The Painted Table stretched beneath my hands. Westeros laid out in wood, every river and mountain and keep that would bleed before this was over.
"You cannot be serious."
The words left my mouth before I decided to speak them. They were sharp. I didn't try to soften them.
Rhaenyra lifted her chin.
"I am Queen. I will not begin my reign by burning thousands alive."
I laughed. I couldn't help it.
"They have already begun. They crowned Aegon while you slept. They feasted while you grieved. And you speak to me of beginnings?"
She flinched slightly.
"My father told me—"
"Viserys."
I scoffed lightly.
"Your father filled your head with dreams. Omens. Prophecies." I pushed off from the table, pacing now. "A Song of Ice and Fire." I spat the words. "Dragons made us kings, Rhaenyra. Not dreams."
"You think I don't know what you want?"
I stopped and turned.
"Enlighten me."
"The crown," she said. "You wanted it from my father. You want it from me. Every step you've taken—every war, every marriage, every alliance—has been toward that chair."
My dear niece.
"You think you know me so well," I said not biting my words.
"I know you called me 'heir for a day' when my brother died. I know you tried to marry me when I was still a child. I know you—"
"I made you."
I was closer now. I hadn't noticed moving.
"Who showed you Flea Bottom? The real stink of this city? The people who would die for you if you gave them a reason? Who taught you that the game is played with smiles and daggers, not just dragons? I thought you better than this. Is that what you think of me?"
She didn't answer.
"You know you need me," I said lowering my tone. "But you cannot play mercy against them."
"I want to be different."
"Different." I repeated the word like it was garbage. "You want to be loved. You want to be the good queen, the rightful queen, the queen in the songs. You want them to sing of your mercy while they sharpen knives for your back."
"You don't know that—"
"I know men." I stepped closer again. "I know what they do when they're afraid. When they're hungry. When they smell blood in the water. You think the smallfolk care about your rights? They care about full bellies and safe walls. You think the lords care about oaths? They care about survival. And when they decide you're a liability, when they decide Aegon's easier to stomach than a woman who won't burn them—"
"They will have no choices but submit, Daemon!""
I looked at her.
"You are a fool," I said softly. "A brave fool. The worst kind."
"Is that your answer?"
I reached out. Touched her face. Just once and barely.
"My answer is that I have loved you since you were old enough to hold a sword. And I have hated you for the same reason."
Rhaenyra leaned toward me and gave me a sharp glare. "You lie, Daemon."
I smiled and dropped my hand.
"Do not mistake me for a loyal dog, Rhaenyra. I am not your father. I am not your sworn shield. And if you try to leash me—"
"You'll what? Kill me? Take the throne yourself?"
I smiled again. That same sharp, empty smile.
"If I wanted the throne, Rhaenyra, I would have taken it years ago."
***
"—Leon."
I blinked.
"Rhaenyra?" I blurted out, looking around frantically like a madman.
My hand reached out toward empty space, my vision blurry and unfocused. But there was nothing there. Just air. Just the horrible fluorescent lights of my classroom.
"Huh?"
When my vision cleared, I was back at my desk. Mr. Harrison stood right in front of me, arms crossed, that teacher look on his face that meant someone was about to get embarrassed in front of everyone.
The whole class was staring. Rebecca had twisted halfway in her seat, her perfect blonde hair catching the light, her expression caught somewhere between disgust and curiosity—like I was a bug she wasn't sure was worth stepping on.
"Care to share your dream?" Mr. Harrison asked.
The class erupted. Laughter bounced off the walls, and I sat there frozen, still half-lost in whatever the hell had just happened.
I felt something bitter rising in my throat. Something angry and confused and uncomfortable.
"Rhaenyra..." I whispered, the name catching in my throat.
What the hell was that?
It had felt so real. Too real. Like I was there. Like I was Daemon—Daemon Targaryen—standing and I was speaking with Rhaenyra.
I looked down at my hands. My ordinary, not-Daemon hands.
"Mr. Remington!"
The slap of his hand on my desk made me flinch hard. I looked up.
"Y—Yeah?"
The laughter had faded now. Now everyone was just looking at me like I was a weirdo. Which, fair. I probably looked like one.
Mr. Harrison sighed and pointed at the door. "Out. Get some air. I'm not wasting any more time on you today, Leon."
I stared at him for a second. Then I stood up slowly, mechanically, and walked toward the door.
I was so lost in my head that I didn't see Tyler—Dereck's best friend, built like a fridge and about as smart—stick his foot out.
I tripped. Hard. Went down right in front of everyone, palms slapping the floor, knees cracking against the tile.
More laughter. Louder this time.
It barely registered. I was too far gone, too confused and bitter and sad to even feel the humiliation properly. I just picked myself up and kept walking.
Outside, I found a bench in the empty corridor and collapsed onto it. Stared at the wall for I don't know how long. Minutes. Maybe longer.
Eventually, my head cleared enough to think straight.
I exhaled long and slow.
Great. Just great. Had I really just gotten myself humiliated in class again? Punching bag. Laughing stock. I was really surpassing myself at this point.
I pressed my palm to my forehead and groaned.
"Come on," I muttered to myself, trying to sound positive. "Four months. Just four months and I graduate. I leave this nightmare behind forever."
Didn't help much, but it was something.
The bell rang eventually. Class ended. I dragged myself back inside to grab my bag.
Mocking looks followed me. Whispers—if you could call them whispers when they were clearly loud enough for me to hear—followed me too. Comments about my little episode, about whatever the hell "Rhaenyra" was for those who didn't know but some knew which made it even more embarrassing as I was definitely confirming my nerdiness, about me being a freak maybe as well. Under their breath but not really. Bold because they knew I wouldn't do anything.
What could I do, anyway? Fight the whole class?
I was too tired for this shit.
Lunchtime now. I just needed to grab something to eat and reset before history class. Survive the afternoon. Go home. See if my impossible roommates had burned the place down yet.
"Hey, Leon. Are you okay?"
Amaya. Approaching my desk with that concerned look, those green eyes all soft and worried.
Part of me wanted to hate her. The stupid part. The part that remembered she'd rejected me in about two seconds flat and was probably already with Dereck by now. But I couldn't hate her. She hadn't done anything wrong. She was just... kind. Concerned. Maybe she felt guilty about the rejection, about how things turned out, and that's why she kept trying to maintain our "classmate relationship."
But I didn't need that anymore.
Dereck's glare burned into me from across the room.
Man, just fuck this guy.
I groaned under my breath and grabbed my bag.
"I'm fine," I said, short and curt, and walked away before she could say anything else.