Chapter Text
More than a year had passed since the day of torment and fire that marked the birth of Maegon Velaryon and Aethan Targaryen of Driftmark. And this time was enough for the gossip surrounding Princess Rhaelys Targaryen to cease and for new rumours to emerge.
The King remained oblivious to the discontent of all. Peace reigned in the years that followed across the Crownlands, with the Velaryons’ victory over the Triarchy already declared. Nothing went unnoticed, after all, it was the year 114 A.C., coinciding with Aegon’s second name day, which was soon to be celebrated with a hunting trip planned by the King, and Rhaenyra's upcoming marriage.
As a result, the People’s Princess had lost her title of "adoration" among the Citadel after her actions were deemed merciless, declared Septon Eustace; ‘The Silencer’ was how some of the few who still dared to speak of her named her. They said her actions had silenced the truth they wanted to reveal, that the twins were not the legitimate children of Ser Laenor Velaryon ― and as a response to the insult, Rhaelys chained them up and tore out their tongues at sunrise so that no one would forget the consequences of offending the heirs of Driftmark.
And in the past months, the word "bastard" ceased to be heard in connection with the names of Maegon and Aethan. Later, Septon Eustace mentioned that the people were so afraid of being caught uttering the twins' names that they forgot to be afraid of dying for other reasons.
But it was during the grand celebration held by Princess Rhaenys to mark the second birthday of the grandchildren, that the people became more cautious in their remarks about the two children.
Some still believed that Rhaelys had made such a decision out of fear, others preferred to believe it was never about hiding something, but always about protecting her children from comments she had grown up hearing ― though none of them questioned her legitimacy.
On that day, after the battle in the Steps was declared won, Rhaelys wore a long black silk gown, with red details along the arms resembling dragon scales; at its hem, the fabric appeared singed and dragged on the stone ground as she made her way towards the entrance courtyard of High Tide.
Her violet eyes searched for someone around, her anxious hands twisting the ring as she rose onto her tiptoes to better scan the area.
"Maegon! Aethan!" she called, approaching the gathering of guards. "I am back!" she announced in Valyrian, hoping they would hear her.
She listened intently, hoping to hear something other than the crashing waves of the Narrow Sea against the island's rocks or the rustling of the wind in the garden plants. At first, nothing was heard, but faint footsteps soon sounded near her, and she would recognise them anywhere.
At the threshold, between the courtyard and the descent to the beach, she saw Rhaenys in her usual blue gown bearing the Velaryon sigils on its skirt, which always highlighted her dark hair with pale strands. She was on her way to High Tide with the grandchildren, firmly holding each of their hands as they took small, slow steps.
But when both children’s curious gazes fell upon their mother ― who smiled sweetly at them ― they let go of their grandmother and ran towards her. Rhaelys crouched down to receive them. Aethan stumbled along the way, but Rhaenys helped him up and wiped his knees before he started to cry.
Maegon Velaryon, though only two years old, was as tall, rosy, and healthy as his brother, but like Aethan, he had violet eyes and features some at court described as "rare even for Old Valyria," though his almost black brown hair always drew more attention. Aethan, though equally tall and lean as his twin, had a perfectly defined face and long silvery-blonde hair.
The beauty of both boys was such that many lords and ladies of Westeros offered their daughters for marriage to them, though Rhaelys refused every proposal or plea related to marriage.
"I left them with Ser Bermont because I thought he was helping Laena choose a suitable dress for the wedding," said Rhaelys. "I told her I would join her in the afternoon for a second opinion."
Rhaenys didn’t respond immediately, which did not surprise Rhaelys, who simply stared at her in silence.
What had happened in the past days was still a matter of discussion between them. Arguments that had made them cross any boundaries imposed between sisters. According to the castle’s maidservants, sharp words had been exchanged, and old wounds reopened. Though Rhaelys had earned the support of Laena and Laenor in her disputes, she knew it had cost her sister dearly.
Finally, Rhaenys broke the established silence.
"Laena mentioned that you understood dresses and hairstyles for special occasions better, seeing as you chose your wedding dress and Laenor's yourself," she replied, brushing the boys' hair as she passed them. "When you go to meet her, ask Emilly to bring the twins to my chambers."
Rhaelys let out a slow, dramatic sigh:
"I believe it should be me acting like this, Rhaenys. You seem so busy with Laena's wedding, you didn't even think that it was you who said what you shouldn't have," she said. "It may not have been your intention in the moment, but it feels like something you’ve been wanting to tell me for years."
Rhaenys watched her younger sister, knowing that her calmness was maintained only so as not to frighten the children.
"Rhaelys, this is not the best place for you to start your complaints again."
"No, Rhaenys, you don't understand, do you? Of course not," she retorted, frustrated. "You grew up as the desired princess, destined for the throne, the favourite granddaughter of the Good Queen. You were always everything they expected, but me... since my birth, our family rejected me for a reason they themselves created. They called me 'Scaleless,' 'Ruined.' And all of you allowed it. You never even asked how I felt all this time!"
Standing up, Rhaelys gave a small smile towards the children to mask the tension that was rising.
"I grew up hearing cruel insults, said with laughter while you all sat at the table, as if it were some grand joke. But your husband, despite everything, always seemed the only one willing to protect me from it. But the rest of you? You just pushed me away for no reason, and that’s why I raised them, so I could feel that I was being blamed for something I understood."
The silence that followed was heavier than any response. Rhaenys knew that in her calmness, there was a wound still open. A wound that perhaps no words would ever heal.
"You killed men for mere words, supposedly said while they were drunk. That’s..."
Rhaelys let out a short, humourless laugh.
"Cruel? You speak as though they were different, but they’re the same family who allowed themselves to hate me for not being what they wanted; who whispered behind my back about my 'weakness' while glorifying their own pride in having a dragon? Where were you when I needed you? Oh, you were quiet, listening to them call you 'The Queen Who Never Was' after they took away a right that was always yours!"
Rhaenys tried not to be shaken, she knew her sister well enough to know that she was only trying to find a way to express everything she had been feeling.
"We're not talking about this, Rhaelys. Our argument started that night because I mentioned that your actions were as merciless as the tongues you silenced."
"And you think being merciful would change anything?" Rhaelys retorted, her eyes narrowing with anger. "They would still keep talking, just as they do about me to this day. You may have chosen diplomacy, but I chose fear, because in the end, that’s what men respect. Not orders. Not requests. Fear. And you know it."
"Fear is a double-edged sword, Rhaelys," the older sister countered, shortening the distance between them. "You're so consumed by pain and hatred that you don't see what you're becoming. A dragon that burns everything around it."
Rhaelys kept her gaze firm, but when Maegon pulled at her hand, she gave him a brief glance and a quick smile, comforting him before turning back to Rhaenys.
"Better to be a dragon that burns than a sheep that kneels waiting to be devoured," she murmured, turning to walk away.
As Rhaelys moved away, accompanied by the guards towards the beach, Rhaenys stood still, her mind spinning like a rusted wheel.
It wasn't just her sister’s words that tormented her, but the growing realization that Rhaelys had become someone she no longer recognised. She couldn’t deny that, in part, she understood her sister’s pain. There had been times when she too had felt the same fury bubbling in her veins, the need to destroy everything in her path every time they called her "The Queen Who Never Was."
But it was impossible to ignore how Rhaelys was losing control over her actions. "The power she gained by marrying Laenor... with her children... it’s consuming her," Rhaenys thought, unable to ignore what was right in front of her.
She had seen Rhaelys before, someone who knew how to wait, who was willing to analyse the court’s game, to understand how people saw things both inside and outside of the Red Keep. But now, Rhaelys seemed to have freed herself from all ties. She no longer needed to bow to anyone. Not to Viserys. Not to Corlys.
It was a dangerous power, indeed.
Rhaenys looked at the grandchildren, who were following their mother’s pace, moving away from where they were. She knew Rhaelys would never turn them into merciless or unworthy boys. She would give her best to make sure they were kind and admired, although, they were still Daemon’s sons.
Knowing Daemon as everyone did, when the boys reached a certain age, it was more than likely that their father's traits would stand out. But, everyone was aware — believing or not in the rumours about them being the prince’s children — that the dragon who never knew fear would always be in the shadow of Rhaelys' sons. Daemon would never limit himself to court conventions or the subtleties of the throne game. He wouldn’t hesitate to tear out the tongue of any bastard who dared defame the twins' names.
He would do more than that if needed.
In silence, Rhaenys watched her younger sister chase after the children, who were pulling Ser Bermont with them — one of the young guards Rhaelys had chosen for the protection of the twins.
With long silvery-blond hair blowing in the wind, the younger woman cast one last glance at her sister before picking up the children in her arms and running until she vanished from sight, drawing a laugh from the guard.
For a brief moment, Rhaenys felt a pang of anguish in her chest. What if one day Rhaelys lost one of them? She knew her sister wouldn’t be able to bear such pain. Losing a child was unbearable for any woman, and she feared Rhaelys would lose her mind. No. Rhaelys had always been uncontrollable, furious. She would vent all her pain.
Her mind returned to the conversation with her grandfather in 96 A.C., the old and wise Jaehaerys, who had always said Rhaelys would be better off without a dragon. Perhaps he saw more than she did. More than anyone else.
The 'True Heart,' the majestic warship of House Velaryon, was anchored off the coast of Driftmark, its keel submerged in the calm waters of the Narrow Sea. The salty breeze blew fiercely against the sails. A storm was coming. But Rhaelys had her attention fixed on Daeron Velaryon — Vaemond’s firstborn and the commander of that very ship.
With short silvery-blond hair, satin brown skin, and violet eyes, Daeron smiled as he gestured, pacing back and forth, observing the twins sitting on the barrels. He was a lover of the sea, without a doubt, and both Maegon and Aethan seemed fascinated by his passion.
"The waters of the Narrow Sea are not like those of other places. No. It’s not just strength or numbers," he said, his gaze briefly landing on Rhaelys. "You have to feel the tide, read the winds. Here, each wind has a name, each current a story. And when the sails are raised, well... you have to show the sea that you’re worthy to sail."
The boys didn’t speak much, although Maegon seemed more interested in listening to his cousin than Aethan, who was focused on other things.
Rhaelys, for her part, couldn’t help but feel grateful for Daeron’s patience since his return from the Steps. While her husband hadn’t returned yet, he was the closest thing the boys had to someone who could explain the land they would live on and the sea that one day would be "theirs."
That had always been Corlys’ wish for his grandchildren, and she didn’t want it to be any different.
"...Wars for us start in the ports, in merchant houses, and in the markets that spread across the island. The battle for control of the Narrow Sea is one of commerce and influence," Daeron continued. "Those who rule the waters rule the fates of all who cross them, so we must be a little stricter with what should be sold or who enters our territory."
Rhaelys shortened the distance between them and flashed a smile at the young man only two years older than she, who admired her for a few seconds. She tilted her face up to the sky and closed her eyes, letting a laugh escape.
"Daeron, the boys will get seasick listening to you talk about the sea," she interrupted in Valyrian. He shook his head with a quiet laugh and sat between the boys, stroking their hair. "But, do you know what you could do for me?"
"Let you jump off the plank into the water?"
"Let me jump off the plank into the water," she nodded, watching him roll his eyes and sigh in disbelief. "I don’t understand the judgment. We did this when we were younger."
"I’m not judging, Rhaelys," Daeron replied, relaxing a little when he saw her smile. "But the water’s cold."
"I’d be surprised if it wasn’t."
She turned and walked to where the plank was extended. Daeron recalled the same gesture she made when she was fifteen; she never completely changed.
Rhaelys removed her dress, leaving only a sort of tunic covering her body. She walked to the end of the plank and stretched out her arms. Ser Belmont seemed worried, but didn’t attempt to interfere, and when the strong wind blew, she closed her eyes and threw herself into the water.
"Does she always do this when she’s with you, Ser Daeron?" Belmont asked, looking at the water while his hand rested on his sword.
"She does this whenever she feels like it," Daeron replied, getting up from where he was and casting a glance at him. "Keep an eye on the boys. I’ll fetch her."
As she emerged from the murky waters, Rhaelys’ skin was kissed by the salty breeze that caressed her face. Daeron approached with the blue coat with silver buttons in hand, clearly already aware that the tunic she wore, now wet, revealed more than it should.
Under the gaze of the merchants and builders, the older man was quick to cover her with the coat, guiding her back to the True Heart.
"Ser Belmont nearly jumped after you, worried," Daeron commented, his tone light with laughter, as he led her to the cabin. "What made you hire this idiot to be your guard and your children's?"
"Well, considering you’re both the same age, you’re both idiots," Rhaelys retorted teasingly as she entered. "And the boys love him. He was the only one who really managed to please them."
"We should hope my cousin can manage that too, since this Ashfordian guard has more contact with your children than their own father," Daeron muttered.
He handed her a towel, watching her take off the coat and hand it over while she dried her hair, pretending not to have heard him.
"You should have made sure no one was around before jumping into the water. They’re men, and men are animals."
"If you want to talk about what really bothers you, Ser Daeron, I’m listening," she hissed, her tone slightly uncomfortable. "But know that I won’t allow you to criticise my husband, your cousin, without him being here to defend himself from your accusations."
Walking to the screen in the corner of the cabin near the bed, Rhaelys changed there, wearing a garment she had left earlier, just in case she needed it. When she emerged, her violet eyes found Daeron leaning against the desk, his strong arms crossed over his chest and his brow furrowed.
"On your wedding day, you told me and your niece that you didn't want children, and a few months later, you were already carrying the boys," he sighed, frustrated. "Since you gave birth to those children, your husband has never come to see them, Rhaelys."
"Laenor has been at war for two years, Daeron!" she murmured, looking at him. "You were there, and you know it's not a situation he can simply put aside. It's risky for him to appear vulnerable at this point."
"Don't you understand yet that my cousin doesn't see you as a wife, Rhae?" Daeron rubbed his brow, impatient and worried. "He doesn't care about the children because he doesn't feel the responsibility of being a father! He still sees you as his aunt!"
"Daeron..."
"And, frankly, I don’t understand how you managed to get pregnant by someone who always avoided lying with women," Daeron vented.
"Laenor knows that the future of Driftmark depends on his children, so he knows that when he returns, he'll have to take responsibility. And Corlys won't allow him to oppose that, Daeron," Rhaelys replied, closing the distance between them. "I've admired him since I met him, but the next time you dare speak of my husband and his wishes, I don't want to see you here again."
Daeron laughed nasally, pushing away from the desk and approaching her.
"You used to say the same thing when I called you 'Scaleless'," he recalled, with a hint of teasing, running his cold fingers over her warm skin. "Laenor is wasting time staying in the Steps."
Daeron admired her lilac eyes, identical to his, and then his attention was drawn to her lips. On impulse, he tried to kiss her. Stepping back, Rhaelys retreated, feeling their breaths interlock, Daeron's firm hands becoming a gentle touch on her face.
She let the desire fall on his lips, but when their eyes met, she took a step back and straightened herself, nervously clutching the fabric of her dress before relaxing.
"I am loyal to my husband, and I respect him, Daeron. He will always be the one I love, regardless of my promiscuous desires. I don't want to push you away for not knowing how to control your impulses. We have always been friends, and that is how we should continue."
Daeron nodded, spinning the ring on his pinky, a stone as blue as the sea that surrounded them. Rhaelys sighed, aware that, since he was younger, Daeron had always tried something more, but Vaemond had always been there to prevent it.
He watched her for a moment longer, letting out a heavy sigh, but before Rhaelys could leave the cabin, a sharp, sorrowful sound echoed through the space. She stopped, and her gaze stretched toward the deck, accompanied by his.
Maegon was crying.
However, Daeron shrugged and turned back to some papers on the desk, not meeting her gaze again. Rhaelys left the room and approached the children with Ser Bermont.
The guard ruffled the boys' hair and stepped aside, giving her space. She observed the eldest, his little eyes tearful and heavy with sleep, rubbing his eyelids with his tiny fist. On impulse, when he felt his mother's light hands on him, Maegon clung to her, stumbling on his own legs, but Rhaelys held him with a firm arm, lifting him gently and placing him on a nearby wooden barrel.
He nestled there, too tired to resist, his eyes still searching for comfort. Rhaelys squatted beside him, smiling softly at him and Aethan, who watched his brother with curiosity.
"Are you okay?" she asked affectionately, and he nodded with a brief gesture, about to start whining again. "No need to cry. The sea must have tired you, but we'll be back at High Tide soon."
"I can take them ahead, Lady Rhaelys," Bermont suggested, but she kindly declined.
Maegon watched her with heavy eyes as she stroked his hair, feeling it soft between her fingers. Then she looked at Aethan, who nestled against her with affection.
"Your grandfather must be about to board the Sea Serpent to return home and finally meet you," Rhaelys smiled, looking at each attentive little face. "But you mustn't be crying, you know? Corlys says that a crying child angers the sea... or maybe he only said that to scare us."
She held each of their faces and placed a light kiss on the top of their heads, which they embraced, staying a little while there, until she sat Aethan beside Maegon and stood, adjusting her long damp hair.
"Muña? (Mother?)" Maegon called, and with the same curiosity as always, he raised his little finger to the sky. "Zaldrīzes. (Dragon)"
"Kepa! (Father!)" Aethan exclaimed, also pointing while a wide smile formed on his lips.
Rhaelys frowned, confused, until she heard the shrill grunt, somewhat distant but still familiar. Her eyes followed the boys' fingers, rising to the stormy sky of Driftmark, where, on the horizon, she recognised the red shadow of Caraxes with Prince Daemon riding it.
Flying close to the ships, a wave shook them, and Rhaelys immediately held onto the children, who laughed when they saw the long dragon fly over the High Tide towers and descend to the shore, landing. It was close enough for her to see Daemon move with skill and stop before Caraxes, as if waiting for her.
"Māzītīs! (Come!)" Rhaelys called, extending her hand to the two boys, who followed her.
As she approached, her hand enveloping theirs, Rhaelys admired the prince. Now, Daemon had long hair—he probably hadn't cut it since he left—and she could see some new and old wounds on his skin, though she judged he probably had many more after the battle. But when their eyes met, she finally felt that the familiarity hadn’t been lost.
Avoiding closing the distance too much, with her feet sinking into the wet sand, she stood still for a few seconds before glancing around.
She knew that, although there weren’t many curious onlookers, the few that were enough could create gossip; she stood poised until she reached the prince, giving him a small smile, which he returned with a step forward, attempting to kiss her, but withdrew when Rhaelys clenched her jaw, turning her face to the ground.
"Daemon..." she whispered, taking a step back and meeting his gaze. "Corlys didn’t mention he would return, now that he’s declared himself King of the Steps and the Narrow Sea."
He allowed a rough laugh to escape.
"I wouldn’t spend another second in that end of the world. Two years is more than enough," he retorted, his Valyrian accent heavy in his voice. One of his hands rested on his sword as he looked at Rhaelys. "You didn’t respond to my last ravens."
Before she could respond, Rhaelys felt the small hands grip hers, and her attention immediately found her children. Maegon and Aethan were trying to hide behind her, holding tightly to her dress and hands.
She gave a small smile and sighed.
"You must still remember them," she teased, recalling that in recent times, not even Daemon had asked about the children. "I believe I don’t need to introduce them."
Daemon knelt, one knee touching the sand, and extended his hand to Maegon, who shrank behind his mother and refused at first, but when Aethan stepped forward, he did too. As if feeling safer with his brother's presence.
Aethan was less hesitant, and when he did approach, he snuggled against his father's shoulder, who stroked his hair and looked at Maegon, who took a few steps back and clung to his mother again. Daemon stood, holding Aethan in his arms, gently adjusting his pale blonde hair, which was braided down to the middle of his back.
"They've become like you," Daemon murmured, glancing at her sideways, remembering when they were still small.
"Maybe... Maegon is the one who resembles you more, and Aethan is like his father," she replied while caressing the back of the boy’s hand in circles. "Which reminded me of him, the time he avoided asking whether they were still alive."
Daemon chuckled softly, as if Rhaelys' subtle provocation had truly caused that reaction.
She hadn’t expected him to instantly familiarise himself with his role as a father. After all, he hadn’t been able to live with the children, but Rhaelys never thought her lover would find any excuse to avoid touching the word "son".
"I thought I should play along with you and your nephew pretending they aren’t my children," he replied, trying to sound unconcerned, but Rhaelys knew him well and could tell that it truly bothered him. "I did what you wanted."
They stared at each other for a while, Rhaelys unsure of how to respond. She simply swallowed and looked at him, who was now busy with her children.
"Let's go!" She shrugged, picking up Aethan in her arms and stepping away. "We can talk better at High Tide."
Rhaelys traced the scars on Prince Daemon’s back and chest with the tips of her nails, while her lips fought desperately for the need to feel each other. The insatiable desire setting them aflame. A gasp escaped her lips when, in a sudden act, Daemon tore the front of her dress, laying her on the bed and parting her legs, positioning himself between them.
Rhaelys’s hands gripped the bed sheet, but her violet eyes locked with his, and that’s when she propped herself up on her elbows, subtly pushing him back with her foot, before he furiously grabbed her ankle and pulled it away, leaning towards her, the other hand seizing her jaw.
A provocative smile curved her lips.
"Why do you have to be so difficult?" he whispered, his warm breath against her face as he squeezed her jaw, pulling a small wince of discomfort from her.
"Because the only times I didn’t resist, you took me in a brothel and left me pregnant," she replied, slipping free from his grip and moving her face closer to his, her nose brushing lightly against his. "You always want what you can’t have, Daemon."
"And that torments me," he growled, leaning in further, pressing his forehead against hers, their faces united in an almost unbearable desire. "Every time I look at you, I want to destroy everything that reminds me of you."
"Then destroy it..." she challenged, her eyes slipping to his lips. "Tear it all apart. Make me want you more than I already do."
He needed no further encouragement, no provocation. The kiss came like a storm, hot, overwhelming. Daemon’s lips met hers with a ferocity that stole the air from Rhaelys’s lungs. His hands left her ankle to pull her by the waist, his nails digging into her soft skin.
She responded to his touch with equal intensity, her fingers weaving into his silky hair, violently loosening the leather strap that held his single braid. When he bit her lower lip, Rhaelys gasped, breaking the kiss only to breathe.
Daemon took the opportunity to slide one hand to where she wanted him most, while the other supported her waist, pressing her firmly against him.
"You will be mine," he murmured, his voice low and husky, almost like a profane prayer. "No matter who I have to destroy to make that happen."
Her lips curved into a satisfied smile. She knew the power she had over him, and perhaps that was what kept her by the side of such an impossible man.
He lifted her slightly by the waist, leaning in to capture her lips again. The kiss was possessive, almost cruel, but Rhaelys did not yield. She never yielded. She returned it with the same ferocity, her nails scratching his shoulders, tracing new marks on the skin already marked by the wars he had fought.
"I can't stand another day away from you," he whispered against her mouth, between laboured breaths.
She arched her back, her long hair spreading across the pillows as she admired the prince above her. His lips trailed down her neck, leaving marks of bites and kisses along her delicate skin, but Rhaelys was not passive, she never was. As he descended, her hands traced the opposite path, exploring every line, every scar, every muscle of the man who both fascinated and enraged her.
Daemon pulled her closer, his movements urgent, almost desperate, as Rhaelys gasped. She grabbed his hair again, pulling him so their faces were aligned.
When she finally pushed him away, it was with a firm gesture, but not in haste. Still breathless, she took his hand and led him to the bath chamber—where they had originally intended to relax and talk.
He allowed himself to be led, his eyes fixed on her as if it was impossible to look away. She needed no words, only guided him into the warm water. Daemon sat down, relaxing, while Rhaelys leaned in to kiss him, but stopped just before their lips met.
"Next time you leave me, I swear you’ll regret it," she murmured, the words sharp in Valyrian, the tone cutting. "This time has been enough for us."
Daemon looked up, a brief, almost disdainful smile appearing on his lips.
"I almost let Laenor face Craghas Drahar’s army alone, just so that when I came back, I could marry you."
Rhaelys tilted her head, her eyes narrowing.
"You'd be dead before you even thought about that again," she retorted. "I’d marry you, but the next day I’d ask Ser Bermont to take your body to King’s Landing or give you to Seasmoke."
Daemon knew how much Rhaelys loved her nephews, and she wouldn’t hesitate to kill even him if he threatened Laenor.
For a moment, both of them were silent. She reached for a nearby pair of scissors and began cutting Daemon’s hair, the wet strands sliding to the floor. He didn’t protest, only watched her with a look that mixed curiosity and admiration.
“At some point, the boys will have to know,” she murmured, almost as if singing. Her delicate fingers passed through the remaining strands of hair, while he closed his eyes and rested his head against the edge of the bathtub. “And when they know, I hope you're ready. Because if they accept the truth, they’ll also expect something from you.”
Daemon opened his eyes and stared at her, the usual gleam of arrogance still present.
“They are my children, Rhaelys,” he replied in Valyrian. “It doesn’t matter how much you want to maintain the façade that they are your nephew’s. Aethan and Maegon have my blood; they were made of fire. And no one made of salt will teach them what it means to be made of fire.”
“How convenient,” she retorted. “It seems to me that my children belong only to me. After all, I’m not the one ignoring them or clearly favouring one over the other. Perhaps it’s the colour of their hair?”
Daemon laughed, the sound short and bitter.
“I couldn’t care less about the colour of their hair, Rhaelys. They have my blood, and that’s what matters,” he shot back, his tone laced with pride. “Maegon, though...”
“Save your breath,” she hissed, glaring at him seriously.
“He doesn’t like me, so I won’t bother him,” he continued, trying to sound nonchalant, but she knew him well enough to recognise that it truly bothered him.
Rhaelys pressed her lips together but didn’t reply. She finished cutting the last lock of hair and, without a word, climbed into the bathtub, positioning herself over him. Daemon’s hands closed firmly around her waist, almost possessively, as his eyes followed her.
He picked up a sponge, sliding it over her body as if tracing a map he already knew by heart. Every curve, every mark, every line was explored with an almost religious attention. Rhaelys reciprocated, gently tracing his muscles, exploring every line with a care that seemed to contradict her fierce nature.
“You can ask Corlys to stay here,” she suggested, her voice soft, almost casual. “The victory at the Steps was his; he owes you that. That way, you can be close to the boys without raising suspicion.”
Daemon laughed, but the sound was bitter.
“Corlys would know exactly why, Rhaelys. He would never allow it.”
“It’s not as if you’ve ever cared about permissions or orders,” she snapped, frustrated. “So go to Dragonstone!”
Before she could pull away, Daemon held her tightly.
“Don’t ask me to leave,” he said, his eyes fixed on hers.
But when she tried to move away, Daemon pulled her back into a kiss. It wasn’t gentle. It was wild, possessive, as though he was trying to remind her of what they meant to each other.
Rhaelys didn’t resist for long. She gave in to his touch, to the urgent movements of their bodies. The heat of the water mirrored the heat growing between them. When she settled on top of him, a hoarse moan escaped his lips, and her body responded with a deep sigh.
“Where will you go after this?” she asked, between breaths, as their bodies moved together in a rhythm that spoke more than any words.
Daemon kissed her neck, feeling her move above him as he wrapped her in his arms, their bodies entwined.
“I’ll stay at Dragonstone, at least until the hunt my brother has organised for his son. After that, I’ll try to convince him to let me stay.”
Rhaelys narrowed her eyes, a small smile curving her lips before she spoke.
“And then?”
He leaned in to whisper in her ear, his voice laced with disdain.
“I’ll go to Runestone. The 'bronze bitch' must have forgotten I exist by now.”
She laughed, but there was something dark in the laughter.
“If you do what I’m thinking, you’ll lose Runestone for lack of heirs. And if you remain unmarried, soon enough, another arranged marriage will be in your future.”
Daemon only smiled, pulling her closer as if her words were just another detail he would ignore.
The sound of small feet running down the hallway interrupted them. From the slightly open door of the bath chamber to the room,
“Muña?” (Mother?)
Rhaelys stopped, still on top of him, her breath quickening, her violet eyes turning to the door. Daemon snorted, irritated, but she slid off his lap and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around herself.
“Aethan,” Rhaelys called, her voice softening.
Aethan appeared at the door, his eyes red as if he had been crying, and walked towards her. His silver hair fell in soft waves, and the wooden dragon was in his small hands. He reached his arms out for comfort.
“Muña?” (Mother?) he said again, now with a sob caught in his throat.
Daemon watched silently, his eyes fixed on the child. He noted, once again, how much Aethan resembled Rhaelys. But there was something in the shape of his chin, the way he furrowed his brow, that was undeniably Daemon’s.
Rhaelys bent down, wrapping her arms around the little one and holding him firmly.
“What happened, my love?” she asked in Valyrian, stroking his hair.
“I...” Aethan sobbed, rubbing his eyes with his small hands. “Nightmare.”
Daemon remained still, almost as if trying to decide whether or not he should approach. He was the type of man who felt more comfortable wielding a sword than dealing with the vulnerabilities of a child.
“It was just a bad dream, my little dragon,” Rhaelys said, kissing the top of Aethan’s head. “It’s all right now.”
The little one, however, looked at Daemon curiously.
“Él?” (Him?) he whispered.
Rhaelys blinked, surprised by the question, while Daemon raised an eyebrow, his lips pulling into a half-sarcastic smile.
“It’s Daemon, Aethan,” she answered firmly, but gently.
Daemon tilted his head, studying the boy for a moment before finally speaking.
“Kepa.” (Father) he said, pointing to himself, then to Rhaelys. “Muña.” (Mother)
“He’s two, Daemon. This is not the time.”
But Aethan seemed more interested in exploring the room than in any conversation. The little one stumbled to the edge of the bathtub and looked at Daemon again.
“Do you bathe?” he asked in Valyrian.
Daemon let out a dry, almost cynical laugh before replying.
“Yes, boy. Even princes bathe.”
Rhaelys closed her eyes and exhaled deeply before picking up Aethan.
“Let’s go back to your room, my love,” she said, shooting a sharp look at Daemon before leaving. “Mama will stay with you until you sleep, and then help Aunt Laena.”
She glanced at Daemon one last time without saying anything, and left the room with Aethan in her arms.
“Rhaelys, I can take him,” said Ser Bermont as soon as he saw her walking down the hall with Aethan. But she ignored him. “Rhaelys…”
“Ask Emilly to bring me a dress, a nightgown, anything,” she replied, already entering the children's room and closing the door behind her. “And tell Laena I’m coming.”
Rhaelys walked to Maegon’s bed, stroked his dark hair, placed a small kiss on his forehead, and, with Aethan in her arms, settled into the chair. She adjusted the cushions and watched the boy play with the wooden dragon in his hands.
She sighed and began to nurse him, with Aethan clinging to her breast, sucking with strength. As she rocked him, she began to sing softly. But it was when she looked into the violet eyes of her son that something broke. He blinked slowly, his silvery-blonde hair falling over his forehead, and Rhaelys smiled, pulling him closer and placing a lingering kiss on his forehead.
The flames in the hearth crackled and flickered beneath her gaze, and the sensation that met her was numbing, murmurs, something distant yet familiar. Rhaelys listened to the fire, and from it came the vision of her destiny.