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Rhea arrived home to learn that Prince Daemon was in her solar, drinking her best Arbor gold.
“Come to claim your rights?” she said, striding into the room. Daemon had dragged one of the chairs closer to the windows and was lounging in the sunlight like a wildcat.
He saluted her with the bottle. “Come to ask you to petition my brother for an annulment.”
“What makes you think I would succeed where you didn’t?”
“I don’t. But we might as well try. Tell him you want to marry a dashing Valeman who would put an heir to Runestone in your belly, because I clearly will not. Or one of those fine sheep. I’m sure you will think of something.”
Rhea grinned and refrained from a comment about her finishing where he never did. “Why now? Finally found someone you want to bed and wed?”
Daemon, uncharacteristically, said nothing.
“Might I know the happy bride’s name?” She had her suspicions – Daemon was Targaryen enough to want a dragon-blood wife, even if the Royces had been old when Valyria was founded.
“I’ll invite you to the wedding. Will you do it?”
She looked at him and nodded. “Might as well try.”