The Dragon's Heart Is Mine || Geralt Targaryen [1]

64 • THE ROYAL ANNOUNCEMENT

Mysaria looked out onto the sea from the dining room as the targaryen ship sailed back to Kings Landing. The insults that were jabbed at her by the Witcher sank in her skin like arrows. Daemon comes in from the door way and hugs his paramour from behind.

"You announced that we were to be wed?" She began in her foreign Lys accent.

"On the morrow." Daemon reminds her, planting kisses on her shoulder.

"And that I was with child....Your child."

Daemon hummed. "Well, perhaps when we are wed, we can make that true." He planted a kiss on her shoulder again..

"I ensured long ago that I would never be threatened by childbirth." Mysaria vouched confidently.

"Good. Children can be such irritating creatures." Daemon mused.

Mysaria steps aside. "You swore to protect me, Daemon." She complained.

"Dragonstone is quite secure." Daemon walks past her and placing Dark Sister on the table, sitting down, looking out the window towards sea.

"Until the King decides to reclaim his ancestral seat. His men might not put the Prince's head on a spike, but what would they do with the common whore he claims he's taken to wife and made with child?" Mysaria questioned.

"No one will harm you." Daemon assures her blandly.

"Like your nephew butchered Renfri and her thugs at the square market. Prince Geralt certainly has no limits." Mysaria counters.

Daemon hissed. "Don't mention that bastard's name before me!" She snapped.

Mysaria didn't flinch. "I have been sold as property more times than I care to count, beginning in a homeland I can no longer recall. Most of my years have been spent living in terror." She explained bitterly.

"You're safe with me Mysaria, I swear it." Daemon assures her again, pouring himself a cup of wine to quench his patched throat, he was still frightened by the way Geralt engulfed on fire. Weird mutant creature.

"You are Targaryen. You can afford to play your stupid games with the King, but I cannot. I didn't come into your service wanting gold or power or station. I came to you to be liberated." She tells him the honest truth.

Daemon arched a brow and sipped his wine. "Liberated. From what?' he demanded.

"Fear." Mysaria declares and exit the dinning room.

▪️▪️▪️

Night falls over Kings landing as the hour of owl drew near. Lord Lynoel Strong, the Master of Laws, Lord Castellan of Harrenhall, sat in his chair within the small council chamber. His duty to the realm is advice the King on legal matters and justice. Puzzled by the King's demand to have an audience with him, the man had no choice than to obey.

When he saw Viserys finally arriving behind shut doors, Lynoel rose to greet him in obeisance.

"No, please, Lord Lyonel." Viserys dismissed, motioning him to remain seated.

Lyonel bowed and sat back down.

Sighing, the King rested his arms on the head chair. "I have come looking for an unencumbered opinion."

"That's all I would ever give, Your Grace." Lyonel replies.

Viserys sighs. "Margaery Tyrell."

Lyonel adjusted in his seat and began. "She's from a rich livestock of agriculture, the highest in the realm, the Tyrells are obscenely wealthy, once stewards of Highgarden, before King Aegon the Conqueror, granted them control over the Reach. They're a nobel ancient house, and a strong ally to the crown, naming Lord Mace Master of Trades was a brilliant, intelligent idea Your Grace." he remarked.