The coronation of Maekar Targaryen took place three days after the deaths of his nephews, Valarr and Matarys, as the Great Spring Sickness eased its lethal hold over King’s Landing. Saera giggled to herself as she rifled through Grand Maester Loqen’s stores of tinctures and draughts, darkly amused that the plague had managed to snatch her brothers from her and then flee. Dawn’s light was sharp, throwing brightness into the shadows, illuminating the bottle of dreamwine as Saera triumphantly held it aloft.
Loqen was known for forgetting to lock the door to his office. Valarr had chastised him for it on several occasions. Well, Saera mused as she raised the bottle of dreamwine to her lips and took a gulp deep, Valarr wasn’t around to chastise anyone anymore. The concoction was sickly sweet on her tongue, and she let her head fall back with a satisfied sigh. She’d been permitted some dreamwine in the past few days, considering the circumstances, but it wasn’t enough. The pain was still there, it would always be there, and needed not only to dull it, but drown it out entirely.
When Saera nudged open the door to the maester’s chambers, she paused when she noted Ser Roland waiting expectantly outside. She clutched the bottle of dreamwine close to her and lifted her chin, daring him to berate her. She had hoped that she’d slipped past him without notice, but the Kingsguard was ever vigilant. Roland’s expression was grim as his gaze drifted to the bottle in her hand, though he said naught.
“Come, Ser Roland.” Saera’s tone was imperious as she swept back down the hall in a swirl of skirts, the pleasant buzz of the dreamwine already beginning to creep through her veins. The coronation was in a few hours, and Saera’s presence would be expected.
It should be Baelor ascending to the Iron Throne, or Valarr. Instead, despite all the odds, it was Maekar. Jena had shut herself away in her rooms, refusing even to see Saera. Whether she would attend the coronation was uncertain, and yet none blamed her. As Baelor’s widow, as the mother of those poor dear boys, her absence was met with sympathy. Saera’s would be met with raised eyebrows and questions.
