Plainly Targaryen

Chapter 4

She had followed him down the steps of Driftark to the beach, which surrounded the vast castle but she had lost Daemon to the broadness of the scenery. Rhaenyra closed her eyes, letting the wind whip her hair across her face. She tried to ignore it, but Daemon's presence was undeniable. When she opened them again, her gaze fell on the sea, the endless, dark stretch of it a mirror for her thoughts.

Behind her, the soft scrape of boots on stone drew her attention. She turned, already knowing who it would be.

Daemon stood at the steps to the beach, his light hair billowing slightly in the wind. His silver hair shone in the dim light, and his sharp eyes, always so unreadable, locked onto hers. He did not speak at first, only crossed the short distance between them with his usual quiet confidence.

"Princess," he greeted, his voice low, almost lost in the wind.

She inclined her head slightly, acknowledging him. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was thick, weighted with years of unspoken words and unfinished desires.

"Ao've issare avoiding issa," You've been avoiding me. Daemon finally said, his tone casual, though his eyes remained intense, studying her.

She bristled at his words. "It hasn't been avoidance," she replied, though even she could hear the lie in her voice. "I've had matters to attend to. My children..."

"Kessa," Yes, he said, though something was mocking in his tone, a flicker of amusement at the corners of his mouth. "Your children."

Rhaenyra stiffened, her mind drifting to Jace, Luke and Joffrey, the subjects of so much scrutiny, their parentage questioned by anyone who dared to look too closely. Daemon had not been here but she knew he must have heard the whispers.

"You've heard them, then," she said bitterly. "The gossip. The slander."

Daemon leaned against the stone railing beside her, his eyes on the horizon. "I've heard. I pay little mind to such things. Bastard or not, the world will know them as Targaryens as you wish."

His words struck her deeply, the casual dismissal of the truth as if it didn't matter in the face of power. But that was Daemon—unapologetic, willing to defy convention, to reshape the world to his liking.

"And what of you?" she asked, turning to face him fully. "You return to Driftmark after years of wandering, years spent in Essos and gods know where. Now you stand here as if nothing has changed, as if you never left."

Daemon smiled then, a small, crooked smile that held a hint of sadness. "I came for Laena. She deserved that much." His voice softened, the mask of indifference slipping for just a moment. "But you're right. Things have changed. More than you know."

He turned to look at her, his gaze piercing, as if he could see through the armour she had built around herself over the years. "And you, Niece? Have you changed? Or do you still dream of things that cannot be?"

His words sent a shiver down her spine, though not from the cold. She met his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest, as the storm inside her began to stir.

"I don't dream," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crash of the waves below. "Not anymore."

Daemon stepped closer, the space between them closed, the heat of his presence an irresistible pull. "Perhaps you should," he murmured.

The air between them was electric, charged with the weight of everything left unsaid. And for the first time in years, Rhaenyra felt something stir within her, something she thought she had buried long ago.