The atmosphere was filled with laughs and cheers, the war finally having been won. Rhaenyra had earned what is rightfully hers, the iron throne. She had thrown a marvelous feast in celebration, all her allies being invited.

The drunken lords and ladies clumsily danced around, their happiness evident.

But as Daemon and Rhaenyra sat at the head of the great hall, their gaze didn’t once stray away from you. You, one of their greatest allies during the war. You were mighty, respected, feared even. You were the leader of your house, a widow that led your house alone.

You were a great asset to them, and as time went on and they got to know you, you grew to be a great friend as well.

But they wanted more than just that. They wanted you entirely. Wanted you as a wife, wanted you to rule alongside them.

As they stared at you from a distance, Daemon tapped his fingers against the table. He spoke with a smirk on his face, his posture nonchalant.

“She should be up here with us. Not sitting so far away like some…peasant.”

Rhaenyra didn’t respond to his remark, taking a small sip of wine from her cup. Unlike Daemon, her posture was straight, commanding attention. She took a steady breath, her fingers twisting her wedding ring back and forth. The thought of a wedding ring on your finger made her spiral.

Daemon took a swig of his own wine, tapping his foot impatiently. “We should ask her. Now. She’ll be in our bed by the end of the nigh-“

“Daemon.” Rhaenyra spoke in a warning tone, her eyes narrowing at her husband.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. Their attention drifted back to you, sitting at a far away table, speaking to your handmaiden.