A Bond Between Dragons

wrapped around your finger [016]

The late morning sun filtered through the heavy drapes of Vaella's chamber, casting a soft, golden light over the room. She sat by the window, her fingers idly tracing the spine of the book she had stolen, as her mind wandered. The days following the return to Dragonstone had passed in a haze, the oppressive weight of the castle pressing in on her. She found no solace in the grand halls, no comfort in the familiar stone walls. Dragonstone felt like a cage now—one that her mother had willingly walked into, and one that she couldn't escape.

A soft knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. She straightened, her heart immediately speeding up with anxiety. She wasn't ready to talk to anyone just yet. Before she could answer, the door creaked open, and there he was—Daemon. His presence filled the room as he stepped inside without waiting for permission, his sharp gaze locking onto hers. Vaella stiffened, her fingers tightening around the edge of the book. She still hadn't forgiven him—not for the suddenness of his marriage to her mother, not for the way he had inserted himself into their lives so completely.

"Good morrow, Vaella," Daemon's voice was smooth, his words slow and deliberate, as if measuring her response.

"Good morrow," she replied, her voice small, almost swallowed by the vastness of the chamber. She avoided his eyes, focusing instead on the patterns of the sunlight on the floor.

Daemon regarded her for a moment, his lips curling into something that was not quite a smile. "I thought we might walk," he said, leaving little room for refusal.

Vaella hesitated, a lump forming in her throat. The idea of spending time alone with him made her stomach churn, but refusing wasn't an option. Reluctantly, she stood, placing the book down as she followed him out of the room.

The halls of Dragonstone were long and shadowed, their ancient stone walls seeming to whisper of history and bloodlines. As they walked, the echo of their footsteps filled the silence between them, a silence that grew heavier with each passing moment. Vaella felt the weight of Daemon's presence beside her—commanding, watchful. His aura was overpowering, a mixture of danger and allure that both repelled and fascinated her. She kept her gaze fixed on the stone beneath her feet, her heart pounding in her chest.

"If I may ask, what is it that you do in your spare time, Princess?" Daemon's question broke the silence, his tone casual, but there was an edge of curiosity to it.

Vaella blinked, caught off guard. "I... I like to read," she replied after a pause. "I enjoy learning about the histories of different kings and lords... of how they ruled, the decisions they made."

Daemon hummed in response, as if contemplating her answer. "And what do you hope to do with all that knowledge?" His voice was smooth, but the question felt like a challenge.

She hesitated, unsure of how to respond. "I—well, I suppose I just like knowing. There's power in understanding the past... in knowing what mistakes were made, what choices led to victories or downfalls."

"You've read about kings and lords all your life," Daemon began, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of history, as though the past itself spoke through him. "It's their names you remember. Theirs are the stories that echo through time—the men who sit on thrones, wearing crowns, leading armies. They're the ones who make history. Men with titles, with power."

Vaella's stomach twisted. The way he said it, it wasn't just a statement—it felt like a truth that had been buried, waiting for her to stumble upon it. Her pulse quickened as she looked up at him, the flicker of unease slowly rising in her chest. She'd always loved reading those stories, imagining what it would be like to shape the world like the kings and lords she'd admired. But she had never stopped to consider the one unyielding barrier: she was not one of them.