A servant had heard Prince Aerion talking rather lewdly about you and how you can now ‘Take the Dragon’ and that you ‘bled for him’, while in passing. It wasn’t hard for her to realize what he had meant, and it didn’t take her long to sneakily send a raven from Summerhall to the Grand Maester in the Red Keep with the news. 

The small council was quick to find and negotiate betrothal options that would suit their ambitions. Your father didn’t raise you as a fool; you knew they didn’t have your best interests at heart. Lyonel Baratheon was the most promising candidate; neither your uncle Baelor nor your father liked the idea of the age gap. But the small council had little care for that. 

You wish you could have been there to see their faces when your grandsire told them he was agreeing to Maekar’s offer to wed you and Daeron. Maekar really hoped that it didn’t have to come to this, that he could keep you from the expectations of marriage longer. But Aerion’s sick obsession with you didn’t falter and only got worse, and your father had had enough of it. 

So he would marry you to Daeron, his eldest son and heir. It would keep you home and safe, and then he’d find somewhere to send Aerion off if he didn’t listen to his warnings and leave you be. He knew Daeron wasn’t your first option; he wasn’t even on your list of possible suitors. But you would do your duty and make the sacrifice. 

He just wanted the two of you safe. 

You had love for Daeron. You and Aegon had found comfort in his chambers more than once over the years, away from Aerion’s cruel touch. Daeron would pass out on his chaise while you and Aegon took his bed. Daeron would find ways to sneak you more treats when your septa wouldn’t allow you to eat more. Once he ‘accidentally’ spilled his wine all over your new dress, so you could change when he overheard you complaining to your septa that you couldn’t breathe properly with how tight they did the corset, and how your septa told you to deal with it. 

He was a drunk mess, yes, but he cared for his siblings in his flawed, masked way. 

You felt like you had an understanding of your eldest brother, always paying more attention to him, the things he did and said, the things he didn’t say. Daeron was smart; he knew things from his dreams, the things he would see. You craved knowledge, while the knowledge he had was a burden. A burden that gets heavier and heavier as the sun goes down and the moon rises, but lighter once he finds the wine. 

This marriage was unwanted by many, if you were to put it kindly. Many of the realm were against it, the small council was against it, and Aerion was very much against it. The words he said were cruel when father told them all, the way he slammed his hand against the table at dinner had everyone flinching but Maekar, even Daeron flinched, the wine soothed nothing. 

Tears were in your eyes, your body ridged and tense as Aerion had his temper tantrum and stomped off, only breathing once again at the reassuring touch to your hand from Aegon. The wedding plans went fast after that. Your father wasn’t going to give Aerion any time to spoil your happiness anymore. 

The week leading up to your wedding was the hardest week of your life; your dreams were plagued with your mother, she was as beautiful as you remembered her, dismissing your handmaidens so she could dress you herself. Her mouth moved, but no words came out. When she went to touch you, her hands went right through you. You would look in the mirror only to find that she wasn’t there behind you, causing you to panic and realize you truly were alone. 

If it wasn’t your mother in your dreams, it was Aerion. It all ranged from him tearing you away from Daeron at the altar, or him visiting you on your wedding night, taking you in front of your passed-out husband, to you birthing his children. He terrorized you when you were awake, and in your dreams, you truly wondered if you would ever be able to escape him. 

The only one who seemed to be enjoying the wedding festivities was your little brother Aegon. His favorite siblings were being wed to each other, and he had a great view of a sulking and angry Aerion who could only just watch as you married a man that wasn’t him (a man he believed to be lesser than him and undeserving of you), too scared of his father's threats to do anything. How could Aegon not be happy? 

You didn’t just fear for the wedding and the expectations that would come with it, but you feared for what Aerion would do. As the days got closer to your wedding week, the more temperamental he got. Everyone could see it. The servants stayed clear of him, rushing away through the hallways when they would hear the loud slam of his door and the angry footsteps that would follow after. He had fully succumbed to his anger. 

Maekar had extra guards standing outside your bed chambers at night; he wasn't going to risk the chance of Aerion slipping past his own guards to find his way into your chambers. You were rarely alone leading up to the wedding; your father kept you close to his side, and your sworn shield never had you out of eyesight. 

Aerion had grown more bitter and, most of all, petty; you didn’t believe it was possible. He was being watched very closely by his father's most trusted guards; their instructions were clear: the prince wasn’t allowed near you, no matter the reason. So Aerion had to turn his attention to another unwilling victim, his big brother. 

Aerion couldn’t do anything drastic and cruel like he wished to do, not with him being watched so closely. So he resorted to less cruel and ‘noticeable’ actions…but nonetheless still effective. He’d find a way to torment Daeron no matter what, and the best way to do that was to take away what he loved most. His wine. 

He had memorized the times when the servants would go to Daeron's room with pitchers of wine; they learned it was better to have the wine there before the prince would have to ask. 

He’d meet them in the hallways, a rare and very faux smile on his face that made the servants feel more than just unsettled. He would come up with some excuse for the maid to go, and for him to deliver the wine himself. The servants knew he was lying every time; they couldn’t remember a single time where the prince showed any kindness or gratitude to any of them, but they went along, too afraid of what he’d do to them if they didn’t. 

The wine never made it to the eldest prince’s chambers. Either poured into a plant pot or tossed out the nearest window. And the wine that did make it to Daeron’s chambers was always tampered with. Never with poison, he wasn’t that dramatic, not yet at least. When it came to the dreaded celebratory feasts, he couldn’t escape—Maekar had made it clear that he must play the part of the perfect and supportive prince—he would hog the wine to himself, keep it out of reach of his eldest brother's hands, his tactics for it were endless. 

If his eyes that were filled with anger and disgust weren’t on you—the renowned perfect princes who sat between their father and Daeron, your posture was perfect as always, that perfect and polite smile on your face, he knew it was fake…it had to be fake—they were on his big brother, watching how daeron could barely stay still in his seat, body rigid and trembling. 

In Aerion’s eyes, Daeron was only proving—not just to his eyes, but to everyone’s—that he wasn't worthy of you, that he was weak in the mind and body.

He couldn’t even handle a feast at your side, while Aerion knew he would have thrived. (Instead, he was stuck between Aegon and Valarr—the two of them enjoying Aerion's loathing way too much.) You deserved someone who would fight for you…kill for you. 

But in your eyes, you saw the fear and dread in Daeron’s eyes; they were identical to yours before you convinced yourself, as you sat at your vanity while your handmaids got you ready for the feast, that you were happy. You felt like it had been weeks since you truly spoke to him. You expected that you would have seen him more since the betrothal, but you only saw him in passing or when the two of you had to play the part of the happy soon-to-be married couple.

It wasn't like you could speak to him now; neither of you would dare to have a proper conversation while being under the gaze of so many. 

You tried to find comfort in knowing that you weren’t the only one being forced into this marriage, but all you could feel was immense guilt. It twisted in the pit of your stomach and crawled up to your throat; it felt like it was choking you with a burning grip. Every time you saw him, the guilt burned you from the inside; anything you wished to say to him was stripped from you the longer you looked into his pitiful eyes. 

You couldn’t help but think of the many times your brother has protected you. He had taken the blame for your mistakes, mistakes a princess of the realm shouldn’t make. And yet when he truly needed protecting, you weren’t there to help. There was nothing you could do to protect Daeron. Not from the expectations of the realm and your father, not from the cruel actions and words from Aerion, not from this marriage. 

And it was all your fault. 

There was nothing you could do to convince Maekar not to go through with this, which was foreign to you—he never said no to you. Your father has had the same look in his eyes and tremor in his cheek from how tight his jaw has been clenched since that dreadful night. 

He had stood there strong and still as stone as he told you that you were to be wed to Daeron. He tried his best to explain to you that it was for the best, that it was the only option to keep you safe and out of Aerion’s hands; he tried to believe it himself. You knew it wasn't the only option, but your father was too selfish and fearful to have you far from him. 

If your face hadn’t been in his chest, you would have seen the single tear that rolled down his cheek as he listened to your heartbreaking cries. Were they cries of relief for not being wed to Aerion? Were they cries of fear? Of Guilt? You yourself didn’t even know. All you knew was that your life was going to change drastically…the way you and Daeron would look at each other would change, too. 

The wedding ceremony went faster than you thought it would. You didn’t feel like you were truly there; it was like you lost your hearing—you couldn’t hear Daeron as he said his vows. You felt your lips moving as you said the vows, but it didn’t sound like your voice. It was like you were dreaming, and you only woke up when you felt Daeron’s chapped lips barely brush against yours in a quick kiss to seal the union. 

Your eyes had fluttered open just as fast as they had fluttered closed. Eyes of different shades of purple met under the lights. Your breath hitched—not because of the kiss, but from the unknown emotion in your now husband's eyes. His hands trembled in yours, a chill running through his body from the stares. You gave his hands a soft squeeze, a promise of reassurance, a weak squeeze from Daeron following after. 

The wedding feast was nothing like the wedding ceremony. Everyone's shoulders had felt heavy from the symbolicness, and they found it hard to breathe as they realized the true significance of the marriage as the ceremony went on. While the wedding feast felt lively, at least to the guests. Most of the guests were too focused on enjoying the lavish festivities to notice how uncomfortably tense some of the royal family were. 

Aegon was talking with his hands excitedly to his cousin Matarys, who tried his best to keep up with the young prince’s words, but the music and loud chatter of the guests were too much of a distraction. Valarr, who sat between his wife Keira and his father Baelor, watched your still form with eyes of worry. He loved his wife with everything in him and more, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt. Maybe if his father had fought harder for his betrothal to you, then you wouldn’t be shackled to this marriage. He would have grown to love you. 

Baelor’s hands were in his lap as he twisted his rings slowly, his head tilted slightly so he could keep his eye on his brother, who sat on his other side. He could see that the weight of Maekar’s decision was weighing heavily on him. Baelor knew nothing he could say would help soothe his brother's thoughts. The heir to the Iron Throne’s gaze shifted to his second-oldest nephew. Aerion was seated in the furthest seat at the table from the newlywedded couple. 

The Brightflame prince’s hand was almost as white as his hair from how hard he held his goblet of wine. It was surprising that his blood and teeth didn’t pool out of his mouth from how hard he was clenching his jaw. His body trembled in anger as he watched you sit at his drunken fool of a brother's side. How you smiled so sweetly to the lesser people (the guests) as they brought up gifts for you and your husband. 

Aerion wanted to get up from his chair and rip you from yours, holding you close as he rushed through the halls and to his horse. They would flee on horseback to a faraway place, a place where the two of you could be together. He would save you, and then you would finally be able to be happy…with him. The two of you would marry in the same way your shared ancestors did. He felt his trousers get tighter the more he fantasized about it. 

Daeron felt sick. He hated everything about all of this. How the guests celebrated so freely, enjoying the music, food, and wine, while you and he sat there helplessly. He hated how Aerion looked at you; he had no shame or care that you were now his wife. Daeron could practically see the sick thoughts in his brother's head. 

He hated how his father hadn't looked at him once. 

He hated how graceful you were, how you were so good at hiding your true feelings. The perfect princess, as always. He knew you had always been more reserved, only becoming more lively when it was needed. You had grown accustomed to the weight of expectations of being a dutiful princess of the realm—or so it seemed, it made sense why you were father’s favorite. 

He held no ill feelings towards you for being their father’s favorite; seven hells, you were his favorite as well. You had always been everyone’s favorite, for as long as Daeron could remember; you drew in the eyes of many. Even now, the men and even some women openly gawked at you as you sat by his side. No care that it was shameful to look at a princess with such desire in their eyes. 

He was sure the songs about your beauty and grace written by lovestruck poets would haunt him for the rest of his days; he didn’t need a dream to tell him that. 

He tried not to look at you much throughout the feast; he couldn’t hide his emotions as you could. And he was feeling too much. Seeing you in your wedding dress, the way you smiled so prettily at everyone who came up, acting like the perfect wife already, as you spoke for him. You had always done that; Daeron never knew the right things to say, or when to say them, so you did it for him. He never asked for you to do it; you were just…kind. 

As the feast went on, he noticed your happy wife act start to crack. Your hands trembled as you reached for your goblet or for your spoon, as you tried to convince yourself to take another bite of the wedding pie. He noticed the small sips, the small bites, the way you would hide your trembling hands in your lap when you noticed the shaking. 

He wished he had enough courage to reach out and place his own trembling hand on top of yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze, like how you would at family dinners when it got too much for him. But he didn't; instead, he held tighter to his own goblet, eyes darting around the room for a servant to bring him more wine.  

Maekar had let his eldest son have a few cups before he nodded at the servant, letting her know not to bring any more wine to the table. The servant discreetly let the other servants know as well, making sure they stayed clear from the table so it wouldn’t cause a scene if Daeron asked for more wine and they refused. 

Maekar remembered when you were little, and you’d ask him to read you stories before bed; you preferred the comforting sound of your father's voice to the voice of your nursemaid. You would ask him to retell the story of his wedding to your mother. He remembered the innocence in your eyes as you would tell him about your future wedding, how you would marry a knight who would always bring you lemon cake. 

He’ll never forget the night he found you sobbing in your bed, you had refused to come to dinner—sending all of your maids and your sworn shield away. You could barely get any words out between your sobs and hiccups when he asked you what the matter was. The innocence in your eyes was gone as you retold him the words Aerion had told you about what really happened to pretty princesses like you on their wedding night. 

There were no talks of sweet Knights who brought you lemon cake, or stories of weddings and love after that. 

Maekar knew this was far from the wedding you said you desired as a child. And even with the unfortunate circumstance and sacrifices he tried to make it as perfect as he could, even after all of these years, he still remembered the silly details for your desired wedding. He had the cooks make tons of lemon cakes, he got your favorite flowers, and he asked for the best harp and lute musicians to play at the feast. 

He could see a small twinkle in your eyes as you noticed all of it, a small moment of happiness as you realized he remembered. But that happiness never lasted, replaced by melancholy as you were brought back to reality. You barely touched the lemon cakes; you couldn’t stomach them. You hadn’t stopped to smell and admire the flowers like you always had. Maekar didn’t see a genuine smile on your face or hear your excited rambles about the instruments. 

It was his biggest fear; his sweet daughter's happiness was fading right in front of his eyes. The happiness and whimsy in your eyes vanished, turning into emptiness as you tried to portray your part. 

You hated everything about wine. The way it smelled, the way most of them tasted. The way it stained, it stained everything. How it was Daeron’s biggest vice. You hated how you had turned to it to help you get through the feast. Well, you tried, at least, you could only stomach a few sips until you felt sick. 

But most of all, you hated how it changed the behavior of people, making you see them in a different light. 

A Lord you have known since you were a child was now looking at you hungrily, his eyes glazed over. He stood up on the long bench he had been sitting on. His wobbly arm was outstretched into the air as he held up his wooden cup, dark wine spilling over and down his house colored tunic. His slurred shout grabbed the attention of everyone in the great hall. “It’s ought time for the bedding ceremony, aye?!” 

The great hall erupted in rowdy cheers and claps, some lords and ladies even standing up, eager to get a good spot close to the newlywed couple. Your back was as stiff as a board, and your blood ran cold as the words and cheers fully sank in. The weight of expectations got heavier as it pressed down on your chest, making it harder to breathe. The corset you wore did nothing to help with the fact either. 

You tried to stay calm, but that familiar burning feeling in your throat was back again. You felt dizziness and nausea almost swallow you whole as you heard your rapid heartbeat pounding in your ears, your neck ached from how fast you turned it to look back and forth from Daeron and your father. Your eyes were filled with fear and unshed tears, begging them to do something to stop the lords and ladies. 

You wouldn’t survive any more humiliation. You couldn’t. 

Daeron’s own body went stiff, his neck nearly snapping as he looked to the drunk lord, a look of anger and disbelief on his face. How dare they? Haven’t the two of you done enough? And yet these cunts believed that they could ask for more?

Daeron turned to look at you, a part of him breaking at the sight of you slowly crumbling in your chair. You didn't need to say anything; your eyes said it all. If he were braver, he would have taken your arm and pulled you out of the main hall—away from their eyes and expectations—but his own fear kept him planted in his own seat. 

“No.” Your father's stern voice cut through the great hall like an axe. Everyone's head turned to look at the father of the wedded couple, with different expressions amongst them all. Aegon smiled at his father proudly while Aerion still looked at him with a sneer. Baelor let out a heavy breath and looked down at his rings, already thinking of the aftermath he’d have to deal with because of his brother's decision. 

It was rare for the bedding ceremony to be denied, and it was extremely frowned upon, especially for a royal one. But then again, everything about your wedding to Daeron was frowned upon. 

The great hall grew silent besides the faint chatter of a few drunk lords, too much wine in them to understand the severity of the situation around them. The musicians had shared a concerned look before stopping as well. 

“M-My Prince?” stammered a nearby lord, as if he didn't truly understand, his mind fogged from the wine. Or as if he couldn’t accept it. He was either too bold or too drunk to question a prince, but a fool either way. A dead fool, Maekar thought bitterly. 

A mixture of a scoff and a grunt, filled with disbelief and pure anger, left his lips in a throaty sound. He slowly leaned forward as he stared down the man who dared to question his decision. The only thing that held him back from going over there and taking the lord by the neck was you and Daeron. The two of you had suffered enough humiliation. 

Many around the Great Hall flinched at the sound of the anvil’s fist coming down against the table. A snarl left his lips as he hissed, “Did you not fucking hear me the first time, I said no.” 

“You heard Prince Maekar, there will be no more talk of it.” Baelor was quick to jump in and try to de-escalate the situation before the foolish lord’s blood stained the floor and ruined his niece and nephew’s day. He did not wish for this monumental day to end in death. 

You and Daeron finally allowed yourself to breathe once again when the Lord sat back down and the musicians promptly started to play after receiving a look from Prince Baelor. The moments after were nothing but tense, but you paid little attention to that; instead, you tried to blink your tears away. 

You couldn’t look at Daeron, whose gaze you felt heavy; you didn't wish for him to see you cry. You didn't wish for anyone to see you cry; you didn't want to give anyone more reason to think of you as weak. You wished you could look at your father, to see his hard but reassuring gaze, but you knew you would burst into tears the second you did. 

You…you really needed a hug. 

Daeron could see how the events of the day—no, the weeks—leading up to this moment were starting to truly affect you physically. Your perfect posture was faltering as you sank into yourself to make yourself look small. Everything you had tried so hard to hide was slowly starting to appear the longer you sat there. 

You should have felt more relief in hearing that the bedding ceremony was no longer happening, that you wouldn’t have to be part of the horrible, humiliating, and downright disgusting tradition. But the fear kept on creeping up; it didn't go away. You wish your mother or Aunt Jena were here…you knew they would know the right thing to say at this moment. 

Daeron’s eyes fell to your hands that were in your lap, and this time, he didn't hesitate before he placed his hand on top of your trembling hands, lacing his fingers with yours so you would stop anxiously picking at the skin surrounding your nails. It was a bad habit he had known you had had since you were a child. 

He remembered witnessing one of your old septa’s slapping your hands after she caught you picking at your skin. He had watched as tears welled into your eyes with that pitiful lip quiver, you flinched at the septa’s shrilled tone as she belittled you. Daeron had wasted no time on tattling to father about the mistreatment you were receiving. And after watching with a proud look as your father handled the septa, he brought you a few treats he had stolen from the kitchens. 

He didn't talk much; he just listened to your rambles as you excitedly ate the cake, forgetting all about the slaps and belittling words. 

Your breath hitched at the touch of Daeron’s hand, his warm and slightly rough hand squeezing your soft and delicate hand in his. Your eyes slowly found his; they were a darker shade of purple than yours, but filled with the same hopelessness you felt. You couldn’t muster up another fake smile, just a small squeeze to his hand. 

He looked past you and to their father, who sat on the other side of you, and for the first time, they locked eyes that night. Maekar didn't need to hear his son's words; he knew what he needed. He could see how tense both of you sat; to anyone else’s eyes, they wouldn’t notice the trembling or the fear in their eyes, but he knew his children. 

They had suffered enough; they couldn’t stay in the great hall any longer, being stared at as if they were leads in some mummer’s play, talked about as if the two of you weren’t sitting right there. He…he was proud of the two of you, the strength you both have shown. 

He hated feeling, and yet he was a father cursed with feeling too much. Would they hate him forever for this? Did they understand why he had to do this? 

Maekar felt a lump form in the back of his throat as he hesitated before he gave his eldest son a faint nod. He remembered how the two of you would run in and out of the great hall as children, laughs and joyous chatter leaving your lips. You were such happy children. What had gone wrong? What had he done wrong? 

And now the two of you were going to be leaving the great hall as a wedded couple. It made him sick if he thought about it too long, but it had to be done; both of you were safer like this. He would make sure of it. 

Daeron’s eyes went past you and their father, finding Aerion. His younger brother's body was twisted in his chair, his back was halfway towards some of the tables where the lords sat, while his front was towards you; his hands fidgeting with a dagger. Aerion’s eyes were filled with a mixture of desire and anger. 

Aerion truly was someone he couldn't recognize anymore. He could see the passionate rage fester inside him; it wouldn’t be long till Aerion snapped. He was never good at being patient, no matter the warnings their father gave him. And Daeron wanted you and him to be as far away from Aerion when he had his outburst, or what Aerion liked to call it, ‘waking the dragon’. 

You saw the look in Daeron’s eyes; it was time. 

Daeron let go of your hand before he slowly stood up, his hands gripping the carved wood of his tall chair out of habit as if he believed he would start to sway from the effects of the wine, but nothing happened. He hadn’t been able to drink nearly enough wine to allow that familiar feeling he craved. His father was worried that he’d get too drunk and embarrass you, and wouldn’t be able to consummate the marriage, embarrassing you and the family even further. 

Daeron held his hand out for you to take, trying his best to stop the trembling of his fingers. His action of standing up had captured the eyes of many around the great hall. You tilted your head up to look at Daeron through your eyelashes. He gave you a small nod. You could see it in his eyes that he was trying to be strong for you. 

Your eyes fell to his hand, and a strong wave of internal conflict took over you as you hesitated to take his hand in yours. Your head instinctively turned as your eyes found your father, as you always have done when you get scared. When you leave through those doors, you will truly become a woman; you won’t be his little girl anymore. 

You weren’t ready for that; you weren’t ready to be a wife. 

Maekar could see right through you, but you weren’t alone; you shared the same fears. He knew it was selfish of him to feel such things when he was the one who put you in this situation, but how could he not feel such things? Seeing his baby girl becoming a woman, a wife. He was sure the guilt of this would never leave him. 

He moved his hand to rest on your hand that was gripping tightly into the wood-carved armchair; your hand must have been aching. He gave your hand a small, reassuring squeeze—a reminder that he will always be here—and a faint nod. You hated that feeling of sorrow that clawed at your heart. Why did it feel like he was letting you go? 

Your bottom lip quivered subtly as your father’s hand fell from your hand and into his lap, looking away from you to nod at the man standing near the end of the table. You looked back at Daeron, and this time you didn’t hesitate before you placed your hand in his, a small breath escaping your lips as you felt the pressure of the corset against your ribcage loosen as you stood up. 

You held back your flinch as the loud voice of the royal herald filled the great hall, as he announced your and Daeron’s departure. You mustered up the biggest fake smile you could, along with a small wave to the cheering and clapping guests. All you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears and the heavy breaths slipping past your lips as you let Daeron lead you away from the table and towards the doors. 

Daeron’s hold on your hand didn't loosen as he kept you close, concerned that you would fall to your knees. He knew you would probably cry yourself to death from the humiliation if you did. It was rare for him to be the one to have the steady legs and have to stop you from tripping over your own feet. It made a strange feeling stir in his chest as he realized that you were relying on him. 

You kept your head held high and you didn't dare to glance back at your family, at Aerion, while you and Daeron made your way to the open, large, great hall doors. One of your handmaidens stood in the hallway. She bowed politely, her lips were moving, but you didn't hear anything. You assumed she was here to show the two of you to your new chambers…to help you get ready for the consummation. 

This time, you were the one to let go of his hand, quickly holding onto his arm instead as you pressed yourself into his side as the two of you followed your handmaiden. The loudness of the great hall got quieter with every step, while your heartbeat got louder in your ears. 

Your handmaidens had tried their best to comfort you to the best of their abilities as they helped you out of your wedding dress and into a white shift. Whispering soft words of reassurance and kindness. You finally let your tears fall as you felt the soft touch of Arianne’s fingers as she undid the braids in your hair, her fingers brushing through your strands, reminding you of your mother. 

Arianne’s dark eyes softened as she noticed the tears rolling down your cheeks rapidly and the way your lips quivered as you held back your sobs. She took your trembling hands in hers as she helped you stand up from your vanity. She gave them a warm squeeze before she brought her hands up to gently wipe the tears from your face with a small click of her tongue in sympathy. 

Her voice was soft and sweet, just like her touch on your face. “You’re going to be okay, Princess. The Prince isn’t cruel, and Ser Coren will be outside the door.” 

You found comfort in knowing that your sworn shield would be close, not that you feared that Daeron would hurt you physically. You nodded weakly into her hands, making her smile and lean forward to place a soft kiss on your forehead. You watched as she joined your other handmaidens, all of them giving you a curtsy and sympathetic smiles before leaving you alone in your new bedchambers. 

You were left alone in the silence. All throughout the day, you had found yourself praying to be alone, to be welcomed by the comforting embrace of the silence you loved so dearly. But instead, you were welcomed by the cold realization of the union you were stuck in. The loud cheers and toasts were long gone; they had cheered for a successful breeding, for the future, none for your happiness. 

It was a reminder that no matter your royal status, you were still a woman above all, and in most eyes, women were only good for one thing: breeding. 

You sat on the edge of the large canopy bed, your posture still perfect despite the emotions you felt, your hands fidgeting in your lap. You idly noticed that you and Daeron’s things had already been moved here; you could tell that your handmaidens had tried to make the new bedchambers more cozy, but it did nothing to comfort you. It was strange to see your things in an unfamiliar room…mixed with Daeron’s. 

You stiffened when the big doors of the bedchambers opened, and Daeron stepped inside, Ser Coren giving you a reassuring nod before he closed the doors. The room was filled with heavy silence and emotions neither of you dared to speak about aloud. You watched him quietly as he tossed off his doublet and tossed it onto the chaise, kicking his boots off as he nearly tripped on the way over to the table that had the pitcher of wine. 

“Daeron?” You asked softly in confusion after a few beats of silence, watching as he leaned against the table, gulping down a goblet of wine, seemingly ignoring your presence. You couldn’t help but have the feeling of insecurity sneak up on you. He hadn’t looked at you once. 

“No.” He muttered dryly as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he reached to fill up his goblet once again. You shifted uncomfortably on the bed, despite knowing him your whole life, it now felt foreign to be in his presence alone; you didn't know what to say, where to look, what to think. 

Your lips parted, but no words came out. 

“I have no desire to touch you…wife.” Daeron huffed as he finally turned to look at you. It sounded like his words hurt as he spoke them. His eyes softened slightly as he took in the sight of you sitting there, trembling like a leaf, your nearly sheer shift engulfing you, your eyes wide and filled with too many emotions. 

He watched as you visibly faltered from his words, either out of relief or from feeling hurt, he didn't know. Daeron clenched his jaw and lifted his goblet in a faux cheer as he instructed you dryly, “Now sleep so I can drink myself stupid in peace.” 

“But they—“ 

“You are not ready for a child, dear sister.” Daeron was quick to cut you off when he heard your frantic tone. Nothing in his tone showed mockery, just honesty. You couldn’t help but flinch at his words, your bottom lip quivering at the truthfulness. You weren’t ready for a child, you don't think you ever would be, but you knew what you wanted didn't matter; they all made that very clear. 

He noticed the tears in your eyes; you always looked so pitiful when you cried. He continued with a much softer tone—almost a whisper, way too genuine for the lack of wine he had drunk, “Nor am I.” 

You tried to blink away your tears, shaking your head quickly as you moved to stand up, but you stopped; you didn't trust your trembling legs. You feared what would happen to you if you didn’t live up to the expectations, the shame they would make you feel…the whispers. 

The words slipping past your lips as fast as your thoughts, “But it’s my wifely duties—

“How unbecoming it will be then,” He cut you off once again, this time with a mocking tone and a roll of his eyes, before he took another long gulp from his goblet. Your eyes burned with unshed tears. Of course, you didn't expect him to truly understand your fear; he was a man. 

“They will know if we don’t…” You trailed off into a fearful whisper, not being able to utter the words. Daeron wouldn’t be the one going through the torturous examination by the grand maester if others suspected the consummation didn't happen, you would. Daeron wouldn’t be the one receiving the judgmental stares and having rumors spread about him; you would. 

Daeron clenched his jaw and looked away from you and back towards the pitcher of wine, filling his goblet again. He closed his eyes and let out a heavy but shaky breath after he nearly chugged the full goblet. He shook his head weakly in despair and frustration. 

He knew what he must do; he’s known for many moons. He couldn’t have you be punished because of his actions, or lack thereof. Daeron had to protect you now, not just himself. He begrudgingly placed his goblet down on the table, staring down at his hands before he slowly turned to face you. 

The chambers were dimly lit by the soft flicker of the many candles; the candlelight cast a warm glow across you and the stone-carved walls. The scent of the floral oils and lotions your handmaidens massaged into your skin lingered, mingling with the cool breeze drifting through the open window. 

You looked so small sitting in the big bed, looking at him with so much fear but trust in your eyes that it made his heart start to physically ache. He ruined things, that’s what he’s always done. He drank too much, he whored around too much, he cared too little, and then he cared too much.

He’s always been told he ruins everything he touches…he didn't wish to ruin you. You deserved so much better than this, than him. The guilt he felt was sickening. 

“Move back,” Daeron muttered gruffly as he sauntered over to the bed they would now share from now on. He would wager that he would spend many nights passed out on the chaise or the rug in the future. 

A look of confusion decorated your face, but nonetheless, you followed his instructions. You used your hands to push back, scooting backwards so you were in the center of the bed, watching closely as he moved to the side of the bed, flinching in surprise when he fully pulled back the wool blanket that was already halfway pulled down. The handmaidens wanted things to be easier, it seemed. 

“W-What are you doing?” Your voice cracked as you questioned him, watching as he pulled out his dagger from his belt, looking back and forth from the dagger to his face so fast you felt dizzy. 

“There are other ways to make it look like we…” He trailed off into a mumble, his eyes moving from the dagger to look up at you. Taking in the way your facial expression shifted when you realized what he meant. You looked back down at the dagger in realization. You feared it wouldn’t work…the punishment would be even worse if they found out the two of you were lying. 

“Trust me, if there was the highest honor of being able to find a way out of your responsibilities, I’d have it.” Daeron tried to break the tension with a humorous comment and a small chuckle, but it came out more dry if anything. 

You gasped quietly at the feeling of Daeron’s hand gently grabbing your calf, pulling your foot towards him. 

“Daeron, I don’t thi—“ You cut your panicked self off with a small gasp, your breath hitching at the sight of him so close between your thighs. You quickly moved your hand between your thighs to push down your shift before he could see anything. He wouldn’t have looked anyway. 

“Shh,” He hushed you softly with a reassuring squeeze to your calf before his hand moved to your ankle to angle your foot up, hovering it over the white sheet so your blood would drip onto it perfectly. He felt you tremble under his touch in fear; you never liked blood…or pain. You had a sensitive stomach, a sensitive heart. 

“Fear not, sister, it will be but a little prick,” he whispered, his eyes uncharacteristically soft as he gave you a reassuring nod. You swallow slowly and whisper out a heartbreakingly soft ‘okay’. He held your foot gently in one hand while his other hand held tightly onto his dagger, and for the first time, he was grateful for the lack of wine in his system; his hands were steady for once. 

The tremors and shakes all went away when he focused on making sure not to hurt you. 

He gave you one more look, looking for any sort of hesitation in your eyes, but you just gripped the sheets harder and gave him a small nod before you quickly fluttered your eyes closed. He let out a heavy breath before he pressed the tip of the dagger into the bottom of your foot, stopping himself from looking away when he heard you let out a small wince of pain. 

He didn’t press in deep, just enough to break the skin and have your blood be spilled. He didn’t want you to hurt any more than you already were. 

He pulled the dagger away and moved your foot closer to the white bedding ceremony sheet. He watched as your blood dripped and stained the sheet; it was just like he saw it those many moons ago. He let the dagger fall to the floor with no care, quick to rip off a piece of the sheet to wrap and press to the small cut. 

”See, it wasn't all bad, was it?” He tried his best to comfort you, his voice soft as he pressed the cloth into your cut…gods, he needed another jug of wine. You sniffled and fluttered your eyes open. He was right, it was nothing but a little prick and sting, it was just the strong emotions that brought the tears back to your eyes. 

“Thank you, Daeron.” Your tone showed your emotion as you looked into his eyes; you could see it in his eyes. He was trying to be strong for you. He was. You replaced his hand that held the cloth to your cut, giving him a weak smile. He nodded and quickly looked away from your eyes, hating the strong emotions he felt at the sight. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Daeron muttered as he carefully pulled the bedding ceremony sheet out from under you and off the bed, making the bed even messier, but that was the last of your worries. You sniffled and used your free hand that wasn't holding the cloth to your foot to wipe your tears with the back of your hand. 

You watched him with tired eyes as he took the bloodied sheet, tossing it to the end of the canopy bed before he pulled the other blankets over you. He whispered, “Rest.” 

All you wanted to do was rest, to sleep and forget about this horrible day, but how could you if you knew Daeron wouldn’t? You frowned. “You need to rest, too.” 

“Rest,” he repeated himself before he swallowed slowly and took a step back from the bed, watching as you slowly lay down in defeat. He could see you physically melt into the bed, your blinks becoming slower. He didn't blame you; you were physically and emotionally exhausted. 

You felt safe. Daeron had protected you; he didn’t force you. Your wedding night was nothing like the horror stories Aerion had scared you with. Those stories had tormented you for years. Aerion didn’t win this…win you. 

It didn't take long for you to surrender to your sleepiness, way easier than he ever could. He waited a few moments before he grabbed the bloody sheet and walked over to the chamber doors. He let out a shaky breath before he quietly opened one of the large doors. He wasn't surprised to see the Grand Maester’s servant waiting there, Ser Coren staring her down with a clenched jaw, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. 

The servant’s eyes were quick to look behind the prince's figure once the door opened; her eyes found the bed, found you. You lie there on your side, back to the door, bed messy, all good signs. Her eyes went back to Daeron, who didn't hide his hatred for her. 

He pushed the bloody sheet into her chest and snapped, “Now fuck off.” 

She let out an unimpressed hum before she walked away, and the sound of her footsteps echoed through the hallway. The prince’s eyes moved to your sworn shield, the two of them sharing a nod before Daeron entered the chambers once again, the door quietly closing behind him. He took similar steps back towards the table, grabbing both the wine jug and his goblet before he went over and flopped down on the chaise. 

He tried not to, but his eyes kept moving to you, watching as you slept there soundly, watching the movement of your chest rising and falling in your sleep until it somehow lulled him to sleep. But the sleep never lasted for long. 

On the other side of the castle and waiting in the shadows of the dark hallways stood Aerion, his deep violet eyes watching the large wooden door very closely. He stood up straighter when she stepped out of the Grand Maester’s chambers. In her hands, she held what he came for. He tilted his head in amusement as she quickly looked around, as if she felt someone’s presence. 

He let her walk further away from the Chambers and into the hallways, her steps getting quicker. He stepped out from the shadows, the light from the torches on the wall flickered across his face, showing the sadistic smirk on his face. 

The servant immediately stopped in her steps, every part of her going tense as she watched him take a slow but threatening step closer to her. Her eyes dropped to his sword, how his hand held so tightly onto the pommel of it, a shaky breath escaping her lips as her eyes darted around her anxiously. She had heard the rumors about how Aerion had hurt others before her to get what he wanted. The Grand master had made it clear that she must stay far away from the monstrous prince. 

His eyes weren’t on her, no, they were on what she held in her hands; she was clearly on the way to dispose of it. His eyes slowly moved to look at her, giving her a dark look. He didn't need to mutter the words; she knew what he had come for. 

He took another step forward, clicking his tongue as he looked down at her like she was nothing, because she was. Her hands trembled as she hesitated before she held out the bloodied sheet to him. A mixture of a gasp of fear and a whimper left her lips as he quickly snatched the sheet from her. A snarl left Aerion’s lips as he took it, as if her touching it for too long was contaminating it even further. 

“Leave,” Aerion hissed at her with a feral snap of his jaw at the trembling servant. She flinched back and quickly bowed before she used her hands to grip the sides of her dress so she wouldn’t trip over the hem as she quickly rushed away. 

Aerion felt a deep sense of satisfaction, not just because he had the servant nearly to tears and running away in fear, but also because he held the sheet stained with the blood of his little dragon. He brought the sheet up to his nose, his eyes fluttering close, and a desperate, low-pitched guttural sound leaving his lips as he savored the scent. 

A fury hotter than the hottest flame burned deep inside him, tingling all over him as he imagined how Daeron took you—clumsily, most likely. How he sullied you. Daeron didn't deserve to touch your soft skin, smell the oils and lotions, hear your sweet sounds, or feel you next to him in bed. 

This would have to tide him over, he thought to himself bitterly. At least until you finally realized that you could truly only be with one person, him. The one you were made for, two dragons. Daeron was no dragon, just a drunken whore. It wouldn’t take long for Daeron to ruin this, ruin you. And Aerion would be there to mold you back together and into his perfect little dragon. 

You were born for him, a gift from the gods. He burned for you, he bled for you. You would be back safely in his arms soon, where you belonged, he was sure of it. 

┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…. 𝙖𝙪 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 & 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ❜❜

Ი𐑼 finallyyy after a long wait it’s here !! I’m sorry it took so long to get out but I was really busy and couldn’t type as often + I just really wanted to do this chapter justice and really show the emotions and thoughts of the characters and not just focus on dialogue. it’s kinda all over the place but I’m really happy with how it turned out . please let me know your thoughts and opinions , seriously it helps motivate me 🤍

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