Chapter Three: Sins of the Flesh
A/N: Third chapter and yes we getting spicy already! Nothing super explicit as I said, since Demelza is still 15, but please bear in mind (especially to the anon reviewer who called her promiscuous) that she is a teenage girl exploring her sexuality. Is it necessarily smart or "proper"? No. But it is a fundamental part of her character, and the story to come.
Something to bear in mind is that despite spending a few years in King's Landing, Demelza grew up Dornish and therefore was very much exposed to many of their customs, including their views on sexuality.
The last royal wedding had occurred before Princess Rhaenyra had even been born, and the small council had certainly spared no expense in the preparation for this one. Everywhere Demelza looked, there was the black and red of House Targaryen, often trimmed with gold to represent their royal status. Funny, she mused, that there was absolutely no tribute to House Hightower during all of this preparation.
"When was the last time you went to a wedding, Ser Criston?" Demelza asked her afternoon companion. Whilst a member of the Kingsguard was always present near the King, they rotated schedule, and Demelza had noted that it was right after lunchtime that Criston had some time to himself, though he still proudly wore his Kingsguard armour and white cloak. When the shadows began to stretch long over the walls and the sun dipped below the horizon, Criston would return to his duties.
Criston had become somewhat of a personal guard to Rhaenyra, who enjoyed his company almost as much as Demelza had over the past months. It was difficult to express her interest with Valko keeping a close eye on her, but every now and again Criston and Demelza would share a quick smile, a brush of their fingers that made her giddy. Nothing could come of a relationship with a Kingsguard, and yet the thrill of the forbidden made Demelza's heart race.
"Not for a long time, Lady Demelza."
"You can just call me Demelza." She arched an eyebrow, aching for the familiarity that was beginning to develop between them and resenting when he slipped back into formality. "I think the last wedding I went to was my sister Corrina's, back in Starfall."
Her mind lingered with nostalgic fondness on her home, a home she hadn't seen since she was a child. Corrina's wedding had been inundated with the purple of House Dayne, a similar lavender to the sun rising over the Summer Sea and casting its pale morning warmth over the castle. Perhaps she would visit after Viserys and Alicent's wedding, a promise she seemed to constantly make to herself.
"You miss Dorne." It was a statement from Criston, not a question. They stopped at the courtyard where he had first caught Demelza practising her archery. The trill of birdsong filtered through the corridors, the lazy afternoon heat caressing Demelza's skin through the silk of her dress as she examined Criston.
"Things are different there." She shrugged her shoulders. Though Criston was of Dornish heritage himself, she did not know how much of its culture he held dear. "Corrina is the eldest of my siblings. She will inherit Starfall. But in Westerosi culture, that would be my brother Calix. I've been learning the differences between Dorne and Westeros and yet…it's somehow more suffocating for me here than it was back there."
"You mean because you will have to wed, sooner rather than later."
Demelza swelled with indignation at the thought, though she could not fault Criston for reminding her of it. It was a duty she would undertake with utmost resentment, furious that her worth was cemented in being a bridge to Dorne's hand in friendship, a womb in which to carry a man's children.
"I would rather not think of it."
Criston offered his arm. "Then what shall we think of?"
Demelza stared up at him, into his intense dark eyes. When they had first met at the tourney months prior, she had been flush-cheeked and uncertain how to behave around him. Now that she knew him better, she was more steadfast, confident in herself. Criston risked Valko's ire in taking a turn about the castle with Demelza without the head of her guard present. Criston continually made an effort to spend time with her, to see her. Demelza might not have been as clever as Alicent, but she was not a fool.
"Perhaps I'd like to think of you."
Criston's eyes widened, and she watched the way he swallowed hard.
"Demelza…"
"I am tired of being coy." Demelza planted her hands on her hips, tilting her chin up. "Westeros might ignore that women have desires of their own, but Dorne does not. I don't expect anything of you, Criston. But I tire of skirting around the matter."
Criston stepped forward, reaching out to rest a hand on her cheek, fingers traversing the soft skin as though he feared she may be a mirage. Demelza's breath hitched at the contact, his dark eyes seeming to bear into her soul as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. There was a softness to his kiss, like the rose petals she liked to scatter through her baths. Yet there was a daring too, a kiss in broad daylight when anyone could happen upon them, the Kingsguard and the Princess's Dornish best friend.
There was a hunger that yawned open deep within Demelza's stomach, an ache for something more than the way Criston's armour pressed against her. She wanted his hands in other places than gently cupping her face. She wanted what polite Westerosi noblewomen would never dream of, but what a hot-blooded Dornish girl fantasised about. Criston had confessed to an adventurous youth, and she imagined him tumbling in an abandoned barn with commoner girls, the way he would make them gasp under his touch…
Demelza wrenched back, her breath tearing ragged from her throat. Whatever Criston had been in the past, he was a member of the Kingsguard now, and she was a foreign girl in search of a husband. Yet despite knowing she had a respectable image to maintain, she wanted him to taint her, to ruin her so thoroughly that none of the Westerosi noblemen would want to lay hands on her.
"Demelza, I…" Guilt burned deep within Criston's eyes, filling her with an inexplicable anger.
"Don't," she snapped, "Don't look at me like you regret it, because I certainly don't."
Criston said nothing. He stared at the ground, jaw tightening. Ire and embarrassment burned hot in Demelza's cheeks, the idea that she was nothing more than a regrettable action on Criston's part. Spinning on her heel, she turned and marched back to her rooms, fighting back the tears that stung in her eyes and blurred the corners of her vision.
Fortunately, Valko was at lunch break, which gladdened Demelza for she could not bear to be chided by him at this moment. Olyvar, who had been relaxing at his post by the door and saw her march past in a flurry of silks, was as quick to tail Demelza now as he had been to leave her to her own devices moments before.
"My lady, where are you going?"
Demelza did not even spare him a glance. "We are going to visit Lady Alicent."
Alicent and Demelza had not spoken since the fateful revelation that she would be marrying King Viserys. Demelza would not say she had been avoiding her best friend, but neither had she sought her out. Alicent, on the other hand, seemed to prefer remaining alone. Demelza cheerfully ignored this, settling down across from her friend and arching an eyebrow at the state of Alicent's bloodied, anxiety-bitten nails.
"Is the thought of marrying the King that bad?"
"That isn't funny, Demelza," Alicent muttered. She was certainly a more subdued version of her usual self. Of the trio, Alicent had always been the quickest to sink into subservience, though her current state of agitation could not be overstated. Usually a jape from Rhaenyra or Demelza would at least coax a slight smile, but Demelza's words made Alicent pale even more.
Whatever Rhaenyra might think, Alicent did not wish to marry Viserys. The King was her best friend's father, by the Seven. This was a move specifically engineered by Otto Hightower, and Demelza did not think she could loathe him more. Alicent would be Queen, but Alicent would be in utter misery without even Rhaenyra to comfort her.
"Why don't you be honest with me, then?" Demelza leaned forward, propping her elbows up on her knees in a way that would have made Septa Gwenefer box her ears for such unladylike posture. "Maybe you think you can't talk to Rhaenyra, but Alicent…I've hardly seen you. This isn't like us."
"Us?" Alicent's brow furrowed, indignation seeping into her tone. "Don't you understand, Demelza? There is no us anymore. There is me, to be Viserys' wife. There is Rhaenyra, his daughter. Then there is you, a Dornish ward."
"A Dornish ward?" Bitterness coursed through Demelza. "Is that all I am now?"
"No." Alicent sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I want everything to be the same. But it's not. How can it be? Viserys has chosen me as his wife. I surely cannot say 'no'. It would offend him, offend my father…"
"So you don't want to be his wife?"
"It's not about what I want, Demelza."
"Maybe it can be." She jutted her chin up stubbornly, her desire to shake Alicent out of her despair overriding her need for propriety. "I kissed Criston Cole."
"What?" Alicent's dark eyes blew wide as she examined Demelza, assessing her as if to see if she was speaking in jest. "Demelza, you did what?"
"To be technical, he kissed me."
"He's a member of the Kingsguard," Alicent hissed, lowering her voice and looking around frantically as if scared they would be overheard, "This isn't some game you just get to play while the rest of us are having to deal with adult situations."
"So I'm acting like a child now." Petulance coloured Demelza's tone, her lip curling as she flopped back against the velvet cushions of Alicent's couch.
"You need to be careful." Alicent clasped her fingers in her lap, picking at her cuticles once again. "You could get a reputation…"
"Oh yes?" Demelza challenged, eyes narrowing. "A reputation like what?"
In Dorne, such behaviour was not frowned upon. Men and women took paramours, bastards were as celebrated as legitimate children. Westeros felt centuries behind Dorne in terms of progress, a fact that Demelza found herself besieged by as the weight of Alicent's judgement settled upon her shoulders.
"Like someone who just goes around kissing men at court, Demelza. I'm going to be the Queen, I can't associate with such unseemly behaviour."
"I see." Demelza's voice was cold as a winter's wind as she pushed herself to her feet. "I suppose you may have to find more dignified friends then, Lady Alicent."
She spun on her heel and practically stomped from her friend's rooms, spitefully enjoying that the act in itself must be unseemly. She had pitied Alicent's situation, and she had always known that Otto had raised Alicent to be a proper young lady. Nonetheless, she had hoped perhaps they could have shared secrets and gossip as they once had. Instead, Demelza was faced with a harsh truth: secrets, especially her own, were no longer safe with Alicent.
Rhaenyra, on the other hand, was far more accepting and even excited about the news that Demelza brought about Criston Cole. She clapped a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle as the pair of them sipped mulled wine, the sandalwood-scented candles casting shadows over the walls. The Princess's purple eyes flashed with wicked delight as Demelza lowered her goblet.
"Well, he's certainly attractive."
"Is that why you chose him for the Kingsguard?" Demelza didn't have to guard her words or the smirk that adorned her lips as she had with Alicent. She loved both of her friends dearly, but with Rhaenyra, at least currently, she could be more open about who she was and what she wanted.
"Demelza, don't be absurd." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, but her smile answered Demelza's. "He's seen combat, remember?"
The thickness of the mulled wine washed pleasantly over Demelza's tongue as she brought the goblet to her lips. Mulled wine was perhaps one of her favourite beverages, particularly the Dornish vintages which often had a bit more of a kick of spice to them. Demelza buzzed with a hazy current of satisfaction, fingers twirling in the velvet of her lilac-coloured dress.
"Was he a good kisser, then?" Rhaenyra questioned, drawing Demelza's thoughts back to Criston. He was certainly a welcome topic, for all anyone could discuss was weddings, particularly that of Viserys and Alicent quickly approaching.
"Don't tell me that you've never been kissed," Demelza teased, setting her goblet down on the oak table, though she knew full well that Rhaenyra had never engaged in the sort of behaviour for which Alicent had scolded Demelza.
"Don't." Rhaenyra groaned, tilting her hair back so that her silver-blonde hair rippled across the cushions. "Can't you just tell me what it was like? What did it feel like?"
"Come." Daring coursed through Demelza as she patted the spot beside her. Rhaenyra rose abruptly, taking Demelza's proffered hand and moving to sit beside her. In the waning light of the candles, Demelza was taken by just how pretty Rhaenyra was. The Targaryen princess would make more than a match for anyone in Westeros.
"What are you doing?" Rhaenyra questioned, arching an eyebrow.
"I could tell you, or I could show you."
"Show me how he kissed you?" Rhaenyra clarified, though her smile broadened at the idea and Demelza's hesitant nod. She swivelled in her seat to face Demelza, resting both of her hands in her friend's. "Alright then. Show me."
Though taken aback by Rhaenyra's blatant interest, Demelza schooled her features into what she hoped was a neutral expression. In Dorne, such things were not as frowned upon as in Westeros. She had seen her brother Calix kiss his share of other young men in her youth, as well as young women.
Inhaling Rhaenyra's scent of rose and honey, Demelza leaned in and pressed her lips softly to the Princess's. Reaching out with a tentative hand, she rested it on the soft skin of Rhaenyra's cheek, much the same way that Criston had done with it. Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps it was the thrill of doing something new and exciting, but Rhaenyra gripped Demelza's shoulders and pulled her closer, kissing back eagerly. Something electric zapped through Demelza, a hot jolt that both drew her deeper, but brought her back to reality.
Sucking in a breath, Demelza drew back from her friend, cheeks burning with the effects of wine and the gentleness of Rhaenyra's lips on hers. For a moment, both girls were silent. Demelza picked up her goblet and took another sip.
"Like that. He kissed me like that."
If there was a man that Valko Sand trusted, it was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Harrold Westerling—a fact that Demelza ruthlessly exploited. Ser Harrold was amiable to her lie that Valko would be waiting for her by the gardens, and that was how Demelza slipped undetected through the halls to rap her knuckles upon Criston Cole's door.
What had brought her there? She supposed a mixture of things. Their initial kiss, hesitant but passionate. Alicent's disapproval, searing at Demelza like a burn. Her own liaison with Rhaenyra, something she convinced herself was simply an experiment between two young girls, lest she find a dangerous truth about herself that would never be accepted in King's Landing. When Criston opened the door, a question upon his lips and a curiosity in his dark eyes, Demelza nudged him inside and closed the door behind her.
"Demelza, what in the seven hells are you doing here?" Criston's eyes darted to the door, as though he feared in a moment Valko would barge in to reprimand him and drag Demelza back to the Dayne delegation apartments.
"I'm so tired." Demelza's voice broke over the words, tears threatening to blur her vision and serving only to mortify her at her vulnerability. "I am exhausted, Criston. I am everything other people want me to be. A future wife, a lady-in-waiting to the Princess, a confidante to the future Queen…the list goes on. There are so many expectations and they are so fucking heavy."
Demelza wanted to choose her own future. In Dorne, perhaps she would have had the chance, and she cursed her parents for sending her to a place where she grew up following rules and customs so different to those of her homeland.
Criston, of Dornish blood himself, would surely understand that. He nodded slowly, assessing her with compassion in his eyes. He was without his Kingsguard armour, dressed only in brown pants and a white shirt that showed all too much of his chest. Perhaps, she surmised, she was not the only one vulnerable here and now.
"What do you want then, Demelza?"
Freedom. The sort of freedom that a girl of her station could never have. A freedom that she would steal pieces of at every chance she got, shards that could cut her so deeply, but bring about an exquisite delight at knowing that she had those pieces. Those little bits of freedom that would never be forgotten.
Instead of confessing such a thing, she moved to stand in front of him, tilting her chin up so she could look him in the eye. Criston's lips parted slightly as he took her in, the bold Dornish girl who had crept into his room with such certainty. A smile curved the corners of her lips and she bared her teeth, a burning star in a den of dragons.
"Maybe I want you."
Criston caught her face in his hands and kissed her, with far more passion and surety than he had in the gardens. His fingers tangled in her black hair, and Demelza wondered if he could taste the mulled wine on her lips. In response, she caught him by the shoulders and pressed against him, the soft curves of her body against the hard planes of his chest.
Criston's fingers threaded more deeply in her hair, tugging her head back so that his lips trailed down her neck. Demelza gasped at the sensation, craning her neck to lock her eyes on the ceiling as that familiar heat began to build within her. She knew precisely what she wanted, and she was absolutely sure that it was something Criston wanted too. In the public eye, they may feign propriety, but in private, they were all too ready to devour one another.
"Demelza…" The huskiness of his voice and the way he trembled over the syllables of her name made the heat within her build. She ran her hands down the cotton fabric of his shirt, savouring his groan, the way his throat bobbed when her fingers traced past his waistband and over his cock, hard through his pants.
Criston raised a hand to fondle her breast through the velvet fabric of her dress, making Demelza melt into his touch and sigh softly. She pressed him back so that fell in a tangle of fabric and limbs on his bed, Criston settling on top of her and sweeping her dark hair back from her face. He licked his lips, a question burning in his eyes that Demelza swiftly answered.
"I don't want to stop," she whispered, pressing kisses down his neck and reaching down to tug her dress up her legs, "I want you to fuck me."
It was that night, beneath a Kingsguard who whispered sweet nothings into the crook of her neck and ran his hands over her body with enough fervour to make her moan, that Demelza lost the one thing that would make her valuable as a future wife. Even in the intensity of the moment, she could no longer discern whether it was a blessing or curse.