By all rights, Saerra is a war veteran. She fought in the war in the Step Stones. She trained under Prince Daemon and his gold cloaks. She vanquished enemies and helped lead the men to victory... and yet she's being treated as if she were never there.

As if her history has been erased before it was ever written.

The Sea Snake is one of the two men showered in gratuity for the victory. He and the Rogue Prince share the credit, and do not have any inkling to give Saerra hers.

During the King's next Small Council meeting, the war in the Steps Stones is briefly discussed, before the men of the realm move on to a subject they deem more important.

Rhaenyra's marriage.

A proposal is invented, one that would wed Princess Rhaenyra to Ser Laenor, and they invent it in the very room the princess sits in.

The deafening cries of the babe, Prince Aegon, reverberate through the opulent halls of the Red Keep, filling the air with a haunting melody of distress. Rhaenyra, wearied by the echoes, wearily makes her way back to her chambers, the mournful wails trailing behind her like a persistent ghost.

Meanwhile, Saerra sits before her vanity, her delicate fingers deftly weaving her raven locks into an intricate braid. Each pull of the comb through her hair is interrupted by the piercing cries that seem to seep into her very being. Lost in her own thoughts, Saerra starts at the sudden intrusion of a looming presence behind her, her heart skipping a beat. Instinctively, she clutches the comb in her hand, ready to wield it as a makeshift weapon. But the tension melts away as she meets the intense gaze of Daemon, his eyes aflame with determination, yet softened by a cloak that conceals his signature white hair.

"My prince," She breathes, her voice a mere whisper, "What are you--"

A finger pressed gently against his lips silences her, and Daemon's eyes implore her to keep their encounter secret. A shiver courses through Saerra's body as she watches him approach, his steps deliberate and soundless, like a panther stalking its prey. In his hands, he carries an old and tattered cloak, worn by time and bearing the weight of forgotten stories.

Without a word, Daemon drapes the cloak around Saerra's slender shoulders, the fabric cascading down her frame like a whisper of solace. It carries with it the scent of adventure and untold tales, as if it has traveled through countless realms and borne witness to both triumph and despair. Saerra's breath hitches as she feels the weight of the cloak settle upon her, its touch igniting a myriad of emotions within her soul.

She turns to face Daemon fully, her eyes seeking answers, her lips parting to speak the words that dance upon her tongue. But Daemon's eyes hold a silent plea, a request to keep their encounter hidden from prying eyes and curious ears. In the intimate space between them, words become obsolete, replaced by an unspoken understanding that binds them together.

The room is enveloped in a charged silence as their gazes lock, the air thick with unspoken desires and uncharted territories. Saerra's pulse quickens as she feels the heat of Daemon's presence, the electricity that crackles between them. She longs to reach out and touch him, to trace the contours of his face, but the weight of their unacknowledged connection keeps her rooted in place.

As the cries of Prince Aegon continue to reverberate through the Red Keep, Saerra finds solace in the shelter of the cloak, in the sanctuary it provides from the outside world. It wraps around her like a shield, guarding her from the chaos and uncertainty that surrounds them. And in that moment, she realizes that the tattered cloak is more than just a garment—it is a symbol of their shared secrets and unspoken longings, a clandestine bond forged in the depths of their hearts.

Daemon's eyes soften, his gaze filled with a mixture of protectiveness and longing. His hand reaches out, fingers grazing her cheek in a feather-light touch.

" Come," He utters, before he turns to march toward the wall.

Saerra's perplexed, for he's going in the opposite direction of the door, but one fell swoop reveals a secret passageway hidden beneath the stone. Saerra cautiously follows the Prince down the dark and eerie steps, till they come to an opening, one that possesses a balcony overlooking the great city of King's Landing.

She stares out at the city in amazement, assuming this is their final destination with a smile on her lips, of which is accompanied by a blush the moment Rhaenyra appears.

The two girls meet eyes, and Rhaenyra can't help but feel gravitated to Saerra as she walks down the steps.

" Where are we going?" The Princess asks.

" I-I do not know, my Princess," Saerra stutters as they walk side-by-side.

" He didn't tell you?"

" No, my Princess."

Undeterred by the lack of answers, they continue onward together. Rhaenyra's grin is infectious, and Saerra can't help but mirror the genuine joy that dances in her eyes. They find themselves hand in hand, fingers interlaced, their connection tangible and comforting as they embark on this journey into the unknown.

As they wander into Flea Bottom, the sights and sounds overwhelm Rhaenyra. It's an entirely foreign experience for the Princess, but one she quickly grows to love. The vibrant energy of the streets, the mingling scents of spices and smoke, all captivate her. Saerra, her guide and confidante, leads her through the maze of bustling alleyways, ensuring they don't lose themselves in the labyrinth of Flea Bottom's chaos.

Daemon, ever vigilant, keeps his head down, his distinctive white hair concealed. Saerra can't help but notice this small act of consideration and finds herself fixated on a single strand of hair peeking out from under Rhaenyra's hat. A surge of warmth and familiarity washes over her, prompting her to lean forward, her heart pounding with each deliberate movement. She gently tucks the errant strand back under the hat, her fingertips grazing Rhaenyra's skin.

In that instant, a spark passes between them, igniting a flame of unknown possibilities. The connection is electric, the touch fleeting yet profound. Saerra's breath catches in her throat as her hand lingers for a moment longer, before retreating, a secret shared only by their fingertips.

Rhaenyra giggles in delight after being mistaken for a boy, finding it absolutely refreshing to not be recognized and being able to enjoy life freely as they come across a play in the middle of the square.

"And now we come to the matter of the great Iron Chair... and whose bum it might bear.  Our good King... names his daughter, a girl, his heir.   But then to him, a babe is born. A son! To which heir might the chair bear?  Who will it be?  The brother? The daughter?  Or the little princeling of three? Rhaenyra... the Realm's Delight... a girl so young and so slight... loved by all of her people, but would she make a powerful queen, or would she be feeble? Though Aegon, the babe Prince, might long for a claim, he has two things Rhaenyra cannot: a conqueror's name... and a cock."

The crowd laughs as cheers as Saerra frowns and Rhaenyra attempts to sway things the other way.

" Boo, lies slander," She utters in a lowered voice.

" Jest if you will, but many of the smallfolk are like to believe that as a male, Aegon should be heir," Daemon proclaims.

" Their wants are of no consequence."

Rhaenyra then wonders off, slipping her fingers out of Saerra's grasp to flee, an action that makes Saerra frown, her brows furrowed and her hand missing the warmth it once had.

" Let's go," Daemon commands as he grabs the girl by her arm.

" No," Saerra says as she removes herself from his grasp.

" No?" He asks, " Saerra, it's not safe for you here."

" I'll manage," She brushes off.

Back up the steps she goes. Saerra's legs carry her back to her chambers as Daemon leads Rhaenyra into the pleasure house. It's not how he imagined the night going. Truly, he wished to bring them both, but he supposes just Rhaenyra will suffice. Perhaps tonight, Daemon will know if Rhaenyra is something special, or just another excuse to get it wet.

But nothing ever happens between Rhaenyra and Daemon, at least not something that would ruin Rhaenyra's 'purity'. No, that she reserves for someone else. That night, as Rhaenyra brings herself back to her chambers, she brings Ser Criston with her. The wine takes its toll on the girl as she manages to convince the knight to remove his armor and lay with her in bed.

The sounds escaping her lips are misconstrued in Saerra's ears, who assumes the Princess is hurt, or perhaps in danger. In the middle of the night, Saerra lifts herself from her bed, in nothing but a night gown, and gently sprints down the cold stone floors, where she knocks on the wooden door before entering the chambers.

" Princess? Are you alr--"

Saerra's words are halted and swallowed as her eyes land on Rhaenyra and Ser Criston naked in bed, a sight that brings heat to Saerra's cheeks, as well as between her legs.

" Oh," Saerra blinks, " Oh! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry--"

" It's alright, Saerra," Rhaenyra smiles, " Join us."

" Pardon?" Saerra asks with wide eyes.

" Join us," Rhaenyra repeats.

" I-I couldn't."

" Please?"

Saerra can hardly believe the words leaving the Princess's lips. She hears them, yet cannot register them in her mind. In that moment, all she sees is the Princess. Daemon doesn't even sit in the back of her mind as Saerra approaches the bed, cautiously and with a pounding heart, that only increases as Rhaenyra leans forward and presses their lips together.

It's better than she could have possibly imagined. It's soft and sweet. It's beautiful and kind. It's everything and anything. It's all that ever was and could be.

Ser Criston gets sidelined as Saerra crawls into the bed. Rhaenyra gladly removes the nightgown, allowing for Saerra's body to be on full display. Ser Criston will not deny that Saerra is beautiful, but Rhaenyra is all he wants.

Rhaenyra's actions are full of passion, yet are entirely soft and supple. The two women share each other's bodies in ways they never have. Saerra's mouth trails down the Princess's body, leaving kisses everywhere she goes. Saerra sucks gently on her nipple, before moving down between her legs. Rhaenyra soon returns the favor, and though both women are sloppy and inexperienced, it matters not.

This night cements their feelings for one another, feelings that have been dormant for quite some time. Saerra is able to enjoy the company of the princess, without fear of repercussion, and Rhaenyra is able to enjoy what she wants for the first time in her life.

Alas, it all comes with a price.

Otto Hightower's spies inform him of the night in Flea Bottom, of which he tells to the King. Otto states that it was Daemon who brought Rhaenyra to the pleasure house, in which they were seen coupling. The news reaches the Queen's ears all the same, of whom intends to confront the Princess in the Gods Wood.

" Your father accused me of something. That I drank wine? Left the castle after dark?"

" That you fucked Daemon in a pleasure house."

" This is a vile accusation," Rhaenyra states.

" Is it? You Targaryen's do have queer customs," Alicent spits, " And Daemon certainly knows no limit--"

" Alicent... Your Grace, sister, you must know I would never. You cannot believe such gossip," The Princess pleads.

" My father is no gossip," The Queen defends.

" Well, certainly he's been misled. He could not have witnessed such a thing."

" Why not?"

" Because it did not happen."

" He was told that you--"

" Told?... Who made these claims to your father?"

And there it is. Rhaenyra finally has some leverage.

"   I am the Princess," She starts as she walks around to place her back  to  the tree, " To question my virtue is an act of treason."

" I do not know specifically--" Alicent says in an attempt to clear her name.

" Your father did not tell you?" Rhaenyra asks.

" He reported it to the King," Alicent affirms, her face neutral yet strong, " I overheard."

"   So you are accusing me of slanders... you overheard?" The Princess presses, using all she can to remove any wrongdoing from her name.

" I only want to help you, Rhaenyra," The Queen pleads as she steps forward with glossy eyes.

Rhaenyra takes a deep breath.

" We drank in a tavern," She starts, " Several... taverns. It was  getting late and I asked to go home. But Daemon wished to continue. As  he was  my escort, I had no real choice."

" Continue?" Alicent quotes, " In a brothel?"

" He took me to a show," Rhaenyra brushes off, " I was only a spectator. I didn't do anything," the Queen turns around, " And then Daemon sank into his cups and abandoned me for some whore. I should've known   better."

" So you did not?"

" Must I truly refute that? Daemon never touched me. I swear this to you on the memory of my mother."

The Prince wakes up on the floor, being aided by his former whore Mysaria, of which he wants nothing to do with now. He makes his way back into the castle walls, where he is very quickly apprehended by the guards and brought before the King in the Great Hall.

" My daughter," Viserys seethes, " Won't you even deny it?"

" I need to understand the charge before I can attempt to discredit it," Daemon coughs.

" Did you defile her?" The King asks, only to be met with groans and wheezes, " Still, you say nothing."

" Oh, what does it matter, brother?" The Prince asks as his brother stands over him, " When we were Rhaenyra's age, we fucked our way through most of the brothels on the Street of Silk."

" We were young men.  She is just a girl.  Your niece!

" Rhaenyra's a woman-grown.  Better her first experience be with me than some whοre."

" You have ruined her!  What lord will wed her now? In this condition?"

Who gives a fuck what some lord thinks?  You are the dragon. Your word is truth and law."

" I have spent a lifetime defending you.  But your heart is even blacker than I thought," Viserys sighs, " I should disinherit her as I already did you and be done with it. "

" Wed her to me," Daemon utters, "  When I offered up my crown, you said I could have anything.  I want Rhaenyra. I'll take her as she is, and wed her in the tradition of our house. "

" You are already wed," Viserys counters.

" That didn't stop Aegon the Conqueror from taking a second wife," The Prince adds.

" You are no conqueror. You are a plague... sent to destroy me."

" Give me Rhaenyra to take to wife and we will return the House of the Dragon to its proper glory."

" Of course.  It's not my daughter you lust for, is it?  It's my throne. Go back to the Vale, Daemon, to your lawful wife.  Strive to restore whatever scrap of honor remains in you.  Or don't. Matters not to me.  As long as you are gone from my sight for good.

" As you wish, brother."

The Princess, too, soon receives an earful from the King, in which she is reminded of her duties as heir, especially since she was born a woman. She is forced to agree to the marriage to Ser Laenor, but in return for her cooperation, Rhaenyra makes it clear that Otto Hightower should be removed from the King's council.

" I will do my duty as heir, but first you must do yours as King."

Removing the Hightower is something that does not come easily to Viserys, but he does what he must. In protecting his first bloodline, he tarnishes his second. He all but ruins his relationship with Queen Alicent, and dooms Aegon for the rest of his days.

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[ im back bitches ! what do we think of the new update? ]