(POV: Daron Targaryen)
The Kingswood smelled of damp earth, dead leaves, and something more. Something deeper. Old. Daron inhaled with his eyes closed, letting the air fill his lungs as the sounds of the court faded behind him. Laughter, footsteps, the crackle of firewood on the bonfires... all of that faded when she was near.
Rhaenyra walked beside him, her hands clasped in front of her body, her purple cloak trailing over the fallen leaves. They had been left alone, at last. Ser Harwin kept his distance, and the rest of their evening walk companions had had the courtesy—or the cunning—to slip away.
"You didn't say anything during dinner," she suddenly said, without looking at him. "You were very quiet."
"Not everyone can compete with your voice, princess," he replied, with a sideways grin.
Rhaenyra scoffed but didn't deny it.
"Don't talk to me like you talk to the ladies of court. I'm not so easily impressed."
Daron glanced at her sideways. Her hair, shining like white gold, hung loose today, free. He liked it that way. More her. Less of a mask.
"I'm not trying to impress you, Rhaenyra. I'm watching you."
She stopped. He did, too. She looked at him, her violet eyes holding a spark he was starting to recognize: pride... and something else.
"And what do you see?"
Daron took a moment. Not for caution, but because he didn't want to answer with a lie.
"I see someone who fights every day to be heard. To not be overshadowed. To have a place... and she has it, even if others refuse to accept it."
"And you?" she asked, lowering her voice. "Do you accept it?"
"Since the first day I saw you ride like Aegon the Conqueror reincarnated." He smiled. "Do you remember?"
Rhaenyra let out a soft laugh. Small. Genuine.
"I thought you were arrogant," she confessed. "Silent, but with that air of 'I know more than everyone.' Like Daemon, but without all the noise."
"And now?"
"Now I think you're a mystery I don't quite understand."
Daron lowered his gaze for a moment. The mystery. Always the damned mystery. There were things he could never tell her. Things he shouldn't. But there were others... others he wanted to shout at her.
"Maybe you don't need to understand me. Maybe you just need to decide if you want to get to know me."
The silence stretched, but it wasn't uncomfortable. She took a step closer.
"And if I've already decided?"
His heart skipped a beat. He could hear his own blood. Cannibal didn't roar like that, not even in his most feverish dreams.
"Then just tell me one thing," he said, his voice deeper now. "Why me?"
Rhaenyra smiled, but not mockingly. A serene smile. Mature. Far removed from the fleeting glances of the court.
"Because with you, I don't have to pretend I'm not fire."
Daron swallowed. Not because it was hard to believe, but because he felt it too. When she was near, everything was clearer. More alive. He wasn't a bastard. He wasn't a reincarnate trapped between two worlds. He was simply... him.
She extended her hand.
"Join me tonight. I don't care what people say. I don't care about Viserys or the Queen. I don't want to think about wars or alliances. I just want to feel free… with you."
Daron didn't respond with words. He took her hand, and together they walked back to the camp, as the shadows of the forest stretched around them.
The camp was still. Only a few torches smoldered at the edge of the clearing, casting long shadows over the canvas tents. There were no more than five people with them: two squires, a cook, a stable boy, and Ser Harwin Strong, who had understood without words that he should not interfere in anything that happened that night. He knew. And yet, he didn't stray too far.
Daron sat by the fire, a cup of hot wine in his hands. Rhaenyra sat across from him, wrapped in a black fur cloak with the Targaryen sigil embroidered in crimson thread. The forest surrounded them in a thick stillness, and for one night, the world seemed to stop.
"Thank you for coming," she said, staring into the flames. "Not everyone would have dared to leave the Red Keep just for a whimsical idea of freedom."
"It wasn't whim," he replied softly. "It was necessity."
Rhaenyra glanced at him sideways.
"Yours or mine?"
"Both."
She smiled, but it was a melancholic smile, as if she had been tired for a long time and was only now allowing herself to admit it.
"I hate that place," she confessed. "King's Landing reeks of hypocrisy and cheap perfume. Everyone says they love me, but no one listens. They all call me princess, but they treat me like a coin."
"Not everyone," Daron murmured.
She raised an eyebrow.
"Not you?"
He shook his head, never breaking eye contact.
"I don't want to possess you, Rhaenyra. I want to walk beside you. Not ahead of you, not behind."
The fire crackled. The answer didn't come immediately.
"You make me feel dangerous," she said, barely audible.
Daron frowned.
"Why?"
"Because with you, I don't have to suppress anything. Not my thoughts. Not my desires. Not my fire."
The confession hung in the air like a sacred threat. Daron felt it in his bones. In his blood. In that part of him that still didn't understand why fate had brought him to this world, but he sensed that she was part of the answer.
"And is that a bad thing?" he asked.
"That is a real thing."
Rhaenyra stood up. The shadow of her figure swayed with the flames. She approached him without breaking eye contact. Slowly, as if giving him time to change his mind.
But Daron didn't move.
"I'm not a child, Daron," she whispered, kneeling in front of him. "I'm not innocent. I don't want false promises or sweet songs. I just want tonight. With you. Can you give me that?"
He didn't answer. He just took her hand. Squeezed it. And stood up with her.
They didn't need words.
They walked toward the largest tent, where the only company was the murmur of the wind in the branches and the distant roar of the sea. When they entered, the darkness enveloped them. And for a moment, there was only contained breathing and glances that said what their mouths weren't yet willing to.
Rhaenyra came closer and pressed her forehead against his.
"Promise me something," she said, barely a thread of a voice. "That you won't leave without saying goodbye. That if part of you wants to stay... you will."
Daron swallowed. He knew that sooner or later, the Stepstones would call him. That Cannibal wouldn't stay asleep forever. That Daemon would wait for his answer.
But he also knew that tonight was sacred.
"I promise you."
She closed her eyes. And they embraced, as if it were the only truth that mattered.
That night, there were no thrones. No last names. No fire or ice to separate them. Just two young people who, for a moment, were only themselves.
And when morning came, they were still asleep beside each other, their fingers intertwined, as if they were still dreaming.