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Chapter Text

The council chamber was cloaked in the heavy glow of torchlight, shadows leaping across the ancient stone walls. At the head of the war table sat Rhaenyra Targaryen, her dark eyes steady as she surveyed the map before her. To her right, Daemon leaned forward with his characteristic intensity, one hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister. To her left, Rhaenys sat with the poise of a queen, her gaze sharp and unyielding.

“We have dragons,” Daemon began, his voice cutting through the low murmur of the council. His finger swept over the painted expanse of the Gullet. “Caraxes, Syrax, Vermax, Arrax, and Meleys. Together, they can drive the enemy’s fleet into the straits and burn their supplies to ash. The seas would be ours.”

Rhaenys’s eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head, her voice slicing through the air with quiet steel. “You speak of my Meleys as though she were yours to command, cousin.”

Daemon straightened, meeting her gaze with a faint smirk. “I speak of her as she is—a weapon. A powerful one.”

“A weapon, is she?” Rhaenys’s tone was soft, her amber eyes glittering like molten gold. “She is more than flame and claw. And she will not be risked for your impetuous schemes.”

Daemon’s smile faltered, his brow furrowing. “You would have us sit idle while Aegon strengthens his position? While his allies march ever closer to the capital?”

“I would have us act with sense,” Rhaenys retorted, leaning forward. “This war is not a game of cyvasse, Daemon. Meleys is no piece to be sacrificed at your whim.”

“She would not be sacrificed,” Daemon snapped, his voice rising. “She would be used to ensure victory.”

“Victory bought with recklessness is no victory at all,” Rhaenys replied, her voice unshaken. “The price would be higher than you can imagine.”

The chamber fell into a tense silence, broken only by the crackle of the torches. Rhaenyra finally spoke, her tone calm but cutting. “Enough, both of you. This bickering serves no purpose.”

Daemon turned to his wife, his jaw tight. “The Gullet must be secured, Rhaenyra. If we hold back, we hand Aegon the advantage.”

“And if we act rashly, we hand him our ruin,” Rhaenyra countered, her voice steady. “Patience, husband. We will strike, but we will strike wisely.”

“Your definition of wisdom is inaction,” Daemon muttered, his hand tightening on Dark Sister’s hilt.

“And yours is chaos,” Rhaenys shot back, her gaze never leaving his.

Daemon’s lips thinned, but he said nothing. The weight of her words pressed against him, as heavy as the walls surrounding them.

“Rhaenys,” Rhaenyra said, her voice a balm to the rising tension, “you will continue your patrols over the Gullet. Your vigilance has kept it secure thus far.”

“As you command, my queen,” Rhaenys replied, inclining her head toward Rhaenyra, though her gaze remained locked on Daemon.

“And I shall take Caraxes to the skies as well,” Daemon added sharply, his words directed more at Rhaenys than at Rhaenyra.

“See that you do so with care,” Rhaenyra warned, her tone brokering no argument.

The meeting adjourned soon after, but the tension lingered like smoke. As Rhaenys rose from her seat, her jaw tightened, and her thoughts churned with unspoken words. Daemon had always been bold, but boldness without restraint was a fire that consumed all in its path.

The wind at the Gullet was sharp, tugging at Rhaenys’s silver hair as she soared above the expanse of dark waters. Meleys glided beneath her, every powerful beat of the dragon’s wings reverberating through Rhaenys’s very bones. The skies were hers and hers alone, a vast sanctuary where no council debates, whispered suspicions, or long-forgotten grievances could reach her.  

Below, the narrow strait teemed with activity—merchant ships and fishing vessels threading cautiously through the blockade’s edges, their sails flapping in the gusts. Beyond the horizon, the faint silhouettes of enemy warships loomed, just out of reach. Rhaenys’s eyes narrowed as she surveyed the scene. The war had drawn on too long, the realm fracturing under the weight of blood and fire.  

Yet, even here, above it all, her thoughts betrayed her. Daemon’s voice echoed in her mind, sharp and arrogant, as he had claimed Meleys as though she were his to command. She gritted her teeth, her hand tightening on the saddle straps.  

“She is more than flame and claw, cousin.”

Meleys let out a low rumble as if sensing her rider’s turmoil. Rhaenys exhaled deeply, brushing a gloved hand against the crimson scales. “I know, girl,” she murmured. “He’s insufferable.”  

The sound of another dragon’s roar split the air. Rhaenys turned, her sharp gaze catching the familiar shape of Caraxes as he approached. Daemon was astride him, his posture as confident as ever. Even from this distance, the Blood Wyrm was unmistakable, his serpentine form twisting through the sky with a grace that belied his ferocity.  

As Caraxes drew nearer, Rhaenys angled Meleys slightly, giving Daemon space to match her flight path.  

“Have you come to commandeer my patrol as well?” she called out, her voice carrying easily through the wind.  

Daemon smirked, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and defiance. “Hardly. I thought it wise to keep you company. A solitary patrol can grow tiresome, can it not?”  

Rhaenys snorted, her lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile despite herself. “And here I thought you preferred to act without restraint or counsel.”  

“You wound me, cousin,” Daemon replied, his tone mock-serious. “Come. There’s a quiet isle not far from here. Let us land and take some ease.”  

She arched a brow at him, skepticism plain on her face. “Ease, Daemon? Is that what you call shirking one’s duties?”  

“Call it what you will,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve brought provisions. You could hardly accuse me of neglect.”  

Despite her better judgment, Rhaenys gestured for Meleys to follow Caraxes’s lead. A part of her was curious, the other weary of the incessant battle between their wills.  

The island was small, little more than a jagged outcrop of rock and sparse greenery, but it offered a measure of seclusion. Meleys and Caraxes landed in tandem, their massive forms settling onto the rocky shore with practiced ease. Daemon was the first to dismount, his movements fluid as he began unpacking the saddle bags slung over Caraxes’s side.  

Rhaenys watched him for a moment before sliding down from Meleys, her boots crunching against the gravel. “What is this, Daemon? Some harebrained attempt at reconciliation?”  

He glanced up at her, his smirk softened into something almost genuine. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I simply wished for a meal in good company. Is that such a crime?”  

She folded her arms, her expression skeptical. “Your definition of ‘good company’ is questionable.”  

Ignoring her jibe, Daemon laid out a simple spread of bread, cheese, and fruit, along with a skin of wine. He gestured for her to sit, though she hesitated for a moment before relenting, lowering herself onto a flat stone across from him.  

For a time, they ate in silence, the sound of the waves lapping against the shore filling the void. Rhaenys bit into a slice of fruit, her gaze drifting to the horizon, where the sun dipped lower in the sky.  

“It has been too long since you’ve spoken with Corlys,” Daemon said abruptly, breaking the silence.  

Rhaenys stiffened, her amber eyes narrowing as they snapped back to him. “And what business of that is yours?”  

“None,” he admitted, “save for the fact that it weakens our position. Unity is strength, cousin, and the realm takes note when it is absent.”  

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I have no quarrel with Corlys regarding the war. He commands the fleet well enough.”  

“But not well enough to warrant conversation?” Daemon pressed, his tone light but probing.  

She set the half-eaten fruit aside, her hands tightening in her lap. “When he ceases to insult me with his… indiscretions, perhaps I shall reconsider.”  

Daemon leaned back slightly, studying her with an intensity that set her teeth on edge. “You are angry with him,” he said finally, as though the observation were a revelation.  

Rhaenys let out a dry laugh. “Brilliant deduction.”  

“But you are not angry with me.”  

Her breath caught, though her face betrayed nothing. “And what gives you such assurance?”  

“If you were,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “we would not be sharing this meal.”  

Rhaenys’s gaze faltered, her fingers tightening around the edge of her cloak. “Do not mistake my tolerance for approval, Daemon.”  

“Nor do I ask for it,” he replied smoothly. “Only that you understand my position.”  

She looked at him then, her expression unreadable. “I understand far more than you think, cousin. It is not your position that concerns me—it is your recklessness.”  

Daemon’s smile faded, replaced by a flicker of something darker. “And what of you? Do you truly believe that patience will win this war?”  

“I believe,” she said, her voice steady and sure, “that caution is not the same as weakness. And that Rhaenyra’s restraint may yet save us from ruin.”  

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, the only sound was the distant call of a seabird. Then, finally, he exhaled, shaking his head with a rueful chuckle. “You’ve always had a way of humbling me, cousin.”  

Rhaenys allowed herself a faint smile. “A talent I take great pride in.”  

For a brief moment, the tension ebbed, the weight of war and their shared burdens held at bay by the simplicity of a shared meal.  

Their meal was nearly finished, the remnants of bread and cheese scattered across the cloth Daemon had laid down. Rhaenys leaned back on her stone perch, one hand resting idly against her stomach, the other tracing the worn surface of her cloak. Her gaze drifted lazily toward the dragons, their massive forms settled near the shore.  

Caraxes stretched his serpentine neck toward Meleys, his deep growl more curious than combative. Meleys responded with a low rumble, their heads tilting toward one another in a peculiar, almost affectionate manner. The sight made Rhaenys chuckle softly.  

“They are at ease with each other,” she said, her voice carrying the faintest note of amusement.  

Daemon cracked one eye open, a thin stalk of some wild weed dangling from his lips. “As they should be. They are kin, after all.”  

Rhaenys tilted her head, watching the dragons interact. “Do you think they remember?”  

“Remember what?”  

She turned her gaze to him, her expression thoughtful. “That they were hatched together. From the same clutch of eggs. That your mother and my father once flew with them, side by side.”  

Daemon’s lips quirked into a faint smile, and he sat up, brushing off his cloak. “If dragons remember, I suspect they remember far better than we do.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Do you recall their flights together? Your father, on Caraxes. My mother, astride Meleys.”  

Rhaenys let out a soft laugh. “I do. They were like fire and shadow, racing each other across the sky.”  

“And I, down below, throwing a tantrum because I wanted to ride,” Daemon added with a smirk.  

“You were insufferable,” Rhaenys said, her tone teasing. “You swore you’d be the youngest dragonrider in history, and yet it was Rhaenyra who claimed that title.”  

Daemon chuckled, though the sound was tinged with something wistful. “Rhaenyra did best us both.”  

A comfortable silence settled between them, the only sound the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore.  

After a moment, Daemon reached into a separate bag he had brought and pulled out a small bundle. Rhaenys’s eyes caught the gleam of its contents as he unwrapped it—a collection of blood oranges.  

Her gaze lingered on the fruit, though she said nothing.  

Daemon noticed. “Do not try to feign disinterest, cousin. I have seen you savor these with the hunger of a starving woman.”  

He began peeling one, his fingers deft and deliberate. “I brought them for you. Thought you might appreciate them after your long patrols.”  

Rhaenys raised an eyebrow, though the corners of her mouth twitched. “And here I thought you brought them to curry favor.”  

Daemon’s smirk returned, though his tone grew quieter. “Perhaps I did.”  

The peel fell away in spirals as he worked, the vibrant orange flesh glistening in the fading light. His hands slowed, and his expression shifted, something unspoken settling over his features.  

“When you claimed Meleys,” he began, his voice low, “I was angry.”  

Rhaenys blinked, the unexpected admission catching her off guard. “Angry?”  

He nodded, still focused on the blood orange in his hands. “It was not the bond between you and her that troubled me. I knew she would choose you—how could she not? But I felt as though you were leaving me behind.”  

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she couldn’t reply.  

Daemon chuckled softly, though there was no humor in the sound. “It seems childish now. Petty, even. But at the time, it felt like betrayal. I wanted Caraxes, always. Yet when you took Meleys, it felt as though… you no longer needed me.”  

Rhaenys frowned, her fingers tightening in her lap. “Daemon—”  

“You grew up,” he continued, his voice steady but distant. “You met your lord husband, went off and married him. And I…” He trailed off, staring at the peeled orange in his hand. “You promised you’d wait for me.”  

The words hung in the air, their weight pressing against her chest.  

Daemon said nothing more, simply handing her the blood orange before placing the bag near her. He stood, his movements deliberate as he turned toward the shore.  

He had taken only a few steps when Rhaenys called after him. “Daemon.”  

He turned, his brow furrowing slightly as he knelt before her, his expression a mixture of worry and curiosity.  

Wordlessly, she took a piece of the blood orange and tapped it against his lips. Daemon blinked, clearly surprised, but opened his mouth. She slipped the fruit between his lips and tapped them shut.  

“Chew,” she instructed, her tone half-teasing.  

He complied, his silver eyebrows lifting in bemusement as she popped another piece into her own mouth.  

For a moment, they said nothing, the quiet between them filled with unspoken understanding.  

Daemon leaned forward, his lips brushing against her jaw. Rhaenys closed her eyes, her breath hitching as his mouth trailed lower, his hands deftly unfastening the upper part of her dress.  

She sighed, her head tilting back as his lips found the hollow of her throat. His fingers slipped beneath her skirts, their path deliberate as they trailed up the soft expanse of her thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Rhaenys shivered, a breathy moan escaping her lips as one finger pressed gently into her core. The sensation sent a ripple of warmth through her, her muscles clenching instinctively around him.  

Daemon groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her skin as his lips remained fixed on her breast, his mouth suckling with a fervent, almost desperate rhythm. His other arm wrapped securely around her back, pulling her closer, ensuring she couldn’t retreat even if she wished to.  

Rhaenys’s head tilted back, her silver hair spilling over her shoulders as she gasped softly, her eyes fluttering shut. She raised a piece of blood orange to her lips, biting into it with trembling hands, trying to chew despite the sighs and moans that punctuated her breath.  

He withdrew his finger only to push back in, the motion deliberate and torturous, his pace unrelenting. Rhaenys’s hips began to move instinctively, seeking the rhythm he set. When he added another finger, stretching her further, a sharp gasp tore from her throat, her back arching into him.  

“Daemon…” Her voice was a broken whisper, more breath than sound, but he didn’t relent.  

He pulled back from her breast with a wet sound, leaving it glistening in the dim light. His heated gaze burned into her, his lips curling into a faint smirk before he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his own. Their tongues met in a clash of need and defiance, a battle for dominance neither seemed eager to concede.  

Rhaenys’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss. The warmth of his hand between her thighs intensified, his fingers plunging in and out, the pace quickening until it bordered on frantic. She gasped against his mouth when he added a third finger, the stretch exquisite and overwhelming all at once.  

Her moans grew higher, sharper, echoing softly against the rocks. Daemon’s lips left hers, ghosting over her jaw, trailing kisses down her neck as his free hand moved to uncover her other breast. His mouth latched onto it with fervor, his teeth grazing lightly before his tongue soothed the sensitive skin.  

“Daemon, I—” Her words dissolved into a high-pitched cry as her body tensed. Her release came like a tidal wave, her muscles clenching around his fingers, her body trembling as she tipped over the edge.  

He didn’t stop. His fingers moved with purpose, drawing out every last tremor, coaxing her through the waves of pleasure until she sagged against him, utterly undone.  

Slowly, he withdrew his hand, his movements reverent as he brought his fingers, slick with her release, to his mouth. His eyes never left hers as he sucked them clean, the intensity of his gaze making her shiver anew.  

“You are a vision,” he murmured, his voice rough with admiration. Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade, her breath still unsteady, but she managed a tired, sated smile.  

Gently, she placed a hand on his chest, pushing lightly as though to signal she wanted to rise. Daemon, however, did not budge. Instead, he reached for another slice of blood orange and held it to her lips.  

Rhaenys’s brows lifted, her lips twitching in amusement as she realized what he was doing. She opened her mouth, her gaze meeting his as she bit into the fruit, the citrus tang grounding her.  

Daemon watched her with quiet satisfaction, his hands moving with care as he adjusted her dress, tucking her breasts back into place and refastening the clasps. He retrieved a soft cloth from his saddlebag, dabbing gently at her thighs and between them, his touch reverent as though tending to something sacred.  

“Rest a while,” he said softly, his tone devoid of its usual sharpness. “I’ll take a turn over the Gullet.”  

Rhaenys tilted her head, studying him for a moment. There was something unspoken in his gaze, a tenderness that made her chest tighten. She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Very well. But take care, cousin.”  

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, but there was no humor in it, only understanding. “Always.”  

With that, he rose, leaving her to the sound of waves and the comforting presence of Meleys as he strode toward Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm growling low in anticipation.  

It soon became a habit of theirs—patrolling over the Gullet together before taking their rest on the small isle they had claimed as their own. It was unspoken but understood, this ritual, and Rhaenys found it both surprising and comforting.  

At first, she had merely tolerated Daemon’s presence during these flights, thinking it a way to temper his impulsive nature. He was restless by nature, prone to seeking action when stillness was required. But having him patrol at her side seemed to give him a purpose that didn’t end in chaos, allowing him to expend his energy while keeping him close enough to Rhaenyra’s plans that he wouldn’t inadvertently undo them.  

Rhaenys had to admit that Daemon had a way of adapting to their uneasy peace. He followed her lead, their dragons weaving in and out of formation over the choppy waters. He rarely spoke during their patrols, his focus sharp and unwavering, but his presence alone was an anchor of sorts.  

As they glided over the Gullet one crisp afternoon, Meleys rumbled a low sound, a signal that all seemed well. Caraxes echoed her with his distinctive growl, his serpentine form twisting through the air. Rhaenys smiled faintly at the sight.  

When they finally landed on the isle, it was as though the weight of their responsibilities melted away.  

Meleys and Caraxes huddled together as they always did, their massive forms casting long shadows over the rocky beach. The dragons had grown comfortable in each other’s presence, their bond rekindled as though the years apart had been but a moment.  

Rhaenys leaned back on the blanket Daemon had laid out, one hand resting lightly against her stomach. She cracked an eye open, her gaze drifting toward the dragons before sliding to Daemon. He was stretched out beside her, his head propped up on one hand while the other alternated between drumming a light rhythm against her belly and tracing absent loops over her skin.  

“You’ll wear the fabric thin with all that fidgeting,” she remarked, her tone teasing.  

Daemon smirked, his silver hair catching the sunlight as he glanced down at her. “Perhaps. But I suspect you’ll endure it.”  

Rhaenys rolled her eyes but didn’t move his hand. If anything, she found the motion oddly soothing.  

She observed him quietly for a moment, taking in the changes in his demeanor. He had softened in his own way—not entirely, of course, but enough that the Daemon she remembered from their youth began to resurface. He was more mindful of her now, bringing her the fruits she craved without her asking, ensuring she ate properly, and insisting she rest when she could.  

But most of all, he touched her. Constantly.  

Daemon seemed endlessly fascinated with her growing belly, his hand often straying there as though drawn by an unseen force. At times, his touch was reverent, a quiet acknowledgment of the life growing within her. Other times, it was playful—his fingers tapping out nonsensical tunes or tracing intricate patterns that only he understood.  

And then there were the moments when his touch strayed lower, his fingers brushing against her folds with a hunger that stole her breath. But even then, there was a tenderness to it, a need to connect with her in a way that transcended their shared history.  

“You’ve grown softer,” she said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.  

Daemon raised an eyebrow, though his smirk didn’t waver. “Softer? I would take offense if I didn’t suspect you meant it as a compliment.”  

“Perhaps it is,” Rhaenys replied, her tone laced with amusement. “Or perhaps I’m simply remarking on how peculiar it is to see you act with such... consideration.” 

 He chuckled, his fingers pausing in their idle tracing. “You wound me, cousin. Am I so incapable of kindness in your eyes?”  

She tilted her head, her amber eyes glinting with mischief. “Kindness, yes. Subtlety? Absolutely.”  

Daemon laughed at that, a deep, rich sound that filled the quiet of the isle. It was rare to hear such unguarded mirth from him, and Rhaenys found herself smiling despite herself.  

“You are insufferable,” she said, shaking her head.  

“And yet, you’ve kept me here,” he countered, his smirk softening into something almost fond. “One might think you enjoy my company.”  

Rhaenys hummed thoughtfully, her gaze shifting back to the dragons. Meleys had draped a wing over Caraxes, a rare display of affection that made her heart ache with nostalgia.  

“They remind me of us,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with wistfulness.  

Daemon followed her gaze, his expression growing thoughtful. “How so?”  

“They bicker and growl, yet they remain together,” she explained. “Bound by something neither can name but neither can deny.”  

He was silent for a moment before he reached for her hand, his fingers curling around hers. “Perhaps we could learn from them.”  

Rhaenys glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. For a fleeting moment, the weight of their shared history—the misunderstandings, the losses, the unspoken words—felt lighter.  

Rhaenys let out a soft laugh, her hand idly tracing patterns on the blanket beneath her. “Do you remember,” she began, her voice lilting with amusement, “the time you decided you had to do everything I did?”  

Daemon turned his head slightly, curiosity flashing in his eyes. “You’ll need to be more specific, mandia. There are many things I’ve done better than you.”  

She rolled her eyes, her lips twitching with the hint of a smile. “I’m speaking of when we were children. You insisted on wearing bows in your hair because I wore them in mine.”  

Daemon groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “You will never let me forget that, will you?”  

“Never,” she said, her laughter spilling out like bells. “I have never seen our fathers laugh so hard. Father said you looked like a courtier, and Mother said you looked like a prize pony.”  

Daemon smirked, though his cheeks tinged faintly pink. “And yet I wore them with pride. You demanded it, and I—ever loyal—obeyed.”  

“You did.” Her expression softened, the laughter giving way to something more tender. “You always followed me, no matter how foolish the task. Do you remember the time I convinced you to climb the tallest tree in the godswood?”  

“How could I forget? You left me there when the branch cracked under me.”  

“I did not leave you,” she retorted, her brows furrowing in mock indignation. “I fetched Mother. You were the one who refused to climb down, claiming you were above the concerns of mortals.”  

Daemon laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. “A Targaryen above all, even as I clung to that cursed branch for dear life.”  

Rhaenys shook her head, a fond smile gracing her lips. “You were impossible then, and you’re impossible now.”  

They fell into another companionable silence, the warmth of their shared memories wrapping around them like a cloak. The sun dipped lower on the horizon, painting the sky with hues of amber and crimson.  

Daemon stretched, his arms reaching above his head before he leaned forward to bury his face against her stomach. His muffled yawn sent a small vibration through her, and she rolled her eyes again.  

“Must you use me as your pillow?”  

“You’re more comfortable than any bed,” he murmured, his voice tinged with drowsiness. He lingered for a moment before pushing himself upright with a groan. “It’s nearly dark. We should leave before the storm reaches us.”  

Rhaenys stayed where she was, her head tilted back to watch the darkening sky. She felt the weight of his gaze on her but didn’t move.  

Daemon fastened his cloak with practiced ease before extending a hand toward her. “Come.”  

She eyed his hand with faint annoyance but sighed, knowing full well that if she refused, he’d bundle her up like a swaddled babe and carry her back to Meleys himself. Taking his hand, she let him pull her to her feet.  

As he worked to fasten her cloak, she sucked in her lower lip, closing her eyes. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, barely audible over the distant rumble of thunder. “It won’t be long before I can no longer hide it,” she said, her hand brushing against her stomach. “The swell will be obvious soon enough, and all will know.”  

Daemon paused, his fingers halting for the briefest of moments before continuing. He finished fastening the clasp and stepped around to face her, his gaze steady as he studied her. His hands moved to adjust the edges of the cloak, ensuring she was well-covered before resting them lightly on her shoulders.  

“Have you spoken to Corlys?” he asked quietly.  

“Yes,” she replied, her expression tightening. “But I have not told him.”  

“Do you fear his response?”  

Her eyes flashed with something fierce, and she scoffed, rolling her shoulders back. “I fear no man, Daemon. It is they who fear me.”  

Daemon chuckled, his grip tightening on her shoulders as a grin spread across his face. “There she is. That’s the Rhaenys I grew up with.”  

Their gazes locked, the air between them thickening with something unspoken. Slowly, Daemon’s hands slid down to her waist, his grip firm but careful. He leaned in, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss that started slow, deliberate, almost reverent.  

Rhaenys sighed into it, her hands lifting to rest against his chest before curling into his tunic.  

The kiss deepened, their breaths mingling as Daemon pulled her closer, his hands slipping lower to squeeze the curve of her backside. Rhaenys moaned softly against his mouth, the sound spurring him on as his lips grew more insistent.  

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing heavily, their foreheads pressed together.  

“Daemon,” she began, but her words faltered as he chased her lips, capturing them again in a kiss that was hungrier, more demanding.  

She tried to pull back, her protests half-hearted, but he wouldn’t relent. His hands moved to her thigh, lifting her leg to wrap it around his waist. It was only the sudden roll of thunder in the distance that broke the spell.  

“Daemon,” she said again, this time more firmly.

His lips stilled against her neck, and he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. She brought a finger to his lips, her expression tinged with amusement.  

“We’ll be caught in the storm if we don’t leave now.”  

He sighed, a mixture of frustration and resignation flickering across his face. “You always ruin my fun.”  

Rhaenys laughed softly, her hands cupping his face as she pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek. “Come, my prince. Let us return before we find ourselves soaked through.”  

Daemon groaned but stepped back, offering her his arm. Together, they made their way to their dragons, the distant rumble of thunder urging them onward.  

Chapter Text

The halls of Driftmark were quieter than she remembered, the kind of silence that amplified every thought. Rhaenys walked deliberately, her steps echoing faintly against the stone. The air carried the scent of salt and aged wood, grounding her in the place she had once called home.

She found him in one of the smaller chambers, seated by the window where the evening light spilled across the room. His broad shoulders were slightly hunched, his gaze fixed on something in his hands. The knife gleamed faintly in the light—small, simple, but no less significant.

For a moment, she watched him, the rhythmic motion of his thumb brushing over the hilt betraying the turmoil beneath his composed exterior. It was a gift meant for Lucerys. The thought twisted something deep inside her, a pang that she could not ignore.

“Corlys,” she called softly, stepping into the room.

His head lifted, and their eyes met. Concern flickered in his expression, but he said nothing, waiting as she moved to the chair opposite him. She lowered herself into it, her hands resting lightly on her lap.

“How are you?” she asked, her voice steady despite the tension coiling in her chest.

His fingers stilled on the knife. “The leg is better,” he said finally. “The maester has been... diligent.”

“And your appetite? Have you eaten what was prepared for you?”

He gave a faint nod, though his expression remained distant. “Enough.”

Rhaenys tilted her head slightly, studying him. There was a weight in his eyes, a heaviness that matched the silence of Driftmark. For all his faults—and there were many—he had loved their grandchildren fiercely. The loss of Lucerys, Laenor, and Laena had carved deep wounds into him, ones she doubted would ever truly heal.

A quiet fell between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. She rose after a moment, smoothing the folds of her gown. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts,” she murmured, turning toward the door.

She had taken only a few steps when his voice stopped her. “Rhaenys.”

Her heart stilled. There was no edge to his tone, only quiet concern.

“You shouldn’t wear yourself out,” he said softly. “You should rest more.”

Rhaenys stopped in her tracks, her breath catching in her throat. She blinked, her gaze fixing on the edge of the doorway as if the wood grain could offer her clarity. Rest more. The words were simple, innocuous even, but they landed like a hammer on glass, shattering her carefully constructed composure.  

She turned slowly, her amber eyes narrowing as they found his. Corlys’s hands were raised, palms outward—a placating gesture she knew too well.  

“I worried for you,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with something uncertain. “I heard you had called for the maester, and... I know how much Rhaenyra depends on you.”  

Rhaenys tilted her head, her expression unreadable.  

“You’ve hardly been sleeping, I know,” he continued, his tone gentler now. “And I doubt you’ve been eating properly, not with everything on your shoulders.”  

A faint, humorless smile ghosted across her lips. “So you’ve taken to spying on me now, have you?”  

Corlys’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “I take care of you as you’ve taken care of me,” he said simply. “It’s what we do.”  

Her lips parted to respond, but the words faltered. Instead, she exhaled softly, stepping toward him. One step, then another, until she stood a few feet away. She hesitated, her fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of her gown before gathering her resolve.  

With deliberate movements, she parted the folds of her cloak, revealing the pronounced swell of her belly. “I am with child.”  

The words were spoken plainly, with no fanfare or pretense. She wasn’t sure what she had expected—shock, anger, perhaps even disbelief—but the expression that crossed Corlys’s face was one she hadn’t anticipated.  

His eyes widened, his gaze flickering to her midsection and back to her face. He rose from his chair abruptly, the knife clattering to the table as if forgotten.  

“Rhaenys...” His voice was unsteady, his usual confidence shaken.  

He closed the distance between them in two long strides, his hands hovering near her as though unsure whether he was allowed to touch her. “You—does the maester—are you well? Is everything...”  

She tilted her head, a flicker of amusement softening the tension in her expression. “Calm yourself, husband,” she said lightly.  

But he wasn’t calm. His gaze darted between her face and her belly, his worry palpable. “You should sit,” he said, his voice almost panicked. “What did the maester say? Have you been eating enough? Do you—”  

“Corlys.”  

Her voice cut through his rambling, firm but not unkind. He stilled, his hands falling to his sides as he looked at her, his concern giving way to confusion.  

“But we haven’t...” His words trailed off, his brow furrowing as realization dawned. “We haven’t lain together.”  

She met his gaze evenly, her expression unyielding. “No, we have not.”  

The silence that followed was thick, filled with unspoken questions and emotions neither of them were ready to confront.  

Corlys stepped back slightly, his hand running down his face as he absorbed the weight of her words. “Then... who—” he began but stopped himself, shaking his head as if to clear the thought. His gaze settled on her again, and for a moment, he looked not like the confident Sea Snake but a man adrift, unsure of his bearings.  

“This happened because of... my mistakes,” he muttered, almost to himself.  

Rhaenys scoffed softly, a sharp, humorless sound that broke the tension in the room. “Not everything is about you, husband,” she said, her tone dry but not cruel.  

Her words seemed to ground him, and he gave a faint, rueful smile, though his worry remained etched in the lines of his face.  

She turned away, her fingers trailing absently over the edge of a nearby table, the motion as measured as her breathing. “Do you remember,” she began, her voice quiet, “when I was named heir?”  

Corlys frowned, his confusion evident at the sudden shift in topic. “Of course,” he replied. “It was the moment I knew the realm had a chance for true strength.”  

She paused, her hand lingering on the table’s edge as if it anchored her. “And do you remember how quickly that promise unraveled?”  

His silence was answer enough.  

Her fingers moved again, tracing invisible patterns along the wood. “I had hoped,” she continued softly, “that when the world turned its back on me, you would remain. That you would be my solace.”  

She turned to face him then, her amber eyes sharp with a mix of hurt and resignation. “But you went back to your sea, to your ships, and left me to weather it alone.”  

Her words hung heavy in the air, a quiet accusation that struck deeper than any shout could have.  

Corlys’s shoulders sagged, his usual composure slipping further. “I thought I was fighting for us,” he said quietly. “For our legacy, our children’s futures.”  

“And look where it brought us,” she replied, her voice edged with bitterness.  

The room fell silent, save for the faint creak of wood beneath Corlys’s shifting weight. He opened his mouth to speak, to offer some kind of defense or explanation, but no words came.  

Meleys’s distant call echoed through the stone walls, breaking the stillness. Rhaenys straightened, her expression unreadable as she moved toward the door.  

“Rhaenys,” Corlys said, his voice stopping her in her tracks.  

She turned slightly, her gaze flicking back to him.  

He hesitated, then stepped closer, his hand reaching out as though to stop her. “I know I’ve failed you,” he admitted, his voice low. “But... I cannot lose you.”  

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then, with deliberate movements, she crossed the distance between them and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips. It was brief but not cold, a quiet acknowledgment of the bond they still shared, however frayed.  

When she pulled away, Corlys’s hand lingered at her arm, as though reluctant to let her go.  

“Take care of yourself,” he said softly, his gaze dropping briefly to her belly.  

“I always do,” she replied, her tone as steady as her stride as she left the room.  

-------------------------

The halls of Driftmark were quiet, the kind of stillness that seemed to amplify the faintest of sounds. Rhaenys’s boots clicked softly against the stone floor, each step measured and deliberate as she made her way toward the dragonpit.  

The tension of her conversation with Corlys lingered, coiling in her chest like an unseen specter. But the further she walked, the more her thoughts began to drift—back through the years, to a night long ago, when these same halls had been filled with a very different kind of unease.  

She had been embroidering by the fire that night, a rare moment of peace with Laena and Laenor tucked safely into their beds. The quiet had been soothing, a balm after the chaos of the court. But then she’d heard it—Caraxes’s unmistakable call, a deep, guttural sound that resonated through the walls like thunder.  

She had risen quickly, her embroidery forgotten as Meleys answered the Blood Wyrm’s cry with her own. It was unusual for Daemon to visit Driftmark unannounced, and rarer still for him to arrive so late.  

When she reached the courtyard, the sight that greeted her stopped her in her tracks.  

Caraxes was restless, his long, sinuous body coiling and shifting as his golden eyes darted around. The dragon’s agitation was palpable, a stark contrast to the man who slumped beside him, barely upright.  

“Daemon,” Rhaenys had called, her voice sharp as she approached.  

He looked up at her then, his silver hair disheveled, his face flushed from drink. There was a shadow of his usual smirk on his lips, but it was dulled, almost forlorn.  

“Cousin,” he slurred, spreading his arms wide as though greeting an old friend. “Have you missed me?”  

Rhaenys sighed, her irritation warring with a thread of concern as she took in the state of him. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, glancing briefly at Caraxes, who let out a low, rumbling growl.  

Daemon staggered toward her, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Celebrating,” he declared, though the word came out uneven and hollow.  

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You’re drunk.”  

“And you’re perceptive,” he shot back, though the bite in his tone was half-hearted.  

Her attention shifted back to Caraxes, who let out another uneasy growl. She stepped closer to the dragon, her hand reaching out to rest gently against his warm, scaled hide. “What has he done to you, boy?” she murmured, her tone softening.  

Caraxes tilted his head, his golden eyes meeting hers as if understanding her question. She ran her hand along his side, murmuring quiet reassurances until the dragon’s tension began to ease.  

“I’m fine,” Daemon grumbled from behind her, his words slurring together.  

“No,” Rhaenys replied sharply, turning back to him. “You’re a mess.”  

He tried to smirk again but failed, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I thought you’d be happy to see me,” he muttered, his voice tinged with something almost childlike.  

Rhaenys’s irritation softened, just slightly. She stepped forward, her hands going to his shoulders to steady him. “Come on,” she said firmly. “Let’s get you inside before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.”  

He chuckled weakly, letting her guide him as he leaned heavily against her. “Always so bossy,” he teased, though the words lacked his usual fire.  

She ignored him, focusing instead on navigating the hallways without drawing the attention of any servants or guards. The last thing either of them needed was for his state to become a topic of gossip.  

When they finally reached a private chamber, she helped him onto a low bench, her hands firm but gentle as she pushed him to sit. He slumped forward, his head resting in his hands as he let out a long, shaky exhale. 

 For a moment, Rhaenys simply watched him, her irritation giving way to a pang of something deeper—pity, perhaps, or concern. He looked so... lost.  

“You’re lucky I care about Caraxes,” she muttered, breaking the silence as she fetched a pitcher of water.  

Daemon lifted his head slightly, one eye cracking open to peer at her. “And here I thought you cared about me,” he said, his voice low and hoarse.  

She paused, the pitcher in her hands, and glanced back at him. There was something in his tone—something unspoken, hovering between them like a fragile thread. But she didn’t pull on it. Not that night.  

Instead, she handed him a cup of water and said, “Drink this. And try not to be a complete idiot tomorrow.”  

-------------------------

The memory faded as Rhaenys approached Meleys, her dragon’s crimson form a stark contrast against the pale stone walls of the dragonpit.  

Did Daemon remember that night? she wondered.  

She doubted it. If he did, surely he would have sought her out afterward, or at least acknowledged what had passed between them. Or perhaps he had forgotten on purpose, burying it beneath the weight of all that had come after.  

Rhaenys sighed, shaking her head slightly as she mounted Meleys. The past was the past, and nothing could change that now.  

With a final glance at Driftmark, she urged her dragon into the sky, the wind carrying her toward the little isle where she knew Daemon would be waiting.  

Daemon landed Caraxes with his usual precision, though a gnawing sense of unease coiled in his gut as his boots hit the ground. The isle was quiet—too quiet. His eyes scanned the familiar surroundings, sharp and restless, but there was no sign of her.

His pace quickened as he made his way across the sandy terrain, his breath hitching with every second she remained unseen. The sight of Meleys perched serenely in the distance brought him little comfort; the dragon’s calm did nothing to quell his own mounting panic.

“Rhaenys,” he called, his voice low but firm, the syllables slicing through the still air. There was no response.

His fists clenched at his sides as he rounded a cluster of rocks, his heart thrumming faster than he’d care to admit. Then, there she was.

She sat behind a jagged outcrop, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. A blood orange rested in her hand, and she took another leisurely bite, her posture utterly unbothered. A cloak draped around her shoulders, her silver hair cascading freely down her back. She looked radiant, as if the world itself bent to her whims.

Relief coursed through him like a tide, but it was swiftly replaced by something sharper, something more primal, as her gaze flicked to his. That smirk—the one that always managed to simultaneously enrage and captivate him—graced her lips, crinkling her eyes with a mischief he had not seen in years.

“Gevie,” the thought slipped unbidden into his mind, and for a moment, he forgot the pounding of his heart.

She rose slowly, her movements deliberate, as if daring him to look away. He didn’t. He couldn’t. When she let the cloak slide from her shoulders, pooling at her feet, the breath left his lungs in a sharp exhale.

She wore nothing beneath it.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. Was it possible for skin to sparkle? The light caught the curve of her hips, the pronounced swell of her belly, and he swore his knees weakened.

“Rhaenys,” he rasped, his voice rough as he took an involuntary step forward.

Her smirk widened, and she turned, walking toward the water with an elegance that was maddening. The sway of her hips, the glint of knowing in her eyes as she glanced back at him—it was a silent challenge, a siren’s call.

Daemon was already shedding his clothing before she dipped into the water, leaving the pieces scattered carelessly behind him.

When he approached her, waist-deep in the water, her expression shifted, the playful smirk thinning into something closer to exasperation. Her eyes flicked to the pile of clothing he had left in disarray.

“Truly, you’ve not changed a whit,” she muttered, shoving a bar of soap into his chest. “Bathe.”

He groaned, his irritation evident. “I’ve just arrived, woman.”

“And you reek of dragon sweat and impatience,” she quipped, her tone clipped but laced with amusement.

Rolling his eyes, Daemon began to lather the soap, watching as Rhaenys sat herself atop a smooth stone. The water barely reached her thighs, leaving much of her body exposed to his view. His gaze lingered longer than it should have, but she paid him no mind, her focus seemingly elsewhere.

“You could help,” he muttered as he scrubbed at his arms.

She scoffed, leaning back lazily against the stone. “You’re a grown man, Daemon. You can manage a bath.”

His lips twitched into a half-smile as he recalled a memory. “Do you remember when the maids would chase me through the halls because I refused to bathe?”

A soft snort escaped her. “And only I could coax you into the tub,” she replied. “Me and my mother, that is.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “You’d bribe me with honey cakes.”

“Still took you half an hour to give in,” she countered, rolling her eyes. “You were as tempestuous then as you are now. The only difference is you’re bigger.”

A wicked grin spread across his face. “Well… yes.”

Rhaenys shot him a pointed glare, though the corner of her lips twitched in faint amusement. “Some things never change,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head as though to chastise him for being as stubborn now as he was in their youth.  

Daemon chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he worked the soap lazily across his arms. He paused mid-motion, his grin fading as he caught her watching him. There was something in her gaze—warmth, nostalgia, perhaps a flicker of fond exasperation—that made his stomach twist pleasantly.  

Then, with a sigh that was half amusement and half resignation, she slid from her perch and waded toward him.  

“Move,” she ordered curtly, plucking the soap from his grasp.  

Daemon arched a brow, his lips parting in a retort that never came. Her hands were already at work, deft and methodical, lathering the soap against his skin with practiced ease.  

“You’ll never do it properly,” she said, her voice soft but tinged with authority. “You never did.”  

His grin returned, smaller now, but no less genuine. “And here I thought you enjoyed bossing me around.”  

Her response was a quiet scoff, but he didn’t miss the flicker of a smile that curved her lips.  

The silence that followed was calm, the kind that only years of familiarity could breed. Rhaenys’s hands moved deftly as she directed him with wordless nudges—a tap to his shoulder to signal him to turn, a firm press to lift his arm. He complied without complaint, savoring the rare tenderness of her touch.  

Her fingers were strong yet gentle as she worked, trailing across his skin in deliberate strokes. The tension in his shoulders melted beneath her ministrations, his body yielding to the rhythm of her hands.  

When her fingers finally coursed through his hair, he closed his eyes, leaning into the sensation without a second thought. The faint scent of the soap mixed with the saltwater and the warmth of her skin, creating a moment so intimate it felt suspended in time.  

“I still wash my hair the way you taught me,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as though the memory was a secret he held close.  

Rhaenys paused briefly, her fingers stilling for the barest of moments before resuming their motion. A faint smile played on her lips, her amber eyes soft as she replied, “I know.”  

The words were quiet, unadorned, but they carried the weight of shared history—a reminder that, even after years of separation, some things remained unbroken.  

As Rhaenys finished rinsing the last of the soap from Daemon’s shoulders, her gaze flicked briefly to the swell of her belly, now more pronounced as the water glided over her skin. She could feel his eyes following hers, the intensity of his gaze like a physical touch.  

Without a word, Daemon stepped closer, his hands rising to rest gently on her hips. He bent slightly, his lips brushing reverently over the curve of her belly. The kiss lingered, his breath warm against her skin as if he were whispering unspoken promises to the child growing within.  

Rhaenys watched him, her expression soft but tinged with something unreadable. When his hands slid upward to cradle her waist, his fingers splayed protectively, she couldn’t help but reach out, her palm cupping his cheek.  

“You’re in a mood today,” she remarked lightly, though her voice carried a tenderness that betrayed her amusement.  

Daemon looked up at her, a flicker of mischief returning to his eyes. “I could hardly be otherwise,” he replied, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. His hand settled over her belly, the motion slow and deliberate, as if to remind her—and perhaps himself—of the life they had created together.  

Rhaenys tilted her head, studying him for a moment before she broke the silence. “Corlys knows,” she said simply.  

His hand stilled.  

For the briefest of moments, his face betrayed nothing, but then his lips parted, and his brow furrowed ever so slightly. “And?” he asked, his voice careful, measured.  

“And,” Rhaenys echoed, her tone calm and resolute, “he took it as I expected him to.”  

Daemon straightened, his hand still resting lightly on her belly as his other hand trailed up to cup her face. His thumb brushed over her cheekbone as his gaze flicked between her eyes. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly, the concern in his voice evident.  

A faint smile tugged at her lips. “I am,” she assured him.  

He studied her for another moment, as if searching for any sign of unease. Finding none, he exhaled slowly and nodded. “Good.”  

Rhaenys’s smirk returned, soft and knowing, the kind he had seen on her face since they were children. “You needn’t worry so much,” she teased lightly, her thumb grazing the corner of his mouth.  

Daemon’s lips quirked, but his eyes remained serious. “It’s my job to worry, especially now,” he murmured, his hand slipping down from her cheek to her shoulder, then back to her belly. “How did he take it?”  

Her gaze softened, though her smirk didn’t waver. “He said little,” she replied, “but he knows. He’ll need time, as anyone would.”  

Daemon’s jaw tightened briefly before he nodded again. “Time,” he repeated, his tone carrying a hint of bitterness. “Let us hope he uses it wisely.”  

Rhaenys raised an eyebrow, her smirk growing into something more amused. “Careful, Daemon,” she warned, “you’re starting to sound protective.”  

He chuckled lowly, leaning forward to press another kiss to her belly, his voice a murmur against her skin. “And if I am?”  

Her laughter was soft, melodic, as her fingers combed through his damp silver hair. “Then perhaps the child takes after you more than I thought,” she said, her tone both teasing and fond.    

Rhaenys arched a brow as Daemon straightened, his hands lingering at her sides. She expected him to pull away, to make some sly comment about her teasing, but instead, he reached for the soap resting on the edge of the rock pool.  

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice calm but curious.  

His lips twitched into a smirk as he stepped closer. “Your turn,” he said simply, motioning for her to sit.  

Her amusement deepened, though she didn’t move immediately. “The Rogue Prince, offering to bathe me? Wonders never cease.”  

“Do not test me, cousin,” he said with mock gravity, though his eyes gleamed with playful mischief. “I’ve endured enough reprimands from you today. Sit.”  

With a soft chuckle, Rhaenys obliged, lowering herself onto the smooth rock beneath the water. She watched as he knelt before her, the soap lathering in his hands. His touch was deliberate, reverent even, as he began with her shoulders, his fingers massaging the tension from her muscles.  

“You’re surprisingly gentle,” she remarked, her tone light.  

He gave a low chuckle. “I have my moments,” he replied, his hands gliding down her arms, lifting each one to rinse before moving to her back.  

The silence between them was companionable, the faint sound of the water lapping against the rocks the only noise. Daemon’s touch was unhurried, as though he intended to savor every moment. When he reached the swell of her belly, he paused, his hands stilling for the briefest of moments before he resumed his ministrations.  

“You carry it well,” he murmured, his voice softer than she’d expected.  

Rhaenys’s gaze flicked to him, her amber eyes studying his expression. “It’s a child, not a battle wound,” she teased gently, though her voice held a warmth that softened the words.  

He chuckled, his fingers tracing light circles over her belly as he worked. “A child,” he echoed, his tone reverent.  

For a moment, they simply looked at one another, the weight of the moment settling between them like a shared secret.  

Rhaenys was the first to break the silence. “You’ve grown quiet,” she observed, her voice soft but pointed.  

Daemon’s lips twitched into a faint smile as his gaze flicked back to her belly. “I was just thinking,” he admitted, his hands moving lower to soap her legs. “About what comes next.”  

Her brows furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”  

He paused, his hands stilling again as he looked up at her. “The war. The realm. This child,” he said, his voice steady but low. “I would see it all resolved before…”  

He trailed off, but Rhaenys understood. Her expression softened, and she reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. “The realm will always have its chaos, Daemon,” she said gently. “But this—this is ours. No one can take that from us.”  

His gaze flicked between her eyes, searching, before he nodded slowly. Without another word, he returned to his task, his touch firm but tender as he bathed her.  

When he finished, he leaned back slightly, his gaze sweeping over her as though to ensure his work was thorough. “Perfect,” he said with a smirk, though the admiration in his eyes was genuine.  

Rhaenys laughed softly, shaking her head as she reached for his hand. “You’ve outdone yourself, cousin,” she said, her tone teasing but affectionate.  

“Have I?” he asked, his smirk deepening as he allowed her to pull him closer.  

“You have,” she replied, her voice dropping to a murmur as she leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips.  

The kiss was soft, lingering, filled with a quiet intimacy that spoke of trust and shared history. When they finally pulled apart, Rhaenys rested her forehead against his, her hands sliding to rest over his.  

“Kirimvose,” she said simply, her voice soft and earnest.  

Daemon’s smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of something more vulnerable, more genuine. He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was unhurried, deliberate, and filled with a quiet tenderness.  

Rhaenys responded in kind, her hands sliding up to cradle his face, her thumbs grazing his cheekbones. The kiss deepened, their shared longing slowly building like a smoldering fire. As his lips pressed more insistently against hers, Daemon’s hands began to wander, sliding down her sides until they gripped her hips. He kneaded the soft flesh there, pulling her closer as though he could meld her body to his without disturbing the precious life growing within her.  

She moaned softly against his mouth, her own need rising swiftly, easily ignited by his touch. Her fingers slipped into his hair, tugging slightly as she sought to close the remaining distance between them. The fire in her, stoked even brighter by her pregnancy, demanded more.  

Daemon's grip on her shifted, his palms moving to cup her backside. He kneaded firmly, coaxing her closer, his fingers pressing into her soft curves as if anchoring her to him. His lips trailed down her jaw to her neck, eliciting a gasp from her that spurred him on.  

One of his hands moved to lift her leg, intent on wrapping it around his waist. But then he paused, his movements faltering as he remembered her current condition and the care required. A flicker of frustration crossed his face before it was replaced by determination.  

Without breaking the kiss, Daemon adjusted, his hands gliding down to her waist as he stepped back toward the smooth stone. He lowered himself onto it, pulling her with him. The movement was seamless, as if orchestrated by an unspoken understanding between them.  

Rhaenys followed his lead, her hands braced against his shoulders as she straddled his lap. The position brought her closer to him, her knees resting on either side of his hips. The warmth of his hands on her waist anchored her, and she tilted her head slightly, deepening the kiss as her fingers slipped into his silver hair.  

Daemon’s grip tightened, his hands traveling from her waist to splay over her back, pressing her against him as if the distance between them was unbearable. She gasped softly, her lips parting against his, and he took the opportunity to kiss her deeper, his movements hungry yet measured.  

Her hands slid down to his chest, her fingers tracing the contours of his muscles as if reacquainting herself with his form. She felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palms, a stark contrast to her own racing pulse.  

As her hips shifted slightly against him, his hands moved to cradle her thighs, his thumbs stroking gentle circles against her skin. One hand drifted up, pausing to rest on the swell of her belly, his touch reverent. His lips left hers briefly, trailing down her jaw to her neck as he murmured something against her skin—words lost to the heady quiet around them.  

Rhaenys let out a soft, breathy moan, her body responding instinctively to his touch. Her fingers tightened against his chest, nails raking lightly against his skin as her head tilted back, granting him better access. His lips ghosted along the sensitive column of her throat, warm breaths teasing her already heightened senses.  

Her hips shifted instinctively, rolling against him as her hands slid up to tangle in his hair. Daemon growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her neck as his hands gripped her waist with fervent need. His lips trailed down her collarbone, planting kisses as his fingers slid down to guide her hips against his.  

Rhaenys gasped as she felt him position her, her own hand reaching down to help guide him. Inch by inch, her body welcomed him, her tight walls enveloping him as her moans grew louder, more breathless. Daemon groaned deeply, his head dropping to her shoulder as he adjusted her hips, pulling her down to take him fully.  

“You feel—” His voice broke, his hands tightening on her hips. He buried his face against her neck, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “So perfect.”  

Rhaenys arched her back, her body shuddering as her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, holding on as he began to move. His thrusts were measured at first, deliberate, but the rhythm quickly turned erratic as her hips met him with equal fervor.  

Daemon’s mouth found her breast, his tongue flicking over her sensitive peak before wrapping his lips around it. His suckling was insistent, almost desperate, and it sent shocks of pleasure rippling through her. Rhaenys gasped, her fingers clawing at his back as the intensity of his attention drew a strangled cry from her lips.  

“Daemon…” Her voice was a breathless plea, her body trembling as he buried himself deeper, pulling her flush against him.  

His growl resonated against her skin, one hand sliding up to cradle her back as his other found her thigh, lifting it slightly to adjust their angle. The change made her gasp, her hands flying to his hair as her hips instinctively rolled, chasing the friction that sent heat spiraling through her.  

“You’re everything,” he murmured against her breast before switching to the other, his voice raw, fervent. His lips suckled as if he sought to draw more from her, his desperation matched by the way his body moved against hers.  

Rhaenys felt herself unraveling, her body tightening around him as he drove deeper, his movements increasingly erratic. Her head fell back, her cries rising higher and louder as her walls clenched around him, drawing him in.  

“Mandia…” Daemon’s voice was a broken gasp, his pace faltering as he buried himself to the hilt, his body trembling as he spilled into her.  

The sensation pushed her over the edge, her release crashing over her as her body shook with the force of it. Her breath hitched, her moans dissolving into silence as she clung to him, her body arching as wave after wave of pleasure consumed her.  

They collapsed against each other, their breaths mingling in the quiet. Daemon rested his forehead against hers, his hands still cradling her hips as he struggled to steady his breathing. Rhaenys closed her eyes, her lips brushing his temple as they remained tangled together, lost in the aftermath of their shared passion.

The halls of Dragonstone were a labyrinth of shadows at this hour, the air heavy with salt and silence. Daemon’s steps echoed faintly, his movements uncharacteristically measured. His mind replayed the events of King’s Landing—his careful whispers to the rat-catcher, the weight of every calculated step. It was done. A son for a son. A grim satisfaction flickered through him, tempered by the cold reality of what was yet to come.  

He turned down a familiar corridor, his pace faltering as an unexpected urge took hold. Rhaenys’s chambers loomed ahead, the door slightly ajar. A soft glow spilled into the hallway, beckoning him like a lighthouse through the fog.  

Pushing the door open quietly, Daemon stepped inside. The sight before him rooted him in place.  

Rhaenys sat in her chair by the fire, her head tilted to one side, her silver hair cascading over her shoulder like a curtain of light. The flames cast a golden hue over her features, softening the fierce lines he knew so well. In her lap, her embroidery lay forgotten, the fabric crumpled where her hand had fallen limp against it.  

His gaze drifted lower, lingering on the gentle swell of her belly beneath the folds of her gown. A protective warmth stirred within him, mingling with the awe that still caught him off guard every time he saw her like this—unburdened, vulnerable, breathtaking.  

Daemon moved closer, his usual sharpness tempered by a rare gentleness. He reached down, carefully plucking the embroidery hoop from her lap and setting it aside on the nearby table. His fingers brushed against hers in the process, and he paused, allowing himself a moment to simply feel her warmth.  

The faintest of sighs escaped her lips, her head shifting slightly against the chair. His chest tightened as he noticed the furrow of her brow, even in sleep. “Even now, you carry the weight of the world,” he murmured under his breath.  

Without another thought, he slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, lifting her with a tenderness that belied his strength. She stirred, her hand brushing weakly against his chest, but she did not wake.  

Daemon carried her to the bed, laying her down with care. His hands lingered as he tucked the covers around her, smoothing them over her belly as though the act could shield her and their child from all that loomed beyond these walls.  

He stepped back, his eyes tracing the curve of her body, the rise and fall of her breaths. She looked impossibly peaceful, so unlike the fiery woman who matched him word for word at council tables and in the skies.  

“Daemon…”  

Her voice, soft and laden with sleep, pulled him from his reverie. He turned to find her blinking up at him, her gaze unfocused but warm.  

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, his tone softer than usual.  

She frowned slightly, her gaze sharpening as it settled on him. “You’ve been out,” she observed, her voice hoarse with sleep. Her eyes flicked briefly to the soot smeared on his tunic, and her frown deepened.  

“I have,” he admitted.  

Her hand moved instinctively toward her belly, her fingers curling protectively over it. “You should rest,” she said, her voice firm despite the grogginess.  

Daemon hesitated, his gaze flicking between her and the chair by the fire. “Rhaenys—”  

“Stay,” she interrupted, her tone leaving little room for argument. She patted the empty space beside her, her expression unreadable but expectant.  

With a sigh, Daemon began unfastening the heavier pieces of his armor, setting them aside with deliberate care. When he finally joined her, the bed dipped slightly beneath his weight, drawing them closer together.  

For a moment, neither spoke. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its glow casting flickering shadows across the room.  

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Rhaenys murmured, her head turning toward him. “Too quiet.”  

Daemon let out a soft huff of amusement, his hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. “Not quiet. Thinking.”  

“Dangerous,” she teased lightly, though her voice was tinged with something softer.  

He smirked faintly, but his expression softened as his hand moved to rest lightly on her belly. His thumb traced absent circles against the fabric of her gown, his gaze dropping to where their child grew. “You should sleep,” he murmured, though the words seemed directed at himself as much as her.  

“I will, if you will,” she replied, her fingers brushing against his hand where it rested on her belly.  

Daemon nodded, his arm slipping around her to draw her closer. She rested her head against his shoulder, her breaths evening out as sleep began to pull her under.  

He watched her for a long moment, his fingers continuing their idle patterns, grounding himself in the quiet comfort of her presence.  

For now, the world outside could wait. 

Chapter Text

The tension in the council chamber was suffocating, coiling tighter with every passing moment. Rhaenys adjusted her cloak, the fabric a heavy shield against the cold air, though it did nothing to settle the unease curling in her stomach. She could not place its source—only that it gnawed at her, persistent and sharp, like the edge of a blade.  

Her gaze swept the room. Jacaerys leaned forward eagerly, his youthful determination shining despite the grim atmosphere. Rhaenyra, seated at the head of the table, radiated composure, though her hands betrayed her with their faint tremble.  

But it was Daemon who drew her attention, as he always did. He sat motionless, his chin resting on his hand, his expression a mask of serenity. Too serene. There was no restlessness in him, no dark quips or sharp barbs to fill the silence. Something about his stillness set her further on edge.  

The doors opened, and Maester Gerardys entered, clutching a sealed letter. Rhaenys straightened in her seat, her heart inexplicably beginning to race.  

The maester broke the seal, the crack of wax echoing in the quiet chamber. He read the contents quickly, his face blanching as his eyes darted back and forth over the words.  

“It is yet unclear how the Keep itself was breached,” Gerardys began, his voice low and grave. “The boy’s head was severed from his body. Thousands witnessed the procession.”  

The words struck like a thunderclap. The air seemed to vanish from Rhaenys’s lungs, her ears ringing as she processed the statement. The boy. Jaehaerys. Her mind latched onto his name, her pulse quickening as if to outrun the horror of what she already knew.  

Her head turned sharply, her eyes locking onto Daemon.  

He didn’t flinch under her gaze. His expression remained neutral, his fingers drumming lazily against the table’s edge. To anyone else, he might have seemed indifferent, but Rhaenys could see it—the telltale tightness in his jaw, the deliberate control in his movements.  

It’s you, she thought, her chest tightening. Gods, please let it not be you.

“And they are accusing me of having a hand in this?” Rhaenyra’s voice broke the silence, sharp with disbelief.  

“It appears so,” Gerardys replied, his tone heavy. “There have been messages sent to that effect throughout the realm.”  

Rhaenys barely heard them. Her attention was wholly fixed on Daemon.  

Say something, she willed him silently. Deny it. Tell me I’m wrong.

But he didn’t.  

“We must send our own messages, denying this vile allegation,” Rhaenyra continued, her voice faltering slightly.  

“I will do so at once,” Gerardys said, bowing his head. “But I’m not sure they will be received in good faith.”  

Rhaenys’s fingers curled into fists beneath the table. She felt as though the floor had shifted beneath her, leaving her unmoored. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, but the words lodged in her throat. She could only glare, her amber eyes blazing as they bore into Daemon’s impassive face.  

Rhaenyra’s voice wavered. “And we must double our guard, here and in Driftmark. There will be swift retribution in one form or another—”  

“I have seen to it, Your Grace,” Gerardys assured her.  

Jacaerys leaned forward, his eagerness cutting through the tension. “Let me fly out on Vermax. Rhaenys is needed in the Gullet, and I can watch for movements from King’s Landing.”  

“No,” Rhaenyra said firmly.  

The conversation continued around her, but Rhaenys heard none of it. Her thoughts churned, a cacophony of disbelief and fury. She replayed every word Daemon had spoken to her in the past days, searching for clues she might have missed.  

He promised, she thought bitterly. He promised me he wouldn’t act rashly.

Standing beside her, Ser Alfred Broome cleared his throat. His voice, smooth and calculated, cut through the haze. “It must be said that the damage to our position is immeasurable, at a time when we most need loyalty to our cause.”  

Rhaenyra turned to him, her composure cracking. “But it’s a lie. Having lost my own son, that I would inflict such a thing on Helaena, of all people… an innocent.”  

“The death of Prince Lucerys was a shock and an insult,” Alfred continued, his tone measured. “A mother so aggrieved might, naturally, seek relief in retribution.”  

Rhaenyra’s voice rose, trembling with emotion. “Are you suggesting, Ser Alfred, that my grief drove me to order the decapitation of a child?”  

“I merely thought, perhaps, an action taken in haste.”  

Rhaenys’s hand shot out, gripping the edge of the table as her anger flared. She turned her head just enough to glare at Alfred peripherally, her voice like ice.  

“Mind yourself,” she said coldly, her words slicing through the tension.  

Alfred flinched under her gaze, his mouth snapping shut.  

The room was heavy with the weight of unspoken words.  

Rhaenys turned back to Daemon, her glare unwavering. She could feel her nails digging into the wood of the table, her pulse pounding in her ears.  

Daemon met her gaze evenly. There was no guilt in his eyes, no apology. Only a quiet, infuriating resolve.  

You didn’t even try to hide it, she thought bitterly. Did you think I wouldn’t know? Or did you simply not care?  

Rhaenyra, visibly shaken, dismissed the council. “The meeting is adjourned. I will speak with some of you individually.”  

Chairs scraped against the floor as the lords and knights began to leave. Daemon rose smoothly, his movements as calculated as ever.  

Rhaenys remained seated, her body rigid. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Her gaze followed Daemon as he strode toward the door, his back straight, his head held high.  

He didn’t look at her.  

Her chest tightened painfully as she watched him leave. For all his faults, for all his recklessness, she had believed—hoped—that he would heed her. That he would at least try to stay his hand for the sake of their child.    

She remained seated long after the others had gone, the room empty save for the faint crackle of the torches. Her nails dug into the armrests of her chair, her breaths shallow as she tried to steady herself.  

Her mind raced, the weight of Daemon’s betrayal pressing down on her like a boulder. She thought of the child growing within her, the life she carried in the midst of death and destruction. The juxtaposition was unbearable.  

Her gaze drifted to the table where Daemon had sat, the image of his calm, unreadable face burned into her mind. A familiar mix of anger, heartbreak, and exhaustion churned within her. What was he thinking? 

A shuffling sound drew her attention. Ser Alfred lingered near the doorway, his sharp gaze fixed on her. She straightened immediately, her lips tightening.  

“You should rest, Princess,” he said, his voice smooth but pointed. “In your… condition, it would be wise to step back from these matters. Leave the strategizing to those more suited to it.”  

Rhaenys rose slowly, her movements deliberate, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made him pale.  

“Mind your tongue, Ser Alfred,” she said, her voice low and deadly. “I do not need your counsel on matters of strategy—or anything else, for that matter.”  

Meleys’s roar echoed faintly through the castle, a sound so perfectly timed that it sent a shiver down Ser Alfred’s spine. He gave a hasty bow and retreated, muttering an apology as he disappeared down the corridor.  

Rhaenys didn’t linger. Her legs carried her on autopilot, though her steps felt heavy, weighted by the crushing realization that Daemon had done exactly what she feared.  

The cool air of the dragon pit greeted her as she approached Meleys. The Red Queen was restless, her amber eyes sharing her grief. She let out a low rumble as Rhaenys drew near, her massive head lowering to nuzzle her rider.  

Rhaenys placed a hand on Meleys’s warm scales, drawing strength from the connection. “You feel it too, don’t you?” she murmured, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions, placing a steadying hand on the dragon’s warm hide. Her fingers brushed over the familiar texture of Meleys’s scales, finding some semblance of comfort in the bond they shared.

Meleys rumbled low in her throat, her gaze locked on her rider.

Meleys let out another rumble, this one softer, almost consoling.  

Climbing into the saddle, Rhaenys took a deep breath to steel herself. The weight of her emotions felt almost suffocating, but she pushed them down, focused on her task. As Meleys took to the skies, her powerful wings slicing through the salty air, Rhaenys closed her eyes for a moment, letting the wind whip her hair back.  

The familiar shape of the little isle came into view, its rocky edges catching the light as waves lapped against its shores. Meleys descended smoothly, her claws sinking into the sand with a soft thud as she landed.

Sliding from the saddle, Rhaenys barely took a few steps before her knees buckled. She stumbled to the edge of the water, her breath hitching as her stomach churned violently. Doubling over, she retched, her body heaving with the force of her anguish.

When the nausea subsided, the tears came—hot, relentless, and all-consuming. She sank to her knees, her hands pressing into the damp sand as she sobbed openly. The grief, the anger, the betrayal—all of it poured out of her in waves.

“How could you?” she choked out, her voice breaking. The words weren’t meant for the open air or the sea, but for Daemon. For the man who had promised her patience, who had sworn to let Rhaenyra lead, only to betray them all with his reckless actions.

Her hand moved instinctively to her belly, the gentle curve now undeniable beneath her cloak. “What kind of world am I bringing you into?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Meleys let out a low, mournful call, her massive head lowering to nudge her rider gently. The gesture brought a flicker of solace, grounding Rhaenys in the present. She reached up to stroke Meleys’s snout, the dragon’s warmth seeping into her trembling fingers.

With great effort, Rhaenys wiped her tears away. She pushed herself to her feet, standing tall against the weight of her despair. Her gaze drifted to the horizon, the afternoon sun glittering over the waves, and her mind wandered—unbidden—to the memories of their little isle.

She could almost see Daemon there, seated on the rocks as he peeled blood oranges for her. She remembered the way his lips would curl into a half-smirk whenever he caught her watching him, the way he’d toss a piece of fruit into his mouth with a teasing glint in his eye.

She thought of the times they had bathed together in the clear, cool waters, his touch both reverent and possessive as he traced the curve of her belly. The way they had lain on the warm sand, side by side, pointing out shapes in the clouds like children.

For all his flaws, for all his recklessness, those moments with him had felt like something stolen from a better life—a life untouched by war and death.

Rhaenys exhaled shakily, her fingers brushing against her belly once more. “I will protect you,” she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of a promise.

Meleys rumbled in agreement, her wings shifting slightly as if preparing for flight.

Rhaenys climbed back into the saddle, her movements steadier now. She guided Meleys upward, the dragon’s roar echoing over the waves as they rose into the bright sky. The Gullet awaited her, and she would meet it with the same unyielding resolve that had carried her through every battle before this.

But even as she flew, her heart remained heavy, tethered to the memory of Daemon—and the man she desperately wished he could still be.

The afternoon sun cast long shadows through the high windows of Dragonstone, painting the halls in muted gold. Daemon stood in Rhaenys’s chambers, his hand resting on the basket of blood oranges he had placed on her table.

The room carried her presence—the faint scent of lavender from her cloak hanging nearby, the embroidery she had left unfinished by the hearth. He traced the rim of the basket with his thumb, his jaw tightening as a wave of guilt threatened to swallow him.

I only wanted Aemond.

It was the truth. The rat-catcher’s blade was meant for the one who had taken Lucerys’s life, the one who had lit the spark of war. Not for a child.

Daemon exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his silver hair. Rhaenys’s voice echoed in his mind, sharp and unyielding: “Promise me you won’t do anything rash.” He had failed her. Again.

His gaze flicked to the basket, its contents carefully chosen to soothe her cravings. He had watched her reach for the bright fruit time and again, her lips curling into a soft smile when he brought them to her.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. “Why does she always have to be right?”

Shaking his head, he turned to leave. The faint sound of Caraxes’s rumble echoed through the open window, a reminder of the strength that tethered him to her even now.

“I’ll make it right,” he murmured, the words a quiet vow as he left her chambers.

The air above Dragonstone was brisk, the sea wind carrying the scent of salt and distant storms. Daemon adjusted his grip on Caraxes’s saddle as they climbed higher, the dragon’s powerful wings carving through the sky.

He spotted them before Caraxes did—Meleys’s brilliant crimson scales glinting in the sunlight, her form unmistakable even from afar.

Caraxes let out a low, resonant sound, a mixture of greeting and yearning. His long neck craned slightly, his eyes locking onto the other dragon as if seeking permission to approach.

“No,” Daemon said firmly, his voice low but resolute. “We can’t.”

Caraxes rumbled in protest, his massive wings faltering for a beat.

“She doesn’t want to see us,” Daemon added, though the words felt like a dagger to his chest. He couldn’t bear to see the fury in Rhaenys’s gaze again, couldn’t face the disappointment that had cut deeper than he cared to admit.

Caraxes straightened, his wings resuming their steady rhythm. Daemon’s grip tightened on the reins as he urged the dragon westward, away from Dragonstone.

But even as they flew, he couldn’t help but look back, his eyes scanning the horizon for one last glimpse of her.

Rhaenys felt it before she saw it—a shift in the air, a ripple of unease that made her grip Meleys’s reins tighter.

Her dragon’s rumble confirmed her suspicions. She turned her head just in time to see Caraxes’s distinctive serpentine form cutting through the sky, his crimson scales glinting in the sunlight.

“Daemon…” she murmured under her breath, her tone a mixture of frustration and sadness.

She watched as they flew westward, away from Dragonstone, Caraxes’s wings slicing through the clouds with purpose. Meleys let out a low, uneasy sound, her amber eyes tracking the pair until they disappeared into the distance.

Rhaenys pressed a hand to her belly, the familiar swell grounding her even as her emotions churned. “Always running,” she muttered, her voice thick with exasperation. “When you can’t bear it no longer.”

Her unease grew heavier, the weight of it settling in her chest. She urged Meleys to turn, her mind set on their little isle. The Gullet could wait; she needed to breathe, to think.

The familiar rocky terrain of their isle came into view, its secluded stillness offering a solace she couldn’t find elsewhere. Meleys landed gracefully, her talons sinking into the soft sand as Rhaenys dismounted.

She moved with purpose, her hand brushing against her belly as she walked toward their usual spot. But as she rounded the bend, she stopped abruptly.

A basket sat nestled against the base of a smooth boulder, its contents partially hidden by a cloth.

Her breath caught in her throat as she approached, her hands trembling slightly as she lifted the cloth to reveal blood oranges and other provisions. There was no note, no indication of who had left it.

But she didn’t need one.

Her fingers brushed the bright fruit, her heart clenching as she thought of Daemon. He was the only one who knew her cravings, the only one who would think to leave such a gesture behind.

Rhaenys straightened, her gaze drifting to the horizon where she had last seen Caraxes and Daemon disappear. Her chest tightened, the unease she had been fighting off threatening to overwhelm her.

She fought back the tears that prickled at the corners of her eyes, her jaw clenching as she willed herself to stay strong. But the basket in her hands felt heavier than it should have, its silent message cutting deeper than words ever could.

Her hand instinctively moved to her belly, her fingers splaying over the swell as if seeking comfort. Meleys let out a soft rumble behind her, the sound resonating with the same worried energy Rhaenys felt.

She closed her eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. “Damn you, Daemon,” she whispered, her voice carrying a mix of affection and frustration.

Rhaenys turned back toward Meleys, the weight of the basket in her arms. The war might be raging, the realm might be crumbling, but in that moment, her thoughts were consumed by the man who had left her yet again.

And the foreboding feeling that he might not return.