At last, he made his move.

She'd grown nearly comfortable with his presence. Tolerant of it, perhaps even enjoying it. Daemon was keeping out of trouble, which gave Viserys less of a headache as he tried to decide whether he'd follow the advice given– marrying Rhaenyra by force, whether she liked it or not– or continuing to hope that his daughter would choose a match on his own.

Daemon was a curious person. He could be funny, even if it was often displayed with lewd jokes. He liked adventure and remained restless even at this age– it made her wonder if Aegon and Aemond would be like that when they were older, for neither of them were much like peaceful Viserys.

There was so much Amalia felt she hadn't uncovered, so much she wondered if she'd ever uncover, for Daemon remained on a probationary period in her mind. If he stayed even longer, would she learn the truth of his fears, if he had any? The truth about how he had grieved his parents, his grandparents, his many uncles and aunts? Would she learn about his marriage to Rhea Royce, where his fascination with battles started?

Some of those things, she held pieces of already. Pieces, nevertheless, for Daemon was cautious with what he told. He seemed to like talking to her, and told her many things aside from the ten names she promised– ten names she'd drilled into her head already, ten people mixed about her staff that she'd already spoken to in order to begin learning their motivations.

She had a strange sense that Daemon did not actually want the crown. He could have taken it from Viserys very easily if that were his goal. He was a boy who'd hardly known his mother, who'd been raised by an equally adventurous Uncle Aemon, a bold Aunt Jocelyn, and a fun-loving father like Prince Baelon. He missed the past, but he did not cling to it– he moved forward with their lessons and sought to keep indulging in all the beautiful things the world had to offer. He wanted more from life, not his lady wife and being trapped in the boring Vale.

He found her most often at the sept, though sometimes he spoke to her in the training yard while the boys badgered the master-at-arms with questions and started learning to hold sparring swords. Once, he'd found her in the gardens while she was carrying Helaena through them. Another time, he came to speak with her after he saw Rhaenyra brush past her in the halls.

Then, of course, there was the Dragonpit. Aegon and Aemond had been itching to return there, though Amalia had been more preoccupied now that Rhaenyra had returned. She did her part in trying to find Rhaenyra a suitable husband, reading letters on Viserys's behalf and conveying what she heard about the eligible bachelors of the kingdom. She tried to advocate heaviest for those closest to Rhaenyra's age who were known to either be gentle good-listeners or brave talkers who could tailor to both sides of her.

At last, however, Aemond's badgering was giving her a headache. A fortnight had nearly passed since he and Aegon had been allowed to ride Caraxes, and he was demanding to be taken again. Aegon had shyly admitted to her, on the day she finally announced that she had the time to take him, that he would remain in the yard with the knights. She left him with a kiss on the forehead and brought Aemond into the carriage with her, knowing Daemon and Caraxes would be readying themselves for flight.

"Uncle Prince!" Aemond ran to him as soon as he saw Daemon slipping on his riding gloves. Daemon raised a surprised brow, and Amalia offered an apologetic smile for not letting him know beforehand. "Uncle Prince, I want to fly!"

"Your courtesies, Aemond," reminded Amalia.

"I want to fly, please," he repeated. "May I? May I? Please!"

"Come here, boy." Daemon knelt, Amalia grimacing at the smell of the pit as she drew further in. She saw Daemon putting a hand on Aemond's shoulder, and they murmured something to each other while one of the Dragonkeepers offered Amalia a handkerchief damp with a sweet-smelling oil to hold under her nose.

There was a strange sensation within her as she inhaled; she'd not been so disturbed by the smell before. She thought perhaps it was time for her to ask young Maester Orwyle for some wine to test her urine.

"Mother!" Aemond toddled back her way. "Mother, since Aegon isn't coming, I want you to fly."

Her cheeks were red. "Me? Fly? No, my boy. You go with your uncle."

"I want you there! Please, come!"

"I do not have dragon's blood, my boy, it is not for me to be in the skies."

"You do not need dragon's blood to fly, Your Grace," said Daemon. That mischievous look in her eyes told her that this had been his idea, not Aemond's. "It would make my nephew very happy."

"Yes!" agreed Aemond. "Very happy."

Hesitantly, Amalia said, "Alright, I can try, Aemond. I am hardly dressed for dragonriding, if I cannot sit properly then I must return to the carriage to wait for you." Gods, the last thing I needed today was to be sat behind Daemon, left helpless in the sky to cling to him while we fly. She'd never even flown with Rhaenyra– nor had Alicent gotten to. It scared her a bit. If her instinct was right, if she was already carrying another child, then she was sure to empty her stomach onto Daemon's clothes.

Caraxes slithered forward, Daemon muttering something to him. The dragon flattened himself entirely against the ground, the Dragonkeepers urged at Daemon's request to bring a small step for her. Embarrassed and still hesitant, she accepted Daemon's hand to help guide her up onto the saddle. Aemond crawled up in front of her, leaving her to turn red as Daemon motioned for her to scoot forward. When she did, he climbed onto the saddle behind her, his chest pressed tight to her back.

She felt his breath hot on her neck as he reached around to fasten a strap around the three of them. Aemond was squealing with delight, but she felt only uncertainty as Daemon called out his first command. Caraxes rose a bit, and Amalia felt her stomach turn. She held tight to the grips of the saddle, breathing quickly as the dragon began to move towards the mouth of the pit.

"Don't be afraid," she heard Daemon whisper.

It did little, for she still felt like screaming in terror when Caraxes stomped hard on the ground to kick off. A rush of air slammed into her, her stomach turned as the feeling of weightlessness began. The cold wind bit at her face and for a moment, she didn't feel that she could breathe. She shut her eyes to not watch the city grow smaller under her, comforted only by Aemond's cheers.

"Open your eyes, Your Grace," urged Daemon. She was scared, her body rocking back and forth, the clouds seeming to lap at her cheeks. But she forced herself to open her eyes, drawing a deep breath as she did so.

By all the gods, the city had never looked so beautiful, not even when she first arrived at the age of twelve. The morning sun bathed it in a golden light, and the people looked so small, no bigger than Aegon and Aemond's toys. She saw the familiar path leading towards the sept, the grandeur of the Red Keep like she'd never beheld it before.

She felt like she could breathe again, she felt the weightlessness becoming exhilarating. A joy spread through her, something she couldn't truly explain. Was it that she felt free, that she felt excited by something new, that she felt all her troubles were forgotten with a view so perfect?

"Lift your arms," guided Daemon. She intended to ignore him, and instead guided Aemond in doing it on her behalf. Unsatisfied, Daemon grabbed her elbows and lifted her arms for her.

That felt even better, for the wind now danced around her body, making her arms feel like wings when her sleeves billowed full. She started to smile, then when she had enough, reached down to kiss the top of Aemond's head, the boy already shouting, "Faster, faster, make him spin!"

"We'll go steady today, for your mother's sake," said Daemon over her shoulder. That was when she felt his hands on her waist, a grip loose enough that she felt it without being suffocated. It was a tentative touch, something to test her reaction. Her hair, even clipped, swirled behind her, and from how she felt his breath on her neck, she imagined it must be tickling at his nose. He didn't move away, however, and she felt him looping his hand fully around her, until his palm pressed over her stomach.

What was he thinking about? The three of them up here, did he imagine a family of his own? With a son as obsessed with dragons and swords as he'd always been, with a wife whose fire he seemingly enjoyed instead of being threatened by?

What was he daring to do, with Aemond here? She felt his face drawing closer to hers and thought he would dare to kiss her neck. She almost wanted to let him, almost wanted to dare and find out what it was like. But no, not with her son here, this was ridiculous even for Daemon.

She pried his hands off her and leaned forward, saying to her son loud enough for Daemon to hear, "I believe I am feeling unwell, my boy. Perhaps it is time to land."

Though Aemond seemed disappointed, he agreed that perhaps it was time. Daemon turned Caraxes back around, and Amalia kept her hands on Aemond's shoulders to discourage further touching. It felt worse when Caraxes landed, a jolt being sent through her. She was quick to slide off the saddle as soon as she could, scooping Aemond up and making her way back to the carriage.

She had a bad feeling, as they rode back without so much as a goodbye to Daemon, that it had all been intentional on his part. This, a game, where Viserys was right. Daemon wanted her. Gods, could this not have happened before she married his brother, before when he sensed her father was going to push her towards the king? At the time, she'd hated Daemon, but he could have rescued her by marrying her, by getting Otto out of the Red Keep. Perhaps she resented him for that.

"Your Grace." Gods, he could not be serious. She'd left Aemond with his septa and immediately gone to prayer, but of course, he found her here.

"I will leave you to the gods, My Prince," she said, rising quickly and attempting to escape. He followed her, and as soon as they reached the outer ring of the sept, where columns held up the dome, she felt him quicken his pace until he was right behind her. In a split second, he'd caught her arm and stopped her path, his body colliding with hers and pressing her back to his chest, as they'd been on the dragon.

"Daemon!" she said in a sharp whisper, trying to draw away from him. Anyone could walk in now, anyone could emerge from the other rooms in the sept. "Let go of me!" The hot breath of his, it was everything from her fantasies, but this was serving to irritate her instead of excite her.

"Does he satisfy you?" he purred in her ear. "Does he take care of you?"

"Unhand me," she seethed, stomping hard on his foot. He chuckled instead of withdrawing.

"Answer my question, Amalia. I've heard rumors of your cries of pleasure, heard them myself not a fortnight ago. Why won't you answer my question? You are too defiant and proud to be shy about your time with the King... unless, of course, the Queen has a lover?"

That infuriated her more. "I do not have a lover, why would I be stupid enough to risk crying out in pleasure if I weren't with the King?" This time, when she tried to draw away, he pushed her into the pillar, his body trapping hers to it. She felt his hips pressed to her bottom. Gods, her crazed mind would have called her to push back into him, to give in, but he was getting on her nerves.

What if this was all some plot? To see if she'd give in and then rat her out to his brother to call her a treasonous whore and have her and her father both killed? That would hurt Otto, but no, no, no, she had a feeling he didn't want to hurt her anymore. Viserys was right, Viserys was right. Daemon might not covet the Iron Throne but he coveted the rest of what Viserys had.

"No lover," he repeated. "Does my brother really excite you so? Or, perhaps..." Even as she was fighting to get away, she feared she was doing more to entice him, her body wiggling against his. Suddenly, she heard him mutter in the same throaty whisper she'd first heard Viserys use, the first time she started to imagine Daemon, "Gods be good. You do have a lover... if only in your mind. How long have you been fucking him and thinking of me?"

"I will not have you tarnish my name with your accusations!" she snapped. "Let go of me, or I will shout and I will have the guards at the door rip you off of me themselves!"

At last, he stepped away from her. But only to turn her around to face him, still looming over her. "Is it really an accusation?" he questioned. "Or the truth?"

"What is it you want from me?" she replied. Angry, he made her angry, he'd always made her angry. Her misery might've made her think of him, for he was a lesser evil at the moment she was wed, but no, this could not continue, not here, not now. Not when Viserys already feared this was going to happen. "Answer me. All of it– why have you remained here so long and why are you doing this to me?"

"Viserys needs to be saved from himself," muttered Daemon. "Your influence is not enough to protect him, hard as you might try to teach your boys better. Your father remains and that must come to an end. I will show Viserys the truth. I will have him send your father back to Oldtown and name me Hand in his stead. I'd have your brothers brought back here so they might enjoy your presence and be away from your father. I'd see your sister married well. Together, we would all defend Rhaenyra's status as heir."

For some reason, that comforted her. It was a noble plan even if self-serving for Daemon. She agreed, sometimes Viserys was too malleable, he needed to be protected from his own weaknesses. Daemon wants to convince Viserys of this himself. He never meant to make me do it. My father would've used me as a pawn, yet Daemon... No, Daemon wanted more than she was able to give. Did she want to? Yes. Of course she did. But the circumstances, the timing, Daemon, it was all wrong.

She realized she didn't want to hurt Viserys like that, not when he already suspected Daemon held a desire for her. She realized that even with her fantasies, she'd never stopped being wary of Daemon, wondering when he was finally going to do something unforgivable that would get him exiled again.

"Do you love him?" he asked, when she continued to resist even as he leaned over, perhaps itching to kiss her. "Do you think you ever could?"

"He is my husband," she said. She convinced herself of her words as she said them, "He is good to me, he is good to my children, he gave me children I love. I want him to be safe, I want his reign to be long and prosperous. I do not want you to jeopardize that for him."

"I am trying to help him. I want the same things you do. He chose a good bride, for I feared you were like your father. Of late, I've learned you are your own person. His plots will continue, however, no matter what you do."

"I know that," said Amalia. "I know we need rid of him. But this that you do, it puts you no closer to that. If being Hand is what you want, I will... I will do what I can to see it happen. I will tell Viserys the truth, that my father threatened to send Alicent if I did not go comfort the king. I could not let him hurt my sweet girl. Up until I had Aegon, I thought I would die on the birthing bed... how could I subject her to that? I'll admit that all to Viserys, I'll urge him to let my father go."

For some reason, this seemed to bring sadness to Daemon's face. "Would that someone had protected me from my own marriage. Would that someone had protected you instead of pawning you off."

Finally, she retorted more sharply, "You said you suspected it, and you did not protect me. I question you again, since you did not answer, why are you doing this to me? Viserys already suspects that you desire me, why would you wound him this way?"

"Do you not desire me as well?" he challenged. "You've been picturing me while you bed him, I can see that plainly."

"I will not admit to such a thing," she said, though she dared to say, "I would have resorted to any means necessary to tolerate beddings I have never actively sought out and a marriage I never wanted. You do not have a right to judge how I cope, for you've never attended to your own lady wife. I do my duty and I put on a brave face without caring how it breaks me, for I cannot afford to show that I am overwhelmed. You, you however, you prance around doing as you wish, duty does not matter to you, and why only now does family? Does Viserys? You claim to care yet you'd give into this apparent desire? What do you really want?"

He rolled his eyes, "Do you know what I'd want, Amalia? Were you not already with child, I'd want the next one you birthed to be mine. I'd want Viserys and Otto to dote on him without knowing it. But I'd want you to know, I'd want you to feel a part of me inside you that would never leave."

Never before had she felt so guilty about being selfish and wanting him. But no, she would not give in. Daemon would always dislike that Viserys had been born first, the one who got to be King, the one that got to have it all. She knew, however, that Viserys would always dislike that Daemon had been born second, the one who got to be carefree, the one who had no burdens.

She would not drive a wedge between them no matter what she felt. She would not be willing to hurt Viserys like that. She wasn't sure where this loyalty came from, whether it was that she worried for Viserys's feelings or simply didn't want to cater to Daemon's. She felt his reasons for wanting her weren't good enough, and only clued her into the kind of man she feared he'd always been– one that lacked respect. No, he wasn't as bad as her father, yes, he saw her in ways that Viserys didn't. But none of that made her willing to give in, none of it.

"Do as you will to become Hand," she said at last. "But leave me out of it. Do not follow me around, do not touch me, do not nurse ideas in your head that would hurt your brother. I care for Viserys, whether you believe it or not. I will not let whatever I feel risk the security of those that matter to me. Please."

He looked into her eyes, maybe at last registered the bare truth. She felt something that she could not bring herself to reciprocate. It would hurt those closest to her and she was not prepared for the fallout.

She slipped away from him, and rushed out quick enough that he could not enter a carriage with her. She cried once inside, cried to herself for her situation, for her fears, for the love she had for the children Viserys gave her. She even cried for Viserys, who didn't even know how his brother felt, so willing to hurt him. None of this was fair, why did she always have to suffer for other people's choices?

And why, oh why, was none of it fair? Why was she never allowed to be happy? Gods– she did have to admit, for a little while, despite how nervous Daemon made her, she'd felt excited about something new. It was wrong, and how quickly that had turned to slap her in the face, but she couldn't remember the last time she felt that way. Not since before she married Viserys, surely.

She hated to realize that she had liked talking to Daemon. She had wanted to know him better. Even when he annoyed her, she found him funny. She found in him a good listener... for he'd taken the time to instill in her the knowledge she needed for her own network, for her own power. And as simple as the gesture had been, to give her that hairpin, when had anyone ever thought to offer her something like that, despite all who knew how much she disliked not being able to take care of herself?

Handsome Daemon, comical Daemon, thoughtful Daemon, intriguing Daemon, and still, always, the truth that emerged, hateful selfish bastard Daemon. How stupid she was, to think he would actually try to take care of her. To think that for once she'd found someone she didn't need to fix, who would instead try and fix her. Who would care for her as she always did for everyone else no matter the cost.

This could not stand, this could not be. Comely, he'd called her. Lust, he'd felt for her. The same things Viserys thought, to be sure. She'd never noticed those things in other people, not until it was forced on her. She'd have happily never developed her own sexual feelings for a lifetime, she'd never had those curiosities until they were pushed in the second Viserys first bedded her.

Her father had condemned her from the start. Bringing her here, having her read to Jaehaerys, having her talk to Viserys, having her wear her mother's dresses. Time and again since her death, he reminded her how much she looked like Alyrie, how much her likeness grew with the years.

She realized that the moment she chose to fill her mother's empty place, she became a woman in her father's eyes. No longer his daughter, simply a woman. And women meant little to him, women were pawns, women were meant to be used and then discarded, women were stupid and undeserving. She became a woman and so he found it easy to sell her off the moment it was beneficial to him. And, the moment she agreed for Alicent's sake, the moment she first donned one of her mother's dresses, she fit the role he wanted her to. She became a sexual object for the King.

She hated that she ever tried to explore it further, to bring herself pleasure. That had been the problem in the first place, trying to find enjoyment. She should have just laid there in silence, but no, she sought her own pleasure and it caused all this. These thoughts of Daemon, these three children with one on the way. She knew she shouldn't blame herself but she did, she did, she really did.

There would be no more of that. No, this child would be the last. No more would she be a sexual object for the King, and no more would she let Daemon fill her head anymore than she'd let him fill his own with thoughts of her. She'd not fit that role anymore, she'd not cater to their feelings to save her own. Once more, she would sacrifice her happiness and in doing so protect herself.

The dresses, those beautiful regal dresses, some of those she wore still belonging to her mother originally, all of them would have to change. She would tolerate no beautiful silk unless the dress ran from neck to toe. She'd tolerate no sleeves unless they were puffed to hide the shape of her arms, unless they were solid rather than sheer, continuous rather than cut. She'd wear the colors of her house, to be sure, but in the darkest shades she could find. There would be no bright colors to entice the King or anyone else who was looking.

And her hair, her beautiful hair. She could not bring herself to cut it, but she'd display it differently from now on. No longer would she care to make her curls bounce. She'd coil them and tuck her hair in a hairnet each day of the rest of her life. The dress would cover her neck and her hair would not look as appealing as it did when it was pinned with that beautiful thing Daemon had given her. That thing... that was going in a drawer and perhaps one day would belong to Helaena. Amalia never intended to use it again.

She cried. Oh, how she cried. She mourned it all and hated it all. Herself, Viserys, Daemon, her father. She wished that her father had never brought her to King's Landing.

She wished she'd never been born, not if the gods were going to condemn her to the life of a woman.