If there was one thing Daemon hated in his world, it was Otto Hightower and his bloodline. The little chit Alicent and her brood. The Greens.

Otto had successfully gotten blood into the royal line, and next he hoped to seat his blood on the throne. Hah! As if Daemon would allow that. As far as he was concerned, the throne was Rhaenyra and her… Velaryon sons after her. And after them, came Daemon, and then his children with you.

Visenya and Alyssa, his twin daughters at 16, Maekar at 13, Aerys at 9, and Rhaenar and Rhaellor at 5. The perfect children you gave him should all be ahead of Alicent's brood in his opinion.

(Daemon, as always, ignores that they were also his brother's children and that the children of the king always came before any uncles or cousins, regardless of gender.)

Earlier that evening, the king had his whole family gather for a dinner together. Daemon hadn't minded that, as it had been years since he'd last stepped foot in the Red Keep, long before his twin sons were born, in fact. But all throughout, he'd felt his annoyance and frustrations grow as the Hightowers sat there, smug, acting like they shat gold or something.

He'd placed his hand on your knee to ground himself, squeezing occasionally. And after dinner– once his children were safely in their chambers– he aired out all his frustrations about them to you once in the safety of your own private rooms.

“The gall of that snake to sit there like he belongs.” Daemon snapped, pacing the room to get out some of his anxious energy. “And that woman! Alicent dares to act so holy and full of herself– she should be on hands and knees thanking Viserys for wedding her, the useless creature…”

His words were vicious and cruel and aimless, just trying to get all his frustrations out while you listened on.

“And her children…” He gave a dark smile, chuckling without mirth. “It was bad enough she sullied our bloodline with her Andal blood, but–”

Daemon lets out a huff, staring into the fireplace. Aegon was a drunken wastrel, Helaena a simpleton who muttered uselessly, Aemond was half blind yet (and Daemon thinks this with great reluctance) twice the man Aegon was, and Daeron… well, the boy was a turning out to be a honourable little dragonknight. Daemon didn't know enough about the boy to say anything cruel yet. But he'd find something to complain about.

Daemon sighs, feeling the worst of his frustration and anger abate. He looked to you, his beloved wife. As unexpected as your marriage and love was, he was thankful he found you all those years ago. Especially when you were such a good listener.