Summary:
Obsession is much like a fire. It consumes everything on sight, it's smoke can harm those in its path, and it would grow and grow so long as there is something for it to consume. Obsession had long since asphyxiated Rhaenyra Targaryen. The girl who had everything, the shining star of New York, suffocating in her own torturous desire. Now, she sits across a dinner tables from him, meetings next to her father, her family, and imagines what it would be like to have him.
Daemon Targaryen is chaotic, unpredictable, and too free with his affections. Two years ago, she became enamored with him, but she was only a girl then. A girl who thought time would lessen the want. Two years has passed and now she is hanging on the thread of her control, on the precipice of the future she always wanted and the self-destructive force that was pushing her to throw it all away for a man who couldn't want her back.
A man who is of her blood and her greatest shame.
Notes:
This story will feature some topics that may be triggering in some aspects (such as incest, mentions of grooming, toxic relationships) that may not be entirely pleasant to some audiences. The incest category shouldn't be a surprise, but I will put the warning anyway. This is a work of fiction, but these topics will be approached with realism and fictional elements. This will be a relatively slow burn with lots of tension and angst, and while Daemyra is the main point of this piece of fiction, there will be other elements written into this series that makes this a modern retelling. It is also my very first attempt at anything remotely of this category/genre of writing, so forgive me! I've never written erotica of any type.
I hope everyone enjoys it!
I am also mass uploading the chapters I already have from AO3, all at once, so if you want to read it there as well, you are welcome to.
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One
𝓌𝒾𝒸𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓇
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There were four candlesticks on the table, lit with a warm glow for each of the family set to arrive. They illuminated the soft cream tablecloth, the flute of a swirling glass of champagne, and the long fingers holding it up.
Rhaenyra Targaryen was not being stood up. She refused to even consider the possibility that they would dare, that she was to drink herself into a stupor all on her lonesome. Her eyes were on her phone, facing up with no sign of a single text or notification. The minute hand changed from 48 to 49 in the seconds she stared at the ticking clock.
Her heels clicked impatiently with each bounce of her leg, her lips pursing in gathering irritation as she made awkward eye contact with the server who refilled her water. She rested her elbows against the table and a rush of cold air brushed up her naked back, not unlike a chill of awareness.
She sat up when her uncle pulled the seat out from across from her. "Where's Viserys?" Were Daemon's first words, not bothering to include Alicent Hightower's name in the sentence. In just one short year, Alicent had gone from her closest friend to a homewrecker.
The words weren't exactly fair, since her mother was gone, but neither was her finding out about their engagement through Daily News.
Rhaenyra shrugged, trying not to stare, trying to appear some semblance of normal. Her uncle had dressed in black and red dress clothes and a dark wool coat that smelled of pine and spice from his cologne. She felt her entire body shiver as he leaned over the table and his hands gripped her head.
His lips were against her hair, his palms cupping her ears and forcing her to hear her own thumping heart. She inhaled him, her eyes fluttering shut as he leaned away.
"I've been waiting an hour," she said, hating that the words were breathless. She was a foolish little girl, stupid even, for the awareness of her own flush that battled with how cold she was.
He glanced up at her from above the menu resting in front of him, his eyes dark as they appraised her. She saw them scan the dress, red fabric draped over her chest in a modest fashion. At least from the front since the entire back was exposed to any wandering eyes.
She wouldn't deny that she fantasized about his hands as the fabric had slid over her skin that morning. She wouldn't deny that even the memory of her imagination brought about a slick heat in between her legs. She fidgeted in her seat, trying to force away those wicked thoughts, thoughts she shouldn't be having about her uncle. She thought about mold, about hairy legs, and anything else.
She licked her lips and forced a nonchalant smile when he said, "Good thing I showed up." He must have ordered a glass of wine, a Westerosi special here, before he had entered the back room. "Your dad is dreadfully dull these days."
"Is that why you nearly get yourself disowned at every gathering?" Rhaenyra had never met a more chaotic man, a more unpredictable man, and she loved even that wildness about him. She wanted to climb him, slither under his skin, and rest there until they became one. She fidgeted again, and contemplated excusing herself for a few minutes so she could compose herself.
"I do not know what you are referring to," Daemon said with a scowl, but they were both highly aware of his nature. Last winter, on her father's birthday celebration, he had crashed his helicopter through the roof of the venue, drunk and with a woman on his arm. To this day, Rhaenyra was certain that had been a call girl, and the media had most definitely speculated the same.
"How is Mysaria?" Rhaenyra kept the jealousy out of her voice, even if it was blazing from under her skin. She could still remember the girl's caramel skin, wide hips good for dance, and lips that had been smeared with lipstick when she had pried her tongue away from Daemon's neck. She had been delectably stunning, a woman grown, tall, proud, and everything Rhaenyra had never been. Certainly, the Targaryen was no prude, since she was 21, not 16.
However, she wondered if she'd ever get the chance to show her family that she wasn't a 'girl' anymore. She didn't play with dolls or catch butterflies, except the ones in her belly when Daemon met her eyes from across the table. He was amused by the question, and perhaps he mistook her jealousy for dislike of the girl from Lys.
Rhaenyra wasn't so petty. If she wasn't related to her uncle, she'd run out of excuses to leap onto him and claim the fantasies that had been plaguing her these last two years. Desire, lust, all of that had no place in her life, but it pushed aside her priorities and filled her mind with thoughts of him.
"She's well, from what I hear," Daemon said carefully, and his eyes were slanted, his head tilted. Bits of silvery hair had escaped from behind his ear, and it hugged the sharp edges of his cheekbones. He was leaning back in his chair now, one leg over the other. "Do you not approve?"
"She had gathered a reputation," Rhaenyra said, her fingers clenching into fists above her lap. She unraveled her hands from one another, lifting the champagne flute to her lips. "Twitter mentioned she was seen outside a planned parenthood."
"Children are a bother," Daemon said, but his tone was flippant, and it was not any indication of admission of guilt. Not that Rhaenyra thought he should be guilty of anything, but her father had certainly made a fuss. Viserys had been short-tempered with his brother since sources came back to report the callous words that still stung Rhaenyra right to her core.
"The heir for a day!" Sources heard the millionaire tycoon, Daemon Targaryen announce to the bar in Luxembourg two years ago. Just thinking about those harsh words made Rhaenyra go as dry as sand, anger replacing lust. Both had no place here.
She knew he'd never change. In fact, he never even apologized for the words. "He is who he is dad," Rhaenyra had told her father, aware that even in her ire, she still made excuses for him.
"Is it true then?" Rhaenyra wasn't sure she wanted to know, wasn't ready to test her feelings, horrified that even if he married, even if he had a family, she'd still want him.
His expression softened, and slowly he grabbed her hand, his thumb pressing against her knuckles. She felt herself stiffen, the heat coming back from a simple brush of skin. She couldn't help herself from leaning forward, thankful that her life in the spotlight had taught her how to hide behind a mask of indifference.
"It was a media stunt," he said, and if he noticed the full body shiver she had felt run down her spine, he likely disregarded it as the AC's chill filled the dim room. "Was he furious?"
The words her father had said would make sailors blush. They were originally from England, from a long and honorable family, and she had never heard her father curse like that. Did it help that Daemon practically swam in those rumors, with no regard for how he sunk the Targaryen name?
"I think you raise your brother's blood pressure every day," Rhaenyra said, and finally her fingers tightened against his. She watched him stiffen as her leg accidentally brushed against his pant leg.
"I brought you something," he whispered, and her expression brightened.
The privacy of the backroom had made her lax, made her feel drunk off him, and she nearly wondered if he thought anything of it when she rested her heel near his, touching him just barely. It wasn't enough.
"You and your gifts," she said and he brought out a small box from his coat, opening it with his free hand. Her eyes were dilated like a cat when he opened the satin box, revealing the immaculate necklace. She felt herself stare up at him, looking at him in a way that made her feel naked, made her feel laid bare.
He smirked, a necklace suddenly dangling lazily from his fingers and held out towards her. Ever the sleight of hand, but her attention was always on her uncle's face, so he made fooling her easy. She saw the woven steel, and she reached out to cradle the pendant against her fingers, and despite the thickness of the chain, it was feather light in her hands. It was the ripple pattern in the steel that gave it away.
"Do you know what this is?" Daemon asked, now switching to their ancestrial language, his voice so soft that she nearly did not hear him. The words were hers alone.
"Valyrian steel," she whispered, still stroking down the chain. She was searching for the pocketwatch that he normally had attached to his person. She found it, but the chain had been cut, the rare metal was given up to make a necklace. "You had it made for me?"
"This way you can have a piece of your forebearers," he whispered back, a conspiratorial smile that disappeared the moment he said, "Stand."
She barely felt her own body, her leg brushing against his leg one final time as she stood and walked around the table to him. She was thankful for the empty room, the exclusive restaurant had once been a place to flaunt the Targaryen wealth, but was now a place where she might shame them. He was staring up at her, watching her with a smirk as he leaned back in his chair. She opened and closed her mouth before turning around and lifting her hair, finally exposing her naked back to him. She motioned to unclasp her own necklace, but Daemon was faster and he was standing now. His fingers were feather-light, and the gold necklace she already wore unclasped, falling into her awaiting palm.
"A piece of old Valyria," he told her, referring to their ancestral home that had been demolished in the volcanic eruption almost two centuries ago, not that she ever got to see it. "To connect you to your ancestry as you deserve," he whispered, and she felt the cool press of the necklace against her skin, the wrongness of it all sending shivers down her spine as his fingers were against her skin for moments before they were gone once more. He had already backed up three steps by the time she turned towards him.
His palm was pressed against his chin, his thumb stroking down his lips as he barely concealed the smile. "Beautiful," he whispered in Valyrian.
"Are you bribing me, uncle?" Rhaenyra said after a brief pause, but her voice came out staggered, her breathing hitched, and her heart racing so loudly that she nearly forgot her own language.
"I wouldn't dream of it," he said carefully, his tone dropping in amusement. She felt his eyes drag down her dress now that she stood in front of him, revealing the slit that ran past her thigh. She shivered again, and this time he was looking at her much as he had that night two years ago, from across the terrace before she ruined her own life with her own feelings.
His fingers were wrapped around the chair, the knuckles white, and his irises dilated. She was going to say something, something she imagined would be clever, but that was when her phone finally began to ring. She was snapped out of her stupor when she saw her dad's name fill the screen, followed by his contact photo her family pre-AH (pre-Alicient Hightower).
She turned away from Daemon then, but noted he had slumped down on his seat and drowned the entirety of his glass. She made a point not to look at him, look at his muscles outlined through his button-up as he eased his coat off him. She stared ahead, fiddling with the pendant when she answered the call.
"Rhaenyra?" Viserys Targaryen said, and she felt irritation replace the lust she had begun to feel cloud her at her father's voice. He had the same tone, same inflection, in his voice as he had the night he told her that Daemon had crashed her new Rolls-Royce into another Rolls-Royce.
"Papa," she greeted, already feeling the words coming as she leaned into her seat and felt her attention snag on Daemon's forearms from the long sleeve rolled up to the elbow. His muscles were exposed, his Rolex resting against his skin, and she had to look away again before he finally catch where her mind had wandered to and be disgusted by her. "You're not coming?"
"Sweetling," Viserys said, using that tone again. "You know how much I wanted to be there, but there were some issues with the baby. Nothing serious I hope, but she's getting an ultrasound."
The very mention of the oncoming baby brother with a woman who was her age, not to mention her best friend, did nothing but dwindle her barely put-together mood. Her nose wrinkled, but she was not about to argue over the phone in front of the one person who showed up. Most of all, she didn't even know what she'd argue about, only that she'd wake up feeling like a bitch in the morning.
"It's okay," Rhaenyra said, and she saw her uncle stand, leaving the room. She tried not to watch him, tried to make it subtle, and she wondered if her efforts were worth anything.
"It's not. You know how proud we are of you," he told her, and she wet her lips.
She was about to drag out the words 'It's just Yale', but that didn't sound right. It wasn't 'just' anything. "We can celebrate anytime. School isn't for another couple months." She was going to say that Alicent needs you, that she needed the support, but it was hard to battle against her own bitter resentment. "Make it up to me another time."
"When you see what I have planned, you'll forget about today," her father replied, his voice dripping with honey. "I will call Daemon, tell him it's my fault."
"He's already here," Rhaenyra said carefully, and the shame settled in her gut again as it always did when she was forced to face those feelings in front of the reminder that he was her uncle.
"Well, the entire night is on me," Viserys told her, and a spark of dangerous amusement eased its way through her. "Spare no expense."
"I love you," Rhaenyra said after a moment, she heard it returned, heard Alicent in the background, hating that concern melded into the resentment. Deciding she had reached her limit, she ended the call with final words of affection as she saw Daemon re-enter the room with two bottles of liquor and a smirk.
"So it's just us two," Daemon announced, closing in and allowing his cologne to wash over her like a blanket when he leaned forward, hip against her arm, as he blew out two of the four candles. "If I knew that they weren't coming, I might have shown up an hour ago."
Rhaenyra felt a fond smile of affection slowly reach her as he sat across from her.
He poured her a shot, scooting it towards her and she stared down at it as if it were a physical manifestation of all her bad decisions. They must have won out in the end, and she grabbed it with her thumb and pointer, holding it up to him. His eyes were burning her as she held his gaze, watching him give that dark half smile.
He dipped back his head, and they both drank the poison.
by insaneption
