Chapter Eight: The Rogue Prince
A/N: Another short-ish chapter, but we are gearing up towards some big stuff ;)
Lightning streaked across the sky over Shipbreaker Bay, thunder rumbling close behind it. Demelza stood by the window and watched in awe, a view of the sea far different to that of Starfall. She had never been to Storm's End before Rhaenyra's tour, nor many of the other locations they had visited across the stormlands, riverlands and crownlands. She tried her best not to seem uncultured, but she could not help her wonder at many of the new places that they visited.
Rhaenyra had certainly not found anyone to her liking, as the Princess had complained to Demelza and Criston incessantly. Not that Demelza was surprised. Rhaenyra's husband would be King Consort, so she had every right to be fussy. Nonetheless, she could not help her pang of envy at her friend's fortune.
Rhaenyra had suitors lining up to woo her. Demelza did not wish to marry, but she did like the occasional attention. None of these men would look twice at her, not when Rhaenyra was present, and not when everyone had heard the whispers of Lady Demelza's bastard daughter in Dorne.
"What is it about the storm that's so fascinating?" Criston asked from where he was sprawled on the bed. "You've surely seen plenty before."
"Yes, but not in Storm's End."
Demelza turned from the window and crossed over to the bed. The tour afforded them more privacy than the keep at King's Landing, and she was grateful for it. Criston had bedded Demelza on several occasions, to Rhaenyra's amusement and Valko's annoyance. Away from the prying eyes of the capital, Demelza and Criston had found a freedom that exhilarated her, one she took full advantage of.
"Mother has been writing about Elyana." Demelza smiled as she crawled onto the bed beside him. "Apparently, she's been learning her letters and numbers."
"Reading already?" Criston raised his eyebrows. "She's two."
"She's a clever child," Demelza said, her tone a mixture of pride and defensiveness. Most common folk could not read, and so those in Westeros assumed the same extended to bastard children. But in Dorne, many bastards were taught such skills as early on as trueborn children amongst the nobility.
"Well then, she must take after her mother." Criston pressed a soft kiss to Demelza's shoulder, and she couldn't help but giggle. Their love was a strange one, a love for dark nights and waning torchlight alone. It felt nice to have Rhaenyra and Valko in on their secret, even if Valko had certainly made his disapproval known. Demelza had assured the captain of the guard time and again that she was taking moon tea.
"I miss her," Demelza admitted, exhaling slowly, "Maybe after the tour is done, I can return to Dorne and visit her."
"Maybe I could come with you," Criston offered, though there was hesitation in his voice, as though he wondered whether Demelza might forbid him from seeing his daughter.
"Of course you can." Demelza insisted, shifting closer to rest her head on Criston's chest. She would have to return to her room at some point soon, before it became too suspicious. Yet these stolen moments were the ones she treasured most, and she would not give them up for anything. Criston's fingers stroking her hair made her smile softly.
"Are you looking forward to meeting Rhaenyra's suitors tomorrow?" he asked.
Demelza scoffed. "No. Most of them pay me no attention at all, and the ones that do have either contempt or desire in their eyes."
Criston was quiet for a moment. "I could deal with anyone who looks at you like that."
Demelza couldn't help but laugh. "That won't be necessary."
She finally disentangled herself from her lover's embrace, smoothing out her dress as she crossed over to the door. She glanced back at him in silence, intensity burning in his dark eyes. She offered him a small smile as she slipped through the door, closing it quietly and examining the deserted corridor.
Demelza's footsteps were soft against the stone as she traversed the hallways toward her own room. Before she could get there, another door in the hallway was wrenched open, making her start and press a hand over her heart.
"Princess."
"Come." Rhaenyra waved Demelza impatiently over, and she followed the other girl's silver-blonde hair disappearing beyond the frame of the door. She closed the door behind her, wondering the reason for her friend's summons.
Rhaenyra flopped down on the bed with a satisfied sigh, patting the spot beside her. Demelza strode over and crawled beneath the sheets. Since the tour had begun, it was not uncommon for Rhaenyra to summon Demelza to bed, linking her fingers through her friend's and talking well into the early hours of the morning. Demelza wondered if Rhaenyra was lonely, or if her heart hammered in the same way Demelza's did when their hands brushed against each other in the darkness.
For a few moments, peaceful silence stretched between the two girls, Rhaenyra's leg knocking against Demelza's as she rolled over to face her friend. Her eyes searched her friend's, and the Princess bit down on her lip.
"What do you think it would be like, being married?"
"I…I can't say that I'm the best person to ask," Demelza responded honestly. She was the mother of a bastard child, but she was not a wife. Perhaps now that she had succeeded in sullying herself, she would never be a wife at all. The thought was not as horrific to her as it might be to others.
"But do you think my husband would be good to me?" Rhaenyra persisted.
"I suspect so." A smile tweaked at the corner of Demelza's lips. "You are the Princess, after all."
Rhaenyra huffed as if the answer displeased, rolling onto her back to stare at the canopy of the four-poster bed they occupied. Demelza watched her silently, tracing patterns on the Princess's shoulder in an attempt to soothe her restlessness. After another brief few moments of quiet, Rhaenyra turned her head to glance at Demelza.
"I just wish I didn't have to marry."
"Most in your position do," Demelza murmured.
"You never married," Rhaenyra pointed out.
Demelza shrugged. "I am not a Princess. I am tainted now, irreparably so. No Westerosi lord is going to claim me for his bride."
Rhaenyra exhaled deeply. Demelza didn't think the Princess had gotten a restful night's sleep since the tour began. She could tell that the idea of marriage was heavy on Rhaenyra's mind. Linking her fingers tighter through her friends, she snuggled close to Rhaenyra and rested her head against the Princess's shoulder.
"You'll be alright tomorrow, Rhaenyra."
"Of course I will." Rhaenyra sounded appeased, giving Demelza's hand a light squeeze. "I have you."
Rhaenyra's ceaseless parade of suitors came to an abrupt halt the next morning after boys from Houses Blackwood and Bracken started duelling in the hall. Fed up, the Princess had called an immediate end to her tour, and the ship was now sailing back to King's Landing. Personally, Demelza suspected that Viserys would be furious, for she remembered Alicent telling her that the King had gone to great lengths to organise the tour.
As Rhaenyra stared out at the glittering expanse of the sea, Demelza slipped below deck, hoping to find some peace and solitude before their return to court. The past few months had been a welcome respite, and she could not help but feel irritated that Rhaenyra had called a stop to the tour. It was for selfish reasons, she surmised. This had never been about Demelza in the slightest, and it would be foolish to think Rhaenyra catered for her desires.
"Lady Demelza." Criston caught her arm lightly, before slipping his hand into hers. Even though there was no one around to witness it, Demelza wrenched her hand quickly from his. Hurt flashed across Criston's face, and his brow furrowed. "What is it?"
"Criston, I…" Demelza shook her head slowly. She did not know that she could repair her reputation at court, but conducting herself in an unseemly manner with the alleged father of her child would do her no favours. "We cannot do this anymore. Whatever was happening with us during the tour, it's over now."
"I thought this was what you wanted." Criston's confusion made her stomach squirm, but Demelza had to stand her ground. She had chosen to return to Westeros. She had chosen to put aside the mistakes of her past, including leaving Elyana in Dorne. Parading about in secret with Criston would not only get her banished permanently, but it could cost his life.
"I love you, I do." Demelza's eyes pleaded with him to understand. "But neither of us can risk our position."
"So that's all it was." Scorn coloured Criston's tone as he took a step back, examining her with contempt. "I was simply at your beck and call during the tour because that was what was convenient for you."
"You know nothing can come of this," Demelza hissed, planting her hands on her hips as her anger overtook her desperation, "We have a bastard daughter in Dorne that you are ashamed of, we…"
Criston flinched. "I am not ashamed of her."
"Yes, you are!" Demelza snapped, making no attempt to disguise her simmering rage. She and Criston may have been a lot of things, but he had only been a father to Elyana when it was safe for him to do so, when he would not be judged for it. Demelza had no choice: she would always be seen as the mother of a bastard child who had quietly retired to Dorne for the baby's birth. Criston could shrug off the rumours, but Demelza could not shake her reputation.
"What did you want me to do, throw away my vows?" Criston demanded, gripping Demelza's shoulders tightly. "Forsake everything I have here?"
Demelza wrenched away from him. "No, I didn't expect anything from you, which you're doing an admirable job of proving."
Criston laughed mirthlessly, raking his fingers through his dark hair. "I will never be enough for you."
"You might have been once," Demelza admitted, ruthless in her honesty, "But now…there is no future for us. We have played pretend on this tour, but we are going back to the real world. In the real world, for some of us, there are consequences."
"What consequences?" Criston cast around as if expecting a consequence to leap out from behind a barrel. "Most Westerosi women would have been quickly married off to some lowborn knight by now. You are still the Princess's favourite, one of the Queen's closest friends. Tell me, Lady Demelza, what consequences do you believe you've faced?"
"I was banished," Demelza reminded him through clenched teeth, "It was only due to Rhaenyra's intervention that I was permitted to return to court, without our daughter, I might add. Men can father half a dozen bastards in Westeros and no one blinks, but the moment it's a woman…"
"This is not Dorne," Criston said firmly, as though she needed the reminder, "Paramours, bastards…such things are not accepted here. You are eighteen, Demelza, old enough to know this."
"I have already sullied myself." She smiled coldly. "Trust me when I say I know well what is accepted here. But I have the Princess's good grace."
"For now." Criston responded.
Whirling around, Demelza turned and marched back up to the deck. Whatever bond she had with Criston was soured by reality. She had enjoyed their romance while it lasted, but the truth was simple: they could never be together. He would never be a father to Elyana. Demelza needed to try and move on from that, no matter how much it pained her.
Rhaenyra's return was overshadowed by the triumphant arrival of Prince Daemon Targaryen, who had succeeded in winning the Stepstones. Demelza had only interacted with Daemon a handful of times during her time at King's Landing, and he had been gone since Rhaenyra had been named heir. She supposed he was magnetic in his own way, though she had never found her attention drawn to him.
Viserys delighted in his brother's return, and threw a magnificent garden party in his honour. Demelza wore a silk gown of sky blue, the velvet bodice a darker sapphire. It was one of the gowns she had worn constantly on tour with Rhaenyra, a dress that flattered her figure without being indecent.
As was typical, Demelza found herself on the outskirts of the celebration, subject to many pointed glances and whispers. She held her head high despite it, knowing that gossip existed in any social circle.
"I heard that she has a bastard daughter back in Dorne."
"Really? No! Who is the father?"
"She bedded half a dozen men, including the captain of her guard, so who can say?"
"Disgusting," Demelza mumbled under her breath, nose wrinkling at the accusation of an affair with Valko. The man was almost old enough to be her father, and certainly did not see her as anything more than a younger sister who constantly exasperated him.
"Demelza, there you are!" Alicent waved Demelza over from where she was sitting with Rhaenyra. It was unexpected to see the pair together, as they were often at odds, but Demelza found herself pleased that they seemed to be speaking amicably. She sat down across from them, sweeping her hair back over her shoulder.
"I surmise the tour did not go well?" Alicent's gaze darted between Demelza and Rhaenyra, whose hands were clasped in her lap.
"I endured it for as long as I could," Rhaenyra replied.
"To have every young knight and lord in the Seven Kingdoms fawning over you. What misery." The words were an attempt to coax a smile from Rhaenyra, however the Targaryen girl's expression did not change. "It is rare for girls in this realm to get a choice between two suitors, no less two score of them."
"Those men and boys don't fawn over me." Rhaenyra argued, causing Demelza to arch an eyebrow and stuff a lemon cake into her mouth as she observed the pair of them. "They only want my name and my Valyrian blood for their offspring."
"I think it's rather romantic," Alicent teased.
Rhaenyra scoffed. "How romantic it must be to be imprisoned in a castle and made to squeeze out heirs."
Alicent's expression changed to a morose one. Demelza couldn't imagine how lonely it must be for Alicent, who had recently welcomed her second child with Viserys. A daughter this time, Helaena. The very fate that Rhaenyra sneered at was Alicent's reality, and Demelza threw the Princess a sharp look.
"Sorry," Rhaenyra whispered, taking Alicent's hand in hers before inhaling sharply. "How angry is he?"
"The King went through great effort to arrange your tour. He is…frustrated. But I am glad you are home." Alicent's brown eyes shifted between Rhaenyra and Demelza. "I find I have…few friends lately. I like to believe I'm still the Lady Alicent, but all anyone sees when they look at me now is the Queen."
"I've missed you too," Rhaenyra said, gripping Alicent's hand tightly.
Despite Alicent addressing both of them, it was clear this was a moment for Rhaenyra and Alicent, who had been at odds since Alicent had wed Viserys. Demelza felt like an intruder, stepping into a conversation that did not belong to her. Out of place, she rose to her feet and quickly excused herself to get another drink.
"Lady Demelza, isn't it?" The bored drawl made her turn from where her fingers had just fastened around a glass of mulled wine.
"Prince Daemon." Demelza drew a saccharine smile about her features, with no idea how to talk to a man she'd spoken with less than half a dozen times in as many years. "It is good to see you back in King's Landing. Congratulations on your victory in the Stepstones."
"You wish to congratulate me?" Daemon raised an eyebrow, critical gaze sweeping over her form and bringing a flush to Demelza's cheeks. "You are of Dornish blood. I am surprised you are not cursing my name, since this means I've prevailed over not only the Triarchy, but Prince Qoren Martell."
"I don't often have an opinion on military victories and losses." Demelza took a sip of her mulled wine. "It is not my place."
Daemon's eyes remained locked on her. He was curious, she realised. Had he not met many Dornish women in the past? Considering his past in the City Watch and reputations on the streets of King's Landing, that would certainly be a surprise.
"You are a dear friend of my niece's, are you not?"
"I would say so." Demelza shrugged her shoulders, unwilling to embellish herself. "I was invited on her tour of the realm."
"Yet you have a bastard daughter back home in Starfall."
Demelza paused at raising her wine to her mouth. Of course, rumours circulated the court, but not many were bold enough to speak them to her face. Snide insinuations she was used to, but an outright statement was something else. Her fingers tightened around her glass as she observed Daemon, assessing his intent.
"Relax, Lady Demelza." A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "I meant no offence. Most of the lords at court probably have a bastard or two, and no one gives a fuck about it. The moment it's a woman, though…"
"Women are meant to be maidens upon marriage," Demelza murmured, echoing Septa Gwenefer's teachings.
Daemon scoffed. "I'll tell you something, Lady Demelza. In truth, lords don't really give a shit about that. Oh, they'll claim for appearance's sake they want a blushing bride, but once they manage to sire a child or two on you, they don't give a fuck."
"I don't think that's true," Demelza argued, setting down her empty glass, "Most lords want a virgin bride because they want to know their wife hasn't been with anyone except them. It's only in Dorne that people don't care about any of that."
"Is that so?" Daemon's eyes glittered with mirth, and Demelza's cheeks flared with heat as she wondered if she had overstepped herself. " For someone whose place it is not to have opinions, you certainly have opinions."
"On military matters," Demelza pointed out, wondering if she was merely digging herself a deeper hole, "Marriage is completely different."
"Marriage can definitely be a battle sometimes," Daemon muttered, picking up a glass of mulled wine and raising it as if in toast to her, "But you will find that out yourself one day."
"No one wants used goods." Demelza wondered if it was the mulled wine making her so confident, for a pleasant dizziness had come over her. "I would not marry some old, lowborn knight either. So I think it may be some time, if ever, before I find a husband."
Daemon laughed delightedly, like she had said something amusing.
"Don't discredit yourself so easily."
Then he sauntered off toward Rhaenyra, and Demelza was left utterly perplexed by the man. She did not know Daemon well, for she had been fifteen when he had left court, but she had not expected him to be so utterly nonchalant about her bastard child. Demelza stifled her confusion by taking another sip of mulled wine, something she may need more of if Criston continued to stare at her from across the garden as though she had ripped his heart out and stomped on it.