valzȳrys. ābrazȳrys

His thrusts were hard and slow. With each of them, he pulled himself nearly all out before pushing in again, emptying her mind with each of them, making her just his. His wife, his woman. She didn’t need anything else, all she needed was him, and all she could think of was him. Daemon, Daemon, Daemon.
Her husband.
Hers, fully and thoroughly.
. . .
Rhaenyra marries Daemon.