From Flames to Fury (Part 2)

The back terrace of Dragonstone stretched out before me, open to the sea, the breeze carrying the scent of salt and distant smoke. Ships were drifting away in the distance, their sails fading as they carried family members and guests back to Spicetown and Driftmark. The gathering on the terrace was quieter now, more subdued, as high lords and ladies milled about, their voices low, their gazes casting frequent glances at Rhaenyra.

I stood apart, leaning against the stone railing, the cool sea breeze doing little to calm the nerves that had been coiling inside me since we arrived. The discomfort in the air was palpable—more specifically, the discomfort directed at me. The whole "Master of Death" rumor had taken hold far more strongly than I'd anticipated, and now it seemed that wherever I went, conversations stopped. Eyes flickered to me, wide and wary, and I could feel the ripple of unease whenever I passed by. People whispered behind their hands, their gaze sliding toward me in a mixture of fear and curiosity.

I couldn't lie—it was nice, in a way. These formal gatherings always made me uneasy, like I was a piece of the puzzle that didn't quite fit. The silences, the forced small talk, the relentless politeness—it was all too much. And when I was uncomfortable, well, that was when I tended to open my mouth and say something stupid. Something that would undoubtedly embarrass myself, and by association, Rhaenyra. But with everyone so wary of me now, it meant I could avoid conversations entirely. No need to navigate these social landmines or risk making things worse.

Speaking of Rhaenyra... I glanced across the terrace, searching for her amidst the clusters of nobles. It didn't take long to find her. She was standing tall, the crown on her head gleaming in the late afternoon sun, speaking with a lord and lady I didn't recognize. Even from here, she radiated power. She was every bit the queen in this moment, commanding attention with her mere presence.

But something was wrong.

I watched her for a moment longer, trying to place it. She was speaking, her voice calm and measured as she addressed the nobles, but... her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her posture, though still regal, was stiff. Her eyes, usually bright with confidence, were dull, shadowed with unease.

Why was she uncomfortable?

And then I saw it. The hand. Resting possessively on her hip.

My frown deepened, and my eyes followed the hand up to its owner.

Daemon.

Of course it was Daemon.

His stance was relaxed, too relaxed, as if he hadn't a care in the world. He leaned into Rhaenyra, his fingers lightly brushing her hip as he talked with that lazy, dangerous smile of his. To anyone else, it might have looked like a show of support—a husband standing beside his wife, reassuring her with a touch. But I knew better. There was tension in the way Rhaenyra held herself, in the way her lips thinned every time Daemon leaned closer.

I had seen that look on her face before. It wasn't just discomfort. It was irritation. Daemon was up to something.

My heart tightened, and I straightened from the wall, my eyes narrowing as I watched them. Whatever Daemon was doing, it wasn't just for show. He was stirring the pot, as he so often did, using his proximity to Rhaenyra to send a message, not just to the lords and ladies in attendance, but to me.

I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting the sudden rush of anger. I wanted to storm across the terrace, to pull Daemon's hand away from her, to make him stop whatever game he was playing. But I knew I couldn't. Not here. Not now. Not in front of all these people.

So I stayed where I was, my back pressed against the stone wall, my eyes locked on the two of them. Watching. Waiting. I couldn't hear their conversation, but I could see Rhaenyra's growing unease. Her chin tilted up slightly, her eyes narrowing ever so subtly as she responded to whatever Daemon had just said. The lord and lady in front of her remained oblivious, laughing softly at something Daemon murmured, but I could see the tension building in Rhaenyra's jaw.