Game of thrones: A storm is coming

The first light of dawn crept into the room, casting a soft golden hue over the stone walls of Daeron's chambers. Rhea stirred, her cheek resting against Daeron's bare chest. His steady heartbeat was a comforting rhythm, one she hadn't realized she longed for. She remained still for a moment, savoring the warmth of his embrace.

The weight of reality pressed lightly against her, but for now, she let herself bask in the fleeting peace. Gently, she reached up to brush a strand of silver hair from his face, her fingers lingering against his skin.

Daeron stirred under her touch, his gray eyes fluttering open to find her gazing at him with a sad smile.

For a moment, neither spoke, the memory of the previous night passing between them in the shared silence. Passion, vulnerability, and solace had all mingled in a way that left them both exposed, yet strangely whole.

Before Daeron could speak, Rhea leaned down and silenced him with a soft kiss. It was brief, yet filled with an unspoken message—gratitude, understanding, and perhaps a farewell to what could never be.

When their lips parted, Rhea smiled softly. Her voice was quiet, yet steady. "Last night was not a mistake, Daeron. If anything, it was one of the happiest moments I've had in years. Something I'll cherish for the rest of my life."

Daeron's throat tightened as he searched her expression, finding no regret, only an acceptance that he didn't yet understand.

"I know what this is," she continued, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on his arm. "I'm married, and I don't expect undying love from you, nor promises of a future.

But for once, someone looked at me not as a duty or an obstacle but as a woman. You gave me that, Daeron. And for that, I'm grateful."

He opened his mouth to respond, but Rhea shook her head, a bittersweet smile on her lips. "You don't need to say anything. Just know that you've given me a memory I'll hold onto when the cold returns."

Rhea slid out of bed, the morning light catching the auburn strands of her hair as she moved. She dressed slowly, her movements unhurried, as though savoring the last moments of the intimacy they had shared.

As she fastened her cloak, she turned to face him, her tone shifting to one of lightness tinged with mischief. "Before I go, I'll leave you with this—if you ever feel the need for company while you're staying in Runestone, you only need to ask. I wouldn't mind sharing your bed again. Nor would I mind a visit from time to time."

Daeron blinked, caught off guard by her candor, and for a moment, he saw a flicker of vulnerability beneath her teasing facade.

With a final glance, Rhea stepped toward the door. She paused as her hand rested on the latch, turning back to meet his gaze one last time. "Take care of yourself, Daeron. This world doesn't make room for kindness often. Hold onto yours."

And with that, she was gone, the sound of her footsteps fading into the hall.

Daeron lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling as her words echoed in his mind. The warmth of her presence lingered in the room, even as his thoughts churned with conflicting emotions.

He had sought solace and found it in her arms, but the memory of her parting words and the reality of her situation left him restless. Daeron had crossed a line he hadn't intended, yet he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

The lute sat silently by the window, its strings still resonating with the melancholy tune he had played the night before.

The morning air was heavy with unspoken truths and lingering warmth, leaving Daeron to confront the consequences of their fleeting connection.

Daeron sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands, trying to process the monumental mess he had just stumbled into. He wasn't sure whether to laugh, cry, or throw himself out the nearest window and hope Acnologia caught him.

"Alright, Daeron," he muttered under his breath, "let's recap: You, a bastard who became prince in another country, and decided to lay low after returning to Westeros, just slept with Prince Daemon Targaryen's wife."

His voice rose an octave on the last word as the sheer absurdity of the situation hit him again. "Oh, Seven, save me; I'm fucked!

Do you have any idea what Daemon does to people who cross him? Oh wait, you do—because you've read the history books, you idiot! I still feel traumatized with the blood and cheese bit he pulled ! "

He stood up, pacing the room, gesturing wildly to no one in particular. "I mean, sure, Rhea started it. She kissed me, she said she wanted it, and she practically offered herself on a silver platter.

What was I supposed to do? Say no? Be all honorable? 'Oh no, Lady Rhea, I cannot possibly indulge in your stunning beauty because I respect the sanctity of marriage!'"

He groaned, dragging his hands down his face.

"Except... THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I SHOULD HAVE DONE!"

Daeron flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as he wrestled with the storm of emotions. On one hand, he was panicking because if anyone found out—anyone at all—it would mean war.

And not just any war. A war with Daemon freakin' Targaryen. The guy who probably wrestles dragons for fun, or maybe he's just nuts.

On the other hand… well, he'd just lost his V card to a strong, gorgeous woman who had practically begged him to be her first.

A woman who smelled faintly of lavender and iron and kissed him like her life depended on it. Not to mention the first time always leaves an undeniable impression.

"Focus, Daeron," he told himself. Then he looked down at his little soldier who was ready to fight again. "You're not helping."

But the memory of Rhea's parting words kept resurfacing. 'If you ever feel the need for company while you're here, you only need to ask.'

"Company?" he whispered to himself. "What does that even mean? Is this an affair? Friends with benefits? A booty call? What even is my life right now?"

As he lay there, two mini Daerons popped up on his shoulders, each no taller than a tankard of ale.

The one on his right shoulder—dressed in white, with a halo hovering crookedly over his head—crossed his arms and sighed.

"Daeron, you messed up. Big time. This is a lesson. Learn from it. Control yourself in the future, and maybe, just maybe, you won't die screaming at the hands of Daemon Targaryen."

The one on his left shoulder—clad in black and twirling a tiny pitchfork—let out a derisive laugh before dropkicking the good Daeron off his perch.

"Shut it, Saint Snooze!" Evil Daeron barked, turning to the real Daeron with a wicked grin. "Listen, kid, here's the deal: Both of you were willing, you're not married, and frankly, this whole thing is a win-win.

You get experience, she gets comfort, and you both get to have a good time. What's the problem?"

"The problem?" Daeron hissed back. "The problem is that I just banged the wife of a man who is one tantrum away from declaring himself King of the Seven Kingdoms. That's the problem!"

Evil Daeron grabbed him by the collar and shook him violently. "Do I need to spell it out for you? You're a man of culture, Daeron! A connoisseur! A scholar of the fine arts!

When a beautiful older woman hands you a golden opportunity, you take it. Did I teach you nothing in those lonely, borderline hentai anime-filled nights back on Earth?!"

Daeron's reply was immediate. "This isn't about kinks dude!" But it lacked any strength.

"Oh, but it is," Evil Daeron said, leaning in conspiratorially. "Think about it. You're living the fantasy. The MILF plus Onee-san, all in one package fantasy.

It's right there in front of you, and you're hesitating?! What's next, you're going to join the Night's Watch and swear off women entirely?!"

"Alright, that's enough out of you," Daeron muttered, swatting at Evil Daeron, but the tiny fiend dodged expertly.

"Give in to the dark side, Daeron," he whispered, wagging his tiny pitchfork. "Bang. That. MILF. Again."

The door creaked slightly as a servant passed outside, and Daeron froze, his heart leaping into his throat. "Oh no. What if someone saw us? What if they tell Daemon? What if—"

Good chibi Daeron, who had finally climbed back onto his shoulder, dusted himself off and spoke up. "What if you calmed down and took responsibility for your actions?

Rhea's a strong woman. She knew what she was doing. And so did you. You're not the victim here. Just… be careful. And maybe don't let this happen again."

Evil Daeron cackled. "Don't listen to him, Daeron. He's boring. Live your best life. Milk the MILF while you can. Knock her up and put a green hat on Daemon! Who else can say they NTR'd Daemon freaking Targaryen!"

Real Daeron groaned, burying his face in his hands. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

The two mini Daerons continued to argue as he lay there, caught between panic and reluctant satisfaction, his life somehow more complicated—and hilarious—than he ever imagined.

Daeron stared at the ceiling, torn between existential dread and reluctant pride. His life had officially gone from a carefully crafted plan for conquest to a chaotic whirlwind of questionable decisions.

As he sighed for the umpteenth time, Evil Daeron popped back onto his shoulder, smug as ever.

"Alright, pal," Evil Daeron said, stretching like he owned the place. "Here's the deal. I'm tying up that goody-two-shoes version of you. He's ruining the vibe."

Before Daeron could protest, Evil Daeron yanked out a tiny length of rope and pounced on Good Daeron, who had just climbed back onto his perch.

"Wait, no! This is not the way to resolve internal conflict—" Good chibi Daeron's protests were cut off as Evil chibi Daeron expertly gagged him with a handkerchief and hogtied him.

Good chibi Daeron flopped helplessly on the shoulder, glaring daggers at his nefarious counterpart.

"There we go!" Evil chibi Daeron said triumphantly, dusting off his hands. He leaned in close to Daeron's ear and whispered, "Now, do it. You know what I'm talking about. You're a man, aren't you?"

Daeron hesitated. "Well… yes, I am—"

SLAP! Evil chibi Daeron smacked him across the cheek. "Say it LOUDER!"

Daeron opened his mouth to yell, but just as he drew breath and about to yell , the door swung open. He froze mid-motion as Rhea Royce, now fully dressed in a fresh gown and looking entirely too confident for someone who had just turned his life upside down, stepped into the room.

Her sharp eyes took in the scene—Daeron sitting awkwardly on the bed, his face flushed, and his disheveled hair—and she raised an eyebrow with a charming smile.

"Why aren't you up yet?" she asked casually, closing the door behind her. "Don't tell me you're missing me already?"

At that exact moment, Daeron yell was released , "YES, I AM!"

Both of them froze, staring at each other in stunned silence. Daeron's brain was screaming. Why did I say that? WHY DID I HAVE TO SAY THAT NOW?!

Rhea blinked, then her lips curved into a shy smile. "Really?" she said, stepping closer.

Daeron could only nod dumbly as she peeked out into the corridor, ensuring no one was around. Satisfied, she turned back to him, her smile growing. "Well, hearing that makes me very happy."

Before Daeron could process her words, she practically launched herself onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately. The kiss was electric, and Daeron's mind went blank. All he could do was respond to her passion.

When she finally pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, and her gray eyes sparkled with mischief. "I'll see you tonight, lover boy" she said softly, brushing her fingers against his cheek.

Then, with a girlish giggle that completely threw Daeron off-guard, she darted out of the room, leaving him sitting there, stunned and very much conflicted.

Evil Daeron materialized on his shoulder again, his grin stretching from ear to ear. He pointed dramatically in the direction Rhea had gone. "Breed. Her."

Daeron snapped out of his daze, smacking Evil Daeron off his shoulder. "Not today!" he hissed, though his face was still red from the previous heated exchange.

Evil Daeron tumbled to the floor and popped back up instantly, dusting himself off. "Fine, fine. But mark my words, Daeron. You've awakened the dark side. You're gonna have to deal with this sooner or later!".

Daeron groaned, flopping back onto the bed and glaring at the ceiling. "My life is a disaster movie, and I'm the guy who dies at the first scene."