Chapter Text
Rhaenyra Leaves the Pleasure House
Rhaenyra looked up and down the ally searching anxiously in the darkness, but he wasn’t there. Should she wait? Not eager to loiter alone in King’s Landing without even the minimal protection of her discarded cap, she decided her best option was to try to make her way towards the Red Keep. The chill from the night air was in harsh contrast to the intense heat she had felt only minutes ago with Daemon’s body flush against hers, his breath hot on her neck, his large hand covering her own, his hard cock pressed up agains her ass…How had she ended up out on the street alone?
Where the fuck is Daemon?
As she walked, she played the evening over in her head, trying to make sense of it all. She recalled finding the disguise and map that Daemon had left for her. She had delighted in the opportunity to indulge her childish fantasy of escaping into the night with her prince, if only for an evening. Her whole body had flushed with pleasure when he took her hand, pulling her away from the restrictions of court to actually enjoy herself - and to enjoy her uncle without provoking whispers about the “queer customs" of the Targaryens. Daemon had never behaved inappropriately towards her before, but she doubted that her attraction to her uncle had gone completely unnoticed by the court gossips all these years. Once free in the city, Daemon had indulged her every whim and pulled her close at every opportunity. He seemed to enjoy watching her experience all of the novelties of King’s Landing as much as she enjoyed actually experiencing them. Rhaenyra hadn’t even hesitated when Daemon led her into the pleasure house. It felt natural to her that he would be the one to show her how to give and receive pleasure. After all, he had taught her how to ride a dragon and how to speak Valyrian. And it was hardly a secret that he was at least as skilled in this area as he was in the others. She was thoroughly convinced of that the as soon as she felt—
Rhaenyra threw up a mental wall. She needed to work out what had just happened and couldn’t afford to further cloud her judgement by recalling the touches her body was still aching for.
So why did he take me there if not to have me? Was it really just another stop on his debauched sightseeing tour of King’s Landing?
She stopped her in her tracks as the realization dawned on her. Sightseeing. That was exactly why he had taken her there - and she was the sight that was meant to be seen. He hadn’t taken her there because he desired her or to teach her about pleasure. How could she have been so naïve? He wasn’t her lover, or her maester, or even the same doting uncle from her childhood. He was Daemon Targaryen, brother of the king and potential heir to the Iron Throne, one of the most dangerous men in Westeros - and she had let her guard down. Had this whole evening been planned with that goal in mind? To get her to let her guard down so that he could ruin her? If so she had certainly made it easy for him.
She followed him so willingly into that brothel, was so eager for him that she didn’t care who was watching. She didn’t spare a thought for the spies she knew were everywhere throughout the kingdom, or for how she was ruining her chance at a decent marriage that would strengthen her claim to the throne. She had been so caught up in his kisses and his touch…and he hadn't even been interested enough in her to be able to fully commit to his own performance. After all, he was the Rogue Prince in a whore house. With an endless supply of enticing professionals around was she really surprised he didn’t stick around for her inexperienced fumbling? Humiliation burned in her chest. The way he looked at her, she had been so sure he had felt the same.
Rhaenyra started walking again, feeling her hurt and confusion transform into fury with every step she took towards the Red Keep. She would not let him get away with this. She was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and she would make her uncle pay dearly for his antics. She ruminated on his betrayal as she walked through the courtyard. She was trying to devise a strategic counterattack but kept falling into fantasies of revenge. She could have his beloved Dark Sister melted down for more jewelry, or have him sent him back to the Stepstones and fed to the crabs. They weren’t terribly productive imaginings, but they were somewhat gratifying and helped to keep other intrusive thoughts - like the feel of Daemon’s thumb brushing against her lip - out of her mind. This tumultuous mental cycle of revenge and desire kept her completely preoccupied as she completed her journey home and continued uninterrupted until a voice jolted her back to the present moment.
“Princess, are you, are you hurt?”
Ser Criston? Sevens, she hadn’t even realized she had made it safely back inside her chambers, let alone registered his presence outside her door. He had recently become such a fixture by her side that she hardly noticed him at all anymore. He was like an attractive piece of furniture, blending seamlessly into the background of her everyday life. But he had certainly noticed her storming into her chambers at this unseemly hour dressed as a peasant boy. It would have been awfully hard for him to miss. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, irritated by her own stupidity. How had she not thought to take the tunnels?
“I-I should alert the Lord Commander.”
Shit.
“No!”
She opened the door hastily. She had to keep him from going to the Lord Commander, and ultimately her father. Rhaenyra hadn’t figured out her next move yet. She pasted on her most charming smile and grabbed Criston’s helmet, compelling him into her chambers.
“My helmet,” he requested sternly.
Keep him away from the door, keep him away from the door and the Lord Commander.
She absconded with the helmet, aiming for playful, but Criston made no effort to match his mood to her own. He was clearly upset that she had snuck out on his watch. But it was more than that. He seemed on edge just being in her chambers with her, so tense. Gods, he seemed nearly as frustrated as she had been on her walk home…Oh.
She hadn’t recognized this feeling in him before tonight. The tension in his body, the darkness in his eyes, the slight strain in his voice. The honorable Ser Criston Cole was not just holding himself back from grabbing the helmet. Here, alone with her in her chambers, nearing the hour of the wolf, the knight was holding himself back from grabbing her. She knew now how it felt to have the object of your desire within your grasp, to be so close but to still be left wanting. Criston wanted her. How long had we wanted her? Long enough, she assumed, that he would not be the second man foolish enough to turn her down that night.
Keeping him from tattling to the Lord Commander was going to be much easier than she had anticipated. Daemon may not appreciate the Realm’s Delight when she’s ready and willing in front of him, but it seemed Ser Criston would. Besides, how hard could it be to keep up with a man who had taken a vow of celibacy? She pressed the door closed with her back, and once again held out the helmet.
When Criston reached for it this time, Rheanyra took advantage of his closeness and pressed her lips briefly against his. He froze and took a step back.
He stared openly at the princess now, her body more exposed than usual in the thin, coarse fabric of her disguise. The top fastening was still undone from when Daemon had untied it in the brothel. Criston’s jaw clenched and his breath had become slightly labored. How had she never noticed his attraction to her before? Regardless, the realization swelled inside her. Maybe she wasn’t so undesirable after all. Her attention had always been so focused on Daemon that she had never even really considered anyone else romantically. She had never been affected by the attention of the lords who pursued her, knowing full well that their primary attraction was to her crown, not to her self. After this evening, Rhaenyra feared that may be true of her uncle as well.
But Ser Criston was a different story. Ser Criston was her sworn protector. He had no chance at taking her hand or her throne. He would never abandon her. He actually wanted her. And that meant that this time she was the one in control. She was the one calling the shots. She was the one making him, this big, strong member of the Kingsguard, weak with desire. She liked the feeling.
Tossing his helmet onto the rug, she looked him in the eye, and slowly moved her hand to undo the next tie of her tunic.
“Stop.”
Criston barely choked out the word. He didn’t want her to stop. His will to maintain his vow of chastity was already gone, she could feel it in the tension between them. And when she grabbed his hand to lead him towards her bed, he followed compliantly. This could be fun. She slowly removed each cuff of armor from his wrists, placing them carefully aside as she gauged his reaction. His attention was transfixed on where she had touched him, as if he couldn’t believe this was really happening.
His reverence soothed Rhaeynera’s wounded pride. So what if Criston didn’t make her feel as she did when Daemon was near her? He was handsome, an accomplished knight, and fiercely loyal to her. What did it matter that the sight of him didn’t make her heart pound erratically in her chest, or that his proximity didn’t make her skin feel like it was on fire, or that his lips didn’t leave her body aching with want and her mind clouded with thoughts of…
Damn the gods old and new!
She shook her head free of the intrusive thoughts of her uncle that were resurfacing. She refocused her attentions on the man standing in front of her, and redoubled her efforts to get him out of his armor. Her unbidden thoughts of Daemon had brought back urges that demanded satisfaction. The prince may not have been interested in fulfilling her needs, but Ser Criston certainly was. And Rhaenyra, ever the benevolent ruler, was going to allow him to try.
She lifted Criston’s chin with her finger, raising his gaze from her body to her face. She looked into his warm brown eyes, basking in his rapt attention and kissed him again. This time he responded, leaning into her, and running his hands up her sides. Rhaeynra wrapped her fingers around his neck to unhook the fastening there, then trailed her hands down his chest to unclasp the sword at his hip. The weapon dropped, striking the ground at just the right angle to produce a deafening metallic clang.
Rhaenyra urgently pulled away from Criston and lunged towards the sword, which skidded across the floor with a piercing scrape. The sound had reverberated throughout her chambers and could easily have been loud enough to draw the attention of another guard. Rhaenyra lowered herself to the floor as the weapon had lodged itself under a corner of her bed, finally silent. She grasped the hilt and pulled herself up to face Criston.
Rhaeynra immediately dropped the sword again, but this time she didn’t notice if it had made a sound. By the time Criston’s sword fell from her fingers, another already held her undivided attention. Dark Sister glinted in the candlelight, pressed firmly across Ser Criston’s throat.