a|n; I love the idea so much!😂 hope you like this @witch-of-letters
Daemon Targaryen x Platonic Daughter!Reader , Rhaenyra Targaryen x Platonic Daughter!Reader
warnings: fluff
Translations; Kepa ~ Father || Muña ~ Mother
There had been very few times in his life where Daemon Targaryen could remember feeling nervous. He had always been so self assured, and though he understood the many dangers of the world, he always thought ahead - always felt prepared for whatever might come his way. That side of his nature had only grown after Rhaenyra gave birth to their first child. A beautiful daughter. You.
At the age of 8, you had found yourself your very own dragon. One that neither he nor Rhaenyra expected.
Your parents could scarcely believe it as you described first meeting your dragon, named ‘Cannibal’ by the small folk of Dragonstone, on the island where you lived. You told them the tale of how you bonded with him, managing to calm him as he stood guarding over the remains of various carcasses. He was terrifying and magnificent all at once. You’d never felt such an array of excitement and fear, but you knew, in your heart - he was meant to be by your side. He was meant to be claimed by you.
The first sighting your parents had of you flying on Cannibal’s back around Dragonstone felt like something from a dream. The dragon was so calm, so content in your presence. The opposite to the usual ravenous dragon who terrified the local people, animals and dragons.
Despite being one of the largest dragons, he navigated the sky with such ease, his wings gliding through the wind. You were so small and fragile in comparison, but it was like you were born to be carried by him.
“Kepa! Muña! Will you come and meet him now?” You rushed into your parents' chambers, paying little attention to the ladies in waiting styling your mothers hair for the upcoming tourney, or the septa calling your name as she tried to catch up with you after running off from your lessons. Spending the day with your dragon sounded much more interesting.
You were quick to be at your fathers side as the septa caught up with you, panting for breath.
“I apologise, your grace, my prince,” she looked between your parents, wide eyed. “l tried to get her to stay at her lesson.”
“I am not a dog,” you commented.
Rhaenyra and Daemon shared a glance, your father unable to hide his smirk at your reply. You seemed to resemble your parents more every day, a fact he found such pride in.
“Thank you, septa,” your mother replied with a polite smile. “She can spend the rest of the lesson with her father.”
The septa bowed her head and left, closing the door behind her.
You turned to your mother with a furrowed brow, “When will you meet Cannibal, Muña?”
Rhaenyra leaned forward, pressing a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll come and join you once I’m finished here, sweet girl,” she told you, and you grinned in response before taking your fathers hand in yours, unable to hide your excitement.
“Come along, Kepa,” you tugged at him, “before I send you to the septa.”
“She wouldn’t want to deal with me,” Daemon laughed, letting you lead him out of the chambers and through the corridors.
Despite the nerves gradually growing inside him at the thought of coming face to face with the infamous wild dragon who feasted on his own kind for the first time, he knew couldn’t let you down.
After all, he would do anything for you. Even stand in front of the Cannibal himself.
~~
There were no men willing to stay alongside your dragon, not even while you visited him up in the hills. He didn’t like anyone near him. The dragon would only accept you.
The trek across the island to Cannibal’s lair wasn’t far and the dragon seemed to sense your presence before you even reached him. With a bellowing roar, he swooped in from the clouds and landed in front of you, his dark, narrowed eyes focusing on your father as he bristled.
“Lykirī, Cannibal! Bisa iksis ñuha kepa. Lykirī!” [Calm, Cannibal! This is my father. Calm! ] you shouted, hand raised out in front of his large head, his teeth bared.
The prince bowed his head and lowered himself to his knees out of respect, silently reminding himself to stay composed as he watched you reassure and coax the dragon to obey. ‘Lykirī, Daemon. Lykirī. Even though the blood of the dragon runs through your veins, you are really not to his taste.’
This was one time Daemon was definitely content to not be desirable.
The strong blow of air and stench of Cannibal’s breath slowly faded from Daemon’s presence as the dragon focused back on you, gently nuzzling against your outstretched hand.
Daemon looked up and slowly stood, amazed by the interaction between you and the dragon. The bond between dragon and rider was always something special, but no one ever imagined it would happen with the Cannibal. Daemon Targaryen never imagined his daughter would be the one to claim him.
“Sȳz, (good),” you praised, breaking into a giggle when the dragon dropped to the ground and rolled onto his side, playfully blowing a little air at you through his nose and knocking you backwards into the arms of your fathers, who couldn’t help but laugh along with you.
“Take me with you,” you said in a hushed voice as you grabbed your brothers hand to gain his attention. Daemon couldn’t help but smile at the pleading look over your face as you caught up with him halfway down the spiral stairs of the Red Keep.
Much like your mother, Alyssa, had done with your father, Baelon, you followed Daemon everywhere you could. Even now, at 19, you were his shadow. Yet Daemon didn’t hate it, in fact, he never felt more loved than when he was around you. Never felt more alive.
He leaned back against the wall with a smirk, admiring how ethereal you looked with the moonlight pooling in through the arched window behind you, the Valyrian necklace he’d given you as a gift glistening around your neck.
“Take you where, jorrāelagon sȳndor?” [dear shadow]
Though he said the nickname with affection, you rolled your eyes at his answer. “You know where. You and Viserys sneak off to the streets of silk all the time.”
Of course you knew. Daemon didn’t just call you a shadow because you followed him, but because you had a habit of seeing and overhearing things you weren’t supposed to. You thought of it as a gift, but not many others at court did.
“I would bring you along… but Viserys won’t approve.”
“Since when did you care about what our brother thinks?”
“You are betrothed to him,” even as he says it, the words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. You should be betrothed to me, he thinks. Should be mine. He knows it. You know it. Everyone does. Yet he was surrounded by leeches who only wished to make choices for their own political gain.
“He wouldn’t want me taking you to a pleasure house, dārilaros.” [princess]
You smiled at that, and there was a glint of mischief in your eyes that Daemon didn’t often see. It intrigued him. As if he didn’t have enough reasons to fall for you already.
“I heard whispers that he’ll be wed to Lady Aemma Arryn in my stead,” you told him. “In as soon as a fortnight. Soon, my maiden hood will be of little consequence to him.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What other whispers have you heard?”
You leaned in closer, your hands on his chest and you face merely inches away from his as you whispered, “gūrogon nyke se kesan ivestragon ao.” [take me and I will tell you.]
Summary; No matter how many suitors your father puts before you, it never stops you craving Aemond.
Warnings; incestuous relationship, teasing, smut, arranged marriage, swearing, angst, manipulation, jealousy, thoughts of murder (Targaryen!reader is a little dark minded) 🎶Alexa play Issues by Julia Michaels 🎶
Aemond had been watching you all night. Every movement you made, every word you spoke - he observed you from across the room. Under the intensity of his stare, you found it hard to concentrate on anything else, on anyone else. Whatever it was the Lord next to you was speaking about, you weren’t paying enough attention to care. He was a potential suitor your father, King Viserys, had arranged a visit from - much to your distaste.
You wanted nothing more than to excuse yourself from this dull dinner with your family and these visitors, and go back to your rooms, preferably with Aemond. You’d give anything to have his mouth on your cunt again, his long, slender fingers fucking you open as you grip onto the sheets, both cursing and praising his name in your mother tongue.
With a sigh, you finished the remnants of your chalice, praying the wine would calm your thoughts, and this arousal rising through you.
Aemond’s lips curved up into a smirk, as if he could read your mind.
Fuck him.
The rest of the night passed by painfully slowly. By the time your father and Queen Alicent left and the feast ended, you were drained from playing all the false pretence next to that Lord, but it didn’t take long for a renewed energy to flow through you once you got back to your chambers.
After a quick bath, you changed into your silken robe and headed to the secret passage that led to a corridor outside Aemond’s rooms. You had sworn your ladies-in-waiting to secrecy, and they knew better than to betray a Targaryen. You never really knew if they were more afraid of you, or Aemond.
Your half brother was sitting at his desk when you sneaked through the door, a book in his hand as the light from the fireplace gently crackled beside him. He didn’t even look up as you walked towards him, letting your robe fall to the floor to reveal your naked body.
“What makes you think I’m going to fuck you?” Aemond spoke as he turned the page, his tongue darting out between his lips.
“You were watching me all night. Or perhaps it was the Lord who captured your attention. He is quite handsome,” you mocked, making Aemond lift his head up with a narrowed gaze.
“I want to finish this book before the morrow,” he said, a noticeable strain in his voice as he finally set sights on your bare body, oh so ready and wanting for him.
At first, you wanted to stomp your foot in defiance, but you knew another approach would work much better in your favour.
“Then that’s your choice,” you shrugged, picking your robe up and putting it back on before turning to leave. “I’m sure Aegon would appreciate my company, or perhaps kēpus Daemon.”
The sound of the chair crashing on the floor caught you off guard. Just as your hand reached for the door handle, Aemond was on you, pushing you with your back against the door frame and his arm across your neck.
“You’re a fool,” he sneered, having discarded his eye patch sometime in his outburst.
You knew he had done it as a way to intimidate you, but getting to see the beauty of his sapphire eye always took your breath away. There was always a bitter sweetness to the fact he let you see him like this.
You weren’t at Driftmark when he lost his eye, but it was a reminder of the strain between your family - how this connection and these heated, stolen moments between you could add to that, or maybe heal it.
“Look at you, dressed like some common whore,” Aemond scoffed, his free hand undoing your robe before giving one of your breasts a rough squeeze. “Even if you hadn’t ignored Lord Ashford throughout dinner, no respectable nobleman would have you as a wife.”
“I don’t want a respectable nobleman,” you bit out, trying to hold back any reaction as his hand travelled down your body and between your thighs.
“Then what do you want?” he purred as he reached your aching cunt, long fingers teasing through your dampened folds.
You would never tire of his touch, of the way he could read your body like one of his books. But you wanted more. Needed more. Every time you were together like this, he would never take you fully. He would fuck your hand, your mouth, but not your cunt. No matter how you reasoned about taking moontea, he would never risk getting you pregnant.
“I want someone who isn’t afraid to fuck me. To stretch me open with his cock and fill me with his seed,” you told him. “I want a Targaryen. I want you.”
You sucked in a sharp breath when Aemond applied more pressure against your neck, eye blazing with anger, frustration, lust. Your words were enough to drive him, and his body, mad. Aemond’s cock strained in his pants, almost begging for him to renounce all his self restraint. How easy it would be to just fuck your right now, to sink his cock inside of you and have you desperately writhe and cry against him. To watch you take every inch - just as he’d imagined so many times.
“You know I am already betrothed,” he reminded you, easing his hold a little. “It is my duty to marry Floris Baratheon.”
You couldn’t refrain from rolling your eyes, thinking how easy it would be for you to get on the back of your dragon, Grey Ghost, and burn down that Baratheon hold and everyone inside. Leaving Storm’s End as nothing but rubble and ash would be one sure way to get close to what you wanted. To who you wanted.
“Marriage is only a political arrangement,” you replied.
Aemond responded with a grunt, releasing his hold on you and smacking the palm of his hand against the wall. You watched his outburst in silence as he turned his back and took a couple of steps away from you.
He knew those words were echoed from Daemon, and he often wondered how close your bond had been with him. It irked him. Fuelled him with a jealousy that he wished he’d never felt.
“Tell me you don’t crave me as I crave you!” you argued, tying your robe back up and stepping forward to grab his wrist. “I want you, Aemond. I thought you felt the same.”
“We don’t get what we want, you foolish girl!” he snapped, the clench of his jaw easing when he finally faced you and saw the sincerity in your eyes. The hope.
Aemond let out a pained sigh, “I would take you right now if it would change anything.”
You took his hand and linked your fingers in between his, stroking his thumb with your own. “Perhaps it would.”
He frowned.
“If I were to become pregnant with your child, our parents would have no other choice than to let us be together,” you explained. “We could be wed. We could have the life we want, together.”
Aemond closed his eye for a moment. Of course you’d calculate a plan that took even him by surprise. He should’ve learnt by now not to doubt your tenacity, you were a Targaryen, after all. And on the side of which he was supposed to hold caution around.
Only the sound of the crackling wood in the fireplace could be heard as Aemond opened his eye to look at you, somehow managing to retain his composure.
“That is not my duty, nor is it yours,” he told you, the words like a practised mantra on his tongue.
If you weren’t so caught up in your own frustrations, it would have dawned on you how much of your family's influence had been carved into you both. Seared into you like a flame.
“I’m tired of living for duty!” You yelled, letting go of his hand as if it had burnt you. “What about what we want? Don’t you even want more than this?” You gestured wildly around you. “We should get to be more than just pawns in our fathers reign. In his Lord Hand’s schemes.”
Aemond clenched his jaw at the mention of his grandfather and the bitterness in your voice. He was growing tired of this battle he knew neither of you would win. Fighting with you was nothing like his training. He could wield a sword and fight anyone on even ground, confident of a win, but with you - well, you were a different kind of opponent. Gods, it hurt so much more.
Aemond knew he had to end this, one way or another.
“If it is just a Targaryen you lust for, perhaps you should go and see Aegon or Daemon. Neither of them mind producing bastards.”
His words felt like a dagger to your heart. You never wanted anyone else. How dare he belittle you like that? Belittle everything you ever wanted with him?
You stepped away from him with angry tears in your eyes and stormed out of the room, not seeing Aemond throw his book into the fire in his rage as nausea rose through him from his own words.
Your husband isn’t impressed when he discovers you’ve been practising your sword skills with Ser Harwin Strong.
Warnings: smut, DUB CON, they have a kinky relationship, rough s*x, choking, p*ssy slapping, using the hilt of a sword as penetration, swearing, derogatory language, usual HoTD and Daemon warnings
You should’ve known better than to try and keep secrets from Daemon Targaryen.
It had only ever started as a passing remark with Ser Harwin Strong when you mentioned how your father used to teach you how to fight with wooden swords, then steel ones. Being a Lady, it was always frowned upon by everyone else, but those days with your father were always your fondest memories of home.
Once you moved to Kings Landing after your betrothal to Daemon, you relented and settled into court life - your sword skills becoming a thing of the past.
Until Harwin offered to help you practice one morning. You were so excited to be able to wield a sword again, quickly picking up on the memory of everything your father had taught you.
One morning lesson turned into another, then another, and with the knight's help, your ability grew stronger. Each step and movement felt natural again.
You had been so enthralled with the feeling, you didn’t want to share it with anyone else. Not even your husband. You thought he’d only mock you for it.
You watched while the candles flickered like a hypnotic dance in your chambers as you lay naked on the bed, breasts heaving with every breath as you came down from the bliss, having been utterly satisfied by Daemon.
“My sweet girl,” he praised, pressing a kiss to your neck before he removed himself, the remnants of his spendings sticky between your thighs. It was always an added pleasure, feeling the warmth of his cum inside you.
Your post blissed haze turned to confusion and fear when your husband picked up his valyrian sword, still sheathed in her leather covering, the hilt shining in the candlelight as he walked back towards the bed.
“Daemon-“ you sat up, eyes wide as he unsheathed the sword. “What are you doing?”
“You know what this is and how to use it,” Daemon effortlessly spun the sword in his hand as he spoke with a darkness in his eyes that made your blood run cold. “You know how it can be used on our enemies. Dark Sister has faced many of them with me.”
You had never seen Daemon in battle, but you assumed this feeling was close to what anyone facing him felt. Like facing death himself.
He controlled the sword with such ease, you knew if you weren’t so consumed by fear, you’d be admiring his skill.
“Yet, instead of coming to your husband, you go to Ser Harwin for lessons,” he chided.
Oh.
“I - fuck!” You jolted as far back as you could when he pressed the top of the hilt against your still sensitive cunt, the pommel cold to touch, and he smirked wickedly at your reaction.
That’s when his true intentions dawned on you.
You were no stranger to the prince's crude desires, already enjoying many of them before and during your marriage, but this, this was new.
Daemon grabbed your ankle with his free hand and pulled you down to the edge of the bed, a desperate plea leaving your lips-
“I was just practising! It meant nothing more!”
“Of course it didn’t. Harwin isn’t a fool, and neither are you,” Daemon scoffed, sheathing the sword once again and placing it on the bed.
“Or so I thought,” he hummed, pushing your legs apart and running his fingers up the inside of your thighs. “It seems I need to teach you a different lesson, dear wife.”
You bit down on your lip and watched him with baited breath, unable to predict his next move. Within this anxiety you felt, there was always this sense of intrigue - something you’d never imagined feeling with the infamous rogue prince.
Daemon pushed two fingers inside you before pulling them back out just as quickly, now covered in your earlier release before he licked them clean, making you hold in a whimper at the act.
He smirked, noticing your internal restraint. “Did your lessons with Ser Harwin begin with him tasting your cunt, too?”
You frowned slightly, knowing he was toying with you and enjoying it - much to your dismay. You didn’t want to play his game.
A sharp slap rang out when his palm met your cunt, making you scream out while the grip of his spare hand on your thigh stopped you from moving away from him.
“Answer me.”
“No!” you cried, eyes closed as the pain pulsated through you.
“Shame,” Daemon murmured. “It is the finest cunt in the seven kingdoms, in my experience.”
Your eyes flew open and you choked on a moan when you felt the cold, rough hilt of the sword press against your clit this time, the initial shock threading into an unusual pleasure as Daemon moved the pommel back and forth over your bundle of nerves- still a little sensitive from his earlier ministrations. You couldn’t deny that it felt good. The warmth of pleasure started to build up inside you all over again.
“Oh, you’re enjoying this,” he chuckled. “My Lady wife is no better than a common whore.”
“In your experience,” you glanced at him as you mimicked his earlier comment.
Daemon smirked and you noticed his cock had hardened again, standing impressive against his naked, pale stature. You often believed the Targaryen’s were made in the image of Gods in their beauty. Daemon Targaryen was no exception.
Your scream echoed off the walls when he pushed the pommel of the sword inside you, then the hilt, moving his weapon of choice with slow, steady thrusts - eased by your own wetness from Daemon’s actions before.
The hilt was rough and cold inside you, an unfamiliar pain that you couldn’t pull away from.
“Does it hurt? Too bad. You're going to keep taking it until I'm satisfied.”
“P-please-” you whimpered, tears welling in your eyes as he continued his lesson. Though you knew your pleas would fall on deaf ears.
The burn of pain seemed to ease ever so slowly, the hunger in Daemon’s lilac eyes growing stronger as he fucked you with the hilt of his sword, watching how your cunt swallowed around the very same weapon he held when he killed his enemies.
It was an image he’d etch into his memory. An image to spur him on in the darkest of battles.
“Oh, there it is,” Daemon purred, watching you writhe and grip onto the sheets as the pommel of the sword reached your sweetest spot that he was all too familiar with, the new feeling coursing pleasured pain through every fibre of your body.
“F-fuck- ñuha dārilaros, (my prince)’ you whined, dripping down the hilt as your lewd wet sounds filled the room.
Daemon groaned- almost feral, at the sight and sound, the hold on his sword suddenly gone as he climbed on the bed to grab your throat, “will you be keeping any more secrets from me, my love?”
You choked under his grip, managing to shake your head just a little in reply.
A moment passed before he let you go, gasping for air.
“Good little whore,” he whispered in your ear, making you clench around the hilt still buried in your cunt.
You couldn’t imagine how wrecked you looked right now, sweaty and pupils lust blown, completely under the Targaryen’s control.
Daemon sat up onto his knees and took his cock in his hand, stroking it with fervour as he admired his handiwork. As he admired his wife.
It wasn’t long before he was cumming with a quiet grunt over your chest. The act had you following suit, your orgasm racing through you with little warning.
You were thankful for your husband’s gentle touch when he removed the hilt of the sword from inside of you, knowing this newfound pain would take time to dull down.
“Who has been teaching you Valyrian?” he asked, unable to disguise his pride over your earlier statement.
“I’ve been reading,” you said, before letting out a yawn and nestling into the pillows. “I do not need a man to teach me everything.”
Daemon smirked.
“I’ll have Dark Sister cleaned for the morrow. We’ll see how good your sword skills are.”
W/C; 2,094 (was going to be just a Drabble but this guy got me in a chokehold👀)
“What do you think of Ser Harwin? Isn’t he handsome? What I would give for a night with a knight,” one of your friends working in the tavern swooned, making you glance over your shoulder with a smile at the dark haired, bearded man she was speaking about before turning your attention back to her.
“I hear men of the king are more suited to battle than being lovers. I doubt Ser ‘Breakbones’ is any different,” you told her, having a drink as she laughed and got back to her work, leaving you alone at the table.
“Is that so?” A familiar voice spoke, and you looked up to see Harwin Strong towering over you.
He was both handsome and confident in his stance, his beard and dark hair framing his face perfectly. It often took your breath away just catching his gaze across the room.
“Are you just talking from gossip or experience?” He questioned.
“Perhaps both,” you let a small smile pass your lips. “Though it isn’t ladylike to discuss it.”
Harwin Strong smirked and took a seat opposite you before picking up your cup and finishing the remains. The simple act showed his authority in a way that made you need to press your thighs together.
He licked his lips as he put the empty cup down, watching you intently as his gaze ran over your chest, breasts snug against the tight material of your dress, and back up to your face.
“I don’t see a lady here,” he challenged.
You huffed a laugh and leaned in close to him, giving him an ample view of your cleavage and relishing in the way his eyes darkened.
“I’m just some lowly tavern girl. I guess the princesses and ladies you see have cunts made of gold.”
The way his jaw clenched let you know you’d struck the final blow. You loved playing this game with him, seeing how far until he would break. With a sarcastic smile, you walked away, a purpose in your steps as you added a sway to your hips, drawing the attention of many of the tavern goers.
You had just reached your room at the top of the stairs when a strong arm wrapped around your chest from behind, pushed you into the room and pressed you up against the wall, front first.
“They could have your head for saying such a thing,” Harwin murmured against your ear, his warm breath fanning against your skin. The closeness between you made your stomach flip in anticipation.
You could feel the firm bulge pressing through his pants against your lower back, knowing he was enjoying your antics as much as you were.
“Would you tell the King yourself?”
“Fuck,” he growled, “you really are a brat.”
Harwin stepped away to kick the door shut before his hands were on you again, this time hiking up your skirts and undoing his buckle.
“I can promise you, I’m just as good in battle as I am a lover,” he smiled, quickly pulling down his pants and taking his cock in his hand before running it through your damp folds, enjoying your whimpers and how wet you were for him.
“I don’t often enjoy the screams of war, but hearing you scream when I fuck you? There’s nothing like it.”
You swore you could come undone just from his word alone. With your palms against the wall, you moved your hips against him, relishing in the feeling of his girth teasing you but wanting more. Wanting him inside of you.
“Uh uh,” he grabbed your hair and roughly tugged your head back to stop you, making you cry out,
“Fuck!”
“Such a foul mouth,” he chuckled. “You have some manners to learn.”
“I thought you liked my manners,” you managed to grit out.
“Oh, I do.” Harwin smirked in between pressing kisses to your cheek and down your neck, his grip on your hair loosening as his kisses grew rougher, teeth grazing over the soft skin of your neck before he bit down and sucked a mark against it.
You sighed, content, your fingers reaching back to thread through his hair as he repeated the action. You enjoyed it when he marked you, just as much as he did. The feel of it, the sight when you looked in the mirror, the knowledge it was him.
“You want this?” He moved his hips forward to highlight his question, the head of his cock brushing your clit and you nodded with fervour.
“Yes. Please, Harwin.”
“Then get on your knees.”
You obliged and turned slowly, eyes holding his gaze as you lowered to your knees, mouth salivating at the sight of his cock waiting for you. He was blessed with both girth and length, plus the knowledge of how to use it so you would scream his name to the Gods.
Harwin pulled off his over shirt as you took his cock in your hands, slowly stroking him as you marvelled at the sight of his now naked body, his chest coated in dark wisps of hair.
"Enjoying the view from down there?" He smirked.
"Always," you told him before pressing your lips to the head of his cock, the taste of precum on your tongue as you gave him a small lick and teased your way down one side of his shaft while your hands massaged his balls.
You couldn't see his face just then, but he was looking at you with pure admiration and hunger, holding back on just fucking your mouth and having his way with you.
That could wait a little longer.
"I wonder," you hummed and pulled back for a moment, making Harwin frown. "Do the other men who serve the king have cocks made of gold?"
He took hold of your chin and tilted your head up so you met his gaze. There was a dark amusement in his eyes at the way you were baiting him.
"You don't want any other man," he answered.
You bit your lip. "Maybe not, but I wouldn't mind some gold."
He chuckled, using his free hand to take his cock and brush the head against your lips, urging you to open your mouth.
You were happy to, savouring the feel of his cock in your mouth as he slowly thrust back and forth, groaning at the sensation.
You braced your hands against his strong thighs as he picked up the pace, the head hitting the back of your throat as you moaned around him, your own arousal dripping between your thighs.
“Nothing to say now?” He said with a smirk and slightly ragged breath, gathering your hair out of your face and holding it in his grip, forcing you to look up at him, saliva dripping down your chin.
“Look at you, such a messy bitch for me. Anyone would think you’re just some common whore.”
You whined around him in response, making him growl.
"That's what you're good for, isn't it? Being my whore. You think any other man could make you come undone like I do? That they could make you scream?"
You wanted to submit, to tell him you only wanted him, that you would be anything he wanted you to be, but all you could do was whimper desperately around his cock.
"That's right. My good little whore," he groaned, his thrusts growing erratic as you gagged around his shaft.
By the way he was losing all composure, you knew he was close. Gods know you could just come undone from seeing him reach pure bliss himself, from letting him use you like this.
You gasped for air when Harwin suddenly pulled your mouth off him, giving you a mere moment before he hauled you up and over his broad shoulder.
Your mind was in a momentary daze as he put you down on the bed and reached beneath your pillow, a flicker of silver passing your gaze as he pulled out the knife hidden beneath. The same knife he had given you for protection in the streets of silk.
You held your breath in anticipation, enamoured by the wide grin on his face as he straddled your lap and cut through the cloth of your dress, tossing the shredded material aside.
Part of you wanted to scold him for ruining yet another piece of clothing, but you were too worked up and needy from the whole ordeal to care enough.
Throwing the knife to the floor, he leaned down, grabbed your face and kissed you hard, all tongue and teeth, hot and all consuming- like he was feeding a feral hunger. A hunger for you.
The kiss ended almost as quickly as it started, making you mourn the loss. Before you could say anything, Harwin grabbed you by the hips and turned you on to your stomach.
He manoeuvred your body as he wished, your knees bent beneath you and bare ass up in the air as he stood at the foot of the bed, admiring you from behind.
You knew he would be able to see how wet you were for him, exposed like this. The anticipation of his next move had you pressing your thighs together in desperate need of some relief.
You jilted forward with a gasp when he swatted your ass before you felt his thick fingers run between your folds before gently rubbing at your clit, the bundle of nerves oh so sensitive.
"Fuck, you really are drenched," Harwin sounded prideful, continuing his teasing as you let your forehead drop to rest on your arm, lost in the bliss.
Your shallow breathing turned into a long moan when he eased two fingers inside of you and started moving them in and out with ease, given how wet you were ~ all because of him.
It took little time for you to cum, his skilled fingers seeking out your first release like it was a rehearsed dance. The man knew exactly what he was doing, knew exactly how to play your body to his tune. It was intoxicating. He was intoxicating.
The knight gave you no time to recover from the pleasured haze, removing his fingers and sucking them clean before gripping your hips and entering you from behind. The full feeling as he stretched you was like no other, taking your breath away and reigniting a sure fire in your belly.
His grunts and groans were almost animalistic as he started moving his hips back and forth, the head of his cock reaching deeper than any other man could. You could barely understand your own voice as you chanted desperate pleas and moans for him, making Harwin chuckle darkly,
“Just a bitch in a heat and everyone here will know it. I want to hear you scream..”
Your cunt clenched around him in response, his next thrust rough and purposeful as he brought one his hands around your front to rub at your clit and the other to hold you down.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" you cried out, gripping onto the sheets hard enough to make your knuckles ache while Harwin continued to pound into you, the bed squeaking and smacking against the wall under the force.
Even without the added noise, you knew the moans and debauched sounds of his cock sinking into your dripping pussy and skin slapping against skin would be enough to give away what was going on upstairs in the tavern.
The multitude of pleasure rose through you like a storm, a scream of your lover's name left your lips as your eyes rolled back and you came hard. Harwin kept up his pace as your cunt pulsed around him, the feeling all consuming for the both of you.
It wasn’t long until his thrusts stuttered to a halt and he buried himself deep inside of you, cumming with a loud grunt.
Time seemed to slow as the bliss settled over you. You wished time would stop forever.
You let out a small whimper at the loss when Harwin removed himself, the remnants of your release running down your thighs before you felt the scruff of his beard scratch against your neck as he leant down to kiss the visible mark he’d left on your skin earlier, a gentle touch that had your heart leap in your chest.
Harwin moved to lie on his back beside you with a bright smile that matched yours as your eyes met.
“How do I compare, my love?” He asked.
You reached a hand to cup his face, still smiling. “Not bad, for a knight.”
Summary: You’re the only one keeping your house and family standing, but a certain Prince has you willing to risk it all
Warnings: daemon is a warning, swearing, arranged marriage, smut, choking, mentions d3ath
WC; 2.4k
Prompt request: “I really don’t care, you look hot and I’m trying not to fuck you senseless right now” and “you look so good with my hands wrapped around your neck” please and thank you! 💖 @aralezinspace
With a deep breath, you ran your hands down the front of your gown and tried to compose yourself before the large wooden doors opened to the council. Attending these meetings would usually be the duty of your father, but he was indisposed. After one too many drinks and a night in a pleasure house, you weren’t surprised.
He wasn’t fit to be a father, a husband or a Lord. Everyone knew the truth behind your fathers excuses for his absence. They knew he was both an embarrassment and a burden to you.
If it wasn’t for you maintaining your families alliance with the Targaryens, your house would have been in disarray long ago. Every man in the council knew it, too. Some saw you as just a naive woman in over your head, others, like Otto Hightower, saw you as a threat to his agenda.
Most of the seats were already taken when you arrived, with the exception of the four at the far end, which usually occupied the King, his hand, your father, and the prince Daemon - on the rare occasions he decided to show up. You doubted he would show his face today. He had the city watch to keep him occupied and women to warm his bed.
After politely greeting the other lords, you took your fathers seat next to Lyonel Strong.
“I’m sorry to hear your father is unwell,” the Lord said with a sympathetic look.
“I’m not,” Daemon Targaryen interrupted as he entered the room in his golden cloak and armour. His helmet was held under his arm and there was blood smeared on his cheek. There was also some dried blood in strands of his long silver hair, gods know what he's being doing in the city, but his presence still ignited a sudden warmth in you.
As much as you wished to deny it, your body was forever betraying you around the Targaryen. When it came to Daemon, you often felt like a moth drawn to a flame. It wasn’t lost on you how badly you could get burnt by this dragon.
“I would much rather see your face, my Lady. It makes these fucking meetings more bearable,” the prince continued, giving you a cocky grin as he took his place in the seat next to you.
There were quiet murmurs from some of the other Lords as you averted your eyes from his gaze. As if you needed any more unwanted attention drawn towards you.
Thankfully it didn’t take long for the rest of the council to become distracted by their own conversation again.
“You really have no shame, do you?” You whispered as you turned to glare at Daemon. “What about your lady wife?”
He leaned in close to your ear, his warm breath fanning against your skin as he replied, “I really don’t care. You look beautiful and I’m trying not to fuck you senseless right now. I’m sure these cunts would enjoy watching how well you take my cock.”
You wanted the ground to swallow you whole, his words sending an undeniable heat through your body as you quickly turned your face away from him, pressing your legs together.
The quicker this meeting was over, the better.
Only when the doors opened to reveal the King and Otto did Daemon sit back, a wicked smirk still on his lips.
The council meeting was a dull one. Mostly the Lords just argued between themselves over trivial matters, until the King intervened.
“That brings me to the next matter,” he looked over at you. “I understand your father was going to visit the Vale.” Viserys’ words earned an exaggerated eye roll from Daemon, which you were too preoccupied to notice. The King had caught you off guard with his statement.
“My apologies. I wasn’t aware, your Grace,” you admitted, your distaste for your father only growing.
“He was meant to be meeting with Ser Gerold Royce, to discuss your betrothal.”
You felt your heart sink in your chest. It hadn’t been long since your last husband, a man much older than yourself, had passed. Now it seemed the wheel had been spun in your disfavour again.
“Who the fuck is Gerold Royce?” Daemon scoffed, interrupting your thoughts.
Viserys let out a tired sigh and rubbed at his temple while Otto gave the prince a deadpan look. “Your Lady wife’s uncle,” he reminded him. “It is of no surprise that you don’t remember him. You’ve not been seen in the Vale or at Runestone for quite some time.”
“I think my bronze bitch is happier for my absence,” Daemon replied.
You cleared your throat, feeling the tension in the room rise. “I shall go to the Vale in my fathers place, your Grace,” you said.
Daemon glanced at you with mischief in his eyes. “I'll accompany you, my Lady,” he offered.
He hated the Vale. Despised his wife. You could never quite figure out what went on in his sordid mind, but you knew it wouldn’t be anything good. What in the seven hells was he playing at?
Before you could politely decline, Otto spoke up, looking between the two of you with narrowed eyes. “That won’t be necessary.”
And not for the first time, you were aware that the hand of the King had suspicions about the true nature of your relationship with Daemon. Though he never had any proof that you and Daemon were more familiar with each other's pleasures than most, you knew he always sought out some way to catch you out. To have you shamed and disowned by your house.
“I am the commander of the city watch, is it not my duty to keep our people safe? Especially a highborn Lady,” Daemon stated.
Viserys raised his hand, stopping Otto as he was about to argue back.
He turned his attention to his brother. “That is a fine idea, Daemon. It will give you a chance to reacquaint yourself with Lady Rhea Royce.”
Then the King offered you a tired smile, “you may take whichever spare carriage you wish, and send Ser Gerold Royce my regards.”
~~~~~
After a few days on the road had passed, you were in desperate need for a bed to sleep on and some time away from Daemon. The carriage was comfortable and spacious enough, but it was still too much of a temptation, having him sit opposite you in his red and black doublet with that smug smirk.
Otto Hightower had been the one to arrange your carriage, so no doubt the footman accompanying you had been paid off as one of his little spies. You couldn’t afford to lose your nerve now.
You requested to stop at the next inn. With Daemon in his hooded cloak in hopes to gain less attention, the pair of you made your way inside, where you were looking forward to a settled sleep.
The room was a far cry from your own back home, but it was enough to rest in. And hopefully quiet your thoughts about the rogue prince for a few hours.
Just as you were about to drift off to sleep, there was a brisk knock on your door. You had a fair idea who was standing on the other side.
With a frustrated sigh, you forced yourself up and walked over to open it.
“Daemon- “
The prince stepped inside without hesitation, taking your face in his hands as he led you backwards and kicked the door closed behind him. You couldn’t fight the pull between you when his lips met yours, linking your fingers at the back of his neck and kissing him back with heated need. It seemed to consume you, this fire - this passion you never seem to feel with anyone else.Why did it have to be him you lust for?
“Fuck-” you whined when he broke away from the kiss to suck at your pulse point, the backs of your legs hitting the bed. “Dae- we can’t- can’t do this here.” There was little conviction to your words, but this momentary anxiety about Otto’s spy catching you both was enough to dull the lust just enough.
He paused, lifting his head up to look at you, lilac eyes near black with his pupils blown. “Why not?”
“You know as well as I do that the footman is one of Otto’s spies.”
“So?” Daemon rolled his eyes. “Forget about that fucking leech.”
“I can’t.” You glared at him, pushing his chest away from you. “It is fine for you, with your whores and lickspittle in the city,” you snapped. “You can do what you want with no repercussions, but Otto Hightower means to have me disinherited once he gets the proof he needs. My house will be in ruin, while you’ll just move onto the next woman, mayhaps even a princess. You’ll be onto your next little schem-”
Your outburst was cut short by Daemon’s hands grabbing your throat as he pinned you down on the bed, bringing his face mere inches from your own. You instinctively tried to fight against him, grabbing his arms as you felt the sudden restriction of airflow. The mix of anger and lust in his lilac eyes was a dangerous combination.
“Mind your fucking tongue,” Daemon warned, his fingers flexing around your neck as he roughly placed a leg in between yours, his thigh pressing against your cunt.
“No repercussions,” he cruelly mocked you. “I have suffered repercussions, ñuha riña (my lady).”
You whimpered with ragged breath as he moved his thigh against you, the pressure against your clit and through your drenched folds igniting a hot wave of pleasure, you wanted that bliss, needed it, but with him pinning you down - you had no control in chasing it. You had no control of anything, least of all him.
Daemon gave you a sly grin. “Hm. You look so good with my hands wrapped around your neck.”
He kept moving his thigh against you, the thin material of your nightgown not nearly enough to protect you from his onslaught. You knew it wouldn’t take long for you to lose any restraint you had left.
“I can feel how wet you are for me,” he purred, barely easing his hold on you. You knew he was telling the truth, you could feel the dampness on his breeches between your thighs. No matter how many times the cautious part of your mind told you this attraction was a bad idea, the rest of your mind and your body would always betray you.
“You really are just a desperate little whore playing the part of a lady.”
His rough voice and words tipped you over the edge completely. Your eyes rolled back and your fingers dug into his sleeves when you came, gasping for air as he let go of your neck.
“That’s it.” Daemon smirked, abruptly standing up to discard his breeches and doublet.
Even in your breathless haze, you got an opportunity to admire his naked figure, scars patterned across his pale skin. His cock was long and hard, leaking at the reddened tip and making your mouth water in anticipation. You were so enamoured by him, you hadn’t noticed the small dagger he’d taken out of his belt until he knelt back on the bed, reaching for the neckline of your nightgown and tearing down the middle with his dagger, freeing your breasts and exposing you fully to him.
“Fuck!” your voice was hoarse as you cried out.
Daemon chuckled and carelessly tossed the weapon on the floor before settling himself over you and guiding his cock inside your cunt.
“Seven hells-” you choked out at the familiar stretch, still sensitive from your first release. Gods, he always felt so perfect. Your fingers ached as you clenched your fists between the sheets, urging yourself to keep quiet.
“I want to hear you,” Daemon said as he cradled your cheek in one of his hands, the other holding your hip tightly. “I want everyone to hear what a whore you truly are. You do not need to worry about that worthless cunt’s little spy.”
You bit your lip as he began to roll his hips, his cock reaching deep. You weren’t sure if dying from pleasure was a real thing, but with the rogue prince, it always felt like a possibility.
All self restraint soon left you when Daemon’s thrusts quickened, the moans and wet sounds between you nothing but sinful. He really did know you like no other, knew your body like no other. But you weren’t fool enough to believe the same was true of you. He had many more whores to tend to him than you ever had.
“Fuck, please- please-” you whined, your hands moving to grab his shoulders, desperate to have him close. You were completely lost in him, lost in this bliss. “Don’t stop.”
“Dōrī “(never) he spoke against your ear, voice strained as his own release ebbed closer. You didn’t understand what he’d said in his mother tongue, but the language always sounded hypnotic.
With a few more thrusts and a guttural growl, Daemon came hard, his cock pulsing inside you as you felt his warm release filling you. It didn’t take much more for you to cum, too, crying out as the waves of bliss rushed through.
There was a moment of quiet as you laid in his arms and caught your breath back, forgetting about the Vale and your upcoming betrothal.
“Still the finest cunt in the realm.” Daemon smirked when he eventually removed himself from you and stood up to stretch.
You rolled your eyes, shuffling to cover yourself up with the bedsheet and settle back against the pillows. “I’m sure you'll have no trouble finding another once I’m married to Ser Gerold Royce. Goodnight, Prince,” you said to him before letting out a quiet yawn and closing your eyes.
“Sleep well, ñuha riña (my lady)” you heard Daemon say.
And on that rare occasion, you did.
~~~~~~~
Despite the dread you felt as you left the inn and walked over to the carriage where Daemon and the footman were already waiting at first light, the familiar ache in your body from your night with the prince was a comforting memory; something you’d keep hold of, as you often did after your times together - never knowing when it would be the last.
“How much further to the Vale?” you asked the footman as he opened the carriage door for you.
He glanced between you and Daemon with an almost sympathetic look. “You didn’t get the message?”
“What message?” Daemon questioned.
“I’m sorry, my Prince, my Lady. Lady Rhea and Ser Gerold Royce died in an accident.”
Daemon thought it was almost cruel, this game you were playing. The way you were leading on this Lord - flirting, dancing and laughing with him as if he ever had a chance. Not that the prince really cared about him. He’d run the cunt through with Dark Sister if he could.
Even as he watched from afar, you looked ravishing in your gown, easily outshining everyone else at this ball. The prince couldn’t help but admire you and all the attention you were getting, like you were the precious jewel in a crown. If only they knew what you were really like behind closed doors.
“What do you think?” You gave a twirl, showing off the fancy embroidery of your gown to Daemon as he entered your room, a smile on his face at the sight of you.
He loosened his belt, removing Dark Sister from his side and placing her on the table before walking up behind you, his fingers tracing the ties of your bodice. “Beautiful,” he replied.
“Will you dance with me at the ball?”
Daemon chuckled, “I don’t dance.”
“What if I convince you otherwise?” You asked, turning to face him with a gaze he knew all too well.
He smirked, already feeling a familiar throb in the confines of his pants. “And how will you do that, dona riña (sweet girl)?”
You placed your hands on his chest and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips, then another, teasing him and expecting him to lean into you in demand of more, but Daemon wouldn’t take the bait. He stayed still. He wanted to see what you’d do. What your plan was.
You moved to trail kisses down his neck and over his scar while your hands worked on undoing his crimson and black doublet before removing it off him.
Daemon grunted when one of your hands made its way beneath his breeches, stroking his hardening cock while you continued to kiss further down his body, first paying attention to his chest, then his stomach, then hips, as you lowered yourself to your knees.
You stopped kissing him and took a moment to admire him from this position, his head tilted back and eyes closed as you continued to stroke him, his own arousal evident. You wished to have a portrait painted of him one day, maybe in this exact position. Who would deny the future wife of a Targaryen?
With a smile to yourself, you removed your hand from his cock so you could pull down his pants, eagerly awaiting the sight that met you.
“Fuck.” Daemon’s eyes flew open when he felt your tongue against the underside of his cock, your hands moving to massage his balls as you paid full due to his throbbing erection. He watched in awe, lust and pure bliss as you licked every inch of him like a starved woman, desperate for a meal.
With his hand held in the top of your hair, he urged you on, his moaning and grunting growing more heated when you took the head of his cock between your lips, working him into your mouth, inch by inch.
“Such a little whore.” The strain in Daemon’s voice as he spoke while you gagged on his cock only turned you on more, your cunt wet and aching with need.
As if he could read your body’s reaction, the prince tugged you by your hair and off his cock before pushing you onto your back to the floor, removing his pants completely and climbing on top of you. With your hair mussed and saliva down your chin, you knew you must look like a mess, but Daemon didn’t care. Hoisting your skirts up to your waist, he lined himself up and pushed himself inside you, making you grab at his shoulders with a wanton cry.
Your wetness was audible, helping him settle inside you with ease. He needed little time to adjust before he started to move, his thrusts hitting perfectly deep.
“Daemon- gods,” you whimpered as he reached a hand between your bodies to rub at your clit, your legs hooking around his hips as the pleasure consumed every fibre of your being.
“That’s it, take it. Take it all,” he grunted, nipping at the shell of your ear. “I want you full of my seed. To see your belly round, bearing my children.”
“Yes - please. fuck!” you cried out, holding onto him as he fucked you through your orgasm, your legs shaking around him.
Daemon’s head dropped to your shoulder as his hips stuttered and cock throbbed inside you, releasing his load.
“You couldn’t make it to the bed?” You huffed a laugh after a moment. “My gown is ruined.”
“Fuck the gown, I’ll get you another.”
Daemon stood up and walked through the bustle of people in the room until he reached you and the Lord you’d been dancing with.
“Could I have a moment with my betrothed?”
The Lords eyes widened in realisation. “Of course. My apologies, my prince,” he quickly bowed and made his leave.
You pouted at your husband-to-be. “I was quite enjoying his company.”
Daemon smirked, possessively cupping your face in his hand and tilting your head upwards. “I believe I owe you a dance, my Lady,” he said.
You grinned, “Oh, you owe me much more than that, my prince.”
Being the half sister of Viserys and Daemon, you do not look like a Targaryen, but those closest to you remind you that you still have the blood of the dragon running through your veins.
warnings: death during childbirth (mentions of), arranged marriage, swearing, offensive language, murder, fluff, angst, incestuous relationships, forbidden love
“What will you do now?” Rhaenyra asked, walking arm in arm with you through the halls of the Red Keep as you made your way to the grand feast.
Even with just one simple braid and the rest of her silver hair down, the princess Rhaenyra looked ethereal in the red dress she was wearing, the threaded, long sleeves and golden embroidery across her neckline suiting her perfectly. You found it hard not to admire her, even as you made your way towards the noise of the throne room.
“I plan on drinking a lot of wine and dancing until my feet ache,” you told her with a smile, and she stopped in her tracks, giving you a sincere look.
You knew what she really meant.
Your husband, Lord Kenric, had passed away not so long ago, leaving you, the younger half-sister of the King, a widow. You had only been back home for the funeral and to get his affairs in order, but now his brother, Cassian, wanted to take your home from you.
He had always been a thorn in your side. An ignorant, drunken man who always thought himself worthy of a higher status than his own. At the beginning of your marriage to Lord Kenric, he’d tried to flirt with you to gain your affection. Even if your heart didn’t already belong to another, you’d still be repulsed by him and his efforts.
Once he realised it was unwise to keep up with these pointless advances, he grew cold and distant, showing his true colours to the point that even his own brother despised him.
Part of you wanted to just let him take the estate. Maybe you’d go off travelling for a while and decide what to do next when you returned. But being part of the Targaryen dynasty meant you were expected to fight for what was rightfully yours, that you were meant to add to the legacy.
Despite being the daughter of a handmaiden and sharing the same father as Viserys and Daemon, born long after their own mother had passed, they had always treated you as one of them. Always seen you as having the blood of a dragon and loved you just the same.
It was a relief and a comfort - one you knew your mother would appreciate if she’d survived your birth.
“What if I don’t want to live in that place on my own?” You sighed. “It was different when Lord Kenric was alive. I still felt alone, but I was his wife - I was doing my duty. Now what am I?”
“You are a Targaryen,” Rhaenyra said, placing her hand on your cheek with a delicate touch, your gaze softening as you looked at her. There was a familiarity in her eyes, radiating love and tenderness, allowing you to reminisce in this connection between you. A connection you’d had to keep buried throughout your marriage to Lord Kenric.
Even after years of practising this restraint, all you wanted to do was take her in your arms and kiss her. To feel her lips on yours again.
“You don’t have to live there, but those lands should belong to you,” she told you, changing to speak to you in her mother tongue as a couple of maids came around the corner, prompting her to reluctantly drop her hand from your face.
You shrugged a shoulder, replying in Valyrian, “I suppose I’d find some satisfaction in denying his ignorant, drunken brother.”
“Then you can come back to Dragonstone with us.”
Your heart leapt at the suggestion. “For how long?” You asked.
“Forever,” she smiled, “or for as long as you like.”
You tilted your head to the side with a grin. “I would like that.”
~~~~
The festivities had already begun when you arrived, both you and Rhaenyra being announced before the music and dancing resumed.
You were just starting to enjoy yourself a little, with help from a chalice or two of wine, when Lord Kenric’s brother interrupted you.
“Princess,” he cut in, taking you by your elbow and leading you aside with a practised smile. Clearly, he was trying to avoid making a scene. “How nice it is to see you enjoying the feast while my brother lay in a crypt.”
“I mourned for my husband longer than you,” you retorted, stepping back from his loose grip.
Cassian rolled his eyes before he spoke, “I thought we might discuss the matter of my home.”
“My home,” you corrected. “Your brother left the estate to me.”
“You? You were never fit to be his wife,” he seethed, quiet enough for just you to hear as he pointed a finger in your face, “you didn’t give him any children. You’re nothing more than a bastard with the Targaryen name.”
The sound of a sharp crunch rang out in the room and the music suddenly stopped, everyone turning to stare at you as Cassian stumbled back and cried out, holding his now bloodied, broken nose.
Everything around you faded into a blur. The crowd parted in hushed whispers and you felt Rhaenyra come up beside you and take hold of your arm.
Your fist was clenched tightly by your side, knuckles throbbing with a dull pain as you realised what you’d done.
Fuck.
Cassian regained enough composure to focus his attention back on you and he stepped closer,the fury clear over his bloody face.
“You little - “
His outburst was abruptly cut off by the familiar glint of Valyrian steel held tightly against his throat as Daemon appeared in between you and Cassian, lilac eyes dark with warning.
Viserys had stood from his chair, bemused by your actions. “What is the meaning of all this?” he bellowed.
The silence was deafening as you stood your ground, glaring back at Cassian.
“Daemon, put down the sword!” Viserys demanded. “I will have answers.”
Reluctantly, Daemon lowered the sword from Cassian’s throat, but stayed standing protectively in front you.
“Forgive me, your Grace. I meant no offence to the Princess,” he stated.
His false remorse only added to your anger. How dare he stand there acting as if you’d been the one to offend him first?
“I only wished to discuss my late brother's estate.”
“Princess?” You mocked him. “I thought you said I was an unfit wife and that I am ‘nothing more than a bastard’.”
Viserys’ anger was evident over his face as he reached for the dagger in his belt, but before he could speak or make a command, Dark Sister had sliced clean through Cassian’s neck, his head thumping onto the floor in a pool of blood, along with his lifeless body.
You blinked, feeling Rhaenyra’s hand tighten around you at the abrupt action.
“There, you have your answer,” Daemon announced, casually cleaning the sword with his robes before he moved to stand by your side.
“Nyke jeldan naejot gaomagon bona,” [I wanted to do that] you murmured, making your brother snicker.
The feast abruptly came to an end after that. Viserys took his leave, but not before asking you to meet him in the morrow.
You felt a sudden emptiness in the pit of your stomach when you met Otto Hightower’s calculated gaze, knowing full well he’d be advising your brother the king to have you married off again.
Especially now, after this spectacle and the death of Lord Kenric’s brother.
