Ruin Me

Chapter Eighteen

"Are your sympathies like your favour? Do they have to be earned rather than granted?" came a voice that had Daenyra reaching for a dagger she kept sheathed up the sleeve of her dress.

"Good gods! Do not ambush a person like that," Daenyra scolded as she turned to see her uncle watching her, setting her weapon on a table near the door as she saw there was no danger. She also had little doubt that he had been standing there, bathed in shadows as he watched her kiss each of the three boys goodnight before closing the door to their chamber and retreating back to her own, where he had been waiting for her. "Or else, the next time I might be tempted to run you through."

"You did not answer my question," he repeated. Daemon rose from the seat he was occupying as he came closer to her.

Daenyra gave a small sigh as her shoulders sagged. "No, Uncle Daemon. You do not need to earn my sympathies. I am sorry for the passing of your wife. Now, if you will excuse me, I wish to retire."

Daenyra had lifted the edge of her skirt with one hand as she slid past him, but she stopped when Daemon reached his hand out. Her breath was stolen from her lungs as his fingers reached out to touch her necklace.

He said nothing. He did nothing, save for running his deft fingers along the ridges of the red gemstone.

"Is there a reason that you sought me out, Uncle?" she asked, trying to take control of her breathing.

Logically, she knew that he posed no threat of danger to her. She had no path to the throne now that Rhaenyra had a bounty of sons. He could not rid his way of them without being put under more scrutiny than he was for Rhea's death. He gained nothing from harming her or Vaelon because he had no claim to the Iron Islands. Rationally, she knew she was safe, but that didn't mean that she would stop being scared about what was going to happen. He would never know her fear though.

"You look well," he spoke. "And your son looks more like you with every passing day."

She gave a humourless chuckle. "Some days he is too much like me." Daenyra tilted her head at him, trying to discern what was going through his mind. "Gods be good that your daughters are nothing like their father."

He did not smile as she thought he would, rather he just continued to study her. "And a shame your son has no father to learn from."

She knew this game. She knew her uncle's tricks even after all these years. Daenyra found comfort in the fact that he had not changed. She was also extremely prepared to answer him because she had trained herself for this. She had answered this question a million times since her husband's passing, this was just a million and one.

"It is," she replied, despite the way the fire inside her burned at the thought that he was insulting the way she had raised her son, specifically, the way she chose to raise him by herself. "Indeed, a terrible shame that he passed on the day of Vaelon's birth. The Maesters said we had been blessed by the gods that he survived to see his son born."

Daemon's lips spread into a taunting smile. "You are indeed a performer, Daenyra. I suspect the years have trained you well."

She angled her head at her uncle. "What need would I have to perform for you? For anyone about what is nothing but the truth."

He took a single step closer and Daenyra's back rested against her doors as heat burned through her body from his piercing gaze. There was just something about his eyes. Maybe it was because she was the only one in their family to be born without blue eyes, but there was just something about the way that he looked at her – about the way that he had always looked at her – that made her entire body come alive.