Chapter Text
Daenys looked angry.
That was Valarr's first thought when she walked off of the ship, waving off the knight that held out a hand to help her. Her brow was knitted and her mouth was flat, and all that Valarr could think was that she looked very much like her mother with all of her father's poor temperament.
She'd not always been so irritable. But then, she'd not always been a stranger to him either.
"Where's Maekar?" Kiera asked from his side, her gaze trailing over where Daenys had stopped on the docks and appeared to be arguing with a knight.
"Still on the deck," Valarr muttered. Gods knew what Daenys was annoyed about. Very likely, she didn't have enough wine.
Maekar finally walked from the deck, snagging Daenys by her elbow and dragging her from the knight she was bickering with. Valarr could hardly look at Daenys without remembering the last conversation they'd had. Or argument was a better word, more likely. Because the both of them had been angry, and Daenys had cried, and Valarr thought sometimes when he laid in bed and stared at the dark ceiling that he had been cruel, and that shamed him.
I need you to believe me, she'd begged at the pond in Summerhall, her eyes red and shadowed as she'd explained her dreams. She'd not started drinking yet, then, he didn't think. Exhaustion had been written into every line of her body, though, weighing down her voice and her limbs.
I'd not take a mad wife, he'd said back, because he had wanted to hurt her as her new found apathy had hurt him. It hadn't mattered to a younger Valarr that Dyanna had been lost, or that Daenys claimed to have been beset by dreams that terrified her. He'd been selfish and angry, and he had acted every bit a child.
A betrothal between them had never truly been spoken of, as far as he knew, but they'd both hoped at one point in time. They'd shared kisses and smiles when no one was looking. Secrets and whispers at all hours. He'd killed that and any friendship that remained between them with one blow.
Then he had married Kiera only a year later. Brave, beautiful, beloved Kiera, who he did not ever wish to be without now that he'd had her.
He bit down on the inside of his cheek hard enough that he tasted iron as Maekar and Daenys stopped in front of them. Daenys' hair was shorter than it was last time Valarr had seen her, brushing her shoulders and shielding her face.
"My prince," Kiera greeted, sending a look to Valarr out of the corner of his eye when he didn't speak. "Princess."
"You may well call me Uncle," Maekar said, jostling Daenys' arm. He and Kiera had this conversation each time they met, though Valarr didn't understand why. It seemed to amuse them both, if nothing else.
Kiera smiled widely, and in the sun, her pink hair seemed to glow, the gold beads in the braids and curls catching the light. "Lovely to see you then, Uncle."
Maekar gave her a small smile, which may well have been a grin on his usually stoic face. "Valarr," he greeted.
Valarr nodded, and Kiera gave him another confused glance. He couldn't bring himself to speak. What was there to say to Maekar or to Daenys?
That he was livid with Maekar for saddling Valarr with his daughter? That he might have taken Aerion's company over hers? That he was certain she would hurt him or Kiera or both somehow, because all she'd done since her mother died was cause problems and snap at others and drink herself stupid?
He knew better than to let his thoughts free, however. So instead, he stayed silent as he took Kiera's arm in his, pretending that he was not glaringly aware of the weight of Daenys' gaze as she followed behind them.
᯽᯽᯽
As much as Valarr had disliked seeing Daenys, he disliked knowing that she was alone somewhere with Kiera even more. He sat in Father's study, watching Maekar pace across the length of the room, angry all over again at the sight of his uncle.
"Do you truly think Dragonstone is the best place for her?" Valarr asked, breaking the silence between them. He was trying so hard to keep himself calm, but he could feel panic crawling up his throat, its claws thin and sharp and cold against his skin, digging deep and angry inside of him.
Maekar's steps didn't pause, but his hand clenched for a moment on the hilt of the dagger he wore on his hip. A gift from Father, Valarr knew, some years passed. Given when Maekar and Dyanna had married, if he remembered correctly. He only knew that it had graced Maekar's belt for as long as he could remember.
"There is no place best for her," Maekar snapped. "There are less places for her to hide."
"Why not send her to King's Landing? Give the kingsguard charge of her." Valarr's determination to see her gone had only reignited at having seen her in person. They hadn't spoken a single word in the hours since Daenys had arrived. He didn't think that he wanted that to change, though he wasn't foolish enough to think that it wouldn't.
Maekar scoffed, but he said nothing, leaving Valarr wondering why exactly that idea was laughable. Rumors of Daenys' behavior abounded, even in King's Landing and on Dragonstone, but surely she wouldn't be able to cause a kingsguard to break his vows or lose sight of her. She was one woman. One who spent more time drunk than she did most else.
"What do you expect me to do, Uncle?" Valarr's throat was too tight. He tried so hard to keep himself staid. Tried so hard to keep the run of things ordered and clean. To prove that he was worthy of his place as Father's heir, because Father himself was everything that Valarr might someway wish to be.
But Daenys was a threat to that. With her drunkenness and her foolhardiness and the way that she made Valarr forget himself alike. He was terrified of her being here, he realized too late. More than he was angry or anything else, he was scared.
"Keep her from killing herself," Maekar said, and the words struck Valarr quite like a blow. "Either at her own hand or someone else's."
"I am not her keeper." Valarr's voice was quiet, not as steady as he would have liked for it to have been.
Maekar's purple eyes flashed. "She's here regardless, Valarr."
Valarr pressed his lips closed. No part of him wished to find himself on the receiving end of Maekar's temper. And as it stood, it seemed that Daenys was all that stood between him and the Anvil. He glanced out the window, looking at the sea roiling beyond.
"So she is."
᯽᯽᯽
When Valarr came across Kiera again, she was with Daenys in a sitting room, a look that Valarr couldn't make sense of on her face. Maekar had abandoned him in Father's study some time ago, and Valarr needed to take a moment to compose himself again before he had let himself leave.
Unlucky, he thought, looking at Daenys sulked down in a seat. Unlucky and so fucking irritated that the mere sight of her made him want to turn on his heel and find his way to the training yard. Slamming a sword against something might purge whatever blackness had taken root inside of him since he'd learned that she was to be sent here.
He rounded Kiera's chair and pressed a kiss to her cheek, the smell of orange blossoms assailing him as he entered her space. "Are you well?" he whispered.
"She's quiet," she answered back quietly, which he did not think was much of an answer at all.
It was also unlike any version of Daenys that Valarr had ever known, and that set him even more on edge. He kissed Kiera again, watching Daenys watch him from the corner of his eye. Taking a seat beside Kiera, he pretended that he wasn't taking stock of Daenys sat across from him.
In her blue dress, she looked slightly sallow, though that may have simply been from her incessant drinking. Her hair was the same golden brown it had always been, thick and straight where it fell messily into her face. She had always looked like her mother, with Dyanna's straight nose and wide eyes, but she did not remind him of Dyanna in any way that mattered.
"Are you not going to say hello, cousin?" came Daenys' voice, sending an unpleasant skitter up Valarr's spine. The first words she'd spoken to him in years, and once, that thought would have been enough to make him ill.
No reason to greet an unwanted guest, Valarr thought now, still angry that she had been thrust into his care. "Are you?"
Daenys tilted her head, her eyes narrowed. "Do you want me to simper? You must be proud to have run of the island."
"That would imply you have any manners to spare," he said, biting his cheek when Kiera shoved her elbow into his side. Kiera had seen his anger flare before, he wasn't certain that she'd seen him petty like this before.
"Your wife is far better company than you are, Valarr." Daenys shifted in her seat, leaning forward as though they were sharing a secret. "A stroke of luck, there."
Kiera cleared her throat, obviously uncomfortable with whatever had risen between him and Daenys. Valarr could feel that she was slightly stiff at his side, her upturned eyes pinched at the corners. The fact that she'd not spoken yet was another clue that she was angry or unsettled or both, he thought.
"Valarr is a wonderful husband," Kiera said, her voice cold as she defended him.
Daenys' mouth flattened. "Yes, I suppose he would be when you're as pretty as you are. An uglier wife wouldn't have had the luxury."
Valarr couldn't even think of a response, his mouth opening and snapping closed. Was she implying that she was the uglier wife? That his loyalty to duty was conditional? At his side, Kiera let out an incredulous giggle and slapped a hand over her mouth. The corner of Daenys' lips tipped up, stealing Valarr's thoughts for a moment. He wasn't sure the last time he'd actually seen her smile.
If only it wasn't at his expense.
Kiera slipped her hand into Valarr's, giving him a confused look as she carded their fingers together. He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. Daenys watched, and when Valarr met her eyes, he noticed for the first time how exhausted she truly looked. There were dark circles under her eyes, the whites reddened. With her face pale and thin, she seemed as though she hadn't slept in gods knew how long.
Daenys pushed to her feet, brushing her hands over her skirts. "You don't need to entertain me, Lady Kiera," she said. "I'm certain I'll find my own fun just fine."
Valarr's jaw tensed. "Not unless you wish to find yourself tied to your bedpost," he said before he could stop himself. He'd been given a single job by Maekar, he wouldn't let her ruin everything as she was so adept at.
"Valarr!" Kiera hissed, again shoving her elbow into his side, this time hard enough that it smarted.
Too late, Valarr realized how his threat sounded, and he braced himself for Daenys to say something more befitting of a Flea Bottom whore than a Targaryen princess.
But she only rolled her lips between her teeth and cast her eyes up at the ceiling. She glanced back down at Kiera, slipping her hands into the pockets of her skirts. There was no doubt a flask hidden inside, Valarr thought. She'd reached for it like a child seeking comfort.
"He's never been good at keeping promises, Lady Kiera," Daenys said, looking down her nose at Valarr. "I've no reason to worry."
᯽᯽᯽
A trial. A stupid, pointless, insurmountable trial that should never have been—
"You're acting like a child."
Valarr turned, finding Kiera sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on her hands. The irritation in her voice belied the casual pose, as did the tense line of her spine, which had begun sometime after Daenys accused Valarr of being unable to keep promises. Behind her, Uēpa was laying on Valarr's pillow as if he belonged nowhere else, his green eyes narrowed into slits.
An angry huff built up Valarr's throat. Awful little beast. "How?"
Kiera's brows raised. "Snapping at each other as you did throughout the entirety of dinner, for one. The pouting, Valarr. It's unprincely."
"I've told you already that she's a nuisance."
Kiera's eyes narrowed, and something on her face reminded him that she was the Archon's daughter, used to having power enough in her own right. Very often, he was blinded by her loveliness. Now, with her sharp smile and tight words, he felt moments away from a misstep. She stood, crossing the room to meet him. "Before you came earlier, I rather enjoyed myself."
Valarr was near to gnashing his teeth. Kiera was desperate for a companion, and while Valarr disliked denying her anything, Daenys was surely not the person to best fill the role. She would only hurt him and Kiera alike if given the chance and he knew it "You said that she hardly said anything."
"What she did say was perfectly lovely."
"An act."
Kiera scoffed. "The same might be said of you."
"What?"
"You're a gentleman, are you not?"
He wasn't certain what she even meant, but he was certain that he wouldn't like whatever followed. "Kiera."
"I've never known a gentleman to threaten to tie a lady to a bedpost," she said, cutting him off with a point to his face. Which was just as well, because he'd not known what he even meant to say. "Never known a gentleman to lose his temper so fully at the mere mention of her."
Of all the fucking—. Daenys had not been on Dragonstone more than a handful of hours and she was already wreaking havoc.
"What occurred between the two of you, Valarr?" Kiera demanded. "Speak plainly or find your own chamber."
There were hands around Valarr's throat, squeezing so tightly that he could hardly breathe. He did not think that he could tell his wife that their new guest was the woman he had once thought he would marry. He did not think that he could tell her that he had loved Daenys deeply enough that she turned him as cruel as he had ever been.
Only days ago he had denied that he had ever cared for Daenys, and Valarr very much did not wish to confess to Kiera that he had lied to her. Even if he thought she already knew.
Kiera's gaze softened just slightly at whatever she saw on his face. Not enough that he thought that she would let him continue in his silence, but enough that her dark eyes looked somber and a little sad. "Valarr, please."
"It is foolish," he said, half mortified to even confess to it.
Once, he had told Kiera that he and Daenys had been childishly fond of one another. That they'd shared quick kisses before they were old enough for the touches to have truly meant anything. He had not shared that a small, deeply buried part of him still missed Daenys very much, because she had been his dearest, closest friend for over a decade, and in the years since they had ceased speaking, no one had quite filled the hole she'd left in his chest.
"Yet it weighs on you still." Kiera reached up to grasp his chin and tilt his face down toward her. "And unless you wish to find another bed, explain."
She would follow through on her threat, he knew. And he had very little desire to be parted from her, so he kissed her forehead, letting the familiar scent of the orange blossom oil she wore in her hair relax him.
"We were friends," he muttered finally, pulling her to a settee near the fireplace rather than the bed. Fucking Uēpa. "For a long while."
Kiera settled with her knees on either side of his hips, as if keeping him in place until he spoke his truth to her. Her hands landed on his bare shoulders, thumbs drawing absentminded little circles across his skin. She hadn't yet hidden her hair in the silk wrap she wore to bed, and the curls were unbound and vibrant in the firelight, fanning around her face.
Her lovely, distrustful, angry face.
She clicked her tongue at him. "As you've told me."
"Yes."
"And?"
He cleared his throat. "I thought she would be my wife once," he confessed. "Wanted her to be."
Kiera went stiff against him, and regret burned hot through Valarr. She'd wanted his honesty, but perhaps he should have continued to hide some things, for her sake and his both.
She swallowed, her nails digging into his shoulders. "I see."
Valarr could hear Daenys' voice echoing in his head, telling Kiera that he had never been good at keeping promises, and he wondered if Kiera could as well. He grasped at her hips before she could move away from him.
"I love you," he said, staring up at her. Gods forbid Kiera thought that she was a second choice of sorts, or that he hadn't been enamored with her from nearly the moment they met. "I thank the gods every day that they saw fit to see us wed, Kiera."
Her lips pursed. "You're talking in circles."
"I am," Valarr sighed. "Her mother died when we were four and ten. And we had stopped speaking by the time my fifteenth nameday passed."
I'd not take a mad wife. Years of closeness ruined in a split second.
Slowly, Kiera nodded, the irritation not all gone from her expression. "Her mother dying does not seem a reason for the two of you to abandon one another."
Valarr nearly flinched as 'abandon' passed Kiera's lips. "She changed," he said weakly. "Became careless. Reckless. Cruel, in some ways."
"Of course she did, Valarr." Kiera's mouth was turned into a frown, and he wanted to reach up and smooth the wrinkle from between her brows. His sweet wife, he thought, his chest aching.
If Dyanna had died when they were older, perhaps Valarr might have been able to think of Daenys with the same amount of understanding. But when he had been young and far more enamored with Daenys than he'd been with any other, the way she had pulled away from him and become a new person had hurt him. Every attempt at closeness had been rebuffed, every attempt at comfort scorned, over and over until resentment was stronger than the care he'd fostered for so long.
"We grew apart. And she's done nothing but drink and cause havoc since," Valarr said, his head falling back against the settee. He hadn't spoken the whole truth, he thought, glaringly aware that he was still lying. But he couldn't bring himself to confess that he had been the one to sever whatever relationship they'd had left. "I've no fond feelings left for her."
Kiera titled his head back with her hands on his jaw, staring at his face as though she was trying to see into his soul. She nodded, finally, but Valarr couldn't shake the feeling that she hadn't been satisfied.
᯽᯽᯽
Sleep had not come easy after speaking with Valarr. When the sun began creeping through the curtains and shining across Kiera's face, she barely held back a whine, her body exhausted from the hours she'd spent waking up in the middle of the night. Valarr's arm was splayed over her waist, and Kiera got the impression that he feared she may an escape during the night.
To say that she hadn't considered that very thing would be a lie, but she hadn't wanted to sleep alone. Learning why he acted so strange about Daenys had not come with the relief Kiera had wanted. Rather the opposite, in truth. She didn't resent that Valarr had cared for someone before he met her. Nor did she feel as though she had any reason to distrust him because of it. But she was still disquieted by how much Daenys seemed to set him off course.
Carefully, she rolled over, surprised to find that Valarr was still sleeping, his face more relaxed than she'd seen it since Daenys' arrival had been announced. Kiera couldn't remember the last time she had woken before him. Many days, she woke alone, save Uēpa curled up at her feet as he was now.
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Uēpa had let Valarr into bed with minimal fighting last night, though he'd hissed each time Valarr had tried to reach for her. She shifted Valarr's arm off of her slowly and reached to pull Uēpa against her chest, his purr rumbling through her.
He butted his face against her chin, his breaths huffy as he demanded she pet him.
"Kēlītsos," she murmured in Tyroshi, letting his company distract her as she whispered nonsense into his fur. "Kēlītsos mīsio."
If Valarr was awake, he would no doubt tell her that Uēpa was not a little kitten, nor was he a protector, as Valarr posed no threat to Kiera. But she loved him regardless, she thought, smiling when he began sniffing at her ear and shoving his face against hers, purring all the while.
She was still unsettled about Daenys' presence on the island, worried about what trouble she may cause and the stress she would place on Valarr. But she did not truly think of her as a threat, even if Valarr had spoken of tying her to a bed the day before.
Kiera sighed, staring up at the ceiling. Perhaps if Daenys was a danger, Uēpa would guard Kiera against her.
᯽᯽᯽
Kiera—though she supposed she should be keeping Maekar and Daenys both entertained as the lady of the island—had very carefully avoided coming across either of them after they had shared breakfast with her and Valarr. She supposed things worked out in everyone's favor, however, because she would not have been good company with her mood as black as it was.
Her moon blood arriving should have stopped being a surprise a long while ago, yet when she had woken with her small clothes slicked with blood, Kiera's heart had broken in her chest yet again. No matter how terrified she was of another stillbirth or hard pregnancy, each month that she was not with child stole something more from her.
Try as she might, Kiera struggled to keep her tears at bay as she made her way to into the crypts. She didn't know what she would do once she was there. Cry at her sons' tombs. Beg Valarr's ancestors and the old gods and new to just grant her this wish. Because she wasn't certain how many more disappointments she could bear.
Against the cool air below the castle, her tears were startlingly hot on her cheeks, feeling as though they carved little rivulets into her skin with their heat. They were devastated, she thought. Devastated and angry, because surely this was what she was meant to do as a wife. She was meant to give her prince an heir and a spare and however many more he wished for. But she could not and she didn't know why.
She stepped off of the last stair, making her way back to the tombs, only half aware of her surroundings. There was a faint glow coming from the wall torches, enough that she could make her way forward with her vision blurred with tears.
Another angry cry was cut off by a shriek when Kiera turned and saw that she wasn't alone in the dim tombs. She jumped back at the unexpected presence, lifting a hand to her chest like she could stop the too fast thumping of her heart in her chest.
"Lord of Light," she hissed under her breath, half plea for protection, half curse at finding herself face to face with Daenys of all people.
Daenys blinked at her, putting her hands up in the air in faux surrender. "Not a lord, Lady Kiera," she said.
Kiera swallowed past her embarrassment at having been startled, giving Daenys a wide birth as she stepped closer to the tombs. "Why are you here?"
Her voice came out far too accusatory, but after learning that Valarr had once wished to marry Daenys and Kiera failing to fall with child yet again, she wasn't certain she had it in herself to be kind.
A smile flashed across Daenys' mouth, there and gone before Kiera could fully catch it. "I might ask you the same, my lady. It's my family interned here."
"And my sons."
Something shuttered on Daenys' face, her eyes going unfocused in the weak light, and the way she looked far away made Kiera uncomfortable. But just like her smile, the expression cleared in an instant, replaced by a careful blankness.
"Of course," Daenys said.
She and Kiera stood feet apart from one another, but Kiera still thought that they were far too close with the tension filling the air between them. Reaching up to tug at her earring nervously, Kiera looked at Daenys from the corner of her eye, pretending that she was looking over the name plates on the wall as she played with one of her bracelets.
Daenys was… slightly pallid, she thought. Pretty enough, with high cheekbones and a pert nose and thick hair, but it was all undercut by the way her eyes were set too deep into her face by exhaustion and the pallor of her skin. Even the way her dress hung off of her body was slightly amiss, as if it had been made for someone who was not quite so thin.
She did not smell like wine as she sometimes did when Kiera crossed paths with her. Nor did she seem as though she was unsteady on her feet from over imbibing. Still, Kiera could not say that she was comfortable standing here with her.
"Did they have names?" Daenys asked suddenly, her voice piercing through Kiera's thoughts.
"What?"
Daenys turned to look at her, chewing on the side of her thumb. "Your sons. Did you name them?"
Kiera flicked her eyes over to slabs of marble that held her sons' ashes, marked only by Valarr's name and her own. "Do you see names?"
"I did not ask if you gave names to history, I asked if you had named them," Daenys said.
Grief pulsed through her. Daenys would not have been the person she picked for a confidant, Kiera didn't think. But who else had given her leave to speak of her sons as of late? Who had ever asked her if she had given them names, even if they were only spoken aloud in the dead of night, barely loud enough for Kiera to even hear.
"Valarr wished to name one Baelon, if he had lived," Kiera said quietly, her voice quivering on the name. "Baela, were one born a girl."
"He always wanted to name a child for his father," Daenys murmured, half to herself. "A strong name."
Another reminder that Daenys had once known Valarr quite well. One that settled uncomfortably over Kiera. She nodded, her tongue feeling too thick in her mouth to speak. It didn't seem as though Daenys had said what she had to stake some claim to Valarr, so much as she was only thinking aloud, but Kiera's breath still hitched.
"And you?" Daenys asked. "What names would you have given them?"
"I'd never much given it thought." Which wasn't true.
"Hmm."
Kiera bristled at Daenys' disbelieving hum, and the part of her that had never wished to shy from a challenge made itself known. "I did not give them names. Not really."
"But?"
Her cheeks flushed, though she didn't know why. "I had hoped the second was a girl," Kiera said in a rush. "I'd have liked to give her a Tyroshi name, I think."
Daenys muttered something under her breath that Kiera couldn't quite make out. She caught 'Valyrian', she thought. 'In time', maybe. Daenys shook her head and spoke louder. "You'll not name one for Valarr?"
"I'm not certain." Kiera cleared her throat. "What of you, princess?"
Daenys' brows rose. "Would I name a child for Valarr?"
"No!" Kiera said, disliking the way the skin between her shoulder blades went tight and hot at the thought. She'd never been prone to jealousy, she did not wish to be now. "Have you thought of children, I meant to ask."
Daenys let out a sardonic huff, her shoulders going stiff. "Gods forbid I ever have one. I'm not fit to be a mother."
The words landed hard between them, making Kiera's nose sting. Kiera would be a good mother, she was certain. No matter how miserable her pregnancies had been, she had adored them from the moment she'd known she was with child. But the gods seemed to have forbidden her from ever meeting her children.
I am, she wanted to say. "The gods often act in strange ways," she said instead, an acceptance and an indictment all at once.
Daenys tilted her head at Kiera, and Kiera disliked how intent her gaze was. On the few occasions that they had been close to one another, Daenys had looked at her like this, as if she knew something about Kiera that she herself did not. It made her skin prickle and her cheeks heat, and in the cool air of the crypt, her face burned.
Daenys' mouth worked for a moment, as though she couldn't decide what she wished to say. Finally, she nodded, staring back up at the rows of tombs, the fire casting strange shadows across her face.
᯽᯽᯽
Maekar leaving in the morning worried Kiera. As it stood, she thought his presence was the only thing that kept dinner as quiet as it was, the only sound the occasional clinking of cups against the table. Valarr was carefully avoiding looking in Daenys' direction, and Daenys had eaten little but poured herself gods knew how many cups of wine while Maekar pretended not to see.
Maekar's hand rested on the back of Daenys' chair, Kiera noticed, but he'd not said a single word to his daughter throughout the entire meal.
A pair of servants brought in trays laden with lemon cakes and pastries, each one decorated with candied fruit. No one reached for them as the servants left, and Kiera barely resisted the urge to sink into her seat and hide beneath the table. She'd tried several times to start a conversation only for it to wither in the strange tension permeating the room. The longer she sat with Valarr's hand grasping at her thigh beneath the table, the more she thought she'd like to disappear.
She leaned into Valarr's side, whispering against his shoulder. "Walk with me on the beach when we're done?"
She wanted distance from the castle. Distance from Daenys, who she had said too much to during their strange encounter in the crypt. More, she wanted closeness to Valarr, who very rarely failed to make her feel moored when she was unsteady on her own feet. And the both of them knew that the offer was an olive branch of sorts, after they'd avoided one another since the night before.
He dropped a kiss against her temple and nodded, his hand tightening for a split second on her thigh. Across the table, Kiera saw Daenys watching them, but she did not look envious or angry or saddened in any way, which Kiera might have expected.
Daenys did not look anything, really. She only watched at them for a short moment longer with a flat expression before lifting her cup to her mouth and taking a drag deep enough that it seemed as though she might drown.
᯽᯽᯽