The childish expression and reaction is not lost on her. There are moments where she wondered if she needed to give him a son. He was child enough for her already. She sat up, pulling the sheets over her body. Since he pulled away, there was a large absence of warmth. His dragon fire was difficult to navigate but comforting to have in bed.

"You save me?" He's glaring at her and she's toeing the line by even retorting at him. "Your highness," it was always better to show him some level of respect before asserting herself. "You speak as if you did not gain a great deal. You 'saving' me has taken away the chance of the king having another child with a young, fertile woman. You were able to humiliate the Hand several times and were allowed to break an unhappy union." Pick, pick, pick. Fresh blood appeared on her cuticle.

She frowned at him, "I'm not Otto Hightower's daughter now, I'm Daemon Targaryen's wife. Forgive me, your highness, if I've displeased you because I worry about the safety of our children."