Ｔｗｏ

𝒢𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓂𝒾𝒹𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉

β•šβ•β• ❀‒°❀°‒❀ ══╝

Once upon a time, there was a princess locked away to rot on a high tower. The firstborn, but treated no better than an incubator. She was rescued by a golden knight who fought off dragons in order to reach her.

Excuse me while I vomit, Rhaenyra thought with no short span of disgust. If she was to be anything in that story, she'd rather be the dragon. She'd rather be anything else but a dumb bitch waiting for some gallivant knight who'd rescue her one day, then force her to pop out his little lords and ladies to solidify his line.

Luckily, she had never been too attracted to the gallant knights of those old tales. Even now nothing stirred in her. To her right was her uncle who was leaning back on his chair while the play continued, displaying the same knight of old proclaiming undying affection to the princess.

She couldn't remember what the play was about or how they got here. Her head was in the clouds, aware of every movement as if she was moments from falling off her own seat. The private box was a distance from the crowd, but that didn't mean they were safe from the press. All anyone had to do was look over their shoulder and they would be seen over the ledge. They would see the dark red curtains with the Targaryen insignia of the three-headed dragon, courtesy of the sizeable donation she had her father make to expand the theater. The velvet seats were a luxurious and deep scarlet, and she sunk into them further.

Daemon was significantly less tempting when he spent a good portion of night flirting with the coat boy. If that only got her to order another cocktail, she wouldn't tell him. She looked at him now, only to meet his amused expression as she fell to the side, over the armrest as the room spun.

He didn't seem nearly as drunk, and when his hands slide up her arms to steady her, slowly guiding her back to the cushioned seat, she was certain of her intoxication. "You were the one who wanted to see a play," he told her, and she felt the fluttering of her eyes as a smile overtook her face. Her hand was resting against his chest, clenching the material of his top. His hands were still on her naked arms, the skin-on-skin contact furthering her temptations now that she saw two of him. That was two more to resist. "And now you're not even watching."

There was a strand of hair out of place, resting against his chiseled jaw. She thought about reaching up, tracing it with her fingertips, and she could practically feel his skin from under her own. It was warm and inviting and now her hand was moving.

He watched her hand slowly dislodge from wrinkling his top, tracing a path up his shirt, up his neck, and when her fingertips passed over his jaw, she felt the hands on her shoulders clench into her skin. She could feel him under her skin, his eyes dark, his lips pressed tightly together as her hand cupped his face and brushed aside the stray strands of wispy silver hair. He closed his eyes, breathing out through his nose as if she were being tedious.

Could he not see it? Rheanyra wondered, her eyes fluttering closed as she let out a hysterical laugh. You make me fucking crazy.

"You are so drunk," Daemon said, his hand now cupping hers to cradle it against his face. He slowly moved his head and pressed his lips onto the heel of her palm, just above her pulse that had long since sped. "Perhaps we should get you some water."

"I don't want water," she said slowly, feeling her body go flush, wondering if it were only her intoxication that made it seem like he was reciprocating her advances. She held up her empty glass in between them, watching as he dragged his palm over her upper arms, now shivering, unable to help it. She slowly rested her head on his shoulder, partly because she was wasted, but mostly because she didn't want him to see just how hard her nipples were since this dress hid nothing.

"Okay kid. Time to go," he said, and she felt his breath against her ear, felt his words reverberate against her skin as he now stood from his own seat. Ever the caring uncle, he knelt before her, his hands holding up her face as she lost the ability to do it on her own. She wondered if he noticed how much of her leg was visible through the slit on her dress, wondered if he noticed how she spread her legs.

Or perhaps he was the normal one between them. Perhaps he thought of her how he should. A niece and nothing more. Perhaps she was sick. "I thought you never got on your knees," she whispered with a laugh. Both his brows raised, but he likely knew to what she was referring to. The old wound that he never made amends for. "The heir for a day. As if I'd get on my knees and answer to anyone." He had said this only days after both her mother and little brother had passed.

"That isn't how a lady of your station should talk," he told her, now resting his hands on her waist, guiding her up. Ever the obedient drunk, she attempted to stand, laughing as her body disobeyed her and she nearly fell backward. His hands steadied her, resting on the length of her spine, flush against her skin with her lower body now enfolded against him. She let out a groan as the feel of him was nearly too pleasurable to be wrong.

"I'm not a lady," she said with another laugh as he helped her stand straight, her vision cloudy, but she could see that his amusement had disappeared and he looked irritated.

He snorted, helping her stand and gliding her arm over his shoulder. His right arm was wrapped around her waist, his fingers against her belly, clutching her to him and guiding them out the dark room. "No, you certainly are not," he said with ease as he carried most of her weight. "Even if you attempted to dress like one tonight."

Rhaenyra let out another laugh, her head slumping forward now that her muscles felt as weak as grass. She heard voices, her uncle talking, and she blinked away the sorry state of her vision as she spotted her uncle attempting to get her coat back onto her.

"Can I help?" The boy must have barely been in his early twenties, but he was a handsome one. Her uncle certainly had a type, she noted this bitterly as she watched him glance between the Targaryens.

"Careful with that," Rhaenyra whined as her uncle all but smashed her arms into her cream coat. "It's Chanel."

"Excuse me princess," Daemon commented with offhanded amusement. The coat boy held out her uncles, his smile so innocent that she wanted to smack it away when Daemon turned his attention back to him. "Don't suppose you can keep how obnoxious she is between us?"

"I better erase my tweets then," the coat boy joked, and Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed on his nametag that read Joffery. She felt significantly warmer, but she could still barely stand so Daemon was forced to hold her up again when she nearly tripped over the waist tie on her coat. He let out an exasperated sigh, forcing her to face him and she staggered forward, her face bashing into his chest.

He smells good enough to eat, Rhaenyra thought with fluttering lashes as he let out a sound of surprise. A deep hum that made her positively feral. She laughed again at the thought while the coat boy,Joffery, snorted. At her. "Did you just bite me?" Daemon asked, holding her shoulders so she'd stand straight. Both their eyes went down to the lipstick that made a print on his top. She felt her shoulders shake as she let out obnoxious laughter that she'd remember tomorrow with embarrassment.

Luckily it was not yet tomorrow and she wanted to do so much more than bite him. "I'm hungry."

One of his brows went up and he trailed his hands down, as if he were afraid she'd fall if he let her go. He reached for one of the ties around her waist, and they were uneven, one dragging against the ground from his clumsy attempt to get it over her arms. She certainly didn't make it easy, not that she cared about that now. She watched him with hooded eyes that he refused to meet. His jaw was clenched, his movements robotic as he had to get closer to adjust the ties. She fell forward when he adjusted them to be even. This time, her face dug into his neck and his cologne invaded her nostrils, her fucking brain, and if there was any chance of her sobering, it was replaced by an intoxicated longing that made her crazy.

He let out a shaking breath as he said, "Could you stand straight for one minute?"

She laughed against his bare neck, not minding that her lips moved along his pulse when she spoke. "You're the one who did this to me."

"You're the one who ordered the last five shots," Daemon reminded, not understanding her meaning. Why would he? Rhaenyra thought with another self-derisive laugh when he attempted to tie her coat in a pretty bow that ended up suffocating her.

"It's a coat, uncle, not a corset," she said breathlessly, and felt his laugh slip out, felt it against her lips that rested against his neck.

"I'm better at taking them off," he told her in Valyrian, and to prove his point, he easily loosened the tie. She fell backward again, and this time he scrambled to catch her. It was a clumsy catch, one hand on her back and the other holding her naked thigh. She let out a breath, about ready to lose control completely with her drunk ass without any inhibitions.

"Sir, the limo has pulled up for you," Joffery commented, and the reminder that there was an audience was like a bucket of ice and she was submerged in it. She attempted to sober, to be who she was three years ago, to be his niece. Family shouldn't have these thoughts.

"Come on you heathen," Daemon whispered against her ear as he rested her arm back over his neck and supported her weight again. He was gentle with her when they were out the front doors of the theater. Targaryens always leave out the back her father would say. Paparazzi usually appeared out of nowhere, springing out like vultures, ready to feast on their corpses.

"Daemon," she muttered, uncertainty in her face as she caught sight of something bright flashing. She stumbled, disshelved as he led her to the limo. The cool breeze had swept up her dress, his hands in all the appropriate places, but they still made her hot. She tried to walk, tried to look normal, but she tripped over her own heel and he roughly caught her, and she felt him steady her against the car like she was a slab of plywood.

She watched him open it, and then attempt to guide her inside where she practically flopped onto the cushions of the limos. He stumbled in after her, closing the door behind him with a chuckle as he all but crashed into her, reminding her that he was also not completely sober. The inside was lit with white light, illuminating the mini bar of the spacious Hummer.

She stared up at the ceiling of the car, the line of fluorescent blue extended the trimming of the limo, swirling towards the front where the driver was hidden by a layer of soundproof wall. Daemon was on his back, on the ground, his chest rising and falling as he looked out into nothing. Rhaenyra turned on her side, the light making the room spin as she took in her uncle's disheveled appearance. His button-up was half untucked from the black slim-fit slacks and some of the buttons were undone at the top, revealing his sculpted pecs.

His silver hair was messy, and his coat was open wide around him. When he finally turned his head and caught her staring, she didn't hide behind sober thoughts. "You can't handle your tequila," he told her, but he wasn't smiling. There was something dark in his expression, something dangerous. She rolled off the cushions, not trusting her ability to stand and move now that the limo came alive. She meant to do this gracefully, but she bruised her forearm when she hit the corner of the seating where plastic met her flesh. Her cheek rested on his arm, the soft wool coat against her skin as she placed her hand against his chest.

"Thank you for coming," she said, trying to be serious now that the intoxication was slowly clearing. It wasn't nearly fast enough, and she nearly felt her heart in her throat when he turned to look down at her.

She felt his palm press against her cheek, cradling it and if he noticed the shaky breath, she hoped he'd blame it on the alcohol. "I was proud of you when I heard." His thumb dragged against the planes of her cheekbones, his fingers pressed into her, tangled in her hair as he stared down at her, laying on his side and guiding her forehead to his, where it stayed for moments that could have lasted forever with no complaint from her. His hand had now rested on the back of her neck, always so frivolous with his touch.

She felt her eyes flutter shut, the thundering of her pulse and the feel of him nearly enough to drive her over the edge. She wanted to touch him more. She wanted to drag her teeth over his chest where the buttons had come undone. He pulled away from her, drawing away like he might get burned if he stayed. She watched him retreat, basically crawling to the bar where he began to pour himself another glass of wine. She rolled back over, feeling alone like a fool with feelings that she deluded herself to think she'd ever overcome.

"Alright kid, time to go," Daemon said, sometime later into her misery. She was still curled on the ground when he attempted to lift her.

"Where are we?" Rhaenyra asked, and by now, she was at least a bit more sober as he dragged her up. She was able to help him now, realizing that the limo had stopped.

"Your penthouse," Daemon said, but something had changed in his expression. He seemed so far away as he helped her out the doors and onto the empty street where a new pair of hands took over. "You'll help her up?" Daemon wasn't talking to her now, and the hands-on her were colder and restricted by gloves. She looked over her shoulder to see who was gripping her shoulders so she wouldn't fall. She let out a groan.

"I can make it up myself," Rhaenyra defended, watching both Daemon's brows rise as he leaned his back against the car.

"Has she gotten any water?" Criston Cole asked, ever the perfect little bodyguard. Mostly he was employed for big events like MET galas or fundraisers, not for wild nights out with the uncle she wanted to fuck.

"Ah," Daemon muttered, letting out a sigh as if the entire thing inconvenienced him. He entered the limo again and came back out with a glass bottle of water. She went to grab it, but her coordination was terrible and she punched his pectorals. His beautiful, delicious pectoral, Rhaenyra thought, irritated with how horny she was.

A small smile of amusement escaped him, and he grabbed her wrist and guided her hand to the water where he tightened her fingers around the base. Her eyes fluttered open and shut. "I'll take it from here," Criston said, and Daemon's eyes snapped to his, as if he had forgotten he was there.

"Where are you going?" Rhaenyra said, getting the sense that Daemon wasn't headed home. She watched her uncle run his hand through his hair, as if the question was one he didn't want to answer.

"Come on little princess," Criston, ever her white knight, said as he asked for permission to touch her waist. She nodded absently, noting how different it felt with his hands on her. He was certainly attractive, with tan skin that must have come from Indian heritage. He was positively delectable, even as he touched her like a gentleman, his hands not straying as her heels clicked against the cement sidewalk with two clicks.

"Sleep well, Rhaenyra," Daemon said, and retreated back into the limo. He didn't look at her again and maybe he had screamed at the driver to go since the moment the door was closed, the car took off.

Criston helped her through the lobby, an immaculate thing alit with gold, and led her to the silver elevators with dragon borders. Her family had dabbled in many businesses, but real estate had gotten them millions in New York. She let Criston guide her into the brightly lit box, the embarrassment now settling over her like a weighted blanket.

"Oh my god," Rhaenyra muttered, covering her face with a palm as she began to replay the night in her mind. She was replaying her longing looks, her constant near flashing of her panties when she sat, the long brushes of contact. It was no wonder her uncle abandoned her. "Oh my god."

"You alright, Ms. Targaryen?" Criston asked, ever the white knight again.

"I'm going to be sick," Rhaenyra said, her hands now covering her entire face as her back rested against the cool metal elevator. The hand rest dug into her spine, but she didn't have it in her to care about bruising herself. Her integrity and dignity was in pieces. Two years of composure was out the fucking toilet. I fucking bit him, she thought with a deeper emotion, worse than embarrassment. Shame.

"We're almost there. Two floors. Can you hold it in?" Criston was so calm, so sweet, so honorable. It wasn't what she wanted right now. She wanted someone to tell her she was a stupid bitch, but who could she possibly share her secret with? Who would understand?

Her one friend, her closest friend, didn't even know and now that friend was fucking her dad.

Rhaenyra let out a whine, and Criston Cole was carefully moving her hands aside to cup her face slowly in his palm. He was holding the water now, and she didn't even remember him taking it. It was uncapped and he was holding it to her lips, his hand tangled in her hair as he motioned for her to drink.

Her lips were dry, her hair disheveled from the limo floor, and her eyes heavy. She nodded, and he brought the bottle to her lips and tipped it back. Water trickled down her lips as they made eye contact. He certainly was attractive, with great big eyes that saw the world for what it could be. They just weren't the eyes she wanted. His wasn't the hands she wanted. It wasn't just the feeling of them that was different, but Daemon had never touched her like this. His hands always rested too close to scandalous areas, held brashly, never gently.

The water certainly wasn't what she wanted in her mouth, but it would have to do. "Thank you," she whispered as he pulled it away.

"I'm not your father," Criston told her as the elevator let out a loud ding and the doors opened. "But you should have already had three of these in your system by now." She let out a laugh, letting him help her walk, down the long hall leading to her penthouse.

"I'll keep that in mind," she told him, and he held her up as she attempted to open her own door. Even the way he helped her stand was gentle as if she was as breakable as glass.

"Congrats on Yale, by the way," Criston told her, helping her inside where she practically tossed her heels off her foot, only to remember they were strapped on. He snorted, watching as one tan heel was half hanging on her ankle with the strap as she had dislodged the top part off her toes.

"I've got the lawyer professional thing down," Rhaenyra said with a laugh. She watched Criston's cold expression morph into something warmer, as if the sun had melted him. He guided her to the love chair in the living area, motioning her to sit. She did so, a sense of confusion blending into her, cushioning the hurt she had felt when Daemon practically shoved her out of his limo.

Criston Cole looked delectable when he got on one knee before her, not meeting her eyes as he softly wrapped his hands around her ankle and began to unstrap the complex shoe that tied around her ankle in two loops. "You have a bruise on your leg," Criston said, and she rested her palms against her thighs so she wouldn't fall over when she leaned to look. She didn't remember getting it, but it was nasty and blue. It was just on the side of her thigh, visible through the slit.

He skillfully undid the shoe and gently placed it on the ground next to her. He moved on to the second. "Do you have sisters, Ser Cole?" It was a habit to call him that since he refused to use her first name no matter how often she had asked. Due to that, he called her 'little princess'.

He finally looked up at her from untying her shoe, his lips spread into a slight smile. "Three."

She hummed. "You're a good man. You know that?"

"And you're very drunk," he whispered, not looking away from her as he undid the ties of her second shoe, placing it next to the first. "Come on, lets get you to the bathroom before you vomit." He stood, offering both his hands to help her up. She intertwined their hands, able to use her own strength to stand now that she was without her heels.

The word was a turn-off, but not a complete deterrent. In the same motion of her standing straight, she pressed her lips to his, missing and only catching the corner of his mouth. She watched him let out a restrained sigh.

He quickly pulled away, his gaze troubled. "What's wrong?" Rheanyra had never been rejected before, never allowed herself to be put in a situation where she could be.

"You're drunk."

She felt herself smile. "I'm not that drunk." She still had control and would lose none of it for Criston Cole. "Did you not like it?"

Criston shook his head, helping her to her room where he gracefully opened the door and turned on the lights. "Try it again in the daylight." She let out a laugh, letting him guide her to the bathroom. "Do you have it from here?" His question was uncertain and uncomfortable, and she found it rather cute. He didn't fill her with the out-of-control passion that her uncle burned her with, but it was enough for now.

"Unless you want to bathe me?" Rhaenyra said, not meaning to sound so forward, using the door frame of the bathroom as her support.

"If you're sober enough to mock me, I think you'll be fine," Criston said with both brows raised. She grinned, lightly brushing the back of her hand against his cheek and fully entering the bathroom.

"I'll see you in the daylight," she promised and closed the door.