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sollsmith · 2 months

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Fire in the Flesh

Chapter Seven

Daemon Targaryen x Original Female Character

Words: 5K

Warnings: mentions of abuse/injury, NSFW smut, fingering (f recieving), sex w/o a condom, taking of virginity, blood

Summary:

After five years at war in the Stepstones and the death of his first wife, Daemon Targaryen returns to court embroiling himself, and his niece and heir to the throne Rhaenyra, in chaos and scandal. Daemon’s actions cause Viserys to give him the one thing he has always wanted. A Valyrian bride. Just not the one he had in mind.

“Maybe we should put it up? In a braid?” She had suggested to Rhaenyra when they were deciding what to do with her hair, wanting the relief of it being lifted off her neck. She was uncommonly hot, and Daella was not sure if it was her lack of sleep or the much too hot bath that was run for her this morning by the random handmaid she had been offered by Rhaenyra for the morning.

“I don’t think that will work with the headpiece.” Rhaenyra replied, picking it up to inspect it, twirling it around in her hands, its embroidery casting shards of white light to dance over the walls of the room. “Besides, he will prefer it down.”

“Mm, down it is then.” Daella hums, rubbing lotion into her hands as she sits in the stool in front of the vanity. Rhaenyra comes up behind her, brush in hand, smiling softly, beginning to remove the strips of silk that were braided through Daella’s hair keeping her curls in place.

“We could do two braids at the side, keep it out of your face? I have a ruby clip that matches your necklace.” She offers, as Daellas' hair begins to pool around her. She had been letting it grow since the news of her betrothal had reached her and it now reached the top of her waist.

“That would be perfect.” Daella says softly. Rhaenyra watches her clearfully, running the brush lightly through her hair. She turns to Cassana, signalling her to go fetch the clip, before moving to lean in front of Daella, grabbing her hands in her own.

“Marra will come around. Give her some time.” Rhaenyra smiles softly.

“I’m about to do the one thing she does not want me to do.”

“Not by your own choice. She is worried about you, if anything this just shows how much she cares about you.”

Daella does not see anything for a moment, just simply rubs her thumbs along Rhaenyra’s hands. If it wasn’t for Rhaenyra, she would be completely alone. “You and Alicent never made up.” She points out.

“No, but that was a betrayal of her own volition.” Daella watches her tense slightly at the mention of her former friend. Rhaenyra gives her hands a small squeeze before standing and returning to Daella’s hair. “Your situation is very different.”

“Does she have a reason?” Daella can't help but ask one more time.

“For what?”

“To be worried about me?”

Rhaenyra laughs softly, shaking her head. It must be her at least the tenth time had asked this question, in various different forms, with each time getting her the same answer.

“My uncle is a lot of things, cold and cruel among them. But I swear to you, Daemon will not hurt you or cause you any pain.” Rhaenyra catches Daella’s eyes in the mirror. “Besides, he is completely enamoured with you.”

“We haven’t even held a conversation longer than ten words.” It was Daella's turn to laugh now.

“Words don’t mean a whole lot to my uncle.”

Daella legs are weak as she exits the oxcart that has pulled up outside the Dragon Pit. Her father clammers out behind her, waving to the crowds of small folk that have gathered to get a glimpse at their new Princess and bride of the Rogue Prince. He grips the back of her arm tightly.

“Wave, these are your people now.” He hisses. Daella raises her hand, smiling and waving softly. As she looks around, she spots Maelor standing at the foot of the steps. She has to stop herself from screaming and running to him, but does begin her dash towards him, ignoring her fathers demanding wishes to come back to him. She reaches him, wrapping her arms around his neck pulling him towards her into a hug.

“I told you that you would abandon me!” She says softly, teasingly.

“I did not abandon you.” Maelor shakes his head, offering her his arm as they run to make their way up the grand steps. “I was spending time with my betrothed. As you were, I heard.” He was smirking.

“Stop it” Daella giggles. “It’s been a nightmare. I only met him three times, two of which were by accident.” She whispers.

“And?”

“He was pleasant enough.” Maelor snorts at this. Daella shoots him a look. “Don’t you start too. I’ve already lost Marra to this nonsense.”

“You haven’t lost her. She spent yesterday evening crying in my chamber.” Daella shakes her head. Maelor pulls them to a stop once they reach the top of the steps. The large wooden doors of the Pit lying wide open, she can hear the people inside chattering amongst themselves, and a familiar figure standing just at the door. “She thinks you're going to have her shipped back to Volantis.”

“So I marry a man she deems cruel and now I am also?” Daella laughs, the notion is so insane to her she doesn’t have time to be offended by it.

“It’s Marra being Marra. Give her time.” Maelor says, his head turning to look over at the figure standing at the door. “You will tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Daella questions.

“If he hurts you.” Maelor whispers. Daella glances towards Daemon who is now watching them, not really listening to Maelor. “Do not let the next chapter of your life be the same as the first.”

“What?” Daella's head whips back to her brother. Maelor is staring at her, eyes glazed with tears.

“Marra told me. Her only chance before she got shipped off to Volantis I guess.” Maelor jokes softly. “You should have told me. I would hav-”

“There is nothing you could have done. He does the same to you. We both did what we could to protect each other from it.”

Maelor nods softly, pulling his sister in for a hug, gently placing a kiss to the side of her head. Daella savours the hug for a moment, before a voice causes them to pull apart.

“Princess? We are ready for you now.” A man in grey robes approaches them. Daella nods at him, before looking back to Maelor. He gives her a soft smile. Daella walks with the man towards the door, her husband to be watching. He is already dressed in his robes. Daella smiles at him as she approaches.

“Hello.” She says stopping in front of him. Daemon looks down at her, taking her in. Her dress was made of thin fabric, the expensive kind only found in rich markets across the Jade Sea. It was flowy and whipped magically in the soft wind. It was cut low, the red fabric sitting on her edge of shoulders, the bodice embroidered with gold swirls and dragons. The bottom of the dress was dipped in black, and gold jewels decorated her wrists, fingers and neck. She was the picture of the perfect Valyrian bride.

“Hello.” He says back, watching as her cheeks burn from his visual assault. The man in the grey robe approaches again, her robes in hand. She moves to allow him to place the robe on her, wrapping it around her before tying the belt and walking away. “Nervous?”

“A little.” Daella breathes, looking into the large pit that currently houses a couple of hundred men and women.

“Don’t be. No one in there matters but you and I.” Daemon says, his hand reaching out to grab the head piece from the robed man. “Let me.”

“That’s a brave thing to say about a room that houses the King.” Daella retorts as Daemon places the gold piece on her head. He laughs gently, leaning back to look at her.

“Vok.” He remarks, turning to face the door fully. Daella follows suit as an older man, dressed in a more extravagant embellished grey robe approaches them from inside the pit.

“ivestragī īlva rhaenagon, kessa.” He states, turning back around, he singles for them to follow him. “Māzigon.”

Daella and Daemon walk along behind the senior dragon keeper into the pit. The room goes quiet as they watch their prince and his to-be wife make their way down the aisle together. Daella can pick up on some confused whispering.

“Have they never seen a Valyrian wedding before?” Daella whispers. Daemon shakes his head. She was shocked. She assumed at least one of their ancestors would have married in this way. As they reach the end of the aisle she finds Maelor, standing with their father. She sees Viserys, sitting, not only with the Hand Lord Strong by his side, but along the Queen. It’s the first time Daella had seen her. She was young, and pretty, just as Marra had said. Her hand was resting on Viserys in a comforting way, and in that moment Daella saw her as older than both herself and Rhaenyra would. He felt a fleeting feeling of sorrow for her.

Her eyes then found Rhaenyra who was smiling brightly at her, Laenor and the Velaryons seated near her. She bows her head at Rhaenyra, before letting her eyes flicker around some more. She could not find her. Did she not show up?

“Behind, second row, to your left.” Daemon whispers, just as they reach the steps. Daella turns her head before she makes her way up to them, locking eyes with Marra. Marra smiles at her, a tight lipped smile.

She climbs the steps onto the platform, the large altar of candles taking up most of the room. She and Daemon stand directly in front of it, turning to face each other. The dragon keeper standing off to their left. He holds his hands up, and the doors of the pit are pulled closed, silence enveloping the room.

“Hen lantoti ānogar, Va sȳndroti vāedroma,” He begins.

Daemon is handed the small piece of dragon glass, he looks at Daella lips, hand reaching up to hold her head in his hands. He lifts the shard to her lips, softly cutting a small slit down the middle of her bottom lip. His thumb runs along her lip, collecting the blood that is slowly beginning to seep from it. His eyes now meet hers, as he lifts his blood covered thumb to her forehead and marks it with fire.

“Mēro perzot gīhoti, Elēdroma iārza sīr,”

Daella breathes in as Daemon moves to give her the shard indicating it is now her turn. She takes it from him, her free hand reaching up to grip his chin. She realises that that is the first time she had ever touched him. He has touched her, but she's never had her hands on his body. Unable to stop herself she gently strokes her jaw with her thumb, before raising the dragon glass to his lip. She makes the cut, lighter than she intended, but enough to collect some blood on her thumb, raising it to his forehead, marking him with blood.

“Izulī ampā perzī, Prūmī lanti sēteksi,”

She has to stop herself from correcting the mark as it begins to smudge, pulled from it as Daemon reaches for her free hand to retrieve the dragon glass shard. He turns his left hand palm up and holds it flat, slicing into it, cutting a long line along it. He holds it up, allowing the blood to pool in his palm as he hands the shard back. Daella takes it, softly slipping it into her left hand, holding her right hand just as Daemon had done with his left. It was then she realised how badly she was shaking. She placed the tip of the blade just under her index finger, trying to calm herself before making the cut.

Daella glances over at her father, who is now glaring at her. She is now aware that she is taking a long time. Longer than she should be, but before she breaks eye contact, she feels a hand reach under her flattened hand, grabbing her wrist to keep it still. Her eyes snap to Daemon who nods down at her hand. Daella lets go of the sigh she did not know she was holding, before cutting into her own skin.

“Hen jenȳ māzīlarion, Qēlossa ozūndesi,”

They move their bloody hands together, fingers wrapping around each other and blood flows to the ground beneath them. The dragon keeper moves forward, taking a piece of cloth and wrapping it around their intertwined hands, before shuffling off again. Daella’s eyes flicker back to Daemons, who are staring right back, a small smile on his lips. One only she can see.

“Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo”

A cup is placed in front of her, and Daella takes it, raising it to her lips, not taking her eyes off Daemon. She takes a small gulp of the wine that is housed within the cup, before handing it to Daemon. He does the same, raising it to his lips, eyes still trained on her, pulling their bloody hands closer to his chest. His thumb that was not encased in the soaked fabric was slowly rubbing her still exposed knuckles in comfort.

“Rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi.” The dragon keeper finished. That was the Daella’s favourite part of Valyrian weddings. They were short, but intimate in a way she could not explain. She smiles at Daemon, as his eyes flicker down to her lips. Daemon leans towards her, his right hand moving up to finger through her hair and pulling her head towards him. She lets him pull her towards him, head dipping down to meet his lips with hers. Daella leans up into it, eyes closing. It’s the first time she had been kissed. She can hear the crowd that has been watching them begin to clap and cheer, kiss marking the end of the ceremony. She pulls away for a moment, wanting to catch her breath, but Daemon pulls her back for another more intense one this time, his tongue running along her lip, hungry for the blood that still freshly seeped from her lip.

Daemon stops before the wooden door, hanging his head and sighing, collecting himself for a few moments. He had managed to avoid a bedding ceremony by having Rhaenyra sneak Daella out of the hall, before slipping out himself after. While Daemon was not necessarily opposed to bedding ceremonies, in fact he had partaken in a few himself, the thought of other men touching and stripping Daella disturbed him. He could picture it, her innocent eyes welling up with fear and tears as some old fuck from the Crownlands tried to get at her breasts or cunt, and he would refused to have the image shown to him in real time.

Daemon had spent a great deal of time battling with his affection for the girl he barely knew. It confused him deeply. He had assumed he would hate the girl, she would become a second Rhea, in both marriage and fate. But the moment her tear rimmed valyrian eyes had looked up at him in Mellos room mere seven nights ago, he had felt a shift. It wasn’t love, but an odd mix of aggressive lust and possessiveness that he had never felt for anyone before but Rhaenyra, and Daella was permitted. She was all his.

He pushes opening the door, stepping into the chamber, before turning to close it. He debates if he should open it and leave again. He didn’t consummate his first marriage, who will stop him from doing the same with this one? He makes the decision to lock the door and enter further into the chamber, moving towards the wine pitcher and cups sitting on the small table. He pours himself a cup, larger than socially acceptable and downs it.

Daella watches her new husband from the end of the bed. Her hands tucked under her thighs, and she had already indulged in her own cup of wine. He hadn’t even glanced her way.

“How is your hand?” He asks, watching as Daella slipped her still bandaged hand out from under the thigh.

“The bleeding has stopped. Mellos gave me some milk of the poppy to dull the stinging.” Daella answers, turning her hand palm up, showing off the clean white linen. It was her third of the evening, the others all becoming soaked with blood at various points throughout the feast.

“Good. Go easy on the milk.” Daemon instructs. Daella laughs internally at him, the strictness in his tone. Daemon must see this playing out in her head as he speaks again, “I do not jest Daella.”

“I know.” She says softly, smiling at him, going quiet again. Silence permeates the room. Daella takes to looking at the floor. They both know why they are here, what they are expected to do, but neither wants to bring the topic to the surface. After a while of uncomfortable silence, Daemon makes the first move.

“Maiden, I assume?” Daemon clears his throat while asking.

Daella looks back up at him and nods. She’s not sure, but she thinks she can see a flash of pity in his eyes.

“We don’t-”

“No. I want to.” Daella interrupts quickly, not letting him finish what she knows he is about to suggest. Daemon raises his eyebrows at the interruption, setting his cup down.

“He will want proof.” She whispers, looking down to play with lace that frills along her nightgown.

Daemon hums. He refills his cup, takes it with him as he positions himself in the soft plush seat that faces the bed.

“You answer to me now, not him.”

“I know, but he is still my father.” Daella sighs. “You do not know him, what he can be like.”

“I think I’ve made a reasonable assumption.”

Daella does not respond. She knows he knows. Whether he disagrees with him is another question that is currently unanswered. She began playing with the frill of her nightgown again, eyes lingering on her lap, the floor, anything but him.

She can feel it, his gaze, she can almost hear his thoughts. He’s deciding whether he wants to stay or leave. Stays, and he protects her. Leaves, and he abandons her. It feels like an eternity, waiting for him to make up his mind. She hears him lift himself from the seat with a small grunt. She can take her eyes off the floor as she waits for him to make his decision, his shadow coming into frame as he walks towards her. Daella breathes in softly as she feels his hand cup her chin, tilting his head up to look at him.

“What a brave little thing you are, hm.” He whispers, running his thumb along her plump bottom lip. “Do you know how it is done?”

Daella nods, eyes meeting him. She did. Her father had hired a woman from a pleasure house in Volantis before they left for Westeros to instruct the young bride in the "womanly" arts of love. Thankfully the woman had taken pity on her and had only explained how it was done in the kindest way she could.

Daemon is looking down at her, eyes taking in every fraction of her face. Her eyes are lighter than he first remembered them being, her soft cheeks tinged with a light pink blush, lips still rosey with whatever rouge Rhaenyra had applied to her this morning. She is perfect, he thought. He runs his thumb along her lip again, the cut he made earlier in the early process of healing, before softly pushing it into her mouth. Daella's brow furrows slightly in confusion.

“Bībagon.” Daemon instructs. She does as she is told, sucking softly on his thumb. Daella adverts her eyes to the ground, too embarrassed by the action she is doing to look him in the eye. Daemon keeps his eyes trained on her. Her cheeks now a darker pink, her lips glimmering with spit as she sucks his thumb.

“Jurnegon rȳ nyke” He says, using his fingers to tilt her head back up towards him again. Daella opens her eyes, his thumb pressing down on her tongue with just enough pressure to make her gag softly around him. A smirk dances along his lips before pulling away from her.

“Pirtir ilagon.” He instructs once again looming over her. Daella takes a small inhale of breath before allowing her back to hit the bed, legs still dangling off the edge. Her heart pounds in her chest as she waits for his next move. She flinches gently as she feels his hand run along her left thigh, running the expensive lace along his fingers. “Hakogon ziry bē toliot se gundja.”

Daella does as she is told once again, gripping her nightgown at the thighs and starts to pull it up, once halfway up her thighs she leaned up, allowing herself to pull the fabric under her ass and bunching it around her waist. She was bare underneath, the handmaid's Rhaenyra had required to prepare her for this moment, laughed at her when she went to put her underclothes on, giggling as they stated she would not need them. She instinctively begins to cross her legs, wanting to shield herself from him, but his hand catches one of her legs in the moment, pushing it back and wider so she was on full display for him.

“Ñuha dōna riñītsos.” Daemon whispers as his rough hand caresses her thigh that was still gripped in his hand. His hand is removed momentarily to take off his shirt and his hand finds its way back between her legs. His hands ran up and down her thighs, taking his time deciding what he wanted to do next. Daella lies motionless on the bed starting at the ceiling. The maids this morning had whispered all sorts of horrors that can happen in the marriage bed in her ears when the Princess was just far enough away that she would not hear.

It appeared Daemon had made up his mind, Daella letting out a small gasp when she felt his adept fingers slipping between her folds, spreading a slickness that she had not known had gathered there while he pawed her. His large hand moves up to press down on her stomach, making sure that she remains steady. He spreads her folds before dipping one finger into her waiting hole, letting out a pleased grunt at how wet she is for him. Daella’s hands reach to clutch at his arm, letting out a gentle whimper at the feeling of him opening her up.

“Sȳz riña.” He says, leaning over her body, his face coming to meet hers. He is leaning in close, eyes burning into hers, glimmering with mischief. He’s so close that their noses bump together. Daella’s breath hitches as he pumps his finger in and out of her, her back arching slightly and her hips grinding every so softly to meet his hand. It felt good, there was no pain as the handmaids had suggested, only a pleasant pressure that she wanted and needed more off. She moves her head forward to try and kiss him but he pulls away, her lips landing on his jaw.

He inserts another finger. The stretch burns slightly, causing Daella to audibly gasp. Daemon pauses his movements looking at her, the small noise that came from her giving him second thoughts. He begins to slowly remove his soaked fingers, but Daella's chest is heaving as she grabs his arm tighter than before wanting him to stay. So he does, burying his head back into her neck as he curls his fingers, dragging them along apart within her that causes her free hand to lift into his hair and a moan to leave her lips.

She can feel his lips against her shoulder, his slightly parted mouth breathing on her. Her hand runs along his short hair, stroking the silky locks softly. Her other hand finally lets go of the arm that is currently thrusting into her, resting it on his waist, feeling the distorted skin that littered the left side of his body.

Daemon’s thumb moves to her clit, softly rubbing, giving her that extra stimulation that causes the coil in the pit of stomach to tighten. Daella lets out a loud whisper, the hand in his hair clenching the silver strains in her hand pulling gently. Her other hand shoots from his waist, accidentally gripping his still raw shoulder. Daemon hisses at the sension, fingers and thumb working faster, the pain causing him to work faster. The coil within her finally springs free, back arching and toes curling trying to help calm herself down from the sudden burst of pleasure coursing through her.

“Dae-Daem,” Daella squeaks out, unable to finish her words, breathing erratically as Daemon continues to finger her through her orgasm. As he toes uncurl, hand loosening on his locks and back falls back against the bed, coming down from the high, her eyes open and realise her fingers were digging into his raw shoulder. Her hand immediately pulls away from the red skin, eyes widening with worry.

“Sorry, I-” She begins, but Daemon shakes her off, rising to his feet, looming over her once again.

“Shh, I'm fine. Do not worry.” He says as he pulls at his trousers. Daella lifts herself onto her elbows looking at Daemon's hands fiddling with his button. She had been told of the male anatomy, but had yet to see for herself, and was lying if she said she wasn’t curious. Daemon smirked as she watched her eagerly await what was shielded beneath.

He finally undoes the buttons, letting the black cotton drop to the floor and stepping out of them, his cock, thick and hard, bobbing as he does. Daella watches taking it in. She eyes the precum glistening at the tip of his bulbous head, the change of colour from pink tip to this pale veiny shaft, the large balls that hang underneath, nestled between the silver curls of hair. Daemon laughs at her face. It’s not one of lust or fear that he is used to, but sheer fascination.

Daemon says as he kneels on the bed in front of her, Daella wiggling back to ensure he had enough room. She says up on her elbows as she watches him, his hand moving back to her cunt, fingers collecting some of the ever growing wettest on his fingers, before pumping his cock a couple of times with the slicked up hand. Daemon moves forward again, positioning his knees in a way that makes Daella spread her legs a little further, before dragging his cock through her slick pussy, bumping his tip against the bundle of nerves that has her heart pick up once again.

He finally slips himself into her, a guttural moan coming from the back of his throat at the feeling of her warm walls engulfing him. Daella meets his moans as he slowly pushes deeper, with a slight burn of the stretch adding to the pleasure, and eventually, he’s bottoming out inside of her, and Daella’s nails are digging into his back, mindfully keeping them low, afraid of touching his still raw shoulder again.

Daemon thrusts slowly, one of his hands gripping her waist so that the tips of his fingers are digging into her ass. Daella’s mouth is wide open, as is his, lips brushing against one another as the moans come out breathy. His pace is deliberate, wanting to be gentle, but also hit a spot inside her that he knows will never leave her the same, the tip of cock nudging her cervix, making her cry out his name.

“Dārilar- oh gods.” Daemon cuts himself off into a whisper, finally allowing his lips to envelope hers, his hands pulling her hips closer, needing to be deeper in her tight, wet, and warm hole. He feels her walls tighten impossibly around him, and he feels his balls start to tighten along with them. “That’s it, what a perfect little sweetling you are. Taking me so well.”

Daella’s walls flutter at the praise, just on the edge of the coil in her stomach letting go once again. Needing her husband closer, her legs wrap around his waist, the new angle it provides, sending her over the edge, lips locking onto Daemon’s as she does so, muffling the moans that leave her month. Daemon continues to roll his hips, fucking her though her second orgasm of the night, his own high following once her body relaxed, grunting softly has he spills his seed inside her.

Daemon gives Daella a small kiss on the cheek, before slipping his cock from her and lifting himself off the bed.

“You did well.” He says softly, looking down at her. He reaches down to pull her nightdress back down, covering her up once again. Once he has it pulled down, Daella sits up, shuffling herself back to the top of the bed, back against the below. She is still blissed out slightly, but her eyes widen as she notices the streaks of blood on Daemon's cock and in his silver public hair. He hand shooks to pull up her night dress, hand moving to cup her core. She looks down at the milky liquid that leaks from her that is mixed with blood that collected on her fingers.

“It’s normal.” Daemon says he lifts a fabric napkin from the table, wiping her blood and slick from his cock, the blood staining it in light pink. “That’s how they know.”

“Oh!” Daella whispers, noticing the little red stains on the bottom of the bed where she once lay. Daemon walks to the side of the bed, taking the napkin on the clean side and slips it between her legs, wiping gently collecting his seed and blood.

He throws the bloodied napkin on the floor at the bottom of the bed, before reaching for his trousers and pulling them on. He picks up his shirt before turning to Daella who was watching him wide eyed in bed, hand still between her legs.

“Maids will be in to retrieve the sheets in the morning. They will most likely wake you. Get some rest, bath first thing in the morning.” Daemon informs her as he pulls on his shirt. He is leaving her. She wants to beg him to stay, but she knows it is common in Westeros for husband and wife to have different sleeping chambers. She nods at him. He smiles, a tight lipped one, before turning to leave.

“Sȳz bantis, ābrazȳrys”

Authors Note:

Please enjoy these beast of a chapter from me as an apology for it taking so long!

For the masterlist to this series and all my other fics click here!

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sollsmith · 2 months

Text

Fire in the Flesh

Chapter Five

Daemon Targaryen x Original Female Character

Words: 2.5K

Warnings: mentions of abuse/injury

Summary:

Daella nods and smiles up at Rhaenyra when she leans over to offer her some more wine. Rhaenyra fills her cup before moving on to Alios, Daella quickly moves one of her shaky hands from under the table to lift the cup and takes a sip. She tries to focus on Lord Beesbury’s account of the current financial situation of her wedding, but she can’t help her eyes from landing on the empty chair across the table next to the King, and her head can’t stop wandering back to their encounter the previous night. It wasn’t the ideal meeting, but it was not as unpleasant as she had previously thought it would be. She had made him laugh, which filled her with a strange satisfaction.

She hadn’t told anyone about the encounter. She hasn’t seen Maelor in days, he was too busy courting Lady Laena, and according to her father it was going very well, so she decided to leave him be. She could not tell her father as he would be furious for various reasons; for one, she seeked aid, and two she had been in his company without anyone else present. Finally, she did not tell Marra. She is not sure why. She normally tells Marra everything, but when Marra woke her up the next morning with a table of fresh breads, hard cheese and various fruits, she just invited her to eat and did not mention the Prince. It was her secret. Their secret.

Daella is pulled from her train of thought when her father pitches sharply at her thigh, aiming his hand high enough to miss her stockings and get her bare skin. She turns to her father, whose gaze may seem harmless to those in the room, but Daella knew. He was greatly displeased with her.

“Lord Beesbury asked if your dress preparations are complete?” Alios nudged his head towards the man across from him as he spoke. Daella followed her father's gaze, putting on her best smile for Lord Beesbury as her eyes met his.

“Apologies Lord Beesbury,yes, we finished two evenings ago. I believe our dealings with the seamstresses are complete.” Daella reached for her wine again, as Lord Beesbury shuffled through his papers, thanking her and moving along with another topic of costs.

He was a page or two into the accounts of the post wedding feast when the door was opened, and heavy footsteps approached the table.

“Daemon! You finally join us.” Viserys says cheerfully, glad of the break from Lord Beesbury accounts. Daella lifts her eyes as he walks past. Long gone is the armour and dirty of last night, and before her is a clean and well dressed Prince. He wore all black, with silver clips and accents, his hair neatly combed. He was handsome. Her cheeks begin to flush at the thought, eyes moving back to her cup once again.

“Brother.” Daemon takes his place beside Viserys, as Rhaenyra steps forward to fill his cup. He smiles at her, before letting his eyes drift to the young girl across the table whose eyes will not meet him back. Alios follows the Prince's gaze. It’s the first time he has seen the Prince. His eyes flicker back and forth between the pair, before pitching her thigh once again, harder, his way of telling her to start performing. Make him fall in love with you. She shoves his hand off her thigh, face screwed up in slight pain, continuing to stare at her cup, until Viserys speaks once again.

“I suppose we should introduce you. Good as time as any mm, this is Lady Da-”

“We’ve met.” Daemon says simply, cutting the king off, everyone's head including Rhaenyras moving to look at Daella. She can feel her cheeks blush harder and heart rate quicken. Finaling meeting Daemon’s eyes, she nods in confirmation at Daemon before moving to take another sip of wine to distract herself from the several sets of eyes on her.

“Met?” Alios asks, staring at Daemon, head tilting in confusion. “You haven’t attended a single courting?” Daella can feel her breath start to shallow. Alios did not see Daemon’s refusal to participate in the manufactured courtship as a slight on his daughter, he saw it as a slight on himself. And Alios did not take to slights go so easily.

“She was one of your bastards you sent in an attempt to take my brother's throne, no?” Daemon asked. He was smirking, eyes glimmering with glee at the challenge of getting a rise out of the man. The table is filled with murmurs and sighs from the men that sat around it, including Viserys' call for Daemon to stop. Daella did not react. She kept her head down, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire that she was sure would now begin.

“That was years ago. I can assure you my family wholly recognises your brother as the one true king of Westeros.” Alios retrots, Daella watching his fists clench beneath the table. “She was a child then.”

“Yes, and that does not change that we met then. Is it the same one? Or do you have more? Perhaps I could take my pick? What do you say brother?” Daella blinks back tears. While she understood, neither of them wanted to be here, he was being cruel. She began pulling at a small thread in her dress to distract herself.

“I think that’s enough, Daemon.” Viserys seethed, eyes moving to meet Rhaenyra, signalling her to fill Daella’s cup. “Now we have important matters to finish discussing. Lord Strong, please, get my brother up to date.” Rhaenyra made her way over to Daella, leaning closer than she needed to.

“Issi ao sȳrī?” She whispered pitfully. Rhaenyra knew Daemon was only trying to provoke Alios, but she knew Daella did not. She did not know Daemon. She did not know he didn’t truly mean to humiliate and dehumanise her. Daella did not turn to meet her eyes, if she did, she's afraid she would burst into uncontrollable sobs. So she keeps her eyes trained forward on the now refilled cup.

“Kessa. Kirimvose” She whispers back. The slight warmth and comfort of Rhaenrya was soon gone as she returned to her spot at the other side of the table. While she barely knew the Princess, one long tea in the garden was their only encounter so far, she had felt like she had developed a strange kinship with the girl. Both the same age, passed off by their fathers to marry men they did not want to marry. They were in similar places in life, it gave them a bond. A weak one, but a bond nonetheless.

“Daella will be formally named a Princess once married, I also believe it would be a good time to legitimise her as a Targaryen.” Daemon snorted at this remark. Viserys shot his brother with another warning look before nodding at Lyonel to continue on. “Wedding will take place in the Dragon Pit, as the Princess’ wedding will take place in the Grand Sept in two moons and we have already begun preparations. Septon Eustace will carry out the ceremony.”

“Why?” Daemon piped up. “I don’t believe in the seven, and neither does she. Why should we swear oaths to something we do not believe in?” He had a point. Daella couldn’t even name the seven gods they worshipped here. She had tried to learn them, but she just had no interest. She was trying to learn as she believed it was expected, not because she wanted to or cared.

“You have to marry under the Seven, or the Old Gods. It’s the only legitimate way to-”

“If I must marry again, I want a Valyrian wedding.” Daella’s lifts her head slightly at this. She had seen Valyrian weddings between nobles behind the Black Walls back home. Bride and groom dressed in matching robes, blood spilling from their hands and lips, speaking in vows of High Valyrian. As a child she had considered the whole thing a little scary, with all the blood, but as she got older she had dreamed of making her own ritualistic show of love for someone else.

“Daemon, you must take a legitim-”

“It’s my only request, brother.” Daella’s head is now lifted and looking at Daemon. She sees his eyes flick in her direction, before snapping back to the King. Viserys sighs and looks at Daella.

“What do you think, Daella?” He asks. Daella takes in a deep breath preparing to answer, but her father speaks before she can.

“That’s ridiculous. This union must be recognised under-”

“I don’t believe the King addressed you.” Daemon cuts him off.

“I will not have you slash and cut at my daughter in such a savage cerem-”

“I did not realise you cared so much about your daughters well being, Alios.” Daemon smirked slightly as he said it, Alios face hardening and brow furrowing in confusion at the Prince’s accusation. The room falls quiet waiting for a response from the wide eyed girl, stuck between wanting to please the man who currently owns her, and the one that eventually will.

“I-I agree with the Prince. If we are granted the marriage under a Valyrian wedding, then I think it would be more comfortable for both myself and my future husband. I grew up watching Valyrian weddings. It’s how I imagined I would marry one day. Your word is law, Your Grace. If you say we are married, then we are. I don’t believe it matters who we swear our oaths under, or how we do so.”

“Alright then, if you both wish for a Valyrian wedding, let it be done. Sir Westerling, see that Mellos sends a raven for one of the elder dragon keepers from Dragonstone, I’m sure they are more equipped to host a ceremony.” Viserys stated, his hand rubbing at his temple, clearly tired and ready to retire. “Anything else to be dealt with, Lord Strong?”

Daemon closes the door behind him. He had knocked several times to no answer, so he let himself in. The apartments were clean, the bed made up with cotton sheets and blankets of furs that usually only laid on the beds in winter. A small vanity was littered with various rouges, oils, creams, jewellery and combs. Curiosity got the better of him and he opened the wardrobe that was almost overflowing with fabrics of pastel pinks, vibrant yellows and soft blues. His fingers ran along a soft pink dress that caught his eye, before letting it go and closing the door. The small table was set for the next meal, and the fire in the small seating area was in early decay.

He lets himself wander around the room, picking up various books, letters and trinkets that lie around the room. He picks up a book and begins flipping through the pages, before turning back to the cover; Before the Dragons by Gessio Haratis. He hums softly before opening the book again and scanning the pages. After several minutes he is so engrossed in the book, he doesn’t hear the door open, only the small gasp and the sound logs clattering along the door pulled him from the book. He whips his head around to see a young girl looking up at him with wide eyes while racing to lift the fire logs that now litter the ground.

“Prince Daemon! I’m sorry, I did not realise you were here.” Marra breathes out, heart racing. She goes to reach for another log before stopping herself. She stands up straight and bows a little to the large man in front of her. “Can I help you?”

“You are?” Daemon asks. Daemon was familiar with most of the maids on rotation throughout the keep. The younger ones timidly moved around him, usually scared to death of him, while the older maids knew to do their job quickly, quietly and then get out of his way. But this one he had never seen before. Her hair was too neat, and her clothing too expensive to be one of the maids of the Keep.

“Oh, yes, sorry, Marra, my Prince. Daella’s handmaid.” Marra smiles. Daemon simply continues to stare at her with a blank expression, causing Marra to start into a nervous ramble as she collects the logs from the ground, “I came from Volantis with her, she thought it best to have a maid that knows her as she gets settled in… Not that the maids here are not equipped to deal with her needs, but I’ve been with her for two years so truly no one know her better than I and we hav-”

“Where is she?” Daemon cuts her off.

“She’s having tea with Princess Rhaenyra.” Marra says, throwing the now collected logs onto the fire. “I don’t believe she mentioned a meeting with you?”

“No, no.” Daemon responds. “A surprise visit,” He murmurs under his breath. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Marra let out a delighted squeal.

“A surprise! She will be thrilled! You know, she was really starting to doubt the wedding would go ahead, and I was assuring her that everything would be fine.” Marra was now busying herself around the room, picking up rogue sheets and cups. “She’s a terrible worrier, always worried about something or someone. You know, she once made herself ill worrying over an injured raven that had arrived from Pentos carrying a letter for her father. A raven! Can you believe it? I told her she was being ridiculous. And then there was that other time Maelor got sunstroke last summer, I thought she was going mad, she was so convinced he was going to die.” Marra turned smiling widely at the Prince, but he was not smiling back. Daemon was as hard faced as ever. Marra was about to open her mouth, to apologise for her rambling, but Daemon spoke first.

“It’s the father isn't it?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“That hits her.”

Marra mouth opens to speak, but quickly closes it again. Daella had made her swear not to mention it to anyone, even Maelor. She thought maybe Maelor knew, he had to have known. But he never did anything, time and time again Daella would ruin her room with reddened cheeks, blackened eyes and swollen welts. It never stopped. She knew it was in part due to Daella’s consistent inability to hold her tongue after so long. She was terribly good at playing the meek and loyal daughter, but Alios knew how to provoke her, and that is that he did. Daemon took a couple of steps towards Marra.

“Do not lie to me.”

“Yes.” She says softly.

“And the brother?”

“No, god's no. He would never.”

“Yet he lets his father?”

“I don’t believe he knows. She’s terribly good at hiding it. It took me seven moons to figure it out.”

“Mm.” he hums, finally sets the book down. “I must be going.”

“Of course.” Marra steps aside, moving out of his way.

“This conversation stays between us, yes?” Daemon asks, hand on the door.

“Yes.” Marra nods.

“Good.”

And then he was gone. Marra stood in shock for a moment. Had she broken Daella’s trust by confirming what the Prince had asked her. How had he known? She stood for a while longer, before snapping out of it, picking up the book he had abandoned on the table and moving to place it back in its place on the bookshelf.

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