Chapter Text
FUCK DAEMON, Rhaenyra thinks, as she angrily rifles through her closet looking for something to wear. She tears tops and dresses off their hangers, seething as she discards anything he bought for her. Fuck him for teasing her, for kissing her…for stopping. For running.
She just found out via a fucking email complete with gods damned emojis that her uncle ran off and married her second cousin Laena, because of course he fucking did. Laena is absolutely gorgeous, fiery, sensual, everything Daemon wants in a woman, everything any man with a half an ounce of taste would want. Tall, with perfect round tits and a bouncy, glossy cascade of platinum curls and a smile so bright the sun is jealous, Laena is the type of woman who could have anyone she desires, and apparently she desires Daemon. What is Rhaenyra in comparison, with her small breasts and chronic awkwardness around him, his presence practically paralyzing her? Who would want to marry her when they could have Laena? No one, she thinks, bitterly.
With a dearth of remaining options for clothes, Rhaenyra pulls on a pair of purple fishnets, a black silk slipdress, and her black boots. She looks at herself in the mirror, feeling underdressed. Ugh. She casts about her floor, finding her black leather jacket. Daemon gave it to her… but fuck it, she wants to look HOT and this piece really makes the outfit, she thinks. She does her hair, taming her waist-length silver gold waves into Valyrian -style warrior braids, then her makeup- a smokey cat eye that makes her violet irises pop, and finishes the look with a deep crimson lip. There, she thinks, popping on some random silver jewelry. The necklace Daemon brought her from his travels when she was fourteen would have gone perfectly, but she leaves it behind, opting instead for a piece that looks like a slender silver dragon resting around her throat. This one had been a gift from Criston, but she doesn't care. She'd rather be reminded of her fuckwad ex-boyfriend than Daemon right now, which is saying a LOT.
She tucks her essentials into her jacket pockets, then hurries down the many flights of stairs to the ground floor, not wanting to get into a stuffy elevator, then gives a sweet smile to the doorman before joining the crowd on Shadowblack Lane, where her family's towering building resides.
Sometimes Rhaenyra wishes she could be anywhere but here, but King's Landing is home, its ever changing landscape and people that she is constantly reacquainting herself with. She breathes in the scent of food carts and cigarette smoke and a faint whiff of fresh urine as she passes a drunk businessman whizzing against a brick wall. Ahhhh, home, she muses sardonically, wrinkling her nose.
It's probably a stupid idea, going to the same club Daemon used to frequent so often, where he kissed her, then left her, the fucking coward. It's absolutely ridiculous that she hopes to recapture a sense of closeness to him by doing it, yet once the idea had a hold in her mind, she felt a strong sense that she needs to go back there.
The catcalls and whistles she receives on her way are just another part of the music of the city at this point in her life. The club is on Silk Street, where barely a hundred years ago, brothels were its fame. Not much has truly changed, the brothels having become nightclubs, pleasure houses still, simply with new names.
Rhaenyra wanders down the street a bit, then finds the club she's searching for- it looks different than when Daemon took her in the pitch black of the night that smoggy Friday. It's still just barely light out now, the sun setting late in early summer and the last vestiges clinging to the sky for another few short minutes.
The bouncer takes one look at her I.D. and hurriedly lets her in. The Targaryen name gets her access to most places, even if she's only eighteen. She walks in to find the dance floor empty, and a bored-looking girl sitting behind the bar reading Dostoevsky. She puts her book down as Rhaenyra approaches. She is absolutely stunning, Rhaenyra observes, curly red hair tumbling down over her shoulders and ample bust spilling from her corset top. Rhaenyra tucks her jacket around her chest self-consciously. She usually doesn't even need to wear a bra because her boobs are so inconsequential.
“What can I getcha?” The girl asks, leaning forward onto the bar to look into her eyes and put her cleavage on full display. Her butt wiggles suggestively as she waits for an answer.
“Surprise me,” Rhaenyra replies. The girl grins and bounces up to standing once more, bustling about grabbing bottles and tools. While she does, Rhaenyra glances around. She should have known she was too early, there are only a few people hanging about in the corners. As if reading her mind, the bartender sets a blood red drink in a coupe in front of her and says,
“Vampire Cynar Negroni, seems your vibe. It should start to pick up in here soon.”
Rhaenyra thanks her and takes a small sip of her drink. It’s absolutely delicious, the gin and campari mixed with a strong strawberry overtone. She smiles, then takes her drink to one of the plush leather chairs in a corner to enjoy her beverage and wait for things to start happening. Determined to find out what the allure of this place is, she scans the environment, anxious for the night to ramp up. She doesn't even know why she needs to be here so badly, but if she can just figure it out, maybe Daemon’s actions will somehow make sense to her.
The bartender is right, and people shortly start filtering in. The music slowly rises, and soon men, women and everyone in between are dancing, drinking, and intermittently moving into side rooms with each other, armed with ornate skeleton keys delivered by the staff. Rhaenyra gets up, stretches her legs, orders another Vampire Negroni, then goes out onto the dance floor, slightly tipsy now, dancing with strangers. The music, too, is intoxicating, filling her blood with its thrum.
As more people pile in, she politely turns down a number of propositions, even though part of her is curious. She knows what happens, of course, behind those doors, she isn't naive, but she's only ever had sex with one person at a time, and only two of them total, Criston and a brief fling with a beautiful man from her house security team, Harwin Strong. She feels woefully innocent in this environment.
As much as she tries not to, her eyes keep flicking over to where Daemon led her over to the wall when he had taken her here a few months ago. She had been completely under his spell, lost in his violet eyes, so like her own. He'd kissed her, and gods, she would have let him do whatever else he wanted, but he had pulled away, left her here. Everything seems strange now, looking the same but feeling so different. Maybe in a way, she has been here since that night, waiting for him to come to her. But he is gone now, he ran away again, got married again, left her alone again. Fuck him, she thinks, for the thousandth time. Rhaenyra is done with aching for him, yearning for any small shred of affection from him. She deserves more, she tells herself. She will demand more now from anyone who she’s even remotely romantically involved with.
As the evening progresses, large cylindrical platforms are dragged out onto the floor. They look heavy and very sturdy. Rhaenyra vaguely remembers people dancing on them when she had last been here, but between the adrenaline and her focus being wholly on Daemon - his lips, his hands all over her body…she takes a sharp breath, banishing all thoughts of him. Instead, she watches a guy wearing only a tight pair of shorts climb up onto one, grinning and beginning to dance. He shakes his ass quite well, and Rhaenyra bites her lip as she watches him slide his hands over the now quite prominent bulge at his crotch.
While Rhaenyra is focused on that, a girl gets up on another one. She’s sexy as fuck, her blue hair up in pigtails, rivets and buckles adorning her black and red plaid ensemble. She wears a pleated schoolgirl skirt, her long, shapely legs adorned by black lace stockings, and a lacy black top that shows much more than it covers, and Rhaenyra can see glints of metal through her nipples in the gaps of the lace. The girl was already tall, but looked even more so due to the high platform boots she wore. Other platforms are brought out, and more people climb up on them to show off their bodies. Rhaenyra has never been much of an exhibitionist herself, but she certainly doesn't mind watching. If she is completely honest with herself, she is slowly getting quite turned on- she squeezes her thighs together, realizing how actively aroused she is by the girl in particular. She has long been attracted to women, upon reflection. Growing up, in fact, she'd had a huge crush on her cousin Laena…FUCK. That skanky bitch…but her pussy probably tastes like gods damned sunshine, she muses, sighing. They could have had some beautiful threesomes if Daemon weren't such a cowardly asshole. Well, his loss, she thinks. Fuck them both…but not like that, they don't deserve it now.
As she lurks against the wall, a woman comes over and stands beside her. She gestures to the girl Rhaenyra is watching, and, in a light Volantian accent, asks,
“Would you like me to introduce you?”
Rhaenyra turns to her, startled out of her reverie. The woman looks familiar, and, GODS, incredibly gorgeous. Her almond-shaped dark eyes glint with a mischievous twinkle, and Rhaenyra can't help but focus on her full, perfect lips as she speaks. Her long, black hair is in a high dutch braid along the crest of her scalp, giving her a fierce aspect, like a warrior ready for battle. She’s slender, Rhaenyra usually prefers a fuller figure on women, but on her, it works. She is one of the most strikingly beautiful women Rhaenyra has ever seen.
“Uh, err, no,” she says, stumbling over her words and cursing her awkwardness. “No thank you, I'm just here to…” she trails off, not knowing where to start and realizing that even if she did, the story is far too long. She mentally berates herself. So much for reclaiming her power and proving to herself she is better than what had happened to her.
“To watch?” The woman prompts.
Rhaenyra squints at her as she shakes her head, studying her features, her straight, dainty nose and high cheekbones, perfect skin, even her ears are how one would picture the ideal ear. Where does she know her from? The woman's mouth curls into a little smirk as if she's reading her mind, then leans in and says, “It is lovely to see you again, Miss Targaryen,” and then it hits her:
Before Daemon had gone off to, or more actually had been banished to war in the Stepstones, Viserys had decided to give his advisor, Otto Hightower, a family heirloom, a Valyrian steel bracelet that Daemon had long coveted. Daemon had stolen Otto's yacht and thrown a party on it out in Blackwater Bay to spite him in the aftermath. Otto had taken his brother's boat to confront Daemon, and things had just been getting ugly when Rhaenyra, only fifteen at the time, had sailed out to diffuse the situation. There had been a woman with him then, who he claimed he was going to marry despite already having a wife at the time, and had claimed the bracelet should be passed down to his child, looking meaningfully at the woman with him. Rhaenyra had called Daemon’s bluff, and Otto had ended up giving her the bracelet. Rhaenyra had not seen Daemon again for years after that, and had nearly forgotten about the woman, who she had assumed to be one of his flings- Daemon is ever mercurial with his affections.
“Oh my gods, it's you!” She blurts out, then feels herself blushing. Ugh, she’s still hardly proving anything, is she? How she wishes she had her Uncle's casual swagger, his carefree way of moving through the world like he owns it and...gods, the ability to easily seduce a woman like this.
“Mysaria,” supplies the woman, “although around here most people call me ‘Lady Misery’,” she continues, a slight smirk once more touching those plush lips. “You have grown to be a very lovely young woman. I will never forget the way you handled your uncle on that boat years ago, like you had grabbed him by his bollocks and twisted,” she says, amusement evident in her tone.
Rhaenyra automatically scowls.
“FUCK my uncle. I should never have saved his sorry ass.”
Mysaria continues to look entertained, her perfectly shaped, black eyebrow arching.
“Indeed.”
Mysaria regards her, reaching out to softly stroke her cheek. “So much fire within you, it suits you well.”
Rhaenyra is a bit surprised by that. Mysaria's eyes are locked onto hers and she feels completely adrift all of a sudden as the dark-haired woman gently takes her hand. “Come to the back with me, let us talk.”
Nodding, Rhaenyra lets Mysaria lead her by the hand through a nearly hidden door that opens out into a hallway, then into an apartment, furnished sparsely yet very elegantly, a small collection of tasteful art pieces on the walls. Mysaria lets her hand go, which Rhaenyra finds she wants to protest, but then the exquisite woman is taking glasses and bottles from the credenza.
“Drink?” She asks, pouring herself some wine into a delicate ceramic cup so tiny it could be a thimble. Rhaenyra shakes her head.
“Bit tipsy already. The hot redhead pours a strong Negroni.”
A soft, melodic laugh comes out of Mysaria at that, and it sends a warm, tingly feeling through her limbs.
“She does indeed. But only for pretty girls like you.”
Rhaenyra feels the flush creep hot into her cheeks. Mysaria takes a step closer. She finishes her drink in two dainty sips, then sets the cup down, all the while watching Rhaenyra. Closing the distance between them and cupping her cheeks, Mysaria searches her violet eyes. “What did he do to you?” She asks.
Fighting tears, Rhaenyra shakes her head.
“Nothing, he…”
Mysaria cocks her head slightly, then licks her lips, a sensual, hungry gesture that makes Rhaenyra swallow hard.
“Ahhh, perhaps you're more upset at what he didn't do?”
Rhaenyra bites her lip, nodding.
“Yeah,” she replies, feeling woefully inarticulate.
Mysaria surprises her once more, then, by swiftly pressing her lips to hers, kissing her, softly at first, but as Rhaenyra reciprocates, she deepens, licking into her mouth. She’s an amazing kisser, her lips soft and tongue skillful. Rhaenyra pulls her closer, wrapping her arms around her waist. She's never been intimate with a woman before despite always knowing she was attracted to them, and Mysaria is probably the most attractive woman Rhaenyra has ever seen in her life. She feels just as gorgeous as she looks, her skin supple and buttery soft, her scent subtly filling her nose, wild ginger, honey, sweet orange. Gods, what other experiences does tonight have in store for her?