Ｔｗｅｌｖｅ
𝓌𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝑒
╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝
Just when you think your family is dysfunctional enough, the estranged uncle who you're in love with walks into your father's birthday celebration, to which he was not invited, interrupting the new relationship you are attempting to re-establish with your stepmother who is also your childhood friend and first love. Meanwhile, your new half-brother, who you are convinced wants to murder you, was in the background, eating potpourri.
"Is that any good?" Rhaenyra asked without any interest as she witnessed some of her father's friends chatting with the dancers who were now mingling with the guests in a way nearly not fit for children. Aegon looked up at her, sitting in the small chair and ignoring his peas in lieu of perfumed flowers.
"No," Aegon said, and at this point, deep in her second glass of wine, Rhaenyra was certain that this kid only knew how to string together 40 sentences. Most started with the word 'no'.
"Your mum told you to go to your room," Rhaenyra reminded him, not much caring as she spotted Laena chatting with Qarl in a passionate debate, likely on flower arrangement. Alicent hadn't been seen since she stormed out half an hour ago with her father hot on his wife's heels. Daemon was mingling in the yard with the business side of the family, consisting of whoever the hell Corlys enjoyed spending his days with. Rhaenyra cared little at the moment, waiting for her father to come back so she could give him his happy birthday wishes and go home, where she could perhaps take a bath with more wine.
"No," Aegon said again, and Rhaenyra only drank longer sips in reply. He scooted the potpourri towards her, and she was convinced that his underdeveloped brain was attempting to make her choke to her death on them. She narrowed her eyes in his direction, as if she could find her answer in his silence.
She lifted one of the petals, rolling the dry thing in between her fingers with a suspicious glance in his direction. He stared intently at her in return, unblinking. She set her glass down, straightening to face him. He spits out one of the petals on the table, straightening to face her. "Do you know any Valyrian at all, Aegon?"
"You are scaly than a dragon," he said, and his grammar was incorrect, but Rhaenyra couldn't help it. She let out a surprised laugh that made his lip curl.
She was about to absolutely crush this kid in Valyrian, really come for his entire birth, when her father sat down at the circular table. Most of everyone was out near the pool, or in the pool house where all the pool tables were. She had decided to stay inside and finish her wine, in no mood to see her uncle flirt with belly dancers all night.
"You haven't the faintest idea how much it warms my heart to see you two together," Viserys said, placing a palm to his chest as he leaned over to her and kissed each of her cheeks in greeting. Currently, he had dragged a chair in between them, his eyes exhausted, but his smile bright.
She and Aegon stared at each other, the mutual dislike shifting to a reluctant truce. "I was just teaching him a bit of our language, be it dead or otherwise, we are all that is left of it."
Viserys's smile came out again, a warmth that was a nice dichotomy to the wrath that he had immediately swallowed down when Daemon arrived, just so he wouldn't make a scene. "And who taught you that?"
Rhaenyra always suspected her father did not trust her, and while he loved her dearly, he likely was on the proverbial fritz since the time she was 14 and called the police on her sitter, accusing him for child molesting. The entire thing had been completely made up, but Rhaenyra had wanted to invite friends for a huge party. In order to that, she needed him out of the house.
Rhaenyra sloshed her wine in circles with a smile that was two parts devious, one part fond, "Uncle Daemon, of course."
And when Viserys asked her whose idea it was to put her sitter on the registered sex offender's list, Rhaenyra had proudly said 'Uncle Daemon'. From then on she had discovered, at her uncle's expense, that his name was a sort of get out of 'jail free card', in that he got put in jail in her stead. She gets kicked out of school for fighting? 'Uncle Daemon taught me'.
She tosses a bowling ball at her friends, breaking one of their arms, she calls Daemon to pick her up. She still remembered the phone call where he had laughed for forty seconds while Rhaenyra feigned that she was being screamed at by her father in front of the police. Once he got her out of the mess, she was in the clear and he even high fives her in his car.
So now, anytime she uses his name in any context, her father associates it with something awful, as if she were teaching Aegon how to be a degenerate in High Valyrian.
Viserys's smile dissipated, and he was about to say something when they heard the sound of Aegon's jaws crunching the potpourri. Almost immediately she watches as her father attempts to get him to stop, which Aegon ignores, attempting to run away before Viserys lifts him up by his waist. "I better get him back to the nanny. Wait here, Rhaenyra, I'll be back."
She didn't even get the chance to say happy birthday, so she leans back in her seat and drinks. She was already on her second glass, having made Brya Baratheon call her a giant bitch after making Lucy cry. Rhaenyra had told her to go away, but Lucy had a habit of asking the same question 100+ times until she gets an answer she wanted.
And all of those questions pertained to Criston Cole, who Rhaenyra suspected her cousins held to higher regards than she did.
"You better watch what you say to my sister. It's not Lucy's fault your dry ass pussy has no loving," Brya said, walking up to Rhaenyra's solitude table, despite how greatly she wanted to be left alone. She was about to lose her mind. She was going to actually bitch slap a 17 year old. If Rhaenyra could only wait one more month, she could punch Brya in the face and not assault a minor.
"You have a filthy mouth," Rhaenyra said, taking a sip and doing the math.
"Bitch, I see you scheming to jump me in a month," Brya said, placing both hands on the table and getting in Rhaenyra's face. Rhaenyra, who was slowly losing the will to live, only gave her a languid and unbothered blink. "I will kick your ass so hard that one of your vertebrae will pop out of your mouth like a pez dispenser."
Rhaenyra said nothing, grabbing her phone that lay face down on the desk. She lazily opened the it and began to play solitaire, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other.
"What are you doing?" Brya asked, her anger potent enough to overcrowd the soft lull of her voice. It was quite similar to her father, who somehow seduced her great aunt into marriage, forcing Brya and her family into existance. "Ah, you're taking the high road. I get it. You are single now, representing all the old spinsters with flappy vaginas."
Rhaenyra moved an ace up, not bothering to look up at her cousin.
"Why aren't you saying anything?" Brya, ever the impatient girl.
"Your parents are going through that nasty divorce. I'll be sure to send letters to your sisters in foster care, but meanwhile, I think you need this." Rhaenyra swiftly won the game, going on to play another. Brya's face fell, just a bit, before it hardened right back up since her cousin fancied herself a bad bitch.
"The fuck do you mean divorce?" There was no way that Brya Baratheon didn't know about the split that was put into motion last month, but everyone had made a point to never talk about it out loud. Rhaenyra was going to respect that, but she immediately stopped caring about anything after the dry pussy comment.
"Brya, your little sister just got pushed in the pool," said the voice of Harwin Strong, from just behind the girl. He wasn't someone Rhaenyra often associated with, not out of outwardly choice, but more so because their situations never truly crossed paths.
"Motherfucker," Brya muttered, sending her cousin one last stink eye before knocking over her wine on the table and walking away. Rhaenyra watched the red slowly sink into the white tablecloth, spreading and dispersing into the fabric.
"That's convenient," Rhaenyra said, not bothering to clean the growing stain. She just leaned back into her seat, staring at the pristine white turn dark red.
"Not really. I'm the one who pushed her," Harwin said, and Rhaenyra finally looked at him. He had grown taller somehow, with a beard that made him look rugged, and curly brown hair that couldn't have been styled for more than ten minutes.
Her lips twitched up, before she finally let out a laugh, covering her face with the back of her hand. His expression was a soft one, the kind that didn't care what anyone thought of him. His eyes were a gentle brown, narrow with amusement and bits of mirth.
He slowly grabbed the tipped-over cup, bits of red droplets spilling over the glass and she watched each one's individual descent. "You looked like you needed a rescue."
Rhaenyra's gaze traveled up his fingers, up his white shirt, not even bothering with his blazer. They finally met his eyes in what she hoped didn't come off to make her out as a bitch. "I didn't."
"Ah," Harwin said, and his smile was one of a subtle conspirator. "My apologies then. I did it because Lucy Baratheon is annoying."
Rhaenyra held back the laughter the second time, finally grabbing her cloth napkin that she had placed near the bottle, unraveling it and draping it over the growing stain. She was pointedly not looking at Harwin due to the stain, and not because she spotted her uncle through the wall of windows. She saw Alicent speaking to him, and her face was drawn in what Rhaenyra could only describe as a cobra, attacking its pray. Alicent was shoving her pointer finger into Daemon's chest, once turning into twice as she spoke.
"He's something, that uncle of yours," Harwin said with a soft smile that had an ability, and a rare one, to put her rather at ease. She finally dragged her eyes back up to him.
"Do you need something, Harwin?" Rhaenyra asked, and his grin spread.
"You don't do small talk, do you?" Harwin's question was met with her hesitation, a pause, before she dabbed the cloth against the tablecloth. Not like it'd fix much, but it made her feel better when she could do something with her hands.
"From what I understand," Rhaenyra said with a careful glance over his shoulder. Her uncle looked especially well put together tonight, his silver hair catching in the twinkle lights from around the pool, his shoulders broad and sharp from beneath his wool coat. He didn't look scared in the slightest by Alicent's obvious rampant lecture. Instead, he was indignant, as if he hadn't done a single thing wrong. As if taking half-naked belly dancers to a party where the guest list was at least 30 percent children wasn't a problem. Or, as if many of these guests weren't business associates who her father was trying to impress. "You didn't care for it either. So I ask, what do you want?"
Harwin didn't bother asking before he plopped on the chair her father had left vacant. Whatever tantrum Aegon was pulling was certain to keep him occupied longer than Rhaenyra wanted to stay. Despite that, he was still her father and she owed him at least another hour of her night. She supposed it was preferable to spend some of her hour with Harwin Strong rather that of Brya Baratheon.
Harwin sat as if he owned the house he resided in, his legs spread wide, back leaning casually against the dining chair. His button-up was untucked, not nearly as put together as his father, Lyonel Strong. Nobody was more honorable than Mr. Strong, who'd give the truth, even when it was not in his own best interests. His son, from what she heard, was a kind man and a noble one, but she knew little of him to determine if he was a good man.
"Actually, I was hoping for a favor," Harwin said, refilling her spilled wine with the bottle she had dragged to her table forty minutes ago. Did she had to steal it from her father's liqueur cabinet, of course. He filled it to the brim, not bothering to pull a Criston and give her a quarter of wine because it was what he preferred she drink. As if Rhaenyra was an alcoholic who needed management.
Rhaenyra grabbed the glass, "A favor?"
"I heard that your father was looking for someone to oversee the launch of the new tower on the east side," Harwin said, watching as Rhaenyra slowly grabbed her cup and pressed it to her lips, pausing as her eyes met his from over the glass. She took a slow sip, not minding the dryness of the red.
She slowly lowered the glass and said, "Yes. I assume he'll hand that over to Mr. Hightower." Not surprising, considering her father trusted Otto with more aspects of the dynamics in business than he did his own heir. Even the new tower, which would be called the 'Targaryen Tower', would be the second one of its kind in the United States, featuring luxury condominiums, world-class restaurants, and high end stores that would turn it into a building of unparalleled luxury. Otto had been the one who organized the first one in Vegas, which he had used to climb the social latter and solidify his placement at her father's side.
"I am here to propose you vote for my father in his stead," Harwin told her, tapping his fingers against the table. Rhaenyra tilted her head sideways, bits of surprise now making its place on her face, before it slowly disappeared in replacement for her interest in her wine.
"Why aren't you petitioning my father?" Rhaenyra asked, taking another sip.
"Because I'm asking you," Harwin said with a careful emphasis, and she liked how he actually looked her in the eyes when he spoke. So many of her father's associates often avoided it, as if they were more interest in the carpet or the people around her than anything she had to say. When they did meet her inquisitive gaze, it was often from beneath their nose. Rhaenyra often wondered if they realized they were even doing it, wondered if they noticed their subtle interruptions to anything she had to say, or how they'd give her a task and proceed to micromanage every aspect of the work. She had emails, faxes, and voicemails that proved it.
"So you are," Rhaenyra said, now setting down the wine atop the table. If she had a dime for the amount of times her father's associates said the words ' no offense, don't take me wrong' and follow it with something that would offend anyone. "Why wouldn't Lyonel be asking in your stead?" She noticed the pack of cigarettes peaking from his breast pocket.
"You know my father," Harwin said with a slight smile, and he followed her gaze, opening the pack and holding it out to her. Technically, she wasn't supposed to smoke inside, but Rhaenyra had done cocaine in this house the first time, she imagined her father would let this slide as well. She grabbed one, allowing him to light it. He lit his own, both unconcerned with the air of smoke that would make a dense cloud over the lounge.
The cleaners were going to lose their mind.
"If he's content with his placement and without his own ambition, perhaps he's not a good fit to move up," Rhaenyra said, breathing out the fumes as Harwin's smile flickered away. He was ever the easy going sort, but she respected that he could get serious when he wished to.
"My father cares only about doing what he feels is right by your father and the changes he plans on making," Harwin told her, and that much was true. Lyonel Strong was often the first one her father turned to for advice, making it rather odd that he was not the right hand. "His true priority isn't to move up in station or pay or even respect, but rather, to make certain he does right by everyone. Nobody is more honest or honorable or hardworking."
She took another deep inhale of her cigarette, not even liking it. Perhaps she wanted to burn a hole in her lungs. She didn't like the smell or the motion or the way it made her want to cough out her lungs. "This business isn't too kind to honorable men."
Daemon was a testament to that. After he broke from her father's reigns and started his own sectors in the business, he had been nothing short of deplorable. Yet, he succeeds at every venture he sets out to achieve, not because of his own will, but because of how he uses it to not just win, but destroy the competitors.
There were usually two types of strong men in her life: those like her uncle Daemon or Otto Hightower, remorseless and pitiless about making their money. Then there were those like her father and Lyonel Strong, who were ruthless in their obedience to fair play. Rhaenyra hardly knew which category she fell into, but knew she admired each in their own way.
"I'm not just pushing my father because he's good," Harwin said, pulling out his phone and opening up files so he could show her modules and graphs that forced her to read on her day off. She grabbed it from his fingers, scrolling down with arched brows. "His successes are as impressive as Otto Hightower. He's just too humble to push his own name to your father and too prideful to accept my direct aid. I only want to respect his own wishes to the best of my own ability."
She glanced up at him, lips quirked up. "Email me everything and I will consider your petition."
Harwin grinned, grabbing it from her hands with ease. "You would have my gratitude."
"Leave your cigarettes and we are even," she said with a slight smile.
"If I leave two packs, would better my chances?" Harwin was a playful one, and certainly not one who people could easily dislike. He was loyal, obviously, rather like Laena, if Rhaenyra to be honest. Two steadfast individuals, but she was not in the mood to play cupid.
"You would have merely my gratitude," she said in return, her eyes deadpan. "Nothing more."
"Well, I'd hope it'd gain me your friendship."
"I reserve friendship with men who know how to put on a tie," Rhaenyra said, her eyes scanning down his partly undone article of clothing. It was loose, hanging around his neck like a necklace rather than formalwear. His smile was infectious, but she had taken her vaccine for amusement today.
"Tough crowd, but I'll wear you down," Harwin said, and only because of his bright smile did she decide not to take that on as a come-on. Everyone knew she was in a relationship, and nobody sans Alicent knew that it ended. So she'd be offended if she was being flirted with as if they thought she'd cheat.
Which I did, she thought with another spike of self-loathing. She spent the entire relationship cheating, holding him, and going crazy over another.
"We'll see. Now go before I decide to delete the email you send," she said with a thin smile that made him laugh again. He turned to walk away but turned back to her in the same breath.
"Oh, before I forget," Harwin said, digging into his back pocket, taking out a little slip of paper that he had obviously crumbled when he sat. He offered it to her and she took it with another sip of her wine. "Was told to give this to you."
She nodded, spotting her father coming back. "Bye," she said stiffly, and he laughed again.
"Truly a cold one," he said with another laugh, walking away.
She shoved the note into her bag as Viserys sat down with a huff of air. "He is truly a wild one," he said, looking as if he aged five years in the last thirty minutes. "Reminds me a bit of you."
"Well," she said, sloshing her wine in circles. "That's rude."
"I think if you came by more often," Viserys said with a careful pause. "You'd like him more."
"What happened to the tapestry?" Rhaenyra asked, not bothering to turn around and look at the empty wall that once held her mother's work. Aemma Targaryen was an artist who could make magic with crayons, and make worlds with fire. Her work had once been proudly displayed on the wall just behind her. Rhaenyra wasn't going to say anything, was going to just let it pass, but the empty wall had been crushing.
"Ah," Viserys said, looking over her shoulder with that expression he had at her mother's funeral. As if he were just disappearing and it was better for him than to talk to her. "I took it down."
Rhaenyra took a longer sip of her wine, wishing to make it cloud her senses until she couldn't see white walls. "Happy birthday, dad."
Viserys took her hand, cradling it between his thin and bony fingers. "I want you to come by more. Take part in the family more."
Rhaenyra watched with an expression of indifference, even as she felt the overpowering emotions that threatened to make her explode. She was going to erupt.
"You are done with law school, done with Connecticut, done with the city, come back to Southampton," he said, gesturing to the mansion, speaking as if 3 hours were equivalent to 30. Or 5 hours was 100, if she went back to New Haven.
"I'm not leaving," Rhaenyra said, trying to be gentle. She just wanted to tell him happy birthday and go. She wasn't ready for serious conversations with a father who had been absent for over five years. "I like the city. I like my life." And she did, sometimes, but not today.
"You have been alone," he said, dropping her hands. "Alone and angry and growing farther away. Of that, I know."
"Why did you take down the tapestry?" Rhaenyra asked, her voice dangerous, leaning forward with narrowed eyes. He was silent, as silent as he had been five years ago, but she wanted him to answer the question. The sudden loss of her mother had been devasting, but Aemma had taken Viserys with her too and that was soul-crushing, all encompassing loneliness. It had been like living with a wound that refused to close, yet her memories of him were fading more and more every day.
Which made no sense because he was right here.
"Rhaenyra," he said, covering his face with his hand. "I can't do this with you right now."
She nearly laughed, nearly told him off. Sometimes, all she wanted was to feel like a child, just to know that he would stand in front of her while the waters rose. She always stopped the impulse, too afraid to know, as if he'd let the waves crash over the both of them.
"Then I will stay 'alone' and 'angry'," she told him, standing before she did something childish like knock over the centerpiece of flowers. Or find one of the random belly dancers to make out with in the middle of the party, just to shame him. Or burn this entire house down so they could both be angry.
"Rhaenyra," he said, but that was all he said, and it was the inflection that made her pause. He was going to say something, but that was when the fight started. Both daughter and father turned their heads towards the source of the sound, her father standing and looking exhausted. "Fucking Daemon," he muttered, and she felt a sense of defensiveness rise in her, but she stomped it down.
"You don't know it's him," she said weakly, but her father pushed past her, looking so old as he made his way through the once pristine home that was being clouded with chaos. She followed, her heels clicking against wood as she let out a sigh, finding herself amongst the crowd of family and friends, most she couldn't recognize, just outside near the pool. She attempted to jump up, to see past the circle her family made on the violence.
"What's this?" Rhaenyra asked, standing near Laenor, who was on his phone, texting as if there wasn't a fight.
"Pretty sure this is the effect of the coke Daemon passed out to Diego," Laenor said with a snort, causing Rhaenyra to stare up at the sky wondering what the fuck was happening. She tried to peer over the many shoulders, but her heels gave her centimeters when she needed meters.
Of all the friends of her father's, Diego was the most obnoxious, but when he was clean, he was tolerable. She vaguely remembered her uncle saying he'd be less of a bore if he'd fall off the wagon. "So?" Rhaenyra asked, and Laenor shrugged.
"Apparently, someone here fucked his wife," Laenor showed her his phone, exposing the text messages from Qarl. "He's always sending memes, but this one's pretty funny."
"What?" Rhaenyra said, confused at the topic as she looked down at his phone to see an image of Pikachu looking surprised. It just said 'horoscope: you're probably breathing right now,' then the words 'me:' with the surprised Pikachu face underneath.
"What are you even showing me," Rhaenyra said with an exasperated sigh as she stared down at her cousin's phone.
"He sends memes when on the toilet. It's our love language," Laenor said with a nonchalant shrug.
Rhaenyra just stared at him for a long while, ignoring the obvious fight and her cousin, Brya's father, screaming for Diego to 'murder him'. Rhaenyra didn't much care at this point, but now she was looking around the crowd for her uncle. "You guys are insane," she told her cousin, who only shrugged again.
And there he was, leaning against the entrance to the pool house, vaping like a douche, was Daemon Targaryen. Rhaenyra breathed out through her nose, wondering how this night could somehow exceed her already low expectations. Trusting that her father would find a way to end the fight, she pressed a hand against Laenor's shoulder with a light and affectionate touch, before walking past him. Her steps sunk into the grass towards her uncle.
His eyes immediately went to her, and he didn't bother to hide his smirk as his arms were nonchalantly crossed over his chest. Rhaenyra's mouth went firm, but didn't turn into a scowl exactly. Rather, it looked as if she were gathering together the pieces of one, not unlike a puzzle, just in case she needed to pull it out in a rush.
"Alicent put a lot of work into this," Rhaenyra said, and he only raised the vape to his lips, blowing out the cherry-smelling fog.
"Really? Seemed a bit droll until I arrived," Daemon said, glancing over her shoulder toward the fight.
"Are you using?" Rhaenyra asked, and her eyes were scanning his eyes for any sign of it. Besides the dilated pupils, she saw no indication of aggression or animation. If anything, he looked calmer than he normally was, as if he genuinely enjoyed the damage he wrought. Which, he obviously did, so she was not surprised.
His lips twitched up, and he handed her his vape, reminding her of the cigarettes she left on the table back inside. She stared at it for a moment, not truly minding the chaos behind her. She grabbed the vape, staring at him in the eyes as she took a deep breath and pressed her lips to it. His lips were parted, and unlike when he arrived where his eyes had passed over her as if she were insignificant, his stare was now invasive.
Each puff was like sucking in the abyss, yet, she inhaled until her lungs filled with the toxic vapor that clouded her thoughts of him. But, of course, the fog dissappated, dispersing around her and she was filled with him. His wrath, his pandemonium, his way of gliding through this world as he pleased, even if places would rather he were bared out. He could turn any space he occupied into a bedlam, and she'd know since he occupied her. She wanted all of it.
"I don't much care for cocaine," he said with a tilt of his head, and he was wholly unperturbed with his eyes so focused on her own that she could almost read what he was going to say in the cloud of vapor before he spoke. "You were saying something about Alicent. Since when did that matter to you?"
She respected that he made an effort in understanding any of her problems, even if he was immediate to use them against her. "Since I decided to try letting go of some of the anger holding me back."
"That's big of you," he said with a nonchalant shrug as she handed him back his vape. "Very mature indeed."
Her answering smile was more of a sneer. "However, do not be concerned, uncle, I will hold onto the irritation and growing disdain that I wield for you, closely."
His playfulness was infectious, as it always was when he wielded that against her too. "Disdain is it?" The heat in his eyes was something that thawed her, even her anger that had been bunching up and tangling in her stomach. "I seem to recall different."
It was the closest that he had ever come to actually talking about anything, which nearly made her laugh, hysterically at that. You would broach the subject when you know I can't take it further. All too aware of her family surrounding her and Daemon's growing, dark amusement, she finally chuckled.
Truly, he stole her breath and her goddamned common sense when he was near her. When he actually touched her, however, she worried she'd never get it back. "I know you don't care about anything but yourself," she said, watching both brows arch once more as he dragged his vape back up to his lips. The sounds of the fight were all muted again, and she didn't care about anything. "But tonight, you were determined to exceed my increasingly low expectations of you."
She wanted to make him angry, but Daemon only looked down and laughed. "Once more, Rhaenyra," his voice was low, reaching her despite how she tried to distance herself. "Do you strap your weapons on the same way you did that dress?"
Careful Daemon, I'm already turned on. I'll burn up if you are mean to me, Rhaenyra thought, intrusively. She had heard how many women spoke of him online, speaking of his haunting indigo eyes that smoldered with lazy heat, contrasting the thick, shiny white hair. His shirts that clung to his torso, completing the handsome package that they wanted to bite into. Wicked, playful, dangerous, and charming. He was nearly irresistible. They'd say his only flaw was that he knew it too well.
But Rhaenyra knew him, and that was hardly his only flaw.
"You brought cocaine to a party with kids," she said, and even as she said it aloud, the words made her want to laugh.
"I didn't give any to the kids," he told her, passing the vape again, but when she went to reach for it, he grabbed her hand instead. "Come." He wasn't asking, dragging her into the pool house, leaving the chaos that he caused behind him. She, ever the stupid girl, followed him. She didn't think she could hate herself more for all of it until then. Until the feelings that arose in her when the door closed behind her, leaving them alone.
The sight of him was like fire in her stomach, some kind of visceral and animal reaction to the mere vicinity of this man. The memory of two weeks ago had been engraved on her mind every time she closed her eyes. It all rushed back now, of his hands on her, of the light and gentle press of his lips, barely a touch and not one he'd likely bring up. He wasn't the last man who touched her, and thoughts of Criston made her feel as if she was being held underwater.
"Why are you here?" Rhaenyra probed, lips pursed as she followed him through the room, noting how he stood near the pool table that was not in the vision of the window planes. Out of all of them, he chose the one that was mostly private, so the guests couldn't look over and see them. Why are you doing this to me? "Surely it's not because of sentimentalities, for you have none of that."
He stared up at her while he removed the triangle rack from the gathered object balls. She didn't much want to play, but she didn't want to do anything. She wanted to cry, but that need felt lessened in his presence.
"I enjoy the comforts of home, at times," he said, and her lips quirked. She had envisioned him so many times these last few years, the rough glide of his palm against her cheek, the press of his lips against her own, the heat that spread from his body to her own, ensuring that they burned together. At least, in her fantasies they did, but she was also aware that he was working his way through every pretty face and gorgeous socialite in the last three years.
"You enjoy making it uncomfortable," she told him, watching as he dragged the cue ball toward the far end of the table.
"You got my note?" Daemon asked, grabbing the pool stick and handing it to her. She tilted her head, before her lips formed an 'o' and she dug into her purse for Harwin's crumpled slip of paper. Daemon laughed as she dug it out, and read it with a scowl.
It just said, 'unless you wish to witness a fight, I'd stay away from Diego'.
"You're a cunt," Rhaenyra said, glancing up at him. He only twisted the watch on his wrist, slipping his hands around his own pool stick with subtle amusement. "You could have texted."
"You blocked me," he said with an arched brow. "How else does a man get in contact with his niece."
"A man wouldn't be passing notes like a middle schooler," Rhaenyra shot back.
He gestured for her to begin, not offended, a damn shame because she wanted to. She sneered, leaning over and getting into position. She hit the cue ball, trying to feign indifference, despite the competitive need to win, rising up her throat. She swallowed it down, suppressing it as those feelings all made a melting pot of heat.
"You are making apt strides," he said, leaning over and whispering in her ear before she had to chance to stand back up. She could feel the heat of his body lightly pressed against her own. The hand that rested on her lower back, his hand didn't move as he stayed there. Nearly appropriate, if not for how her body lit up from the inside out. "Law degree, mending bridges, a sweet boyfriend who buys you pretty things." He inhaled, as if it were against his will, but as if he wanted to consume her anyway. She didn't know what to believe.
Each word he said had a way of dousing her with gasoline and making her want to set him on fire. It was a hazy wave inside her mind with a wasted breath that she couldn't seem to inhale. She turned to him, to meet his gaze and find the air to speak. His lips were raised, finding no problem with what he said, even if it couldn't be more wrong.
"Your turn," she said, allowing his hand to slide from her back, the ivory viscose still warm after he let her go. He smiled, devious, monstrous, and she wanted to beat him with the stick in her hands.
He barely looked, just hitting the cue ball. Unlike how he did with cards, he couldn't cheat with pool. It also seemed he didn't need to, and his strike was true. "I am making an effort," she told him, leaning on one hip, hating him, wanting him, loving him.
His eyes were dark and terrifying and they were everything she imagined when she felt her inhibitions lower. Criston deserved better, she thought with a pang of regret. "What effort is being made for you?"
Her lips parted, but he only motioned for her to go next as if he were a quintessential gentleman and not a spreading infection in her goddamned life. She didn't move. "What do you mean?"
"You're still fetching coffee, fetching contracts, reading over decisions you don't get to make," he told her, lazily leaning against his own pool stick. "And men, sheep, like Deigo Russo get to speak lowly of you with no consequence to the ones who hear."
She lifted her pool stick, leaning over to hit the ball, despite the shaking of her hand that she quelled. She stood back up again, facing him, abandoning her turn. "What do you mean speak lowly of me?"
Daemon only tilted his head sideways, and his gaze was so cold that it gave her chills. She was angry in the same careless manner that she had the night she took a bat to her ex boyfriend's guitar before hitting him with the broken pieces. "So you do care," he said, his shoulders tensing before easing back into his own form of indifference.
"What did he say?" Rhaenyra asked, and Daemon only shrugged.
"He's back off the wagon, niece," Daemon said, walking closer, dragging his fingers down her arm and driving her crazy. She followed his motion from the corner of her eyes. "He won't be saying much about you."
"What did he say?" Rhaenyra asked, her fists clenched around the wooden stick. Daemon's lips twitched up, igniting her like a live wire.
"There she is," he said, dragging the backs of his knuckles against her, against the height of her cheekbone. "Something about your ineptitude and interests that align more with shopping and—well, I paraphrase the vulgarity, for it is beneath the both of us."
Her eyes darkened, her neck practically snapping over to where the fight was dispersing. She was going to cave in Deigo's skull. "Who did he say this to?" How many think this of me?
"What does it matter what they think," he told her in High Valyrian, something that made her brain fill with fog once again. "You are a dragon. A Targaryen. You can fuck whoever you want and it wouldn't matter. They don't need to like you. They need to obey you as they would your father."
Each word dragged over her skin, submerging her deeper into his depravity that fit so well with her own. His eyes were darker than she'd ever seen them, as if the black of his pupil was bleeding into the hard indigo. His touch didn't feel like a mere brush of skin on skin, it felt like fucking alchemy, transforming her ire into ardent lust.
She bent down, lifting the stick to hit the cue ball, but he wasn't done. His lips were against her ear, worsening the pure lust in so violent a way that she grew unsteady. She missed the cue ball, hitting the cushion of the table in its stead.
"Stop asking, Rhaenyra. You are a dragon. Take it," he told her, and she knew he was talking about the lack of duties, the lack of her father placing her in a higher position, of the disrespect these vultures got to flippantly say behind her back. She knew that, but with his caress of her fluttering pulse against her neck, a soft touch, and she was nearly taken back to three years ago.
"You missed three birthdays," she whispered and met his eyes again. "Three Christmases. You probably already feel terrible about it."
"Awful," he agreed, and maybe it was true, but his voice was dry.
"Do you want to know what I want?" Rhaenyra asked, and his fingers trailed over her neck, back and forth his thumb stroked her pulse. It was as if he couldn't stop himself and yet he wanted to.
His amused gaze was back on her, his elbow leaning against the table. "And what is that?" Daemon had never been one to hold back on gifts, always giving her everything she ever asked for. Nearly. Not quite. Never.
"For you to back off," she told him, and his brow arched. "For you to apologize to Alicent for ruining her baby reveal."
His nose wrinkled, as if he couldn't think of anything worse than apologizing. However, there was an obvious sign of amusement in his face that she hadn't the faintest idea how to quell. Her eyes scanned behind him, just a bit out of the dark expanse of the outside gardens and pool. By now, the crowd was gone, dispersed to go back inside.
"For you to make amends with your brother," Rhaenyra said, lips drawn into a slight, mocking smile. His touch was still so warm, and the desire was all-encompassing, consuming her so thoroughly that these three years were nearly effaced.
His amusement dimmed at the notion, as if that was the most repugnant thought. As if he had been so completely wronged by her father that amends would take more than her pretty orders.
"Anything else?" Daemon's High Valyrian was sensual, his accent seductive and one she had been replicating for years. He was her teacher, her best friend, her entire consumed mind. His eyes were usually hard to pin on only her, but now, in these moments, were darting down her face.
She finally raised her hand to his cheek, trying to be confident, but her hands shook as they pressed against his skin. The pain with Criston was still so fresh, a wound that was bleeding between them, but heartache often drives people to consume what they otherwise wouldn't. Such as the entire pint of ice cream she had waiting for her at home, high in fat and certainly an easy way to get rid of the Kardashian ass she worked so hard to get. Or perhaps some of her uncle's cocaine that she was fairly certain could kill Diego if she wanted it to.
Killing a man, however satisfying, would only dull the pain for a moment, and the ice cream would have her standing in a fog of carbs and feeling used. It would leave your hands sticky and empty and your heart in shattered bits, except, now you're mad at the ice cream too. And the ice cream didn't do anything wrong.
So she refused to use her love for him and make it a salve for a bleeding wound. She'd rather consume 5000 calories and fall asleep in her own wine than throw herself at someone just to mend the pain.
Her fingers stroked up his face, his careful stare sinking into her own.
And she leaned her head onto the junction of his neck, her other hand dragging to his chest, resting there against his heart. The drumming pulse, tandem, right, perfect, and nearly everything she fantasized about these last few years. Her fingers played with the ends of his hair, just above his collar, light, feather-like touches when she wanted to consume him.
His hand finally moved, resting against the back of her neck, moving aside strands of silver hair to touch her skin as his lips pressed against her head. Soft, feather-light, and not nearly enough.
Despite the lights of her family house, she stood there with Daemon in the dark.