painful truth of realisation seeped into her bones, hitting her as if she had taken a slap to the face. Rhaenyra had always loved her uncle. But for the first time in her life, she feared that she knew what the love truly meant.

that flowed in their shared blood.

She felt it now, standing before him in the quiet hush of her
chambers, the world outside lost to the flickering candlelight. He was close. Too close, and yet she did not move away. She knew she should, but there she stood. Determination washed over her as the —

her voice wavering as the blood in her veins burned hot and wild. She had idolised him once. As a child, chasing after him in the Red Keep’s corridors, laughing at his wicked jokes, believing him untouchable. But she was no longer a child, and this shift between them was as undeniable as the fire —

yard, where he fought like a storm, given flesh. No, this was different. He had spoken softly, his voice thick with something she could not yet name, and the way he had looked at her, gods, the way he had seen her, unravelled something deep in her chest.

𝘒𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘷𝘰𝘴𝘦, 𝘯̃𝘶𝘩𝘢 𝘷𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘪̄. She whispered, —

not from the metal’s chill, but from the way Daemon’s hands lingered as he fastened it securely - his touch - so soft and gentle compared to his usual brute force.

She had never seen him like this before. Not in court, where he was all sharp smiles and reckless arrogance. Not in the training —