#mgurl

Daemon wet his face in the basin, his fair skin caked with dirt and sweat from a day of training in the yard. He lathered a generous amount of milk soap into his hands and began to wash his face. He’d really prefer to take a bath and clean thoroughly, but he simply didn’t have enough time if he was going to wet his cock in you before supper.

Grinning he began to think of you as he ran a wet cloth under his armpits and then down to his groin. Standing buck arse naked in his chambers, his cock is already growing rigid in his hands at the thought of you, his little bird, his dragonseed, his secret paramour, and how hard he was going to fuck you when he got his hands on you.

Just as promised, he’d proffered you a position within the castle at Dragonstone easily enough, an assistant cook in the kitchen. Given you were so young and fit, the staff didn’t mind having another set of legs to fetch and carry things to and from the pantry. And given his high status, it wasn’t as though any of them would dare deny his request either.

The arrangement has been working out perfectly well for both of them so far. And since Rhaenyra never even bothered to join him in bed as of late, it had been painless enough to bring you into his chamber whenever he wished it. And oh how he had wished for it often, enjoying every moment of breaking in his new lover, and you were always so eager to please him. The biggest challenge was keeping you quiet so that his wife would not hear your screams of pleasure from down the way; he quite often accomplished this by covering your mouth, whether it be by his own hand or a gag of cloth to silence those heated moans.

Fuck, he was already at full mast, his manhood throbbing and twitching at just recalling the image of your full bosom bouncing beneath him as he restrained the sounds coming from your pretty little lips. Oh, how he’d love to let you go and hear every beautiful tune you might sing as he plunged his cock into your depths, but he’d rather not listen to the bitching that would ensue from Rhaenyra’s cantankerous mouth as a result.

Daemon finishes the quick job of freshening up, rinsing his body with more water from the basin and drying off before he gets dressed again. He rushes as he ties up his shirt, not wanting to miss the opportunity to have you sooner, rather than later tonight. His blood is pumping even more than usual today after some exceptionally good sparring with the other knights on the island, and he feels like he has enough seed stored up to take you at least three times, maybe even four.

He wears a knowing grin as he saunters through the halls of the keep, still half hard as he makes his way towards you, his toothsome little firebird. Daemon has a half a mind to take you wherever he finds you, loving the idea of a public fuck. Let one of the servants see him staking his claim on you, for it would make the act even more tantalizing. He wonders where he might take you, that self-satisfied smirk never leaving his countenance. Perhaps in the root cellar where the potatoes and wine were stored- or the pantry, or maybe even the larder? He finds himself further enticed by the idea of fucking you beside a full leg of mutton, after all, you are his piece of meat and he cherishes you for it.

There are a series of narrow hallways in the servants quarters, smaller rooms where they sleep, where you sleep when you are not keeping his bed warm. Daemon navigates them, slipping past other house staff that seem alarmed by his presence, but don’t offer any argument to it. The corridor opens up into the massive kitchen, a long rectangular room with an open stove in the center of one wall. Opposite the fire is a massive table that takes up much of the chamber, and women are busy preparing different elements of food to be served with dinner. Freshly cooked bread is laid out as well as several biscuits all arranged neatly on a silver tiered tray.

It all looks rather delicious, but no delicacy in the castle could compare to the taste of you. And Daemon is starving for you, ravenous with hunger for the sweet cunt between your legs, seemingly unable to get enough of it. He sees you standing at the table, your back towards him and your long silvery tresses glowing from the dancing flame of the fire-pit. He’d hoped to find you somewhere a little more private, but that doesn’t mean he can’t take you to another location to have his way with you.

As Daemon takes a step into the kitchen, he stops in his tracks, pausing in place as a consternated look appears across his furled brow and crinkled nose. A man, broad of chest and dark in his features comes to stand beside you, resting his hand on your shoulder and looking down at you with far too much affection and familiarity.

How dare that piece of shit touch you. You belong to him! He’d already stolen you away from your husband and in fact had the marriage annulled. He’d realized after talking with his maester, that as the lord of Dragonstone, he has the legal authority to deny any wedding among the peasants, and so he did. But, now some upstart ruffian from the kitchen was going to try and steal you away from him? How many men would he have to dispose of before he could be at peace with his claim on you?

It wouldn’t do at all. Daemon would need to make an example of him. Show everyone what happened when they touched what was his.

He strode up proudly, his back straight as his Valyrian Steel longsword, Dark Sister, as he approached the pair and cleared his throat, his hand clenching down on the man’s shoulder viciously. The scamp let out a startled yelp as you turned to see what was happening, a look of concern flashing across your eyes as you saw Daemon standing there. He saw the tremulous fear in your periwinkle eyes as you began to grasp the situation and sneered with a wild look of abandon in his eyes.

“What do you think you’re fucking doing?” Daemon roared out, squeezing even harder into the man’s meaty shoulder.

The fellow sunk under his grip, instantly relinquishing his hold on you as he attempted to turn and face his assailant.

“No, you can stay right there prick,” he said with a scathing venom in his tone.

The kitchen staff had all stopped what they were doing, gazing upon the scene with terror as though they knew blood was likely soon to be spilled.

“LEAVE US!” Daemon roared out loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls in echo as every single servant jumped in fright before rushing to leave the premises.

He reaches past you to pick up a chef’s knife from the table and spins the offender around to face him. “You see this knife, you fuckwit?” he asks with condescension. The man nods stupidly, wearing a veil of abject dread upon his face. “If I ever see you so much as look at her again, I’m going to make you a fucking eunuch. You understand?”

The man simply stared up at Daemon, disbelief rife in his slack jaw. He did not answer immediately and it angered the King-Consort even more.

“DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND!? You are not to touch her! EVER!!” he screams and wraps his giant hand around the man’s face, slamming him back against the heavy wooden table.

“Yes! Yes, m’lord!” the whelp finally replies, falling to his knees with his hands clasped up and pleading.

Disgusted, Daemon scowls and shoves him to the side, away from him and towards the exit. “Get out of you filthy mongrel!” he spits derisively. “Before I change my mind…”

The peasant chef or whatever the fuck he was, shambled to his feet, tripping and falling twice before he made it out of the room. The silence was cumbersome as Daemon eyed you, his gaze hard and vicious as he decided how he should punish you.

“Why did you do that?” you are asking, but your voice is so far away, barely noticeable against the ringing of his furious heartbeat in his ears.

“After everything I’ve done for you?” he begins tearing into you, his words savage and his voice hateful. He cups your face in one hand, stroking your cheek almost tenderly, completely juxtapose to the angry expression on his face. A squeak of surprise escapes your lips as he then runs the dull backside of the knife along the opposite side of your face. He is pleased with the fright in your features, after all, he wants you to know how grave an offense this is.

He turns you swiftly, shoving you against the surface of the table and pushing you down with a strong hand to the middle of your back. You try to get up when he tosses the knife with a clatter across the table, but he slams you back down causing the table to groan with the weight of his force. “Stay fucking down,” he hisses with frustration as he unlaces his trousers.

“But I didn’t do anything,” you whine sorrowfully, still trying to play dumb.

“Like fucking hell you didn’t, you little whore!” he spits back, pulling his stiffened cock out from his smallclothes and letting it hang freely. “You let him touch you. I fucking saw it! Saw the way he looked at you. How he wanted you.”

Daemon begins to pull your skirts up, shoving them up and over your waist until he can see your bared cunny before him. “Did you want to fuck him, girl? Did you think he’d have a bigger cock than me? Think he could fill you to the brim and make you ache like I can?”

You’re already whimpering, a soft mewl of tears in your voice as you try to make excuses. As you try to implore him to cease in being so upset. As though anything could calm him down now that he’d seen another man’s hands upon you.

“I will never let another have you, firebird.. You are fucking mine! You belong to me!” he shouted with a gruff and spiteful voice.

He pressed the head of his cock against your wet center, pressing through without warning and sinking all the way in until he thudded roughly against your womb.

“Fuck!,” he roared as you continued to whine against the hard surface of the counter. “I need to remind you, hm?” he asked, one hand coming to your hip and pulling you back roughly onto his member as he thrust into you again and again. “That you are just a little thing, a prized cunt for me to fuck whenever I wish it?”

That actually makes your breath catch with fresh indignant cries of pain. Oh you haven’t cried like this for him since the very first time he had you and he is relishing the way you keep trying to pull your tender core away from his impending wrath. It’s not like you have anywhere to escape to though, not like you can get away from his grip, pinned between him and the table, forced to take him like a good little trollop.

“This tight little hole belongs to me, girl!” he seethed, losing himself completely in your wet heat, his fury unbridled as he pounds into you relentlessly. “Say it. Tell me what you are and who you belong to. Say it now!”

He knows you won’t like that, understand all too well how proud you are, but he has to break your spirit further if he’s going to keep you under his thumb. He has to make you realize that you’re nothing without him. You stay silent besides the sound of your wailing, your dismay at how he is taking you and how low he is trying to bring you apparent.

“Say it, you little fucking slut!” he howls, raising his hand from your hip to slap you viciously on the the round fat of your arse.

You let out an alarmed yelp, followed by a wail of outrage as you finally relent. “I’m…I-I’m your cunny to fuck, Daemon!” you squeal with the sharp sting of embarrassment clear in your tone as your tight core clamps down on him in response.

“Damn fucking right you are,” he leers over you with a primal growl of arousal and conquest. “You like it don’t you? Like being my little whore?” He slaps you on the arse once more, this time hard enough to leave a crimson handprint on your flesh. Daemon can’t help but grin at the sound you make and the way you clench down tightly on his cock each time he slaps your rear. “You really do enjoy it,” he smiles smugly, loving that his filth has this affect on you. “I wonder how much coin I could fetch for you back in the brothels at King’s Landing? I bet you’d be the biggest earner on the Street of Silk… And you’d love every moment of it wouldn’t you?”

The inner lining of your center contracts violently around his length as you peak, causing him to wince in pain as he pushes past the taut muscles. “My dirty little bird,” he pants, grinning from ear to ear as you go limp against the table and he plunges deeply into you, pounding endlessly as he chases his own release.

He spills into you with the heat and thickness of molten lava, his cockhead slamming roughly against your womb as he pulls your hips onto him firmly, pulsing seed inside of you as he groans with the pleasure of subduing you completely.

“Fucking hellls!” he bellows out, falling on top of your back with nothing but his arm to keep from crushing you, holding himself up slightly from the wooden counter.

Daemon stays inside of you, not in a rush to leave the safe and welcoming heat of your cunt. As he steadies himself on his forearm, he reaches up to brush your hair aside, wiping salty tears dotingly from your cheeks as he takes in your expression.

“Are you hurt, little bird?” he asks with a hint of regret in seeing your reddened eyes and cheeks. “Was I too rough?”

You shake your head slightly, still not making eye contact with him as your body shivers beneath him. He smooths your bright locks of hair back against your scalp, still panting as he tries to recover.

Gods, he thinks you look beautiful like this, ravaged and spent, and still impaled on his cock.

“I don’t want him,” you finally say quietly, almost pouting. “He means nothing to me.”

Daemon sighs, feeling a pang of guilt at how decisively you say that, without a hint of doubt. He withdraws his length from you, leaving a slick mess of your combined fluids as he lets your skirts fall down again. He puts his now softening cock back in his brailes and turns you around to face him.

“I know,” he says pressing a kiss against your lips, before pulling back to take a look at you. “I can’t control how I feel about you, my searing firebird,” he says more softly, peppering kisses on your cheeks in between words. “It drives me mad with rage to think of another man so much as touching you.”

There was something about fucking you that always dulled his sharpest edges. It was as though every bit of pent up rage and aggression just fell away once he spent inside you. You were the only one who could sooth his ferocity like this, quell the savage beast that he always became in your absence, or even at the thought of losing you.

“I would never leave you for another, Daemon,” you say reassuringly, brushing your soft hand along the hard line of his jaw. “I don’t want anyone else but you. You must know that by now?”

“One day, I’ll learn,” he offers with a playful little smirk as he snatches your hand in his, and brushes a gentle kiss against the back of your knuckle.

“Well, isn’t that sweet?” an all too familiar voice cuts through the tender moment.

Daemon snaps his head towards the shrill sound, knowing exactly who he’ll see, his wife Rhaenyra. He looks back at you, realizing that he’s been caught and worried about what it could mean for you. He turns back to the would be queen and offers a feigned smile of surprise.

“I’m sorry, wife,” he offers complacently as he lets your hand go and smacks you on the bottom dismissively, signaling for you to leave. “Did we make too much noise?”

You scamper off obediently, retreating into the hallway and out of sight much to his relief. He doesn’t want Rhaenyra getting a good look at you, doesn’t want her getting any ideas concerning retribution against you.

“When the staff is not allowed into the kitchen to prepare supper and we are all made to wait… Well, it certainly sparks one’s curiosity as to what is causing the delay, husband,” she says, her voice cold and distant.

Rhaenyra has been an insufferable cunt as of late. First she had wallowed in the death of her son, Lucerys, which he understood to an extent. They were at war though and Daemon could not excuse her absence at council. There simply was no time for mourning when the Iron Throne was at stake.

When Rhaenyra finally returned to the painted table, she was in shambles, a scared, frail shadow of the strong Targaryen woman he’d known and cared for. It had taken all he had to hold back the grimace that fought its way out at the sight of her tear stained cheeks. They were of royal blood, Valyrian blood, and she should be ashamed to show such weakness openly, especially as the future queen.

She spoke of retribution for her fallen boy, demanding the life of the Hightower bitch’s second mongrel son, Aemond. Daemon had offered to fly to King’s Landing right away to avenge his wife, but none would take any part in his plan. So he did as he often did, connived in the shadows, plotting murder so that a one-eyed Targaryen princeling might die to replace the son Rhaenyra had lost.

But, it seemed nothing was ever good enough for the so-called Realm’s Delight. No act of loyalty, nor obeisance, nor love, nor retribution would ever amount to anything in his wife’s eyes. She did not seem to trust a word he said lately, viewing him always with thinly veiled scrutiny and scorning him from her bed every night. Perhaps she had only been interested in using him to solidify her claim as queen after all. The irony was not lost on him considering how badly he’d wanted the throne in the past. It all left Daemon feeling restless, his blood running hot with the need to satisfy his carnal urges. Admittedly, there were not many women within the confines of the castle, save for the servants, who were not especially comely. So, he ventured forth to the village below the Dragonmont, where farmers and fishermen lived around the now thriving port. There he walked the streets, drank in the tavern among the commonfolk, hoping to chance upon a suitable woman. Any fair of face with a willing cunt would satisfy his needs, but he was hoping to find someone of note, a beauty worth his seed.

So far, he has found nothing but mediocrity and it does nothing to stiffen his cock.

As he exits the tavern already deep in his cups, given the position of the sun it’s sometime past mid-day, and there is a celebration underway. A flutist is playing a lively tune as men and women alike dance together in the square. His eyes dart around, taking the scene in slowly considering his relatively inebriated state, until he catches a flash of blue.

And that is when he sees you. You are ravishing in light blue silk, a crown of yellow wildflowers upon your silvery-gold head of hair. Daemon finds himself completely enamored as he takes in your fetching features; the big blue eyes, your proud nose, those luscious lips, and the full swell of your breast has him reeling.

Daemon finds you a sight for sore eyes, a vision of purity and class coupled most gladly with the bosom of a well coveted whore. From the look of it, you are the bride, clutching arms with some young pup who is likely to be your new husband.

It was well known to Daemon that the towns below the mount were seeded with Valyrian blood. Going back two hundred years when Aenar Targaryen first arrived with his dragons, when the house began to practice the tradition of ‘First Night.’ Whereas a lord or king has the privilege over the smallfolk, to bed any bride first on their wedding night. As a result, it was not uncommon to see pale hair mixed in among the common, many having been bred within the Targaryen line for generations.

Daemon has never claimed such a right before, but he is inclined to command it at the sight of you. A wicked smirk begins to work it’s way up his lips as he approaches. He can’t believe his good fortune, that such a shining flower of a maiden was waiting for him, so close by, and that he just happened to stumble upon you at just the right moment to claim you.

As the King-Consort to be closes the distance, many begin to notice his presence with a look of awe and excitement on their faces. For on Dragonstone, the Targaryens were considered closer to the gods than other folk, and were esteemed as such. Brides that were chosen were considered blessed and envied by all. Many of these women were taken care of well by their benefactors, being endowed with luxurious gifts of jewelry, fine silks, and even bequeathed titles for land.

The children born of dragonseed were celebrated on Dragonstone and it is clear to Daemon by the fine silk of your wedding gown that you have been attended well by your Valyrian patron, whoever it may be.

He walks purposefully towards your merry, dancing form and takes hold of your arm to still your movement. When you look up at him, he cannot help but feel disappointed when your face drops, a look of despair crossing your face as you intrinsically know what he desires of you. Daemon had hoped you’d be pleased to attract his attention, that you’d consider it a godsend as most would. It is merely a minor blow to his ego that won’t stop him from taking your maidenhead.

Silence hangs in the air and before words can even be exchanged, an older woman with dark gray hair advances forth to him. She claims to be your mother and apologizes for your insolence.

‘The blood runs too strong in her, m’lord,’ she grovels with deference, bowing her head with every word.

Good he thinks to himself I like them feisty. Daemon grins, glaring sideways at the young man next to you. He would be considered handsome by most standards, but he is green, just a silly boy without disposition to even protect his alluring little wife. He intends to ruin you for any other fellow tonight, so not even your juvenile husband will ever be able to satisfy you again.

He snickers with satisfaction as your mother offers to escort the pair of you to a suitable location where he might take up his rights. Daemon can’t help but soak up every curve of your face and body like a predator eying up his next meal as she speaks, but you look on the verge of tears, ready to break at the thought of being torn away from your silly little wedding festivities.

“Might I freshen up first, My Prince,” you say, your civility barely held in tact through grit teeth.

“King,” he reminds you, furling his brow. This girl will be nothing but trouble. It will be best to break her swiftly. He then shakes his head non-nonchalantly. “And there is no need. You are already quite pristine and lovely in your wedding gown. I will take my claim now.”

You fluster, your cheeks growing impossibly red with embarrassment at not just the mention of his intent, but your own indignity as well. “My King,” you acknowledge his correction. “Allow us to ready the chambers for a man of your caliber. My marital bed is far too simple…” you continue prattling on. He isn’t really listening anymore though, instead focusing on the plump of your lower lip and how it might feel wrapped around his cock.

He also can’t help but notice how you sound much more proper than your mother, than most commonfolk really, and wonders if your Valyrian contributor has paid for your tutelage as well. You strike him as someone who has been overindulged in your life, treated as a lady of distinction. It would certainly explain your bratty attitude.

“I am not against the amenities of the commonfolk,” he offers indifferently. “As long as there is a clean surface, it will do.” It’s not like he hadn’t fucked in some of the filthiest brothels on the Street of Silk back in King’s Landing. At least there weren’t many rats in Dragonstone.

‘Oi, aell take ye to me own dwelling, m’lord,’ your mother is spouting now. ‘It aes clean, Ae wash the linens m’self.’

“Nonsense.” A man with well-kept clothes is now stepping forward and Daemon believes he recognizes him as the innkeep. He offers his finest suite for the union of Daemon and his freshly wed dragonseed maiden.

Gods, it’s good to be king.

Daemon can’t help but chuckle smugly at the look of absolute dread on your face. You think you’re so special, too important to be fucked by a king apparently. He was going to enjoy showing you otherwise.

His grip has not left your upper arm and it now tightens as he nods to the innkeep, accepting the proposition for a room. The man leads the way and Daemon follows, dragging you along with him and reveling in the way you peer back with sad lamb eyes at your newly minted husband. There is something so deliciously satisfying in tearing you away from that whelp of a lad, in taking what belongs to another simply because he can. It spoke to the primal side of him, the dragon within that would snatch up whatever it pleased without concern for morality.

He desires you now and he would soon have you whether you liked it or not. Rhaenyra had cowed him for far too long and now he’s going to reclaim his manhood, his brutal nature, by taking your bloody virtue on the head of his cock. For the bedroom was just as fierce as any battlefield and Daemon was a seasoned veteran of both arts.

Daemon’s stride is long and resolved as he jerks you closer to his side. You’re reluctant to be close to him, but finally heed the warning and match his pace as you both enter the tavern which also serves as the inn. Upstairs, the balding innkeeper opens the door and ushers Daemon into his freely provided chambers, with his unwilling maiden shuffling in beside him.

The room is quite nice for what it is. Accommodations for peasant folk were typically a mix of ramshackle furniture and blankets with patched holes in them, if the mattress had linens at all. This chamber is simple, but the furniture looks as though it were hand-crafted in town. The bed is very obviously carved by a skilled carpenter and topped with a red blanket as though it were actually a fine establishment.

“This will do nicely,” he nods to the innkeep. Even though Daemon knows he is not expected to offer compensation as an esteemed guest, he let’s you go from his grasp momentarily to fish a coin from his purse, and places it in the man’s hand. “My thanks,” Daemon offers plainly with a dismissive nod, declaring his desire to be left alone with his prize.

“My pleasure, My King,” the innkeeper says with an overzealous bow as he closes the door behind him, finally leaving Daemon alone with you.

You stand there looking like a stunned baby bird who has just fallen from the nest. Your hands are clasped together in front of your stomach as though that might defend you from his designs.

He smirks at you with a pointed laugh as he draws close. Daemon apprises you thoroughly, circling you like a beast as he takes in every sign of weakness, every swallow, every carefully withheld whimper.

“You know what will happen, girl?” he finally breaks the silence as he comes to a stop right behind you.

“Y-yes,” you answer unenthusiastically. The tremulous tone of your voice both excites and amuses him.

Daemon’s hands reach out to your waist then, finding the laces that hold your bodice tightly in place and he begins to untie them. You turn rapidly on your heels to face him, trying in vain to halt his advances. He can’t help but growl at your defiance as he tugs you against him, his grip like a biting jaw on your pliant body.

Grinning wickedly, he glares into your eyes, leaning in so closely that his forehead is against yours and his hot breath is in your face.

“I’m going to take you, little one,” his voice is filled with violence, his tone rough and dangerous. “You will give yourself readily or we can take the difficult path. But, I promise you would not like how brutish I can be. Especially considering how sore you will be once I take your maidenhood.”

Your expression contorts with hatred and insubordination as resignation tries to take root, but ultimately you refuse to budge. He has not broken your spirit yet, but he knows he soon will. Daemon hopes to avoid being truly cruel to you, that is unless you remind him of his fucking wife by being so gods damned obstinate. Then he might just be forced to take his impotence out on you.

“Or maybe…” he continues with a sardonic twitch of his brow. “Maybe since you’re behaving like such an ungrateful bitch, I’ll just fuck you hard and deep until I spill seed in your unspoiled little cunt. I might even keep you here all day, perhaps all night. I have not wet my cock for at least a moon’s length and I am wont to gorge myself in you.”

Your breath hitches at his menacing coercion and tears begin to well in your eyes. It doesn’t bother him, in fact he thinks you might look even more attractive when you’re crying. Most importantly, you nod subtly as you finally understand the truth of your situation, that he has conquered your rebuffs and brought you low before him. You should be much more compliant now.

Daemon presses a kiss against your cheek, relishing the taste of your fear and the way your body tenses in his arms. “Good girl,” he states in a calmer voice.

He swiftly turns you around again, his fingers moving deftly to work the laces of your corset free. You are sobbing quietly and even though he relishes the idea of making you submit, of seeing your eyes red and swollen as you take him to the hilt, it’s becoming tiresome to hear as he undresses you.

“Would you cease with all that incessant blubbering?” he chides you with palpable irritation. He pulls at your laces, then the fabric of the bodice, going back and forth to loosen it enough so he remove it from your body.

“I’m scared,” you peep. “That you will hurt me.” You’re reminding him of a bird once more, perhaps a little chick with no wings to fly, sniffling and pathetic as you accept your fate.

Daemon lets out an exasperated sigh. He would almost rather you be angry and spiteful than sniveling like this. He should have known to use a different tact, but he’s been out of practice for quite some time. He now sees with clarity that you’d be far more susceptible to seduction rather than brute force, but his anger with Rhaenyra had him on edge.

He places his hands on each of your shoulders and cranes his neck forward until his lips meet the spot below your right ear. You jump as he presses a gentle kiss against your skin, his fingers reaching over and caressing along your collarbone. He can feel you relax considerably with his shift in behavior and takes the opportunity to slide the sleeves of your dress down your arms.

“You need not be scared, little bird,” he whispers into your flesh as he leaves another kiss wet against the base of your neck. “I have bedded many a maiden in my time, and I assure you that I am a far more experienced and skillful lover than that untried boy you call husband.”

You swallow with difficulty and then your whole chest heaves upward as you let out a shaky breath. He is not sure if you’re still apprehensive about the pain involved in the act itself or if you dislike hearing him speak ill of your new spouse. It matters not, for Daemon knows he is best suited to tend to your needs on this day, and he will deliver you swiftly from your pain if you serve him well. He could also make it much worse than it has to be if you don’t.

But for the moment, you’re obliging him, not even resisting as he slips the sleeves of your dress off of your hands and they fall to your side. He groans at the pale skin bared to him, feverish at the thought of groping those large tits of yours without the restraint of any bindings.

“I know how best to alleviate your discomfort, my dear,” he continues, his breath tickling your skin. “I know how to hasten you to pleasure.” Daemon sucks teasingly at the lobe of your ear and delights as you shiver and goosebumps break out across the exposed flesh peering out from your low neckline. He is getting so eager now, craving the way you’ll squirm beneath him as he touches you, as he claims you.

He rocks the slackened bodice down over your waist, wiggling it from side to side until it clears your hips and the entire gown finally falls to the floor in a heap. You still don a sleeveless cloth chemise underneath that goes down past your knees, but the fabric is so thin that he can see the outline of your figure right through it.

Daemon feels the hairs on the back of his neck bristle as his cock bulges painfully against his breeches. He’d been so caught up in taming you, so fervent at the thought of plundering your shores, that he hadn’t even realized how much he was aching for you.

With a surge of fist and cord, his trousers are on the ground and he practically tears his braies off so he can press his throbbing length against you sooner. Being liberated from his smallclothes leaves his member free to prod the valley of your arse, and he yanks you back tightly against his chest with a grunt that makes you chirp. You are his sweet, helpless baby bird, ready to be devoured by the fox.

As though pulled by an invisible force, his hands are already snaking around to your front catching your breasts, one in each hand as he kneads them forcefully. You let out a strangled cry of distress as he tweaks your nipples firmly and Daemon’s eyes roll up at the supple, yet dense give of your breasts.

“By the old gods,” he rasps out, looking over her shoulder at the beautiful sight below of cleavage and ample bosom turning in his grip. “These are surely sacred treasures befitting a king.”

He has to feel you without the interference of meddling fabric, needs to see your breasts in all their splendor, to touch-taste-suck them until you cry out. A growl erupts through his nasal cavity and he abruptly yanks your shift down your shoulders, ripping the straps in the process of revealing your remarkable tits.

Seeing your exposed bosom, Daemon grinds his cock into your arse with arousal, his restraint faltering with the promise of you. He spins you towards him, walking backwards to the bed and drawing you by the hands with him. He glances up to see the uneasy expression on your face, the blush in your cheeks as you allow him to lead you. His cheekbones rise and his brow furrows slightly, regarding you with discernment and maybe a sense of pride as you walk bravely forward.

Daemon decides after brief consideration, that he likes you this way: vulnerable, yet courageous. The thought is fleeting as he hits the edge of the bed and sits down without hesitation, tugging you close until you are standing in the space between his parted thighs. Your tits are right in his face now, just where he wants them.

With an aggressive pull, he wrenches the shift from your body, laying you completely bare to him. He doesn’t even know where to begin, so much pale and youthful skin to take in that it makes him absolutely ravenous. Daemon’s hand reaches behind your back, holding you in place as he practically inhales your breast into his mouth. You writhe in his embrace, trying to back away from the intensity of his hungry maw to no avail as his strong arms keep you effortlessly in place.

He nips at the stiff peak, relishing the way you jump in response. Daemon’s hand slides downwards, cupping your round, tight ass with a squeeze. He leans back, taking in the view for a moment as he licks with the point of his tongue around your pale pink areola. He switches to the other beautifully pliant tit, tracing a line with his tongue across the valley of your breasts.

Daemon sucks hungrily at your nipple, palming the other with fanatical tenacity. He can feel your body wanting to withdraw, the way it pushes for more and pulls back at the same time, yet your feet remain firmly planted. He’d praise you for being so mannerly if his mouth weren’t full with your delicious tit at the moment.

He can feel his pulse pounding throughout his cock, standing erect between his legs and starving for any attention it can get from you. He relinquishes his grip on your breast, daring an attempt at getting you to relieve his torment as he clutches your hand and brings it down. Your hand retreats backwards, not wishing to participate, but Daemon is firm with you, guiding you to wrap your little bird wings around his engorged member.

Tepid, featherlight fingers graze against the sensitive skin of his too-fat-with-blood cockhead, and he lets loose a growl against the slope of your chest. “Fuck,” he hisses, sucking air through his teeth as you reluctantly touch him. At this point, his sexual deprivation paired with the immense lust he feels for you makes even your untrained pawing feel flawless in execution.

He’s quickly reaching the point of no return, his carnal urges so great that he knows he must have you soon. Daemon’s fingers lower to your tight little cunt, checking to see how ready you are for his impending intrusion. A knowing grin spreads across his cheeks as he feels the silken wet state of your folds.

“Mmm,” he pulls off of your nipple, peering up at you with violet eyes full of mischief. “Are you holding back how much you desire me, little bird? You naughty thing. What will your husband think?”

You flush red and while he was hoping to see indignation, he’s not displeased with the look of yearning present instead. Had he actually managed to ensnare you with the capable way he handled your body? Had he charmed you into his grasp when it seemed impossible you might actually enjoy yourself? Your silence is complicity as far as he is concerned.

Daemon smirks up at you deviously before switching back to your left breast, his tongue dancing across the tender nub as his fingers test and prod at your entrance. He doesn’t feel a solid membrane, but one that has already been teased on multiple occasions, likely coaxed from the efforts of the wanton little dragonseed herself. He could take her virtue with very little pain and she might even find pleasure in the act.

Dragging creamy nectar up from your heat, he holds your hood back, pressing his middle finger to your swollen pearl with a light, circular motion. You jolt into him, leaning forward as though your knees might buckle with even the slightest of coaxing from his touch.

He does not relent, continuing his attentions to both of your breathtaking breasts as he caresses the peak of your sex with practiced grace. You begin to whine, flinching your shoulders with every nip and suck of your tender nipples, your body becoming overly sensitive with his continued ministrations.

Daemon can feel the tension in your body rising and knows that you are ready for him. And not a moment too soon, he muses to himself, lest he lose his fucking mind with desperate need of you.

He stands up suddenly, gently walking you back a couple steps. He then picks you up into his arms with one fluid motion before depositing you with careful precision onto the bed. You look up at him with big eyes, dilated black with arousal as he climbs on top of you.

“You are a sight to behold, dear girl,” he says hoarsely, his voice heavy with desire. “I will not regret this joining and nor should you.” You look bewildered, a flurry of emotions all rolled into one, acutely aware and fuzzy at the same time.

For the first time, Daemon kisses you, and the feeling is like molten lava blazing through his heart and pooling in his gut. His cock is hard and threatening against your thighs, seeking entry with every jerk and twitch. His tongue sinks through your parted lips, dipping into the heat of your mouth, wanting to consume you whole.

He parts from your lips with an intake of breath, declaring gruffly, “You know that you belong to me now?”

With your quiet acceptance, Daemon positions his head at your core, pressing in just enough to fit snugly against your entrance. Leaning down once more, he cradles your back in his arms and presses another kiss to your lips. He needs to keep you distracted, his tongue dancing with yours, keeping you from dwelling too long on unavoidable pain. Gods knew, the feel of your passionate kiss was enough to divert his attention away from all meaningful thought besides the easing of your hurt.

Without warning, Daemon thrusts into you, breaking through your virtue as he holds you tightly. You cry out in startled agony as his length enters you, tears welling in the corners of your eyes at the sudden flash of pain. He holds position within you, soothing you with hushed whispers and gentle kisses through the worst of it.

As he thought, you are not upset for long, within moments already wiggling your hips around his swollen cock and hungry for more. He can’t help but grin with smug satisfaction at the way your body begs for more without speaking any words. Daemon will give you exactly what you crave. In fact, he loves how quickly you’ve become his little bird, his sweet harlot, forsaking your new husband for him in no more than a hand’s width of daylight.

He winces as he begins to move again; the way your cunt clings to his intruding cock for dear life is almost too much to bear. Daemon pulls back slightly to take you in and is not disappointed by the way your pretty lips are spread and panting out quick breaths of ecstasy. He had not lied to you, he’d certainly been with his fair share of maidens. None have come close to matching the beauty of your deliverance from chastity. You take to his girth with aplomb, to the act of love-making with a passionate, melodious abandon.

Daemon would watch your blissfully lurid expression, listen to your dulcet of sinful delectation, all day if he could. But, it’s not long before he can tell that your little cunny is going to give him trouble. If it hadn’t been so long since the last time he knew a pleasure better than his fucking hand, he might be able to deal with you. But, you are so fucking tight and he’s so wound up, that he opts to go out with a clash of smacking flesh. If he cannot make you peak this time, then he most certainly will on the next try, and he will most certainly take you again.

Your lilting moans drive him closer to the edge, pushing him faster than he’d like. Rearing up onto his knees, he clutches your hips tightly and spreads you across his lap. Daemon desperately tries to push you along to your climax, knowing it will be a race that he is likely to lose. He’s not expecting the intense response you give him or the way your hips buck as he coaxes your pearl to completion.

His eyes widen in disbelief, wincing as your pelvis seizes and you clamp down on him with a force so powerful it undoes him. “Fuccccking Hells!” he growls out sounding like a gruff animal as your walls milk his seed forth. Daemon’s member pulses violently, your muscles finally letting up only to begin rolling in waves across his length. “Gods fucking damn, girl!” he steadies himself against the bed, almost falling on top of you in the process.

His release lurches through his body, demanding and powerful as he erupts into you. He is faintly aware of the way your chanting with delight, muttering something incoherent while your small hands remain fastened to his back, holding onto him. The overwhelming rush finally passes and he is left feeling weak, breathless, but oh so fucking good.

Daemon wilts onto you, pressing a contented kiss against your lips. He’s not entirely surprised, but is still pleased when your hands find the back of his neck, deepening the kiss with vehemence. He feels the musculature of your inner lining contract upon his cock again and shakes his head as he parts from your lips.

“No. No more of that,” he gripes, still too sensitive to take that kind of abuse.

He recoils as he withdraws from you, unable to believe how big his cock looks, not fully hard, but still excessively fat considering. Daemon lies down beside you, wrapping his arm behind you and pulling you close.

You come willingly, cuddling into the crook of his arm as your hungry fingers roam about his jerkin.

And then it dawns on him, that in his impatience, he never even bothered to fully disrobe. He dutifully unfastens the clasps on his leather vest, displacing you for a moment as he tosses it aside and tears off his doublet.

“There,” he says with confidence. “Now you can have the full show.”

You laugh, a mirthful sound that makes his heart ache in a good way. Gods, he had really needed to get in a good plowing. He can feel all of his anger and tension melting away as he takes you back into his arms.

“So? Was it all bad?” he asks, fishing for compliments because he loves to hear them. He’d especially welcome them from a stubborn creature such as yourself.

Quietly, you shake your head, seeming at a loss for words. He could understand. A lot had happened in such a short amount of time. He’d essentially stolen you from the path you’d been traveling, plucked you up for himself without your say so. Daemon wouldn’t prod you to talk about it now that his appetites were sated, wouldn’t tease you about your husband now that he had claimed you fully.

He raises a brow as you speak unexpectedly, listening intently for your first real words since he’d imposed himself upon you.

“It was enjoyable,” you answer respectfully, your lusting eyes betraying your true feelings as your hands rove over his now bare chest, eager for more.

“Only enjoyable, little bird?” he decides to tease you a little bit, just for fun.

That mellifluous laugh returns, making him smile genuinely as he gazes upon you. Daemon strokes your back, relishing in the warm plushness of your skin as he settles into bed.

“Why do you keep calling me little bird?” she asks instead of padding his ego. “I am a dragon just as you… Am I not?”

His whole face lights up with a self-satisfied smirk. “Oh, are you a dragon now? I thought you were just a little bird.”

“I am a seed,” you contend with him, far more seriously than he expects you should. “I am of your line too.” You run your fingers into your disheveled hair, twirling cornsilk strands as evidence.

“Well, yes, but you are not quite a dragon. It’s true you have wings and the means to fly, but that does not make a dragon, my delicate little bird,” he cannot help but say it with a mocking tone, enjoying your reactions too much to let it go.

You dare a fearless smack at his chest, indignant and pouting. He would normally kill someone for laying hands on him in any manner of disrespect, but Daemon does not mind it from you in this moment.

“Perhaps, you do have some fire in you yet,” he taunts you with amusement. You look at him wide eyed as though he’s about to admit that you are a dragon just as he is. You make this too easy. He chuckles as he continues to rib you, “I’ll call you my firebird then. I think that suits you nicely.”

Daemon’s brow winks with humor as you take another swing at him. He holds your arms down to your sides as he pulls you on top of him. He let’s you go as your annoyance settles, regarding you fondly as he tucks loose tresses of silvery hair behind your ears.

“I hope you know that I’m going to come back for you again and again, my little firebird,” he utters in a lower tone, his voice taking on a more serious quality now.

You give him a twisted look of both gladness and remorse, your mind unable to decide whether this is a good or a bad thing.

“Do you care for your husband?” he asks earnestly, not pleased with the idea of another man laying hands on you. “I can conscript him to the queen’s army if you wish to free yourself from him. You need only ask.”

You look torn, but he can tell you’re considering his words carefully. “He is not a bad man as far as I know. The marriage was selected by my mother, my husband earns a living well enough to pay my way.”

It bothers Daemon to hear you call the man your husband, even if it’s true. He considers killing the man masquerading as your groom for you should undoubtedly belong entirely to him and no other.

“Paying your way will no longer be an issue. I will ensure that you are financially supported from this day forth, but I will not give you up,” he hears the words spilling from his mouth and feels like an old fool. He’d celebrated too many namedays to be spewing this lovesick shit? He couldn’t help it though. You stoked a fire inside of him that made him feel alive and vibrant, he needed to keep burning with you.

“I appreciate that,” you offer with a small, but hesitant smile. “I’m sure my mother will be thrilled. She has always tried to make sure I’m well looked after. It’s unfortunate you could not find me a day sooner. I’m not sure how to face him now,” she says with a trembling lip. “He will expect to bed me. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to. It would make me nothing but a whore.”

“Hush,” Daemon says disagreeably. “Don’t say such things.” He finds himself cradling your sweet head against his chest, hating how true your words are and that he is the one responsible for your situation. He must make it his own responsibility to free you from it then.

“I’ll pull you to castle staff then,” he offers, grasping at possible solutions. It would not be wise to tempt Rhaenyra’s wrath under her own roof, but it would be a means to separate you from your husband at least temporarily, until something more lasting could be devised. There were many positions that would keep you far from his wife’s vicinity as well, if she would even notice that he had taken a lover to begin with.

He might also simply murder the bastard and be done with it, but it might be nice to have you close by in Dragonstone too for opportunistic dalliances.

You begin to protest the idea of going to work at the castle, but he won’t hear any of it and interrupts you. “I will give you a choice then, in recompense for what I’ve taken from you. Will you stay with me, little firebird, or with your husband?” He peers at you with thoughtful bluish-red irises, waiting to hear your answer. He has already decided that he will abide by whatever ruling you make, at least for a time. If you wish to bed your husband as well as him, then that will be your prerogative.

“I do not wish to stay with my husband,” you say quicker than he anticipated.

“Well,” he practically gloats with a mischievous grin. “You’ll be coming home with me then.” Daemon presses a happy kiss against your lips, the sight of your bosom sinfully crushed against his chest sends a pang of desire to his cock, signaling it for action. “But, we might as well make good use of the room first. It was graciously afforded to us after all.”

The Great Hall was bristling with celebration held in honor of Viserys’ latest grandson, Joffrey Velaryon. The massive chamber was alight with dancing shadows, decorated grandiosely with Targaryen tapestries hung where all could witness to demonstrate wealth and power. Long tables filled with the most toothsome of fine delicacies lined both sides of the throne room. Perhaps Father was trying to distract the noble assembly with pomp, away from the very obvious fact that Rhaenyra’s children were all bastards.

Numerous guests filed in with their entourages in tow, announced by the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Criston Cole. Ryna grimaced at who he declared next.

“House Lannister with their lord, Jason Lannister, Lord Paramount of the West, and Master of Casterly Rock,” Cole’s voice was stout enough, but had nowhere near the authority his predecessor, Lord Harrold Westerling had in his day.

The Lannister strode at the head of his retinue, like a preening peacock adorned in so much crimson and gold that one might think he were royalty and not the hosting family.

Ryna sat sandwiched between her good-brother Laenor Velaryon and Lyonel Strong, a position that made her feel most irritable as she was not even allowed the courtesy of being placed next to her own kin. The Hand was pleasant enough, albeit mostly a stranger, but she had never grown close to Laenor given how much time he spent preoccupied with affairs outside of his marriage.

As always her father, Viserys, sat proudly next to Rhaenyra, his named heir and, one might wonder at times, favored daughter, despite how much he protested to the contrary.

When the Lannister party drew close to the high table, Lord Jason bowed before them with a flourish and as his party withdrew, he climbed the steps and approached the King.

“Congratulations, Your Grace,” he fawned in the manner only a Lannister could muster, a tone both disrespectful and servile at the same time. “Healthy babes are a worthy cause for celebration. Where is the strapping lad? I had hoped to pay my respects.”

Rhaenyra piped up this time, looking exhausted and not fully recovered from child bearing even though it had been days since Joffrey’s birth. Ryna supposed the wee babe had been keeping her awake more often than not.

“Prince Joffrey is resting. He would not tolerate staying up any longer. You know how babes are, always sleeping,” she replied, playing into Jason’s feigned deference.

It was then that the Lannister shot a glance down the table at Ryna. She tried to smile just politely enough so as not to encourage more attentions from the man, but it was without success.

“Your Grace…” he started off in that same falsely sycophantic tenor. “Has the Princess given any more thought to the courtship I proposed?”

Father looked down the table at her, leaning forward slightly so that he might see the expression on her face. Ryna’s eyes were pleading ‘No’ while trying to remain civil in the lord’s presence. Viserys’ features hardened with annoyance and he rested back into his chair.

“The Princess should be happy to consider your attentions. After all she is but ten and nine summers and still not wed,” his voice was stony and strict, markedly cross with her for shirking her duties even longer than Rhaenyra had.

Jason Lannister ruffled his feathers as he voiced appreciation to her father and stepped down the length of the table until he came to stand before her. Ryna had to choke back a smirk when the thought occurred to her that the Lannister’s sigil should be a primping cock instead of a lion, for Jason had more in common with a fowl than the fearsome and proud predator.

“Princess, I trust you will save me a dance?” he squawked and it took all she had to keep from rolling her eyes.

“I shall try, Lord Jason,” she answered with a prim smile through grit teeth. “But, I have not been feeling well. It might be something I ate.”

Father shot her an irate look and Ryna had no doubt that if they had been seated next to each other, that she would have felt his palpable frustration.

“The Princess is in good health,” Viserys said, with a snide smile. “Expect her company once the revelry starts.”

With a pompous smirk, Jason Lannister excused himself and made his way down the steps and back to the banquet. Ryna heaved a sigh, finding it difficult to hide her true feelings on this subject, despite years of learning to comport herself in the presence of refined company.

Viserys was still glaring at her, and she reckoned he might be wrathful enough to cause a row amongst guests and their kin alike.

“Ryna, draw near,” he called out and she rose from her seat and came to where he sat.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the birth of my grandchild, but unofficially, I had hoped you’d make use of the congregation of eligible lords and find a husband once and for all. Enough of this procrastination. Find a man worthy or I shall make the choice for you.” His voice was low so that the company in attendance of the great feast could not hear them.

“You would wed me to a Lannister?” she practically spat. “Just to fill the coffers with his dowry?!”

“Watch your tone with me, girl. You have heard me and I will not suffer your insolence any longer. Leave me so I might enjoy the festivities.” Viserys turned his head back to the next guests approaching the King’s table. He was done with her, his decision final.

Ryna could not help but to stomp swiftly away with a childish petulance that did not become a lady. Leaving her family behind, she slipped into the shadows of the great pillars that lined the throne room and made her way down a short corridor until she was outside in the crisp night air.

She let out a troubled sigh, wishing now that she had brought a goblet of wine with her. Ryna walked to the edge of the stone parapet and looked down at the splendor of King’s Landing in fall of the leaf. The color marking the trees was apparent even at nightfall and the sea was glittering in the moonlight just past the city’s edge. The sight made her feel both reverence and panic in equal measure, with a mounting desire to climb atop her dragon and take flight away.

Why should a princess of Valyrian blood be constrained to laws of man when she had the power to tame a dragon? She should be free to do as she longed to - to wed whom she desired, and not be forced to play along to such formal vulgarities, duty or not.

Ryna was so deep in thought that the nearby sound of a clearing throat startled her back to awareness. She turned sharply and could just barely make out the figure of a man leaning against the massive stone bricks of the castle wall behind her. Then her eyes caught the blinding billow of moonlit tresses and she knew it must be her uncle, Daemon, for no other Targaryen males yet had his height.

Daemon had returned from exile a year ago to attend to the funeral of his wife, Laena Velaryon, who had died in childbirth. Although to be more technically accurate, her dragon Vhagar had incinerated her once the baby would not come out. The end result was the same; Daemon widowed once again.

She had been closer with her uncle in the past, back before Rhaenyra’s wedding to Laenor, but her uncle had made himself scarce as of late. He spent much of his time away from King’s Landing, presumably finishing up his business in Pentos or simply behaving restlessly as Daemon was wont to do. Often she had observed his comings and goings from a distance by the sight and screech of Caraxes in the sky outside her window.

Daemon stepped forth from the shadows and approached her, yet halted at a pace’s length, his eyes roving up and down her form in keen appraisal.

He leaned in closely, his eyes of violet hooded as he whispered in a velvety, ardent tone, “My you’ve grown, niece.” His closeness and the heat of his gaze caused her cheeks to flush, and she could not help but feel a flutter in her chest.

For a moment, Ryna just stood there incredulously, unable to think of how to respond. He had never shown any interest in her before, no matter how much she had desired it. Daemon had only ever had eyes for Rhaenyra it seemed, and Ryna had always remained a child in his eyes. She had honestly forgotten those long lost unrequited desires until his simple greeting brought them all rushing back like a wave breaking hard as the tide comes in.

“Uncle,” she acknowledged him, yet scarce a word could she find in answer to his bold suggestion.

“Such beauty should never be sullied with a frown,” he continued, his demeanor charming without effort as he brushed a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Tell Uncle what is troubling you.”

His inquiry proved to be somewhat of a balm to her tensions, providing a welcome transition into a topic she could put words to.

“Father has given me ultimatum to choose a husband lest he choose one for me,” she pouted, her lips pursing and her eyes sullen.

“Surely it cannot be so grim, sweetling,” he reassured her smoothly and she now saw he was holding a silver chalice adorned with the the three-headed dragon, likely filled with wine. “I imagine you’d have your pick of many fine and wealthy lords.”

“I’m afraid the selection is quite lacking,” Ryna scoffed gently, feeling a fondness stir as she recalled the old pet name he’d given her in many years past. It had been some time since she had heard him utter the word, but the fact that it sounded so well when spoken by him did not escape her notice.

Daemon quickly turned her around by the shoulder, then with a firm yet gentle hand placed against the small of her back, he led her towards the balustrade. His hand remained steadfast even as they halted, and Ryna shivered involuntarily at the feel of his fingers tracing the fabric of her gown with a tender and possessive touch.

“Let me guess,” he relished with sardonic glee. “Some old and fat oaf of a lord… No doubt a widower with a dozen children?”

“That and much worse,” she scowled thinking of all of the potential suitors that had approached her father for her hand. “A Lannister so full of himself that is makes my skin crawl to think of his paws upon me.”

An easy laugh escaped Daemon’s mouth and she thought with a wry smile that many must share her disgust for the lions.

“Ah, Lannisters. What a bunch of cunts,” he chuckled condescendingly, stealing a wanton glance down her bodice. “And the rest? Are there none suitable, niece?”

Ryna pondered the question, but could not think of a single man that had caught her attention. Except for Daemon of course, but that had never been a real option, especially after his transgressions with Rhaenyra some years back. Father had tried to keep it secret, but she’d crept into the throne room upon hearing his furious yelling and had heard the entire ordeal take place between the brothers.

Even still, she could not imagine marrying anyone of plain blood. In fact, it repulsed her to think that Father would ever marry a Hightower without an ounce of Valyrian heritage. And even though her brothers were technically half Targaryen, they were both young, and while Aemond seemed sweet, Aegon was a reprehensible human being.

The answer it seemed was simple after all. “No,” she replied curtly with a rueful sigh. “There are none who please me… But, I fear Father will not be thwarted this time. He will not permit me to celebrate my twentieth nameday without a husband.”

She glanced over at her uncle and took in the almost ethereal way his pale skin glowed in the moonlight. He hadn’t changed at all, like an ageless god from the legends she’d so loved as a girl. His hair swayed against his shoulder in the slight breeze as he took a sip from his cup.

“Ah yes, sweetling, It would seem your father has you in quite the bind,” he said matching her somber tone. “No doubt he believes that time is running short. That you must fulfill your duty to the family and start producing heirs before you get much older.”

“He has been patient with me. Rhaenyra shirked her duty at first, but still acquiesced to marry at seven and ten years, but I… Well, they will be calling me an old maid soon.” She hung her head down, feeling ashamed for the way she’d behaved towards her father. He had meant well for her after all, and Ryna had done nothing but rebuke him as reward for years of lax freedom.

Daemon removed his hand from her back, sliding it gently up her arm until it came to rest below her chin. He tipped her jaw up to meet his face and she was met with a kind smile.

“Do not ever lower your head, sweetling. You are a dragon,” he said warmly, letting go so that he could sit against the stone wall beneath the balustrade. “Now, perhaps we can solve this little problem.. What would make a suitor worthy of your hand in marriage?”

She felt a hot wave of embarrassment rise within her, for she knew well the answer that rested upon her tongue, yet dared not speak the words aloud. Surely, Father would never let her have him even if she begged on her knees. Even so, Ryna didn’t see the point in lying completely. She would be honest about the qualities she sought in a partner, even if not being direct about the person whom she had in mind.

“It is important to me that my offspring remain pure. I do not wish to mix with those who are laden to the ground. That doesn’t leave me with many options,” she spoke softly, her head tilting up towards her uncle as she finished.

There was an intrigued sparkle in Daemon’s eyes as he comprehended her words and a smile wove its way across his face. “A dragon’s clutch should remain undiluted and pure, I agree. The blood of Old Valyria is powerful and should be preserved.” He hummed in approval as he wrapped his free hand around her waist and pulled her a touch closer. She gasped softly, unaccustomed to being so close to him.

“Tell me, little dragon. Have you never considered your uncle as a match before?” Daemon’s words cut like his sword, Dark Sister, through the cool night air.

Ryna’s lips parted as if to speak, unsure of how to proceed. He had taken the bait she’d unintentionally laid out and given he suggested it himself, the prince must be partial to the idea. But, Daemon was an enigma and she found it difficult to gage his intentions at all times.

“I have,” she said concisely. “It is the only obvious choice when it comes to such aims, but… It is… complicated.”

She saw his eyes flare, brow rising in challenge as he gripped more tightly around her waist. He placed his chalice down on the stone and drew her even closer to him. His knee wedged between her skirts to rest between her legs and her breast was now pressing indecently against his chest. It was not a position she was familiar to enduring. Ryna knew she should pull away, but Daemon had lulled her into compliance like a Dragonkeeper.

“Oh? And why is it so complicated, sweetling?” he asked with a smug grin and mock concern as he looked down at her.

Her uncle’s words snapped her out of it. How could he feign ignorance to the current situation?

“After your,” she began but found her mouth grow exceptionally dry after only two words. She turned her head to the side and brought her hand to her lips, clearing her throat before she continued. “After your exploits with Rhaenyra, Uncle… I doubt Father would consider letting us wed.”

Daemon’s gaze darkened with the mention of Rhaenyra. “Ah yes, that little indiscretion.” He said with an air of indifference that turned into an irritated smirk. “What do you know of it?”

“I overheard the two of you in the Great Hall that day. Father’s booming voice drew me in and then I stayed once I saw you lying on the floor with guards on either side. I was worried for you, but then I heard Father’s words. That you had taken Rhaenyra’s purity in some brothel… And you did not deny it.” The memory was not a fond one for Ryna. She could remember the inebriated state he’d been in as he asked her father for Rhaenyra’s hand in marriage as a result of their transgression.

“No, I did not deny it. And I did not confirm it either,” his voice was harder than usual, sterner as though upset by her knowledge of what transpired that day. “In all truth, I didn’t do much. I merely took her to a decent establishment to show her the reality of life outside the castle.”

“If you did not sully her virture, then why would you not refute such slanderous claims made against you, Uncle? Why accept exile for it… Again?” she asked furrowing her eyebrows, her hands with a mind of their own coming to rest on his shoulders.

He chuffed like a dragon, the only aspect missing was perhaps smoke escaping from his nostrils. “Why would I deny it? What would be the point?” his words were gruff. “What could I have said to convince your father that Rhaenyra was still untouched? Was I supposed to prostrate myself before him as a loyal dog to prove it?”

“You were already at his feet. Why not tell him the truth? Unless you hoped only to make him believe you besmirched her honor, just so you might wed her and recover your claim to the throne,” there was a certain amount of hurt in her voice as well as misgiving.

Ryna had never spoken to her uncle in this manner, or anyone so far her elder for that matter. But, part of her felt scorned, wronged for how much stock he had placed in Rhaenyra instead of her. She had to know what his true motivations had been and what he was capable of carrying out in order to get what he desired.

“You are treading on thin ice, little girl,” he voiced dangerously as his grip on her hips tightened. “How dare you make me out to be some incorrigible fiend. If anyone has been wronged in this whole… ordeal it has been me.”

His knee shifted a bit higher between her legs as he pulled her hips forward onto his lap, his thigh pressed firmly against her center. She whined faintly with the force of it, even through the layers of her skirts it made her core throb with unknown want.

“Iksos bona skoros ao pendagon hen issa?” he resumed in a more measured tone, his voice lower now. Is that what you think of me?- “That I only wanted Rhaenyra for the throne?”

His hands slid up her back, pulling her flush against him. Ryna’s lips pressed against the leather of his collar as he whispered in her ear, “Or do I detect a hint of jealousy?”

Was she so transparent? The very thought of him reading her so accurately made her feel about as obvious as the sun is bright. Despite Daemon’s embarrassing insinuation, it was impossible to think whilst being held in such close proximity to him. She attempted to regain her composure, but his hot breath against her ear and the way he dug into her heat with his knee was driving her mad.

“And what if I was?” she finally blurted out. “You never once glanced my way, not like you did her. I do not wish to be second best even to my own husband.” Ryna tried to make distance, attempting to push away from his chest.

Daemon wouldn’t allow it. His grip was strong and possessive, making it clear that he was not willing to let her go just yet.

“Who said you would be second best?” his words spilled out gravely, sweet, yet viscous as they fell from his lips. “Have you so easily forgotten how I used to dote on you? How I called you my little sweetling? Do you not remember how I would let you ride with me on Caraxes before you claimed your own beast?”

Ryna was taken aback by his perception of the past, not realizing that her uncle had remembered her so fondly. Perhaps she had spent too much time dwelling on inconsequential matters. She peered up at Daemon as he held her forearms tightly in front of his chest. The matter of Rhaenyra was still of some concern, but clearly she was mistaken about a great deal.

“Yes, Uncle, I do recall. And that is what made my envy all the more dire when you attempted to pursue my sister, barely noticing me as I tried to bid you welcome home. I felt you had forsaken me in favor of her.” She didn’t feel obligated to mention how desperately lonely she had felt when he was sent away once again, nor the deep sense of heartache she had experienced upon hearing about his wedding to Laena.

Dameon’s grip on her lessened and the softness now present in his features made her feel a little more relaxed. His hands caressed up her back once more as he sat down on the stone parapet and brought her fully onto his lap. Ryna’s dress protested, the skirts fighting as he pulled her knees forward to straddle him. It was an obscene, intimate position for a young maiden, but she couldn’t help be reminded of better times when she found great comfort in that same lap.

“Your envy?” he mused almost sympathetically. “Have you been pining away for me all of this time, sweetling?”

“No,” she answered abruptly, feeling the hot sting of mortification as he continued to reveal the inner yearnings of her heart.

He let out a deep, hearty chuckle as he brought a hand to her face. Long fingers traced the outline of her cheek before wrapping around her chin. She had forgotten the contentment of his affections even though the way she recieved them had been altered now that she was grown.

“No?” he echoed with mock disbelief.” He gently gripped her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look at only him as he spoke harshly. “Do not attempt to deceive me, niece. You could never tell-tale when you were young, and you still lack the talent.”

Daemon’s hand released her chin, sliding it down to rest against the base of her throat. “You forget I can see right through you… I know what you’re really thinking.”

“What am I thinking then?” Her voice was not haughty, but tinged with awe as his rakish wiles seduced her into calm once more.

“You’re thinking…” he paused, bringing his hand to brush a strand of hair from her face before caressing her cheek. “You’re thinking that you would welcome my touch further. You’d welcome my affections. My attention.”

His hand slipped further down, sliding along the neckline of her bodice he drew a finger against the top of her breast. “You’d welcome more than that. You want so much more than that. No matter how you pretend otherwise.”

Ryna’s breath stuttered out disjointedly, her chest heaving not just from his capricious words, but the unfamiliar touch of his hand at the swell of her breast. It was not at all unpleasant, but it was unseemly. The sounds of the banquet carried on from inside, but nobody had disturbed their solitude yet. She would venture an allowance, just this once.

“And what do you want, Uncle?” Ryna gazed at him, entranced at being the object of his focus after having been starved of it for so long.

As Daemon looked into her eyes, his expression darkened with what appeared to be lust and longing. His palm lowered over the curve of her breast, cupping her soft mound gently as he leaned his forehead against hers. A low whimper struck against Ryna’s closed mouth as his fingers grazed lightly down her bust, traveling over her ribcage and then rounding to her hips.

“Nyke jaelagon ao, jorrāelagon mēre,” he purred deeply. I want you, dear one- His lips brushed against hers as though trying to lure them open. “I’ve always wanted you, but thought it too wicked, even for the likes of me, to tarnish you with my degeneracy.”

His hands slid around to the small of her back, pulling her closer with a satisfied grunt. “But, now that I know you’ve been hungering for me, sweetling, I’m beginning to think… that you’ve always been mine. That I’ve wasted so much time hiding from the truth.”

She could feel the heat of his breath upon her face, coaxing her so enticingly into his thrall. Her lips parted to release a quiet breath, but before the air had fully escaped her mouth, Daemon sealed them with a kiss. Even though she had never kissed a man, she was consumed by his fiery passion. She closed her eyes, her fingers wrapping around his back as she whispered hushed, sultry mewls against his lips.

His tongue swept her lower lip, teasing at her mouth until she yielded to him and allowed entrance. The kiss was urgent and demanding, filled with untold desire she’d only read about in old tales of Valyrian mythology. One of Daemon’s hands roamed to the exposed skin at her right knee, bunching the fabric up higher and groaning as his fingers felt the bare skin of her thighs. His lips tasted of Westerosi strongwine and spices, his tongue plundering her mouth as though it were an indulgent ambrosia all its own.

“I should stop before I go too far, sweetling,” he groaned, tearing his mouth away as he regarded her. “I don’t want to ruin you out here in the open… Or at least I do not wish to get caught doing so.” A wicked smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, but the yearning was still present in his eyes.

Ryna fussed at the loss of his sweet kiss, an aching throb now coursing throughout her entire core. Lost in the affections she’d always wanted, she could not possibly think to stop now.

“No, please,” she pleaded without meaning to. The words were barely a soft gasp against his neck as her lips found the pulse of his throat and pressed a gentle kiss to it.

Daemon chuckled at her protestations, leaning his forehead against hers again. It was a simple gesture he had always used in the past to ease her distress, although there was an entirely new meaning to it now, it still made her feel at peace in much the same way.

“What will people say if they see us?” he whispered with feigned anxiety, his hot breath skimming against her dampened lips. “A wicked prince spoiling a young innocent maiden with his turpitude. What sort of debauchery is this?”

Her uncle’s words were laced with a sense of mockery, but she knew he spoke true. She sighed and kissed him once more, making sure to keep it brief lest she become unable to refrain from continuing. Ryna slipped off his lap, feeling her senses slowly return to her. She glanced at the glowing light coming from the hall and exhaled with relief when there was nobody present to see their misconduct.

She smoothed her skirts so that they were not so unkempt and tucked away any loose strands of hair back against her scalp. Daemon took his time in rising from his seat on the parapet, adjusting the front of his trousers slightly as he did so.

“You should return to the party,” his voice was rough with lust and did not sound pleased by the prospect. “At least for now we should keep up appearances. For now…”

“And what of our earlier conversation?” she asked almost demurely, with a submissive tone she was not frequently used to employing. “What of Father’s ultimatum?”

Daemon took a few steps forward, crowding into her as he rested his hands firmly at her waist. “I won’t suffer any suitor but myself to claim you,” he hissed possessively. “Especially not some timid lordling whose ineptitude would bring your heart naught but bitterness, my sweetling.”

Ryna couldn’t help but smile with the ornery way he insisted no other man should wed her, but it would still be difficult to convince Father to allow it.

“How shall we persuade my father that you are worthy than, Uncle?” she peered up at him, her fingers gently clutching the sleeves of his doublet.

“Worthy,” Daemon said with a scoff. “I have the blood of Old Valyria. I am the Prince of the City. I am a dragon, little niece.” He let his hands slide around to her back, gripping her hips greedily. With a swift tug, he yanked her flush against his chest and whispered quietly in her ear. “Name another who is more worthy?”

Gods, he was too good at this. With barely his low trill in her ear, Ryna’s knees felt weak.

“I do not question your value, Daemon. There is no better match in my eyes,” she placed her small hands on his chest and pushed him back so she might look upon him face to face. “But I fear Father will think the worst of your intentions.”

He let out a gruff chuckle at that, a knowing smile spreading wickedly as he tilted his head. “Intentions?” he mused with thick sarcasm. “Yes, how horrible it would be to bed, wed, and impregnate his sweet innocent darling daughter. I’m sure the thought of the latter will be a dagger to his heart.”

“I am speaking in all earnestness, Uncle,” she ruffled, her lower lip pouting out at his jest. “He will think you wish to claim the throne by way of wedding me.”

Daemon chuffed, clearly amused by her petulant scolding. “So, my brother thinks me a scheming opportunist, does he?” With a shrug he dismissed the notion, yet added, “Well, he isn’t wrong.”

A wolfish smirk pulled at his lips as he leaned his head down to her ear once more. “Although, if the throne comes to me as a result of seeding your belly with my babe, my sweet niece, then I certainly won’t complain.”

“You are awful…” she scoffed with disbelief, making space between them again. “How can you not take this seriously? I don’t want you to be sent away again. You know you should renounce any claim to the throne.” Her pale lilac eyes grew wide, peering at him with thinly veiled worry and beginning to gleam as tears threatened to come.

He clenched his jaw at the mention of relinquishing the Iron Throne. “Daor. Nyke jāhor daor,” he growled. No. I will not.- “Do not ask me to lie down like a whipped dog. And do not bring tears to your eyes in an attempt to soften me.” Daemon’s eyes remained cold as they narrowed at her, the fondness all but gone from his voice as he continued.

“I have spent my entire life living to the expectations of others. I will follow the path I know I am destined for.” He gripped her chin roughly, forcing her to look up at him and meet his gaze. “I will claim what is mine by right, and you will be a part of it whether you wish it or not, little niece.”

Ryna attempted to speak, but he stopped her by placing a single finger over her lips.

“You have made it clear that you are mine. You will do as I say. You will wed me and stand at my side when I ascend to the throne. Those are the only outcomes I will accept,” he ordered sternly. “And to ensure it, I will have to use any means necessary. If that includes ruining your innocence to ensure you do not wed another… So be it.”

There was a palpable tension in the air between them. She wished to have the sweet man she had shared her first kiss with back and not the tyrant that stood before her. But, Ryna understood his ambitions, just as everyone in their family did. She knew she had touched upon a sensitive subject, perhaps too insistently, and now regretted digging into a wound that ran exceptionally deep.

Most distressing of all, was that she believed his purpose to be true, even though the thought of what lengths he might have to go to achieve it sometimes haunted her. Now, he might not even trust that she had any faith in him or his calling at all.

“I am grieved,” she replied with a quiet whisper. “I did not mean to say that you should not seek the throne, Uncle, but use it as pretense so that Father lets his guard down. He knows you want it and he does not wish you to have it.”

The truth of it was that between Rhaenyra’s bastards and the Hightower half-blood mongrels, the pairing she’d make together with Daemon would have the strongest claim to the throne. If something were to happen to Rhaenyra, the throne would pass to Ryna, but the realm was still not wont to have even a Targaryen Queen rule over it. If she wed Daemon though, then there would be no question of a higher authority. She had no desire to rule and would pass it to her uncle gladly.

His grip on her chin faltered, the anger leaving his voice and replaced by a tired sigh. “My sweetling, you know not how difficult it has been for me to restrain myself for all these years. You have grown more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.” He spoke low and deliberate as he gently brushed along the line of her jaw. “It was a challenge unto itself, not to ravish you the moment you became a woman, but I was certain your father would geld me for it.”

She could not help but laugh at his admission, although Father had certainly not opted to castrate her uncle for his supposed transgression with Rhaenyra.

“You laugh but only I know how it felt to resist you day after day, year after year,” he growled, voice husky with need. “I was tempted on so many occassions to claim you as my own, to steal you away to Dragonstone and keep you there.”

He leaned closer, burying his nose in her platinum tresses and inhaling deeply of her scent. “And now you’ve left yourself vulnerable, sweetling. Now that I know you want me as much as I desire you… There is nothing that can keep me away.”

“Not even the King,” he added with a huff, his lips moving to trail the smooth skin along her neckline.

She was not sure how to reply to such conviction, especially when it concerned her father. Ryna did not wish ill of him, but then she was sure Daemon would not hurt his own brother. Well, mostly certain at least.

Daemon must have sensed her hesitation, for he murmured softly against her temple. “Let me handle your father, my sweet little niece… Just focus on being my good girl, alright?” His grip was firm, but tender on her shoulders as he pushed himself away from her. “Now, you must head back, before anyone comes. I wouldn’t be surprised if Viserys hasn’t had the servants upturning the keep for you by now,” he chuckled wryly and pressed a kiss against her forehead before disengaging from her completely.

As he released her, Ryna suddenly felt an unbearable emptiness. His lips left her skin feeling warm and wanting more, but he was already taking steps away from her, retrieving his chalice from the surface of the parapet. The tone of his voice told her he would brook no disagreement in this and she knew it would be for the best that she return.

“Return to the celebration, sweetling,” he said with his back to her as he looked out over the city. “And do not worry your pretty little mind of all this. I will take care of your father. You have my word.”

Ryna had so wished to ask him if he would dance with her this evening, but soon realized something as she turned and headed back inside. That once they were wed there would be a week-long celebration and she would have as many chances to dance with her uncle as she liked.

She paused for a moment as she stood in the flickering shadows of the hallway that led back to the Great Hall. Ryna had seen it clear as day when she was only but ten and two years old. She did not understand what it meant, but had spent weeks combing the library for information trying to understand it with no answers to be found.

She’d had a strange daydream or perhaps a vision. In it, Ryna had seen a beautiful young woman with flowing silver-gold hair standing beside her uncle Daemon as he sat upon the Iron Throne.

It had befuddled her for years until finally she began to mature, her skinny, tomboyish body blossoming outwards like the petals of a flower. And, one day she looked in her hand mirror and realized that the woman she’d seen, was none other than herself.

It did naught but break her heart when she then found out that his affections, nay his ambitions, laid with Rhaenyra. And, she’d forced herself to tuck that long lost song of what might come to pass away, when she heard Laena gave birth to twins. Ryna locked it all tightly, somewhere she might never think of it again.

And yet now, it might all be coming to pass regardless. She didn’t know whether she should be excited or aghast at what might happen in the coming months.

She stepped into the Great Hall and was pleased to see that most every guest had imbibed much of her father’s generosity since her departure. Nobody seemed to take notice of her as she walked through the crowd aside from Ser Criston Cole who eyed her wearily. She cared little for the man, thinking him a miscreant since observing him beat a man to death at Rhaenyra’s wedding. Ryna wondered how it was he still held such an esteemed post regardless.

Heading right up to the King’s table, she was not surprised to see that most everyone had abandoned her father as they always tended to do once a banquet got underway. He sat alone in his chair without a soul to even pour his wine. Ryna lamented how lonely he appeared. The most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms and here he sat deep in his drink and completely alone.

Father’s eyes brightened as he saw her, a slur in his voice, “Daughter! I was wondering where you ran off to. Come and pour your father another.”

“Do you think it wise, Father?” she asked with a playful tone, knowing he would not be denied despite her pestering.

“Your King demands it, girl,” he jested with a smile and she obediently filled his cup.

“I’m sorry, Father,” she apologized, her voice demure and meek in an attempt to show him the deference he deserved, not just as her King, but as her forebear.

He waved a hand, scoffing as though it mattered not. “I should bid you apology, my child. For suggesting you dance with that Lannister fellow. He is truly insufferable.” Father’s eyes grew wide with joy as he let out a boisterous laugh and she could not help but join in the royal ribbing of Jason Lannister.

“But you still must choose a husband, Ryna,” he said somberly, the mirth still poking at the edge of his words.

“I know,” she replied with a smile, trying to show her appreciation for the years of independence he’d allowed her. “I will perform my duty for you and the realm, Father.”

“That’s my good girl. Disobedience never suited you,” he took a long swig from his ornate chalice. “Besides, I have all that I can handle of that with Rhaenyra,” he quipped with a chuckle and quick raise of his brow. “Now leave me, child. I have wont to pass swiftly from drink to slumber tonight.”

“Good evening, Father,” she bowed her head to him slightly and turned to give him the space he desired.

She glanced around the hall looking for a certain blond uncle, but did not catch sight of him. Perhaps he was being cautious by not being seen together with her in front of the masses gathered for the celebration. It was an intelligent idea that she thought she would abide by as well for now. After all, she’d had enough excitement for one night.

Ryna nodded at several lords and ladies she know of, but barely knew as she retired from the banquet hall. The path to her chambers was quiet and uneventful and after minimal effort undressing, she soon found herself comfortably lying in her bed, ensconced in plush blankets.

Thoughts swirled of the moments she’d shared with Daemon on the balcony. Ryna could still taste him upon her lips and feel his hands upon her body. As though attempting to reprise the memory, she ran her fingers gently over her breast in much the same way he had. It was too much to bear. She clenched her thighs together and turned harshly on her side with a squeal of flustered arousal.

She tried to clear her mind of lustful thoughts and peered out the window at the high moon. Would Daemon be able to convince Father that he would be a worthy suitor? Truly there was no better man in terms of Valyrian descent, but her father had been so angry with her uncle, so many times over the years. She worried he might not be able to let it go.

Given all that had occurred and the pressing marital matters at hand, she’d thought it might be difficult to sleep, but surprisingly it found her quickly.

Notes: This was the longest chapter I have ever written! I could not stop - a woman possessed!

So, I know this is not entirely necessary, but I thought I would write up a little post-chapter introduction to explain some of the setting I’ve chosen for this story.. And why I decided to make these choices.

I wanted the OC to be young, but not too young as it wouldn’t make sense that she would remain unmarried if allowed to get too old. I also did not want such a huge gap of time to pass after Rhaenyra and Laenor’s wedding. Ten years is such a huge amount of time, and I wanted the OC to have been within a comparable age to Rhaenyra when she last sees Daemon.

Now, with that in mind, the timeline of the show is also very confusing when you compare it against the timelines on the wiki, which is based on lore. There is an understanding of an approximate amount of time that has gone by on the show, but even when using those estimations, the years don’t come close to the dates on the wiki. I know I shouldn’t focus on such trivial matters, but it did in fact bother me while planning my own outline. I decided that I would base it more loosely off the official lore dates of events and ages of characters, and not the show's. This is something you may or may not notice, but it is worth mentioning. Any changes made are not necessarily for lack of being informed about it, they are just conscious changes.

One glaring issue is the birth of Rhaenyra’s first three children.. All of which are born in pretty quick succession, 115 AC, 116, AC and then 117 AC. That means that technically, this fic should be starting in 117 AC.. Only 4 years after the events of Rhaenyra’s wedding to Laenor (114AC). And Baela and Rhaena were born in 116 AC, which certainly causes some difficulty in lining these dates up with the show. Laena dies in 120 AC and yet her children look much older than 4 and the same can be said for Rhaenyra’s as well.

So, I’ve decided after much deliberation, that Joffrey’s birth will take place in 119AC instead of 117AC, meaning that instead of 10 years, only about 5 years have passed since the wedding. And Laena’s death will be moved to 118AC, 2 years earlier than in the lore, and much earlier in the show. I think if you add the time skips together.. That the (10 years later) jump that occurs ends up being about 126AC which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me, except for the fact that they’re likely trying to line things up for the Dance of the Dragons, but the timing still feels off.

I also wanted to say that I had several starting points in mind for this story, but this was the one I just happened to like the most in terms of the timeline and how close it is to Viserys’ death and all the major events that take place afterwards! So please enjoy, and I do hope I can capture the tone and feel of the show and characters without stepping on my own feet too much. I have never attempted to write a story in this time period or style, so I guess we’ll see how it goes. Expect some growing pains until I’m more practiced and do not judge me too harshly.

Another thing worth mentioning is that I wrote the first chapter in a rather obsessive flurry that lasted most of one day and all of a night. Suffice it to say, it slipped my mind to add in the High Valyrian, given how much I had my hands full with grasping a more Shakespearean take on English. I will likely add placeholder Valyrian in, so that it does not hold me up too much as I write. When finished, I’ll take the time to research how to make it more accurate. So don’t worry too much if you do happen to know High Valyrian and find any glaring errors.

By all accounts, Ryna’s outing with Daemon by the Blackwater Bay went very well. They had not been alone long enough for Ser Erryk, and by extension the king, to suspect any indecent behavior between them and the time spent was enjoyable. And while she understood the necessity to provide such supervision, she couldn’t help feeling that the level of attention provided by both her newly assigned guard and the staff attending the modest luncheon had been somewhat excessive.

The entire purpose of going on such an excursion was to distance themselves from the constant flurry of activity at the Red Keep for a time, to get away from handmaids and servants darting about in ceaseless motion. Ryna hadn’t anticipated being accompanied by a full security detail while venturing out into the wilderness beside the Kingswood, but so it had happened nevertheless.

She had tried her best to ignore their presence and to be content with the company of her uncle, but it was quite a difficult task given she could not stop regarding his lips. Could not stop remembering every feel of his hand against her skin and the sultry, low tone his voice took when he became amorously seductive. When in the presence of Daemon, Ryna felt no better than a stray feline in heat, taken aback by how intensely carnal she had become just from experiencing a mere sampling of his talents.

The princess would have to endure it though, just as she always had as the lesser daughter of House Targaryen, neglected and ignored by her kin. At least now her objective was in sight, even if her childish longing had evolved into a full blown appetite that was difficult to contain.

Worst of all had been finding a way to cope with the aching deprivation of Daemon’s physical absence. Although Ryna had encountered him on numerous occasions since their trip, there had always been a chaperone present to monitor their interactions. That meant that the closest she could get to her uncle was to link arms with him as they walked, the brush of his clothing and the warmth of his body. It was maddening.

Since she was denied to opportunity to touch him, she resorted to pleasuring herself nightly and whenever she could find solitude, taking care not to get caught in the act. Her body was in a constant state of turmoil, her hormones raging and body preparing to fulfill its duty without any means to initiate.

Even during the late hour of ghosts, she found herself lying awake when most were fast asleep, but on this night in particular, she had a good reason to remain alert. Earlier that day, Daemon had dared to whisper in her ear as they strolled through the castle corridors, now a sennight since their ride on dragonback. He said only, ‘I will come for you tonight.’

Why had he kept her waiting for so long when he had the means of to alleviate her suffering sooner? The last time they had kissed by the salt crisp air of the ocean, the prince had revealed a way they might visit with each other in seclusion. He’d cautioned they should postpone such a meeting to a later time when there was less scrutiny about the integrity of their courtship. We must allow for them to drop their guard he’d said with a clever tone of strategy. So they pay less attention to what we might do in the shadows.

But, Ryna was fretful with impatience, utterly sick of waiting. She yearned for her father to abandon the pretense of arranging a traditional courtship and simply permit her to wed him once and for all. After all, it was her responsibility to provide her husband with an heir and she was very much eager to be a dedicated wife to Daemon.

Finally, Daemon had put an end to her torment and all she had to do was bide her time for just a few more moments. Ryna knew not what her uncle had planned for this secret rendezvous, but she knew she would be most willing to engage any requests he made of her. At the very least, she would finally be free to once again press her lips against his and feel the heat of his body as he held her close. She was not opposed to yielding to his every desire and found herself almost hoping he would turn out to be the licentious character she’d heard so many tales about, even if it meant surrendering her maidenhead before they exchanged vows in the Sept.

She breathed a sigh of resignation, climbing out of her large canopy bed and retrieving a candle from her bedside table. Ryna walked over to the intricate panel carved into the far wall, adorned with a faded painting of a dragon, lit partially by a roaring brazier in the corner. Holding the candle up to the relief, she double-checked that the hidden door was still ajar, and indeed it was.

There’s a secret panel in your chambers Daemon’s words echoed in her memory. Just as he had said, the passageway was indeed located precisely where he had indicated, but could only be opened from her side. This meant that she would need to unfasten the latch in order to grant him access when he arrived.

Oh, but when will he arrive?

Ryna felt a chill as she stood there in the silence of the night. Her breasts prickled in the cool air and looking down, she suddenly became very aware of the revealing quality of her shift. She hadn’t ever considered how skimpy the nightgown was given that she was dressed in one just like it every single night by her handmaid. Typically, she didn’t even sleep in her smallclothes, unless it was exceptionally wintry weather or when her blood came and she needed a means to secure absorbent padding.

Running a hand down her stomach and pulling the fabric taut until it was practically see-through, she frowned at how little the shift left to the imagination. Even in the dim candlelight, Daemon would see everything. It was a strange sentiment to be so wanton while also being incredibly shy from a lack of experience.

With a weary exhale, she flung herself onto her bed and rolled onto her back. Her eyelids felt heavy, her body exhausted from the culmination of nights spent with little sleep and wracked with anxiety and anticipation. As she lay there, her gaze fixated on the shifting shadows cast upon the ceiling and before she even realized it she found herself inexplicably falling into a deep slumber.

——

The panel to Ryna’s chambers was cracked open already as he’d instructed her and as he pushed it further open, it gave way with only a soft creek of complaint. Daemon stepped out from the darkness of the passage and into the moderate light of the princess’ bedroom. His heart was hammering in his chest, blood roaring with excitement after a long and painful week of being in such close proximity to his niece, yet being unable to touch her the way he desired.

Daemon was in a dangerous mood, and the sight that greeted him as he advanced deeper into the room only served to fan the flames of lust and need, which were already burning white-hot in his gut.

There she lay, a platinum-haired goddess sound asleep in her bed. Her delicate features reminiscent of a pretty, little doll in every way, a picture of tender innocence and vulnerability.

A lamb to the slaughter. He grinned wickedly as he began to unlace his black leather jerkin.

The prince was acutely aware of the tension coiled tightly within his body as he removed his boots and breeches, one by one. His cock swelled excruciatingly against the fabric of his braies* while his eyes raked over every curve of her body. Legs pale and smooth like ivory were accentuated by the off-white hue of her shift, ascending into the shadowed darkness that concealed her waiting cunny.

Like a hungry wolf preparing to savor the taste of fresh meat, he couldn’t help but moisten his lips with his tongue, his anticipation mounting with each passing moment. With a swift tug, Daemon unfastened the ties of his smallclothes and stepped out of them, knowing that there was no point in keeping himself covered given the activities he had in mind. While he was fully aware that he should not lay claim to her virtue yet, he reasoned that there were still many other pleasurable acts they could engage in.

Daemon’s length sprang free from confinement, a thick, pulsing shaft that stood proud and rigid. He approached the bed, his shadow towering over her as his violet eyes, almost black in the gloaming, drank in the sight of her.

With a steady movement, he eased himself onto the bed, taking great care not to jostle her awake as he lay down next to her, immediately relishing the sensation of her warm flesh against his own. Ryna was asleep, her lips parted slightly and her head turned towards him. His eyes traced a path down her neck, following the contour of her body until he reached the hem of her shift. Long had he yearned to see his sweet little niece like this, practically unclothed and unabashed, no longer limited to imagining her in his mind, but actually beholding her naked form.

His fingers tugged at the edge of the flimsy fabric, slipping his hand underneath and slowly hiking up her nightgown. The material bulked around his wrist as he glided his palm up her thigh, until finally he revealed her mound.

My sweet, precious little girl.

The words purred in his mind as he grazed upwards, running over the indent of her pelvis and up her stomach, pulling the loose nightgown along as he went. Ryna’s skin was so soft and warm, so pliable to his touch. It was taking everything he had to keep his mouth off of her body, to stay gentle and not wake her, but first he wanted to see her laid bare before him.

Daemon sat up, smoothly positioning his arm beneath her upper back to support her as he lifted her up just enough to slide the gown off entirely. He swallowed hard at the sight of her exposed bosom, her pale nipples now hardening with the cool air. He could no longer resist the all-consuming hunger that had taken hold of him, his need for her overwhelming as he beheld her in this state of undress.

His fingers slid gently over her collarbone, dropping down until his hand clasped her right breast. He squeezed it gently, feeling the swell of her flesh give beneath his palm. His thumb brushed over her taut nipple, rubbing in circles around the areola, before tweaking lightly.

A growl rose in his chest as he got to his hands and knees and crawled over her. Grasping her breast once more he lowered his head, taking the swollen peak into his mouth. Daemon sucked at it greedily, flicking his tongue over the nub while his hand continued to knead her other tit. He didn’t care if he woke her by now, his cock was starving for her, his tip already leaking against her thigh with need.

Daemon became intensely aware of the reaction his efforts were having on Ryna’s body. Her pulse had quickened and her breaths were heavier now and she was already beginning to stir from his attentions.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear, whispering, "Sleep, sweetling. Let your uncle take care of you."

The princess’ eyelids fluttered, but she did not open them, instead turning her head to the other side and adjusting her arms.

His mouth descended onto her neck, teeth grazing her tender skin as his hand dipped down between her legs, his fingers tracing over her slit. Daemon couldn’t believe how wet she was, her dampness coating his fingers with ample lubrication to tease her pearl. He circled her bud, his eyes darting back to her face as a soft moan escaped her lips and she rustled again.

Her eyes moved restlessly beneath her closed lids, as if she were engrossed in a dream, oblivious to the prince’s presence and the touch of his hands on her sensitive apex.

Good, d ōna riña. Dream of me. -Sweet girl

Daemon’s cock was throbbing, aching for release as he felt the pulse of her desire against his fingertips. He wanted to fuck her so badly, but he would force himself to wait, compel himself to be satisfied with this for now.

His lips continued to explore her neck, kissing softly at her jaw and licking around the edge of her earlobe. Seeking entrance to her core, his fingers dipped lower, dancing in the creamy fluids that had soaked her folds. He slipped his finger through, testing the petals of her flower for entry. Somehow, his little niece was still in tact after years of riding her dragon, her hymen stretching slightly, but resisting ingress.

The feel of it was enough to make him groan, knowing that she was completely his to take. That nobody else had even known the intimacy of her heat nor ever would, save for him. His fingers continued to tease her, plunging in and out of her wetness while thumbing her tender bud. Daemon pulled his hand away, his digits coated with her essence and bringing them to his mouth he tasted her, savoring the sweet and slightly tangy flavor.

Soon, sweetling. Soon I will have you.

He was torturing himself, but it was an exquisite torture. The taste of her on his lips, the feel of her body beneath him and the soft moans and sighs Ryna made even while sleeping. Daemon knew he couldn’t take it much longer, he had to relieve himself of this agony and he wanted her awake for it.

Daemon rose up slightly, dragging his rigid length along her thigh until it seated nicely between her legs. Gods, it was maddening to be so close and not be able to take her. He bent down again, pressing his lips against hers as though starving. Daemon’s kiss was demanding, insistent, pushing his tongue into her mouth, a claim as much as a demand.

His hips rocked forward instinctively, rubbing the head of his cock against her swollen folds. The satiny wet heat was driving him mad, and the need to bury himself inside her mounted. The prince’s hands both ascended to cup her face, whispering in between kisses as he rolled against her.

“Wake up, sweetling,” he murmured softly, his voice was low as he continued to caress her jaw. He wasn’t sure if Ser Erryk was stationed outside of her room at this hour, but Daemon didn’t want to take a chance getting caught.

He leaned in close again, nose tracing the line from her cheek down to her neck, lips coasting gently over her skin. “Wake up for me.” His hips continued to grind against her with desperate urgency, his member never daring entry, but sliding through the slickness of her heat.

Ryna’s lids flitted, eyes rolling beneath before finally blinking open. She looked at him blankly for a moment, an expression of confusion crossing her face before recognition finally set in. Her eyes slid shut again for a moment, but just as Daemon rocked against her once more, they shot back open with alarm.

He had to cover her mouth to make sure she didn’t cry out, quietly shushing her so she didn’t alert anyone to his presence.

“Hush, sweet girl. I would hate to be forced to gag you,” his voice was still soft and tender, yet there was an undercurrent of ferocity beneath the surface. Indeed, it was not far from the truth because he had every intention of placing something in her mouth.

She looked at him with wide eyes, shaking her head as her features relaxed. Daemon risked uncovering her mouth with a hint of regret, lamenting how good she had looked silenced by his control.

“I thought I was dreaming…” she spoke very softly and slowly she scanned downward, blushing brightly once she realized they were both nude, becoming markedly aware of his hardness squelching through her folds. “What are you doing, Uncle?”

“I trust you know what a man’s prick is, dear niece…” Daemon said with a playful jape, rearing up slightly so he could get a better look at her. “What it’s used for.”

“Yes, but…” she trailed off demurely. He’d seen that look in her eyes several times now. It was the look of arousal and embarrassment that always led to her meek submission. “We’re not supposed to… Not yet.”

The sweet thing. Trying so hard to stand up to the Rogue Prince.

“No, we won’t do that just yet, sweetling,” he reassured her with a sly smirk, his voice low and sultry. “But there are other ways you can satisfy me. Would you like that, little girl? To please your uncle?”

The princess slowly nodded her head, dragging her teeth against her lower lip with anticipation. “How?” she asked, clearly unsure of what he desired from her.

Gods, she was so innocent. So eager, yet so unsure. He could make her do anything he wanted with the slightest bit of coaxing. He grinned, feeling wicked for what he was about to do, but the truth of it was that he’d have to teach her sooner or later. It would also be a sinfully delightful way to satisfy his lust for her, while prolonging the craving to bed her.

Daemon’s fingers slid tenderly along the line of her jaw, then tilted her head back just enough for him to look into her eyes. “I want you to take me into your mouth.” He waited, giving her a moment to process his request, to mill over the implications of what would be happening. “Do you think you can do that, sweet girl?”

Ryna looked anxious at his request, but did not appear repulsed as he’d worried she might. “I-I can try,” she replied in a shaky whisper, her voice a mere rustling in the quiet of the keep.

He could not control the leer of satisfaction that took over his countenance, his smile toothy like a predator closing in on its kill. “That’s my good girl,” he purred with smooth rapture. Pushing off of her, he crawled up the bed to the headboard, settling comfortably against the pillows with his long legs sprawled on either side of him. “Come a little closer, sweetling.”

With an impish grin that would not relent, Daemon watched her turn to her side and tentatively get to her knees. He could sense Ryna’s discomfort, how naked and vulnerable she must feel, but the princess was handling his late night visit quite well despite the rude awakening. Her eyes appeared dark and round like the deepest well in the flicker of the flames, focused intently on his engorged cock, throbbing and dripping for relief.

“Have you seen one before?” he asked, trying to engage her more lest she back down in fright. Her brow raised slightly as his length twitched then bobbed, the head glistening with clear seed.

The princess scooted closer, gulping as she observed his manhood with mild concern. Daemon knew for a fact that he was much larger in size than most men. He’d spent enough time in the brothels, seen enough cocks waggling about in search of cunts to fill, and had enough whores beg him for more without even asking for coin in return.

“In a scroll once. The septa showed it to me as part of my marital education. It did not look anything like that, Uncle,” her tone was almost inquisitive, a mix of intimidation and curiosity.

“Ah, yes. I remember those scrolls,” he chuckled under his breath. The image of his sweet little niece sitting among the dusky tomes in the library, looking at crude drawings of naked men made him smirk with barely repressed pride. “It’s nothing to be frightened of,” he assured her, reaching out to gently stroke the side of her face. “Go ahead and touch it.”

Ryna’s hand rested on his thigh for a moment as if steeling herself to complete the task. Then a look of determination crossed her countenance and she went for it, featherlight fingers grasping his shaft with careful precision as if she might hurt him to squeeze more firmly.

Daemon’s eyes slipped shut in response, the sensation of her touch like a caress of gentle fire. He could not help but to bite down on his lower lip, trying to keep his moan at bay.

“How does it feel?” he cooed, his words like syrup as his touch glided along her shoulder.

“So very soft,” the princess said with an enamored awe that he did not expect. “Like a newborn babe’s skin or perhaps the most lavish of silk. But still hard at the same time. It’s quite puzzling.”

He laughed quietly, his eyes opening up to look at her with lusty amusement. It was not entirely surprising to him that she was so fascinated by his member. Her innocence, coupled with curiosity and a desire to explore, made her naturally intrigued by this new aspect of intimacy. And he’d be a fool to deny himself the chance to nurture that.

“Is it?” Daemon purred seductively. “And what about the head? What do you think of that?” He gently urged her to continue, watching her with hungry eyes as she began to move her hand up to the tip of his shaft.

“It looks angry,” she commented, simple and direct. “The… top is so red. It’s almost purple.”

Her earnest reaction was quite endearing, and it was clear she had some mixed feelings about the appearance of his cock. A wolfish smile played over his lips as her eyes remained transfixed to his jutting member.

“I assure you it’s not angry with you, sweet girl,” Daemon chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “It’s like that because I want you. Badly. That’s how it shows.” His eyes roamed over her face, taking in the sight of her studying his manhood, touching him as though he were a rare treasure.

“Does it hurt?” her eyes flicked up to him as she inched a little closer, her knees spreading out to the side more as she sunk down.

“Your touch feels very good, Niece,” he whispered softly. “But, it can cause discomfort if release is prolonged.” Daemon smiled covetously, needing to feel those pretty lips around his cock. “You can help prevent that by providing relief.”

“How?” she asked curtly. Ryna’s lips were parted, breathless and waiting, begging to be used. He could see the excitement in her eyes, the lust taking over despite her lack of experience.

“Take me into your mouth, sweetling.” he urged her. “Show me how eager you are to learn. To please your uncle.” His voice was firm, but not demanding. He wanted her to satisfy him, but also wanted her to feel that she was within some measure of control.

“I do not know what to do,” she peered up at him with worried eyes, scared of judgment and reproach.

Daemon’s features softened at seeing that apprehension, as though he would reject her for not performing well. “I will not be disappointed in you for not knowing how to do something you have never done before.” His thumb gently caressed the underside of her chin as his eyes searched her face for that fiery spirit he knew she possessed.

“I will guide you. I will instruct you. Just follow my lead,” he cajoled her, his voice soft and gentle to soothe her. “Start by tasting it. Feeling it with your lips. Your tongue.”

Ryna nodded deferentially, appearing uncertain of herself, but willing to attempt this feat of immorality for him. It was no surprise that she approached his cock with shy pursed lips as though she were a baby bird, her pink tongue flirting with the velvet flesh of his head.

Her light, tentative touch had the prince letting out a sharp intake of air, reaching out with one hand to thread his fingers through her soft platinum curls.

“Good girl,” he managed to croon out, his voice now guttural with desire. “Just like that.”

Daemon’s tight jawed response instilled some boldness in the girl. She opened her lips wider, running the flat of her tongue up the length of his cock before lavishing it with wet, open mouthed kisses.

Gods, she was a fast learner, picking up on his queues with ease. “Yes, just like that,” he encouraged her, trying to keep his voice quiet. His fingers dug a little harder into her scalp, wanting so badly to take control and bury himself to the hilt, to feel her throat snug against his cock. But, he had to hold back, had to let her get her bearings.

“I knew you would learn quickly,” he groaned with satisfaction as she ventured to take the tip into her mouth. “You’re being such a good girl for me. So good.”

The way her lips wrapped around him, the feel of her tongue teasing the underside of his length, was driving him mad. His head lolled against the headboard, eyes rolling back as she slid further down his cock.

Fucking hells. She feels good.

He couldn’t tell if she was a natural at giving head or if he had just desired her for too long, worked himself up so much that It resulted in the best fucking blow job he’d ever had. She’d barely gotten a third of it in her mouth by now too, which meant it could only get better.

“You’re doing so well, sweet girl,” he praised her, his voice a ragged whisper. “Keep going. Take me deeper.” His hips began to buck up, urging her to take more of him. “Show me how much you want your uncle’s seed.”

There was a slight twinge of uncertainty in Ryna’s expression as she heard that, but he wouldn’t let her get discouraged by the thought of a little spend. Daemon gripped her hair once more, reminding her of his control over her as he guided her down his cock.

“Now try a little more,” he whispered, his voice becoming menacing as the beast inside took over. He could not stop from rocking his hips into her welcoming mouth, the head of his cock bumping the back of her throat and making her gag.

“Fuck,” he wanted to shout, but must keep it down lest they be discovered. “You’re taking it all so well. So very eager to please your uncle, aren’t you?”

She peered up at him with bleary tears forming from the strain. His eyes locked onto hers, begging her to take more, to continue to service him like this. Ryna was overwhelmed, he could tell, but Daemon needed her to finish him off. He needed to spoil her mouth with his seed and see the look on her face after he’d finished fucking that beautiful little face of hers. Some aspects of love making could not be taught in a gentle way. They must simply be experienced.

“Just a little more, sweetling,” he growled, feeling feral with a pent up lust that had lasted years. “You can do it. You can take my fucking cock all the way in that tight little throat of yours. Show me how much you want it, little girl.”

Ryna’s head bobbed with the prodding of his hand still wrapped in her silvery tresses. Her sweet eyes watered as she tried to take him deeper, wanting so badly to please her uncle. Her throat seized on the head of his cock and he groaned as she choked and flew off his member gasping for air and rasping.

“Try again, Princess,” he smirked deviously. He’d been patient enough with her, been as gentle as he could be, but now he was going to take what he wanted. Perhaps it would even be good for the princess to see this side of him. “I promise to give you a reward if you can milk my cock like a good little slut.”

Ryna’s face flushed scarlet at his words, humiliation and arousal warring inside of her. She hesitated, but he could see the desire to satisfy him still burning in her eyes.

“I will try for you, Uncle,” she whispered, letting him guide her swollen lips back onto his throbbing length.

Daemon could feel the snug fit of her throat molding around him as she pushed past her gag reflex, relaxing to accept the girth of his cock. She began to struggle once more, but he held her down knowing full well she was capable of holding her breath for longer.

“Fuck, yes,” he hissed, his hips slamming into her face, as he fully seated himself in her throat. “Keep going. I want you to keep taking it.” He could feel the heat building up in his balls, the impending release looming. He wanted to fuck her mouth until he came, to drown her in his seed.

His hands fisted in her hair, shoving her head on his cock, his hips rocking up and down, claiming her mouth insistently as he chased his end. He could feel the pressure building up, the familiar tingle at the base of his spine.

“You’re going to be such a good whore,” he panted as he neared the edge of oblivion. “Such a good whore for your uncle. Nuha sȳz riñītsos… Ahh, fuck!” - My good little girl.

His cock pulsed, spurting hot spend into her mouth, the first gush making her choke and sputter, but Daemon’s hold on her golden locks didn’t wane. The princess gagged on his cock, her eyes watering with big tears streaming down her cheeks, until finally he’d emptied it all into her, rewarding her with the relief of extricating his manhood from her mouth.

“Swallow it all,” he growled, his voice hoarse from the intense pleasure. “Show your uncle what an obedient little wife you’ll be.”

Ryna grimaced slightly and then consumed his release, her cheeks flushing deeply as she complied. She coughed a little, her eyes shining with tears that she quickly wiped away. His niece was utterly spent, having taken the brunt of his depravity like a proper tart. Daemon’s chest heaved, his breaths coming in ragged pants as he released her hair, letting it cascade over her shoulders.

The prince knew it had not been easy for her, but he owed her a glimpse at who he truly was, of the depravity that consumed him. If Ryna were to wed him, she would have to accept not a man, but a ferocious dragon to warm her bed.

Still, now that his desires had been temporarily sated, he could not help but feel a pang of remorse. He reached out then, his hand coming to rest tenderly on her back, urging her closer.

“Come here, riñītsos,” he commanded gently, his strong arms pulling Ryna up and tugging her into his lap. “Come sit with me.” She went along obligingly enough, throwing herself desperately into his embrace as she shed new tears against his shoulder. Daemon held her firmly against his chest, trying to soothe her. “Hush, sweetling,” he whispered softly, his lips pressing against the crown of her head as his warm hands cradled her shaking frame. “It’s alright.” He’d not meant to lose control, but under the weight of his intense desire and pleasure, he’d not been able to maintain his composure any longer.

“Why did you say those things?” her voice cracked with emotion as she rubbed the wetness away from her eyes with her hand.

“Because I could not help myself,” he admitted honestly, holding her a bit closer.

He grasped her shoulders, pushing her back a little so he could cup her face between his hands and force her to look at him. “And you should know who you’re dealing with before you become my wife. I am not a gentle man. My appetites can be craven and when I am lost in that darkness, I cannot hold back. I give myself over to the urges, the lust, the beast that rages inside of me.”

Daemon paused for a moment, letting his grip on her go slack to brush an errant tear from beneath her eye. “Are you frightened of me now, riñitsos?”

“N-no,” she began to stutter, her lip trembling as he stroked her flushed cheeks. “I’ve just… You’ve never talked to me like that before.”

“I warned you… Did I not?” he reminded her thinking back to the talk they had in the garden. He’d offered to ease her into the depths of his wickedness, but had not been able to quench his thirst once faced with the sight of her body and the heat of her mouth. “I am a vulgar and corrupt man.”

Ryna did not answer immediately, a trepidation in her eyes as she gazed at him, still sodden with the remnants of tears. He skimmed softly along her jaw before dropping down the column of her neck and letting his hand rest upon the point where it met her collarbone.

Daemon watched her closely. She was still in the process of coming to terms with what had just happened, how he’d spoken to her. He did not blame her for being uneasy, especially given it was her first time performing such an act, but he was not sure he could let her pull away from him now. It was true that he wanted her to choose to be with him, to reciprocate his feelings and perhaps even a level of his passions.

But, deep down, the Rogue Prince knew that he would take her to wife regardless of her preference on the matter.

The issue of his feelings regarding his niece was a complicated matter. He cared for her without measure, wishing to protect her from all harm, yet none would keep her safe from his own machinations. He coveted her with an urgency that delved heavily into obsession and celebrated her purity, all while lusting over how he might taint it.

It matters not. She is mine now. No other will have her.

“You have seen me now, sweetling,” he finally uttered in a deep, sultry tone, devoid of shame nor guilt. “Was there no pleasure in it for you? Did any part of you enjoy it?”

Ryna startled him with the hasty shift of her demeanor, going from anxiety to explanation as she shifted closer to him, letting her knees sink down as her thighs cradled his hips.

“It’s not that I did not enjoy it,” she tried to clarify her reaction. “It’s true it was difficult to breathe at times, but I did indulge in being able to bring you such… Well…” she paused again trying to find the right word. “Such gratification, but…” She looked down for a moment, seeming unsure of how to proceed.

Daemon listened to her keenly, his expression growing more intrigued as his lips curled into a sly smirk. The thought of her relishing in pleasing him in such a debauched way setting off something primal within him, but the threat of her distaste still lingered.

“But…?” he asked, encouraging her to continue as his smile faded. His hands had traveled down her torso, grazing against the side of her breasts, her hips, before coming to rest on each of her thighs.

Her cheeks flushed slightly as she looked back at him, “But, what bothered me most was…” She made a twisted sound of distress, combining a sigh with a scoff. The poor girl was clearly not used to expressing such thoughts. “I couldn’t stand to hear you berate me. Saying such things as though I meant nothing to you.. As though you did not care.”

So, she does not mind the act, only how I spoke to her?

“What makes you think I did not care?” he asked her with disbelief, raising an eyebrow. She seemed surprised by the question. “You think I meant what I said?” Daemon added, running his hands up to her hips and gripping the flesh firmly. “Is that how you think I genuinely regard you?” He pulled her towards him, pressing her bare stomach against his.

Ryna flustered slightly, her inexperience with such situations showing prominently once more. “Do you still care for me, Uncle?” she asked with a timid whisper.

Daemon was overwhelmed with the desire to laugh, a great guffaw of dramatic irony, but he caged it inside for the sake of his dear niece.

“You silly girl,” he quipped, shaking his head as his fingers flexed on her waist. “Of course I care for you.” He spoke with a hint of incredulity, still unable to believe her biggest fear had been the thought of him viewing her poorly. He adored her. Had been watching her for years like a hawk, desiring her.

His thumb brushed along her hip bone as he thought of how best to explain his compulsions towards filthy language to her. “You see… I speak that way because it spurs me on. It feeds my hunger. Makes it better.”

The princess nodded along with his words, seeming somewhat understanding of his reasoning, even if she was not quite at ease with it yet.

“But that does not mean that I hold you with contempt,” he continued with a softer tone, expressing his genuine affection. “I care more than you may realize, my sweet riñitsos.” One hand slid up her side, climbing until he could cup her jaw, then slowly he ran his fingers up into her hair.

“I did not mean to lose control with you, but I do feel it best that you witnessed this side of me. It will not change, sweetling. It is who I am. You will come to accept it.”

She gazed at him with a newfound warmth in her eyes, leaning into his touch. “If it is simply for your pleasure… If you don’t mean it… Then I shall adjust.”

Daemon chuckled at her earnestness, his eyes lingering on her mouth as he brought his thumb down her cheek to skim against her bottom lip. She offered him much in her willingness, to accept his vulgarity as he claimed her.

“You are a true Valyrian, sweetling,” he whispered as he leaned forward, his breath hot against her skin. “So hungry for passion that you’ll forgive your lecherous uncle’s desire to pillage your innocence.” He pressed a wet kiss against her neck, feeling the need ache in his gut once more.

“I’m only hungry for you, Uncle…” she admitted with a soft moan as he continued to worship her with his lips.

She is more than I deserve. It almost feels like theft.

He growled against her neck, his teeth scraping her flesh before sucking at the sensitive place beneath her ear. Daemon would take her again and again, a wanton beast unable to live a moment longer without indulging in the carnal delights of his favorite temptation.

“You’ve no idea how ravenous I am for you,” he voiced raggedly, hands now wrapping around her back as he lowered Ryna down to the bed. “My little girl, your body is a voluptuous banquet all for me.”

As Daemon positioned himself over her, his lips found the pale curve of her breast, kissing and nipping at her hardened nipple. His knee forced her legs apart and he slid his hand down to her core as he settled between her thighs.

“Now, I believe I still owe you a reward, sweetling, for completing such an arduous task,” he grinned against the swell of her bosom before lifting up to look her directly in the eyes.

“And what sort of reward will I be given, Uncle?” Ryna asked, her mouth curving into a coy smile.

He did so love her enthusiasm, how much of a little tease she could be for one so innocent. “Since you were so good for me…” he trailed off, trailing kisses down her abdomen and sliding down the bed until he was right at her tight little cunt. “I will take my fill of you again, sweet girl.” He spread her legs wide, wrapping his arms under her thighs and firmly around her hips.

“And this time, I intend to savor my meal fully without the worry of interruption.” Daemon smirked deviously at her before dropping his face towards her wet heat, his tongue extending to taunt her swollen bud as he returned the favor.

The two of them walked in silence for a time, Ryna’s arm in his, until they were past the guards and into the long corridor that led towards the outer yard. Once safely out of sight of any witnesses, Daemon suddenly pulled her into a nearby alcove, jostling a vase on the table beside them as he pressed her tightly against the wall. His eyes glittered with excitement, barely disguising his darker desires as he stared down at her.

At her startled gasp, his mouth curled into that familiar smirk. “You, my little niece,” he said in a growl, “did extremely well back there.”

The look of surprise quickly faded from her face, replaced with an air of indignity. “Can you believe she had the nerve to call me dull? I am still livid.” She huffed, her cheeks rosing with the sufferance of insults and not embarrassment for once.

He let out a quick series of pointed laughs against his lips before replying. “She clearly has no taste. You are anything but dull, sweetling. You are fire made flesh.” He had enjoyed seeing her behave in such a daring manner at breakfast, relishing in her cheeky attitude. Daemon had not thought his pure and sweet little niece capable of such aggression, but evidently he had been wrong.

“Do not let her get to you,” he added, tracing a finger along her jawline. “Your father summed it up perfectly. Rhaenyra behaves like an entitled, petulant child throwing a tantrum until she gets her way.” His gaze lingered on her plush lips, recalling the kiss they had shared the night before.

Oblivious to his attentions, despite the obviousness of his proximity, she continued to vent her frustrations. “And to think she called me, a Targaryen princess, with fire and blood running through my veins, ‘still as a pond!’ Even a Velaryon would be offended to hear such insults spouted against them!”

He snickered with a playful look in his eye, the corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. Though his niece had never displayed an inclination towards angry outbursts in the past, today’s incident had led him to wonder if her character was more akin to his own quick-tempered nature rather than the complacent demeanor of his brother.

Ryna’s ongoing tirade was abruptly cut off when Daemon held a finger to her lips, silencing her mid-speech. “Enough of that,” he said, his voice authoritative yet tinged with a hint of allure. “You are far too exquisite to waste your time complaining about a brat like Rhaenyra.”

Daemon leaned in a little more until he was so close that he could feel her breath against his face. “There are far more enjoyable things you could be doing that with that pretty mouth of yours.” His words were a soft insinuation spanning the possibilities between mostly innocent to entirely lewd. It certainly got her attention, her eyes darting up to his with a shy expression.

He pressed a simple kiss against her lips, wetting them with his tongue slightly as he savored the taste of her. His eyes rolled back for a split second as he let out a groan and pulled away, knowing he could not control himself lest he continue. The hall they were in was often traveled and not the best spot for an interlude. They would find more privacy in the gardens.

The princess became flush in response to the small demonstration of affection, the region below her collarbone now a bright pink in contrast to her alabaster skin.

My sweet niece. It doesn ’t take much, does it?

Daemon then took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers and led Ryna back down their originally intended route towards the garden. “We have something more important to discuss, Niece.”

“Such as?” she asked, trying in vain to compose herself as she looked up at him curiously.

“Our courtship, of course,” he said in a playful tone as they approached the exit.

They passed through the stone arch that led out into the garden proper and walked down the trail through the carefully manicured greenery until they reached the inner garden. It was surrounded by tall rose bushes, secluded and out of sight from the main walks. Water trickled from an ornate fountain of a dragon into a small pond edged with smooth rocks and there was a stone bench beside it so one might sit and enjoy the scenery.

He guided her to take a seat on the solid slate bench looking out over the waters and rustled in his pocket to fish something out. Daemon smiled fondly as he got down on his knees before her. Another shocked, almost frightened expression crossed her face, her eyes growing wide at the thought of what he might be up to.

Innocent little thing.

Reaching up, he tucked a loose strand of her Valyrian white-gold hair back into place behind her ear, letting his fingers remain on her face longer than perhaps was necessary. He found himself mesmerized all over again by her beauty, her purity, and the way she could make him feel simultaneously protective and sinful.

If only she knew how much he thought about her, his sweet, chaste little Ryna. How he wanted to claim her as his own and ruin her completely, yet at the same time, he wanted to shield her from all other harm. The irony of it made him both sick and excited all at once. He had been a man of vices, of carnal pleasure, with no thought given to any future consequences, and here he was for the first time, experiencing what it was to restrain himself for another. At least somewhat…

His hand lowered, brushing against her thigh as he took her hand once more, running his thumb over her knuckles gently as he began to speak.

“Sweetling,” his voice was soft and deep in the quiet solitude of the garden. “I have something for you.”

His niece’s expression changed, from worry to a veiled delight. “For me? What is it?”

She always did love it when he brought her gifts upon returning from his travels, whether they be from afar or direct from the streets of King’s Landing.

Daemon turned her hand and spread her fingers apart so that Ryna’s palm was exposed. Not allowing her to see what was in his closed fist, he placed it above her outstretched hand and let the trinket fall slowly until it settled into her grasp with a clink.

The princess’ eyes lit up as he removed his hand, finally allowing her an unobstructed view of his present. It was a very unique bracelet, one he’d had fashioned for her by the same grateful peasants who’d created his crown, to commemorate his victory over the Crabfeeder. It was crafted with small bits of rough sandstone, seashells and driftwood from the beaches on the Stepstones, and accented with an orange gemstone that was abundant on the islands.

“It is beautiful, Uncle,” she marveled at the intricate little shells and beaded stones.

Not as beautiful as you, my sweet, delicious, little peach.

“I’m pleased it’s to your liking,” he smiled softly at her. It was exactly the response he was hoping for. Watching her face as she looked over each tiny detail made him feel a mix of satisfaction and desire. It had taken all of his willpower thus far to resist her innate charms, and he wasn’t certain that it would hold for much longer. “Allow me to put it on for you, sweetling,” he said assuringly, already taking the bracelet from her hand and unclasping it so that he might wrap it around her slender wrist.

“I had meant to gift this to you when I returned from the Stepstones, but I found I simply could not.” His words were almost somber as he closed the clasp carefully, securing it in place.

“I remember,” she said with a touch of sadness. “That was when things changed. When you began to avoid me.” Her eyes wandered off in thought, her gaze cast across the water for a moment before returning to him with a fiery determination. “What happened? Why did I repulse you so when we embraced that day?”

Daemon was impressed, if not also taken aback, by the clarity of her memory. In fact it shook a more direct response from him than he was typically accustomed to giving. “You could never repulse me, my dearest niece,” he began, struggling to find the right words to explain himself without directly stating what he truly felt on that day five years ago when their bodies entwined. “I merely… It was for your own good.”

When I first realized that my desire for you had begun to take root.

“It did not seem like it was for my own good,” she contended his reasoning, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. “I have missed you all of these years.”

“I know, sweetling. I missed you as well.” If only she knew how he’d longed to return to the way things were before that moment. He hadn’t realized how much he’d yearned for the smiling face of his darling little cherub, his precious jewel, until it was gone, forever replaced with the reality of his lust.

Even though he’d already mentioned his aversion to tainting her the night before, it seemed she was still incognizant to why he had started to withdraw from her, believing it was due to some shortcoming on her own part. He had no desire for her to shoulder the blame of his own perverse desires though, so perhaps some further explanation was due. Still knelt before her, Daemon placed his hands on either side of her hips, nudging forward so that he was closer and just about nestled between her legs. A crooked smile crossed his face as he spoke once more. “Do you know why I started to avoid you?”

The princess seemed a touch flustered by his intimate proximity, but did not stay his hand. “I could not say. I only knew that before you left, I had been your cherished niece and upon your return… Suddenly it seemed you held my very presence in contempt. Then before I knew it, you had been sent away again and I had no idea what to think about it.”

If only you knew, little sweetling.

He chuckled at her naivety. It was endearing how pure his little girl still was. His fingers gently rubbed her hips through the soft fabric of her velvet gown. “You really don’t know, do you?” his tone was almost sarcastic, finding it hard to believe she hadn’t the slightest inkling. The look of worried concern did not waver from her face and he knew it was true. Daemon leaned in closer, his nose close to the swell of her breast. He allowed himself to inhale the sweet smell of her skin, all the while the warmth of her body was radiating outwards. He looked up, finding her expression heavy with longing, craving reconciliation.

“Did you ever stop to think that perhaps I avoided you because I found you too tempting?” Daemon’s eyes roamed down her figure before returning back to her face, taking in every little response. It seemed he would always be torn by his lust for Ryna.

She did not respond immediately, but instead averted her gaze to the bracelet he’d given her. Perhaps she was putting all of the pieces together in her mind, recalling past events and how they might be reshaped with the new knowledge he’d presented her with. His little niece seemed confused, as if unable to fathom that his desires had kept him away.

“But…” she started to speak, the words fizzling on her tongue. “If you… Then why?” Her lavender irises turned back to him with puzzlement. It seemed she’d come to terms with the idea much sooner than he had.

“Why?”

The question echoed with a laugh from his lips. How could he ever hope to explain the depraved thoughts that had consumed him whenever he’d seen her sweet body during those years. How tortured he became whenever he allowed himself to imagine the debased ways he wished to use her. Yet, she was looking to him for an answer, her eyes wide and her pink lips parted in confusion. “Why,” he said once again, taking a deep breath. “Because you were far too innocent. A wholly pure thing in this corrupt world. Even I am not that wicked.”

There, he’d said it. The truth was out. A twisted admission, but an admission nonetheless. The words, as well as the secret, that had tormented him for years were now finally released into the open. But her expression did not convey the disgust he’d expected. Instead, there was a look in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place. “Too young. Too sweet. You should never have known the depths of depravity running through …” he began to explain, but as he looked upon her face, he realized her features had shifted to something more akin to anticipation.

Gods, that look on your face …

The little princess’ lips were parted in expectation, her breath growing quicker with each passing second. There was something untamed he saw in her eyes that threatened to set his entire being ablaze. “You’ve heard tales of what a degenerate I am, haven’t you, sweetling?”

“Who in the Seven Kingdoms has not?” she admitted with ease, her expression unflinching while her hands danced restlessly on the surface of the bench.

“Then you know what a wretched man I am…” he spoke in a lower tone, his nose brushing against the pucker of her breast for a moment. “The vices I give into… The women and wine that I consume without reservation.”

Daemon raised a hand up to her face, his fingers tenderly tracing along the length of her jawline. “Does it not frighten you?”

“How could I possibly be afraid of you?” she mused, her voice laced with affectionate reassurance. She brought one of those fidgeting hands to rest gently upon his head, tentatively smoothing back his bright blond tresses. “I will admit I lack the same level of experience that you possess, Uncle, but it does not diminish my own curiosity and eagerness to learn.”

He tried to resist the shiver that wracked through his body as her fingers ran through his silvery gold hair. Daemon’s hand glided down the length of her skirts, skimming over the fabric until he reached the hem. Slipping his fingers below, he groaned at the feel of her leg, soft and silky beneath his palm.

How can you not be afraid of me, little sweetling? I am a fox in the hen house.

Her words had struck him in a way that he was not expecting. It seemed unnatural, given what he’d confessed and what she surely must suspect he desired from her.

“How eager are you, sweet girl?” he asked with the last ounce of his restraint as he continued upward, cresting her knee. “Eager enough to let me show you how debased I truly am?”

Ryna appeared a touch uneasy, but did not move to stop him. It was as though she had already resigned herself to exploring wherever this moment might take them. She swallowed before replying, her voice a low whisper as she continued to stroke his hair. “I cannot resist you, Uncle.”

What a dangerous thing to admit, my sweet little niece.

Daemon pressed a kiss against the exposed skin between her cleavage as his fingers crept higher. He found purchase on her inner thigh, gripping the smooth flesh there with barely constrained hunger as he felt the heat emanating from her core. His mind was filled with sinful thoughts the likes of which this pure, untouched flower could not possibly begin to imagine - but even still, she was willing. A small breathless laugh passed his lips and the little whimper of submission elicited from his sweetling was like the most deadly, yet intoxicating of poisons. Her soft sounds nearly pushing him over the edge, so obliging was she to accept his perversions.

“I promised your father I would not bed you until the wedding night…” he finally broke the silence as he laved another wet kiss upon the slope of her chest. “I admit, I’m still not convinced I can wait that long, but there are ways to stay… Occupied… For a time. To keep that curiosity of yours sated.”

Daemon’s eyes returned to hers, finding a look of trepidation in her gaze like he had never seen. She was too pristine, too eager, too wholesome for what he sought to give her. And, Gods forbid, if she ever did let him take all that she had, he feared there would be no going back. He’d become a man possessed.

For now though, given she was inclined to test the waters, he would explore how much of an agreeable lamb she truly was. He ran his tongue along her collarbone, his thumb digging into the fatty meat of her inner thigh.

“Do you trust me, sweetling? He asked, looking up once more into those pale lilac eyes, almost silvery in their sheen.

“Y-yes…” she stuttered, willing but still nervous.

He looked into her anxious eyes for a moment more, searching for any hint of doubt. But he could only find her inexperience, her apprehension, and ultimately her anticipation. Had Daemon not regarded her as so naive and innocent, he’d have believed she was getting off on this, and perhaps she was. His mouth curled into a smirk, wearing a wicked, wolfish countenance of intent. A quiet laugh escaped his lips as he grasped the waist of her smallclothes, and pulled down the short pair of braies until she was completely exposed beneath her skirts. Daemon placed a hand on each of her tender thighs, looking up at her with a devious spark in his eyes.

“Slide to the edge of the bench and lean back, little dragon,” he urged her, all but salivating at the thought of what she might taste like. Completely untouched, unspoiled, and just for him.

Ryna slowly shifted her hips forward, an embarrassed blush in her cheeks as she followed his bidding. “Good girl,” the sweet praise fell from his lips in a guttural moan. “Now let me take care of you. I’ll make you feel good.”

Daemon’s heart pounded in his chest as he knelt before his little niece, bunching up her skirts enough so that he might duck his head beneath her gown. The scent of her arousal was overwhelming, a sweet, crisp perfume that only served to heighten his desire. He inhaled deeply, taking in the sight, the smell, the very essence of her.

With a flick of his wrist, he swept her juices onto his thumb, bringing it to his lips and tasting her. A low grown rumbled in his chest as he licked her wetness from his finger, the taste of her intoxicating. He lowered his head, his tongue dipping between her folds and eliciting a startled gasp and jolt from Ryna. Daemon wrapped his arm around her thigh, holding her in place as he began to devour her like a starving man.

He spread her apart carefully, alternating between laving her bud with the flat of his tongue and the pinpoint of the tip, delighting in the way her hips bucked with each intense sensation. Daemon slid his fingers down through her wetness, teasing her tight entrance with the promise of penetration. His cock was rigid and aching in his trousers, leaving a mess as he leaked seed to the taste and feel of her purity. He’d give anything to have her fully bare in his bed right now, to be able to see everything all at once, to touch and take what he wanted.

Soon … Soon..

Ryna’s body was trembling beneath his touch, her soft little whimpers and moans driving him absolutely mad. She sounded so lurid for such a sinless creature and finally delving into her tight heat with his index finger was all he could do to keep from enacting the near constant thought of how good it might feel to fuck her. The thought of the noises she would make when something much bigger than his tongue or finger were instead driving into her pretty, virgin cunt consuming him.

His finger circled her inner walls, teasing her as he continued to pleasure her with his tongue, flicking and lapping at her pearl until she was writhing beneath him. He could feel the taut lining of muscle tensing at his intrusion and smiled against her wetness at the sound of her insistent cries. Daemon slid another finger into her now sopping wet core, wincing at how tightly her walls were gripping him.

He began to pump his fingers in and out of her in a steady, forceful rhythm, his tongue circling her swollen bud before he sucked it into his mouth. Ryna shot up like a lightning bolt at the acute feel of it, the combination causing her to arch her back into him as her peak built. There were a dozen filthy, raunchy things he’d love to purr in her ears at that moment, but there was no way he was going to stop until he brought her to completion.

Ryna shuddered and jerked, her moans growing louder and more desperate as she finally let go, climaxing in a beautiful splendor of shaking thighs and ragged breath. Her hands shot to his head even through the gown, trying to push him away now that her swollen bud had grown too sensitive. Daemon let her free of his suction, laving the nub softly with the flat of his tongue and sliding his fingers out of her snug little hole. She squealed as he lapped through her folds, the creamy sweetness of her come tasting like the most decadent ambrosia.

Fuck, I will not be able to stop myself if I keep at it like this …

Daemon bit his cheek with a wince, trying to rein in his urges as he removed his head from under her skirts. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he soon forgot his own need at the pride that surged through him upon seeing her flushed cheeks, her heaving chest exhausted and panting, the evidence of his ministrations and the pleasure she’d just experienced apparent all over her body.

As she locked eyes with him, she sounded tired, but excited all the same, “God! I have… But never like that… What in the Seven Hells was that!?”

A smug, yet satisfied chuckle escaped his mouth at her comment as he slipped her foot through the free opening of her smallclothes and slid them back up. He moved to sit beside her on the bench, his cock still straining against his pants painfully, a testament to just how much he had enjoyed the taste of her.

“That, my sweetling, was your first lesson in pleasure,” Daemon said as he leaned into her, his lips finding her neck and pressing a hungry kiss upon the delicate skin there.

She writhed under his lips, still so sensitive from his efforts. It was enough to drive him utterly mad with need. He could not recall anyone so perfect, anything so divine in his entire life. How could he ever be satisfied with another after this?

“You will be the death of me, my precious girl,” he mumbled against her shoulder, burying his nose into her hair and taking in the bouquet of roses, cinnamon, and styrax in her fragrance. “I can tell neither of us are creatures of restraint, sweetling,” he let out a sharp laugh as he pulled away from the temptation. “But Gods help, I am trying.”

He sat roughly against the back of the stone bench, comforted by the pressure of its hard surface. Daemon ventured a look into those pale lavender eyes and ran a hand across her chin, tilting her head up so that she was forced to meet his gaze. His voice took on a graver note, seeking to assert the seriousness of his words.

“If your father accepts our betrothal… I need to know that you want this. Jāhor ao sagon biare, riñītsos?” Will you be happy, little girl?

Ryna’s brow furrowed, either confused or hurt by the inquiry. “What kind of question is that? Of course…” she peered at him now with a smoldering intensity. “Nyke jaelagon ao, Daemon.” I want you, Daemon.

“Se jaelan ao, zaldrītsos,” he replied with a quick sigh. And I want you, little dragon. “But you are so young and inexperienced, and I…”

I may be too much for you to handle. You engage with a beast, sweetling. I am possessed by the need to control you and to keep you near me in every way possible, both well intentioned and depraved as well. He shook his head to bat the thoughts away, pushing down the worry and fear that were creeping to the surface. He didn’t want to risk losing her, but he also couldn’t bear the thought that she might one day look at him with contempt in her eyes. “You’ve never known another man, Niece. You do not know the extent of my desire.”

“Iksan daor riña,” she retorted in a defiant tone, her eyes locked on his with a look that could only be described as downright challenging. I am no child. “It seems you cling to these persistent ideas, Uncle. That I am too young… That you are too debauched for me. That I couldn’t possibly be happy with you… And to be honest, such worries are insulting to us both. I am not some pathetic little whelp in need of your pity. I know full well what I want.”

She exhaled through her nose with frustration, her features proud as she continued. “I would not choose a suitor for years because I did not want any of them. I knew they would not stoke my fire and keep my interest. I chose you and that is all that should matter. Inexperience can be mended by exposure, and I have never thought ill of you. I have felt jealousy and confusion, yes, I have missed you, but I have never felt poorly.”

Daemon felt a spark ignite within him as she spoke, her voice and words filled with passion and conviction. But, she was a stubborn thing, his little niece. His princess. A perfect mix of both fire and ice all the same. He would have found her impudence amusing if not for the fact that he too was feeling a hint of irritation begin to boil inside of him.

He let out a laugh that was nearly a scoff. “And do you think yourself ready for the full extent of it?” he riposted, his voice hardening. “Do you have any idea the dark desires that swirl in the recesses of my mind?” Her facade cracked slightly as a hint of doubt crept across her face. Of course she had no way of knowing what he actually thought of in the privacy of his own licentious mind. It was obvious the unknown concerned her from the winkle on her forehead, but she did not back down.

Ryna’s voice softened considerably, a blush returning to her cheeks. “You could show me… Teach me… In a way that is not too overwhelming.” Her eyes brightened with mild epiphany. “Like you did today.”

Once again, he found himself caught between a sense of pride that she seemed so willing to face whatever he might bring forth and the fear that he might break her.

“And if I can’t hold back, little girl?” he mumbled against her ear, leaning in and resting his chin against her the crown of her head. “My appetites… They are strong… Violent… Depraved… You could not imagine all that I want to do you.”

“Why must I fathom it all?” she asked with longing in her eyes as she wet her lower lip with her tongue. There was an obvious arousal present in her body language and the flicker of her features.

“Because, sweetling,” he replied, cupping her chin in his hand and gently forcing her to meet his eyes once more. “If we go down this road, there is no turning back. I will consume you, dear girl. I will take and take until you forget what it is to live without me.”

I cannot stop even now. That small taste of you was simply not enough.

“You realize I will ruin you for anyone else?” he stared into those piercing lilac eyes, shining bright with desire and need.

“I don’t take issue with that for I do not wish to have another. Only you, Uncle,” she spoke with conviction, but her cheeks blushed at the notion.

Gods, you have no idea what you are doing to me.

Daemon’s heart ached with so many warring emotions. His little niece - he feared he could not resist when it came to her. “Then… I will show you… I shall try my best to ease you into the darkness,” he whispered as he nudged his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer.

He captured her lips once more in a hungry kiss, his cock twitching at the thought of her keen obeisance - at hearing her proclaim that she only wanted him. It made his possessive nature flare with lust that he knew he must keep in check for now.Ryna was already moving closer though, the little minx, twisting towards him as her leg struggled against her skirts to rise over his. “Stop…” he murmured against her lips, feeling his self-restraint slipping. He gripped her shoulders tight, keeping her at bay as he withdrew from the kiss.

He could tell from the look in those tempestuous eyes that she was still riding the high of her climax, lovedrunk by the feelings he’d coaxed out of her body. Daemon truly loved how eager she was, but if he gave in completely to his own impulses, it might wind up destroying any chance they had at wedding. He was certainly not willing to let her go now that he’d come so close to having her.

But how is a man to hold back from such a sweet, delicious flower?

He clutched her arms with a little more force than necessary as he pushed her back against the bench and pulled away from her. With grit teeth he busied his hands so that they might not wander again, smoothing the pleats of his long wool jerkin back into place.

“I said I would ease you in, sweetling.. Not toss you over the edge,” he chuffed at her, making it known that he was not to be trifled with any farther. With a slight cough, he cleared his throat and took a deep breath before pursuing the topic of their courtship. “Now what plans shall we make to ensure that my dear old brother, Viserys, thinks that we are courting properly?”

Ryna was slow to reply, a bewildered look on her face mixed with a slight pout of disappointment. “I’m not sure…” she finally answered. “We have already strolled in the garden and you have presented me with a gift. So, today has been a good start to it.”

“Yes, little one. I do believe today has been a very good start. But not good enough,” he countered as he stood up and offered his hand to her. “My dear brother will not believe that a rake like me has suddenly become a proper gentleman without proof. We must make a very open display of our integrity.”

“What about a dinner? Or perhaps a packed lunch that we might enjoy on the beach that overlooks the Blackwater Bay. We might even stop by the Dragonpit. I could introduce you to my girl.” Her disposition had improved considerably at the mention of her dragon and he couldn’t help but smile as he helped her up from the bench.

Come to think of it, he did remember hearing that his sweetling had claimed a rather powerful creature, one of the older and larger dragons that had not been reclaimed since its previous owner. He felt a thrill at the thought of meeting such an ancient beast, at seeing his little niece mount a powerful dragon.

She will mount another soon …

He chuckled to himself as he let out a velvety smooth reply, leading them back down the path through the garden. “That sounds like a fine idea,” he purred, enjoying the thought of gaining some measure of freedom outside the confines of the keep. “And I cannot wait to meet your dragon, my sweetling. No doubt, Caraxes will be eager to see you again as well. I do believe that grumpy old snake preferred you to me when last I took you riding.”

Ryna beamed at his insinuation, giggling softly as they came out from the worn trail and entered the open expanse of the garden’s grassy courtyard. “I wouldn’t say that, Uncle, but he was certainly kind in nature towards me. A good boy. I look forward to seeing him up close again.”

His lips curled into an amused smile at her joyful reaction to being reunited with the beast. “Indeed… And I look forward to watching you ride, all on your own, without need of your uncle to supervise you,” he said with a slight rasp.

The image of her straddling that massive dragon, handling its reins and commanding it in the Valyrian tongue was enough to get his member swelling in his breeches again.

“Tell me, sweetling. Which beast did you tame again?” he asked trying to distract himself from other wandering thoughts.

Time seemed to stretch on far slower than it should have as Daemon waited patiently for his sweetling to join him in the Godswood.

Earlier, he had retired to his chambers for awhile, freshened up, and even busied himself reading an excerpt from a rather large tome on Valyrian history. He’d enjoyed the familiarity of reading the runes of his mother language, the daring acts of his ancestors captivating him until the night fell heavier upon the Red Keep.

By now he was certain the hour of the bat had come and gone, giving way to its successor, the eel. And as he paced back and forth in front of the great weirwood tree, a puzzled scowl darkened his face in wondering what was keeping his sweet betrothed from their planned meeting. It was not like her to keep him waiting, and yet as more time passed and she did not appear, Daemon’s mood became uneasy with worry that something might actually be wrong.

He was just about to go and seek her out, figuring he’d knock at the secret passageway to gain access to her room, when the sound of footsteps rustling through the grass rose to his attention. He faced the direction of the noise, and smiled as he saw the silhouette of one clad in a dress. Daemon’s mouth opened to call out to her, but stopped before speaking as he realized the form did not belong to his Ryna. No, this woman had a stouter frame than his slender riñitsos, a figure widened by childbirth that he knew well; it was Rhaenyra.

Daemon’s brow furrowed, his expression shifting from one of expectation to confusion, then finally to irritation. There was very little reason for his eldest niece to be out and about at night and given he was expecting Ryna, she was only making a nuisance of herself as far as he was concerned.

“Niece?” he called out with a frown. “What in the Seven Hells are you doing out here at this hour?”

“I thought I might find you here,” she said in a voice that might have sounded coy coming from any other woman. But Rhaenyra made it sound natural, proud even, as though there was nothing wrong with their meeting here.

As she stepped out of the shadows into the glowing moonlight that bathed the clearing, Daemon was able to see her more clearly. He was surprised to take in the state of her dress, looking as though it had been thrown on haphazardly, the laces barely tightened and the bust hanging lowly. She also donned a hooded robe over it, her hair a tangle of silver gold about her shoulders, reflecting brightly as though she were an ethereal being.

There was a look of heady desire in her eyes as she approached him, though he knew not if it was hunger for him or if she had other ulterior motives in mind as was typical with the heir to the throne. Rhaenyra stood beside him, almost too closely, peering up with a mixture of determination and a wanton desperation.

“I need to speak with you,” she said, her voice tinged with a sense of entitlement, as though she expected he should drop everything to listen to her.

“Shouldn’t you be abed,” Daemon replied, his voice slightly sardonic, but still betraying an air of concern. Rhaenyra was certainly a headstrong Targaryen woman, but she typically kept her more questionable antics private. That she would approach him now in this unkempt state, told him that there was something more to her visit.

Daemon stood stock still, almost shocked by her daring as she took another step closer, so near he could feel the heat radiating from her body.

“Perhaps I should,” she agreed, her voice taking on a huskier tone as she looked up at him almost challengingly. “But you see, I can’t sleep. I have too much on my mind.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression betraying doubt at her answer. She seemed a little too emboldened, too confident for his liking, and the overabundance of flesh peering through her gown suggested she had come with plans for much than just talking.

“Rhaenyra,” he said coldly, his words a warning against any further encroachment of his patience. “Return to your chambers before you behave in a way we will both regret.”

“Like I would not regret allowing my simple little sister to take you away from me?” she snapped back defiantly, her voice full of fire and rebellion.

Who the blazes does she think she is?? Impertinent little pup.

Oh, she had surely gotten his attention now. This whole charade of hers going from mildly amusing to downright insulting. His gaze darkened, his fists clenching with anger. How could Rhaenyra have the nerve to spout such things about his beloved, directly to his face as though it might help her cause and not hinder it?

He loomed hither to her, his posture threatening as he towered over her frame purposefully. “You would do well to watch your tongue, Niece,” he said, his words a low hiss. “I am not swayed as easily as you might think. No matter how you might try to entice me.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, her lips pursed in a stubborn pout, though her body was moving closer, pressing against him as though compelled by an invisible force. Her hand reached out to touch his chest, skimming over the heavy woolen surcoat he wore.

“You wouldn’t have to do anything,” she crooned in a voice tinged with need. “I will take care of everything, if you wish it.”

The feel of her warm touch on his body sent a small shiver down his spine. He carefully schooled his features to hide the reaction from her, but Daemon could not deny that Rhaenyra was a beautiful woman. Even so, the unflinching resolve in her eyes and the presumptive quality of her voice sent a spark of anger through him. As though she saw no other outcome to this scenario but for him to succumb to her wiles. How dare she think she might just sweep in and have him simply because she desired him so?

With a deliberate air of calmness, he placed his own hand over hers on his chest. “And what did you expect to offer me?” he answered her forwardness with a cold indifference.

The Realm’s Delight smiled, a smug, confident expression that said she already thought this battle of wills won between them. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, her fingers kneading soflty against the fabric of his surcoat.

“Anything you want, Uncle,” she said in a seductive whisper. “Anything you’ve dreamt of I will give you. If only you’ll forsake Ryna for me. We can get rid of my useless husband and finally be wed as it should have been in the first place. It should be you standing by my side when I sit upon the Iron Throne.” She leaned in dangerously close, her breath ghosting against the base of his neck. “Do not pretend that it is not everything you’ve ever truly wanted.”

The Iron Throne though cold and jagged was a tempting lure, one she knew would give him pause to consider. No matter how alluring, Daemon abhorred the way she spoke to him, as though his resistance was nothing more than a formality. He knew her to be impulsive, but this was something else entirely. Did she not realize that she was belittling his sweetling? He was no longer simply angry, but furious with the insult that she thought the Rogue Prince, a fearless rebel with no cause but that of his own choosing, would ever cow to her.

“You think you have some power over me?” he growled, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. “That I would simply discard my riñitsos because you offered me something you think grander?”

“Do not call her that,” she seethed, jealousy transparent as a scowl formed on her face at hearing such a familiar term of endearment. “I won’t let you do this, Daemon,” she continued in a voice that was becoming unhinged. “I cannot allow you to give yourself to her. You are mine.”

“You cannot allow?” his tone was sharp, his expression suddenly menacing as his hands moved to grip down roughly on her arms, pulling her closely to him. His eyes flashed with fury, like a violet storm beneath darkened brows. “No one, Rhaenyra, least of all you, tells me what I will or will not do,” he stated firmly and succinctly. “I will give myself to whomever I choose, and you will not stop me. You will not dictate to me, and you will not make demands. Do you understand?”

The look on her face was obstinate, a spoiled child not used to being rebuffed in this manner. She had always gotten her way, never been denied anything in her entire life, and she did not seem pleased with the concept of rejection.

“You cannot do this,” she whimpered as she shook her head with bewilderment. “You cannot just leave me for her. You have always been mine. Our hearts were always meant to burn together!”

Rhaenyra lunged forward, pressing her lips against his violently. It took him by such surprise that he froze a moment before regaining his wits and pulling back while keeping her in place with his grip. An agonized lament echoed out against the sound of his thudding heart, startling him even more than the forceful kiss had. He had thought the shriek made by the spoiled child in his grasp, but when he looked down to see her head turned to the side, a wicked grin tearing through her cheeks, his heart sank as he followed her gaze.

His world seemed to freeze with cruel clarity as his vision zeroed in on the fleeting figure of his sweetling. Turned on her heels and running from the ghastly sight of her intended kissing her sister. He rememebered the fears she’d given voice to when they first discussed the possibility of wedding, how she would not be second best even to her husband. His heart nearly stopped beating, his ears ringing and his stomach twisting as the reality of the situation fully set in.

No… No… No…

“You vicious wench,” he let out a hiss, roughly pushing Rhaenyra away from him, his amethyst eyes narrowed and filled with a murderous intent. “What have you done?”

But, it was not a question he expected an answer to, and as his violence gave way to horror it seemed everything went silent besides that deafening trill in his head.

“Fuck!” he raged, running as fast as his legs would carry him to catch up with her. “Ryna! Wait!” he called after her, not knowing if she heard him or whether she would heed the call if she had. He knew he could not let that bitch, Rhaenyra, win though, that he could not let his precious girl escape thinking the worst of him.

He could not lose Ryna, not because of this foolhardy blunder. He could not allow this one incident to destroy the bond they had spent a lifetime forging, and the past month honing. Not when they had come so damn close to finally being together.

“Sweetling!” Daemon’s voice roared up to the heavens as he sprinted out from the empty corridor and into the open air of the training yard. His long legs propelled him faster than the wind and yet he couldn’t seem to close the gap between them. “Stop! Wait! I can explain.. Just wait, Gods damn it!”

She looked back for a brief moment in response to his call and that was when she stumbled forward, tripping over a shield that had been left against a haybale. Finally, he closed in on her from behind, his wide reach enveloping her fully in his arms.

“Let go of me!” she fussed, kicking and elbowing him in a frantic attempt to get away.

“No!” he barked firmly, his hands wrapped tightly around her, keeping her arms trapped down at her sides so she could not escape. “Stop struggling. You are not getting away from me,” he held onto her vehemently, his voice a low snarl.

“How could you do this to me, Daemon? Was it always your plan to betray me for her? To make me fall so deeply in love with you that it would hurt all the more when she took you from me?” her voice was choked with tears, and it pained him to hear her say such things. Even knowing those terrible words came from a place of pain didn’t make them bite any less.

“I did nothing!” he bellowed loudly at her with frustration. Soon he could hear the clinking of platemail nearing as one of the Kingsguard came to investigate the commotion. They would not have privacy for long if they did not move. “This is exactly what that bitch wanted. Do not let her win. Come with me willingly and I will explain.”

Daemon turned her in his arms and gave her a firm squeeze, hoping that she would see reason. “Please,” he found himself asking softly, looking upon her tear-stained cheeks, the sound of heavy metal footsteps were getting closer with every passing moment. He could not remember the last time he had pleaded with someone like this. For a time it seemed as though the word please had not been a part of his vocabulary at all. Long ago he’d decided that nobody would ever make him beg for anything and yet here he was.

“Please, my sweet girl,” he implored her once more.

Her lower lip was still trembling with upset, but she nodded ever so faintly at him in acceptance. He took her hand and ran up the steps, ducking into the corridor that led past the Hand’s Tower to avoid any unwanted questioning. The last thing he needed was for the king to find out that he had been chasing his crying betrothed around the Red Keep at all hours of the night. Without any context as to what had occurred, Daemon knew Viserys would think the worst of him. It would mean the end of everything.

They needed privacy, a place he could speak freely away from the prying ears of staff and guard alike. Daemon placed a hand of the stone wall, his breath ragged from the exertion of running through the keep like a madman.

“Listen to me, riñitsos,” he ducked down, patting her hair back against the crown of her head soothingly. “Go back to your chambers and let me in the back way. We have made enough of a spectacle tonight. I promise I will be entirely honest with you, but we need to use discretion. Can you do this for me?”

Ryna wiped tears away from her face, almost as if offended by the presence of such weakness. Those beautiful, big eyes of hers were puffy and red from crying and yet still so full of injury. He hated that her ire was directed at him when he had done nothing to welcome Rhaenyra’s advances.

“Do not look upon me with such hateful eyes,” he said somberly, a hint of pain cracking into his voice. “You know your sister is capable of treachery. You know what a spiteful creature she is,” he tried to speak reason so that she might understand. “And what record of betrayal have you known of me? When have I ever hurt you so?”

She looked blankly at him, a weariness now settling into her features. Daemon could not stand to see her like this.

“Please, sweetling,” he murmured, bringing a hand up to the side of her face and wiping a few more of those salty tears away from her cheek. “Just do as I bid you.”

His head was still swarming with anger as he thought about the conniving little wretch. The way Rhaenyra had tricked him so effortlessly into believing she was in distress and the cruel laugh of malice that he’d heard as he ran off after Ryna. He felt like such a fool to be had in such a way, but he would never underestimate Rhaenyra again, would never allow her close again.

He leaned forward, his lips finding the peak of her head and giving her a gentle kiss. Her hair smelled so good, still fresh from her bath but mixed with the faint smell of sweat from their tussle. Daemon found himself just wanting to wrap himself up in this scent that was wholy hers, remembering every moment of passion they’d shared together vividly.

Gods, she is too precious to lose like this. Not like this…

“Fine, but only to explain yourself,” she finally eked out. “Nothing else.”

“Of course,” he agreed readily, his voice too eager for his own liking. “Then straight to your chambers, dear one. I will come to the back passage shortly.”

Ryna nodded and turned, dragging her feet slowly as she took the hallway that led back towards her room. Daemon hoped he could make her see the truth of what had transpired, but he feared she might not listen. That his sweetling would dwell on only her deepest fears come true, that Rhaenyra would always take everything that was hers and she would be left with nothing that was her own.

He could not accept that as an outcome, would not accept it. He rushed down the stairs, through the Great Hall until he reached the tunnels. Taking a torch from the wall, he found the path he knew well to Ryna’s room and was delighted to find the door already ajar for him. Despite everything that had already occurred, Daemon thought it a good sign that she had allowed him entry, though he would not mistake it for forgiveness.

There was still a heaviness about him as he quietly entered her chambers through the secret passage. He found her already seated on the edge of the bed, her elbows on her knees and her head hanging low in her hands as she waited for him. Daemon took a seat next to her, leaving some distance betweem them to show her that he would respect her space, at least for now.

“Ryna…” he spoke, letting out a long sigh. Daemon could hardly imagine how to put into words all the things he needed to say right now. How did one even begin to defend what appeared so obviously to be betrayal? “Where do I even start?” he said aloud, his mind going back to how the entire mess had unfolded. “I can tell you this much, that I did not desire that kiss,” he stated firmly. “It was wholly unbidden and unwelcome. The act of a desperate woman.”

“So what happened then? How did she come to be held in your arms?” Ryna asked with incredulity. “How did she even know you would be there?”

“I know not,” he replied with the same level of disbelief. “She said she thought she might find me there. I had been waiting for you obviously. I arrived there perhaps a touch earlier than I should have in my eagerness to see you alone. Your sister looked a mess, as though she’d risen from bed and carelessly thrown a dress and cloak on. In all truth, I thought something was wrong with her at first glance.”

Ryna looked at him intently, the apathy draining slowly from her eyes as she listened to his story. “Go on,” she encouraged him to continue.

“I told her she should be back in bed sleeping, but she insisted that she could not sleep. That was when she became quite bold, and I warned her to leave before she did something she would regret.”

He sighed with exasperation, hating that he must repeat such a horrible thing to this sweet girl who already felt a severe amount of insecurity at her place in life. He would protect her from any uncessary pain if at all possible, but not too much lest she think him lying to her.

“I do not know what to make of what followed after. I might actually wonder if Rhaenyra is far crueler than any of us might have imagined or that she has gone mad,” his tone was resigned, hoping that she would actually believe him.

“Why? What did she do next?” there was a hint of curiosity in Ryna’s eyes. Was it too naive of him to hope that her inquisitiveness meant she might trust him more now?

“I hate to tell you this, sweetling, for you will not be glad to hear it,” Daemon looked at her with a sadness in his expression. “I do not wish to be the one who tears you and your sister apart.”

“It is a little too late for that, is it not?” Ryna said raising her eyebrows expectantly.

Daemon’s jaw tightened with the regret that she was correct in her assertion. He knew she would never look at Rhaenyra the same again after what happened that night and his side of the events would most definitely make it worse.

“Do not hate me for telling you this, riñitsos,” he spoke with a softer tone now, trying to lessen the blow. “She came on to me, obviously. She said she would give me whatever I wished if I would forsake you, and I refused. I was furious with her for insulting you so.”

“Then why were you so close to her? Why was she kissing you when I came upon you both?” Ryna looked hurt still, but it was different now. Her features brightening as she tried to put the pieces together, attempting to clear Daemon of any wrong-doing.

He shook his head, trying to remember the flash of insanity that had happened in such a brief span of time. “She was all over me and it was all I could do but to hold her back from me. When she would not accept my answer. She demanded that I was hers. That she would not allow you and I to wed.”

Daemon could not help but to scoff at the thought of it. A part of him still couldn’t believe how deranged Rhaenyra had sounded.

“Of course then I got even more incensed and meant to intimidate her when I grabbed her by the arms, to get her to give up the foolish notion that I would somehow leave you in favor of her. And that is when she reached up and kissed me.”

“I see,” Ryna let out a long winded sigh as she looked forward once more, resting her hands on her thighs as she sat more upright.

There was a long silence before Daemon finally broke it. “Sweetling,” he reached out and touched the back of her hand, dwarfing it with his much larger palm. “I know this is not easy, but I really do need you to believe me when I say this.” He leaned in carefully grasping her chin so she would look at him. “You are the one I want, dear girl.”

Her pale eyes shimmered as emotion began to overtake her and he took the opportunity to move close to her side, to wrap his arms around her and offer some comfort. “It saddens me that you don’t see how beautiful you are. How you’re so sweet and caring, yet still you possess a fiery tempest within. It’s you I’ve wanted all these years, even when it felt like a crime to acknowledge such feelings. It felt wrong to want someone so pure, but now that I’ve come to know what an incredible woman you are, I can not bear the idea of being without you. That anyone else might have you. I have never felt this way about anyone before, riñitsos.”

He took a deep breath, letting it out as he collected himself, honing his words with a sincerity that he was not accustomed to.

“I have married in the past for convenience, even married for what I thought might be affection.. But with you, my sweet girl,” he pulled back enough to force those gorgeous, weeping eyes to look at him once more. Daemon needed her to know the depth of his emotion so that she might never doubt him again. “With you I will be marrying for love for the first time.”

Ryna buried her face in the crook of his neck, sniffling as she turned into his embrace. Daemon exhaled with a slight shudder as her wet cheeks pressed against his skin, the warmth she exuded soothing him in a way he had never known before. Her acceptance of his touch felt healing, like a balm for his soul. It was the closest anyone had ever come to pacifying the rage that lied just below the surface at any given moment.

The need to protect her was overwhelming in ways he never could have anticipated. He knew she was not a delicate flower who needed saving by any means, but he wanted to guard her from the harsh realities of life. To shelter her from the despicable relatives that saw her as a pawn in a game, or those like Rhaenyra who saw no need for her to be on the board at all. Where he had felt nothing but loyalty towards his family prior, Ryna had now become the centerpiece of his allegiance.

Daemon gently stroked her silken locks as she wept, trying to find the right way to settle her. “It is alright, sweetling,” his voice was soft and tender. “Come here,” he said pulling her small frame up onto his lap. “I’ve got you.”

He wrapped one arm around her, hugging her against his broad chest and held her tight as though she was the most precious thing to him in existence. While his free hand combed through her hair, carding through the platinum curls over and over. Daemon held her like that for what felt like ages, whispering sweet nothings in her ear and hoping it provided her some level of relief.

It was then, during those moments that a thought occurred to him. He didn’t want to wait any longer to make her his wife. Another week was simply too long a time to delay when he felt the overwhelming urge to declare his devotion to her before the old gods.

“Little dragon?” he asked suddenly, leaning back to make eye contact. “I wish to marry you.”

“What?” she asked almost confused by his words, wiping her eyes on the backs of her hands. “We will be wed soon though.”

“No,” he replied with a shake of his head, his hand coming up to caress her cheek. Daemon’s expression was serious as he held her gaze. “I mean as soon as possible. Today. Now. I can not wait a sennight to call you my wife.”

“But, how?” she looked upon him with such unsure, yet hopeful eyes. “There will be a big wedding held before the Seven, I’m sure, as is always done.”

“Yes, yes,” he said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “There can be a grand ceremony before the High Septon with all the pomp and spectacle that is customary. But I wish to give you more than that. A marriage before the old gods would solidify the bond with the most important people in attendance. Not all the lords who wish to curry favor, nor the ladies who simply wish to seen in the presence of greatness and gossip.” He paused with a smile before completing the thought. “I wish to bond with you first, rinitsos. Before anyone else.”

“Daemon,” she replied quietly, her voice almost too choked up to speak, yet she managed. “You mean a Valyrian ceremony?”

He leaned in close enough for his nose to brush her own, his eyes gazing fondly upon her. “Yes, my love. A Valyrian wedding forged with fire and blood.” The thought of it was almost too perfect, to eschew the new gods in favor of the old.

In any other case, he would have asked Viserys to do the honors, but he doubted his brother would approve before the official wedding. That didn’t leave many options, but he might be able to find one among the Dragonkeepers that could officiate. After all, he already knew the rites practically by heart from his studies and the dragon tenders were the only others well versed in Valyrian besides the some of the more studied maesters.

“Doesn’t it require frozen fire?” she asked, a look of concern in her features as though they might not be able to procure such a thing on short notice.

“Yes, sweetling, it does. And as you also might know, there are many such deposits on Dragonstone. I’ve already a dagger we might use for the ritual, so don’t concern yourself with that,” Daemon said quietly, brushing a soft kiss against her nose before withdrawing to look upon her once more.

“The only question that remains, is if you want this as well?” his words were gentle, a slight smirk teasing the edges of his lips as he peered at her.

Ryna appeared bewildered, yet touched by the idea of engaging in a private wedding reception. Her eyes were wide and thoughtful as she stared at him with a look that felt as though it were piercing through his very being. He worried for a moment that she might still harbor doubts about his loyalties, but then her face softened considerably, a warm smile forming in acceptance.

“Yes, I do want this,” she whispered, leaning in closely and pressing a tender, albeit brief kiss against his lips. “I want you to be mine and mine alone.” Her words breathed against his cheek as she nestled in tightly against him.

Daemon pulled her into his body with a deep exhale, hugging her against his chest with both arms wrapped around her slender frame. He buried his nose in her silvery locks, inhaling the sweet scent of roses from her hair. Despite everything that had happened, even through her worries, Ryna still wanted to be his.

“I am yours,” he sighed into her hair. His hand reached up to tangle in her silky ringlets as he withdrew, knowing he must make the preparations in haste lest he be forced to wait another day to be bonded to her. “I will arrange the ceremony immediately, even if I must wake some poor fools. Tomorrow night,” he said with a hungry ache to have her, “You will finally be mine.”

He had actually done it. Daemon had somehow managed to convince her father to let them wed. Well, not to permit them to formally wed just yet, but rather to allow them to engage in courtship, which in turn would ideally lead to their eventual union. Ryna’s heart was soaring as she left her chambers, her stride long and determined as she walked the long and empty corridors towards the dining hall.

Ryna felt indomitable, maybe even a little cocky, as though nothing could stop her today. Not when she was armed with the knowledge that everything she had envisioned might actually come to pass. It seemed luck was on her side, and she would certainly seize the advantage and make the most of it.

The stone corridor opened up into a small flight of stairs, no more than six or seven steps in height. She held her skirts up slightly as she made her way down and took in this morning’s attendees. The entire family was not present, but many were, including her good-mother, Alicent, as well as her children: Aegon, Aeomond, and Helaena. Rhaenyra was also in attendance, but Laenor was nowhere to be seen, nor were their children. Perhaps, she had not felt like wrangling them on this particular morning.

Most importantly, her father was present, sitting at the high end of the table with Damon directly beside him at the corner. Daemon’s gaze darted to her as she entered the hall, his eyes taking in every detail with a smirk as though he were a calculating predator sizing up his prey. The seat next to him was empty and she had every intention of taking her place there.

“Good Morrow, family,” she said cheerfully as she walked down the length of the table.

Daemon stood to greet her as she approached and pulled out the chair next to him.

“Good Morrow, sweetling,” her uncle returned her greeting with a wolfish smile.

His eyes were practically devouring her whole, taking in every sway of her hips, his body practically thrumming in response to her proximity. She tried her best to ignore it for now, lest she make a fool of herself in front of everyone. Daemon dutifully pushed her chair in once she took a seat and sat down beside her.

“How fare you this morning, Daughter?” Viserys asked with a forced smile. His eyes were bloodshot and weary, a testament to the amount of wine he had imbibed the night before.

“I am well, Father. Thank you,” she said with a bright smile. Ryna had never been so pleased with her father before, not that she could remember at least. He’d given her a precious gift and she was ecstatic to have his permission in the future she wished to forge with Daemon. A part of her still wondered if it were actually true. She would wait and see like a good daughter without pushing to find out.

“Good, good,” Viserys replied, waving his hand in a dismissive manner that was all too obviously feigned. While he was clearly not having a good morning and his stomach was likely tied in knots, a hint of warmth crept into his features as he laid eyes on them both.

“I am pleased to make an announcement to my beloved family,” her father seemed to break through the fog in his mind and take on the characteristics of a wise and proud King. “My brother, Prince Daemon, has asked for my Ryna’s hand in marriage. I have agreed upon a courtship,” he stated clearly, looking directly at Ryna now. “Dear daughter, should you accept, we shall see if Daemon’s devotion to you is true.”

A murmur broke out amongst those in attendance, clearly having not expected such an announcement at the morning meal. Aegon seemed almost indignant as he shared a glance with his mother, who in turn looked as though she’d been stabbed in the back by an unseen blade. Her mouth was moving as though to speak, but no words ever came out.

Best of all, was Rhaenyra’s transition from curious to annoyed and it took all that Ryna could muster not to wallow in an expression of smug satisfaction. For her eldest sister had always been the favored child, getting away with whatever she desired and also taking whomever she coveted to warm her bed at night.

Daemon placed a hand on Ryna’s forearm, smiling approvingly as he gave her a gentle squeeze. She looked up at him with a cheerful grin, her hand finding his and returning the gesture. Then she looked to her father, the King, holding her shoulders upright and swelling with poise and refinement.

“I should very much like to accept the prince’s proposal for courtship, Father,” she replied with all of the courtly grace one might expect of a princess.

“You mean your uncle’s proposal,” Aegon mocked with a dismissive tone, no doubt trying to rile her up.

“It is no better than marrying my brother,” she shot him a sharp glance across the table. Ryna had already heard tale of Alicent’s designs to wed them. It had bled through by way of the servants, especially given her coarse sibling’s inability to keep quiet about any private matter. Aegon rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his mother, who looked none too delighted by the display. With a thin lipped curl of her lips, the King’s wife finally spoke, opting to take the course of civility.

“Well, I suppose we should all offer our congratulations then…” she said, her voice neutral and formal. “Thank you, Good-mother,” Ryna replied with a veiled smile that was much more believable.

The Queen gave a stiff nod in response, her eyes flickering over to Daemon with a hint of displeasure, before she returned her attention to her meal. Rhaenyra on the other hand, was still staring at the pair of them. Her eyes were narrowed slightly as they flicked back and forth as if trying to figured out some complex puzzle box.

Daemon had not let her hand go as the entire scene unfolded, chuckling softly as he made a show of rubbing circles on her fair skin with his thumb in a manner that seemed almost too affectionate. She could tell he was having a little bit of fun and she couldn’t exactly blame him. His gaze drifted to the King and he grinned contentedly. “Thank you, brother,” Daemon said with a nod in acknowledgment of the newly formed courtship. “I promise to honor your daughter as well as treat her with all the care and respect she deserves.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Brother,” her father replied with a well meaning smirk.

“As will the whores on the Street of Silk!” Aegon chimed in once more, his eyes glancing between the two with barely contained anticipation for the reception of his mocking words.

“Enough, Aegon,” the King snapped, his own eyes darkening at his son. “Can you not even be happy for your sister on this day?”

The young man sat back in his chair with a huff, crossing his arms like a petulant child, but did not speak up again.

The mood of the room shifted with that, heavy with suspicion and resignation. For it was clear to all present that the courtship would move forward and that there was naught to be done about it, at least not yet. Ryna had no doubt that they would all be scheming soon enough and watching her and Daemon likes hawks. Still, it vexed her that even her family’s pretense of congratulation was not sincere at all, aside from her father at least. “Why does everyone seem so somber? It is a favorable match, is it not?” There was a slight twinge of irritation in Ryna’s voice. She was a Targaryen princess and she deserved more respect than this, but as usual, she was treated as insignificant even when marrying the rightful heir to the throne. Alicent’s expression was neutral, a polite mask now hiding her disagreement. “Of course it is…” she replied. “You are both of Valyrian blood. It is a powerful union.” Her tone was carefully controlled, but Ryna could still sense a hint of bitter resentment. While Rhaenyra still kept her silence, her father was the only one besides the young children who seemed to be unbothered. His expression was thoughtful as he took another sip of his cup. He looked at the newly matched couple, his eyes lingering on where Daemon held her hand. “I must admit,” he said finally, his voice quiet but commanding attention regardless. “I had my reservations about this match at first… But I can see that you are both are committed to each other. As long as you both are sure that this is what you want. Then I will not stand in your way. The two of you will have my blessing given you conduct yourselves with decorum.” “Of course we are sure,” Daemon answered for the both of them. He glanced at her with a reassuring little smile before turning his attention back to the king.

Father’s next words were spoken in a low tone, compelling the silence of the room. “A union as powerful as this would be well served with heirs as soon as possible. Once you wed, of course.”

“You need not worry about that, dear brother,” Daemon chuckled, trying to hide his devious nature as he looked back to Ryna once more. “When the time comes, I intend to take full advantage of every available opportunity.”

A disgusted scoff came from the far end of the table and Ryna’s gaze snapped to the left. She had thought it to be Aegon voicing his discontent, but was not entirely surprised to see a dark expression upon Rhaenyra’s face, her eyes full of malice as she stared quite brazenly at their uncle.

Daemon turned his attention to her elder sister, a small smirk tugging up at the corner of his mouth. He was clearly enjoying this, perhaps a little too much. But, Ryna could feel nothing but a building fury that Rhaenyra could be so petty as to hold onto what amounted to a crush. An infatuation that had ended five years ago when Daemon had been sent away. She found it more difficult to contain her mounting anger as the seconds passed.

“And what of you, Sister?” she asked pointedly, drawing Rhaenyra’s attention away from her intended. “Have you nothing to say? No congratulatory words to encourage this union?”

A flicker of annoyance passed over Rhaenyra’s face as she was addressed. She paused for a moment, as though carefully considering her words before speaking.

“What would you like me to say, Sister?” she replied, her tone attempting to be measured and controlled, but failing miserably. “That I am happy for you? That I am not jealous of your… good fortune?”

The nerve of her to openly admit that she was jealous almost elicited a scowl from Ryna. Instead, she snapped back keeping her voice pleasantly civil and obtuse.

“You are married to Ser Laenor and have three beautiful children sired by him. What more good fortune do you need?” The words were meant to cut, while putting on an air of indifference. Save for her father, who was willfully ignorant of the fact, it was quite obvious to most that Rhaenyra’s children were bastards.

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed at her comment, a flicker of outrage passing across her features. It was obvious she grasped the intention of Ryna’s subtle insult. “Yes, I am married to a great man and he has gifted me three wonderful sons,” she replied through gritted teeth. “But that does not negate my own desires and ambitions.”

“And what of your desires, Sister? How should they interfere with my wedding Daemon?” she looked at her uncle for a moment, curious to see if he shared any signs of Rhaenyra’s lingering affections. Daemon wore a bemused expression, clearly enjoying the family drama. “Yes, let us hear what desires you hold, Rhaenyra,” he prompted with a sly smirk, leaning back into his chair in a languid manner that almost seemed theatrical.

Rhaenyra’s lips pressed together in an indignant sneer as her eyes passed between Daemon and Ryna. She was growing more agitated with the situation, but she kept her voice mostly even as she spoke. “It is my desire for you to find a better match, dear sister,” she said coldly. “A union between the two of you would be ill fated.”

Ryna let out a pointed laugh and replied without hesitation. “Are you questioning the King’s judgment?” she fumed at Rhaenyra before turning her attention to her father. “Is it not preposterous, Father? How much good fortune does your first daughter need, when your second daughter has had none?”

Viserys let out a long suffering sigh, his expression growing weary at the turn the conversation had taken. “My daughters…” he began, shaking his head as he tried to maintain order. “Must we do this now?”

“She could at least pretend to be happy for me,” Ryna insisted, her eyes glaring back to Rhaenyra, her rage barely contained now. “Is that so much to ask for?”

Rhaenyra met her gaze with equal fervor, her eyes narrowing. “Is it so much to ask that you not flaunt your happiness in my face!?” she quipped back, her voice dripping with venom.

“Ready yourself, Sister. For I shall soon be flaunting it for the rest of my days!” The dam had broken and every bit of cordial composure had been washed away with the floodwaters.

Her eldest sister’s face contorted with anger and jealousy. It must have been difficult to acknowledge the gladness of others while she suffered a husband who would not bed her. Ryna could not help but grin with satisfaction, watching her sister squirm at the realization that the invincible Rhaenyra had finally been one-upped. The feeling did not last long as the cornered snake bit back once more.

“You will not be happy forever,” Rhaenyra retorted through clenched teeth. “Nothing lasts forever… Not even your relationship with our dear uncle. One day, he will tire of you and move on to the next shiny new toy.”

Ryna scoffed, unable to believe that her sister would sink so low. Rhaenyra had no idea what she was talking about, of course, and was simply holding onto the childish impressions she’d formed as an infatuated young girl. She was not prepared for what the first princess said next though.

Clearly enjoying her reaction, Rhaenyra met Ryna’s sound of derision with a smug grin. “You think you know him so well, don’t you? You think he truly cares for you?” she sneered, her voice heavy with condescension. “He will tire of your innocent doe eyes and your sweet voice… He will grow bored of the way you cling to him like a lost puppy…”

Her smirk intensified as she continued to hammer her banner into the ground. “He will long for a challenge, for someone who can match his fire and passion. Someone who is not so desperate. Someone who can intrigue him and keep him guessing.” She paused for a moment, her eyes flicking over to Daemon as though appealing directly to him for her own cause.

“He will realize that you are simply too ordinary for him.. Too dull.. And he will move on to someone more interesting, more exciting. Someone who’s blood runs strong of Old Valyria.”

Something snapped within her and it felt as though years of neglect and bitterness came pouring through all at once. A lifetime of being overlooked and treated like an inconsequential child by her kin, had built up into a rage that she now found difficult to control.

She clenched her jaw firmly as she practically growled back. “How dare you…” she muttered through her teeth.

Rhaenyra smiled, content with herself for getting such a reaction out of her younger sister. “It is the truth,” she added simply, as though explaining something very mundane. “And deep down, I think you know it.” The heir to the throne shifted her gaze onto Daemon again, her eyes lingering on him for a moment as she tried to entreat him. “Don’t you, Uncle?”

Daemon feigned indifference as he glanced over at Rhaenyra before returning his eyes to Ryna, his smirk never wavering.

“I am curious, Rhaenyra,” he mused with mocking thoughtfulness. “From what great well of knowledge do you draw your conclusions from?”

“I know you better than most, Uncle,” she responded, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “You are impatient and impulsive. A man who craves adrenaline, and yet you seek to marry my sister, who is as still and calm as a pond?” She huffed derisively. “You will tire of her quickly. Just watch.”

Ryna stood up abruptly, her fists white knuckled and holding against the table. “Still? Calm? Too dull? Do you wish to spit venom, sister? What is more dull than a commoner?” Her eyes were a fiery blaze as she stared down the table at Rhaenyra, her gaze then shifted to Ser Criston Cole who stood guard at the side of the room.

“You keep your mouth shut, you little wench!” Rhaenyra snapped in a furious whisper. “You know nothing!”

It was clear that this argument was no longer about her wedding Daemon or Rhaenyra’s jealousy of it. Ryna was finally unleashing all of her disappointment and anger from years of watching the first-born child be showered with attention and praise while she received naught but crumbs. Rhaenyra, who dared insult her desirability to her future husband in public, while she had been spreading her legs to unworthy men, and insulting their very lineage.

But, the murmurs of those in the room brought her back to reality and one glance at her father made her worry that perhaps she had taken it too far. He never did like it when anyone spoke of his eldest daughter in a negative light, even if it was true.

“That is enough!” Viserys’ voice resounded loudly, causing all at the table to stiffen, besides Daemon who still seemed relaxed as though conflict did not bother him in the slightest. “Both of you will cease your quarreling immediately!” He looked towards Rhaenyra, his eyes narrowed. “You will comport yourself like an heir to the Iron Throne, and not some child in need of a spanking.”

He then fixed his gaze on Ryna, his expression stern. “You too, dear. Just because your sister foolishly goaded you, does not give you leave to do the same.” He sighed before continuing in a more exhausted tone. “Can we not have a single family meal that does not end in bickering?”

The King shifted in his seat, looking between his daughters. “We will not discuss this matter any further. The decision is made. Daemon shall court Ryna. That is the end of it.”

Ryna sat back in her seat and bowed her head in deference towards her father. “I’m most ashamed, Father. My humblest apologies.”

Father’s gaze softened with her contrition, but his voice was still firm. “You would do well to remember whom you are, Ryna.” He said, his voice gravely serious. “You are a princess of House Targaryen, both of you,” he shot Rhaenyra a look as he spoke. “Your actions reflect upon the honor of our family… You must act with decency and dignity at all times.”

His eyes fell upon his second daughter once more, a slight lenience added to his tone. “All of us must strive to be our best, and to be more than our baser emotions. We are a family, and we must not forget that.”

“Yes, Father,” Ryna replied, falling back into what was expected of her. “I shall endeavor even harder to ensure you are not disappointed in me.” Rhaenyra remained silent on the matter, only offering a slight nod in repentance.

Daemon sat silently, his fingers idly drumming against the tabletop as he watched the interaction unfold. His eyes flicked to Rhaenyra a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. It was as though he had an opinion on her behavior, but he decided to keep it to himself.

He leaned forward in his seat, taking Ryna’s hand in his again with a sly grin dancing upon his lips as he chimed in to fill the quiet. “Ah, but what’s family without a bit of drama to keep the blood pumping?” he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Upon finishing, Daemon lifted her hand up to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss against the backside of her knuckle.

Ryna’s cheeks burned slightly as he pressed his lips against her skin, causing her heart to stir. His affections somehow diffusing her anger, despite the insults Rhaenyra had hurled at her. In the end, it did not matter what her sister had said, for Ryna was the one who was now in line to wed Daemon. She felt nothing but victorious at her uncle’s show of affection coupled with the adoring way he gazed at her, all while Rhaenyra was forced to watch. She forced herself to remain composed on the surface, not allowing her facade to fall once more.

The queen spoke up then, her smile polite, but her tone somewhat chiding. “It does seem that trouble always follows when you are around, Prince Daemon,” she said with a small laugh, an attempt to keep her jab sounding light hearted.

His eyes slid over to Alicent and he chuckled mirthfully, squeezing Ryna’s hand once more before relinquishing it. “Ah, my dearest good-sister,” he said smugly, his sarcastic tone only growing in its intensity. “You make it sound as though I am a mere trouble-maker, an instigator of discord.” He paused for a moment, a devious gleam in his eyes. “Though I have been the most well behaved Targaryen at the table this morning.”

The irony was not lost on anyone in the room, even if Ryna could not help but crack a smile. She was just thankful that Aegon and his mother had not joined the argument she’d had with Rhaenyra, for it was none of their business. Her father looked mildly annoyed with his younger brother for a moment, but he said nothing on the matter opting instead to change the subject.

“Ryna, my dear,” the King looked her way inquisitively, then glanced to Daemon. “I assume with my brother’s eagerness, that the two of you shall be planning your first courtship date soon?”

She smiled, feeling a little embarrassed at the direct questioning, but responding with her thoughts regardless, “I have not had much time to consider it, Father. What does one do on a such an outing?”

Daemon spoke next, his demeanor cool and confident. “There are many possibilities, sweetling,” he replied with a grin. “Perhaps a romantic dinner, a ride on dragonback, or a walk through the Godswood at sunset. There’s more than one path to success, and none of them is inherently wrong.”

“All options sound delightful, Uncle…” she answered softly. “How am I to choose?”

His grin widened at her response. “That’s the spirit, my dear princess,” he said with a low chuckle. “There’s no need to limit ourselves to just one activity. We shall engage in all of these pursuits, and more.”

The idea of spending time alone with Daemon in all of these various encounters made her heart flutter in her chest. She was both nervous and excited for what might happen, wondering if he would behave himself or let his carnal appetites get the best of him. Still, it was thrilling to have her much older, much more experienced uncle show her all of the things he had to offer. The possibilities where practically endless where he was involved.

“That sounds like a wonderful plan, Uncle,” she said, her voice filled with enthusiasm for the first time since Father had given his permission for their courtship to begin. “I look forward to whatever you have in store for me.”

Viserys watched the interaction between his daughter and Daemon intently, a slight grin on his face. He was clearly pleased with the interest her uncle was showing in the relationship.

“It seems you have developed a sudden fondness for courtship, Brother,” the King laughed softly, his eyes fixed on the prince. “I cannot pretend I am not surprised by this.”

Daemon shrugged off his brother’s comment with a grin. “What can I say? Your daughter is the kind of beauty that can awaken the romantic in any man,” he said, his eyes flickering towards Ryna as he spoke. He turned back to Viserys with a confident look. “Besides, you cannot expect me to pass up the opportunity to have such a lovely girl on my arm.”

Viserys laughed sharply at his words. “I suppose I cannot blame you, brother,” he said, his voice taking on a somewhat paternal tone. “But do refrain from any… untoward behavior.”

As Daemon replied with his usual charms, Ryna basked in his compliment feeling an unusual mixture of pride and embarrassment. She had never in her wildest dreams thought that she would be the one to capture Daemon’s interest. She was used to being the second daughter, second choice, the less interesting of the two by most accounts. Now, she was the one with a handsome man doting over her, and in front of her entire family no less. It was a validation she had seldom felt in her life.

She stole a peek at Rhaenyra who was still visibly upset, her resentment plain for all to see. It only added to Ryna’s satisfaction. Daemon turned back to Ryna, his gaze lingering on her a beat longer than necessary. He leaned over to her closely, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin of her neck as he did so. He whispered so low that she doubted any but her could hear it, “Ignore her, my dear sweetling. Let her stew in her envy.”

Ryna nodded, feeling a shiver run down her spine as a result of his hot breath against the shell of her ear. Her uncle was right after all, for all Rhaenyra could do now was wallow in her covetous desires. Well, that and try to plot the downfall of their union, but her eldest sister would need some time to consider her options first.

His attention shifted to his brother once more and Daemon’s demeanor became more cordial. “If I may, your Grace. I’d like to take my lady for a walk to discuss the details of our courtship.” His voice was smooth and assuming, not asking for permission, but acting as though it were a foregone conclusion.

The King eyed his brother and then his daughter before finally nodding his approval. “Very well, you have my leave.”

With a polite nod to his brother and good-sister, Daemon stood from the table, pulling Ryna’s chair out and offering his hand to her. She took it and marveled at the way he laced his fingers in hers as she rose up beside him.

“Good day, Viserys,” he said in a well-meaning tone before switching to one of playful mockery. “Thank you for the lovely meal.” The king groaned, shaking his head with exasperation. “I would not have called it lovely, brother, but you are welcome.”

Daemon smirked at the King and then turned to the rest of the table, offering a slight bow of his head. “And Good Day to the rest of you.”

“Yes, Good Day to you all and once again… Thank you very much, Father, for agreeing to this courtship,” she bowed her head low and rose with a smile.

With farewells and thanks accounted for, Daemon offered her his arm which she gladly took.

Comment to be added if I missed you! Tags: @coffeebooksrain18, @immyowndefender @purple-1995 @claud012 @tent4yu @xcinnamonmalfoyx

“Seven hells!” Daemon burst out in genuine surprise, whipping his head to stare at the girl by his side. The carriage shook against the cobblestones as they were ferried by a small accompaniment to The Dragonpit. Among the contingent of some five or six men escorting them was Ser Erryk Cargyll, Ryna’s newly appointed guard - likely assigned just to ensure that the Rogue Prince behaved himself.

Initially, Viserys had been amenable enough to his request to take the princess out dragonriding, but his brother’s habitual nitpicking soon became apparent as time went on, and he imposed additional conditions for their outing.

“You must be back when the sun is directly overhead,” the king had originally demanded. Thankfully, Daemon was able to convince him that sundown was a much more realistic expectation, but immediately his brother sprang back with another stipulation. “You must land in the presence of a chaperon.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Daemon had balked at the ridiculous requisite, but his brother would not be moved.

“You must not be alone in the wilderness unaccompanied,” Viserys had retorted with indifference to his plight. Suffice it to say, Daemon didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter. It seemed they would be having their picnic by the water as Ryna had originally suggested, or at least somewhere close by enough that their babysitters could follow.

Ryna clutched a brimming basket packed with foodstuff in her lap, looking down and fidgeting with the red cloth that covered it. It had been prepared for their luncheon rendezvous by the kitchen staff, likely with more food then they could ever possibly hope to eat on their own. Perhaps they could share with the nursemaids who would soon be overseeing them as though they were children.

More interestingly though, was the tale his little princess had just been regaling him with of how she tamed the majestic beast known as Silverwing, a dragon that had gone unclaimed for nineteen years since the death of Queen Alysanne.

“Are you mad?” he spat with a mix of shock and awe, focusing back on what his niece had just said.

“I won’t lie, there was a part of me that was terrified in that moment,” she explained, her features brightening with excitement as she spoke. “She dwarfed me and I felt like a kitten in her shadow, but there was also something knowing in her eyes, something that spoke to me. She voiced without words that we were one in the same and somehow… I just knew that I had to stand my ground.”

“But to chase after the beast, into her lair after she denied your initial advance, without the aid of the Dragonkeepers and with no battle training is not only dangerous, it is foolish.” He couldn’t help but feel protective of her even retroactively, but there was a strong sense of pride welling in his chest as well. It was a brash action that he himself would have taken.

“It is simply the way it must be done at times… If you are tame a beast akin to a god. They will not accept you if you cannot prove to them that you are worthy. That you are just as powerful as they are. And even still, there must be a bond, and I sensed that connection with Silverwing already. We had encountered each other many times on my visits to Dragonstone, and when I was six and ten I could no longer deny the call I felt to claim her.” She sounded almost like a prophetic seer in her explanation.

Daemon knew she was right though. How could one expect to tame a dragon without being as willful and bold as they were. And yet, it had been incredibly perilous of her to attempt alone. It was something he could never have dreamed the small girl would do, but he would certainly never accuse her of being a weak, mewling pet. No, not after that story and how she had stood up to Rhaenyra as well. His beloved niece was a fierce Valyrian warrior, fire made flesh, demanding what was owed to her from one of the most fearsome and magical creatures known to existence.

“Worthy indeed,” he let out a low scoff, though he was clearly impressed by the tale. “To tame a dragon such as Silverwing in such a daring way is truly astounding. I would wager that my dear brother would have fainted on the spot if he had witnessed his daughter performing such a feat.”

Ryna turned to him looking a touch sheepish as though she were recalling Viserys’ reaction on the spot. “He was not pleased when he found out that I had sailed across the bay to Dragonstone without his leave. But he could not complain for long when he found out that I had returned with a dragon of legend.” She smiled enthusiastically, seemingly proud of her subjugation - not just of her dragon, but also of her father’s ire.

Daemon chuckled at the thought of poor old Viserys upon realizing what his daughter had accomplished. “Oh, I expect not. But, he must have been overjoyed in the end, having another fierce mounted dragon in the hands of the family.”

His eyes began to wander over his niece thoughtfully, a feeling of respect fluttering through his mind and down to his heart. She looked so lovely, so noble sitting there beside him with such a resolute countenance.

And then suddenly and without warning, he blurted out the uppermost thought that would not escape his head, “You are very beautiful, Princess.”

Her gaze shifted from looking out the carriage window back towards him, a startled surprise in her slack lips as her eyes focused on his. “T-thank you, Uncle,” she replied with a girlish sweetness, her cheeks blushing slightly with the compliment.

The prince let out a low hum, enjoying the soft blush that spread across her porcelain skin. Daemon leaned over to her just as the coach took a jolting turn around a tight corner, hitting a rock and sending her sliding into him further. He relished in her proximity, so close that he could smell her delicate scent.

“No need to thank me,” he murmured softly, letting his cheek fall against the soft tresses atop her head for a moment and feeling a sense of intoxication as a result from the honeyed smell of her shampoo. “I’m only speaking the truth, my little dragon.”

She smiled shyly as a sense of quiet pervaded the royal coach. It was not an awkward silence, but a contented moment shared by two who truly appreciate each other’s company. His arm snaked naturally around her shoulders, pulling her snugly to his side. The feel of her warm face nestled against his chest sent his mind spiraling back and forth between gentle affection and primal lust. It was hard not to think of doing unspeakable things to her just then, but the sounds of trotting hooves and wheels scraping against cobblestones helped to distract him from his desires.

Eventually, the carriage slowed as they neared the entrance to the massive gates atop Rhaenys’ Hill and while Daemon found himself loathe to part from her company, even temporarily, he was also rapt with the idea of seeing his little Ryna mounting an incredible beast like Silverwing. He stepped out of the carriage, jumping to the dusty ground below and offered his hands up to take the basket first and then helped his niece down as well.

Ser Erryk had already dismounted his steed and was standing at the ready to assist, but Daemon couldn’t help but resent his presence. He tossed the basket against the knight’s chest and offered his arm to Ryna with a slight scowl. He did not harbor any malice towards the man, in fact Cargyll had served under him quite faithfully when Daemon had been Commander of the Gold Cloaks. But, he still wasn’t sure if this Cargyll twin would be loyal to him or the king in the event of witnessing any untoward behavior, and thus he begrudged the intrusion.

“Meet us down by the overlook. Across from the harbor. We’ll land there,” Daemon barked as he pointed off in the direction he meant to fly. The Kingsguard nodded solemnly in return.

With Ryna at his side, they started toward the open maw of the Dragonpit. Daemon mused on their approach that the back entrance looked more like a yawning cave with jagged stone teeth than its name suggested. The warm air of the city, carried up by the sea and mixed with the sulfurous reek of dragonshit blew through the opening and assaulted their nostrils.

Several Dragonkeepers stood at the entrance in reception. Three were attending to Caraxes, who reluctantly allowed himself to be led out into the open, while a couple others stood guard at the mouth of the pit. The massive wyrm hissed with displeasure as it came fully into view, its scaly hide gleaming bloody crimson in the light of day. Caraxes’ neck extended out into the air with a roar as Daemon approached and it gave him a measure of comfort, a reminder of who he was if ever there was one.

He let go of Ryna’s arm to close the gap between him and his mount. His hand reached out to stroke the great Blood Wyrm on his snout, soothing the temper of his dragon and earning a low, content rumble from deep within the beast’s chest. Caraxes’ eye fixed on him with the flicker of recognition, a connection born from years of shared adventures.

“Lykirī, Caraxes,” he reassured the great creature - Be calm. The giant serpentine creature seemed much happier now that it was surrounded by two Targaryens. “You remember my niece, old boy. Don’t you?”

Another grumble escaped Caraxes’ maw, louder and louder until eventually it came out sounding like the beast was purring. Its head reached out for the young girl in all his fearsome glory, the long slender neck stretching to sniff at the familiar Valyrian blood that coursed through her veins.

Daemon felt something inside of him brace. Caraxes had never defied him as such to bypass his hold for another. Though it wasn’t crossness that gave him pause, but a split second of worry. Yet, Ryna was already taking those steps to close the distance between them, meeting his dragon without hesitation as though it were a domesticated pet. She stood beside her uncle, her fingers resting right beside his own against Caraxes’ hard, yet flexible scaling.

She is fearless.

She had a confidence about her in the presence of this great wyrm that she did not exude in other areas of her life. Perhaps it had been squashed by her family after years of neglect, but here in the shadow of his dragon, it was all too obvious that she had the makings of a fierce dragonrider. She might even be capable of claiming more than one beast, should she desire it. He couldn’t help but smile as the awe struck him.

Caraxes’ head pressed in towards them in what was undoubtedly a demanding plea for affection and Daemon could do nothing but chuckle as the great beast sought after the attention of his sweet niece. “Looks like he’s just as fond of you as I am,” he commented with a measure of amusement in his voice.

Ryna smiled with a childlike glee present in her eyes as she suddenly pressed her cheek directly against the flat spot before Caraxes’ eye. The dragon grunted and settled, pushing into her gently as if in approval.

Then it is not only me that is enthralled by you.

He felt a pang in his chest, almost akin to jealousy. She had ensnared not one, but two beasts with her beguiling innocence and effortless beauty. It was an amazing display to the point of being surreal given she had not been this close to Caraxes for many years. Daemon couldn’t deny the rush of affection and lust he felt at the sight, mixed with the slightest bite of envy. An envy not to share in her ways, but to selfishly keep them all to himself.

“He is magnificent,” she finally said, replacing her cheek with her hand on Caraxes scales. She beamed with a pride that can only be felt by those adept at taming a creature as wild and fierce as a dragon.

“Yes he is,” Daemon responded with a measure of warmth in his voice. “Magnificent and brutal,” he noted, running a hand along the outstretched neck of his wyrm.

Ignoring his owner’s touch completely, Caraxes gave a few adoring nudges against Ryna’s palm. The Blood Wyrm practically begging to be pet and scratched now, purring like an oversized house cat for the girl’s attention. You enormous whore. I’ve never seen you so desperate before.

Ryna obliged his pleas for care, rubbing the tips of her fingers into the scaling enough to massage the musculature down below, but taking care not to snag her nails on the edges. Caraxes was certainly eating up all the attention, groaning and grunting with every touch. Daemon was definitely starting to feel a bit jealous by now.

“You’d think he’s never been pet before in his entire life until now with how he’s carrying on for you,” he said with a hint of contempt, shifting his gaze to the dragon’s massive golden eye. Daemon shook his head and rested a hand on Ryna’s waist, staking his claim lest Caraxes get any ideas about who she belonged to.

A low grumble came from within the red wyrm’s chest, a mostly silent acknowledgment of Daemon’s presence, but no more than that. Still Ryna kept at kneading all of over the dragon’s face and clearly Caraxes wished her to continue with her pampering, but Daemon had enough of it.

“Come now, sweetling,” Daemon interrupted the display. “Caraxes is not the only one craving your attention.” He spoke in a sultry low tone as he gently pulled her away from the beast. His dragon gave an unmistakable grumble of protest, a displeased moan that sounded like a child being denied their favorite toy. “Besides, you still have to introduce me to your Silverwing.”

“Oh yes! I almost forgot,” she said with a shocked look of remembrance. “Sorry for getting carried away. I just love them so.” Ryna gave Caraxes a wave goodbye and then peered around to the idling Dragonkeepers. “Why haven’t they brought my dragon out as well though?” she mused with a furl of her brow.

Daemon eyed the men at the entrance to the pit and a sudden sense of alarm overcame him. The keepers looked far too nervous and unsettled and he had been too preoccupied watching Ryna with Caraxes to notice it until now.

They left Caraxes and approached the huddle of keepers at the entry that led down into the Dragonpit.

“Skoriot iksos Silverwing?” Where is Silverwing? She asked with confusion. After all the Dragonkeepers were typically consummate professionals that revered the dragons as gods. It was unlike them to not have the great beasts prepared when it had been requested.

“Ziry jāhor daor rȳbagon.” She will not listen. The response came first from the eldest keeper present while the two much younger and inexperienced men around him cowered their heads slightly.

“Iksos ziry nykeēdrosa iemnȳ? Is she still inside?” Ryna didn’t seem entirely surprised.

“Daor, ziry-“ The keeper began but was cut off by a deafening screech. No, she-

The beating of large wings sent air in all directions, kicking up the dust as everyone’s gaze shot to the air to take in the spectacle. The massive, pale dragon’s scales shimmered, almost blindingly opalescent in the sunlight as it hovered directly above them, sending the keepers retreating into the eye of the cave. Silverwing darted in the air, crashing down to the side of the landing with a few more shrieks, causing the earth to tremble beneath them.

“She does not like to be chained,” Ryna explained with a mild embarrassment as she rushed forward to meet her dragon before it could cause anymore ruckus.

Daemon stood back, watching with a mixture of wonder and concern as Silverwing let loose her displeasure at being confined for so long. The great silver beast had a reputation for being the tamest and most friendly dragon in Westeros, but clearly living in the wild for so many years had changed its disposition.

As Silverwing roared and snarled at the keepers who had run to seek shelter from the enraged beast, Daemon turned and held his hand up to stay Caraxes who had become unnerved by the display of a larger dragon’s aggression. Once the crimson wyrm calmed, he took the chance to observe Ryna. It seemed his niece had no fear in her when it came to these winged creatures.

“Rāpirī!” she called out loudly, the sound cutting through the dragon’s complaints as her neck stood straight with awareness. Be calm!

Silverwing’s rigid stance visibly relaxed as the princess approached, taking several lurching steps forward to meet her halfway. Daemon was surprised by the tone that erupted from her small frame in the wake up such an imposing beast.

“Daor, Silverwing! Konir sagon daor ñuhoso naejot sagon!” No, Silverwing. That is no way to act!” Ryna’s tone was strict and chastising, but the way she embraced the dragon was anything but.

The dragon towered even Caraxes in size and yet it acted docile when faced with his niece. He had to laugh as he walked across the yard slowly, watching the beast press the front of its head against the height of her entire body and somehow failing to knock her over.

“How is she not crushed under the weight of that beast!?” Daemon pondered aloud with a smirk as the scene unfolded before him. It seemed like a completely ridiculous sight, even by his standards, to see a dragon envelop the form of a little girl and have her not suffer even a single broken rib.

He kept his distance, not wishing to agitate Silverwing as she enjoyed the moment of finally being free of the cramped confines of the Dragonpit. Yet, he couldn’t resist smirking to himself as he saw his young niece standing tall with her hand resting upon the top of the great dragon’s head.

After some moments had passed, Ryna turned back to him with a look of delight upon her face, her hand motioning in circles to pull him closer.

“Don’t worry, Uncle,” she said encouragingly. “She was just a touch ornery with the keepers, I think.”

Daemon had to laugh at that. “Ornery is putting it lightly,” he replied, walking closer to join them. “I think I’d use something more potent. Perhaps savage is a more apt description.” Daemon jested as he took position not far behind Ryna marveling at the sheer mass of the dragon’s enormous body.

Silverwing’s bright orange eyes watched him discerningly, but she had obviously decided to take her rider’s lead in trusting him for the moment. In the sun, the dragon’s scales appeared almost white, the spine and underside of her wings were pearlescent with hues of coral pink shining through the most. The flicker of silver lined the underside of each scale and Daemon could tell the beast would be just as gorgeous in the dim twilight as well.

She was a beast of both grace and beauty, no doubt, but Daemon could also sense the sheer power and ferocity that exuded from this dragon. Silverwing may be docile for the moment, but appeared like a creature that would bring ruin and death to her enemies if given the chance. “A glorious wyrm, to be sure,” he admitted as his hands came to a rest at his hips.

“She certainly looks like she belongs to you, sweetling. Pale as snow and just as stunning,” he added with a thoughtful grin.

“Uncle…” she turned her head back to him, a rose in her cheeks at the compliment. “You must stop praising me so. I don’t know how to handle such flattery.”

“Surely you’re used to praise by now,” he teased as his eyes scanned her form up and down in a predatory manner. That beautiful blushing face and those pouty lips that beckoned to be bruised and used. “I’d wager you’ll handle it just fine, sweetling,” he answered in a suggestive tone. His eyes lingered over her delicate body for a second longer before he returned his gaze to Silverwing.

“I’ve heard this beast was quite docile, even obedient, when last it was ridden by the Queen Alysanne,” he inquired curiously. “Why has she become so easily agitated?”

“I’m not sure,” she pondered, stroking down the neck of Silverwing with the flat of her hand. “It could be that she is restless and misses her mate, Vermithor. They had been bonded for decades and even after the passing of their riders, remained so upon the Dragonmont. But, it might be that she is no longer accustomed to being bound after living free for so long. It is difficult to say, but I may stop forcing her to be chained. It is getting more dangerous for all involved. Save me, of course.”

Ryna then took him by the wrist and led him closer. “Shh… Shh, Silver. Renīs,” -Touch, she warned the giant white beast as she prepared to place his hand upon her dragon’s hulking face. Silverwing let out a low growl, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she watched Daemon carefully. He was not weary of the creature, but wished to give it the space it needed, regarding it back with his own calculating expression.

“It is alright, Silver,” she let go of Daemon’s hand and continued to coo, almost using the tone one might speak to a young child with. “He may be a rogue, but he is with me.”

The great silver dragon continued to rumble and hiss, her orange eyes fixed on Daemon with doubt, but Ryna’s soothing voice started to calm her into a tolerant complaint of his presence.

“Oh, she’s very protective of you, hm?” he teased with a smirk on his face. “But she should know that I would never dare harm her precious rider.”

“Perhaps you should tell her that yourself… And maybe she’ll even believe you.” She quipped back with a playful leer.

“And what might persuade her that I’m a man worth trusting?” Daemon chuckled at his niece’s jest as he looked back to Silverwing. Those blazing, fiery eyes continued to stare at him, almost like they were peering deeply into his soul. He took a step closer to the dragpm, his hands held up in a gesture of peace.

“Don’t worry, riña,” -girl, she stepped forward and clapped the side of the dragon’s massive jaw. “He might look dangerous, but he is actually quite sweet once you get to know him a little better. A little mischievous too. But that only serves to keep things interesting.” She gestured for him to come even closer as Silverwing relaxed considerably.

A little mischievous? That is the understatement of the century.

“Sweet, you say?” he barked sarcastically while shifting his gaze to Ryna. “I don’t think that’s a word many people would use to describe me,” he teased as he continued to carefully advance, closing the final distance between him and Silverwing.

The giant eye flicked to her rider for a moment before shifting back to Daemon as he raised his hand up slowly to touch her. Finally, he lowered his palm down upon the scales below her snout. Silverwing rumbled slightly and then settled, finally relenting her fussing over his nearness. He couldn’t help but marvel at how soft her scales were, like touching snow in the summer, but supposed it was balanced out by the fearsome spikes that protruded out from around the crown of the dragon’s head.

“There we are, girl,” he whispered as his hand stroked over those fine as silk scales, coming to rest along the curve of her jaw. He turned to the princess with a smug smirk, unable to help himself from gloating. “I guess I’m not such a lost cause after all.”

Ryna rolled her eyes playfully, running her hand down the throat of her mount. “I knew she’d accept you. She’s mine after all, isn’t she?”

“Indeed, sweetling,” he replied as his hand brushed lines along the underside of Silverwing’s jaw, taking care to avoid the jagged spurs jutting out. Just as you are mine. The words danced on the tip of his tongue, holding back a possessive smirk from forming on his lips.

Daemon’s focus shifted to his niece as she ran her hands over Silverwing’s smooth plates of shining armor. He couldn’t help but imagine how those same sweet hands would feel upon his body, caressing his chest and running through his hair. He was still conflicted with how to balance the lust he felt for the girl and the confines of the courtship. A line he was not supposed to cross yet, no matter how tempting it was.

“Now that everyone is at peace with each other. Shall we go flying, Uncle?” Ryna asked with a smile, grazing her hand against his for a moment as she stepped back away from the towering silver white dragon. “I think this shall be the best courting date that was ever had.”

The brief contact of her fingers touching against the back of his knuckles felt like fire upon his skin.

“The best, sweetling?” he replied with a wicked grin as he followed her in giving Silverwing space. “Oh, I could think of a few ways to make it even better.”

His niece shook her head at him with a telling expression of both desire and impishness. “Ebrot, Silver!” she boomed with authority. Down.

The giant scaled beast lowered it’s neck down, it’s chest practically touching the ground as she spread her wing out like a step ladder. Ryna climbed up the hard alula of her dragon’s outer wing with the deftness of a seasoned thief, sliding into the saddle with a thump. The saddle appeared just as he’d expect, made for a princess with a royal blue fabric lining and a frame made of oxidized silver that looked magnificent against the creature’s milky skin.

Daemon had to bite his tongue to keep his expression nonchalant as he watched that great power between Ryna’s legs, making it look like Silverwing’s back was her very own throne.

And she makes it look so good.

Giving the princess one final glance, he nodded and turned on his heels to stride over to where Caraxes was, already waiting for him and impatient to take to the skies. Daemon hauled himself up into the leather saddle as the Blood Wyrm let out a sharp screech of excitement that echoed across the Dragonpit and likely the streets below. He settled his knees onto either side of the beast, straddling the saddle and gripping the rein in his fists as he urged Caraxes back towards Ryna.

The dragons hissed and spat, each giving off their own intimidation tactics as they attempted to vie for dominance, but were stymied by their riders.

“Daor, Caraxes!” he bellowed like thunder and the crimson wyrm rumbled once more before settling. As the beasts calmed, Ryna walked Silverwing beside him so that they were both facing each other.

“Now, Uncle… There’s just one question left to answer.” Ryna smirked mischievously. “Do you know what it is?”

Daemon gave his princess a look of annoyance, pretending as if he was too distracted by the antics of their dragons, but there was no hiding the grin of anticipation that soon pulled at his lips. He knew damn well what was coming his way, almost like a child understands without instruction that a game is near at hand.

“Enlighten me, sweetling,” he answered in feigned ignorance.

“Who will be faster?” she challenged him as her eyes grew wide. Her hands clutched the reins of her saddle tightly and she shouted, “Sōvēs!" ordering Silvering to fly.

Oh, you ’re on, r i ñītsos. Little girl.

As the immense silver dragon bolted forwards, great wings unfurled as she lunged into the sky, Daemon’s competitive nature kicked in and he ordered Caraxes to quickly follow suit. The crimson beast took off into the air with a powerful leap, its wings flapping furiously to gain speed as he gave chase to Ryna and her mount.

He could just barely hear her shouting through the current of wind assaulting his ears, "Vēzot! Vēzot!" urging the creature 'Up, up!'

“We can’t let her beat us, now can we, Caraxes? I’ll never hear the end of it!” he yelled to his mount with an amused laugh. He then ordered his dragon to climb into the sky as well, goading his smaller, more agile dragon forward, “Aderī! Aderī!” Faster!

Daemon gained on her swiftly, only a beat behind her as Ryna soared higher and higher, finally reaching the boundary of the clouds and pushing through. In a crest of hazy fog, they were both above the canopy of mist in direct reception of the blazing sun. Caraxes let out a sharp cry of pleasure as the warm sunlight washed over them, both dragons now gliding through the clear air with ease.

His bride to be’s dragon shone like a rainbow after a storm, breathtaking in its splendor and he could not help but feel awed by the sight of it. But, even the beauty of Silverwing’s gleaming scales could not deter his focus as his eyes locked onto Ryna’s, watching as she sat astride the great dragon as if it were an extension of her own body. Her flowing hair was golden in the light, illuminating her with a radiant glow that made her look like a goddess.

The princess’ playful smile, soon became a bit more serious as she returned his gaze, an unspoken promise of more to come. He was so captivated that he almost forgot about their race. Almost.

“You may be lovely, Niece, but you’re not going to win!” he yelled out, a teasing lilt to his voice despite the volume.

She turned back with a beaming smile and shouted "That's what you think!"

Ryna pulled back hard on the reins with a devious look on her face.. "Embrot, Silverwing!! Down!" The dragon rolled up once more and then dove back down into the clouds and Ryna let out a screaming cheer as they descended.

As the shimmering pearl of a beast dove into a dizzying free fall, Daemon’s eyes widened in surprise watching them disappear beneath the cloud cover, cursing under his breath, “You little cheat!” She wasn’t going to play fair it seemed, which suited his own nature just fine.

He urged Caraxes into a steep drop in hot pursuit of the princess, the great red serpent’s wings tucked close to its muscular body as they hurtled through the cool air. His heart was racing with excitement, the adrenaline rushing through his veins as he chased after Ryna through the billowing white haze.

Truly, this very feeling was what life was all about for those of the Valyrian bloodline: the adventure, the daring, and the freedom. Those who could ride dragons and knew the boundless liberation of flying could never truly find happiness with a ground laden person. He’d hoped to find that connection with Laena, but supposed the salt and sea that coursed through her veins, her steady flow, had a way of drowning out the fire in his own. Daemon had been restless with her, reclusive and entirely unlike himself, but now it seemed he’d found the fire he was meant to burn together with and it felt sublime.

A great whoop escaped his lungs as the clouds parted and he emerged through the bottom of the fog bank. The sensation was addictive, like the most concentrated milk of the poppy, the feeling of freedom that flight brought to his life mixed with the very thrill of the hunt as he pursued Ryna. He hadn’t felt this good in years, as if somehow all of his confliction, all of his struggles had suddenly gave way to clarity. He could see his path clearly and knew exactly what he wanted.

He had smoldered for Ryna for quite some time, but those embers had now been stoked becoming a raging firestorm of lust, desire, and need that spiraled forward without restraint just as he now cut through the air towards his goal.

The crimson wings of Caraxes spread as the dragon slowed its descent, hovering directly above Silverwing as its nostrils flared in and out taking great heaping breaths. Daemon’s cornsilk head was now almost directly above Ryna, looking down at her as a great smirk formed on his lips.

“You will not beat me that easily, you little minx!” he shouted, though his playful tone was heavily tinted with the thirst of the battle-high.

The princess threw her head back to look up at him, her lips loose with a wide smile as she brazenly reached a hand up. Daemon felt a jolt of heat rush through him and pool low in his belly as he gazed down at Ryna below him. She looked so radiant, her face flushed with exhilaration, her silverspun hair streaming, whipping wildly as she rode upon the back of her majestic silver dragon. It sent an aching throb through him, seeing his future bride looking so wild and free.

Gods, she is glorious.

He didn’t think he could reach her, but he extended his arm to Ryna anyway, feeling as though he might slip right out of his saddle if not for the downward motion holding him in place. The tips of their fingers grazed against each other for the slightest of moments as her mount’s great wings streamlined even more against the opaline crusted body, causing her to dive faster.

Daemon laughed out loudly, not angry at all by her cunning little tricks, but rather more amused than anything. For all her sweetness, the princess certainly had a playful streak to her and he very much enjoyed it.

“You little brat…” he said under his breath, grinning as he told his dragon to go after her. “Follow her, you big red brute!” Caraxes let out a great screech in response and took off after Silverwing once more, gaining fast as they headed down towards King’s Landing.

The pair of dragon riders glided over the city, circling and looping around one another, neither truly gaining the upper hand as the competition between their mounts turned into a game with no real rules nor rituals. They danced around one another, Silverwing twisting and banking beneath Caraxes, keeping him constantly on the defensive as Daemon took advantage of his mount’s greater maneuverability, testing the limits of his agility and speed.

It must have been a sight to behold for all the commonfolk down below and if rumors had not yet circulated of their coming union, then they most certainly would be spreading like wildfire now.

They swooped past the massive dome of the Dragonpit before pulling back up, their great beasts twisting and twirling through the air as Ryna shot towards the River Gate and over the Blackwater Rush. She followed the path alongside the river and Daemon pursued close behind. The princess was already slowing to look for a spot free of trees to land upon along the edge of the Kingswood.

The princess was already slowing to look for a spot free of trees to land upon and he took the opportunity to speed past her. For he knew exactly where their destination was, a large clearing that preceded a rocky outcropping that overlooked the Blackwater Bay on the boundaries of the Kingswood. Daemon rushed ahead, satisfied that he would win the race and ordered Caraxes to land, “Ninkiot!”

The Blood Wyrm flared his wings wide, slowing his descent as he landed on the soft grass with a heavy thud that shook the earth. Caraxes let out a triumphant shriek, sharing in the joy of victory as he lowered his body to let Daemon dismount from his back. His legs were a little wobbly as he jumped from the beast, a slight disorientation as he stepped on solid ground again. He pat his mount proudly on the head as he turned to await Ryna’s arrival.

Silverwing glided down near the treeline, wings outstretched and hovering for a moment before landing with a crash like thunder. The princess climbed down from her silver dragon’s back and turned towards him, face bright and exuberant from the thrill of their little race.

“I have never flown with another rider before!” she shouted from across the way, striding swiftly to meet him. “Tell me, Uncle… Why has it taken me so long to experience the delight of such play?”

As she made her way towards him, he drank in the sight of her. The way her hair curled in silvery gold ringlets, wind-swept from their flight and the flush of her cheeks. Her eyes gleamed with a happiness he could not remember seeing on her beautiful face since youth.

Daemon felt a pang of guilt well up as he thought of all the years of missed opportunity. How much time he’d wasted when they could have been spent together like this.

It matters not. You ’re mine now.

He opened his arms as she approached him, giving Ryna a charming smile. “It’s been long overdue, my sweetling,” he replied, pulling her against him in one fluid motion, their chests pressing firmly together without a hint of space between them. The heat from her skin permeated through the fabric of their clothing and he could feel her heart pounding against his chest.

Daemon pulled back slightly, gazing down at her for a moment. “You’re a very fast flyer, Niece. I had a hard time keeping up with you,” he teased, his voice a low rumble. He wrapped an arm around her slender waist as they walked together towards the edge of the cliff that looked out over the water.

“It’s a beautiful view,” Ryna said ignoring his playful jab. She gasped softly as the sun broke through the clouds and caused the sea to sparkle before them.

He stood at her side, arms encircling her waist, hunkered down slightly so he could prop his chin on her shoulder. The ocean breeze whipped at their hair, stirring the air and bringing the salt of the water to meet them.

“Hm, gevie,” Daemon whispered, nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck. Beautiful. But, he was not speaking of the sea. He savored the feeling of her closeness, the scent of her skin, perfume, and hair all enticing him to bury himself in her and never leave.

Thankfully, the babysitters hadn’t yet arrived and they would be allowed a moment of reprieve from the intrusion of onlookers. Surely Ser Erryk was speeding ahead at full throttle to watch over them at the king’s behest, so they likely wouldn’t have time to do anything much.

As if reading his mind, she turned towards him, her small hands creeping up his chest slowly. Ryna looked up at him, her eyes heavy with desire and her lips parted enough to invite him in. Daemon was powerless to resist her silent request, his breath quickening as he ran his thumb across the plump redness of her lower lip. His gaze flickered over her face, lingering on the pale shine of her lilac irises before finally joining their mouths.

A deep, guttural moan rumbled in his throat as a familiar heat spread throughout his body. He deepened the kiss, pulling Ryna closer against him, their hips aligning as he pressed his arousal into her involuntarily, the need taking him over.

She gasped a soft little moan against his lips and he wondered if she had ever felt a man in this capacity. He’d had her pretty close to him on the night of the banquet, but with all of those skirts bunched up beneath her, Daemon doubted she had actually felt anything discernible. It would be hard to mistake it for anything else now though and her startled response made him want to throw her down on the grass, to see what other sounds he could coax from her innocent mouth.

Her body stiffened ever so slightly as his tongue invaded her mouth, tasting her sweetness eagerly. He pushed his tongue in deeper, wanting to consume every little whimper and movement she made. Daemon gripped her tighter, his hands resting firmly in the curve of her hip as he pulled her flush against him. She felt so good, like a missing piece that had finally found its rightful place in his arms.

He nipped at her bottom lip, tugging and pulling it between his teeth before burying his face back into the crook of her neck. His lips traced a slow, searing path across her jaw and down to her slender throat as his hand moved up her bodice, greedily clutching the soft mound of her breast.

Fuck, she feels so good. So soft and supple.

The feel of her tight little body pressed against him was already driving him wild. He was aching to sink his teeth into her neck, that smooth expanse of milky flesh calling to him. He could imagine the whimpers and mewls his sweet Ryna would make and it caused his blood to rush even faster, pumping into his cock as the fabric of his breeches constrained him painfully.

Slow it down, you lecherous bastard.

The audible rumble of wheels and hooves was now fast approaching from down the banks of the river. Daemon gave her breast a final gentle squeeze, reluctantly releasing his lips from her skin with a final kiss to her shoulder as he stepped back. It was an agonizing thing to do and the desperate look on her face was almost as painful as the taste of her still persisting upon his lips.

He was playing a dangerous game, attempting to see how far he could push himself before he lost all control.

“We must stop,” he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I can hear the carriage. Our nursemaids will be here soon.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Ryna looked down the length of the clearing, her cheeks flushed and her chest still heaving from the excitement.

Daemon raked his fingers through his blond locks, trying to collect himself. He felt light-headed and shaky, the effects of their heated encounter still fresh in his mind, and not just the heavy petting, but the incredible race they’d just had on dragonback as well. This courtship was a torture levied upon him by his self-righteous brother who wanted nothing more than to watch him squirm.

He would stay within the boundaries of the game if not just to spite Viserys for saddling him with such a burden in the first place.

And then a thought occurred to him causing a wicked grin to cross his face as he considered the ways he might further bend the rules.

“I have something in mind, sweetling. Other means of continuing our play,” he suggested, taking her hands in his and rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.

“Oh?” she asked with a curious lilt in her tone. “Are you up to no good again, Uncle?”

The prince laughed, his dastardly plan coming more fully to fruition in his mind. “Perhaps a little,” he replied lifting her hand up to his lips. He placed a soft kiss upon her fingers, watching her carefully with a mischievous smirk upon his face. “Can you keep a secret, sweetling?”

“Of course I can,” she agreed quickly. “What is royal life without secrets and subterfuge?” Ryna giggled, matching his expression with her own of shared deviousness.

Daemon gave her a nod, satisfied with her answer and pleased by her guile. The princess was a quick study, eager to please, and most importantly, easily molded with the pliability of youth.

“Good. I have an idea,” he said, leaning close so that his lips hovered just a breath away from her ear.

The carriage finally peeked out from around the bend of the forest, following the path beside the river just as he finished whispering the last of his plans in Ryna’s ear. It was risky, but if he failed at his brother’s imposed game, there was nothing to stop him from simply eloping with his niece directly into another exile. It was not an ideal situation, but such a back up plan meant that he could never truly lose the match.