rough quarrel
“I know that,” she snaps. “I’m not some stupid little girl.”
“You’re a baby,” Daemon responds unthinkingly, his heart aching with how true it is. In his head it had been bewildered, aggrieved. She is a baby, a fucking baby. He can’t imagine having ever been this atrociously young. It emerges from his mouth differently: cooing, coaxing.
Rhaenyra blinks wet inky lashes at him, her bottom lip stuck out stubbornly, her chin wobbling. “I’m not,” she says in a whisper.
There you go, he thinks. A bit closer now.
“You are. My baby niece.”