TO LOVE A KING || Maegor II Targaryen [SLOW UPDATES]

074▪️ BENEATH THE CROWN, BENEATH THE MAN

In the Dining Hall of Dragonstone.The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the cold stone chamber. The storm had passed, but the sky outside remained overcast, tinged with the dying hues of twilight.

Mysaria stood by the arched window, her long pale robe whispering against the black stone floor. Her gaze was fixed far off toward the churning sea, where the royal Targaryen ship, carrying Princess Rhaenyra and the dragon egg disappeared into the mist on its journey back to King's Landing.

Her arms were folded tight against her chest, though not from cold.

Daemon entered through the heavy wooden doors, his steps light, as if he had not just nearly provoked a war. He paused when he saw her, his eyes lingering on her silhouette before walking up behind her and slipping his arms around her waist.

He rested his chin on her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her skin. "You're quiet."

Mysaria didn't lean into his touch. Her eyes never left the waves. "You told the world we were to be wed."

Daemon smiled faintly, his lips brushing the slope of her neck. "On the morrow," he whispered. "Didn't I say it would be a fine celebration?"

"And that I was carrying your child." Her accent thickened as she said it, emotion curled beneath her calm.

Daemon gave a low hum, unbothered. "Well... perhaps when we're wed, we can make that part true." He kissed her again, soft and possessive.

Mysaria turned her head just enough for her voice to be heard, her tone calm but cold. "I ensured long ago that I would never be threatened by childbirth."

His mouth paused against her skin.

She stepped out of his arms, letting his hands fall.

Daemon blinked, watching her with faint confusion before walking across the room and placing Dark Sister gently on the long oak table. He sank into the chair, pouring wine into a goblet with careless grace.

"Good," he muttered. "Children can be such irritating creatures."

Mysaria didn't smile. "You swore to protect me, Daemon."

"I have." He glanced at her. "Dragonstone is secure."

"For now," she said sharply. "Until your brother grows tired of your theatrics. Until the King reclaims his ancestral seat. You think his knights would spare you because you're a prince? Perhaps. But what would they do to the foreign whore you claim to wed and say is carrying royal blood?"

Daemon stilled, wine halfway to his lips. His eyes darkened.

"No one will harm you," he said softly.

"Not because you'll stop them," Mysaria replied. "But because you'll already be gone."

Daemon said nothing.

She crossed the room slowly, her steps deliberate, her voice low and cutting. "I have been sold as property more times than I care to count. I was stolen from a homeland I can barely remember. I have spent more years in fear than in peace. And now you parade me before your enemies like I am some banner of defiance."