#mfmm

I'd always feared another man would sweep you away from me. I never thought it'd be your father.

MISS FISHER’S MURDER MYSTERIES

Princess Aelora Targaryen had not been born with blood of the dragon, but Prince Rhaegel claimed her as his daughter all the same, and the Red Keep accepted it the way it accepted dragonfire. Carefully. Completely.

Not long after, the betrothal was announced in the quiet, complicated way royal arrangements always were. Aelora was promised to three princes who treated the news like a vow instead of a contract. Valarr, Baelor’s eldest, all careful duty even as a boy. Daeron, Maekar’s eldest, gentle eyed and watchful. Aerion, Maekar’s younger, sharp as flint and twice as stubborn.

Aelora was still small enough to climb onto chairs and declare herself queen of the table, still young enough to pull pranks and demand sweets as tribute, but somehow, in the middle of all her mischief, she had already become the center of them. They hovered without meaning to. They watched without blinking. They softened in ways no one else was allowed to see.

It happened at a feast when Aelora was far too young to be kept up so late and far too stubborn to be sent away.

She had been sitting between them at the high table with a sugared fig in one hand and a cup of watered wine she was absolutely not meant to have in the other, listening with fierce concentration to a story she only understood in pieces. Every few minutes she would perk up, eyes bright, and ask a question that made the older lords blink like they had been struck.

Valarr kept sliding the sweetest things within her reach without being asked. A grape. A bit of honey cake. A fig dusted with sugar.

Daeron kept quietly fixing her sleeves when they slipped down her arms, tying her ribbons back when they came loose, as if she might unravel if he did not keep her neat.

Aerion kept glaring at anyone who looked amused at her, like the whole hall was a threat and Aelora was something precious placed too near the edge of a table.

Aelora, for her part, was perfectly pleased with herself.

Until the third song.

Her eyelids began to droop.

She fought it like a knight in a tale, blinking hard, sitting up straighter, lifting her chin as if she could command sleep away by will alone. She took a heroic bite of her fig, chewed very slowly, then blinked again.

Once her head bobbed forward.

Valarr’s hand moved instantly, not grabbing, only steadying, fingers warm against her back.

“Sweeting,” he murmured, so soft only they could hear.

“whaa.. I am awake,” Aelora whispered with great dignity.

Her eyes closed as she said it.

Daeron’s mouth twitched. Aerion’s brows drew together like he was personally offended by sleep’s audacity.

Aelora’s head bobbed again.

She tried to sit up.

She failed.

She tipped sideways and landed directly in Valarr’s lap like she had been placed there by the gods themselves.

Valarr went completely still.

Aelora made a tiny satisfied sound, cheek pressed into the fabric of his tunic, and then she settled deeper with a sigh so content it nearly broke him.

After a short while her mouth fell open a little.

A small line of drool appeared at the corner.

Aerion leaned forward, scandalized. “She is drooling.”

Valarr did not move an inch. He whispered “She is sleeping” and glared at aerion.

“She is drooling on you...” aerion smirked.

Valarr looked down at her face, soft and peaceful and utterly untroubled. His voice went quieter, reverent without meaning to be. “Let her.”

Daeron stood without speaking and draped his cloak gently over Aelora’s shoulders, tucking it around her like he had done it a hundred times. Then, with the careful tenderness of someone who treated her as if she were breakable, he wiped the drool away with his thumb.

Aelora did not wake.

Instead she mumbled, very clearly, “No”

All three princes froze.

Aerion’s eyes narrowed. “No what.”

Daeron leaned closer, listening like a maester with a prophecy. “Hush.”

Valarr held his breath as if any sound might disturb her.

Aelora’s brows knit. Her nose scrunched. She turned her face deeper into Valarr’s lap and mumbled again, slower this time.

“No, not the turnip”

Aerion blinked. “Turnip.”

Daeron’s shoulders shook once, silently.

Valarr looked down at Aelora like she was the sweetest thing he had ever seen. “She is dreaming.”

Aelora sighed and made a small offended sound, then whispered, “Too crunchy"

Aerion looked genuinely baffled. “What is she eating in her dreams.”

“Not turnips,” Daeron said, eyes bright with fond amusement.

Valarr smoothed a hand very lightly over Aelora’s hair. She immediately melted further into him, as if she had been waiting for that touch.

Then she mumbled, “I want cake”

Aerion’s face lit with purpose. “I can get her cake.”

Valarr caught his sleeve without looking away from Aelora. “You will not wake her”

Aerion glared. “I will not...I will simply place cake near her”

Daeron’s mouth twitched again. “That is not how sleep works.”

Aerion ignored him and leaned closer to Aelora’s face anyway, like he meant to negotiate with her dreams.

“Aelora,” he whispered.

Valarr’s eyes widened. “Aerion.”

Aelora, still asleep, made a tiny sound and turned her head, mouth brushing Valarr’s sleeve.

Aerion watched her like a hawk.

Aelora mumbled, “Pretty”

All three princes went still again, as if the word had been a command.

Aerion’s voice dropped to a near hiss. “Pretty what.”

Daeron leaned in, charmed. “Pretty who, little star.”

Valarr did not speak. He just watched her with a softness that would have embarrassed him if anyone had called it by name.

Aelora’s lips moved again, sleep heavy on her tongue.

“Pretty princes” she whispered.

Daeron’s face went warm. Aerion looked triumphant, as if he had personally earned that compliment. Valarr’s hand stopped in her hair for a heartbeat, then resumed, slower, gentler.

Aelora sighed again, then whispered, half complaining, “Too tall”

Aerion blinked. “Too tall.”

Daeron covered his mouth with his hand, shoulders shaking silently.

Valarr, barely audible, said, “She cannot possibly be complaining about our height.”

Aelora nodded in her sleep like she had heard him. Then she patted Valarr’s leg with the authority of a tiny queen and mumbled “Come down"

Aerion looked delighted. “She wants us lower.”

Daeron murmured, “She is ordering us in her sleep.”

Aerion’s pride should have objected. Instead, he leaned closer, eyes bright. “Again.”

Valarr made a sound of warning, but it was weak, because Aelora was still sleeping on him, still warm, still safe.

Aelora’s lashes fluttered. She made a tiny humming noise, then whispered very clearly “Mine

The word landed in the air between them and changed it.

Not because it was surprising.

Because it was true.

Aerion’s jaw tightened, then he said it anyway, stubborn and quiet, as if staking a claim he did not yet fully understand. “Yes”

Valarr glanced at him. “Yes what ?”

“Yes” Aerion repeated, eyes fixed on Aelora’s sleeping face, “mine too.”

Daeron’s expression softened into something almost painful. “Ours.”

Valarr looked down at Aelora like she was a vow. “Ours,” he agreed, so quietly it was almost a breath.

As if to prove them right, Aelora reached out in her sleep.

Her little hand fumbled once, caught Valarr’s sleeve, then slid lower until her fingers found his.

Valarr’s hand closed around hers immediately.

Aelora sighed in satisfaction.

Then her hand lifted again, drifting, searching.

Daeron offered his fingers without thinking, letting her catch hold of him too.

Aelora’s grip tightened gently, like she had gathered what she wanted.

Aerion stared at her hand, then thrust his own forward with the urgency of a boy determined not to be left out. Aelora’s fingers brushed his, missed, then found him.

Aerion went perfectly still the moment she held on.

Aelora mumbled something else, softer now, more nonsense than words.

Daeron leaned closer anyway, completely invested. “What is she saying.”

Valarr listened like it mattered more than any lord in the hall. “Sweeting”

Aerion whispered, fierce and hopeful, “Say it again.”

Aelora’s mouth moved.

Then, with the drowsy certainty of someone entirely convinced of her own power, she murmured, “Stay”

Three princes fell silent at once.

Valarr tightened his hold.

Daeron’s eyes softened.

Aerion looked as if he had been struck.

Aelora slept on, drooling a little again, fingers tangled with theirs, completely unaware she had just wrapped them tighter around her without even opening her eyes.

Valarr, still not moving, whispered like a vow, “Always”

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The first outfit of Season 3, Episode 5 - "Death & Hysteria" is an afternoon tea dress in a stunning twilight blue, complete with a capelet and beautiful cloche.

Named the 'Twilight Ruffle Dress' by costume designer Marion Boyce, this afternoon tea dress is crafted from a 1920's embossed silk cut on the bias. The ruffles of the frock are built into godets (inserted triangles of fabric), which add fullness and lengthen the free edge of the garment, as well as adding visual interest and "flirtatiousness", according to the Costume Exhibition.

Her sapphire cloche has a wide front brim and is decorated with layers of blue and green dyed feathers. It had a fascinating transformation to become one of Phryne's many elegant headpieces.

"Miss Fisher initially wore this twilight blue afternoon tea dress in the daytime and needed a cloche to suit. 'We were having a really hard time trying to find something that was right for this dress. I was searching through a big pile of hats and there was this strange 1950's hat - it was an unusual colour but it suited the twilight blue perfectly. I looked inside the hat and discovered that the colour had not faded. I became quite excited about it and gave it to Costume Design Assistant Gareth Blaha and said "Oh now, this is it! I now want this hat inside out and a different shape. It needs to be quite a deep cloche." Gareth looked at me in total horror and said "Sure. I'll do that" (laughs). Which was really terrific of him because it was an incredibly big job and quite hard to do." - Marion Boyce, Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries Costume Exhibition

Phryne adds a capelet in a fabric patterned with series of circles, made from a fabric from Marion Boyce's collection that she had owned for years, waiting for the right project. The capelet is held together with ties made of lace netting. This same circular patterned fabric is used to cover her matching blue bag. She also accessorizes with her onyx earrings, dark blue gloves with two different types of lace designs, and strapped azure heels.

Season 3, Episode 5 - "Death & Hysteria"