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Chapter Text

Rhaenyra Leaves the Pleasure House

Rhaenyra looked up and down the ally searching anxiously in the darkness, but he wasn’t there. Should she wait? Not eager to loiter alone in King’s Landing without even the minimal protection of her discarded cap, she decided her best option was to try to make her way towards the Red Keep. The chill from the night air was in harsh contrast to the intense heat she had felt only minutes ago with Daemon’s body flush against hers, his breath hot on her neck, his large hand covering her own, his hard cock pressed up agains her ass…How had she ended up out on the street alone?

Where the fuck is Daemon?

As she walked, she played the evening over in her head, trying to make sense of it all. She recalled finding the disguise and map that Daemon had left for her. She had delighted in the opportunity to indulge her childish fantasy of escaping into the night with her prince, if only for an evening. Her whole body had flushed with pleasure when he took her hand, pulling her away from the restrictions of court to actually enjoy herself - and to enjoy her uncle without provoking whispers about the “queer customs" of the Targaryens. Daemon had never behaved inappropriately towards her before, but she doubted that her attraction to her uncle had gone completely unnoticed by the court gossips all these years. Once free in the city, Daemon had indulged her every whim and pulled her close at every opportunity. He seemed to enjoy watching her experience all of the novelties of King’s Landing as much as she enjoyed actually experiencing them. Rhaenyra hadn’t even hesitated when Daemon led her into the pleasure house. It felt natural to her that he would be the one to show her how to give and receive pleasure. After all, he had taught her how to ride a dragon and how to speak Valyrian. And it was hardly a secret that he was at least as skilled in this area as he was in the others. She was thoroughly convinced of that the as soon as she felt—

Rhaenyra threw up a mental wall. She needed to work out what had just happened and couldn’t afford to further cloud her judgement by recalling the touches her body was still aching for.

So why did he take me there if not to have me? Was it really just another stop on his debauched sightseeing tour of King’s Landing?

She stopped her in her tracks as the realization dawned on her. Sightseeing. That was exactly why he had taken her there - and she was the sight that was meant to be seen. He hadn’t taken her there because he desired her or to teach her about pleasure. How could she have been so naïve? He wasn’t her lover, or her maester, or even the same doting uncle from her childhood. He was Daemon Targaryen, brother of the king and potential heir to the Iron Throne, one of the most dangerous men in Westeros - and she had let her guard down. Had this whole evening been planned with that goal in mind? To get her to let her guard down so that he could ruin her? If so she had certainly made it easy for him.

She followed him so willingly into that brothel, was so eager for him that she didn’t care who was watching. She didn’t spare a thought for the spies she knew were everywhere throughout the kingdom, or for how she was ruining her chance at a decent marriage that would strengthen her claim to the throne. She had been so caught up in his kisses and his touch…and he hadn't even been interested enough in her to be able to fully commit to his own performance. After all, he was the Rogue Prince in a whore house. With an endless supply of enticing professionals around was she really surprised he didn’t stick around for her inexperienced fumbling? Humiliation burned in her chest. The way he looked at her, she had been so sure he had felt the same.

Rhaenyra started walking again, feeling her hurt and confusion transform into fury with every step she took towards the Red Keep. She would not let him get away with this. She was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and she would make her uncle pay dearly for his antics. She ruminated on his betrayal as she walked through the courtyard. She was trying to devise a strategic counterattack but kept falling into fantasies of revenge. She could have his beloved Dark Sister melted down for more jewelry, or have him sent him back to the Stepstones and fed to the crabs. They weren’t terribly productive imaginings, but they were somewhat gratifying and helped to keep other intrusive thoughts - like the feel of Daemon’s thumb brushing against her lip - out of her mind. This tumultuous mental cycle of revenge and desire kept her completely preoccupied as she completed her journey home and continued uninterrupted until a voice jolted her back to the present moment.

“Princess, are you, are you hurt?”

Ser Criston? Sevens, she hadn’t even realized she had made it safely back inside her chambers, let alone registered his presence outside her door. He had recently become such a fixture by her side that she hardly noticed him at all anymore. He was like an attractive piece of furniture, blending seamlessly into the background of her everyday life. But he had certainly noticed her storming into her chambers at this unseemly hour dressed as a peasant boy. It would have been awfully hard for him to miss. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, irritated by her own stupidity. How had she not thought to take the tunnels?

“I-I should alert the Lord Commander.”

Shit.

“No!”

She opened the door hastily. She had to keep him from going to the Lord Commander, and ultimately her father. Rhaenyra hadn’t figured out her next move yet. She pasted on her most charming smile and grabbed Criston’s helmet, compelling him into her chambers.

“My helmet,” he requested sternly.

Keep him away from the door, keep him away from the door and the Lord Commander.

She absconded with the helmet, aiming for playful, but Criston made no effort to match his mood to her own. He was clearly upset that she had snuck out on his watch. But it was more than that. He seemed on edge just being in her chambers with her, so tense. Gods, he seemed nearly as frustrated as she had been on her walk home…Oh.

She hadn’t recognized this feeling in him before tonight. The tension in his body, the darkness in his eyes, the slight strain in his voice. The honorable Ser Criston Cole was not just holding himself back from grabbing the helmet. Here, alone with her in her chambers, nearing the hour of the wolf, the knight was holding himself back from grabbing her. She knew now how it felt to have the object of your desire within your grasp, to be so close but to still be left wanting. Criston wanted her. How long had we wanted her? Long enough, she assumed, that he would not be the second man foolish enough to turn her down that night.

Keeping him from tattling to the Lord Commander was going to be much easier than she had anticipated. Daemon may not appreciate the Realm’s Delight when she’s ready and willing in front of him, but it seemed Ser Criston would. Besides, how hard could it be to keep up with a man who had taken a vow of celibacy? She pressed the door closed with her back, and once again held out the helmet.

When Criston reached for it this time, Rheanyra took advantage of his closeness and pressed her lips briefly against his. He froze and took a step back.

He stared openly at the princess now, her body more exposed than usual in the thin, coarse fabric of her disguise. The top fastening was still undone from when Daemon had untied it in the brothel. Criston’s jaw clenched and his breath had become slightly labored. How had she never noticed his attraction to her before? Regardless, the realization swelled inside her. Maybe she wasn’t so undesirable after all. Her attention had always been so focused on Daemon that she had never even really considered anyone else romantically. She had never been affected by the attention of the lords who pursued her, knowing full well that their primary attraction was to her crown, not to her self. After this evening, Rhaenyra feared that may be true of her uncle as well.

But Ser Criston was a different story. Ser Criston was her sworn protector. He had no chance at taking her hand or her throne. He would never abandon her. He actually wanted her. And that meant that this time she was the one in control. She was the one calling the shots. She was the one making him, this big, strong member of the Kingsguard, weak with desire. She liked the feeling.

Tossing his helmet onto the rug, she looked him in the eye, and slowly moved her hand to undo the next tie of her tunic.

“Stop.”

Criston barely choked out the word. He didn’t want her to stop. His will to maintain his vow of chastity was already gone, she could feel it in the tension between them. And when she grabbed his hand to lead him towards her bed, he followed compliantly. This could be fun. She slowly removed each cuff of armor from his wrists, placing them carefully aside as she gauged his reaction. His attention was transfixed on where she had touched him, as if he couldn’t believe this was really happening.

His reverence soothed Rhaeynera’s wounded pride. So what if Criston didn’t make her feel as she did when Daemon was near her? He was handsome, an accomplished knight, and fiercely loyal to her. What did it matter that the sight of him didn’t make her heart pound erratically in her chest, or that his proximity didn’t make her skin feel like it was on fire, or that his lips didn’t leave her body aching with want and her mind clouded with thoughts of…

Damn the gods old and new!

She shook her head free of the intrusive thoughts of her uncle that were resurfacing. She refocused her attentions on the man standing in front of her, and redoubled her efforts to get him out of his armor. Her unbidden thoughts of Daemon had brought back urges that demanded satisfaction. The prince may not have been interested in fulfilling her needs, but Ser Criston certainly was. And Rhaenyra, ever the benevolent ruler, was going to allow him to try.

She lifted Criston’s chin with her finger, raising his gaze from her body to her face. She looked into his warm brown eyes, basking in his rapt attention and kissed him again. This time he responded, leaning into her, and running his hands up her sides. Rhaeynra wrapped her fingers around his neck to unhook the fastening there, then trailed her hands down his chest to unclasp the sword at his hip. The weapon dropped, striking the ground at just the right angle to produce a deafening metallic clang.

Rhaenyra urgently pulled away from Criston and lunged towards the sword, which skidded across the floor with a piercing scrape. The sound had reverberated throughout her chambers and could easily have been loud enough to draw the attention of another guard. Rhaenyra lowered herself to the floor as the weapon had lodged itself under a corner of her bed, finally silent. She grasped the hilt and pulled herself up to face Criston.

Rhaeynra immediately dropped the sword again, but this time she didn’t notice if it had made a sound. By the time Criston’s sword fell from her fingers, another already held her undivided attention. Dark Sister glinted in the candlelight, pressed firmly across Ser Criston’s throat.

Chapter Text

Daemon had known Rhaenyra was meant to be his longer than anyone outside of his House would ever be comfortable with. Dragon blood ran through the Targaryen line, randomly granting gifts of premonition, curses of madness, and a visceral need to mate with their own kind. Dragon called to dragon, and Rhaenyra called to every fiber of his being. Upon his return from the Stepstones, he learned that his window for answering that call was closing.

Daemon knew Rhaenyra had a crush on him, she had since she was a little girl. He had always doted on her as a child, and what little princess was not susceptible to the charms of a handsome prince? (Especially one who so openly adored her and always came bearing gifts.) Everyone at court had found it cute initially, but decreasingly so as the years passed. As Rhaenyra grew up and spent more and more time with her uncle the pair began to attract whispers during his stays at the Red Keep. Were dragon riding and speaking Valyrian the only Targaryen customs those two were engaging in together? He and Rhaenyra never spoke of these rumors to eachother. He understood that her girlish infatuation with him, while flattering, was still unsubstantial. But he would wait. He would wait as long as he had to for it to grow into something more. He had yet to be able to rid himself of the Bronze Bitch anyway, and Westeros had plenty of company for him to purchase in the meantime.

But while Daemon was willing to wait indefinitely to have her, Viserys was not willing to wait indefinitely to marry her off. Time was running out. His little dragon still indulged his attentions, even wearing the necklace he had gifted her upon his last visit. But four years was a long time for someone her age, and he knew she viewed him as a childhood crush, not a serious suitor. It wasn’t as much as he had hoped for but could still be enough to work with, enough to buy him more time. He just needed to get her alone, away from the whispers of the court.

A Night in King’s Landing

Watching Rhaenyra actually experience the city for the first time was a joy. He was always amazed at how easy, how enjoyable being with her was. She had matured these past years, and the way she seamlessly shifted between enchanted little dragon, thoughtful young woman, and imperious future queen captivated him. He found himself mindlessly reaching for her the entire evening, the chemistry between them undeniable. By the end of the night Daemon felt confident that his plan to get her into the pleasure house would be successful. He didn’t have to get her to stay long, just long enough for one of the Keep’s many spies to see them there together. The Rogue Prince’s reputation was enough to cast doubt on Rhaenyra’s purity, even if they were only spotted passing through. He would be subjecting himself to Viserys’ wrath yet again, but in the end his brother would have to agree that it was best to postpone the princess’s marriage campaign until the rumors had died down.

Yes, his plan was a good one…at least he thought so before they actually got to the pleasure house. The pair made their way through the dark halls, the air thick with the smell of incense and sex. Daemon was all too familiar with the territory, and wound his way deeper and deeper into the establishment with Rhaenyra trailing close behind. He had exposed their striking silver hair and countless eyes followed them as they passed. Perfect. As their visibility increased and the sounds of pleasure grew more explicit around them, Daemon expected to hear hesitancy in her footsteps behind him, or receive an urgent tug at his sleeve pulling him back towards the entrance.

“What is this place?” Her voice wasn’t angry, or timid or disgusted. Just curious.
Surprised, Daemon answered simply, “It’s where people come to take what they want.”
He turned to her. The princess was looking up at him, the emotions written across her face nearly knocking the breath out of him. She wanted him, too.

That one look was enough. Their lips met in that moment as they both took what they wanted. That’s what this place was for after all…

It easily could have been the best moment of his life thus far if it hadn't also been the moment he realized just how badly he had fucked everything up.

Daemon was used to fucking up. He had even learned to find a perverse kind of enjoyment in it, reveling in the chaos he so often left in his wake. But this was different. The stakes were higher than ever for him and he cursed himself for how blind he had been. He had been sure that this was his best option, his only option. But now his mouth was on hers, and her hands were grasping the back of his neck. Oh gods. He could not stop looking at her, touching her. She wasn’t hesitant, or reluctant or embarrassed by the hedonism flourishing around them. He had been so wrong. How had he read this so wrong? This was not an innocent crush for her, and the way she was touching him certainly wasn't innocent. She wanted this as much as he did. She wanted him. His blood was calling to her, too. With that the possessiveness in him flared up, dark and hungry.

Mine.

He tried to go slow, to be as gentle as he could manage, but within seconds he had her up against the wall, untying her tunic and exposing the sloping tops of her soft, full breasts. His conscience intervened.

You can’t take her virginity in this whore house, you cunt. She’ll never forgive you.

He took a deep breath and turned Rhaenyra away from him to stop the want in her eyes from consuming him entirely. Rhaeynra responded by bracing herself against the wall and arching her back until her ass was pressing urgently against his painfully hard cock. He groaned in anguish and pleasure and before he knew it he had stripped her from the waist down, covering her hand with his own.

Gods, her ass is fucking perfect.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He never planned on laying a hand on her here. He didn’t know that she truly wanted him, that she may have taken him seriously as a suitor. He could have just fucking asked her to be his wife, to fly to Dragonstone with him, to marry in the custom of their house. But now it was too late. Now he was half naked in a brothel with his all-too-willing niece stripped and bent over in front of him, forcing him to exert a level of self control that no man should ever be expected to maintain. And by tomorrow the whole court will have heard about it.

He had to get out of there now, before he made things even worse. He had to fix this, he had to make this right. If he stayed here another second he really would ruin her.

LEAVE!

He pulled back, but Rhaenyra turned, capturing his mouth in another kiss. When they parted he looked deep into her soft lilac eyes, making sure he saw what he thought he had seen there, that she really wanted him, that he called to her they way she did to him. He was interrupted by the princess urgently seeking another kiss. He pulled back again. There it was - that same visceral need he felt for her. He needed to go now.

Just. Walk. Away.

She caught his lips in a final searing kiss, her delicate hand on his neck. Gods, she was going to be the death of him. Daemon finally ripped himself away from her, feeling the absence of her body like a lost limb. He didn’t trust himself to look back.

The Dragon's Den

He arrived back at the Red Keep, entering through the hidden passages. He had made a stop between here and the brothel, several actually, in an attempt to acquire the item he now had tucked securely in his pocket. He knew what he had to do now, he just had to get Rhaenyra to agree.

As he approached the door hidden in the wall of her bed chambers he heard sounds. He sighed in relief at the confirmation that she had made it home, but his relief was short-lived as he moved closer and the sounds became clearer. He heard a man’s voice, the clinking of armor. Had that glorified guard dog Cole caught Rhaenyra coming back in? He silently cracked open the concealed door and peered into the large room. Cole was certainly there, and Rhaenyra appeared to be undressing him.

Daemon had been beaten, cut, stabbed, burned, branded, trampled, and pierced by arrows. None of those things pained him as much as seeing his little dragon lift Cole’s chin with her finger and place her lips to his. The phrase too mad to think straight wasn’t inaccurate in concept, but failed to capture the magnitude of the fury coursing through him. Jealousy burned like fire through his veins, making him visibly shake. It was enough to make his grasp on Dark Sister, now drawn, unsteady.

Cole’s hands moved to her sides.
Mine.
Rhaenyra’s hands wrapped around Cole’s neck.
Mine.
And down his chest.
MINE.

The volume with which that sentiment roared inside of him would have put Balerion to shame. The sound of Cole's sword crashing to the ground spurred Daemon to action. As soon as Rhaenyra was a safe distance away he stepped silently from the concealed entry, approaching Cole from behind. The knight had instinctively reached for his sword, but it was yards away in Rhaenyra’s hand and the Valyrian steel was already at his throat.

“If I’m not mistaken Ser Criston, you are meant to be keeping watch outside of my niece’s bedchambers, not undressing within them,” Daemon seethed, menace building with each word. Cole's back noticeably stiffened upon recognizing the voice of the man who stood behind him. Rhaenyra turned sharply towards them, dropping the sword yet again.

Is she trying to wake the whole damn castle?

Cole sputtered against Dark Sister’s blade, trying but failing to keep his composure as he appealed to Daemon for a quick death. His words fell on deaf ears, as the prince’s attention was now focused entirely on his niece. Rhaenyra also seemed immune to his pleas, her eyes on Daemon. Interesting. Daemon tilted the angle of his blade into Cole’s throat, just enough to draw the slightest trace of blood and press an angry red line into his skin. Cole fell silent but Rhaenyra didn’t flinch.

Daemon was trying to gauge her attachment to the knight. Were they lovers, or was this the first time Cole had snaked his way into her bed chamber? He searched her face but her expression was unreadable. This was the first time Daemon had seen Rhaenyra in her disguise in the light. How the hell did he ever think that that ensemble would be enough to pass her off as common? If anything its roughness accentuated her ethereal beauty, emphasizing the elegance of her features, the silkiness of her hair, and the smoothness of her skin. His eyes dragged from her face down her body, slowly, hungrily. He and Rhaenyra had unfinished business. It was time for her to say goodbye to her little knight.

“I have no wish to cause my beloved niece any further embarrassment by having her need to explain the presence of your decapitated body in her chambers. So I’ll give you a head start to make it out of Westeros before I hunt you down and administer the punishment you deserve for breaking your oath and attempting to violate the princess.”

He saw Rhaeynra bristle at his taunting emphasis on beloved niece, and nearly roll her eyes at violate before intensifying her glare. She was angry, to be sure, but not concerned. He nearly smirked in amusement, and relief, at her lack of regard for Cole. He doesn’t do what I do for you, does he Little Dragon? He withdrew his blade and shoved him to the floor. The spineless knight emitted a sound akin to that of a kicked dog and moved on his hands and knees towards his twice-dropped sword. Daemon was losing what little was left of his patience. He had already exerted far too much self control for one day. He had no interest in engaging this half-wit in a sword fight.

“Ten.”
Cole stopped, his sword still far out of reach.

“Nine,” Dameon enunciated slowly.
That was enough for Cole to abandon his sword, along with his cloak and discarded armor, and bolt for the door. He looked back at Rhaenyra before he left, but she didn’t notice. Her eyes had never left Daemon’s.

Good, my little dragon. You should only ever have eyes for me.

“Am I to believe then,” Rhaenyra’s voice broke the silence that followed the closing of her door, “that I will now have only another eight seconds of your time before you walk out on me again?” Her voice was venom.

The small satisfaction that Daemon had felt watching Cole’s cowardly departure, and Rhaenyra’s indifference at his exit, disappeared. Could she really still be so mad at him for leaving her, when he had just caught her with another man not an hour after they were together?

“That should be plenty of time for you time to find yet another man to fill your bed tonight. You do move quickly, niece.”

“You treated me like one of your whores tonight, why shouldn’t I act like one?” she bit back.

He closed the gap between them in three strides, pushing her back two more until he had her forcefully pinned against the wall beneath him. He held her wrists above her head and brought his mouth to her ear.

“If I had treated you like one of my whores, you would have been too sore to walk back to the keep tonight, Princess,” he whispered harshly into her ear, flexing his hips against her for emphasis. His cock was already hard, and he relished the feel of it pressed up against her. Even if Cole had managed to get to her first, hell even if she had already made her way through the whole fucking Kingsguard, he still wanted her more than he had ever wanted anyone.

“So it was a personal insult then?” The venom hadn’t gone from her voice, but was now shaded with an emotion he was not expecting. Hurt. He released her hands and took a step back, staring. “Did you leaving me there humiliated and unsatisfied not make it perfectly clear that I was the only woman in that brothel unable to entice the Rogue Prince into my cunt?”

Unable to entice…? Just his niece saying the word cunt had him straining even harder against his pants. Can she not feel me…? He turned and started stepping away from her, running a hand through his hair, trying to get a grasp on her train of thought, and failing to do so before Rhaenyra laid into him again, bitter and accusatory.

“Was it not enough to deceive me, Uncle?
Was it not enough to ruin my reputation, and my chance at a good marriage?
Was it not enough to go after my throne?”

“YOUR THRONE?!,” Daemon spun around, incredulous, but Rhaenyra wasn’t done.

“Did you really have to publicly ridicule my love for you as well?”

She loved him?

“Or was that part just for fun?”

He felt like he was losing his mind. She clearly had.

“I DON’T WANT YOUR FUCKING THRONE RHAENYRA,” he thundered “I WANT YOU. I WANT YOU AS MY WIFE.”

Chapter Text

All of the air left Rhaenyra’s lungs.

He wants to marry me?

“You are MINE. You are meant for ME. Everything about you calls to me, consumes me. You think you don’t entice me?” Daemon barked out a laugh, “Every silver-haired whore in that brothel has been paid handsomely to try to alleviate the endless need that I have for you, a need that not a single one of them could ever satisfy.”

“Then why didn’t you take me?” Her head was spinning as she tried to make sense of this evening yet again.

“Do I really have to explain to you why I thought it might be a bad idea to fuck my niece, the princess, the realm’s fucking delight, in the middle of a public brothel? I should never have brought you there. You deserve so much better than that, Rhaenyra. I want to give you better than that. I didn’t mean for us to stay.”

He pulled her roughly to him, wrapping one arm tightly around her waist and the other grasping the hair at the nape of her neck. He tilted her head up, holding her in place, and touching his forehead to hers. “I just never dreamed you would respond to me the way you did,” he breathed, “So willing…,” he brushed his lips, along her jaw and she moaned softly, “so responsive…“ he dropped his mouth down to her neck, tasting her skin as he traveled down towards her collarbone. She closed her eyes and arched her back towards him in response, willing his head to move further down her body “so eager…” he pulled at the next tie of her tunic with his teeth, revealing more of the soft curve of her breasts.

“Touch me,” she breathed. Rhaenyra’s body was on fire. Daemon had created a need in her at the brothel, and she was desperate for him to finish what he had started.

“Are you sure it’s me you want touching you, Princess? Or would you rather I go find your pretty little knight and drag him back to your bed?”

Her eyes snapped open. Her body begged her to let the slight go and pull his head to her chest. But like him, she was a dragon, and unable to back away from a challenge. She met his eyes, “He never touched me before tonight, nor has anyone el-“

Daemon’s mouth was on hers before she could even finish her retort. The hand that had been grasping her hair slid to the back of her head. He kissed her deeply and possessively until the necessity of oxygen forced them to separate. He rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing shallowly.

“But if you plan to leave me unsatisfied yet again, maybe I should reconsider my options.” She had finally managed to finish her comeback, but the effect was diminished by the lust in her voice. Daemon chuckled darkly.

“I will never leave you again, Little Dragon,” he said softly, stroking her lip with his thumb just as he had before. Rhaenyra glowed at both the touch and the endearment. “But I won’t fuck you yet either.”

No, no, NO!

“Not until we’re wed.”

Chapter Text

Of course she wanted to marry Daemon. She had compared every suitor on the tour to her Rogue Prince, each one falling painfully short. And that was before Daemon had even touched her, before she knew he wanted her, wanted her body, her heart, her hand. What did it matter now if she ruined her chances at marrying someone else by laying with him? She would marry Daemon or not at all. She understood his insistence to wait was for the sake of her reputation, and perhaps to prevent her father from killing him, but she doubted this newfound sense of decorum would last. He certainly wouldn’t make it the length of time it would take to convince her father to let them marry, if they even could, let alone the additional time it would take to actually plan the wedding. Rhaenyra would take what she could in the meantime.

She pulled his mouth back to hers, lacing her fingers in his hair. Daemon’s smile broke their kiss.

“Does that kiss mean you’ll marry me, ñuha jorrāelagon?”
Gods, she loved his voice when he spoke Valyrian.

“That depends,” she answered coyly. Her uncle’s proposal had made amends for the feelings of rejection she had suffered earlier, but she was still going to make him pay for leaving her without a word.

He raised an eyebrow at her. She crossed the room to the most impressive-looking chair presently available, and sat primly upon it, back straight and ankles together. She looked at him appraisingly.

“If you want my hand, Prince Daemon, you’ll need to contend for it as my other suitors have."

“But of course my princess,” Daemon said with an amused smile and dramatic bow. He approached her makeshift throne and cleared his throat.

“May I present to you Daemon Targaryen, of House Targaryen, King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea,” his eyes sparkled at the moniker.
“I have no castle yet to speak of, but I do have the distinct advantage of having both feet out of the cradle and neither yet in the grave.” Rhaenyra fought back a smile. That last group of suitors had truly been a nightmare. She still couldn’t decide whether she was more appalled by the elder of seventy and five who had come forth for her hand, or that poor child of ten and two.
“I can offer you striking good looks,” he continued. It couldn’t be denied, he really was beautiful to behold.
“Irresistible charm,” he winked at her. That could certainly be denied by many, but seeing what that wink just did to her she couldn’t count herself among them.
“Terribly impressive swordsmanship, as well as a terribly impressive sword.” Daemon smirked when her eyes wandered downwards at his double entendre.
“I can offer you the Stepstones, if you like,” he went on. “Do you enjoy shellfish, Princess?"
She tried and failed to suppress her laugh.
“Let’s see, what else?” He moved closer to her.
“I can speak fluent Valyrian,” his voice lowered and his expression grew more serious as he switched to their mother tongue.
He knelt before her.
Rhaenyra swallowed, her heart starting to race.
“And I can offer you my fealty.”
Is he really going to —?

His deep violet eyes were earnest and intense looking up into her own as he began.

“I, Daemon Targaryen, promise to be faithful to you, Princess Rhaenyra, eldest child of King Viserys, and rightful heir to the Iron Throne. I pledge my fealty to you and shall defend you against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the old gods and the new. I offer you a marriage of love over convenience that will strengthen your position, a dragon that will strengthen your army, and true Targaryen heirs whose claim to the Iron Throne could never be refuted.”

Her heart was so full it ached. She tried to keep a level, regal tone, but her voice was thick with emotion, “You make a strong case, Prince Daemon.”

“Will you have me, issa dāria?”

“Va moriot.” Always.

Before she knew it Daemon had grabbed her hips and pulled her unceremoniously from her perch onto the rug beneath them, eliciting a small shriek of surprise from Rhaenyra which quickly turned into a blissful giggle. He covered her body with his own and looked into her eyes, violet meeting lilac.

“Mine,” he said tenderly.

“Yours,” she agreed.

He kissed her gently, slowly trailing his lips down her neck to her chest. Her breath became shallow feeling him move with tantalizing slowness down her body. Her breasts were straining against her tunic with each breath, her nipples hard and sensitive against the coarse cloth. Daemon shifted his weight to one side, freeing one of his hands to massage her through the fabric. He moved his thumb in slow circles over her peaks rubbing the rough weave against her sensitive skin, causing a low whine to escape her lips. He repeated this small torture on the other side before deftly unfastening the remaining ties and pulling away the fabric. Bringing his head back down, he used his tongue to repeat the same slow, torturous circles. The contrast was phenomenal, and she dug her fingers into the carpet, struggling not to cry out. Daemon seemed to sense that she was holding back, and tugged lightly with his teeth in retaliation, the sharpness causing her to moan loudly.

“Good girl, Rhaenyra, I want to hear you,” his voice was low and coaxing. “I need to know what brings you pleasure, Princess.”
You. Everything. More.
She could barely form a coherent thought with him touching her like this.

He continued this sinful trail down her soft stomach to her hips, dragging her trousers and smallclothes down and kissing the exposed skin as he went. He kissed right below each of her hip bones, nipping at the skin and causing her hips to thrust ever so slightly towards him. Rhaenyra’s body was wound tightly, anticipating where his mouth would next meet her skin. He softly kissed along her inner thighs. Higher, Daemon. But he started moving downwards towards her knees, instead.

No, no, no! She needed him to touch her there, the building pressure was becoming unbearable and she whimpered in frustration. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked down to find a very smug Daemon, clearly pleased with the torment he was causing her. The sight of him between her legs did nothing to improve her desperation.

“Are you so cruel as to tease me again, uncle?” she said breathlessly. “Or have you already changed your mind about satisfying me before we’re wed?”
Please, gods be the latter.

“I said I wouldn’t fuck you before we wed,” he reminded her, adding to his trail of kisses down her leg before continuing. “Not that I wouldn’t satisfy you.” Oh. “Tell me what you need, Princess.”

She hardly knew how to tell him. It had been easier in the pleasure house, everything was happening so quickly she didn’t have time to think, she just reacted to his touch. This was something else entirely, a slow intense burn that she didn’t know how to alleviate. She just needed more.

“I need more, Daemon.” Her desperation was creeping into her voice.

Daemon’s expression was nothing short of wolfish.
Sadist.

“Where do you want me to touch you, Rhaenyra?”

“Between my thighs, please.” She was practically begging now.

Daemon maneuvered himself between her legs and started kissing up her thighs again.

“Here?” he inquired, halfway up her thigh.

“Higher,” she breathed. Her head was thrown back and she was practically panting in anticipation.

His lips trailed up a couple of more inches, before he stopped again. She was going to kill him.

“I seem to be out of thigh Rhaenyra, are you sure this is where you want my mouth?”

“My cunt Daemon, I want your mouth on my cunt!” she cried with exasperation and need, so much need.

He smiled wickedly, before hitching her knees over his shoulders, grabbing her hips, and burying his tongue inside of her.

Chapter Text

Daemon loved the feeling of finally being on top of her, the feeling of her chest pressed against his, her warmth beneath him. He kissed her lips then moved down her neck, pausing just below her collarbone when he noticed her breath already growing more shallow. Gods, this is torture. He was so painfully hard. He shifted partially off of her small frame and onto his side to ease his discomfort. Then he shifted again, as the first movement had caused the item he had purchased in King’s Landing to dig painfully into his side. This new position had the benefit of providing him with a free hand. He ran his fingers over her chest, her hardening nipples becoming visible through the fabric of her tunic. He groaned internally at how responsive she was to him. Rhaenyra closed her eyes and laid her head back in pleasure, enjoying his touch. It turned him on beyond belief to know he was the only one who had ever touched her like this.

He began to knead her tits over the rough fabric, rubbing it against that beautiful, soft skin. It was clear she wore nothing underneath, but if her behavior in the brothel was any indication, Rhaenyra could handle a bit of roughness. His theory proved true when she whimpered softly at the agitation. Mmmm. He made quick work of pulling off the fabric, revealing her chest. Perfection. Her breasts weren’t large, but they were round and full, her creamy skin tipped with small, rosy nipples. He bent his head down to lap his tongue against the irritated skin and felt her body clench, her fingers digging into the rug beneath them. How much can you handle, my little dragon? He gently placed her nipple between his teeth and tugged. She moaned deeply. It seemed his princess liked a little pain with her pleasure.

“That’s right, Rhaenyra, I want to hear you,” he egged her on. “I need to know what brings you pleasure, Princess.”
I need to be the only one who knows what brings you pleasure.

He kissed her down her smooth, flat stomach. With any luck, that would change soon. He wanted her stomach swelling with child as soon as possible. He nipped at her hips and she started thrusting towards him. Always so eager. Gods, he couldn’t wait to fuck her properly. He dragged down her trousers and smallclothes, finally exposing all of her. Fuck. She had the prettiest little pussy. Her mound was lightly covered in soft, silver hair, her slit practically dripping with wetness. She was so, so ready for him. He could feel the tension in her body, but he wanted to work her up even more. Rhaenyra had proven that she knew how to take what she wanted in the pleasure house. He wanted to stoke that fire in her again. So he reluctantly moved his mouth away from her sweet cunt down towards her knees. She whimpered again, now in frustration, and he smirked.

She propped herself up and indignantly accused him of teasing her again.
“I said I wouldn’t fuck you before we wed, not that I wouldn’t satisfy you. Tell me what you need, Princess.”

That seemed to vex her further. Did she really not know? Was his niece so innocent that she had not explored herself thoroughly with her own hand? He had certainly imagined her doing so many times when he was alone in his own bed…

“I need more, Daemon.” Was that desperation he heard in her voice? You need me don’t you, Little Dragon?

“Where do you want me to touch you, Rhaenyra?”

“Between my thighs, please.” She was begging him already, how very promising.

He teased her further, inching up her thigh as she urged him to go higher, panting.

“My cunt Daemon, I want your mouth on my cunt!”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled himself up to his elbows, threw her legs over his shoulders, grabbed her hips, and ran his tongue forcefully from her opening to her clit.

Her entire body shook violently, and he could only imagine how loud she was without her thighs impairing his hearing. He fucked her thoroughly with his tongue, plunging in and out of her, reveling in her taste. He licked and teased until she grabbed his hair, driving him even deeper. That’s my girl. When she began to move her hips more urgently against his face, he sucked greedily at her clit. She came hard, coating his mouth and chin.

Daemon placed her gently back on the floor and sat up. He wiped his chin with his fingers and licked them clean. Rhaenyra watched him with hazy, lustful eyes. He looked down at her, finally able to enjoy her gloriously naked body stretched out in front of him. All mine. He pulled her onto his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. His hand rested on her hip, and her arms draped over his shoulders.

“Did I satisfy you, my bride?”

“Very satisfied,” she hummed happily, nuzzling against his neck, spent from her first orgasm.

“Will you…” she trailed off, uncertain, almost as if she hadn’t meant to say the words aloud.

“Will I what, Rhaenyra?” He prayed she wasn’t asking him to fuck her, because he didn’t think he would be able to say no this time.

“Will you be satisfied with such an inexperienced wife?'

This again? He leaned back so that he could see her face.. Her cheeks were flushed, and she averted his eyes in embarrassment.

“Nothing has ever satisfied me more than knowing I am the first man to have touched you like this, Rhaenyra," he purred. "Knowing I am the first to have seen your nakedness, the first to have tasted you.” He smiled salaciously at the taste of her that still lingered on his tongue.
“And I will not be fully satisfied until I have made you my wife, and had you in every possible way there is to have you.”
Rhaenyra finally looked at him again, her pale purple eyes blazing at his words. His desire for her was becoming overwhelming. Daemon grabbed her hips, pulling her down hard on his obvious erection.
“I am going to fuck you, over and over again, filling you with my seed, until you are carrying our heir.”
He thrust his hips up roughly against her, holding hers in place, the friction driving him crazy.
“I am going to pleasure you in more ways than you can imagine, until even the thought of another man repulses you. I will be the only one to touch you ever again, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Uncle,” she rasped, “Only you.”

“Do you feel how badly I want you, Rhaenyra?” She nodded frantically, grinding her hips against him instinctively. He had to fuck her. He had to fuck her immediately.

“Stand up,” he said. She looked surprised, but stood. He stood as well.
“And get dressed, quickly.” Daemon was breathing heavily, trying to keep it together for just a little bit longer.
“Why —“
“Do you trust me, Rhaenyra?” She nodded.
“Then dress, now.” He commanded. When she turned he smacked her lightly on the ass to get her moving.
She looked back with feigned indignation before going over to her wardrobe. She went to pull something out of a low chest, treating him to the sight of her fully bent over, her ass on glorious display. There was the slightest flush of pink from where he had smacked her a moment ago. He couldn’t help but think how good his handprint would look in its place.

She pulled out a set of small clothes.
“You won’t be needing those.”
She paused without turning around, then dropped them back in the chest. She moved on to finding a slip, selecting one made of red silk and pulled it on over her head. She went over to her wardrobe to find the gown that went over it, but Daemon stopped her.
“That will suffice, Princess.”

She turned around.
“I’m hardly dressed, Uncle!” she protested.
“That’s how I prefer you."

Rhaenyra looked like a Valyrian goddess with her long, silver hair shining against the blood red silk. The cut of the fabric made the curves of her body so deliciously apparent.

“Surely, I’m allowed a cloak at least?”
He chuckled softly and nodded.
“Shoes, too, since you asked so nicely.”

Rhaenyra slipped on a pair of shoes, and selected a long, black cloak embroidered with small silver stars. Gorgeous. He donned his cloak as well and reached for her hand, guiding them through the door that led back into the tunnels. “Stay close,” he said quietly, and she nodded, putting her hood up. There was the possibility a guard would be patrolling, and while dawn was fast approaching, it was still an odd hour for the two to be seen together. Daemon needed them to make it to their destination before the castle woke, and the gossip started…

They made their way along a narrow corridor, down a couple of flights of stairs, and through a series of winding passages before emerging at the skull of Balerion. Daemon motioned with his head for them to walk around the back, staying close to the walls and out of the candlelight. They had made it halfway around the monument when he pushed roughly down on Rhaenyra’s shoulder, causing her to fall to her knees behind the platform.

“Show yourself,” a voice called out.

Rhaenyra sat back on her heels, situating herself with her back close against the monument and directly in front of Daemon. He pulled his hood down in response.

“Apologies, Prince Daemon.” It was a member of the City Watch.
“Are you returning home from the Street of Silk, your grace?” he asked conversationally. Daemon had commanded the Watch for a couple of years and had quickly earned their loyalty, partially due to him footing the bill for their regular trips to the brothels.
“I hear Chataya’s has some new girls worth visiting.”

“I did see a new girl there tonight,” he responded, “a Real Delight.”
That earned him a heel to the shin from the Realm’s Delight, who clearly did not appreciate the play on her name. Daemon reluctantly engaged in a bit more back-and-forth with his old acquaintance so as not to seem suspicious, but was eager to get them away as quickly as possible.

He had been talking no more than a minute, but Rhaenyra seemed to be growing impatient waiting on the cold ground. She put her hands on his legs, grabbing them to pull herself up off her heels and back onto her knees. This put her face level with his cock, which was still straining painfully against his trousers. Rhaenyra started slowly moving her hands up his thighs.

Daemon cut the man off mid-sentence, sending him on his way. The man nodded, finally starting to make his exit. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra’s hand was tracing the outline of his erection. He resisted looking down until the man was out of sight, at which point she was already working on his laces.

“Rhaenyra!” he growled at her.

She looked up at him innocently.
“Do you want me to stop, Uncle?”
She had gotten the laces of his trousers sufficiently loosened, freeing his throbbing cock. He finally found himself powerless to resist her, and shook his head no. He was completely transfixed.

She wrapped one of her small hands around his thick cock, moving it up and down experimentally. She tried using both hands, then one again, settling on a stroking motion that had him leaning his head back and closing his eyes, fighting to stay in control. It had been hard enough not to finish immediately at the sight of his niece on her knees in front of him.
Oh fuck. FUCK.
Rhaenyra’s tongue was on him now, licking up his shaft. He balled up his fists against his sides, willing himself not to grab the back of her head with both hands and fuck that sweet little mouth of hers.
“Good girl, Rhaenyra,” he whispered through gritted teeth, “Put the whole thing in your mouth now, that’s right.” He placed a hand gently on the back of her head instead, guiding her up and down. Having her mouth around him felt unreal. He approached the finish line much faster than he would ever admit to. His restraint had been completely exhausted over the course of the evening. “Swallow for me, Princess,” he murmured, holding her head in place as he came in her mouth. Such a good girl.

He quickly pulled her up to her feet, refastened his laces, and moved them against the wall, further into the shadows. Rhaenyra looked very pleased with herself. He wiped the corners of her mouth with his thumb, then pushed it gently between her lips where she obediently sucked it clean. He was in awe of her.
“And where, dare I ask, did you learn that, Princess?”
“I seem to find myself hanging around brothels recently.”
He smirked, a silver lining to their misadventure, then.
“You’re giving the Rogue Prince a run for his title.”
“Surely, once we're wed I'll wear the title of Rogue Princess, anyway,” she teased. “Should I not try to live up to it?”
She really was made for him.

He kissed her deeply, starting to find every moment of not being married to her physically painful. “We need to hurry now,” Daemon said stroking her face, “We need to get there before dawn.” They put their hoods back up and he took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers, and set their path again.

“Where are we going?” Rhaenyra finally asked as they hurried towards the courtyard.
“We are going to marry.”
He felt Rhaenyra nearly stop in her tracks, stumbling as he continued to pull her along.
“We can’t get married with just the two of us!” A few servants were out in the courtyard, starting their day’s work, but they were out of earshot and didn’t pay the couple any mind.
“Why not?” They were nearly there, approaching the gate.
“Because we need other people! We need permission, witnesses, at the very least a septon!”

“No, people need people to marry,” he corrected her. “We are Targaryens. Haven’t you heard…?”
He turned around and grinned at her as he opened the gate to the godswood.
“We’re closer to gods than to men.”

Chapter Text

Daemon lead her through the trees of the godswood. When Rhaenyra saw the heart tree, its tranquil face carved deeply into the trunk, she finally understood his plan.
“You want us to marry in the tradition of the old gods?”
It was clever. The ceremony, which did not require an officiant, was still practiced and accepted in Westeros. They could be legally wed without anyone else’s approval or interference.

“To start,” he smiled, drawing her to him in front of the majestic weirwood tree. “And then, ñuha jorrāelagon, I want us to marry in the ancient tradition of our house, to bind you to me by blood and by fire.” He pulled a fine blade of dragonglass from his pocket. She smiled brilliantly at him.

“Do you still want to go through with this, Little Dragon?”

Rhaenyra had now officially been up all night. It had only been one night, but in those hours she felt she had really lived more than she had in the past several years combined. And now she was to be married, with only a moment’s notice, to her uncle, the infamous Rogue Prince, that she hadn’t seen in years. The king would be furious, all of Westeros would be scandalized, and there was a very real chance she would be disinherited. She should have felt conflicted, hesitant, or, at the very least, exhausted. But she found herself to be completely at ease. She understood now that she and Daemon were inevitable. They called to each other, had always called to each other, and there was no other feasible outcome but for them but to be together. It was right, necessary even, that they should be bound in this way.

“More than anything,” she replied. He beamed.

The weirwood tree was elegant and imposing, draped in smokeberry vines with deep red dragon's breath flowering all around the base. The couple arranged themselves in front of the tree as the ceremony required, facing each other with their hands joined. The dark red flowers at their feet were incandescent in the approaching dawn, glowing like fire where the morning’s first rays of light touched them. She smiled and gave him a small nod. Daemon began, his voice soft and sure.

“I, Daemon Targaryen, take you, Rhaenyra Targaryen, to be my wife.”
Her heart swelled at the words as she took in the moment. He was so striking standing before her. His frame was imposing, strong and lean from his years spent in battle. His hair, their signature Valyrian silver, had been cropped short. The easy dishevelment of it suited him. Then there were his eyes. They were purple like her own, but the color was deeper and more mutable. They often seemed to shift color with his mercurial moods, reminding her of a volatile purple storm. Sometimes she could swear she saw lightning flashing in them when he looked at her. She had no trouble at all believing that Daemon really was more god than man.
“I, Rhaenyra Targaryen, take you, Daemon Targaryen, to be my husband.”
Releasing the hands nearest to the weirwood, they both turned to face the sacred tree. They knelt before it and bowed their heads, pausing in deference before standing again. Next, Daemon removed her cloak, letting it fall to the ground. The way he was looking at her in that moment made her feel as if she, too, was sacred. He finished the rite by placing his own cloak around her shoulders and sweeping her up off the ground into his arms.

Daemon lifted her effortlessly, one forearm under her knees, the other supporting her back. She slipped her hands around his neck, and he spun her around. She laughed blissfully at the sensation, so similar to the feeling of soaring on dragonback. After a few turns, he stilled their spinning and they looked into each other’s eyes.
“I love you,” he said devotedly.
“I love you too.”
“Enough to marry me again?”
“At least once more. Maybe twice if you’re lucky.”
He grinned.

Daemon

He certainly felt lucky. He felt like the luckiest man in the Seven Kingdoms. He set Rhaenyra back down on the ground, removed his cloak from her shoulders, and took a moment to admire his bride. The rising sun was bathing the godswood in a soft, ethereal light. Her silver hair shining, her exposed skin radiant. Sunlight peered through the leaves of the weirwood tree, the fractured light reflecting the sheen of her dress and dancing across her curves. The fabric was insubstantial but vibrant, the red blazing as if feeding on the dragon’s breath blooming beneath her feet. She looked like a woman on fire. She was magnificent.

Valyrian wedding ceremonies were rarely practiced anymore. The custom had been passed down exclusively through their house since the fall of Valyria. Daemon had first taught Rhaenyra of the ceremony as a child. He had been teaching her to write Valyrian glyphs, starting with their house words, fire and blood.

“When you get married one day, my little dragon, you will draw this one,” he pointed, “on your groom’s forehead. And this one," he pointed again, "will be drawn on yours." He tapped her playfully on her forehead for emphasis and she giggled.
“Uncle Daemon, can I marry you someday?” she asked shyly. She couldn’t have been more than seven.
“I’m already married, little princess, remember?”
“I forgot,” she said sadly, drawing her face into a pout.
He chuckled. She really had been an exceptionally adorable child.
“But I promise you that you will always be my very favorite person, forever and ever. How’s that?”
“Forever and ever and ever?” she asked.
“Forever and ever and ever.” he said solemnly. This had appeased her, and she had gone back to practicing her glyphs.

Daemon doubted she remembered the interaction, but he never forgot the promise he had made to her. It was, and remained, the easiest promise he had ever had to keep.

He faced Rhaenyra again, pulling the dragonglass from his pocket once more.
Daemon placed his hand to her face, stroking her cheek lovingly before tilting her jaw up and lightly holding it in place. He held the blade of dragonglass in his other hand and dragged it gently down the center of her bottom lip.
“Mēre ñelly.”
One flesh.
He grazed his thumb across the blood of her cut lip before moving it up to her forehead to mark the Valyrian symbol for fire.
“Mēre prūmia.”
One heart.
He handed Rhaenyra the dragonglass and angled his chin down so that she could reciprocate. She cut his lip, then brushed it gently with her thumb, reaching up to mark the symbol for blood on his forehead.
Rhaenyra then sliced her palm, wincing slightly before passing the blade back to Daemon.
“Mēre gīs.” Rhaenyra’s eyes were more intense than he’d ever seen them.
One soul.
He cut his own palm then dropped the blade, placing his wounded palm against her own. They intertwined their fingers, letting their blood join, binding them together.
“Sir se va moriot.”
Now and forever.
“And ever, and ever?” she asked. Her eyes were wet with emotion, but she was smiling.
“And ever, and ever,” he vowed.
His smile was so wide it was starting to hurt. He had never been so happy. He had never even imagined that he could be.
He kissed his new bride deeply and passionately until he couldn’t remember where he ended and she began.
And with that kiss, they were wed.

The newlyweds couldn’t seem to stop smiling. Unfortunately, they also couldn’t seem to stop bleeding.

Daemon knew their lips would mend themselves quickly, but their hands would need to be covered. He ripped a wide strip of linen from the hem of his shirt, bandaged Rhaenyra’s cut hand, and kissed it gently. He then ripped another strip off of his shirt, which Rhaenyra took to bandage his. She kissed his palm in turn.
”Thank you, ñuha ābrazȳrys.”
My wife.
He cherished the sound of it.

“Our marriage isn’t valid, yet valzȳrys,” she reminded him.
Husband. He wanted to hear her call him that a thousand more times.
She reached out her unbandaged hand, drawing her fingers against the swath of skin that was now exposed by his ripped garment.
Rhaenyra was right, of course, their marriage wouldn’t be considered legitimate until it was consummated.
She slid her hand up further under his torn shirt, pressing her palm flat against his torso. He pulled the rest of the garment off to enable her exploration. She moved her hands up his chest slowly, tracing his many scars carefully with her fingertips as she went. When she came across a particularly nasty scar, she leaned in to press her lips to his skin.

He sighed into her caresses. He couldn’t remember a time someone had touched him so tenderly.
“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured earnestly, almost to herself.
My sweet girl.

Daemon lifted her chin up gently with his finger, and leaned his forehead against hers. Rhaenyra softly kissed his bottom lip, then traced her tongue over the cut. He moaned and pushed his lips insistently against hers. She yielded to him willingly, deepening the kiss. He could taste her blood on his tongue, provoking a growl that came from deep within his chest. He turned his wife around, not wishing to further injure her lip, and grabbed her hips. Feeling her warm skin through the thin silk was heavenly. He pulled her roughly against him as he kissed and sucked at her neck, leaving small, territorial bruises.

She raised her hands back over her head, wrapping them behinds Daemon’s neck, arching her back and pushing her chest forward in the process. Daemon’s hands moved greedily up her body, cupping her breasts and massaging them in his hands. His thumbs found her hard nipples and rolled them between his fingers, making her moan.

He slid one of his hands back down her body, dragging the fabric of her dress up high enough for him to reach underneath. She was so, so wet for him. He traced his strong finger along her slit, making her shiver with anticipation. “Daemon,” she gasped as he slowly slid a finger inside of her. Gods, she was so tight. Her hips were already starting to move against him. His other hand was still kneading her chest. “Do you want more, Rhaenyra?” he whispered in her ear. She nodded, breathing heavily. He slipped another finger deep inside of her, slowing stroking the inside of her tight, wet cunt. She was moaning loudly and wantonly now with each stroke of his fingers, thrusting against his hand.

“Tell me what you want, ñuha ābrazȳrys,” he purred in her ear.
“I want my husband to make me come.”
Seven hells. It felt like her words had gone straight to his cock.
He started rhythmically pumping his fingers in out of her, rocking the heel of his hand against her clit. Once he felt her tensing, he simultaneously inserted a third finger, tugged at her nipple, and bit down on her shoulder.
She screamed in pleasure, squeezing his fingers as she came wetly on his hand.

He prayed that had been enough to get her ready for him, because he couldn’t wait a minute longer to fuck her.

Chapter Text

Her legs nearly gave out beneath her. Daemon wrapped a strong arm around her waist, holding her up. He kissed the back of her head and murmured sweet nothings into her hair to help ease her down. Once she could stand on her own again, he turned her around and tossed her over his shoulder, holding her in place with a firm arm across the tops of her thighs.
“Daemon!” She shrieked, surprised to suddenly find herself upside down.
“You seem a little unsteady on your feet, my love,” he teased.

He stooped down to pick up their cloaks and what remained of his shirt with his free hand and walked them over to a more secluded area further back in the godswood. Finally, he set her down on her feet.
“Oh, am I able to walk now?” She was a little indignant about being tossed around like that…and more than a little turned on by being tossed around like that. He spread their cloaks on the ground at their feet.
“For now, yes. Though it might be a bit difficult for you tomorrow,” he said, his smirk disappearing when he saw the expression on her face.
“Will it…?”
He reached for her hand, pulling her closer to him and kissing the back of it gently.
“I don’t think so, Princess. You’ve been dragon riding a little too long for that.” He pulled her closer still, his voice getting low and rough, “But you are so exquisitely tight and you are going to be very, very full.“ She desperately wanted to feel that fullness. She was aching for him, still embarrassingly wet from the orgasm he had given her just minutes ago. Slowly she slid one strap of her dress off of her shoulder, then the other, letting it fall down her body into a pool at her feet. His eyes darkened, and he stepped back to take her in.
“Your turn, Uncle.”

“As you command, ñuha dāria." As he pulled off his boots, Rhaenyra admired his beautifully sculpted chest, lightly covered in silver hair that trailed suggestively down past the waist of his trousers. He didn’t take is eyes off of her as he started to untie the laces there, clearly enjoying how openly she desired him. He pulled his trousers off and stood naked before her. Rhaenyra didn’t have much experience in this area, but there was no doubt that Daemon was impressive. Very impressive. Her first view of him, in the shadow of Balerion, hadn’t done him justice. Daemon smiled cockily as he stroked himself.
“Very full, indeed, uncle,” she said licking her lips as she remembered how he had felt against her tongue.

He closed the gap between them and crushed his lips against hers, wrapping an arm around her waist and deftly maneuvering them down onto their makeshift marital bed. Rhaenyra was on her back, her hair fanned out around her face matching the silver stars embroidered on her cloak.
“Don’t make me wait anymore,” she looked up at him, imploringly.
He wasn’t planning on it.
He kissed her again briefly then parted her legs with his knee.
“Are you still nice and wet for me, Rhaenyra?”
“Always wet for you, valzȳrys.”
He groaned, as he rubbed the head of his cock against her opening, feeling the truth of her words. Rhaenyra put her hands on his shoulders, digging her fingers into them as he entered her slowly. She gasped at the intrusion. Daemon let out a stifled moan. The tension in his body was palpable as he tried to go as slowly as possible, giving her time to adjust to him.
Rhaenyra wasn’t having it. She had wanted him for too long, and she couldn't wait any longer. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and pulled him in further.
“Fuck, Rhaenyra,” he hissed between his clenched teeth. He slid in to the hilt, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head.

The sensation of him inside of her bordered on pain, but didn’t reach it. He hadn’t exaggerated about how full she would be. He was long and thick, stretching her to her limits. She could feel him everywhere, and yet the she still desperately needed more of him, the feeling of him inside of her only stoking her want.

“More, Daemon,” she breathed after a minute.
He slid back slowly, and she whimpered at the feeling of loss.
Daemon let out a breathy laugh, “So needy for me already, wife.”
“Yes,” she breathed. “I need my husband.”
He obliged, pushing himself all the way in to her again, not nearly as slowly or as gently as the first time.
“That’s right, Little Dragon, you do need me. You. Are. Mine.” Daemon emphasized each word with a thrust of his hips.
Yours. Yours. Yours.
She loved how possessive he was of her, how much he wanted her, how incredible he felt inside of her.

She slid her hands from his shoulders, gripping the outside of his arms, feeling his strong, taught muscles under her fingers…she couldn’t believe how much she could she still want him even while having him. Gods, he just felt so good. She moaned that sentiment aloud, surprised at how wanton her own voice sounded. That seemed to be the cue Daemon had been waiting for to stop holding back. He picked up his pace and hungrily took her mouth with his. She felt completely consumed by him. His tongue in her mouth, his body covering hers, his cock buried deep inside of her. She was lost in him entirely, oblivious to anything that wasn’t him.

The sharp metallic taste of blood brought her back to herself. Their bruising kisses were doing little to help heal their cut lips, but the blood in her mouth lit the fire in her veins, and she started thrusting her hips back to meet his. She wrapped her arms around him, digging her nails into his back. Daemon let out a noise that bordered on feral, and sank his teeth into the soft skin at the base of her neck, marking her. Rhaenyra cried out, and she could feel her orgasm starting to build. He had set a relentless pace, and was now licking and sucking at her breasts. She tangled her fingers in his hair, desperately grabbing him to her, the sensations becoming overwhelming, her moans continuous. Daemon looked up at her, his eyes filled with a lust that bordered on depravity.

“Daemon, Daemon, Daemon,” she chanted his name, more urgently with each reiteration, as she neared her peak.
“Come for me Rhaenyra,” he growled, shifting his angle so that his pelvic bone rubbed up against her clit. That was more than enough to push her over the edge. Her entire body shuddered as intense pleasure radiated through her, his name still on her lips. Daemon followed close behind after a few final, primal thrusts, emptying himself inside of her.
They both breathed heavily, chests heaving. Daemon rested his forehead against hers. “Iksā vok.”
You are perfect.

Chapter Text

He stroked her hair, and kissed her face reverently. This newfound intimacy between them was heady. Daemon resented even the minimal separation of pulling out of her. She seemed to be thinking the same thing.
“I’ll be back inside you soon, little one,” he murmered, “I won’t leave you empty.”

He moved his hand between her legs to feel his seed leaking out of her, running his finger along her opening.
Rhaenyra squirmed, tender from their coupling. He gently slid a finger inside of her, pushing his spend further inside of her, and Rhaenyra whimpered.
“Are you sore, Princess?
She nodded.
“Do you want me to stop?”
She shook her head.
She was so good for him.
“You did such a good job taking my big cock like that,“ he said curling his finger and stroking softly inside of her. She mewled at his touch. “And look how pretty you are with my cum spilling out of you.”
She glowed at the praise. Daemon withdrew from her and rolled them over so that he was on his back and she was sitting astride, her knees on either side of him.

Daemon took in the sight of her straddling him. Rhaenyra seemed to enjoy this new position. She leaned forward, putting her hands flat on his chest, her arms straight. This had the effect of pressing her tits together to create an enticing amount of cleavage. He could get used to this view. He started to lightly run his finger tips up the sides of her body. He started at her thighs, just barely touching her as he went up to her hips towards her ribcage. Rhaenyra shivered, her flushed skin erupting in goosebumps at his touch. She closed her eyes and sighed at the sensation, slowly starting to grind her hips against him. She was so beautiful like this. He really would have waited a lifetime for her, but was exceedingly grateful that he hadn’t had to.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he breathed in admiration.
She laughed. Even her laugh was perfect.
“No, I just think that maybe two ceremonies require two consummations,“ she purred at him.
The Realm’s Delight was turning out to be quite insatiable. Fuck, he loved her.

“Then it seems I’m going to need to teach you to ride my cock, Princess.”
“No need, uncle,” she said, smiling wickedly at him. He raised an eyebrow at her.
“I already know how to ride a dragon."
She wiggled her hips in emphasis.
Yeah, he could definitely go again.

“Is that so?” he said, amused.
She had such a smart little mouth.
“Well in that case,” he rolled them over again so that Rhaenyra was on her back. He got up on his knees and flipped her over onto her stomach and pulled her hips up roughly towards him, sharply arching her back. He moved one hand to her long hair, wrapping her strands around his hand to pin her in place against the ground.
“I’ll have to teach you something else.”

He traced his finger from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine, sending another shiver of pleasure through her.
“What else do you already know, Little Dragon?” he taunted.
“Do you know that I haven't stopped thinking about fucking you like this since we were in that brothel?”
She tried to shake her head, succeeding only in increasing the tension of his hold.
“Do you know that I almost had you bent over that chest when you were picking out that pretty red dress for me?”
She was breathing heavily now.
“Do you know how nice and pink your round little ass got from me smacking it?”
She started rocking back towards him, and he smirked.
He smacked her ass again and she moaned loudly. Very good. He groped her ass where he had just spanked her, satisfied at seeing the flush of color back on her skin.
“You need to answer me when I ask you something, Rhaenyra.”
He leaned over her so that his mouth was near her ear.
“Do you know how wet you are for me again already?”
“So wet, uncle,” her voice was strained and needy.
He positioned his cock against her entrance, feeling her wetness.
“Mmm, yes you are.” He kept teasing her with the head of his cock, moving it up and down along her slit.
“Tell me, Rhaenyra, what should I do now with this sweet little cunt I have waiting here so enticingly in front of me.”
“Fuck me,” she begged.
“And how should I fuck you, niece? You seem to be quite the expert in such matters.”
“Fuck me like one of your whores, Daemon.”
Seven hells, he was not expecting that.

He slammed into her, filling her entirely and Rhaenyra screamed.
“Is that what you want, Princess?”
“Yes!”
He was more than happy to give it to her.
Daemon pulled out of her entirely before repeating the motion.
He let go of her hair and grabbed her hips, digging his fingers in hard enough to leave bruises. He began fucking her with abandon and she cried out in pleasure. He couldn’t believe how tight she was like this, he had never felt anything so good. Keeping his cock inside of her, he pulled her up so that her back was flush against his chest. He wrapped an arm around her waist as he continued to thrust up into her.
He whispered harshly into her ear.
“If I wanted to fuck you like a whore, I would’ve had you in and out of my bed years ago. I’m not going to fuck you like a whore, Rhaenyra. Whores don’t get to come like I’m going to make you come. Whores don't get my seed inside of them. Whores are not dragons, Rhaenyra. The only way I'm going to fuck you is like a queen.”
She came hard, gripping his cock inside of her, her whole body shaking, but Daemon didn’t stop pounding into her.
“I think, we can do even better than that ñuha dāria.”
She moaned obscenely. She had barely come down from her first orgasm before his other hand found her clit. He began rubbing small, rough circles with his thumb.
“Please,” she practically sobbed at the excess of pleasure.
“Please, what Rhaenyra?” he growled. He was dying to let go, but he was going to take her with him.
“Fill me with your seed, Daemon.”
He held her tightly against him as he did just that. He couldn’t remember ever coming that hard.
He really needed to stop underestimating her. Daemon sat back on his heels and Rhaenyra slumped against him, their hearts pounding out of their chests.

Daemon laid them gently down on their sides, Rhaenyra fitting perfectly against him. He draped his arm over her to hold her closer. Rhaenyra grabbed his hand and moved it lower, flattening it against her stomach and covering it with her own.
Daemon smiled broadly into the back of her head.
“I don’t think it works quite that quickly, my love. But I’m going to fill you everyday until it does.”
She made a contented sound and snuggled closer to him.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra dreamt of Daemon, as she so often did. She dreamt of his body, the feel of him pressed up against her. She dreamt of his voice, Valyrian whispers in her ear. This dream had started as so many others had, yet was different somehow…less hazy…more real. This is real. She opened her eyes, and found herself looking out at the godswood.
Her head spun around and Daemon chuckled at her dazed expression.
“You dozed off for a minute there, Little Dragon. And while I would love to spend the day with you like this,” he looked down at their still-naked bodies intertwined, “I don’t think us being found in this state will help our case.“

It wasn’t yet late in the morning, but it was late enough that most of the castle would be waking soon, if they hadn’t already.
Daemon helped her up to her feet. She found her dress on the ground, pulling the crumpled garment over her head. Thank the gods she had brought her cloak. That being said, the cloak also wasn’t in the best of shape after what they had been doing on top of it…
She wrapped it around herself nevertheless and turned to Daemon.
He, of course, looked incredible, every bit the roguish warrior in his torn tunic and rumpled cloak and bloodied lip.
Rhaenyra was sure she looked like she had just dragged herself home from a rough night out in Flea Bottom. She was about to make a self-deprecating comment about her appearance, but stopped short when she saw Daemon gazing at her.
“You are so, beautiful, wife,” he said sincerely
She nearly laughed, “I am a mess, Daemon!”
“You are a vision,” he corrected her. “You look like Visenya, in the afterglow of battle.”
She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or if Visenya should be offended.
Though Rhaenyra was starting to feel like she had just been in battle. The lack of sleep was catching up to her and she was definitely going to be sore tomorrow. The only thing she wanted to do was to crawl into bed with Daemon and sleep the rest of the day with his arms wrapped around her. The last thing she wanted to do was to go confess to her father that she had gotten married without his permission or blessing…to his brother.

She sighed, “I fear the battle is just beginning, uncle.”
He took her hand and started to walk with her towards the gate .
“Good thing you just married the most fiercesome warrior in the Seven Kingdoms, then.”

She smiled at the truth of it. Having Daemon Targaryen in your corner was no small advantage in any scenario. Having him as her husband made her feel nearly invincible.

She realized how much she would need that confidence as soon as they walked out of the godswood together hand in hand. The courtyards was much more populated now, and they immediately drew stares. Daemon noticed as well.
“Perhaps we should wash and dress properly before going to see my father,” she suggested nervously.
“I don’t think we have time, ñuha jorrāelagon. We need to get to him before Hightower can tell him what happened in the brothel last night.” Rhaenyra’s mouth went dry.
“You think he knows?” Daemon gave her a look.
He was right of course, that snake had spies everywhere and would be only too happy to take them both down. He had already deemed them individually to be massive threats to his grandchildren sitting on the Iron Throne. If he found out they were married, she couldn’t imagine what he would do to try to keep them apart.
She decided one more stop would be necessary before seeing her father.
“The sept is closer than the king’s quarters,” she said, nodding to their right. The seven-sided building stood only a few dozen yards away. “We should marry, again.”
Daemon looked amused.
“You do know that we don’t have to have a wedding ceremony each time you want to bed me?”
She rolled her eyes at him, pulling him towards the Sept.
“My father will acknowledge the significance of a Valyrian ceremony, and the legality of one performed for the old gods. Otto won’t if he can help it. I won’t be separated from you.”
“No,” Daemon confirmed, his mouth a hard line, “You won’t.”

He released her hand.
“Wait for me in the sept. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Where are you going?” her voice went up in octave, anxious about them parting.
“If my wife wants a septon, my wife will have a septon,” he said, striding away.
That really hadn’t answered her question. How would he even convince a septon to marry them once he found one?
She watched as Daemon marched across the courtyard and, without breaking stride, grabbed a sword from the rack in the training yard.
Oh. That’s how.
She couldn’t help but smile. No one had ever accused Daemon of subtlety. The septons may be loyal to the king, and the queen in particular, but people tended to forget their loyalties when they found themselves on the opposite end of Daemon’s sword. As Criston had so aptly demonstrated earlier…

Despite the chaos that was about to descend upon them, she felt safe for the first time since her mother had passed. She knew Daemon would never leave her again. She knew he would do anything and everything to protect her. With him at her side, she stood a chance…if they made it through the day without her father murdering him.

Rhaenyra walked into the sept, the morning sun shining through the crystal windows and bouncing prisms of colored light across the open space. It was quiet and empty at this hour. She went and stood between the Altar of the Mother and the Altar of the Father, where marriages traditionally took place. She had never been a real follower of the Seven, she had preferred the Valyrian gods since Daemon had first taught her of them as a child. But the Keep’s sept was undeniably beautiful.

She heard the heavy door open behind her. Was Daemon back already?

Viserys

Viserys had woken before dawn. He hadn’t been sleeping much lately. His sores were causing him constant discomfort, and he was perpetually anxious about having Rhaenyra married. Forming alliances was always important, but he was more concerned with securing her inheritance. He may not be long for this world, and a powerful husband would ensure that she would be able to claim her place on the Iron Throne after he was gone.

It surprised him how helpless he often felt, even as the king of the Seven Kingdoms. He tried to lean on his small council to help carry the burden of ruling, but lately felt as if he was being increasingly manipulated by them for their own gains. Since Daemon had put the thought in his head he couldn't help but see the truth in it. Perhaps it was his wife’s influence, but he was feeling more and more drawn to seeking out the counsel of a higher power instead. He decided to start his day in prayer before any of his family, or counsel, or subjects could affect his peace.

He dressed and made his way to the sept. His kingsguard had escorted him there, as always, but he insisted they remain outside of the building. He wanted to be alone. When he walked in he was startled to see his daughter standing in front of the Altar of the Mother. Rhaenyra turned when the door closed behind him, and she seemed as startled to see him as he did to see her. Had she been at prayer?

Rhaenyra had never been much drawn to the faith. She was more drawn to the practices of old Valyria as his brother was, even naming her dragon for the goddess Syrax. Daemon and Rhaenyra had always been so alike. He couldn’t say this hadn’t troubled him in the past. His brother was a force of nature, temperamental and hard to control. Rhaenyra seemed to increasingly possess those same qualities, but he assumed the same could be said of most teenage girls. At least Daemon seemed to have finally matured, if his offering of the Driftwood crown was any indication. He had been touched by the gesture and, truthfully, he was glad to have his brother back at court both for his sake and for Rhaenyra’s. His daughter had been lonely as of late. He knew his marriage to Alicent had soured their friendship, and he was sorry for it. But she and Daemon had always had such a special bond. He hoped his company would cheer her and help to keep Daemon in line.

As he walked towards his daughter, he noticed that her forehead was dirtied and her lip had been cut. His heart stopped. Was she hurt? Where was Ser Criston? Panic started to rise in his chest. Before he could ask her or call for his kingsguard, Daemon came barreling through the door behind him with a very nervous looking septon in his wake. His brother looked shocked to see him. Why was everyone so surprised to see him in the sept this morning? He was a pious enough man.

Daemon’s presence was the shocking one, after all. He couldn’t remember Daemon ever rising so early. Perhaps that’s why he looked so haggard. What in the Seven was going on? His trousers were dirty, his shirt was torn, he had blood on his face and lip, and a bandaged hand. And a bandaged hand. He looked at his brother’s forehead more carefully. Blood. He turned back to Rhaenyra in horror, his eyes moving first to her forehead, Fire, then to her similarly bandaged hand. Viserys finally recognized these symbols for what they were: Valyrian wedding rites.

His eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open in disbelief. He could actually feel his blood pressure rising. The sept was painfully silent as each of them looked between the other two. The septon looked like he was about to pass out.

“Good news, my king,” Rhaenyra finally said into the silence, trying to mask her nervousness with with forced cheer.
“I’ve taken a husband!”

Chapter Text

“Viserys will get over it eventually.”
“That’s less convincing than you might think from BEHIND BARS, Daemon.”

She glared down at her new husband. He was sitting on the ground of a cell in the dungeon, his back up against the cold bricks, his legs laid out casually in front of him. His nonchalance was infuriating. Viserys had shown Rhaenyra more mercy than Daemon, only confining her to her rooms for the time being. But even after ensuring that the hidden passageway remained unguarded, she had been a wreck. She had been fidgeting and panicking and pacing for hours, watching the seconds tick by torturously while she waited for an opportunity to slip into the dungeons. All the while Daemon had apparently just been down here lounging in this damp hell hole as if there by his own choice.

“Viserys knows that nothing can undo a Valyrian ceremony, Princess. Our blood is bound.”
Rhaenyra licked her healing lip reflexively at his words and Daemon grew agitated at the bars separating them. His poor niece was clearly distressed, and he resented not being able to pull her to him and calm her - and then promptly wind her back up by running his tongue along that sweet lip…

“A marriage to the dead isn’t binding!”
Rhaenyra’s frenetic worrying snapped his attention back to her words. He sighed.

“Viserys won’t kill me, sweetling. He is all roar, no fire. At this point he’s more of an oversized lizard than a dragon.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. Rhaenyra’s glare intensified.

“You didn’t see him after you were hauled off. I’ve never seen him like that. He was shouting at me, at the kingsguard, even at Otto when he came in - probably to tell him about us at the brothel. My father practically screamed at him to get out the second his foot crossed the threshold.”

Daemon smirked imagining Viserys screaming at Hightower.

“Not the time, Daemon!”
He sobered his expression.
“Otto won’t give up, he will use what he knows to convince my father that you forced me into this marriage. That would be treason, Daemon, this is serious!”

She was right. He cast his eyes down, self-loathing washing over him as he remembered the position he put Rhaenyra in at the brothel. He was ashamed of taking her there. He was ashamed for leaving her there. He was still furious Cole ever had the opportunity to lay a hand on her. He should have never taken Rhaenyra there and just fucked another one of Mysaria’s silver-haired whores instead and -

Daemon snapped his head up.
“What if it wasn’t you? What if it wasn’t you in the brothel with me?”
“Well, that would be a lot fucking easier, but it’s a little late for that.”

“Maybe not. What if the spies weren’t so sure that it was you that they saw. What if they were mistaken and it was one of the other silver-haired women I might occasionally be seen with at that establishment…” His voice trailed off. By the look on her face it was clear that his new wife was not happy with the idea that she might reasonably be mistaken for one of his regular whores.

“Even if that mistake could be made-“ Yeah, she was definitely not happy about that implication. “-how could we convince one of Otto’s spies to lie to him? How would we even find one? That snake has the most discreet spies in the kingdom, and he pays them well. Everyone in the Keep know their loyalties are to him.”

“And everyone outside of the Keep, knows that there is only one person that the spies of this kingdom are truly loyal to.”

“Don’t say it,” Rhaenyra warned.

“Mysaria.”

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra

Rhaenyra regrets her hours of fidgeting and pacing and panicking over the well-being of her new husband.
I should have slept while that idiot was lounging in his cell.
Of all of the urgent thoughts racing through her mind, this is the one she has become fixated on. She has not slept in what feels like days, and is running on a dangerous amount of adrenaline. She is exhausted, she is overwhelmed, and now she has to face her husband’s favorite whore looking like a dishelved corpse.
I should have bathed, I should have brushed my hair, I should have changed my clothes… She adds a regret to her list with each step she takes from the Keep to the brothel.

Once she arrives, she whispers the phrase Daemon told her to the man posted at the door. He gives her a curt nod, immediately beckoning her to follow. The light of day does not do the establishment any favors. Last night it had been dark and alluring in the shadows and the smoke and the candlelight, but in the last of the day’s sun it is grimy, and grungy, and - oh gods - sticky. Daemon had been joking about keeping the title of King of the Narrow Sea, but it was certainly better than being known as the Lord of this wretched place. She balks internally at the though of being referred to, even in jest, as the Lady of Flea Bottom. Though she supposes that moniker may already be taken by -

“ Lady Myseria. A guest for you.”

Rhaenyra’s inner monologue is interrupted by the proprietress gliding down the staircase she had just begun to ascend. Rhaenyra had heard Mysaria’s name whispered with some regularity around the Keep, but had seen her only once before. She had not paid much attention to the woman when Daemon had taken her and Aegon’s stolen egg to Dragonstone. She had had more pressing concerns at the time. But now, looking up at her at her from the foot of the stairs, she is loath to realize that Myseria is easily the most attractive woman she has ever seen. Her skin is bronzed, her hair luxurious and dark, her curves pronounced and full. Her beauty is the opposite of Rhaenyra’s in seemingly every way, and it causes insecurity to rise up in her like bile.

“Princess,” a Cheshire smile spreads across Myseria’s face.
She suddenly feels like a little white mouse caught in the paws of a hungry black cat, and she resents her placement below Myseria on the stairs.

“Queen,” Rhaenyra corrects her as she climbs the stairs, meeting Myseria where she stands.

Myseria hesitates - only for a moment - but she knows she’s thrown her off just enough to gain the upper hand.

“Of the Narrow Sea, that is.”

“Then it seems congratulations are in order, your highness.” Mysasia doesn’t miss a beat. “ It was wise of you to seek me out, septas offer girls so little guidance on how to navigate their marital beds. You must not dismay over what happened downstairs last night. Some men have tastes and expectations that are more…advanced.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenches, but she attempts to keep her voice light. She won’t let this woman get under her skin.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I wasn’t here last night. It seems one of your employees bears a striking resemblance to me.”

The corner of Mysaria’s mouth twitches up as she steps dangerously close to the princess.

“There must be some mistake. Surely I would know if I had a girl on my roster were as enticing as you.” She dares to raise her hand to Rhaenyra’s upturned face, stroking her cheek with the back of her long, elegant finger.

Rhaenyra forces herself not to recoil at the woman’s touch, not to back down.

“You are in good company. The king has made the same mistake.” Mysaria’s hand stills. “My father also believes that I was here in the company of my uncle last night. It’s the reason that Daemon is currently imprisoned in the castle’s dungeon.”

Mysaria’s finger resumes its path, tracing along Rhaenyra’s jaw to brush over her cut lip. “Is that the only reason?” she raises an eyebrow at her teasingly. She seems unperturbed. It’s hardly Daemon’s first time in a cell.

Rhaenyra loosely grasps the woman’s wrist, lowering it slowly to her pale neck, and placing it at her throat. If Mysaria is surprised she doesn’t show it, and reflexively wraps her fingers ever so gently around Rhaenyra’s throat. Mysaria’s eyes are focused on the precarious placement of her hand, but Rhaenyra’s are locked on hers.

“It’s the reason he’ll hang for treason.”

Mysaria inhales sharply, as her eyes dart up to meet Rhaenyra’s. The mischief in them is gone.

The two women convened in Mysaria’s private quarters to speak further.
Mysaria stood motionless by the window, staring out over King’s Landing, lost in thought while Rhaenyra paced frenetically across the room.

Rhaenyra found the older woman’s calm exterior increasingly infuriating, as she felt her own agitation building with every passing moment.

“Can you provide a suitable girl or not?” Rhaenyra finally snapped, shattering the silence between them.

“No.”

Rhaenyra’s heart sank. Despite her many, many misgivings about the White Worm she had been certain she was going to be able to help them - she wouldn’t have subjected herself to this encounter otherwise.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Mysaria continued, “ I wish to help. I am indebted to the prince, and I am not so unwise as to refuse a favor to my future queen. But I simply do not have any girls that resemble you in anything more than height and hair color. None of them could pass for you in the light of day.

All of the volatile events and emotions of the past 24 hours were finally beginning to catch up with Rhaenyra, and she could feel the last threads of her strength, her sanity snapping at the realization that there may be no way out of the hole she and Daemon had dug for themselves. She bowed her head in resignation.

“However,” Mysaria’s voice was measured, careful, “You might be able to pass for one of my girls, Your Highness, in the dark of night.”

Rhaenyra’s head snapped up, the fire within her instantly reignited by Mysaria’s gall.

“Daemon is not the only member of your family that frequents my establishment.” Mysaria went on, ignoring Rhaenyra’s seething .

“Corlys Velaryon is a regular patron. As you might infer from his marriage to your cousin, he also holds traditional Valyrian beauty in high regard. If he hears that I have hired a new girl that may appeal to his sensibilities, he will come. If we allow him to see you, disguised as one of my employees - out of his reach, of course,” she clairfied, treading lightly around the murderous gaze in the princess’s wide, lavender eyes, “Corlys will be able to confirm at tomorrow’s council meeting exactly what I will tell my spies to likewise report - that there is indeed a girl with an extraordinary resemblance to you that resides here. It may be enough.”

Enough. Enough to quell the rumors, enough to thwart Otto, enough to appease her father, enough to get the treason charges dropped…enough to save Daemon.

Despite all the raging indignation burning within her, the bottom line was that Rhaenyra would do this, do anything to protect Daemon. She had essentially already performed in this brothel the night before with no hesitation because of the intensity of her connection to him. Since then their bond hand become even more unbreakable, forged with the cut of dragon stone to the strength of Valyrian steel. This plan would work, she would make it work. It had to, there wasn’t time to come up with another,

Begrudgingly, Rhaenyra gave the woman a curt nod of acquiesence, and Mysaria’s Cheshire smile returned to her beautiful face.

Chapter Text

Mysaria summoned a small group to her dressing room. These were the courtesans reserved for her most selective clients, those who had the most exacting tastes and demanded the highest levels of discretion. Rhaenyra was somewhat surprised when she saw recognition flash in their eyes upon seeing her. She certainly didn’t look like a princess in her current state. But none of them visibly reacted to her presence or acknowledged her station. They immediately deferred to Mysaria on how to interact with their new visitor.

“This is Visenya of Lys,” Mysaria stated, and the women nodded their heads in understanding. Rhaenyra was not to be recognized for who she really was, and her purpose here was not to be disclosed. “She joined us yesterday, and was on the floor last night, entertaining one of our regular patrons.” Mysaria paused briefly, waiting for another round of nods - confirmation that this story was to be understood as fact.
“She has an important client on the way and I need her prepared in a fashion befitting so rare a treasure as a Lysene bed-slave.” The women apparently needed no further instruction, and Mysaria left an apprehensive Rhaenyra to the ministrations of her harem.

Rhaenyra was used to being groomed and dressed by others. She was cinched and prodded and pinned to perfection almost daily by a small army of ruthlessly efficient maids and domineering septas. However, being dressed, or perhaps more accurately undressed, by a slew of enticing professionals was a different experience entirely.

Before Mysaria had even made it out of the room, a lithe young woman with wavy golden hair stepped forward to disrobe Rhaenyra. It was immediately clear that these women were well-trained in their work. Every look and every touch was expertly executed to provide pleasure. Her disheveled red slip was not yanked above her head, but slid softly from her shoulders. Finger tips brushed gently down her sides, along her ribs and over her hips, causing goosebumps to erupt across her skin. The woman helped to lower her into a tub full of deliciously warm, scented water. Rhaenyra luxuriated in the warmth, leaning her head back over the edge of the copper tub, so that another woman could get to work on her errant hair. She deftly detangled Rhaenyra’s silver strands with nimble fingers, dragging her nails softly across the princess’ scalp, giving pleasurable tugs at her roots as she went.

Once her silver hair was once again soft and gleaming, the woman stood to help Rhaenyra from the tub. Rhaenyra had half a mind to refuse to leave the balmy water. Her soak in the bath had been nearly enough to ease her worried mind and the soreness in her body. Daemon had felt so good, but he hadn’t been gentle, and her body was not yet used to the intrusion. Her skin, already flushed a pretty pink from the warmth of the water, deepened in color across her cheeks and chest at the thought. This did not go unnoticed by the woman assisting her.

Rhaenyra’s blushed deepened when she realized that the Dornish beauty before her assumed that she was the one affecting the princess. It was a fair assumption - she was obviously accustomed to being admired. She had warm, olive skin, full lips, and rich brown curls that were arranged effortlessly at the nape of her neck. She wore only a long, gauzy skirt draped around her softly rounded hips. A delicate gold body chain was fastened around her neck, falling between her full, bare breasts and fanning out to either side of her slim waist. The brunette may not have been the initial cause of Rhaenyra’s blush, but she was certainly causing it now. Rhaenyra was suddenly very aware of her own nakedness, as she stood exposed before the woman, awaiting the application of the scented oils to her damp skin. She couldn’t help but stare as she took Rhaenyra’s hand and placed it on her sun-kissed shoulder for balance before kneeling before her. Rhaenyra inhaled sharply, all too aware that she had found her self in a very similar position in front of Daemon last night. All too aware that this was provoking very similar feelings inside of her. The brunette sat back on her heels and placed one of Rhaenyra’s feet on the top of her thighs, making it easier for her to begin to rub the scented oil into her skin. Rhaenyra’s entire body had initially tensed at her proximity, but as the smell of the spiceflower filled the air and her delicate fingers began caressing her calves, her muscles began to relax.

Rhaenyra’s eyes fluttered closed, and she started to succumb to the ambiance of the pleasure house, as she had last night. Meanwhile the Dornish girl continued her ministrations, rubbing small, intoxicating circles up her legs, moving up her soft thighs. Rhaenyra’s feelings of deep relaxation was shifting into something more, and her eyes snapped open when the brunettes fingers became suggestively close to the apex of her thighs. The woman’s big green eyes looked up at her, gauging her reaction, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Keeping her eyes on Rhaenyra’s she smoothly ran her hands from the inside of her thighs out towards her hips. She flattened her palms against Rhaenyra’s pale skin, and skimmed them up her body, spreading the oil across her taught stomach, and grazing the bottoms of her breasts. Her silent compromise appeased Rhaenyra who leaned her back and sighed. When the whore’s hands ventured further, massaging the oil into her sensitive breasts, she couldn’t help but to let out a small moan.

Across the room, Mysaria stood leaning against the open doorway. She had come to check on the Princess’ progress, but was not expecting the scene before her. She supposed she should have, Rhaenyra was Daemon’s niece after all. It was not entirely surprising that she shared his appetite. She had been worried that Daemon’s impulsive marriage might mean the loss of his patronage. But she was starting to suspect, between Rhaenyra’s behavior last night and the way that she was looking at that Dornish girl now, that she would be gaining a customer instead of losing one. Mysaria smiled to herself, maybe this little princess really was a match for the rogue after all.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra

Rhaenyra stared at herself in the tall, gilded mirror. Every detail had been tended to, down to the tear drop artfully drawn under her right eye. She looked every bit the part of a Lyseni bed slave - so much so that she felt compelled to reach her hand out to touch the glass, to confirm that the reflection she saw in the mirror was truly her. Her intricate, silver braids were replaced with large, loose curls that cascaded over her shoulders and down her black. Her eyes were rimmed with dark kohl that obscured their natural shape. Her soiled red slip had been replaced with a nearly translucent dress the color of her eyes that flowed from her shoulders down to the floor. The neckline pluged to her waist, showing generous amounts of her skin, pale and glistening from the oils. It was a dramatic departure from the stiff, opaque gowns of red and black that she usually wore.

As she took in her transformation, Mysaria appeared in the mirror behind her and raking her eyes over Rhaenyra’s reflection approvingly. She absent mindedly traced her fingers across Rhaenyra’s bare shoulder, down her arm, as if she too, did not trust the mirror’s reflection.
“Well, well,” Mysaria said softly, almost to herself, “Who would have thought?”

There was a sharp knock on the door and a guard entered, nodding once at Mysaria.
“It is time,” Mysaria said, placing her hand on Rhaenyra’s exposed back and steering her towards the door. They left Mysaria’s apartments, the other courtesans following in their wake. The sun had long since set, and the brothel had returned to its debauched glory. The now familiar sight flooded Rhaenyra with memories from the night before.Had that really only happened last night?

As she passed the room where she and Daemon had first explored each other she felt a deep ache in her chest. She missed Daemon. She had always felt that time away from her uncle was time wasted, but now, knowing what it was to have him, the separation was unbearable. Their time together, finally united as they were always meant to be, had been cut far too short.

“Stay focused, Princess,” Mysaria murumered in her ear as they moved through the crowded rooms. “ Remember all that hinges on your performance.”
Rhaenyra needed no reminder. She had initially thought that the idea of her posing as one of Mysaria’s girls was ridiculous, that it would be completely unbelievable. In practice, she was humbled by how similar the experience of being a Lyseni bed slave in a pleasure house was to being a princess at court. Both drew eyes in every room they entered, were coveted by all, and trained since birth to please others. They were both unable to choose their own paths, and ultimately sold to the highest bidder to be bedded. That had been the fate she had accepted for herself - until yesterday. Fire coursed through her veins at the thought. Never again would she accept such treatment. She was nobody’s slave. She was a princess. A Targaryen. A dragon. She was born to be free.

And that’s exactly what Daemon had done when he brought her here last night - freed her. It was time for her to return the favor.

Rhaenyra squared her soldiers, raised her chin, and walked with purpose, swaying her hips in the same slow, hypnotic fashion as the other girls. They manuevered through the maze of rooms, already heavy with smell of incense, sex, and wine. They soon reached an area sectioned off by heavy velvet curtains. Mysaria pulled one of the panels aside to allow them to enter. The room was dimly lit with flickering candles, and featured half a dozen low tables surrounded by luxurious floor cushions of fine Naathi silk. Richly dressed men and beautiful young whores lounged around them. The atmosphere was decadent and disreputable, indulgent and unseemly. Rhaenyra couldn’t help but assume that Daemon frequented this very space. She wondered what it would be like to be here with him, to drink and to touch, to surrender to the hedonism around them.

Rhaenyra’s attention was brought back to the present by Mellei, the Dornish beauty, lacing her fingers through hers and leading her towards the small stage at the front of the room. Rhaenyra turned her head back to Mysaria in alarm.

“You are here to be seen, Princess” she said quietly, ”and the stage is your best protection.” She nodded at a table on the opposite side of the room where Rhaenyra could just make out the familiar shape of Corlys Velaryon. Rhaenyra quickly averted her eyes as her heart began to race.

“It will keep you far enough away for them to question your identity,” Mysaria continued, “and will keep you out of their reach. If I allow you to roam the floor, I can not protect you from their touch. Do not allow any of them close enough to believe that hey can have you.” Rhaenyra shuddered at the thought.

Mysaria paused and looked directly into her eyes. “There is power in having what men want, be that a warm body or a valuable secret. But there is danger in denying it to them. Never offer a man what you are not willing to give for the right price. Now, go. Mellei will accompany you on the stage. Follow her motions. With any luck, this will all be over soon.”

Mysaria

Mysaria stood at the back of the room, taking in the scene unfolding in front of her. The young princess had taken to the stage with the Dornish whore, where they were moving sensually together, touching and caressing just enough to entice, to arouse the desire for more. She felt like she had somehow entered one of Daemon’s depraved fantasies. Rhaenyra moved intuitively, and she had to admit, if only to herself, that she had underestimated the Princess. When the disheveled royal had shown up at her door she had expected the same entitlement, belittlement, and apathy that seemed to go hand in hand with an inherited title. When she suggested Rhaenyra’s disguise, she hadn’t actually expected her cooperation. She expected indignance and haughtiness, selfishness and naiveté. But at every turn Rhaenyra has listened, thoughtfully considered her options, made difficult choices, and sacrificed without any complaint. Well, relatively little complaint. Maybe there was hope for the Seven Kingdoms yet.

That being said, Mysaria was also acutely aware that under no circumstance should she have gotten involved in this insanity. Her plan might be enough to save Daemon’s life…but if he survived he would likely kill her for putting his precious niece - precious wife - on display. She shrugged the thought off. She had risked more for less. Besides, now wasn’t the time for contemplation. She need to get Rhaenyra out of here quickly - and safely, before their plan soured.

Mysaria approached Corlys’ table and offered her personal welcome. As expected, Rhaenyra’s presence had not gone unnoticed by the Sea Snake.

“I see you have a new, girl,” he said nodding at the stage, transfixed. “A true Valyrian?”

“Indeed. A most talented bed slave imported directly from Lys. She joined us just yesterday,” Mysaria lied.

“Send her to my usual room,” Corlys ordered, never taking his eyes off of Rhaenyra’s swaying form.

“My sincerest apologies but, she is unavailable this evening.”

“Surely my title and patronage are enough to secure me any whore I so desire,” he snarled.

“I beg your pardon my lord, but you are not the only royal patron with a taste for the treasures of Valyria,” Mysaria said smoothly, “The prince has already requested her again for this evening.”

“Again? Is that whoremonger getting them straight from the docks now? I’ve no desire for Daemon’s most recent cast off.” He finally tore his gaze from Rhaenyra. “Send me my regular girl.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

Mysaria immediately gestured to some of her other girls to take to the stage while Rhaenyra and Mellei made a discreet exit. Mysaria moved quickly, grabbing Rhaenyra’s wrist and hustling her into the adjacent corrdior before the Lord of the Tides could change his mind and insist on a meeting. The women moved quickly and silently through dark, declining corridors until they reached an imposing door that was firmly secured by a series of locks. Mysaria drew a ring of keys from her skirt and made quick work of the them.

“This will take you directly back to the Keep. Will you know your way once you’ve reached the tunnels there?”

“I will.”

“Be careful not to be seen, Princess. Walking home may be the least of what you’ve accomplished today, but to do not forget the simple danger of being a beautiful woman alone in the dark.”

With that, Mysaria turned to make her way back to the heart of the pleasure house before her absence was noted. As her hand reached out to open the door she heard the Rhaenyra’s voice behind her.

“Mysaria?” she called softly.

“Yes, your highness?”

“Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Daemon

After hours and hours and hours in the dark dungeon, Daemon’s nonchalance had begun to morph into agitation.

He was starting to think that he had seriously fucked up.
Again.

What had he been thinking sending Rhaenyra off to Mysaria? Could he really rely on her to help him? To help them? Daemon had known Mysaria for many years, but he never felt that he truly knew her. She strategically kept parts of herself locked away - she knew better than to expose any vulnerability. But Mysaria had always aligned herself with Daemon when it mattered. Would news of his marriage change her allegiance? Would she see Rhaenyra or their union as a threat?

Mysaria was not of a respectable family - or any family that he knew of - nor has she never held a formal title. But she wielded immense power through her network and access to information.
Rhaenyra, on the contrary, was formidable in title: Heir to the Iron Throne. But in practice she was still young, a little naive, and, in their current predicament, incredibly vulnerable.

In truth, he couldn’t be sure which woman was more of a danger to the other. Would either be willing to take the risk of working together? That thought gave him pause.

The Realm’s Delight and the White Worm, working together.

Not much scared Daemon Targaryen. But that thought certainly did.

Yeah, he had definitely fucked up.

The longer he thought about it, the more it all unsettled him. He prowled his cell like a caged tiger. Daemon was a man of action, and not being able to do anything was driving him mad. Eventually he managed to settle himself into a corner in an attempt to get some sleep. Whatever tomorrow would bring, he wanted to be alert and ready for it. Finally, he drifted off.

“Kepa.” Her soft voice echoed in the fog of his dreams.
“Kepa. Kepa. Kepa!” the voice, though still soft, became more insistent, urgent.
“DAEMON,” Rhaenyra finally hissed, shaking one of the bars of his cell. Her voice was still barely more than a whisper, but it was as loud as she dared to speak in the guarded dungeon.

Daemon’s opened his eyes. He saw the faint outline of Rhaenyra, the glow of her silver hair. It was incredibly dark in his cell and he was groggy and disoriented, but relief flowed over him.

Rhaenyra’s words spilled out in a hushed whisper. “We only have a minute, I need to return to my rooms before I’m missed. All you need to know is that it wasn’t me in the brothel last night. Corlys will confirm that it wasn’t me. Last night never happened.”

That fully woke him. Her last sentence had landed like a bucket of ice water.
“Never happened?” Daemon’s voice was soft and lethal.

“Is that why you are calling me kepa and not valzȳrys, Little Dragon?” He pushed himself up from the dank floor unfurling himself to his full height. He was only a few strides from the bars of his cell where Rhaenyra stood, but he stopped mid-step. His eyes had adjusted, and moving from the back of his cell towards the torch light of the main chamber had given him a much clearer view of his visitor.

Daemon’s brain nearly short-circuited at the sight.

In another instant he had his hands wrapped around the bars, glowering down at his niece.

“I’m sorry, I thought I was talking to my wife.”
He reached his hands through the bar, grabbing her chin roughly with his large, sword-calloused hand.
“All I see is a whore.”
He looked down at her, glowering. Fury emanated from his violet eyes, disdain written across the sharp plains of his face. Her kohl-rimmed eyes looked up at him in awe. A devout follower facing the wrath of an angry god.
“A necessary disguise,” she choked out. He could feel her tremble.
“Is that so?”

He stroked his thumb roughly over the tear drop under her right eye, smearing the ink. He continued tracing his thumb down her face to her lurid red mouth. He smeared the color from bottom her lip, dragging it down to reveal the scar from the marital cut. Seeing the makeup smeared over her innocent face made him absolutely feral.

He imagined what those red lips would look like wrapped around his thick cock. He had tried to be gentle with his sweet little niece when she took him in her mouth the night before.

But this was not his sweet little niece. This was his dirty little whore, and next time he would have no reservations in treating her as such.

A loud clank fro the dungeon’s entrance broke their trance, and Rhaenyra bolted for the passages.

Daemon shrank back into the shadows of his cell, his cock throbbing. He couldn’t be bothered to try to work out exactly what had happened at Mysaria’s. His mind was entirely preoccupied with thoughts of shredding that gauzy purple fabric to pieces and all of that dark eye makeup streaming down her face as she she choked on his cock.