From Storms to Thrones (Part 1)

Chapter 9: Dancing with Death

I knew this was going to happen, and yet, I still found myself here.  What was I thinking, honestly? Somehow, I ended up being present for Daemon and Rhaenyra's fight, which essentially ended with Rhaenyra declaring she couldn't trust him and Daemon marching away to Harrenhal. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but I will never forget the look in Daemon's eyes as he passed me. Black as midnight, as if blaming me and promising retribution for coming between him and his wife.

A promise he seemed resolutely intent on fulfilling.

After a grueling day of council meetings and witnessing the volatile confrontation between Daemon and Rhaenyra, I felt a wave of relief wash over me when Rhaenyra, equally drained from the day's trials, finally dismissed me.

I trudged back to my room, feeling like a specter in my own life. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows, and the icy breeze from the ocean began seeping through the castle's stone walls. Servants bustled about, lighting the fireplaces to fend off the encroaching chill.

One moment I was watching the sunset on my walk to my room, and the next—blackness.

Honestly, this place had no consideration for multiple head injuries.

I woke up to a pounding headache, my head resting against the cold stone floor. The hallways was dimly lit, the flickering light from torches casting eerie shadows on the walls. I groaned, trying to push myself up, but my limbs felt like lead.

"Welcome back," a voice drawled from the shadows.

My heart leapt into my throat. Daemon stepped into the light, his expression a mix of anger and something more dangerous—a cold, calculated intent.

"What—what do you want, Daemon?" I stammered, my voice shaky.

He crouched down next to me, his dark eyes boring into mine. "You've interfered for the last time, Elizabeth."

I tried to scramble away, but he grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. "I've done nothing to you," I managed to say, my voice trembling.

"You've done everything," he hissed. "You've poisoned Rhaenyra's mind against me. Made her doubt me."

"That's not true," I protested weakly, my head throbbing with pain. "She's made her own decisions."

Daemon's eyes narrowed. "You think I don't see what you're doing? I won't let you win."

I forced myself to meet his gaze, despite the fear gnawing at me. "This isn't a game, Daemon. This is about the future of the realm. Rhaenyra future. "

He sneered. "Spare me your self-righteousness. You're just as manipulative as the rest of us."

Before I could respond, he stood up, dragging me to my feet. "You're coming with me."

Daemon's grip was unrelenting as he hauled me outside, despite my desperate struggles. Panic surged through me, my mind racing with horrifying possibilities—whether he intended to beat me, use his sword, or cast me off the cliff's edge.

He dragged me across the landscape with a grim familiarity that I lacked. I had no clue where he was taking me, and every step was a jarring reminder of my helplessness.

But then, a sound cut through the night air, sending shivers down my spine. It was a chilling mix of clicking, screeching, and roaring. I flinched immediately, recognizing it instantly. I had heard it from a distance before, but now it was so close, the sound seemed to move against my skin.

Caraxes.

Daemon's dragon was near, and the reality of my situation hit me like a tidal wave. He wasn't just taking me outside to punish me—he was taking me to Caraxes. My fear intensified, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps as Daemon pulled me through the castle grounds toward the massive silhouette of the dragon.