"Who is that girl? the one with changing hair and violet eyes?"
"Megara Royce Targaryen...Your stepsister, my daughter, The Bronze Demon."
Megara Royce looked every bit of Targaryen with violet eyes and silver hair. She hated it, as a child she woul...
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The king had sent everyone away, it was late, and far too much had happened that night. Megara had tucked her sisters into bed and lulled them to sleep, her father was off somewhere doing who knows what. "Meg...does it stop hurting?" asked Baela, Megara loved both her sisters equally, they were one of the few things that kept her sane in such a cruel world but Baela felt like a miniature version of her, Baela was more reserved then Rhaena just like Megara and enjoyed more masculine activities. But Baela idolized their father which irritated Megara. Baela gave and gave without wanting anything in return, she did not understand the idea of having her own ideals or personality she simply copied Daemon and Megara. "I'll be honest Bae...it doesn't but it does get easier" Baela cried and hugged her sister "Sleep Baela it's important for your health."
Megara rose from her sister's bed and exited the girl's room with a harsh sigh. She leaned against the door, trying to suppress the memories of her mother. The sounds of footsteps caused her to lift herself from the door and straighten her back. Her father came into view. Daemon approached the twins' room and paused before Megara. "Are they asleep?" Daemon asked, his voice unusually soft. Megara nodded, clenching her hands into fists behind her back. She felt like a nanny, and she hated it. "Yes, they are," she replied, her voice tight with suppressed emotion.
"I need to speak with you," Daemon said, his tone grave. Megara looked up, confused by the seriousness in his voice. "Not here." He led Megara to her own chambers, which were closest. Once inside, he locked the door and gestured for her to sit. "What is it, father?" Megara asked, her curiosity piqued but her heart heavy with dread. Daemon leaned against the unlit fireplace, his face turned away from her, allowing her only a view of his back. She watched as he rubbed his face and sighed, saw how he anxiously tapped his fingers and foot. "I plan to marry," he finally said, his voice strained.
Megara's head shot up, her eyes wide with shock. She coughed harshly, rising from her chair. "Excuse me?" she asked, disbelief evident in her tone.
Daemon turned around to look at his eldest daughter. "Laenor Velaryon is dead, and I have wanted to marry Rhaenyra for years," he said, stepping closer to her, hoping to catch a glimpse of her feelings. She always stayed so stoic around him.
"No," Megara said firmly, her voice cold and unyielding.
Daemon's confusion was palpable. He had believed that his daughter would support him, that she would aid him in giving the harsh news to her sisters, that she would make him feel good about it, help him forget Laena. But Megara, who bottled her true feelings, was done. She hated his vile disrespect. How could he still want Rhaenyra, the woman who was the reason he killed her mother? And now his wife was barely dead, and he planned to leave her too? Laena had loved Rhaenyra; she spoke of her highly. But in Megara's mind, it was clear that Rhaenyra cared nothing for Laena if she would wed her husband as soon as the tides took her.
