Ｆｉｆｔｅｅｎ

𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒸𝓀𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝓈𝓃𝑜𝓌

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Mysaria was on her phone when Rhaenyra exited the bathroom, texting or on Twitter, it was hard to tell as almost immediately, the woman lowered it. She was already moving forward, gripping onto Rhaenyra's hand and inspecting it while Rhaenyra's brows gathered.

"What are you doing?" Rhaenyra finally asked as Mysaria inspected the cut beneath the handkerchief, slowly wrapping it in a white roll of bandage.

"Daemon told me to fetch this," she said with a glance up into Rhaenyra's eyes, somehow making Rhaenyra feel as if she saw straight through them. Her perusal then dragged down her dress, tongue clicking, and making Rhaenyra's heart practically leap up her throat. She kept her mouth pointedly shut, as if it might be seen through her teeth if they parted. "While you two discussed what an ass he was."

"It's something that can't be finished with just one conversation," Rhaenyra said carefully, watching something shutter to a close in Mysaria's expression. She nearly looked as though she just clicked together pieces in a puzzle.

"I am sure," Mysaria said carefully, wrapping Rhaenyra's hand, and meeting her eyes again. "What can, I wonder, be finished in one conversation?"

Rhaenyra's face smoothed, eyes narrowed as she straightened her back, gaining a few inches on Mysaria with the motion. "Nothing that didn't require yelling."

Mysaria let out a hum, lips twitching as she finished wrapping the hand, resting her own atop it. "And yet, it was not yelling I heard."

"Discretion is important," Rhaenyra answered quickly.

Mysaria finally laughed, as if the situation, or anyone's pain that was not her own, amused her. "I rather agree. Best have more discretion for the two of you," she suggested, now gripping her arm in a tight lock around her own. "And should he not spurn me with a pregnancy scandal, you should have mine."

Rhaenyra wanted to scratch her eyes out, but also couldn't help but respect the gull and audacity. "He wouldn't."

"Oh he would," Mysaria said, just as they walked back into the wedding hall. "And I believe you know that too. He can afford to play these games, losing nothing despite the disreputable deeds he commits."

"He won't because I will ask him not to," Rhaenyra amended, meeting Mysaria's gaze that probed her own as they made their way back toward the Targaryen table. Their pace was slow, lingering, most tables around them now empty for the dance that commenced. It had truly been the perfect time to slip away, into the chaos of a waltz where many already made a crowd on the dancefloor.

"You think he would ever listen to you?" Mysaria asked, and there wasn't a drop of malice in her voice, only morbid idiosyncrasy. "We did, after all, come here with the intention of scorning him. It would be within his right to retaliate."

"I suppose we will see, and if not, we go down together," Rhaenyra said, spotting Alicent and her father, alone at the table, Aemond and Aegon likely taken away by the nanny. It was something Rhaenyra noticed Alicent often did, anytime the children become too much.

She began to steer in the other direction, much to Mysaria's amusement. "And what makes you avoid mummy and daddy."

"Mercy," Rhaenyra answered, walking past and greeting families who gathered in little groups, many at their tables chatting, and children learning to dance on the floor. "They rarely get moments to themselves these days."

"Mercy for them, or for you?" Mysaria asked, and Rhaenyra glanced at her from the corner of her eyes. Her heart had yet to slow, drumming painfully in her chest, dunking her underneath the mess and spiraling outward. She didn't quite trust Mysaria's obeisance and almost demure persona that she wore like an evening gown. She was a woman who could understand how dangerous a mask can be. However, everyone was susceptible to becoming what they pretend to be. That was how Rhaenyra was able to survive anyway, as she always pretended to be stronger than she was. Somewhere down the line of make-believe, she had grown a steel spine.

"I think you know enough about me by now," Rhaenyra said, turning towards her to slip her arm from Mysaria's, but the caramel-skinned girl held tighter.

"You are within your right to be scared," Mysaria said with a subtle smile, holding her closer as they nearly grazed chest to chest. "I was trafficked and sold more times than I can count. In that time, I have seen true sickness, trumping whatever may or may not have transpired for you. I like you, Rhaenyra." Mysaria sent her a flawless smile. "You protect me, I protect you, and around and around we go."

"Do you always protect the strangers you just meet?" Rhaenyra asked carefully, her heartrate slowing.

"Only the ones that are heir to the largest fortune in the world," Mysaria said in return, just as quick. The music had increased only with Rhaenyra's rising panic. Although many speakers struck bland notes individually, together these became a crescendo of gorgeous keys. "And perhaps the ones I watch burn down a building when high."

"You were the one who lit the lighter," Rhaenyra told her, causing Mysaria to laugh.

"I most certainly was not, you pyromaniac," Mysaria countered, a bit of genuine light in her eyes.

Rhaenyra's heart eased, but the tension had now settled in her stomach as she gazed around the room, seeing no sign of her uncle. "Did you see where he went?"

Mysaria's head only tilted, but slowly she shook her it. "Been a bit preoccupied." Rhaenyra turned to find him, but Mysaria gripped her arm, keeping her still. "I do believe that Royce girl is coming over our way."

Rhaenyra had forgotten about the Royce family, in light of everything else, so she let out a soft sigh as she turned back toward Rhea. The girl was certainly not at all how Daemon had depicted her in his passing comments. 'Ugly' was said, or 'shrill' or 'so hideous that the sheep weep.' Oh, or perhaps Rhaenyra's favorite of them all: 'She looks more horse than human, and should she get groomed, perhaps even a quality horse.'

Rhaenyra remembered all this with a deep sense of exasperation as she stared down Rhea Royce, who cut through the room.

"Well, if it isn't the wife," Mysaria said with a smile that caused Rhea to turn a frost-filled glance her way.

"If it isn't the worst, lowlife, miserable slut," Rhea said in return, not even looking toward Rhaenyra. Mysaria leaned on one hip, her gorgeous beige dress sliding against the ground as Mysaria let the train go in order to cross her arms.

"You're being awful catty," Rhaenyra said carefully, and this caused the Royce girl to snap her gaze onto her as if Rhaenyra was a fly on the wall.

"How should I be to the woman who, very publically, began an illicit affair with my new husband?" Rhea said with an arched brow.

"I was under the impression that you preferred the company of goats rather than men anyway," Mysaria replied, not looking particularly put out as Rhaenyra covered her smile with her fingers.

Rhea hummed, crossing her arms over her chest. She was certainly very pretty, with dark black hair, a pale complexion, and a body that was honed from horseback riding on the countryside. "Well, the goats are certainly quieter than desperate little whores who spend their time bending over for money, climbing the ladder of respect, wrong by wrong."

"Rhea, sister-in-law," Rhaenyra said, smiling now as if to appease her. "Surely you aren't looking to make a scene?"

Rhea's brows arched. "I'm not looking for a scene, you dumb whore," she said with a snort. "I'm looking for a divorce."

"I was under the impression you were the one who rejected the offer. Sad what one must do just to keep a husband," Mysaria said with a sideways glance that made Rhea's scowl deepen.

"Keep him? Daemon Targaryen is a pig and I don't keep livestock in the house," Rhea said with a smirk. "You think he just strolled up and asked for an annulment and I, the bitter, bronze bitch, said 'no'?"

Rhaenyra thought now was not the best time to laugh, especially considering all the rumors of Rhea's quick temper and hard hit. "Maybe a little," Rhaenyra said carefully.

"No. Your uncle and your," Rhea looked to Mysaria with a roll of her eyes. "Whatever the fuck he is to you, I don't care." Rhea waved her hand, looking incensed. "No, that absolute, complete, asshole wanted the Runestone estate and a portion of our shares in exchange for an amicable split."

Rhaenyra lowered her face into her palm, as Mysaria let out a low chuckle that was not at all surprised. "Ah," Rhaenyra said into her own hand. Today is just too much, Rhaenyra thought with a thin smile.

"So, I think I will find him, drag him behind this building, and murder him cold," Rhea said with clear-cut intent.

Mysaria only cut a glance toward Rhaenyra, as if to say, 'that actually solves both of our problems.'

"If cold-blooded murder does not pan out," Rhaenyra said carefully, turning her head back towards Rhea. "What else can I offer so you may forget to get the knife?"

"You are the heir, with great power and soon-to-be great influence," Rhea said in return. "You obviously wanted my reaction, walking around with this-" She gestured to Mysaria, who only twirled her fingers in a sarcastic wave that made Rhea sneer. "This absolute hussy."

"Normally, I'd challenge someone to a battle of wits for such an insult, but I will let it pass, since you are so obviously unarmed," Mysaria said in return, and if not for the sulfur, her voice could pass as honeydew. Rhea let out a laugh, but there was violence in her eyes that made Rhaenyra realize that her death threat might actually be a real one.

That was when an arm was wrapped around the girl's shoulder, belonging to Yaro Royce, the older brother who had been sending death glares to Daemon all day. "Alright, let's leave these fine," Yaro said, glancing in between the two smiling girls, "ladies, I guess, alone for the festivities."

Rhea's sneer worsened as she was steered away, saving Mysaria from the fight where Rhaenyra wasn't certain of the victor. "Great family this one," Mysaria said in a deadpan, walking over to a random empty table in order to take the champagne. "Rather fun, I guess."

Rhaenyra was rubbing her temples, her exhaustion now sinking into her bones. "I am so, absolutely, tired of him."

Mysaria sat down at the random table, one with the plaque of Tyrell, but not a single Tyrell remained. Rhaenyra sunk down next to her, lying her head into her arms with a deep sigh as Mysaria passed her the glass of champagne. The music had changed five times in the moments leading up to when Rhaenyra finally felt the overwhelmed tears upon her fingertips, dripping through the crevices in between her pointer and middle.

Mysaria immediately looked away, not offering a bit of comfort as Rhaenyra tried to hide the little bits of salty tears that dripped down the back of her hand. She had sat up by now, her other hand shaking as she reached for the glass that Mysaria handed to her. It was a quiet dignity that she gave her. Comforting a crying person was a noble action, but when Rhaenyra only tried to hide those tears, it is far nobler to pretend she saw nothing at all. She looked farther away, palm against her mouth, fingertips against her cheeks as a way to look nonchalant, and not like she was trying not to cry. She despised crying, and in public, she loathed it all the more.

Rhaenyra wiped away the last of them, feeling guilty, feeling used once again, and most of all, disappointed.

"Why did the two of you end your..." Rhaenyra paused with a wet laugh as she tried to discreetly wipe the moisture away from her cheeks before a cousin noticed and attempted to ask what was wrong. "Relationship?"

Mysaria paused, meeting Rhaenyra's eyes with an expression that knew exactly what was going on. Somehow, even if Mysaria wasn't remotely the sort of person Rhaenyra imagined being the first one to find out, it felt like a weight had lifted from her shoulders to speak of it. These were no longer just feelings she had to suffer with alone. These were feelings she no longer had to support the weight of alone, in tortured silence as she had for the last five years.

"It didn't," Mysaria said carefully, drinking a sip of the champagne next, staring off into the distance. "I believe we both settled into one another quite well, each fulfilling something that the other wanted. I thought we were both searching for freedom, but, I realized soon enough that I didn't have the slightest idea what he was looking for." She finally turned her narrow gaze upon Rhaenyra, lips pressed together tightly. "What exactly do you want from him?"

Rhaenyra laughed into her hand, her shoulders shaking as more tears escaped before she brushed them away too. "Proper communication perhaps." She leaned in close, feeling reckless. "Perhaps not to be left wanting."

Mysaria stared down, and Rhaenyra waited for the disgust, the revulsion of her admittance that felt so abnormal when spoken aloud. Mysaria gave her nothing but a gentle smile, proving that everything about Rhaenyra was so entirely fucked up. Here she was, exposing her most shameful secret to his lover.

"You are asking for a wolf not to howl at the moon," Mysaria told her, leaning closer as her voice went lower. "Do you even know him? Really, truly know him?"

Rhaenyra had once thought the two of them existed in a bubble where Daemon would wound and hurt everyone else, but never her. It was a sick bubble she lived in, and he hadn't just popped it, he had tossed a grenade into it, leaving her alone and confused and hurt.

"At this point, lady Misery," Rhaenyra said, her nose burning and her brows drawn in constraint. "I don't think it matters." She ran her palm over her mouth, exhaling deeply with utmost restriction.

"Then there isn't much that I can say," Mysaria said with a shrug, leaning back in her seat. "Especially nothing that you don't already know. But if I can give some advice," Mysaria finally smiled, catching Rhaenyra's eye. "You invited me to cause him further mayhem, which you have," she said, tipping her chin in the other direction. Rhaenyra turned her head to catch Rhea Royce and Daemon off in the corner, where he was gesturing for her and her brother to follow him out towards the gardens. "I recommend enjoying it."

Rhaenyra didn't quite feel pleasure, and instead, she was starting to only feel the sinking pit in her stomach. She turned back toward Mysaria. "Do you really know him, Mysaria?"

Something passed over her eyes, something rather like another veil. "I know many things, but most of all, I know that to trust people is a luxury that wealthy people of old money like you get to indulge in, while those born with nothing can hardly afford it." She leaned forward, as if struggling with the words that Rhaenyra thought to be another mask. Mysaria was a woman who always knew what she was doing. "I will not be sharing what I know, but I will say this. He's slippery and grows bored too quickly to understand," Mysaria said, still staring at the garden doors where Daemon had escaped off to. "But for you, he seems to slow."

"What does that even mean?" Rhaenyra whispered, watching Mysaria smoothing down her dress.

"Who can tell? Nobody but him, I'm afraid," Mysaria said carefully. "Now, as much as I love scandalous secrets, I have been invited to a wedding with some of the most influential people in the world. So if you'd rather spend it depressed and alone, be your own worst enemy."

Mysaria placed a hand to Rhaenyra's shoulder, which straightened at the touch. "And here I thought we were bonding," Rhaenyra said with a slight smile, peaking through her fingers.

"And we have," Mysaria said with a shrug. "But we don't have to do that all night. You might just grow tired of me."

Was the lady Misery one of those very unsatisfactory people? There were many of them who dangle the idea of intimacy and then just as quickly withdraw it. The ease at which they invoke interest and even affection and play coquette with friendship, only to withdraw in betrayal. Perhaps Rhaenyra had grown too used to the game, the treachery, only to expect it from everyone.

"Do you think I am a fool?" Rhaenyra probed, grabbing the champagne, and causing Mysaria to pause. "That I am walking myself off a cliff?"

"I think there can never be a great risk when you have access to great money," said Mysaria, and rose from her seat with her face unmoved. Mysaria gave one last amused smile of a friend, or perhaps one of a traitor. Rhaenyra could no longer tell the difference.

She stood up next, nearly staggering as she ran her tongue over her lips, deciding that she truly needed some precious minutes to herself. Then, perhaps, she'd come back in, and wish her cousin well on his marriage. Or, perhaps she'd better do that first, just in case she didn't want to return to the festivities.

She stood there, uncertain, when she felt a palm against her shoulder. "You are looking lost," Harwin Strong said, and Rhaenyra let out a deep breath.

"Are you going to ask me to dance? Is that your intro to that?" Rhaenyra asked, turning towards him. He had pinned his hair back, styled, and he looked especially handsome, or would, to another woman. For now, Rhaenyra was so drained that she didn't think it was possible to gather up even her lust.

If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his lips on her shoulder, whispering those sweet words. Then, she'd open her eyes and only see him shutting the door in her face.

"You certainly chose violence this morning," Harwin said with a growing smile.

"And one of these days, it will offend you," she answered back with swift bemusement.

"Now." Harwin gestured to the dance floor, where the sound was a soft waltz, courtesy of Laenor and Laena wanting this to feel more like a classy ball than a place of twerking and grinding. "Are you really not going to dance a single song at your cousin's wedding? Seems rather rude. I heard that he is positively offended."

Despite her best interests, a small smile peeked out at him. She looked over Harwin's shoulder to see Qarl force-feeding his new husband some of the wedding cake. "He looks stricken," Rhaenyra said in a deadpan.

Harwin didn't bother turning his head, his nearly addictive smile forcing its way out to her. "Perhaps he projects inwardly. Much like you," Harwin said, offering his hand. "Would you like to dance?"

"It won't buy my friendship," she told him carefully.

"I'm not looking to buy your friendship," Harwin said with a laugh and roll of his eyes. "I'm looking to earn it. Come on, I see you were about to leave. One dance and then, should I step on your toes, I give permission to shove my face in the cake."

Rhaenyra's eyes squinted, mistrust and reluctance in her expression as she offered up her hand. "I wish you well then. It's an expensive waste of cake."

Harwin nodded with a grin, leading her onto the dancefloor where he brought her into his arms with a laugh springing from her at the sudden nature of it. He was clumsy, obviously not formally trained, but he avoided stepping on her feet. "There's that laugh."

"Then your mission is complete," she told him with a growing smile as he spun her, nearly knocking her into Brya, who was dancing with a rather handsome-looking boy.

"Watch it," Brya said, and scowled when she saw it was Rhaenyra.

"My lovely cousin," Rhaenyra said, even as Harwin steered her away. It wasn't enough, since she could still see her cousin over his broad shoulder. "Careful sleeping with her. Her mum gossips that little Brya wets her sheets. There's a reason her siblings call her swampy Brya!"

"I'm going to murder you," Brya hissed, turning quickly to her dance partner. "That's not even remotely true!"

Rhaenyra laughed, as her cousin was lost in the crowd.

"Two laughs, and both are at another's expense," Harwin said, staring down at her with a small level of amusement. "I'm starting to see a pattern."

She slapped her palm against his shoulder, light and barely there. "I'd laugh as well, at your awful dancing."

He spun her, too early at that, and she nearly tripped over her own dress, only to come back into his arms with another laugh. "It's doing its work. I didn't have a fancy teacher, heiress Rheanyra."

Rhaenyra paused, brows furrowing as he looked once more, straight into her eyes. "You're not flirting with me, are you, Harwin?"

"Of course I am," Harwin said with a laugh as the song grew slower, and so did the dance. "But you don't need to make that face," he whispered against her ear. "I'm actually very much aware when a girl isn't interested."

"Then why bother for a dance at all?" Rhaenyra asked carefully, dodging it when he nearly stepped on her heel. The dance felt more like a fight, with her dodging his awful steps.

"Because you've more to offer than your beauty, even if it is eye-catching," he said with a smirk. "I told you. Friendship, even if it is not nearly as fun."

She shook her head, her lips spreading into a wider smile. "Truly, you might actually be a good guy."

"It's the champagne," he assured her, now getting the hang of the dance, no longer threatening to capture her toes. "It's making you grow hazy. I'm the perfect guy. What a shame you are missing such a catch."

"I like to throw healthy fish back into the sea at times," Rhaenyra said, hearing the song begin to end. "I find that it keeps the dating pool serene."

He laughed, and bowed to his dance partner once the song ended. "Now, at least, you can leave the wedding knowing you danced with the most handsome man at the party."

"I better go find him then, that way I can go home," Rhaenyra said with both brows arched, watching him laugh once more. She had looked into Lyonel Strong, ashamed that she never had before. Perhaps she spent so long fretting over the lack of responsibilities her father gave her, and not enough time actually trying to take it. It was a wonder how anyone could expect her to lead, to give the House of the Dragon pride, and make her legacy something worthwhile if she was always nurturing her own resentment that she wasn't the first choice. "I overlooked your dad's work. I'll talk to my father within the week."

She'd also have to dig up more on the opposition, once more ashamed to have so little experience in it. Otto Hightower was hardly the type to just bend over and let someone else rise in power. She had grown so spoiled and angry over the years, that she forgot she had some power.

Harwin raised from his bow, bits of dark hair hugging his face, brown eyes alit with specs of mirth. "Perfect, then I needn't pretend to want for your company."

She barely concealed her smile, "You are off the hook. Your act was very convincing, Mr. Strong." She waved her goodbyes, slipping past the others still dancing, waving goodbye to her cousins, kissing cheeks, and finally spotting Alicent and Viserys in midst of a dance. It was a stiff one, nothing like the memory Rhaenyra had of her parents.

One such surfaced, her father and mother dancing at one of the many parties, her head on his chest, and both their eyes closed. They had seemed perfectly content, swaying to gentle notes, the lights hitting them with soft brushes of fluorescent glow. Rhaenyra vaguely remembered thinking, if you could find someone like that, someone who you can hold close and close your eyes to the world with, then you are in a rare moment. Something so serendipitous that it might only be a product of luck. It didn't matter if it lasted a day or minute or a second. Even after all these years, the image of them, in their gentle dance, swaying together like the leaves on a rowan tree to those winsome notes, was weaved into the very fabric of her mind. To this day, the image of them was how she pictured love.

Alicent had sworn there was love between her and Viserys, but looking at them now, Rhaenyra was not so sure what sort of intimacy that was. Clearly, it was enough to conceive three babes at her breast, but if these years had taught Rhaenyra anything, it was that love was not a requirement in sex.

"You leaving babe?" Laena found her, holding up some of the wedding cake and it took Rhaenyra a moment longer to realize that she had brought it for her. "At least a bite." Reluctant, yet obedient, Rhaenyra opened her mouth and allowed her cousin to spoonfeed her the strawberry slice.

"Too much frosting," Rhaenyra said, forcing it down. Laena's nose wrinkled in agreement.

"It's a shame that crusty bitch hated the LGBT. She could bake a damn good cake," Laena said with a sigh, taking off a piece of the slice and shoving it into her mouth as they walked around the table that held two Tullys in a heated debate about fishing. It took Rhaenyra a moment to realize that Laena was walking her to the back exit doors, leading out to the incline where the cars were all parked.

"I'm sorry, I probably haven't been much fun today," Rhaenyra said as they slowed their pace through the large room. The music had changed again, and now Laenor and Qarl were dancing, representing the love as Rhaenyra could picture it.

"Your job was to create the guest list and organize the seats, perhaps even kick that little punk ass Stark boy in his gonads, but nothing more," Laena said, and cast a dark glance towards Rickon Stark, who was currently attempting to finesse the servers to let him try a martini. "I thought I liked kids, you know? I wanted two of them, you know?"

Rhaenyra felt a fond smile force its way out. "I'm sure the editors can Photoshop out all the glitter," she suggested, another slow step as they now stood in front of the exit.

"They totally increased the price. My father is a stingy man," Laena said with a roll of her eyes. "Anyway, it's over and done and so am I." She continued to stand while eating her cake, the song in the background is languid and speaks of love and loneliness and loss. An odd choice for a wedding, but fitting like a glove for Rhaenyra's life. "Anyway, I am sure watching this was hard, but you still got up there and did that mildly offensive toast." Laena shared a grin as one would a friendship necklace, passing between the both of them. "So rest and drive safe."

Rhaenyra had intended to leave forty minutes ago, but here she was. She said her goodbyes to Laena, told her to share her love to Laenor, before she finally made it outside. The cool breeze brushed her cheeks, ruffling her dress so she had to hold it down. The atmosphere was languorous, yet tinged perhaps, with a concoction of green gardens and speckled snow near her feet. A bit of confetti on the pristine white underneath. She stepped over it, feeling bits of the cold ice drop down against her exposed legs, down freshly waxed skin, sliding like oil rather than water.

It swept aside stray strands of hair, and the heat in her stomach, the ball that was winding, only grew bigger as she made her way down the stone path back to her car. Of course, since every force of nature was against her, then New York decided to add snow to the mixture. She held out her palm, catching the little spec of white and watching it melt. Her shoes were certainly not meant for much, barely dancing, but definitely not for wading through snow.

She got perhaps three steps towards the up l line hill, toward the valet, when a hand appeared on her back. His arm curled through her own, forcing them up the slope that led towards the carport. When they had surmounted the acclivity, Rhaenyra motioned to withdraw her arm from his, but by the slight tightening of his elbow, she was resisted. It was a silent way of tacitly informing her that such wasn't his will, and she should desist.

"I think it's time we talk."

"Shouldn't you be with your wife?" Rhaenyra's voice hissed out, practically like a knife.

"That will be dissolved soon enough. Then, she'll be just another bitch," Daemon replied.

She glanced to the side, and all the emotions came rushing back with such force that they might have made her tip right over. Daemon looked unfrazzled, and that at least told her that the Royces hadn't struck any blows. A shame,Rhaenyra thought, having wished to at least see a bruise. Lord knew he had wounded her own pride enough to draw blood tonight.

"I think we've said enough," she said, brushing off his hand, walking forward, despite his languid steps behind her.

When the valet said that another had taken her car already, Rhaenyra turned to scowl at her uncle from over her shoulder. "You are a dick," she said, switching to Valyrian, since her drama was no one's business.

"I'm practical, niece. Gas prices and fossil fuels and all that. We need to save our planet," Daemon said in return, and perhaps it was the hypocritical nature of his comment that made her let out an incredulous laugh. Or perhaps it was how he was making her lose her goddamned mind.

"I'll call a taxi," she said instead, taking out her phone. The valet already went to fetch Daemon's car with the callous toss of his keys in the poor man's direction.

"Is there really a need?" Daemon said in a low voice that touched every part of her nerves in equal parts anger and lust. Her mind was racing, on their many goodbyes, on the touch of his hand, his forehead pressed against her own, or the way he brushed hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. Always touching, but nothing more. "I will drive you home and we can talk."

Rhaenyra wasn't a coward. If she were, perhaps she would have retreated back into her shell many years ago and pulled away from life entirely. Rhaenyra was a fighter. Life knocked her down, death took what it wanted, love hit her like a freight train, and she coped, getting up and facing it.

If she could face all that, she could face him too.

She could.

Her stiff nod was a frozen one, perhaps from the cold, perhaps from everything else. They made it to his car, and she barely remembered the steps. She barely remembered getting in, where he turned up the heater for her. The car was basked in silence, with only the sound of snow hitting the windshield, wiping away, hitting it again, repeat, repeat, and repeat.

"I'm done with this, Daemon," she told him, staring out the window, watching the snow fall. The city was beautiful from the outside, but she shouldn't be here. She should be at the wedding, she should be laughing, she should be with Criston, making jokes with her cousins.

But she wasn't. She was here.

Every step closer to him, took her farther and farther away from everyone else.

"Are you?" Daemon's low voice filled the empty space, filled her stomach, filled her so thoroughly that it slithered down her spinal cord. She couldn't look at him, she couldn't trust the words.

"Criston asked to marry me. Harwin Strong even, would be a good match. He seems taken with me," Rhaenyra said, her fingers clenched into her dress as the world continued on past the windows. She didn't even mean it. She and Harwin had little in common, except perhaps the English language.

"I saw," Daemon said, something dark in his voice, something she felt in her damn bones. "He made you laugh, but certainly you aren't about to confuse lust for anything other than what it is. As if there isn't a single man who would not take you up on whatever you offer willingly."

Rhaenyra snorted, "except you."

She made the mistake of looking at him when he said, "Did I not?"

Rhaenyra should have seen his weaknesses and only given up a portion of herself. She should have seen his callousness and been revolted. She should have seen his cruelty and selfishness and greed and been absolutely offended by it. Instead, she loved him to her core, no matter who he was. She'd watch a wolf howl at the moon, and do what? Beg him to change his nature? Rhaenyra would not.

"I'm done with this," Rhaenyra repeated, biting her tongue.

She could forgive many things, even him, half the time she forgave everything. Then, her mind would go back to the first night they kissed, where he left soon afterward. He left her alone in that dark room, illuminated from time to time by shocking laps of lightning from outside. She remembered watching the door, in her state of disarray. She remembered thinking, now it would rain, but it never did. She'd sat there, motionless and in a state of disbelief. She thought, now he will come back, but he never did. She lit cigarette after cigarette, watching them burn to the bud as she smeared the smoke and the ash against the hardwood floor. She never pressed one to her lips, there wasn't a need, the smoke had already filled her. The hours thorned her, the lightning crucified her, and her bed waited on her to meet it as she listened for the steps outside the door. But Daemon hadn't returned. He hadn't talked to her for four months after that, and perhaps he did intend to never try.

So now, he watched her, his eyes hooded by his lashes, mouth impassive. He was a faceless man, and the one she had dreamed of since she was a child. A child. She could be his daughter. She could be this sickness, this plight, this thing nobody would understand. She dreamed of him before she even knew it was him, just an identity obscured by mist or swirling sand. Even when she knew that she loved him, he was still obscured by a mask that he employed whenever he wished, whenever he wanted to shut her down, shutter closed so she could bash against the gates.

He seemed to shut them against his will at times, just as he cared about her in a way he should not, all against his will as well.

"I don't want to do this anymore, and I think you also do not," Rhaenyra told him, and it went silent again. She was barely breathing as the car sped through the city, and she felt more and more certain by his lack of denial.

They were back in front of her penthouse soon enough, the scene so familiar, as if they had done this too many times. Too many times going back and forth, both not knowing what to do.

She unbuckled her seatbelt, not certain how much longer she could hold in the need to cry, to weep all her frustration, to let this go and finally pick up Criston's ring from the ground and give it back. She refused to think more on Daemon, not when he was so close, not when she could still feel the searing heat of his kiss.

How was she supposed to move on when she had yet to rip her heart away from him? When she could still feel him inside her, slithering under her skin like a parasite?

"He did seem taken by you," Daemon whispered, carefully, as if the very action had to be pried out of him. "Harwin Strong," he continued, practically spitting out the name. "And you with him, judging by your laugh."

"Are you blaming me for that?" Rhaenyra asked, her hand against the door, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"I am blaming you for not staying with him," Daemon retorted, his eyes finally dragging to her, making her hand fall away from the handle. "Not staying with Criston or Harwin. For being here, again, with me."

"Are you kidding me?" Rhaenyra's brows furrowed together, nearly slapping him with her hair when she turned to face him.

"All those choices, and you choose the wrong one."

"I am saying I am done with you. I choose nobody. I choose me."

"And I'm saying you haven't. Why haven't you opened the door and left?"

Her jaw clenched, and she practically shoved the door open as if she wanted it to rip under the pressure. She barely felt a single brush of wind, the cold snow, before she slammed the door back closed, turning towards him and slapping him hard in the face.

He barely moved, and her breathing staggered, her chest rising and falling so fast that she could practically feel as though she were in the midst of a panic attack. His gaze was predatory, fixated on her in a way that made her so hot that she could barely feel the winter air outside. "You said you didn't want me," her voice was as dark as his when she spits out the words. "You said you didn't want me that way. Those were your words, uncle. But I say that I don't want you." She admired his god damned restraint. She admired so much about him that it was exhausting.

It was seldom that a person could love anyone that they didn't, in some way, also viciously envy.

He didn't look to even register the slap, and the skin-on-skin contact made her feel crazy. It felt as if it hurt her more than him. She felt it echo in her stomach, hitting against her blood vessels until they were pulsing with guilt. She was quivering, and her hand raised again, but this time, his fingers were around her wrist, where the bandage wrapped around her palm from Mysaria's graceful touch.

She watched his every move, motionless like a deer before headlights hit. His other hand curled into her hair and dragged her mouth to his in a furious kiss. He had her up against the butcher's block with one searing motion, splayed like a slab of meat before she even knew what to do in return.

She was already moving, her dress hiking up as she crawled over to him, her legs wrapping around him, her dress at her waist as she straddled him. His hands were tangled in her hair, gripping the roots, as if any ferocious kiss would never be enough. She felt her lips moving, the once numbing icy veil that appeared over her when she exited that bathroom was lifted, and it dragged her over coals instead.

She dragged her hips up and down, unable to control them as she rubbed her wetness against the hard length of him. "Rhaenyra," he whispered, her hands dragging up his chest. It was as if he were saying 'what have you done', but she was uttering it right back, 'what have I done', and like an echo in a cave, it was all reduced to absolute nonsense.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, pressing her fingers against his face, her head resting against his. Her fingertips were tracing the height of his cheekbones where she slapped him. "I shouldn't have done that."

Yet here she was, shuffling along, letting the river currents pull her further and further. She felt like a rat, lost in a tunnel, a maze, moving endlessly, without direction, all random happenstance. Toward what? What promise? Love? Life? Cheese? Rhaenyra didn't know.

He cradled her hand against the reddening skin, staring up at her in a way that had her exposed. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that she had never seen before, as if he had opened those shutters and let her see into something he always kept locked away. The liquid desire had completely drenched her, his other hand, fisting the material over her hips, had undone her, but the darkness in his dilated eyes had finished her.

"It's all ruined," she whispered against his lips. "Using a man I knew I didn't love. Three years of anger and culminated resentment. Without you, I made it worse. Look at my droll tragedy of a life."

"What must mine look like in comparison?" Daemon returned, furiously.

"Come inside," she whispered against his lips. "Come inside and tell me."

"Rhaenyra," his voice was guttural, a groan when she unintentionally grinded her hips into him. His eyes shut, as if attempting restraint.

She had none, and she pressed her lips to his again. The first brush of skin felt like a shared sensation, as addictive as a needle full of heroin. She felt like a street junkie, attempting to get her next fix. She pressed closer to him, feeling his fingers dig under her dress, his hands brushing along her naked thighs and making her let out gasps of air. Her lids were heavy, dragging down with every sigh that made his hips adjust as every part of him grew stiff.

"Come inside," she whispered, kissing him one last time before getting off of him and walking out of the car. She didn't look back as she made her way up to her penthouse, up the elevator, and toward her front door. She could practically feel every cell in her body, their membranes lysing until she nearly collapsed.

She felt ridiculous, pacing in front of her front door, back and forth, back and forth. The flat was very quiet, chilled, and the fog—that late November air—pressed against the windows like an excluded poltergeist. Somewhere, anywhere else, things were vivid and beautiful. Somewhere very far from here, the world was vivid and beautiful and rich, so unlike the muted palette of her pale sitting room, washed out without light. She saw this coming. Ever the fool, she'd make her way back to her wall, a different penthouse, but ultimately the same as back in Connecticut. She'd light cigarettes, watch them die, wipe the ash against her dress, asphyxiate and wait for him to come. Time drips like a stalactite. He wouldn't come. She was suffocating.

She had to have dragged her hand through her own half-braided hair twelve times before she heard the soft knock. She was practically running to the door, yanking it open. There were bits of snow on his coat, his face drawn, and the gates back up.

But he came anyway.

She opened the door wide, but he only said, "I won't be able to stop, to keep away." His low voice reached her, the Valyrian sensual, spearing her, and making her go flush with such longing that she thought she might die. She thought she might love him too much and with too clear a vision to ever truly hate or fear his greyness, his smokiness, his cloudiness. "Tell me you know that. Tell me you understand."

It was as if he were handing her rope, letting her tie her own noose, and hanging it up for her to drop. A noose, however, could fit one neck as easily as another, once tied at least. She'd rather do away with it entirely, or perhaps fit both necks as easily as one.

Her eyelids were a half-mast as she released a partial sigh, a partial laugh. There was something both frustrating and yet terribly arousing about his ever-present restraint that made something low burn and consume the entirety of her belly. There was little she could do, little she could eat, and he had disrupted her life with his silence, disrupted her life with his touch. He'd perfected his technique, kissing just a little, pulling back, only to make her want to drag him right back to her. He had given her that perfect, teasing lick with that curling tongue of his. It effectively set all the nerve endings in her lips on fire.

"I don't know how I can be any more clear," she told him instead, now opening the door even wider, and he laughed, a man whose restraint had broken.

He crossed the threshold, pulling her forward, gripping her face, and pressing his mouth to her. She couldn't even be certain who kicked the door closed, but it didn't matter. They were in this terrible sin together. His lips were so gentle, his hand softly against her, cradling her, but his body moved in a fever.

She was up against the door, her legs around his waist in one hard motion. "I thought you said you did not want me," he whispered, and his voice sounded like molten metal. It was as if he had something hot and thick, traveling up the back of his throat, causing him to sound richer and deeper than he really was. "That's hardly convincing anymore."

She trailed her lips down his jaw, her eyes so heavy, her body flush, likely ruining his pants with how wet she was. "I want you so badly I can't stand," she whispered into his ear, and the low groan in his chest rumbled from his skin to her own before his lips were back on hers again, devouring and consuming everything she could give him. Her hands were already shrugging off his coat with haphazard disregard, hearing it fall to the ground in a heap of fabric and snow.

Daemon tilted his head, increasing the pressure, deepening the kiss, the gentle nature of his hands became slightly more abrasive. The rawness left her breathless. They were gasping as they parted, chests rising and falling, and she could barely see his eyes in the dark of her penthouse, having never turned on a light. It didn't matter, she could always feel his penetrating stare.

She could think one thousand thoughts, but they would all be forgotten the moment she went to reach for one. Their lips were against one another again, only want, so much of it, with thousands of forbidden feelings passing through the both of them. His lips were setting her nerves on fire, scorching her, and she could barely believe that it was happening. Hands were moving down her shoulders, down her arms, over her waist, her back pressed up against the door, and his body all that held her up as his fingers began to trail her legs.

They tightened around his waist, bringing him closer, so she could feel him, feel him on her as deeply as she felt him inside of her. Daemon shuddered, and the sound that emerged from the back of his throat was a mixture of a moan and a growl that sent shivers of pleasure that spread through her bloodstream. Her legs were already spread wide around each side of his hips with little barrier between her thong and his slacks. She could feel him, and she trembling at the sharp and pulsing ache that throbbed throughout her entire body.

His answering moan was enough to have her already unbuttoning his shirt, one at a time, marveling at the way his body jerked as she slid them up his shoulders, over his neck and back down again. She pushed her hips and rolled them, and he let out another groan, capturing her bottom lip in between his teeth that had him pushing up the material of her gown completely. Before long, his hands were cupping her arse, squeezing the flesh closer to him.

His palm slipped under the thong and she let out a ragged moan, her head hitting the door as she saw him staring at her intently.

"It's not enough," he whispered against her lips, his eyes heavy on her own. "I can barely breathe when you look at me," he muttered into the next kiss, and she went to speak when his fingers were at her clit, cutting her off as he pressed and dragged lazy circles.

Her eyes fluttered shut, little sounds that he ate up from her open mouth as she skillfully unbuttoned down his shirt, just to feel the bare skin of his chest. His fingers were swirling, stopping, swirling again. She was going slack, completely overwrought with the pleasure coursing through her as potent as adrenaline, as unreal as Ichor, and just as deadly.

With just the scrape of his teeth against her lips, he pulled back, letting her go so she could stand with his hands dragging over her hips. She nearly collapsed, perhaps not completely joking about her inability to stand on her own. She nearly thought he was about to leave her, exposing her serious abandonment issues that she might actually need to work on, but he only knelt before her on one knee.

His hands trailed down her hips, down her thighs, staring up at her with an expression so absolutely exquisite that she thought she might lose her ability to stand once more. He was sliding, caressing up her dress, his fingers slipping around the back of her knee as he raised her heel to his thigh, resting it atop it.

His lips were on her skin, dragging up the soft skin as his fingers nimbly worked the straps of her heels like the thief she knew him to be. They came as undone as she was, allowing him to slide the heel from her manicured foot as he kissed the inner portion of her thigh and moved to the next, allowing her to use the door, bracing her back so she could stand. The shoes were carefully resting next to him as he licked up her thighs, and she was bracing her hands against his hair as his head made it to the space between her legs, pushing up the rustic brown fabric of her dress.

He gave a lazy lick up the fabric of her thong, and was already pulling it down by the time she let out a soft moan that she covered with her palm.

He looked up at her again, separating. "We aren't about to be walked in on," he told her, and as if to accentuate it, he locked the door. The sound of the lock turning was nearly as loud as her pulsing heart. "You don't have to be quiet. I want to hear everything."

How long had she been hiding this? She didn't even know how to let out noise these days, but she didn't want repressed silence anymore, not here. She reached down and ran her fingers through his hair, his hands sliding up her thighs and letting the train of the dress fall.

She began to zip down her dress, letting it fall off to expose her body to him, falling halfway before he glided the rest right down. They joined her thong at her feet, and her nakedness felt nearly so exposing, so vulnerable, even in the dim lighting from nothing but the moonlight outside, she found herself embarrassed.

His lips twitched up. "You didn't seem so shy when you strutted naked in my room."

"You didn't even look," Rhaenyra said in return and he squeezed her thighs hard, but not enough to bruise.

"One can't feed the endless indulgences of a starving man," he whispered in the language he taught her, somehow making it sound so sensual, so soft, that she thought she could hear him say 'egg' and believe it to truly be the meaning of life in a single word. That was when his mouth went back onto her, stroking up her clit and the pleasure made her knees finally give out, causing her to fall with a laugh. He caught her easily as if he expected it.

Rhaenyra braced her hands against his shoulders, her breathing staggered, and his hands at her waist when she felt her heart pulsate up against his chest when she kissed his jaw. She hadn't nearly gotten enough in that bathroom, and there weren't nearly enough hours tonight to do so as well. She wasn't even certain if she could get enough if she had the rest of her life.

She sucked the area just under his ear, vertiginously, completely, and his breathing increased with it, the rumble in his chest of a man finally losing all his haphazard sense. She was naked and he was not, so she undid the last button on his shirt, slowly easing it off his shoulders as his mouth went to her neck, sucking on her pulse.

She lost track of his other hand, the one not kneading the flesh of her arse, and realized its destination when he slipped two fingers inside her, hard enough to make her gasp. He scissored them open, and her mouth slipped to his shoulder, biting down with a groan as he rocked his fingers inside her. She could hear the sloshing of her own wetness, the ragged breathing as she felt her eyes roll back and her jaw clamps down in a moan. Tingles, hot and slick, pooled in between her legs, sizzling and knocking her completely off balance.

When he stopped, giving her time to breathe, to catch her breath, she acted, straddling him, pushing him down to his back as she undid his pants with the same nimble ease she showed him. He stared up at her, his desire so potent that her heart was slamming against her rib cages as if it wanted to break from it like prison cells. He watched her undo the belt, unzip the slacks, and meet his eyes once more.

When she kissed down his neck, she saw the muscles tense with restraint, as if he were forcing himself to keep still, as if he wanted so badly to-

She met his eyes again as she reached into his slack and felt him. His hand caught her cheek, his thumb tracing her lips, allowing them to part over his touch as she felt the hard length of him under her soft hold. He wasn't even close to being her first, but he was certainly her first in every aspect that mattered.

She gripped him tightly, and he pressed his thumb into her mouth, allowing her a chance to trail her teeth against his skin as she gave him one tug. Her fists clamped as hard as her teeth against his thumb and he let out a groan, his head hitting against the ground as she gave another.

She was already in position, the head of his cock at her entrance, and he was sitting up on his elbows, his chest rising and falling as she worked her other hand up his tense abs. "Wait," he whispered as she kissed the corner of his mouth. "A condom."

She sunk down, just a centimeter, so the tip stroked her entrance and he let out a groan, a throaty sigh. His hand was dragging to her waist as if to stop her or pull her down all the way. She didn't care anymore. She didn't want any barrier, he had too many masks already, so she wanted this, him, as bare as could be.

She stared into his eyes as she sunk and stop, engulfing just the tip as his head dragged against her neck. He was so big that she was already full of him, full of him instead of just his constant bullshit. A tremble ran through her, rolling with her hips that she moved, just on the head, to make her feel just as teased as he always left her. The heavy exhales and uneven breathing was rising with the need. "I hate you," he whispered, and maybe parts of him might have believed it, but she didn't.

He flipped them over, sheathing himself in her with one full thrust that made her let out a loud moan before he gripped her face, his fingers in her hair, and his mouth on her own once more. Her back arched off the floor, full in a way she could never replicate in every shameful imagination. She could feel him in her stomach, his heavy body atop her, one hand braced against the ground as the other was tangled in her hair. They stayed like that for a moment, one perfect moment, both eyes closed. They were breathing in tandem, uncertain whose chest moved the other as he dragged his lips to her ear.

"Thought you'd never let yourself be beneath me again, niece," he whispered in Valyrian, as if she made him forget any other language. She shivered at the deep voice, barely able to breathe with the feel of him, his teeth at her lobe, biting down with a wet tongue that made her gasp.

"I was on top of you first, uncle," she whispered right back, staring up at him. He raised, tugging on her hair so she'd look up at her, his other arm flexed and braced against the ground so he wouldn't crush her. The words were confirmation, a way of understanding what was happening, of accepting it.

And then he thrust hard inside her, earning a gasp, a moan, that he didn't try to silence. The skin-on-skin contact, the scrape of his teeth on her jaw. The unrelenting thrusts that had her legs tighten around him. She fought the air to breathe, the hard strokes making her eyes water before he slowed, intensity softening. Her nails ran up his back as his hand moved down to her nipples, stroking them in soft circles that had her panting.

Everytime his thrust met her own rolling hips, molten heat spread from her clit, outward. A throaty moan escaped her lips with every move, as he pushed all the way out, only to go back in again. He was breathing against her ear, his abs flexed as her nails ran through the back of his head, scraping into his scalp as she let out moans of pleasure.

"I said to make noise," his low groan reached her ear, making her eyes roll back when he thrusted hard once more. "But if you refuse to be quiet, I won't make it much longer."

She practically bit her tongue, but when his fingers reached her clit, swirling around in intense slowness, she let out sounds that she didn't know she could make. His other hand raised from the ground, palm against her mouth, and restricting her next moan.

She felt the heat build with his fingers, with his thrusts, and her brows gathered as she stared into his eyes. He took his attention to detail in every area of his life, even here, even on top of her, where no area of her body was left wanting. He even fucked her with his eyes, which filled with such want that she didn't think he could get enough either.

Her eyes rolled back, the orgasm so intense, so violent, that it had her shuddering so heavily that her teeth clenched shut. Heat pulsed in her lower stomach, where he removed his hand from her mouth and pressed. She didn't know what sort of magic or sort of violence that coursed in her body that had it exploding. She was branching out in tingles and sensations that had her seeing the ceiling, seeing the windows from behind her, then, seeing nothing at all.

She was still just barely coming down when she saw him watching her, reverently, gaze as dark as the damn flat. There was a bite mark on his shoulder from where her teeth had clamped down. He lowered, pressing his forehead against her own, looking straight into her eyes, as if he had found himself in a maze and couldn't get back out.

"I suppose there is no cure," he whispered, and he thrust again, just as she was coming down, only to cum again. She let out a sound that he captured in his mouth, kissing her soft, thrusting deep and slow, and with such tenderness that she felt it in her ribs. His fist was in her hair, his body on her, in her, and whisperings that had her clutching him.

He was in her goddamned blood. He was her goddamned blood.

But she didn't care.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

My insecurity about this chapter is so real. I read the beginning of a good daemyra fanfiction the other day, and it made me have to close it after a few paragraphs. It was just way too good. Not that I think my own is bad, they are just different. Different visions, different directions, I just don't want to change my own because I like theirs.

Anyway!

Sex! Yay. You're welcome. Next chapter WILL be Daemon's POV. It will take place in the past, he will be an absolute terrible mess as we all know him to be. I think you guys are going to like it, even if Rhaenyra is barely in it.

As for the new episode, while upsetting, I don't personally think they got Daemon out of character. I think he's pretty consistent relatively, throughout the story. It made me sad, it made me mad, but ultimately, it was exactly how I envisioned him. I think he loves Rhaenyra, and cares about her, but do I think he's capable of hurting her? Most definitely. The only thing I was sad about was that it ended there (in that I have to wait years for season 2!) and they like to cut out moments where he's a good father (like hugging his children after Laena's death). I think this is more so on the editing process, not on the writing department.

Anyway, that was my personal two cents and on the man who we saw murder his first wife and groom his niece. This was not a surprise: do I still ship? Unfortunately?

Please give feedback!