It was, for lack of a more reasonable explanation, more complicated than that. Daenerys wanted -- oh, how she wanted -- but she was skittish to say the least. She'd known one almost-love, but most of her experience in this regard was decidedly lacking (most of her experience with romance was men muttering innuendos at her as she passed, sometimes daring to reach to touch her if she got too close but no more than that). She was frightened because she still only knew Margaery the little bit, still couldn't be sure, but -- maybe that wasn't important.
"Don't be sorry," she implored, still staring with those wide eyes. "It's not... I'm interested in the same thing you are, I think, I just..."
A frown, and Daenerys wrung her hands. "I don't want to disappoint," she finally finished, which wasn't all of the truth but was a part of it.
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"Don't be sorry," she implored, still staring with those wide eyes. "It's not... I'm interested in the same thing you are, I think, I just..."
A frown, and Daenerys wrung her hands. "I don't want to disappoint," she finally finished, which wasn't all of the truth but was a part of it.