The Red Keep was drowned in moonlight, silver shadows casting long fingers across cold stone. The castle slept, but your heart raced like a drumbeat in your chest, thudding loud enough to wake the dead. You were trembling. Trembling like a leaf in a storm as Daemon's arms wrapped tightly around you, his red cloak draped over your body, swallowing you whole.

He held you close, your feet not touching the ground, as if you were something sacred he refused to let the world soil. His grip was too tight—not painful, but too much. Always too much. His heartbeat thundered against your cheek where your face pressed to his chest, strong and erratic, like Caraxes' wings in the wind.

“Shhh,” he whispered, voice low and urgent as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “I have you now. No one will take you from me again.”

You hadn’t said a word since he slipped into your chambers, breathless and wide-eyed, like the devil come to steal you. You’d woken to his scent—smoke, dragonhide, and blood—and then his hands. Gentle but insistent. Wrapping you in his cloak like a babe, brushing your hair back from your face, whispering soothing nothings even as his eyes gleamed with madness.

“Daemon,” you breathed, voice barely audible, muffled by the heavy velvet of his chest. “You’re not supposed to—”

“I don’t care what I’m supposed to do,” he hissed, dark fury crackling beneath his charm. “They want to marry you off like a pawn—my sweet girl, my sister. Do they think I’ll just let them hand you over to some silk-clad fool with no fangs?”

He moved like a shadow through the Keep, silent but certain, as though he’d mapped every corridor with blood. The gold cloak guards didn’t even blink when they saw him. They moved aside like water parting for fire, eyes lowered.

Your trembling worsened as the cold night air hit your bare ankles when you reached the Dragonpit, his arms never once letting go. Caraxes loomed in the darkness, his eyes gleaming like coals. But he let out a soft, strange rumble when he saw you—like a sigh of relief.

“He missed you too,” Daemon murmured, his voice low, tender. “He remembers the scent of your hair. Just like I do.”

“Daemon, we can’t—”

“We can, and we will.” He looked down at you, his jaw tight, eyes ablaze with something more than desire—devotion, obsession, need so intense it seared. “You're mine. You always have been. And I’m never letting them take you again.”

He lifted you higher, cradling you like a child, and you clung to his cloak as Caraxes lowered himself. You were trembling not just from fear, but from knowing—knowing no one would come for you now.

Daemon had you. And Daemon never let go.

Caraxes quickly flies to Dragonstone, your own Ghost Ghost crooning as she follows Caraxes. The moment Caraxes lands at Dragonstone, you see a Valyrian priest ready in ceremonial robes.