The Unburnt

Chapter 11 - Plot

Daemon Targaryen

117 AC

''Are you still Prince of the City dear husband?'' I roll my eyes at Visenya, one thing she loved to do the most, is irritate me, which would end in her getting bent over and fucked, an activity we both enjoyed. I busy myself with the wine goblet, taking a long sip, watching her play with the scroll between her fingers. King Viserys informed us of the arrival of Rhaenyra's twin girls, two moons having passed since Laena's funeral, her children being born on the cusp of a new year.

''Why do you ask ābrazȳrys -wife-, do you wish to know if the babes hold an uncanny resemblance to a certain member of the Gold Cloaks?'' She laughs wholeheartedly, a smile stretching my lips as I see her cheeks redden with the force of her laugh.

Little changes, is it too soon to tell my dear?

My eyes travel down her figure, lingering a little more than necessary on her lower belly. Visenya was always fuller than her older sister, thicker thighs, ampler breasts, soft stomach, couldn't tell for sure if she was with child or if she ate a heavy breakfast.

Only time will tell.

''What if, the twins, are also bastards? The court seems unaware or doesn't dare to speak ill of the future Queen, but what if, my older sister, in an attempt to bring forth silver-haired babes, has turned desperate, and went as far as sleeping with a man of Valyrian descent?'' Two perfect silver eyebrows move gently up and down as she giggles, my mouth stills on the rim of the goblet. Hm. A plot, one that could be in our favor, treaded meticulously could lead to our blood having a chance at the Iron Throne, our Targaryen son, us, she and I as Queen and King.

''Even if she and Laenor did sire the girls, why not question their legitimacy too, given that the future Queen has quite the history of spreading her legs for other men,'' my sinister smile makes her grin like a little girl. ''I will see that this information reaches the court. The desperate need my older niece has, to birth Targaryen children, she went as low as sleeping with a common man, a lowborn of Valyrian descent. A rather scheming little thing you are. Must I also say that, I've informed my brother of your stay here with me, under the allegations of teaching you how to come out of your shell, be in charge of the administration, hold audiences-''

''Oh yes, I sure have learned a lot uncle,'' her blush speaks volumes, a sly grin spreading on my lips.

''You truly did, I shall only hope something stuck,'' my gaze drops to her abdomen. She places a slender hand on her lower stomach and sighs.

''Perhaps, would it be too soon to tell?''

''Not if we ask Maester Gerardys to check your status, only the Old Gods know if you are with child or not,'' my voice turns soft as I contemplate the predicament, me becoming a father, a man who never wished to be tied to any lady, yet here I was, rather excited of the prospect, watching my legacy waddle on the floor of Dragonstone.

Allies are what we need, an army, lords who could overturn Rhaenyra's claim over the throne, the many Houses of Westeros would rather plunge into a rebellion than have a woman on the throne with her bastard sons as successors; a rebellion I could start with support of the most noble Houses, under the pretext that our son is legitimate, Visenya being faithful to me, I having the pure blood of Old Valyria through my veins, that I could be k-

''Daemon, will you accompany me to our chambers so Maester Gerardys can provide information of my status?'' My young wife speaks softly, a frown creasing her delicate forehead. I smile and nod, taking her hand while we walk to the chambers, the castle walls passing in a blur as we head into the direction of the future.

If she were to bring forth a son, history would change.

No longer would we be secondborns Visenya, we would be rightful in having a place at court, at the Iron Throne.

As the Maester instructed Visenya how to lay on the bed, soothing her with relaxing words, I stood at the door, my back leaning against the wood as my heart beat furiously, the blood thumping in my ears deafening. With much care did the Maester check her, asking if she felt uncomfortable, assuring her that he shall finish shortly. 

The future is in your womb, my sweet Visenya, my blood runs through your veins, our ambition growing in your womb presumably.

When Maester Gerardys lifted his head, I could tell, pride blooming in my chest, my perfect wife, my little flower, my sweet Visenya, my blood.

My feet carry me to the bed as he says aloud: congratulations, you are with child, princess. No, not princess, Your Grace, I muse to myself. Kneeling on the mattress, I lean over and press a kiss to her forehead. My dutiful little wife.

''Leave us,'' my voice left to room for argument, as the older man gathered his things and left the room, not before Visenya murmured a thank you. Her face was pink, breaths lifting her chest, my eyes took in the rather debauched cleavage.

Gods will your teats grow more, I shall feed too.

Without a word, I rise from the bed, circling it until coming to a stop between her parted thighs. She looks at me with a knowing grin, but when my knees hit the floor, her face twists in confusion.

Oh my love, don't you think I shall reward you for your duty, for the future you carry in your womb?

My lips press softly on the skin of her right knee, her leg bouncing slightly at the soft caress. I hum, as I leave a trail of soft kisses, down to her inner thigh.

Her breath hitches, while I push the gown up to her waist as it was before when the Maester checked her, silver hair greeting me, along with her scent. My eyebrows raise as I look at her.

Already wet for me my little flower?

With my fingers, I trailed them from her knees, up to where her thighs meet one of my ambitions, blessed by the Old Gods with a Valyrian wife, a Princess, my Princess, who will carry for me a Valyrian babe. My nose pushed into the silver hair and she shrieked, pushing my head away as I inhaled, lavender and her scent, invading my veins.

The stench remained the same, as did the streets, even moons after I have taken residence at Dragonstone, commoners busy themselves during the night also, now seeking pleasure and fulfillment of their sinful desires, rather than work as they do in the morning.

''Life is a peculiar thing, and the winds of the Narrow Sea ensure the flap of dragon wings, even one as debauched as yours.'' No use of the title. Typical. My figure was hidden by a dark cloak, the hood over my face, amidst the storm I had to remain level-headed.

''I trust you still wish to see your blood on the throne?'' My tone helps a sense of mirth.

''The ambitions of men, vary, and what you speak of is treason.'' Still, you fail to deny it. I chuckle.

''The wind brings changes.'' At that his eyes gleamed with an emotion, one I knew to well. Have I caught your attention now? ''A dragon egg is close to hatching at Dragonstone.''

''What a joyous occasion.'' His words held little congratulations but his eyes hardened. ''Such news would certainly please the King-''

''Legitimate.''

''I be you pardon.''

''Legitimate, Otto.'' At my words his gaze shifts, so does he in his seat. He ponders my words for a few seconds.

''Many things you must be teaching the young Princess.''

''The wind brings changes, it will challenge the trees with weaker roots.''

''Trees seem to have stronger roots.''

''I doubt over the years you shed the loyalty towards House Hightower in favor of fire, especially since you have taken quite the fondness of the sea. Fire and sea, don't you reckon it is a rather balanced mix?'' We both stare at each other, the cunt of a Right Hand, widowed again, after the passing of his Lady wife Laena. He understands the meaning behind my words, an alliance, even if it meant to mix with some green and blue. I tap my knuckles on the table and leave, walking through the streets of Kings Landing, making my way back to Caraxes.