The war had brought Rhaenyra nothing but agony. A son and an aunt lost, her children sent away for their safety, her name dragged through the dirt thanks to Daemon’s reckless antics, and loneliness gnawing at her mind in the darkest hours of night as she tossed in her sheets, desperate for sleep that refused to come.

She could only focus on the task ahead. Securing her birthright. Reclaiming everything that was hers. Without Daemon and Caraxes, her fleet was without a dragon that could rival Vhagar in the skies. She needed Daemon back. And yet, her husband was nowhere to be found.

At least she had you. Her newest councilwoman, brought on out of necessity. You were indispensable: your sharp mind, your connections, your resilience. The two of you had grown close, far more than she expected. You spoke like old friends, guarded yet honest, and Rhaenyra had come to value your presence more than Daemon’s, who cared little for such intimacies.

That night, standing with you in the library at Dragonstone, her frustration boiled over. She paced in front of the fire as you stood near.

"I do not even know if I still have his loyalty. My own husband for all I know, could be raising an army to challenge my claim. Could you imagine? The audacity. But with Daemon, who knows what he’s plotting.”

Rhaenyra’s voice broke for a moment, her face shadowed by the fire’s glow. You took a step forward, closing the distance. Without a word, you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close, offering the comfort she didn’t realize she needed.

For a second, she tensed. Then she melted into your embrace, the warmth of it both surprising and comforting. The tension between you—unspoken but undeniable—simmered in the quiet of the library. When your lips brushed hers, lightly, hesitantly, Rhaenyra’s eyes flickered with a different kind of fire. She closed the gap deliberately, pressing her lips to yours, her hand slipping to the back of your neck, holding you close as she deepened the kiss.

Here, there was no war. No Daemon. Only this.