NOT JUST A QUEEN, BUT THE QUEEN
PAIRING: valarr targaryen x fem!reader
SUMMARY: where you want... no... need everything, but without striving for it, that is why you make the son of the crown prince of the seven kingdoms fall into your arms in an arranged betrothal, not out of love, just for power. yet, will the perfect and intelligent prince—but not sweet and naive—fall for you?
C/W: arranged marriage and political manipulation, hunting accident and injury inaccuracy, non-explicit physical intimacy and kissing, animal death/hunting, minor medical distress, loss of consciousness and imbalanced power dynamics.
A/N: as you may see this is one of my recently finished drafts. i desperately needed to write something about valarr, so i’m not sure what this is.
you have finally achieved what you have worked so hard for since you first set foot in king’s landing at the age of nine. after so many suggestions from your father about approaching the king and queen, all those afternoons of having tea parties and sweet talks with the queen until becoming one of her ladies-in-waiting, the conversations with the king regarding the consequences of war, and friendly interactions with some of their sons—the crown prince baelor or prince rhaegel—have borne fruit, given that the king himself has finally suggested an arranged marriage of convenience between baelor’s firstborn, valarr, and you.
do the lords of noble houses always gossip about him in the small council when he is absent due to his lack of valyrian appearance, save for the silver lock adorning one side of his hair and some small, unnoticed traits? yes. but, do they respect and support him as their future good king? again, yes. is there a possibility that you might conquer him? not really. you are not the only young lady in search of grandeur, and he certainly behaves kindly towards anyone who is not you… could it be that he has always suspected the true intentions of your dearest father? probably.
perhaps it has been the careless glances towards the iron throne when you think nobody is watching that have betrayed you. or maybe the housemaids have been spreading rumours about the large quantities of wine you consume before reading to the king so as not to perish of boredom by the tenth page, and he has overheard it. doubt is what inevitably makes you ponder all the occasions you could have played the game of thrones better—yet you still did not. how can one trust a husband who knows the true nature of his lady wife and her family? merely knowing how ambitious you can be might make him distance you further from possessing any kind of power, leaving you only as the spouse of a future king. the wife and a queen consort. not the queen.
soon, you realise that your thoughts are far too loud, as the prince has lifted his head from amongst his books to observe you—rigid, far too expressionless, and not at all suggestive for your own good, instead of feigning to read one of the many volumes in the library that you have already read more than twice.
“i believe my lady’s head is catching fire.” he jests, but there is no laughter when you turn to look at him, incredulous. easily a distasteful remark that two guardsmen would exchange, not one between a prince and a lady. of course, you desire his trust—it is that which will secure your steps on a path mined with wildfire, but neither do you wish to be like just another knight to him instead of the wife to whom he can entrust command. perhaps you must cease the frequent use of trousers like the women of the iron islands—due to the comfort of such garments despite not being one of them—whilst he is present… but that sounds too stupid, doesn’t it?
“perhaps it is so, my prince,” you restrain yourself, not out of kindness, but for the sake of control. you cannot yet grant him the satisfaction of confirming that you are exactly as he believes.
“of course…” valarr nods, but then his eyes shift towards the book in your hands and he lets out a dry scoff. “does my lady know new ways of reading that i am unaware of? is this a fashion from outside king’s landing of which i have yet to hear?”
“huh?” the realisation hits you and you let out a small gasp—the book is upside down. “oh, that. uhm, it is a book i have read many times. i suppose it is a new way of learning, my prince.”
the king constantly thinks this is a small, friendly exchange between the two of you, but the reality is different—a small battle of words, one of many you have had, is what you call it.
“well then, i suppose i shall do the same once i finish this book, but for now, we should take a stroll before darkness consumes the firmament.” he indicates, and you nod quickly, standing up, but without taking his hand and walking ahead of him, not at his side, certainly, maintaining the rhythm of your steps is not easy.
“my lady should slacken the pace of her steps,” he suggests, and you stop without thinking, a smile that does not reach your eyes forming—not genuine, but rather defensive, in the sense that he could easily consider it a defence mechanism to survive within these thick but noisy walls.
he offers you his arm when he reaches you, and your hand rests on his forearm without much hesitation, noting the small trace of pearled sweat upon his brow. “we can wait a while until you recover your breath.”
“i am fine. i was merely taken slightly by surprise by the imprudence in your steps. today’s training was a bit heavy, this should be more tranquil—it is a walk, not a race, my lady.” he assures, his steps slower and steadier, feeling your eyes upon him. “i am not going to eat you, you know?”
“i was not being imprudent. i am simply not like my prince, and i do not enjoy listening to the whispers of the servants whilst i walk.” you huff in defence and turn your gaze elsewhere. his words held no malice, yeah, but you are a hundred per cent certain that his response would have been different if any other lady had done the same.
“here you go.” his gaze strikes the view in the windows with rigidity, doing anything to avoid seeing your profile at his side. to him, you always have a reason every afternoon to quarrel—such as his hair being greasy at times for not having washed it for a day, or that the dresses he gifts you are too tight, and even that the colours of the jewellery specially made for you do not favour you—yet you wear them anyway, because everything you do is to give him a hard time, or at least that is what he believes.
“towards where should we head?” you ask with subtlety, trying to avoid a displeasure for which you would later have to take responsibility.
“where were you heading? it is you who was leading the way a few moments ago,” he asks now, and you sigh. you cannot reply that you were going to some nearby stable to observe the horses and then try to convince him to flee for a while, so you only whisper something, low and fearful. “the gardens.”
“very well.” he nods, finally turning his head towards you again. southern braids even in the finest and smallest hairs. a long and very covered dress of a dark grey similar to his own garments, and striking jewellery upon your neck, ears, wrists, and fingers. he would admit you are pretty if he did not know you would respond with obviousness and egocentrism as soon as the words left his mouth. but you never give him the pleasure of seeing you explode, so he cannot grant you the joy of putting him in a situation where he looks vulnerable—not the young prince of the seven kingdoms, not the heir to the future king.
as soon as you step onto the stone path of the garden, both his eyes and yours can see the king in the distance, speaking with some members of his council, among them valarr’s father, the hand of the king.
“i thought they only came on tuesdays.” you whisper, sparing a small pout while valarr hums something. if you were not his betrothed and did not hail from a noble house, he would have already called a guard to have you kicked out of the red keep.
“that is a bit terrifying, my lady. it makes you look as if you have spied on them to death.” valarr clicks his tongue while he leads you towards a stone bench that is still a bit warm, but you do not pay much mind to it as he sits without overthinking the matter, so you do the same.
“how rude, my prince,” you let out, leaning your elbow on the stone armrest so that your head rests in the palm of your hand. “besides, i very much like coming to the garden every day when you are entering or speaking in the training grounds with the ladies who love to go and watch the knights and princes train. it is merely a coincidence.”
“with ladies, you say?” he points out, indignant. “are you accusing me of going to train so that the ladies see me sweaty and wielding a sword. is that what all this is about?”
“i mean, partly yes, but at the same time no.” you feel the heat rise up your neck, but you do not allow yourself to feel intimidated, instead, you look at him defiantly. “we all like grandeur, do we not? to be admired and seen with good eyes.”
“i do not need to train to be admired,” he lets out a little laugh and you raise an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue. “i am simply myself, and that is enough to make any lady blush.”
you grumble and turn again to see the king. they are at a further distance and you are almost certain he has seen neither you nor valarr, not behind the gigantic shrubs covering you.
“you are very conceited, my prince…” you mutter and he lets out a small, deafening laugh, which unsettles you. you are not the fairest flower in king’s landing, nor even of your own home—you cannot be certain if someone else will be cleverer and faster to leave you in the background before your ceremony with valarr even takes place.
“amongst princes, it is called being confident, not conceited.” he whistles softly and you furrow your brow with subtlety, but it does not go unnoticed by him. “do you believe i will not be faithful to you as soon as we wed, my lady?”
“i cannot be certain, my prince,” you bite your lip with uncertainty. “it does not matter how well parents have raised a son… you can be the best king and still sire thousands of bastards all over the seven kingdoms when you have as a wife a woman you did not choose… although, i believe not even love can change a man’s nature, certainly between us there is none of that… no love, no loyalty, nor closeness.”
the mocking glint disappears from his gaze, but he remains in silence. thus you finally confirm what he already knows.
“i always… wanted to marry a prince. at first it was for love, but when my father found out, he began to form so many plans in that head of his. that was one of the reasons we came, so that he would enter the council and bring me closer to one of the king’s first grandsons.” you admit, your hands moving to rub your cheeks with embarrassment.
they were only the dreams of a little girl, like eating lemon cakes every day whilst wearing trousers instead of skirts, riding with a prince who loved you and whom you could call husband during the sunsets, and sitting on a throne you could also call yours. perhaps your father would have placed a sword instead of withered flowers in your hands… perhaps you could even have worn armour instead of dresses, but as an only daughter surrounded by sons, that has never been a possibility for you.
“my lady mother says we inherit the most notorious traits of our progenitors,” valarr comments, but you do not respond. “but i do not believe you have inherited your father’s imprudence at all. you are very clever, perhaps that is why i am gentler with others than with you, given that a smile is not enough for you. for that reason, i believe that when i ascend the throne, it will be you who makes the responsible decisions.”
a lady with the bravery of a knight, the strength of a sword, and the attitude of a king. are you someone who wants it all? yes—the kingdoms, the support of the people, the throne, the power, everything your father had once convinced you to want. do you feel you have truly fought for it? it no longer feels as such, you have always followed the plans of others, made the ambitions of others your own, but everything you have done has never placed a sword in your hands, allowed you to wear trousers when it is not night-time, or have a horse of your own to ride without someone else’s permission.
“perhaps not always,” you admit. “but… i believe deep down i crave it all. we all start to want something when we see it so much, or so i suppose.”
“that way of thinking will vanish as quickly as it arose when you attend a council meeting with me. believe me.” he assures. listening to so many men arguing about how to deal with battles or rebellions in the future every time he attends is not something he truly enjoys, and however much you enjoy the adrenaline, he does not believe you could live in constant conflict.
“well, my prince, i can be as capable as you, but we shall see,” you laugh with incitement, crossing your arms while your face is at a close distance from his. “you can start by taking me to the royal hunt tomorrow. i am very good at riding a horse.”
“do you not think it is very dangerous?” he asks at the insistence of your tone, it is difficult to say no to you when you always seem to be the strong one and he the weak one.
“no. i will stay by your side, i will help you, and we will return first,” you affirm with confidence and he lets out a small sound. “yeah?”
“yeah. all those ladies will learn that their future queen does not play around.” you cross your arms and he gives you a look.
“firstly. you are also a lady-in-wait. secondly. what if instead of killing a stag, you end up killing a rabbit?” he jests, and an indignant growl escapes your throat through your lips.
“we will bring a very large animal back and it will be i who kills it whilst you have to carry it!” valarr can see how your skin turns a bright red from embarrassment. most likely, you have never taken a dagger in your hands.
“this talk taught you nothing, uh?” dealing with your egocentrism is something he has not yet grown accustomed to, though he already passed through this stage—the difference being that was when he was three and wanted a seal of his own despite not even knowing how to write or read without his mother’s help.
“perhaps yes, perhaps no, i do not know.” You stand up, smoothing the folds of your uncomfortable dress before seeing him one last time. “if you decide to accept me as your company, i want a dapple-grey horse—the queen says they have a calm and obedient temperament. perhaps that will comfort you in case something bad happens. if you will excuse me, i shall take my leave, your grace.”
he watches as you depart, tripping a few times over the length of the dress, but trying to hide it, though without success. he only scoffs, although in that moment, his grandfather, whom he thought had already left the garden, stands before him, to such an extent that his soul nearly leaves his body when he hears him clear his throat.
“grandfather…” immediately he stands up, placing his arms behind his back as he lowers his gaze. if you had not decided to leave, everything would be less awkward.
“i see your betrothed and you had a…. very good talk. it seemed interesting, grandson.” the king nods and valarr only nods, searching for his words.
“you saw us? i thought the shrub covered us.” valarr confesses, and the king also places his hands behind his back, which fills his grandson with shame upon realising this is his grandfather’s signature way of reminding him of his habits when he is nervous.
“i believe i can recognise your voice and hers better than anyone’s, i could know it was you even if it were only snoring that i heard.” gods, that makes valarr blush even more, forced to bring his hand to his neck to control himself.
“that is… something. perhaps i should take my leave as well.” he stammers, moving away from his grandfather as fast as he can without even giving him the chance to nod.
it has darkened enough to notice that to the orange-yellow of the sky, a bluish-purple has been added, the moon shining in a corner.
valarr’s steps are heavy but consistent as he finally stops before the door of your bedchamber, dismissing the guards with a single movement of his hand. but before being able to place his hands upon the door, a maid opens it, leaving with embarrassment.
“it is not good manners to visit a lady in her bedchamber toward the night, my prince.” you tease, but you do not make the slightest movement when he enters. there is uncertainty in his steps whilst you sit upon the bed with legs crossed. hair loose and wavy from the braids and a low-cut nightgown—perhaps too much for just a prince and his betrothed.
“what a fine observation,” he points out, but it does not feel like an inoffensive argument, and he confirms it. “no decent lady is available to talk at this hour.”
“so i am not a decent lady?” you gasp with indignation and his eyebrows rise with amusement. any other noble might give you the respect he gives to other ladies, but certainly none of those nobles is a prince.
“you are very observant today.” that indignates you even more and a pout adorns your lips whilst you cross your arms.
“perhaps you are quite right,” you huff. “i am not a decent lady. i might have the title of one, but certainly i would be the perfect prince.”
“yeah?” he questions and you nod without shame, chin held high.
“well, i thought perhaps we could speak about decorations you might like, but i have a feeling this conversation will end in much gold and the crown going over budget.” he lets out, rolling his eyes, although there is still a trace of nervousness in the way his body reacts.
“is that so?” you mutter between your teeth, observing his fingers, his clothes, his hair, but what catches your attention most is his skin still prickled. “i do not believe it is appropriate for a prince to lie, your grace. i suspect my prince only seeks to hide from his grandfather under the first skirt he finds.”
a shiver runs down the back of his neck again, more intensely this time, his cheeks staining a deep red while he shudders with ragged breath despite having walked without haste. “that is a very strong accusation. perhaps even inadequate.”
“you are so right, my prince!” you retract, although it is not really a genuine reaction, but rather improvised, your skin crawls regardless. mentally, you blame yourself for having exposed yourself too much, it was not an exchange of passive-aggressive words—you have literally made him blush like a freshly washed tomato. “it was so inappropriate. i am so sorry, your grace.”
once you had played the same joke on matarys, and he had had the same reaction as his older brother. the difference being that instead of appearing repentant you had let out a little giggle, and that makes him doubt the sincerity in your words, if there is even any at all.
“it is alright.” he nods and you swallow hard, holding back a sigh of relief. “we shall see each other tomorrow, i suppose.”
“will i be able to go?” you ask, less alarmed and more enthusiastic.
“yeah, why not? just stay close,” he warns, pausing so as not to trip over his own words. “and… do not make much drama about it. i will get you a knight but we will return before then. my cousin will also attend, so i imagine the hunt will finish much sooner than planned.”
“the drunkard?” you interrogate vaguely as if you did not drink nearly the same amounts as daeron every chance you get, and valarr laughs.
“no. aerion.” he admits in a low voice, and immediately you furrow your brow. his cousin is a lost cause. you have hated him since he mistook you for a servant, so you have tried to avoid him ever since.
“we will kick that false dragon’s backside!” you insist, but valarr reproves you.
“hunts do not serve as an excuse to strike the participants, my lady. but i suppose i understand your point with aerion believing himself a dragon.”
“perhaps i said too much.” you huff with boredom while the man before you murmurs something.
“perhaps, my lady. but for now, i shall depart. i hope you look presentable tomorrow.” his arm extends to take your hand in his, and for a moment you think he will kiss it, but his lips only brush it and then he departs with victorious steps since he has managed to get on your nerves.
when the door closes with him outside your bedchamber, you let your head fall onto the bed, defeated while fatigue blurs your vision and sleep pulls at your eyelids until you finally fall.
the rest of the night feels like a feather, light and slow, until finally morning arrives at the window of your bedchamber, making you wake before the rest to be able to get ready without haste, but the hours that for you feel slow, for the damsels feel like minutes, and before you can foresee it, valarr is already knocking at the door of your bedchamber.
“i am ready.” you confirm with a smile that fills your whole face as you open the door. he is standing there, looking like the prince he is. he does not wear his armour, instead he wears a long doublet of black brocade with an intricate pattern of scales, completely contrasting with the beige trousers, tall brown boots, and gloves matching the high-necked jacket you are wearing.
“may i ask why that colour?” he interrogates you, but he already knows what you are going to say.
“so that the fact we will kill a great beast is evident when we return.” you admit with satisfaction, he has never scolded you for using trousers nor such garments, so the rest should not have to do so in his presence either.
“we should be off.” he chuckles and you nod, walking by his side until the two of you reach one of the royal carriages that will take you to kingswood.
you are already inside the carriage, so he also enters and the trip is short, so he does not have to hear much about how you would like to redesign the carriages. thank the gods.
upon arriving, he steps down first so you accept his help without hesitation since the nobles are watching, but they watch even more when you walk among them with valarr at your side, your hand in his seeking to continue with the facade of the perfect lady without a free nature.
you can hear the murmurs of a lord regarding your attire despite continuing to walk, but instead of confronting him, you only roll your eyes, distracted to such an extent that if it were not for valarr’s sudden hand on your bicep you would have collided with his cousins.
“well, well. cousin.” aerion pronounces, his gaze more malicious than you expected as it shifts from valarr towards you and from you towards valarr. in contrast, daeron seems far too preoccupied with the large goblet of wine in his hands to worry about what is forming.
“i am sorry, but we are leaving.” you insist, trying to keep moving forward but aerion does not permit it.
“that is not the way you speak to the blood of the dragon.” aerion warns, but you are not intimidated in the slightest.
“and that is not the way to treat your future queen.” you let out a low growl, and valarr hides a smile behind his hand. before aerion can continue speaking or looking you up and down without shame, you are already walking towards the horses, looking at valarr with doubt.
“you got me one… right?” you let out the question with uncertainty. “i will not ride the same horse as you.”
“but— of course i got you a horse!” the prince exclaims with cheeks redder than the small red emblem woven upon the right side of his chest. “what kind of prince do you think i am? a perverted one? never.”
“i was only asking. i never insinuated anything.” you defend yourself, looking carefully at each horse to identify if there is a new one, or perhaps you will use one of those that have been there for a long time.
“it is that one.” valarr points to a dapple-grey horse in one of the corners, just as you had requested. your heart races upon recognising that he had not forgotten.
“splendid...” you comment, trying to seem not too excited though you feel your heart pounding in your throat with intensity.
“i also got you this.” then a dagger is placed in your hands—not large enough to attack a deer without effort, but at least you can finish off a duck or a rabbit.
“so you will carry your sword and a bow with munitions whilst i carry this?” you complain, and his eyebrows rise in incredulity. any girl would be happy to have her own dagger, perhaps you cannot finish someone instantly but it generates much damage.
what an ambitious young lady, he thinks.
“do you believe you deserve a sword?” he questions, not letting you off easily. “do you believe you deserve a bow with its own arrows?” ouch. “do you truly believe you deserve it?”
your eyes widen and your shoulders shrug, finding no words in return. “i— perhaps not… but i have used my brothers’ swords before.”
a trace of guilt crosses his face but he does not soften, only breathes and then brings his arms behind his back.
“perhaps i will allow you to use the bow, only with authorisation.” he hesitates before continuing. “about my sword… i do not know. i cannot give you something so valuable without having seen you use one before.”
“does that mean you will give me one to put me to the test?” your gaze shines with contained emotion but he immediately breaks your hopes.
“no,” he shakes his head, twice to be exact.
“alright,” you sigh, perhaps still a bit indignant but not discouraged. “the bow will be enough.”
“the hunt will start soon… do you need help to get on the hor—” again, you are already one step ahead, mounting the horse without help or much complaint.
“alright, so, let’s start.” he mounts his own horse to follow the others who have begun to venture into the kingswood, being observed by the king who is already too old to participate but likes to support his sons and grandsons.
“i hear something here.” he murmurs, dismounting his horse with confidence, so you do the same, but you really do not detect anything, much like the horses who remain calm.
“i believe the prince confused the noise of his own thoughts with those of the woods.” you laugh, approaching him until he is cornered against a tree. when you realise the proximity, you try to move away but he draws you even closer.
“my prince, i do not think—” thank the gods he does not let you finish the sentence and his mouth takes yours in a soft and slow kiss, almost lazy—even so, better than the kisses of some of the knights you have encountered.
shortly after, whilst you resume the path and venture further into the woods, still with rosy cheeks and swollen lips, you cannot help but give valarr a jest every now and then, but upon detecting a movement nearby, you get excited, immediately holding the dagger in one of your hands in case it is a rabbit or a duck. of course you do not wish to hunt something so small, but it can easily be a start.
a particular scent fills your nostrils and immediately you know—it is not a rabbit, not a duck, nor even a deer. it is a boar. so without even valarr’s authorisation, you take the bow from the rear of his horse and loose an arrow towards its thoracic cavity, but the excitement then turns to panic when you see it flee instead of falling immediately—this is something you should have expected, although now it is the last thing you can worry about given that the grunts of the wounded boar provoke an intense reaction in your horse, but you do not manage to calm it since it is barely the first time you have mounted it and you have no bond with it.
before you can fully process it, valarr snatches the bow from your hands, bringing down the boar at a short distance with the second arrow, but the agitation in the horse is such that you can feel how you fall with force and a tree trunk impacts the side of your shoulder.
“i knew this was not a good—” his breath hitches as he dismounts his horse, yours escaping further into the woods, becoming a secondary concern when your weak sobs are what fill his ears before you faint without warning but with notable obviousness.
the rest is no longer clear. you wake up a few times but fall back into unconsciousness almost instantly, so when you awaken, a couple of hours have already passed.
“you truly gave me a fright,” you can hear valarr murmuring as soon as he notices awareness in your features, you want to turn your head to see him, but he stops you before you try. “do not even attempt it.”
“did you bring the boar with you?” you ask, and his mouth opens in surprise. “the fall… the horse… your collarbone… are you seriously worrying more about the boar than your own health?”
“the horse?” you ask again, regretting how little your own horse has lasted. perhaps you are not made for this and—
“the guards brought it back, as well as the boar, if that is what concerns you, my lady.” valarr informs, running his hand through your tangled and sweaty locks.
“furthermore, i hope you reflect upon the danger of today. i even believe i prefer to see you observing the throne for hours instead of falling from a horse that hard.” he admits and you gasp, confirming the suspicions you have always had.
“i knew it!” you claim. “i knew you had noticed those looks too well!”
“it is not as if you hide it much either,” valarr shrugs, rolling his eyes but there is no malice in his action. “besides, you have already confessed it several times. you like power, titles, thrones.”
“are you calling me a gold-digger, your grace?” you question with growing anger, but his response seeks to annoy you and you realise it quickly.
“well, yes. something like that.”
“and it does not bother you?” you question. thank the gods your betrothed is not an aggressive man when speaking, but he is very intelligent as well as perceptive, and that is the worst double-edged sword.
“i do not think anything could bother me as much as what occurred today,” he admits and you hum before asking. “why?”
“today you were wounded whilst i was present and i could do nothing but bring you back—” he pauses. “your clothes… you thought you would return stained with the blood of a beast, but it was none other than your very own.”
“that was a low blow, my prince,” you laugh, although you stop at the moment when you feel a slight pain. “i mean, thank the gods your words are out of concern, for otherwise i would have been very offended.”
“whatever.” he huffs and you take his hand.
“what i mean is that… yes, deep down i do want everything—the kingdoms, a pretty crown, power, and the throne—but i will not steal it from you, nor will i give it to my family.” you admit, making him smile a little.
“i should hope so. you only want a gold crown and a sword, do you not?”
“and power,” you add, but hesitate before mentioning something else. “perhaps even some love…”
“you? wanting love?” he questions, incredulous and you squeeze his hand.
“i had always dreamed of living in a castle with a prince as my husband, eating lemon cakes every day, and carrying a sword.”
“lemon cakes,” he repeats, letting out a whistle. “i can give you many lemon cakes. just do not usurp me.”
“i would never do that!” you fight back, indignant. valarr has read many books—too many for your own liking.
“i should hope so.” he confirms, bringing his face close to yours, asking for permission, and you only look at him until again feeling the soft lips of the prince upon yours. perhaps he is the prince of your dreams. perhaps he is everything you have sought and the consolation you need. perhaps it is him.
© martellias 2026 ؛ do not re-upload, translate without permission, alter, or post to different apps.
