House of Targaryen

XX

What Comes After

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The morning light crept through the small window of the inn's bedchamber, casting a soft golden hue over the room. I stirred first, feeling the warmth of Daemon's body beside me. The night was still a blur—emotions, confessions, and haunting sex.

Everything felt fragile, like the quiet before the storm.

I turned onto my side and propped myself up on my elbows, watching Daemon as he slept. His face, usually so sharp and calculating, looked softer in sleep. I couldn't resist. My fingers traced the line of his jaw, rough with stubble. For a moment, I just stayed there, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the even rhythm of his breath. It felt like I was seeing a side of him few ever did—a side that wasn't masked by his usual bravado or ruthless demeanor.

I leaned in closer, my lips just inches from his skin. I blew lightly across his face, hoping to stir him. His brow furrowed, and he let out a deep breath but didn't wake. I did it again, smiling at how peaceful he looked.

"Wake up," I whispered, my voice teasing but warm.

Daemon's eyes fluttered open, the intense violet narrowing down at me. His hand went to my hip and he pulled me down to his chest. I leaned in, my breath grazing his neck this time. He shifted and groaned, letting out a deep exhale. His hands slid further up my body, tracing each curve.

I hummed, unamused at his stubbornness. He opened his eyes at the sound and drifted them to my chest. I glanced down in response, noticing my gown had slipped. The sight seemed to stir him awake as his hand went to my shoulder, his index and middle finger hooking the strap of the gown, pulling it down further.

"Daemon," I warned, but my voice lacked resolve.

He hummed in response, not stopping as he leaned in closer. His mouth hovered over my skin, and for a moment, I thought he was going to ignore my warning entirely. But then, with a sigh, he shifted back, his hand brushing over my hip as he moved to sit up.

"We need to leave," he muttered, his voice rough from sleep.

I watched as he ran a hand through his silver hair, his expression caught somewhere between annoyance and amusement. He stretched, his muscles flexing under the warm sun. This was the side of Daemon that very few people saw, and it was this side that made my heart ache in a way I couldn't quite explain.

We both knew we couldn't stay for long. We had to return to Dragonstone, to our positions, and our responsibilities. The thought of sailing back, of seeing Rhaenyra again, weighed on me. And yet, part of me didn't want to leave this room, this moment. Everything was so uncertain outside of these walls.

With a sigh, I slipped out of bed and began dressing. The air was cool against my skin as I pulled on a cloaked gown. Daemon watched me, his gaze lingering as I tied the laces of my bodice.

"Lenora," he said, his voice low, but the way he said my name felt like a question.

I met his eyes but said nothing. There was so much to consider, so much left unsaid between us. His proposal, the future he was asking me to share with him—it wasn't something I could take lightly. But right now, we had to leave—I needed to leave. There wasn't time for deep conversations or confessions.

Daemon seemed to understand. He didn't press further. Instead, he grabbed his sword and slid it into its sheath, a sense of purpose washing over him as we prepared to depart.