Can you do yandere rhae with like a nursemaid or wetnurse reader? Reader takes such good care of her boys, how could she not fall in love?
Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem!Reader
warning(s): obsessive behavior, intimate content, possessive themes, royal/servant dynamic
(lowk this is longer than i expected 😭 but enjoyyy)
The candlelight flickered against the stone walls of the nursery, casting dancing shadows that seemed to breathe with the rhythm of sleeping children. Rhaenyra Targaryen stood in the doorway, her presence concealed by the heavy velvet curtain that separated the antechamber from the main room. She had come to check on her sons, as any mother might, but found herself frozen in place by a sight that had become increasingly familiar, increasingly necessary to her peace of mind
You moved through the nursery with the grace of someone who had been born to tend to precious things. Your hands, soft and capable, smoothed the coverlet over young Joffery's shoulders as he stirred in his sleep. The boy sighed contentedly at your touch and settled deeper into his pillows. Rhaenyra watched the way your fingers lingered just a moment longer than necessary, ensuring his comfort, and something tightened in her chest.
It had been months since you had come into her service. The Master of Coin had recommended you, speaking of your reputation among the noble houses, your gentleness with children, your discretion. Rhaenyra had barely glanced at you during that first meeting, her mind occupied with matters of succession and the endless political maneuvering that consumed her days. She had nodded her approval and thought nothing more of it.
How foolish she had been.
Now she could not go a single day without seeking you out, without finding some excuse to visit the nursery at odd hours. She told herself it was maternal devotion, a mother's natural desire to see her children well cared for. But she knew the truth, had known it for weeks now, perhaps longer. It was not her sons she came to see. It was you.
You moved to Aegon's cradle next, and Rhaenyra's breath caught as you bent low to press your lips to the child's forehead. The gesture was so tender, so full of genuine affection, that Rhaenyra felt a surge of something she could only describe as jealousy. Her own son, and yet she envied him that kiss, that closeness to you. The thought should have shamed her. Instead, it only intensified the obsession that had taken root in her heart.
The scent of lavender and chamomile hung in the air, herbs you had insisted on burning to help the children sleep peacefully. Rhaenyra had grown to associate that scent with you, with these stolen moments of observation. Sometimes she caught traces of it in the corridors and found herself following the phantom trail, hoping to find you at the end of it.
You straightened and turned toward little Viserys's cradle, and the candlelight caught your profile. Rhaenyra's hands tightened on the curtain. She had memorized every line of your face, every expression that crossed it. The small furrow that appeared between your brows when you concentrated. The way your lips curved when one of the boys said something amusing. The softness in your eyes when you looked at them, a tenderness that Rhaenyra craved to have directed at herself.
She watched as you lifted Viserys from his cradle, the babe having fussed slightly in his sleep. You held him against your chest, swaying gently, and began to hum a low melody. The sound was barely audible, meant only for the child in your arms, but Rhaenyra heard it as clearly as if you had been singing directly to her. Your voice was like honey, sweet and warm, and she wanted to drown in it.
This was madness. She was a Targaryen, a princess of the realm, mother to the future king. She should not be lurking in doorways like a lovesick squire, watching a servant go about her duties. And yet she could not stop herself. Every day the compulsion grew stronger, the need to be near you, to hear your voice, to breathe the same air.
You settled Viserys back into his cradle, your hand resting on his small chest until his breathing evened out once more. Then you stood there for a long moment, simply watching over all three boys with such devotion that Rhaenyra felt her heart might burst from her chest. How could anyone be so perfectly suited to caring for what she held most dear? How could she not fall utterly, completely, obsessively in love with you?
The word echoed in her mind. Love. Yes, that was what this was, though it felt like no love she had known before. It was consuming, all-encompassing, a fire in her blood that burned hotter with each passing day. She thought of you constantly. Your face appeared in her dreams. She found herself making decisions based on when she might see you next, arranging her schedule around the rhythms of the nursery.
Her advisors had begun to notice her distraction. Daemon had commented on it just yesterday, his knowing eyes studying her face as she lost track of a conversation about the Stepstones. She had brushed off his concern, but she knew he suspected something. Daemon always suspected something.
You moved toward the small table where you kept your supplies, and Rhaenyra took the opportunity to study the way you moved. There was an economy to your gestures, nothing wasted, everything purposeful. You were not a woman of grand beauty in the traditional sense, not like the painted ladies of the court with their elaborate gowns and jewels. But to Rhaenyra, you were more beautiful than any of them. Your beauty was in your competence, your gentleness, the way you gave yourself so completely to your duties.
She wanted to possess that devotion. Wanted it turned toward her with the same intensity you showed her children. The thought made her feel greedy, selfish, but she embraced it. Targaryens were meant to take what they desired. It was in their blood, their nature. And she desired you with a ferocity that frightened and exhilarated her in equal measure.
You began to tidy the room, folding small clothes and arranging toys, and Rhaenyra realized that soon you would finish your tasks and leave. The thought was unbearable. She needed more time, needed to watch you longer, needed to be in your presence even if you did not know she was there.
But perhaps tonight would be different. Perhaps tonight she would finally step out of the shadows and speak to you properly, not as a princess giving instructions to a servant, but as a woman speaking to the object of her obsession. The thought made her pulse quicken.
You paused in your work and turned toward the door, and for a heart-stopping moment, Rhaenyra thought you had sensed her presence. But you were only checking the hour candle, ensuring you had time before the children would need you again. Satisfied, you returned to your tasks, and Rhaenyra released a breath she had not realized she was holding.
Soon, she promised herself. Soon she would make her feelings known. Soon she would discover if you might return even a fraction of what she felt. And if you did not? The thought was too painful to contemplate. She would make you understand. She would show you how good it could be, how well she could care for you, how much she had to offer. She was a Targaryen. She did not accept rejection.
The candles burned lower, and still Rhaenyra watched, unable to tear herself away.
-————————————————————————
The evening had deepened into full night by the time you began the bedtime ritual in earnest. Rhaenyra had finally stepped into the room, no longer content to observe from the shadows. She settled into a chair near the hearth, a piece of needlework in her lap that she had no intention of actually working on. It was merely a pretense, a reason to be present.
You glanced at her when she entered, offering a respectful curtsy. "Your Grace. I did not expect you this evening."
"I find myself restless," Rhaenyra said, her voice carefully neutral. "I thought I might sit with my sons as they prepare for sleep."
"Of course, Your Grace. They will be glad of your presence."
But you did not seem discomfited by her arrival, and Rhaenyra took that as a good sign. You simply continued with your work, moving to wake Joffery gently for his evening washing.
"Come, little prince," you murmured, your voice soft and coaxing. "Time to prepare for bed properly."
Joffery grumbled but allowed you to lead him to the washing basin. Rhaenyra watched as you helped him clean his face and hands, your movements efficient but tender. You spoke to him quietly, asking about his day, listening with genuine interest as he told you about his lessons. The boy responded to you with an openness he rarely showed others, and Rhaenyra understood why. You made him feel safe, valued, heard.
She wanted that for herself. Wanted to be the recipient of your undivided attention, your gentle care. The desire was so strong it was almost painful.
"Your mother is here to see you," you told Joffery, guiding him toward Rhaenyra's chair. "Would you like to bid her goodnight?"
The boy came willingly, and Rhaenyra embraced him, pressing a kiss to his damp hair. "Sleep well, my son."
"Goodnight, Mother," he said, then turned back to you expectantly.
You smiled and took his hand, leading him back to his bed. As you tucked him in, you began to sing, your voice low and melodious. It was a song Rhaenyra did not recognize, something from your homeland perhaps, in a dialect she could not quite place. But the melody was beautiful, haunting, and she found herself leaning forward to hear it better.
Joffery's eyes grew heavy as you sang, your hand stroking his hair with a rhythm that matched the song. Within minutes, he was drifting off, his small face peaceful in the candlelight. You finished the song even after he had fallen asleep, as if the completion of it mattered, as if you could not bear to leave anything unfinished.
"That was beautiful," Rhaenyra said softly. "Where did you learn it?"
You looked up, seeming surprised that she had spoken. "My mother taught it to me, Your Grace. She sang it to me when I was small."
"It suits you," Rhaenyra said, and there was more weight in those words than she had intended. "You have a gift for this work. My sons are fortunate to have you."
A faint blush colored your cheeks. "You are kind to say so, Your Grace. I am honored to serve your house."
Rhaenyra wanted to tell you that it was not kindness but truth, that she had never seen anyone care for children with such devotion, that you had become indispensable not just to her sons but to her own peace of mind. But she held her tongue. There would be time for such confessions later.
You moved to Aegon's cradle next, and the ritual repeated. The gentle washing of his small hands and face, the quiet words spoken only for him. This time you began to hum the same melody, swaying gently as Aegon's small eyes grew heavier with each moment. Your voice painted pictures in the air, and Rhaenyra found herself as captivated as her son.
When Aegon finally succumbed to sleep, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, and Rhaenyra's hands tightened on her needlework. She wanted to be the one receiving such tenderness from you. Wanted to feel your lips against her skin, your hands in her hair, your voice murmuring sweet words meant only for her.
"You are so good with them," Rhaenyra said, unable to keep the admiration from her voice. "They respond to you as they do to no one else."
"Children know when they are loved, Your Grace," you replied simply. "I do love them. They are easy to love."
"And what of their mother?" The words escaped before Rhaenyra could stop them. "Am I easy to love?"
You froze, your eyes widening slightly. For a moment, the only sound was the crackling of the fire and the soft breathing of sleeping children. Then you lowered your gaze, your voice careful when you spoke.
"I am certain you are loved by many, Your Grace."
It was not an answer, not really, but Rhaenyra let it pass. She had revealed too much, pushed too hard. She needed to be patient, to let this unfold naturally. But patience had never been her strength, and with you, it seemed an impossible virtue.
You turned your attention to Viserys, lifting him from his cradle with practiced ease. The babe was fussy, not quite ready for sleep, and you walked with him, bouncing him gently, humming that same melody from before. Rhaenyra watched the way you held him, secure and loving, and imagined what it might feel like to be held by you, to rest her head against your shoulder and feel your arms around her.
"Hush now, little one," you murmured to Viserys. "The night is for sleeping, for dreaming of dragons and distant lands. Close your eyes and let sleep find you."
Your voice was like a spell, weaving peace through the room. Even Rhaenyra felt herself relaxing, the constant tension she carried easing in your presence. This was why she came here, she realized. Not just to see you, but to feel this sense of calm that you brought with you, this oasis of gentleness in a world of sharp edges and political machinations.
Viserys finally settled, his small fist curling against your chest as his eyes closed. You stood there swaying for a few minutes longer, ensuring he was truly asleep before you carefully placed him back in his cradle. Your hand lingered on his back, and Rhaenyra saw the love in that gesture, the genuine care you felt for this child who was not your own.
"You would have made a wonderful mother," Rhaenyra said softly.
You turned to look at her, and there was something sad in your expression. "Perhaps in another life, Your Grace. In this one, I am content to care for the children of others."
"Are you?" Rhaenyra asked, leaning forward. "Content, I mean. Are you truly content?"
You hesitated, and in that hesitation, Rhaenyra saw a glimpse of something deeper, some longing you kept hidden. But then you smiled, and the moment passed.
"I am grateful for my position, Your Grace. Your sons bring me great joy."
It was a diplomatic answer, the kind of thing one said to a princess. Rhaenyra wanted to push further, to dig beneath the surface and find the real you, the woman behind the careful words and respectful demeanor. But the nursery was not the place for such conversations, not with her sleeping sons nearby.
She would need to get you alone, somewhere private where you might speak freely. The thought sent a thrill through her.
You began to move around the room, extinguishing some of the candles, leaving only a few burning to provide light should the children wake. The room fell into deeper shadow, intimate and quiet. Rhaenyra rose from her chair, setting aside her needlework.
"Walk with me," she said, and it was not quite a command but not quite a request either.
You looked at her, surprise evident on your face. "Your Grace, the children..."
"Will sleep soundly, as they always do under your care. Come. I would speak with you."
-————————————————————————
You followed her from the nursery, and Rhaenyra was acutely aware of your presence behind her, the soft sound of your footsteps, the rustle of your simple gown. She led you to a small alcove just outside the nursery, a space where the night guards could not easily see, where the shadows were deep and the air was close.
When she turned to face you, she saw uncertainty in your eyes, but also curiosity. Good. She could work with curiosity.
"I have been watching you," Rhaenyra said, deciding that directness was the best approach. "For weeks now, I have watched the way you care for my sons, the devotion you show them, the love you give so freely."
"I... Your Grace, I only do my duty," you said, but your voice was unsteady.
"It is more than duty," Rhaenyra insisted, stepping closer. "I have seen many servants perform their duties. What you do is different. You give of yourself completely. You hold nothing back."
She was close enough now to see the way your breath quickened, the way your pupils dilated in the dim light. Close enough to catch your scent, something clean and simple, soap and herbs and something uniquely you.
"You are beautiful," Rhaenyra said, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "I do not think anyone has told you that, but it is true. You are beautiful in ways that have nothing to do with your face or form, though those are lovely as well. You are beautiful in your kindness, your patience, your capacity for love."
"Your Grace, I..." You seemed at a loss for words, your eyes wide.
"Do you know what it does to me?" Rhaenyra continued, unable to stop now that she had started. "Watching you day after day, seeing the way you touch my children, hearing your voice as you sing them to sleep? It has become a torment and a pleasure both. I find myself inventing reasons to visit the nursery, to be near you, to breathe the same air."
"I do not understand," you said, but Rhaenyra could see that you did, that you were beginning to comprehend the depth of what she was confessing.
"I think you do," Rhaenyra said, reaching out to touch your cheek. You did not pull away, and that small victory made her bold. "I think you have felt my eyes on you, felt the weight of my attention. I think you know that what I feel for you has grown beyond admiration into something far more consuming."
Your skin was soft beneath her fingers, warm and alive. She traced the line of your jaw, marveling at the simple pleasure of touching you, of finally closing the distance she had maintained for so long.
"I am obsessed with you," she admitted, and there was a freedom in the confession. "I think of you constantly. You have invaded my thoughts, my dreams. I see your face when I close my eyes. I hear your voice in quiet moments. You have become necessary to me in ways I cannot fully explain."
"Your Grace," you breathed, and she could hear the conflict in your voice, the war between propriety and something else, something that might be desire.
"Come to my chambers," Rhaenyra said, her hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck. "Come with me now. Let me show you what you have done to me, let me worship you as you deserve."
"I... this is not proper," you said, but you did not move away from her touch.
"Proper," Rhaenyra repeated, a bitter laugh escaping her. "I am a Targaryen. We have never been bound by what others consider proper. I want you. I have wanted you for longer than I care to admit. And I think, perhaps, you want me as well."
She saw the truth of it in your eyes, the way you swayed toward her despite your words of protest. You were not immune to her, not as indifferent as you pretended to be. The realization sent triumph surging through her veins.
"Say yes," Rhaenyra urged, her thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind your ear. "Say you will come with me. Say you will let me show you how deeply I feel, how completely you have captured me."
You were silent for a long moment, and Rhaenyra held her breath, waiting. Then, finally, you nodded, the movement so small she almost missed it.
"Yes," you whispered. "Yes, Your Grace."
-———————————————————————-
The walk to Rhaenyra's chambers felt both endless and far too short. She kept her hand at the small of your back, a possessive touch that she could not resist. The corridors were quiet at this hour, most of the castle asleep, and the few guards they passed kept their eyes forward, well trained in discretion.
Rhaenyra's heart pounded in her chest. She had imagined this moment countless times, had played out various scenarios in her mind during sleepless nights. But now that it was happening, now that you were actually here beside her, walking willingly toward her private chambers, it felt surreal.
She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, trying to read your expression. You looked nervous but not frightened, curious but not reluctant. It was enough. She would make sure it was more than enough before the night was through.
When they reached her chambers, Rhaenyra dismissed the guard at her door with a curt nod. She opened the door herself and gestured for you to enter. You hesitated for just a moment on the threshold, and Rhaenyra wondered if you might change your mind, might turn and flee back to the safety of the nursery. But then you stepped inside, and Rhaenyra followed, closing the door behind them with a soft click that sounded impossibly loud in the quiet room.
Her chambers were warm, a fire burning low in the hearth. Candles flickered on various surfaces, casting dancing light across the rich fabrics and dark wood furniture. The bed dominated the space, large and draped in crimson and black, the colors of her house.
You stood in the center of the room, looking uncertain, and Rhaenyra took a moment to simply look at you, to savor this moment she had dreamed of for so long. You were here, in her private space, away from the eyes of the court and the demands of duty. Here, she could be honest. Here, she could show you the depths of her obsession.
"Would you like some wine?" Rhaenyra asked, moving to the small table where a decanter sat waiting.
"No, thank you, Your Grace," you said softly.
Rhaenyra poured herself a cup anyway, needing something to do with her hands. She took a sip, letting the wine warm her throat, then set the cup aside and turned to face you fully.
"You need not be nervous," she said gently. "I will not harm you. I could never harm you."
"I am not afraid of harm, Your Grace," you replied. "I am simply... uncertain of what you expect of me."
"I expect nothing," Rhaenyra said, crossing the room to stand before you. "I only hope. I hope that you might feel even a fraction of what I feel. I hope that you might allow me to show you affection, to give you the tenderness you so freely give to others."
She reached out and took your hands in hers, marveling at how small they felt, how delicate despite the work they did. She brought them to her lips and kissed each palm, her eyes never leaving yours.
"You have bewitched me," she murmured against your skin. "Utterly and completely. I do not know if it was your kindness that first caught my attention, or your grace, or simply the way you exist in the world with such gentle purpose. But I am caught now, ensnared, and I have no desire to be free."
"Your Grace," you breathed, and she could see the effect her words were having, the way your breathing had quickened, the way your lips parted slightly.
"Rhaenyra," she corrected. "Here, in this room, I am simply Rhaenyra. And you are the woman who has stolen my peace and replaced it with this glorious torment."
She tugged gently on your hands, drawing you closer, until there was barely any space between your bodies. She could feel the heat of you, could see the rapid flutter of your pulse in your throat. The urge to press her lips there, to taste your skin, was almost overwhelming.
"May I kiss you?" she asked, her voice rough with want.
You nodded, and that was all the permission Rhaenyra needed. She closed the remaining distance and pressed her lips to yours, gentle at first, almost chaste. But the moment she felt you respond, felt your lips move against hers, something broke loose inside her.
The kiss deepened, became more urgent. Rhaenyra's hands moved to your waist, pulling you flush against her, and she felt you gasp into her mouth. She took advantage, her tongue sliding against yours, tasting you, claiming you. You made a small sound, something between a whimper and a moan, and it sent fire racing through Rhaenyra's veins.
When she finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard. Your lips were swollen, your eyes dark with desire, and Rhaenyra had never seen anything more beautiful.
"Come," she said, taking your hand and leading you toward the bed. "Let me hold you. Let me show you how precious you are to me."
She sat on the edge of the bed and drew you down beside her. For a moment, you both simply sat there, hands clasped, looking at each other. Then Rhaenyra reached up and began to remove the pins from your hair, letting it fall loose around your shoulders.
"I have wanted to do this for so long," she admitted, running her fingers through the strands. "Wanted to see you like this, unbound, free."
She leaned in and kissed you again, softer this time, savoring it. Her hands moved to your shoulders, your back, learning the shape of you through your clothes. You responded tentatively at first, then with growing confidence, your own hands coming up to rest on her waist.
Rhaenyra eased you both back onto the bed, arranging you so that you lay side by side, facing each other. She continued to kiss you, long, slow kisses that spoke of devotion rather than mere lust. Her hand cupped your cheek, her thumb stroking your skin with infinite tenderness.
"I could do this forever," she murmured between kisses. "Could spend eternity just like this, holding you, kissing you, breathing you in."
"Rhaenyra," you whispered, and hearing her name on your lips sent a shiver through her.
"Yes," she said. "Say it again. Say my name."
"Rhaenyra," you repeated, and she rewarded you with another deep kiss.
They lay there for a long time, wrapped in each other's arms, exchanging kisses and soft touches. Rhaenyra's hands roamed over your body, but always over your clothes, never pushing for more than you seemed ready to give. This was enough, more than enough. To hold you, to kiss you, to feel you respond to her touch, it was everything she had dreamed of and more.
"I have never felt this way before," Rhaenyra confessed, her lips brushing against your temple. "This consuming need to be close to someone, to know their every thought and feeling. You have undone me completely."
"I did not mean to," you said softly, your hand resting over her heart.
"I know," Rhaenyra replied. "That is part of what makes it so powerful. You were simply yourself, simply doing what you do, and I fell utterly under your spell."
She pulled you closer, until your head rested on her shoulder and your body was pressed along the length of hers. Her hand stroked your hair, your back, soothing and possessive at once.
"Stay with me tonight," she said. "Sleep here, in my arms. Let me wake with you beside me."
"The children," you started to protest, but Rhaenyra shushed you gently.
"Will be fine. There are other servants who can tend to them if they wake. Tonight, you are mine. Tonight, I will not share you with anyone, not even my sons."
She felt you relax against her, accepting, and triumph surged through her once more. You were here, in her bed, in her arms. You had kissed her, had responded to her touch, had whispered her name with something that sounded like desire. It was a beginning, and Rhaenyra would make sure it was only the beginning.
She continued to stroke your hair, to press kisses to your forehead, your temple, anywhere she could reach. She murmured soft words, telling you how beautiful you were, how precious, how completely you had captured her heart. And you listened, your hand curling into the fabric of her gown, holding on as if she were an anchor in a storm.
"I will take care of you," Rhaenyra promised. "I will give you everything you could ever want or need. You will never have to worry, never have to want for anything. I will see to it."
"I do not need riches, Your Grace," you said softly.
"Rhaenyra," she corrected again. "And I know you do not. But I will give them to you anyway, because it pleases me to do so. Because you deserve to be cherished, to be spoiled, to be loved as you love others."
She tilted your face up and kissed you again, pouring all of her obsession, all of her devotion, into that kiss. She wanted you to feel it, to understand the depth of what she felt, to know that this was not some passing fancy but something that had taken root deep in her soul.
When the kiss ended, she gathered you close again, wrapping herself around you protectively. "Sleep now," she murmured. "Sleep, and know that you are safe, that you are wanted, that you are mine."
She felt you settle against her, your breathing gradually evening out as sleep began to claim you. But Rhaenyra remained awake, unwilling to miss a single moment of having you in her arms. She watched the candlelight play across your face, memorizing every detail, every shadow and highlight.
This was only the beginning, she told herself. She would make you fall in love with her, would make herself indispensable to you as you had become to her. She would bind you to her so completely that you would never want to leave, never even think of it. You would be hers, utterly and completely, and she would be yours in return.
The obsession that had been building for months had finally found its outlet, and Rhaenyra embraced it fully. She had never been one to do things by halves, and she would not start now. She would love you with the same intensity that burned in her Targaryen blood, with the same passion that had driven her ancestors to conquer kingdoms and claim dragons.
You stirred slightly in your sleep, and Rhaenyra tightened her hold, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Mine," she whispered into the darkness. "You are mine now, and I will never let you go."
The candles burned lower, the fire in the hearth faded to embers, and still Rhaenyra held you, watching over you as you had watched over her sons. But where your vigilance came from duty and love, hers came from obsession and possession. She would protect you, cherish you, worship you, but she would also keep you, claim you, make you hers in every way that mattered.
As the night deepened toward dawn, Rhaenyra finally allowed herself to close her eyes, secure in the knowledge that you were here, in her arms, where you belonged. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new obstacles to overcome. But tonight, she had won. Tonight, you were hers.
And she would make sure that every night after this one, you would be hers as well.
amandla
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