Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.
Chapter 52: The Great Game VIII
Daemon 'The Monster' Targaryen
Red Keep, Black Cells.
Even with all this darkness in the hall we entered, my vision had become sharp enough that it felt like daylight with only two lanterns burning on the walls. I had already made sure there would be no other prisoners. I walked through the halls toward the guardroom, and the man was already rushing out the door. He looked toward the entrance, saw me, and immediately bowed.
"My princes and princess," he said quickly. "I have followed your command exactly."
I had already made arrangements with him, and there were no other guards. My targets were chained to the wall in fresh cell after enjoying a hearty meal—one sponsored by me. I pulled out a pouch of coins and tossed it to the guard, who caught it enthusiastically.
He bowed again and slipped out through the entrance, leaving us alone.
"So, should we track down the guard's family and kill all of them for accepting bribery and betraying the king?" the Rogue Prince asked with a snort of laughter.
I smirked. "The lesser rules of the Charter apply to the rest of the people," I said with a shrug. My hearing picked up the guard tiptoeing back, trying to listen.
Interesting. I thought about going outside to teach him some manners, but then decided against it. Better to let the rumours come from a genuine source rather than one of my planted ones.
The stone corridor breathed damp rot, so thick it clung to the tongue. My young cousins curled their noses the moment I pushed open the heavy iron-bound door to the holding cells. Their disgust was almost comical. I was grateful I had muted my sense of smell through my control aspect of my powers, without that buffer, I would have suffered far more than they ever would.
The place was exactly as vile as expected—too inhumane even for the grim fantasies people in my old world romanticised. Anyone who worshipped "medieval authenticity" clearly never stood in a prison where the walls sweated mould and misery, and where power was the only thing that kept the darkness from swallowing you whole.
We walked deeper, passing from flickering torchlight into a better-lit chamber. The air here was less suffocating, but only just. The father and son sat chained to the wall, using the cold stone as a backrest. They seemed in surprisingly decent spirits, likely because they had been fed properly that day. I had personally ensured food reached them—with a few drops of my blood mixed in. I needed them alive and functional for the performance to come, not wasted away to nothing from the cruelties of confinement. As much as it grated to bleed for traitors, it was still better than my earlier instinct to use my piss. Even I wasn't that far gone.
They were gaunt, the fat stripped from their bodies, yet the infusion had given them a touch of colour and strength. My cousins' surprise was easy to sense; they hadn't expected prisoners to look so… intact.
The father-son duo who was content till then paled suddenly as they realised it was me who entered the room. they was further surprised as they realised it was the royal family behind me who entered the room.
The pair paled the moment they realised it was me who had entered. Their fear sharpened further when they recognised the royal family gathered behind me. The son's posture tightened. His glare carried a thin sneer—his last shred of defiance, thrown like a dying ember. He had nothing left to lose and nothing more for me to take. His father mirrored the expression, though with less boldness; he had travelled with me long enough to understand that I am unpredictable at best.
"Finally come to gloat again, my bastard prince?" the son spat, his voice hoarse but mocking. "Or perhaps you're here to offer one of your infamous patronages—your… exploitative patronages for illegal and treasonous work?"
A tremor of anger stirred behind me from my cousins. It almost made me smile. Whatever quarrels plagued my family internally, they still held the blood of the dragon in reverence—or perhaps they simply valued Gael more than me, and these worms had tried to sell her to our enemies, after all.
"I never realised how foolish you both were," I said, my gaze landing on the father, completely ignoring the son, "I should have seen it earlier, especially with your son being even more witless than you. You could have gained everything from my rise. Instead, here you are, rotting in the black cells, waiting for a merciful death."
The father laughed—a wheezing, nearly joyous sound. "I missed your sharp tongue, Daemon. Isn't it ironic? We first met like this all those years ago—me in the dungeon of the Fat Mermaid for writing a song mocking a lord's girth, and you hunting for bards for your little schemes."
I nodded at him and I too smiled at that remembering the good times.
He met my eyes and said, "If you're looking for an explanation, you already know it, Daemon. You used me, my family… especially my sweet daughter. You promised—"
"Oh.. Enough of this irrelevant mewling." I said waving my hand dismissing the entire upcoming rant. "I don't give a fuck why you did it, I only care that you dared to do it and now you must suffer the consequences for it."
The father's anger wavered, dissolving into raw panic as he realised which version of me, he was dealing with- the one with insanely brilliant ideas, that is utterly terrible for others.
Seeing the panic, I just smiled at him calmly.
"Daemon… we're already condemned to die. Don't—don't do whatever you're planning." His voice cracked, bravado vanishing like smoke.
The shift in tone drew a sharp, amused snort from the Rogue Prince. "That is a very surprising change, cousin," he said with a smirk. And it truly was. I felt the ripple of surprise and wary curiosity spreading through the others as they processed what was happening.
"Well, Daemon," I said with an easy shrug, "this man served me for decades. He knows precisely how I operate—how I squeeze the last bit of usefulness out of every resource."
My cousin cut in with impatience. "If you brought us here just to show some torture and killing as a reminder not to betray you, then we're wasting time. Anyway, get on with it." Daemon snipped at me.
All of them were wary, but none seemed deeply shaken. Their hearts thrummed steady beneath their clothes, their eyes sharp but not alarmed. As nobles are vaunt too, the lords are made ready for violence by exposing it from early childhood. I smiled again, slow and pointed, wondering who would break first. The father from his panic or my cousins' indifference.
That was enough to snap the father's restraint. He broke first.
"Daemon, you bastard," he spat. "My daughter is raising your two children. If you do something inhumane to us, she'll make sure they grow up knowing the truth regarding you. With their power, they will avenge us. Only a quick death to us is a solution for you now."
A derisive snort escaped me before laughter bubbled out—loud, unrestrained, echoing in the stone chamber. I pulled myself back under control with a sharp inhale and let my voice sweeten into mockery.
"My friend, what made you think I'd allow your bitch of a daughter to raise my blood after what you did? I erased an ancient noble house root and stem after they hurt my daughter by killing her grandfather. You truly believe your daughter will be spared?"
His breath hitched.
"She'll be dead within a week after your death. Then I'll fly to White Harbor myself and collect them. Princess Gael already asked me to bring them to her new orphanage rather than leave them abandoned as the offspring of traitors."
Everyone's eyes widened in surprise, and my cousins were clever enough to see the benefits of my plan. Even the father, who knew my methods, was experienced enough to realize how the tale would be spun and how their betrayal would be further used for my benefit. I realized then that there is nothing more satisfactory than using your enemy's own move to strengthen yourself and seeing the same realization in their faces as they come to understand it.
"Well, at least we already have our good queen ready even before the end of the kingship," Rhaenys said while looking at Viserys.
Aegon looked confused, while the rogue prince just laughed before harshly controlling it and glaring at Rhaenys. Viserys remained silent for several heartbeats before it clicked for him, and then he also glared with surprising strength at Rhaenys.
"Well, I would rather serve Gael as my queen than the fool who thought ships were better than dragons," Viserys replied with a sweet smile that surprisingly mirrored my own.
"Damn it, Viserys. That was very good," I exclaimed as I laughed, hearing the clap back. "Now I feel bad for what I am about to do."
"It has been a long day, cousin, and I still don't see what there is to be learned by this." Viserys said, looking around and waving his hand.
I nodded. "Aye, you are correct. This is something you all could accomplish very easily if someone betrays you. I told you I would demonstrate my personal power and not political power. Let me start by showing you this." I took out five bottles from my pockets.
"Now, even I have to pay some serious money for this. I know you all have had the basic training to identify poison and even built some resistance from a young age. And Daemon, you have shown much interest in poisons and learned about them more than others. Come and identify it."
I finished and held one of the bottles out to Daemon.
My young cousin frowned as he picked it up and opened the stopper. He brought it to his nose, his frown deepening as the sharp, metallic scent hit him. The change in his expression made my other cousins lean in with growing curiosity. Daemon pulled out his knife and let a single drop of the poison fall onto the blade, watching it spread and sizzle faintly as he examined it with practiced focus.
"What is it, Daemon?" Viserys asked, impatience edging his voice.
"It is the Strangler, brother. And even in liquid form," Daemon said. "A very painful death, breathless and choked by the very blood that is meant to carry your air. Three drops is all it takes to form a crystal strong enough to kill a man within moments." He wiped the knife clean with steady hands.
"That is correct. It is the Strangler, and fortunately for me, it is tasteless, unlike other poisons that leave the most wretched bitterness on your tongue," I said casually as I took the small, finger-sized bottle from Daemon and drank half of it without warning.
All my cousins tensed at once, their bodies going stiff. I watched each of them closely. After the first shock, there was a flicker of hope in both Rhaenys's and Viserys's eyes, as if they wished—perhaps even expected—to see me fall. But that hope disappeared as quickly as it came when nothing happened. I was tempted to pretend the poison was taking effect just to troll them, but it would have ruined the point I was trying to make.
Aegon stood silently in the shadows, hidden from the firelight. Only the rogue prince stared openly, surprise cutting through his usual sharp expression as the seconds passed and I remained unharmed. I simply nodded at him.
Viserys, noticing the exchange, frowned. "What is it? Daemon could be wrong. It could be another substance, or you could have taken an antidote."
The rogue prince immediately turned sideways towards Viserys with a scowl. "I am not wrong, brother. That is first-quality Strangler. And any antidote that exists is for small, diluted doses in wine or water, not half a bottle. That amount could kill at least a couple dozen people. How is this possible?" He turned to me, genuine curiosity in his eyes.
"I am built different. After swimming through the swamps of the Neck during a fight with a lizard-lion, while dealing with bites from snakes, frogs and spiders, almost no poison works on my body anymore," I said with a shrug. "Anyway, no need to waste time arguing, dear cousins. We have more examples to get through." I let my eyes drift toward the two betrayers and smirked. Within heartbeats they began pleading, their desperation ignored by everyone.
"Before that, let me add one more thing to this bottle," I said, pulling out another glass vial containing my healing potion. I filled the half-empty poison bottle, letting the Strangler and ambrosia mingle together.
Rhaenys finally asked, "What is that?"
"Oh, this? This is the same healing potion that saved little Aegon's life all those years ago. The same one that gave our king enough strength to fly at his age," I said as I rotated the bottle to mix it thoroughly.
"Let us see whether it is enough to fight even the Strangler. I am quite curious myself," I said as I walked toward the son.
The father immediately fought against his chains, yelling, "Daemon, no! Don't do this. Use me, not my son!"
"Unfortunately, I cannot do that, my dear friend," I replied, still approaching. "This is your punishment too."
The son clenched his teeth, his face tight with fear as I reached him.
I kicked him sharply in the diaphragm. He gasped, the sound torn from him in raw pain, struggling for breath. Bent over and wheezing, he barely had time to react before I shoved him back with my leg. His spine hit the wall, and before he could collapse, I hooked my leg under his chin, forcing his head up at a harsh angle.
His mouth hung open in shock and pain. I poured the entire bottle down his throat. His desperate gasps worked against him, and half the mixture was swallowed instantly. By the time he realized what I had done and tried to spit anything out, I drove his head back into the wall again. My leg pressed firmly under his chin, keeping his mouth shut. He tried to pry my leg away, but his hands were weak and frantic. He was no match for me even at his full strength let alone now.
The father screamed the entire time, but fell silent the moment he understood his son had swallowed the rest of the poison. I lowered my leg and stepped back two paces, watching. Within seconds, the son's skin turned a deep, ugly purple.
It was a near perfect reenactment of the most iconic and satisfying scene from Game of Thrones in my past life. He gasped violently, fingers clawing at his throat, trying to force air into lungs that refused to work. His eyes reddened, then burst tiny vessels. Thin rivulets of blood trickled from his ears and nose. He could not even scream. Not enough air. Only choking, ragged silence.
"At least it is poison and he is dead," Viserys said with a tired sigh. I looked back and saw my cousins all look at me with widened eyes and in surprised realisation. They looked at me as if they are only seeing me for the first time.
I didn't reply, I just smirked.
"No, Viserys," the rogue prince said, fascination coloring his tone.
"What is it, Daemon? That is poison and that is the Strangler's reaction," Viserys insisted.
"That it is, brother," Daemon agreed. "But he is not dead yet. He should be dead by now, and yet he is alive. Alive and in the worst pain imaginable."
"What… what are you implying?" Viserys sputtered as the truth dawned on him. I just looked at the byplays and saw Rhaenys trying to calm herself by taking deep breaths. She avoided my eyes and I could sense the panic from her.
"As you see, my healing potion is a wondrous aid," I said, letting my gaze sweep slowly over my cousins. "Now, there is something I have only shared with Gael and my dear friends Aethan and Cregan. This healing potion is made from my blood, and as long as it is in your body, you will heal from almost anything."
I paused for a moment, watching their expressions shift as that truth settled into them.
"There is another aspect," I continued, "one I spoke of only to Gael directly, though both Cregan and Aethan were clever enough to recognize it on their own. Let us see if you can see it too. Here. Watch closely. I am only pouring out a quarter of the poison this time."
I took out another bottle and poured out only quarter of the poison, then added my healing potion. The mixture swirled into a rich, unsettling blend before I forced it once again down the son's throat. The father was beyond shock now, staring through his tears with the hollow numbness of a man who had seen too much horror in too short a time. He looked away from his son's gasping face, unable to bear the sight.
As expected, Daemon was the first to notice the change. He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing with the sharp attention of a seasoned warrior.
"The poison is not hitting him like before," he said quietly. "The neutralization is faster."
"This is impossible," Rhaenys whispered. The realization came to her in a wave, and her voice trembled. "We trained young in basic poisons. We built resistance, yes, but nothing like this and nothing at this speed."
I nodded with a grin that only unsettled them further. "Of course, Rhaenys. That is the hidden benefit of my blood. It forces rapid adaptation, and the enhancements remain permanently. For the sake of full clarification," I added, lifting the third vial, "I will show you the final effect."
I poured the entire vial into the son's mouth, adding a mouthful of the healing potion.
Viserys stared with open awe as the boy recovered even faster than before. The Strangler's grip weakened in mere moments. I then poured another bottle of pure poison down the boy's throat, this one without any healing potion to support him. He moaned in pain, his throat tightening, but this time his body fought back on its own. After a longer struggle than any previous attempt, his breathing evened out and the poison was neutralized entirely.
Everyone stared at me in a haze of awe and disbelief. They had expected power. They had not expected something that defied everything they understood about flesh and blood.
"Now," I said calmly, "you can see that I was not simply raving when I made my claims. Let me assure you, my cousins. I have trained my body my entire life against every type of harm I could imagine and built resistance to all of it. Even thinking of harming me and then taking the throne is idiocy of the highest order."
I turned toward the son with no further warning. My knife was in my hand in an instant, and before any of them could even inhale, I slashed both his arms across the arteries. Blood erupted in bright arcs across the stone.
Rhaenys gasped, stumbling back. Aegon, Daemon and Viserys blinked hard, not certain their eyes had kept up with my movements. They had watched me directly, but they had seen only blurred motion, as if I had folded through the air instead of moving across it. I had moved nearly at my full reaction speed, and I had done it deliberately so they would witness that part of my power too.
The father turned at the sound of his son's scream. When he saw the blood pouring from both arms, he let out a cry that split through the room, raw and terrified. The noise echoed against the walls. I grabbed another bottle of healing potion and poured it down the boy's throat, drowning his choking sobs.
I stepped away from the pooling blood, leaving red footprints behind me as I walked toward my cousins. Viserys and Rhaenys unconsciously took a step back, their fear moving their bodies before their minds caught up. Their reaction brought a quiet smile to my face.
"Viserys. Rhaenys. I trust you have learned something from this example," I said, my tone stripped of any of its usual mirth. The seriousness was unmistakable.
"Aye, cousin," Viserys managed, his voice tight. "Your power is beyond human limits. It is foolish to challenge you through ordinary means like poison or sword. Rhaenys told us you survived dragonfire. There is that as well. It is safer for all of us to follow you and serve you."
I nearly laughed at his words, not out of amusement but out of disbelief. Anyone who knew the game of power could hear the unspoken line beneath his statement. Until we find a way to win.
Even Daemon looked at him as if he were simple-minded, and Rhaenys's fear melted into smug amusement. It became painfully clear to me that Viserys had survived in canon without rebellion only because Ser Otto and Daemon had shielded him. Daemon had always been the silent threat who could descend on any lord foolish enough to rise against his dragonless brother, and Otto had ensured loyalty for the sake of his grandson's future claim. Hearing Viserys's words now confirmed everything.
"Viserys," I said, "you have grasped half my message. The other three understood the full thing. Allow me to be direct. If any of you make any move against me, you will fail, and I will find you no matter where you hide. I will not grant you the mercy of death. I will find everyone you hold dear and do to them what I did today. Even death is not an escape in my hands. I will not grant it easily. I will drag you through poison and knives and drowning and fire, and you will live through every moment of the pain."
Even the rogue prince swallowed, a flicker of fear breaking through his bravado. All four turned pale, their faces nearly as bloodless as the prisoner. Daemon shook his head slightly, as if trying to push the dread away.
"That is an impressive warning, cousin," he finally said. "Something even Maegor would be proud of." He tried to joke to lighten the crushing weight of my presence.
I let my presence ease and smirked at my namesake.
"Oh, cousins. This is not a warning. This is a fucking prophecy," I said with a shrug.
I turned toward the father and son. They tried to remain silent, desperate to avoid more of my attention.
"Now, my dear friend," I said, "you have a choice. You will both be given to Morghul, and believe me when I say he is furious about what Gael and I endured. He is also angry that our travel plans were ruined because of your actions. He has been waiting eagerly to play with the rats responsible. So here is the last bottle of poison. One of you can still escape this. Either you drink it yourselves and escape an uglier death, or you feed it to your son and pray that the power you coveted so desperately for your daughter and grandchildren has not already made him immune."
I handed the bottle to the father and walked away.
My kin followed me, though not without one last look at the doomed pair.
"This is too cruel even for you, brother," Rhaenys said once they all regained their voices.
I smiled. "What can I say, sister? I always design interesting punishments." I said and I saw the father feeding the poison to his son from a rat's eye.
Five minutes later, I heard the father cursing the gods who blessed me because the son didn't die.
================
Ser Otto
It was four days after the trial, and Otto's thoughts were still caught on the events of the past month, circling uselessly as he tried to make sense of it all and wondering what could be recovered—and how to move forward. His thoughts finally broke when the court was dismissed. He slunk into the hallways, shoulders hunched, doing his best to avoid any trouble.
As usual, trouble found him in the form of the black wolf. The beast passed him in the hallway with a heavy, careless sweep of its tail, the gust of it nearly knocking him off his feet. Otto stumbled, but before he could fall, Viserys caught him by the arm. Viserys glanced at the wolf disappearing down the corridor and then at Otto. To Otto's surprise, Viserys nodded in relief, and for the first time in days the prince actually acknowledged him. They walked together toward Viserys' chambers in uneasy silence.
Inside, they settled into two chairs. Viserys drank his wine with a melancholy heaviness, while Otto took only a small sip out of courtesy, the taste barely registering on his tongue.
"My prince, I don't know what to say about the happenings of last moon, or how to handle any of it," Otto said miserably. "It is all so confusing."
Prince Viserys looked surprised for a heartbeat before snorting with a touch of mockery. "Even the intelligent and genius Ser Otto is confused regarding such small matters?" His laughter faded into a tired sigh, and he whispered, weary and honest, "Tell me about it."
Otto nodded in understanding. "I am sorry for your loss, my prince. What His Grace has done is unprecedented and certainly not honourable. Only the fact that he is the king who has ruled for five decades let the lords swallow it. Nothing else."
Viserys took another sip, letting the wine burn down his throat before nodding. "You are correct, my friend. Even I, his own grandson, was shocked by the events at Dragonstone when I learned of my new… ah.. status."
Otto smiled faintly at the opening. "My prince, I wonder—what happened in Dragonstone?"
Viserys immediately tensed, jaw tightening as he looked at Otto with a flicker of warning. "Never ask me what happened in Dragonstone, Otto. It is not for anyone else to know but my family."
Otto bowed his head at once. "I was only curious, my prince. The events affected me greatly as well, and I wished to know the truth—to see whether it was my failure or something beyond my control. I wished to know if I failed in my duty as Hand of the King."
Viserys' expression softened with a surprisingly warm compassion, and a hint of admiration. "Your sense of duty to House Targaryen always astounds me, Otto. Even the king knows your diligent work ethic. That is why he kept you as an advisor and placed you within the bureaucracy."
Otto almost snorted in disdain but forced himself to remain composed. "My prince, that is elegant, meaningless praise—and a useless position. From the second-most powerful seat in the realm, I am now little more than a hostage. If that isn't a fall from grace, nothing is."
Viserys' eyes widened slightly before he gave a small shrug. "I suggest you don't consider yourself a hostage, Otto. And I assure you—Prince Daemon Targaryen needs no hostage to win any confrontation."
Otto frowned, catching the tone of quiet resignation in Viserys' voice and the absolute certainty behind it. "My prince… do you truly believe the absurd tales proclaimed by the heir and the king during the meeting? The only reason those rumours have not spread beyond the council is because no lord dares repeat something so ridiculous. Why are you so calm? Why so accepting? Even I have received several subtle offers of support from lords who believe you have isolated yourself—meeting no one except a few individuals, sporadically. And why do you accept that monstrous wolf so easily? You even allow Princess Rhaenyra to play with it."
"Support me?" Viserys scoffed. "Do you think I am that foolish—or are they that foolish—to support a dragonless prince on the basis of a supposed claim?"
Otto grimaced but pushed on. "You were the last rider of the greatest dragon ever—the Black Dread, my prince. Many remember that. Many believe you could claim Vhagar, the greatest living dragon."
Viserys let out a humorless laugh. "If I had such fortune, I wouldn't be in this situation at all, Otto. Even with Vhagar, I doubt one could defeat Daemon. And listen to me carefully—do not repeat this. Do you know who was behind turning those two traitors against Daemon in the first place?"
Otto shook his head, curiosity sharpening despite himself.
"It was a Faceless Man, Otto. One of Braavos' premier assassins—versed in their deepest magic and most terrible poisons. Daemon and Gael were on a ship, drugged and rutting for three days straight thanks to the captain's stash. And still, when they reached the Stepstones, Daemon woke up naked, drugged to the gills, and slaughtered a ship full of murderers and warriors to protect Princess Gael. Then they survived a sneak attack from that Faceless Man—and Daemon killed the bastard."
Otto paled. The tale was madness, yet delivered with a sincerity that made his stomach twist. For the first time, he truly grasped that Daemon's boasts—and the king's—might not be exaggerations at all.
"There is a threat to the entire royal family," Viserys continued quietly. "That is why I avoided meeting anyone alone. And you asked why I accept the monstrous wolf? Because it can identify a Faceless Man if one infiltrates the Red Keep. Rhaenyra is safer with that creature than with any guard. Even today, I agreed to speak with you only because the wolf passed you in the hall and reacted to nothing. Daemon claimed the Cannibal by pursuing it for two years and fighting it. So tell me, Otto—poison, numbers, and even a dragon could not kill the bastard prince. What else could I do but accept my situation calmly?"
Otto's breath froze. The Cannibal—one of the most terrifying beasts ever to soar the skies—had not been able to kill him. A lesser man would have scoffed and clung to prideful delusions, believing Daemon could still be defeated. But Otto was not a lesser man. He was Ser Otto Hightower, who knew magic's reach, who could smell truth and lies as easily as he breathed. And viserys has not lied till now.
"So that is it, my prince? Just accept the pittance offered by a bastard?" Otto asked sharply.
Prince Viserys didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked around the room looking for something, and then studied Otto so intently that Otto shifted in discomfort.
"Otto, my friend… why are you so affected by this?" Viserys finally asked. "You were my grandfather's Hand, and only temporarily. You have a beautiful family, a respected house behind you, and your own talents to earn respect and coin. You could live well. Why pursue this? And why choose to support me over the bastard prince?"
"My prince," Otto whispered, "I am loyal to you above all. I have known you for over a decade, while I know nothing of that northern bastard. More than that… the Seven teach us that magic is the devil's gift, not the Father's. And no one survives the Faceless Men—unless he is a greater devil."
Prince Viserys remained silent for a moment, studying Otto with a careful, measuring gaze. The firelight caught the tired lines on his face, making him look older than his years.
"Well, even if that is true, we have no ground to stand on, my friend," he said at last, voice low and resigned. "Daemon has been legitimised by the king we swore loyalty to. He is elder to me, and he is the son of the king's eldest son. And above all that, the king has chosen him as his heir. There is nothing to be done now. Let this be the end of the conversation."
Viserys spoke the words with a grimace, as though each one tasted bitter.
Otto nodded, understanding the dismissal. He rose to his feet, smoothing his doublet with stiff, controlled hands, and bowed before turning toward the door. The quiet of the chamber felt heavier as he left, the prince's resignation lingering in the air and his heart.
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Author's note: so how is daemon extracting the last bit of utility from the traitors.. his kin will not betray him that easily now since daemon has revealed the greatest stick, I mean they couldn't even die peacefully and suffer all the pain….
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