"Give the girl to me to wife. Who else would take her now?"
The Rogue Prince was able to take what he desired, and is given the Snow Dragon to marry. Daemon and Maegelle's story was always that of Ice and Fire, leaving the Greens nothing but ash an...
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None of it was accidental.
Her mouth hang open with shock, and her hand falls to her side. "This was your plan!" she accused and he crosses in arms, as if he was challenging her. "We're getting what we agreed upon," he breathed out cooly, his hands reaching towards the basket and taking a bite of the sweet orange that she discarded. The men of the gold-cloaks were loyal to him.
The trap that he meticulously laid out was all leading to this. "And if I disagreed?" she inquired with heavy intonation, like she had been shot with an arrow. "It's fate, it is not?" he replied with a question, and a frown begins to form at the top of her forehead. "You could've disagreed, but you didn't. You could've declined my sweet kiss, and Ser Harold wouldn't have caught us." he explained — acting like it was childsplay.
"If you wish to blame someone. Blame the Gods." he chuckled as he began to dust his leather pants, his body raising as he began to stand up. "But until then — there is no escape." he leaned down, gazing upon her divine features and biting his lips. Her hands swiftly caught his forearm, pulling him down to her level — until his back was arched, and their eyes meet again.
"I could lie," she whispered and he cackles loudly, his voice radiating off the roof and returning to her ears. "Do you not believe me enough?" she pondered, her eyes not taking a second off his. He would've been beautiful, if not for his maniacal ways. "You wouldn't lie to your father, sweet dragon." Daemon replied with a small smirk. "But you don't know me uncle," she frowned playfully, her eyes dimming slightly.
Targaryens were both part madness and greatness.
"You wouldn't lie to your father because you fancy me — at least to some extent," he jested lightly, his eyes dimming the same way as hers. "Your confidence amazes me, now I understand why you were never my father's heir." she insulted lightly, watching as his shoulders began to tense.
Her right hand was still plastered on his right forearm. He reaches for her arms, and holds it tightly almost dragging her until she was standing up. Now they were in the same level. "What uncle? Were you under the impression that you had a chance?" she chuckles bitterly, watching as his pupils dilated in anger. "It was always me. It always had to be me." she asserted, walking circles around his brain. Fuck, Daemon Targaryen made a mistake.
Maegelle was a good woman. She hid behind the stoic cloak of her dead-husband, in the hopes that it would save her against the treason of court. She trusted Daemon — but now she could sense his ambitions of becoming a puppeteer. She'd be damned if she allowed herself to play on his strings.
Her hands reach for his face — cupping his jaw harshly. He lets out a deep breath, with no doubt — aroused. "The same blood flows through our veins. I am the same madness." she threatened, but the smirk never leaves his face. "And I thought you couldn't be more beautiful," he replied freeing himself from her grasp.
