He is slightly surprised to her openly speak favourably of the arrangement. Perhaps he expected her to be bothered; but as he thinks on it he can't pick why... her goals have never been clear to him, as he's often seen her as the pawn her father seemed to make of her. It's on the tip of his tongue to remark that Otto would likely marry Viserys if it assured him a place at the pinnacle; but he withholds his snideness and instead follows her with violet eyes and almost perceives the levers in her mind turning. Daemon wonders what standards she believes he holds, and whether or not they align with the truth. As the reality of their wedded future settles, so to rises his curiosity about Alicent Hightower. "That you did, I was pleased when you accepted my request, I still have it as it happens; I remember your expression when you gifted it to me. As for my niece, I am sure she will soon find her shock dissipating," likely drowned out by the ceaseless pining worship of Ser Criston.
He doesn't make to stop her; instead Daemon observes where Alicent is drawn to. His books. A curated collection, with little dust gathered and meticulously displayed, there is a missing spot where a thin book is missing — it currently lays on his side table. Well worn, a volume of poetry and epic stanzas of Valyrian folktales that he thumbs through on quiet nights. "I do hope you can view me outside of the boundaries of propriety, Alicent–" he finds he enjoys the way her name feels on his tongue, "— and if any of my books are of interest to you, you may borrow it. And, forgive me for saying so, but I find your initiative quite charming. If your father should arrive, would you like me to invite him to join us?" Both a gentle tease, and a curious question in one. Daemon finds his smile turning into a small smirk, amusement playing on his features as the corners of her lips upturn; her soft smile is warm and sweet. Honeyed wine lips, her finds himself thinking unbidden. Though his mind partially wanders back to what she said about 'what is expected of her', he doesn't yet broach it; the expectations of a wife, a princes wife, and a lover were all different in his eyes. Which one had she been speaking of? Or had it simply a reference to his stagnant relationship with Lady Royce? Daemon settles himself down at one of the chairs, easing back comfortably as he enjoys watching her for a moment, yet before she can question the gaze he speaks up — "you are quite radiant today, Alicent. Is this dress new?" he's almost certain it is, as Daemon has apparently taken far more interest in Alicent that he's realised as his memory conjures up images of her collected from brief moments shared; lingering glances to candid moments. "I'm certain I haven't seen you wear it at court before."