CHAPTER TWO . . .    
     KING'S LANDING, 105 AC

The morning of the King's Tourney, Morrigan finds herself eating with her grandfather on the balcony outside her rooms.

She's not entirely sure why he'd requested that they break their fast together, just the two of them, today—and though she is happy to spend time with him after not seeing him in years, Morrigan cannot help but feel uneasy as she waits for him to disclose the true reason why he had asked her two share their meal together, just the two of them instead of with the rest of her grandfather's household as they had done since their arrival in King's Landing.

It's only when he has finished his meal that Lord Boremund Baratheon leans back in his seat, watching her garden for a moment before he turns his eyes on her and Morrigan's spine tenses.

This, she thinks, is what she had been waiting for.

"I have talked to his Grace yesterday," her grandfather says after a moment and Morrigan nods, though this isn't news to her. "And we have both agreed that now that you are of age, it is time to follow through on the agreement our families made nine years ago."

Nine years. Almost a decade now since Queen Alysanne had proposed the bethrotal between her and Prince Daemon.

A small part of her had always known this would be what it came down to, even if she hadn’t wanted to admit it.

Morrigan's throat bobs, just a little. "When?"

"Half a year's time," her grandfather tells her and something twists in her stomach.

She'd known.

She had always known it was coming and yet... Morrigan feels like there's someone standing above her in the grave she'd gotten used to, digging dirt onto her with each new word spoken between them.

"Enough time to prepare the celebration and for the guests to travel here," her grandfather continues. "We shall announce it after the tourney is over, once an appropriate time for celebration of the King's heir and birth has passed."

Morrigan makes herself smile at her grandfather. "Very well."

She isn't surprised.

This was always going to happen—she had been of age for well over a year now. She had known it was looming close, just beyond the horizon.

It was not a shock, in any way to her.

She had been waiting for this conversation for a long time now.

And yet... a part of her turns and twists, coiling into itself as it shrieks away, a cold terror gripping her heart and her chest constricts onto itself.

It's the same part still trapped in Alyssa Velaryon's gardens.

Trapped with that squire.

—— ——

Morrigan tries her best to ignore the restless energy humming incessantly beneath her skin as she sits to Rhaenyra's left, Alicent to her right, and watched the tourney below.

Tries—and fails.

It it weren't for her years of lessons on manners and proper etiquette, she's certain she would jiggle her leg without pause. Or worse.

It doesn't get any better as she watches a knight unhorse her father with ease and she tries not to flinch at the rattle as armor hits ground.

"A mystery knight?" Rhaenyra asks from next to her and Morrigan glances at the heraldry displayed across his shield, recognising the sigil with a jolt of familiarity.

"A Cole of the Stormlands," she replies, as the knight bows to the King in front of them.

"I've never heard of House Cole," Rhaenyra points out as he rides off.

Before Morrigan can reply, her grandfather's voice sounds as he takes the place previously inhabited by the other knight.

He doesn't ask for her favour as he might have, just like her father had not—no, with her betrothed supposed to take part in the tourney and the wedding finally in place, that honor was left to Daemon.

Instead, he turns to the corner of the podium they are seated on and calls out, "Princess Rhaenys Targaryen! I would humbly ask for the favor of the Queen Who Never Was."

Morrigan brows itch together into a disapproving frown before she smoothes her expression out again, watching as Princess Rhaenys approaches, tossing her wreath onto her grandfather's lance. "Good fortune to you, cousin."

"I would gladly take it if I thought I needed it," her father replies before he rides of and Morrigan tries not to sigh.

"Lord Stokeword's daughter is promised to that Tarly squire," Rhaenyra says from her right and Alicent's head whips to her.

"Lord Massey's son?"

"Mhm."

A small smile tugs at Alicent's lips at the piece of gossip. "Best get on with it," she says as she turns back ahead, giving them a mischievous glance. "I heard Lady Eleanor was hiding a swollen belly beneath that dress."

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows shoot up as she fiddles with her necklace.

Morrigan barely listens to them as she watches her grandfather ride against the knighr of House Cole.

This time, she does flinch at the sound of her grandfather hitting the earth, the armor rattling with the violent impact, after the knight unhorses him.

"What do you know about this Ser Criston Cole, Ser Harrold?" Rhaenyra says.

Ser Harrold's words are drowned out by the blood rushing in Morrigan's ears, her grandfather's groans of pain amplified.

Her hands, too cold, are shaking as she watches them take him away.

She scarcely notices the banners displaying the heraldry of House Targaryen replacing those of her own House.

Her vision blurs, and a dark shape swimming in front of her eyes and she has to blink a few times to refocus on the rider standing to the side, sitting atop a black horse.

There's no need to wonder who this rider is.

"Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, Prince of the city, will now choose his first opponent!" A herald announces in a yell as Daemon rides past him and his words are drowned out by the screams and cheers of the crowd.

Belatedly, Morrigan forces herself to join in the clapping around her, catching Rhaenyra's excitement smile from the corner of her eyes as her uncle rides around the the other riders, making a show of his choice.

She feels too hot and cold all at once, her palms becoming slick with sweat, as she glances at Daemon.

It shouldn't feel like this, she thinks. It shouldn't feel like this to simply look at him.

He's her betrothed, for Seven's sake. If anyone has a right to look at him, it is her.

And yet, her heart races in distress and something else—something she cannot quite put her finger on as she watches Daemon stop and point at the rider in dark green. Watching the movement of his armour as he moves, as though he is stripped naked.

Morrigan presses her lips together, forcing herself to let go of the train of thought.

It is only natural, she reminds herself, to feel uneasy around him after this morning.

Especially around a man like him.

She swallows, a lump in her throat as the herald turns to them. "For his first challenge, Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King!"

It is over before she really realizes it happened, only the movement of Alicent flinching to her right as her brother falls from his horse draws her back to the present. The sharp breath as her friend watches is enough to ground her again.

The next moment, they can hear Gwayne groan and Alicent slumps in relief, glancing at her father behind her as squires help her brother away.

A moment later, the black horse makes it's way to the podium and Morrigan's spine locks as Rhaenyra stands up and walks to the edge to meet her uncle.

"Nicely done, uncle.

"Thank you, Princess."

Her stomach twists at his voice.

The next moment, a hand grasps her own and Alicent is tugging her along and after Rhaenyra.

She isn't sure she can breathe as she follows, coming to a stop to Alicent's left—standing the furthest away from him.

Heart trashing, Morrigan watches as Daemon turns his attention from Rhaenyra.

Does he even know who she is?

His eyes fix on Alicent. "Now, I am fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having you favor would all but assure it." He says as he tips his lance towards her and Morrigan's heart stops.

Shameful heat rushes to her cheeks as Alicent glances to her, so quickly anyone who didn't know her well might not have caught it, before she gives Daemon a tiny smile and turns to collect her own wreath.

Something icy slides down her chest and into her stomach, numbing her inside out as Alicent returns and gently slides her wreath onto Daemon's lance.

"Good luck, my Prince," Alicent says.

Morrigan stares at him. She cannot help herself.

Her fingers curl into themselves and the next moment, Alicent's hand is on her upper arm in a gentle touch and she tugs her along and back to their seats.

Slapped. Morrigan feels like she has been slapped.

She swallows, and it feels like there are shards of glass in her throat, in her chest.

Forcing herself to keep a pleasant expression, Morrigan watches as Daemon rides against his next opponent.

Had she been more alert, she might have noticed it as the Maester came, talking to Alicent's father. Might have noticed the whisper from the Hand to the King. Might have noticed the King slip away in a hurry.

Now, she only hears it with the rest of her family, after the tourney is over: the Queen is dead.

And the King has a son.

     AUTHORS NOTE, 
welcome back!!!! hotd s2 has me in a creative mood hehe (tho, with exams upon me and my side hustle job i am BUSY rn). next chapter we'll have daemors first ~proper~ meeting... and it'll be the last, truly canon one before we go into AU territory 🤭🤭

as always, please leave a vote&comment!! 💗 they mean so much to me and it is truly such a joy to be able to interact with my readers.

(also is anyone else having issues with writing in wattpad rn??? like whenever i try to center something or write a word in italic, the entire text does the same?? for no reason??)