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Rhaenyra clenched her jaw as the Royal seamstress measured her.
Daemon was gone. He had left her room and then disappeared, and no one would would tell her where he had gone.
What she knew, though, was that father was angry. Very angry.
"Your arm now, your grace," the woman instructed.
She raised a single arm, not even looking at her.
There was a rumour going around.
Well, not going around as much as it had reached her before it spread.
There was a whisper corner in the throne room. If you said something there, someone on the other end might hear what you said. Not a lot of people knew of that, of course, or else she wouldn't have heard what she did hear.
Father had just told her she was to marry Laenor, and that it would be made public soon, when she was watching them. He and his new wife. Her supposed friend. She couldn't see who was saying it, the throne wouldn't let her, but she could hear them clearly.
During the tournament, while she was having fun, he was choosing the babe over her mother, telling the maester to cut her open and pull the child from inside her. And now that he had the family he always wanted, Rhaenyra was a nuisance, meant to get rid of. To be sent away.
She wasn't surprised at all.
"Are you done?" she asked the woman.
The seamstress stopped, holding a pin between her lips.
"Not yet, your grace."
"Then come back tomorrow," she commanded, lowering her arm. "I'm done for today."
The seamstress lowered her eyes quickly, working on taking the wedding dress off her and the several petticoats that would be underneath it.
Finally, she was left alone, and leant onto the window of her room, seeing the sun slowly moving to set behind the horizon.
Uncle Daemon.
Where was he?
She glanced back into her room.
How long did she have until the engagement was announced? And the wedding would probably be quick too, considering her dress was being made. She would be shooed away soon.
There was nothing wrong with Laenor, but there was nothing right with him either.
He didn't like women.
How could she marry a man who would never want her? Never ache for her, to devour, fuck and fill her?
She couldn't!
She wouldn't.
Rhaenyra stepped away, quick to pick up and riding dress, and put her things in a bag as the sun disappeared.
Her shift, the one with golden stitches. The single string of pearls. A dress, if she had to change. A pair of shoes, if she lost hers while riding Syrax, which she often did when flying for too long. A coat, if she couldn't find him soon.
She braided her hair and pinned it, and walked to the door, resting behind it and knocking on the back of it with a knuckle of her hand.
"Your Grace?" Criston answered her.
Rhaenyra relaxed. Good, he was the one outside now.
"Come inside, please."
She stepped away and the door opened, and she could see he was the only one guardin her door.
"I need help," she told him. "I need to go somewhere."
Criston looked at her bag, maybe seeing right through it, but she didn't care. He was the only one she could trust in with this.
"Where?"
"To Syrax. People mustn't know."
He tensed up.
"Are you coming back?"
"Eventually," she shrugged.
He analysed her face, but didn't say anything. Instead, he checked the door outside and barred it.
"We have twenty minutes before the guards come to check on your door," he told her. "Let's go."
He sneaked her out through the inner walls, quick enough to get her to the empty stables, and gave her his horse. She put on her coat and covered her head with her with a hood before setting herself to ride away, just exchanging a look with her trusted friend before he too left.
Rhaenyra honestly didn't know what she was going to do to get past the carers and guards as she rode through the dark streets.
Did Criston know she didn't mean to come back?
Not alone, at least.
He had to. He wasn’t stupid.
What she was doing...
It could be seen as treason.
And yet, she didn't care.
She was the Princess of Dragonstone. Until that baby was grown, she would still be Princess of Dragonstone.
She was still the official heir.
And two adult heirs are stronger than a crawling one.
She held tight to her horse when it stopped abruptly, scared, and Syrax screeched loudly as the men tried to contain her.
Rhaenyra knew she could always count on her dragon.
"Stay here," she patted the horse. Criston had heard her, he knew where to find his animal.
She jumped from its back quickly, cutting past the shocked men and climbing up on her back.
Rhaenyra could feel their eyes on her, but didn’t even look at them.
She wouldn’t give anyone the time to stop her.
"Come on, girl," she adjusted on her saddle. "Let's go."
She looked for him throughout the whole night.
Daemon wasn’t in Dagonstone, nor in Harrenhal.
He wasn’t in the Reach, and Rhaenyra was too far up north to go check Dorne ny now.
She was almost giving up when she heard a sound she knew too well.
Caraxes.
She raised her head, watching as the skinny dragon surrounded her above the clouds, distant enough for it not to be threatening, and yet close enough to show he wanted to be followed. Daemon was right on top of him.
“Come on,” she patted Syrax. “You know what to do.”
Her Dragon followed him, and she could feel the warmth of the sun as it slowly rose in the sky, behind them. Daemon was already waiting for her on the ground when she landed, and Syrax didn’t care to acknowledge him when he came to her side, quick to catch Rhaenyra when she jumped to the floor.
He kissed her before her feet touched the ground, holding her up with them dangling until Rhaenyra couldn’t breathe and then furthermore before setting her down.
“They want to marry me to Laenor,” she panted, looking at him. “They can’t.”
She could see the information falling upon him, and his jaw shifted slowly.
“Will you?” he asked.
Rhaenyra grabbed his hand.
“What did you tell me?” she pulled him closer. “That you would only take me if I was yours. That you’d parade me around with a belly so big people would wonder how many of your children you had put in me, that we would be the parents of the biggest Targaryen generation to ever exist.”
Daemon frowned a little, hand still on her waist, not seeming to comprehend what she meant, but Rhaenyra just raised her chin.
“You have me now,” she reminded him. “Marry me now. We have Dragonstone, we don’t need my father. We don’t need anyone.”
His eyes met hers, looking for something in them, but all Rhaenyra had was certainty.
“Are you sure of what you’re asking me?” he squeezed her side. “Are you sure you know what it means?”
“Ziry iksos se mērī run eman mirre gīmigon,” she answered simply.
It’s the only thing I’ve ever known.
Slowly, his face changed into a smile.
“Rhaenyra…”
“Dīnagon nyke sir,” she whispered. Marry me now.
But Daemon shook his head.
“Daor.”
No .
She nearly stepped away from him, shocked. Confused.
“Daor?”
His hands wrapped around her middle quickly , picking her up and striding to a near tree, pressing her against it.
Daemon spread her legs and placed himself between them, lips hovering hers, curling in a smirk.
“Ēlī, nyke'll qogralbar ao,” he pushed his hands between her legs, pushing her underclothes down. “Se pār kesan dīnagon ao.”
First I’ll fuck you, and then I’ll marry you.
He pushed his face to her neck, kissing and sucking , and she gasped when he suck his teeth into her skin, scraping it slowly as his hands worked under her.
His fingers touched her folds, parting them and hummed into her neck as he slowly spread her wetness up and down, from her entrance to her bud, and Rhaenyra held back a louder moan, and he pulled his head back to look at her, forehead resting on hers and eyes burning deep into hers.
“Ȳdra daor ōregon arlī,” he commanded her. Don’t hold back. “I want to hear every single sound your body has to give me.”
He pushed two fingers into her, not tearing his eyes from hers, and she felt her cheeks hot when a moan left her lips and echoed through the small forest. She was so wet it was embarrassing.
“When we are alone in our bed, you’ll show me your pretty body fully,” he affirmed, dragging his fingers out, and when he pushed them again, his heel pressed against her sensitive pearl.
“Daemon,” she mewled, weak on her legs.
“I’m going to wrap your pretty pearls around you,” he hummed, pecking her lips before moving down again, kissing her jaw. “Make you walk around the room, so I can see you from every angle. The pretty belly I’ll see get round with my child, the tits I’ll watch get full of milk to feed them.”
Her cunt fluttered.
The idea of anyone making her pregnant never made Rhaenyra any excited, but Daemon it was different. She wanted to be pregnant with his children, she wanted to grow them in her womb and show the world how strong they were - how strong two dragons were together.
Rhaenyra also wanted to show the whole world how much they fucked. How they weren’t together just for heirs or power, but because they couldn’t keep their hands off of one another.
She closed her eyes, hungry, needy.
Why was he taking so damn long to fuck her?
“Please,” she whispered.
No. She begged .
“Fuck me, Daemon. Just get inside me. Please.”
Under her, she felt his hand pulling away from inside her, and his cock brushed against her thighs, hot and gently wet.
“Again,” he whispered.
Rhaenyra shuddered, and his wet head moving up and down on her folds, big and imposing.
“Daemon…”
“Beg again,” he whispered. “Tell me how much you need me, my Queen. Show me.”
“Kostilus, Daemon,” she pleaded. Please, Daemon.
She tried to push her hips down to him, giving up on keeping her composure.
“Ipradagon nyke. Qogralbar nyke. Leghagon nyke.”
Devour me. Fuck me. Fill me.
He pushed his cock all the way into her cunt, making her cry out at the mixture of pleasure and the burn and discomfort of the stretching.
He waited, settled and nestled inside her, and Rhaenyra moaned when he moved a hand between her legs, rolling and rubbing her bud in his fingers.
“Like this, ñuha gevie dāria?” he growled into her neck, Like this, my beautiful Queen? “Iksis bisa skoros ao jeldan?”
Is this what you wanted?
“Kessa,” she panted. Yes .
He pulled his hips back, big body surrounding her, making her feel small and pliable in his arms.
“Deamon,” she raised her hips.
He rubbed her bug fast, making her eyes cross and her cunt to flutter.
“Daemon!”
“Māzigon syt nyke,” he grunted into her neck. Come for me. “Māzigon, ñuha dāria.”
Come, my Queen.
She moaned, shuddering.
“Give me the honour of being milked by your sweet cunt.”
Rhaenyra tossed her head back, shaking in pleasure as he moved under her, fucking and rubbing her steadily, never stopping, focusing on making her feel good.
“Gods,” she moaned.
He sucked on her neck and she trembled against him, near the edge.
“Louder,” he growled. “Scream for the whole Westeros to hear you.”
She did, and he moaned into her neck.
“Ñuhon,” he chanted. “Ñuhon. Ñuhon.”
Mine. Mine. Mine.
That was enough to trigger her peak.
Rhaenyra’s voice was so loud it embarrassed her. She cried and cried, moaning like a whore as pleasure ran over her body, igniting every muscle, every inch of her very being.
She was floating so high that it took her a moment to realise he was peaking too.
Daemon’s hips moved in staccato as she felt his seed filling her up, warm and abundant like dragon fire pouring and pumping into her very being.
She was trembling and shaking when he stopped slowly and took her hands to cradle his face and pull him to look at her, and kissed him again.
This time, she was savouring it, devouring him herself, staking her claim on him.
Just then, clarity came over her with the burn of the sun on her cheeks.
“What about your wife?”
Daemon opened his eyes, gazing at her face.
“Dead,” he told her.
Thaenyra stopped, stunned.
Dead.
“How?”
He shrugged.
“I don’t know. She was already dead when I got there,” he explained simply, as if speaking of the weather.
She watched him, unsure.
Had he…
For her?
“Does it matter?” he asked, as if reading her questioning thoughts.
He always could read her thoughts.
“No,” she assured him. “Does it matter to you?”
He simply smiled.
“You came all the way down here to propose to me,” he reminded her. “Do you think I care for anything else in the world but you?”
Rhaenyra laughed.
He stepped away from her, letting her legs touch the floor at last, and removed himself from inside her slowly.
Daemon pulled her inner clothes up and gave the apex of her thigh a little pat.
“You’ll marry me with your cunt dripping with my seed,” he decided.
Rhaenyra smiled, and turned to look at Syrax, who was watching them, waiting.
“Take Caraxes,” she told him. “Go to Dragonstone. We’ll be with you quickly.”
Daemon frowned, confused.
“And you?”
She laughed, feeling as if she was on the clouds. Wasn’t it obvious?
“I’ll go get a septon,” she raised her chin, slowly walking to Syrax, and climbed on top of her girl. “We’ll meet you there. I’ll marry you with my cunt dripping with your seed.”
She could see him looking at her proudly before Syrax took flight.
Fuck the world.
They had one another now.