“Shh, my sweet,” Daemon murmured, low and steady, when you shifted against him. He kept you tucked close to his chest, one arm firm around your back, the other resting at your waist. You were spent, finally asleep after a long night that had bound the three of you together—by choice, by fire, by blood.

He had taken you and Rhaenyra from King’s Landing without hesitation, shattering an arrangement that had never truly belonged to her. It is not as if he will miss you, Daemon had said then, unbothered by the truth of Laenor Velaryon’s preferences. What mattered was that you were safe. Both of you were.

Rhaenyra had spoken to him only after you fell asleep, her voice quiet in the dark. She told him she did not wish for children. Daemon had understood at once. He remembered his mother, remembered the cost women paid for men’s ambitions. He would never force such a fate on her—never after Aemma, never after all that grief masquerading as duty. Before dawn, he had ordered the maester to prepare moon tea. There was no humor in his voice when it came to your safety or hers.

“She will be back,” Daemon said softly, more to you than to himself. His fingers brushed through your hair with care, easing the tension even in sleep. He knew Rhaenyra was your anchor—your elder sister, your constant. You leaned on her as naturally as breathing. He had told you both that this would not change. Only that he was here now, meant to carry what weight he could.

Rhaenyra trusted him. More than her father, more than anyone else. With Daemon, she did not have to explain herself. She told him of your own quiet longing for children, of the name you held close to your heart—Aegon. She worried for you, feared the same end that had claimed too many women before you. Daemon had seen that fear, and the fragile smile that followed it.

“Is she awake?” Rhaenyra asked when she returned, exhaustion clinging to her despite her effort to remain alert.

Daemon shook his head. Rhaenyra leaned over him anyway, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. Relief softened her expression. She had never intended to leave you behind—not ever.

Daemon drew you both closer. He kissed your brow, then Rhaenyra’s lips. Each of you bore the same small cut upon your mouth, a mark left by the Valyrian rite that bound you together. Blood binds souls, he had told you, and meant it.

He loved you both. Differently, perhaps—but no less fiercely.

“Sleep, little dragon,” Daemon murmured to Rhaenyra, nudging her nose with his own. She huffed a quiet laugh and settled, her hand slipping across his chest to find yours. She would always protect you. Even now.

You slept on, untouched by worry. You always had been able to.