The look on Daemon's face is carefully calculated, all smug lust. Otto sees it, and that vein starts bulging in his forehead. Wonderful.
As they make their procession back to the castle for the wedding feast, the smallfolk cheer. Daemon throws gold and flowers from side of the carriage. The coins are all stamped with the sigil on Alicent's new seal: the dragon's head, pointing upward, breathing Hightower flames. The meaning, he hopes, is obvious to her.
It's too loud, too public, for them to talk of anything meaningful. He encourages her to throw coins as well, to point and cheer, to make herself known. Daemon steals kisses from her at certain points, and they are patently all for show. The crowd begins to cheer each time; he trusts, at this point, that she can see what he's doing.
And if he pauses, struck still, when they pass one woman gazing at him through the crowd, dark eyes full of longing, well. Does Alicent even know what Myseria looks like? It doesn't matter, if one smile out of a hundred, is genuine.
The feast is another lavish affair, stuffed with food and dancers, all manner of entertainment. Daemon and Alicent sit at the head, and Daemon continues to steal kisses, though these are longer, more languid and far less proper. Now is the time for it; some level of lust is expected. That it is once again in full view of Ser Otto is grand, but more importantly, it sells the story that this is a love match, or at least one of lust, as much as it is strategic. From Rhea, Daemon has gotten the reputation that he was cold toward a wife; he will not make the same mistake twice.
The truth is in what can't be easily seen. Beneath the table, Daemon's hand rarely leaves Alicent's knee, her hip.
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As they make their procession back to the castle for the wedding feast, the smallfolk cheer. Daemon throws gold and flowers from side of the carriage. The coins are all stamped with the sigil on Alicent's new seal: the dragon's head, pointing upward, breathing Hightower flames. The meaning, he hopes, is obvious to her.
It's too loud, too public, for them to talk of anything meaningful. He encourages her to throw coins as well, to point and cheer, to make herself known. Daemon steals kisses from her at certain points, and they are patently all for show. The crowd begins to cheer each time; he trusts, at this point, that she can see what he's doing.
And if he pauses, struck still, when they pass one woman gazing at him through the crowd, dark eyes full of longing, well. Does Alicent even know what Myseria looks like? It doesn't matter, if one smile out of a hundred, is genuine.
The feast is another lavish affair, stuffed with food and dancers, all manner of entertainment. Daemon and Alicent sit at the head, and Daemon continues to steal kisses, though these are longer, more languid and far less proper. Now is the time for it; some level of lust is expected. That it is once again in full view of Ser Otto is grand, but more importantly, it sells the story that this is a love match, or at least one of lust, as much as it is strategic. From Rhea, Daemon has gotten the reputation that he was cold toward a wife; he will not make the same mistake twice.
The truth is in what can't be easily seen. Beneath the table, Daemon's hand rarely leaves Alicent's knee, her hip.