He was never a surprise to her, even in the times that she hoped to be wearing him down as well. Whether Rhea Royce was faced with this eventuality or not was something that Alicent would have to wonder. It wasn't such an uncommon prospect for a woman to have to sort out her husband's patience and how far it extended. Given that she had spent the night terrorized by one male in her life, she wasn't about to let another do the same. She wished to be eased into things and if Daemon Targaryen needed harsh reminders not to push her too far, she was happy to give it to him.
She fell back against the pillow, almost seeming as if she yielded, her hair spread red and gold behind her. Her hand reached under the cushion and tore out the dagger he gifted her. The pillow ripped in the process, feathers floating down around them like snow from the North. The tip of the blade was pressed to his throat. Her face was rather calm and cold. She was staring in the face of dangerous lessons and she didn't balk. A trickle of blood slid from her cuticles down her finger, mimicking the spots of blood gathering between her thighs.
"No," her voice was soft. Was there a bit of madness in that calm demeanor? It was a dark expression all the same. "You will teach me, not force me." This was a risk, a bit of lunacy. Daemon Targaryen was known to geld rapists and take the hands of thieves. Her she was, pointing a blade at him and could well be dead in a moment.
She learned her lesson in the alcove, that she should never yield so completely but push back with her own desires. Dragons chose their riders and there could never be fear at the approach. Fire had to meet fire and, as she said, she needs thicker scales.
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Date: 2022-08-26 04:00 pm (UTC)She fell back against the pillow, almost seeming as if she yielded, her hair spread red and gold behind her. Her hand reached under the cushion and tore out the dagger he gifted her. The pillow ripped in the process, feathers floating down around them like snow from the North. The tip of the blade was pressed to his throat. Her face was rather calm and cold. She was staring in the face of dangerous lessons and she didn't balk. A trickle of blood slid from her cuticles down her finger, mimicking the spots of blood gathering between her thighs.
"No," her voice was soft. Was there a bit of madness in that calm demeanor? It was a dark expression all the same. "You will teach me, not force me." This was a risk, a bit of lunacy. Daemon Targaryen was known to geld rapists and take the hands of thieves. Her she was, pointing a blade at him and could well be dead in a moment.
She learned her lesson in the alcove, that she should never yield so completely but push back with her own desires. Dragons chose their riders and there could never be fear at the approach. Fire had to meet fire and, as she said, she needs thicker scales.
"Do you hear me?"