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Chapter 2 My dearest Prince

Chapter 2 of The Maiden of Dreams

A/N- I really hope you guys like this!

Warning- Talks of violence and mention that MC has silver hair (that's all), Otto, ANGST.

Pairing- Oc x Targtower!femreader, (eventually) Gwayne Hightower x Targtower!femreader

This chapter takes place in between 1x07 & 1x08

(let me know if you want to be tagged)

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Silver scales gleam brightly against the sunlight's kiss, making awe turn to fascination.

Rough flesh scratches your palm, but the heat that radiates throughout his body is there to soothe that discomfort.

Icy blue eyes drown on you, growing them darker as they fill with…well…what you can only interpret as affection.

“<You’re so beautiful>,” you whisper lovingly in Valyrian to your silver dragon before you close your eyes and lean your forehead towards him, feeling his rough snout press against you without a second to waste as he seems almost too eager to share that connection.

“<I wish you could be closer to me,” you admit as you open your eyes and tilt your head to the side. “But alas, we have to keep a distance between us because they don’t understand you as I do. Like we do.>”

With no way to express himself with soft growls like the others, he nudges himself against you, pushing you back and making you beam.

“<We don’t need them. That’s right, but I wish they’d understand.>” You respond to his nudge. “They need to,” you add in the common tongue under your breath whilst Valiant starts rubbing himself against you, turning your attention back to him and making you giggle.

“<I love you too,>” you respond to his sweet displays of affection before you exhale deeply. <Goodbye, my Valiant. I’ll be back.>”

You step away, and he wants to follow, but the dragon keepers block his way with the tall sticks they carry, making Valiant huff.

“<Be good,”> you order him before you turn around and skip to your sister. “Let’s go,” you finally tell her when you reach her side.

“If only we could return on horseback,” you fill the silence she leaves with mindless drivel. “But alas,” you drag out.

“I think if mother could, she’d avoid us just like the horses do until we wash off the stench of dragon,” Helaena quips, making the corner of your lips wobble until you can’t help but grin.

“If it were up to mother, our dragons would be something to admire and not touch,” you riposte. “But good thing it’s not up to her.” You sigh softly as you step out of the Dragonpit and feel the sun on your skin again.

If you could travel back to the Red Keep on horseback, you’d take that time to continue absorbing the sun and catching a glimpse of life below the castle, but since the horses are offended by the smell of dragon that's latched onto you, you have to return by carriage and hide behind covered windows.

“I really loved that beach,” Helaena breaks the silence inside the carriage, turning your eyes away from the gaps between the curtains to look at her. “We should return next time we go flying.”

You smile happily and nod. “I’d love that.”

“It was very tranquil and appeared to be far from people.”

“Just like you like it,” you tease, but she shakes her head,

“Well, only because you were there with me,” she corrects you, making your face soften, and your smile grow tender.

“We’ll go again then. We can finally stop searching for some place to land and make that our spot, hm?”

A smile tugs on Helaena’s thin pink lips, and she can’t help but nod. “I’d love that,” she agrees, which makes you enthusiastic for your next trip, considering she doesn’t like to fly too far from home, and when you do happen to go far, she doesn’t like to stay too long from home. So, this place is truly an achievement and is now forever marked as a special place. An escape, so to say, one only you and she will know.

“The yard is busier than when we left it,” Helaena comments when you ride past the Red Keep gates. “Is someone here you think?”

As if looking through her window would give you an answer, you crawl away from your window to look out hers to see what she’s seeing.

“Or Ser Tyland is going hunting with his entourage again,” you retort with an amused smile as you try to catch a flag or anyone with the right garbs on that can tell you what’s going on. Yet flags don’t fly in the air, and backs and asses are on display.

“Do you think he goes hunting, or does he just go to waste people’s time?” You wonder about Ser Tyland and snicker. “I heard that Lord Jason is a total peacock when he goes hunting. Maybe they’re the same because they’re twins?”

Helaena doesn’t respond. You’ve most likely never had her attention, or just lost her halfway through; either way, she doesn’t respond, so you sit back as the carriage rolls to a stop.

“Well, if it’s someone significant, we’ll know,” you add on a serious note before you glance at the opening door and climb out first.

When she climbs out and joins you on the ground, you walk inside at her side. “I’m going to see Aemond. Do you wish to join us?” You ask, hoping for a yes.

Nevertheless, with a small glance, she shakes her head. “No,” she says bluntly with no further explanation.

You sigh deeply and pick at your cuticles on one finger. “If you want, I can be with you while the maester checks on you?” You ask and watch her with more hope, but she only lets you down. And not gently.

“No, mother will be with me. You go with Aemond without worry. The twins will be fine. I feel them, and they’re strong,” she adds to reassure you without actually understanding that worry is not what is making you pushy to have her give you an excuse to avoid Aemond. It’s something else. A feeling you’re not sure how to describe. It just came to you after a very muted dream you had a couple of nights ago.

Ever since then, you’ve felt this uneasiness at the thought of your little brother. You foolishly hope it’ll disappear, but you know better.

Maybe it’ll be clear soon, though, and hopefully it will be nothing of significance. Just a result of the muted dreams that the tea causes you to have.

You hold onto that as you slowly make your way up the stairs, seeing Helaena leave you behind without a second thought as you become too slow for her liking.

Even after her abandonment, however, you don’t pick up your pace. You just sigh and tilt your head down with the intention of picking up your skirt.

However, before your fingers can touch the fabric and just as your eyes drift down, you catch someone unexpected walking out of the shadows below the stairs. His green eyes glimmer under the sunlight that shines down on him as he steps out of the shadows, and his full pink lips go from a faint, tender smile to a wide, spread grin that shows off a glimpse of his perfectly white teeth.

You part your lips to say something, but your words escape you. All you can muster is the ability to stop, and when you do, he does so as well, bringing a giddy smile to your face.

Now, keeping that smile plastered on your face depends on him. Thus, you take a step up the stairs without looking away from him, and without making you wait in anticipation, he takes a step back.

You giggle and then take a few more steps up the stairs, seeing him take a few more steps backwards.

When he steps into the shadows, he takes a big leap forward, so you climb down carefully, making him snicker before he walks forward without any more stops.

You mirror him and walk backwards down the stairs, only turning when you reach the bottom, and he’s there to meet you.

“You,” you greet, feeling more giddy.

“You,” he greets back with awe.

“You remember me?” You ask with disbelief, considering you met years ago, talked twice, and never saw each other again after that night because of how quickly you left that morning. But, here he is now looking as if his breath was stolen by a beautiful blazing sunset.

“I never forgot,” he admits as his eyes dart all over your face, noting every single change.

When you drop your head to smile shyly at the floor, he tilts his head down so as not to lose sight of you.

“Is that so unbelievable? You remember, don't you?” He asks softly, making a smirk twitch on your lips before you bat your eyes and look up at him.

“Or I just greet every stranger with red hair like this,” you add lightheartedly, even though your nerves are running wild.

“In hopes it is me,” he quickly chaffs with a smirk, making a slow grin tug on your face before you scoff and finally let yourself look at him, at the fullness of his face that’s lost all that childlike roundness. He still looks young and inexperienced, but his face is carved with precision, his jaw is sharp and defined, and his tallness is towering but far from intimidating.

His autumn red hair has grown out, but his short curls are far from out of place. They’re neatly kept and defined.

Now his eyes…his green eyes still hold a tenderness that melts your heart.

Is that supposed to happen?

“Your mother said I wouldn’t be able to find you,” he says, breaking you from your trance. “She said you were completely busy today.”

You scoff and glance up at the stairs. “Well, she’s exaggerating, but I am supposed to be somewhere right now.”

“Oh? Am I keeping you?” He queries with concern, but he’s wrinkling his brows for nothing.

“No, it’s not important really. Just…” you trail off as you see the young man you’re supposed to meet up with at the top of the stairs.

“...Spending time with my brother,” you finish and offer him a small, awkward smile.

“Sister,” he greets curtly with a quick glance before he zeros in on Prince Octavian, noting his rich garbs and the shiny belt holding everything in place, but even then addressing him impolitely.

“See to your tasks or help the princess—”

“No, Aemond,” you cut him off before he could anger the Prince. “This is Prince Octavian Haratis of Pentos.”

“Mhm,” he hums and then descends the stairs, making you steal a glance at the Prince, who seems unbothered by Aemond’s lack of respect. Which is good; any other prince would have found Aemond offensive and completely blown this out of proportion, but he just waits with you as your brother makes his way down the stairs.

When he finally does make it to the bottom, he stands at your side and folds his arms at his back as he stands up straight. “Forgive me,” he breaks the uneasy silence you alone felt. “I did not know you were here.”

“No.” The Prince shakes his head. “You wouldn’t have. The visit was a surprise only the Hand knew.”

“Oh, is that so?” You probe with genuine curiosity that contrasts your brother's disinterest. “No wonder, but why the surprise visit?”

The corner of the Prince's lips pulls to a teasing smile. “You’ll know soon.”

You scoff with amusement, and Aemond proceeds to interject. “If that’s the case then no doubt we’ll see each other later. Come.” He turns to you.

“Actually,” the Prince interjects and steps forward. “I was wondering if I could steal the princess from your company?” He asks politely, but that doesn't matter to Aemond. He still looks bothered, so you don’t give him time to respond.

“That will be fine. I live with the man, we can spend time together any other time.” You smile, making the Prince mirror your gesture.

“Great,” he says and then bows at Aemond. “It was nice meeting you.”

There’s nothing disingenuous about the Prince’s farewell, but Aemond is still curt with his hum and hard features. And that doesn’t go unnoticed.

Yet, the Prince doesn’t comment on it when he’s following your lead at your side. He tucks that in the back of his head to think on it later.

“Are you really not going to say the reason you’re here?” You can’t help but probe him. “Are you just passing by?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m here for a reason,” he says, keeping his secrets. “You’ll find out soon.”

You roll your eyes. “But not from you? Where’s the fun in that? I’ll tell you what happened that night at Driftmark. I know you must be dying to know.”

The Prince chuckles. “I was, but the years that passed since then have fed my mind with possibilities, so that’s kept me alive.”

You chuckle, and the sound earns a proud, charming grin from him.

“I am at the edge of my seat though,” he says as he spins around swiftly to face you and walks backwards with a waiting look and unwavered attention.

You’re smart though and make sure to get what you want out of him. “Will that guarantee the answer to what I want to know though? Because if it won’t, then well, I guess you’ll have to stay on edge.”

The Prince snickers and wags his finger at you. “Smart girl,” he says and returns to your side to continue on a more serious note. “But you truly don’t need to tell me because I am planning to tell you. I just wanted to be somewhere more private.”

“What a gentleman,” you tease, making him smirk and shrug.

“It’s not hard.”

You giggle and make it outside to the lush castle gardens. “We can go to the fountain,” you tell him, and walk ahead of him to guide him to a fountain.

“It’s quiet here,” you mention and sit on the edge, expecting him to follow suit, but he starts pacing back and forth instead.

“Is everything alright?” You ask him as you lean towards the water to dip your fingers in the fountain water and swirl them around.

“Well,” he exhales deeply and then suddenly sits beside you, making you pull your fingers out of the water to be able to shift and face him. Albeit that only makes him swallow thickly and smile nervously before he clears his throat and suddenly gets up, making you tilt your head up to be able to look at him.

“I want you to marry me,” he blurts, causing your interest to drop completely and your face to harden while your heart falls to your stomach.

“I know we don’t know each other,” he continues with a boost of confidence. “But we can get to know each other when we’re wed. And I know it’s sudden. Maybe I should’ve written, but I didn’t know if you’d remember, so I had to come see you and tell you in person that I have not stopped thinking about you since we met, and every potential match I’ve had was never good enough because they weren’t you.”

He sits down and leans towards you, making you sit up abruptly and spare a glance at him before you avert your gaze. “Well, make them enough because I will not accept this proposal,” you blurt and try to sound as curt as Aemond had moments ago.

“But,” the Prince argues and gets up. “Why? Is it something I said? The hand says that you don’t have any potential matches. I’m uncontested. Is—”

“Your Grace,” you cut him off and meet his gaze with a faltering pointed glare. “Please. I said no. If you are the gentleman you claim to be, you would respect my answer and leave me be. Good day,” you curtsey stiffly and hurry off before he can interject, leaving him confused and in disbelief while you try to hold back all the building emotions that he just triggered.

He just…he wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t like who you are when your dreams aren’t being muted by the tea your mother makes you drink.

You're sparing him for his own good.

Even though you never forgot him either. And not because he’s appeared in your dreams here and there, but because your heart has never been able to let him go. He’s remained imprinted in your heart all these years.

But, no matter how much your hearts longed, it will have to keep yearning for its own fragile sake.

Would your grandfather, the apparent matchmaker, accept that as an excuse, though?

Perhaps not, but your mother might, and if you want this match not to go through, then you have to go to her so she can then put up a fight on your behalf. And the faster you talk to her, the faster you can get rid of this ordeal.

Thus, you make a beeline to her bedchambers in hopes of catching her there because this surprise must have thrown her schedule off course. There’s no way she wouldn't have let you know that the Prince of Pentos was coming if she knew.

Yet, when you reach her chambers, Ser Erryk, a newly appointed Kingsguard, kindly speaks up instead of opening the door. “The Hand is talking to her Grace, Princess. He’s ordered them not to be disturbed. Shall I let the Queen know you came?”

You glance at the door and think about that for a second, but then you quickly decide that it won’t be necessary because you imagine that they’re talking about you, and if she knows that you came, she’ll know that you listened to their conversation.

“No, that won’t be necessary, ser, it—thank you,” you cut yourself off short so as not to lie horribly in front of his face.

You then offer him a smile and walk to your bedchambers to sneak into a secret passage that you found hidden in your wall one day when you were younger and…playing hide and seek with your sister.

Let’s just say it gave you the fright of your life, but also not enough to let anyone know out of fear you’d get in trouble. Now that you're older, however, not exposing your secret door worked out fine because you can walk up some spiral stairs and walk down a narrow corridor to reach a secret door that leads to your mother's bedchambers.

That’s where you hear her mid-argument with your grandfather, the Hand. And just like you assumed, they’re arguing about you.

“…She is not fit to marry,” you hear your mother argue. “Especially not a Prince who lives across the narrow sea, far from home and everyone she knows.”

You hold your breath as you anticipate the next words that are going to come out of her mouth.

“That cannot be your reasoning, daughter. Many a woman of her station have left home to live with their husbands in faraway lands. This is her duty—”

“She is not well!” She cuts him off, making your breath come out shakily as your heart sinks. “Her mind…is fractured.”

You press your back against the wall and sink to the dirty floor with your hand clutching your heavy chest.

“She dreams of terrifying things like death. She’s told me. At first,” she says and draws in a deep shaky breath. “I thought perhaps Viserys was right about there being dreamers in their family, but to have…those dreams come to her as visions in her awakened mind is something else. To sleepwalk, scream, and speak nonsense is not normal. She’s sick,” she spats, proving that she did not believe you about your dreams. She doesn’t truly understand like she said she did.

“And you know what happens to women like her when they’re taken from home. I will not have her suffer that fate whilst I’m alive,” she makes it clear, but how touching can that be when she thinks you’re ill and mad?

“If your daughter's fate is of concern then have them live here,” your grandfather doesn’t seem to listen to reason. “The Prince offered that option. Let her live here where you can keep control of her.”

“You don’t understand,” she scoffs and paces away. You can hear her heels hitting the floor and…approaching you. However, she doesn’t get past the stone wall that keeps you hidden and apart. She stays on the other side of the barrier.

“Of course you don’t. Why would you? You used me for your political gain, and now you want to do the same thing to my youngest daughter.”

A chair scrapes against the floor before you hear him try to reason with her. “You became the queen because of my help. Your daughter may not gain that title, but with her match comes a fleet of ships and capable fighters. With her match comes strength, power, and security for her. He seems to be a good lad. A kind one. He will treat her kindly.”

“Until he sees what she’s like, and then he’ll disregard her,” she snaps, making your chest ache. “I will not have it.”

“Then what do you plan to do with her? Keep her alone with only her mother as company? Is that any better? I care for my granddaughter and only want what’s best for her. Prince Octavian is the best. He’s her age and sought her out himself. Take that as a good sign,” he says in a kinder tone that keeps your mother quiet as if she’s actually considering changing her mind.

“Your daughter is still of sound mind. She is fit enough,” he keeps trying to reassure your mother before he lands the finishing argument.

“You don’t have to give your response at dinner. Let’s see what the Prince has planned to win the Princess's affections, and then we can give this closure.”

“Very well,” you hear your mother agree softly before you hear her turn and put some distance between her and you.

Your grandfather then proceeds to dismiss himself after he’s done his job, and leaves your mother, most likely, dwelling in what she agreed to. Something that doesn’t keep you put. Her revealing that she thought of you as sick and unsound is what keeps you on the floor.

It wounded you deeply. It felt almost like a betrayal.

——

*THE NEXT DAY.*

She came to talk to you casually. Said that the Prince of Pentos came with his second son in hopes of securing a match with you.

She said the Hand thinks he’s a great option. A potential husband that you should consider. One that can form a great alliance with the crown.

She was so busy regurgitating what the Hand had told her that she failed to mention that she thought it had been a bad idea, and that you were weak-minded and unable to love and be loved by someone.

Maybe your silence will give her a hint that you heard every awful thing she had said about you, because you haven’t been able to speak to her since you heard it all. Sleeping on it didn’t make it any easier either.

Then again, you’re asking for too much because when she’s helping you get ready to break fast with the Haratis family, she responds to your silence with, “It’s okay to be nervous. You’ve never done this before. It can be scary, but we’ll all be there with you.”

You don’t correct her either. You wouldn’t know where to begin, so you let her believe that. Besides, if you could muster the right words and strength to fight, it would make breakfast awkward and tense, and the breakfast is already going to be hard enough for you, so you go to the courtyard as if oblivious.

You also go in hoping foolishly to be as far from the Prince as possible, but the first thing you see when you get to the courtyard is him with a bright charming grin and a bouquet of tall and beautiful purple flowers you have not seen before.

“Good morn,” he greets and bows before he slowly straightens up, taking in every inch of you in your cream and light blue gown as his eyes trail up.

“You look very beautiful,” he muses as you note his cream colored long sleeve chemise and teal-adorned vest.

It almost seems like he purposely coordinated his colors with you.

Or is it pure fated coincidence?

“These are for you,” he says and raises the flowers in his hand. “From Pentos. They’re called…snapdragons,” he reveals, making your eyes drift from the beautiful and unique purple flowers, and then back to him, catching his lips wobbling before he grins and covers his mouth to rub his chin.

You try not to react to the irony of the flower's name, but you can’t help it. An amused smile slips onto your features as you take the flowers.

“I have half the mind to contest you for trying to be impressive,” you can’t help but say, despite your attempt at being stand-offish.

“Oh, you could, but you’d find it moot because that’s really what they’re called. You see,” he says and gets closer, making you catch a whiff of sandalwood and orange. A perfect combination that reminds you of a summer evening.

“…when you squeeze as so...” He demonstrates as he gently squeezes the sides together. “…The petals open and close like a dragon's mouth. And the face of the flower resembles them too. Do you see it?”

You watch him gently squeeze the flower again, and your emotions couldn’t be more irritating because you’re completely fascinated by the pretty flowers.

“How absolutely fascinating,” you muse, making him steal a glance at you.

“Albeit they are gentler than a real dragon,” he quips, and you giggle before you assure him.

“Oh, that truly depends. Dreamfyre and Valiant are quite gentle giants. And Vhagar may look fierce, but she won't do anything unless you do something to make her mad.”

“Well, that’s nice to know,” he says in response to you. “I’ll take your word for it. I admit I am not brave enough to put it to the test.”

You chuckle and lock eyes with him, forgetting for a second your rejections about the match and seeing that his eyes are such a pretty shade of deep green. They’re so tender as he’s smiling too. You can’t help but get lost in them.

Just for a second, or two, or three, and a couple more.

You almost don’t want to look away, but you do, and that’s because someone drops a cup on the ground. And when you look at the commotion, you catch Aemond bending down to pick up an empty cup.

You take that as your excuse and walk away from the Prince to find your seat at the table, hoping to be far apart as you choose a seat next to Aemond since Helaena is caught between Aegon and your grandfather.

However, as your mother makes her way around the table, she pauses briefly behind Aemond as he’s waiting for the servant to pull his seat back.

“Leave the seat open for the Prince, Aemond. Come sit at my other side,” she commands, making you swallow back nervously as you take your seat beside her. While Aemond, being the ever-so-obedient son, obeys, leaving the seat available for the Prince to sit at your right side.

Albeit, whatever your mother hoped to happen between you and Prince doesn't happen. You remember why this match can’t happen now and let silence sit between you, the Prince, and his wandering gaze while you have breakfast.

“I can still smell that dragon stench on you,” your mother whispers while your grandfather and Prince Reggio are distracted in a conversation together, and the others are busy eating. “I told you not to go. Why did you not listen?”

You pick up a fork and mumble to your plate. “I needed to see him. And well, he seems to be the only one who understands me as of late…” you trail off, leaving her staring at you in confusion before Helaena breaks the silence and doesn’t give your mother the moment to question you.

“Prince Octavian, what is it that you do in Pentos for fun? Is it something you can do here?”

The young man beside you covers his mouth to finish chewing before he leans forward to look at your sister sitting at the table. “Well,” he responds. “I hear that I can. Albeit it's not as common as your jousting tournaments.”

“What is it?” Your sister presses.

“Chariot and horse racing,” he shares with excitement.

“Octavian is quite a talented racer. He’s renowned across the sea,” his father joins the conversation to gloat over his son. “Perhaps he could put on a race here and show you. It’ll be thrilling, and you won’t lose if you bet on him. Trust me.” He flashes a grin.

“That would be quite entertaining,” the Hand doesn’t fail to suck up to the Prince. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to one.”

“Well, I guarantee you’ll be leaving wanting to see more,” Prince Reggio boasts. “Or joining them yourself.”

“If I were fifteen years younger I would.” The Hand laughs, making the Prince laugh.

You, on the other hand, fiddle with your food. “Is it fun?” You direct at Prince Octavian. “Subjecting the poor horses to those dangerous conditions?”

Green eyes meet yours, and a flash of confusion passes over his face before he shrugs. “Well, just like your jousting horses, racing horses are bred for it. It’s all they know. If they could speak, they’d say they’re looking forward to it,” he tries to be lighthearted, and it works with Helaena because she giggles, but you look at him indifferently and simply hum.

“What do you do for fun?” The Prince asks you. “Are you an animal advocate?” He teases whilst you drift your eyes back to your plate and stay quiet as you ruminate on what you should tell him.

Perhaps something that will disinterest him?

“Dancing,” Helaena blurts. “She likes dancing. She’s quite good at it.”

She smiles innocently, and you grip onto the fork.

“She also plays the harp. Quite beautifully,” your mother adds to Helena's revelation, opening you up to the Prince in a way you weren’t going to open up to him.

“Perhaps she can play for us soon,” your grandfather interjects, making you clench your jaw. “She truly has the talent of moving a room to tears.”

“That's quite a talent. Considering me intrigued,” Prince Reggio says. “The last harp I heard left a terrible impression. The princess could remind me of my fascination for the instrument.”

You offer him a tight-lipped smile before you focus back on your plate and its sweet contents.

“Prince Octavian,” Aemond breaks his silence, making your mother and grandfather hold their breath. “I hear you’re quite the gambling man,” he seems to purposely expose the Prince's unspoken pastime. “That’s…mhm, quite the interesting pastime. Some would say it’s a high-stakes addiction. Is that why you enjoy horse racing?”

You glance at your mother and catch her face hardened and disturbed, seeming to have a bitter taste in her mouth over the exposed pastime.

“Oh, please,” Aegon now interjects. “Gambling is fun. What do you play?” He directs at the Prince. “Maybe I could show you some nice places to challenge other skilled players.”

“Dice,” the prince clears his throat.

“Oh, really?” Aegon exclaims. “I like to play dice too. What’s the best thing you’ve won?”

You glance at the Prince and his face eases. “My racing horse,” he tells your brother proudly. “I knew the man was quite a betting man and quite bad at it too, so I asked for something I wanted and won it. That easy.”

Aegon smiles with fascination, and as you look at your mother, she seems to be more disturbed by the story.

Yet, that doesn’t work to change the mind of the man with your fate in hand. He glosses over the matter, finding the power that the Prince comes with far more valuable. Much to you and your mother's displeasure.

You’ll have to think of another way to break the illusions of the match.

Something clever. Something that will make the Prince never think of you again, but what?

You try to think and assume that nothing will come to mind during breakfast, but surprisingly, the opportunity arises when the Hand and Prince Reggio start to talk about the war at the Stepstones. Prince Octavian joins too and has the same mindset as his father, so you speak your mind, which thankfully contradicts their bloody beliefs.

“You truly believe that?” You direct at Prince Octavian, earning his attention. “You believe war is a justifiable solution? War is a failure of diplomacy,” you say, causing the room to go completely still, and leaving the Prince quiet for once.

“Darling, that's not appropriate.”

“No, it’s quite alright,” Prince Octavian interjects calmly, letting the wheels in his head churn for a couple more seconds before he probes.

“Why do you think that? I am genuinely curious.”

There’s no hint that he’s annoyed by your interruption or boldness. His jaw is not tight, and his fingers lightly grab his cup. His eyes are not darkened with anger either. In fact, they’re lit up with curiosity.

He almost seems willing to change his stance depending on what you have to say.

Yet, as you note all that about him, you wish you hadn’t spoken up. But you can’t take it back anymore.

“Well, in war it’s always the innocents who suffer the most,” you speak quieter. “Yes, we can say we suffer loss in war too, but what about them? They starve and die by the hundreds. They’re left orphans and penniless, widows and homeless, alone and broken. They don’t find their way back up as we do. So how does war justify that? How does it justify all the blood…the,” you pause and shift your eyes down as if something among the wooden table caught your eye.

“Suffering,” you continue with a dark shift in your tone. “The horror…” you trail off as fragments of dreams of war start flashing through your mind,

There’s dragons, cries, chants, and pleading. Fire and blood. Flashes of familiar faces and strangers. There’s you, there’s more death, and a terrible massacre of…dragons…

But what does that mean? Are they supposed to be a representation of people? Or the actual beasts?

The flashes don’t stay long for it to be distinguishable, and the dreams have been muted, so you can’t use that as a reference.

You can stop taking the tea at night and let them be loud and vivid to know…

But, no, you can’t. They’re so horrible.

“Darling,” your mother snaps you from your stupor as she grabs your wrist.

“Mother,” you whisper in return as you meet her worried gaze.

She draws in a deep and slow breath and bats her eyes, seeming to be forcing herself to brush this moment aside so as not to make it any bigger than it’s starting to be.

“You…started to trail off,” she plays off your obvious mad murmurings. “Again.” She laughs nervously before clearing her throat.

You drop your gaze with shame and fear that what you’ll see all around you is judgment and pity.

“Forgive me,” you speak to everyone at the table with a quick glance around, but deliberately looking past the prince beside you to avoid knowing if he’s looking at you haughtily.

In fact, you spend the rest of the breakfast silent, hoping to disappear into the background despite this entire ordeal being about you and the prince. Thus, it makes it hard, but there are no more questions directed at you, or an insistent need to include you in conversations. Your grandfather thought you a better prospect if you were quiet, so he held most of the conversations. Some were held by Aegon and the Prince, but those were few due to their distance across the table.

When breakfast came to an end, and the courtyard started to clear, you were forced to stay behind with a plastered smile on your face until your guests put some distance between here and there. After that, you were eager to leave, but your grandfather requested that you stay behind without your mother.

She had a clue as to what he wanted to talk to you about, but no idea how he’d put it or how rough he’d be, so she hesitated.

But, when she saw that her father wouldn’t speak while she was there, she left with her chest heavy.

All while you waited with baited breaths and your fingers fiddling with your cuticles on the other hand. A nervous habit he caught and stopped by placing his surprisingly soft hands on yours.

“You’re destroying yourself,” he says with no shame in his words. Yet, that soft look he holds makes it hard to feel offended. You’re more so embarrassed.

“Your mother also had that habit when she was your age. It was hard to get her to stop as habits usually are, but,” he sighs. “She eventually did when she married. Which is why I trust you will stop soon enough too,” he says, making you take those words as confirmation of what this was all about.

He’s never spoken to you one-on-one. He’s always just been a distant presence, someone a lot closer than your father ever was, but still not enough to ever fill that hole he made.

“But your shared habit is not what I want to talk to you about. Nor,” he takes a deliberate pause and offers you a soft smile as he lets your hands go to stroke your cheek. “The fact that you remind me so much of her. You don’t only look so much like her,” he says, his words like a gift to your deep desire of wanting to be just as great and respected as she is.

“You’re just as quiet and timid as she was. Graceful and kindhearted too,” he adds, only feeding you more of what you’ve wanted to hear.

“Really?” You ask for reassurance, making him stroke your cheek one more time.

“Yes.” He nods as he offers you that same softened smile that softens you up to him.

“Which is why,” he continues with his voice carrying a serious edge. “I know that you will do what’s needed of you and marry Prince Octavian.”

Your face starts to fall, and that softened heart starts to harden.

“I know it may be hard to accept. It’s not a man of your choosing, but,” he adds with a forebodence lacing in his voice, causing your heart to skip a beat. “We need him and his family to join us and strengthen us.”

“Why?” You ask cluelessly.

“You know why,” he presses. “Your father…may not have long on this plane with us, and when the time comes that he leaves us, Rhaenyra may succeed him, and if she does, war will follow. War against us, against your brother, the rightful heir, your mother, and your sister.”

You swallow thickly and feel your heart start to thump against your chest. You, in fact, know that none of what he says will be up to chance, it’s all coming. The question you have is whether the future is set or if you can change it to avoid the cruelty that’s to come.

“Do you want that? Do you want to see them, us, be destroyed?” He asks, not knowing that’s your great fear.

“No,” you respond shakily.

“No.” He shakes his head. “Nor do I, that’s why we need this alliance with Pentos. We need their ships and their strength to join us, so we are not destroyed. Do you understand?”

With fear clutching your chest and bringing tears to your eyes, you nod. “I understand,” you assure him, making his face soften again and bringing his hands up to stroke your cheek one last time.

“Good,” he whispers. “That makes me proud to hear.”

But…

——

*LATER*

Why can’t the dreams go away? Why does it have to be a burden you have to carry?

Wasn’t it enough for Helaena to already be burdened by them? Why do they come to you too? And why do they trouble you to the point you wake up at odd hours and wander the halls murmuring and at times crying?

“Why?” You ask the gold seven-pointed star necklace resting on your palm. “Why couldn't I have been born normal?”

Normal enough to be able to carry out this responsibility of marrying someone important without fearing that you’ll scare them away?

Normal enough to love deeply and be loved even deeper without embarrassing them because of who you’ve turned out to be?

Normal enough to be just like her…

She’s not someone to be embarrassed about. She’s not someone to fear. She’s someone to be proud of, someone to awe over and admire for her greatness.

She’s in every sense of the word, perfect. In a way, you could never be. No matter how hard you try, and perhaps no matter how much you pray.

You’ve prayed for years for you to be relieved of this cursed burden, but now it’s bleeding through that tea’s efforts as if desperate to keep torturing you.

Hasn't it had enough?

“Please let it be enough,” you beg to the gods as you clutch onto the seven-pointed star and brush your finger over the symbol, hoping they’ll grant you this deep desire. This only favor you have ever asked of them.

There’s nothing else you wanted, nothing more you could ever want but to be the collected and normal person you see in this perfectly painted reflection on the fountain's watery surface.

She’s so beautiful, graceful, and everything you aren't inside.

Thus, you sigh deeply and decorate the fountain with the last snapdragon flower head. Not because the flowers were ugly and you had to get rid of them, you just can’t look at them without longing deeply, so it’s better that they’re not within eyesight in your bedchambers.

Besides, it decorates the fountain water quite nicely—

Maybe you can do your duty with the prince and then live separate lives like Helaena and Aegon do.

But oh, to be loved.

You sigh deeply and hit the water with your fingers, sending out ripples you don’t bother watching.

However, in your avoidance, a presence stalks out of the shadows and approaches you like approaching a wild animal in the woods, cautiously so as not to spook you.

Yet when his reflection appears on the fountains’ watery surface, you gasp and get up quickly in a panic.

“No, no, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Prince Octacvian quickly explains himself, which truly doesn’t make any difference. He’s still here from the fucking shadows like a criminal.

“I simply wished to speak with you, but you weren’t in your chambers, so I asked, and here you are,” he continues with his hands raised.

“You snuck into my room?” You question, bewildered.

The prince catches your discontent and stammers. “I…I can explain.”

Your eyebrows pinch together in disgust. “One thing is being a child and doing it, but you are a man grown and I am a woman. A princess at that—”

“But you weren’t there!” He cuts you off as he throws his hands out at you.

“But what if I was?!” You demand a response.

“But you weren’t,” he insists with a lightness in his tone that only ticks you off more, but what use is this back and forth? So you just clench your jaw and groan in defeat.

He takes advantage of your silence and lowers his arms to his sides whilst he starts to smile, expressing that same lightheartedness. “Are you not going to ask me what I went dressed as this time?”

Your bothered expression falters, and there’s a curiosity that incites within you, but your aversion to keeping him at a distance manages to beat that, keeping your face hardened.

“A servant,” he answers himself with a grin. “Again. The gown was tighter this time around, but I still managed to sneak in.”

You want to laugh, bask in his amusement, but you manage to remain strong.

“We are not allowed to be unchaproned,” you remind him.

“I know.” He nods. “But if it were otherwise, would you tell me what changed to make you suddenly dislike me so?”

You swallow thickly and clutch onto the seven-pointed star necklace. “I’ll yell.”

He scoffs. “Yell and I’ll still have time to press you for what I wish to know. I am not leaving until I know.”

“Why?” You snap and take a step back, making him take a step forward under the moonlight’s radiance, basking his red hair in soft moonlight, and brightening those dark green eyes like the lush green life in the woods.

“Is it not enough for you to just accept that I have simply grown and do not like you?”

His gaze hardens, and he seems to try to look deep within for the truth behind what you said, but your reunion proves him otherwise.

“No,” he deadpans. “Because it’s not true. One doesn’t change from one second to the next. Not you.”

“What do you mean by that?” You spat as you take that as a jab.

The Prince chuckles. “I just mean that you seem to wear your heart on your sleeve.”

You falter, and surprise flashes in your eyes for a second.

“You…you don’t know me,” you counter, sounding quite immature.

“No, it’s true, but it’s an observation,” he states simply, causing your heart to skip a beat.

“Which is why I know something changed,” he continues to add. “What is it?” He asks and steps closer, making you step away.

“I,” you muster, and that's all you can say because your words are lost to you, and any argument falls moot. It’s easy to think of an argument, something that sounds convincing, but it fails to come across.

So, you opt for the easiest response. “Just leave me alone,” you insist, but he doesn’t accept it. He’s stubborn and determined.

“We may not have a choice in this marriage. It seems the hand and my father are quite keen on this match happening, so it will be easier for us. For me to know why.”

“And I told you why,” you quickly insist and keep stepping away in hopes of keeping some distance between each other, but he just closes that gap, cornering you by the fountain's edge.

“If…you were as good a prince as your father claims you to be, and as you present yourself. That would be enough. I don’t owe you anything, and I don’t know why you insist on us, or knowing why for that matter.”

“Because,” he says, leaving no room for silence, but now it’s his turn to be at a loss for words.

You raise your eyebrow to press him silently, but he still can’t think of anything.

“Is it my dragon?” You throw out the one thing you can think of. The one thing that calls to everyone with an eligible son the most.

“No!” He quickly throws out.

“Then?”

“Isn’t wanting you enough?”

You scoff. “Not if you want this to be easy.” You use his own words against him.

“You…you’re beautiful, and no woman that I have laid my eyes on has compared to your beauty,” he flatters you with touching words, but it falls short.

“So I’m a prize to claim before everyone else?”

“No! You’re not understanding me!” He exclaims, making you rebut.

“Nor are you understanding me! So let me make this clear, just leave me alone. Leave. Please,” you insist with more desperation, spitting all over what your grandfather had told you earlier today.

“No,” he persists passionately.

You scoff. “Fine. I’ll leave,” you grimace and try to walk past him, but he quickly blocks your way, forcing you to take a step to the other side. Yet he’s quick to block you again, turning this almost into a dance. Almost, though, because you then try to turn around to just circle around him, but in your attempts, you trip over the fountain's edge and fall back into the water, causing a big splash and earning a shocked gasp.

“Princess!” You hear him cry out through the sound of the water cascading over you and soaking you entirely.

His hand then wraps around your arm firmly, and he pulls you out, leaving you standing before him as a dripping mess that makes his lips wobble.

“Here,” he quickly offers his doublet before he can laugh and wraps it around your shoulders as you’re taking in what just happened with a quivering lip.

Once he’s in front of you again and under the warmth of his dry doublet, you grimace out of embarrassment and huff before you storm past him.

“I do have to say that I am not leaving you alone,” he manages to throw out, unaffected by what you had said before you fell like a fool.

And you do manage to pause for a second to take in what he proclaimed before you continue back inside in a huff.

Once back in your bedchambers, Helaena is there waiting for you and taken by surprise by your dripping appearance.

“You’re wet,” she points out the obvious. “And you’re wearing a man’s doublet.”

“I know,” you sneer.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

In the far distance, a sweet upbeat melody plays that draws curious bodies to investigate, leaving the grounds only occupied by the focused and uninterested souls.

You have half the mind to follow the crowd and fill your curiosity, but you can already picture the crowded yard. Plus, Aemond might be outside somewhere, and it would be in your best interest to avoid him today.

Usually, when you leave the perimeters of the Red Keep, it's to go with your mother and sister to the Great Sept, or to go to Valiant at the Dragonpit before going to the markets after a rather relaxing ride to wander or shop instead of being shopped for. And that adventure is almost always in the company of Aemond.

When you’re not with Helaena, you’re with Aemond. You and he do a lot together and never seek the company of friends like Aegon does. It’s a sad thing to admit, but you have your reasons, and he does too, so there’s never been a longing for that companionship. However, ever since you’ve been hit with those uneasy feelings towards him, you’ve kept your distance, and today was one of those days.

Today, you wandered the markets and rode your dragon alongside Aegon.

Ser Criston was with you at markets too. Like he tends to be since he's your most trusted guard. You don’t trust anyone else really, so that's not what will bother Aemond. Aegon will bother him, and you know he will have something to say about it, so you try to quickly go inside.

Yet Aegon is not like Aemond.

“What’s all that commotion about, I wonder,” he muses and follows the crowd.

You hope to be forgotten about to be able to slip inside undetected, but he doesn’t forget that you’re in his company.

“Come along,” he beckons, making you share an annoyed look with Ser Criston before you trail after your older brother and the music.

Finding it quite easy navigating empty yards, and finding quite quickly where the music is coming from. As to who was playing the beautiful music? Well, the crowd in the training yard makes way for your brother, Kingsguard, and you, and bring your focus to the cause of the commotion, the one filling the castle grounds with the beautiful music; Prince Octavian.

He’s playing the lute as he’s walking further down the yard, leading a line of excited barefoot children in roughspun clothes.

“Well…this is disappointing,” Aegon murmurs, but your initial disinterest is turned to surprise, and you’re slowly being consumed by awe.

The Prince then turns around on his heels, and on his features is a wide beaming grin, which he only flashes the attentive children. The crowd of castle workers and higher-born visitors doesn’t seem to exist to him. He plays only for the children’s attention and lets them draw near without a hint of disgust despite their dirty appearance.

Did he bring them to the castle? Or is something going on that you weren't aware of?

Regardless, the prince crouches so the children can get closer, and when he does, past the small bodies around him, he finds you undeniably awe-struck by his display.

You don’t even know when your face painted your change in emotions, but they’re on display for him and his father to see.

However, unlike him, his father cuts through the crowd to find his way to you to answer the questions in your mind.

“I hope you can forgive the Prince,” he addresses you. “He has the tendency to play for the children.”

With your eyes locked on the prince and the dancing children, you can’t help but probe. “Why?”

“It makes them genuinely happy, he says,” Prince Reggio quotes his son. “They don’t pretend to like his music, he says.”

You hum in comprehension and watch as the prince stops playing to let a curious small child touch the lute, ending up touching some cords that send out a note that makes him, the other children, and the prince himself laugh.

You're so caught up in the scene that you can’t help your amused smile, which reaches your eyes.

“He brought them here?” Aegon asks without sounding as awe-struck as you. There’s that hint of disgust you lacked.

“Yes,” Prince Reggio says. “At home, when the orphanages get too crowded, he gives some of them homes with soldiers to be trained, in our service, farmers in need of farm hands, and the religion in search of acolytes. There’s many overcrowded orphanages here, so he’s hoping to help take the load off one at the very least.”

Aegon scoffs in amusement. “Why? Do you make him?”

“No, and he doesn’t need a reason. He just does it because it was born from him to do it.”

You and your brother hum at the same time, but carrying different tones. He’s unimpressed, and you’re the complete opposite.

Is that what draws the prince to you? Or is it because you can’t stop watching him?

Whatever draws him, he comes regardless, and like ducklings, the children follow. The only thing they don’t do is bow their heads like he does when he passes by you, but they try to copy his spin when he makes a round around the crowd, taking your attention with him and keeping you smiling.

However, when the prince makes it back to where he was, you catch Aemond walking out, and your smile slowly falls.

Your little brother watches you and tilts his head slightly, not to question your falling smile but your choice of companion.

“Octavian, Prince Aemond is finally here!” Prince Reggio thankfully gives you an excuse to look away, but the music stops, turning the atmosphere heavy with anticipation to know what's going on.

“I thought you had bailed on me,” the prince points his lute at your brother with a smirk before he turns to one of his servants. “You can take the children with you now.”

He then spins back around and hands someone else his lute to replace it with a sword.

“Now, I must admit I am not as skilled with a sword as I am with my bow,” he admits lightheartedly. “But I can put up a fight against the legendary fighter that people claim you are.”

“Finally,” Aegon groans. “Some right entertainment. Come, sister, let's watch from upstairs.”

You sigh nervously as you see what’s going to transpire, but you don't leave. Your curiosity for the entire ordeal makes you follow Aegon upstairs instead of taking this as an excuse to return inside.

Now, you’ve never seen the prince fight, so you can’t say if he’ll be any good and place bets, even if your brother's skill shouldn't be put to doubt…

Right?

Right?!

After a couple of minutes of making their metal swords sing with each blow met, Aemomd starts to lose, putting you in doubt.

It’s unbelievable at first. You and Aegon think Aemond is going to recover from the couple of missteps and missed blows, but Prince Octavian doesn’t let off the attack. He’s unforgiving despite who he's facing, and a stubborn opponent, making the sparring session far more entertaining than the occasional spars you’ve watched Aemond have with other swordsmen.

Yet this confrontation is still not enough to change your mind on swordsmanship or anything involving a weapon. It’s all bloody, violent, and distasteful. And maybe your distaste for violence stems from the tormenting dreams that just show you blood and death by all kinds of weapons, but it’s not something you find any interest in.

You don’t cower when Aemond and the Prince miss heavy swings and hit the ground or stumble when their sword hits the air, but you don’t jeer and cheer, or place bets like Aegon does either. You just watch with slight interest, wondering how the incredibly close spar is going to end.

Both men don’t let up, but Aemond seems to have the advantage because he’s been training with the sword longer and had Ser Criston as a teacher. Or at least that’s what you assume, it’s all quite a jumble that you don’t bother understanding.

All that's clear is that from one moment to the next, Aemond falls on his ass, and the watching crowd falls silent while Aegon starts to cackle, and you watch gobsmacked.

“Oh gods, I will definitely be taking Prince Octavian out for some good fun later,” Aegon exclaims between laughs. “What a surprise he’s been!”

The crowd disperses below without breaking the tension they created or asking for more. Some brave men alongside the prince's own men praise his victory and show of skill. Aemond, however, is left to sulk in his loss alone because of people’s avoidance of him, fearing how the usual brooding prince will react.

The only soul brave enough to approach the sulking prince is Prince Octavian, but Aemond doesn’t accept his help, so he just looks like a sore loser when he pushes himself off the ground and twists around, flipping his long gold-silver hair at the prince.

“Well fought!” Aegon praises the prince from the balcony, gaining his attention and a thankful grin.

“Perhaps you’ll treat me to some more fun by sparring with me next!” The prince suggests, making Aegon lean closer over the edge.

“Maybe if we put the swords down and replace them with dice I can show you something worth your while!” Aegon counters, having nothing to prove like Aemond had.

“You got yourself a deal!”

Aegon giggles and pushes himself away from the balcony, forgetting all about you and returning to the yard, letting the Prince’s attention drift to you to offer you a kind smile.

He doesn’t proceed to say anything, and you don’t shout your praises like your brother had. You look at him, at his light, half-buttoned chemise that gives you a peek at his sweaty, toned chest, and flash him a tender smile that you can't hold back.

Yet the longevity of it isn’t long because you then catch Aemond looking up at you and frown immediately before backing away from the balcony to be unseen by both men.

“I have dropped the prince plenty of times,” Ser Criston breaks his silence, making you face him and offer him a smirk.

“I know,” you tell him. “You need to remind Aegon that.”

Ser Criston scoffs. “And break his illusion of a good influence for him? I’d rather not.”

You giggle and then return inside, hoping to avoid both the Prince and Aemond.

One might be easier to avoid because of Aegon, but Aemond? He won’t be in your brother's company. He’ll be lurking and in search of an explanation for your sudden need to avoid him.

——

*LATER*

With little to no choice and another day of a cold shoulder, Prince Octavian has been pushed to break the rules again and sneak into your bedchambers under the cover of night, and a baggy servant's disguise.

Maybe he’ll get reprimanded and foot lashings from his father, but wouldn’t it be worth it in the name of love?

Perhaps his insistent need to pursue you after repeated rejection is foolish. What happiness could he hope to have in a marriage where the wife hates her husband?

But he can’t give up. And it’s not because his father impressed that upon him, but because he can’t stop thinking of you.

He falls asleep to the very image of you; your haunted glistening eyes, your bright and unique gold-silver hair, and he wakes up thinking about you; your perfectly shaped lips, your tender and blissful smile, and your ethereal beauty.

Your strangeness draws him in, and that gentle and strong-hearted woman he sees hiding underneath your timidness keeps him close and eager to uncover that woman you keep closed off.

But he can’t know you without pushing, so he sneaks into your bedchambers.

However, once he’s slipped inside without being discovered, he finds you asleep on a chair by the fire with a book discarded on your lap.

You look peaceful too, despite being balled up, which would make him a real prick if he woke you up now, so accepting defeat for tonight, he steps back away from you very quietly so as not to wake you.

However, before he can turn away to sneak out, the book falls from your lips as you draw in a sharp breath and arch your back off the chair.

“<It's coming,>” you mutter in Valyrian. “<Don’t you hear the battle cries? Growing louder like war drums approaching the field?”>

“Princess?” The Prince questions and gets close to you to make himself known to you, but you don’t look over at him. Your eyes are open, but looking up at the ceiling.

“<I hear them. I hear you,” you continue to mutter to the ceiling, but now you sit up straight and start to cry. “Stop it. Be quiet. I don’t want to hear you. Stop shouting my name!>” You start to weep. “<Theyre all shouting my name! Please stop! Please…>”

“Princess,” the Prince calls again and gets closer to you until he’s standing before you. “Princess?” He calls and crouches to be at your eye level, seeing streams of tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Princess,” he calls again and grabs your shoulders this time to shake you gently, managing to startle you awake.

“Wh-what,” you pause and look around at your surroundings, noticing that you aren’t in a battlefield anymore but back in your bedchambers with Prince Octavian looking at you with concern.

That’s the strangest thing. Not anything else.

“You, what are you doing here?” You immediately question him as you get up, making him mirror you, but tower over you in a matter of seconds.

Yet, before he can answer, you look at his ill-fitting uniform and figure it out.

“Leave,” you demand of him. “Why do you insist on seeking me out?”

“Because I want to know you. I want to see you. I want to talk to you,” he immediately counters, making your breath hitch.

“Well,” you drawl, conflicted by your heart's swooning and your mind's resistance. “You’ve seen enough, haven’t you? So leave now. Go back to Pentos and leave me alone.”

The prince shakes his head. “Why? You give me a good reason why, and I will leave. I give you my word.”

You part your lips but are at a loss for words as you’re torn at the idea of admitting your madness.

Then again, if it will finally push him away then you have no other choice.

“Didn’t you just see it?” Your voice comes out shakily. “What I’m truly like? I’m,” you pause and feel your eyes sting. “I’m not okay. My mind…it’s fractured. I’m sick,” you whisper what you heard your mother say about you.

“That’s why you have to leave. Go back to Pentos, find someone normal, and live your life away from me,” you plead your case, but he’s not scared off, nor does he seem to be disappointed.

In fact, a passion still blazes in his green eyes.

“That’s not enough,” he proclaims, causing your tears to escape your eyes and trickle down your cheeks.

“Why should that push me—”

“Because,” you cut him off. “Do you not understand? I’m not okay! Dreams plague me. Dreams of death. Dreams of the future. I dreamt that my little brother would lose his eye, and he did! That’s not normal. I am not normal. I wish I were because I could have friends. My mother…” you trail off and walk away, making him immediately follow suit.

“You,” you cry and stop to turn and face him, bringing him to an abrupt stop.

“I’m closed off to the world around me, but you, and I wish I could live in that feeling, but—”

“You could,” he interjects and takes a big step forward to grab your hands from your side and pull them to his hard chest. “If you let me, I could try to understand. None of it scares me. In fact, I’m drawn to it. Curious. If you let me in, I would try to always understand you.”

Your heart swoons, and more tears stream down your cheeks, but as touching as his words are, you can’t take that risk. It’s terrifying.

“I'm sorry,” you mewl. “But I can’t. You can’t, so please,” you beg. “Accept this answer and go.”

He swallows thickly, but that passion doesn’t snuff out. “That’s what you want? Truly?” He asks as he still holds your hands, making your mind and in turn you, hesitate.

The words you need to say are there. They’re at the tip of your tongue, but it’s not what you truly want. Not what your heart wants and not what you desire, but…you can’t be selfish to accept him and keep him tied to your madness.

Thus, you get ready to say your disingenuous response, but before you can, a knock raps on the doors before they swing open without waiting for your invitation, bringing your attention to none other than Aemond.

“Aemond,” you gasp and rip your hands away from the princes’ grasp and step away from him. Which is all foolish because he had already seen the prince. He’s already enraged.

“Get away from her,” he sneers and throws the doors closed instead of alerting the Kingsguard on watch.

“Aemond, wait, this is not—” you try to reason with him, but he completely ignores you and strides directly to the prince.

“Who do you think you are?” He cuts you off and points a long finger at the Prince with a rage-imbued scowl on his face. One unlike anything you’ve seen before.

“How dare you disrespect the Princess?” He spats without raising his voice and causing alarm. “How dare you try to sully her good name?”

“Aemond, stop it,” you exclaim, and follow after him as he reaches the Prince and stands tall with his chest puffed out and his nose flared as he finds that he has to look up at the Prince.

“He did not do anything to me,” you defend the Prince and slip in between them, hoping to grab your brother's attention, but failing to even get a sparing glance. “I asked him to be here!”

Aemond scoffs. “You must think me stupid as to believe that,” he finally addresses you as he spares you a glance. “Is that what he told you to say?”

“No!”

“No,” the prince also interjects and steps away from you to be face-to-face with Aemond, who mirrors his every move. “Nor was it her idea. I came on my own accord.”

“Clearly,” Aemond spats as he looks him up and down, noting his disguise. “But I swear on my honor that I did not do anything to sully the Princess.”

“Your honor means nothing to me,” Aemond rebuts. “I don’t know you. She doesn’t know you. You are a foreigner trying to marry my sister. Is that why you’re here? Are you trying to force this marriage?”

“Aemond!”

“No!” The prince counters in his own defense. “I simply came to talk to her. That’s all. I swear.”

Aemond hums and steps back as he clasps his hands behind him. “Again with the swearing.”

“He speaks true,” you cut in and grab your brother's arm to turn him so he can look at you. “I have not made this ordeal easy, he just wanted to know what he could do to make this easy for the sake of the Hand and his father, who want this match to work.”

Aemond tilts his head as he considers what you said, noting that you don’t appear to be lying. There’s no obvious tell.

“He has not touched me. He was a respectable gentleman. He…was just being nice and trying to be understandable.”

Aemond hums and snaps his gaze to the prince.

“I will leave and not expose what I have done,” the prince suggests and bows his head, making your own gaze snap to him. “For I know that no matter what is said, the people will believe that your sister's honor is stained. Besides, she doesn’t wish to marry me either way.” He scoffs softly in disappointment. “So my decision won’t raise any protests, just questions I will answer with lies.”

You try to swallow thickly on a dry throat as you hear what you’ve been pushing for finally come to fruition. A choice your heart wishes to contest.

“It’s the least you can do,” Aemond accepts without a fight. He almost smiles at the sound of the Prince’s decision.

“I won’t tell a soul,” the Prince promises.

“No, you won’t,” Aemond threatens as he watches the Prince raise his head and glance at you longly before he bows his head at you.

“Princess.”

He then makes his way out of the room, making sure to hide his face as he walks out and closes the doors behind him, leaving you in your brother's company, and leaving you with half a mind to run after him and declare that you’ve changed your mind, but your fear keeps you in place and looking at the door somberly.

That is, until you hear your brother beside you and grow angry. “You cannot just barge into my chambers the way you did,” you finally address him in a huff.

Yet, when he faces you, he doesn’t look at you with regret or understanding. “But you’re lucky I did,” he retorts, causing you to gasp in disbelief.

“Can you imagine if I had not? You don’t know him or what he’s thinking.”

“Do you?” You counter in his defense. “You don’t know him either. You have not tried to know him as Aegon and Helaena have. Ever since he came you’ve been awful and cold.”

“And is it not reasonable?” He snaps. “Why do you think he’s here? His father is friends with Daemon. He could’ve asked him for one of his daughters’ hands in marriage if he wanted to tie our houses together, but he came here to you because they knew they could trick us into marrying someone with a formidable dragon, and dragon's blood in them that they could pass to their offspring.”

You scoff and mutter. “Is that it? That’s what you think? I’m nothing more than a warm body with magical blood pumping through my veins to be used as they please?”

Aemond’s eyebrows pinch together, and he looks at you like you’ve physically wounded him. “No. Can’t you see that’s what makes you important? That’s what separates you from all the other highborn ladies? That’s why you can’t just be married off to plain-looking nobodies. That’s why you deserve a worthy match that’s been blessed like you.”

His face softens, and he looks down in search of your hand, but before he can grab it, you turn away just as you understand who he’s referring to.

“Well, grandfather didn’t think so,” you try to act oblivious to who he was hinting at. “He wanted this match to happen. Now, he’ll be mad at me and forsake me or force my hand.”

“Not if the prince keeps his word,” Aemond only now offers the prince some grace.

“Let’s hope he does,” you whisper to the fire halfheartedly. “Grandfather will never speak to me again—”

“It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t the Prince—”

“It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t,” you cut him off and return to the fire still dancing in the hearth. “It’ll be better if I am not married,” you whisper and start to fiddle with your fingers. “Now leave me please.”

“I wanted to talk to you—”

“Aemond,” you don’t let him finish, knowing where he was taking this. “Please. We’ll talk tomorrow,” you dismiss him and keep watching the fire with your ears attentive.

Aemond can be so light with his footsteps that sometimes they’re hard to hear, but this time, even if he hardly makes any noise, you hear the door close behind him, leaving you to drop on your knees on the floor and drop your face in your hands with great aching sorrow.

That’s where you spend the rest of the night thinking about everything you can’t have because of that magical blood Aemond claims makes you so special. And that’s where your grandfather finds you in the morning when he barges into your chambers with your mother in tow.

“What have you done?” He sneers.

.

A/N- it’s nice to be excited about a story again!

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