Daenerys II

"And if you just lift your elbow like this," Daemon murmured, as his hand guided Daenerys' arm to perfect her form. "And adjust your aim a bit above your target to allow for the arrow's fall," he added, his breath against her ear as he leaned down to adjust for the difference in their heights. His chest pressed against her back as his other muscled arm guided her left hand on the bow.

"This close to me, my Lord," Daenerys whispered back, knowing how much he enjoyed being called by his new title, "and you might as well loose it yourself."

"If your Grace prefers," he teased. "I will allow you the space you desire."

"Give me none of your sass. I wish only to do it myself!"

It was difficult to fire arrows by torchlight, but as Daemon and Daenerys were not permitted to consort with the other, the Princess had resorted to sneaking out of her bedchambers after dark, having a yellow haired serving girl lay in her place for five coppers each time, while she met with the newly made Lord of his house, Lord Daemon Blackfyre, in secret.

This night, he'd brought her to the wood to learn archery. She had not taken to it easily.

"As milady wishes," Daemon conceded, reluctantly releasing her and slowly stepping back.

"She wishes, my Lord," she assured him with a toss of her head, her heavy braid over one shoulder. "I'm hitting it this time."

"Yes you will," he laughed, "especially if I make the target bigger!"

He whirled, his cloak swirling in the light of the flickering torches on either side of the large elm, marking a new and larger x above the one he'd made before with two twirling slashes of his new bastard blade. Blackfyre was beautiful, and in Daemon's hands Daenerys found it mesmerizing, and he made a show of it, betraying the boy he remained despite his gifts of titles and heraldry,

Daemon performed the savage dance of his blade, choosing the tree as his adversary. It made for a poor fight, but Daenerys didn't mind. It was especially amusing, as big as he was, to see him play like a child. She laughed to herself as he finished with a flurry, thoroughly pleased with his display.

"That should do," whispered Daemon with a grin, bowing with a flourish once he'd finished. "Now it's your turn, your Grace. Let it fly."

Daenerys raised the bow, pulled back on the bowstring and struggled to keep her arms from shaking. She steadied, focused, and breathed out. As her breath left her, she let go of the arrow, and it flew from her bow with the thrum of the string in her ear.

She followed it with her eyes in the torchlight, only to see it soar past the tree and to the left.

Daenerys gave Daemon a ferocious stare.

"Don't say it," she warned.

Daemon pretended to cower but couldn't hide his amusement, looking smaller as he sat in the grass and watched her. His purple eyes glittered, and soft shadows danced across his smooth features. His hair was mostly pulled back, but a few stray strands hung down, framing his face with silver and gold. He started to puff out his cheeks again.

"Don't you say it!" The Princess repeated her command, unimpressed.

Daemon kept inflating his cheeks behind his closed mouth, like a frog, as if to emphasize words building behind the pressure of his sealed lips.

"Don't you do it Daemon, I swear!" she hissed.

"Just a little left," he squeaked, emphasizing little with the same annoying high pitch he'd used the entire night.

"Ugh! I warned you!" Daenerys threw the bow away and charged, launching herself at him with enough force to knock him flat on his back and to the ground, where she flailed at his broad hard chest with open hands, peppering him with a barrage of playful slaps and scratches.

He welcomed them all, laughing, allowing his playmate her fun until he caught each of her wrists. Then he wrapped one leg around the Princess and rolled, trapping her firmly beneath him, yet gently. The grace in which he did it nearly took her breath away.

"That was fun. Now come. Let's try again.," Daemon said, pushing off the ground with ease.

The Princess didn't know whether to feign anger, laugh, or pretend to swoon, so she settled on standing up and going back to the bow as he said. "Sure," she informed him, arching a brow and brushing off the riding habit she'd worn to give her freedom of movement. "But you better not say it again."

"What if it goes left?" Daemon was all mischief.

"You've yet to see what I can do, my Lord," she informed him, her chin held high. "Don't test me or you'll regret it."

"Then I will try my very best, your Grace," though the look on his face spoke to an utter lack of will in the matter. Dany anticipated his best try would not suffice.

When the Princess retrieved her bow and pulled another arrow from the quiver the forest was silent, save for the sounds of nighflying insects attracted by the torchlight. It felt like even the trees were holding their breath and watching, no thanks to Daemony Daemon! Determined, Daenerys pulled back on the bowstring and straightened her arms. She closed one eye to focus down the shaft of the arrow, lining it up with the X from Daemon's fun.

Just as her fingers slipped from the arrow, Daemon quickly crept behind her. "Just a little left," he hissed into her ear, his voice ascending in pitch on the little.

When she missed it flew left of the target, and Daenerys tossed her bow into the shrubbery.

After a fierce glare from the Princess, and a few steps chasing after Daemon as he ran, they both erupted in laughter and she leapt into his arms, letting him catch her assault this time. Their eyes met, and Dany gave him the look she continued to give him, hoping he'd change his mind. She wanted a kiss, and the young Lord had not yet obliged.

When Daenerys had calmed down, they took a break from archery and sampled some of the sweets Daemon had brought with him from the castle. Fine plump strawberries from the Reach had always been Daenerys' favorite, so Lord Blackfyre would pluck them from a woven basket and place them gently into the Princess' mouth. When she didn't pretend to bite at his fingers in jest, she tried to accept them sensually. She didn't know what she was doing, though and hoped she didn't look an utter fool.

When Daemon smiled at her attempt, a bit too big for her liking, she accepted that she would just have to be young for the moment, and refrained from any other adult attempts. She had failed enough at archery already.

"You ever think about the future?" Dany asked quietly, looking up at Daemon from the woven blanket he spread out over the grass while they ate. She couldn't make out his face, silhouetted by the multitude of stars above his head. Most of his face was just shadow as the torches were too far away to cast much light.

"Not when I'm with you," he said quietly. "When I'm with you, all I can see is right now, and I never want this moment to end."

Stars above. "It just did, though," she said, pretending to smirk, if only to quiet the butterflies in her stomach. "And then that one just ended too." In truth her mind was reeling, and she tried not to blush from his words, moving onward through the conversation as if she hadn't even heard them. Yet they were so perfect. My Daemon is perfect.

"I don't mind the moments that lead to another with you, Dany. I only mind the ones when you leave me alone." His admission made her nearly drop her strawberry.

"I'm not really going anywhere, my Lord," she said lightly. "Only to bed."

"And I, to mine. I fear it's almost that time, isn't it?" he asked, his voice trailing off in near mourning.

"Almost. We've time enough for a few more shots with this bow, though." She raised it again, hoping he didn't notice the way her fingers had begun to tremble.

"Just miss right for once, then I'll leave you be," he promised.

Dany liked having Daemon behind her, touching her and speaking softly in her ear. She wondered if part of her kept missing on purpose, if only to invite further and more detailed instruction. She knew not how she ought to behave with a boy – a young man, she corrected herself.

She couldn't relate to the stirring fantasies her ladies described of Baelor, or of Cobray, young men they knew nothing of, save for the pleasing features of their faces and frames. Daemon was the boy who'd always been her confidant and playmate. Now, it seemed, their games had changed. She knew not for the better or worse.

When she pulled back the next arrow, with Daemon less than a pace away, she pictured his mother, Daena the Defiant, who would surely have already hit her target, time and time again. Dany pursed her lips and frowned.

I can be defiant. To her relief, for once, Daemon held his tongue.

She loosed the arrow and it flew true.

It hit the tree and the target. Forgetting themselves entirely, Dany and Daemon shouted in victory, laughing and grabbing onto each other, jumping up and down in a jig of jubilation.

They shushed each other at once though, and Dany wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, still giggling. Then, she squeezed him tighter. Her hands moved up and down his back, until his strong arms encircled her in turn. She was tall for her age, but in Daemon's embrace she felt tiny, her cheek not even reaching his chest. He let her go and pulled away, placing his hands gently around the sides of her arms, looking down on her with the stars in the night sky spangled above him.

She looked back up at him and as her grin became a beaming smile, her heart fluttering in an utterly unfamiliar way. Her Daemon.

Dany gazed up at him through long lashes. The moment grew longer and the silence grew louder. With the low swill of the bay beyond, and the soft hum of life in the trees, all she had eyes for were the twinkling purple ones of her escort. The light of the stars reflected in them, in the honest and warm gaze that he gave right back to her.

"I can hear you thinking it," Daemon said softly.

"Don't think. Just do it,' she breathed, her heart pounding.

"I've never kissed a girl before. Not like that. I don't want to muss it up."

"I've never kissed a girl before, either," Dany japed, her wicked grin as wide as the Narrow Sea.

"Hey," Daemon replied, his grip tightening just a little. "What other boys have you been with like this?"

"None, stupid," she said, soft enough to sound sweet. "There's only you."

She grabbed the tail of Daemon's hair, pulling his head down far enough to plant a firm kiss on his lips. It must have shocked him, for his mouth was slightly open, so that when their lips met, her top lip failed to make contact, and she backed away feeling like her attempt had failed.

She hoped he was happy all the same. She'd kissed him, after all, but when she looked back up at him, Daemon looked closer to despair, almost as if he'd lost a joust or something.

"What's wrong?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

"That was awful." He shuffled his feet.

"Excuse me, Ser!" she swatted his arms away. "I'll have you know I've never done that before either!"

"No. No. I didn't mean you. Your lips – I mean, you. You're perfect. You were perfect. It was me," he stammered. "I was awful. I wanted to be perfect too."

Which prompted Dany to reach up and throw her arms around his neck, climbing him as easily as if he were a tree. She wrapped her legs around him so that her face was level with Daemon's. He'd caught her as she leaped at him, lifting her up enough for her to hook her ankles together around his waist.

I can be daring. I can be defiant. And it's a really good thing I wore a riding habit.

This time Daemon was more than ready, and their lips met again, softly at first, gently pressing into each other. Oddly enough, it seemed right to close her eyes. They pulled away at the same time, Daemon's face only a breath away from her own.

Still wrapped around him, she whispered, "Better?"

"I don't know? You tell me."

They kissed again, and then, once more. Taking breath, they rested their foreheads against the other's. Daemon's strong arms held her in place, and her arms were still looped about his neck. Daenerys wasn't sure if she was doing much right, but she liked it, the soft smooth flesh of his lips warm against hers, his scent, the soft tickle of his stray hairs, it was all even better than when she had imagined it. Because he has always been mine. And he is perfect.

She looked at him, as he looked back at her, his face flushed in the waning light of the torches. He loosened his grip on her, his strong hands never once wandering from their hold of her legs, as honest as they were capable. She released her own grip and slid down his body to her feet.

It felt like mourning, breaking their kiss. Mourning, she thought. Then, she remembered why she had run into his arms in the first place, long before they'd started shooting arrows. She'd spilled sorrow-filled tears all over his clothes, which he'd gladly dried with his kindness and heart.

Just him, she thought, forcing her recent loss from her mind's eye. Just this. Just Daemon, right now. As close and as perfect as he was, it was not hard for her mind to focus past anything else.

"I think we should get back soon," Daemon stammered, looking every bit as awkward as the graceful young man he'd been wielding Blackfyre earlier. "Not that I want to leave, or anything."

"It is getting late," Daenerys agreed. "But I'd like to stay a bit longer."

Steps snapped twigs behind them, and Daemon leaped to his sword, which lay beside the quiver of arrows not far from the torches. He drew it from its scabbard in one fluid motion, instinctively shuffling Dany behind him to protect her from what threatened.

"Ease off, young Lord," a bellow sounded from the darkness beyond the torchlight. "It is Ser Bulwer. I've let you finish, haven't I? For the love I have for the both of you, I allowed you your last moment, but you've been found out, your Grace," he said, bowing to Daenerys as he stepped into view with two Goldcloaks on either side of him. "I will allow you to leave, Lord Daemon, and report I found her Grace playing Nymeria in the wood."

I can be defiant.

"No, Ser Bulwer," Dany replied confidently, straightening her back and clearing her throat. "You are to tell the King who I was with, and precisely what I was doing. I would like to hear him have issue with two people kissing, considering all that he does."

"Your Grace," Bulwer sounded, his deep full voice like the call of a trumpet, even as he kept it down in the dark. "I would not advise such a rash show of –"

"Defiance?" she cut in.

"Disobedience." He turned to Daemon. " Go, boy. Spare everyone the trouble."

"I will do as the lady says."

"You little idiots. Very well. Both of you, come with us."

Her father took Daemon into the solar first. It was late, past midnight, and the Red Keep was nearly silent, save for the muffled scolding she could hear beyond the closed red double doors of the chambers. Dany tried to make out what the King was saying, but she couldn't discern much other than, "You're but a child!" and, "You, the both of you, are mere children!" Some of what he shouted was about their safety, some sounded like he was fearful of their future marriage prospects.

It was all said with the booming roar she had only heard her father unleash at others. Luckily for the Princess, despite how awful the King could be, he had never spoken that way to her.

Maybe my first time is to come tonight.

When the King was finished, he summoned Ser Bulwer into the room to escort Daemon to his chambers. Uthor pulled open the doors, and Dany peeked in, seeing her father splayed out over the sides of his great seat, his hair unkempt and his robe as wrinkled as the skin under his eyes. Since her mother's death and the death of the King's mistress, he had looked worn and tired all the time, not just in the middle of the night, and after berating her escort for the evening, he looked even more so.

"Make sure he stays there!" the King bellowed as the handsome young Lord walked out, his head down, but not sullen enough to avoid shooting a bright wide smile at Dany as he walked past.

"Daughter," called the King, his voice louder than it was stern, but shouted all the same. "Come at once. I'd like to end this business with enough time to sleep before holding Court on the morrow. The sun races to rise, and I need as much rest as I can get."

Meekly she stepped towards the entrance to the solar, hesitating at the threshold between the tall, grand, double doors, etched with sprawling dragons, encircling the panels of their center. The room felt cold, not like it had been when she and Daemon were in the wood, likely due to the open windows and the stiff breeze that whistled through off Blackwater Bay.

This was her first time alone with her father since she had bloomed, a fear her mother was too consumed with to allow otherwise. With Naerys gone, Dany did all she could to avoid Aegon IV, which wasn't difficult in the aftermath of both deaths, and the birth of another bastard. He avoided his family life, as he always had, hiding from the pain and loss in every available meeting and responsibility keeping him busy, and Dany even more alone.

There was no chance to conceal her budding figure from her sire, and she'd gone without binding her breasts for her outing with Daemon, wishing him to see that she was not longer a child. Nervously, she stepped one foot at a time into the room before her father, crossing her arms and covering herself as best she could from the voracious King whose predations she feared might turn to her.

No matter what he tries, he cannot have me, she thought, her heart and mind flooded and drowning with fear and contempt. She knew little of who her father was, and he looked nearly unrecognizable in the haggard and solemn state he had been in since the deaths.

"Sit," he commanded, extending his enormous arm to point at the chair across from him. His voice softened at the sight of her, and it appeared as if he smiled under the weight of his face, which to Dany seemed either wrong or potentially threatening.

"I am no father, or haven't been one to you, my sweetling, and for that, I must start our discussion with a sincere and heartfelt apology. I would excuse my absence in your life with lies about the importance of rule, or the relentless business of the realm, but as you near womanhood, adulthood, I cannot start with such bollocks and expect you to ever respect me."

Unsure of why the King seemed so kind, Dany feared the worst. It had always been said Aegon IV had a silver tongue, capable of wooing and flattering even the most joyless of lords and ladies. She dreaded what might follow his courtesy and smiles.

"However," he continued, clasping his wide hands together, "what we need to discuss does not start with my failures. It starts with your future." Her sire cleared his throat, reaching for a goblet she assumed was full of wine. He took a deep gulp, and returned his polite gaze back to her. "Let me ask you, as both the maesters and septas tell me you are as smart as any acolyte in Oldtown: What reputation do I have? What does the realm know me to be above all else?"

Daenerys knew what he asked and the answer he expected, but she knew not why he asked. She could only fear the why. She hesitated, looking down, then, away, refusing to answer or respond except to shuffle in her seat, her arms still tightly wrapped around herself, hiding as best she could in plain sight.

"My apologies again, young one. It is neither ladylike or couth to say what I think you know, so I'll say it for you. I'm a slut. A heathen that takes any flowered girl to bed. I'm a stain on the name Targaryen. 'Unworthy.' A sot. A whoremonger. I'm at least the worst person in this city, to hear the rabble tell it, if not the entire realm. Am I not?"

Daenerys still couldn't move or speak. Nothing about what the King was saying could mean anything other than the worst for the Princess, and she trembled to think of what followed.

"Again, I should not expect you to answer that and not fear chastisement. You have always been, and still are, a good girl, and I should not expect you to feel comfort in the filth I describe."

Dany felt whatever the total opposite of comfort was. She wasn't merely uncomfortable, stuck in a room with the father she detested, her breasts and hips plain in her form-fitting riding habit, her face flush and sweating. She felt tortured, as if the pleasant transition into the King's punishment was to be worse than the actual act.

"You can answer this without fear, my love. That reputation I earned; do you think I earned it in the decade I've been King?"

She thought for a moment, wondering what he was leading to. "No?" she responded, as if she questioned him back.

"Correct. In the eyes of the realm, I've been Aegon the Lewd ever since I've been in the public eye. It's as if I've been a depraved pervert since birth. But it wasn't always that way." He paused, sighing heavily. "Look at me."

She looked up. I can be defiant.

Daenerys stared back, her will tempered and her heart strong. She would do whatever necessary to maintain her virtue. Her fat father couldn't scare her.

"Are you in love?"

Daenerys was ready for much, but not that. Not a sincere question from a concerned and caring parent. Surprised by his sincerity, she spilled her truth. "Yes."

"And you are nearly twelve?"

"Yes," she replied. Though it would be a wonder if he knew my name day.

"It is wonderful, isn't it?"

Daenerys still couldn't stop from answering. Aegon had disarmed her with a caring she'd never felt from him. It wasn't only in his words, but in the tone of his voice and the warmth in his eyes. It was almost frightening. "It truly is."

"Love is the finest and foulest thing I ever felt, sweetling. For royalty, it is always destined for tragedy. Tell me, what is your favorite song of love?" He swirled the wine in his goblet, looking contemplative.

"Father, I'm sorry."

"Is it Good Queen Alysanne? Of the Old King when he was young, and their secret wedding?"

"What? I mean, no, but what has this to do with Daemon?"

"Just tell me. Is it The King and Queens of the conqueror and his sisters?"

"It's Florian and Jonquil, father. Their songs are my favorite."

"Yes. Mine too. As they are to most. You see, child, no one says the happy love stories are their favorites. Even Aegon the Conqueror lost one of his loves, the one he loved most, they say, but we don't sing his songs. Florian and Jonquil is a tragedy. It is a sad story. People love it so, not for the happiness it shows in the beginning, but in the sorrow that all share with how it ends. Love is not a flower like a daisy or a tulip. It is a rose, layered, mesmerizing, and riddled with thorns. Love is not a happiness, child, it is despair in the guise of fulfilment," his gaze left hers, staring up and off into some past she knew not of. She had rarely ever heard her father speak so long, and as her fear of his intentions faded, her wonder in the vulnerable display perplexed her even further.

"I know I am young, father, but my love for Daemon is more than just for his beauty and strength. It dates back as long as I can remember. There is something deeper in me that's drawn to him. There's something real inside me whenever he's near."

"So, you have it badly for the boy, then? Even though he's your brother?"

Since Daemon's paternity had been revealed, Daenerys refused to think of him as that. When her ladies mentioned Baelor she nearly cringed. To marry or be with her nephew was worse, she thought, than being with her half-brother, but neither sounded right to her ears.

"I wish to marry him, father."

"Aye, as I wished to marry Falena Stokeworth. Do you know how old I was when that scandal branded me a whore?" Dany didn't know and failed to answer before the King continued. "No? I was but fourteen. Four and ten, not much older than you or Daemon are now. I wasn't even next in the line of succession, or sleeping with a scullery maid or whore. She was of noble birth, and of a house that was friend to the Targaryens. Yet, to hear I was with an eligible maid before I was wed to one of our House, was so salacious, Falena was forced to marry Lothson and I was briefly sent to war." Good for you, to get that in there. It's just a teeny tiny footnote in the history we know but would have had a massive effect on any living, breathing lovers, no matter how young they might have been

Though the King's philandering was well known, Dany had always tried to avoid knowing the specifics. She knew of siblings she had, some of whom were about to arrive in the capital, and even the rumors of Jeyne Lothson's possible parentage, but she had never thought of the women the King had been with.

"I was but four and ten, and she was four and twenty. I was a child, and she was my first." When he said it, Dany turned her face away. "I know. The last thing you want is to imagine your father so, but as poor a father as I've been, you must know this, now that you feel the things you say you do." Dany returned her eyes back to her father, trying to keep her stomach from turning.

"Daemon is not taking advantage of me, father. I can assure you," she said tartly. "Despite the extra lessons now that he is a Lord, the boy is not yet smart enough for that." And he has honor enough to make up for that which this King's Court lacks.

"I always appreciated your wit," chuckled Aegon. "You have more of Daemon's mother in you than your own." Dany smiled to hear it, despite the slight to her mother, for it might have been the first sincere compliment she'd ever heard from her father. She felt a twinge of guilt at appreciating it, for her mother hadn't yet been gone a fortnight. "And yes, Falena took advantage of me, but that's not the point."

"What is the point, father?"

"Do not test my grace, child. I could have been as cross with you as I was the boy. I have chosen a different path, and if you continue with insolence, I can take you down that road. Understood?"

"Yes, father."

"The point is, as royalty, what you do always matters. Look at Daena, for example. She is beautiful, amusing, and her status as Targaryen places her above all else in the realm. Yet how many suitors do you think she's had since Baelor refused to bed her?"

"Well, you, for one."

"I never sought her hand, did I? I refer to suitors, not eager partners. She does not lack for those. But she is not wed, and will never. No Lord will take a woman of such reputation as a bride, not even a Targaryen queen."

Daenerys had never considered it.

"And what if you were to have a bastard? You'd have The Bastard's Bastard. What life could a child of that enjoy in this realm? What kind of life could you hope to enjoy?"

"I wouldn't have a bastard, father. I would wed Daemon and we would have Blackfyres."

"And what type of blade is Blackfyre? A bastard blade. What type of name do you think Blackfyre is? Though better than Waters, most will ever argue the same."

"I do not wish to wed a Targaryen."

"You know not who or what you wish to wed! You know not who or what you will be tomorrow, never mind when you are old enough to be considered of marriageable age."

"I'm as much a lady as I will ever be."

"Is that so? What do you know of being a lady? In this realm, ladies are meant to birth children, and not much else. You are just a child. Try to stay one as long as you can."

"I'm not a child, father. You missed my childhood. I am nearly a woman grown, I've bled, and I want Daemon. I'm not afraid and I'm not mistaken. I love him, father. I want to be with him."

"Well, you will not be. Not at least for many years. I will not have my daughter branded the same as I at twelve. Not yet even twelve. Do you not hear the whispers? The display at the tournament was all this city could speak of for weeks. My ears tell me they still speak it, in every winesink and brothel, in every market and harbor, and on every street from Flea Bottom to the Hill of Rhaenys. I will not let this ruin you, for the same ruined Saera all those years ago. They cannot wait to have your name be my penance. That your fall will be my payment. As much as they show Targaryens respect, my child, they hate us! They wish to see us made low. You will not fall victim to my wrong doings."

"I am not you, father," Daenerys said, raising her voice and standing from the chair is if to assert strength.

"And what was I at fourteen? Do you think I was always what they say I am? I became what they said, only because they would never let me be anything otherwise. Every woman I ever spoke to assumed I wished to bed them. And so many women used that just to gain access to Court and the capital. You think Barba Bracken ever loved me? Missy may have, but did she? The only reason I mourn the Lady Serenei and not your mother, is I know which of the two would shed tears for me, and my sister would have more likely smiled than showed sorrow."

Aegon the King had never been her father in her heart. Daenerys felt better, feeling she had no father, just a man that would gift her on her name day and speak to her with simple courtesies in public. The man she saw could have never felt, she thought, always grinning, always hungry. She had never thought why one might fill themselves with so much, partake in all he was said to partake in.

He was a broken empty man, and his hunger was to fill the hole inside him

Daenerys Targaryen never thought she'd learn of love from Aegon IV. She still didn't and wouldn't for many years.

"How dare you speak of that woman in the same breath as mother? As much as I respect your candor, I cannot say one apology makes up for the lifetime of neglect. I love Daemon, father. Nothing you do or say or confess to me will change that."

"Since you will not listen, you will learn it another way," Aegon said, rubbing his temples with his hands, closing his eyes and sitting upright in his seat. Daenerys feared what other ways Aegon might teach her. "Since you are a woman, this will be your penance. Ser Blake! Send in the wet nurse."

From the adjacent chambers to the solar, Ser Blake of the Bay, one of Viserys' leftover Kingsguard, escorted a young woman with a babe, swaddled in black and red silk linens. The babe was at the woman's breast recently, as wetness seemed to betray her through her robe, and the babe was wide awake despite the late hour.

"Meet Shiera, your sister. She is to be your punishment."

"What?"

"Since you are woman enough for love, you are woman enough for life. This is what it means to be a woman. And without her mother, this little one is more than I can handle as disgustingly fat as I've become." The King chuckled, then sighed. "I try to help father her, but the little thing doesn't ever sleep. She's like her mother. Something with that Red God of theirs probably."

"What do you expect me to do?"

"I expect you to figure it out. It's not like you'll be without servants and a wetnurse, but that is yours to look after until your feelings for Daemon change. If after a period you still see yourself a bride, a wife, and a mother, and not the child you are and ought to be for years, I will take you seriously. Enjoy yourself with that one. She's got energy like nothing I've ever seen."