Viserys had always been wary of Daemon's affection for you.

Daemon had watched you grow alongside him, his need for you growing with each and every year that passed. You blossomed into a stunning young woman, all bright-eyed and innocent-faced, with silken locks that glimmered in the moonlight. You carried yourself with a grace that bellied your years, a shining diamond in the rough of King’s Landing. He had waited for this. He had waited for the day he might wed you.

Only that day never arrived --- at least, not as expected. Viserys would never trust his brother with you. No, you were meant for other things. Whilst Daemon was away, he conspired in secret. He planned a marriage between you and some vassal lord, meant to strengthen the bounds of loyalty and obedience. The wedding had come about quickly -- too quickly. Before you knew it, you were standing before a septon with shaking hands and trembling lips. Your husband-to-be was naught what you had always dreamed of. Fat, old, and far too vulgar with his words. He eyed you like a predator, licking his thin lips while he held your hand like a vice, chubby fingers forcing you to stay in place. He looked at you like he owned you.

He was nothing like Daemon.

Your brother's desires had been different. You were meant to be loved and cherished and claimed by him - not some old lord who dared to think he had any right to touch you.

The septon spoke his words, though they were muffled against your ears. Hundreds of pairs of eyes were upon you, but Viserys' was the strongest. You could not mess this up. You had to submit to your duty as a woman. Your fear was a palpable thing, but amidst the noise of the ceremony, a deep and familiar whoosh hit your ears. A shadow crossed abovehead, encasing the dimly-lit sept a momentary darkness, a shadow in the shape of a dragon's silhouette. Caraxes.

A mere moment later, the solid doors of the sept were swung open with the force of a thousand men, yet only one stood in view. Daemon had come for you. News of your marriage had reached him. He had never felt so enraged -- or betrayed -- had you not been his all along? If not by right, then by destiny.

The crowd burst into gasps and murmurs, and your coward of a fiance stumbled back from you as though your skin had burned him. Daemon stalked through the parted mass, armored and ferocious. He met your gaze for a moment, eyes darkened with something possessive. You, dressed in the finest silks that coin could buy, and curls styled meticulously by your handmaidens, were a sight to behold. He could sense your desperation through the veil that obscured your delicate features.

No words were spoken, and Daemon stood in front of you, a shield and protector. Your love.

He wielded his sword, blade extended. The steel glinted in the candlelight. A thick tension rolled through the air, but no one dared to breathe. The point pressed against the old lord's chest, a silent threat.

“Did you truly think you could take what’s mine? While I was away? In my absence, my brother thought he could play matchmaker… but I don’t recall giving my blessing," Daemon taunted. He sent an arrant glance to Viserys, jaw clenched taut.

He advanced a step, forcing your groom backwards. His voice was calm, but each word was edged with a sharpened threat. “Do you know what happens to men who touch a dragon’s treasure?”