CHAPTER 3.

❞𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄...❞

TWO DAYS EARLIER.

A COOL DRAUGHT OF AIR WHIPS THROUGH Daemon's private chamber. Its silent, fragile song carried a salty yet sweet fragrance. Midnight blue deepens over a broad and starless sky. The cloudy hour softens the dull colours of the day, awakening a song of solitude among a serene soul.  The Rogue Prince stood captivated in his thoughts, his palms resting amongst the stone railing. His dark and restrained gaze cast amongst Kingslanding's partly congested streets. 

Daemon's chest rose gently, as the wind combed its fingers through his soft, winter, locks. The cool breeze played gently with the loose strands of his hair. His lips formed into a thin line of uncertainty.  

The view from the Redkeep's balconies and towers was the most redeeming quality of the Kingslanding. Daemon's thoughts captivated his surroundings, pushing the smallest amount of sound from his attention. His senses paced down a path of events from earlier.

The thought of Tytos ignoring Daemon's remarks, spitefully made him smile. Tytos certainly wasn't fond of the art of arguing, the twists and turns it creates. It wasn't Tytos that consumed his thoughts, it was the eldest daughter of the Velaryons. 

Marriage was a political statement of binding houses together, nothing more. He pondered why his chest swelled at the thought of her marriage. Daemon did not love her, he simply valued the comfort of her company.

Though it always proved to be suffocating when she spoke about Ser Christian Cole.

And perhaps her shy smile forged a growth in him. He use to find her rather reserved upon her arrival. And easily, her fragile eyes were like pages in a book. Her thoughts and emotions were oddly displayed in her glossy, amber gaze, like a reflection in a mirror.

The hesitation surrounded her that night. And Tytos's rash and harmful actions angered Daemon. Agitation itched in his veins, he couldn't comprehend why he cared so much for a woman that wasn't even his. She was the realm's rose, and he was a gallant of protective thorns amongst the stem.

Admired from afar, she was a breath of fresh air amongst the Redkeep's suffocating walls. Her presence was valued, and often he wondered why she condescended her own judgment.

Daemon was aware of the stereotyped judgment men held upon the rights of women.
A part of him preferred it that way, but another side of him forced himself to conceal those thoughts away from Celeste and the Royal Court.

Most believed a different mirror would succeed him, and a war would always follow.

His gaze averted from the surface and congested streets below. Daemon drew his hood over the frame of his face and turned his back to the deepest part of his chambers. Gentle flickers of torchlight; cascaded wonderous shadows of his hidden structure amongst the stone walls.

He drew closer to an arched, obstruct, passageway, engraved into the marbled stone walls. Upon the center of the rigid wall, held the outlining of a sculpted dragon head. Its sharp features held a pondering outlook to the chambermaids that cleaned the palace. He removed the rustic bench from blocking the passageway, enough for him to get by.

Daemon's palm compressed against the dragon and delicately drove it into the center of the wall, driving back the obscured passageway. Delicate glints of moonlight flickered through a small, arched window that hung from above.

His hand ghosted the cool metal railing and began to descend the staircase. Swiftly, he made his way through the narrow passageway. Its long and rigid stone walls took him through the twisted depths of the Redkeep. 

A fragile breeze swept unkempt strands from his shoulder. Two twisted staircases led Daemon at a quicker pace to the main courtyard. Dim flickers of torchlight sparked into the cool air, erasing them into the form of minor fragments.

A frosted breath escaped his lips as he passed Godswood, a forested area within the palace's walls, and the accustomed home of the reverent Weirdwood tree. Having Celeste accompany Tytos to Casterly Rock would afflict a miserable cloud amongst the Redkeep. 

Her presence amongst the Redkeep was magnetic to many and contrasted with her amiable and shy personality. Cautiously, his cold gaze stalked the guard's movements upon the wall, until they drew closer to someone. 

Upon the battlement, Tytos's back rested against the edges of the wall, draping his long legs over the edge. His fist was propped against his chiselled cheekbones, and his eyes momentarily closed.

Unknowingly, Tytos was operating upon a discrete agenda. And Tytos wasn't dull-minded as Daemon took him for, he was quite arrogant, but he monitored Daemon's moves. He was perceiving whether Celeste had a deeper conclusion to keep him around.

The stoic seriousness in his gaze snapped to the swift movements beyond the wall. Tytos steadily raised his head from his fist and watched as Daemon departed from the Redkeep. His eyes narrowed to his every movement. 

A shallow exhale retreated from his nostrils to the whereabouts of Daemon's occasional departures from the Redkeep led. And precisely at night. Tytos set aside his partly full goblet and regained his composure. His slender fingers gripped the edges of his coat and straightened it before departing from the wall.

Though it proved to be inevitable for what information the Rogue Prince concealed, Tytos had another working discreetly, he was referred to as the Spider. Sitting upon its network of silver strands, like a huntress, the Master of Whispers must be sly and obsequious, without a scruple. Just like the Commander of the Kingsguard must be valiant, and all worked for their own interests.

*****

Daemon woke at the first streaks of dawn. He shaded his eyes from the bitter rays of sunshine that prevailed throughout the room. The morning bells of the chapel rang in a peal, echoing a rather chaotic, melodic tune, throughout the congested streets of Kingslanding. Yet it was a warning sign of war or something rather catastrophic, that disrupted those of Kingslanding.

Occasionally, he pondered throughout his crapulence from drowning the night in Kingslanding's finest wines and the arms of a woman, whether those bells were purposely used to summon the City's Watch to reclaim order over the most inconvenient things.

He elevated himself skyward, as his attention underlined to the tidal sound of a drink being prepared. Daemon's eyes merely adjusted to the gentle torchlight that had a rather timid glow, showcasing an ebony-haired woman. She was tall, her skin was abnormally pale, and her eyes had a beautiful Cheshire-cat glow. The obsidian waves of her hair elevated off her shoulders as she set the silver pitcher down on the wooden stand, next to the makeshift bed of hay Daemon slept on.

His eyes adjusted to the particles of dust that danced in the sunlight. The room was unfurnished and coated with layers of dust upon the brick foundation of the room.

"Am I your prisoner?" Daemon canvassed a partial sign of humour.

"As I was once yours." the woman spoke confidently, reminding him that he's been with him since the very beginning. She drew closer to Daemon offering him the goblet of unfamiliar condiments.

Momentarily, he closed his eyes to the sound of her footsteps and drew his head back to the dreadfully, flat, cushions behind his fair head. A groan exited Daemon's lips as a heavy pressure settled amongst his head. Easily, Daemon could stubbornly take on the whole remaining army of the Crabfeeders and decapitate their leader's head, but he struggled to challenge a hangover over known reasons.

"I'm your protector, lucky for you," she commented in a thick accent. Daemon's head shifted back and forth to the unbearable feeling as if his mind was coated in a thick fog. The woman knelt to Daemon and passed him the small goblet. His fingers brushed against the cool, silver cup.

"This will cut the fog," the woman claimed. She paused momentarily as the cup slipped from his fingers and its golden condiments spilled onto the ground.

Notably, she didn't appreciate his careless attitude to the kind gesture of aiding him. She watched as the cup tipped perfectly onto its side and remained still.

"I don't need protection from a common whore-"

"I am not some common whore." she snapped but remained partially calm and collected. The woman smoothed out the white fabric of her elegant dress and returned to the nightstand.

"A not-so-common whore then." Daemon corrected himself, with a hidden trail of sarcasm.

"Am I not hallucinating you in my mind?" Daemon commented, earning a selfish chuckle that bubbled inside his chest.

"As does your fixated desire to sit upon the Iron Throne. Last night's celebration was a bit extravagant for someone who isn't Velaryon. But in the end, I am happy to witness two Houses being united." the brunette admitted.

"I'm not," Daemon muttered under his breath.

"How come? What is she to you?" the woman testified in confusion.

Daemon paused for a brief moment, as memories passed through a thin line of uncertainty. The unbearable sign of Tytos's eyes scorning down over her when she was performing her duties as a devoted fiancée. An odd energy creeps into his chest, as his mind fights to comprehend the words.

"I am afraid I don't follow."

"There are possible falsehoods floating around that you were with Celeste Velaryon the night before her wedding-"

"And I understand you're quite devoted to. . .jealousy. If you are accusing me of some fabrication, you'll need to be more specific." Daemon detested.

"Perhaps, but it's not jealousy that consumes me, Daemon. It's whether the realm believes Celeste is a: Velaryon. Her hair isn't accustomed to the pale winds the Velaryons and Targaryens have shared since ancient times. And yet her hair is tawny and her skin as pale as snow. Even how much Lord Corlys will fret for however long, his claim will be heard that she is a Velearyon." the woman paused, as she thought cautiously of her accusation before speaking.

"Say it," Daemon motioned her to continue, with a small feeling of irritation writhing through his skin.

"There are also rumours you were seen with Celeste, last before her disappearance." the brunette stated, allowing her mouth to run free of the possible percussions speaking down to the future heir to Driftmark's throne.

"For Seven Hells. I don't suppose the Council believes I bedded her and kidnapped her myself-"

"As that's what it appears. I've learned an accusation can only go so far without proof, Daemon."

"Running away from her duties isn't of her nature. My guess is Lady Velearyon is clearing her mind before her ceremony." Daemon clarified, convincing himself that she couldn't have stepped away from the gates of Westeros without aid or someone to accompany her.

"Hard lessons are not welcomed but suffered." the dark-haired woman replied. She carefully paid keen attention to his state. Daemon closed his eyes for the third time, paying little attention to her comments.

For a brief second, he concluded closing his eyes she was only a subjected dark spell caused by his holdover. Daemon fell silent when her presence proved to be real, as she glowered over the end of his bed. She shook her head in disappointment. Footsteps echoed amongst the room as she made her departure.

"Mysaria. . . Mysaria." Daemon's call turned into a fragile whisper.

"You can pay for the room on the way out." the woman advised, departing the rented room by ascending the small staircase.

 A humble sigh escapes his nostrils as he came to realize the Kingsguard will bring him by force; if he doesn't appeal or testify against the rumours brought by someone who's silver-tongued. But what struck him in realization: what if the rumours were true? How would he react if she was truly gone from the Redkeep? Kidnapped and harmed? He prayed that wasn't the case.

Otto stood amongst the edge of the fireplace in his chamber, his thoughts preoccupied with the bitter news shared by the maids early that morning. His chest couldn't cease that uneasy feeling that flickered in his chest. He was indeed the Kings-hand, and his duty was to enlighten Viserys with discomforting news of the disappearance of Celeste Velaryon.

Before her wedding, her disappearance seemed doubtful. But it was evident there were multiple conclusions of a struggle exhibited by different variation spots amongst her bedchamber. His soulful eyes raised in conclusion, he had to indoctrinate the evidence Laenor collected and present it to the King, mindfully.

The King's hand made a shallow approach through the hallways and drew closer to the King's chambers. He raised his fist and knocked twice. Two guards stood on both sides of the door, blocking him from entering without permission.

"Come." Viserys gave a right of entry. 

Otto passed by the guards that parted from his way. He closed the stone doorway and straightened his composure. In the middle of the room stood a model of Kingslanding that aimed as a centrepiece to Viserys and Alicent's chamber.

Otto's skin was pale, consisting the result of very little sun. The man's auburn-coloured hair was kept short, while his beard was neatly kept.  Otto was recognized as an unwavering and loyal hand of King Viserys, but something strikes Viserys that Otto had a hidden agenda that was encrypted by his own interest.

"What is it?"

Otto kept his eyes glued to the marbled stone beneath him, recognizing Viserys was still in his robes instead of formal attire.

"I apologize for the early hour, Your Grace. I have. . . discomforting news. I thought it best shared discreetly before the council convenes." his raspy voice suggests, gritty from the lack of sleep.

A heavy sigh spills from Viserys's lungs, "The Sea Snake?"

"I am afraid it concerns Lady Velaryon, my King," Otto replies, simply.

"Has she been harmed or unwell?" Viserys began, attempting to wrap his mind around the conclusive news.

Otto's mouth opened partially, then closed. His eyes returned to the floor beneath him.

"You enter my bedchamber with urgent matters, remarking the eldest daughter of the Velaryon bloodline. Now speak it. . . freely," Viserys spoke firmly.

"Daemon and Celeste were last seen together, during the final hours of her engagement."

Viserys motioned Otto to continue.

"Several servants have admitted to seeing her and Daemon alone in Godswood before her late disappearance, Your Grace. To none of the guards, she spoke of her departure. And I'm sure if one saw her leave the Redkeep, unannounced, they would illuminate the news and retrieve her. But that would prove to be unprecise to the evident conclusion of her abduction." Otto finished, moving as he watches the King frustratedly pace.

"What evidence can you embark on your conclusion? That my brother would simply discard the devotion after he redeemed himself? And pray to tell, he had every opportunity to prove himself, and you know better than I, you're making a deadly accusation against my brother." Viserys implied, carefully studying Otto's face for a sign that his accusation was false.

The colour from Otto's face was drained, his fingers fished through the pocket of his jacket and placed down a silver Targaryen ring. One that Viserys and Daemon both became accustomed to wearing.

"I fear Daemon is involved deeper in this than we can conclude, my King." Otto enlightened Viserys. 

Viserys dragged a hand over his face, he glances for a moment trying to see Otto's reasoning.

"Go retrieve my Vaguebound brother and let's see what claim he holds on this accusation. Then send out the City's watch to scan every inch of Kingslanding until she's found. No one leaves Kingslanding without my permission."

*****

Daemon tightened his gauntlets, as his head continued to cyclone from the remaining aftermath of his hangover. He drew closer to Craxas as it made a nocturnal screech at the sight of his master. His gloved hand brushed over the thick flesh of the dragon's temple. A blood Wyrm most referred to Craxas as. One of the notorious dragons that conquered the great war of the Stepstones.

He acknowledged fleeing Kingslanding would result in suspicion, but he knew better than Viserys that his brother had a timid approach toward him. Still unsure whether his loyalty prevailed. And before the war, he was disowned and his honour burned in anguish.

But what was left to lose? If he stayed and backtracked his appeal, he would lose precious seconds of finding her.

"I didn't think you would make it," Rhaenyra began, intending to the written message she sent to Daemon remarking her father's orders. 

The young woman was around the age of sixteen, the remaining heir of King Viserys. With identicle silver locks braided back, kept her luxious and unkept strands of her hair tied back.

"Navigating through Kingslanding didn't appear as an issue, avoiding the Golden cloaks regarded nothing more than persistence. You should try being on the battlefield for three years." Daemon suggests.

"My mother was made to produce heirs until it killed her, and that's a battlefield I do not sought. I won't subject myself to the same fate. Neither do I wish harm upon Celeste, rather on the men that inflict harmful intentions amongst her." Rhaenyra spoke confidently. Her eyes snapped over her shoulder, occasionally. Stealthyly acquiring the security that no one was spectating their discrete conversation.

"And I thought this might prove to have some use." Rhaenyra added, passing Daemon a small, broken sealed, scroll.

With a an observant gaze, Daemon stared at the Harpy-like seal. His eyes conducted to the unfamiliar writing of names, until his eyes narrowed to the name of Celeste Velaryon. His eyebrows creased in concern.

He peiced together the ceal and her name, referring she wasn't the only person on the list. And the best place to blackmail or sell the most cherished people was the city of chains, Mereen.

"She's heading to Mereen." Daemon concluded, hoisting himself up the chain-like latter.

"I'm going with you." Rhaeynyra protested.

"I forbid it-"

"That's not your choice to make, uncle. Two dragons are stronger than one-" Rhaenyra interrupted Daemon. Her voice cracked at the sound of paved footsteps, charging towards the Dragonpit.

"Sōvegon." Daemon ordered Craxas to take flight. With strong blades of wind, knocked back the Kingsguard, from Craxas spreading his wings.

Craxas followed the updraft of the wind and suspended it's wings to the expanded time. Fleeing the Dragonpit felt like a mountain was lifted from his shoulders. For now then, he knew it wasn't going to be a effortless task. But the only pleasure he would find was one in killing the men that harmed her, and offering their heads to the Lord of the Narrow Tide.

-

A/note: Hey everyone! I am so happy I managed to get this chapter of this story up today! Just to make sure I am not disappointing my readers with the action in this chapter, I am hoping to get another one up by this week. I am very excited to begin the romance, and I do hope you are enjoying this story so far! 

Sorry if it was a long chapter, I was hoping to make it on the longer side, since I have been busy and you guys deserved a long chap. Daemon's dialogue is diffidently the most enjoyable thing so far for writing. Kerrigan is going to appear pretty soon, he's diffidently going to be a rival of Daemons. 

And I have so many wonderful ideas I wish to express to my readers through my writing. And how do you think Celeste is going to react when Daemon finds her? Let me know in the comments! I love hearing from you guys, feel free to vote and comments are always appreciated!