Claiming the Dragon

The Egg

It was nearly midday when Daemon finally dragged himself from bed, his head still pounding like a drum in his ears. Rhaenyra had risen hours before and was nowhere in sight as he made for the basin of water, scrubbing his face vigorously. The water was cold; his skin prickling with goose flesh, but it served to fully rouse him and cut through the fog in his brain. He had just finished dressing when one of the maids knocked softly and entered carrying fresh linens.

"Lyra," he greeted grumpily, "breakfast first."

"Of course, my prince," she curtsied and hurried back out the door. He rubbed his eyes, attempting to ignore the throbbing in his skull. Daemon managed to gulp down three cups of water by the time Lyra returned; her hands full with trays of food. When he finally finished, he reached for the wine, after all, what better remedy for a headache than the one thing that caused it?

"My prince," Daemon glared at Finnic, his youngest guardsman, as he entered, "Apologies, my lord, but the princess has requested your presence in the throne room." He nearly spat out his wine. Tenacious little brat...

"Skorkydoso glaesā, kepus?" Rhaenyra asked, not bothering to look up from her book as he entered the hall.

"I've been better," he responded bluntly.

"Of course, too much wine will do that, even to a prince." Rhaenyra mused, flipping to the next page.

"Iksā isse ñuha dēmalion." You are in my seat. Daemon growled.

"Iksin nyke?" Rhaenyra countered "Skoros iksis aōhon iksis ñuhon, iksis ziry daor?" Am I? What's yours is mine, is it not? Daemon smirked up at her. "You may have spent more time here, but Dragonstone belongs to the heir to the throne, or am I mistaken?" she asked teasingly.

"Watch your tongue princess. You may have charmed me last night, but I have yet to forgive you for your last transgression."

"Charmed you?" Rhaenyra finally closed her book and looked up at her uncle. "I gather it happened the other way around." Daemon smirked as he approached, pausing at the bottoms of the steps.

"Did it? I can't remember," he responded absentmindedly.

"Yes, too much wine will do that, as well..." Rhaenyra chided with a sarcastic grin. The prince's expression grew somber.

"Why did you leave without word?" he asked. "Do you wish to torment me, dear niece, is that it?"

"That was not my intent, Daemon," the princess replied, "I had some things I needed to do; you were... preoccupied."

"I'm never too preoccupied to take care of you, Rhaenyra," he replied seriously. "You're the heir to the throne; it's dangerous for you to travel alone."

"I have Syrax. She would never let harm come to me. And you have been... Busy..." she countered, "All the time lately. You're obsessed with the future; what will happen when I take the throne. It's all you care about! Was I a fool to think I was more important to you than the crown?" The prince looked as though she had struck him, both shocked and insulted. "You've always been jealous of my father, of the affections he never afforded you, but are you so eager to see your own brother dead?" His jaw clenched at her pointed accusation.

"I love my brother, princess." he ground out.

"Of course, you do, he's your blood. And yet, many times you've conspired against him, mocked him—"

"Yes, yes, I'm a selfish cunt." Daemon acknowledged exasperatedly. "I'm not plotting against anyone, princess. I don't wish for my brother to die, but it will happen. You have seen his condition worsen over the years. It is fact. I simply long to make your succession as easy and bloodless a transition as possible."