You and I, We're the Same

Chapter One

"You look quite beautiful tonight, Princess," Ser Harwin says, passing me on the dance floor.

"Thank you, Ser Harwin," I nod toward him and smile, raising an arm in the air to the beat. The floor is ablaze with bodies moving in tandem to the music, laughter and cheers echoing loudly against the stone walls. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Daemon getting up from the head table and much to my annoyance, my stomach flutters watching him. So confident, so arrogant, so...Daemon.

I twirl around and dance in the opposite direction, passing Ser Harwin again. We laugh and I can't help but notice how ruggedly handsome he is when he smiles. Looking back, I see Daemon talking to Laena as she dances around him. Heat creeps into my face and something like dread cascades down my neck. Seven hells, I'm actually jealous. Laena has such an ethereal beauty to her, and from the way she's flirting with Daemon, she's a woman who knows what she wants.

Stop it. You're betrothed to Laenor. Daemon abandoned you half-naked in a brothel, remember? But all I can really seem to remember is his lips hungrily pressed against mine in the dark.

Distracted and no longer paying attention to what move was next, I accidentally bump into Ser Harwin and we laugh again, rearranging ourselves in proper position.

"Ser Harwin, may I?" A delicious chill trickles down my spine and my body jolts at the sound of his voice. He smells of dragon, of burnt embers and fresh smoke and the scent before rainfall found among the clouds. He smells like home.

"Of course, my Lord," Ser Harwin leaves us, and Daemon takes my hand, and I fight hard not to react to our skin touching. I will not give him the satisfaction.

He leads us to the back of the hall, walking a small circle around me, taking stock of our surroundings, almost as if he's claiming his territory and challenging anyone who would interrupt us.

I roll my eyes, angry and frustrated and still hurt over the way he last left things between us.

"Is this what you want?" He asks in High Valyrian, a language that feels like it's always belonged to just the two of us. He steps closer, looking at me with concern.

Furious, I stare incredulously back at him. "I was not aware that what I want mattered to you."

"This is not for you," he responds, as we start moving in a dance of our own without realizing it, a gravitational pull to each other. "Laenor is a good man and a fine knight. He will bore you senseless." The last word rolls off his tongue slowly and my body tightens in response.

The sheer audacity of this man.

"Marriage is only a political arrangement, I hear," I throw his own line back in his face, my blood boiling.

He gets even closer, our lips inches apart. "Mine was recently dissolved," he whispers softly, the seductive implication hanging in the air.

"So take me, then," I challenge back, my heart beating faster. He remains silent, taken aback by my words. "Has this not been your purpose?" I taunt, looking at his mouth that's so achingly close to mine. "I am not yet married. But the hours pass swiftly."

I glance back up at him to see that he's now looking down at my lips, anger and lust in his eyes. We keep moving in a close circle, as if no one else exists in the room but us. "You are surely armed," I continue in a mocking tone. "Cut through my father's Kingsguard." He starts breathing heavily, glaring at me. It makes my body sing.

"Take me to Dragonstone and make me your wife."

Not another second passes before he grabs my neck, his thumb gripping my cheek, pulling me completely against him. I gasp in pleasure and hate myself for it. I can feel how hard he is against my stomach, and heat pools between my legs.

He leans forward to whisper in my ear, his lips featherlight on my jawline. My body feels engulfed in flame.

"The fire that rages beneath your skin demands more than the life you are choosing." He pulls away, breath still uneven. His grip on my neck tightens and he says, "You and I, we're the same."

Suddenly someone starts screaming several feet away from us and the crowd starts shuffling towards the noise. I turn toward the commotion but Daemon quickly grabs my hand and pulls me out of the mob that's forming, hurrying us to the side of the room, through a door and into the main hall.

"What's happening?" I ask, hearing the crowd get louder.

"I'm not quite sure, nor do I really care," He responds, quickly pulling me along the hallway. I'm worried about my father and Laenor, but I follow Daemon, squeezing his hand as he opens the door to the library.

"Daemon, what are you—" He turns around and backs me up against the now closed door, touching his forehead to mine.

"I needed to make sure you were safe," he murmurs. We listen as the commotion continues faintly on the other side of the keep. Along the walls, candles flicker in their sconces, casting shadows across his face, mere inches from mine. He reaches up and traces my bottom lip with his thumb again, just as he did that night in the brothel.

Fury boils back to the surface at his touch. "Why did you leave me?" I force myself to pull away from his touch and to my absolute horror, my eyes start filling with tears.

"You deserved better, Princess," he whispers, his thumb swiping a tear away as he cradles my jaw. The answer doesn't satisfy me, and on impulse I reach up to slap him across the face.

He catches my hand before it makes contact, his fingers wrapped tightly around my wrist, the anger and lust from moments before now simmering again in his eyes. I fight for my hand back, but he moves even closer, pinning my body with his against the door, reaching up and doing the same with my wrist above our heads.

We're both breathing hard now, breathing the same inch of air. Enough, I think, and move my head forward to kiss him but he pulls away, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"You fucking—" But that's all I manage to say before his mouth is on mine. The kisses immediately turn frantic and messy, borderline violent and desperate, like if we stop the world will end. Years of pent-up tension and frustration finally bubble to the surface, and we can't get close enough, can't kiss hard enough. I bite at his bottom lip tasting blood and he groans, moving to run his tongue and teeth along my jaw line.

I moan as his mouth starts tracing lines of fire against my neck, sucking and nibbling and all I can think about is how right this feels. He lets go of my wrist above, and I use the opportunity to wrap both arms around his neck, running my fingers through his hair, gripping the strands and pulling hard.

He growls in response, reaching down to pull up my skirts and bunch them around my waist, his fingertips digging roughly into my hips, leaving bruises.

Suddenly, we hear guards shuffle in the hall, armor clinking as they run to the throne room. We freeze, our breaths still heavy with want.

I manage to say, "Daemon, I think we should go—"

"No," he responds, trailing his fingers across my thighs, his mouth exploring the skin below my ear. It takes everything in me to grab his wrists and stop his hands, my skirts flowing back down to the floor.

"We need to go back," I whisper against his mouth. "I'm worried for my father and Laenor's safety, he's soon-to-be King Consort and—"

"No longer. No one else will have you, my dragon," he says, switching to Valyrian, and I can't help but smile.

"Rhaenyra Targaryen," My body burns at the sound of my name on his lips. "First of Her Name, Heir to the Iron Throne, The Realm's Delight, and Princess of Dragonstone, I ask you to be my wife for all of my days until death claims me."

I trace his jawline with my fingertips, feeling him shudder under my touch. "I will have you, Daemon Targaryen, for all of your days and mine."