Daemon POV

Daemon Targaryen often wondered what life would be like after the war.

In between the battles and the carnage, Daemon would find himself lost in daydreams—he'd imagine Viserys welcoming him home with open arms, throwing that Hightower cunt out of the keep and appointing Daemon as Hand. (This was the most improbable of his dreams, but it was beautiful nonetheless.) Perhaps there would be no homecoming, and Daemon would meet his end on these barren rocks. He imagined his brother weeping over his mangled corpse, ruing their estrangement. More likely than not Daemon would return home, and Viserys would delight in his presence until he inevitably didn't, and Daemon would be banished again.

Rhaenyra was a frequent player in his dreams—she would shed tears at the news of his death, or rejoice at his triumphant return. He'd amassed a collection of gifts for his beloved niece and dreamed of her smile when he placed the jade tiara he'd plucked from a pirate's hoard on her head.

But his dreams were not to be.

"Where is Rhaenyra?" Daemon asked, pouring himself a goblet of wine. After his dramatic entrance, Viserys had sequestered him away from the court so he could show off the growth of his model and reminisce about old times.

"She's on her progress," Viserys said distractedly as he fiddled with an ivory figurine. "It's high time she married, and I told her she must choose a husband within a year."

"Choose?" Daemon asked sardonically. "I would have thought you'd pick one for her."

Such was the fate of Targaryen daughters, and, in Daemon's case, Targaryen sons. Daella and Saera were given the illusion of choice, while Viserra had been ordered to spread her legs for a man thrice her age and widowed four times over. Even Alyssa's match had been arranged, although Daemon's mother was fortunate to be hopelessly in love with his father.

"I have a few suggestions," Viserys admitted. "It would be best if she wed Laenor Velaryon—"

Daemon cackled, wine sloshing over the rim of his goblet.

Viserys wasn't laughing.

"Are you in earnest?" Daemon asked incredulously, sopping up the droplets with his sleeve.

"Of course I am. Such a match would soothe the bad blood between our houses."

"Yes, and curse Rhaenyra to a childless marriage. Laenor's a good knight, but he's overly fond of cock."

"Lies and slander."

Daemon fixed his brother with a look. "I spent years with the boy in a war camp," he said slowly. "It's not a lie."

Viserys looked uncomfortable. "Many squires indulge in childish affairs," he said. "They become men and put away such things. Ser Laenor has been knighted, and even if he clings to boyhood follies, he'll do his duty."

Like you did?Daemon thought caustically. Viserys had been dodging responsibility his entire life. As a boy, it was avoiding practice in the training yard. As a man, it was leaving difficult decisions to the Small Council and abandoning his daughter in grief while he fucked her lady-in-waiting. He enjoyed the trappings of power, but when the moment of truth came, he shrank from the challenge. His plan for Rhaenyra to act as a peace offering to soothe the offense he caused was just one example among many of Viserys's commitment to duty.

"Who are the other options?" Daemon asked instead.

"Well, I used to hope for one of the Lannister brothers—"

Dear gods.

"Alicent suggested a betrothal between Aegon and Rhaenyra—"

Of course,Daemon thought, biting back a sneer.

"And I entertained the notion of wedding Rhaenyra to the Prince of Dorne," Viserys said dreamily. "Can you imagine? I would be the king who brought Dorne into the fold. I could succeed where even the Conquorer failed, without a single spark of dragonfire."

"Did this notion come before or after you received word of Dorne's alliance with the Triarchy?"

Viserys waved a hand. "It hardly matters. Martell announced his marriage to some Dayne girl, and the scheme had to be put aside."

Fucking hells. He'd actually been plotting this travesty while Daemon risked life and limb against Dornish forces. Daemon loved his brother, truly, but if they hadn't been blood he would have slit his throat many times over, for Viserys made it so easy to hate him.

Rhaenyra arrived a week later.

She didn't announce her return. According to the maids, she swept into the keep and shut herself up in her chambers. Viserys hadn't been aware of her return for three hours, and Daemon hadn't been aware until his brother ordered his presence in court.

Fucking vultures,Daemon thought as he took his place by Viserys's side, glaring at the crowd of curious nobles that milled before the Iron Throne. Their whispers were a dull drone as their eyes darted around eagerly for news, for gossip, for scandal.

"Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen," the crier called, and the whispers ceased. "Princess of Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne!"

She's grown,Daemon thought dumbly. There was the obvious, of course. Rhaenyra was taller, and her girlhood dresses had been exchanged for a woman's gowns. But her changes were deeper than the physical—she'd been a bright, precocious child, flushed with the arrogance that came from being a Targaryen princess and the youngest dragonrider of their line. She'd lost the arrogance, but retained her pride—Rhaenyra stood before the King with a quiet dignity Daemon hadn't seen since Rhaenys had exiled herself to Driftmark.

(He'd been the one to name her the Realm's Delight, but Daemon never could have predicted how her beauty would blossom with age.)

"Daughter," Viserys boomed, clutching Blackfyre's hilt.

"Your Grace," Rhaenyra replied, giving a bow instead of the traditional curtsy. Daemon had been too young to witness Aunt Saera's trial, but he was struck with an uncomfortable reminder of another Targaryen princess called before the throne. Why had Viserys called her before the court? If he was displeased, he should keep the matter within the family.

"I gave you a year to make your progress across the Realm and to find a husband. It has only been six moons."

"It has," Rhaenyra agreed. There were shadows beneath her eyes, and her cheeks were hollow.

"Then you've made your choice?"

"No." She said easily.

Viserys surged to his feet, knuckles white. "I gave you a year!" He shouted. "I gave you a year to make your choice, and you dare to squander it?"

"It took you four years to send reinforcements to the Stepstones," Rhaenyra snapped.

"That—that's an entirely different matter!" Viserys blustered.

"You're right," Rhaenyra said, violet eyes flashing. "Nobody's dying while I decide who to marry."

It was never a good idea to make the monarch look a fool, especially in front of an audience. Daemon had done so once and found himself banished, but Rhaenyra wasn't Daemon. She'd been escorted to her chambers, and confined for gods know how long. Daemon decides it's as good a time as any to shower his niece with her gifts, and orders supper to be brought with him.

"Niece!" Daemon said as he swept into her room. "I come bearing—"

"Oh, gods." Rhaenyra's face turned green as the smell of onion soup wafted from its crock. "Take it away, please!"

"Are you unwell?" Daemon frowned. He'd noticed she'd looked tired earlier, but he'd thought it had been the strain of travel, not illness.

"I'm well enough," his niece sighed as the servants scurried out with the soup. "I've had too many onion dishes recently. I'm quite sick of them."

"As sick as you are of hunting for a husband?" Daemon probed.

"Ngh." Rhaenyra snatched a custard tart and stuffed it in her mouth.

"You'll have to get married eventually, you know. Better to make your choice now before your father loses his patience and chooses for you."

"It's a big decision!" Rhaenyra snapped, grabbing another tart. "I'm the one who'll have to live with him, so I need to be thoughtful! Besides, I shouldn'thaveto get married yet, I'm too young!"

"Aemma was already a wife and mother by the time she was your age."

"And look at what happened to her!"

"Is that why you've been putting this off?" Daemon asked softly. "Are you afraid you'll share your mother's fate?"

"Maybe," she said petulantly, brushing the crumbs off her skirt.

"You cannot live your life in fear, or you will forsake the best parts of it."

"What best parts? Every marriage I've seen has been miserable."

"I'm sure that's not true—"

"Alicent and my father," Rhaenyra said, raising a finger. "My parents. Jaehaerys and Alysanne. You and Rhea—"

"Our family has had happy marriages!" Daemon said defensively. "My parents, for one—"

"Alyssa died before she and Baelon could disappoint each other." Rhaenyra said. "And what's so great about marriage? If my husband is anything like the men I've seen, he'll treat me like an idiot, waste my dowry on stupid shit, and cut me open for a baby that won't even live."

"Rhaenyra—"

"And I'll have to pretend to come while he fucks me!"

Daemon choked.

"The best parts of my life?" Rhaenyra scoffed, grabbing yet another tart. "Don't make me laugh."

"What do you know about fucking?" Daemon demanded.

"More than my father wants me to know, but it's his own fault. You can't expect me to stay innocent when there's tapestries of orgies everywhere."

Daemon suspected that Rhaenyra's knowledge was more practical than theoretical. She was the blood of the dragon, and their blood ran hot; if she were anything like Daemon or his aunts she'd have had a lover or two by now. If they'd done such a terrible job in bed that Rhaenyra felt she had to fake her pleasure, someone was getting fed to Caraxes. But it wouldn't do to ask such things here—one could never tell who was leaned over to whisper, "How about I take you into the city tonight?"

"Why?"

"You should see the city you'll rule one day, and I'm sure you'll be enlightened by what you see..."