120 AC, Braavos
"You have been keeping secrets, daughter."
Laena made a point to ignore her father, though his questions had become sharper the longer the day wore on, and her resolve to continue doing so had worn thin. She could say she feared the ravens and their watching eyes. She could say she feared the servants and their wagging tongues. She could say she feared all but the man standing beside her and it would all be the truth. She could say it all and it would still be easier than to lay bare all that she had kept from him.
She did not trust him.
"I have." She tested her words carefully, knowing that if she said too much, too soon, it would all be for naught.
"And you have placed your trust in Daemon, of all people."
He said it as if that was most shocking of it all. And perhaps it was. The man that Daemon had been in King's Landing was scarcely the man he was now and he had thus far done right by his daughter – by the whole of their small family – and Laena could not find fault in him for that. For that alone. She could certainly find fault in him for a great many other things.
"I have."
Corlys sighed.
It did not carry in the muddle of sounds of the market, but Laena, who grown up hearing that sound, knew it well enough to pick it out in a gale.
"The girl," Corlys started, stepping out of the way of a particularly fast moving clam cart. He held out his hand, stopping the urchin boy with a simple gesture. Even so far from his halls, he still commanded the sort of respect she could never hope to. Without her dragon, she was nothing more than a foreign woman on foreign shores. A lower prospect, she could scarcely imagine and it chapped her worse than almost anything. "Twelve for us each. And some lemon and vinegar."
"We came out here to talk, away from listening walls and prying eyes."
"And we will talk. But it has been many years since we last shared a meal of oysters by the sea and I wish to do so before you run off again."
"And the sea cannot share our secrets."
"It has always kept them. Foreign or not, this water is just as much ours as the water that shaped Driftmark."
Laena took the board of oysters offered to her, biting her tongue at the smell. She did not care for vinegar as much as she had in her youth – it hurt her mouth and set her teeth on edge – but she knew when not to say anything. It had been years since they had last shared a meal by the sea, years since she last trusted him enough to listen to her words and keep them as sacred.
Years since he had proffered her to the King and destroyed her childhood forever.
She followed after him, biting her tongue even harder.
He led her out to the end of a morning dock, finding a place that was empty save for upturned barrels and dry nets.
"This dock keeper has died," He said, preferring to speak of things he knew and not of things he did not until he found his bearings. "Or he is not fond of making money."
Though it was a keen and true observation – one only need to look at the activity on all the other docks to see it by comparison – it annoyed her all the same, to hear him speech of such triviality.
She might as well bite clean through her tongue.
Still, she took a seat next to him and said nothing as he continued to watch the flurry of activity all around them. Boats, swinging low with goods. Buckets and buckets of fish being packed in salt to be traded inland. Nets piled up, wet from days spent under churning waters. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine they were back at Driftmark and her life had not turned out as it had. But when she opened them, it all melted away, and she was still in a foreign city, bound to keep secrets that were not hers and living a life in service of the late Rhea Royce.
"I did not know of Aemond," Laena said after a long moment, deciding to offer something. "Of his gifts."
To break it all open.
To bring about some sort of peace to her own racing mind and nervous heart. For she did not know him anymore and the day he offered her to the King was the day he stopped being her father and instead became only her Lord.
"I would imagine no one knew of the boy but the girl," Corlys said, squeezing more lemon on the board of oysters he now had balanced on his knees. "They seem close."
"They are," Laena said, following his lead. The lemons were so fresh here, so yellow and crisp, that she was almost tempted to eat them by the slice.
"Does it not concern you?"
"There are a great many things that concern me, father."
"Good. Then you have more sense than your brother. Three sons with brown hair, the state of it all."
Laena was a little shocked to hear him speak so openly of it, after he had spent years playing the role of the fool or the blind man. It had never suited him, to be made such a spectacle, and she felt herself falling into a bitter sort of relief at the notion that it had not been entirely against his own will. What further it said about her father, she could not dare say. A commitment to name or a commitment to blood, he would see that Driftmark remain in Velaryon hands ere more.
She wished she could say that same desire still burned bright in her chest, but she knew she could not.
"That is not fair." She tried to defend the brother she had been parted from for years, but it rang hollow. They both knew what Laenor's desires were and how unlikely it was to find them in between the legs of a woman.
"That is the truth of it. We need not pretend otherwise. Not here."
"Not when the sea will keep our secrets."
Corlys smiled at her, eyes crinkling, and Laena was reminded so vividly of why it hurt her so much to learn that she meant so little to him.
"Will Daemon?" Corlys asked. She knew he would not dance around the real topic for long and so she set aside her half-eaten board of oysters and turning to look at him in full.
"He has thus far. It is why we are here, after all, and why your letters have gone unanswered."
"Unburnt. Such a thing is unheard of outside of legends from Valyria." Corlys finished off his plate and Laena, without pausing to think, held out her own for him to finish as well. "And yet, you have found one living in our Kings halls, sharing his blood, and squiring for your husband."
"Indeed."
"But it is the girl that brought you here." Her father turned away from her, eyes squinting in the high afternoon sun. "What is she, Laena? Tell me true so that we may stop speaking in innuendo."
"I swore to keep her secrets."
"And kept them you have. But I heard it, through the doors you forgot to close and the shouts that you all could not managed to quell. She is like her mother, isn't she?"
"You know of Rhea?"
"Aye. I know of Rhea." His mouth twisted up at the words and made her heart ache all over again. "Whispers of her proclivities reached Driftmark before she died. But the Royce's always liked their superstition and most do not look for truth in their words any more than they look for protection in their runes."
"But you do."
"No, not for a long time. Not until you agreed to marry Daemon the same day Ormund Hightower died and you fled to the other side of the Narrow Sea."
"You never said a-"
"Neither did you, Laena," Her father said, sounding truly upset by the very notion. "You put your trust in a man who would burn you alive to keep himself warm. I knew there must be a reason for it. It took me longer than it should have to put together the pieces. Now tell me, what more can Ophaella do?"
"I will not. It is enough that you know that she is gifted at all. And now you know Aemond is as well. The question is what you will do with the knowledge."
"No, that is not the question." A shadow passed over them both, drawing their gaze away from the water and up to the open sky. A dragon, blood red even against the bright yellow of the sun, swooped high – tumbling and turning. "The question is what Daemon intends to do with the knowledge."
"Nothing."
"Then he is no longer Daemon and I will weep for you to be widowed so young."
Laena turned away from Caraxes, looking at her father more closely. "I know it must be a shock to you, to think of a father putting the best interests of his daughter above his own ambitions, but Daemon has done nothing but protect Ophaella."
"How often has he been meeting with the Sealord? What is it they discuss, do you think? Their mutual appreciation for Viserys?"
"He is the King-"
"And is it not my loyalty we are speaking of, nor Daemon's to his brother." Corlys finally looked back at her, face hard. "Daemon knows the game better than anyone. His ambition has often clouded his judgement, but he has never been one to let something so powerful slip through his grasp. He might not say he wishes to be King, but his eyes have always been fixed on the Throne. When Viserys passes it would take a great feat indeed for something to blind him of that and to steal him of his grasping hands. He has no greater love than the Throne."
Perhaps he did not. But Laena still held onto the hope that he had a greater love for his daughter, though that diminished with each meal he took with the Sealord. She knew what they discussed. She knew what was hinted at.
She just could not put it to words.
Could not give it the power it required.
"You would certainly know of what it would take, for there has not been a love to match the one you have for your place at court and the slight handed down to mother." Laena did not move to pull back, glad to be saying her fill while she had the opportunity. "Not even the bastard that will inherit Driftmark, that you now speak openly of."
"I speak openly of the truth here, because there is nowhere else I can speak it and the sea will keep my secrets. Your mother thinks me blind or stubborn or stupid. I cannot say which accusation aggrieves me the most. But I see as much as everyone else, I simply know it cannot matter if we are to remain living in peace. Rhaenyra has done what she did, the impact on our House be damned, and I do not blame her for it. It will still be House Velaryon and it will still be at the whims of whatever Targaryen sits the throne."
"But what of Vaemond? Do you think he will accept such a slight?"
"He will accept what I tell him to accept, if it saves him from the burn of dragonfire or the cold of being banished from court."
"Perhaps you should speak with the Sealord instead of Daemon. He will find a more willing partner for his treachery in your sudden change of heart."
"Ships cannot sail on sour winds. What that means for the future, I dare not say, but I do not think myself to the sort to stomach treason. I cannot say the same for Daemon." Corlys grabbed her hand, pulling it into his lap for a moment before he lifted it and pressed it against his lips. "I fear for you and what might happen if you stand between him and his ambition."
"I will stand between him and Ophaella, nothing more."
"And if those two are one and the same?"
"Then I will remain rooted in place and bear whatever consequences that might come with that."
"Word will spread of their abilities, Laena. They are secret for now, but they will not be for long. It will not just be Daemon who seeks to control them. What will you do when that happens? The boy is a second son with no dragon to speak of, but being Unburnt is a remarkable thing. A rare thing. A thing of legend not seen since the Doom."
"It's a thing of prophecy."
"He is fortunate that he will mostly go unnoticed as far as marriage proposals are concerned. As a warrior, however, I cannot imagine anything fiercer. I fear for the girl far more. If the Lords Paramount hear word of a dragon rider with land holdings of her own and with the gifts of rune magic, there will be no end to their suit. I do not sit on the Council as often as I once did, but rumors still reach me, and Alicent Hightower already makes claims on the girl's hand for her son." Corlys finished with a sigh, dropping his hands to his knees.
"Rhaenyra will has well, I would expect. And half the lords in Westeros."
"And Essos."
"Then perhaps we should be done with all this nonsense and marry the boy and girl to each other and be done with it." Laena did not say it with much seriousness, though her father perked up considerably at the idea. "I do not mean it. I care quite a bit for the boy, as if he were my own, I would hate to see Daemon kill him for the suggestion."
"Then we will keep it to ourselves," Corlys said, smiling as he turned his own head up to look at Caraxes as he swirled overhead. Laena could almost imagine Ophaella's face, open and joyful, and her heart ached so greatly she could hardly handle it. For she knew that these conversations were to continue. In their halls and in the halls of King's Landing, they would continue. Over and over again, adults would negotiate on the behalf of Ophaella and Aemond and Aegon and Jacaerys and Lucerys and Helaena and Daeron, until their lives were nothing but words in a history book.
Until they were nothing but their last name.
Until the world and life that Rhea Royce had wanted so desperately for her daughter had sunk into the sea or turned completely to ash.
Laena should take her. She should gather her things in the middle of the night and take her to Naath, like she had always wanted to. Ophaella would be safe there, warm and happy and free of the burdens of growing prophecy. But those dreams had died with Rhea and Laena knew she could not will them back to life by the simple force of the love that she had for her.
For she was doomed to stay rooted in place.
Doomed to bear the consequences of whatever might come, just for the chance to shield Ophaella from them for just a little bit longer. Until it was no longer possible.
As any good mother would.
"Again."
It was not normally such an enjoyable thing, Jaqen thought, to teach the methods of the Faceless Men through the harsh bite of a reed staff, but he found it within himself to derive just the slightest bit of pleasure at the boy's misery and expense. But it was not as poignant has he had hoped, not so biting as to make him actually begin to feel something that would feel suspiciously like regret. Instead, the boy seemed almost eager to get hit again.
He lifted himself off the sandstone street, knuckles bloody and raw from all the times the reed had come down across them, and turned to face Jaqen. He had stopped raising his fists in a defensive position, instead holding them at his side.
Waiting.
Learning.
Jaqen scowled at him.
He should be proud. Or at the very least, pleased to see that his lessons were beginning to take hold. Instead all he felt was bitter. If this had been a student of his own choosing, a nameless boy from a nameless part of the world, he might have felt differently. If his hair had been black, or brown, or red, or if he had nothing at all, he might not have brought the reed down on him so harshly.
If the boy had been the girl, he might have found it within himself to remember the last Targaryen girl that had crossed his path.
Instead, the girl was flying high overhead on a red dragon– as she had done almost daily for weeks now - at the mercy of her Targaryen father, completely unaware of what was happening far below her feet. Such was the nature of their house. So rare it was for them to touch ground, he had often wondered if they forgot what it felt like. Closer to gods then men, some called them.
An arrogant declaration, when it came from the lips of the Targaryen's themselves, but one that Jaqen had once judged to be true.
Now, all he wanted to do was cut them low. To see them brought down to earth as all the rest of them. To see them live as the people they had abused for so long.
The men, at the very least.
The women were the only redeeming part of that infernal house, the only thing that he would ever consider a credit, and even that was faint praise. Even the fairest of dragons were still monsters. Even the kindest would still see them all burn to ash.
It was another one of those desires that still lived with him and kept him from really being No One.
He supposed he could start with the boy.
Jaqen brought the reed staff down on the boy's right side, aiming for the broadest part. His arm moved down, catching it just half a second before it smacked against the tender skin poorly shielded by his doublet. It was the same one he had been wearing every day since he blinded him. Over a month now, it had been, and he still returned to the House of Black and White daily in the same clothes. Playing the part of a poor boy and learning the simplest of lessons.
He supposed it was for the best, as much as the charade made his teeth hurt, as it did not draw attention to them when they left the halls and returned to the busy streets of the city. The House was too quiet, too easy to hear a man's breath or the changing of the direction of a staff, for such lessons to be effective.
The boy wrapped his arm around the staff and tried to wrestle it back. His grip was surprisingly strong for someone so young, but it relied on brute force rather than cunning and Jaqen was able to pull it back and smack the back of the boy's head just for the failed effort.
"A boy still tries to overpower a man," Jaqen said, watching the way the boy's head turned to follow him as he spoke. He was certainly getting better at using his other senses, though Jaqen still caught him struggling to track a sound when he was panicked or put upon. A fleetingly rare occurrence, the longer their training went on.
"A boy knows and a boy is trying," Aemond said back, tone oddly noncombative for how petulant he had been thus far.
That annoyed Jaqen further.
But he endeavored to keep his face neutral.
If not to honor his own precedents, than to not allow the witch watching them her own satisfaction. For Alys Rivers searched for satisfaction in all things and he would not be the man to give it to her.
He turned to look at Alys, jaw clenching at the look on her face. She had perched herself above them, on the balcony of a silk merchant, like a green raven. She made a great show of watching the progress with a neutral expression, but it was a farce. Her eyes followed the boy and the boy alone. As if he were all that mattered to her, as if the skies would fall down around them if she dared look away.
But it was a sick sort of gaze.
The sort that she had accused him of having for the girl.
Jaqen looked back at the boy, tilting his head to the side as she observed him. "Does a girl not care for training as the boy does?"
He could not help his own insatiable curiosity.
Another one of those things that were still his inside his own mind.
"Ophaella spends most of her time in the library with Lady Laena," The boy said, the combative tone back in an instant. Jaqen smirked and tilted his head to the other side. The boy's face had hardened considerably at the very mention, his pale brows drawing together in a firm line. "She is angry at me for choosing this."
"And what has a boy chosen?"
"To look outside the family."
"Is that what angers a girl so?"
"I do not wish to talk about her," Aemond said, turning away. Jaqen looked back up at Alys, glowering at the way she leaned forward. At the way her mouth opened, like she was breathing in something more precious than air.
"Good. A boy is learning that such attachments are folly."
"No. I do not wish to speak of her because she is not your concern. She has chosen not to join me and I have chosen to respect that. Whatever my attachments to her are, they are none of your business."
"And so a man must teach his lessons again."
"Have I not learned them already?" Aemond asked, milky eyes fixed in Jaqen in a way that seeing eyes might.
"No," Jaqen said, glancing back up at Alys. "No, a boy has not. But perhaps a boy might tomorrow."
"If Ophaella is to be part of the lessons, then I promise you I never will."
Jaqen heard the squeak of wood as Alys dug her nails into the railing just above their heads. He looked up at her just in time to see her push back from the edge, rage etched into her features. Sweet words she had plied Ophaella with one moon cycle past completely forgotten. Encouragement for the gifts that bloomed deep in the girl nothing but placations for her own ambitions. Instead, there was nothing but a little obstacle in her path, one with blood in her palms and magic in her veins.
"Indeed. Go then and return to your house. A boy will come back tomorrow."
"A boy will come back tomorrow."
Jaqen almost found himself looking forward to the notion. If for nothing else then it gave him another opportunity for a bit of misery. If not at the boy then at Alys Rivers.
That was a poignant as it could get.
For the boy might not ever be No One, but he would certainly not be someone to Alys anytime soon.
That honor seemed reserved wholly for Ophaella Targaryen.
When a boy returned to him tomorrow, a man would train him as well as he could. For even a boy playing at being No One could never be someone to Alys Rivers.
And he would revel in it.
"I will see you later, tala," Daemon said, dropped his hand to the top of Ophaella's head for just a moment as they walked back into the Sealord's house. They had stayed longer on Caraxes today, flown almost clear back to Westeros if given the opportunity, and his legs ached now that he was back on solid ground. Ophaella was practically bouncing, unaffected by fatigue in only a way one so young could be.
"Will you be at dinner?" Ophaella asked, smiling up at him.
Gods, it made his heart clench.
He pulled his hand back from her head, letting his hand trail down to the side of her face. Her skin was red as a lobster after so many days in the sky. He had been selfish in that regard, taking her away from her studies and her time with Laena and the still blind Aemond just to be with her. It was so easy above the clouds, where there were no stones for her to carve or runes to read. Where there were no Sealords to dine with, or wives to dance around, or father-in-laws to placate.
"No. Our host has his own demands on my time."
Her face scrunched, the newly formed freckles on her skin crinkling. "I could fake an illness. Create my own demands on your time."
"Would that no demands were needed."
He tucked a white wisp of her hair behind her ear. It was shorted to the rest and did not stay behind her ear for long. She looked a closer to a cotton flower now, windswept and puffy. Her bronze eyes practically shone up at him. It made his heart ache again.
"I will see you tomorrow. Go find the boy. I am sure he is in a state, as always."
She nodded, expression nearly unreadable save for the way her cheeks got even redder, if that was possible. As always seemed to happen where Aemond was concerned. Even when she was angry with him, as she had been for weeks, she still blushed red as a Reach poppy. Three years he had been subjected to that response and it still managed to chap him all the same.
"Good night, kepa," Ophaella said, giving him one last smile before she turned to walk further into the Sealord's home and left him alone.
It was for the best. He could not afford the pull she had on him when he needed to have his fullest wits about him. Not when he had ignored the Sealord's dinner invitation for nigh on a month.
The doors to his private rooms reminded Daemon of a mouth, opening wide for him and eager to eat him whole. But Daemon was determined to make it a hard chew.
"Ah, Prince Daemon," The Sealord said the moment he stepped inside.
He was in a jovial mood tonight.
Something soured in Daemon's stomach at the thought. Anything that brought a man such as him joy was not something Daemon wished to be a part of. A mirror they were. A cruel mimicry of each other, their savagery matched in ways but one.
"Come, come. I was just about to serve Lord Corlys my favorite cut of meat."
Daemon tried very hard to freeze at the sight of Corlys on the other side of the table, but it made the sick feeling deep in his gut worse. Corlys watched him, dark eyes unreadable save for the imploring nature that was unrecognizable to their host and entirely unavoidable for Daemon. He lowered himself into the seat across from Corlys, back a stone column.
"No fish tonight?"
"I have a richer appetite." The Sealord snapped his fingers and servants appeared from all sides to place overloaded trays of food on the table. When neither Corlys nor Daemon made a move to fill their plates, the Sealord snapped again, this time at them. "Eat, my friends. We have much to discuss and it would not do well to do it on an empty stomach."
Corlys was the first to break the stalemate, though he did not do so with good will on his face. He implored Daemon do the same with the look on his face and Daemon soon followed suit.
As was the way of things.
As was the steps to their dance.
He had memorized them by now, gone over them repeatedly in his head when sleep would not find him, and he could do them with his eyes closed.
"In truth, I am pleased that you have joined us Lord Corlys," The Sealord said, mouth red with blood from his undercooked meat. "Your son by law has made a great many number of promises, but I fear only you have the power to see them through."
"Then you are unfamiliar with Westerosi customs. Prince Daemon is a prince. Whatever promises he has made to you will be fulfilled."
"Then I am unfamiliar. But the matter still remains and I would put it to you to see what you make of it." The Sealord stabbed through his meat, cutting deep. "You still command King Viserys's navy, do you not?"
"I do."
"And you are tasked with seeing that they are safe for commercial passage."
"I am."
"Then the promises are partly yours to fulfill as they are yours that have been neglected." The Sealord lifted the newly sliced bit of meat up to his face, observing the marbling. "These harbors have grown quiet. A man of your knowledge will have surely noticed."
"I have," Corlys said, finally cutting into his own meat. "A Braavosi problem. As a free city you are outside the Crown's protection."
"As Prince Daemon as said many times. And yet we will always be at its mercy all the same."
"If you wish for its protection and free waters, then you will pays its taxes and provide your soldiers to keeping its peace." Corlys lifted the meat up to his mouth and took a bite. "The meat is delicious, though I would think your specialty fish. It is a shame to waste such a fine cut on man who does not understand its needs."
Daemon had to bite his lip from smiling.
Still, the mood was anything but friendly, and while he valued the opportunity to have a partner cut into their dance for a moment or two, he knew he would have to make good on his promises.
Spoken or otherwise.
"It is a funny thing, my Lords, meat. It needs a skilled hand, from beginning to end. From the moment the sheep is born, it needs to be guided straight to its own slaughtering. Kept on the right path. If not, it all turns to madness. If not, men will starve." The Sealord looked to Corlys first, eyes hardening, before he fixed his stare on Daemon. "Every time we speak you have affirmed your loyalty to King Viserys."
"I have."
"And I do not look to change your answer," He paused, cutting up more of his meat. "But what I speak of now is not Viserys. I speak of what comes after." The Sealord set down his knife. "We have spoken of this in all manner of ways. Over and over and over again. I tire of this conversation."
He reached down into his pocket, fishing around for a moment before he pulled something white out.
Something fluffy.
Something that reminded Daemon vividly of a cotton flower.
Daemon grabbed his dinner knife and stood, throwing his chair back with the force.
His hands were on the Sealord before he could speak again.
The knife found its way to his jugular before he could breathe.
"She will be dead before the hour is ov-," The Sealord said, the words little more than a hiss.
"You would dare," Daemon snarled, pressing the knife in enough to draw the faintest bit of blood. "You would dare threatened her. My-"
"I would dare to grasp at the leverage you have laid at my feet."
Behind them, Daemon was vaguely aware of Corlys standing to his feet as well. He made no move to pull Daemon back however, though he did move to stand just out of arms reach.
"Did you think you could leave them unattended? As she goes back and forth to the library? As she flaunts her hair and her heritage around the city? It was a simple enough task to find her while she slept, you left her alone so often. She did not even notice as my man took the hair. Nor did you. As it was three night's past and you have only just now decided to come treat with me once again."
"My Lords, please."
"You sent a man with a knife into my daughter's room?"
Daemon slice, opening the Sealord's neck just enough for more blood to spill. But he would yet live. He would know the man's reasons before he gutted him.
He would hear his words before he gave him his skilled hand.
From beginning to end.
"I sent a man with a knife into one of the many rooms that your family has occupied for free for three years. I sent a man into the room that your daughter is in right now. And into the room of the boy. And your wife. Should you kill me, they will be dead before you can reach them."
"Daemon."
Corlys's hand wrapped around the wrist holding the knife, pulling on it with a great deal of force.
But still he did not move.
"I will kill you."
"Good. An honest man. I have offended you and so you will take your prize for such things. It is a regret that little Ophaella should suffer such an end. She is such a sweet little thing. Soon to bleed, I have heard. A shame to waste such a thing on a father's follies. But my men have been told to make it quick though, so do what you will do and may her swift death be a solace for you in the coming years."
"Daemon, calm yourself."
He could not hear him.
Daemon could not hear anything but the sound of his own rapidly beating heart in his ears. He feared he would stop breathing soon enough. Stop feeling. Stop everything. All that would be left to him would the warm blood he wanted so desperately to spill.
And the little tuft of white hair the Sealord had let fall to their feet.
He threw himself backwards, knife falling to the ground with a clatter.
"We shoul-"
"I am happy to have come to the truth of this whole messy affair. There is little need for such games between men. It is childish. And unnecessary when we are soon to be allies and friends."
"Do not," Daemon started, only to have the rest of the words die in his throat as a rage burned through him.
A rage like he had never felt before.
A rage like dragonfire.
"Do not threaten my child and then make like we will be friends. It is but by hair that you still live. Not my mercy nor my magnanimity. You kill her, you will have no more leverage over me and your waters will never clear."
"Indeed. But you would never let her die, so we may renew our discussions with the truth of it all in the open. When you return to King's Landing you will champion whatever end clears my waters and fills my larders and makes heavy my coffers. If not, I will feed your daughter to the sharks. The boy too, so that they do not go hungry. There is no where she can go that my swords will not find her. There is no time she will be safe until you make good on your word. Kill me now, and my promise will be fulfilled that much sooner, for the ravens have already been sent and the gold has already been spent."
The Sealord bent down and picked up the piece of Ophaella's hair.
He held it out between them, twisting the fibers between his fingers.
"Such a sweet thing. Here, you may keep this as a reminder of our shared future. Now come! The meat grows cold and I have developed a mighty hunger. It is time I sated it."
Laena sat up from her bed, blinking in the low light when she realized he was there. Daemon kept his back to her, hunched low over the fire that he was endeavoring to stoke. He ignored the way she called his name, ignored all the questions she must have, as he added more logs. It would choke the embers, but he insisted.
More and more.
If they would light, the room would be ablaze.
Perhaps it would take him with it.
"Daemon," Laena said, her voice finally breaking through the fog in his mind. She had pulled herself from her bed and made her way over to him, hands touching his back with the lightest pressure possible.
As if she feared his response.
As if she feared him.
"What has happened?"
He turned on her then, arms wrapping around her waist of their own accord. He had touched her sparing in their marriage, unable to partake in such pleasures after a lifetime spent decrying their benefits. Marriage beds were little more than fallow in all his experience, and Laena was too comely – too strong, too insistent on her own ambitions – to ever willingly find herself in his embrace.
But he did not hate her as he had once hated Rhea.
And even that hate – once such a strong fire it rivaled that of dragons – had dwindled into ash.
Like the fire he endeavored to build.
And the kingdom that he would soon tear down.
Daemon's fingers dug into the soft fabric of her dress, pulling Laena close enough to slot their hips together. To feel her warmth. To forget all else but this.
To forget the tuft of white hair he had tucked close to his breast.
Tucked close to the runestone he carried.
Daemon lifted the fabric of her dress up, hands searching for the warmth between her legs. Laena let out a small gasp, throwing her head back as he slipped the first finger inside.
Already so wet.
He added a second and then a third.
Her hands traveled down to his breeches, unlacing the ties quickly and yet without practice.
As maid being taken for the first time.
He should do more.
He should kiss her sweetly and lay her down on her bed. He should make her cry his name out ten times over before looking fulfill his own desires.
But all sanity had left him.
All desire to do good and right and proper and princely had abandoned as his sanity had. For he had walked his family into this trap and he would soon set them down the path of treason. His arrogance and inaction had all but assured that.
Laena's mouth was too good for him.
Too sweet.
Too much of a good thing that he had not earned.
Daemon flipped them around, cradling Laena's shapely hips in his as he led her to the nearest firm surface.
Well.
Nearest firm surface not currently between his legs.
He groaned when her hands wrapped around his cock, throwing his head back as she tried to free it. He grew impatient at her fumbling and finished the job for her, earning a tinkling laugh that would have lit him on fire under any other circumstances. Daemon pushed the fabrics of her dress out of the way again, one hand searching her out while the other gave himself three quick strokes.
He entered her after she gave him the briefest of nods.
And the heat was finally enough to wipe the rest of it from his mind.
"Gods."
Her hands grasped at his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric as he began to set his pace. She was so tight. So welcoming.
And the sounds she made.
"Daemon, faster."
He groaned, hips stuttering as her muscles clenched around him tighter. His pace faltered only for a moment before he started again.
Chasing a high.
Chasing a release.
Chasing a brief oblivion.
Heat built at the back of his spine.
"Daemon, I-" She trailed off, words faltering in her throat as she clenched even tighter around him. "I'm going to..."
"Do it. I need to feel you."
He did not pull out of her as he should, too trapped by the heat.
Too enthralled by everything about her.
Too taken by the comfort she offered by her presence alone. He would regret it soon enough. When the clear light of morning showed him what he had done. For now he let himself sit in the feeling, he let himself sit inside her. His wife. He would tell her. Tell her what he had done.
But for now he simply let himself get lost, knowing that the morning and the shattered pieces of his oaths would find him again.
As they always did.
As they would do so again.
At least one more time.