#kiera

—

The Red Keep was far grander up close.

Polished marble floors sparkled like water under candlelight, and servants moved silently through the halls like ghosts.

You walked slightly behind your sister as servants escorted you through the castle. From behind you could tell Keira’s posture was flawless.

Your curiosity had gotten the better of you.

Dragons and old wars adorned the walls as tapestries. One showed a silver-haired warrior riding a dragon through a burning sky.

Westeros had a great fondness for legends.

At the doors to the receiving hall, the servants halted. “Prince Valarr awaits.”

Your sister breathed sharply, and her face lit with excitement.

You attempted not to grin.

Inside, the room was warm with firelight. And there he stood.

Prince Valarr Targaryen.

You recognized him at once.

Tall and broad-shouldered with his rumoured hair that fell loose around his collar, catching the flickering torchlight.

But it was his face that caught you. It carried a emotions as if he had spent his entire life perfecting every single one.

His violet eyes scanned the room to Keira.

Then, briefly, you.

It was only a moment. But something in the look had seemed searching.

Your father stepped forward to greet him. "My prince. It is an honor."

Valarr nodded his head in polite response. "The honor is mine."

His voice was deeper than you expected. His eyes returned to Keira. "My lady Keira."

Your sister curtsied beautifully, she bowed but even then you could see the slight reddening of her cheek. "My prince."

You stepped back a pace or so, comfortable with being unseen.

The prince and your sister had begun talking politely, about their journey, about Tyrosh, about court.

You listened with half an ear.

Until. “You must be her sister.”

You looked up. Valarr's eyes were fixed on you now.

Your heart skipped an odd, unexpected beat.

You curtsied hastily. “I am.”

“And your name?” You told him.

There was something in his eyes, something that flickered and disappeared at once.

“Welcome to King's Landing.”

You smiled graciously. “Thank you, my prince.”

He nodded his head and turned back to Keira at once.

And yet you had the feeling he had been examining you too close to be casual formalities.

—

That evening, there was a grand welcoming feast. Music filled the great hall, and courtiers glittered in their silks and jewels.

You sat beside your sister at the high table. And your sister, Keira, looked as radiant as the brightest star in the night sky.

Prince Valarr sat across from your sister. He talked to her often, politely attentive one he was.

It looked as though it were all perfect.

You should have felt relieved. But you felt a sense of observation.

Of him.

There was something restrained in him. Some kind of tension beneath his polished demeanor. Like a bowstring drawn.

When courtiers laughed boisterously around him, he smiled faintly, rarely joined in.

But when your sister spoke, he listened.

Duty it must.

It was a word you knew well.

You were halfway through your goblet of wine when suddenly, his gaze rose.

He kept it a second longer than he needed to. Then shifted his gaze.

And your stomach flipped annoyingly.

Ridiculous. You barely knew the man.

And he was to marry your sister.

—

The following morning, you managed to escape the castle. The gardens of the Red Keep were located on the cliff overlooking Blackwater Bay.

At least the air smelled clean here.

You strolled through the roses and the well-trimmed hedges. Until the sound of hoofbeats echoed through the garden.

You turned your head.

Prince Valarr rode into the garden on a black horse. He slowed his pace when he saw you.

Of course. Of course it would be him.

You curtsied politely.“My prince.”

Prince Valarr dismounted his horse. “I did not expect to find anyone here this early.”

“I could say the same.”

He smiled faintly. “Escaping the court?”

You hesitated. “Something like that.”

Prince Valarr looked at you with a sympathetic expression.“It is understandable.”

For a moment, you and the prince did not say anything.

The sea wind blew through the prince’s pale hair. He looked tired, not physically, but maybe emotionally.

“Does King’s Landing disappoint you?”

You blinked. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to my lady.”

You sighed. “It is just very different from Tyrosh.”

“How so?”

“It lacks the color.”

He laughed softly. “You are not wrong.”

Silence.

Then. “Riding?”

“Yes.”

His eyebrows went up. “Most ladies are frightened of mounts, much less ride them.”

“Most ladies are boring.”

This made him laugh.

You became aware that you were enjoying the conversation far too well. This was the man your sister was to marry.

You stood up a little straighter. “My sister has spoken very highly of you.”

His face changed immediately. Back to normal.

“I am glad.”

There was a pause. “You will make her happy,” you said politely.

His face changed again. This time to something you couldn’t quite tell.

“I will do my duty.”

His words were very practiced and he didn't seem to be happy.

You frowned.

But before you could say anything, a servant was approaching from the path. “My prince. The council awaits him.”

Valarr nodded. “Thank you.”

He turned back to you. “Enjoy the gardens my lady.”

“And you, your council meetings.”

He smiled. Then he mounted his horse and rode off.

You stood there and watched him go, your bosom uncomfortably tight within the cages of your bodice.

—

Over the course of the following weeks, you saw him often.

Always with Keira.

Always proper.

Always distant.

But still, there were moments between you two. A look across the hall, a talk during a hunt, asking your opinion instead of your sister’s, a dance with his hand brushing against yours for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

Nothing improper. Nothing anyone else would notice.

But enough to make your heart behave foolishly. You tried to tell yourself it didn’t mean anything.

It had to mean nothing, he was promised to your dear Keira.

—

Things changed, and it happened during a hunt.

Your party rode deep into the kingswood, hawks circling above.

You loved riding, loved the freedom of it all.

At one point the group had spread out in pursuit of a deer. Your horse leapt over a log—

And landed badly.

You hadn't even time to take breath before being flung to the dirt. Pain flashed through your ankle.

“Seven hells,” you hissed, hands instantly holding onto your leg.

Hooves pounded the earth nearby. And the next thing you knew, Valarr appeared out of the trees.

He dismounted at once. “Are you hurt?”

“I will live."

He crouched down beside you to examine your ankle. His hands were warm and steady.

“You should not try to stand yet.”

“I wasn't exactly planning to my prince.”

Valarr's brow furrowed. “You always answer like that?”

“Only when princes gives me orders.”

Valarr's lips curled up in a ghost of a smile.

But his face sobered quickly. “I will carry you back.”

“That is unnecessary.”

“It is not.”

Before you could say anything else, he picked you up, quite effortlessly.

You caught your breath. You were suddenly very aware of how close you were, Valarr’s heartbeat under your hand.

The leather and pine scent of his armor.

Valarr's eyes flickered down to meet yours. For a moment something happened.

Something dangerous. And then he looked away.

Neither of your two said anything during the ride back. But something had changed.

—

The court of King’s Landing had a way of making everything feel like a performance. Every smile meant something, every conversation was measured, it was disgusting.

You learned that quickly in the weeks following the hunt. Especially when those looks came from Valarr himself.

At first, you told yourself you imagined it. The slight hesitation when he greeted you in the mornings.

The way his eyes flickered toward you when someone else spoke.

The way his voice changed, albeit barely, when he addressed you rather than your sister.

It had to mean nothing.

Because your sister, Keira, was painfully glowing with anticipation.

Her betrothal to the prince would be announced soon. The court buzzed with whispers already. A Tyroshi alliance was valuable, and a prince needed a wife worthy of the throne he might one day inherit.

Keira fit the role perfectly. She was beautiful, clever, and poised. Everything a princess should be.

You were the sister who came with her.

And that was how things were meant to remain. Oh how you wished that was how they remained.

—

The first real problem arose during a riding lesson.

Keira had expressed interest in learning the Westerosi style of hunting before the wedding, and naturally the prince offered to guide her.

You had no intention of joining them.

Until Keira insisted.

“You must come sister,” she said that morning as servants braided her hair. “You ride far better than I do. If I embarrass myself before my future husband, at least you can distract him.”

“That seems like a terrible plan Kiera.”

“Please.”

You sighed. “You are relentless.”

“Yes it is one of my many charms.” Kiera laughed, hooking her arm with yours.

—

The training yard smelled of hay and leather when you arrived. Several horses waited in the courtyard.

Valarr stood beside them, speaking with a stablehand. When he noticed you approaching beside Keira, his posture stiffened slightly.

He bowed politely. “My lady Keira.”

Then his gaze shifted. “And my lady.”

You dipped your head. “My prince.”

Something unreadable flickered across his expression before he turned back to your sister. “I chose a gentle mare for you, she is well accustomed to riders, she will be amiable to most things.”

Keira beamed. “How thoughtful my prince.”

—

The lesson began well enough.

Valarr explained the hunting techniques used by Westerosi nobles, how to track deer through the kingswood, how to follow the movement of birds overhead, how to guide a horse at full gallop.

Keira listened attentively, but riding had never been her strength.

Within half an hour she looked exhausted.

Meanwhile, you had already circled the yard twice out of sheer restlessness.

“You ride as if the horse were your own,” he said, as you passed him.

“It is.”

He looked up. “That is not the same as owning it.”

“Maybe not in Westeros.” Your horse drew closer.

For a moment, you and the prince rode side by side. Keira had fallen back a bit.

“You have a good seat,” the prince said.

“I learned to ride along the cliffs of Tyrosh.”

“I would like to see that one day.”

The words came out easily, too easily.

The realization had both of you taken aback.

Valarr cleared his throat. “I mean-”

“I know what you mean.” Your words were softer.

“Maybe one day you will.” He clenched his jaw.

For a moment, you and the prince were silent. Then Keira shouted across the yard.

“Valarr! How do I keep the horse from turning like this?”

He turned away, he had a duty to uphold.

You suddenly felt sad, you didn’t know why, you didn’t know why you were sad, you didn’t know why you were disappointed.

But you were.

You were disappointed.

—

Court life resumed its rhythm, all the feasts, council meetings, music in the evenings.

And always the subtle tension whenever you and Valarr found yourselves in the same room.

You tried to avoid him when possible.

But apparently the castle wasn’t large enough for that.

And sometimes… Sometimes he seemed to be avoiding you too.

Until the night of the moonlight ball.

—

The great hall of the Red Keep glittered with candles. Nobles from across the realm had gathered for the celebration. Musicians played lively songs while couples filled the dance floor.

You stood near the edge of the hall with a goblet of wine, watching the crowd.

Keira was dancing with Valarr, they made a striking pair.

Targaryen blood beside Tyroshi gold.

They moved gracefully together, her laughter bright and easy. Anyone watching would think they were perfectly suited.

Your chest tightened strangely.

“Jealous?”

You nearly spilled your wine.

Turning quickly, you found Valarr’s cousin leaning beside the pillar. Prince Daeron Targaryen smirked knowingly.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been staring at them for five minutes.”

“I have not.”

“Four minutes, then.”

You scowled. “I was simply observing my sister.”

“Of course.” His grin widened.

Daeron was far too perceptive for your liking. You’d heard he was nothing but a pathetic drunk. Lugging about the walls of the keep and occasionally the streets of silk.

Before you could respond, the music ended. Applause filled the hall.

Keira curtsied gracefully to Valarr. Then she turned toward you.

“Sister! Come dance.”

You froze.

“Oh, no-”

But she was already pulling you toward the floor. Valarr looked surprised.

The musicians began a new song. And suddenly you found yourself standing across from him.

Your heart pounded. “This is incredibly unnecessary,” you muttered.

“Agreed,” he replied quietly.

Neither of you moved for a moment.

Then the dance began.

His hand took yours, warm.

The choreography forced you close… then apart… then close again. Each step heightened the awareness between you.

“You should be dancing with my sister,” you whispered.

“I was.”

“Then why are you here?”

His jaw tightened.

“You know why.”

Your breath caught.

“No,” you said softly. “I don’t.”

He leaned slightly closer as the dance turned. His voice dropped. “Yes, you do.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine. The music ended far too soon.

You pulled your hand away quickly. “This must stop.”

His eyes flashed. “Nothing has begun my lady.”

“Exactly.”

You turned and walked away before your resolve could falter.

—

Later that night you escaped to the castle gardens again. The moon hung low over the bay, casting silver light across the paths.

Your mind refused to settle, the dance replayed over and over.

His voice.

His touch.

His confession that wasn’t quite a confession.

Footsteps sounded behind you, you knew who it was before turning.

Valarr stopped a few paces away.

“You should not follow me, my prince.”

“You left rather abruptly.”

“I thought that was the point.”

Silence settled between you, the ocean wind stirred the trees.

“You were right earlier,” he said quietly.

You frowned. “About what?”

“This must stop.”

Your chest tightened. “Then stop it.”

“I am trying.”

You laughed softly. “That’s not very convincing.”

His expression darkened. “You think this is amusing?”

“No.” Your voice softened. “I think it’s impossible.”

The words hung between you. Valarr stepped closer.

Too close.

“You are my future wife’s sister,” he said, each word deliberate.

“Yes.”

“I will marry her.”

“I know.”

“Then why,” he asked quietly, “do you look at me like that?”

Your heart hammered painfully. “How do I look at you?”

“Like you wish things were different.”

Your breath caught. “You’re imagining things, you must be tired from the festivities.”

His hand clenched slightly at his side. “I wish I were.”

For a moment the distance between you felt electric. One step closer and everything would change.

You forced yourself to step back. “We should go inside.”

“Yes.”

Neither of you moved. Then finally he turned away first, his duty winning once again.

But not without cost.

—

Later that night, lying awake in your chamber, you stared at the ceiling, your thoughts spun endlessly.

Because deep down you knew the truth.

This wasn’t harmless, nor was it fleeting. This was something far more dangerous.

And if you weren’t careful, you might both fall into a fire neither of you could escape.

—

The trouble with forbidden feelings was not that they appeared suddenly.

It was that they grew quietly.

Until one day you realized they had already taken root in places they had no right to exist.

You again tried to avoid Valarr Targaryen after the moonlight ball. Truly, you did.

For several days you remained mostly in your chambers or accompanied your sister during visits with the ladies of King’s Landing. You laughed politely when expected, spoke when spoken to, and behaved exactly as a proper noble daughter should.

But the Red Keep was a maze of stone corridors and chance encounters.

And the gods seemed intent on testing your restraint.

The first time you saw him again was at breakfast in the great hall.

You arrived late, hoping to slip quietly into a seat beside your sister. Instead, the moment you stepped through the doors, his gaze lifted.

Straight to you.

Your stomach tightened.

He looked tired.

Dark shadows rested beneath his eyes, and his expression was more guarded than usual.

Keira noticed nothing. She smiled brightly as you sat beside her. “You missed the morning council discussion,” she said cheerfully.

“I cannot imagine the tragedy.”

“It was dreadfully dull,” she admitted. “But Valarr says the hunting party tomorrow will be more entertaining.”

You froze.

“Hunting party?”

“Yes. Half the court is going.”

Your sister leaned closer.

“And you must come.”

You opened your mouth to protest.

But across the table Valarr was watching you again.

So intensely that your heart betrayed you with a single, traitorous beat.

—

The kingswood stretched endlessly beneath the autumn sky. Horses thundered along forest paths as nobles scattered across the hills, hawks soaring overhead.

You tried to focus on the hunt. Tried to ignore the fact that Valarr rode somewhere behind you.

Tried to ignore the way your awareness sharpened every time you heard his horse nearby.

Keira rode slightly ahead with a group of ladies.

Which left you, unfortunately, beside Lord Martyn Rowan.

He had been speaking for the better part of twenty minutes.

“And of course the orchards of Goldengrove produce the finest apples in the Reach,” he continued proudly.

“I will remember that,” you said politely.

“My lady you must visit someday.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“Nonsense! My mother would adore you.”

You nodded vaguely, he was kind enough, but painfully enthusiastic.

Your horse slowed near a clearing. Hoofbeats approached from behind. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Valarr.

His horse moved beside yours. “My lady.”

“Your grace.”

Lord Rowan looked delighted.

“Prince Valarr! We were just discussing the orchards of Goldengrove.”

Valarr’s gaze flickered briefly to you. “Were you?”

“Yes,” Rowan continued eagerly. “I was inviting her to visit.”

Your breath caught. Valarr’s expression hardened almost imperceptibly. “How generous.” His tone was perfectly polite. But you heard the steel beneath it.

Rowan, oblivious, continued happily. “Perhaps once the prince’s wedding celebrations conclude-”

Valarr cut him off. “The lady may have other obligations.”

You glanced sharply at him.

Rowan blinked.

“Of course, of course. I merely thought-”

“The hunt continues west,” Valarr said calmly. “A stag was sighted there.”

The dismissal was subtle but painfully clear.

Rowan hesitated before bowing his head slightly. “Then I shall ride ahead.”

He spurred his horse forward. Leaving you alone with the prince.

Silence settled between you.

“You are being rude. It’s unbecoming of a prince,” you said eventually.

Valarr kept his gaze forward. “I was not.”

“He was being friendly.”

“He was clearly courting you.”

Your heart skipped. “That is none of your concern.”

Finally, he looked at you, and there it was, the crack in his composure.

“I disagree.”

“Why?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it.

His jaw tightened. “You know why.”

“No,” you said softly. “I don’t.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Wind rustled through the trees above.

Then a distant rumble of thunder echoed across the forest.

You glanced toward the darkening sky. “That storm came quickly.”

Valarr followed your gaze. “We should return to the others.”

But the woods had grown strangely quiet. Another thunderclap rolled across the hills.

Rain began falling moments later, pouring. Your horse shifted nervously beneath you.

“The trail is flooded,” you said, looking back the way you came.

Valarr scanned the trees. “There’s an old hunting cabin nearby.”

“How do you know that?”

“I hunted here as a boy.”

Lightning split the sky.

Your horse reared slightly.

“Fine,” you muttered. “Lead the way.”

—

The cabin was small but sturdy. Rain battered the roof as you both hurried inside.

You were soaked within seconds. Water dripped from your cloak onto the wooden floor.

Valarr shut the door behind you, and the storm roared outside.

Although inside the silence was deafening. You stood near the window, arms wrapped around yourself.

“This is unfortunate.”

“Yes.” His voice sounded strained.

You glanced back.

He stood near the door, clearly trying to maintain distance.

As though the few steps between you were somehow dangerous.

“You should remove the cloak,” he said stiffly. “You’ll freeze.”

“I am not so fragile a cloak will harm me.”

“That was not my implication.”

You sighed and removed it anyway. Your dress clung damply to your skin.

Valarr looked away immediately. Which somehow made things worse.

“You can look you know,” you said dryly. “I will not be offended.”

“I would rather not.” His voice sounded tight.

The storm intensified outside, the lightning flashed again.

Your nerves felt stretched thin. “You dislike me very much today,” you observed quietly.

He laughed once, a humorless sound.

“You think that is what this is?”

“I think you’ve been short with me since the hunt began.”

“And you have been encouraging Lord Rowan.”

You stared at him. “I was being polite.”

“You were smiling, you never do that.”

“Gods forbid.”

His composure snapped slightly. “You know what you were doing.”

“And what exactly was that?”

“Making me-”

He stopped abruptly.

Your pulse quickened. “Making you what?” You were whispering now.

The storm roared louder.

Valarr ran a hand through his damp hair, pacing once across the small room.

“I should not have followed you here.”

“You didn’t.”

“I mean this situation.”

His gaze met yours again, if his gaze could burn you’d be lit by now.

“You make it very difficult to remember my duty.”

Your breath caught. “You’re marrying my sister. Do not forget.”

“I am painfully aware.”

“Then perhaps you should stop looking at me like that.”

His voice dropped dangerously low. “And how exactly do I look at you?”

You hesitated, because saying it aloud would make it real.

But he stepped closer.

One step.

Then another.

Until the distance between you vanished.

Your heartbeat thundered.

“You look at me,” you whispered, “as though you wish I were her.”

His expression changed instantly. “No.”

The word came out rough. “Never that.”

“Then what?”

His hand clenched at his side. “Do not ask questions you already know the answer to.”

“But I don’t.”

Lightning illuminated the room.

For a split second, you saw exactly how close you were standing.

Close enough to feel the warmth of him.

Close enough to ruin everything.

Valarr’s voice softened. “Every moment I spend near you is a mistake.”

Your throat tightened. “Then leave.”

“I cannot.”

“Why?”

His eyes closed briefly. As though the truth physically hurt.

“Because when you look at me,” he said quietly, “I forget who I’m supposed to be.”

The words hung between you.

You should have stepped back.

You should have ended it there.

Instead you whispered,

“Valarr…” His name on your lips broke something inside him.

He stepped forward. Just enough that your breaths mingled.

For one dangerous moment you both leaned closer. The air between you felt electric. All it would take was one more second.

One more inch.

One kiss, and everything would burn.

Then thunder cracked violently overhead. The spell shattered.

Valarr stepped back abruptly. His expression was raw with restraint. “This cannot happen.”

You nodded slowly. “I know.”

Neither of you moved for a long time, the storm eventually softened, rain faded to a quiet patter.

—

The night before the betrothal ceremony felt wrong.

The halls of the Red Keep were alive with celebration. Nobles toasted the coming union between Valarr Targaryen and your sister, Keira of Tyrosh.

Musicians played loudly and wine flowed freely.

You spent the entire evening trying not to look at the prince. Trying not to think about how tomorrow everything would be decided.

You had avoided him carefully since your conversation in the storm.

But tonight, it was impossible.

Because Valarr was drinking. He rarely drank.

Yet tonight goblet after goblet disappeared from his hand.

The princes of the realm laughed loudly beside him, clapping his shoulders, celebrating his coming marriage.

But there was something wrong in the way he smiled.

You left the feast early.

You could not watch any longer.

—

The Red Keep quieted as the night deepened. Servants extinguished candles. Courtiers retired to their chambers.

You moved through the dim corridors in a borrowed shawl, unable to sleep.

The castle had many hidden passages, old stone walkways built generations ago for servants and spies.

You had discovered several in your wandering.

Tonight, you walked them simply to escape your thoughts.

Until you heard your name.

Soft, and hoarse. Barely more than a whisper.

You froze.

The voice came again.

Your name.

You followed the sound through the narrow passage until it ended at a hidden door.

Beyond it, Prince Valarr’s chambers.

Your heart pounded as you slipped inside. The room smelled faintly of wine and smoke.

Valarr sat half-collapsed on the edge of his bed, his silver hair loose, his shirt half-open at the collar.

A goblet lay tipped on the floor beside him. He looked up slowly when the door opened.

His violet eyes were unfocused. “…You came.”

Your breath caught.

“My prince-”

“Don’t,” he murmured. “Not tonight.”

He tried to stand.

Failed.

You rushed forward instinctively. “Careful.”

He leaned heavily against you, unsteady. “You shouldn’t have drunk so much.”

“Perhaps,” he said softly. “But it was the only way I could survive this night.”

Your chest tightened painfully. You guided him back onto the bed.

He watched you with a strange, dazed intensity. “I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered.

“I called for you.”

“You called my name in a daze.”

“Because you’re always there.”

Your throat burned.

Valarr reached for your hand clumsily, gripping it like a lifeline. “Stay.”

“I cannot.”

“Stay.” His voice broke slightly. “We could marry the Valyrian way.”

Your breath caught. “You are drunk.”

“I’m honest.” His grip tightened weakly.

“In old Valyria, a man married the woman he loved.” He pulled your hand closer to his chest.

“We could leave tomorrow. Before the ceremony. My dragon would take us anywhere.”

You brushed his hair gently from his face. “You do not have a dragon.”

“Then I’d steal one.”

Despite everything, a soft laugh escaped you. “You are impossible.”

“And you love me.”

The words fell between you quietly. He looked so vulnerable. So unlike the composed prince the court knew.

His voice softened again. “Stay.”

“Again, I cannot.”

“Please.” He sounded almost like a little boy now.

You leaned down gently. Pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Sleep, Valarr.”

His fingers tightened briefly around yours. Then slowly relaxed as sleep finally claimed him.

You stayed until his breathing steadied.

Then slipped silently back into the passages.

Your heart breaking with every step.

—

Morning came far too soon. You expected to avoid him again. But fate had other plans.

The hallway outside the library was empty when you turned the corner, and froze.

Valarr stood there.

Waiting.

He looked terrible, his skin pale, his hair loosely tied back. But his eyes, his eyes were clear.

“Good morning,” he said quietly.

You tried to steady your voice. “My prince.”

“Don’t.” The word was sharp. “Not today.”

Before you could react. He dropped to his knees.

Your breath left your lungs entirely.In his hand, a ring.

Heavy gold bearing the dragon sigil of House Targaryen.

“My family’s ring,” he said hoarsely.

“Valarr-”

“I am done pretending.”His voice shook with raw emotion. “I cannot marry your sister.”

“Please don't do this”

“I love you.”

The words hit you like a blow. He clenched the ring tightly, tight enough to make the tip of his fingers turn red.

“I will speak to my father. To my grandsire. To the entire court if I must.” His voice grew desperate.

“You are still a noblewoman of Tyrosh. This match would still strengthen the alliance. I will convince them.”

Tears burned your eyes.

“Valarr-”

“I will do anything,” he whispered.

His hand clutched the fabric of your dress.

“Just say yes.”

Your heart shattered.

Because you loved him.

Gods, you loved him.

But. “Keira.”

His expression faltered.

“She loves you.”

He shook his head. “She believes she does.”

“And if she does?” you asked softly.

“If she wakes tomorrow and realizes the man she was meant to marry chose her sister instead?”

Your voice broke. “I cannot do that to her.”

Valarr closed his eyes, he was now biting his lip, brows furrowed, panic flickering across his face.

“I know.”

Silence stretched painfully.

Then slowly, he nodded.

“I understand.”

He stood slowly.

But before stepping away, he reached for his sword.

The blade slid free with a quiet ring.

Your eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

Valarr raised the sword solemnly. “I swear this on my honor.”

His violet eyes burned with fierce determination. “If your sister gives us her blessing to wed…”

He lowered the blade toward the floor. “…you must marry me.”

Your heart pounded. “Valarr-”

“Swear it.”His voice was steady now.

You hesitated.

Then whispered, “I swear.”

He sheathed the sword slowly. The decision hung heavy in the air.

Neither of you spoke again for the rest of the day.

—

That night you slept uneasily. Until soft footsteps woke you. You sat up as the door creaked open.

Keira stood there.

Wrapped in a light shawl over her sleepwear.

Your heart dropped. “Sister?”

She stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind her.

“Valarr told me everything.”

Your stomach twisted painfully. “I never meant-”

She held up a hand gently. “I know.”

Silence lingered between you. You expected anger, betrayal even, tears, anything.

Instead, she smiled softly.

“As much as I should hate you…I cannot.”

Your eyes filled with tears.

“We are sisters,” she said simply. “And I know you.”

She moved to sit on the edge of your bed. “I did fall for him,” she admitted.

Your heart twisted. “But watching you both…I realized something.”

She laughed quietly.

“It was never really my story.”

You stared at her.

“Besides…”

A playful spark returned to her eyes.

“That lord from the hunt? The one who kept inviting you to visit his orchards?”

“Lord Rowan?”

“Yes.”

She smiled shyly. “He’s actually quite charming.”

You blinked in disbelief.

“He laughs at my jokes.”

“Well that’s rare.”

She nudged you.

“And he is very handsome.”

Your chest loosened with relief.

“And kind.”

She leaned against you gently. “I think he might make me happy.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks. Keira wiped them away softly.

“May I sleep here tonight?”

You laughed weakly. “Like when we were girls?”

“Exactly like that.” She curled beside you beneath the blankets.

Your arms wrapped around each other instinctively.

Just like the nights when you were children dreaming of castles and husbands.

Both of you cried quietly, but they were soft tears.

Healing ones.

And eventually you fell asleep in each other’s embrace.

—

The following days were chaos.

Plans changed.

Messengers rode between noble houses. The court buzzed with scandal and excitement.

But somehow everything fell into place. And when you passed Valarr in the halls, his eyes burned with quiet happiness.

You rarely had time alone, except at night.

Through the hidden passage between your chambers.

There, in the quiet darkness of the castle walls, you found each other again.

Whispered laughter, and stolen kisses.

And the promise of a future neither of you had dared hope for, a future born from fire.

At the very least, it saved her from spending much time with her father, which was a blessing in and of itself. She had never been in such close quarters with her father before for any length of time, the Archon of Tyrosh often too busy with ruling and with his sons to spend time with a daughter he would marry away. 

Her father did not call for her until the tail end of their nearly two moons trip, when King’s Landing was sighted. Yet, there were no kind words spoken, only words of reprimand and reminders of her lessons, to obey her husband in all matters and to bear him heirs. 

King Daeron II, her good grandfather to be was the first to greet her father and her as they stepped off their vessel, flanked on both sides by his wife and queen, Queen Myriah Martell, and his eldest son and heir, Prince Baelor, her new goodfather to be. They looked kind, she thought, and wondered if her betrothed was as kind as his family looked. 

“My son is waiting for you in the Red Keep,” Prince Baelor told her gently, as if noticing her furtive attempts to spot her betrothed. Kiera could feel her father’s disapproval burning behind her, and prayed that he kept his tongue. It would not do to spoil her standing with her new family before she had spoken her marriage vows yet. By some grace of the gods, he did. 

“Thank you, my prince,” she replied, dipping her head in thanks. Prince Baelor had a low, rich voice, deep without sounding dangerous. And his bearded face was kindly and open, with a crooked nose that made him more approachable, or as approachable as the heir to the Iron Throne could be.

Prince Baelor was the epitome of a courteous prince as he helped her mother and her into the prepared carriage before he jumped on his horse, a warhorse of pure black save for the star on its forehead, giving her hope for this marriage. 

She couldn’t help the wrinkle of her nose, though she tried to keep her face as placid as possible as they rode through the Red Keep. Queen Myriah merely smiled in sympathy, but did not bring it into question. She found herself missing Tyrosh, for Tyrosh did not smell half as bad, filled with unwashed bodies and the smell of dung, on even the worst days in summer, and yet, she would never set sight on Tyrosh again, she thought mournfully.

Indeed, as Prince Baelor had promised, an assembly of Targaryens stood upon the steps of the Red Keep as the carriage approached, on the forefront stood a man her father’s age, another one of King Daeron II’s sons, she supposed, although she could not begin to guess which one. The prince was stern, a man better suited to commanding battles than courtly duties, she thought, and yet he stood at the forefront of the assembly to greet her. She accepted Prince Baelor’s hand as he graciously helped her off the carriage, glancing around as subtly as she could, hoping to catch sight of her betrothed. 

“My son, Prince Maekar,” the king introduced to her father and her, finally allowing her to place a name to the prince. The lessons she had hurriedly tried to memorise once news of her betrothal had surfaced came to her, placing him as the fourth and youngest son of the king, and the Prince of Summerhall. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” the prince grounded out, inclining his head even as his countenance reflected otherwise. He looked as if he would rather be anywhere but. 

“My grandson, Prince Valarr, first son of Prince Baelor,” was introduced next, and Kiera felt her breath catch in her throat. Her betrothed was dressed in black velvet doublet, embroidered with a scarlet three-headed dragon. He was tall and lean where his father was broad, yet had the shoulders of a man who trained with his sword but the air of someone who felt more comfortable in a library than on the battlefield. 

And his face, she had heard of the famed beauty of the descendants of Old Valyrian, had witnessed it in her cousins, in fact. And yet, nothing could have prepared her for her betrothed.

His face was fair and clear, not a single blemish or scar to be seen. His hair was as dark as his father’s and grandmother's, and threaded through it like the most precious of metals was a streak of silvery gold, proof of his Valyrian heritage. And yet, gods be good, his eyes was the most wonderous of all, mismatched at one sky blue and one earth brown, the very sky and earth seemed to be immortalised in his gaze.

“The embroidery is magnificent, my prince,” she managed through a wooden tongue, nearly rendered mute like a fool over her betrothed’s appearance, like a child of ten and not a soon-to-be princess at six-and-ten. And she watched as her betrothed very countenance warmed, his cool princely courtesy melting away like snow on a hot summer day to something much softer and warmer.

His eyes sparkled with pride as he raised a hand, the same hand that had held hers by a moment ago, and held it against the heads of the dragon over his chest. “Tis’ my cousin’s work, and one of her finest work, I would say,” he boasted proudly, beaming as he did so, and poor silly Kiera, too moon eyed over her betrothed, did not notice the grimaces around her. Prince Maekar might as well have been carved from stone, his jaw clenched so tight that he nearly popped a vein as King Daeron II shared an unreadable look with his elder son and wife. 

“You seem close to your cousin, my prince,” she scarcely managed to reply, nearly blinded by his smile, already half in love with this man she barely knew. Prince Maekar grinded his teeth audibly beside her, jaw clenched shut at his father’s sharp look and yet King Daeron II merely coughed once, pulling Kiera’s attention forcefully away from her betrothed to her good grandfather to be as he gestured to the red headed boy beside Prince Valarr. The boy was gangly, with limbs too long and freckles dotting his sweet youthful face, the top of his head nearly reaching Prince Valarr’s shoulders though he looked much younger than his brother. 

“My grandson, Prince Matarys, second son of Prince Baelor,” so the introduction continued on. Kiera scarcely noticed as Prince Matarys clumsily pressed a courtly kiss to the back of her hand, imitating his elder brother, too focused on the feel of Prince Valarr’s eyes on her. She longed to look back at him, to see that all consuming mismatched gaze on her and yet, it would not be proper. 

After Prince Matarys, she was introduced to a score of Targaryens, both old and young, dark and light of hair, and though she tried, she could not truly concentrate on it, still too consumed by thought of her betrothed. It would not be so bad, to marry such a man and bear his heirs, she thought. Countless women have had to do much worse, and with lesser men. 

Her first thought upon meeting Prince Maekar’s twins was that the Targaryens were a fertile lot, as they were the second pair of twins she had met in the family, and another boy and girl pair as well. These two were older than the first, and as startlingly similar to one another as the previous pair, perhaps even more so. 

The twins were young, with baby fat still clinging to their faces and limbs, yet there was the promise of beauty, a hint of sharpness already poking beneath the chub of childhood. And the colouring, gods be good, if they grew into the looks they were promised, it would not be amiss to say that they could be worshipped as descendants of the Love Goddess of Lys, even in the city famed for their Valyrian beauties. And those eyes, pale lilac and bright violet, staring at her like they wished to devour her alive, the power of a thousand dragons in their glare even as they greeted her in the courtly manner befitting of their station.

But, none of it was truly the reason the twins remain in Kiera’s memory when the other Targaryens did not. After she walked past the twins, she could no longer feel her betrothed's eyes on her, her back feeling strangely cold without the heat of his stare. 

After she and her father were settled into the guest chambers in the Red Keep, there was a knock on the door. The door opened to reveal Prince Valarr, still dressed in his black doublet from earlier, his cheeks flushed a light pink with his lips pinker than he remembered, so endearing that she could not help the smile that bloomed across her face. 

“My lord,” he bowed to her father, “I was wondering if I could ask the lady to accompany me for a walk or a ride.” He was perfectly polite, standing in the doorway of their given chambers, posture ramrod straight and she looked asken at her father, pleading silently for him to agree. And to her great joy, he did, nodding distantly before focusing on more important matters than his daughter. 

“A walk would please me greatly, my prince,” she replied, placing a hand into the crook of his offered elbow as he smiled distantly and politely, willing herself not to flush like the girl inside her wanted to. So caught up in her thoughts that she did not notice a flash of silver gold running from her chambers, or even the childish giggles that followed, nor Prince Valarr’s eyes following the shadows long after they had vanished from sight. 

The gardens were a sprawling network of passages, hidden and not. The gardens were beautiful, filled with flowers foreign to her, perfuming the air with their sweetness with large trees to provide shade. And yet, her gaze strayed to her betrothed more often than not, admiring his profile, the gentle slope of his nose, the way the sun turned his eye into liquid gold, the streak of silvery gold in his otherwise brown hair, proof of his Valyrian heritage. Not even realising what she was doing, she unthinkingly reached for the streak of silvery gold in his hair, only catching herself when he ducked from her. 

“These are my lady cousin’s favourite flowers,” Prince Valarr said, kneeling beside a flower bed next to a fountain. “They are called Love-in-a-Mist,” he revealed as he stroked one of the flowers, lilac in colour, staring into the fountain as if lost in memories, seemingly not to notice how she stood frozen where he left her, feeling as if someone had doused her with a bucket of cold water. Still, Prince Valarr prattled on despite the lack of response from her. “Her favourite are the blue ones, but I find myself particular to the lilac and purple ones. My lord cousin claims to not hold any in high regard, but I have seen him with a red one at times.”

“Your lord and lady cousin, my prince?” She finally managed to ask, and those wondrous mismatched eyes finally looked at her since they had begun their walk. The blue flowers were a near match to the colour of his blue eye, she distantly realised. 

“Yes, my lady. Princess Aella and Prince Aerion, you had the pleasure of meeting them earlier,” Prince Valarr replied, his tongue curling around their names fondly and familiarly. She wondered if he would ever say her name like that, and hated herself for the little flame of envy she could feel in her. They were family, and would soon be her family too, hence it should be nothing to be jealous about. 

“I….,” she stuttered, her mind drawing blanks, her hurried lessons seemed to have escape her and her memories of her introduction to the greater Targaryen clan had prove the same. Prince Valarr does not admonish her, but his sigh makes her feel small none the less. She could not helped but feel as if she had failed a test no one had told her about, and she wished that she could sink into the dirt beneath her feet. 

“My cousins, the Princess Aella and Prince Aerion, are my uncle Prince Maekar’s second and third born. They are both silver of hair with lilac and violet eyes respectively,” Prince Valarr clarified, his brow drawn tight and his shoulders stiff. 

“Come,” Prince Valarr said without waiting for a reply as he stood, brushing the lilac flower fondly one final time before offering her his arm again. He was still courteous as he guided her through the gardens, pointing out spots that his cousins love, and yet, his lips remained pressed into a hard, unforgiving line all the while. 

She hummed in interest when appropriate, watching as a bee drifted between the blooms, a golden colour that was insufficient to compare to the gold in her betrothed’s eye and yet, she suspected that Prince Valarr would have treated her the same as any other lady of the court. And she tried, gods know she did, to keep the gentle smile on her face as Prince Valarr mentioned his cousins once again. At this point, she felt as if she knew his cousins better than her own, and it had only been, she squinted at the sky, an hour at best. 

“Cousin,” a sweet cheerful voice rang through the garden, interrupting another of Prince Valarr’s stories of his cousins and Kiera could almost weep from joy. She already found herself wondering how she was going to endure this for the rest of her life. 

And yet, her relief was short lived as she watched the tension she did not even notice in her betrothed melt away like the ice she and her sisters would get as treats on the hottest of days. Her heart sank as she turned around, sighting the Targaryen twins with servants setting up a tea table in the pavilion behind them, elbows interlinked and waving at them. 

“Shall we, my lady?” asked Prince Valarr as he offered an arm to her, as courteous as possible and what could she do but take his offered arm. And even if he was just as courteous as he guided her over to his cousins, she could not help but notice the giddiness in his steps as he did so. He would be skipping, she privately thought, if he wasn't the heir of the heir, second to the Iron Throne.

The twins clearly did not have the same responsibilities tying them down as the princess disconnected herself from her brother before sprinting towards them, her skirts lifted to expose her booted ankles as she did so. Her brother only grinned sharply for a moment giving chase after his sister, the twins matching stride by stride as Prince Valarr dropped her hand to catch his cousin, spinning her around as he did so as if he had done this a thousand times before, his face buried in the crook of her neck. ‘And maybe he had,’ her traitorous brain whispered. 

The prince arrived at the second spin, snatching his sister from her betrothed and hugged her against his front, too close for propriety even among siblings yet none present but her displayed any surprise. She shifted uncomfortably, drawing the attention of all three royals present as she did so, watching as the courtly mask of a prince snapped over Prince Valarr, though a soft gleam of joy was still present in his mismatched eyes. 

“My cousins, the Princess Aella and Prince Aerion, my lady,” he introduced his cousins to her, stepping aside slightly from when he had moved to shield them from when she had startled them though she did not truly need the introductions. She could have deduced the prince and princess’ identity from their actions alone. 

She stared at the prince and princess, paying more mind now that she knew their importance to her betrothed. They were still as beautiful as they had appeared earlier, their Valyrian blood strong in their appearance in contrast to their cousin, and all the more unnaturally beautiful for it. But even more than their appearance, she took note of how close the twins were. Prince Aerion rested his head on his sister’s shoulder, violet and lilac eyes alight with joy staring at her side by side unblinkingly as their hair seemed to blend into each other, making it difficult to tell where one began and one ended. And yet, despite the differences between the cousins, they stood as if they were made for each other. 

“Would you like to join us for tea?” asked the princess, shattering the unintended stare off as she grabbed her cousin and brother’s hand, pulling them towards the tea table set up in the pavilion without ever giving them a chance to say otherwise. Watching the princes indulgently interlink their elbows with the princess’, Kiera doubted that they would have denied her anyways as she was left to trail after them. 

“All of you may be dismissed except for Celia,” the princess instructed as they reached the pavilion, the servants bowing as they excused themselves, leaving behind a blonde servant girl. The princes both pulled her seat for her, leaving the servant girl to seat Kiera across from the princess, much to her chagrin, and yet, none of the royals present seemed to notice it at all. 

She was left to watch as the royals busied themselves with the tea and treats laid out, a seamless routine that very much did not include her. She watched as Princess Aella scooped the cream off a lemon tart onto her plate before depositing the lemon tart on her brother’s plate; as Prince Aerion put the strawberries on his tart on his sister’s plate; as Princess Aella stirred two sugars into the tea and taking a sip of it before exchanging her cup with her cousin’s; as Prince Valarr sliced a cake in two, putting half of it on Princess Aella’s plate. The familiarity very much made her feel left out, as if she was the interloper in their perfect world. They moved as if they were the Targaryen sigil itself, a dragon with three heads and she the unwitting girl who stood before dragons and thought herself worthy. 

“Rose tea again, cousin?” Prince Valarr teased, his voice tender and full of unspoken things in a way that made her heart ache. He sounded like a man devotedly in love, and far from her reach even though he sat next to her. 

“From the Tyrell themselves, only the best for my sweet sister,” Prince Aerion replied before Princess Aella could, pressing a loose strand of her hair to his lips. And Princess Aella only laughed, pressing a kiss to her brother’s cheek. Kiera chanced a look at Prince Valarr, curious on his reaction yet he only watched them fondly, no signs of jealousy in him. 

She continued to watch, silent in a way only forgotten girls are, made small by circumstances and teaching both. ‘Girls are meant to be seen and not heard,’ her governess used to say. Princess Aella clearly had never been told the same as she laughed freely, teasing her brother and cousin as they teased her back, equals with them despite their gender, free in a way Kiera could never be. 

At some point, there were crumbs from a tart on the side of the princess’ lip, and Prince Valarr himself reached to wipe it off. “What would you ever do without me, Aella?” he asked, his hand still on her face even after the crumb was gone. 

“I would crumble, Var, so you shouldn’t leave me,” replied Prince Aella teasingly, and yet, it did not sound like a tease at all at the same time, her tongue flickering out to lick against Prince Valarr’s thumb. 

“Then I shalln’t leave you, Aella,” her betrothed promised even as he pulled his thumb quickly, his ears and the back of his neck flushed Targaryen crimson. Kiera despaired, wondering if she would be forced to watch this for the rest of her life, the legal wife and yet the interloper all the same. 

They finally remembered her existence when Princess Aella was making scones, spreading cream and different types of jams set out, apple for Prince Valarr, lemon for Prince Aerion and strawberry for herself, going as far as to feed her brother. It was surely a sight to behold, a prince of the blood of four-and-ten being fed a scone by his sister as if he was a boy of five. 

“Would you like a scone too, Lady Kiera? Var and Ae say that I make them best,” Prince Aella asked. Kiera thought rather uncharitably that Prince Valarr and Prince Aerion would say rocks tasted great if Prince Aella offered one to them. Still, she shook her head, her appetite gone from witnessing the interaction of the princes and princess. 

Princess Aella frowned, looking at the barely picked at tart on her plate and her still full cup of cold tea. “Was nothing to your taste, Lady Kiera?” The princess asked concernly, “I could send Celia to the kitchens to ask for something for you.”

Again, Kiera shook her head, forcing words out from the lump in her throat. “Thank you for the offer, my princess. I’m merely fatigued from my journey here.” 

“Oh, you should have said so. We have prepared a feast to welcome you and your Lord father tomorrow, so perhaps you should rest before then,” Princess Aella offered, giving her the opportunity to excuse herself, which she took gratefully. She scarcely heard Princess Aella scold her cousin for bringing her to the gardens as she left, her heart in pieces when Prince Valarr did not even look at her as she left. Instead, when she looked back, the princes and princess had their heads bent together, ignoring the world as they focused only on each other. 

The handmaiden fell in step behind her as she made for the direction of her accommodations silently and without Prince Valarr as a shield, however poor of one he made, she could hear the gleeful whispers around her. 

“That’s the girl? The one from Tyrosh?” 

“Poor child, to be between the princes and princess.”

“To be the legal wife and the other woman at the same time.”

“I would never put such a fate on my daughter, poor girl.”

And it took all of her willpower not to run through the gardens back to her accommodations. She was a soon-to-be princess at seven-and-ten, not a wild girl child in her family home, she would not run, her dignity would not allow it. 

To her great relief, her father was not in the chambers when she arrived, allowing her to be by herself. She did not think that she could face him in her state, for surely he would place the blame on her shoulders.

The next time she saw Prince Valarr was during the feast, where she was sat beside her father, who sat beside the king as a guest of honour. Prince Valarr sat on his father’s side, on the other side of the table and yet, she was close enough to see the way he looked at his cousins, who sat further down the table. 

The Great Hall glittered with thousands of candles, the smell of roasted meats and spiced wine mixing with the suffocating crowds of lords and ladies. It truly seemed that King Daeron II had spared no expense to welcome her father and her, and yet, it was regrettable that she had barely paid attention to the feast. Instead, her attention was solely on her betrothed and his cousins. 

Most of the younger princes and princesses did not appear for the feast on account of their age, with only Prince Valarr, Prince Daeron, Prince Aerion and Princess Aella the only ones of King Daeron II’s grandchildren who were present. How she wished that being four-and-ten was enough for the prince and princess to be told that they were too young for the feast, if only to spare her from the way Prince Valarr looked at his cousins. 

At first, Prince Valarr merely watched his cousins, his eyes barely moving from them even as lords and ladies came up to the head table to greet his grandsire and father, and consequently him. Even his father could barely pull his attention from his cousins, it seemed, watching Prince Valarr glance at his father before his eyes were inevitably drawn over to his cousins, sharing their meal as if they were a single person. 

Then, the music started. King Daeron II offered his hand to Queen Myriah Martell and they opened the dance, followed by Prince Baelor and his wife, Lady Jena Dondarrion, her future goodparents. She looked asken at Prince Valarr when the second song, a slow but cheerful song that she could not name, though she supposed she would have to learn soon enough, ended yet he did not even look at her, his eyes following after his cousins as they slipped from their seats to the dance floor, joining the rest of the lords and ladies, giggling as they did so. 

The twins spun each other around energetically, more than the song called for if the other dancers were any indication, yet no one strived to put a stop to their antics. The princess laughed brightly, her laughter seemingly carried through the hall to her cousin’s ears as he perked up ever so slightly, as she raked her hand through her brother’s silvery-gold hair, ducking as he reached out a hand to do the same to her. The prince and princess continued their game for the rest of the song, darting around one another as the lords and ladies moved to give them room, only straightening when the band started another. 

They danced to another song, and then another, three in a row, improper even to her scant knowledge of Westerosi customs. Still, the twins seemed not to care until Prince Baelor himself and his lady wife separated them, dancing with one twin each for a song. The song had scarcely ended when the twins returned to each other, flushed from dancing and the heat of the hall as they collapsed on one of the lower tables, sharing a cup of wine between them. 

Prince Aerion wrapped an arm around his sister’s waist, holding her so close to him she might as well have been sharing his seat, his face resting in the crook of her neck as she held the cup of wine, holding it to his lips in between sips, her other hand resting casually on his forearm as if it belonged there. The twins were truly like one being, she thought, dressed alike as if their shared looks were not enough to mark their resemblance. She watched as Prince Valarr made to join them, only to be stopped by his lord father, Prince Baelor shaking his head as he dropped a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder, shaking his head as he did so. Kiera watched as a mutinuous expression flashed across his face for but a moment, yet it was gone before she could even blink, his face returned to the mask of curious attentiveness it had been all evening. 

And yet, she watched as his perfect princely smile falter at the edges for but a moment when someone stood too close to his cousins, only truly returning when Prince Aerion snapped at them, his jaw clench tight. She watched as his knuckles turned white from where he gripped his cup too hard, the wine sloshing in it when someone complimented his cousins, as if the idea that anyone but him acknowledging that they were no longer simply children infuriated him. She watched as his princely smile gained a fond edge as Princess Aella all but practically sat on her brother to stop him when a lord offered a compliment. But most importantly of all, Kiera watched as Prince Valarr watched over his cousins with the territorial eyes of a dragon, forever guarding its most precious treasure. 

The gaps in his princely veneer were subtle indeed, especially to someone who had met him so recently as she had, but she was an observant child turned observant girl, for that is how vulnerable forgotten girls survive. And she knew that the raw and possessive streak she had only gleamed in Prince Valarr would mean that she would forever be the outsider between him and his cousins, no matter the legalities of the matter. Yet, she had no say in the matter, for that is how the world is for girls like her. 

Part of her wondered if songs would be written of them, and what part she would play in it. The pitiful wife who could not hold her husband’s heart, or the wicked woman who separated lovers, forcing them into the shadows, and yet, none of it would truly matter in the end. 

The truth she can see is this, she is to be married to Prince Valarr, who is a good man, but even great men have fallen awry to temptation, and his cousins are already more than temptations, they hold his heart in their young hands. She would spend a lifetime looking at every child Princess Aella bore, wondering if it belonged to her husband or her cousin, that every brown streak of hair or blue or brown eyes would strike fear in her, but worse of all, even if Princess Aella’s children bore no resemblance to Prince Valarr at all, he may still put them over her true born children with him, simply for who their parents are. 

And then there was of course the posessiveness in which Prince Valarr viewed his cousins in, tensed even now when they were in his line of sight, as if he needed them within reach at all times. She would be subjected to a lifetime of this, of watching her husband yearn for something while she stood beside him, knowing that she had no place in his heart, a lifetime of knowing that he was only her husband in name and duty.

A lifetime of knowing that every second he was unaccounted for was surely spent at his cousins’ side, where he yearned to be even now. And that was not accounting for the moments where he would be in the public eye with them, for they were a prince and princess of the blood, and his cousins beside, so it would not be shameful to be in their prescence.

So caught up in her thoughts of the future that she missed what happened, only really shocked back to the present by the gasps of the crowd. Prince Aerion had slammed a lord against a pillar with a sickening thud, his ringed hand clamped around the man’s throat. Even from afar, she could see that the blood, crimson against his green doublet, pouring from his nose.

Prince Valarr moved so quickly it seemed that he vanished and reappeared behind his cousins, a hand on Prince Aerion’s wrist where he was holding a dagger, ornately decorated with fine rubies. “He dared to grab my sister,” hissed Prince Aerion, more draconic than human, danger like a blade scraping against silk, promising dragonfire in every word. 

Prince Valarr froze, not in a way that signified panic, but the deadly calm before a storm and yet, before he too could move, Prince Maekar arrived. He grabbed his son’s shoulder, yanking him back from the man yet Prince Aerion still managed to shove the man away from him with such violence he collapsed to the ground, spluttering for air. Prince Valarr stared down at the man, looking as if he was considering kicking him for a brief moment.

“What the fuck is the meaning of this, boy?” Prince Maekar thundered, his face set in stone and yet before Prince Aerion, his face mutinuous, could reply, Princess Aella threw herself against her father. 

“He pulled me, kepa,” she sobbed against his chest, “so I punched him.” A murmur rippled through the crowd, princesses did not go around punching lords, no matter if the lord deserved it. 

“That bitch broke my nose,” the lord howled behind her, pulling another sob from the princess as Prince Maekar’s jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his neck were jumping, and his eyes burned with a cold, violet fire even as his hand rubbed his daughter’s back soothingly, a protective father and a warrior prince all at once.

“You laid your hand on my daughter,” Prince Maekar hissed, sounding very much like his son had moments ago, a son he still held by the shoulder even as his son had abandoned his glaring at the lord, instead pulling his sister from their father to his chest, wrapping himself around her and her around him. 

Prince Maekar let go of his children, stalking up to the lord as if to finish what his son had started when King Daeron II arrived, flanked by Prince Baelor, calling for the guards to escort the lord away. 

Prince Baelor looked at his son, standing behind his cousins, a hand on each of them, his face a mask of dreadful calm, princely veneer long gone, his eyes darting around as if expecting danger to pop up from somewhere. “Perhaps the children should retire for the night,” Prince Baelor simply stated and Prince Valarr nodded tensely, gently guiding his cousins out of the Great Hall, still clutching at each other like they meant to join as one. 

Kiera was sat at the solar provided when her father entered, his face like thunder and his steps louder still. He did not even look at her as he started pacing the solar, each step like a physical blow to her psych. 

“The king has asked to annul your betrothal to Prince Valarr. Instead, he has offered Prince Daeron.” Her father finally declared after pacing the length of the solar thrice. “Prince Maekar and Prince Baelor has offered to pay for your dowry themselves…” And yet Kiera heard none of it saved for the first sentence, for her overwhelming relief drowned out her father’s words.