like a starless night sky, reflecting the flickering flames of the hearth where your journey began. Though the obsidian was traditionally used to forge weapons of war, the coven believed it resonated with your spirit, a perfect talisman for what lay ahead.

As you clasped the necklace around your neck, it transformed into your glamor, an enchanting charm that bestowed upon you the power to weave illusions. With it, the magic could shift the perceptions of those around you, allowing you to appear as someone—or something—entirely different. While the shape of the necklace remained unchanged, the world could see whatever you wished it to see, bending reality to your will.

The true strength of glamors lies in their connection to the wearer. Each illusion from the obsidian was ingrained with a piece of you, making them far more potent than mere tricks of light. As you wore the necklace, you felt it pulse gently against your skin, a current of magic entwining your fate with ancient spells. The coven’s trust in you burned bright like the embers of a dying fire.

In the realm where shadows danced and whispers echoed, the obsidian necklace became more than just an accessory; it was an extension of your very being, a bridge between the world you knew and the numerous possibilities.

Through the fogs surrounding Harrenhal and its haunting towers, a figure emerged one day that would change the course of history. Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince, found himself in the ancient fortress where magic lingered in the air, where witches snarled their secrets beneath the pale moonlight, and where even the strongest of men lost their minds to visions that tormented them.

The arrival of the Targaryen prince foreshadowed the beginning of the violent conflict known as the Dance of the Dragons, igniting the flames of war. The first target being Harrenhal. Daemon Targaryen, fierce and determined, led the charge to seize this shadowy castle for his wife, Rhaenyra. In his mind, it would become a stronghold for loyal supporters rising in the Riverlands.

Chaos erupted in the region, the air thick with tension and fear hanging heavily over the lords and common folk. Yet amidst this turmoil, you stood resolute, encouraged by the words of an elder from your coven, whose foresight promised their safety in these troubled times.

With unwavering determination, you journeyed to the godswood of Harrenhal, walking along the clear, winding stream that wandered gently through the emerald shrubberies. The ancient weirwood, with its deformed roots and an angry face carved into its bark, awaited you at the heart of the woods. Its pale leaves trembled softly in the breeze, whispering secrets of generations past.

Above you, birds flitted through the branches, their songs mingling with the rustling leaves, while bats emerged as shadows against the dusky sky, patrolling for their evening meal. A sly cat sneaked near the godswood's stone wall, its eyes glinting like lanterns in the twilight. In this serene moment, you felt a peculiar kinship with the creatures of the wood, convinced that you were not alone.

With reverence, you placed your offering between the twisted roots of the ancient tree, murmuring a quick prayer. You believed in many deities, each an important part of your life, hoping that at least one would consider your call. After all, in these dark times, hope was a precious thing.

Before your journey back, you felt a tug in your heart to pay a quick visit to Alys. The kind healer lady was one of the rare souls who did not cast disdainful glances at you during your time in the castle. Known by others as the “witch queen,” Alys saw past the uncanny aura that surrounded you. She had grown fond of you, despite the brooding darkness that seemed to dance in your eyes, and she understood that your best path was far from these stone walls. You stood out too much among the lords and ladies, a vision amidst the living.

Like a creeping shadow, you slipped through the secret passage, the cool air brushing against your skin as you navigated the hidden corridors. The echoes of your footsteps were muffled by the cold, damp stones, as you moved with practised ease to avoid the lurking guards. You knew better than to provoke their watchful eyes.

Upon entering Alys's chamber, you were greeted by a familiar sight—her collection of potions and drying herbs adorned the shelves, a simple yet charming chaos that spoke of her craft. The room held a soft scent of lavender and something earthy, an aroma that always brought you comfort. You wandered over to the table, intrigued by the array of glass bottles filled with vivid liquids.

But the serenity shattered in an instant, as a cold steel blade pressed against your throat, sending a chill cascading down your spine. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, mingling with the tension in the air. Your heart raced, pounding against your ribcage as panic surged. Who could it be, a figure lurking in the shadows, ready to end your life? The world around you faded into silence, but your senses heightened, honed by years of uncertainty. At that moment, you wondered if your last moments would be in the castle that had been both shelter and prison.

You couldn't see the face of your attacker, but you could feel the presence looming over you, the weight of their body pressing you forward. The blade dug into your skin, drawing a thin line of blood that trickled down your neck. You swallowed hard, fighting back the fear that threatened to overwhelm you.

"Who are you?" a low and menacing voice demanded. And what are you doing here?"

The voice was unfamiliar to you, but there was a certain authority in it that sent a chill down your spine. You knew that whoever this person was, they meant business.

You tried to turn your head, to catch a glimpse of your attacker, but the blade pressed harder against your throat, making you wince in pain. "Please," you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. "I mean no harm."

The figure behind you let out a harsh laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "No harm? You sneak into the healer's chambers like a thief in the night, and you claim to mean no harm?"

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, mingling with the blood on your skin. "I'm not a thief," you said, your voice trembling. "I'm a friend of Alys. I came to see her, to...to say hello."

The blade pressed harder against your throat, making you gasp in pain. "Hello?" the voice repeated, a note of suspicion in it. "Somehow I doubt you, little witch."

You knew then that your attacker was well aware of your true nature, of the magic that coursed through your veins. You thought of the obsidian necklace around your neck, the glamor that disguised you as a simple servant girl. But you knew that even that powerful magic would be no match for the Valyrian steel pressed against your throat.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you struggled to steady your breathing. The cold steel pressed harder against your throat, sending a jolt of pain through your body. You tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry, and your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

"I swear, it's true," you managed to choke out, your voice trembling with fear. "I didn't know anyone would be here. I thought...I thought Alys would be alone."

You could feel your attacker's warm breath on the back of your neck, their presence looming over you like a dark shadow. You wanted to turn and face them, to see the face of the one who held your life in their hands, but the blade kept you still.

"Please," you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. "Don't hurt me. I'm not here to cause any trouble. I just...I just wanted to see her"

Your hands shook at your sides, the obsidian necklace hidden beneath your simple servant's gown a cold weight against your skin. You knew that your glamor was useless now, that your true nature had been discovered. But you couldn't let them know about the coven, about the power that you possessed.

You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the pain that was sure to come. You had survived so much in your short life and had endured so much hardship and betrayal. But in that moment, faced with the cold steel of a stranger's blade, you felt more vulnerable than ever.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I didn't mean any harm."

You waited for the blade to slice through your skin, for the blood to pour from the wound. But it never came. Instead, you felt the pressure of the blade lessen, the cold steel sliding away from your throat.

Slowly, you turned your head, your eyes widening as you saw the face of the one who had held your life in their hands. It was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with hair the colour of spun silver and eyes as violet as an iris. He looked like he had stepped straight out of a legend, a true son of Valyria.

Daemon's violet eyes narrowed as he studied the young woman before him, his gaze sharp and piercing. He could see the fear in your eyes, the way your body trembled beneath his touch, but he also sensed something else—a flicker of something dark and dangerous lurking just beneath the surface. He knew a witch when he saw one, and you were no ordinary servant.

"A friend of Alys's, you say?" he growled, his voice low and menacing. "And yet you seem to know your way around this castle better than most. Tell me, little witch, what exactly are you doing here?"

He kept the blade pressed against your throat, not enough to draw blood, but enough to keep you still. He could feel the heat of your skin beneath the cold steel and could see the way your pulse fluttered. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"I've dealt with your kind before," he whispered, his voice a low rumble. "I know the tricks you play, the illusions you weave. But trust me, little one, you'll find no mercy here."

Daemon's eyes flicked down to the necklace hidden beneath your gown, a flicker of recognition sparking in their depths. He had seen such trinkets before. But this one was different—there was a power to it that even he could sense, a dark and ancient magic that thrummed through the air like a heartbeat.

"What's this?" he demanded, his fingers brushing against the hidden amulet. "Some kind of charm, is it? A trinket to hide your true face from the world?"

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "I can smell the magic on you, little witch. It clings to your skin like perfume. The same foul odour that clings to the healer."

Daemon's hand slid down from your throat to your collarbone, his fingers tracing the curve of your flesh beneath the thin fabric of your gown. He could feel the heat of your skin beneath his touch, could see the way your body trembled at his proximity.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady the trembling of your hands as you met Daemon's piercing violet gaze. With a steady motion, you reached behind your neck and unclasped the necklace, letting the heavy amulet drop into your palm. There was no point in trying to hide your identity any longer. Your true face coming to light.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin as you revealed the truth of your identity, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger. He could see the fear in your eyes, but also the aggressiveness, the spark of something wild and untamed that called to him like a siren's song.

"I am a witch, yes," you admitted in a hushed whisper, your heart pounding so hard you feared he could hear it. "But I speak the truth, your grace. I did not know anyone would be here."

You couldn't help but notice his rugged handsomeness as you spoke, the strong lines of his jaw and the way his muscles rippled beneath the thin linen of his tunic. You quickly averted your gaze, not wanting him to see the effect he was having on you.

"I'm from the coven called the Wives of the Gods Eye," you continued, voice barely above a whisper. "We practice the old ways, the magic that was once forbidden. I simply came here seeking some herbs."

You met his eyes once more, defiance mingling with the apprehension. "I meant you no harm, my lord. I swear it on my life."

"A witch of the old ways, are you?" he purred, his hand sliding up from your collarbone to cup your chin, tilting your face towards his. "How very interesting. And here I thought Alys was the only one in this godforsaken castle who dabbled in the dark arts."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "You say you seek herbs, little witch, but what say you to a bargain? Your secrets for my protection."

Daemon's hand slid down to your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat in a loose grip. He could feel your pulse fluttering beneath his touch, could see the way your body trembled at his proximity.

"I could use a witch of your talents in my service," he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

You stepped back, your hand brushing against the dagger beneath your skirts. "I am not some whore," you hissed, your voice low and dangerous. "I do not offer my services to any man, least of all one who would threaten me with a blade."

You met his gaze, your own eyes blazing with defiance. "You would be wise to let me leave at once, your grace. I have no quarrel with you, but I will not be cowed by threats or promises of power."

Turning on your heel, you strode to the shelves, your movements quick and precise. You grabbed a bottle of dried hemlock, the bitter scent filling your nostrils. You turned back to face him, the vial clutched in your hand like a weapon.

"I a daughter of the Gods Eye. I bow to no man, not even a prince of the realm."

You lifted your chin, your dark hair falling in waves around your face. "Now, I will ask you once more. Let me pass, or face the consequences of crossing a witch."

Your hand tightened on the hemlock, the glass cold against your skin. You could feel the rage thrumming through your veins.

"Choose wisely, your grace."

He had dealt with witches before and had watched as they danced and writhed beneath his touch. In pain and pleasure.

But this one was different. This one had a fire in her eyes that couldn't be tamed, a defiance that only fuelled his dark desires.

"A daughter of the Gods Eye, are you?" he growled, his hand tightening around the hilt of his dagger. "How very bold of you, little witch. To stand before a prince of the realm and threaten him with your petty magic."

He took a step forward, his eyes locked on the vial of hemlock clutched in your hand. "You think that trinket will save you? That your gods will protect you from the wrath of a dragon?"

Your breath hitched as Daemon closed the distance between you, his presence overwhelming your senses. The threats rolling off his tongue made your head spin, a dizzying combination of fear and thrill coursing through your veins. You had never met a man who could match the fire in your blood, his very existence seems to challenge you at every turn.

Daemon's lips curled into a cruel smile, his voice dropping to a low, seductive purr. "I have seen the faces of men and women as they begged for mercy, only to be denied. And I have drunk the blood of my enemies, their cries of agony echoing in my ears like a symphony."

"I could hurt you," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "I could crack you like this vial in my hand, leaving you a broken shell of the proud sorceress you once were."

"What do you want?" You gritted out through clenched teeth, hating the way your body reacted to his proximity. Your legs felt weak, your knees threatening to buckle as he loomed over you, his eyes burning into yours.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin at the challenge in your voice, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger that made your blood run cold. He could see the way your body trembled beneath his gaze, could feel the heat of your skin even from a distance.

Stop it, you scolded yourself. He's just a man. Don't let him get under your skin.

But even as you tried to regain your composure, you could feel the power emanating from him like a physical force. It was intoxicating and dangerous, and you knew that if you weren't careful, you could easily lose yourself in the reckless temptation.

"What do I want?" he purred, his voice low and seductive. "Why, I want what all men want, little witch. Power. Control. To bend others to my will."

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His fingers lingered on your cheek, his touch searing your skin like a brand.

"But with you, I want something more," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to break you. To shatter that defiant spirit of yours and make you mine."

You could feel the heat of his skin against yours, could smell the musk of his scent, and for a moment, you were tempted to give in to the desire coursing through your veins.

But you were not some simpering maiden to be seduced by a pretty face and a silver tongue.

Daemon's hand slid down to your throat, his fingers wrapping around your neck in a loose grip.

"I could take you now," he growled, his lips brushing against your jawline. "I could pin you to the floor and claim you, make you scream my name until your voice is hoarse."

His other hand slid down your side, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip through the thin fabric of your gown. "But where's the fun in that? No, I'll take my time with you, little witch. I'll make you beg for my touch, for the sweet release only I can give you."

Daemon's eyes locked with yours, his gaze intense and unwavering. "So what will it be, my sweet? Will you submit to me willingly, or will I have to break you first?"

"You think you can break me?" You said, my voice steady and clear. "That you can tame my soul with your pretty words and your empty promises?"

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "I have faced far worse than you, Daemon Targaryen. I have stared into the abyss and emerged unscathed. Your threats mean nothing to me."

Your hand slid up his chest, your fingers curling around the chain of the dragon necklace that hung from his neck. You could feel the heat of the metal against your skin, looking at him with a scowl on your face.

"But if you truly want to test yourself against me, my lord," you teased, your voice low and enchanting. "If you think you have what it takes to claim me as your own... by all means, try."

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light at your challenge, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He could feel the heat of your body against his, could smell the scent of your skin, sweet and intoxicating.

"You play a dangerous game, little witch," he purred, his hand tightening around your throat. "To challenge a dragon is to invite its wrath."

His other hand slid down your back, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. He could feel the heat of your body, could sense the power that coursed through your veins.

"But I like a woman with spirit," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "It makes the eventual submission all the sweeter."

Daemon's hand slid up your side, his fingers tracing the curve of your breast through the thin fabric of your gown. He could feel your nipple harden beneath his touch, could see the way your body responded to his ministrations.

"I will have you, little witch," he growled, his voice low and seductive. "I will claim you as my own, body and soul. And when I am done with you, you will beg for more."

You roll your eyes at Daemon's sweet words, his attempts at seduction falling flat. He thinks he can have you with just a few pretty lies? How naive.

"You tempt me, my prince," you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I'm no easy conquest. Besides, Alys will be back soon. I bet she won't be happy to see an old man taking advantage of her friend." You smirk cruelly, enjoying the way his eyes narrow at your words.

You try to pull away from him, but his grip on your throat tightens, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"I could seriously hurt you, you know," you snarl, your eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Don't underestimate me."

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light at your words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. In one swift motion, he slammed you against the wall, his body pinning you in place.

"Enough of your games, little witch," he snarled, his hand tightening around your throat. "You think you can toy with me, challenge me, and walk away unscathed?"

His free hand slid down your body, his fingers tearing at the fabric of your gown with a sharp, ripping sound. Buttons scattered across the floor as he bared your skin to his hungry gaze.

Shock and fury flash through you as Daemon rips open your dress, baring your breasts to his hungry gaze. You stare at him, completely still as a statue from utter disbelief, your breath coming in heavy gasps that make your breasts heave with each inhale.

"I will have you," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "I will claim you as my own, body and soul."

Daemon's hand slid down your body, his fingers tracing the curve of your breast, teasing your nipple into a hardened peak. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way your body trembled beneath his touch.

"I can feel your desire, little witch," he purred, his lips brushing against your ear. "Your body betrays you, even as you try to resist. I will make you mine, in every way possible."

"W-wait," you try to say, but your voice comes out breathy and weak as his fingers roll your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. Your eyes roll back and a soft moan escapes your parted lips.

What is happening? How did this get so out of control? You think to yourself, your mind spinning from the onslaught of sensation. You can't believe this is happening, that you are letting a man you barely know take such liberties with your body.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin as he saw the effect his touch was having on you, your body arching into his hand like a cat in heat. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way your body trembled beneath his ministrations.

His hand slid down to your thigh, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your ripped gown to caress the soft skin of your leg. He could feel the heat of your body.

"But first, I think I'll taste you," he growled, his hand sliding higher, higher until his fingers brushed against the slick, heated flesh of your core.

Even as you try to formulate a protest, your body betrays you, arching into his touch, craving more of the delicious pleasure he's igniting within you. No, I can't let this happen. I have to stop him.

But the words never leave your lips, lost in a moan as Daemon's hand slides lower, teasing you in places you have only touched in secret, in the dark of night. You are lost in a haze of sensation, your body responding to his touch despite your mind's protests.

"That's it, little witch," he purred, his fingers pinching and tugging at your nipple. "Give in to the pleasure. Let yourself feel the ecstasy only I can give you."

He could feel the wetness of your arousal, could smell the musky scent of your desire.

"You're already so wet for me," he growled, his fingers brushing against your slick folds. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind tries to deny it."

Daemon's fingers slid higher, teasing your entrance with a feather-light touch. Your walls clenched around his fingers, begging for more.

You couldn't think straight, your mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. It was wrong to crave a man you had just met, especially one who had threatened your life moments ago. But the way his fingers teased your most intimate places sent waves of pleasure through your body.

You had heard the other women of your coven speak of lovemaking, their descriptions painting it as a powerful form of magic. Perhaps you could harness this power, and use it to your advantage as Daemon desired to use you for his own pleasure.

Your hips rolled against his hand, seeking more friction. You bit your lip to stifle the moans that threatened to spill from your lips, determined to maintain some facade of control. But deep down, you knew you were in danger of losing yourself to the sensations he was eliciting.

Daemon's eyes glinted with triumph as he felt your hips roll against his hand, your body betraying your true desires. He could see the conflict in your eyes, the way you bit your lip to stifle your moans, and it only served to fuel his own dark lust.

"You can't hide from me, little witch," he growled, his fingers teasing your slick folds. "I can feel how much you want this, how much you crave my touch."

He pressed two fingers inside you, his thumb circling your clit with a maddening rhythm.

You let out a loud, uncontrollable moan as Daemon's fingers delved deep into your untouched walls, his touch igniting a fire within you. Your juices flowed freely, coating his hand as ecstasy consumed your entire being.

Your body writhed against the cold stone wall, your hips bucking shamelessly against his skilled fingers as he finger-fucked you with reckless abandon. Waves of pleasure crashed over you with each thrust, your breasts heaving as he groped and kneaded them roughly.

"Your body is mine now," Daemon snarled, plunging his fingers deeper into your slick heat. He curled them just right, stroking that sensitive spot within you that made your vision go white. "You'll scream my name until your throat is raw. You'll beg for my cock like a bitch in heat."

His other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place as he finger-fucked you with ruthless intensity. Your cries of pleasure echoed off the stone walls, mingling with the lewd squelching sounds of his fingers pounding into your drenched cunt.

"That's it, take it," Daemon growled, his lips latching onto a pert nipple. He sucked hard, grazing the bud with his teeth as his fingers ruthlessly stroked your g-spot. "Come for me, little witch. Let me feel you spasm on my fingers."

He could feel your walls fluttering around his digits, your body teetering on the brink of climax. With a final, brutal thrust, he sent you careening over the edge. Your scream of ecstasy filled the room as your pussy clenched down on his fingers, your release dripping down his fingers.

Daemon lapped at your neck, tasting the salt of your sweat. He continued pumping his fingers through your climax, prolonging your pleasure until you were boneless and mewling.

"Good girl," he purred, finally withdrawing his soaked fingers. He brought them to your lips, smearing your essence across them. "Clean them."

Your eyes fluttered open, glazed with post-orgasmic bliss. You hesitated only a moment before parting your lips, allowing him to push his fingers into your mouth. The musky taste of your arousal coated your tongue, and you couldn't help but moan around his digits.

He grins wickedly as you lap at his fingers provocatively, cleaning your essence from them. As his fingers are clean, he lowers himself to the floor, kneeling before you, as to worship you.

You gasp as Daemon sinks to his knees before you, his dark eyes fuming with raw desire. Your heart races, your pulse pounding in your ears as he settles between your trembling thighs. The heat of his breath on your most sensitive flesh sends electric shocks of pleasure straight to your core.

Dazed and off-balance, you instinctively reach out, fisting your hands in his hair for support. Your legs still feel like jelly from your earth-shattering climax moments before.

A bewildered expression crosses your face as he grins up at you, his tongue snaking out to drag along your dripping slit. You cry out, your head slamming back against the cold stone wall as ecstasy crashes over you in relentless waves.

"Mmmm, you taste divine," Daemon purrs, his hot breath fanning over your slick folds. He laps at your essence like a man starved, his tongue delving deep to drink from your most intimate well.

You can only moan brokenly, your head thrashing from side to side as he feasts upon your quivering flesh. His tongue is pure sin, licking and suckling at your clit with unholy skill.

"Good girl," he growls, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. "Ride my face. Grind that pretty cunt against my tongue."

Lost to the all-consuming pleasure, you do as he commands, rolling your hips shamelessly against his mouth. Your thighs clench around his head, trapping him in place as you fuck his face with feral ease.

His lips close around your clit, suckling the sensitive bud as he thrusts two fingers into your dripping channel. They curl just right, stroking that secret spot within you that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Daemon groans, pumping his fingers in and out of your fluttering walls.

You can only whimper in response, your body tensing as another climax builds at the base of your spine. It coils tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

Daemon's tongue delved deep, lapping at your dripping essence with a hunger that bordered on feral. He groaned against your slick flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure racing through your body.

He focused his attention on your clit, the tip of his tongue flicking the sensitive bud with rapid, teasing strokes. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he devoured you like a man starved.

Your fingers tightened in his hair. The public nature of your coupling only served to heighten the forbidden thrill, the rush of being taken in a place where anyone could stumble upon you.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. He could feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering around his probing tongue as he brought you to the brink of climax once more.

With one final, hard suck, he sent you spiralling over the edge. Your scream of ecstasy echoed off the stone walls as your pussy clenched around his tongue, your release gushing into his eager mouth.

Daemon lapped at your spasming cunt, prolonging your pleasure as he drank down every last drop of your sweet nectar. He continued his ministrations until your body went limp, your cries turning to whimpers as the waves of pleasure subsided.

Finally, he pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. He stood, a wicked grin on his face as he towered over your prone form.

"You taste divine, little witch," he purred, his hand sliding up your body to cup your breast. He pinched your nipple, rolling the hardened peak between his fingers. "I could feast on your cunt for hours and never grow tired."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "But I'm not nearly done with you yet..."

Lifting you up with ease, Daemon tosses you onto the creaky bed, your body bouncing on the worn mattress. You cry out in surprise, your heart pounding as you take in his towering form looming over you. His eyes burn with a hunger that gives you chills.

"Daemon, please," you plead, your voice trembling. Your core aches, still throbbing from the intense climaxes he's wrought from your untouched body. You are no experienced harlot, but an untouched maiden, and you fear you are not ready for the sheer size of him.

Daemon's large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs wide as he settles between your thighs.

Daemon's eyes raked over your trembling form, taking in the sight of you spread out before him like a feast. His cock throbbed with need, straining against the confines of his breeches as he drank in the sight of your swollen, glistening folds.

His hands moved with urgent purpose, his fingers making quick work of the laces of his breeches. He shoved the garment down his legs, kicking it aside with a careless motion. His cock sprang free, the thick shaft jutting out proudly from a nest of dark curls.

He rubbed his cock against your slick entrance, teasing you with the promise of his hard length. You could feel it throbbing against your sensitive flesh, hot and hard and ready to claim you utterly.

"Please," you whimpered, your body trembling with need. "I... I've never... I don't know if I can take you."

A cruel smile twisted Daemon's lips as he heard your plea.

"Please be gentle," you whisper, looking up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes.

Daemon's expression softens for a moment, a flicker of something akin to tenderness crossing his features. His hand reaches up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your trembling bottom lip.

"Shh, little witch," he murmurs, his voice surprisingly mild. "I'll make it good for you. I promise."

With that, he leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delves into your mouth, claiming you, staking his claim over you.

As he kisses you deeply, you feel the head of his cock nudging against your entrance. Slowly, incredibly slowly, he begins to push forward, stretching you open around his thick girth.

A sharp gasp escapes you, breaking the kiss as he breaches your barrier. Pain and pleasure mingle together, your untouched walls struggling to accommodate his size.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groans, his hips grinding against yours. He gives you a moment to adjust, his hands roaming your body possessively. "Such a perfect little cunt, made just for me."

He starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in. The rhythm is brutal, each thrust hitting that spot deep inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

You cried out, your back arching off the bed as pain and pleasure crashed over you in equal measure. He stretched you wide, his thick length filling you in a way you never thought possible. Your walls stretched and clenched around him, your slick arousal easing the way as he claimed you over and over again.

"Fuck!" Daemon snarls, his eyes rolling back at the tight, wet heat of your virgin walls.

Daemon sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with animalistic hunger. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he ruts into your willing body.

"Take it," he growls, his voice strained with pleasure, his hips snapping against yours with ruthless force.

The bed creaked beneath you, the sound mingling with your moans and his grunts as he took you, his cock sawing in and out of your dripping cunt. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your nails raking down his back, leaving red marks and bloody imprints.

Daemon's brutal thrusts tore through you, each one sending shockwaves of pain and pleasure coursing through your body. You screamed, your voice hoarse and ragged as he pounded into your virgin cunt. Tears streamed down your face, your nails raking down his back as you clung to him desperately.

He had taken something sacred from you, your maidenhead, and you knew your souls were now tied. The ritual of first blood, unplanned as it was, had sealed your fates together. And with a dragon as your first, the power you could now wield...

You threw your head back, your moans echoing off the stone walls as he fucked you with complete disregard. Your hips bucked to meet his thrusts, the pain giving way to a pleasure you had never known before. You were lost to the sensation, your body consumed by the feel of him inside you.

Daemon's eyes darkened at the sight of your tears, a predatory grin spreading across his face. He could feel your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock like a vice as he claimed you over and over again.

He angled his hips, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with each brutal thrust. His hands roamed your body, groping and squeezing, leaving bruises in their wake.

"That's it," he growled, his voice rough with pleasure. "Take my cock like the little slut you are. Fucking mine now, aren't you? Your cunt belongs to me."

You met his thrusts with your own, your hips rising to meet him as he drove into you over and over again. The bed groaned beneath you, the frame creaking threateningly as he took you with unrestrained lust.

You felt your peak nearing, your entire body on fire as Daemon pounded into you with unrestrained fury. You brought his neck to your teeth, biting down hard enough to draw a few drops of blood. The copper taste flooded your mouth, bitter and metallic as you licked the crimson liquid from your lips.

"Now you have bled for me too," you whispered ominously, your voice thick with lust and dark magic.

But before you could reach your peak, you quickly reached for your enchanted necklace, clutching it in your hand. The ancient magics within pulsed to life, amplifying the power of this ritual tenfold.

Power surged through you, your cunt squeezing tight around Daemon's cock as you came. Your eyes rolled back, your body convulsing as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Dark energy swirled around you, the air crackling with stifled energy.

"Mine," you whispered, your voice echoing with unexpected dominance. "You are mine now, Daemon Targaryen. Entwined by blood and pleasure."

Daemon's eyes flew open in surprise, his mouth falling open as he felt the surge of dark witchcraft. But it was too late - the ritual was complete.

Daemon froze, his cock buried deep inside your still-spasming cunt. He stared down at you, his eyes wide with shock and a hint of fear.

He groaned, his hips stuttering as your cunt clenched around him like a vice. The dark magic amplified every sensation, every touch, every thrust. It was overwhelming and intoxicating, and he never wanted it to end.

"Fuck," he gasped, his voice strained with anger and pleasure. "What did you do?"

But even as he asked, he knew. You had bound him to you, claimed him in a way that went beyond the physical.

He thrust into you one last time, his cock erupting deep inside you as he came.

He tried to pull out, to break the connection, but your walls clenched around him, refusing to let him go. Panic flashed across his face as he realized the implications of what you'd done.

"You... you she-devil," he snarled, his hands tightening on your hips. "Did you plan this? To trick me, to bind me to you?"

You just grinned, a vicious, seductive curve of your lips. You could feel his fear, his anger, but beneath it all was a flicker of arousal. The power you now held over him was intoxicating.

"Shh," you cooed, your fingers trailing down his chest. "Don't fight it. We are one now."

You roll your hips, your walls clenching around his softening cock. He groans, his hips bucking unconsciously into yours.

You gasped as the obsidian stone of your necklace pulsed warmly against your throat. The maleficent force surged through your veins, your eyes rolling back in ecstasy. "Yes!" You cried out, the power exhilarating in your veins.

Your eyes, nearly black now, held his gaze as you sneered cruelly.

Daemon collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His softening cock slipped from your abused cunt, a trickle of his seed leaking out to pool on the tattered sheets beneath you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your bodies still intertwined as you both tried to process what had just happened. The energy that had swirled around you during your climax still lingered in the air, making the hairs on Daemon's arms stand on end.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his dark eyes searching your face. He looked confused as he took in your triumphant grin and the blackness of your eyes.

"What... what did you do to me?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

You smiled at him, your eyes gleaming with malice. "I didn't do anything to you. I had no desire to harm you, as I stated before," you answered truthfully. "Did you know that the moment when one reaches orgasm is the most intense and the most powerful experience a human can have in life? For in that moment, the soul suddenly opens to the divine realm and the breath of God is infused. I needed another to reach divinity."

You rose from the bed, slipping your ripped dress back on and throwing a cloak over yourself. "I simply used you... as you have done to many women in your life, I'm sure. Do not fret, my prince," you smirked.

Daemon stared up at you, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and a hint of grudging admiration. He pushed himself up to sit, his naked body on full display as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

"Used me?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "I've never been used like this before."

He stood, his cock already starting to harden again at the sight of you, despite his anger. He took a step towards you, his hand reaching out as if to grab you, but he stopped himself.

"What are you?" he demanded, his eyes raking over your form. "What kind of witch are you?"

He snatched up his discarded breeches, roughly pulling them on, his mind reeling from the events of the past hour.

"I should kill you for this," he growled, but there was no real heat behind his words. He knew he couldn't, not now. Not with the bond between you, however unexpected it may be.

"What do you want from me now?" He asked, rage clearly visible in his eyes.

You sauntered over to Daemon, your hips swaying seductively. The rip in your dress left little to the imagination, your full breasts on display for his hungry gaze. You could see the desire warring with the anger in his eyes as you approached.

"Nothing anymore, my prince," you purred, your voice like honey. "My powers have been amplified. I owe you a debt of gratitude for that."

You traced a finger along his jawline, feeling the prickle of his stubble. "Though I wouldn't mind having you take me again. I doubt I'll find another man as virile as you in all of Westeros."

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "You've awakened something in me, Daemon Targaryen. A hunger I never knew I could satisfy."

Your hand slid down his chest, your nails raking lightly over his skin. "I am yours. And I suspect you are mine as well."

You pulled back, your eyes locking with his. "What say you, my dragon?"

Daemon's breath hitched as you touched him, his body responding instantly to your proximity despite his anger. He grabbed your wrist, his grip tight enough to bruise as he glared down at you.

He pulled you closer, his other hand gripping your hip. "You want to be taken again?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll fucking ruin you."

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xx-dinah-writing-xx · 18 days ago

Note

i love it when love interests in shows/movies end up dating irl. There’s something so sweet about it I can’t explain. Imagine a Matt x reader who started dating after starring together in Doctor Who and the fans just loving it.

Love your works btw!

Pose

Matt Smith x reader

Fluff

The Doctor Who set buzzed with energy. Cast and crew darted about, readying for the next scene. Y/N stood off to the side, wearing her costume—just one of many extras for a crowd scene. Her heart pounded as she glanced across the set at Matt Smith, the Doctor himself, who was cracking jokes with Karen Gillan.

She was young, new to the industry, and still trying to find her footing. Watching Matt’s charisma light up the room, she admired how effortlessly he commanded attention. But that’s all it was—a distant admiration. He was leagues above her, both in fame and experience. And besides, he probably didn’t even know she existed.

She spent the day filming her brief scenes, staying out of the way, and sneaking glances at Matt when she could. She noticed the way he treated the crew with kindness, his infectious laugh, and the subtle glint of mischief in his eyes. She couldn’t help but feel a small pang of regret when the day wrapped up, and she hadn’t had the nerve to introduce herself.

“Maybe someday,” she whispered to herself as she left the set, clutching her small piece of experience as a budding actor.

Years Later: House of the Dragon Set

The grand halls of the House of the Dragon set were a world apart from her days as an extra on Doctor Who. Y/N had grown as an actress, carving out her own name in the industry. She wasn’t a lead, but she wasn’t invisible anymore, either.

And then there was Matt.

She spotted him during the first table read, his presence unmistakable. Now older, more refined, and undeniably handsome, he still carried that same charm she’d admired years ago. Except this time, things were different—this time, he noticed her.

It started small. Casual conversations during breaks, shared laughs over long shooting days. He was always hovering nearby, stealing glances when he thought she wasn’t looking. Y/N could feel the shift—his interest wasn’t just friendly.

“Have we worked together before?” Matt asked one day as they stood waiting for their next scene.

Y/N smirked, deciding to play coy. “Maybe. A long time ago.”

He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in mock suspicion. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

She shrugged, feigning innocence. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Matt found himself captivated—not just by her beauty but by her wit and the quiet confidence she carried. There was something familiar about her, though he couldn’t quite place it. It wasn’t until weeks later, during a casual chat with one of the crew, that the truth clicked.

“You were on Doctor Who, weren’t you?” he asked her later, a grin spreading across his face.

“Good memory,” she replied, laughing. “I was just an extra. You wouldn’t have noticed me.”

“Noticed you?” He stepped closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Y/N, I’ve been noticing you every day since we started this.”

Her heart raced, and she tried to suppress the blush creeping up her neck. The Matt Smith she had admired from afar all those years ago was now standing in front of her, openly admitting his interest.

From that day forward, their connection only deepened. Matt was smitten—hook, line, and sinker. He found himself seeking her out constantly, offering to run lines together, lingering in conversations just to keep her close.

And Y/N? She couldn’t quite believe how life had come full circle. What started as a fleeting crush on a set years ago had blossomed into something real, something tangible.

Sometimes, when they were alone, Matt would tease her about those early days. “You should’ve said something back then,” he’d say with a playful smirk.

“I was a kid,” she’d retort, rolling her eyes. “And you were busy being the big, famous Doctor.”

He’d laugh, pulling her close. “Well, I’m glad we got here eventually. Better late than never, right?”

The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the streets of London as Matt and Y/N strolled hand-in-hand, both trying to make the most of a rare day off together. They were casually dressed—Matt in a fitted black t-shirt, jeans, and his signature boots, and Y/N in a sundress with a denim jacket draped over her shoulders. They looked every bit like a picture-perfect couple, but neither anticipated the storm they were about to cause online.

As they walked out of a cozy café, Matt holding the door for Y/N with an easy smile, the unmistakable sound of camera shutters echoed across the street. Matt’s smile faltered briefly, realizing they’d been spotted. Y/N instinctively squeezed his hand, glancing toward the source of the commotion.

Three paparazzi were camped out on the opposite corner, cameras clicking away like machine guns.

“Smile or run?” Y/N whispered, half-joking.

Matt chuckled under his breath. “Pose.”

He leaned down, planting a soft, lingering kiss on Y/N’s temple as they continued walking, acting completely unbothered. If anything, he looked amused by the attention, his free hand stuffed casually in his pocket. Y/N tilted her head toward him, a warm laugh escaping her lips—making the scene look even more natural and intimate.

By the time they reached the corner, Matt turned toward one of the photographers with a mock stern expression. “You got enough, mate?” he called out, making Y/N stifle a laugh.

The photographers didn’t respond, but their lenses stayed fixed on the couple until they disappeared around the corner.

Later That Evening

The photos hit Twitter and Instagram like wildfire, trending within hours. Fans had been quick to analyze every single frame.

One photo in particular set the internet ablaze: Matt mid-kiss on Y/N’s temple, her eyes closed with a soft smile. The hashtag #MattSmithAndY/N began trending, with fans losing their collective minds.

Fan Tweets:

“OH MY GOD THIS IS A ROM-COM IN THE MAKING!!! LOOK AT THEM 😭❤️”

“He’s so boyfriend-coded it hurts. The way he looks at her? I’m deceased.”

“Y/N is LIVING MY DREAM. HANDS OFF, SIS, I SAW HIM FIRST.”

“Matt Smith, you’ve been crowned the King of Gentle PDA.”

“Them just casually being THE most attractive couple ever? I’m not okay.”

Instagram fan accounts weren’t far behind, posting collages of the pictures and captioning them with things like:

“Matt and Y/N being adorable AGAIN—this man stays winning.”

“Not to be dramatic, but I would die for their love.”

“What’s it like being the sun and moon of someone’s life?? Asking for a friend.”

That night, Y/N lay sprawled across their couch, her phone buzzing with notifications. “Matt,” she called out, trying to suppress her laughter.

He wandered in from the kitchen, a tea mug in hand. “What’s so funny?”

She held up her phone, showing him one of the memes.

Matt leaned over, squinting at the screen. “Is that… Is that me?”

“Yes,” Y/N said, laughing as she scrolled through more tweets. “Apparently, you’re boyfriend-coded now.”

“Boyfriend-coded?” He arched a brow, sitting down beside her.

“It means you’re setting unrealistic standards for all men, Mr. Smith.” She winked, teasing.

Matt chuckled, setting his mug down before pulling her into his lap. “Unrealistic? Darling, I’m just getting started.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin spreading across her face. “Well, congratulations. The internet loves you.”

He smirked, his arms tightening around her. “They’re not the ones I’m trying to impress.”

That night, after the paparazzi pictures had gone viral, Y/N found herself scrolling through TikTok, unable to resist the rabbit hole of edits that had already flooded the app. She lay on the couch, earbuds in, her phone screen lighting up her amused face. The edits ranged from sweet—slow-motion clips of Matt smiling paired with romantic music—to downright thirsty.

She came across one that stopped her dead in her tracks: a perfectly timed montage of Matt as Daemon Targaryen with Sabrina Carpenter’s “Bed chem” playing in the background. It was cut to perfection, highlighting every cocky smirk, intense glare, and swagger-filled moment from House of the Dragon.

Y/N bit her lip, stifling a laugh as the caption read: “You’re telling me she gets to go home to THIS every night??? God has favourites.”

Unbeknownst to her, Matt had just walked into the living room, holding two glasses of wine. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her utterly engrossed in her phone, oblivious to his presence. Curious, he stepped closer, quietly setting the glasses down on the coffee table.

He leaned over the back of the couch, peering at her screen. It took him all of two seconds to figure out what she was watching. His own face filled the frame in a particularly intense Daemon clip, and the accompanying song lyrics weren’t helping.

“Really, darling?” Matt’s deep voice startled her.

Y/N yelped, nearly tossing her phone in panic. “Oh my god, Matt! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

He smirked, leaning casually against the couch, arms folded. “You were watching edits of me?”

“No!” she said quickly, though her burning cheeks betrayed her. She shoved her phone under a cushion like a guilty teenager.

Matt cocked an eyebrow, clearly amused. “I saw the whole thing, love. That was Daemon.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Oh, this is so embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” he teased, rounding the couch to sit beside her. “I think it’s rather flattering.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she muttered, still hiding behind her hands.

Matt gently pried her hands away, his grin playful. “You know, I’ve always wondered what it’s like to live rent-free in someone’s mind. But now I see—it’s you I’ve been occupying.”

Y/N swatted his chest. “Shut up!”

He laughed, pulling her into his arms. “No need to be shy, darling. Next time, just ask, and I’ll recreate the scenes for you in person.”

Y/N groaned again, but she couldn’t help but laugh as he planted a dramatic kiss on her temple. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Matt said, smirking as he grabbed the remote, “you’re still stuck with me. Now, should we make this official and watch House of the Dragon together?”

“Absolutely not,” Y/N said, grabbing the wine glasses and handing him one. “I think you’ve been admired enough for one night.”

#matt smith #matt smith x reader #reader #yn #matt smith x yn #fem reader #matt smith imagine #matt smith x female reader #fluff #matt smith the doctor #matt smith one shot #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader

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goldensunflowe-r · 2 years ago

Text

Dad Daemon Targaryen Part 2

Masterlist

Part 1

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen masterlist #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen x pregnant!reader #daemon targeryen x reader #dad!daemon #dad!daemon targaryen x mom!reader #dad!daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen one shot #daemon targaryen fic rec #daemon targaryen fic recs

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dedicatednotobsessed · 1 year ago

Note

✨ Can I request a fluffy one shot where Daemon and reader are expecting their first child? ✨

Daemon and reader could pick out a dragon egg for their child's cradle? Reader let's Daemon pick the egg since he has been over the moon excited about this pregnancy? He would be such a devoted daddy 😭

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Of course! For more HOTD requests, just submit a strong snack to Vhagar through my ask box 💚 {I will be opening my ask box soon for The Last Kingdom and Game of Thrones requests, so keep an eye out for that announcement! 💕}

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Issa dōna [Daemon Targaryen x Pregnant!Reader]

Other HOTD stories [requests open]

Summary: Your one dream in life had always been to find a good husband {one that will serve your house well} and be a loyal wife and loving mother. After a constant battle with your Uncle, King Viserys, you were able to take your one true love’s hand in marriage, your other Uncle Daemon. As a young girl, you had dreamt of being with him; he seemed to be everything in a perfect husband: loyal, caring, and loving. It only seemed to be proven more so that he was the right choice when he hears some exciting news….

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A small gleeful giggle passed your lips while your dragon landed in the sands of Dragonstone, glancing over when the second dragon landed beside you. Only hours ago you were in the capital marrying the love of your life, your Uncle turned husband, Daemon.

Ever since you were a young girl, you had an infatuation towards your Uncle and it only grew the older you became, maturing into a young woman. You ended up in the King's care when you were a babe, your mother having passed during childbirth and your father- the youngest brother to the King and Daemon- having tragically passed in battle during the early stages of your mother's pregnancy. Viserys treated you as his own and you could not be more thankful for him.

You smiled happily when Daemon offered his hand, taking it and sliding down, your white silken dress lightly flowing around you. You turned hearing the trills from Saphira and reached up to pat her neck, her deep blue scales shimmering in the moonlight.

"I believe Saphira is looking forward to her new home," You stated fully turning to your husband, your violet eyes meeting his matching ones.

Daemon smiled lightly as he reached up to push back a loose strand of your hair. "Well, she has no choice in the matter, does she?"

You giggled at the slightly teasing tone of his voice. "I suppose she does not," You agreed.

He moved his hand to your waist beginning to lead you to the castle, your new home. You let your gaze wander over the various tapestries of the Dragons from Old Valyria; the painted cloth telling the tale of the Doom of Valyria. Some of the newer tapestries down the long hallway resembled Aegon’s conquest, including his wives Viserya and Rhaenys.

You came back to reality when Daemon opened the door to your marital chambers, looking around as you walked in; it was slightly smaller than your chambers back in the capital. You walked over to the roaring fire that was awaiting you while Daemon went for the fresh pitcher of wine. Your violet eyes shimmered as the flames flickered, your mind wandering.

A dragon is only deserving of a dragon and through their flames, they will burn together. That is what Daemon would always tell you anyway.

A small smile crept onto your lips feeling a hand on your waist, giggling when Daemon pulled you into his chest. You hummed as he leaned down, his lips attaching to your neck.

“You know,” You began, smiling more when he bit down on your sweet spot. “We left before we had a chance to do the bedding ceremony.”

Daemon hummed in response while he swayed the two of you. “Is that so?” He smirked lightly as you turned in his arms, reaching up to push back a strand of your silver hair. “We should get right on that then, hm?”

“We should,” You agreed smiling lovingly at your husband.

Your husband…it felt foreign almost to call your Uncle said title, yet at the same time…it felt right. You had fought long and hard to have this marriage, willing to risk everything for the love you two shared.

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“Uncle, please.”

“How many times do I have to say no to you, Y/N?” Viserys sounded agitated as he sat beside his model of Old Valyria, rubbing at his temple.

You had been discussing with your Uncle close to one moon now asking for Prince Daemon’s hand and the answer had always been the same…no. You did not understand why he would not let you marry Daemon; a part of you believed it was from the influence of the Lord Hand, Otto Hightower.

“We are done here.” Viserys waved his hand causing you to frown.

“But, Uncle-“ You began to protest.

“I said we are done, Y/N!”

You sighed deeply at the way the King’s voice rose to you; you were used to it, however. He has made the comment once or twice of you being his political headache since you had refused each and every single proposal that was brought to your feet. In some cases, you were worse than his blood daughter, Rhaenyra whom you had strayed from in the last year or so. The two of you shared feelings for the same man which caused jealousy and it only became worse when it was announced that Rhaenyra was to be wed to Ser Laenor Velaryon which meant you had more of a chance for Daemon to take your hand in marriage.

You looked down at the grounds of the garden with your hands clasped in front of you, your brows knit together as your mind ran with thoughts. It had been a few days since the last discussion with your Uncle and you had not spoken to him since he announced a feast by the upcoming moon cycle- a feast to find a proper husband for yourself. You had always promised yourself that you would not suffer the same fate as Rhaenyra but it seems as though the gods were cruel.

“And why would a Princess of the Seven Kingdoms want to wander the gardens all by herself?”

You furrowed your brows a bit at the unfamiliar voice and turned to see a young man with wavy shoulder-length dark hair.

“I apologize…who are you?”

The man chuckled lightly. “Forgive me, Princess. I am William Mooton, the only living child of Lord Mooton.”

You hummed in response with a cocked brow. “I am Princess Y/N but you clearly knew that.”

William smirked lightly at the tone of your voice. “The tales of Targaryen beauty do not do you justice, Princess. You are even more beautiful in person.”

You returned his smirk. “Well thank you, my lord.”

William nodded his head, his smirk turning into a smile. “May I accompany you, Princess?”

You let your eyes wander over the young man for a moment, your smirk still on your lips. You could not even deny how handsome of a man he was; perhaps this upcoming feast would not be too bad after all if more suitors had a similar appearance to William of House Mooton.

“If you insist, my lord,” You replied after a moment, a genuine smile filling your face.

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

As the moon began to end its cycle, the festivities seemed to grow and grow which caused a dark saddened cloud to begin to loom over you. The more people that arrived, the more your heart grew heavy because the one person you wanted was not there.

The feasting hall was filled with chatter and laughter of various lords and ladies who hoped that you would choose their son as a potential suitor. The only viable option it seemed was William Mooton, but even then your heart still yearned for Daemon.

You glanced up when a figure walked over to you and offered William a soft smile as he took the spot beside you. “You look quite lovely tonight, my princess,” William told you quietly.

You nodded a bit in response, your smile widening slightly. “Thank you, my lord.”

He let his eyes rake over your features for a moment before he cleared his throat sitting up. “I was wondering if you would like to have a dance with me.”

William had been trying to make sure you chose him in the end as your husband by offering a dance every night. You had politely refused every single one, but the cycle was ending and you needed to choose a suitor soon enough before you would be stuck with a lesser lord who had a cock the size of his pinkie finger.

You reached out to take his hand as the doors blew open causing everyone to turn their heads, a small gasp passing your lips at the sight of Prince Daemon. The hall seemed to grow silent while the Prince with short silver hair strolled towards the head table, a smug smirk on his features. You always remembered that he enjoyed his grand entrances.

Viserys stared at his younger brother, his brows furrowed. He did not even inform him that there was a suitor feast in your honor; he had hoped he would stay away yet, Daemon always seemed to make an appearance. Whether he was invited or not, and more often than not, he was not invited.

Daemon did not mind the eyes on him as he took a seat at the end of the table, his gaze catching yours. He let out a low chuckle. “Do not be surprised to see me, my sweet niece.”

You stumbled on your words, silently thanking the King when he was the first to speak up; “it is quite a surprise that you are here, brother.”

Daemon hummed in response. “I am not one to miss my brother’s feasts,” He replied offering him a small smile. “Besides, I do wish to fight in the tourney on the morrow as your champion.”

Viserys chuckled lightly. “I do not think that would be wise, Daemon.”

“And why is that?” The Prince questioned with a cocked brow.

“The tourney is for Princess Y/N’s hand,” Otto spoke up. “Unless she is to choose a husband tonight.”

Daemon scoffed at the voice of Otto Hightower. The two men never got along and Daemon was not afraid to voice his opinions of the other man; a cunt is the term he enjoyed using. “I still wish to fight as your champion, brother.”

“With all due respect-“

“With all due respect, Lord Hand, I did not ask for your opinion,” Daemon cut him off, smirking at the glare Otto gave him.

Viserys relaxed in his seat, rubbing at his temples from the headache his brother was clearly giving him. “Prince Daemon will be my champion,” He said after a moment.

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The tourney certainly was a spectacle; it all came down to the King’s champion and Lord Walys’ champion- his only living child. He did not want his son to compete but William was determined and his cockiness cost him his life. Daemon gave him one swift strike to the heart with his lance and the young man fell, blood pooling out of his wound and his mouth. In the end, Daemon claimed your hand and it felt as though it was all a dream. He was the only person you ever wanted and now you had him.

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

You had one hand on Daemon’s arm, the other on your rounded stomach while he led you towards the Keep. It took some time, but you were finally able to swell with the child. His child. It made you misty-eyed at the mere thought of having the love of your life’s child.

“It feels as though nothing has changed,” You breathed out walking through the familiar halls rubbing lightly at your husband’s arm.

Daemon snorted at that. “Those cunts are slowly turning it into the Faith of the Seven,” He scoffed.

You sighed softly knowing he was not talking about his brother. You stayed silent though as he led you toward the throne room where your Uncle and his wife would be waiting for your arrival. The news of your pregnancy spread rather fast through the Seven Kingdoms and everyone from the various corners of Westeros was coming in celebration of you, your husband, and your unborn babe.

"It reminds me of when we got married." You scrunched up your nose hearing all of the chatter from outside the throne room.

Daemon chuckled lightly while he looked down at you with an adoring look behind his violet eyes. He reached over to rub your swollen stomach causing you to giggle. Every night he would talk to the little dragon growing inside of you; he seemed prepared for fatherhood and it swelled your heart.

"Once the festivities are over, would you like to go to the hatchery to choose an egg for our son?" He asked standing up straight, a content smile on his features.

"And how do you know it is going to be a son?"

His smile only grew. "I can tell," He replied simply looking ahead as the doors to the throne room opened.

"Prince Daemon and Princess Y/N of House Targaryen," The man announced at the doors, the room erupting in cheers.

You smiled brightly at the crowds surrounding the pair before your eyes turned to the head table. Viserys stood there tall and proud with Alicent by his side as they led the room in cheers.

"My sweet niece," Viserys greeted stroking your cheek lightly before he moved his hand to your stomach. "I am so proud of you," He whispered.

"Thank you, Uncle," You replied quietly feeling the tears prick your eyes before giggling as he pulled you into a hug.

You returned his hug, closing your eyes while he stroked back your silver hair. "Does he make you happy?" He pulled back a bit, smiling a small smile when you nodded. "Then I am happy if you are happy."

You parted your lips in surprise; you never thought that he would approve of your marriage to Daemon. Half of you expected after his brother knocked William Mooton onto the ground in a pool of his own blood, your Uncle would have chosen another match for you. You were thankful in the end though that he had kept his word; you were becoming quite bored with William anyway.

"Thank you, Uncle," You whispered, a tear rolling down your cheek.

Viserys smiled as he reached up to wipe your tears away before he pulled you close kissing the side of your head. "Now, go and enjoy the festivities," He stated pulling away from you with a chuckle.

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You smiled lightly at the warmth of the hatchery while you looked around, the various eggs against the wall and in the incubation chambers. Saphira's first clutch was still in the hatchery, wanting to wait until you were with child.

"Are these all of her eggs?" You asked the dragon master who nodded.

Your violet eyes wandered over the three eggs, placing a hand on the iridescent-colored egg with light speckles of blue throughout. "That is Revnass," The master spoke up.

You pulled your hand away slowly, looking up at your husband as he walked closer. Daemon ran his fingers over the red scales of an egg with a deep blue color swirled around the bottom. You smiled softly watching his eyes shine brightly while he picked up the egg, looking it over gingerly.

"Bisa iksos se mēre,” Daemon said quietly. (This is the one).

The master cleared his throat. “Ziry iksos tradition syt se muñnykeā naejot iderēbagon se drōmon.” (It is tradition for the mother to choose the egg).

You looked at the master before your eyes turned to Daemon and smiled lightly. You could see from the glimmer in his eyes how much it meant to him. You rubbed his arm lightly when he looked down at you, smiling more.

“Ziry iksos ry paktot,” You assured him quietly before your attention turned to the dragon master who looked between the two of you. “Skoros iksos pōja brōzi?” (It is all right // what is their name?).

“Moraxes,” The master replied in a gruff voice.

You looked up at Daemon, giving him a nod. “I believe you are correct, husband.”

Daemon beamed at that while the masters took the egg to take it to the chambers you two will be calling home for your time remaining in King’s Landing. He got down on his knees slowly, leaning his head against your rounded belly, his hands on either side.

“A strong dragon for a strong son,” He whispered leaning over to press a kiss gently against your clothed stomach.

In the end, you did end up having a son by the name of Alyster; he was a spitting image of his father with a similar fiery personality to him. He had a special bond with Moraxes, the two becoming an unstoppable pair. Alyster could barely keep his feet off the ground. You ended up having another child, a daughter, named Dahlya who claimed the iridescent dragon, Revnass as her own when she was a hatchling. Daemon was there for both children, being a loving husband and an even more loving father. It was the dream you have always wanted and could not ask for anything better.

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lyraoftheevergreens · 8 months ago

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More To Love

Daemon Targaryen x Plus-size Wife

Daemon Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Smut! Minors do not engage! NSFW

Summary: His wife y/n Stark is beginning to feel insecure as she continues to gain wait with each child she bares him. He is the only one who can comfort his sobbing wife when they are forced to return to Kings Landing for a name day celebration for the princess.

Authors note: I suck at summaries. I wish I could just put “Daemon fucks the sad away. Like the good husband he is.” From one big girl to the next I hope you all enjoy this <3

Warnings: smutty smut smut, oral female receiving, p in v, Self degradation, Minor spelling and grammar errors. Semi edited

Word count: 2,280

Daemon Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, wielder of dark sister, rider of Caraxes, father to Baelon II, Aenar, Naerys, Aelor, Rhaena and Elaena. Husband to Y/n Stark. He married you when his brother ascended the throne, while it was no secret your family, house Stark, supported Rhaenys is claim to the throne. Your father had you marry Daemon to hopefully stop any retribution from there vote against Viserys. While your marriage was one of political duty it didn’t stop you from loving him nor he loving you. You left the north to join him in Kings landing, where you were to wed. You were just as wild as him, nothing was ever gonna stop him from falling in love with you. You had the distinct Stark characteristics of long brown hair and grey eyes. He could stare into your eyes for the rest of his life 8 years of marriage and already the two of you had 6 children and possibly another on the way. The two of you had decided it would be better to raise your children at Dragonstone without the input of others after having your first two, as well as the murmurs and rumors. You received much judgement for choosing to nurse your children rather than a wet nurse do it. It also didn’t help that you allowed your children to share the bed with you Daemon. People of the court were constantly murmuring about your family and they way you and Daemon are raising your children. They thought it repulsive that your children sleep in marital bed. It’s not as if you perform marital acts with your children present, they were far from any of that when it occurred. Then you became pregnant with Naerys, once you began to show the murmuring became worse. “How could they let there children sleep in such filth, now this child will have to sleep in it to.” “And the king allows this to happen in his castle.” “Have you heard, the dress makers had to make her new gowns again.” “How could the prince lay with someone so large.” “I suppose he has no problem lying with someone of her size when he lay with whores.” “I would not be surprised should he return to the pleasure houses, one could only lay with cattle for so long.”

Once you told Daemon what you had heard the two of you were gone to Dragonstone taking all your belongings and staff and you left. You and Daemon made sure the lust for one another would never die as you two continued to grow your family. Taking you on caraxes to Essos, leaving your children in the care of their maids. Or simply slipping into other bed chambers of the castle (empty ones, you two weren’t one to fuck on other people’s beds), or the beaches of Dragonstone to spend alone time together.

The king called for a feast to celebrate Rheanyra’s 13th name day. Daemon decided to leave for Kings Landing on Caraxes to ensure your rooms were prepared in time for your arrival with the children. Naerys is the oldest of your girls and most stubborn, like her father, refused to go on the ship with you and her siblings. Both you and Dameon felt it wasn’t a good idea for a child of only 5 years to fly on her own on via dragon back. Ultimately you and Daemon decided to allow her to fly with him on Caraxes. You knew your husband would protect your daughter with his entire life. He strapped her to him to ensure if she fell asleep she was still safe with him. He made sure to help you and the children on to the ship and to see you all off before leaving himself with Naerys. Your children loved seeing there father leave on Caraxes, they flew a bit to close to the ship causing it to rock knocking your boys to the floor, they laid there for a moment causing you to laugh as well as you held on to the knight your husband had assigned to you for the trip, Ser Ander.

Once arrived at the Kings Landing port you were met with your husband and daughter. Your daughter ran into your arms and told you how amazing flying on Caraxes was. Your boys told their father how much they enjoyed Caraxes rocking the ship and how they can’t wait for there dragons to be able to rock ships. You all left in a carriage to the Red Keep, and once arrived you were greated by Viserys, Aemma and Rhaenyra.

“Y/n, we are so glad you and the children have arrived safely.” Greated Viserys with a smile as he hugged you.

“Thank you your grace, we thank you for your invitation.”

“Please Y/n, you are my good sister, call me Viserys.”

“I will try my best, Viserys.”

“Aemma, how are you?”

“I’m quite lovely. Your self?” She asked as she rubbed her bump, you hadn’t known she was with child again.

“Lovely as well. Rhaenyra, how have you been as of late? Are you excited for the celebration?”

“I am, thank you.”

The exchange between Rhaenyra, Aemma and you felt strange in whole. You feel them judge you from their looks. You had put on a considerable amount of weight from the last time you were in kings landing and you could tell they judged you for it. While Aemma had been with child just as many times as you, you had the weight gain to show for it as she did not.

“Come let me show you to our rooms.” Daemon must have felt your unease as he thankfully interrupts the awkward exchange. The twins were to sleep with you and Daemon and the boys and Naerys in the chambers next yours and Dameon’s. Once alone you began to speak freely to Daemon.

“She’s with child once more? Poor Aemma, I pray that this babe is healthy.”

“Yes it’s quite tragic. I remember the two of you always being with child around the same time.”

“Yes, and that’s why it saddens me because we have 5 beautiful children they have one.”

“I know my dear-“ Daemon was interrupted by your children running in. Your youngest boy running behind being only 3 years of age.

“Kepa! Look they have it here! Aenar show him!” With that your second son hands his father his favorite Valyrian dragon book. All your children loved when Daemon would read to them.

“Yes there are plenty of books, perhaps we can go to the library on the morrow.”

“Yes!” Your children were so excited. They loved their father so much and it helped that he was a good one at that. Always reading to them, taking them to tend to there dragons and teaching them how to wield a sword (wooden sword).

The day had turned to night and you were nursing both twins when your husband had entered the room after seeing your other children to bed. “They are all asleep.”

“Oh good, thank you my love.” You thanked your husband and he walked over and kissed your forehead before sitting in the chair across from where you sat on the bed. He watched as you nursed his children and something began to stir inside him. Once done he took one babe and you the other and placed them in the children’s bed the maids had put in the room for the twins to sleep with you and Daemon. You had both drifted off the sleep, your head on Daemons chest and his arm around your shoulders holding you to him.

You woke the next morning feeling bloated and nauseous. The fact that none of your clothes were fitting quite right didn’t help either. You had not bled for two moon cycles now. A part of you suspected you were with child once more but you wanted to believe it wasn’t true. Daemon had entered the room after taking the boys and Naerys to the training yard, finding you sat on the floor crying.

“What has happened ñuhon dōna ābrazȳrys?”

(My sweet wife)

“Daemon.” You choked out in between sobs. He went to the floor with you holding you into his chest. “I’m with child. Again.”

“This is amazing!” Daemon said kissing your forehead.

“Tis not. I’m going to get wider, my skin will have more marks.”

“Yes but you always get smaller again. And I have scars on my body do you not love me?”

“Of course I love you, but your scars are from battle, mine are from the stretching of my skin.”

“Your skin that covers your body. Your body that grows our babes. Our children.”

“Daemon admit it. I do not get smaller, with each babe I birth I do not shrink back down in size. I will never be the size I was when we wed.”

“That is perfect for me. 6 children you have given me, soon 8-“

“There are no more twins growing in my womb.”

“We will see.” He says with a smirk. “I do not care for your size. Just means there is more to love. You are my wife, my wolf, my life and I love you. I love the marks on your skin, it’s proof that you birth my heirs, my children.”

“My marks can be hidden with gowns Daemon. With each child I birth I go up in size. I have birthed 6 children, soon to be 7 and I’m already in need of larger garments. I am huge, I’m ugly.” You sat on the floor crying into your husband’s chest when he speaks up. “I will not have you talking about my wife like this.” He picks you up with ease from the floor and toss you on to the bed. “Daemon!” You shout his name. “No, this is my wife you are discussing. Mother to my children. I will not have you slander her so.” He rips your night shift off you and you lay there bare before him. He is now on top of you and you begin to cover your growing breast when he grabs your wrist and pins them above your head, he holds them there with one hand. He kisses the palms of your hands,” these hands care for our children, they care for me, massaging parts of my aching muscles.” Kissing down both your arms. “These arms hold and comfort our children. They wrap around me at night with love, and sometimes pleasure.” He then takes one of your breast in his mouth, flicks the bud of your breast with his tongue while his free hand massages the other, he then repeats the same releasing you from his mouth to say,” these breast that kept and continue to keep our babes fed, these breast that I worship so, I thank the gods every time they grow larger.” He covers your growing abdomen in kisses,” this, this is where our babes grow, you keep them safe inside you. Our proof of the love we have for each other, proof of my love for you in the children we create.” He lowers his head between your legs and flicks your pearl with his tongue. He licks a big stripe up your core as he stays between your legs for quite sometime your a moaning mess when he releases you,” this cunt that squeezes my cock tight, that births our children,” he kisses down your legs, his hands now gripping your thighs, “these I love to hold apart while I have you screaming with pleasure while I devour you, to prevent you from squeezing my head with them. Your legs though that run to our children at the first cry. I love every part of you, small or big, you are my wife and I will worship every part of you.” With that he brings his mouth back to your pearl and uses his fingers to thrust in and out of you, his free hand massaging your breast. “Daemon please.”

“Please what my sweet wife.”

“Your cock, please.”

“As you wish ābrazȳrys.” With in second Daemons fingers were replaced with his thick, hard member thrusting into you at a pace that had you seeing stars, you moaned in pleasure as he fucked into you. “Keep moaning my sweet girl, let the whole castle know your husband makes you feel this good. Let them know how I worship you so.”

“Yes, Yes! Daemon.” You screamed and moaned for him, giving yourself away to the pleasure your husband gave you.

“Yes my dear, release your self on my cock, my good girl.” With that you were a moaning screaming mess as you reached your release, your nails clawed at his back, as you wiggled under him in pleasure, he fucked you through your release eventually reaching his own from feeling your cunt flutter around his cock. He growled into your shoulder as his seed filled you. He pulled out of you after a moment and layed next to you pulling you into him. His hand grabbing your ass and striking his palm to it,”I almost forget, this,” he grabbed,”this I absolutely love, I love to feel my stones smack against it as I fuck your sweet cunt. Or when I take you from behind I get to watch it shake as I pound into you.”

“Daemon!”

“What! It’s true! I love every part of you y/n. You are my wife, no matter your size i will worship you till I draw my last breath.

“I love you too.” You kiss his chest and he speaks once more. “Truly I thank the gods everyday for your growing tits and ass. I suppose it’s true what they say, you don’t know that something is missing from your life until you have it.”

“I assume in this case it’s tits and ass?”

“Not just any, your tits and ass my sweet wife.”

#daemon targaryen x ofc #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon Targaryen smut #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targaryen #hotd daemon #daemon targeryan #Daemon one shot #daemon Targaryen one shot #hotd #daemon x plus size reader #daemon Targaryen x plus size reader #daemon Targaryen x plus size female

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hisfavegirl · 19 days ago

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The Rouge Prince - Daemon Targaryen x Reader.

summary : As the only daughter in your family, you are required to marry someone with dignity and honor, that's what your father thinks and when he heard that the king wanted to find a bride for his grandson, your father and mother did something that required you to sacrifice your future.

You sit in the carriage, your eyes fixed on your parents, who are deep in conversation. The rhythmic sound of the horses’ hooves on the road fills the air, but your mind is elsewhere. You glance at your father, his brow furrowed in thought, and your mother, her eyes scanning the horizon as if lost in her own plans.

“Why are we going to King’s Landing, Mother?” you ask again, trying to break through their focused discussion.

Your father, glances at you briefly before returning his attention to your mother. “You’ll find out when we arrive, child. It’s not something for you to worry about right now.”

“But I want to know now!” you protest, frustration bubbling up inside you. “Why do you keep talking in secrets? What are you planning?”

your mother, turns her head slightly toward you, her face calm but distant. “Enough questions, dear. It’s for your own good.”

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes in suspicion. You look out the window, trying to ignore their conversation, but curiosity gnaws at you. What are they planning? What could be so important that they won’t share with you?

“Mother,” you ask quietly, your tone softer now. “Please. I just want to understand.”

Your mother sighs, her gaze softening for a moment. “In time, you will, my love. But for now, you must trust that we are doing what is best.”

You turn back to the window, still not entirely convinced. The trees pass by in a blur as your mind races with possibilities. What is waiting for you in King’s Landing? What role do you play in this unknown plan?

The carriage rumbles to a stop, and the clatter of hooves fades into the bustling noise of the Red Keep’s courtyard. Your eyes scan the scene before you — guards marching in tight formations, their armor clinking with every step, and servants rushing about, their arms full of crates and baskets of food, wine, and decorations. The air hums with activity, the scent of fresh bread and sweet fruits mixing with the sharp tang of metal.

“Out,” your father’s voice cuts through the noise as he steps down from the carriage, offering a hand to your mother. You follow after them, your eyes darting around, taking in every detail.

“What’s all this for?” you ask, noticing the banners being unfurled from the high towers. The sigil of House Targaryen — the three-headed dragon — looms over the courtyard like a watchful beast.

“The feast,” your mother replies, her gaze sharp as she glances at a group of servants struggling with a large cask of wine. “There will be many important guests tonight. You will behave accordingly.” Her tone is gentle but firm, the kind that leaves little room for argument.

“A feast for whom?” you press, stepping closer to her. “What’s the occasion?”

A flicker of something — hesitation, perhaps — crosses her face. She looks at your father, who gives her a short nod. “The King has decided it is time to strengthen bonds between houses,” your mother says carefully. “There will be dancing, music, and… alliances to be made.”

“Alliances,” you mutter under your breath, frowning. The meaning behind that word is never as simple as it sounds.

The three of you walk into the Red Keep, and the warmth of the sun is quickly replaced by the cool, shadowed halls. The once-quiet corridors are now alive with movement. Servants hang garlands of flowers along the walls, and tables are being set with silver plates and goblets of polished gold. You have to step aside as a pair of kitchen boys hurry past, balancing platters of fruit and roasted meats.

“Stay close,” your father says, glancing back at you. “The halls are crowded, and I will not have you wandering off.”

You nod but your eyes remain on the scene before you. The smell of spiced wine drifts past your nose, and the distant sound of musicians tuning their instruments echoes through the stone corridors. Everywhere you look, people are moving with purpose, as if the whole keep is holding its breath for something grand to begin.

You glance up at your mother, your brow furrowed in suspicion. “Are you sure this is just a feast, Mother? It feels like something more.”

Your mother doesn’t answer immediately. Her gaze is fixed straight ahead, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Keep your eyes open tonight, my dear,” she finally says, her tone low but pointed. “There is more to see than what is being shown.”

Her words stay with you as you walk deeper into the Red Keep, the echoes of footsteps and distant music filling your ears. The air feels heavier now, like a storm about to break.

You walk through the grand corridors of the Red Keep, the distant hum of preparations for the feast slowly fading behind you. The air grows colder, heavier with the weight of expectation. The echo of footsteps bounces off the high stone walls, each step feeling louder than the last.

As you approach the large, looming doors of the throne room, two guards push them open with a low, rumbling creak. The chamber beyond is vast and dimly lit, the narrow beams of sunlight streaming through high windows casting sharp rays upon the stone floor.

At the far end of the room, atop the Iron Throne, sits King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, his presence as commanding as the throne itself. His silver hair gleams in the fractured light, and his sharp, thoughtful eyes watch every movement like a dragon surveying its domain. Beside him stands Prince Baelon Targaryen, his son, tall and broad-shouldered, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. His gaze is sharper, more direct, and it lingers on you just a moment too long.

“Lady Tyrell, Lord Tyrell,” King Jaehaerys’s voice echoes across the hall, steady but worn with age. His gaze shifts to you, eyes narrowing with faint curiosity. “And you have brought another with you.”

“This is my daughter,” your mother replies with a polite bow of her head. “She has come to learn, as all must in time.” Her voice is steady, but there is a careful calculation in her words, as if each syllable has been weighed before it was spoken.

“Ah, the young one,” Baelon says, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “She looks sharper than most. I wonder if she listens as well as she watches.” His eyes meet yours, a spark of challenge in them.

You lift your chin, refusing to look away. “I listen when there’s something worth hearing,” you reply, your voice cool but clear.

Baelon raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “A tongue as sharp as her gaze. She’ll need both if she means to walk these halls.”

Jaehaerys raises a hand, and the room falls silent. His eyes settle on you, more curious now than before. “Tell me, child,” he says slowly, his voice like distant thunder, “what do you see when you look upon this throne room?”

You glance around the room, your gaze moving from the cold stone walls to the guards stationed along the edges, to the light catching on the jagged edges of the Iron Throne. Your eyes linger on the throne itself — a twisted mass of blades, swords of conquered kings melted together. You feel a weight in the air, not just from the presence of those before you, but from the very history embedded in the metal.

“I see power,” you answer carefully, your voice unwavering. “But power that cuts as easily as it commands.”

For a moment, there is only silence. Jaehaerys’s eyes remain on you, and you can feel him weighing your words. Slowly, a faint smile touches his lips.

“Wise beyond your years,” he says, leaning back on the throne. “Perhaps too wise.” His gaze flicks to your father, then to your mother, his eyes sharp with meaning. “Keep her close, my child. Wisdom is both a gift and a danger in these halls.”

Your mother dips her head in acknowledgment. “She will be guided well, Your Grace.”

Baelon chuckles softly, his eyes still on you. “If she’s as clever as she seems, I doubt she’ll need much guidance.”

You glance at him again, your heart steady despite the weight of so many eyes upon you. The Iron Throne looms larger than ever, and in this moment, you realize that every gaze in this room carries its own weight of expectation. Something about this meeting feels heavier than it should.

As the king begins speaking with your mother and father, you remain silent, but your mind is far from still. What had your mother said before? “There is more to see than what is being shown.”

You watch them all — the king, the prince, the guards, even the way the light falls on the Iron Throne — and you wonder what lies beneath their words.

The heavy groan of the great doors behind you draws your attention. Slowly, they swing open, and for a moment, the light from the corridor frames the figure in the doorway like a portrait.

Prince Daemon Targaryen steps inside with the confidence of a man who has never questioned his place in the world. His silver hair, so much like his father’s and grandfather’s, falls just past his waist, but it is the sharpness in his eyes that catches your attention. Mischief and danger swirl in his gaze like fire and smoke. His lips curve into a crooked grin, as if he already knows something no one else does.

“The Rogue Prince arrives,” Baelon mutters, glancing toward his son with a mix of pride and exasperation. “Late, as usual.”

“Better to arrive late than to wait on others, Father,” Daemon replies smoothly, his voice rich with amusement. His boots echo as he strides forward, his cloak swishing behind him like a dragon’s tail. He spares a glance at his grandfather, King Jaehaerys, and gives a short, almost lazy bow. “Your Grace.”

“Daemon,” Jaehaerys says his name like a warning, though his gaze is steady. “You walk these halls like they belong to you.”

“Do they not, grandfather?” Daemon’s grin widens, his eyes flicking briefly to the Iron Throne. “One day, they will.”

A strained silence falls over the room, heavy as storm clouds. You glance at your mother, and see her eyes narrow, her lips pressed tightly together. Your father, shifts his stance, his gaze fixed on Daemon like a hawk watching prey.

“Ambition is a dangerous thing, nephew,” your mother says softly, her voice calm but pointed. “It burns hot but fades quickly if not tempered.”

Daemon’s eyes flick to her, his grin unfaltering. “Then it’s a good thing I prefer wildfire, my lady. Burns hotter, lasts longer.” His gaze moves to you next, his eyes sharp and assessing. “And who do we have here?”

You meet his stare without flinching, your eyes steady on his. “Someone who knows better than to be charmed by wildfire, Prince Daemon.”

Baelon barks a laugh, his eyes lighting up with surprise. “She has your tongue, Daemon. Careful, or she’ll cut you with it.”

Daemon’s grin only widens, his eyes gleaming with interest now. He takes a step closer, tilting his head as he examines you like one might examine a puzzle with missing pieces. “A sharp tongue, a sharp gaze. Dangerous tools for one so young.”

“And yet,” you reply smoothly, “dangerous tools tend to be the most useful.”

His eyes narrow, but there’s no malice in them — only curiosity and something else you can’t quite name. He chuckles softly, his eyes flicking to your mother. “This one’s yours, I take it?”

“She is mine,” your mother replies firmly, stepping slightly forward, as if to place herself between you and Daemon. Her tone leaves no room for doubt. “And she is not a tool for anyone to use.”

“Everyone’s a tool, my lady,” Daemon replies with mock sweetness, stepping back with his hands raised in mock surrender. “Some just don’t know it yet.”

“That will be enough, Daemon,” King Jaehaerys’s voice cuts through the room like a blade, sharp and absolute. “We are here to prepare for the feast, not to play games of wit and pride.”

Daemon lowers his head slightly, his grin fading but not disappearing. “Of course, Your Grace.” He steps aside, letting his gaze linger on you for a moment longer before turning toward his father, Baelon.

You release a slow breath, realizing only then how tense you’d been. Your gaze flicks to your mother, who places a hand on your shoulder, her fingers firm but reassuring.

“Remember what I told you,” she says quietly, her eyes locked on Daemon as he walks away. “There is more to see than what is being shown.”

Her words echo in your mind as you watch the Rogue Prince disappear deeper into the throne room, his laughter still hanging in the air like smoke after a fire.

The king rises from his throne, and the room falls into a hushed silence. His presence alone commands attention, but as he begins to speak, the weight of his words settles over the room like a heavy fog.

“Now that Prince Daemon has arrived,” King Jaehaerys’s voice rings clear and firm, “I am pleased to announce the engagement of my grandson, Prince Daemon, to Lady Tyrell, the daughter of Lord and Lady Tyrell. The marriage will take place in one month’s time.”

The room seems to hold its breath. You feel your heart stop in your chest, and for a moment, the world around you seems to blur. Your eyes flick to your parents, and everything falls into place.

You had wondered why your father had so stubbornly rejected every suitor you had been offered, why he had pushed back against every potential match, no matter how prestigious. It wasn’t that they didn’t care for your happiness—no, it was something far more intricate, far more political. The realization strikes you like a thunderclap.

The match with Daemon. This is what your father had been maneuvering toward all along. A marriage that would tie your House to the Targaryens in a way that could not be undone. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? This is a power play—a way to gain influence in the court, to strengthen your family’s position, to secure your place among the highest powers in the realm.

You feel a cold shiver run down your spine as you look at Daemon. His eyes meet yours across the room, his expression unreadable, but there’s a glint of something in his gaze. Recognition? Amusement? Or something far more dangerous?

Daemon, the Rogue Prince—the one who had walked into the room with such defiance and charm. The one who had stirred the pot, who had pushed every boundary. And now, he is your fiancé. Your blood runs cold, and yet, you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

“Is this truly necessary?” you hear yourself ask, the words slipping from your mouth before you can stop them. Your voice rings out in the room, breaking the silence like glass shattering.

King Jaehaerys’s eyes flick to you, sharp and unyielding. “It is done, child. The decision has been made.”

Your mother, Lady Tyrell, steps forward, her expression neutral but tight with control. “It is for the good of House Tyrell,” she says, her voice calm but with an edge. “A union with House Targaryen will strengthen our position. We must all think beyond our desires, for the future of the realm.”

The weight of her words crashes down on you, and for a moment, you feel as if the room is closing in. You glance at your father, Lord Tyrell, who watches the exchange with a cold, calculating gaze.

“So this is why,” you say softly, more to yourself than to anyone else. “This was the reason behind all the rejections… All those men who came to court me, only to be sent away with little more than a polite refusal. You had this planned all along.”

Your father does not deny it. “Sometimes, the right choice is not the one that makes us happy,” he says quietly. “But it is the one that secures our future.”

Daemon’s voice cuts through the tension. “Don’t look so disappointed, Lady Tyrell. You may find our union more… thrilling than you think.” His grin is sly, but there’s something behind it that you can’t quite place.

You take a steadying breath. You don’t have to like this arrangement, but it seems you have little choice in the matter now. Daemon is your fiancé, and the course has already been set.

As the room shifts back into its previous rhythm, the whispers of the courtiers beginning again, you feel a chill settle in your bones. The power dynamics have shifted in ways you couldn’t have predicted, and now you are at the center of it all.

Your life, and your future, are no longer entirely your own.

You stand in the newly prepared chamber, its walls draped in fine silks and the soft glow of candlelight flickering across the polished stone floor. The room feels both grand and foreign to you, filled with the weight of the Targaryen legacy, yet it is still undeniably your own—at least for now. The heavy, regal scent of incense fills the air, and everything in the room seems meticulously arranged for your new life.

Your mother, Lady Tyrell, stands near the window, her gaze fixed on the far-off horizon, as if she is contemplating something far beyond the stone walls of this keep. The silence between you is thick with unspoken words, but you can feel her eyes shift toward you, sensing your presence without turning.

“Mother,” you begin, your voice steady but tinged with a mixture of confusion and something deeper. “You are part of House Targaryen by blood, yet now you’re asking me to bind myself to them through marriage. Is this truly the best course for our House?”

She finally turns to face you, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp. For a moment, there’s a flicker of something, a vulnerability, before it is quickly masked.

“It is not just about bloodlines, my dear,” she says softly, her voice carrying the weight of experience. “The strength of our House is not in our name alone but in the alliances we forge. House Targaryen is the most powerful in the realm. A marriage to Daemon… well, it solidifies our position in ways that words alone cannot.”

You stare at her, trying to make sense of her cold pragmatism, yet beneath it, there is something you almost cannot place. She speaks with such certainty, such authority, as if her entire life has been leading up to this moment.

“But what of me?” you ask, a thread of frustration slipping into your tone. “What of my future? My happiness?”

Lady Tyrell steps closer to you, her gaze softening just slightly, though her resolve remains strong. “You are not the first woman to be wed for the good of her family. And you will not be the last. But remember this, child: House Tyrell will endure, and so will you. You are not just a pawn, but a queen in the making. Your sacrifices will carry our name far and wide, and that is something that will outlast any personal longing.”

You want to argue, to voice the doubts and fears that have been swirling in your mind ever since the announcement. But there’s something in her voice—something both comforting and chilling—that silences you.

You look down at the fine silks draped over the bed, the delicate embroidery woven with care, and for the first time, you realize the cost of this union. It’s not just about power. It’s about the future of House Tyrell. And you, whether you like it or not, have become its instrument.

“Will I ever truly have a choice in any of this?” you ask, the words barely escaping your lips before you can stop them.

Your mother steps forward and places a hand on your shoulder, her grip firm, almost too firm. “You always have a choice,” she says quietly. “But know this: sometimes the right choice isn’t the one that will bring you immediate joy. It’s the one that will ensure survival, legacy, and honor.”

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of her words settle into your bones. There is no turning back now. You are bound to this marriage, to Daemon, to a future that will not be of your choosing.

But as you meet your mother’s gaze, something inside you stirs—determination, perhaps, or the beginning of a plan of your own. This life might not be the one you imagined, but that doesn’t mean you have to accept it without shaping it in your own way.

And with that thought, you look at your mother one last time. “I will make sure House Tyrell does not just survive, but thrives,” you say, your voice quiet but resolute.

She gives you a nod, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. “I know you will.”

Your words hang in the air, heavy with doubt and defiance. “Becoming a queen? Even Daemon is just the second son,” you say, your voice tinged with frustration. You didn’t mean to speak so openly, but the realization of your situation is too much to bear. How could you possibly be married to someone like Daemon, the second son of House Targaryen, whose ambitions and wild nature are known across the realm?

At the sound of your words, a sharp silence fills the room, and in an instant, you feel the change in the atmosphere. Your father, Lord Tyrell, who had been so composed, now stands rigid, his eyes narrowed with a cold, burning fury.

“Do not question my decisions,” he says, his voice low but firm, each word biting through the air like a blade. The heat of his anger is palpable, and his gaze hardens as he steps closer, his presence towering over you. “Daemon is not just any second son. He is a Targaryen. And his blood is powerful enough to change the course of this realm.”

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as his words sink in. This is no longer a family discussion; it’s an assertion of power, of authority. Your father’s hand tightens into a fist, and you know that questioning him now is not a luxury you can afford.

“I have done what is necessary,” he continues, his voice steady, though there is an edge to it now. “House Tyrell’s future is secured by this union. It is not a matter of titles or birth order. It is a matter of survival, of influence. And you will marry Daemon, whether you like it or not.”

You swallow hard, the tension in the room thickening. The implications of his words are clear—there is no room for rebellion in this decision. Your personal desires, your future hopes, they mean nothing in the face of what your father believes is best for the family. You can see the finality in his eyes.

“But father,” you protest, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to remain strong. “This is not the life I wanted. This is not the future I dreamed of.”

Your father’s expression softens only slightly, but there is no trace of remorse in his eyes. “Dreams are for children,” he replies, his tone hardening again. “The realm is ruled by power, not dreams. You will adapt. And in time, you will understand.”

Your mother, Lady Tyrell, steps forward now, her presence steady and calm as always, but her eyes meet yours with an expression that speaks volumes. She says nothing at first, allowing your father’s words to settle. Then, her gaze softens, and she places a hand gently on your arm, her touch warm but firm.

“I know this is difficult,” she says quietly, her voice carrying the weight of years of experience. “But your father is right. This is not just a marriage. It is the future of our House. And your role in this is not one to be taken lightly. You must think beyond yourself for the good of everyone you love.”

You want to fight back, to argue that your happiness should matter, but the reality of your situation presses in. This is the life you will have now—the life your parents have chosen for you.

With a heavy sigh, you turn away from them, facing the window, your eyes tracing the distant horizon, where the sun is setting. You are trapped in a life you didn’t choose, and for the first time, you feel the full weight of that reality.

You freeze as you hear the soft rustling of fabric and the faint sound of footsteps. Turning swiftly, you spot Daemon emerging from the shadows at the far end of your chamber, his presence as commanding as ever. He moves with a fluid grace, almost as if he’s accustomed to walking unnoticed, and before you can fully react, he’s already standing close, his piercing eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your heart race.

Daemon reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, and you can feel the warmth of his touch, despite the coldness in the room. The gesture is unexpected, and for a moment, you’re caught off guard—unsure of whether to push him away or allow the contact.

“Did you think I wouldn’t come?” he asks, his voice low, his smirk barely concealed. There’s something almost mocking in the way he says it, as if the idea of you being alone, contemplating your future, amuses him. “You are not the first bride-to-be to feel lost in this place, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure you aren’t alone for long.”

You pull back slightly, trying to regain your composure. His presence fills the room in a way that’s both unsettling and undeniably magnetic. He seems to relish the power he holds over the situation, over you. It’s clear that he’s not here just for casual conversation.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” you say, your voice sharp despite the uncertainty creeping in. “This is my room, not a place for you to wander in whenever you please.”

Daemon’s smile widens, though there’s a darkness lurking beneath it. He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Expectations can be… limiting,” he murmurs, his hand still lingering on your cheek. “I’m here because I want to be. And I’m not known for following the rules.”

The way he speaks, the confident, almost predatory manner in which he carries himself, unsettles you. Yet there’s an undeniable pull—his presence is commanding, and you can’t help but feel as though you’re caught in his web, whether you like it or not.

“Why are you here?” you ask, your voice quieter now, more cautious. “Is this another game to you, Daemon?”

He tilts his head, studying you as if trying to read the very thoughts behind your eyes. “Games?” His voice is low, almost a whisper. “Perhaps. But I’m not a fool, and neither are you. We both know what this marriage is about. It’s not about love, or even companionship. It’s about power, survival, and what we can make of it.”

His fingers trace your jawline, sending a shiver through your body, but this time, you don’t flinch. “So, yes,” he continues, his voice a little softer, though the intensity still lingers. “It’s a game. But it’s also something more. And you… you have a role to play, whether you accept it or not.”

You stand still, caught between the impulse to push him away and the dawning realization that you must, somehow, find a way to navigate this union, this game, in a way that serves you. Daemon Targaryen may be a powerful figure, but that doesn’t mean you have to submit to him blindly.

“Don’t think you can control me,” you say, your voice firmer now, your eyes locking with his.

Daemon’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a flicker of approval in his eyes. “Control?” he repeats, as if savoring the word. “I never said anything about control. But don’t mistake me for a man who will be ignored, either.”

He steps back slightly, his hand falling from your face, but his gaze remains fixed on you—intense, unreadable, and as unpredictable as the storm clouds gathering in the distance. You can feel the tension thick in the air between you, the unspoken challenge hanging heavy.

“Remember,” Daemon adds softly, “this marriage may not be of your choosing, but it will be a union of power, of influence. And how you wield it will be up to you.”

With that, he turns, his cloak swirling behind him as he disappears back into the shadows from where he came, leaving you alone once more, the weight of his words settling in your mind.

You remain standing there for a long moment, your heart still racing, trying to make sense of the encounter. Daemon’s touch, his words, his presence—they all felt like a warning, a challenge, and a promise wrapped into one.

This marriage, this union… it will not be as simple as they want you to believe.

You watch as Daemon slowly fades into the shadows, his presence still lingering in the room, as if he has left behind more than just his physical form. A cold shiver runs down your spine, a mix of unease and something deeper—something you can’t quite name. You remain rooted in place for a long moment, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of his touch, his words, but they refuse to leave you.

With a deep, steadying breath, you turn away from the dark corner of the room, trying to collect your thoughts. You had expected your life to change, but not like this. Not with Daemon, not with the weight of House Targaryen looming over you. Yet, here you are, standing at the precipice of a future you never asked for, and there’s no turning back now.

Just as you’re lost in thought, the door creaks open, and several servants step inside, moving briskly toward you. They are efficient and polite, with no hint of judgment or curiosity in their eyes—just the practiced grace of those accustomed to serving in the Red Keep.

“My lady, it is time to prepare for the evening’s festivities,” one of them announces softly, her voice respectful but gentle. “your father requests that you be ready soon.”

You nod, taking a deep breath, and allow yourself to be guided toward the preparations. The weight of your thoughts shifts to the evening ahead. The grand dance, the ceremonial waltz of power and politics that you are now an integral part of. It’s strange to think of yourself as a player in this grand court, a mere pawn in a game that stretches far beyond your reach.

The servants begin to undress you with practiced care, replacing your simple clothes with the intricate, heavy gown that has been prepared for you. The fabric feels foreign against your skin—rich, cold, and undeniably royal. They twist your hair into an elegant updo, tucking every strand into place as if to remind you that tonight, you are not just yourself—you are a symbol of House Tyrell’s power, a future princess.

As they work, you find your mind drifting back to Daemon. His words replay in your head, his touch lingering on your skin. Despite everything, despite the storm of thoughts in your mind, you know one thing for certain: this night is only the beginning. The beginning of a journey you cannot avoid, no matter how hard you try.

Once they finish, the final touches are made, and you look at your reflection in the mirror. You are ready—at least, outwardly. Inside, the battle between your duty and your desires rages on. But there’s no time to dwell on that now. The evening awaits, and your role in it is clear.

As the final servant leaves, you take a deep breath and turn toward the door. Tonight, you will step into the world of the Targaryens, the world that Daemon has invited you into, and you will have to play the part. There will be no room for hesitation or doubt.

With one last glance at your reflection, you leave the room, walking toward the unknown that awaits you in the grand hall.

You gaze at your reflection in the mirror, the red gown clinging to your body in all the right places, the intricate design and fabric of the dress making you look like something both regal and untouchable. The deep crimson hue mirrors the fiery determination and turmoil churning inside you. Your hair is styled flawlessly, and you feel a strange mixture of power and vulnerability in the reflection staring back at you.

Just as you’re about to turn away, one of the servants steps forward, holding a small, velvet-lined box in her hands. She approaches quietly, her eyes respectful as she presents it to you. “My lady,” she says softly, “Prince Daemon has sent this for you to wear tonight.”

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of Daemon, and a wave of unease floods over you. The box is opened, revealing the most beautiful piece of jewelry you’ve ever seen. Nestled within the box is a stunning ruby necklace, its deep red color rich and intense, like the blood of kings. It glistens in the light, its intricate design made of gold and delicate filigree, catching the light in such a way that it almost seems to pulse with life.

“His Grace requested that you wear this tonight,” the servant continues, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she knows the weight this piece of jewelry carries. “It is a gift for the evening’s festivities.”

Your fingers hover over the necklace, and for a moment, you feel the weight of Daemon’s gaze upon you. His presence, his influence, it is all around you now—through his words, through his gift. The necklace, while beautiful, feels more like a symbol than an ornament. It feels like a chain, a reminder of the role you’re about to play in the world of Targaryen politics.

You take the necklace from the box, and the servant helps you place it around your neck, fastening the clasp with careful hands. The cool weight of the ruby against your skin sends a shiver through you, but you force yourself to remain still, to remain composed. You are no longer just a Tyrell. You are now something more, something that belongs to the Targaryens—whether you like it or not.

As the servant steps back, you take a deep breath and adjust the necklace, staring at your reflection once more. You look every bit the part of a princess, of someone who belongs in the Targaryen court. But inside, the questions still linger. What does Daemon want from you with this gift? What does it mean? Is this a sign of favor—or something more insidious?

With a final glance at the servant, you nod to yourself. This night is inevitable, and you will walk into it with your head held high, no matter what Daemon’s intentions may be. The game is on, and whether you like it or not, you are a player now.

You leave your chamber, stepping into the hallway where the sound of music and laughter grows louder, and you move toward your fate. The ruby around your neck feels heavier with each step, as if it carries the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

As you approach the grand doors of the throne room, your parents stand waiting, the regal elegance of their presence undeniable. Your father, Lord Tyrell, stands tall, his face a mask of calm authority, while your mother, Lady Tyrell, gazes at you with an expression of quiet admiration. Her eyes soften as they trace the delicate ruby necklace around your neck, and for a brief moment, you feel the weight of her approval. It’s a look that says so much more than words ever could, as if she understands the path you are being forced to walk, and yet, she is proud of how you carry yourself.

Your heart races as you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the moment ahead. This is it. This is the night where everything changes, and you step into a new world—a world of power, influence, and uncertainty. The weight of your new reality presses down on you like a mantle, but you hold your head high as you walk toward the doors.

The sound of the guards’ footsteps echoes in the hall, and as you reach the entrance, the heavy doors swing open. The loud voice of a herald announces your arrival.

“Presenting Lord and Lady Tyrell, and their daughter, Lady Tyrell, betrothed to Prince Daemon Targaryen!”

The words ring out across the vast chamber, and the eyes of everyone in the room fall on you. The grand hall of the Red Keep is filled with nobles, courtiers, and various dignitaries, all gathered for the night’s festivities. But it feels as if all eyes are on you now, studying you, measuring you. Your pulse quickens as you step forward, every movement deliberate and graceful, despite the storm of emotions swirling within.

The throne room is resplendent, with golden chandeliers casting a soft light over the gathered crowd. The walls are adorned with tapestries depicting the history of House Targaryen, their dragons roaring and flying in intricate detail. The air is thick with the scent of fine wine, rich perfumes, and the soft murmurs of conversation. But in this moment, everything seems to slow down as you walk toward the center of the room, where the royal family awaits.

As you approach the royal table, your gaze meets King Jaehaerys, who is seated with an air of quiet power. His eyes flicker over you, an unreadable expression crossing his features before he nods in acknowledgment. Beside him, Prince Baelon stands with his usual stern demeanor, his gaze cool but respectful. And then, of course, there is Daemon. His eyes catch yours the moment you enter, and despite the crowd around him, it feels as though the rest of the world disappears for just a second. His lips curve into a knowing smile, one that sends a mix of unease and curiosity rippling through you.

The moment feels charged, as if everything is hanging in the balance. You are no longer just a Tyrell; you are now a part of the Targaryen story, and tonight will set the stage for everything that follows.

Your parents move to the side, and you step forward, your heart pounding in your chest. This is the moment you must embrace the future, no matter how uncertain it may be. You lower your gaze to the floor, curtsying in respect, before raising your head to meet the eyes of King Jaehaerys, Daemon, and the others.

The crowd watches in silence, the tension thick as the evening unfolds, and the weight of your decision, of this engagement, settles over you like a cloak you cannot cast off.

As you stand before the royal family, your eyes catch a glimpse of the serene and graceful figure of Princess Aemma, the wife of Prince Viserys. Her gentle smile is directed towards you, a silent acknowledgment that, despite everything, you are not alone in this court. Her delicate hand rests on her round belly, the life within her a reminder of the future of House Targaryen. You return her smile with a nod, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you like a heavy cloak.

But your attention is swiftly drawn back to Daemon as he rises from his seat, his movements fluid and confident. The eyes of the room seem to follow him, but he pays them no mind, his gaze fixed entirely on you. His presence is overwhelming, and for a brief moment, the air seems to thicken between you both, the tension palpable.

Daemon approaches you with that same predatory grace, and before you can react, he takes your hand in his. The coolness of his fingers against your skin sends an unexpected chill through you, but you don’t pull away. His touch is firm, commanding, as he raises your hand to his lips, brushing them against your skin in a manner both intimate and public.

The soft rustling of the crowd falls away, and his voice, low and almost a whisper, reaches your ear. “You wear it well,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “The ruby. You used it… just as I intended.”

You freeze for a moment, his words striking a chord deep within you. You hadn’t expected him to notice, to connect the necklace to something more than just a simple gift. But there is something in his voice—something that hints at a deeper understanding of the game you are now both playing.

Daemon pulls away slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a flicker of something unreadable. “The Targaryen blood runs thick, but your Tyrell strength… I can see it in you,” he says, his words both a compliment and a challenge. “Tonight, we show them who we are.”

Before you can fully process what he means, Daemon straightens up, his hand still lingering for just a moment before he releases yours. The world around you feels suddenly more real, the weight of this engagement, this court, this night—everything—is no longer just a distant concept. It is here, in this room, in this moment, and Daemon has just marked you in a way that you can’t ignore.

As he steps back, the music in the hall swells, and the courtiers begin to resume their conversations, the tension in the room slowly dissipating. But you are left with the echo of Daemon’s words in your mind, and the unsettling realization that this night is only the beginning of a journey you have little control over. You straighten your posture, your thoughts racing, but your gaze remains steady.

Daemon may have whispered those words, but you know that the game has just begun, and you will have to play it carefully, whether you’re ready or not.

The music swells, and Daemon steps closer, his gaze never leaving yours. The moment feels charged, the entire room seemingly holding its breath as he places a hand firmly on your waist. You can feel the warmth of his touch through the fabric of your gown, his fingers pressing gently but assertively. The dance has begun.

He leads you onto the floor with the grace of a man who has danced this many times before. His movements are confident, his body guiding you effortlessly through the steps. Despite the eyes of the entire room on you both, the closeness of your bodies feels intimate, almost private, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if anyone else can see the tension building between you and Daemon.

As you move in rhythm with the music, the world around you blurs, the noise of the court fading into the background. Your focus narrows to Daemon—his steady hand at your waist, the slight tension in his jaw, the way his gaze occasionally flickers to yours, as though testing you. The red ruby around your neck glints under the soft candlelight, and you can’t help but feel the weight of both the necklace and his gaze.

He leans in slightly, his lips just inches from your ear. “You dance beautifully,” he whispers, his voice a velvet caress against your skin, but there’s something dark behind the compliment. “But this… this is just the beginning.”

You meet his gaze, a mix of defiance and uncertainty bubbling inside you. “What do you mean?” you ask, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them.

Daemon smiles, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Everything here is a dance, my dear. You’ve only just started learning the steps. But we will both master it in time.”

The sound of the courtiers around you begins to fade back in as they join the dance, filling the floor with elegant figures twirling in harmony. Your moment with Daemon becomes a shared performance—everyone around you moving, their eyes trained on you both as you sway together. The music is sweet and slow, but beneath the surface, there’s an undercurrent of something far more dangerous, something unspoken that pulses between you and him.

Your movements grow more synchronized as the dance continues, and soon, the entire room is swept up in the rhythm, the energy of the event building. You can feel the weight of the room’s attention on you, but your thoughts remain fixated on Daemon, his hand never leaving your waist, his presence never wavering.

The dance floor becomes a stage, and in this moment, you and Daemon are the stars of the show, bound by an invisible thread that neither of you can fully unravel.

You make your way toward the royal table, offering a polite but hurried excuse to the courtiers around you. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling well,” you say, your voice laced with just enough feigned fatigue to seem believable. “The journey has left me rather drained.” Your gaze flickers to your parents, who, though surprised, offer a brief nod of understanding. The polite murmurs of the crowd fade as you slip away from the bustling celebration.

The corridors of the Red Keep are quieter now, a welcome contrast to the din of the ballroom. Your steps echo as you move through the familiar halls, each footfall a reminder of the weight on your shoulders, of the whispers and the secrets that hang heavy in the air.

You reach your room, the door creaking softly as you push it open. The room is dimly lit by the flickering glow of the candlelight, and the comforting solitude washes over you. You close the door behind you with a soft click, the world outside suddenly feeling distant and muted.

The weight of the evening’s events settles upon you like a physical burden. You approach the mirror, taking a deep breath. The reflection staring back at you seems foreign, like someone you barely recognize. Slowly, you begin to undo the intricate braids that hold your hair, the strands slipping free with each gentle tug. The weight of the ruby necklace feels heavier now, its once dazzling allure now a symbol of the very thing that has begun to change everything for you. You set it down on the vanity with a quiet finality.

Next, you begin to unlace the tight corset beneath your gown, the fabric finally loosening around your body, allowing you to breathe more freely. The delicate layers of your dress slip away, leaving you in the simpler, more comforting layers of your undergarments. You stand for a moment, letting your body relax, the tension of the evening melting away.

But as the final layer of your gown falls to the floor, leaving you standing in the solitude of your room, the silence feels oppressive. The weight of the words Daemon spoke earlier, the whispers of the court, the uncertainty of your future—all of it feels like a storm waiting to break.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, your mind racing. What had Daemon meant by his words? The future? Power? Survival? Did he truly see this marriage as a partnership, or was it merely another chess piece in a game neither of you had fully agreed to play?

The questions linger, unanswered, as you finally lean back against the pillows. The soft rustling of the fabric around you offers no comfort, no answer to the storm swirling inside you. With a deep breath, you close your eyes, knowing that the days ahead will only grow more complicated.

But for now, at least, you are alone with your thoughts. And that, for just this moment, is all you can bear.

The days have slipped by faster than you could have imagined. One moment, you were standing in the great hall, Daemon’s hand in yours, and now, it feels as though time has run away from you. Tomorrow marks the day that will change everything—the day you will marry Daemon. The realization is both exhilarating and terrifying, and as you sit in your room, your heart beats with a mixture of anticipation and dread.

You stand before a large mirror, the soft candlelight casting gentle shadows on your face. Your mother stands beside you, her hands gently smoothing the fabric of the wedding gown that rests over your body. The dress is a masterpiece, elegant and simple, with intricate lace and delicate pearls woven into the fabric, creating an aura of timeless beauty. The gown feels heavy, as if it carries the weight of the future with it.

“How does it feel, my dear?” your mother asks, her voice soft and warm. There’s a tenderness in her eyes, but also a flicker of something else—concern, perhaps, or fear. She’s seen the way you’ve carried yourself these past few days, the quiet distance in your eyes, the hesitation that lingers in your every movement. She knows how you’re feeling, even if you haven’t spoken the words aloud.

You take a deep breath, looking at your reflection. “It’s… beautiful,” you say, your voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty. “But I can’t help but wonder if I’m ready for this.”

Your mother steps closer, her hands resting gently on your shoulders as she looks at you in the mirror. “You are more than ready, my darling. You’ve always been strong—just like your father, just like me. And tomorrow, you will take the next step in ensuring the future of our house. Daemon… he is a man of power. You know that.”

Her words hang in the air, a reminder of the path that you’ve been set upon. Your mind drifts to Daemon—his presence, his words, the way he made you feel both desired and distant. You still don’t fully understand what he wants from this marriage, or what your role will truly be. But one thing is certain: this union will define your future, for better or worse.

“You know, you don’t have to go through with this if you truly feel it’s not right,” your mother continues, her voice soft, as if sensing the turmoil inside you. “But remember, sometimes the choices we make are for the greater good. For our family. For our legacy.”

You look up at her then, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “I know,” you say quietly, the weight of her words sinking in. “I just wish I knew what I was getting myself into.”

Your mother smiles gently, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “No one ever truly knows what lies ahead. But you’re not alone in this. You have the strength of the Tyrells and the wisdom of the Targaryens in your blood. You will find your way.”

Her reassurance brings you a measure of comfort, but a knot of uncertainty still lingers in your chest. As you stand there in the gown, the future seems both distant and frighteningly close. Tomorrow, you will walk down the aisle, and your life with Daemon will begin.

You glance at your reflection once more, your heart heavy but resolute. No matter what comes next, you will face it with the strength and grace that your family expects of you. The time for hesitation is over. Tomorrow, you will step into your new life, whatever that may bring.

You freeze for a moment, the sudden sound of Daemon’s voice breaking the quiet of your room. You hadn’t heard him approach, but the smooth, confident tone of his voice tells you he’s been there for longer than you realize. A feeling of both surprise and tension rises in your chest as you glance toward the direction of the sound, your gaze following the faint rustling of the curtains.

Daemon steps into the soft moonlight, his presence as commanding as ever, even in the stillness of your chamber. In his hand, he holds a glass of wine, the ruby liquid catching the light as he approaches you. His gaze is steady, watching you with that same intensity that both unnerves and draws you in.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You just stand there, silently observing each other. His eyes travel over you—the gown you wear, the way the moonlight seems to soften your features, but it’s hard to tell what’s in his mind. You can feel the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air between you, a sense of anticipation that seems to fill the room.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Daemon finally says, his voice low, almost amused. “But I thought you might need something to help ease your nerves.” He holds out the glass toward you, the offering an unexpected gesture. The deep red wine glows softly in the dim light, tempting you with its warmth.

You study him for a moment, wondering why he’s here, why he’s come so late. Is it simply to check on you before tomorrow, or is there something more? A flicker of uncertainty tugs at your chest, but you quickly push it away. You’ve already made your choice.

You walk toward him, your steps quiet on the stone floor, and reach for the glass. His fingers brush yours briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through your body. His touch lingers for just a heartbeat longer than necessary before he releases the glass into your hand.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice a little softer than you intended, your eyes briefly meeting his. For a moment, you think you see a flash of something deeper in his gaze—an unreadable emotion that quickly disappears behind his usual guarded expression.

Daemon leans against the wall, his posture relaxed but his eyes never leaving you. “Tomorrow,” he begins, his voice now lower, “changes everything. You know that, don’t you?"

You nod, your fingers tightening around the stem of the glass as the weight of his words settles in. “I do,” you reply quietly, unsure of how much more to say.

“Good,” he murmurs, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Because it’s not just the kingdom that will change tomorrow. You will, too. And there’s no turning back.”

The finality of his words hangs in the air, a reminder that once you step into tomorrow, there is no going back to the life you once knew. You can feel the tension rising between you both, a complex mix of emotions that neither of you has fully expressed yet.

Daemon steps closer again, his presence filling the space between you. His voice drops to a whisper, just low enough that it feels like an intimate confession. “But I think you already know that. And perhaps… you’re ready for it.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, wondering what he truly means by that.

Your breath catches in your throat as you feel Daemon’s lips brush against yours. The kiss is brief but electric, sending a shiver through your entire body. It’s soft, almost tender, yet laced with an undeniable intensity. Before you can fully process what’s happening, Daemon pulls back, his lips curling into that familiar, enigmatic smile.

Without saying a word, he turns, his movements graceful and confident, and steps back into the shadows. The room seems to grow even quieter as he fades into the darkness, leaving you alone with a lingering warmth on your lips and a rush of confusion swirling in your chest.

You stand frozen for a moment, the kiss echoing in your mind, its meaning elusive. You lift a trembling hand to your lips, feeling the faint trace of his touch still there. What was that? What did it mean? And why did he leave without another word?

The silence in the room feels deafening now. The wine in your hand, once a source of comfort, suddenly feels heavy. You don’t know if you’re ready for the emotional storm that’s brewing inside you, the mixture of desire, fear, and uncertainty that Daemon has stirred within you with a single, fleeting kiss.

Your mind races, and for a long moment, you just stand there, trying to collect yourself. His words, his actions—they’re a mystery you don’t yet have the answers to. And as the last traces of his presence fade into the night, you’re left with more questions than before.

What do you truly want from this marriage? From him? And how much of yourself are you willing to give away in the pursuit of a future that is no longer entirely yours to shape?

The night feels heavier now, the weight of everything pressing down on you as you stand alone, still feeling the warmth of his touch on your lips.

The day has finally arrived. The weight of it presses down on you as you sit in front of the large mirror in your chamber. The room is alive with movement—your mother directing the servants, Aemma offering quiet words of encouragement, and your handmaidens working carefully to perfect every detail of your appearance.

Your wedding gown is a masterpiece. The fabric shimmers faintly with every movement, a blend of white and pale gold, symbolizing both your Tyrell roots and the union with House Targaryen. The lacework is intricate, delicate flowers and vines winding along the sleeves and bodice. Around your waist, a small belt of golden roses serves as a subtle nod to your house. The long, flowing train trails behind you like a river of silk, and the soft veil drapes over your head, light as air, yet it feels heavier with each passing second.

Your hair has been braided in the traditional Targaryen style, an acknowledgment of the house you will now be tied to. The braids are adorned with tiny pearl pins that catch the light as you move, and strands of your hair frame your face softly. One of your handmaidens carefully places the final flower—a pale blue lily—among the braids, a finishing touch that makes you look almost ethereal.

“Look at you,” your mother says, her voice filled with pride as she stands behind you. Her hands rest gently on your shoulders, and you see her reflection in the mirror. Her gaze is soft, though there’s something more in her eyes—a mixture of pride, sadness, and perhaps a hint of worry. “You look every bit the queen you were always meant to be.”

“Not a queen,” you reply softly, your gaze fixed on your reflection. “A princess, a wife.”

“A princess today,” Aemma interjects gently, stepping forward. She places a hand on your cheek, her smile kind and knowing. “But tomorrow, who knows what fate will bring? Queens are not born, child. They are made.” Her words linger, filling you with something you can’t quite name—hope, perhaps, or warning.

You take a slow breath, glancing at your reflection. For a moment, you barely recognize yourself. You look regal, untouchable, like one of the porcelain figures you used to play with as a child. But beneath all the silk, pearls, and flowers, it is still you—just a girl about to face something far greater than she ever imagined.

“Does it feel right?” Aemma asks, tilting her head as she studies you closely. “The gown, the flowers, all of it?”

You glance at your mother, who looks at you with quiet encouragement, and then back at Aemma. “It feels… heavier than I expected,” you admit, your fingers brushing the fabric of your dress. “But I suppose that’s how it’s meant to be, isn’t it? Every choice we make feels heavier when it becomes permanent.”

“Wise words,” Aemma says with a soft smile. “But know this—you may feel bound by duty, by house and family, but you are not without power. Do not forget that.”

Her words offer you a brief sense of reassurance, though they also stir something deeper inside you. Power. It is a word that has followed you like a shadow ever since your betrothal was announced.

The servants step back, their work complete. One of them hands you your bouquet—a carefully arranged bundle of white roses, blue lilies, and soft green leaves. The floral scent is fresh, clean, and grounding.

“Take one last look,” your mother says as she steps aside. “Because the next time you see yourself like this, you’ll be walking down that aisle.”

You glance once more at your reflection, taking in every detail. The girl you see is no longer the same person she was yesterday. She is poised, elegant, and strong. But beneath it all, she is still you.

With a deep breath, you rise from your seat, the weight of the gown settling around you like armor. Your mother adjusts your veil one last time, letting it fall perfectly behind you. Aemma offers you a reassuring smile, her gaze firm and steady.

“It’s time,” your mother says softly, her voice filled with emotion she tries to hide. “Are you ready?”

Your heart beats steadily in your chest, a steady rhythm that echoes through your entire being. You grip the bouquet tightly, feeling its thorns pressing faintly against your fingers.

“I am,” you say, your voice clear and certain. “I’m ready.”

With that, you turn toward the door, your veil trailing behind you like a river of light. The world outside awaits—the noble houses, the court, and Daemon himself. Each step you take will lead you closer to a future you can no longer escape, but one that, perhaps, you can still shape.

The rhythmic creaking of the carriage wheels fills the air as you sit beside your mother and father, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on your chest. Your fingers twist anxiously around the fabric of your gown, the silk smooth and cool beneath your fingertips. Despite the grandeur of the occasion, your heart beats loudly in your ears, drowning out the soft murmurs of your parents.

Your mother notices your fidgeting and places a gentle hand over yours. Her touch is warm, grounding you as she gazes at you with that calm, steady look she always gives you in moments of doubt. “Breathe, sweetling,” she says softly, her voice barely audible over the clatter of the carriage. “You look perfect. Every eye will be on you, but they will see only your grace and beauty.”

Her words are meant to reassure you, but they only make the weight in your chest feel heavier. Every eye will be on you. Not as yourself, but as a symbol of something greater — a marriage that would bind House Tyrell and House Targaryen forever.

Your father sits across from you, his hands resting on the head of his cane, his gaze fixed firmly out the window. He has been unusually quiet since you left the Red Keep, his expression unreadable. His sharp eyes flicker toward you for a brief moment, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“You’re doing what’s expected of you,” he says suddenly, his tone firm but not unkind. “This marriage is your duty, and you will fulfill it with dignity and strength.” His words are as sharp as ever, but there is a strange sort of pride beneath them. He has always spoken to you this way, as if molding you into something unbreakable. Today is no different.

You nod, though his words leave a hollow ache in your chest. Duty. Dignity. Strength. You’ve heard them all your life. They have guided you, shaped you, and now, they are about to define you.

The light filtering through the carriage window shifts as the carriage begins to slow. You glance out and feel your breath catch in your throat. The Great Sept of Baelor rises before you, its grand domes and stained glass windows glistening in the morning sun like a crown of jewels. People line the streets, their voices a mixture of cheers, gasps, and murmured prayers. Flowers are scattered on the ground, a soft path of white petals leading to the steps of the Sept.

The sight is breathtaking — and overwhelming. You feel the full weight of every gaze upon you. They are here for the spectacle, to witness history in the making. They do not see you. They see a bride, a symbol, a promise of power and legacy.

The carriage comes to a slow stop, the clattering of wheels replaced by the distant hum of the crowd. Your heart beats faster. This is it. No turning back. No running away.

“Stand tall,” your father says as he steps down from the carriage first, offering his hand to help you descend. “Show them who you are.”

Your mother exits next, giving you one last glance filled with quiet encouragement. Her eyes glisten, though she blinks away whatever emotion threatens to show.

Finally, it is your turn. The carriage door swings open, and the soft breeze of the open air greets you. Your eyes catch the first glimmers of sunlight reflecting off the stained glass of the Sept, casting colors of blue, red, and green across the stone steps. You take a breath, slow and steady, letting it fill your lungs. Show them who you are.

You place your hand in your father’s, his grip strong and steady, and step out of the carriage. The crowd erupts into cheers. The air is filled with the scent of flowers and incense, the warmth of the sun on your skin making everything feel surreal. Every eye is on you. Just as your mother said.

Your gaze remains forward as you ascend the steps, the long train of your gown flowing behind you like a river of silk and lace. The Great Sept’s bells ring in the distance, their deep, resounding chimes echoing across King’s Landing. It is a sound that makes the air feel heavier, more sacred.

At the top of the steps, waiting for you at the grand entrance, is Daemon. His silver hair gleams like molten silver in the sun, his armor polished to perfection, but it’s his eyes that catch you. He is watching you with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. His gaze is not like the crowd’s. It is sharper, more deliberate, like he sees you and no one else.

He stands tall in his Targaryen armor, the three-headed dragon emblazoned on his chest. There is no crown on his head, but he looks every bit a prince. His smirk is subtle, barely there, but you see it. That quiet confidence, that knowing look that tells you he is fully aware of the spectacle before him — and he enjoys it.

As you approach, his eyes remain on you, unwavering, unreadable. The steps seem longer than they should be, each one a reminder of how far you’ve come. Finally, you reach him, and for a brief moment, it is just the two of you. The world fades away — the crowd, the bells, the weight of duty — and all that remains is him.

Daemon steps forward, his gaze never leaving yours. He extends a hand to you, and for a heartbeat, you hesitate. Is this truly what you want? you wonder. But then you remember Aemma’s words. Queens are not born. They are made.

With steady resolve, you place your hand in his. His fingers curl around yours, firm and warm. He leans in, close enough that only you can hear him.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, his voice laced with amusement. “Nervous, little flower?”

You lift your head slightly, meeting his gaze with all the strength you can summon. “No,” you reply firmly, though your heart betrays you with its quickened pace. “I am simply ready.”

His smirk widens just a fraction, a glimmer of something playful, perhaps even impressed. He turns, leading you inside the Great Sept. The light from the stained glass windows paints the stone floor in brilliant hues of red, blue, and green. Each step echoes softly as you walk together, hand in hand, toward the altar where the High Septon awaits.

The nobles of Westeros line the aisles, all eyes on you once more. You see familiar faces among them—lords and ladies from noble houses, your family, and even Aemma, watching you with quiet pride. Whispers follow your every move, but you do not falter.

As you approach the altar, the High Septon raises his hands, calling for silence. The Sept grows still. You can hear every breath, every faint shift of cloth. Daemon stands beside you, his hand still holding yours. You glance at him briefly, and for the first time, he is not looking at the crowd, the Septon, or the nobles. He is looking at you.

“Let us begin,” the High Septon declares, his voice echoing through the hall.

The ceremony is a blur of words, oaths, and promises. You speak them all clearly, every vow falling from your lips with certainty. Daemon’s voice is steady as he repeats the words, his eyes never leaving yours. The world feels smaller now, like it’s only the two of you standing there.

When it is done, the High Septon raises his hands. “By the light of the Seven, I declare them husband and wife. May their union be strong, their line unbroken, and their love enduring.”

The Sept erupts in applause. The sound crashes over you like a wave, and for a moment, you are breathless. The High Septon turns to Daemon with a nod.

“You may kiss your bride, Prince Daemon.”

Daemon steps closer, his eyes narrowing in that familiar, wicked way. Slowly, he lifts your veil, his fingers brushing your cheek as he pushes it back. The crowd fades once more, the sound of their cheers dull and distant.

He tilts his head slightly, eyes locked on yours, as if daring you to look away. But you don’t. You meet his gaze, unwavering, unafraid.

“Here we are,” he murmurs, his voice just for you.

“Here we are,” you reply, and before you can say anything more, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is firm, claiming, and yet somehow soft. The world seems to hold its breath as Daemon Targaryen, your husband, pulls you closer. His hand rests at the small of your back, grounding you, anchoring you to this moment. The cheers of the crowd grow louder, but you hardly hear them.

The cheers of the crowd still echo in your ears as you sit beside Daemon in the carriage. The air is thick with the sweet scent of flowers from the Great Sept, and the faint clattering of hooves on cobblestone fills the silence between you. Your gown feels heavier than it did before, the weight of everything — the vows, the kiss, the future — pressing down on you.

Daemon sits beside you, one leg crossed over the other, his arm draped casually along the edge of the seat. His silver hair catches the faint glow of sunlight that seeps through the window, making him look like something out of legend. He tilts his head toward you, his eyes sharp, watchful, and filled with something you can’t quite name.

“You’re quiet,” he says, his voice smooth as silk. His gaze flickers to your hands, which rest neatly in your lap, fingers still clutching the edge of your gown. “Nervous, little flower?”

You turn your head to meet his gaze, your expression calm despite the storm of thoughts in your mind. “I have no reason to be,” you reply, your voice steady, though a hint of weariness slips through. “I did as was expected of me. And now, so have you.”

His eyes narrow, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. “Expected of me?” He shifts, leaning forward, his face closer to yours now. His voice drops to a low murmur, carrying the weight of something more dangerous. “You think I wed you out of duty alone?”

You hold his gaze, refusing to look away. “Isn’t that what marriage is for people like us? Duty and power. Nothing more.”

There is a pause — a flicker of something that could be surprise or intrigue in his eyes. Then, he lets out a soft, short laugh, leaning back into his seat. “Perhaps. But power comes in many forms, little wife. And duty… well, it tastes sweeter when shared with someone clever.”

His words linger in the air like smoke, curling around your thoughts. You glance at him, studying his face for any sign of sincerity or mockery, but, as always, he is impossible to read.

“You sound as though you plan to enjoy it,” you say cautiously, tilting your head ever so slightly.

His grin widens, wicked and knowing. “I always enjoy what is mine.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, though you do not show it. What is mine. There it is again — that sense of possession, of control. You are his now, by law, by faith, and by the eyes of every noble in Westeros. But just as he has claimed you, you have claimed him.

The carriage jostles slightly as it moves over uneven ground, and the sound of the crowd begins to fade into the distance. Your gaze shifts to the window, watching as the familiar towers of the Red Keep draw closer. The sun glints off the red stone walls, and you feel a strange mix of relief and dread.

The feast awaits. Another spectacle, another performance. More eyes, more whispers, more judgment. It would not end, not today, not ever.

“Are you afraid of them?” Daemon asks suddenly, his eyes still fixed on you. “The nobles. The lords and ladies who will watch your every move tonight.”

You glance at him, your brows furrowing just slightly. “Should I be?”

He hums thoughtfully, his eyes dancing with mischief. “No. They are like hounds, sniffing for weakness. But if you show them none, they will kneel.” He leans closer, his voice soft but sharp as a blade. “Show them the rose, but never the thorn. That is how you win.”

His words echo something your father once told you. It is a lesson you have heard all your life, but hearing it from Daemon makes it feel different. He is not like your father. He is wild flame, not tempered steel.

“Wise words, husband,” you reply, turning to face him fully. Your eyes meet his, unwavering. “But I am not just a rose. I have thorns, and I know when to use them.”

His eyes darken with something you can’t name. Amusement? Respect? Perhaps both. He leans back once more, his grin widening as he taps a finger against his knee.

“Good,” he says, his voice like a purr. “I would hate to have a boring wife.”

Silence settles over the carriage once more, but it is different now. The tension is still there, but it has shifted — no longer suffocating, but sharp and aware. You feel it in the way Daemon watches you, like a cat watching a bird just out of reach. He is testing you, just as you are testing him.

The gates of the Red Keep loom ahead. The sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the courtyard. The clatter of the carriage wheels begins to slow, the gentle pull of momentum drawing to a stop. Outside, you hear the distant calls of guards and the sound of footsteps.

Your heart tightens for a moment, knowing what comes next. Another performance, another step toward a future you cannot escape.

Daemon is already on his feet before the carriage door is even opened. The guards outside pull it wide, and the light spills in, illuminating his figure as he steps out first, his black and red cloak sweeping behind him like wings. He turns back, his hand outstretched toward you.

You hesitate, but only for a heartbeat. With a deep breath, you place your hand in his, letting him guide you down from the carriage. The crowd within the Red Keep courtyard is smaller but no less watchful. Nobles, servants, and guards alike pause in their tasks to turn and watch. You feel their stares like pinpricks on your skin.

Daemon’s grip on your hand tightens just slightly as you walk together, side by side. His head is held high, his posture that of a dragon who knows he is feared. You mirror him, lifting your chin as you walk with steady grace, every step measured, deliberate, queenly.

The nobles bow as you pass, some low, some shallow, but all respectful. Whispers follow you like the rustle of leaves in the wind. You catch snatches of their words — “beautiful,” “Tyrell,” “Targaryen bride.” The names of houses swirl around you like a storm, but you do not react. You are stone, unyielding, unbreakable.

As you approach the entrance to the Keep, Daemon leans in, his voice low and teasing by your ear. “They’ll be watching you all night, little flower. Waiting to see if you wilt.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Then let them watch. A rose does not wilt in the eyes of lesser flowers.”

Daemon laughs, a genuine, full laugh that echoes off the stone walls. The sound draws more stares, but neither of you care. His eyes gleam with something dangerous and delighted as he gazes at you, his bride, his wife.

“I knew it would be you,” he says softly, just for you. “From the moment I saw you in the Sept. No one else would have suited me.”

You glance up at him, brow raised. “I wonder, husband, if that is meant as a compliment or a warning.”

“Both,” he says, his grin sharp as a blade.

He guides you inside the Red Keep, where the torches burn brighter than the sun outside. The air is filled with the distant hum of music, the clinking of goblets, and the scent of roasted meat and sweetwine. The wedding feast awaits. Lords and ladies will gather, faces hidden behind smiles and masks of courtesy. There will be toasts, jests, and glances filled with envy and doubt.

But you are not afraid.

Daemon’s words echo in your mind. Show them the rose, but never the thorn.

No. You will show them both.

With each step deeper into the Red Keep, you feel the weight of your new role settle on your shoulders. You glance once more at Daemon, his eyes forward, his confidence as unshakable as the stones of Dragonstone itself.

Your grip on his hand tightens.

He glances down at you, eyes sharp and curious.

“You and I,” you murmur, low and certain, “will be more than they ever expected.”

Daemon tilts his head, his eyes narrowing with interest, his smirk returning in full force. “Yes,” he says, his voice filled with dangerous promise. “We will.”

And as you enter the grand hall where your wedding feast awaits, you feel it — the power in every glance, every step, every breath. This is your night. Your house may have offered you up as a rose, but you will bloom as something far more dangerous.

They will see your beauty.

But soon, they will know your thorns.

The grand doors to the throne room swing open with a low, resonating creak. The light of a hundred flickering torches dances on the polished stone floor, illuminating the space with a warm, golden glow. The cold, commanding aura of the Iron Throne is softened by the vibrant colors of the decorations. Rich red and gold banners hang from the high ceilings, sigils of House Targaryen and House Tyrell displayed side by side. Flower arrangements — red roses for your house, and dragonfire lilies for his — fill the room with a heady, sweet fragrance.

Daemon’s hand rests firmly on yours as he guides you inside, his grip steady and possessive. Your gown sweeps behind you like a river of white and gold, the delicate embroidery shimmering with every step. The room is filled with nobles from every corner of Westeros, their eyes fixed on you. Lords and ladies bow their heads as you pass, their gazes sharp with curiosity, envy, and judgment.

“All eyes on us, little flower,” Daemon murmurs lowly, his voice laced with amusement. “They’ll be watching to see if the rose wilts under the weight of the dragon.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, tilting your head slightly as you whisper back, “Let them watch. I’ll show them how a rose blooms under fire.”

His grin widens, sharp and wolfish, and his grip on your hand tightens for a moment in approval.

At the far end of the hall, King Jaehaerys sits on the Iron Throne, regal as ever despite his years. His white beard flows down his chest, and his eyes, though kind, are watchful. At his side stands Prince Baelon, his posture straight and proud, and next to him is Princess Alyssa, who offers you a warm smile. Beside them, Prince Viserys stands with his pregnant wife, Aemma, her hands gently cradling her growing belly.

As you and Daemon approach the royal table, the herald steps forward, his voice booming across the hall.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Tyrell, now husband and wife!”

Applause erupts from the crowd, a sea of clapping hands and murmurs of approval. You feel the weight of the moment settle on your shoulders, but you do not falter. With your head held high, you meet the gaze of every noble brave enough to stare for too long.

Daemon leads you to the head table, where two seats have been prepared beside the king. The chair feels larger than it should, its grandeur meant to emphasize the significance of the place you now hold. Daemon sits beside you, his posture relaxed, as though this is where he was always meant to be. He leans back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over the crowd like a dragon surveying its domain.

King Jaehaerys rises from his seat, his golden cloak draped heavily over his shoulders. The room falls silent at once. All eyes turn to the king, and even the faintest whisper dies in the air. He raises a hand, his voice clear and commanding despite his age.

“Today, we bear witness to a union of fire and bloom,” he proclaims, his voice echoing through the hall. “House Targaryen and House Tyrell, bound together in strength, in unity, and in purpose.” He turns his gaze to you and Daemon, his eyes filled with wisdom and authority. “May this marriage be as enduring as the roots of Highgarden and as unyielding as the flames of our dragons.”

Another round of applause fills the hall, and you bow your head in respect. Jaehaerys raises his goblet, and the hall follows, their goblets raised high in the air. “To Prince Daemon and his bride!” he declares.

“To Prince Daemon and his bride!” the crowd echoes, their voices like a chorus of thunder.

Daemon raises his own goblet, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. He leans toward you, his eyes flickering with mischief as he murmurs, “Drink, little flower. They’re watching.”

You glance at him, your eyes narrowing slightly in defiance, but you do as he says. Lifting your goblet, you meet his gaze as you drink, letting the sweet tang of wine linger on your tongue. He watches you closely, his eyes never leaving yours, and for a moment, it feels as though there are only the two of you in the hall, locked in a silent battle of wills.

The music begins to play, the gentle strumming of lutes and the deep hum of drums filling the air. All eyes shift toward the center of the room, where the space has been cleared for the first dance. Daemon rises from his chair, offering his hand to you once more.

“Shall we, wife?” he says with a teasing grin, tilting his head just slightly.

You glance at his hand, then meet his gaze with quiet resolve. Slowly, you place your hand in his, letting him pull you to your feet. The hall watches with anticipation as you step onto the dance floor together. The music shifts, growing louder and more rhythmic, the steady beat of the drums like the thundering of a heartbeat.

Daemon’s hand rests lightly on your waist, his fingers curling ever so slightly as he draws you closer. His other hand takes yours, his grip firm but not forceful. Your free hand settles on his shoulder, fingers lightly grazing the fabric of his tunic. For a moment, the world narrows down to the space between you and him. His eyes lock onto yours, sharp as Valyrian steel, and you feel the hum of energy between you.

“Don’t look down,” he says softly, his voice so close to your ear that it sends a shiver down your spine. “They’re watching.”

You tilt your head, lips curving into a faint smile. “Then let them watch.”

The dance begins.

The two of you move with the music, each step practiced but not without grace. Your movements are precise, every turn and spin guided by his hands. The room blurs around you, faces melding into indistinct shapes as you focus on Daemon — on his eyes, his smirk, the way he moves with the confidence of a man who has never doubted himself.

He twirls you, and your gown flares out like petals in bloom. Gasps and murmurs of admiration rise from the crowd. When he pulls you back to him, his hand presses firmly against your back, his eyes dark with something more intense than pride.

“You’re doing well,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth. “But I expected no less from you.”

“Careful, husband,” you reply, your breath even despite the pace of the dance. “Compliments from you sound dangerously close to affection.”

His grin is quick, wicked. “Perhaps I’m feeling generous tonight.”

The final note of the music echoes through the hall, and the two of you come to a stop. You’re so close that you can see every flicker of firelight reflected in his violet eyes. Your heart pounds in your chest, but not from the dance alone. His gaze holds you in place, unrelenting and unwavering.

The room erupts into applause, loud and thunderous. Lords and ladies rise from their seats, clapping and cheering. Daemon releases you slowly, his fingers trailing down your arm as if reluctant to let you go. His eyes linger on you for just a moment longer before he turns to the crowd, his grin sharper than ever.

He raises a hand, silencing the applause. “Eat, drink, and be merry,” he calls out, his voice cutting through the noise. “For tonight, we celebrate not just a union, but a conquest.” His eyes flick to you, his grin curling into something more dangerous. “A victory for us both.”

The lords cheer, raising their goblets high, and the servants begin to bring forth trays of food and pitchers of wine. The hall fills with music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets.

Daemon turns back to you, offering his arm. “Shall we, little flower?”

You place your hand on his arm, your gaze steady, your chin lifted high. “Yes, husband,” you say softly, your voice carrying all the quiet power you’ve kept hidden. “Let them see what victory looks like.”

The two of you return to your place at the head table, side by side, facing the hall of nobles and onlookers. You feel the weight of their stares, their whispers, but none of it matters. Not tonight.

Daemon sits with the ease of a man born to rule, his hand idly resting on the arm of his chair. You sit beside him, as regal and steady as the roots of Highgarden.

The feast continues, but you know one thing for certain.

They may call you a rose, but tonight, they will see your thorns.

As the feast continues, the lively clamor of laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets fills the grand hall. Despite the noise, your world feels quieter as you turn to face Daemon. His gaze is sharp as ever, his features carved with the confidence of a man who knows his worth. Yet, tonight, you notice something different — a subtle shift in his eyes when he looks at you, something softer than the sharp edge he shows the world.

You sip your wine, letting the warmth settle in your chest before speaking. “You’re not what I expected, Daemon.”

He raises a brow, his smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “And what did you expect, little flower? A monster with sharp teeth and claws?”

“Perhaps,” you reply, tilting your head as you study him. “They call you the Rogue Prince, after all. A man ruled by impulse, driven by chaos and ambition.”

He chuckles, low and rich like a purr. “Ah, titles are like cloaks. Useful when worn, but beneath them, we’re all just flesh and bone.” He leans in slightly, his violet eyes fixed on yours. “Tell me, do you think I’m a monster?”

You meet his gaze, unflinching. “No. Monsters don’t get nervous.”

His grin falters for just a heartbeat — so quick that most would miss it. But you see it. His eyes flicker briefly, a crack in the mask he wears so well. He leans back in his chair, swirling the wine in his goblet as if to distract himself.

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” he admits, his eyes still on the wine.

“You’re better at hiding it than most,” you reply, a small smile playing on your lips. “But not from me.”

He glances at you then, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Silence stretches between you for a moment, comfortable but charged with unspoken meaning. Finally, you decide to ask the question that has lingered in your mind since the day you learned of the betrothal.

“Why did you agree to this marriage, Daemon?” you ask, your voice quiet but firm. “You could have refused. You have always been known to defy expectations.”

He goes still, his fingers pausing on the stem of his goblet. His eyes shift to yours, and for a moment, he seems to weigh his answer. His smirk is gone, replaced by something far more genuine — something raw.

“I agreed,” he says slowly, his voice quieter now, “because I wanted it.” His eyes hold yours, steady and unwavering. “Years ago, when I accompanied my grandfather to Highgarden, I saw you in the gardens.” He exhales through his nose, his gaze distant as if seeing the memory play out before him. “You were surrounded by roses, and you were laughing with your maids. You had dirt on your hands from planting flowers, but you didn’t care. You looked… free.”

You blink, surprise washing over you like a sudden breeze. “You remember that?”

“Of course, I do,” he replies, his voice steady but his eyes carrying a weight of something long kept hidden. “I stood there longer than I should have, watching you laugh. It was the first time I’d seen something so simple yet so… whole.” He breathes deeply and turns to you, his eyes piercing. “I told myself then that if I ever had to marry, I would marry you.”

His words hit you harder than you expect. You feel the warmth rise to your cheeks, but you keep your composure. “And yet, you said nothing until now,” you say softly, tilting your head. “Why not speak of it before?”

“Because I’m a fool,” he admits, his grin returning, but it’s smaller, softer. “Or maybe because I didn’t think fate would be so kind to me.” His gaze shifts, watching you closely. “And now here you are, seated beside me, not as a dream, but as my wife.”

You don’t look away, and for the first time, the weight of the feast, the eyes of the lords and ladies, and the whispers of onlookers all seem to fade into nothing. The only thing that matters is this moment.

“I suppose fate can be cruel,” you murmur, lips curling into a knowing smile, “but tonight, it seems she has been kind.”

Daemon’s gaze narrows slightly, his grin returning in full force. “Careful, little flower. Say too many sweet things, and I might think you’ve fallen for me.”

You arch a brow, lifting your goblet to your lips as you take a slow, deliberate sip of wine. “Maybe I have,” you say lightly, setting the goblet down and looking at him from beneath your lashes. “But I suppose you’ll have to wait and see.”

His eyes darken with that familiar fire, and his grin becomes something more — a promise of trouble and devotion all at once. “I can be patient, wife,” he says, his voice low and rough like a storm brewing on the horizon. “But not for too long.”

The music shifts, another lively tune filling the hall, but the two of you remain still, locked in a silent understanding that words could never fully capture.

Tonight, fate has been kind indeed.

You laugh softly at Daemon’s story, his wit sharper than any blade. But your laughter fades as the sound of approaching footsteps echoes behind you. You glance over your shoulder and see Otto Hightower, your father’s kin and the Hand of the King. His face is as composed as ever, a mask of politeness with eyes that see far too much.

“Congratulations on your union,” Otto says smoothly, his voice calm yet purposeful. His gaze shifts between you and Daemon, lingering on your husband for a moment too long. “A fine match, one that will no doubt strengthen the ties between our houses.”

You nod politely, offering a small smile. “Thank you, Lord Hightower. Your words are most kind.”

But you can feel the shift in the air. Daemon stiffens beside you, his grip tightening ever so slightly on his goblet. His eyes narrow, fixed on Otto like a predator watching prey. The playful warmth he had while speaking with you is gone, replaced by a sharp, simmering edge.

“How gracious of you to offer your blessing, Otto,” Daemon drawls, his tone dripping with mockery. He tilts his head, his smile sharp like the edge of a dagger. “Though I wonder if it pains you to see me gain something you could not control.”

Otto’s jaw tightens, but his smile remains. “I only seek the prosperity of the realm, Prince Daemon. Your marriage serves that purpose well enough.” His gaze flickers to you for the briefest moment. “It is always wise to guide wild flames before they burn out of control.”

Daemon lets out a low, humorless laugh. “Careful, Otto. You speak as though you’ve forgotten who commands fire in this realm.” His voice drops lower, more dangerous. “And who is merely ash beneath it.”

The tension coils tight between them, sharp and ready to snap. You place a hand lightly on Daemon’s arm, feeling the taut muscle beneath his sleeve. He glances at you, his hard gaze softening just enough to acknowledge your presence.

“Perhaps tonight is not the time for old rivalries,” you say firmly, looking between them both. “It is a night of celebration, not division.”

Otto’s eyes meet yours, calculating and assessing. For a moment, he says nothing, then bows his head. “Of course, Lady Tyrell. Forgive me. I meant no offense.”

You can feel the tension between them, as sharp and volatile as wildfire. For a moment, it seems as though Otto might push back, but he only tilts his head in mock understanding. “She is no longer ‘Lady Tyrell’ to you.”

Otto’s brows lift just a fraction, his eyes flicking briefly to you before settling back on Daemon. “My apologies, Prince Daemon,” he says, his tone polite but firm. “Old habits, you understand.”

Daemon’s lips curve into a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Old habits can be broken,” he replies coldly, his eyes narrowing. He gestures toward you with a sweeping motion, his gaze never leaving Otto. “She is Princess now. Best you remember it, lest your tongue slip again.”

“Of course,” Otto says slowly, folding his hands behind his back. His eyes meet yours for a brief moment, calculating and watchful. “Princess,” he adds with an exaggerated formality, bowing just enough to follow decorum but not a step further.

Daemon’s eyes follow him like a hawk tracking prey. His jaw is set, his fingers tapping the rim of his goblet with restless precision. “That man poisons every room he enters,” he mutters, his eyes still locked on Otto.

You lean in just a little, tilting your head toward him. “Then let him choke on his own venom, husband,” you whisper, your voice laced with quiet defiance.

Daemon blinks, then slowly turns his gaze back to you. A grin spreads across his face, wild and dangerous, but there’s pride in it too. He raises his goblet toward you in a silent toast. “To clever wives,” he says, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

“And to husbands who know when to listen,” you reply, clinking your goblet lightly against his.

The fire in his eyes burns brighter. “You and I, little flower,” he says softly, his voice low like a secret shared in the dark, “will burn this world brighter than they can ever imagine.”

The joyful hum of music and clinking goblets fills the hall, but all you can hear is the rapid beat of your heart. The bedding ceremony. The very mention of it had lingered in your mind all night, and now, as the hour draws near, a subtle unease creeps in.

Your gaze flickers to Daemon, who is seated beside you. His posture is as relaxed as ever, leaning back in his chair like a king on his throne. His sharp eyes scan the room, half-lidded with boredom, but there’s a flicker of awareness in them. He knows. He always knows.

Your fingers tighten slightly around the edge of your goblet, your knuckles pale beneath the soft glow of the firelight. You feel your mother’s gaze on you, steady and supportive, but even she cannot help you now. Tradition is tradition, and the eyes of the realm are watching.

A loud voice echoes through the hall — one of the lords, his cheeks flushed from too much wine. “It is time for the bedding!” he shouts, his voice met with a chorus of drunken laughter and cheers. The call is picked up by others, nobles and knights alike, their voices chanting in unison.

“To the bedding! To the bedding!”

You glance at Daemon, unsure of what to expect. He turns to you, his gaze steady and unyielding. Slowly, he reaches for your hand, his touch firm and warm. His thumb brushes lightly against your knuckles, a silent reassurance.

“They will not touch you,” he says softly, his voice low enough that only you can hear. His eyes, sharp as dragonfire, meet yours with unwavering certainty. “Not if I am standing here.”

Your breath catches in your chest, surprise flickering in your eyes. It is a small promise, but it feels like the weight of the world has been lifted from your shoulders.

The chants continue, louder now, as the guests begin to rise from their seats, some already moving toward you. Daemon stands first, his presence commanding enough to make even the most brazen of lords hesitate. He extends a hand toward you, his expression one of quiet defiance.

“Shall we, wife?” he asks, his lips curving into a sly, knowing smile.

You take his hand, your heart still racing, but the panic that once clawed at you has dulled. You rise with him, head held high, and the crowd erupts into a sea of laughter, cheers, and jeering calls. Lords and ladies step forward, but before any of them can reach you, Daemon’s gaze turns to them — hard as dragonstone, sharp as steel.

“Touch her,” Daemon says coldly, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “And I’ll take your hand as payment.”

The hall stills. The drunken grins falter, the more sensible lords stepping back as if scalded. The boldest of them mutter curses under their breath but make no further move.

“That’s what I thought,” Daemon mutters, his grin returning, sharp and predatory. With his hand on the small of your back, he guides you toward the doors leading to your chambers. The crowd follows, but from a distance now, the earlier fervor tempered by Daemon’s words.

Your steps are slow but steady, each one more certain than the last. You are not alone. Your hand is held firmly in Daemon’s grasp, his presence at your side a shield stronger than any wall.

When you finally reach the heavy wooden doors of your chamber, the crowd begins to cheer again, but none dare approach. Daemon opens the door himself, holding it for you like a king for his queen.

“Inside, Princess,” he says, his voice softer now, meant only for you.

You step in, glancing over your shoulder at the crowd one last time. Their eyes are filled with expectation, mischief, and far too much wine. But none of them matter now. The door closes behind you with a resounding thud, silencing the world beyond.

The chamber is warm, lit by the soft glow of the hearth. The distant sounds of revelry echo faintly through the stone walls, but here, it is quiet. Your heart is still racing, but it is not from fear.

Daemon turns to face you, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His smirk is gone, replaced by something far more honest. He steps toward you slowly, his movements deliberate, giving you time to step back if you choose. But you don’t.

“You handled that well,” he says, his gaze flickering with approval. “They expected you to shrink. But you didn’t.”

“Should I have?” you ask, your voice quiet but steady.

Daemon tilts his head, his eyes filled with something akin to admiration. “Never.”

Silence hangs between you, but it is not uncomfortable. Slowly, he reaches for you, his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. His touch is careful, deliberate — nothing like the wild prince the songs describe.

“If you wish to rest,” he says quietly, his eyes never leaving yours, “then rest. I’ll stay if you want me to, or I’ll leave if you don’t.”

For a moment, you are stunned. All the stories, all the rumors of Daemon Targaryen — bold, brash, uncontrollable — and here he is, offering you control in a world that rarely grants it.

“What do you want, Daemon?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

He smiles at that, a slow, wolfish grin. “I want what’s already mine,” he says, his eyes dark but steady. “But I am not so foolish as to take it by force. A king can command fear, but only a fool ignores respect.”

His words linger in the air, carrying more weight than any vow spoken at the sept. You search his face, looking for deception, but all you find is truth — a truth that you had not expected.

“You think me wise enough to be respected, then?” you ask, one brow raised.

“I think you’re wise enough to be feared,” he replies, stepping closer until there is only a breath between you. His eyes lower to your lips, but he doesn’t move, letting you decide. “And that, wife, is far more dangerous.”

The choice is yours now. In a world where choice is often stolen, he offers it freely. No songs will be sung of this moment. No maester will write it down. But this moment is yours.

The warmth of the firelight flickers softly against the stone walls of your chamber, casting long, shifting shadows. The air is thick with unspoken tension—not the kind born of fear, but of expectation. The weight of tradition presses down on you like an invisible cloak, suffocating in its silence.

Daemon stands before you, his violet eyes sharp but calm, as if this moment is nothing more than another game he’s mastered. His fingers reach for the intricate braids woven into your hair, undoing them with slow, deliberate care. He works in silence, never rushing, never fumbling. His fingertips brush against your scalp, and the warmth of his touch is startling in its tenderness.

You feel the weight of your hair slowly falling free, the braids unraveling strand by strand, until your hair spills over your shoulders like a golden cascade. Daemon steps back for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with quiet intensity. There is no mockery in his gaze. No jest or smirk. Only focus.

“Still with me, Princess?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, your throat too dry to answer aloud. His lips twitch into the faintest smile before he steps closer once more. His fingers move to the clasps at your shoulders, the ones holding the delicate fabric of your wedding gown in place. For a moment, he hesitates, his fingers brushing against the embroidered flowers that line the edge of the fabric.

“You are beautiful,” he says suddenly, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. There is something raw in his voice — not a compliment to charm you, but a statement of fact.

“Flattery, husband?” you reply softly, your eyes narrowing in playful suspicion.

He chuckles under his breath, his gaze never leaving yours. “No, just truth. I may lie to kings and councils, but not to you.”

His hands resume their task, and slowly, he unclasps the gown, letting it loosen around your shoulders. The fabric slips, slow as silk, pooling at your feet in a sea of red and white. You stand before him, vulnerable but unafraid.

But then — a sound.

A rustle. A shift of fabric behind the heavy curtain at the far end of the room. You freeze, your eyes darting toward it. The faintest outline of movement is visible through the dim light. Your heart tightens in your chest, heat rising to your face.

“They’re watching, aren’t they?” you murmur, your voice laced with unease.

Daemon doesn’t even glance at the curtain. His gaze remains fixed on you. “Yes,” he replies bluntly, his tone neither ashamed nor apologetic. “The king. The council. They’ll want to see it done properly.” His eyes flicker with a glint of something darker. “Fools with nothing better to do than spy on a husband and wife.”

You clench your jaw, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “It’s humiliating,” you mutter, your eyes narrowing at the veil of fabric separating you from them.

“It is tradition,” he replies, his tone sharp but not unkind. He steps closer, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. His voice softens, the fire in him dimming to embers. “But they are only men, little flower. Let them watch.” He tilts your chin up with a single finger, his gaze hard but reassuring. “Let them see that you belong to no one but me.”

His words linger in the air like a spark set to kindling. The fire of it spreads, steady and slow, filling the hollow space that doubt had left behind. Daemon is not afraid. He stands as if he is untouchable, unbothered by their eyes, and for a moment, you think perhaps you can do the same.

“Do they always watch like this?” you ask, your voice quieter now, but steadier.

“Not always,” he replies with a small grin. “But sometimes. They call it ‘assurance of consummation.’ As if it matters to the realm what happens between husband and wife.” He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “If it bothers you, I can send them away.”

You glance at him, your eyes searching his for any sign of deceit. But he looks at you like you are his equal, his partner in all things. Not a pawn to be used. Not a flower to be plucked.

“You would?” you ask, testing him.

He nods slowly. “One word from you, and they’ll leave. I promise you that.” His hand rests lightly on your waist, his touch grounding you, steady as stone. “But if you wish to see this through, I will make it quick.”

The choice is yours. His words echo in your mind, and you think of all the choices you’ve never been allowed to make before this. But this one is yours.

You take a slow, steady breath, glancing at the curtain once more. You see them there, shadows behind fabric. Fools. Spies. Men who think they have power. But none of them are in this room with you. None of them are Daemon.

You turn back to him, lifting your chin. “Let them watch,” you say, your voice sharp as a blade. Your heart still races, but there is a new resolve in it now. “If they want proof, they’ll have it.”

Daemon’s eyes widen just slightly, his grin returning in full force. He laughs softly, the sound like the low rumble of thunder. “That’s my wife,” he says, his voice filled with pride and something far more dangerous — affection.

“Then let’s give them something to remember.”

He reaches for the laces of his tunic, pulling them loose with practiced ease. His eyes remain on yours the entire time, a silent promise in his gaze. No mockery. No cruelty. Only certainty.

The fabric of his tunic falls away, revealing the pale expanse of his chest, littered with faint scars like constellations across his skin. His silver hair gleams faintly in the firelight, a halo of shadow and flame.

You take a step forward, your breath steady now. The weight of their eyes no longer feels so heavy. Let them watch, you think. Let them see that you are not afraid.

Daemon sees it too. He sees the shift in you. A dragon recognizing another dragon. His grin fades into something more solemn, more reverent. His hand cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing the curve of your cheek.

“You are more than they deserve to see,” he says quietly, his voice so soft that it feels like a secret. His eyes lower to your lips, then back up to your eyes. “But let them see you anyway.”

And so you do.

The air grows warmer as the fire crackles behind you. Daemon moves with purpose, each gesture slow but sure, as if you are something sacred. There is no rush, no frenzy. Only patience. Only reverence.

The sounds of the council behind the curtain fade from your mind. You barely hear them anymore. It is only you and him now.

Daemon’s hands move over you, each touch as careful as a man handling dragon eggs. The weight of tradition still hangs in the air, but it no longer feels suffocating. You have claimed it. Turned it into something of your own making.

Daemon led you towards the bed and laid you down there, you stared at his face as he started to climb on top of you. "Are you ready little flower?" you just nodded and that's when he started kissing you, his kiss was very gentle and also demanding.

Your hands moved to his neck, you played with his long hair and heard him moan softly in between your kisses. he then started kissing your neck. You heard the voice behind the curtain again, "don't mind them, just focus on me" the daemon whispered in your neck, you moan softly as a result.

Daemon's hands didn't stay still, he traced the curves of your body which made you close your eyes. when his fingers touched your core which was starting to get wet you moaned. He started by inserting one finger and looking at you, your body started to heat up. he then added another finger and his rhythm became faster, you moaned because of his treatment. "i have to prepare you first little flower"

After Daemon felt enough, Daemon started to take off his pants. He looked back at you and kissed your forehead, "This might hurt."

You looked at his face and smiled, "i'll hold it in" he smiled and started kissing you. you felt his cock start to enter your core slowly. You squeezed his hair as you felt him start to enter and fill you, you both moaned and after that daemon slammed his cock hard which made you scream in pain in the kiss.

You could feel your blood rushing out, he growled softly as he felt you squeeze him tightly. He wiped away the tears that were in the corner of your eyes, he didn't move yet to make sure you were enjoying and accepting his size.

"Are you comfortable?" he whispered and stroked your cheek gently, you nodded and that's when he started to move his hips slowly. The pain you felt begore slowly turned into a pleasure you had never felt before.

"like that, oh god. you're so tight" he growled and started to speed up the rhythm of his hips. you could only moan under him,

He doesn’t hold back, his hand found yours and he intertwined his fingers with yours. Something hot and heavy settles on the pit of your guts then rises from every thrust of Daemon’ hips, a spark flowing down from the top of your head to toes. Back arches up when the head of his member prods against your sensitive spot.

“You take me so well, sweetling.” You let go of his grip and pulled his face to kiss him again, your legs automatically wrapped around his waist making him go deeper inside you.

Daemons can go crazy because the way your walls are clenching tightly around his length. He then splays his palm on one of your boobs and squeezes the flesh there, keenly studying as the skin turns pink. he broke the kiss and pressed your foreheads together, your breaths mingled and he continued to growl.

"Daemon please g-go faster, please.." you mumbled. He smirked, before going fast and hard. You gasped at the sudden change of pace, holding down at the bed to get some sort of grounding. You threw your head back as he kept on pounding into her.

You shut your eyes as the knot inside your stomach grew tighter, signaling that you was about to come. he chuckled. "Is my little flower about to come?" He teased. you nodded. "P-please let me come..." you rasped. He groaned, he was near his orgasm too. "Shit love, I'm close too.." He said. He thrusted a few more times before finally coming inside you, filling you with his seed, he growled softly before kissing you and lying down next to you.

And when it is done — when the silence behind the curtain is replaced by the rustle of cloaks and the soft, satisfied murmurs of councilmen walking away — you do not feel shame. You do not feel small.

Daemon lies beside you, his eyes on the ceiling for a moment, his breathing steady. Then he turns his head to look at you, his silver hair tangled, his expression calm but sharp with awareness.

“You did well,” he says softly, his eyes watching you with quiet pride. “They’ll remember this night, but not for the reason they think.”

You glance at him, raising a brow. “And what reason will they remember it for?”

Daemon’s eyes narrow slightly, a glint of mischief in them as he tilts his head to look at you fully. “Because they’ll realize they made the mistake of thinking you could be broken.”

His words hit you harder than any vow spoken before the sept. You breathe in deeply, letting them settle in your chest like a flame that will never burn out.

“Let them remember,” you say, your voice stronger than it has ever been. “Let them remember I am not so easily broken.”

Daemon’s grin widens, his eyes glowing like embers in the dark. “No, you are not.”

The warmth of the fire has dimmed to a soft glow, shadows dancing gently across the chamber walls. The weight of exhaustion presses down on you, your limbs heavy and your breathing slow. Without thinking, you turn toward Daemon, seeking the warmth of another presence.

You rest your head against his chest, your arms wrapping around him. His skin is warm, the slow rise and fall of his breath lulling you into calm. For a moment, everything feels still. The noise of the world outside — the lords, the council, the weight of duty — fades into the background.

Daemon doesn’t move at first, his body tense like he isn’t used to this kind of closeness. But then, slowly, you feel his arms come around you, his hands settling on your back. One hand moves up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair.

His chin rests lightly atop your head, and you hear him sigh — a long, quiet breath as if releasing something he’d been holding for too long. His lips press softly against your forehead, warm and deliberate. No words are spoken, but the meaning is clear. You feel it in the tenderness of his touch, the weight of his hand holding you steady.

Your eyes grow heavier with each heartbeat, the steady thump of his heart beneath your ear a rhythm you cannot resist. Your breathing evens out, matching his, and before long, sleep pulls you under. Your last thought is that, for the first time in a long while, you feel safe.

Daemon tilts his head slightly, gazing down at you. His sharp eyes, so often filled with mischief or calculation, have softened into something quieter, something unguarded. He watches you in silence, as if memorizing every line of your face. His thumb traces a small circle against your back, a motion so subtle it might as well be instinct.

He watches you for a moment longer, eyes narrowing slightly as if puzzled by the depth of his own thoughts. Then, with a quiet huff of breath — not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh — he rests his head back on the pillow. His eyes remain on you until, slowly, his lashes lower, and sleep takes him too.

In the quiet of the chamber, there is no crown, no council, no eyes watching. Only two people, entwined in warmth and stillness, finding peace in the comfort of each other.

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