PRINCESS ISLANDRIEL AERYN (appears 29) Elle Fanning - TAKEN BY LAUREN Nationality: Freeholder/Vatonese Condition: Feyan/Wytch/Were/Vamp/Human-Hybrid – Pyrokinesis/Deathtouch Position: Princess of Vatonis  Alignment: Freehold/Vatonis Starting: Freehold Relationship(s): Emrys Aeryn (grandfather/council member), Aomon Aeryn (deceased father), Sybelle Aeryn (deceased mother), Aouine Aeryn, Endreth Aeryn, Miralas Aeryn (sisters), Findon Aeryn (half-brother), Lada Koskei (stepmother/potential council member), Ziva Xirath (stepsister), Eramis Aeryn (uncle/potential council member), Andarne Aeryn, Ormond Aeryn (cousins), Vida Arion (best friend), Adalet Atamon (believed deceased best friend), Kresimir Koskei (interest)

islandriel sometimes laughs that she is, indeed, a princess of ivory – she cannot be touched

yet, this is no haughty claim of superiority when it comes to islandriel but, rather, an admission of weakness

islandriel, it is said, is cursed

while it took some time for the curse to show itself, she learned too late, and too terribly, just which power was in her multi-hybrid-blood

islandriel was a soul-stealer

her touch is lethal

while all her sisters had received betrothals when they came of age, islandriel, alone, had proven lucky in hers

soon enough coming to share a tender love with her future husband

yet, their love was doomed

the very first time his lips brushed hers, her flame scoured him, burning him from inside out, and leaving him dead at her feet

since that time, islandriel has not dared to touch another living soul for fear of the horrid end they might meet

now, though, faced with the games and those who would steal what little she and her sisters have left...

perhaps now it is time to unleash her curse against all those who would stand against them…

her betrothed has been some time dead, its true, but she will never forget him, or the life they planned together

their dream was to see the world set to rights, and now she’s hellbent on seeing that through both for him and for herself

The Freehold

In the northern reaches of the capital, where volcanoes spat their fire into the sky, one of Valyria’s famed topless spires; a tall black tower knifing upward into the night, its upper reaches lost in darkness, came into view.

Fire-lit balconies jutted from the spire at dizzying heights, each glowing high from braziers that sputtered embers into the hot winds. The air surrounding the balconies felt oppressive with the heat, carrying the acrid mingling of soot and blood.

From the depths below, drums thundered relentlessly. Dark shadows twisted upon walls of fused black stone, making the dragon gargoyles appear to writhe in ecstatic agony. It felt as though the tower itself were coming alive, while their own were circling the sky, intoxicated by the same madness that gripped those within.

Inside the tower, the air was dark and dreamlike, hundreds of flames guttering in their sconces. Dark shadows danced upon silver-white hair and bare skin, some wet with blood. A dozen dragonlords of the Freehold had gathered here, driven by insatiable appetites for pleasure and excess.

Most were naked, adorned only in jewels. They sprawled upon cushions or lounged against stone pillars, tangled together or entwined with slaves. Everywhere bodies coupled freely, men with women, men with men, women with women; there was no distinction. They took each other recklessly, obeying no law but pleasure itself.