Nai

When dawn found them, they were still entangled together; her head rose and fell gently on his chest with his slow breaths, and one of his arms held her tightly still. Their legs were intertwined, and the thin blanket that Valarr had tossed over them before succumbing to sleep was mostly gone.

He woke first, and he had slept so profoundly that he found it hard to open his eyes completely, still feeling how his dreams tried to pull him back into the darkness. He felt her first, her soft and warm skin against his, and the soft smell of her hair, something that reminded him of the roses he had planted in her garden. He could not stop himself from pressing a quiet and delicate kiss to the top of her head, resting his lips there for longer than he should have. Rosalyn did not stir, but rather let out a small sigh that made his breath hitch in anticipation. Then, he smiled.

She was perfect in his arms, and if he had only known that waking up with her right there would feel like that, he would never have left her chambers in the first place. He knew he should rise and prepare for his day, but duties be damned, he just wanted to breathe in her presence for a little while longer. His other hand found hers on his chest, and he brushed her fingers with the delicacy of a man holding something too precious to even be touched. He saw the scar on her forearm, and he caressed it with his thumb; he still did not know how she had been scarred like that, and he would not demand answers from her, but he would be lying if he said that curiosity did not nag him. What could have happened to such a beautiful being? Who would ever dare hurt her in any way?

He did not know. But Valarr would find out sooner or later.

As he was absentmindedly stroking her soft skin, her eyes fluttered open with a small noise that told Valarr she was waking up. His hand stilled for a moment, unsure of how to proceed after the night before. The first thing Rosalyn saw was the wall across from her, and the semi-circular window that didn't quite match the one in her room. How strange. But then, when she felt his chest rise and fall under her cheek, she immediately remembered what had happened, and who was the man beneath her. Her body twitched before her brain could react, and she pulled away from him as her hair cascaded down like a dark waterfall. They both stared at each other in something similar to shock, but something else crept behind their eyes; for her, recognition, awareness, even comfort. For him?

Something that threatened to stop his heart right there.

She looked like the most beautiful painting, bare and flushed and perfect. His hand reached for her arm almost out of instinct, stilling and grounding her before she could fully pull away from him. Rosalyn stopped, looked down at his hand, felt the care with which his fingers wrapped around her arm, and immediately remembered how his lips had closed around her scars as if he had chosen to worship every single one of them. She shivered quietly, but her eyes never left his. She had never seen him so disheveled, and the first thing she noticed was how messy his hair looked, but he looked so…

Calm.

Something she rarely saw on him. A kind of peace that she had thought impossible for him to achieve. And yet, there he was.

They did not speak, because they did not need to. Instead, she laid down against his chest once more, quietly, slowly, carefully. And he embraced her with the same warmth he had held in his eyes for her since the moment she stepped out of that pompous carriage. A new understanding dawned on them, the deep and undeniable knowledge that they were joined in marriage, and that they did not have to resist anymore. They could be afraid, but they would no longer be alone.

Their sweet friendship had finally transformed into something deeper, something that neither of them had named, and yet both held closely to their hearts. The shift was evident for all around them, because even if they remained private and shy, she embraced his small, tentative touches. The soft kisses on her temple, or the way he tucked her loose curls behind her ear, and even how he led her with his hand on the small of her back.

And while many noticed, no one felt happier than Prince Baelor himself. Even if he did not say it out loud. His sweet, dutiful boy seemed… Happy.

The Royal Progress was met with resistance from Rosalyn, of course. She had barely grown used to the Red Keep and its inhabitants before being thrust out into the kingdom. And she had yet to receive word from her mother, which only made her more reticent to leave the place where her letters would arrive. Valarr, unfortunately, was not able to keep her out of it, and she knew he had tried. Because now, they slept in the same chamber more often than before, and they spent some good hours staring at the ceiling, with him braiding her hair and speaking about his brother, or his duties, or the future. She just sat there and listened, and more and more as of late she shared her own thoughts too.

So, knowing there was no way around or out of it, Rosalyn had to concede. Valarr promised his wife that she would not be thrown to the wolves, and he would shoulder the responsibility of representing the Crown. Because his duty as King Daeron's son was to face the realm, and his duty as her husband was to protect her.

The carriage ride was smooth, and they did not encounter any problems in the first few hours after leaving King's Landing. Baelor had bid both of them farewell, along with Abelar and Elaena, and they were now on the way to Harrenhal. Rosalyn held a book in her hands about that castle specifically, its history and what Valarr's predecessor had done to it before. He had his eyes closed, hands clasped tightly and head rested against the velvet, cushioned wall of the carriage. His fingers had already found his rings, twisting them without pause.

The silence was not suffocating, but rather a comforting space that allowed both of them to organize their thoughts before having to face the rest of the world. They sat across from each other.

When he finally opened his mismatched eyes, they fixated on her. She wore a deep, rich green gown that flowed around her figure and cascaded to the ground as she sat there, and the Tyrell rose was stitched to the soft fabric in bright gold. Her hair was tied into a long braid, one he himself had done. He looked down at himself to find the usual black and blood red that characterized the House of the Dragon. They were a stark contrast, the rose and the dragon.

Rosalyn looked up from her book and saw him already staring at her with a serious expression. Still, when her eyes met his, he gave her a small, warm smile. She saw how he played with his fingers, and the stress lines that marked his forehead. The peace she had seen in his expression a fortnight ago was gone, replaced with the face of someone who seemed to have lived many more lifetimes. Someone who appeared to be older, more stern, more tired.

Something inside her turned and twisted, and she swallowed hard.

"They say the castle might be cursed." She blurted out of nowhere, making him blink twice as he regained his focus and placed it all on her. She looked around the carriage as if it would somehow tell her what to say.

"So I have heard." Valarr replied with his hands on his knees.

She nodded quietly.

"Is that why you have chosen that book?" He nodded towards the book on her lap, and she shrugged her shoulders with a soft expression on her face.

"I am more interested in its history beyond any curses." She stated with a matter-of-fact voice, and he smirked.

"Do you believe in such things?" His voice was low, but with a hint of amusement, and his worries about having to represent his entire family and the future of the realm faded if only for a short second.

She pondered about it for a minute.

"I have never encountered a ghost."

He raised an eyebrow.

"One would hope so."

She grinned at him, and he grinned right back.

"Mayhaps Harrenhal will prove you wrong, then." He teased her with a tilting of his head.

She shook her head and placed both hands on the book that rested on her lap.

"Do you believe in curses and ghosts?" She echoed his previous question, and he took a deep breath and relaxed against his seat.

"No." Valarr simply stated, looking at the fields outside the little carriage window before turning to look at her once more. "I do not."

It was such a simple and direct response that she felt the curiosity to ask him more questions, something that was not like Rosalyn. But she knew how it felt to be pried on, and she did not want to do that to him, too. So she just nodded.

After a long silence, Valarr added something.

"If ghosts did exist," He began quietly, as if something deep inside him, a smaller version of the man in front of her, was speaking for him. "I would have seen her again."

She fell quiet, and with her lips pressed into a thin line, she gave him a silent look that said everything without having to utter a single word.

Rosalyn hesitated before reaching out and touching the tip of her shoe against his, nudging it slightly and then resting it there.

Valarr looked down at her foot, smaller than his in comparison, and a soft smile tugged at his lips. She was still getting accustomed to touch, but she had been reaching out more often now, seeking the warmth of his hand, resting her back against his chest when they sat on the bed, stealing quick, shy kisses.

He nudged her shoe right back.

Even if neither truly wanted to go on the Royal Progress, they did not mind it that much as long as they had the other nudging their feet when the air thickened around them.

Harrenhal was as grand as she had imagined, but also slightly scary. The tall, burned structure towered over them, and when she raised her head, she could practically see the great, black beast descending from the skies to rain fire upon Harren the Black's fortress. A shiver went through her, only to be brought back to the present by her husband's warm hand on her back.

Rosalyn turned her head slightly to see his taller figure looking at the entrance of the castle, and his playful smile had faded. The seriousness of the Young Prince was back, and it had taken away all of his boyish features once more. She followed his gaze to find an older man walking towards them surrounded by his own guards, and a young woman that walked a few paces behind him.

She knew who he was, of course. She had studied House Lothston before arriving only because she wanted to be prepared for anything. The old man was Lord Manfred Lothston, head of the House, and barely able to walk without the aid of his wooden cane. The redhead woman behind him was slightly harder to decipher, but she believed her name was Danelle, the only living granddaughter to the man. When they finally approached, the lord bowed as much as his old body allowed him to, and the woman dropped into a low curtsy as well. Valarr did not move an inch, still tense, but he smiled politely and acknowledged both with his head. In the meantime, Rosalyn bowed her head just slightly as a sign of respect, but did not say a word.

"My Prince!" The man exclaimed with a smile, and the wrinkles in his face made him look sweet, or at least that is what Rosalyn thought. His hair was still completely black, which was a noticeable contrast to his pale skin. "And my lady." He added as he looked at Rosie. "We are honored to receive you in Harrenhal today." He spoke with a certain restraint to his voice.

Rosalyn could pick out the hints of excitement, but also something else. Respect? Fear? Suspicion? She could not tell.

Valarr nodded with a straight spine.

"House Lothston is a good ally of the Crown," He said with a very measured tone. "And it is our great pleasure to visit our allies."

Rosalyn could feel the girl's eyes burning into her, and when she finally looked at her, she saw bright green eyes staring right back. Her intensity made Rosie want to look away, but Valarr's fingers tightened at her back, and she almost turned her face to look at him. But that would have signaled their hosts that something was wrong, and that was not a smart move to make. So she held Danelle's gaze for a moment before the lord invited them inside.

Valarr and Lord Manfred walked ahead, and Rosalyn fell into pace with Danelle, both quiet and focused on following the men in front of them.

But Rosalyn could not keep her gaze from wandering through the entire structure as they entered, the tall ceilings and even taller columns that seemed to reach the clouds. And yet, it looked almost abandoned, empty and close to collapse. But Harrenhal held.

It withstood dragonfire, but Rosalyn wondered whether it would withstand the passing of time.

"I told your father, our honorable Prince Baelor…" The man spoke with pride. "… After the Battle of the Redgrass Field, House Lothston would never forget through whose veins coursed the true and only blood of the dragon."

Valarr listened to the lord's praises, worries, complaints, old battle stories alongside his own father and uncle, and how glorious their King was. Of course, what else could he say? House Lothston had been a loyal guardian of Harrenhal since the times of his great, great grandfather. Even if they had wavered with the Blackfyre rebellion, they had righted their wrongs. But as Baelor always said, one cannot be too confident in an ally's loyalty, nor in an enemy's tenacity.

They would spend three nights at Harrenhal before continuing with the Progress. Valarr had only visited that castle once before, and he had been a young boy still clinging to his father's tunic. He was almost mesmerized by the size of it, but his face did not show it. Still, the many hours of carriage ride had already begun to take a toll on his well-being, although deep down, he knew the pressure he felt at the back of his skull was just a byproduct of the stress and anxiety he felt. Because for Valarr, the fate of everything always depended on him, even if it truly did not.

The day continued with formal introductions, tourings of the castle, and more and more complaints about grain, harsh winters, historical feuds, disrespectful lordlings, rumors and bastards. By the time the private audience began, Valarr's skull was close to exploding. He sat on the robust wooden chair at the head of the table, one hand on his knee, the other one brushing his forehead. He swallowed hard and snapped his eyes shut the moment the bright light hit him through the chamber's enormous windows.

Rosalyn noticed, of course she did. She was sitting in a smaller chair next to him, with her hands clasped on her lap and her spine as rigid as Valarr's. They were both two children that had been sent to play politics, and the hungry wolves around them picked up the sweet scent of blood.

The old Lord Lothston sat to the Prince's left in another small chair, having given the representative of the Crown his usual seat as head of the House. Many more lords sat around the long table, some happy to be there, and some ready to rip each other to shreds. Rosalyn and Valarr observed them all, and while the former was slowly reading into each one of them, the latter was more focused on keeping himself somewhat stable through the pain.

"My Prince, if I may?" A large man asked, standing up above his peers and bowing his head slightly. But Rosalyn did not pick up much respect in his sharp tone, and the way his words dripped with condescension. He was Manson Lothston, Lord Lothston's eldest and only living son, uncle to Danelle, and Rosalyn thought the man looked like a black bear incarnate.

He was dressed in heavy clothing, as if preparing for a winter that had not reached Westeros just yet. Although Rosalyn had to agree that the castle was much colder than the lands outside, and while some would attribute that to the presence of something ancient and evil, she blamed the thick rock walls and gigantic structure. He had a big scar on his left hand, one that traveled through his knuckles and up his wrist.

Valarr waved his hand slightly to allow him to speak, before quickly pressing his fingers right back to his temple. There were thirteen lords in the room, with his four Kingsguards, four servants and two cupbearers. He had counted them all more than once.

The man cleared his throat once. All the other men in the room looked up at him with both fear and respect, some's gaze held dislike, some's jealousy. Rosalyn watched them all from the head of the table, and being surrounded by robust men who looked at them like prey was not at all comforting. But Valarr did not flinch even once, not with his headache, not with their presence.

His mismatched eyes followed the man's frame as he began to speak.

"The summer will not last much longer," His voice was gruff, so low it could have scared the horses away. "And grain is not infinite, Your Highness." Valarr's title left his tongue with a hint of contempt. Valarr's eyes squinted in response. "When winter comes, will the Crown support the Riverlands' grain stock? Was that not our agreement?"

The lords around him echoed his words in agreement, and Valarr let out a long exhale as he angled his body to the table with a stern look. The light was too bright, the man's voice too loud, and his jaw extremely tight.

He twisted his rings once. Twice.

Valarr opened his mouth to respond, and pain struck him like lightning. The words never left his throat, and his eyes widened slightly; he blinked once as he regained his focus.

It was just a moment, but it was enough for Manson Lothston to smell weakness, and the man smiled. He would exploit it. Rosalyn also noticed, and while she did not want to stare at Valarr in front of all these men, she saw how his fingers tightened around his breeches. His knuckles were white.

She breathed deeply as she noticed all the lords turning their heads towards them, no, towards him. They expected an answer from him, and she could sense Valarr's entire body tensing beside her.

"Your Highness?" Lord Manson Lothston asked once more, and his patience was running thin. She could sense it.

Valarr inhaled sharply.

"The agreement between our houses still stands." He said with a serious voice, one that was fighting hard not to show the cracks. "The Crown has not forgotten—"

Sharp pain stabbed his skull and his sentence was cut short. His hand twitched subtly on his lap, and he had to breathe deeply before he could open his eyes again. When he did, he found the lords around him staring as if something was wrong with him. Manson's towering figure was not half as terrifying as the anxiety and incompetence that Valarr was experiencing now, one that threatened to collapse the carefully curated image he had built over the years.

"Perhaps the Crown should have sent a man, instead." He said quietly, but his eyes never left Valarr as he spoke. The insult hung in the air, and not a single soul spoke.

Valarr tensed. His guards tensed. The old Lord Lothston tensed.

Even Rosalyn felt her own pulse quickening, and she looked at the man as if he had just cursed his own bloodline. Which, perhaps, was true.

But Manson remained standing, large hands pressed on the table, and his eyes waiting to see how Valarr would react to such an insult.

But the Prince… did not react at all. He could recognize the bait when he saw it, and he knew better than to give in to foolish provocations. His face remained unreadable, even if his knuckles were white under the table.

"The Crown has not forgotten its duties to the realm, Lord Manson." He said flatly. "Our reserves are being prepared to withstand the winter, and your people are still our own. Do not underestimate our word."

He had to practically crush his knuckles to tolerate the pain without showing weakness to the men around him. But he would not be able to do it for much longer.

"Of course, my Prince, we would never dare." Lord Manfred said beside him with an apologetic expression before sending his son a warning look.

But the man did not seem to care, or perhaps it was not Lord Manfred who led his own House anymore.

"Grain is well and good," he said. "But our people need more than bread. They need to know the Crown remembers them. Bread is not our only sustainment." He leaned forward slightly, making the men around him lean back in response. "House Lothston would like to ask for a reduction in tariffs on goods shipped from Harrenhal to King's Landing. A small thing, truly. But one that would ease the minds of my smallfolk."

Ease the minds of his smallfolk? Rosalyn would have laughed if not for the seriousness of the situation. She could not tell whether the man was genuine or simply trying to push Valarr to see him break. Was this truly about the Riverlands? Or was it about the fitness of House Targaryen as rulers of the Seven Kingdoms?

"Surely, the Crown's heir, Prince Baelor's son," He put even more emphasis on the words, because Rosalyn knew what he wanted to imply. She felt something rise in her, something that was not familiar to Rosalyn. Anger. "… Can make a simple pledge. Unless…?"

The unsaid words hung in the air. Unless he couldn't.

"The Crown's word means everything, Lord Manson." He repeated his previous words, but his voice was thin. Valarr was also running out of patience. "Which is why I will take your request to the Small Council. I cannot promise what is not mine to give."

The room fell quiet, and then a small laugh escaped Lord Manson. Lord Manfred's eyes widened in response, the sheer audacity. He went to speak, but a heavy cough caught him first, making him fall right back into his chair.

"If my Prince is not authorized to make decisions on the Crown's behalf, why is it not Prince Baelor himself here?" He said as if they had all been personally wronged. As if sending Valarr had been some kind of jest against them. "Is this not a serious enough matter for the Crown?"

The whispers and murmurs took over the table, and the indignation he had sparked spread across the room.

That did it for Valarr. He stood up, and even though the boy was not taller than the man in front of him, he had all the composure Manson lacked. But his head was pounding, and he felt his vision blurry for a second as the thoughts dissolved into nothingness inside his head. This could not be happening, he had to speak, he had to—

"Lord Manson."

A very quiet voice managed to rise above the whispers. Lady Rosalyn had not moved an inch since she sat there, quiet and still as a mouse, but she did have a tongue. And while she did not like using it, she would now. All the heads snapped towards her as if not a single soul there had expected her to speak. Even Valarr was looking at her with wide eyes.

She did not look at Valarr, no. Her hands were clasped tightly, and her spine rigid. She lifted her head to look at the man that had disrespected not only her husband, but his family, his position, and the effort he was making.

"My husband has traveled hundreds of miles to assure your house of the Crown's protection," She said quietly yet firmly. "And yet, I find myself unable to find anything but disrespect in your words."

The man's eyes widened with both disbelief and anger.

"The Crown does not make such decisions lightly. My husband will present your request to the Small Council, as is proper." She raised an eyebrow. "Or would you prefer for him to speak falsely, if only to ease your concerns for a day?" When no reply came, she concluded. "If you seek a man who makes empty promises, you will not find him here."

Valarr could not believe his eyes at the moment. He had never heard her speak so many words, together, in a public setting. She always let him speak, not because she could not do it for herself, or because she did not understand what was happening around her, but because she was not interested in engaging.

And yet, here she was.

The whole table was silent, and the men did not know whether to laugh or nod in response. The girl looked no older than six and ten, and she was speaking for House Targaryen, no, for the Crown.

Meanwhile, Rosalyn was close to standing up and bolting out the door. She could not believe she had just done that, and she could not even understand why she had done it. She rarely ever spoke to others like that. She rarely spoke to others at all. Her apparent confidence was almost dragged through the mud by the subtle pinkness that settled on her cheeks.

After a while, Lord Manfred spoke.

"Of course, my lady." He said with a compromising expression, and she could tell he wanted to get out of the situation before anyone else could speak. "My son meant no offense. Your presence here already speaks of the Crown's recognition of our concerns."

Some of the men around the table nodded, but Lord Manfred turned to look at his son.

"Is that not true, Manson?" His voice was harsh, with a tone that Rosalyn had not heard in him before. His son did not tear his gaze away from Rosalyn for one second before gritting the words through his teeth.

"Yes, indeed." His gaze flickered between the young couple. "Forgive an old warrior's temper, my lady. It is rare that we are visited by the Crown."

Then, Valarr finally breathed in after staring at his wife for the past couple of minutes. He turned to face the lords and pressed his lips into a thin line before speaking.

"I am grateful for your patience, and trust that I will not take your concerns lightly." He looked at Manson. "I will personally advocate for the Riverlands' issues and worries in the next Council session." Rosalyn looked up at him, and she saw the confidence grow back quietly, the brave mask slipping back on. He looked so much like his father now. "However, such disrespect will not be tolerated, either."

It was subtle, but the guards behind Valarr took one step closer to the table. She felt Ser Caster right behind her chair.

"Do remember whose grain you seek for the next winter." He concluded before standing up once more, and the men around him mimicked his movements.

They all bowed their heads, even Lord Manson, because no matter how fierce he was, he was not a fool. Rosalyn rose beside him too, and they locked eyes for a second before he nodded once. She was close to him as they walked out of the chamber, with Lord Manfred trying to catch up to them.

They both slowed down so the old man could reach them, and the Kingsguards were closer than before now.

"My Prince, my lady, you must forgive my son. Our people struggle, and he has taken it to heart—"

Valarr held up his hand and shook his head. The man fell quiet immediately.

"It is done, Lord Manfred." He spoke quietly now, even if the edge was still there. He would not take out his frustration on the old man that had received them so openly. He was better than that, which made Rosalyn look at him with fondness. "My wife and I would like to retire to our chambers now. We shall continue our discussion on the morrow."

Lord Manfred hesitated, still shaken by the private audience, but he bowed his head and nodded.

"Yes, of course, my Prince."

And just like that, Rosalyn and Valarr were led down the long and ruined halls until they reached their chambers. The room was big, like most of the spaces in the castle, with a spacious bed that had clearly been set there just for the royal guests. She scanned the space to find a couple of coffers, one fireplace and a bathing chamber, too.

Once the door closed behind them, she could practically see Valarr deflating next to her. His shoulders slouched, and his fingers found the bridge of his nose almost instinctively. She stood still, looking at him with her big, hazel eyes.

And he knew she was staring. Despite the pain, a smile tugged at his lips.

"I had never seen you speak to a lord in such manner." He said quietly, his eyes still pressed shut.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, knowing she had been out of line. It was not her place to speak in a private audience. She was his wife, but she was not the heir to the throne. She was quiet, and her hands found her long, dark curls, only to fidget with the strands.

Valarr finally opened one eye to see her standing awkwardly, both embarrassed and suddenly small.

His expression softened, and his hand left his nose. He turned to face her completely as he tilted his head to the right.

"Thank you." He finally said before reaching out with his hand to brush her fingers. She looked down and smiled, too. His skin was warm and his touch was gentle.

She liked that.

"You do not need to thank me." She whispered before reaching out with her pinky finger to touch him as well. "I should not have spoken."

He chuckled.

"He should not have spoken, either."

Rosalyn giggled and nodded. Then, when she saw him grimace at his own pain, worry returned and claimed all of her nerves.

"You need to rest." Her voice was gentle, like a soft breeze. Afraid to hurt him further.

"There is still—" He tried to retort.

"No." Rosalyn said simply before moving to the door and whispering something to the servants on the other side. He simply stood there, both hands at his sides as she had just unilaterally decided for him.

A while later, a bucket with warm water and towels was brought to their room, and Rosalyn had already asked Valarr to lie down. And of course he had.

She now sat with Valarr's head in her lap in absolute darkness after she had closed the curtains. Her gentle hands placed the warm, wet towels on his forehead. Valarr, on the other hand, had simply chosen to close his eyes and try to survive the raging pain as well as he could. She was quiet at first, waiting for the worst of it to pass, before digging her careful fingers into his hair and gently massaging his scalp. Rosalyn began humming the nursery rhyme that she always picked for these moments, the one she had learned from her mother.

Two or three hours passed before night fell and Valarr's pain eased. He had been asleep for quite some time now, but Rosalyn just looked down at him. When he slept, he looked younger, or perhaps he looked like his age. She was simply not used to seeing the boy he truly was. Not outside their dinners, walks and bed. She traced a gentle finger down the curve of his nose. She had always thought Valarr to be extremely handsome, but now, relaxed and settled into her lap, she could have sworn he was a god.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, and she was the first thing he saw. Valarr's smile was lazy and sleepy, but wide as he looked up at his wife.

She did not say anything, simply looked at him as if she was analyzing his features.

"Rosie." He said in a rough, sleepy voice. "You are staring."

She pressed her lips together as a smile spread across her face.

"My apologies." She muttered.

"Do not apologize. I like it." He reached out with his hand to tuck one loose strand behind her ear, which made her blush.

After a long pause, Rosalyn pressed one hand against his forehead to check if his skin had cooled down, and it had.

"I am feeling much better." He said as he understood her intentions before she even spoke.

Rosalyn nodded and sighed happily.

Much to his own dismay, he pulled himself out of her lap and stood up slowly, keeping one hand against his temple just to stop the dizziness. Once he was sure on the ground, he walked to the windows and pulled the heavy curtains back. Night had fallen already, and he had spent the afternoon sleeping in his wife's lap. At best, he had recovered. At worst, he had confirmed the lords' suspicions that something was indeed wrong with him.

"Supper?" He asked turning back to face her, but she shook her head.

"They came to collect us, but I sent them away." She said still sitting on the bed. His eyes widened slightly and he frowned.

"You did not eat supper?" He asked in disbelief. She shook her head. "Rosalyn, that is not—" He pinched the bridge of his nose once more. "You ought not to starve only because I am unwell."

She looked up at him with a completely serious face, which made it seem as if he was just babbling some nonsense she could not, or would not, understand.

"It is done." Rosalyn said simply.

He let out a frustrated groan that only made him shake his head in disappointment. But not at her, of course not. At himself for not having taken better care of his wife. Quite literally the only person in the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms that he had taken a marriage vow to, one to protect. That also included feeding her.

"I am not hungry." She reassured him as she rose from the bed too. She walked to the dusty coffers. "Are you?"

Valarr had not noticed it until she asked, but he was hungry. He had been too preoccupied with political tensions and the pressure threatening to crush his skull, and he had not paid any mind to his gnawing hunger. But after the private audience, he had no desire to see those fools' faces again. At least not until morning came and the Young Prince had to make yet another appearance.

"We shall eat here." He said simply, and Rosalyn turned her head to look at him in surprise. That was not proper, to eat in one's chambers. "It is late, the lords must have retired to their apartments by now. It will not cause a scandal."

She nodded, because what else could she do if not trust his judgment?

A while later, food and wine had been brought to them. Nothing too spectacular, not like the grand display that would probably be prepared for breakfast, but enough to satiate his hunger. Rosalyn also ate, even if not much, just to avoid an empty stomach for the night. They ate by the window, looking out to the sea and beyond.

The silence was comforting, truly.

Afterwards, they shed their formal attire. She was still wary of being bare in front of anyone, and she still liked to keep to herself. Valarr did not mind at all. Once they were both in their nightclothes, they joined each other in the bed once more. She slipped under the covers, he stayed sitting on them with his body angled towards her.

She fidgeted with her hands in her lap, and Valarr watched her quietly.

"I meant what I said," he finally murmured. "During the audience. I will advocate for them. The Riverlands. Their grain. Their people."

She looked up at him, and the candlelight brought out the softness in his face. She studied him for a moment before nodding.

"I know."

His gaze never tore from hers.

"Do they?" She found a new vulnerability in his voice, one that the brave, perfect prince had clearly been keeping to himself. "They seemed adamant on their belief that the Crown will not be ready for the winter."

"That is because the Crown has not shown them otherwise," she said with a subtle tilt of her head. "Until today, that is."

He nodded and let out a tired sigh.

"Prince Baelor would have been proud of you, had he joined us." She said with a small smile, and Valarr's eyebrows shot up his forehead as he looked at her.

"I was barely able to stand on my own two feet." He muttered under his breath.

She shook her head.

"You taught them a wise lesson in the end, Valarr." She reminded him with a firm tone. "They seek the Crown's grain, so they will show it the respect it is due. They will respect you."

Valarr had said that indeed. And he could not help but feel the truth of her words; had his father been there, would he have handled it better? That was a foolish question, of course he would have. But would he be proud of what he said? How he stood? How he left? He would find out once he returned to King's Landing. Although he was not so sure he was too keen on telling his father about the private audience.

"You surprised me today." He switched the topic to her, smirking at his wife.

She waved her hand dismissively and shook her head.

"Where did that come from?" Valarr asked as he held back a full-on grin. He liked seeing her flustered, especially because she suddenly turned chatty when she did not know what to say.

"I do not know." She confessed with an embarrassed smile. The last time something like that had happened was when someone defiled her mother. "I was speaking before I even realized it."

He looked at her with a small, fond smile.

"That is not true." Valarr spoke before reaching with his hand to place it atop hers. She was going to argue, but he continued softly. "You wanted to speak, and so you did. You were confident, wise and firm." His thumb traced gentle circles across her wrist. It made her pulse quicken.

She wanted to deny it. Rosalyn had not felt confident, wise or firm. The only thing she had felt was a quiet, sure understanding that she could not simply sit and let him handle it all. That was all. But she did not share that with Valarr; instead, she looked down at his thumb caressing her skin and gave him a small smile.

He could see the doubt behind her eyes, but he did not press. Whatever it was that had moved her to speak at the table, he knew it was something she had to process and learn from. Just like he did.

"You were magnificent," he said almost reverently.

She shook her head.

"You were," he insisted. "And I will tell you so every day until you believe it."

She looked at him. Her eyes were bright.

"That might take a very long time." She looked at him with a small smile.

He smiled. "I have time."

She giggled in a way he had seen very few times since he met her. It made his heart grow in his chest, and his smile widened. Valarr pulled her hand towards his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist. She shuddered.

She was not completely used to such sweet gestures, but she could not say she did not enjoy them. They looked at each other for a short moment, and the warmth in his eyes spread all over her body. She had never been looked at like that; she did not know if she deserved it.

But he did it anyway.

Valarr saw the way her skin flushed under the candlelight, and his eyes drifted down just enough to remember their night together a fortnight ago. He caught himself before being drifted away by the memory. They had been traveling for days, and they were both tired. But when he was with her, alone, he could simply want something without needing to prove anything to the realm. It was just the two of them, something that not even exhaustion could touch.

He pressed another soft kiss to her skin, this time, a few inches higher than the previous one. Rosalyn's lips parted to let out an almost imperceptible gasp. He never looked away from her, so he saw how her pupils widened, and how the black of her eyes ate away the golden specks.

She sat back up, and her curls fell across her chest and shoulders until they almost touched the mattress. Valarr mirrored her, and he sat right in front of her with her hand still in his.

Rosalyn felt awkward, but there was something brewing inside of her that was undeniable; a need, a hunger, that she could simply not suppress. Much like a fortnight ago, when she had almost run down the halls just to do something reckless before she could stop herself. She bit her lower lip and looked at their hands intertwined. With his other hand, he tentatively caressed her knee.

And just like she had before, she acted before the little voice in her head could talk her out of it. She reached for his face with one trembling hand and then leaned in to press her lips against his. Valarr did not hesitate before placing his hands on her shoulder and hip, holding her steady as he welcomed her into his lap. The kiss was not so soft or gentle now, rather it was hungry, anxious, needy. He cradled her in his lap, both of her knees pressed against the bed, and he tilted his head upward just to kiss her better.

The feeling of her was intoxicating. It did not matter whether she was by his side, across the room, on top or under him. He had not forgotten that night, nor the peace he had felt when he lost himself in her arms. In the warmth of her.

He lowered her gently onto the bed, his weight a comfort rather than a burden. She pulled him closer, and he went willingly. The world outside, the lords, the duties, the Crown, their families, it all faded into nothing. Her hands found rest in his face and hair, and he held her hip while one of her legs wrapped around his waist. His fingers were slow when they slid up her thigh, lifting her nightgown just enough to expose most of her bare leg.

When he finally pulled away, she opened her eyes and panted, slightly out of breath. Valarr grinned, and she saw her beloved dimple, which made her reach out with her hand and cup his face, just to brush her thumb across the mark. He turned his face to press a kiss to her palm, and she melted.

Valarr kept kissing her; first her wrist, then her arm, then her temple, then her neck, which made her squirm and giggle. He had learned that his wife was ticklish. He pressed one last kiss on her clavicle, and then pulled away just enough to look at her again.

His eyes found hers, and he held his breath for a second. Dear Gods, his wife might very well be the most beautiful woman across and beyond the Seven Kingdoms. But he held back. There was a question in his eyes, one that she recognized from the last time he had looked at her like that.

Rosalyn nodded.

He turned his attention to the clothes that kept him away from feeling her warmth completely. It was safe to say that he did not like them. Rosalyn followed his gaze and swallowed; she knew what he wanted, and she also wanted to feel him, not his clothes. But she hesitated for a moment, and Valarr noticed.

"All is well, Rosie." He whispered before leaning in and giving her a gentle kiss, one that was fully welcomed by his wife. When he pulled away, his gaze was soft. "You do not need to take it off. But if you do, know that there is not an inch of your skin I will not kiss."

Valarr did not know where those words had come from; all he knew was that he meant every single one of them. Rosalyn looked up at him not with shock, but with slow recognition. She knew he did not lie; she had felt his kisses on her scars, and even if she could not understand why he would do it, he just did. With trembling hands, she reached for her gown and pulled it over her head before closing her eyes momentarily to avoid looking at herself.

Valarr did no such thing. He looked at her as she lowered herself onto the bed again, and his eyes did find her scars, one after the other. But, if anything, they were yet another testament to her strength. His pupils were blown as his fingers reached out to brush the pink, scarred skin near her navel. The soft touch brought her back to him, and Rosalyn opened her eyes to find him looking down at her as if she was the only thing he could ever see. Valarr's breath hitched when he found the swell of her curves, and before tentatively reaching out, he lifted his gaze to hers. Rosie nodded in return, slowly shoving the negative thoughts to the back of her mind, especially when he touched her so reverently.

Valarr's hands cupped her breasts with care and restraint, as if he was afraid he would ever hurt her. His throat worked in a swallow as his breath quickened, and so did his pulse. His fingers brushed one of her nipples, and a small noise left her throat, one that had his eyes snapping to her almost immediately.

She was blushing, and her chest rose and fell quickly. He liked that, he liked that very much. Rosalyn enjoyed the softness of his touch, because it did not feel invasive, it did not feel forceful. Society required a certain amount of physical interaction that she disliked, but Valarr always touched her like it was a holy gift, and not a duty. He respected her distance and reveled in her closeness.

He brought his lips to her neck once more, and while one of his hands remained on her chest, the other one dropped back to her waist. She gasped once more as he left a trail of kisses down along her skin, and her hands played with his nightclothes, subconsciously tugging at it as if she wanted it gone. Valarr, of course, obeyed; he pulled back to take off the only clothes keeping him from his wife, and she swallowed hard as her eyes trailed down his figure. Her hands reached out to bring him close to her once more, resting her arms around his shoulders and pulling him in for yet another hungry kiss.

Rosalyn's hands, always restrained and still, decided to explore his body while he deepened the kiss. She brushed her fingertips across his neck and shoulder, then his chest, and when she reached his abdomen, she felt him twitch above her. It was not until she reached his navel that he broke the kiss with heavy panting and frantic eyes.

Her hands stilled, but he simply nodded.

Rosalyn kept touching his skin gently, and her breath hitched when she finally reached lower. His body was taut and tense, and Rosalyn's lips parted when her fingertips brushed against him. Valarr's entire body shuddered as if she had managed to dismantle him with just one touch. She could see his forearms tense around her head, and she could not fully understand how light touching could cause such a reaction, but she was determined to find out more.

When she wrapped her fingers around him tentatively, Valarr practically groaned and rested his forehead against hers. But Rosalyn did not know what to do, and her curiosity mixed with her self-awareness. Soon enough, she felt the blush creep up her neck and temples. When Valarr felt her hand tremble slightly around him, he finally managed to open his eyes and looked down at her.

"Are you all right?" He whispered quietly, his face mere inches from hers.

Rosalyn looked at him, then at the space between them and her hand around him.

"I…" She felt redder by the second, and he thought she was adorable at that moment.

He chuckled and nodded.

"Here," he brought his hand in between them too, and wrapped it around her fingers. She swallowed. Valarr's movements were slow but firm, and she caught on rather quickly. When his hand left hers, she followed the rhythm he had taught her, stroking him with just enough pressure to make him shut his eyes and curse under his breath. "Fuck, Rosie."

Her eyes snapped to his face, and she studied his expression; he was tense, but she did not believe him to be in pain. His eyes shut, lips parted and breath shaky. She could not believe her touch could have that effect on anyone, not even him. He was always so composed; she liked seeing him lose himself for just once.

And he loved it, too.

As she quickened her movements just slightly, his hand snapped to hers, wrapping around it once more. He opened his eyes to look down at her with a shy smile.

"If you do not stop—" He cut himself short as he laughed awkwardly. Rosalyn's head tilted.

"Did I do something wrong?" She asked quietly, and Valarr shook his head immediately.

"Not at all. You did perfectly." He kissed her forehead, and she smiled up at him. "Let me, now."

She looked up at him in confusion as he pulled away and shifted, lowering his hand down her navel until he reached the spot where her entire body ached. A small, strained sound left her throat as she realized what his intentions were. Well, not exactly, but she had an idea.

Valarr did not truly know what he was doing. He had received some very basic lessons about how to make an heir, of course, but he did not know how to pleasure a woman beyond that. But he wanted to make her feel good, just like she had a few seconds ago. He began by placing a warm kiss on her thigh, and then another one even closer. Her breath hitched and her body shuddered under his touch.

"Have you ever—" He stopped himself again. He felt shy, which was partly ridiculous given the situation they were in, but he could not stop himself. "Have you ever touched yourself, Rosie?"

She went still and looked down at him. Then, Rosalyn shook her head.

Valarr nodded and took a deep breath. He decided to take it incredibly slow, with his fingers caressing the skin below her navel. He heard her small gasps, felt the way her body shivered, how the muscles flexed. He looked up at her.

"May I?" He asked quietly.

Rosalyn remembered how pleasurable their last night together had been, and her fears could not take that away from her. But this was different. Still, she nodded.

With her confirmation, Valarr's finger teased her before slowly pushing inside, and Rosalyn audibly gasped. At first, she felt a slight discomfort at the strange sensation, but then, it was replaced by something else. A warmth that surged through her body as he moved carefully inside her, and Valarr's eyes remained fixed on her expression before shifting to his hand, making sure he would not hurt her in any way.

"Does this feel good?" He questioned with a low voice.

Rosalyn had her eyes closed, but she nodded. It was not nearly enough to send her over the edge, but she enjoyed the feeling, how it embraced her as a warm blanket.

Valarr did not stop, and very slowly, he became bolder in his movements. When he curled his finger and his wife moaned under him, he felt the energy of a thousand men surge through him. His other hand found her soft stomach, brushing his thumb over the scars there. Rosalyn felt some kind of haze take over her mind, one that did not allow her to think clearly, and she could only focus on how her body reacted to him.

After some more minutes, she opened her eyes and grabbed his hand on her stomach. He looked at her, and she looked right back at him with a very happy expression. That made him smile, with a dimple, even. He eased his finger out of her warmth, and then crawled back on top of her, caging her between his forearms.

She pulled him closer with both hands on his shoulders, and their lips met for just another kiss. She could feel him against her thigh, and when she broke the kiss, she looked down. Valarr followed her gaze, and when their eyes met again, she nodded. Her lips were red and slightly swollen from their kisses, which only made his grin widen even more.

She looked beautiful.

When he finally lowered himself into her, she did not feel the same sharp discomfort as she felt before. It was still there, but so was pleasure. Her legs wrapped around his body, and one of his hands became tangled in her hair as the other one cupped her face. They did not break eye contact as he moved, and Rosalyn's small gasps turned into soft moans that made Valarr's entire body shudder. Her hands rested on his back, and when he increased his pace, her nails dug into him slightly, which made Valarr moan quietly as well.

He rested his forehead on hers as his thrusts held her in place, and he watched how her face contorted into pleasure, how her eyes fluttered open and closed, and Gods be damned, he could still count all the freckles on her face, even under the fading candlelight.

He could feel her tightening around him, and so he gently lifted her head so he could be even closer to her. As pleasure took over Rosalyn's body, a loud moan ripped from her throat and echoed across the otherwise silent chamber. He watched her every expression, and felt her legs twitch around him. That was enough for him to lose control with one last thrust, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck with two low groans.

The world faded around them for just a moment, and all they could feel was the other's body and warmth surrounding them. Once they could catch their breath again, Valarr lifted his head from her hair and tried to focus on her face. Rosalyn was still shaking quietly, but she did not let go of him just yet.

"All right?" He asked with a rough voice.

"All right." She replied with a subtle shake to her own voice.

He dipped his head just to kiss her again, and she welcomed him.

Not long after, they were lying down under the covers, and he made sure her body was completely covered before finally settling down on the mattress. The room was suddenly too quiet, and he looked over at her. Rosalyn was looking at the ceiling with a relaxed expression on her face, much similar to his own. He reached for her hand, and she jolted slightly, turning to look at him.

He simply brushed his fingers against her open palm.

She liked that he had not taken her hand or tried to embrace her now, as her body was still overstimulated. But his touch was light as a feather.

That is when they heard a cracking noise near the fireplace, one that jolted her upward and forced her to sit on the bed with wide eyes that scanned the space around them. Valarr followed her gaze to the fireplace, finding it completely empty. He sat on the bed too, angling his body so he was in front of her while he squinted his eyes to see in the darkness of the room.

But there was nothing.

"It is probably some wood creaking," he explained quietly. "It is an ancient castle, after all."

But the walls were made of stone. Stone did not "creak," and Rosalyn looked at him.

That is when Valarr smirked.

"Or perhaps it was a ghost." He said, trying to bite back a laugh.

Her eyes widened so much she thought they would explode.

"There is no such thing as ghosts." She retorted with a matter-of-fact tone. "That is simply ridiculous."

Valarr shrugged.

"Earlier you said you had never seen proof of their existence." He gestured at the fireplace. "Perhaps they are trying to prove you wrong."

She looked at him, then back at the fireplace, then back at him. With her eyes squinted, she simply lay back in the bed and pulled the blanket up to her chin. A loud laugh left Valarr's throat as she simply pretended she had not heard him, but he did the same as well.

"Sleep well, Rosie," he said as the laughter died down. "I shall protect you from any spirits."

She did not even respond, but he could feel her rolling her eyes at him. He laughed again, quieter this time, and she shook her head with a small, tired smile.

When they fell asleep, their fingers were still intertwined.

The Royal Progress continued without any major hitches, and although his headaches came and went, he managed to maintain control over his semblance and composure. Rosalyn was by his side at all times, and they found ways to steal small moments in between the politics and duties.

When they finally returned to King's Landing, a small party of lords and ladies were waiting to receive the heir and his wife. Amongst them was the young Abelar and his now wife, Elaena Hightower. While they had not been able to attend their wedding, both Valarr and Rosalyn had sent word while away to their closest friends. When she stepped out of the carriage, a white-haired blur basically jumped into her arms. Rosalyn was shocked at first, but her arms wrapped around her friend hesitantly.

"Oh, how I have missed you, Rosalyn!" Elaena's muffled voice was full of excitement, which made Rosalyn feel both cherished and happy. The lady smiled softly and leaned into her friend's touch for a brief moment.

Then, she pulled away and completely ignored every other member of the court. Elaena looked incredibly joyful, and when Rosie lowered her gaze to their connected hands, she saw the golden wedding band around her finger. Her gaze softened.

"Congratulations, Lady Elaena." She said with a gentle voice.

Elaena grinned at her.

"I missed you." She said before squeezing Rosalyn's hand.

"I missed you, too."

In the meantime, Abelar bowed his head to Valarr. With the rest of the court staring, the Young Prince was very much aware of everyone's place, title and status. But Abelar's eyes had a glint of mischief already, one that made Valarr have to fight the smirk that danced on his lips.

"My Prince, welcome back." He said with a grin. "I hope the Royal Progress was not too troubling for Your Highness. Perhaps some milk of the poppy for my Prince's sore back?"

Valarr bit the inside of his cheek just to stop from falling for the bait, looking away from his friend to avoid laughing.

"It is good to see your new wife, Lord Abelar." He completely ignored him, and turned to look at their wives speaking just behind them. His eyes lingered on Rosalyn for a second longer than necessary, then he turned back to Abelar. "That poor girl." He whispered low enough that only Abelar would hear.

Abelar snorted.

Then, all the nobles stepped aside to allow the Hand of the King to step down the stairs. He looked more tired than usual, Valarr noticed, but his smile was wide. All heads bowed down as he passed them, and even Valarr and Rosalyn lowered their own.

"Valarr," his voice was warm, and when he stopped in front of his son, he looked down at him with both relief and pride. "I am glad you have returned. I trust your travels were comfortable, yes?"

Valarr nodded.

"Of course, Father." He said solemnly. Baelor smiled at his son and clasped the back of his neck, bringing him just a few inches closer. Valarr knew it was not an embrace, but he felt his father's love, and that was enough.

Then, Baelor turned his attention to Rosalyn, who was standing next to Elaena with her head still bowed.

"Good-daughter," Baelor was quieter now, and she looked up at him. "Was the Royal Progress to your liking?"

Not a test. A genuine question, because he knew she had not wanted to go in the first place.

Rosalyn nodded quietly. Baelor could not determine whether it was genuine, but it would have to suffice for now.

Matarys emerged from the Keep soon after, rushing down the stairs and launching himself into his brother's arms in a very similar way to Elaena just a few minutes before him. The boy was a ball of energy, and he could not have kept his many questions to himself even if he tried. Valarr sighed and ran a hand down his face, but he could not hide the smile that tugged at his lips as he held his baby brother in his arms.

As Rosalyn watched, a pang of sadness struck her. That is when she turned to face Baelor, who was now reprimanding Matarys for almost tackling his brother into the ground.

"Your Grace," she said with some urgency to her voice. "Did word arrive from Highgarden?"

Baelor turned to look at her just as Valarr turned to look at him.

"Indeed. The letters have been placed in your chambers."

Rosalyn quickly excused herself from the welcoming party and was escorted to her apartments by Ser Caster, who had not left her side in almost three fortnights now. Valarr attempted to go after her, but he was held back by his father, brother and friend.

When she reached her chamber, she did not stop to feel the familiarity of being back in her supposed home. She just walked directly to her desk and found two letters waiting there for her.

One was from Rowan, who wrote to her about how wonderful his life was with his wife, and informed her that he would soon enough be a father himself. Rosalyn felt pride surge in her chest at the idea of Rowan becoming a parent. She was elated for him, because he had not had a great life in Highgarden, either, and he deserved a loving family that cherished him for who he was. It seemed like he had found that.

The other letter was from her mother. She declined Rosalyn's invitation to King's Landing, which made the girl's heart crack. She had not seen her in so long, she had started to forget the scent of her perfume. The one they made together with the flowers they collected from their garden. She missed spending time with her mother. After all, she was one of the few people in the realm who had shown her genuine love and affection. Eleanor did not give much more explanation beyond stating that she had fallen ill recently and was still recovering.

But something strange caught her attention.

Eleanor asked about the state of the royal heir, whether or not she was with child yet. It was so direct and brusque that it took Rosalyn by surprise. Seeing how her mother had reacted to her being sold to the Crown for a political alliance, she did not understand why she would now be so interested in her giving the prince a son. Perhaps her mother simply wanted her to do her duty so she would be safe in the Red Keep, because she did tell her when she was still a child that a woman's freedom was given to her either by blood or by childbirth.

She thought about writing back, but what would she say? That she was not with child yet? That she would like to see her again?

Eleanor surely knew that already.

She read the letter again. The words were her mother's, but the voice… Rosalyn's stomach twisted. She shook her head. She was being foolish. Grief made people strange. She folded the letter and set it aside. Rosalyn simply stayed there for a long time and wondered how to stay connected to a life she had already lost.

She did write back to Rowan, and invited him to visit her in King's Landing with his wife. They would both be welcome; it was one of the perks of being married to a member of the royal family.

She did not write back to Eleanor, not just yet. She could not shake the feeling…

Something was wrong.

A week passed, and the leaves had begun falling from their branches. As she got ready for her day, Rosalyn thought about how she would miss the warmth. The incoming season would dry her beloved plants and flowers, and they would soon wilt under winter's unforgiving cold. But she could still enjoy her garden before the seasons took it away from her. It was Matarys' nameday, and the entire Red Keep was buzzing with life and energy as the realm prepared to celebrate its even younger prince.

Time truly went by so fast, she thought. It had been quite some time since they departed for the Royal Progress—

Wait.

Her entire body froze as the maid tightened her bodice around her chest.

She had been so preoccupied with settling back into the routines of the Red Keep, the lessons, the teas with Elaena, the quiet dinners with Valarr, her family, that she had not paid attention to the passage of time. It could not be, no.

She stood very still, her hand resting on the edge of her wardrobe. The maid behind her was still talking, something about the weather, something about a new shipment of silk from Lys. Rosalyn did not hear her.

She counted the days.

Thirty-seven.

"Leave me," she said. Her voice was calm. The maid hesitated, then curtsied and withdrew.

Rosalyn sat on the edge of the bed. Her hands were cold. She pressed them between her knees and stared at the floor.

The fear came not as a wave, but as a slow, cold tide. It rose from her chest to her throat, and she could not swallow it down. It was such a powerful emotion that she feared it would consume her completely. Her body felt numb, but she could feel the panic surge through her veins, and the way her heart seemed to skip a few beats. No. Not yet.

Perhaps it was a simple coincidence. It had to be. So Rosalyn took advantage of the chaos of Matarys' nameday. She slipped out of her room and looked at Ser Caster, always waiting, always loyal.

"Shall I escort you to the Throne Room, my lady?" He asked sternly, but she shook her head.

She was quiet, but he could see the tears prickling at her eyes, and his solemn gaze softened almost immediately.

"Lady Rosalyn," he said quieter now. "What is the matter?"

She shook her head in silence, as if speaking a single word would break her.

"Shall I call for His Highness?"

Her eyes snapped wide open and she shook her head even harder. Ser Caster nodded.

"Lady Elaena, then?" He pushed forward, determined to help his lady.

Rosalyn hesitated then. She trusted Lady Elaena more than any other woman in that damned place, but she was not ready. She needed to make sure that…

"Yes. And the maester." She finally said with a heavy breath that seemed to take years off her life.

Ser Caster's eyes widened, but he did not hesitate for a second before he started moving.

Not much later, Grand Maester Benifer had entered her apartments. The man was old, so old she wondered how he managed to move still. His hair was silver, and so was his long beard. The man had always been so serious, and that, she respected.

Elaena had also arrived looking startled and worried, but Rosalyn did not explain. She could not, and so Elaena did not ask. She just held her friend's hand.

When the Grand Maester asked to examine her, she had initially refused, but the Maester explained that it was the quickest and easiest way to determine her status. Elaena defended her friend's desires, but eventually, Rosalyn conceded.

Now, she lay on the bed as she gripped Elaena's hand and tried not to let the tears fall down her cheeks. Elaena sat by her side, glancing between her and the Maester, ready to strike him if he so much as made her yelp.

"You have missed your courses," he said. It was not a question.

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"Thirty-seven days."

He nodded, as if she had confirmed something he already knew. He reached for a heavy leather tome beside him and flipped through it, his fingers dry and precise.

"Your symptoms?"

She blinked.

"I have none."

"No nausea? No fatigue? No tenderness in the—" He gestured vaguely toward her chest.

"No."

He closed the book and folded his hands, standing to step away from her. His grey eyes studied her with the same detachment he might have given an unusual specimen in a jar. Rosalyn sat back immediately, retreating into herself, and Elaena slid closer to her, placing a hand on Rosalyn's arm.

"You are with child, my lady."

The words landed like stones in her stomach. Suddenly, she felt nothing, as if her brain had stopped working and her heart had stopped beating. Her hands fell to her sides. So it was real.

"Congratulations," he added, as if she had won a prize. "I will inform the Prince."

"No." Her voice came out sharper than she intended.

The Maester turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow. Elaena gave Rosalyn a sympathetic look.

"My lady?"

"I will tell him myself." She stood. Her legs were shaking. She hoped he did not notice.

When she said nothing else, it was Elaena who stood next and spoke.

"That will be all. Thank you, Grand Maester."

The man bowed his head.

"My ladies."

He closed the door behind him, and Rosalyn could not even hear Elaena's soft whispers. She heard nothing but the low ringing in her ears. Her eyes were unfocused, and her entire body had gone numb. For a brief moment, she glanced down at her stomach.

She saw it all over again; the blood, the maesters' whispers, her mother's convulsions, her bloody screams.

Her jaw twitched.

What have you done?

──────────────────── 𓆩♕𓆪 ─────────────────────

Eight fortnights later, Valarr and Rosalyn had grown to be good friends. While before they occasionally shared peaceful walks and warm dinners, they now spent most of their leisure time together. Valarr made sure to know her routines, which ladies she had to meet, what halls she would walk through, only to make sure that if he had a single minute to rest between his duties, he would be able to find her.

And Rosalyn was not much different from her husband; she had begun attending his training sessions, watching him spar with other young lads and his master-at-arms. Every once in a while, Valarr would turn, his mismatched eyes and white streak making her heart skip a few beats, and he would flash a smile just for her. Elaena was often with her, but her eyes often found somebody else's: Abelar Hightower. There were already talks of an engagement between their families, and dear Gods, the Velaryon lady would not, or rather, could not, stop talking about it.

When the nights fell, warm and starry, he often found his way into her chambers. She prepared the tea that calmed the war in his head, and he would simply rest on her lap while she stroked his soft hair. They did not need to speak, because the act itself already said enough about how much they trusted each other. And while the rumors never stopped, they tried to live with them, without letting the world around them dictate the pace at which they moved.

But when the other didn't look, both felt the weight of Westeros crushing their shoulders.

Valarr knew his duty as the heir.

Rosalyn knew her duty as his wife.

Valarr had also begun braiding his wife's hair, just as his mother and aunt had once, a long time ago. At first, Rosalyn had hesitated, reminiscing of how it used to be her mother's fingers twisting her dark curls. And Rosalyn missed her mother; she missed her very much. So Valarr had taken on such duty with the seriousness it deserved, and whenever he braided her locks, he sat with a straight spine and focused eyes. His movements were almost mechanical as his fingers worked delicately, as if he were holding a fragile flower. Rosalyn, on the other hand, had found this to be quite calming, and she loved how beautiful his braids were.

"You are quite skilled at this, my prince." She whispered with a shy smile as she turned to look at him on his bed. He had just finished braiding her long hair.

Valarr grinned at her.

"You make it easy."

But something else had changed between them: the way they looked at each other. Valarr had developed a hunger for her, a wanting that he had never felt for anyone else. He had forced himself to look away from her soft curves more than once, blushing and cursing himself for even daring. Rosalyn was more subtle in her wants and cravings. It was almost imperceptible, but she could not help it when his brow furrowed in concentration, or when his hands flexed. What she found hardest to look away from was his mismatched eyes and funny dimples.

And despite her clear distaste for physical touch, she had grown fond of his hand in hers, and of his hair between her fingers as she hummed a lullaby to calm his head. Rosalyn and Valarr had also become bolder with their gestures of affection, and although never without permission, the Young Prince had more than once placed soft kisses on her forehead or temple.

Sweet, summer love.

That specific morning, Rosalyn and Elaena walked through the garden Valarr had built for her. Their maids and Ser Caster walked closely behind them, but they did not mind. At least, Elaena didn't.

"I have never in my life seen a more handsome man, Rosalyn!" she exclaimed excitedly as she shook her friend's arm.

Rosie laughed softly.

"And it is much beyond that, too." The white-haired girl continued. "He is smart, charming, and humorous." She let out a dreamy sigh, one too dramatic for her own good. Rosalyn could not help but smile at her friend.

"He is quite amusing, that much is true." Rosie conceded as they passed a bush of red roses. She reached out to brush the petals, inhaling their rich smell.

"Do you believe he has noticed me?" Elaena turned to look at her with wide eyes. "I reckon he has looked at me at least twice today."

Rosalyn nodded in agreement, which made Elaena squeal beside her.

"So it is true, then!"

But Rosalyn could only think about how her husband had looked at her while training, with his forehead glistening with sweat under the unforgiving summer heat. How Valarr had looked up to fix his eyes on her, no matter who else was around either of them.

The girl bit her lip and smiled absentmindedly.

"Rosalyn?" Elaena asked as she stopped walking, forcing the girl to stop as well.

Hazel eyes met lilac ones as Rosalyn came back to reality.

"Huh?" she breathed out.

Elaena rolled her eyes with a big smile on her face.

"What is making you smile like that?" She teasingly elbowed her. "Do share."

Rosalyn's porcelain skin flushed redder than a strawberry as she lowered her gaze to the ground. Elaena then knowingly clicked her tongue in her mouth and nodded.

"The Young Prince." She concluded when Rosalyn gave her no response. "I saw how he smiled at you earlier. He also looked rather handsome!"

But the only thing Rosie could feel was her whole body warming up as she saw his face in her mind once more, that damned dimple capturing all her attention. The birds flew and sang above them, perching themselves on the branches of the nearest trees.

"Dear Gods, Rosie," she exclaimed, exasperated, forcing Rosalyn to look at her. "He is your husband. You are allowed to think about him." Elaena gave her an understanding smile. "How has marriage been treating you?"

Rosalyn saw two butterflies flying next to them, dancing and swinging around each other with the grace of royalty. She thought hard about Elaena's question, and she fell quiet, which made the Velaryon girl want to throttle her to get the words out of her. But of course, she did not.

"All is well," she finally concluded, noticing Elaena holding her breath to hear more. "He is a good husband."

Silence again.

"Is that all you are going to share with me?" she exploded, groaning loudly. "How does he make you feel?"

While embarrassed, Rosalyn could not help but give her friend a shy grin. Elaena may push, but she always did it from a place of kindness and genuine curiosity, not gossip and cruelty.

"I…" She tried to find the words, but quickly failed. How could she explain?

With much restraint, Elaena managed to shut her mouth for a few minutes and waited. Rosalyn's cheeks were tinged a shade of pink once more.

"He is good, with a kind heart." Her voice was low, as if only speaking for herself. "He never pushes, never demands, never asks anything for himself."

And that was as true as it could possibly be. Valarr had never, not once, asked Rosalyn to do something she would not feel comfortable doing. He never pushed her too hard when socializing in official events, or to speak when she did not feel like it. And if he realized she was feeling any discomfort in any given situation, Valarr would do his best to remove her from that space.

"Much like you, then." Elaena said with a happy grin. "You are also kind, good-hearted, and selfless."

Rosalyn shook her head with an embarrassed smile.

"You are too kind, Elaena."

"We are not speaking about me." She reminded her. "What is it you like most about him?"

That made Rosalyn stop and think for a minute. There were multiple things that she found endearing and beautiful about who he was, so many that it was a difficult task to choose only one.

Finally, she smiled and reached for one of her curls, only to twist it between her fingers.

"He is truly sweet and dutiful."

Elaena arched her brows and leaned in closer, holding Rosie's arm with her hands and shaking her gently.

"How so?"

Rosalyn sighed, but Elaena did not relent.

"He braids my hair." For some reason, that earned a gasp from Elaena. "And he is never late. He explains everything with such clarity and calmness. I like that about him." She whispered fondly. "I like it very much."

After a pretty long silence for Elaena's standards, she spoke.

"Prince Valarr Targaryen knows how to braid a woman's hair?" She sounded amazed. "He truly is perfect, is he not?"

That made Rosie snort, and Elaena laughed with her as well.

"He truly is." She breathed out softly.

She looked down at her hands, her eyes fell on the red carnations that had been planted there for her too.

Her heart skipped a beat.

"Do you love Abelar?" she sputtered out of the blue, making Elaena almost combust on the spot as she snapped her head to face Rosalyn with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

"Rosalyn!" she hissed loudly and held onto her arm more strongly.

That startled the Tyrell girl, whose body jolted slightly as she turned to face her friend.

"I do not." Elaena said proudly, but then her resolve wavered. "Right? How would I know what that feels like? I have loved before—" By then, Elaena was already rambling beyond help. "My sisters, my mother, even my father. Oh, I love you as well, of course!" She gave Rosalyn a wide smile. "But I could not say. We may marry in some fortnights, so I am most fond of him…"

And as Elaena rambled, Rosalyn got sucked deeper and deeper into her own thoughts. Half a year since their wedding had gone by, and he truly had made this cold, shadowy place feel like a home to her, even when the whispers chased after her, or when she clutched her brother's letters close to her chest. She knew how tired he was day after day of performing his duties and the role of a perfect prince, and still, he found time for her. Every single day.

Because he knew she was alone.

Because he wanted to be with her. He wanted to spend his time with her.

Rosalyn also wanted to reach out for him, even when she did not know what to say. She also felt the need to see him, to hear his voice and his laugh. She noticed how he twisted his rings when nervous, and she had determined that he had a habit of counting everything that surrounded him. She loved how his voice dropped lower just for her when they were in court, and how he asked her about everything she did not know how to share for herself.

Her heart grew bigger with the warmth that Valarr made her feel.

The two butterflies finally settled down on the red carnations, flapping their wings once more before enjoying the soft breeze.

Somewhere else in the Red Keep, beneath high ceilings and hidden by thick curtains, Valarr sat on a cushioned velvet chair in his father's study. His head was thrown back slightly, resting against the wood, and his eyes were pressed shut. He had been planning a journey through the Riverlands for a week now, with the Council sharpening every detail and laying out all of his stops. Now, after his father had sent word for him, he knew he would share some more about what the King's advisors had decided.

But he was exhausted.

Even if he had finally managed to sleep for more than five hours in a row since he began resting with Rosalyn, the duties never stopped, furious and relentless. By the time night fell, Valarr always felt as if the world had taken yet another piece of him. It always worried him whether or not there would be anything left of him at all.

The door opened, and he was on his feet immediately, hands clasped at his back and his chin raised to meet his father.

Baelor was donned in all black, the pin of the Hand resting on his chest and tied to the scales of a silver dragon that draped over his left shoulder. When the older man saw his son, he gave him a small smile and nodded once. Valarr mimicked his father.

"Father." He said with a stern voice, so much so that Baelor's smile widened an inch.

"Valarr," he responded quietly, then gestured for him to return to his chair. "Sit, son."

The boy sat back down with tense shoulders, never daring to slouch.

Baelor walked over to the chair behind the wooden desk and sat across from his eldest son. He gestured for the girl in the corner to approach, a pitcher and chalices on her silver tray.

"Wine?" he asked as he took his own drink. Valarr nodded, and the girl instantly poured him some wine as well.

Both father and son shared a silent moment while they drank. Then, Baelor spoke first.

"Your lessons this week?" he asked, but Baelor never sounded too demanding. He closely followed Valarr's progress in all of his duties, asking every week. Because even if he did not have close to enough time to spend with his sons, he tried.

"They are finished," Valarr said. But his mind was elsewhere. His father's study, the books, the maps… They all felt strange tonight. He kept seeing her face. The way she had looked at him that morning, across the training yard.

Baelor noticed. Of course he noticed.

"Valarr."

He blinked. "Yes, Father?"

"Your lessons." Baelor's voice was gentle but steady. "Are they finished?"

"Yes. The maester says I have learned all he can teach me about the Riverlands." He paused. "I am to begin the Stormlands next week."

Baelor studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded.

"Your royal progress through the Riverlands shall begin in a fortnight." He said, choosing to get to the point. "You will visit the most notable families and remind them of the Crown's presence." His voice was low, careful.

Both Baelor and Valarr were aware of House Targaryen's decaying influence, especially since the Blackfyre uprisings that had created a breach between the noble houses of Westeros.

"I will." Valarr promised with a stern voice, his mismatched eyes burning into his father's.

Baelor nodded.

"Rosalyn shall accompany you, as your wife and future queen." He continued, but that made Valarr freeze.

Rosie would not want that; she already struggled to engage with others here at court. He could already sense her discomfort, see the way her shoulders tensed and her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Must she?" Valarr's voice remained steady and firm, but Baelor saw the tiny fracture. He saw how his son's serious gaze wavered for just a second.

He stayed quiet for a moment.

"Indeed she must." He reasoned with Valarr. "You need to portray stability and union between two great houses of the realm." He eyed his son with a pensive gaze before adding, "Especially now."

If possible, Valarr tensed even further, and Baelor sighed before drinking from his chalice once more.

"That is not what I meant." The Hand said quietly, already sensing where his son's thoughts had gone.

"What is it that you meant, then?"

Baelor's head tilted slightly. It was not often that his son's voice lowered so much when speaking to him. That was how he figured he had touched a sensitive nerve, which did not surprise him, given the rumors he had heard.

And though he had worked hard to cease them, some slipped through the cracks of King's Landing.

"Valarr," he treaded with care, not wanting to upset his son. "Perhaps this will help."

The Prince took a deep sigh and tried to stop twisting the rings around his fingers.

"The realm needs to see the future of House Targaryen." Baelor continued. "Because if not, people will continue whispering."

"They should not be speaking at all." He snapped finally, his exhaustion evident as he pressed his eyes shut for a moment, regaining his composure before putting on the perfect facade and giving his father a polite smile. "Forgive me, Father. I only mean that—"

Baelor raised his hand, and Valarr quieted instantly.

"I know what you meant."

Valarr swallowed hard and tried not to give anything away with his face.

"And you are not wrong, son." Valarr's eyes widened slightly when his father conceded so much. "But that dream cannot supplant this reality." He finally smiled softly at his young son. "I have not seen her as of late. Is she well?"

Valarr's sigh practically deflated him entirely.

"She is as well as a bird could possibly be surrounded by vipers." He shook his head and looked at the window to their left. "But she knows how to keep her head high, enough to stand above the whispers."

Another small smile tugged at Baelor's lips.

"That is good." Then, he eyed Valarr, who was now distraught by the light outside the study. "And you?"

Valarr's eyes snapped back to his father's, quickly smoothing his expression into a curated calm.

"I am fine, Father. You do not need to worry about me." Valarr gave him a small smile.

Silence stretched between father and son.

"You have been sleeping properly, I hear."

And with that, no matter how much or for how long Valarr had trained himself to control his reactions, he could not stop the blush that spread across his face and neck.

Baelor smirked.

"I—" He stuttered like a young boy who had been caught doing something he should not. But Baelor laughed gently and pressed his back against the chair's wood.

"I am glad, truly." He breathed out once the laughter stopped. "The exhaustion under your eyes is gone." He looked at him for a long minute. "She is good for you. You seem more like a boy with her."

Valarr's brow furrowed and he tilted his head, still blushing.

"I am six and ten. I am no boy." He sounded serious, and Baelor nodded in recognition despite his smile.

"You are no man, either." He said quietly, and Valarr opened his mouth to protest, but Baelor continued. "You are not king yet, Valarr. I am proud of your dutiful character, but I am more glad she helps you sleep."

Valarr snapped his mouth closed.

"I know you worry too much." Baelor leaned in slightly, both elbows on the table as he intertwined his fingers. "It is your nature, and while it is not necessarily bad for a future monarch, you ought to find joy in life, too."

Baelor looked at the wedding band he still wore on his own finger, and a loving, gentle smile overtook him. He paused, and Valarr's breath hitched. His fingers began twisting his rings once more.

"You were our greatest pride and joy." Baelor whispered softly, and his son's eyes widened. "Your grandsire sat you on the Iron Throne before you were a week old."

Valarr did not dare speak, as if doing so would break the spell.

"I wish you to experience such happiness as well, Valarr." But before Valarr could tense at the mention of a child, Baelor reached out and placed his hand on his son's arm. "Even if it does not happen now."

The Young Prince tilted his head.

"But the realm—"

"—Will survive." Baelor reassured him. "That is why we have prepared your Royal Progress. To soothe popular fears and give you more time." Then, he stopped. "Even if not much."

And for the first time in a long while, Valarr slackened. His shoulders slouched just enough for Baelor to notice, and his eyes closed. He focused on taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart. Baelor's heart sank when he realized the pressure his son had been carrying for so long.

His hand tightened around his arm.

"I will not ask," he said quietly. "Because it is a matter between you and my good-daughter. But I do not believe you are unhappy with your wife."

Valarr simply shook his head.

"Good." Baelor nodded once. "I do not know whether she is unhappy with you, but based on how she has appropriated my bench in the garden you rebuilt for her—" He smiled quietly. "I do not believe so."

His son looked up at him with a quiet vulnerability in his eyes. Baelor fell silent once more.

"You have been married to her for quite some time now." He tilted his head. "What have you learned about her?"

"She is quiet, extremely so. But she is also intelligent and knowledgeable, well-read, with a keen interest in nature and the world." Valarr's voice sounded distant while he spoke about his wife, as if, in his mind, he were already standing next to her. But his smile was evident. "She is skilled at seeing through people. Oh, and she can be quite witty with humor." A pause. "She has forty-three freckles."

Baelor's eyebrows rose as he nodded, fighting back a grin.

"I care about her, Father, deeply." Valarr breathed out. "But she is afraid."

And so am I.

"Afraid of what, son?"

Valarr swallowed.

"Childbirth."

Silence stretched between them as both their minds traveled back in time, to a chamber where blood soaked the sheets and screams filled the air. A chamber where one had lost his love and future queen, and the other his mother and saint.

"I see." Baelor said with eerie quietness. "And what have you done with that fear?"

The question surprised Valarr, whose jaw was now clenched as he looked down at his balled fists that rested on his lap.

"I have waited, of course."

Baelor's whole face softened immediately, and his head rested against the chair with a proud smile.

"Now I understand." He muttered to himself, as if he also had tried to figure out why there had been no news. Why his son had not sought him out just yet. Because he had not touched her, with fear plaguing her mind and heart.

Valarr simply sighed.

"You are a good man, Valarr." A pause. "Childbirth will always pose a risk, always. She could die." Valarr's body tightened and tensed once more, but his gaze remained on his hands. "But she could also die from sickness, or poison, or perhaps another rebellion, pray to the Gods above it shall never happen again." Slowly, Valarr's head rose, and he found his father watching him already. "We are all meant to die one day, son. But it is not death that should frighten us." He put his hand over Valarr's. "But a life not spent."

The Young Prince's eyes widened as his heart seized inside his chest. Baelor squeezed his hand once.

A life not spent. A life haunted by fear of something that would eventually come in one way or another. A life without the warmth of one's love. A life without her.

No.

He could not explain why, but the only thing Valarr knew for certain was that he could not live such a life.

That night, something had shifted between them. The dinner was pleasant, as always. They spoke—Valarr more than Rosalyn—but there was laughter and comfortable silence.

Her eyes found his several times, and they both looked away with slightly flushed cheeks. Valarr watched her tuck a loose curl behind her ear, and he gripped his fork with greater force.

"Rosie," he said gently. He had begun calling her that when it slipped from her own tongue, explaining that it was a nickname given by her mother. "Did you finally receive word from Highgarden?"

Rosalyn's honey eyes snapped to his.

Rosalyn had received a letter from her mother two weeks ago, and while it had been wonderful news, she had found it strangely sad. Eleanor did not share much from her life there, and her words were distant, cold.

Empty.

Rosie had not hesitated before sending another letter to Highgarden, asking her mother to come for an official visit. But…

"Not yet." She muttered.

Valarr nodded.

"You will. She is your mother, after all." He sipped from his cup.

"Yes." Rosalyn breathed out with both anxiety and tiredness.

His fingers found hers, and she gasped, looking at her husband with pink cheeks.

"I shall wait with you." He had a slight blush of his own, one that warmed his neck and ears.

Her parted lips struggled to form a coherent sentence.

"Thank you." She smiled shyly.

After a long pause, Valarr looked down at their empty plates.

"Shall I escort you back?"

Rosalyn nodded.

The walk back was silent, with each thinking about their own struggles, needs, wants. Ser Caster and other members of the Kingsguard trailed after them, watching the royal couple take slow steps. She stole several glances at him, and she could not help but be mesmerized by his strong jaw and proud nose.

Keep your eyes to yourself, Rosalyn.

Her head snapped forward once more, pressing her lips into a thin line as she tried to avoid the warmth fluttering in her skin.

Once they reached her chambers, they stood in front of each other in complete silence. He looked like he wished to speak, but he never did. And Rosalyn seemed like she was praying to the Gods above that he would speak.

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, sending a shudder through her body.

"As always, an absolute pleasure, my lady." He whispered against her skin, and Rosalyn swallowed hard.

Valarr took a deep breath, holding himself back, refraining from taking a step forward toward her. He looked at her door, then back at her.

She looked like a doe, with wide eyes and parted lips that seemed to call his name. Valarr closed his eyes and shook his head, and he turned around.

"Sleep well, Rosie." He whispered before bowing his head and walking away from her, to his chambers.

Rosalyn simply stood there like a rooted plant, and one hand reached out for him. But she stopped midair. Ser Caster watched with something akin to care in his eyes, shaking his own head before opening the door to her chambers.

Very hesitantly, Rosie stepped inside. She bit her lower lip and sighed deeply before looking at her bed.

Valarr also reached his own apartments. It was empty, of course, and a few candles lit the space ahead of him. He looked at his bed, big, and yet cold. His hands clenched at his sides, aching to go back and take her hand again. To do something more. But he did not, because no matter what Baelor had said, he could not overstep. Not with her. Never with her.

He dragged a hand through his hair and released a heavy, tired sigh. He walked towards the bed and began unbuttoning his tunic when a soft knock came at the door. He pressed his eyes shut.

"Yes?" Valarr said flatly.

But no response came, which made Valarr's head turn towards the door.

The doors opened to reveal his beautiful wife standing right there, with wide eyes and shaky hands.

His heart almost stopped beating altogether when he saw her, and his hands froze on his buttons, which had already uncovered the greater part of his chest.

She was still wearing her soft green dress, and she was clenching the lace at her chest as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded, present.

"Rosalyn?" he asked quietly. The doors closed behind her.

She did not speak. She just breathed hard and looked at him with wide eyes.

He took a step towards her, both confused and oddly nervous.

"Are you well? Do you need me to call a—"

"No." She said quickly. "I—I mean yes, I am well. You do not need to call anyone." She corrected herself with a deep breath. "I am well. I am fine. I am… Here."

She gestured at the space, and that only made Valarr's confusion deepen. He tilted his head and furrowed his brow.

"You are." He confirmed quietly.

She swallowed hard and took another step towards him.

His eyes widened slightly.

"I am here…" She looked as if every word weighed more than the Iron Throne itself. "And so are you."

A pause.

"Yes. It is my room." He grinned at her despite the nervousness. Rosalyn blushed even harder.

"I—I know, of course." She looked around. "It is very, uh, suitable…"

"Rosie."

She froze.

He took another step towards her, closing the distance between them almost completely, and he took her hand in his. She looked down to see his fingers brushing against her tender skin. When she looked back up at him, his face was close enough to see the exact color fracture in his eye, from ocean to soil. Their breaths mixed in their proximity, hearts racing faster than any horse in the Seven Kingdoms.

"Why are you here?" he asked quietly, brushing his thumb across the inside of her wrist.

Why was she there?

There was no rational answer, not truly. She should have gone to sleep in her own bed, as she did every single night. She could feel her entire body tremble, but not in fear, not at all. It was something else entirely: anticipation. And yet, she could not understand. Her deepest fears were still there, beating in the darkest corners of her soul, whispering cruel fates to her. But she had not gone to sleep in her bed. She had run down the halls to get to his chambers. Why?

"You." She answered as if it were the most obvious and simple response in the world.

Valarr was gone. His pupils widened so much it was hard to see his actual colors, and he pressed his forehead against hers. He ached to kiss her right there and then.

"Are you sure?" He whispered without tearing his gaze from hers.

Rosalyn swallowed and released a shaky breath.

"Yes."

Valarr stared down at her for a while longer, and his eyes lingered on the freckles across the bridge of her neck. Very slowly, he dipped his head so he could press his lips against hers, soft at first, gentle even. Rosalyn's eyes widened in response, but her body had never forgotten what it had felt like when he kissed her at the altar.

And her whole being had desperately waited for him to do so again. She flexed her hands at her sides, opening and clenching them as they itched to touch him too, but something inside her felt strange still.

When she did not pull away, the kiss became firmer, and he pressed one shaky hand against the small of her back but refrained from pushing her closer. Following his lead, Rosie tentatively placed her faltering palm on his chest, and when she felt his bare skin under her own, she gasped against his lips.

Valarr broke the kiss almost immediately, looking down at her.

"Is it okay?" he asked quietly, and she could almost feel how her lips missed his already.

Rosalyn nodded.

"I just—" She looked down at her hands on his bare chest, then back up at his face. His mismatched eyes were dark, waiting. "I have never—"

"Neither have I." He reassured her with a small smile.

That made Rosalyn chuckle quietly, and his whole demeanor softened even more.

"If you wish me to stop, tell me." His eyes searched for hers, his hand tightening slightly at her back. "And I will."

Rosie swallowed and nodded slowly as her eyes traced along his features. Her breathing had already picked up once more, and before the world could take her courage away from her, she stood on her tiptoes, and he had to bend down to meet her. He did not mind. She gave him a quick, shy kiss that made him grin like a fool.

He deepened the kiss as instinct guided his every move, and his free hand cupped her soft cheek so he could angle her head upward. Rosalyn's eyes closed as her body reacted to his touch, and she found it easier than expected to adapt to the warmth of his touch all over her. Mostly because her husband was so careful with how he touched her.

After a short moment, he pulled away, and she opened her eyes to see him smiling. His gaze fell below her face, and he could not fight the blush that warmed his body as he found the lace at her cleavage. She felt his hand tremble at the small of her back.

"May—" He drew in a sharp breath. "May I?"

She looked down at her green dress, the one that made her look like spring itself. Her jaw trembled slightly. She did not like being seen by others, especially because of her scars. The maids always stared, always whispered about them.

They were the history she would never scrub off, no matter how hard she tried.

When she hesitated, Valarr tilted his head and placed another soft kiss on her nose. Rosalyn shuddered and closed her eyes momentarily.

"You will not like it," she whispered, and Valarr's eyes widened in response. How could she ever believe that?

"Why do you think that, Rosie?" He tried to ask as softly as he could, but the idea that she believed he was not already completely smitten with her entire being was almost insulting.

She could not respond. Her brain was already threatening to shut off, begging her to pull away from him, to return to where she knew she would be safe. Somewhere she could not be seen. Somewhere she could not be hurt.

But then, Valarr's thumb began moving in gentle circles at her back, and that pulled her right back to that moment, with him. Her eyes opened again, and she took a deep breath.

"I…" She began, but her throat failed her, and her tongue felt heavy. "I am not—"

"Of course you are." He stated with a matter-of-fact tone that almost disarmed her completely. She had not even finished her sentence, but he looked at her like she was both blind and foolish to even imply it. "You are beautiful, Rosalyn. You are my spring."

Her breath hitched.

Spring was color. Spring was life. Spring was love. Spring was happiness.

And she was his.

She almost began sobbing right there and then, but she held her ground. Rosalyn looked at him with eyes full of something she did not have words to describe. Her hand reached out to touch his face, even if she still shook and hesitated, even if she felt as nervous as the first day she met him. His cheek was warm but soft, and he instinctively leaned into her touch.

"May I?" He asked again, not with insistence, but with delicate caution.

This time, Rosalyn nodded quietly.

He drew in a sharp breath, and when she turned around, his fingers twitched before reaching for the laces of her dress. She was biting her lower lip, hard, and waited with anxiety for either release or death. Despite his reputation as a skilled and perfect young prince, Valarr found himself fumbling clumsily, and he clearly struggled to get rid of the knots at her back. He cursed under his breath.

In spite of her nerves, Rosalyn laughed, and even if it was a small and surprised sound, it was enough to break the tension between them. Valarr's lips twitched as he chuckled, and he dropped his forehead to her shoulder in clear defeat.

"I am sorry," he whispered with embarrassment against her skin. "I do not know—"

Rosalyn was smiling at herself, but she reached back with her hands and quietly guided his fingers to the right place. Valarr quickly followed her lead and began disentangling the lace with efficiency and care.

When the laces came loose, her dress pooled at her feet, and she was left wearing her underdress, white and long enough to reach her ankles.

She did not turn to face him yet, already feeling her skin burning red. But when she finally did, his eyes traced her figure as if she were some reverent goddess he needed to pay tribute to. His lips twitched into a soft smile.

She pressed her own lips together as she tried to hold back the tension she felt piling on her shoulders.

"Truly stunning." He breathed out before reaching out and gently grabbing her waist, pulling her closer to him. She did not know what to say, so she said nothing. Still, Valarr dipped his head just enough to kiss her once more, and this time, the kiss was slightly hungrier, more urgent, as their tongues finally collided.

She thought it was strange, but she did not want to pull away from him.

When he stepped back, his foot hit the bedframe, and he broke the kiss to look back at it. Valarr faced Rosalyn once more before sitting down on the mattress and pulling her towards his lap. She hesitated at first, but Rosalyn followed his lead and sat down on his legs, blushing hard and not knowing where to put her hands.

"Still all right?" he asked.

She nodded.

Valarr looked up at her as if she hung the moon and stars before tentatively kissing her neck, which made her gasp in return. He enjoyed it when she made that sound, and so his lips continued tracing her skin, all the way down to her clavicle, where she was surprisingly ticklish.

Rosalyn laughed and squirmed on top of him when he reached that spot, which made Valarr pull away with a big grin on his face.

"My apologies," he said before his hands tightened at her hips.

"No, it is my fault," she said after the laughter broke, a shy smile playing on her lips. "Sorry."

Valarr laughed, and her smile widened.

The dimple.

Without even thinking twice about it, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss right where his dimple showed. Valarr's breath hitched when she pulled away, and he had to fight back the need to just kiss her again.

She was already blushing.

"I—"

Before she could even speak, his lips were on hers again, and his hands moved up and down her back as they became entangled with her soft hair. Rosalyn's own hands rested on his chest and neck, feeling his warmth and pulse.

Then, very slowly, Valarr pulled away from her and gently slid her onto the bed as he stood up. She now sat on the edge and looked up at her husband with nervous yet curious eyes.

He undressed slowly, not to tease, but because his hands were shaking. She watched him: the broad line of his shoulders, the pale scar on his ribs from training, the way his chest rose and fell with each nervous breath. When he was bare, he knelt in front of her and gently tugged at her white underdress, then pressed a small kiss on the inside of her wrist.

When his eyes found her again, she was looking at his body, and her own chest rose and fell more quickly now. She found his soft skin with the tips of her fingers, brushing them against his shoulder. Valarr shuddered under her hands.

"You are also…" She thought about the appropriate word to compliment a man's beauty, but when she failed to find any that fit what she had in front of her, a nervous laugh left her. "Beautiful? As well?"

Valarr's own lips twisted into a lopsided smile.

"Why, thank you."

Rosalyn looked away in embarrassment, but his soft touch on her knee brought her back.

"May I take this off?" he murmured, looking up at her.

The anxiety over her scars came back immediately, and she almost reached out to grab his hand and stop him. But that was not what she truly wanted, no. She was just scared that he would see the imperfections.

Then, she remembered the two butterflies and how they had danced around each other. Each with their different colors and patterns. And yet, they both had settled on the red carnations.

Rosalyn took a deep breath and shook her head.

"I shall do it." She said quietly, and Valarr nodded as he stood and took a step back away from her.

Rosalyn stood on shaky legs, and she had to fight the voices that screamed at her to run away. She had spent so long living quietly and scared that they had grown louder and louder over the years, but they did not stay her hands. They did not stop her from reaching the small buttons, or from slowly pulling the gown over her head.

When she dropped it, she was bare for him.

Valarr had never seen such a view before. His eyes traced her every curve, stopping at each scar that marked her body. For a moment, his brain almost short-circuited: she was perfect, and nothing in the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms could make him feel otherwise. His own body reacted to her beauty, and his lips parted to inhale deeply and exhale even deeper.

Rosalyn had covered her middle part with her arms, trying to shield her insecurities from his eyes, but he would have none of that. With the gentleness of a saint, Valarr grabbed her arms and pulled them to her sides, taking his chance to further marvel at the swell of her breasts and her soft stomach. He could not even believe his eyes.

But all Rosalyn could think about were her scars. They covered her arms, parts of her stomach and thighs. If only she could see herself through his mismatched eyes.

When he noticed how her eyes had dropped to the floor, he stepped forward and lowered his hands to her waist, making her look up at him once more. Her hazel eyes made his heart swell. He took her arm, and without tearing his gaze away from her, he pressed a gentle kiss against the scar on her forearm.

Rosalyn's eyes widened, pupils blown, as she gasped.

Valarr did not stop, and when he carefully sat her down on the edge of the bed, he knelt before her once more. His lips found her every scar, cherishing all of them, lavishing her. Rosalyn let him, of course she did, because less than five minutes ago she could not have thought this to be possible. Those scars were born out of hatred. Now they were being covered with love.

Her glassy eyes followed his movements, and her lower lip trembled.

Finally, Valarr rested his chin on her knee and looked up at her with a satisfied smile.

No words were needed between them, not anymore.

But he had counted again. Fifty-seven now. Fifty-seven freckles spaced out across her perfect figure.

He pushed up when her hands reached for his face, and when they kissed once more, he fell on top of her, pushing both of them down on the bed. His arms caged her head, and her own were around his neck. Rosalyn had never found physical touch as warm as this, with her entire body seeking more from him.

Still, before he got lost in her lips, Valarr reluctantly broke the kiss. Rosalyn's head instinctively tried to follow his as he pulled back, missing his lips already.

"We do not need to—"

"Come back." She whispered, half a plea, half a demand. With blown pupils, her husband obeyed and crashed his lips into hers once again.

His hands found her hips to hold her in place, and their legs intertwined at the end of the bed.

His body was so taut it almost hurt, and he needed to touch her—he needed more than that. He groaned into the kiss and his hips bucked involuntarily, making Rosalyn shudder under him. Her hands were now tangled with the hair at the back of his head, which only made him descend further into madness.

"Rosalyn," he finally breathed into her lips. "I need—" He did not even know what he needed, but he felt it. "I need to feel you."

Rosalyn's eyes widened when she realized what he meant, and her eyes instantly dropped between their bodies to find his hardness already brushing her thigh. The gasp that left her lips was thoroughly unholy as Valarr pressed his forehead against hers.

All the fears, all the scars, all the dark corners of her mind. They all came back to life in a second, and as quickly as they came, they faded away. She could only feel him over her, playing with her curls, pressing at her thigh, kissing her shoulder. Her mind did not even work properly.

So she nodded.

Valarr did not move just yet.

"I need to hear you speak, Rosie." He breathed out through his clenched jaw, holding back and gently brushing his finger across her arm.

"Yes." Rosalyn confirmed with a high-pitched voice, which was not her usual.

Valarr finally released a heavy exhale, as if she had given him permission to simply breathe.

And so with both care and anticipation, Valarr pushed himself inside her with a slow thrust. Rosalyn's eyes shut closed at the immediate pressure, and tension etched into her features while she held her breath.

Valarr stopped moving altogether.

"Did—did I hurt you?" He asked with a hint of panic in his voice.

Rosalyn opened her eyes slowly, and she swallowed before shaking her head.

"It is not pain that I feel." She whispered through heavy breaths. "It is simply… strange." She winced slightly before brushing her fingers against the nape of his neck.

His own chest rose and fell quickly.

"Do you wish for me to stop?" He asked in complete seriousness, and she knew he would. If she said the word, he would back away, kiss her hand and lead her back to her chambers with the same warmth as always.

But that was not what she wanted.

"No." She lifted her head to capture his lips again, and he gave in without a fight. Then, he broke the kiss to look at her with fondness.

"I will be gentle, I promise." He whispered against her lips before he began to move slowly, rocking his hips into her with so much restraint that his spine hurt. But he would not rush this, and he would never hurt her. Valarr found out right there and then that he would prefer death.

As the discomfort disappeared with every passing second, her legs wrapped around his hips out of sheer instinct, and their eyes remained locked. While her hands remained around his neck, he used one to hold her hip, while the other braced his body against the mattress.

The only noises filling the room were their heavy pants, her soft whimpers and moans, and his own groans.

Their bodies melted into each other's, and everything else faded into nothingness: their families, his duties, her homesickness, the realm. Nothing else mattered when his thrusts became slightly faster and more erratic, and she felt her body explode with a sensation she had never experienced before. It overtook her, and waves of pleasure crashed inside her. When she clung onto his body, moaning and shuddering, Valarr finally released all the tension he had been carrying for many, many years, in a matter of seconds. His hips bucked once more before he found his own pleasure, and he buried his face in her dark hair as he let out a loud moan.

Both stayed right there, panting hard, trying to understand what had just happened to their own bodies. Valarr's thrusts slowed down, but her legs kept shaking around his waist.

"Are you all right?" he asked between heavy breaths. He reached out with his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

Rosalyn's pupils were fully blown, and she had a hand pressed against her chest as if that would slow her racing heart. She blinked twice.

"I am." She finally said, simply because she knew he needed to hear her voice. "Are you?"

Valarr bit out a shy laugh as he nodded.

"More than all right." He grinned down at her.

Slowly, he eased himself out of her, and she winced subtly as he did. Valarr looked down at her one last time and smiled softly before laying down next to her.

For a moment, both stared up at the ceiling in silence.

In spite of all her knowledge about the world, Rosalyn could not understand the wonderful sensation that had her body shaking still. All she knew was that she loved it, although she was feeling overstimulated now, as if her body was feeling too much at once. She did not know a hand could be so soft, or a kiss so loving. She had almost forgotten what it felt like after her mother turned into a ghost following Delena's passing. Her lips twitched. She felt his warmth all over her still, with soft kisses pressed on her pink scars, and gentle hands holding her hips, or slow movements that let her feel pleasure in immeasurable ways.

When the first tear slipped down her cheek, she could not stop the second, nor the third. But when the first sob escaped her, he noticed. Valarr's entire body went rigid when he heard her small sobs, and he turned to face her with worried eyes. His hand reached for hers almost instinctively.

"Rosie," he whispered quietly, not wanting to upset her further. "What is it? Did I hurt you?" He wiped away one of her tears, and Rosalyn turned to face her husband.

She shook her head, but Valarr's eyes did not leave hers for a moment.

"What is wrong?" He asked again, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder.

"Nothing is wrong." She replied as her sobs quieted down, even if the tears did not cease to fall just yet.

Valarr's expression contorted into something similar to pain. But not for himself. She knew he thought it was his fault, and she could not allow it.

"I do not know," she tried to explain, but she had never been good with her words. "I liked it. I like you."

He stilled and tilted his head slightly. He expected her to say it hurt, or that she did not enjoy it. But this took him by surprise, because the tears kept falling.

"Is that why you cry?" he whispered.

Rosalyn nodded again and gave him a small, awkward smile.

Valarr could not truly understand, but for some reason, she did seem genuinely happy. Despite the tears. So he gently grabbed her and pulled her against his chest. She gasped at first, but then found his skin a rather comfortable resting spot. Her wet cheek pressed against his taut torso, and she sighed quietly. His arm went around her, securing her in place and resting on her waist.

His chest rose and fell with ease, and the rhythm made her eyes flutter closed. She felt the soft silk of his sheets being pulled over their naked bodies, and Valarr pressed a careful kiss on the crown of her head. When he felt her breathing even out and her body relax on his, he finally allowed himself to breathe. She felt so delicate against his skin, and yet he had found something in her that not even the finest royal luxuries had managed to give him.

Rosalyn had finally received a letter. Rowan had decided to write to her sister about his marriage prospect to Lady Teora Corbray, and Rosie had spent the whole morning curled up on her chamber’s cushioned chair, preparing her response. 

Rowan had explained that they were already betrothed, and to be married in a week, no less. But he had not been in Highgarden for a while, and so their mother’s whereabouts and wellbeing was unknown to him. And if that was not enough, he also had not received any word from her. 

That worried Rosalyn sick. Perhaps Eleanor had never held her sons in very high regard, but if she had been left alone with Lorence and Leo, then she would have thought her mother would have reached out to her kinder family members, no matter how far away they were. Therefore, Rosalyn did not only write to Rowan that morning, but also to her father. She asked him about Highgarden, but also about her mother. She also reminded him that she had married Prince Valarr, but he had promised to free her mother as soon as the wedding nuptials were over and he returned to Highgarden. 

That had been more than a fortnight ago. 

Finally, Rosie opened the doors and found Ser Caster patiently waiting outside, eyes fixated on the wall across them. She held out both envelopes, closed and sealed shut with hot wax, of course now carrying the royal crest. 

Ser Caster turned and took them swiftly, giving the lady a look. 

“To whom are they to be sent?” His voice was low, careful not to alert others in the hall. 

“My brother Rowan Tyrell, and my father.” She also whispered, getting closer to the tall man so onlookers would not find their conversation worthy of future gossip. “It is an urgent matter.”

Ser Caster simply nodded and took off, letters in his hand and a determined expression on his face. 

Rosalyn let out a heavy exhale and played with her fingers, looking at the servants that came and went, how they all stopped and bowed their heads to her before continuing their duties. She was not used to being the centre of people’s attention, and she could not say that she liked it. 

Then, she pushed off the wall and began walking across the hall and down the stairs. There was not much to do today, just some meetings with lords and ladies that had come to visit King’s Landing, and Prince Baelor had thought it good for Valarr and Rosalyn to welcome the nobles together. She could not despise the idea any more than she already did. 

But who was she to refuse the Hand of the King? That was just ridiculous. The Throne Hall was already packed with guests, and Rosalyn’s entrance did not make much fuss, as she refused to be announced and draw even more attention to herself. She just scurried through the crowd, making mental notes of the house colors that she could spot in the mass. When she reached the throne, Valarr was standing in front of it, at the base of the stairs that led up to the platform. He was looking as regal as always, not a single hair out of place and his black attire impeccable. The scales of a dragon were stitched into the material, a deep red with black stones that made him look both beautiful and imposing at the same time. 

She smiled at him, bowing her head and curtsing down. 

When he laid his eyes upon her, the smile was both immediate and genuine. She looked stunning, he thought, wearing the Targaryen colors, and an intricate headpiece too, with red jewels and a golden net holding together her hair. He stepped forward and took her hand gently, pressing a soft kiss on it without breaking eye contact. 

“Rosalyn,” He spoke quietly, for only she could hear what he said. “Why was your arrival not announced to the court?” He did not let go of her hand as he leaned back, straightening his spine. 

She blushed slightly at the physical contact, not being able to tear her eyes away from him. 

“I–I did not want to be announced.” She spoke plainly, and his smile just widened when he saw the pink rubor of her cheeks. 

“I would have liked for all of these lords and ladies to see my beautiful wife.” He grinned down at her, and the pink turned outright red as she looked away from him, huffing out a shaky breath. 

“Valarr,” She whispered, looking at the nearest lady and avoiding his gaze all together. “That– No, that is not necessary.” 

He laughed softly. 

“My apologies,” He liked seeing her flustered. “Have I offended my lady?” 

They had been spending more time together the last few weeks, and she had thoroughly enjoyed them. With Valarr, she found out they could converse about everything, some days politics, some others history, some others simple anecdotes. But they could also speak about nothing at all; sometimes they just walked in silence, finding comfort in each other’s company without the need to fill the space with unnecessary words. Rosie had opened up slightly, sharing with him a few curiosities about her favorite flowers, especially because Valarr had kept asking her about the gardens back in Highgarden. He also did not force her to use her words, and she appreciated it, because hearing him speak was almost soothing. But when she did speak, he did not utter a single word, holding on to her voice as if his heart depended on it. 

She was now fidgeting with the hem of her neckline. Before she could answer, the first pair of nobles walked up to them, and all humor was gone from Valarr’s face as he looked at them. His pose was straight now, shoulders tense and both hands behind his back. Rosalyn did not hesitate before stepping next to him, standing side by side as husband and wife. 

“Lord and Lady Ashford,” Valarr spoke as they both bowed their heads down. Rosalyn kept quiet, her eyes focused on their body language. “It is a pleasure to see you again.” 

“The pleasure is all ours, my Prince.” Lord Ashford spoke with reverence, and then turned to look at Rosalyn. 

“This is my lady wife, Rosalyn Tyrell.” Valarr turned to look at her, and for just a second, the princely facade fell through the cracks: the smile was genuine. But when he looked back at them, it was gone. 

They both smiled at her. 

“My lady, you probably do not remember, but we have met before.” Lord Ashford said, exchanging a quick look with his wife. “However, you were no older than six.” 

“We were elated to attend your wedding.” Lady Ashford began, her eyes sparkling. “It was truly marvelous, and my lady, you looked so beautiful.” 

Valarr had to forcefully stop the smirk that danced on his lips. 

“Indeed.” He simply commented, his tone flat so as to avoid sounding like an idiot. 

Rosalyn gave them a polite smile and nodded. Based on what she had found out about the Ashford family, they were no more than a lesser house of the Reach, and she had met them a couple of times before her nuptials. They were as humble as a noble family could possibly be, and she could see no malice in their eyes, nor their actions. 

“Thank you, lady Ashford.” She said quickly, then, she lowered her eyelashes slightly at her husband’s comment. She looked at lord Ashford. “I do remember, my lord. It was my brother’s nameday celebration, was it not?” 

The man looked shocked as she reminded him of the exact date, and he nodded slowly. 

“Indeed it was.” He seemed positively surprised at being remembered by their future queen. 

Valarr had a proud, almost smug, smile on his face. 

After a few more pleasantries, they walked away. Before the next ones approached, Valarr turned to face Rosalyn. 

“You did great, Rosalyn.” His expression had softened exactly. If he had found out anything about his wife during their short time as a married couple, it was her dislike for social events and how hard it was for her to engage with others. 

Rosalyn’s eyes widened slightly, but she gave him a grateful smile. 

The next couple of lords came from the Vale, and the next ones from Dorne, and so on. At some point, Rosie truly became overwhelmed by the attention, not being used to speaking so much in public. She had run out of stereotypical pleasantries, and she no longer felt even slightly comfortable in that chamber. Valarr, of course, had noticed, but he could not simply step away from the line. He was the Crown’s representative that day, with his father and grandfather being buried in political meetings beyond a stupid welcome committee. 

Luckily, the next face managed to snap Rosalyn out of her anxiety. 

“My Prince, my lady.” Lady Elaena Velaryon curtsied low, but her purple eyes were still on Rosalyn, a wide grin spread out across her face. “I am so pleased to be back at court.” 

Rosalyn smiled and nodded. She had not spent much time with Elaena, as soon after the horrid tea party her father had called her back to Hightide to discuss marriage arrangements. But she had seemed so genuine and nice during that day, that Rosalyn had been waiting for her to come back and maybe… Well, she did not know. Rosalyn’s only friends had been her flowers, a couple of birds and two of her siblings. 

And maybe her mother. 

No, do not go there, Rosalyn. 

“We are glad you are here once more, lady Elaena.” Valarr spoke first, giving the girl his usual polite smile, the prince persona still acting as his armor against the world. “I trust your stay in Hightide was comfortable.” 

Lady Elaena grimaced, and Rosalyn thought the girl was terrible at pretending. Her face said everything she did not. But it was not only that: her hands were clasped together, but she still fidgeted with her fingers, and her eyes glanced from Rosalyn to Valarr several times. 

“I am just happy to have returned to King’s Landing.” She smiled again, and then she looked at Rosalyn. Her grin widened. “My lady, I hope you won’t find my offer to forward, but if I may?” 

Rosalyn looked at her, then at Valarr, then back at her, then back at Valarr. Her husband simply raised his eyebrows, but did not speak. 

“Go ahead.” Rosalyn spoke quickly, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. 

“I would love for us to have tea, but perhaps without…” She traced off, realizing she could not say what she had originally wanted to say in the same manner. “... Such an audience?” 

Rosalyn snorted. Actually snorted. Valarr’s head snapped towards her in a second, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the noise she had just made. 

She had never made that noise before. 

She immediately slapped a hand against her mouth, eyes wide and cheeks pink once more. But Elaena just laughed and snorted too, making a similar noise to the one Rosalyn had made. 

“I shall take that as a yes?” Her lilac eyes found Rosie’s hazel ones, and despite her blushing, the lady had to nod. She was embarrassed now, not only because of the noise, but because she truly wanted the Velaryon to like her, and now she just looked like a fool. 

In front of her husband, too. 

“I shall eagerly await your invitation, my lady. Do not hesitate to call for me if you ever want some companionship.” She offered one last time, and then bowed her head to both. 

Valarr nodded his head, and Rosalyn just stayed with her hand on her mouth as if she could not move it. 

When she left, Valarr turned to look at her once again. 

“Is everything well?” He asked when she did not move. 

She faced him slowly, very slowly. Very slowly. 

She looked pink again, and a boyish grin took over his expression. 

Rosalyn took her hand away from her face and pressed her lips shut. 

“Do not.” She warned lowly, her gaze fixed ahead of them, seeking to avoid her husband’s handsome yet irritating face. 

“She is nice, Lady Elaena,” He changed the topic for her sake, not wanting her to feel embarrassed in a room full of people gawking at them. “I insist, you should consider getting to know her. She could be a potential ally at court.”  

Rosalyn understood he was speaking about politics, but she had thought that, perhaps, she could simply be a… Friend? A companion? An acquaintance? She did not know. But something without any ulterior motives sulking beneath it, which was apparently the main element in every dynamic that took place in the vipers nest that was King’s Landing. 

“And she is talkative, too.” Valarr continued, giving her time to regain her composure and feel more at ease after so many introductions. “Perhaps you could benefit from that. I know you prefer listening.” 

Rosalyn’s smile was sweet and almost foolish. She did prefer listening to speaking, and he had not needed to spend years with her (like her family had) to understand it. Perhaps did not always like it, but he never forced the words out of her, and he never shunned her for her silence. 

“My Prince,” A tall, yet young blonde man stood in front of them. “I thought there would be someone of importance to receive the court today.” 

Rosalyn’s jaw almost hit the ground as she heard him speak to Valarr like that. And yet, the moment she looked at him, truly looked, the shock disappeared. His smile was wolfish almost, but there was no tension in his shoulders, and his arms were relaxed at his sides. She immediately knew who he was, the second eldest son of Lord Hightower, now Master of Coin. 

Valarr’s facade dropped instantly, and his own smile was so wide Rosie could finally see one dimple. Her pupils dilated slightly; she had only seen the dimples a few times, but she adored them already. 

“Ser,” His voice was lighter than before, softer. “I thought there would be important people to receive. What is your name, again?” 

The boy laughed and shook his head. 

“Do not mock me in front of our future queen, please.” He shot his friend a look and then turned his full attention to Rosalyn, who was analyzing him as if he were a new bird species. “My lady, I am Abelar Hightower.” 

“I know.” She said before she could think about it. Rosalyn fell quiet once more, her eyes darting between the two of them, but still smiling awkwardly. 

Abelar’s eyebrow rose. 

“We met a very long time ago,” Abelar explained. “But we never truly spoke. I hope we can remedy that.” 

Rosalyn clasped her hands together and nodded. 

“I hope not.” Valarr interrupted, giving his friend a look. “He is not interesting, at all.” 

Abelar smirked. 

“Many here would disagree.” He shot back, and Rosalyn quickly realized these two were not just friends. She had never seen Valarr talk to anyone so freely, not even his own father. Not even her. 

“You are close friends with my husband.” She said plainly, gesturing in between them. 

Valarr and Abelar exchanged a look. 

“I do not know who this man is.” Abelar pointed at Valarr, but the Prince slapped his finger away. 

Rosalyn watched the interaction unfold, partially confused as to why he had chosen to say that instead of affirming or denying her statement. 

Valarr saw the confusion etched to her face and his gaze softened slightly. 

“We have known each other for a long time,” He smiled once more as he looked at her. “He is indeed a good friend of mine.” But then, he gave a sidelong look to his friend. “Most of the time.” 

Abelar rolled his eyes and shook his head. Rosalyn, on the other hand, nodded silently. 

“Is that why he is so arrogant with you?” She spoke quietly, tilting her head slightly. 

Now it was Valarr’s time to laugh while Abelar looked completely dumbfounded, his eyes widening as he looked at the girl next to his friend. Rosalyn did not pay him any attention as she turned her head to see Valarr laugh, a soft smile of her own dancing on her lips. She liked that sound, she liked it a lot. 

“The lady is sharp as a dagger,” Valarr spoke as he recovered, giving Rosalyn a grin. “And she is quick tongued as well.” 

Abelar took a few minutes to recover. 

“I think we shall be great friends, lady Rosalyn.” He finally smiled widely, his eyes sparkling with something akin to mischief. “It is an absolute pleasure to see you again.” He then saw another approach, and so he bowed his head to both and withdrew himself from the conversation. 

Rosalyn turned to see Abelar approach Elaena next, and the girl almost dropped the grape she was about to eat, in her throat. Rosalyn watched with confusion how she almost choked. 

“Uncle,” Valarr’s voice was dangerously low now, and Rosalyn’s head snapped back to her front as she took in the next guest. 

Only this was no guest at all. Her lips parted and eyes widened slightly when she realized who this man was. 

“Nephew.” The white haired man spoke. He was as pale as they said, and the birthmark that covered his neck and part of his face was unmistakable, so was the scar that ran through his temple and lost eye. It could be no other but him. He turned to look at Rosalyn, his cold, red eye assessing her before inhaling deeply. 

Valarr had tensed beside her already, puffing out his chest as if he could impose his presence and ground her at the same time. 

“You must be lady Rosalyn Tyrell.” He eyed here. “Born to lord Leo Tyrell, and lady Eleanor Blackwood.” The way the last name dripped from his tongue made the alarm bells go off in Valarr’s head, taking a subtle, almost imperceptible step in front of Rosie. 

Rosalyn was almost frozen by just looking at him. He was terrifying up close, truly, even more than what the stories conveyed. His gaze was as threatening as it was imposing, and it almost seemed as if he knew the person’s soul by just looking at them. 

“You are.” He stated flatly, not waiting for her confirmation. “I have heard much about you as of lately.” The coldness of his voice was eerie. 

Valarr’s eyes sharpened. 

“Have you?” His voice was as neutral as he could keep it, knowing he had to maintain certain appearances. 

Bloodraven smiled tightly. 

“I have.” 

Silence stretched between the three of them. 

“The court seems to be growing anxious,” He said after two whole minutes of uncomfortable silence for everyone present, except for him apparently. “And hungry.” 

Valarr raised an eyebrow, his hands pressed against each other on his back. 

Rosalyn did not speak. She had no clue what he could possibly mean, but she already knew she did not want to find out. She was used to being the one observing. 

Rosalyn did not like the idea that there had been another one observing her, too. 

“Is there something you wish to say, uncle?” Valarr finally said, his words laced with sharpness. 

Bloodraven just looked at Rosalyn, and his gaze made her want to crawl underground. But she did not, and so instead she just looked back at him, with her lips pressed firmly against one another and her throat completely dry. 

After a moment, the pale man spoke. 

“No.” 

Valarr sighed, but he continued. 

“I shall come and find you some other time, lady Rosalyn.” She tensed immediately. “I am sure I will have something to say when we are not being watched.” 

Valarr’s head immediately whipped to take a look around them, and found about a dozen of nobles pretending to be occupied while they were all simply eavesdropping. When their Prince looked at them, they all turned to speak with one another or stuff their faces with some food. 

But Rosalyn did not move an inch. She kept looking at him, the same way he was doing with her. 

“Have a good evening.” She watched him disappear within the crowd, and Valarr let out a long and heavy sigh as he finally left. 

Rosalyn had heard about him, mainly from her mother, who claimed that he was her relative, and therefore something similar to a cousin to Rosie. She had heard about his military prowess and tactics, but also about his reputation as a rather dark figure at court. One of the Great Bastards of Aegon V, Master of Whispers and a questionable member of House Targaryen. The idea that he wanted to speak with her made shivers run up and down her spine. 

Valarr hesitated, but he placed a hand on her forearm, making her jolt as she finally looked at him. She looked like a startled deer. 

His eyes softened. He did not like his presence, and he could definitely not imagine how Rosalyn must have felt. 

“I think it has been enough for today.” He looked around, and then back at her. 

“But we must still make our rounds.” Rosalyn said after swallowing hard. 

“My father will be here soon. His meeting should have ended a few minutes ago.” He glanced back at the door, one of the white-cloaked guards giving her a small nod. “I would like to show you something, if you are not too tired.” 

Rosalyn’s gaze searched for his as her lips parted slightly. 

“My Prince, are you sure?” She sounded anxious, because she did not want to be a liability. She knew he had a role to fulfill, and hers was to be by his side as he did it. 

“Yes. I promise you, the court shall not even notice our absence.” He smiled. 

She raised an eyebrow, her mouth opening to ask how, when the main doors opened to reveal… 

A very excited Matarys. 

And a not-so-cheerful Prince Baelor.

Now it was Rosalyn’s time to raise her eyebrows. 

“Prince Baelor Targaryen, and his son, Prince Matarys.” A loud voice swarmed the room, and everyone bowed as the younger Prince entered the room. 

Valarr turned to look at Rosalyn. 

“Shall we, then?” 

She nodded, although she was confused as to why he was so insistent on leaving. Had her discomfort been so evident throughout the morning? Still, when he took her hand in his, she had to suppress the sudden warmth filling her veins. 

They left the chamber without making much fuss, just as she had entered it. He guided her through the busy halls, and she struggled to keep up with his pace, given that he was taller than her and, therefore, his legs were also longer than hers. 

But she did not ask where they were going. 

He led her downstairs, his hand never leaving hers. Valarr felt his heart thumping hard in his chest, and he swallowed hard. He had been preparing this surprise for the past fortnight, convening with multiple advisors and dignitaries from the Reach, and martyring Abelar with eternal questions. 

But he had noticed how she snuck out of her duties at sundown, before their supper. It is not that he had been following her… At first, at least. He just caught glimpses of her dark locks slipping past the garden’s archway. Then, one evening, he just saw her sitting on the bench her father usually sat on, a pensive expression on her face as she looked at the three lilac flowers in front of her. And when he began getting to know her and she just spoke quietly about different types of flowers, he understood it was her way of saying she missed her home. 

Perhaps that was why she stared at the flowers. 

So when they reached the archway that led to one of the Keep’s interior gardens, he stopped and turned to look at her; the soft morning sunlight revealed the freckles that spread across her face, and he even caught glimpses of those running up her neck. Valarr blinked twice, good Gods. Forty of them. 

Rosie stared up at him with her big, hazel eyes, and she tried to glance past the archway, but he quickly sidestepped to block her view of the garden. 

“I—” He traced off, suddenly very nervous and self-aware. But Valarr never showed his inner anxiety, he had grown up as a prince of the realm. He knew better. And yet, here he was, nervous as a little boy. “I have prepared something for you.” 

Rosalyn’s eyes widened even more, and her lips parted slightly to let out a shaky breath. She was not used to surprises, at least not pleasant ones. She was quiet as she just stared at him, swallowing hard but still as a statue. 

That only made him more nervous. 

“You do not have to like it,” He said quietly, pressing his lips into a thin line. “But I do hope it will bring you…” He took a deep breath. “Comfort? Peace?” The hand that was not taking hers twitched subtly at his side. “I do not know.” 

He stepped aside slowly, and gestured for her to walk ahead while he stayed back. 

Rosalyn looked at him first, staring for a quiet minute before taking one step forward, and then two. Then three. He counted every single step until she had crossed the archway and entered the garden. 

She stopped at the threshold, breath catching in her throat.

The garden that greeted her was not the same one she had found weeks ago. Gone was the dead and neglected patch of earth with its struggling flowers and forgotten bench. In its place stood a garden that might have been lifted from Highgarden itself.

He watched her walk forward, and for a moment he was terrified he had done something wrong. She moved so slowly, her steps almost hesitant, her hands clasped tight in front of her. She passed the lavender first, then the roses, her head turning slowly as she took in every bloom.

Then she stopped.

And so did Valarr’s heart, at least for a second. She hesitantly reached out with her hand, and her fingers brushed the petals of a baby blue hydrangea. The smallest sound escaped her, something between a gasp and a word he could not catch.

"How—" She could not finish. Her voice had abandoned her.

"I had help," Valarr said quietly. "The maesters sent for gardeners from the Reach. And Abelar was very tired of my questions."

She felt a lump in her throat. She could recognize at least a dozen different types that she had grown up with in her home. When she had spoken about her liking for plants, he had listened and asked even more questions, but she had thought he was just being the perfectly polite prince he had been groomed to be. 

But that had not been the case, no. Valarr listened and made mental notes about what flowers made her eyes light up, which ones brought that soft smile to her face that he craved. When he asked his father for permission, the man had not argued in the slightest, but his only request was that the flowers he had once ordered to be planted stayed as they were. 

And they did. 

Rosalyn was frozen in place, as if she had too taken root in that land. The bench was still there, but it was now surrounded by much more life than just the old oak tree that sat behind it. She could not process the emotions that surged in that moment, and one of her hands went to her throat, as if trying to soothe the wave of feelings that threatened to come out one way or the other. Her husband did not press, and he remained silent three steps behind her, giving her space to take in the change and do or say what she pleased. 

Rosie turned around very slowly; Valarr could see how her parted lips trembled slightly, and her eyes were wet even if the tears had not yet fallen. His hands were clasped at his back, but they twitched as he almost reached out for her. And yet, he stayed still. 

She tried to say something, but her voice was strained. Right then, two birds perched themselves on the branches of the ancient oak, singing softly and filling the silence that had stretched between the royal couple. 

But Valarr did not tear his gaze away from her, and neither did she. He just waited.

“Thank you.” 

That was all Rosalyn said, a broken noise leaving her throat as he uttered the last syllable. He felt both pride and something else, something strange, rising up in his chest. He wanted to pull her close and embrace her, but she was not one to enjoy being touched. Rosalyn was fighting back the tears when she swallowed. She did not have any friends in King’s Landing just yet, after more than three fortnights since the wedding, and her only companionship had been her servants, Valarr, and her good-father. She still did not know anything about her mother, and her brother had only now written to her. This garden was the closest thing she had to Highgarden, even if it was dire and colorless. 

But now, it had the same smells; no more salt and smoke, but sweet smells that plagued the air. There was no room for grey anymore. 

She took one step forward, a small one, and Valarr mimicked her. 

Then another one. 

They were standing in front of each other, close enough that they could feel the other’s warmth. His breathing picked up, quickening by each passing second as he looked down at her. Rosie was looking at his chest, but then her eyes found his too. Her lips twitched so subtly he almost did not catch it, but he observed how her throat worked on a hard swallow, and then he stayed very still as she pressed her face against his shoulder. 

He could have died right there. 

She did not move an inch, and his arms twitched at his sides. He did not want to overstep, but he would rather be struck down by the Gods than let her pull away from him now. Very quietly so as not to overwhelm her, he put his arms around her, wrapping her in his embrace and releasing a warm, yet shaky breath against the top of her head. 

Rosalyn was quiet, but the tension that had kept her shoulders tight for the last month disappeared in an instant. She let out a soft yelp when his arms embraced her, and part of her screamed at her to pull away, but she remained where she was. It was not so bad, not at all. She could even enjoy the warmth of his body, and how safe his body felt around her. She closed her eyes for a moment just to take in his scent, the soft breeze and the sound of the bees that had just arrived at the scene. 

And Valarr, of course, did not dare even breathe differently. For almost two fortnights, they had only touched when he grabbed her hand to kiss it, lead her somewhere, or dance with her in social gatherings. But now she had chosen to touch him. He wished they could just stay there forever, so he would not have to let her go. 

After a few minutes–not even close to being enough for Valarr–Rosalyn pulled away gently, and his arms instantly dropped to his sides when she chose to step back. Her cheeks were flushed, and she hesitated to look at him at first. 

Valarr smiled softly at her, and she could swear she saw the ghost of one of his dimples. 

“I am very happy you like it, Rosalyn.” He said in a low voice, only for her to hear. 

She nodded and gave him a smile of her own. But she did not speak, because she could not trust herself not to let her emotions take over her throat just yet. 

Valarr looked around, and pride took over him as he observed the newly renovated garden. It had been his priority for two and a half fortnights. He had used his sleepless nights to advance the project, and he had struggled keeping up with all his princely duties on top of it all. But he could not be any happier now. Valarr decided right there and then that he would build her a thousand gardens if it made her smile like that again. 

“My Prince,” A low voice broke off the spell that had wrapped them in their little bubble, and Valarr’s head snapped back to see Ser Roland Crakehall. His white armor and cloak shone brightly under the sunlight. “I am to escort you to the training grounds.”

He almost cursed under his breath; he had completely chosen to ignore the fact that he still needed to train today. 

“Yes, of course. A second.” He held up his hand, and Ser Roland stepped back. He turned back to look at Rosalyn, who had her hazel eyes fixated on him. “I am sorry, for I must go now.” 

Rosie felt a pang of disappointment at his words, but she just nodded with a small smile. Valarr did not move an inch, not just yet. 

“I will be at your doors at sundown to escort you for supper.” He reminded her. Valarr took her hand and placed a very soft kiss on it, making her shiver slightly. “Have a good day, Rosalyn.” 

She hesitated. 

“You as well.” She said quickly, as if the words burned her tongue. 

Valarr’s smile widened into a genuine one. 

“Now, I will.” 

And with that, he stepped away from her and bowed his head to his wife. She did the same. Valarr walked back into the halls of the Red Keep, but even as his steps took her further away from her, his mind and heart stayed rooted in the same spot he had left her. His gaze was focused ahead of him, but he kept thinking about how she had smiled, her glassy eyes and, most of all, her warmth against his chest. 

It would be a marvelous day, indeed. 

Rosalyn did not leave the garden for at least an hour and a half. After he left, she chose to walk around and inspect every single flower he had chosen to plant, and Gods, she could recognize almost all; the bluebells, colorful camellias, chrysanthemums and hyacinths, the white and blue lilies that stood side by side. She could not understand how he had done it, especially because the flowers were already blooming and it had just been almost two fortnights since the garden went into renovations. But he did it. For her. 

She blushed again, even if  alone in the garden. 

Rosalyn almost forgot about the rest of her worries for a while. She could not even hear the coming and going of servants and nobles through the halls behind her. All her senses were taken and possessed by the garden, its flowers, and small visitors like birds, bees and butterflies. 

It was perfect. 

Hours later, she was bathing in her chambers. The soft scent of lilacs that had been infused in her water now clinged to her bare skin too. Her maids stood at the other end of the room, their hands clasped on their fronts as they waited for their lady to step out. Rosalyn did not like being bathed by others, simply because she did not like them staring. 

As the water surrounded her, she could not stop thinking about her husband and what he had done for her. Perhaps he did not understand, but he had given her a piece of herself back, one that she had lost the moment she was forced away from her home. She would order her bed to be taken outside if she could. 

Whilst they dressed her, she remembered his soft smile when she thanked him, and how gentle he had been as he wrapped his arms around her. It had been almost as if he was terrified of touching her the wrong way. She smiled quietly while they tightened her corset, he truly was just a kind boy. Her gown was a soft blue, like the first hint of color in a winter dawn. The neck and waistline were laced with silver cloth that caught the light, and her hair was let down. She did not put on a necklace. 

The knock was gentle, and she immediately knew it was him. 

One of the women helping her get ready opened the door, and there he was; Valarr was standing on the other side with a polite smile and tired eyes. Rosalyn saw it immediately, how his shoulders slouched subtly, and the way the dark spots under his eyes were more visible than usual. It seemed like he had had a rough day since they last saw each other that morning. 

“My lady,” He spoke, his eyes traveling up and down her figure. His lips twitched into a small smirk. “You look exquisite.” 

Rosalyn pressed her lips together into a shy smile. 

Then, Valarr took one step inside the room. 

“Shall we?” He offered her his arm, but when the candlelights shone on him directly, Rosalyn caught it: the almost imperceptible wince that made him press his eyes shut. It was gone in a second, replaced by the polite expression he always wore. 

She took his arm with her left hand, and they walked down the hall in silence. She was quiet as usual, but so was he. She stole some quick glances at him. Valarr kept his eyes focused ahead, but sometimes, he closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. 

The day had not been easy. Receiving the nobles was not truly difficult, especially with Rosalyn by his side, and spending time with her in the garden was nothing short of a divine gift. But training had been rough, and he had taken a few powerful blows at the hands of Abelar, who had not even realized his own strength as he pushed Valarr off his horse. Then, he attended his lessons and worked on his correspondence all afternoon. He did not understand why he was so tired, although perhaps it had been the countless sleepless nights preparing the surprise, or the constant anxiety that plagued his body and mind every second of every day. He knew the headache would not go away anytime soon, but he had promised her they would dine together, and he would always remain true to his word. Especially when it came to her. 

Rosalyn had quickly become the best part of his days. Just spending some quiet time with her was enough for him to breathe freely again. 

But tonight was different. The flicker of light hurt his eyes, and his head felt as if it was being crushed by a thousand furious horses. His jaw was clumped shut so harshly he thought he could crack a molar, but it was the only way he could withstand the pain. 

Rosalyn could tell all of this by just looking at him. He was clearly unwell, and her hand tightened around his arm. 

When they reached the dining hall, the lights were completely overwhelming. He stopped abruptly at the entrance and pressed his eyes shut, forcing Rosalyn to cease her steps as well. She turned to look at him and her brow furrowed with something akin to pain of her own. She did not want him to feel forced to spend time with her if he was not feeling well, and that was exactly what he was doing. When she saw a muscle tick in his jaw, she finally spoke. 

“What is the matter?” She lowered her voice, speaking barely above a whisper. 

Valarr’s jaw twitched once more, his brow furrowing as well. 

“Nothing, do not worry about me.” The words came out forced, like he had bit them out with all the strength he could muster. But she did not believe him. “Let us have su–” 

“No.” She stated plainly, and Valarr forced his eyes open to look at her. 

Her head tilted slightly as she looked over at him. He was already looking paler than usual, and Gods, he just seemed so tired. 

“Rosalyn, everything is well.” He tried to reassure her, but she shook her head. 

“No.” She spoke the same word, as if she did not have to justify it any further. 

Valarr’s sigh was both exhausted and frustrated. He really did want to have dinner with her, but this was tiring him even more, if that was possible. He disentangled her hand from his arm, and moved to pull her chair back so she could sit, but she remained still at the entrance. 

He gave her an exasperated look, and Rosalyn’s expression was unreadable. 

“I would like to return to my chambers.” She said slowly, pressing her lips together as Valarr’s eyes widened in response. 

“Is something wrong?” He asked quickly and he squinted his eyes slightly to avoid the direct reflection of the candlelight. 

She shook her head. 

“I do not want to have supper.” She was already looking back at the door. 

Valarr stepped forward. 

“You must eat—” 

“I do not wish to do so.” 

He exhaled once more, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew she was doing this only because he was being a fool and he hadn’t been able to properly hide his pain. 

“Rosalyn,” He began quietly, eyes closed. “Please.” 

“Will you walk me back?” She insisted. 

And of course, how could he ever deny her? 

He bit his tongue to refrain from cursing under his breath, but he gave her a curt nod and took another step forward, standing side by side with her so she could interlink their arms once more. 

Rosalyn walked slower this time, and he had to adapt to her pace. It was better than rushing, he could admit, and that was exactly why she was doing it. The girl was as quiet as a mouse, not daring to make any sound that could potentially bring him any more discomfort. 

When they reached her apartments, he was holding on for dear life. The pressure in his skull was almost overwhelming, so much so that his own vision began faltering. He needed a quiet, dark room to rest in, and the maesters to give him the medicinal tea they had developed years ago for moments like these. 

Still, he looked at her with the sweetest smile he could muster, and avoided flinching when the rush of pain hit him again. 

“I will have food sent to your chambers still.” He insisted, not letting go of the fact that she had managed to avoid supper. “In case you crave it later.” 

Rosalyn observed his features and the slight tremble of his eyebrow, even the subtle trembling and flexing of the muscles in his temple and forehead. She did not understand what was making him feel so unwell, but she knew the light was one of the causes of his pain. It was obvious, how he angled his body to avoid the candles and torches, and how he pressed his eyes shut when they passed bright rooms. She had seen this in her mother too, after Delena’s passing. And so, she asked:

“Does your head hurt?” She asked suddenly, and he snapped his eyes open. She was examining him, every single micro-expression he made. It almost made him uncomfortable. 

“I—” He wanted to deny it, because she did not have to worry about him. He was always okay, even when he wasn’t. Valarr Targaryen was not allowed to be hurt. 

Instead, he fell quiet. 

“Lavender.” She said quietly, making him raise his eyebrows in response. 

“Lavender?” He repeated. 

Rosalyn nodded twice. 

“Come.” He tugged his arm, leading her to her chambers. Despite the terrible pain, he almost blushed at the idea of being alone with her in her chambers. Good Gods. 

Ser Caster opened the door, eyeing the prince with something like mistrust in his eyes. 

“Rosalyn—” The boy began, but his wife had already turned around to speak with her personal guard. 

“Ask the maesters to bring a cup of hot water. And wet cloth, too.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. Ser Caster nodded once, and then closed the door. 

Once inside, Valarr could not find his footing; he was standing there awkwardly, which he usually never did, but he had never been with her alone like this, except for their wedding night. She walked across the room with a kind of determination he had never seen in her, and the dark-haired girl blew out all the candles in her room except for the ones in her desk. 

Valarr’s shoulders relaxed almost instantly when the darkness welcomed him, his pulsing eyes finding a moment to rest. He swallowed hard. 

Without uttering a single word, Rosie walked back to him and led him to her bed. She just stared at him as they both stood by the bed. Valarr’s eyes were wide and he did not even know what to say. 

“Lay down.” She told him, but there also was a subtle pink to her round cheeks, avoiding his eyes and looking at his mouth instead. “Please.” 

He hesitated, looking at her and then back at the bed. It felt strange, and he did not understand what she was doing or what her intentions were, but he also lacked the energy to question her. 

And so he laid down on her bed, even if very stiffly. He looked like a tree branch. 

A moment later, a knock came from the door. Valarr went to sit up, but Rosalyn was already moving. She opened the door to reveal Ser Caster with a bucket of warm water and some humid cloth. 

“Thank you.” She muttered quickly before closing the door again. 

Ser Caster huffed out a breath as he stole a quick glance at the Prince. 

Rosie walked back to her desk, where the only remaining candles were, and she took a small box from the bookshelf and placed it on the table too, when she took the lid off it revealed some dried flowers and herbs she had also taken with her from Highgarden. 

Valarr was watching her from the bed, his tired eyes tracing her movements. He wanted to get up and see what she was doing from up close, but he still felt as if his head was being stabbed by a thousand daggers. 

Rosalyn grabbed the lavender petals and crushed them with a flat item she had grabbed from the bookshelf as well. Once it was nothing more than dust, she put it inside the cup with hot water, and let it simmer for a few minutes. Meanwhile, she grabbed the wet cloth and walked over to the bed, where Valarr laid with his eyes half open. 

“What are you doing?” He asked quietly when he saw her put the warm cloth on his forehead, the humidity being a welcome contrast to the stiffness he felt. 

She did not reply as her fingers smooth out the cloth on his skin, covering every spot. He could only look at her; she was so delicate with her movements, the way her fingers brushed his skin and how focused she was on the task at hand. He had never seen her like this, so determined and yet gentle at the same time. 

When she was done, she walked back to the table and picked up the cup. It smelled like soft lavender, and she knew it was ready. Rosalyn brought it over to the bed, and Valarr sat up slowly against the head of the bed. 

“What is that?” He winced slightly as the pressure came back. 

“Lavender.” She whispered, not letting him grab the cup as she brought it close to his lips. “Drink.” She ordered with a soft voice. 

Valarr blushed once more as one of her fingers grazed his mouth, but he did not argue with his wife. He parted his lips and felt the hot liquid pouring down his throat. It was not hot enough to burn, and the taste was not exactly great, but he did not dislike it either. After he drank a bit, she pulled the cup back, and he noticed she was looking at him the same way again; she was analyzing his reaction. 

He gave her a comforting smile. 

“Thank you.” He whispered. 

She let out a relieved sigh. Rosalyn had read more than enough about all kinds of plants to know that lavender was an old remedy to headaches. She used to help her mother with hers after Delena’s death. 

They both fell quiet again. 

“We must wait.” She explained. Valarr just nodded, even though he was used to drinking milk of the poppy for his pain, and it had worked so far. He did not expect any other, and possibly weaker, remedy to work, but coming from her, he would wait. 

Rosalyn sat on the other end of the bed, and the distance between the two younglings was noticeable. They were both laying there awkwardly, not sure of how to behave in close quarters. 

But soon, his body began relaxing. Valarr noticed how the pain lessened, and at the very least, he stopped clenching his jaw. It still was not enough to make the discomfort go away completely, but Rosalyn leaned over to his side of the bed with the cup in her hands again. 

“Drink more.” She insisted, and he looked between the cup and her eyes. 

He did as she ordered, finishing off the last drop of her tea. He winced as the pain lashed out again, not with the same intensity as before, but still enough to make him press his eyes shut. 

Rosalyn noticed, and she furrowed her eyebrows in worry. She then remembered something she did once or twice with her mother, before Eleanor shut out the world to stop the pain of losing a daughter. She used to lay her head on Rosie’s lap, and the girl would play with her hair as she hummed the same song they sang for Delena when she was still in the crib. That calmed her pain for a while, and she fell asleep. 

Rosie’s throat worked on a swallow as she looked at him, still wincing slightly. 

She did not like being touched, not truly. She did not know why, it had simply always been like that. Or so she thought. 

But he was hurting. 

So maybe she could try. 

It took her five minutes to decide, with Valarr sitting there quietly as he pressed his eyes shut. She finally slid over to his side of the bed, and she cleared her throat. 

He opened his eyes to see her sitting next to him, and they widened. Even in the darkness, she could see her face close to him. 

Rosalyn fidgeted with her hair, decidedly avoiding his gaze as she looked at her own lap. She did not know how to do this, well, she did, but not with him. After biting her lip and releasing a shaky breath, she finally put one hand on his shoulders. 

Valarr tensed almost instantly under her touch. 

She tugged him toward her, and his brain almost short-circuited for a second. Their faces were so close he could hear her quick breaths and smell the scent of sweet lilacs emanating from her skin. His breath hitched as time seemed to slow down. 

But before he could even think, she shifted so she could bring his head down on her lap. Valarr landed on the soft cloth of her gown with wide eyes and flushed skin, similar to how Rosalyn was at the moment. Both stayed still and quiet, holding their breaths. 

“Rosalyn.” Valarr finally breathed out quietly. He did not know what he wanted to say, he did not think he could even say something at all. Just her name, just her. 

When her soft fingers began running down his hair, he swore his heart stopped. She was gentle and delicate, her shaky hands playing with his locks in a calming manner. Her heart was speeding up in her chest, so much so she thought it would jump out and run. She did not know what she was doing, and most importantly, she did not know why she was doing it. This was something she did with her mom, for her mom. Why had she found it impossible to stop herself from doing it for him as well? 

Valarr did not dare breathe. He was looking up at her, and even though he could not see his features clearly, he could still distinguish the soft shape of her face, the rim of her nose and the few hair strands that framed her cheeks. The headache faded into the background when she began humming softly, and her low voice was sweet and calming. His breathing evened out soon enough, and his shoulders ceased being so taut and stiff as her hands still brushed his hair and skin. 

They both stayed there, eventually relaxing into the other’s touch. Rosie knew the song she was humming by heart, and his head on her lap was not as strange as she had initially believed it would be. He was warm, and her body reacted in ways she could not describe, but she only knew that it made her skin flush. Valarr’s eyes closed eventually, his eyelids fluttering for a while until they finally gave up. It was not long before his entire body relaxed on her, and his lips parted slightly as his chest rose and fell rhythmically. 

Rosalyn held out for a while longer, still humming softly and playing with his hair, afraid that he would wake up if she stopped. But eventually, she also succumbed to her own tiredness, and her eyes closed with her hands still cupping his head. 

The next morning, the soft light creeping through the curtains did not bother Valarr as he slowly opened his eyes. He was disoriented for a moment when he looked to both sides and realized he was not on his own bed. But when he felt the gentle rise and fall of the chest pressed against the head of the bed, he stilled. 

He then realized the soft fabric his head was resting on, and he knew who it belonged to. His eyes show upwards to find his beautiful wife resting vertically, with her shoulder pressed against the wall and her legs stretched out for his head to rest on them. He did not move, not at first, because he preferred to just look at her for a moment; she looked so peaceful. Her hair was messier than yesterday, with her dark locks falling chaotically across her shoulders and chest. Her hands were resting against his head. Rosalyn’s expression was relaxed, and her lips parted to breathe softly. Right then, he counted all of her freckles once more: forty. 

No, wait. 

From that angle, he could see three more under her chin and earlobe. Forty-three freckles. He smiled. 

That was when he realized there was no pain anymore, no pressure in his skull. He glanced at the small table near the bed, where the cup she had used yesterday was now resting. But he knew it had not been only the liquid that calmed down his head, no. He remembered how her fingers had run up and down his dark locks and white streak, and how her soft, almost hypnotizing humming had managed to put him to sleep like a babe. 

He had not slept so well since he was a child and his mother was still alive. 

He felt fully rested, seven hells, he felt more than that. Valarr swore he could run to Lannisport and back before breaking fast. 

His heart swelled; he knew she did not enjoy others invading her personal space, and yet. She was truly wonderful. 

Rosalyn stirred gently, groaning slowly as she stretched her neck. Valarr’s eyes widened when he finally realized she had slept in a terrible position, and her entire back would probably ache for the day ahead of her. When she opened her eyes, her gaze fell on him first. 

Rosalyn blinked once. 

Then twice. 

Her eyes widened so much Valarr worried, and a strange, high-pitched noise escaped her throat as she blushed. He sat up immediately, redness creeping up his own neck as he gave her space while she woke up. 

Rosalyn smoothed out her dress and tried to make her heart stop beating so fast. She had forgotten about how they had fallen asleep last night, and he almost gave her a heart attack, laying there and looking at her like that. She brought her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them, feeling her face red and hot. 

Valarr got up almost immediately, stumbling slightly as he found his footing next to the bed. He regained his composure and breathed in sharply. He was also looking nervous, with his hair messy and lips pressed into a thin line.

The silence between them was long and awkward. 

Finally, she gave him a small, silly wave with her hand, and he raised an eyebrow. 

“Hello.” She muttered, hiding her mouth against her knees and avoiding eye contact. 

He bowed his head. 

“My lady.” Valarr was at a loss for words, truly. 

A very long pause. 

“Thank you.” He finally whispered, and that made her look at him. Color had returned to his face, and he could face the light without flinching. “What you did…” He swallowed. “It worked. Thank you, Rosalyn.” 

She lifted her head from her knees and gave him a small, shy smile. The moment she straightened, she winced. 

He saw it. 

It was the first time he had watched her wake up next to him, and Gods, she looked breathtakingly beautiful. 

“I am glad.” She replied with a rather high-pitched voice. 

He could not help but smile. 

“Your neck and back will most likely hurt in the next few hours.” He cocked his head slightly. 

Her lips twitched. She knew he was right. Gods, it already hurt. 

“Shall I—” He cut himself off. Valarr was about to suggest sending for the maesters, but she did not like to be touched. He took another breath. “You should rest, Rosalyn. I will make sure food is brought to your quarters. Do not strain yourself this morning, yes?” 

She smiled tiredly. It was not as if she had much else to do. 

At the lack of any response, Valarr nodded and took one step back from the bed. 

“I will let you sleep.” A pause. “Perhaps we could have supper together tonight?” He then smiled. “Not like last night.” 

She almost snorted. 

“I would like that.” She said quietly, and his smile widened even more. There it was, the small dimple that made her want to reach out and touch it. She did not, of course, that would have been insane. 

But she would have liked to. 

“Have a great day, Rosalyn.” He said as he bowed his head once more, and then took one last look at her before walking out of her chambers. 

He realized how he looked, and a couple of servants exchanged funny looks as he hurried down the hall. His cheeks were still flush, and he needed a cold bath before he could even think about starting with his duties for the day. 

Rosalyn, on the other hand, just stayed on her bed, her entire body red and hot with both embarrassment and something else. Something she did not yet understand. She grabbed a soft pillow and pressed her whole face deep against it, hoping it would absorb all her emotions. 

They did not speak about this again, simply because neither knew what they could possibly say. He felt as if she had done magic on him, and she felt as if she had enjoyed helping him sleep. Neither could be possible, right? 

The week went by in a blur, and Valarr did not fail one single night: every day, at sundown, he knocked on her door to escort her to the dining hall. It was their time together, and they didn’t always speak. Some hard days Valarr could not find anything to say, and so he would simply bask in her company. Some other days, it was Rosie who asked about his mornings, about Abelar, about what book he was reading. 

After that night, the trust they shared with the other grew steadily. 

On one rainy afternoon, Rosalyn found herself unable to go out into the garden. It had become her ultimate favorite place in Westeros, of course with her own garden back home. Now, she was curled up on her cushioned chair, reading a book she had found in the Keep’s library. It spoke about old tales and myths, some prophecies even, and theories about Old Valyria. Even if it was not her usual reading material, she still enjoyed finding out more about such fascinating people, but most importantly, the place her husband’s line had come from. 

She had also received word from her brother. He spoke about his future wife with both reverence and excitement, and he explained they would inherit the Corbray seat, Heart’s Home, as soon as they produced a male heir. She was happy for her brother, and yet she could not imagine him as head of a house. But then, she could not imagine herself as queen, either. 

No word from her father, which only made her nerves worsen further. Why would he not respond to her letters? Why did Rowan not know anything about their mother? She could not stop the worry that crept up her stomach and gripped her throat. Something was most definitely wrong, and he would not tell her for some reason. 

Ser Caster knocked on the door, and only stepped inside when Rosalyn lifted her gaze and nodded. 

“My lady,” He said solemnly. “You have a visitor.” 

She froze for a moment. Rosalyn’s only visitor was Valarr, and she knew for a fact he was attending a meeting with his father. The girl stood up and closed the book gently, placing it back on the table as she walked towards the door. 

Lady Elaena Velaryon stood at the entrance, and she was a vision to behold; her pale hair was braided in the ancient Valyrian fashion, and she wore a deep, ocean blue gown that was a striking contrast to her lilac eyes.

Rosalyn’s eyes widened, because she had not called for her. 

“My lady,” Elaena curtsied and bowed her head. Then, she looked up at her again with a wide smile on her lips. “I hope I am not intruding.” 

Rosalyn looked between Ser Caster and Elaena, and she shook her head. 

Lady Elaena’s smile widened. 

“Perfect!” She exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “It is such terrible weather. I thought we could perhaps have tea together? I know you have not called for me, and I would not want to impose my presence.” She began rambling before Rosalyn could stop her. “I do not even know if you would like to have tea with me, perhaps it was foolish of me to come uninvited. Oh Gods, it was, was it not?” She covered her mouth with her hands, looking alarmed. 

Ser Caster was just looking at her with a small smirk on his lips. 

“Seven hells.” He muttered under his breath. 

Rosalyn was awkwardly staring at her, not knowing when to stop her from talking. She finally offered her a small smile. 

“It is all right, lady Elaena.” She gestured for her to come inside. “We can have tea.” 

Lady Elaena let out a relieved sigh. 

“Thank the Gods. I was ready to turn around and leave already.” She stepped inside the room and wondered at the decoration and just how spacious it was. 

Rosalyn looked at one of her maids and nodded. The woman left the room to fetch their tea. 

“Your chambers are beautiful, lady Rosalyn.” Elaena said as Rosie turned around to look at her. “Much more than mine.” Her eyes widened and she looked at Rosalyn. “But of course they are! I am not complaining, not at all. My chambers are wonderful, and the Crown was more than graceful.” She corrected herself with a nervous smile. 

Rosalyn knew she was anxious and trying to measure her words as best as she could. But the girl had a kind heart, that much was obvious. Rosalyn’s entire face softened. 

“Thank you.” She responded to her initial compliment. Then, she gestured for Elaena to sit in front of where she had been originally sitting. 

They sat in silence for a moment, and the maids quickly brought them steaming cups.  Elaena stared into her tea as if it might tell her what to say next.

"I have sisters," she offered finally. "Three of them. Rhaena is the eldest, she is very serious and married a man from the Reach. Laena is the pretty one, everyone says so. She is also married. And Vaella is the baby, only ten, and she bites."

Rosalyn blinked.

"She bites," Elaena repeated. "Hard. She bit Lord Celtigar's son when he tried to take her doll. He had teeth marks on his hand for a week."

A small sound escaped Rosalyn's throat. It took her a moment to realize it was a laugh.

Rosalyn pressed her lips together, as if she might catch the sound and pull it back.

"Do not stop," Elaena said quickly. "I like it. You should laugh more."

"That seems excessive," Rosalyn managed, biting back a smile. 

"It does," Elaena agreed cheerfully. "But I am excessive. Ask anyone."

Then, after a pause, she asked. 

“Do you have siblings, lady Rosalyn?” 

Rosalyn smacked her lips together. 

“I do.”  

Elaena waited for the rest of her words, even if they never came. 

“Brothers? Sisters? Both?” She pressed a bit further. 

“Two brothers.” She finally said, looking down at her cup. 

Elaena smiled. 

“I wish I had brothers too. But no, only sisters.” 

Rosalyn remained quiet. 

They drank their tea. Elaena talked about her family, about the Velaryon fleet, about the time she had tried to teach a seagull to speak and her father had found it in her chambers. Rosalyn listened, and she found herself enjoying their time together. The girl would not shut up, but she also did not demand Rosalyn to speak when she did not feel like doing so. It felt like permission.

"Do you miss it?" Elaena asked after a while. "Highgarden?"

Rosalyn's fingers found her sleeve, twisting the fabric.

"Yes."

"My mother says the Reach is the most beautiful kingdom," Elaena said softly. "She says the roses there bloom so thick you can smell them from a league away."

Rosalyn nodded. She could smell them now, if she closed her eyes. The memory sat in her chest like a stone.

"I am sorry," Elaena said, her voice smaller. "I should not have asked. I always ask the wrong things. My mother says I have a mouth that runs faster than my mind, and she is not wrong, and—"

"It is all right." Rosalyn looked at her hands. "I do not mind speaking of it. It is just… hard."

Elaena nodded slowly. Her hands had stopped moving. She seemed to be considering something very carefully.

"I am not going to ask you if you are happy here," she said finally. "That is what everyone asks, I think. And it seems a terrible question to ask someone who has just left everything she knows."

Rosalyn looked up.

Elaena's face was earnest, her brows drawn together in concentration. "I should like to ask if you are… managing. If there is anything I can do to help you manage. That is what I should like to ask."

Rosalyn stared at her. Something in her chest shifted, not the stone of memory, but something softer.

"You are kind," she said.

Elaena's face flushed a deep rose. "I am not. I am just—I know what it is to be alone. And I thought perhaps you might not want to be."

Rosalyn said nothing. But she did not look away.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the rain softening to a drizzle against the window. Elaena had refilled their cups without asking, and Rosalyn found she did not mind.

"All the other ladies are wrong about you." Elaena began, then stopped.

Rosalyn waited.

Elaena's fingers tightened around her cup. "I hope they have not been unkind to you. I have heard things," she said carefully. "About you. About the court. People talk. They always talk. I do not listen, usually, but sometimes—"

She stopped again. Her cheeks were red, and she was staring very hard at her tea.

"It is not fair," Elaena burst out. "What they say. It is not fair at all."

Rosalyn's hands went still.

Elaena pressed her lips together, then seemed to decide she had gone too far to stop. "It is all too absurd, because it has only been a few weeks, and no one expects—" She caught herself, took a breath. "But they say it anyway. Lady Mellara says it loudly. She says it is strange for a Tyrell not to bloom."

Rosalyn felt the weight of those words on her shoulders, and she knew what she was talking about, even if she did not name it.

Elaena was watching her, horrified at herself. "I should not have said that. I am sorry. I only thought—you should know—I did not mean to—"

"How loud?" Rosalyn asked.

Elaena blinked. 

"What?"

"How loud does she say it?"

The question hung between them. Elaena's face softened with sympathy.

"Loud enough," she said quietly.

Rosalyn looked down at her hands. She had stopped twisting her sleeve. Her fingers lay still in her lap, pale against the blue of her gown.

She thought of Valarr's hands in hers. How young he had looked when he fell asleep on her lap. She thought of his dimple and the way he smiled when she asked him something during supper. She thought of the way the ladies had looked at her at tea. Assessing, waiting, counting. She thought of her mother, who had been married young, who had produced heirs, who had done her duty and been rewarded with silence and a tower.

“Rosalyn?” Elaena's voice was small. “Are you all right? I should not have said anything. I am so sorry.”

Rosalyn looked up. 

“It is not your fault," Rosalyn said. Her voice came out steadier than she expected. “You have done nothing wrong.”

Elaena shook her head. “I should not have—I only wanted—I thought you should know what they say, because if no one tells you, then you cannot—” She stopped, swallowing hard. “I do not want you to be alone.”

Rosalyn looked at her, really looked. This girl looked as lonely as she felt inside, and she had still taken on the risk of going to have tea with the girl the rest of the women at court had chosen to shun out. 

“Thank you,” Rosalyn said. And she meant it.

Elaena's face did something complicated. But then, she smiled. 

“I have never had a real friend before, I fear I may be terrible at it.” Elaena snorted as she placed the cup down. 

Rosalyn smiled too, forcing herself to calm down despite the knowledge she had just acquired. 

“I have never had a real friend before, either.” She said quietly. “Perhaps I will be terrible at it, too.” 

“Is that good?” Lady Elaena laughed. After all, they were still two teenage girls. 

Rosalyn laughed too. 

“I do not know.” She admitted, giving Elaena a shy grin. 

Lady Elaena took a deep breath and looked at Rosalyn. 

“I would very much like to be your friend.” She reached out and took Rosalyn’s hand, which made her tense up. She almost withdrew her hand out of instinct, and if this had happened before being married, then she would have. But after Valarr, after how he had slowly taught her how gently someone could hold her, she had learned to still her hand. 

Still, she remained unmoving as she looked at Elaena’s hand on hers. 

“So do I.” 

After they finished their tea, and after Rosalyn heard about half of Elaena’s life in less than two hours, the Velaryon lady bid her farewell and returned to her own chambers. Once she was gone, Ser Caster lingered by the doorway. 

Rosalyn watched him as he glanced inside the room. 

“Ser Caster?” She asked, and he turned to look at her. 

“Yes, my lady?”

She simply looked at him, and he looked at her. 

“What?” She asked. 

“What?” He raised his eyebrows. 

“You want to speak.” She concluded, clasping her hands on her lap. 

He clamped his mouth shut. 

“May I?” He finally asked quietly. 

She nodded, and he stepped inside the room. 

“Lady Elaena,” He began, and she waited for him to continue. “She is a good girl.” 

They were both quiet once more. 

“Yes.” Lady Rosalyn affirmed, even if she was confused about what exactly he was trying to do here. 

He sighed. 

“My lady,” He swallowed. “You should be careful when choosing your friends here.” His voice was lower now, a warning. “But perhaps she would be a good choice.” 

Rosalyn nodded as she mulled over his words. She already knew this, and she planned on being friends with Elaena. But…

“Why are you telling me this?” She finally asked. 

He seemed conflicted. 

“I should not—” 

“Why?” She repeated. 

Ser Caster gave her a serious look. 

“You seem lonely, my lady.” 

She opened her mouth, but then closed it again. Ser Caster was not exactly wrong; she only spent time with her husband, and whenever his duties allowed him to. But she could not blossom in King’s Landing with only him by her side. Perhaps she should try to open herself to more interactions, however the other ladies had already proved to be cruel, and they were now spinning rumors about her lack of a child. 

Those rumors plagued her after she knew they existed. 

She says it is strange for a Tyrell not to bloom

But she had not even tried yet. 

And they only got worse after the servants saw a very dishevelled Valarr walk out of Rosalyn’s chambers in the early morrow. Some said she was a barren lady, that her empty womb was yet another sign of House Targaryen’s slow decay. And words traveled fast in King’s Landing, but also beyond its borders. 

Rosalyn tried to hold her head high as she walked through the halls and she knew several eyes fell upon her, festering on what they believed were her weaknesses. She did not let them bother her, or at least, she pretended they didn’t. She wished she could have her mother there, she would bite their heads off, she would not let those rumors fester. She would be what Rosalyn needed to be. 

But when he caught wind of these, it all changed. 

A few days after Elaena’s visit to Rosalyn, Prince Valarr had been returning to his chambers after his lessons on history and politics, and he could already feel a headache pulsating in the back of his skull, applying pressure to his brain and the space behind his eyes. He pressed two fingers against his temple, momentarily closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. 

As he was passing by the stairwell, he heard a small group of ladies whisper under them. 

“Is that true?” One of them asked quietly. 

Two others snickered and exchanged amused glances. 

“But of course, she is too pale, that lady Rosalyn.” 

He stopped dead in his tracks, and one of the Kingsguards almost bumped into him. 

His head whipped toward the voices, even if he could not see them as he was walking up the stairs. 

“I am not surprised Prince Valarr has barely touched her. Perhaps he does not want to.” And they all laughed. 

They laughed. 

His body went completely rigid, and the muscles in his jaw twitched. 

“Maybe she is barren. That would explain why Lord Tyrell was so eager to be rid of her.” 

He turned around abruptly, and he walked down the stairs slowly but determined. His shoulders were too tense, and he had pressed his jaw shut to the point where it almost pained him. His hands were clasped together at his back, as always, but his knuckles were white. 

“The Prince is dutiful, but a man has needs. He must find satisfaction elsewhere—”

When the four ladies saw him, their smiles died on their faces. Their skin went pale in an instant, and they all looked horrified as he approached them. The eldest tried to speak up first, taking a hesitant step forward. 

“Your Grace,” She said, already curtsying. The others scrambled to follow. “We did not—we were only—”

He had not realized he was holding his breath until his chest burned. Valarr did not speak, he just stood there, and watched them freeze in fear while their eyes darted between his face and the floor. He let the silence between them stretch until it became deeply uncomfortable for all four ladies. 

“Your Grace,” The girl tried again, her voice thinner now. “I assure you, we meant no harm. Merely idle talk. Women's talk.”

“Women’s talk.” He repeated after her, his voice eerily calm now. 

She swallowed hard, and nodded. 

“I see.” His spine straightened even more, and his mismatched eyes burned brightly. 

“We did not mean—”

“You did not mean, but you truly meant every word.” He cut her off instantly. “You meant to humiliate and insult my lady wife. Is that not the truth?” 

Another lady tried to speak, her terrified eyes avoiding his. 

“Your Grace—” 

“I do not care.” He looked at each of them in turn. “You will speak of my wife no more. You will not speak her name. You will not look at her. If I hear of a single whisper, if I so much as see you glance in her direction, I will ensure that next time you dare use your tongue will be far from court. Do you understand?”

They all bowed their heads almost instinctively, recognizing the Crown’s authority in the young prince’s voice. They could almost see his father speaking through him. 

“This is your first and last warning, ladies.” He insisted with a thin voice. They all nodded. 

He looked at them a moment longer. Then he turned and walked away.

His steps were steady. His hands did not shake. He was a prince of the blood, and he had learned long ago how to wear a mask.

But when he turned the corner and they were finally out of sight, he released a very heavy breath that he had been holding since he heard her name on their lips. Valarr’s mind could not even begin to comprehend why they would be so cruel and vile towards Rosalyn. She was nothing if not good, kind, and most of all, quiet. He knew for a fact she had not engaged with them much apart from what was demanded of her as his wife, so she could not have possibly wronged them. 

But perhaps her mere existence and her marriage oath to him were already perceived as an insult. Envy? Political motives? Family feuds? He prayed to the Gods above that she had not heard those twisted words, that she had remained fully unaware. Barren? They referred to her as barren, when it had only been three or four fortnights since their wedding. The pressure dawned on him almost immediately, the weight he had been avoiding for all that time crushing down on him relentlessly. He had promised her he would not touch her unless she wished him to do so, and he may have hid himself behind that promise. 

But he could not hide forever. 

He knew it had to happen, eventually. But he was trapped between his duty as a prince and his duty as a husband: A prince of the blood had to continue the line, but a husband had to respect his wife. That was what Baelor had always taught him. He pressed his eyes shut as he took several deep breaths. 

“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath, drawing a hand down his face. 

The clock had never stopped tickling, and the court was indeed growing anxious and hungry. He had just chosen not to see it until now. Partly because of her wishes, partly because of his fear. 

He needed to speak with Rosalyn, and he would during supper. 

Meanwhile, Rosie was spending some time in her garden, the one he had renovated just for her. It was so peaceful out there, and the birds made her company. She had begun gaining their trust in the past week, throwing out breadcrumbs for them while she sat on her bench. They approached quickly, and flew away before she could even react. But that was fine, because Rosalyn was a very patient young girl, and she was determined to make the birds feel safe around her. 

The weather had already started to change. The days were getting much warmer, and she found solace under the shadow of the oak. She was grateful for the sea, because the breeze it brought her was her savior. Rosalyn had just been walking with Elaena before the girl had to leave to write her correspondence to her family, which reminded Rosie that her letters to her father remained unanswered. She did not know what to do. 

Rosalyn closed the book she held on her lap. She could not even focus on the words she was reading. Perhaps she ought to speak with her husband about what happened, but she could not risk exposing her family’s inner vulnerability. No, that could severely hurt House Tyrell, and even if she did not care about reputation, she did care about her mother’s and brother’s. 

She sighed. 

“What are you reading?” A male voice inquired from the archway. 

She turned to find lord Brynden Rivers standing there. Her spine straightened and her eyes widened. 

“My lord.” She greeted him nervously. 

He did not move at first, rather choosing to quietly observe her. 

When she did not respond, he insisted once more. 

“The book on your lap,” He nodded towards it. “What is it?” 

She looked down at her book and then up at him once more. 

“Myths and prophecies.” She said quietly. 

Bloodraven raised his eyebrows slightly, almost imperceptibly, but she caught it. He then nodded, and took several steps towards her. She stood up without hesitation and bowed her head. 

“Do you believe in them?” He finally stopped in front of her. “Myths and prophecies, I mean.” 

Her lips parted as she visibly struggled to respond to such a question. She remained quiet for a full minute before speaking, avoiding his red eye. 

“Some, yes. Some others I do not.” She breathed out. 

Bloodraven nodded and looked at the book she was holding. 

“Good.” He stepped past her, toward the roses. “Certainty is for fools.”

He paused. 

“Your husband enjoys counting,” He began, but then looked at her face and almost smiled. “But you have already noticed that, have you not?” 

She did not respond. 

“I see.” He continued. “The court also counts.” 

Rosalyn could not understand what he was trying to convey. 

“Days. Weeks. Moons. They count the space between your wedding and the news they expect to hear.”

Her heart dropped. 

“Counting gives people the illusion of control, lady Rosalyn.” His voice was low, careful, measured. “Do you count, too?”

Her breath hitched, and she felt her tongue heavy in her mouth. She was so exhausted from people bringing this topic up, but when he did it, it almost felt like a threat. 

“I have no need for the illusion.” She looked at the scar that had been left on his face. 

He huffed out a soft laugh. “Do you truly believe that?” 

She fell quiet. 

“What is it that you want, my lord?” She finally asked quietly. Her patience was wearing thin, and her anxiety thicker every passing second. 

“There used to be a woman within the walls of this Keep that also enjoyed the greenery.” He finally said. “I remember her.” 

She did not dare speak, and even if she wanted to, she doubted she could. 

“But that was a long time ago.” His voice dropped to a whisper, and after looking at the chrysanthemums in front of them, he looked back at her. “Do not waste your time, lady Rosalyn. House Targaryen can withstand a few twisted rumors, but it will not withstand that reality.” 

Her hands clenched at her sides. 

“Give them the illusion they all need, and so be it.” 

He turned to leave, not even letting her speak about the rumors or her supposed duties as a wife. 

“Lord Brynden,” She called out, her voice rising above her usual tone. “Why did you come to tell me this? Why not Valarr?” 

He did not turn around. 

“It is you, the object of their ire.” He said plainly. Then, he breathed out: “There are not many of us left.” 

And with that, he left. Rosalyn was left standing right there, with her lips parted and her body taut. The interaction had wrecked her nerves more than any lady at court could. That man made shivers run up and down her spine, and though she knew they shared the Blackwood blood, she could not help but feel uneasy in his presence. 

Rosalyn sat back on her bench, the book on her lap. But she did not read anymore, she just watched the flowers move back and forward with the soft breeze. She truly had been avoiding the matter of the royal heir for as long as she could. But she was terrified of even thinking about it. Rosalyn had watched her mother almost lose her life in childbirth, and she also did not want to go through pregnancy. The idea that her body could change, stretch and contract beyond her control in such horrid ways overwhelmed her. What if something went wrong? What if she lost the babe? What if she did not make it? 

She swallowed hard. 

Could she risk her life for her duty? For Valarr? 

She did not think so, no. But did she have any other option? 

That night, supper was quiet. Valarr cut his chicken with precision, stealing a few quick glances at his wife beside him. Rosalyn, on the other hand, kept her eyes focused on her plate. She did not know what to say, and she could not get rid of the knot in her stomach. 

“Rosalyn,” He started quietly, swallowing before gathering the courage to say something to his wife. “How did you spend your day?” 

That was foolish, he thought. 

She did not answer at first. She hadn’t even heard him speak. 

“Rosalyn?” He tried again, his words laced with anxiety and worry. 

Her head snapped up, looking at him with wide, hazel eyes. 

“I beg your pardon?” She stuttered slightly. 

His eyebrows furrowed with concern. 

“Is something the matter?” Valarr breathed quietly. 

She shook her head. 

“Rosalyn.” He insisted once more, not wanting to push her beyond her comfort, but also wanting to make sure she was well. 

She was looking at her plate once more. 

Rosalyn did not speak for almost an hour, and they resumed their supper quietly. Valarr’s anxiety tightened around his throat, making every swallow harder than the last. He needed to speak with her, he needed to say what he had heard earlier that day, he needed to make sure she had not heard it, too. He also needed to bring up the matter of the royal heir. 

But she did not speak, and neither did he. 

Once the supper ended, he stood to escort her back to her chambers, but she did not move. 

“My lady?” He inquired gently, bending slightly as he eyed her with concern. 

She remained sat, looking at the utensils that now rested on her plate. 

“They say I should be with child by now.” She said those words all too quickly, as if they had burned her tongue. 

His heart almost shattered, and he visibly winced at her words. The fear that laced them. 

“I know what they say.” He said quietly. 

Silence stretched between them again. 

Rosalyn’s lower lip trembled slightly. 

“I’m scared.” Her voice remained surprisingly steady for a scared girl. But Rosalyn knew how to stay composed, even when she was hurting. 

He hesitated, for he did not know what to say to that. Could he say that he understood? Perhaps, but not for the same reasons a woman would understand. Slowly, he lowered himself until they were standing at the same eye level. 

She did not look at him, because she could not. 

Valarr did look at her, and she truly did look tired. Too tired for someone who should simply enjoy a garden. He could not name the feeling that overtook him, but he did know it tugged at his heart. 

“What they say does not matter. Their words are just—” He tried to comfort her. 

“True. Their words are true.” He swore he could have heard the quiet tremor in her voice, but there was no trace of it as she faced ahead. 

“No, they are not.” He tried again, softer. “It has not been that long since our wedding, we still have time.” 

Her lips twitched. 

“Time?” She repeated quietly. “And if I never…” She traced off, her voice breaking at the end. She had already asked him this same question the night of their wedding. 

Valarr almost flinched, as if it had been a physical blow. 

“I do not know, Rosalyn. I just… I do not know.” He admitted before running a hand through his hair. The dark bags under his eyes were also evident then. “My brother would be next in line, and then his children.” 

She closed her eyes. 

That would not be enough. The rumors would not stop with her, they would quickly spin on him, too, if he ever named Matarys his heir. She did not want that. 

“I do not want to die.” She finally said, releasing a heavy exhale. 

And Valarr froze, his mismatched eyes finding hers. They locked their gazes, and he could see the tears that had not yet begun to fall. He reached out before he could even register what he was doing, and wiped the first one from her cheek with his thumb. 

Rosalyn did not move. His hand was warm against her skin, and his gentleness comforted the deep ache that shook her soul. 

“You will not.” He spoke solemnly, like a prayer, or a promise. “You will not die, Rosalyn.” His own lip trembled then. He thought of his mother, who had died bringing Matarys into the world. He thought of the pendant he wore around his neck, the one she had worn before him. “Rosalyn.” His voice was rough. “I will not—”

“I know.” She cut him off, her voice quiet but firm. “You said you would wait. You have waited. I know you would wait forever if I asked.”

He stared at her.

“But I cannot ask that of you,” she said. “The realm needs an heir. Your father needs an heir. Your grandfather. The line must continue. I know this.”

“You are not asking,” he said. “I am offering.”

She almost smiled, his kindness for her was truly without limits. But this was all a beautiful illusion, the one Brynden had spoken about. She had to face reality. 

“You cannot offer what you cannot control. If I carry a child, I may die. If I do not carry a child, it will harm both us and the Crown. There is no safe path, Valarr. There is no waiting long enough to make it safe.” She reasoned with him, and he hated that she was so logical, because so was he. And that is exactly why he knew that she was right. 

Part of him wanted her to concede, let them make an heir and be done with it, but another part of him could not even fathom the idea of forcing her into something she did not want to do willingly. 

He would never. 

“I will never touch you if you do not wish me to do so.” He stated firmly, his hand still cupping her cheek. He was surprised she had not yet pulled away. 

“I know.” 

A pause. 

“I do not know how to do this,” she said. “I do not know how to be a wife.”

That resonated so deeply with his soul that he almost let out a relieved laugh right there and then. It was as if she had spoken a language he was fluid in. 

“I do not know how to be a husband, either.” He confessed with a small smile. “I am probably terrible at it. But you are nothing short of wonderful, Rosalyn.” 

Another tear fell, and he brushed it off with a soft stroke of his thumb. 

“You are not terrible,” She said quietly. “You are a good man, with a kind heart.” She smiled shyly. “It’s a rare thing.” 

He laughed gently. 

“That is good,” He whispered. “That is good.” 

When silence stretched between them again, he admired her beauty under the candlelight. Even quiet, she was resilient and powerful in the face of a challenge, refusing to simply concede or let them crush her. She was pensive, and she had been brave enough to tell him about her deepest fears without breaking down. Her strength was admirable. 

Valarr memorized every trace of her features, every freckle, the golden in her green eyes. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asked quietly, so softly that she could barely hear him, but when she did, her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly. He was quick to add: “On the forehead. That is all.” 

Her heart almost gave out on her. For the first time, she did not know whether she was relieved or disappointed. She forced herself to nod quietly. 

He leaned forward slowly, giving her time to move away. She did not. He pressed his lips to her forehead, just above her brow, and stayed there for a moment. Her skin was warm. She smelled like roses.

When he pulled back, her eyes were closed.

“All right?” he whispered.

She opened her eyes. The curve of her lips kicked up, and she had to press her lips together as she felt her skin blush in response to his touch. 

“All right,” she said.

He smiled too, and his mismatched eyes made butterflies flutter in her stomach. 

“We do not need to figure it out tonight,” He whispered. “Nor tomorrow, nor next week. But I will be here, no matter what happens.” He moved his other hand to cup her face too. “I will not leave you, ever.” 

And for some reason, she believed him. 

──────────────────── 𓆩♕𓆪 ─────────────────────

Life in King's Landing had proven as busy as it was overwhelming for the little mouse. The days blended together easily now, each one carrying Rosalyn further from the life she had known. She was meeting some of the other ladies at court, those who had attended her wedding and helped her prepare before she walked down the aisle of the Sept of Baelor. The afternoon carried a soft breeze, warmer than before, signaling the premature arrival of summer heat. Rosalyn breathed in the scent of salt and smoke that hung in the air. She missed her flowers. Truly.

Ser Caster walked with her to the small, circular room where laughing ladies sat around a low table. When she crossed the threshold, his heavy footsteps alerted the others of her presence, and they all stood to welcome her. Most bowed their heads in respect for the girl who would one day become their queen, but others simply stared with defiance in their gaze.

Rosie's eyes wandered across them swiftly, lingering on no one in particular. She glanced back at Ser Caster Fossoway, who gave her a knowing look before turning and standing guard by the door. The room fell silent, waiting for Rosalyn to break the tension. She wondered why it had to be her. As she awkwardly fiddled with her fingers, the other women exchanged glances, and one stepped forward.

"Come on, ladies, do not just stand there!" A blonde woman with deep blue eyes spoke, and Rosalyn recognized the colors of her elegant dress: a beautiful shade of yellow with black undertones. "Come, sit with us, Lady Rosalyn." She offered a warm smile, which Rosalyn sheepishly returned.

As she walked toward them, the blonde exchanged a somber smile with two others, but Rosalyn was too focused on not tripping over her own gown to notice. The older woman who had been appointed as one of her five handmaids, Olenna, was not to be trifled with. She had insisted on dressing Rosalyn in the longest gown she could find: rich fabric, imposing design, fit for a Targaryen, she said. But Rosalyn was not a dragon. Her mother had declared her a rose as she took her first breaths: beauty and thorns in equal measure. The gown was deep crimson, with long black sleeves that felt like clouds around her arms.

Rosie took the seat next to two quiet ladies, and the rest quickly resumed their tea-drinking as they observed her every move. Rosalyn looked down at the delicate white and pink teacup holding a greenish liquid, still hot. Careful not to let her sleeves get in the way, she took it between her hands and held it still, enjoying the warmth.

Another lady caught her attention; young, probably her age, with a round face and a genuine smile. The girl's origin was clearly Valyrian, with deep purple eyes and long silver hair tied back in a braid. Her rich, dark skin contrasted with the light blue of her gown, decorated with small pearls around the neckline. She offered Rosalyn a small wave, but the blonde woman shot her a strange look, and the lady's hand returned to her side.

"Lady Rosalyn," the blonde woman began. Rosie's hazel eyes rose to meet her, tall and slender, impeccable. Not one hair out of place, with a perfect smile and polished features that reminded her of a carved statue. "We are beyond happy that you could join us. I am Lady Mellara."

Rosie nodded with a polite smile as they all slowly introduced themselves.

"And," Lady Mellara gestured at the nice girl from earlier, who was already looking at Rosalyn with excitement, "Lady Elaena Velaryon."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Rosalyn! You are even prettier than the rumors said!" Her voice was high-pitched, warmer than Rosie would have expected based on her appearance, and it carried a sincerity that the Tyrell girl immediately appreciated.

"Yes, well," Mellara continued, leaving no room for another word, "you must tell us, my lady, how have you found your stay in King's Landing so far?"

Rosalyn and Elaena exchanged a brief look, both wanting to speak more but forced to stop and listen. Rosalyn's fingers found her long hair immediately, loose around her chest now. No braids since she left Highgarden. Her mother used to do those for her.

She twisted and fiddled with the dark strand, her wide eyes and small smile trying to mask her nervousness.

"Good, yes." She finally offered, her smile widening slightly as the words came out. In response, she received confused looks and a few smirks. Elaena glanced around at the other ladies, especially those who sneered.

Lady Mellara's smile froze for a second, clearly expecting more.

"Is that all?"

Rosalyn's mouth opened, then closed. Her fingers tightened around the cup as she considered her next words. She did not want to share with strangers what her mind had been mulling over for days, but she also needed to be on good terms with the ladies at court, the ones who would be by her side every day. She heard a few sighs, likely from impatient girls unaccustomed to long silences.

"Uhm," an uncertain sound left Rosalyn's throat as she tucked the loose strand behind her ear. "It has been pleasant, of course."

"Your wedding was beautiful." Lady Elaena jumped in before Mellara could, the latter sending her a cold look. But Elaena's smile was exclusively for Rosalyn. "Your gown was beautiful too, and oh yes! You looked like a princess, even if—well, Prince Valarr is the one bearing royal blood, but still! I have never seen anyone look so pretty before, not even my three sisters, and—"

"That will be enough, Lady Elaena." Mellara's voice cut through the girl's unintentional rambling. When Elaena realized she had spoken too much, her cheeks flushed and her lips flattened. A few other women laughed. Rosalyn looked around at them. She had been smiling at Lady Elaena as she spoke. There may have been many words, especially for Rosalyn, but none had been remotely ill-intended. She was genuine and kind, and she reminded Rosalyn of someone she loved dearly.

"Thank you, Lady Elaena." Rosalyn's smile was as wide as she ever showed, and she nodded at Elaena's dress. "I do love your gown."

A small smile returned to the silver-haired girl, shyer than before. Rosalyn wanted to say more, but she was once again interrupted.

"You are so fortunate, Lady Rosalyn," Mellara's voice was different now, Rosie thought. Thinner, perhaps. Less patient. More venomous. "Marrying Prince Valarr, nonetheless. Many believed the lucky lady would come from court."

As Rosalyn listened, she felt everyone's eyes on her. Not many were kind.

"But not at all," Mellara continued, her eyes roaming Rosalyn's body up and down before settling back on her face. Her gaze was condescending. "I do wonder why."

"So do I." Another lady spoke, her hair red as fallen autumn leaves.

Rosalyn felt cornered, as if she had been lured into a trap by a pack of wolves. Every woman at the table wanted to take a bite out of her for something she had not even had a say in. She pressed her lips into a flat line. The muscles in her jaw tensed as she looked around the table, finding judgmental gazes everywhere.

Except for one.

Lady Elaena met her eyes, brow furrowed and chin held high. She seemed determined to make Rosalyn aware that she did not share her peers' thoughts, and she shook her head with subtlety. Rosalyn swallowed. Her breath quickened.

She did not want to be there. She could not care less about every single one of those vipers. They could choke on their tea.

"My lady," Ser Caster's voice interrupted. Rosalyn lifted her head to find him waiting by the door. "You have been summoned."

Oxygen returned to her lungs as she grasped the lifeline he had thrown her. She tried to mask her relief in front of the other ladies.

"Of course." She spoke with a steady voice and placed the cup back on the table. Rosalyn stood and looked at the ladies. "Ladies, enjoy your tea. I believe I must return to my husband."

One very subtle but well-aimed punch at the hyenas. Mellara's face changed completely. Elaena's grin widened so much it hurt her face.

Rosalyn walked toward Ser Caster, and she could have sworn she saw a small smirk on his face as well. When he escorted her out of the room, Lady Rosalyn took a deep, shaky breath meant to calm her nerves. She had known the ladies would be difficult to deal with, she had never known real friends before, but perhaps she had expected some… kindness.

She had been wrong.

"Who has called for me?" she spoke softly as they walked.

"I am afraid I have forgotten, my lady." Ser Caster's voice was not loud, but it carried strength. His brown eyes focused on the path ahead.

Rosalyn turned to look at him with confusion, her eyebrows furrowing as she tilted her head.

"Where are we walking to, then?"

"I may have forgotten that as well." He tried to hide his grin again. "Do forgive me, m'lady."

Rosalyn did not stop walking, but it took a moment for her to understand that the man had only wanted to offer her an escape from that terrible conversation. She smiled as she looked up at him.

As they passed a stairwell, Rosalyn stopped abruptly, causing Ser Caster to do the same and nearly trip. Rosie fixed her gaze on those stairs, recognizing where they led. She had walked past this very hall her first night there, with Valarr by her side.

Valarr. Her lips twitched, and her face did something strange as he came to mind. She had barely seen him in the past days, so many lessons, so many duties. They had not shared their chambers again after that first night. Rosalyn bit her lower lip, thinking that perhaps she had ruined everything by crying and whining instead of doing what she was supposed to do.

"Lady Rosalyn?"

She was snapped back to reality by her guard. Without another word, she walked down the stairs with him behind her. When the narrow stairwell ended, she emerged into a smaller corridor with a great archway, one that led to her final destination.

A small, interior garden with a large tree and a stone bench beneath its leaves. There were not many flowers, and those that grew were not especially colorful, but she felt her jaw unclench and tension leave her spine as she took in the scene. A giant stone wall separated the keep from the outside, blocking any further view. She took a few tentative steps forward and heard birds singing.

She looked up to find two small birds, bright red with black wings and backs.

"Vermilion Flycatcher," she whispered to herself, identifying the species. They settled on one of the tree's branches, and she walked around the garden, naming and memorizing each flower that had been planted. Most were not in great condition; some had already died. But three purple flowers kept growing strong: purple hyacinths.

Deep regret and sorrow, Rosalyn thought. Her heart ached, wondering whether whoever had planted them knew what they meant. She let the breeze hit her face as she closed her eyes, finally catching some of the hyacinth's sweetness. Perhaps she could stay here, just for a while, until the moon found her.

Rosalyn sat on the bench beneath the tree, closing her eyes to listen to all the small noises: the bugs, the birds, even the sound of human voices around and beyond the castle walls. Ser Caster did not interrupt, staying by the archway and taking a moment to rest himself.

As she sat there, Lady Rosalyn reflected on everything that had happened in the past days. Her father had already departed for Highgarden. She remembered how he had taken her hands in his and smiled at her like a proud father, believing she would hopefully be with child already. What a stupid, stupid man. Rosalyn's mother had been right about him. She thought about Lady Eleanor and her brother Rowan, wondering how they fared in the Reach.

She had written two letters to her mother. Both had gone unanswered. Her heart squeezed at the thought of not knowing anything about her. She was sure her father would let Eleanor return to normal life once he returned; Rosalyn was already married. But still, if Delena's death had stolen the will to live from her mother, then what would she do without Rosalyn?

She hoped Rowan was not suffering too much under Lorence's cruelty. He had not written to her either. Why? She could not know. There had been talk of nuptials before her departure, to Teora Cobray, a sweet girl with a unique appreciation for animals. She hoped he could finally find someone who shared his kind heart. Rosalyn smiled as she thought about Rowan's wedding.

She heard steps approaching; not as heavy as Ser Caster's, so perhaps a handmaid or a worker finding his way. As her eyes remained closed, she realized the steps were heavy, a man's, probably, but not too noisy. She wondered whether this person also wanted to stay as quiet as possible.

"Am I interrupting?"

The voice sent her to her feet immediately. She turned to find Prince Baelor Targaryen looking at her with a raised eyebrow and a question in his eyes. Rosalyn's startled gaze found him before she dropped into a quick curtsy.

"My Prince, forgive me," she apologized, then quickly added, "Of course not."

He smiled and nodded, gesturing toward the bench. She looked at him first, then at the bench, and when she understood, she quickly nodded. They both sat back down.

Rosalyn expected him to speak, perhaps ask about her first days married to his son, or what she thought of King's Landing so far. But he did none of that. The Prince simply sat back and closed his eyes, releasing a tired breath as he let silence embrace him. She did the same.

They stayed quiet for a long, long time before he spoke.

"I am glad you found my bench." One could practically hear the smile on his lips.

His bench?!

Rosalyn's eyes opened, and she looked at him. His lips twitched into a soft smile.

"I—"

"Do not apologize. I said I am glad." He quickly cut off her anxious words. She could not understand, she had invaded his space. She did not like it when it happened to her.

Silence stretched again, and she saw him observing the purple hyacinths. His smile lessened but remained.

"I seldom come here anymore," he continued with a tired voice. "Only if I have a break between duties."

Rosalyn nodded as she listened, taking in every word. The man always spoke with such calmness and wisdom; she could not help but stay still and focus all her senses on whatever he said.

"You may do the same." Baelor looked at her with a knowing gaze, clearly seeing the same exhaustion on her face. "It is not Highgarden, but it is the closest thing, perhaps."

Rosalyn looked at him for a few seconds as understanding dawned.

"I do not wish to invade your corner of the Red Keep." Her voice was careful and measured.

"You did not invade anything. I just invited you." A small laugh left his throat as he placed his elbows on his knees.

She did not know whether she should accept such an honor, but did she have any other option?

"Thank you, Your Grace."

He did not respond, simply nodding and returning his gaze to the purple hyacinths. They were the most beautiful flowers in the garden. Rosalyn noticed how his expression softened whenever he looked at them.

"Purple hyacinths," she whispered. "They are beautiful."

No response from the prince—just an absent nod as his gaze seemed lost in time. Rosalyn snapped her mouth shut, remembering he had come here to unwind, not to talk about flowers.

"My wife enjoyed them."

Oh.

Rosalyn's gaze remained on the flowers. She did not dare turn to look at him. She remembered how Valarr had mentioned missing his mother, and she could only imagine what it was like to lose a spouse so young.

Silence stretched between them again, but Rosalyn did not find it uncomfortable. She rather liked the quiet.

"I hope my son is proving to be a good husband so far." He spoke suddenly, and Rosalyn sighed as she looked at the ground. Light had begun to fade from the sky; stars were peeking through the clouds.

She did not speak, because she could not say anything. They had barely seen each other, but he had been most respectful during their first night together, speaking softly, even taking the sofa despite the bed being his by right. He had not dared lay a finger on her, simply because she had not wanted him to. And that had been enough.

"He has been chivalrous and kind." Her voice was strangely soft when she spoke about him, a shy smile dancing on her lips as she fiddled with her hair.

Baelor smiled to himself.

"I would expect nothing else." Pride marked every word. He knew the kind of young man he had raised. And he fully hoped they might, perhaps, find some sort of kindling.

As night fell, Prince Baelor bid Lady Rosalyn good night before returning to the Keep, his duties as Hand of the King unfinished. Lady Rosalyn watched him leave, feeling the heaviness on his shoulders. But her heart was grateful that he had allowed her such a beautiful and private space in the Red Keep.

She looked at the three purple hyacinths one last time before heading inside, Ser Caster behind her.

For Prince Valarr, the day had not been much different. He had also been surrounded by venomous vipers, just a different kind. As he trained and sparred, he and Abelar watched other young lordlings try to suppress their jealousy. Abelar kept flashing them teasing smiles that only worsened their state.

Valarr's usual enjoyment of his friend's antics was missing, however. She would not—could not—leave his gods-damned mind. He could not stop thinking about her—how she was faring, how she rose each morning, whether she had found her footing in King's Landing yet. Valarr resented himself for not spending more time with her, but he had been buried in princely duties that kept him away.

But was that the truth?

As he continued sparring with Abelar, his mismatched eyes focused on his opponent while sweat glistened on his forehead. He breathed hard and heavy. He had not been fully swallowed by his routine, but he had also been too much of a coward to face her again after their night together. He landed a strong hit on Abelar's chest, one that nearly knocked him off his horse as they crossed paths. He heard his master-at-arms yell something from the sidelines, but his mind was elsewhere. Valarr would not harm Rosalyn, but what if they did not conceive an heir? Would the entire realm collapse without one? Could it survive? What would his father think? The King?

But what about what she wanted?

"And if I never do?" He remembered her words, how scared she had sounded speaking them. He felt his own fear as he thought about her with child. If she did not want that, she would be miserable. And then he would be miserable as well.

He barely even knew her! The girl had been rumored simple-minded, and yet he believed her sharper than a dagger. She was quiet and barely spoke, but he had watched her observe entire rooms with unique interest in every single person. And when she looked at him…

Abelar and Valarr rode past each other again. Valarr dodged, swerving away from his spear.

Whenever she looked at him, he felt as if she knew something about him that he himself did not know. She had something in her eyes: both deep wisdom and earnest innocence. It completely threw him off. The way they had looked at him that night, teary and scared, made him want to embrace her.

Perhaps he should have.

His absent-mindedness betrayed him. Abelar's lance struck his chest, knocking him off his horse. His body crashed to the ground with a loud thud. Prince Valarr groaned, his expression pained. He coughed twice before slowly getting up. Abelar was at his side in seconds, kneeling and looking at his friend with both pride and worry.

"Are you all right?" He asked, helping Valarr by the shoulders. The master-at-arms was also there, examining the prince with a horrified expression, fearing for his life.

Valarr waved his hand dismissively, not wanting to draw attention. The fall had not been too bad, though he could already feel the purple bruise that would cover his chest in a few hours. He flashed a brief smile that did not truly reach his eyes. Abelar noticed.

"Perfectly fine." Valarr's voice was rough, his silver streak shining under the late spring sun. "Do not get cocky now."

Abelar offered a rogue smile. The master-at-arms decided to end the day's lesson then and there. The two boys walked to their usual spot under the tree, choosing to drink wine and eat a few delicacies before heading to their respective duties. As they sat, Abelar's eyes wandered to Valarr, who took a few extra moments to settle.

"Too much pain in your arse after I knocked you down?" His voice teased, but worry lurked beneath.

Valarr shot him an annoyed look that only widened the blond's smile.

"Shut it."

Abelar laughed and looked at the training field below.

"I don't think I will." He quipped cheerfully.

"It is a royal order." Valarr took a sip of wine.

"I will take no orders from a prince I just knocked off his horse."

"But will you take one from a prince that smacks you?"

Abelar turned to look at him in confusion.

"Wha—" Valarr immediately brought his hand to the back of Abelar's neck, giving it a quick slap. Abelar hissed through his teeth as he covered the spot, sending daggers with his look.

But the Prince just stared ahead, enjoying the silence.

"You are mean today." After a while, Abelar spoke again. Valarr rolled his eyes. "What? Wife troubling you?"

Valarr sent him a warning look, one that said he was not to be trifled with when it came to Rosalyn. But Abelar already knew that. He had seen Valarr's face during the ceremony and how he had ignored everyone else in the days that followed.

"I mean it, friend." He continued, eating a block of cheese. "Is everything all right between you two?"

Valarr sighed and dragged a hand down his face, leaving it on his chin as he shook his head slightly. If he had been wearing his rings, he would have been twisting them.

"Yes, of course." He lied.

"Liar," Abelar countered.

"Gods be good, Abelar." Valarr groaned as he leaned against the tree trunk. "You are giving me a headache."

Abelar clicked his tongue.

"Everything gives you headaches." He gave Valarr a sidelong look.

"You, especially." Valarr shut him down again. He was already stressed, and he did not want to take it out on his friend, but the conversation was wearing on him.

After a while in silence, the Young Prince felt inclined to speak as he ought to.

"Forgive me." He began, his voice tired, long lashes lowered over his eyes. "Everything is well."

Abelar did not tease, speak, or laugh. He simply waited for the truth, even if it took Valarr a few more minutes.

"I have not seen her more than thrice in the past six days." Valarr sounded almost ashamed, but his words carried more longing and confusion than anything else.

Abelar nodded.

"And why is that?"

A strange laugh left Valarr's throat as he shook his head and shrugged. His left knee was folded so he could rest his arm on it; his hand found its way to his hair.

"I…" He had been about to lie again, perhaps tell him about all the princely duties that kept him away. "I do not know."

Abelar looked at him, tilting his head, trying to understand his friend's mind.

"Do you not like her? Is she truly simple-minded?" He spoke quietly, not seeking to offend.

"No. Gods, no." Valarr laughed again, but this time the smile remained. "She is sharp. She just does not like speaking much." He looked down at the grass. "She is all alone here, and it makes her miserable."

Abelar and Valarr remained quiet for a few minutes, staring ahead as young lads tried their luck against each other on the training grounds.

"She may be even more alone without her husband." Abelar noted without looking at him.

Valarr felt as if he had been punched in the gut. He had stayed away because he believed their marriage brought her only pain, and fear of becoming someone she did not want. Perhaps he had avoided her for that same reason himself. Maybe he had been scared of not being enough. But he had been lonely without her, and she had consumed his every thought. She was alone in a foreign place, amongst unknown people, with a husband she barely knew and had not seen since the wedding.

"I am an idiot." He mumbled, reining in the desire to smack himself.

"Well, now that you mention it." Abelar's smile returned as he looked at his friend, realizing he had perhaps knocked some sense into him.

"I would like to see you married." Valarr teased back, his dimple showing. It made him look more boyish, a slight arrogance and playfulness in his demeanor.

Abelar laughed loudly.

"My father has already spoken of it, so your twisted desires may yet come true." He sighed.

Valarr tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips.

"To whom?" He inquired, not with humor, but subtle understanding.

"Only the gods know, for I surely do not." Abelar rested his shoulder against the tree trunk, placing both hands behind his head. "But I will definitely make a better husband than you."

Valarr's eyebrows furrowed immediately.

"That is not true." He countered, shooting him a look. "I am charming, funny, and handsome. You are a simple fool."

"A fool that knocks princes off horses."

The two friends bickered and teased relentlessly until Valarr was summoned for his trade lessons. But he now had a new understanding of what his actions had meant for him, and perhaps for her. He had a goal for the day: he would make sure to have supper with his lady wife, even if his hands trembled at the thought.

His day continued as planned. He welcomed two important lords from the riverlands who had come to settle a dispute between their houses. He would not mediate directly, only listen and learn from his father's efforts.

The chamber was warm. Three council lords sat at the table, looking rather bored. Baelor presided, with Valarr at his side. Valarr's headache had not bothered him yet, but if they kept raising their voices, pressure would soon build in his skull. As they bickered and pointed fingers, Valarr sat and absorbed the information. One complained of destroyed crops; the other argued his cattle needed feeding to provide for his people and trade with the man's region. How could these men be so deeply enraged when the solution was not far from reach?

Prince Baelor listened intently, barely intervening as each explained their side, nodding whenever one tried to appeal directly to the Hand. Valarr began counting how many times Lord Hightower, Master of Coin, tapped his fingers against the wooden table. It was rather soothing compared to the yelling.

"What do you think, Valarr?" His father's voice came from his left.

Valarr's eyes widened slightly. His spine tensed. He cleared his throat. The chamber fell silent, all eyes on him. The two lords seemed surprised the Prince had not yet stated his own judgment, instead allowing his son to offer one.

"After hearing both testimonies," Prince Valarr began, his voice steady and as confident as he could make it. Baelor's eyes fixed on his son's face, studying his expression, but Valarr did not look at him as he addressed the council. "I believe we may be able to find common ground that benefits both your houses for the foreseeable future."

The two lords exchanged angry looks, clearly uninterested in any agreement that did not humiliate the other party.

"And what would that entail, my Prince?" One spoke, his tone arrogant. Valarr's lips nearly curled into disgust, but he controlled his face.

That man was as narcissistic as he was stupid, he thought.

"If it is your crops that were destroyed by his cattle, perhaps you could come to a mutual agreement. Why not share control of that specific terrain? Periodically, of course." He continued, trying not to dwell on the disbelief on their faces. His shoulders were tense, his expression polite but his brow furrowed in concentration. His jaw clenched several times. He continued avoiding his father's scrutiny. "When harvests are ripe and the soil fertile, you shall cultivate it. When it is less productive, cattle may graze, and trade will benefit both your houses."

"It is my land, Your Highness." The lord gritted through his teeth. "Why should I share it with the fool next to me?"

Both lords began bickering again. Valarr wondered if they had listened at all. He tried to intervene, but it was useless, they were set on arguing to their deaths. The prince sighed and leaned back, resting his elbow on the table and shaking his head. Baelor kept watching his son for a while, then returned to mediating. He promised the Crown would continue looking into it and asked them to stay in King's Landing for the week while they found a compromise.

Once they exited, fuming at each other, Valarr stood to follow. But Baelor tilted his head and held his son back.

"Wait, son." Valarr turned, raising an eyebrow. "Shall we speak for a minute?"

"Of course, Father." Valarr nodded and sat back down. Baelor glanced at Lord Martyn Hightower, and the man left, taking the other ministers with him.

The room emptied except for two guards by the door.

"Share your thoughts about the dispute with me." Baelor drank the wine his cupbearer had provided minutes ago.

Valarr sat straight and cleared his throat, placing both hands on the table.

"I do not think they wish to reach an agreement unless it includes the other's demise." Valarr admitted. His father nodded, lips pressed tightly together.

"I agree." He leaned back and looked at his son. "But why?"

Valarr pondered, recalling the history of the riverlands and what he had learned from lessons and courtly politics.

"Historical feuds, possibly." The boy reckoned with a pensive voice. "The two houses have had territorial disputes before, yes?"

"For over a century now." Baelor continued his son's thought. "Your proposal is not wrong. It would be an efficient solution, keeping commerce running between the two regions."

Valarr's eyes widened slightly at his father's agreement. Pride surrounded him, not arrogance, but satisfaction that he had managed to think as his father would have.

"However," Valarr's confidence shook, "it must be phrased not as a mutual benefit, but a difficult concession by each side. They must feel as if the other is sacrificing something dear, too." Baelor tilted his head with a small smile, clearly reading his son's mind.

"But would it not be more rational for them to think in terms of trade and nourishment for their own?" Valarr's eyebrows drew together in confusion, thinking of his lessons in diplomacy.

Baelor laughed softly.

"Yes, in any other conflict, perhaps." He sighed. "Just not in this one. You must always be aware not just of the conflict and its matters, but also of the people involved. It is the only way to navigate wars, famines, and bitter neighbors."

Valarr nodded slowly, absorbing the information, rearranging it in his mind to fit his previous knowledge. Baelor could almost see the mechanics at work in his son's brain.

"It was still a good idea, son." He reassured Valarr as they both stood, clapping his shoulder and drawing him close. "I have another meeting before nightfall, but I shall see you tomorrow for the second round."

Valarr held his father's gaze, staying quiet. After a moment, the man walked out and left him alone in the council chamber. Valarr released a breath he had been holding since the meeting began. Sometimes he did not know how his father could endure so many duties in a single day and emerge unscathed. He was surprised it was he who suffered headaches, and not Prince Baelor.

As he lingered, he remembered that his uncle and cousins would be leaving King's Landing tomorrow. It was time to speak with some of them before they returned to Summerhall. Valarr exited, his steps steady through the halls.

He did not especially enjoy his cousins, truth be told. But some were all right. The girls—Daella, Rhae, and Aelora—were sweet, even if the second was still a babe. The boys, on the other hand… well, some were more troublesome than others. None shared his sense of duty. They were rowdier, more reckless, and it bothered Valarr at times; their lack of care for protocol and the institution they belonged to.

But still, his father had always told him that family was theirs to keep and protect, no matter what. One should always defend their family.

The wing of the Red Keep where they were staying was opposite Valarr's, closest to his other uncles Rhaegel and Aerys. He passed a few Kingsguards as they opened the door to a large, bright chamber full of noise and loud voices. Inside, Valarr quickly identified two small heads and an even smaller one.

Daella, Aegon, and baby Rhae sat on the floor. The youngest played with wooden toys while the other two fought over a carved dragon. He had come from a lordly dispute only to find a royal one—equally serious, it seemed. Two maids stood quickly when they saw Prince Valarr cross the threshold.

"Grandsire gave it to me!" the dark-haired girl raised her voice at her younger brother, who tried to pluck the toy from her hand.

When the babe raised her head and saw Valarr, she shrieked with pure joy and threw her toy at Aegon's head.

"Hey!" He tried to shield himself, but too late. It struck him on the forehead, and he fell backward. Both sisters laughed.

"Cousin!" Daella was no older than eight, but already a composed lady, much more so than any of her siblings. Valarr enjoyed her company, even if he had only seen her three or four times. He smiled softly and approached, patting the top of her head just as Rhae crawled toward him.

"Hello, my ladies." Rhae grabbed his breeches with her fist and looked up. She was silver-haired too, with soft blue eyes that reminded Valarr of her father. He hesitated, but when she raised her hands for him to pick her up, he slowly lifted her.

Rhae giggled in Valarr's arms, grabbing his cheek and squeezing. Valarr flinched and tried to pull her away, but she insisted. The maids exchanged amused glances, watching the Prince handle the youngest.

"She likes your hair." Aegon, who had finally recovered from what he called a horrific attack, had reclaimed the wooden dragon. Valarr noticed Rhae reaching for his silver streak, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Oh, you flatter me, cousin." He angled Rhae so she could not reach, and she whimpered in frustration. Valarr smiled and gently passed her to a waiting maid. Rhae did not seem pleased.

Once he was sure the maids had settled her, he turned to the other two.

"Aegon, I need to speak with you." The youngest tilted his head, curious, and nodded.

"What about me?" Daella chimed in, clearly wanting inclusion. Valarr offered a polite smile and shook his head.

"He shall return shortly, I promise. But in the meantime, the mighty dragon is yours." Valarr took the toy from Aegon's hand and placed it in Daella's. She was not exactly thrilled, but it was enough.

Valarr and Aegon exited. The young boy bombarded him with questions about the surprise, but Valarr conceded nothing. When they reached the small tea room where Valarr had found Aegon on his wedding day, a guard waited inside, a small box on the round table. The guards closed the door behind them, and Valarr approached with a genuine smile.

"You are leaving for Summerhall tomorrow," Valarr began as he sat before the box. Aegon mirrored him, sitting close. "Remember what we spoke about days ago? Before the wedding?"

Aegon nodded slowly.

"I have made some… arrangements."

Egg tilted his head, curiosity filling his veins.

"I cannot bring Syrax back, unfortunately." Valarr placed a caring hand on his shoulder, and Aegon lowered his gaze. "But I can ensure you do not return alone."

Aegon looked at the box, then at Valarr, then back.

"What is it, cousin?" His sweet voice touched something in Valarr's heart. Valarr placed the box in Aegon's lap. A small noise came from within, and Aegon gasped.

"A second chance, of sorts." Valarr offered a half-smile as the boy carefully lifted the lid.

Inside was a small kitten, with white fur covering most of his body except for his four darker paws. His eyes were bright green, his ears perked, listening. Aegon's eyes widened as he picked up the trembling animal.

"I know he is not Syrax, and he will never be," Valarr began softly. "But he can be a new friend. And Aerion will not harm him, he is my cat." Aegon's eyes snapped to him. "You will be taking care of him in Summerhall for me, yes? From me, to you."

Tears built in the little boy's eyes as he nodded slowly, his lower lip quivering. He brought his new friend close to his chest. They stayed in silence for a few minutes.

"What should we name him?" Valarr asked.

Egg patted the cat's head with loving fingers, a soft smile on his face.

"You ought to name him, cousin. It is your cat, after all." Valarr chuckled at the clever response.

"Good lad." He ruffled Aegon's light hair. He pondered a moment. "I am not good with names, if I am being honest."

"How about Vermithor?" Aegon offered. "He was one of the eldest."

"A perfect choice for our new friend."

Aegon hugged Vermithor and placed a small kiss between the kitten's ears. Then he set the cat on the sofa and turned to embrace Valarr, who was surprised by the sudden affection.

"Thank you." Aegon whispered, his face against Valarr's chest. The smile on his lips was sweet. Valarr felt as if he had done something good for his cousin. Aegon now looked at Valarr with newfound admiration that would not fade for a very, very long time.

When guards took the cat to a safer location, out of sight until it was time to leave for Summerhall, Valarr instructed Aegon to say nothing about the kitten before they parted. The boy's excitement was hard to hide, but he tried his best.

By the time Valarr returned Aegon to his sisters, night had fallen. Supper would not be long. He remembered his intention to dine with his wife. Given the hour, perhaps she had already eaten.

"Gods damn it." He murmured, turning and nearly sprinting down the hall toward Rosalyn's chambers. For Valarr, the day never seemed to have enough hours. No matter how fast he performed his duties, he was always late to something.

He nearly collided with a woman carrying towels. She startled, dropping them. Despite his urgency, he stopped.

"Forgive me!" He checked that she was unharmed. She nodded and quickly gathered the towels.

Valarr continued at a fast pace until he reached her door. He stopped, taking several breaths to calm himself. Inhale, one. Exhale, two. Inhale, three. Exhale, four. Inhale, five. Exhale, six.

Ser Caster stood guard, watching the lad with amusement. Once Valarr regained composure, he straightened his shoulders and composed a perfectly calm yet confident expression. He knocked once, then twice.

"Who is it?" A female voice, but not Rosalyn's. Older, harsher.

"Prince Valarr." He replied. Hushed voices sounded within before the door opened to reveal an aged woman with a powerful gaze. She curtsied and made space for him to enter.

Two other women had been preparing a bath, it smelled incredibly sweet, but he found his wife standing like a deer before a bow, eyes wide and body still. She wore Targaryen colors, and he admitted she looked stunning, though the gown was too loose on her. Her chocolate curls reached her waist, and she held a brush. The smile was a reflex, softening his whole expression at the sight of her.

He worried his abrupt visit had startled her.

"Forgive me, my lady." He bowed his head. She did the same. "I have come unannounced."

Rosalyn glanced at the maids, now standing in a straight line, heads bowed, eyes on the floor. She looked back at her husband. He seemed perfectly regal, though his hair was slightly chaotic, as if he had been exercising. She nodded.

"Yes." She struggled to speak, unsure what to say. He made her tongue heavy; she feared saying the wrong thing. Not out of fear, as with her family, but embarrassment. She did not know why, but she always blushed in his presence, and her usually rare words became even rarer.

Valarr simply looked at her, praying she might offer something more, a smile, a twinkle in her eyes. When she blushed at his staring, his smile widened, and he lowered his own gaze.

"Have you had supper already?" he asked. She shook her head. "Would you like to join me, then?"

Rosalyn's lips parted as emotions clashed within her. She had dreamed of seeing him as they crossed paths, but that was all, dreaming. She hated the gown she wore. Her day had been difficult, her mind full of thoughts of her family. And yet, she wanted to say yes.

"Of course." She did not hesitate as much as usual. Valarr's heart beat happily. They smiled at each other, then looked around the room awkwardly.

"Great. I shall wait for you at the dining hall." He lingered by the door. When she nodded enthusiastically, he clicked his tongue and left.

As the door closed, the maids did not hesitate. They looked at Rosalyn, who smiled to herself like a happy fool. Olenna pursed her lips and sighed.

"Come on, we ought to get you ready." She clapped, and the two women began moving, brushing Rosie's hair as she sat before the mirror. She let them, but she did not want to wear the same gown.

"I would prefer a different attire," she spoke as they sprayed flowery perfume around her neck. Olenna stared.

"Don't you think this one suffices?" She grabbed Rosalyn's waist, trying to tighten it further. Rosalyn squirmed.

"No." Was all she said as the ladies behind her tied her hair into an elegant bun at her nape. Olenna rolled her eyes.

"Lady Rosalyn, you married into House Targaryen. You ought to dress in black and scarlet." She spoke harshly, unconcerned with Rosalyn's feelings. Olenna picked an ostentatious necklace from the table and began placing it around Rosalyn's neck. Too many hands overwhelmed her. Rosalyn gently stepped away. They froze, staring.

"I would prefer a different attire." She repeated, lowering her hands to her sides as she approached the wardrobe. She opened it, observing the gowns within. She selected a soft, light green gown with golden trims on the sleeves and neckline, not too low. The fabric was nearly translucent at ankle height, softer than the finest silks of Lys. It was not hers. She stared in confusion.

"One of the gowns bestowed upon you by Her Majesty the Queen." Olenna spoke behind her. Rosalyn's hand roamed the fabric.

"I shall wear this one."

And so she did.

Once ready, Ser Caster escorted her again. Her steps were quick and light as a feather, or a little mouse. No necklace, no bracelets. Just Queen Myriah's gifted gown and a low bun with two loose strands framing her round face.

When Valarr saw her enter, he immediately stood and drank her in. She looked absolutely beautiful. The soft green suited her far more naturally, as if crafted specifically for her. It highlighted her delicate features, while the black and scarlet sharpened them. Still, he believed she was stunning in either.

Lady Rosalyn curtsied low, then looked at him. His mismatched eyes shone as they focused on her. He looked so elegant and perfect, soft smile, straight posture, that she felt comfortable in his presence. He was simply… comforting. She returned his smile, clasping her hands together.

Prince Valarr moved quickly, crossing the room in a few strides to stand beside her. He offered to accommodate her chair, and she nodded gratefully as she sat. He pushed the chair in, bringing her closer to the table. Once she was comfortable, he returned to his own seat.

The table was long. They sat at opposite ends, the distance between them imposing. Rosalyn did not like it, the room felt colder without him near. Valarr believed he was too far to fully appreciate her presence after so long apart.

Servants approached, uncovering plates. A feast lay before them. The variety slightly overwhelmed Rosalyn, accustomed to eating specific dishes repeatedly. Valarr noted her hesitation before reaching for certain plates and remembered which ones, so they would not be served again.

"How was your day, Rosalyn?" He tried to speak casually, as if this were any dinner with his wife. She looked at him while cutting a spiced potato.

"Interesting. I hope your duties were not too taxing." Rosalyn took a bite. The rich flavor surprised her. She took a moment to swallow and judge it. She hummed in approval and took another.

Valarr tilted his head.

"How was it interesting?" He completely ignored her comment about his day, now invested in every detail.

Rosalyn swallowed forcefully. She hesitated, deciding whether to tell the full truth or keep some to herself.

Valarr grew more anxious by the second, fearing she had encountered cruel lords or succumbed to loneliness. He began counting the plates on the table, filling the space her silence left.

"I had to meet some of the ladies at court today," Rosalyn began carefully, voice measured. "Lady Mellara invited me to have tea with them."

Valarr stopped counting and looked at her. Now she grew nervous, hoping her voice had not betrayed her.

"Lady Mellara?" He repeated, voice low. She nodded. "Forgive me, but is your mother not of House Blackwood?"

Rosalyn felt goosebumps at the mention of her mother. She nodded again. Valarr's lips flattened.

"How did the encounter unfold?"

Lady Rosalyn bit her lip, holding back a sigh. She placed her utensils down and avoided his eyes.

"I am sure they were just guarded, as I am unknown to them," she offered a possible defense, one she partly believed. "They were not so friendly, but again, they do not know me."

Valarr's chin dipped slightly, his mismatched eyes fixed on hers.

"She does." Rosalyn did not know who he meant, but he continued. "Lady Mellara of House Bracken."

Rosalyn's eyes widened. Her expression shifted from reticent to puzzled. She knew little of House Bracken, except that her mother had always spoken negatively of its members.

"Oh." She whispered, picking up her utensils to continue cutting potatoes. Valarr's head tilted subtly, worry overtaking him.

"Was she cruel in any way?" His voice was so soft that, across the distance, Rosalyn almost did not hear.

She shook her head quickly, several times, and swallowed.

"No, no. Simply guarded." She lied. She would not cry wolf to her husband. Even if she felt cornered in an unfamiliar place, she knew better. "I also met Lady Elaena Velaryon. She was kind and sweet."

"I know her. She was a gentle child when we met." Valarr cut a piece of chicken, the new spices from the Free Cities noticeable. "She was sent to court a few years ago—third daughter of Lord Lucerys Velaryon."

Rosalyn nodded, staring at her cup. Interesting information. Perhaps she could see Elaena again.

"Perhaps she could be your lady-in-waiting?" Valarr suggested with an inquisitive look, hoping his wife might make a true friend, someone who could understand things he could not. Nothing would please him more than for her to feel she belonged, to have someone there when he was away.

"Perhaps." Lady Rosalyn repeated, a small smile playing on her lips.

Silence stretched as they ate. Valarr did not want to overwhelm her with questions after a tiring day. But Rosalyn secretly waited for him to ask more, to hear his steady voice. When he did not, she took matters into her own hands, clearing her throat.

"Did you attend many meetings today?" She immediately cringed. Of course he had; he was Baelor's son. Foolish question. But Valarr beamed at her interest, his dimple appearing, and she smiled in return.

"Numerous, indeed." He leaned back and looked at her. She was still too far away. It annoyed him.

Prince Valarr stood, taking his own plate. Servants and wife alike stared in surprise. He walked slowly to her side and placed it beside hers. Rosalyn looked up, lips parted, eyes wide. Catching his intent, a servant moved a chair to the same position. Valarr now sat beside his wife, who blushed like a red rose in springtime. Their hands rested close on the table. Her pinky wanted to reach for his, she nearly slapped herself for the thought.

"If this bothers you, I shall return at once. Just say the word." He searched her gaze, not wanting discomfort. Rosalyn's heart raced, but warmth surged within her at his consideration.

"I-it is all r-right." She stuttered, dropping her fork as she tried to pick it up. Valarr's smile turned slightly boyish, proud.

"I mediated a dispute between two lords from the riverlands. They clearly wanted no arrangement." He spoke with annoyance. She listened intently, pushing down the confusing emotions his proximity stirred.

"Why not?"

Valarr sighed.

"They hate each other far more than they love their own."

Rosalyn considered this.

"Sometimes people are too obfuscated to see clearly. Hatred and resentment can do that to a man's heart."

Valarr nearly dropped his chicken. That was the longest sentence she had ever spoken to him. He froze, hoping she would continue.

"You believe so?" He gauged her.

"I do." Rosalyn did not realize she was speaking more than usual, nor what it meant to her husband. "Men are both simpler and more complicated than one might imagine, my Prince."

Valarr gave her a look. She corrected with a shy smile.

"Valarr."

He nodded, considering her view. The two lords had not even listened to his proposal, focused only on their mutual dislike.

"I believe such men are not skilled enough to be rulers. A good ruler sets aside personal feelings for the good of his people." Valarr agreed. She nodded.

"Is that who you aspire to be?" The question caught him entirely off guard. He turned, puzzled. Rosalyn's eyes were earnest, truly interested.

"Oh, well…" He was at a loss, rare for him. A surprised laugh escaped. "I believe so, yes. It is what my father has taught me."

A heartbeat passed.

"But is it what you want?" She repeated. He struggled to swallow.

"Yes, it is." He fidgeted with his rings beneath the table. "I want to be a worthy ruler, one day."

Rosalyn simply looked at him, hummed, and resumed her dinner.

"A wise wish for a future king." She whispered, more to herself than him. He heard.

When they finished, the couple remained seated a few minutes more. Valarr realized the pressure in his skull had vanished completely. He was relaxed, shoulders slightly, almost imperceptibly slouched, with a genuine smile. As Rosalyn turned to look at something, her neck revealed more freckles he had missed. And something else, traces of skin, pinker than the rest, faint and healed. Scars.

"Forty." Valarr's body nearly launched forward, attention caught by his earlier miscalculation. Rosalyn turned back.

"I beg your pardon?"

Valarr realized he was staring like a fool. A subtle blush crept up his cheeks.

"Forgive me. It is not important." He cleared his throat. "Shall I escort you back?"

Rosalyn's heart sank slightly. Supper had flown by; she had truly enjoyed their time together, the conversation feeling deeper than any she had endured at court. When Valarr stood and extended his hand, she reluctantly took it.

They walked back to her chambers, Rosalyn sighing as she held his arm. Valarr noticed and glanced at her.

"I hope I did not tire you." He smiled, though worry crept in. She shook her head and smiled back.

"Not at all." She sounded genuinely energized, unlike before supper. Seeing him had replenished what duties had drained.

They walked in silence, but guilt ate at Valarr. He stretched his neck slightly, releasing tension.

"Rosalyn." His voice was quiet, echoing through empty halls. She looked up. "Has King's Landing been enjoyable so far?"

She did not stop walking, but he felt her struggle for words. Even if the tea party had gone poorly, he hoped she had found joy somewhere. She remained silent for three minutes, exactly three.

"I do miss my home." She lowered her gaze. His heart dropped.

"I know." Barely a whisper. He could not say more if he tried.

"Not enough flowers." Rosalyn's eyes wandered to a small interior garden visible through a window, the one where she had met Baelor. Valarr followed her gaze and understood where his wife escaped when salt and smoke overwhelmed her. "Flowers give life and color to the world. But it is gray here."

Gray.

The idea formed instantly. By the time they reached her door, he had already planned its execution. He smiled to himself but decided to surprise her.

They stopped. Valarr took Rosalyn's hands in his. This time, she did not flinch. She blushed and looked at her feet.

"I am sorry I have been so absent." He found her gaze and dipped his head, bringing himself to her level. "I do not wish for you to be alone here. I am your husband. I ought to be by your side more often."

Rosalyn's eyes shone in the candlelight. He was genuinely endearing. She had barely explained anything, yet he understood.

"You must attend your duties—"

"I must also attend my wife." His dimple appeared. Her smile widened. "I would like us to know each other better. Like tonight."

"I think I would like that too." She whispered.

They laughed awkwardly as he held her hands, then brought them to his lips, kissing her skin softly. She shivered.

"Shall I see you tomorrow, then? I could show you the galleries." He was nervous but ready to overcome it, to spend more time with her. To his delight, she nodded with shy yet excited eyes.

He stepped back and bowed. She mirrored him.

"Good night, Rosalyn." His expression had softened completely. He looked younger.

"Good night, Valarr." She fidgeted with her fingers.

The days that followed were nicer. Frequent visits passed between husband and wife. Valarr showed her the Grand Maester's great book collection, she adored it immediately. He spent afternoons asking about Highgarden, what she missed, the flowers she loved most. He was especially keen on learning about flowers native to the Reach, going out of his way between duties to question maesters and lords from the region. He found a book about floral specimens collected near Highgarden and read it in a single night. Easy, given his lack of sleep.

Rosalyn began finding more warmth in King's Landing now that she had a friend beside her. Valarr showed her quiet spots where curious lordlings would not find her. He let her stay silent when she needed, never pushing for answers she did not have.

But still, no letters came from Highgarden. It ate at her. She could not bear to think her mother resented her for being forced to leave, though her last memory whispered that Eleanor had not been happy. No word from Rowan either. The days passed, and Rosalyn remained trapped between embracing the life she could have and mourning the life she had lost.

And to worsen matters, she was no longer allowed into her newly discovered garden. Guards had been instructed to keep her out while it underwent renovation. She thought perhaps Prince Baelor had chosen to replace his bench and plant more flowers after their conversation.

She lingered in other spots, some quiet, some noisy. That was how she began hearing the rumors. About her. About Valarr. About their marriage. Rumor had it she was still not with child, though only two weeks had passed since the wedding. But whispers were powerful things. Soon enough, she would receive a visit from their master.

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The banquet was nothing if not boastful. A wide variety of food had been imported from all corners of Westeros and beyond, and the Throne Hall was filled to the brim with cheerful lords and ladies. Candlelight brightened the evening as music flooded the chamber, and the main table was presided over by the dragon House. King Daeron II sat at the front, a wide smile playing on his lips as he took his wife's hand and placed a swift kiss on the back of it. To his other side, Prince Baelor observed the room with a cup of wine in his right hand, his mind as clear as ever.

And just to Baelor's right, Prince Valarr and Lady Rosalyn sat in awkward silence, debating between eating their food and exchanging strange looks. Valarr twisted his rings incessantly, occasionally reaching up to caress the amethyst pendant around his neck: his mother's prized possession. He had engaged in polite small talk for most of the evening, delivering a swift yet politically meaningful speech as his father nodded in agreement. But he had not spoken a word with his new lady wife, who seemed more interested in the reflection of the candlelight than in Valarr himself.

His jaw tensed. He believed that, perhaps, they had shared a… moment? During the ceremony, he had felt something when they kissed. He could not explain what, exactly, but for a second, all the public around them had faded, as if they had fallen off the edge of the world. He could only remember her soft, delicate lips and how perfectly they fit against his. His breath hitched as the memories flooded his mind, and he had to physically bring himself back to reality with a strong gulp of wine.

Rosalyn, on the other hand, had preferred to entertain herself with the shadows of those dancing in front of them. They twirled so gracefully that Rosalyn believed they looked like flowers moved by a soft spring breeze. She kept her hands on her lap, playing and fiddling with her fingers to stop them from moving to her hair, a gesture her father had forbidden. He sat on the King's and Queen's left, speaking of politics and trade while his daughter had just married the heir to the heir. She could barely believe it; she would one day become queen.

But Rosalyn did not want that.

She spared Valarr a quick look before returning her gaze to the dance floor. He was… unexpected, yet not entirely unwelcome. There had been nothing but kindness in his words and gentleness in his gaze, and oh gods, she doubted she would ever forget what had happened in the Sept of Baelor. How caring he had been when he kissed her, but most of all, how Rosalyn had basked in the feeling. She had enjoyed it. And she felt guilty for it.

Her mother was suffering in a home that had become her cage, and her brother was now under the reign of a sibling who hated the world around him. And here she was, leaning into the kiss of the prince she had been practically sold to. There were no words to describe the tempest of feelings unleashing in her heart; duty clashing with memory, desire with guilt.

"My lady," Valarr's voice forced her out of her mind, and she turned to look at him. He was wearing that perfect mask, Rosalyn thought: the Young Prince in the flesh, serious and determined. "May I have this dance?" He extended his hand to her, and she stared at it with doe eyes.

The nuptial dance, of course. How could she have forgotten? She had spent entire weeks rehearsing with her instructor back home. Luckily, due to her ability to hyperfocus, Rosalyn had managed to become incredibly efficient. She took his hand, and they both stood, slowly making their way down the dais to the dance floor. All heads turned to look at them, and while Valarr held his head high in response, Rosalyn kept hers lowered.

When they reached the center, a soft melody began playing, one that reminded Rosalyn of the lullabies her mother used to sing to Delena when she was just a babe. Valarr searched for her eyes as he placed their palms together, tentatively setting his other hand on her lower back, waiting for her approval. She gave him a small nod, and his touch tightened slightly.

As their dance began, they moved stiffly, their bodies coordinating but not blending into one. Her twirls were perfect; his double step remained unmatched, but it was a performance. They were both terrified of making a mistake, even more of disappointing the other. Valarr's eyes tried to focus on anything that wasn't her so as not to lose concentration, but he failed every time. Her shy mouth, honey eyes, soft jaw, and beautiful neck were all magnets he was simply unable to resist. He almost tripped twice.

Rosalyn's focus was on her own feet, trying not to step on him and maintain a coordinated pattern of movements that would not result in her becoming the laughingstock of the court, and, by extension, Valarr as well. Occasionally, her eyes rose to meet his, and all focus broke. She could feel the warmth of his hand on her lower back, how he gently but swiftly guided her every movement, and the way his breath brushed her right cheek. She could feel every sensation he stirred in her, and she could not decide whether she liked it or not.

When the dance finished, they both bowed their heads to each other as the crowd cheered and clapped. The newlyweds turned to offer polite, yet tight, smiles to their adoring public, then immediately bowed to the King and Queen, who remained seated at the table. Soon after, they returned to their seats and engaged in some small talk with Valarr's family, including his father, brother, and cousins. Rosalyn met Maekar's children—Aemon, Aegon, and Daella—who offered their congratulations and blessings to the couple. Rosalyn particularly enjoyed her interaction with the young Aemon, who was immensely interested in books and knowledge, recommending some reading to the quiet girl and patiently waiting for her replies.

Valarr observed the interaction from a short distance. Rosalyn seemed awkward, not really skilled at interacting with children, but they were all strangely drawn to her, asking questions and watching her every silence. And he found himself in an equal situation as he watched her too. As the night went on, laughter filled the room, and the realm felt joy, true joy, for the first time in a while. Political instability, internal divisions, and fear had been strong in the past, but nothing a good wedding could not solve, even if only for a few hours. Valarr wondered if it was truly so easy to forget about the world with just one event.

He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. It was of no importance; the only thing he wanted was to get himself and Rosalyn out of there as quickly as possible. She seemed overwhelmed, constantly whipping her neck toward loud noises and trying to keep her gaze lowered to avoid curious nobles. They both just sat there, waiting for the event to end.

But a new type of anxiety crept into Valarr's mind as a slight blush showed on his neck and cheeks. What was to come after the banquet? He began twisting his rings, and his feet tapped the floor several times. Fourteen times in one minute, to be exact, according to his count. He had been… told about the activities that were meant to happen in order to produce an heir, but he lacked any practical experience in the matter.

He spared her one quick look. Her shoulders were as tense as her mouth. They barely knew each other, and he could not demand such a thing from her, especially seeing how startled she already was. He bit his lower lip as his gaze lowered to the floor. What if she did not want him? But still, an heir had to come from their union. The Seven Kingdoms would expect a babe in Rosalyn's belly sooner rather than later, and if they did not get one…

He tipped his head back and forced himself to stop twisting his rings. He would have to perform his duty, and he would hope that she had the same mindset. But Rosalyn's lashes shadowed her hazel eyes as she focused them on the cup in front of her.

A boy slightly younger than her sat near the three children she had been speaking to, with sandy hair and lost eyes. She thought he looked odd, as if his mind had absented itself from the banquet. But when they locked eyes, his stare became even more unnerving. He looked at her as if she were a ghost from the past, wide-eyed, with a slight tremor in his right hand.

"Excuse me." He quickly stood and walked away, but Rosalyn lost him in the crowd, trying to track him with her eyes. She was left with an uneasy feeling in her heart. Valarr noticed as well, and he wondered why his cousin had begun behaving so differently after his mother's death. Perhaps he was still in mourning, he thought.

Time went on, and when the clock struck midnight, King Daeron II thanked the guests for attending his grandson's wedding. The event had ended, with various lords and ladies laughing hand in hand as they exited the Throne Hall. Even Prince Baelor had stood, going to greet his three brothers before they all retired to their apartments.

Lady Rosalyn stood and allowed the family members to welcome her one last time, especially Queen Myriah, to whom Rosalyn curtsied without hesitation. The older woman stared at her with a warm smile but assessing eyes, clearly analyzing whether the girl in front of her had what it took to one day occupy her place. With Lady Jena long gone, Rosalyn would be the next queen after her, and it would be no easy task.

Myriah placed her fingertips on Rosalyn's chin and lifted it so their eyes could meet. Rosalyn's big eyes shook slightly.

"Welcome, child." Simply that. No more words were spoken by the Queen as she stared at her new granddaughter for a short time. Then she stepped back to take her husband's arm, and they both headed to their own chambers.

Valarr returned to Rosalyn's side and offered her his arm. She had not even noticed him, watching the monarchs leave the space, and his presence sent shivers down her spine.

"I believe the ceremony has come to an end," he whispered. She nodded twice without looking at him. Her breaths were short and rapid, and he began counting them as silence stretched between them. "Shall I escort you back?"

Rosalyn's breath hitched. Oh no, she thought. Her mind had been so occupied with thoughts of her own guilt that she had completely forgotten about what followed the ceremony. She gulped and looked ahead, toward their fathers engaged in conversation. She felt a cold sensation creep up her spine, and what came was not excitement, nor anticipation: it was fear.

Did she want it? Any part of it? She felt exhausted after trying to find answers to the questions that had plagued her since the moment she saw him for the first time. Her head had been spinning nonstop for days now, and the only thing she truly desired was to crawl into the arms of someone who would hold her, even if only for a minute.

"My lady?" Valarr's voice was soft as he angled his face toward her, dipping his head slightly to see her features properly.

"Yes." Her voice was clipped as she answered, choosing to avoid eye contact with her new husband.

Valarr's lips flattened as he took in her seeming detachment, wondering whether it was for the same reason he believed it to be. Still, he nodded and shared one last look with his father, who saw them about to depart for their chambers.

Prince Baelor cut his conversation short with Lord Leo and turned toward the two young people. When he stepped in front of them, all he could see was a boy trying his best to look like a man, and a girl too scared to be a woman. He offered a small smile.

"I do hope you enjoyed the ceremony," Baelor spoke to both of them, even if he knew the answer already. He had been watching them dance, barely speak, and look at the floor for most of it. His son looked at him with a carefully sculpted expression, one that signaled confidence.

"Yes, Father. Thank you for all your efforts." He bowed his head to the Prince and was surprised when Baelor placed his hand on top of it, caressing him. Valarr's eyes widened, still facing the floor. Baelor's gesture was both silent and quick, withdrawing his hand in a matter of seconds. When they made eye contact again, both their hearts did something complicated.

Then Prince Baelor turned to look at his new daughter, who had preferred to study the table cloth rather than him. It almost made him laugh. He placed both hands on her shoulders, startling her as she looked back at him.

"We are happy to welcome you into our family, daughter." His voice was warm and soft, and Rosalyn simply stared at him. How did the man always know what words to use, and how to use them? He was perfect, in every sense of the word. Hearing him call her daughter was strange, she thought, but surprisingly… comforting. The only times another man had called her that, his words had carried a sense of derision instead of warmth.

She smiled genuinely, in a way that reached her eyes. Valarr observed the interaction, and he wished she would smile like that at him as well, but he quickly shook his head and looked at his father once more.

"Good night to both of you." Prince Baelor gave his son one last, quick look that Valarr did not know how to interpret. When he stepped back, the two were left alone again.

Without another word, Rosalyn slowly took Valarr's arm and interlaced her hand with his, taking a deep breath as she waited for him to lead the way.

Valarr hesitated before starting to walk, doubt threatening to paralyze him, but he did not allow it. Very slowly, they made their way out of the Throne Room and walked the almost empty halls of the Red Keep, with only the guards keeping them company. The silence was excruciating and yet eerily comforting, as if they were both sharing a deep understanding of the fears and doubts that plagued their minds, but neither knew that the other felt the same.

The walk to their shared chambers was one hundred and seventy steps away from the banquet hall, as Valarr had counted. The Kingsguards opened the doors to reveal a big, yet warm space, with a similar decoration to the other rooms Valarr knew. He had specifically had it built and decorated following the standard design for guest rooms, such as the one Rosalyn had occupied when she first arrived at King's Landing. He did not want her to feel as if the space belonged to someone else, but rather a place she could make her own if she wished. He watched her reaction like a hawk, trying to gauge whether his instinct had been correct.

But Rosalyn remained quiet, her face still as her eyes roamed through the chambers. There were multiple bookcases, with several reading spaces and chairs placed around the room, and the bed was big enough for both of them and perhaps four others, she thought. The fireplace had been lit, keeping the space both illuminated and warm for their arrival. But the cold she felt came from inside her, an obvious byproduct of the chills that had been traveling up and down her spine for the last thirty minutes. They both remained still as she took everything in, and he allowed her to.

"Is everything to your liking?" he finally spoke, unable to handle the unknown for one more second. Rosalyn's mouth did something strange, as if she had attempted to speak but had pressed her lips together instead.

She took one more look around.

"It is warm," she conceded, but that was not enough for the nearly nerve-wracked Valarr.

"Is that… good?" he asked, not knowing how to interpret her lack of words. She nodded twice, and Valarr realized that the dim light emitted by the fireplace still allowed him to count her freckles. Thirty-two.

The couple remained silent for a while, but neither of them moved, lingering by the door. She was frozen with uncertainty; he was holding back for both their sakes.

Rosalyn took a step forward, her hands clenched tight as she tried to steady the tremors that shook her, and Valarr watched. She hesitated before turning to look at him, and her eyes shone with something he could not quite describe, but recognized in himself.

Rosalyn did not speak, simply because her voice had failed her again. She did not want to do it, but she also did not want to not do it. Two worlds collided in her mind as she tried to pull herself back into one piece, and Valarr waited for her to be ready.

"Lady Rosalyn—"

"Rosalyn. Just that." She interrupted with a shaky voice.

"Rosalyn," he corrected, and he very much liked the sound of her name on his tongue. "I will not force you to do something you do not want to participate in." He whispered softly, not knowing whether it was the right decision for the kingdom, but it was the right decision for his wife.

Her gaze remained locked on the floor, but his words eased all the tension that had eaten at her since they began walking toward the chamber. Did he not expect it from her now?

"But it is my duty as your wife—"

"Stop."

Rosalyn looked up at him immediately, finding Valarr with his eyes closed and his hand raised to his temple, a pained expression on his face.

"Are you in pain, my Prince?" she asked softly, her gaze flickering between his temple and his closed eyes.

"Valarr. Just that." He mimicked her previous words, and a soft smile played on her lips.

"But you are the Prince," she countered, and he released an amused sigh.

"I am also Valarr."

He surprised himself with his own words, because it was not often he saw himself as just that. But perhaps he wanted her to see him as just Valarr. He opened his eyes and found her already staring, that soft smile eliciting one of his own, a small dimple appearing. It immediately caught Rosalyn's eyes.

Valarr's headaches had already begun to flare up, but he would not share that just yet. She had enough worries of her own. They shared a quiet, gentle moment before Valarr walked to the bed and simply sat on the edge, releasing an exhausted breath that had haunted him for hours. Rosalyn hesitated, looking around and biting her lip before, very slowly, joining him.

"I am sorry, Rosalyn," Valarr began quietly, his eyes slightly unfocused as he stared at the stone wall. "I can tell you did not wish for this." A sad, quiet laugh escaped him.

Rosalyn looked at him, really looked. He was just a boy, truly, an exhausted and perfectly human boy. He was not like his father, but he had pretended to be since she had met him days ago. And yet, this was the first time she saw him hunched over slightly, his head pressed against his hand as he rested his elbow on his knee. He looked so tired she almost wanted to put her arms around him, but she did not. Instead, she sat still and looked at her feet.

"I miss my mother." Her voice was barely a whisper, and tears began welling up in her eyes. She had not meant to say that, but it was the only thing she could say. The only thing that had occupied her mind every single second of every single day since she had left her behind.

Valarr turned to look at her, and his heart twisted when he finally got confirmation that she had been forced into a situation she clearly did not want. The muscles in his jaw tensed, and he shook his head, closing his eyes for a second. He did not know what to say, nor what to do. He could grant her an annulment, of course, but what would that mean for House Targaryen? Or House Tyrell? Or anyone else, for that matter? Instead, he said something else.

"So do I."

Rosalyn did not look at him, but she understood. She had studied his family back in Highgarden, and so she knew Prince Baelor's wife had passed years ago in childbirth. They both sat there, quiet and tired from trying day after day.

"The realm needs an heir," Valarr's voice held a certain edge to it, one that cut him deep. He knew this. Rosalyn tensed up next to him, a warm tear falling down her cheek, but Valarr turned and looked at her with a soft gaze and a small, tired smile. "But not tonight. Not until you want one as well."

Rosalyn's gaze left his face and turned to the fireplace on the other side of the room. The fire crackled slowly, the sound bringing her comfort. Her voice was thick with emotion as she spoke next.

"And if I never do?" A question, but also a confession.

Valarr sighed with a heavy heart and an even heavier mind. He needed an heir; it was not debatable. He was the continuation of House Targaryen, and the line had to live on. The realm needed more stability, the kind that only a royal baby could bring. He would be seen as weak, and the court would look at Rosalyn as if she had failed. And yet… He was not that kind of man, and he would never be. Valarr would never dream of hurting any woman, especially not his own wife. He closed his eyes as the storm raged inside him, and Rosalyn could not bring herself to look at him.

"Tonight, we shall still share this chamber, so as not to arouse suspicions that…" He trailed off.

"The marriage has not been consummated," Rosalyn finished for him, and they both sighed.

"Indeed."

They both decided to give the other privacy to change into more comfortable clothes, Rosalyn hiding behind the screen that hid the bathing tub from the rest of the chamber. Valarr did not turn his head to look, not even once, no matter how much he wished to. She stepped back into his sight wearing a white nightgown, with unruly curls floating around her. He was wearing white breeches and a soft tunic, but he stepped away from the bed and walked toward one of the large sofas.

Rosalyn stared in confusion as he simply lay there, struggling to fit his body onto it.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice both curious and bewildered.

Valarr looked back at her with furrowed eyebrows.

"I will be taking the sofa, of course." He gestured toward the bed. "The bed is yours."

"But you are the Prince. I shall sleep on the sofa," she countered, walking toward him. He stood and shook his head.

"That is nonsense. You are my wife." He felt strange pronouncing her new title, and she blushed. That pleased him. "What kind of husband would I be if I allowed you to take the sofa while I took the bed?"

Rosalyn pondered the question for a minute.

"A smart one?"

Valarr laughed loudly, and that startled her. He shook his head as the headache left him completely. She smiled, enjoying the sound of his laugh.

"I would rather be a stupid one, then."

Her smile widened slightly, and she looked between him and the bed.

"I…" She did not know how to choose her words. "I would feel terrible."

Valarr's eyes softened, and he tilted his head to the left, looking at his wife.

"I would feel even worse, then, were you to sleep here instead of me." He smiled at her, and he loved how her brow furrowed when she was concentrating.

"Could we not…" Her tongue betrayed her as it felt heavier than before, clearly not wanting to speak. Valarr's eyebrows rose as he waited for her to continue.

"Yes?"

Rosalyn's neck was now a bright shade of red, and the pink in her cheeks would soon match it as well.

"Well… i-is the bed not big enough?" Her voice was high-pitched, more than she had ever heard herself sound, and that embarrassed her even further. As she struggled to find the right words, he felt a certain warmth of his own creep up his cheeks.

She was a genuinely sweet girl, he thought. Too sweet, perhaps. Like Matarys, who did not know how to set boundaries with others. Valarr stepped forward, their bodies close as he looked down at her face. Rosalyn matched his movement, and when they locked eyes, she could see him smiling.

"I shall not take up any more of your space tonight. You deserve to be at complete ease." He was gentle and careful, picking his words with expertise. Rosalyn's heart warmed as she was disarmed by his kindness.

"Bu—"

"And that is all I will hear of this matter anymore." He turned around and lay down on the sofa again, ignoring his wife. She was left standing awkwardly, not knowing where to look nor what to do. "Rest well, Rosalyn."

She pressed her lips together, trying to repress the smile behind them. She walked back to the giant bed and lay down on the corner, close to the edge. She placed some of the pillows behind her back, caging herself into a smaller space, but making herself feel more comfortable.

Neither of them could fall asleep at first, staring at the wall, the ceiling, whatever was in their range. She wanted her heart to stop racing, and he wanted nothing more than to get up again. When sleep finally found them, hours had already passed, and Valarr did not doze off completely, waking up several times throughout the night.

When light peeked through the curtains the next morning, Rosalyn opened her eyes slowly, turning toward the light as she gently stretched her arms. She brought her hand up to her mouth as she yawned, blinking twice as her eyes adjusted to the brightness of day. But when she realized where she was—and with whom—she shot upward with disheveled hair and drowsy eyes. Her gaze roamed through the entire chamber, stopping at the empty sofa. Valarr was gone.

As she stood slowly, her bare feet touching the cold stone, she walked toward it and found a small note on the table next to the sofa.

V.

I shall see you at noon.

I hope sleep found you quickly.

A smile danced on her lips as she held the paper, happy that he had not simply left without any word. While she was glad she did not have to face him so early, she was also slightly disappointed that he had left. A confusing sensation, really.

Two knocks came at the door, and she turned toward them.

"My lady, may we come in?" She recognized the voices—the three women who had helped her prepare for supper on her first night. "You must break fast before attending your lessons with the septas."

The day had just begun.

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The Red Keep was buzzing with life and chaos alike as everyone prepared for the Young Prince's wedding ceremony that would take place in five days' time. Banners of House Targaryen marked every hall, every tower, every stone wall. Lords and ladies from across the Seven Kingdoms were already on their way to King's Landing, no matter how far they had to come; everyone wished to see the union that would continue the Targaryen line.

King Daeron's line.

Prince Baelor's line.

These days were the hardest for Valarr, who just wished to have a moment of peace and quiet in between the never-ending duties and tasks, but could not seem to find any. He had been about to sit down in his chambers when he heard knocks that did not wait to be answered. Queen Myriah Martell entered the room with a bright smile and a dozen servants behind her, immediately locking eyes with her eldest grandson. Her eyes lit up as she laughed softly and walked up to him, bringing her hands to the sides of his face and looking at him.

"My sweet boy." Her whole expression softened. Valarr took a close look at his grandmother; her skin was still kissed by the sun, but he could see how age had worn her down. Her long, thick hair had never once shown a single grey hair, that was the truth. But her eyes seemed tired, even if her character did not reflect it. She wore a deep red gown, with golden bracelets and a nose ring that connected to her earring through a delicate chain. Valarr's smile softened as well as she placed a kiss on his cheek, bowing slightly just so he would not tower over her.

"Grandmother," He spoke quietly as she let him embrace her for a long minute. When she stepped back, she took a good look at him. Valarr's exhausted eyes told her he had not been sleeping properly, but everything else about him was perfect; black and scarlet garments that had been thoroughly picked, and not a single hair out of place.

"It is a joyful day, Valarr," She clapped and all the servants behind her spread out across the room, placing garments on the chairs and settees in Valarr's chambers. He looked around him as it all unfolded, not daring to protest. His grandmother was a force to be reckoned with, and he knew better. "She arrives today."

Fuck, he thought. His bride-to-be, the mysterious Tyrell lady, would indeed be arriving at King's Landing in a few hours. He knew it already, of course he did; he had been counting the days since his father had told him he was to marry her. One hundred and eighty-three, to be exact. But he had been so exhausted and occupied with his royal duties that his mind had not caught up to the date yet.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and he felt the immediate pulsation in his head, but he could not risk it that day; he had to be perfect. When he opened them again, he smiled at the woman and nodded once.

"I am aware, Grandmother." He kissed her cheek as well, much to Myriah's delight. She turned around and began ordering the men and women at her service to prepare the garments. "What am I to do now?" He asked as his eyes scanned every single person in the room.

"You will try on your wedding garments, of course." She said nonchalantly, but every mention of the ceremony sped up Valarr's heart. He felt as if the time had passed excruciatingly slowly and impossibly quickly at the same time. He was not ready to meet her, least of all marry her, but he was ready to show the realm that he could.

"Oh, of course." He took a step forward and allowed the seamstresses to measure his body with their tapes, opening his arms and holding his head high, his mismatched eyes not knowing where to land. Myriah spoke to one of the women about the types of silk they had brought from the Free Cities, and all the while Valarr tried on tunic after tunic, awaiting the one that would be ultimately approved by the Queen.

An hour later, Queen Myriah Martell stepped forward as everyone else retreated. She looked at her grandson and a satisfied smile spread on her face, clapping three times. Valarr stared at his reflection in the mirror, trying to come to terms with what he saw. The doublet was black, as befitted a prince of House Targaryen, but threaded through with red so deep it seemed to drink the light. The three-headed dragon of his house was embroidered across his chest in gold and silver thread, its wings spreading toward his shoulders. His sleeves had been designed to reveal glimpses of crimson silk beneath.

"Perfection." Myriah whispered behind him.

Valarr pondered on whether his bride would think the same, or if she would even care. He had always done his best to be enough; for the realm, for his father, for his House, for the history of Westeros. And now, he was about to add one more person to that list, someone that would perhaps meet her first disappointment the moment she laid eyes upon him. He gulped. That was stupid, of course it was, he thought. Prince Valarr had been the object of desire of many young ladies at court, their fathers trying to land a marriage agreement for the girls.

But what if she thought differently?

He began twisting the rings on his fingers as his eyes remained locked on his reflection. A dragon, that is what he saw. That is what he had always seen.

Because there was nothing else to see.

Once the Queen had approved of her grandson's wedding attire, she left his chambers so he could prepare to meet his Lady. Prince Valarr had decided to don a black tunic with the dragon's silver pin on the left of his chest, next to his heart. The collar had reddish undertones that matched those on the lower part of the doublet. He took one last look in the mirror and took a deep breath, lifting his chin and nodding to himself once.

Many had done this before him, and many would come after him. He would not fail such a simple task.

His steps were decisive as the doors to his chambers opened and he walked out, flanked by two Kingsguards that followed him through the halls of the Red Keep. As he navigated the palace, he counted every single person that crossed his path, no matter their station. He also counted his steps to the main entrance, but his determination never wavered, not even when he found his father and a small committee of nobles already waiting for him.

When the soft sunlight shone on him for the first time, the ache returned, and he lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. His father noticed, but he only gave his son a curt nod as he approached.

"Good, you are here." He clasped his son's shoulder and brought him closer. Valarr would not look at his father, instead choosing to analyze the fanfare that had been organized to receive the Tyrells. Flower petals had been scattered across the patio, and the lords and ladies had chosen to wear their finest silks for the day. His father had chosen a similar attire to his son; black and red, with the Hand's pin on his shoulder. Valarr also noticed he had trimmed his beard, which for some reason, was hilarious to him. A small smile played on his lips, and Baelor cocked his head to the left. "I am glad you are taking this with a hint of humor."

Valarr shook his head and looked away once more. He did not find it a laughing matter to be married off to someone he had never met before. The headache became stronger, and his hand twitched as he reined in the impulse to touch his temple. Baelor said nothing, but he did squeeze his son's shoulder.

"You are doing your duty," Baelor's voice was barely above a whisper, something for only Valarr to hear. "You will be great, I know it."

What Baelor thought to be words of encouragement landed as crushing pressure for Valarr; he had to be great, there was no other option for him. He could not allow for a single mistake, not when his and his wife's future depended on it. Seven hells, House Targaryen's entire bloodline depended on him performing his duty adequately. His mind began to spiral and he drew in a shaky breath, which he was careful enough to hide from his father.

Father, I'm scared.

But he did not say those words. He would never admit that to the man that had ended Daemon Blackfyre's rebellion, nor the man who had earned the name "Breakspear" at just sixteen. The man who had become the King's Hand so early in his life, and the man who held the realm together even when it wanted nothing more than to fall apart. He would not, he could not.

The herald's trumpet startled everyone by the entrance, and not much later, the doors of the Red Keep opened to reveal the bannermen of House Tyrell riding their white horses. One, two, five, seven horse riders entered the patio as they escorted a carriage behind them, and Valarr's entire world slowed down as his eyes zoomed on it. It was hers. With golden forged roses on its walls, he immediately observed two figures inside it. Anticipation flowed through his veins as he clenched and unclenched his strong jaw several times. Three, to be specific.

The two princes were already standing ahead of everyone else, the guards flanking them as they waited for the carriage to slow down. When it slowed to a stop, two guards that belonged to House Tyrell stepped forward to open the carriage's white and golden door. Valarr gulped.

Lord Leo Tyrell was the first one to step out, his golden hair blown back by the wind as his proud, somewhat arrogant smile danced on his lips. When he saw his princes, he immediately curtsied as low as he could and stepped forward to shake Prince Baelor's hand.

"My Prince," He spoke with reverence in his voice. "It is an absolute honor to see you again."

Prince Baelor offered him a polite smile as he looked back to the carriage.

"It is our pleasure." He fired back so quickly Lord Tyrell did not have enough time to muster a response. He then looked at Prince Valarr, and his smile widened. Valarr did exactly what his father had done before him as he shook his hand, but his eyes did not once leave the carriage.

Where was she?

"Prince Valarr, I present—" He looked back to see that the daughter he had brought to present to the court was not by his side. Not that he had looked for her or helped her step out of the carriage. When he turned to the carriage, he saw the guard that had helped him down look inside before quickly giving the Lord an awkward look. "Forgive my daughter, she is…" He gritted his teeth subtly but maintained a calm appearance. "Shy."

Prince Baelor cleared his throat once, and if nobody else had been watching, Valarr may have walked up to the carriage himself just to take a damn look at the girl, but he noticed his father's hand on his arm. Valarr had taken a step forward without even realizing it. He shot a look at his father, who was staring forward but clearly trying to bring Valarr back to reality.

Lord Tyrell returned to the carriage, and the two men behind him could hear some of his whispers.

"Girl, come out this instant."

A soft gasp in response, one that made Valarr's heartbeat quicken and his mismatched eyes widen slightly. Lord Tyrell offered his daughter his hand so as to help her step out of the carriage.

Valarr's jaw dropped.

Lady Rosalyn Tyrell was perhaps the most beautiful being he had ever laid his eyes upon; her features were soft, rounder than his, but she had eyes colored both green and soft brown, with flecks of gold that reminded him of honey. Her brown locks had been braided and brought up to an intricate, low bun at the nape of her neck; secure, elegant, keeping all strands in place so not one would come loose. Tiny white flowers had been woven through the braids, and they were so small they could have been mistaken for tiny pearls at a distance. Her gown was also breathtaking, but because of its perfect simplicity. It was not white, not quite, rather the color of morning light shining through soft silk, pale champagne with a slight warmth to it. The bodice had been fitted close to her frame, and the remaining fabric fell in liquid folds to the floor, moving with her like water. But the sleeves also caught his eyes, translucent as dragonfly wings, embroidered with trailing vines so delicate they seemed to have grown there. Tiny leaves and flowers climbed toward her shoulders in golden thread, catching the sunlight as she moved. No jewels, no ostentatious pendants nor bracelets, just her.

He had to draw in a sharp breath before his lungs gave out, and it took him several minutes to regain control of his own body and mind. He believed he could not be seeing correctly, as it seemed like the Maiden herself had just stepped out of that carriage. As she approached, he sought to memorize every single detail of her impeccable features, and of course, he started counting all the freckles on her face before he could even blink. Thirty-two, those that were at least visible.

Lady Rosalyn spared both princes a very quick look before curtsying as low as she could, her head bowed, but Valarr's eyes traced her every movement: the curve of her soft jaw, the way her eyelashes lowered, and other parts that he had to remind himself to look away from. A soft blush crept onto his cheeks as he lowered his own head slightly, bowing to the lady.

Prince Baelor's smile had turned from polite to warm in just seconds after laying his eyes on the girl. He did not step forward to welcome her, he just stood where he was and bowed his head as well, surprising both Lord Tyrell and Rosalyn herself, who watched one of the most powerful men in the realm lower his head to her.

"My lady," He spoke softly, looking at her. "Welcome to King's Landing."

Rosalyn gulped, feeling all eyes on her. The lords and ladies behind them waited with expectant eyes, and the princes in front of her stared as if there was something wrong with her face. She blushed, lowered her eyes and nodded to the Prince. Baelor, on his part, arched his eyebrow at the reaction, but then turned to his son, clearly waiting for him to say something.

But Valarr, the perfect prince who always knew what to say and how to perform, was just… speechless. When he felt his father's gaze upon him, he immediately cleared his throat, took a step forward and reached for the lady's hand, but when she flinched at his touch, he froze. They simply stayed still for a few seconds, both fathers waiting for either of them to do something. Valarr gulped and, instead of letting her go, he brought her hand up to his lips, placing a soft kiss that did not linger.

But his eyes did, and he saw.

He saw the light scarring on her wrist, and his eyes squinted slightly trying to decode how that may have befallen such a beautiful lady. Still, Rosalyn drew her hand back as quickly as he had taken it. Valarr's lips parted, confused at the whole interaction, but still aware of where they were at the moment.

"It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Lady Rosalyn," He offered her the same clipped smile he had for everyone around him, but for those who did not know him, all they could see was charm and beauty. "I am Prince Valarr, your future husband."

The words came out the wrong way, Valarr thought. Husband? That felt odd in his mind, but his smile remained there, and his eyes did the best they could to be convincing.

But Rosalyn noticed everything. She watched how he had twisted his rings as Prince Baelor welcomed her, and she saw how his smile did not reach his eyes, not even once. His shoulders were tense, and his mouth too tight, even when smiling. And yet, she could not be oblivious to his beauty; his white streak had captivated her the moment she laid her eyes upon it, and his mismatched eyes were almost hypnotizing. She believed that if she looked into them long enough, perhaps she would get lost in them. He was the perfect image of a Prince, with his soft features, strong jaw, and impeccable pose, but yet…

He seemed to be something else. She saw the pretension in his eyes, but she could not look at him for long enough to dig deeper into it without blushing like a blooming rose.

After what seemed like an eternity for Valarr's poor heart, he finally heard his betrothed's voice:

"Your Graces," She spoke in a low, soft tone that made Valarr want to lose his mind just to see if she would grace him with one more word.

But Rosalyn's tongue felt a thousand times heavier in her mouth; away from home, surrounded by people whom she did not know, those who would not understand. She felt her father's cold hand on her back, giving her a subtle and almost imperceptible push toward the Prince, clearly forcing her to speak more. A small whimper escaped her voice, and she resisted the urge to twist her hair while lowering her gaze to the Prince's arms, resting at his sides.

They must have been sculpted by the Gods.

Focus!

"W-we thank you for hosting us," She stuttered once, and Rosalyn heard her father's exasperated sigh at her side. "It is our pleasure." She immediately cringed at her choice of words, trying to correct herself before it was too late. "Our honor! I meant our honor…"

Valarr's lips twitched upward, but he reined in the smile. She did not seem slow, she seemed nervous. Was she as anxious as he was? Did she share his uncertainty? She had just left her home to marry him; he could only imagine what that must have felt like. A foreign land, full of foreign people, and a father who seemed like he belonged in the lowest pits of the seven hells.

"It is your honor, and our pleasure indeed." He reassured her, and for the first time since she stepped out of the carriage, they locked eyes for more than a split second. She seemed surprised at his apparent kindness, and her cheeks carried a soft rubor that made every other woman in the Seven Kingdoms and beyond disappear, Valarr thought. His mismatched eyes shone with a softness that Rosalyn needed, but she could not forget.

King's Landing was a nest of vipers, and House Targaryen was not to be trifled with. She gulped and looked away again, and Valarr's world turned black and white once more.

The next few minutes were blurry in both of their minds. Prince Baelor invited the Tyrell guests to step inside the Keep, and ordered two servants to show them to their respective rooms.

Rosie and Valarr stood two steps behind their respective fathers, looking everywhere but at each other. The two teenagers struggled to spark a conversation as they let their sires do the heavy work for them, until Valarr tried to break the silence.

"I hope your travels were not too arduous, my lady." He turned to look at her, and the girl's side profile stunned him once again. He quickly looked ahead.

Rosalyn, on the other hand, could not even nod as she was too focused on walking in a straight line behind her father, calculating every step. Valarr noticed, counting how many she took as they walked together; forty-five, forty-six, forty—

Their fathers stopped, and Rosalyn almost walked into Lord Tyrell's back. She struggled to keep her balance, but Valarr quickly placed a hand on the small of her back and steadied her, much to Rosalyn's horror as she felt his touch. She despised physical touch, because she saw it as an invasion of her privacy and space, but he was quick and respectful. As soon as she had her two feet firmly on the ground again, he retreated and took one step back.

"Apologies," His voice shook slightly as he began to speak, but he quickly masked it with a confident tone. "Are you all right?"

Rosalyn also took one step back, and the space between them was noticeable now. So much so that even the guards behind them exchanged confused yet amused looks. She nodded quickly, four times in a row per Valarr's count.

Why wouldn't she speak to him? Had he been too bold with his advances? Perhaps he had intimidated the lady? He opened his mouth to speak, but looking at her wide-eyed stare, he closed it again. His father's voice interrupted the moment.

"We shall meet again for supper," Baelor turned to look at Lord Tyrell and Lady Rosalyn with a calm expression. "Until then, I do hope you can find some rest."

"Your hospitality precedes you, my Prince." Lord Tyrell humbly lowered his head once again.

By the time Valarr turned to look at Rosalyn again, she had already bowed her head to both of them and turned to be escorted to her chambers. He was left with the words on the tip of his tongue and a mind that would not stop racing.

What had just happened?

The walk back to the chambers was quiet, at least on Rosalyn's side. Lord Tyrell would salute every noble he encountered through the halls, his smile static, but when they arrived at Rosalyn's chambers, the Tyrell guards behind her stopped as her father turned to speak to her.

"What do you think this is, girl?" His voice had taken a dark turn in comparison with his previous conversations with the Hand. His facial features had also hardened, his mouth pressing into a thin line as the muscles on his jaw twitched. "You shall not embarrass me like that again, or somebody else will pay for your insolence. Do you understand?"

Rosie's eyes widened and she lowered her head, looking at the floor. She knew who would receive the lashings for her lack of expression.

"I asked you a question." He hissed in frustration, and something akin to anger sparked in Rosalyn's soul. She very slowly lifted her head, giving him a stone-cold look that saw right through his soul. A chill went through the Lord's spine.

She nodded.

He looked to both sides before muttering something to himself and deciding to walk to his own chambers.

One guard stayed with Rosalyn; she had not met him before leaving for King's Landing, but he seemed around her father's age. He opened the doors of her bedchambers, and she hesitated for a second before taking a slow step inside. The room was big, much bigger than the one at her very own home, with cream-colored curtains that allowed light to flood the chamber. A desk, two bookshelves and a couple of settees next to a fireplace, she noticed. Her bed was big enough for three people, with a canopy that flowed down to the floor. Her belongings had already been taken into the room, placed by the entrance.

And that is where she remained as well. She did not approach the bed, nor the enormous windows, not even the books she loved devouring. She just stayed by the door.

Her heart was racing after the exchange she had just experienced, and she brought one hand to her chest. Why didn't it slow down? She did not know this place, she did not understand these people. And they would never understand her. Rosalyn did not belong in King's Landing; she belonged in her sunny garden, sitting on her bench. The tears came first, hot and heavy with emotion, but the racing heart did not stop.

Her breathing became heavy, and she could feel her lower lip quivering as her vision blurred. Rosalyn's knees buckled and she hit the hard, cold stone floor. There was a lump in her throat that made breathing even harder, but she could not stop. She retreated until her back was against the door, and she just stayed there. Trying to breathe while the world seemed to be falling apart.

An hour later, she had yet to move. The crying had stopped, and her breathing had slowed down, but the dread that paralyzed her body had chosen to remain. Her hands were placed close to her chest, and she had ended up lying in a fetal position on the floor, with her eyes locked on the birds outside her window. The cold stone gave her a comforting contrast to the heat of her own body.

Oh, to be a bird, to fly away. Far, far away. Enough to reach her mother, her brother, her garden.

Her sister, even.

A soft knock came from the door, but she did not move an inch. The knock came again, a bit louder than before.

"My lady?" A woman's voice, deeper than she was accustomed to. It was not one of the ladies that had come with her from Highgarden. The woman sounded older, more impatient, and Rosalyn feared she would never cease her knocking. "My lady, we must prepare you for supper."

Rosalyn picked herself up from the floor slowly, very slowly. Her head spun as she pressed the tips of her fingers against her forehead, her eyes closing trying to regain her focus.

"My lady?" Again, thinner than before. The voice was like a dagger penetrating Rosalyn's skull.

Making use of the door behind her, she managed to stand up with wobbly legs. She took several breaths before turning around and opening the door herself, revealing three handmaidens that looked at her as if she had just been mauled by a direwolf. The one in front was several years older, with hardened features and a strong brow that framed her dark eyes. Her lips pursed in disappointment as she looked the girl up and down. Rosalyn's hair was completely disheveled, her braids holding together for dear life, and her beautiful gown had become dirty with the floor's dust. Her eyes were reddish and swollen, and so were her lips.

They all stared at each other in silence, Rosalyn wanting to crawl beneath the stone and never be seen again by society. At last, the woman hummed and spoke.

"Shall we? There is not much time before the King summons you." Without another word, she pushed past Rosalyn and walked into her bedchambers, the two younger girls behind her following with apologetic looks.

The Tyrell simply stepped aside and let them come in, giving her unflinching guard one wary look before closing the door. When she turned around, they were already drawing up a bath for her and unpacking her belongings, which displeased Rosalyn and moved her to act before ever giving it a thought. She walked up to the older lady who was opening her coffers and stood in front of it, blocking her access. The woman froze, and stood back up slowly.

"Unless you are planning on attending supper as the Gods brought you into this world," Her words were barely a whisper, but her harsh eyes were threatening. "You shall let me find you a proper attire." A pause, then she gritted out through her teeth: "My lady."

Rosalyn just stood there, looking at her. The woman's hands were full of callouses, and she had a scar on her chin. While her gaze seemed angry, it also held the ghost of exhaustion, and Rosalyn wondered just how long she had been working. But she would not move; Rosie had always liked her space to remain just hers, and her belongings to be for her to look through.

So, she turned around and opened the coffer herself, catching the attention of the girls who were preparing her bath. Rosie's determined eyes looked through all the gowns the handmaidens back home had packed for her, but she did not make a mess. She placed the carefully folded clothes on the chair next to the coffer, and when she found the gown she had been looking for, she smiled to herself.

She turned back to the woman and showed her the deep, rich green dress with Tyrell roses embroidered in golden lace, a tight corset by its side. The older woman huffed once, but after she looked at it for a couple more seconds, she nodded with approval.

"That will do." She took it from Rosalyn's hands before the girl could react, startling her. The woman ignored her flinching, but she placed the dress on the bed in a more gentle manner.

The other girls approached Rosalyn, and she stared at them like a deer would a predator. They looked at her expectantly.

"May we help you undress, Lady Rosalyn?" The shorter one spoke, her voice low and laced with wariness. Rosalyn nodded, but only allowed them to touch her no more than necessary to get rid of the garments she wore.

After her gown hit the floor, she stepped out of it and away from the maidens, whose hands had frozen mid-air as Rosalyn withdrew from them. The older lady's eyes scanned her bare body, locking on every single scar on her arms, thighs, chest and stomach. Rosalyn did not hesitate before lowering herself into the warm water, and she made use of the cloth beside her to clean her arms, but as she noticed eyes on her, she stared right back at them until the three turned around.

Rosalyn hated others seeing her scars; they were hers, and she had not given them permission to see them. While the warm water calmed her nerves, sadness crept into her heart as she noticed the lack of flowery aroma, which she always used in Highgarden.

Just an hour later, she had been dressed and prepared for supper, with her long, wavy locks reaching her waist. A small headpiece adorned her head, with the same greenish details that characterized her dress.

Ser Caster Fossoway, whose name she had learned just a few minutes ago, was the guard stationed outside the door. He offered to escort her to the Great Hall, where the royal family would be waiting to have supper together. She could feel the hairs at the back of her neck rise just by thinking of meeting the King and Queen of Westeros; while she had read all there was to know about them, she still felt like she would mess up at any given moment. Ser Caster stopped in the hall next to the Hall, where Lord Leo Tyrell was already waiting for her, his attire having changed but the colors remained the same.

When he turned to see his daughter, he looked her up and down and nodded in approval. Ser Caster bowed his head and allowed the Lord to take Rosalyn's arm, continuing to lead her down the Hall.

"Speak during supper if you are spoken to," He spoke with unnerving calmness, and Rosie's eyes remained locked on her steps. She could do this, she could do this. She had to, for those back home. "Answer questions if posed directly to you, and engage with the Young Prince."

She noted it all down, mentally that is. But she could feel her hands shaking slightly. She was scared, and the only person she needed was miles away from her.

When they reached the Hall, the herald announced their arrival.

"The honorable Lord Leo of House Tyrell, and his daughter, Lady Rosalyn." His voice echoed through the room, and the lights made Rosalyn blink twice. A great table had been set with a bountiful spread of food, enough to feed a whole army. As they walked forward, she quickly analyzed every person standing around it: King Daeron II and Queen Myriah stood at the center, their smiles gentle and their eyes full of warmth, the same warmth she had seen in their eldest son. Prince Baelor stood next to his father, dressed in black attire and wearing the Hand's pin on his chest, and by his side…

Her breath hitched when she saw him again. His mismatched eyes locked onto hers immediately, and he offered her a small yet awkward smile, one that elicited the same response from Rosalyn. He had also changed his attire into a more intricate and elegant tunic, and next to him was who Rosie supposed to be his younger brother, Prince Matarys, with reddish hair and charming blue eyes, offering her a warm smile and a small wave. On Queen Myriah's left were a man with white hair and tired eyes, and a woman with a curious gaze and soft brown hair. Prince Aerys and Lady Aelinor, surely, followed by Prince Rhaegel and Lady Alys as well as their two children, Aelor and Aelora. Rosalyn released a shaky breath as she took in the imposing dragon family that waited for her to sit next to Valarr.

Rosalyn curtsied as low as she could, and her father bent at the waist. King Daeron II raised his hand.

"Welcome, Lord Leo, Lady Rosalyn," His voice was… Rosalyn could not quite find the words to describe it… It felt like the soft, late summer sun on her skin. Warm, but not abrasive; soft, but not weak. His white hair shone against the light emitted by the torches on the pillars, and Rosalyn's eyes rose to see several dragon sculptures across the throne room.

And there it was, the Iron Throne. It was an imposing sight, and she felt as if looking at it for too long would blind her. Perhaps that was what had befallen many kings before the current one.

"We are honored to have you joining us tonight, especially to celebrate such a joyful occasion." Queen Myriah gestured for them to come closer to the table.

The Young Prince walked up to her without hesitation, bowing his head slightly as she curtsied. He offered his arm out to her.

"My lady," He waited patiently yet expectantly for her to take hold of his arm. His eyes found hers, honey and a clash of blue and brown meeting; she looked terrified, and so did he. But his mask was easier to uphold.

Rosalyn linked their arms together, and a small smile danced on Valarr's lips as he led her to their seats. He let go of her arm to draw her chair back and allow her to sit, Rosalyn watching his every movement and how his body moved gracefully. Only after she had seated did Valarr follow. With Matarys to her right and Valarr to her left, Rosalyn tried not to take up too much space. At first, the conversation was simple enough, her father doing most of the work, and she only had to focus on using the right fork and not chewing too loudly.

But then all eyes turned to her.

"So, Lady Rosalyn," The King's voice came from her left, and she turned to look at him. His blue eyes had lilac specs in them. "Tell us more about yourself, if you would please."

There was nothing Rosalyn disliked more than having to speak about herself, mostly because she felt like she had nothing to say. Still, noticing her father's fulminating look, she placed the utensils back on the table and offered the family a small smile.

It took her a minute to find her voice, and all the while, Valarr looked at her as if he was trying to solve a complex puzzle; the way her eyes refused to lock with his, or how she kept tucking loose strands of her hair behind her ear. She seemed both nervous and perfectly composed at the same time, and if he was being honest with himself, he understood it to perfection.

"There is not much to be said, Your Grace," Her voice was slightly shaky as she spoke, noticing all eyes on her. "I…"

She… What? What would she tell them? That she had been forced away from her home to marry a boy she did not know, or that she barely ever spoke and preferred the silence of the gardens and the songs of birds? Her father's patience was running thin the longer she remained quiet, and Prince Baelor squinted his eyes at her.

"I noticed the flowers in your hair earlier," Valarr's voice snapped her eyes to his immediately, and he almost shut his mouth as quickly as the words escaped him. He had seen her hesitation, how her hands shook slightly, and his tongue had just moved without his permission, as if trying to rescue her. He had to do everything in his power not to stand and jump out the window as he thought about how to fix the situation. "Do you like them?"

You must be jesting, he thought to himself. Behind Rosalyn, Matarys's face popped up with a smirk and humorous eyes, and Valarr had to resist smacking him in the head. When his gaze returned to Rosalyn, he noticed she had just been staring at him, which made him stare back in confusion. Rosalyn's hazel eyes were just analyzing his face; why had he asked such a thing? Had he seen her struggle? Had he been genuinely curious, or just pretending? How could she ever know?

"I do," Her voice was soft. "I love them."

A small confession for the rest of the table, perhaps. Something trivial, even. But it meant the world for both of them; her flowers were her home, and she had just shared that with him. He could not grasp the importance of what she had said, but at least she had spoken to him.

His smile was genuine, and Rosalyn saw the ghost of a dimple appear on his face. She liked that, too.

"I am sure Highgarden must be the most beautiful scene in spring, with all of its flowers blooming at the same time." Valarr continued, and Prince Baelor and King Daeron observed the interaction with curious eyes.

The mention of her home made her retreat back into herself again, wishing she could be there to watch them grow. She nodded her head.

"It is, my lord," Rosalyn sounded more distant now, as if she had mentally gone back to her bench. "It truly is magnificent."

"We apologize for the lack of greenery here in King's Landing," Prince Baelor's voice was warm, drawing her eyes to his. The exact same as his son's. "But perhaps you shall teach us how to change it."

An opportunity to belong, right there and then. Her eyes sparkled with a speck of hope, one that was crushed the second her father spoke.

"Oh, not to worry, my Prince! During our ride here, my sweet daughter was speaking wonders about the change of scenery," Rosalyn wondered how he hadn't choked on his lies yet, and she shot him an incredulous look. "She loves your home already, and it has just been a couple of hours."

Prince Baelor looked at the Lord with skeptical eyes, and Valarr had really begun to dislike the man's prepotence and incompetent flattery.

"Oh, but I do love Highgarden," Lady Aelinor's excited voice came from the other side of the table, gracefully ignoring Lord Tyrell's nonsense. "Lady Rosalyn, you must tell me about the Spring Ceremony!"

She referred to the festivities held to commemorate the end of winter and beginning of spring, and Rosie offered her a genuine, small smile.

"It is one of our most treasured traditions, Lady Aelinor. I shall love to tell you more about it in the future." And with that, Aelinor's smile widened as she nodded enthusiastically, her husband staring at his plate lost in thought.

"What else do you enjoy, my lady?" A soft, almost delicate voice came from her side, and she turned to look at Matarys. The young boy's features were perfectly sculpted, with warm eyes and full lips. She reckoned he had some of Valarr's looks, yet none of his own father's.

Lady Rosalyn looked around, as if trying to find answers around the table.

"I read," She surmised. "A lot."

"Oh, so does my brother!" He exclaimed excitedly, shooting Valarr a wink. Valarr looked at the ceiling as if trying to pray for patience. "He loves reading. What type of books are you most interested in?"

While he was chatty, his voice also transmitted a certain sense of comfort that reassured Rosalyn. It seemed as if both boys had taken after their father in that regard.

"I…" She trailed off. She read about everything there was out there. "I do enjoy expanding my knowledge on all possible topics. Although perhaps I do favor history."

"So does my brother!" The same sentence, with the same smile, and the same plotting eyes. She found him endearing, in a manner that only an older sister would find a younger brother. Rowan came to her mind, and her eyes softened.

"I am here, Matarys. I can speak for myself." Valarr muttered, clearly annoyed and yet frustrated that everyone could muster up words to speak with her while he found himself mute. She was so quiet, so selective with her words, and yet she did not seem simple-minded at all. In fact, he feared she would see right through him with those beautiful eyes of hers.

"Then do." Matarys shot back before taking a sip of his water. Baelor cleared his throat, and all eyes landed upon him.

"Forgive my sons, Lady Rosalyn. They are merely high-spirited due to your impending nuptials."

Four days to go. Both Valarr and Rosalyn froze.

Four days to be husband and wife.

When the supper ended, Prince Valarr offered to escort the lady to her bedchamber, accompanied by Ser Caster, of course. Prince Baelor shot him a knowing look, but he allowed it, taking Matarys with him.

The two teenagers walked the empty and dark halls of the Red Keep without speaking a single word. Valarr did not know when to speak, Rosalyn did not know what to say.

"I am sorry about my brother's inquiry," He began softly, fearing that his family may have intimidated her. "He did not mean to overwhelm you."

Rosalyn looked at the halls ahead of her as she thought about Matarys and who he had reminded her of.

"He is sweet," Her lips pursed, smiling. He basked in it. "I do enjoy him."

Prince Valarr released a relieved laugh, and she turned to look at him; for a second, his features seemed more relaxed, and he now looked like a sixteen-year-old boy, and not the perfect prince he constantly pretended to be. But Rosalyn did not know that; she just knew he seemed calmer then, by her side.

"That is good," He whispered more to himself than to her, his dimple hidden from her.

They continued walking in silence, but as they turned a corner, something caught Rosalyn's attention, and her light steps ceased as she looked out the window. Valarr stopped almost instantly, remaining by her side and watching her features bask in the soft moonlight. Thirty-two freckles, he had counted them again.

And again.

And again.

She was beautiful, and his lips parted at the sight. Rosie had found a small garden in one of the corners of the Red Keep, and her eyes scanned it to memorize the exact spot so she could find it in the following days.

None of them spoke, each admiring a different sight.

By the time they reached her bedchambers, he hesitated before grabbing her hand to kiss it. Last time, she had seemed startled by his advances, and perhaps she preferred to keep to herself. Rosalyn, on the other hand, waited in a liminal space between wanting to hide from him and wanting him to kiss her hand.

The former won the battle, and she curtsied to him as he mirrored her behavior. His soft eyes landed on hers, and the awkward smile returned to his lips. He always knew what to say, but the gods knew that this woman had taken possession of his tongue.

Rosalyn looked to both sides, waiting for something to happen.

"I shall see you in the next few days, Lady Rosalyn." He managed to get out, his voice rough. "I hope King's Landing will prove worthy of you."

Rosalyn's lips parted as her jaw unclenched. He did not want Rosalyn to be worthy of being there; he wanted his home to be worthy of her. Prince Valarr hesitated before turning and walking down the hall to his own chambers.

That night neither of them found sleep easily; Rosalyn sat by the window, looking up at the moon and dealing with a handful of conflicting emotions, the pain of missing her mother overshadowing all others. And Valarr could never sleep, but that night it was because he would not stop thinking about the lady who had barely spoken to him.

And yet, that had been enough for him to almost come undone.

The next few days were naught more than a blur, the wedding preparations keeping them both so busy they barely saw each other. Rosalyn did not have enough time to visit the garden, and Valarr never got around to finding her. By the time the wedding day came, they were both consumed by their own ghosts.

Prince Maekar had arrived from Summerhall with his six children, even young Rhae who had just turned one. Prince Valarr had not yet received him, as he was fitting on the wedding attire his grandmother had chosen for him just a few days earlier, his eyes fixated on the mirror. Today, his life would take a turn forever, and he did not know how to feel about it yet.

The Red Keep was more alive than it had ever been before, but the real ceremony would be held at the Sept of Baelor, as established by the King himself, who sought to bring Valarr closer to his people by forcing him out of the castle walls.

As Valarr was walking to the backyard with the intention of finding his horse, he caught a glimpse of a small, silver-haired head ducking inside one of the chambers. He stopped dead in his tracks, his fingers freezing at the sleeve on his wrist. He heard something crash, and he crossed the space between himself and the door in four strides.

When he entered the room, he found his very young cousin Aegon kneeling by a broken vase, dark red liquid spilling from his hand. He looked up at Valarr with terrified blue eyes and guilt etched on his features.

"I am sorry, cousin, I did not mean to—" He hissed as the pain in his hand flared, an open gash clearly caused by the broken ceramic. Valarr knelt by his side immediately, gently lifting his hand and examining the wound. Aegon fell quiet, expectantly waiting to be reprimanded.

"You will need to cover it, Aegon." He spoke softly, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapping it around the young boy's palm. Aegon's small figure shook slightly as he tried to stay still, but failed. "What are you even doing here? We must all be on our way to the Sept."

Aegon opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again.

When Valarr covered the wound completely, he noticed that tears now shone in his cousin's eyes, and he panicked for a short second.

Oh gods, not today please.

He already had so many worries and dark thoughts spiraling inside his head, he was unsure whether he could handle the boy's tears too. Aegon quickly dried them with his sleeves.

"I am sorry, I do not want to ruin it." He murmured, but his sobs made it almost impossible to understand his words. Valarr looked around the room and then back at his cousin, his expression twisting into both concern and anxiety.

"What is it, Aegon?" He tried to keep his voice as sweet and steady as possible, trying to hide his panic as the hour grew later by the second.

"I do not want to go with him." He hid his face in between his hands.

Valarr arched his eyebrow and cocked his head to the left.

"With who?"

"Aerion."

Valarr's shoulders tensed and his chin dipped slightly, looking at the boy that knelt in front of him.

"What has happened?" His voice was still low, but now his worry overpowered his anxiety. It seemed like Aerion had grown to be quite the dark boy, according to the rumors he had heard. Aegon hesitated, but when another sob came, the words spilled without control.

"He threw my cat, Syrax, into a well." His voice was laced with both sorrow and hatred, and Valarr's jaw fell wide open.

Now why would he do that?

"That is terrible, cousin." He embraced Aegon, who melted into his cousin's arms. "I am sorry. Syrax did not deserve that. And neither do you."

Aegon's soft sobs and whimpers broke his heart, reminding him of whenever Matarys was hurt or low-spirited. He rubbed the back of his head gently, and after a while, he let go.

"I shall think of something, I promise." He looked at Aegon straight in the eyes, and surprisingly enough, little Egg believed him. "I will do something about it, but now, will you come with me to my wedding ceremony?"

Egg's eyes snapped wide open as he remembered what day it was, and he stood up so quickly it startled Valarr.

"Yes! Of course! We ought to go now!" He practically sprinted out of the room, Valarr running after him.

At the Sept, Rosalyn waited in an adjacent chamber as her future ladies-in-waiting helped get her ready. Most of them were quiet, some with judging eyes and others with welcoming smiles, but Rosalyn could not have cared less even if she tried. She was about to get married, and she was alone.

Her wedding gown was not white. Rosalyn had refused white, and somehow, impossibly, her wishes had been respected. Instead, it was the color of fresh cream, warm and soft, with an underlayer of gold that caught the light when she moved. The bodice was fitted, but not restrictive, embroidered from collar to waist with flowers in silver thread so delicate they seemed to breathe. But these flowers were not the Tyrell roses, no. They were different kinds of the same flower: carnations. A quiet garden, stitched into silk.

The sleeves were long and sheer, drifting past her wrists like morning mist, and scattered across them were tiny silver leaves. The skirt fell in heavy folds from her hips, simple in cut but impossibly rich in fabric, and scattered across it like fallen petals were more roses. Around her throat, she wore nothing. No necklace, no jewels. Her mother had not been there to place one. Her hair fell freely across her shoulders, and a pink blush had crept onto her round cheeks.

On her wrist, she wore a bracelet with spring crocus forged into its metal.

A soft knock came from the door, and all heads turned toward the noise. The older lady who had been by her side since her arrival spoke.

"Tell the septas she will be ready soon!"

A pause.

"I will, after I speak to my soon-to-be daughter."

The entire chamber froze as every woman scattered to form a line as the doors opened to reveal Prince Baelor Targaryen, dressed in an elegant tunic with the dragon's scales covering its shoulders. The moment he laid his eyes on Rosalyn, his entire expression softened.

"May we speak in private?" He spoke, and Rosalyn nodded without hesitation. The room was empty in a few seconds, the door closing behind them.

He did not approach, preferring to linger by the door.

"You look beautiful, Lady Rosalyn." He nodded his head gently, and she did not know how to react to the compliment. She chose to just offer him a small smile in return, a genuine one at heart. "I have been meaning to speak to you about a certain matter."

Rosalyn was no one to refuse the Hand of the King and Prince of the Realm, and so she waited for him to continue.

"I am aware this marriage has been politically arranged by both our families," He said gently, looking at her and seeing a small, frightened child. "But I would like to be made aware of any possible coercion that has forced your hand to be at the Sept today."

Rosalyn's eyes widened.

"Have you come here of your free will, child?"

She froze, and for a second, she thought that if perhaps she spoke, House Targaryen would valiantly ride to Highgarden and release her mother from her imprisonment.

But that was both naive and foolish. No matter how honorable his reputation, Prince Baelor would not risk war with one of the richest families of the Seven Kingdoms just for a girl's freedom. Her lower lip quivered, but she raised her chin.

"What brought me here does not matter, my Prince," She began, her voice surprisingly steady. "What matters is that I am here now."

Baelor observed her for a few seconds, and he took two steps toward her, placing one gentle hand on her shoulder. His eyes were warm as he offered her a small smile.

"I do hope you will make a fond life for yourself here, in King's Landing," He sounded… pained? That could not be right. "Perhaps my son will be a part of it too, if he is lucky enough."

Prince Baelor had been the first person to truly welcome her, and he had gone out of his way just to reassure her on her wedding day to his son. She was fighting a tough battle to hold back her tears, her lips pressing into a thin line. He took a step back.

"I shall see you out there, good daughter." One last kindness.

When he left, she exhaled an emotional sigh as she tried to steady herself. Not even her own father had come to speak to her, and her mother was far away, but at least someone had taken the time to actually see her.

The Sept was so crowded Valarr had begun counting heads as he waited for Lady Rosalyn at the altar. He had already counted up to a hundred and twenty-two men and women, including himself and the septon behind. He could see his father by his side, and the man was also studying the room, but he turned to look at Valarr.

Both exchanged a quiet moment, Baelor's stern gaze softening as he gave him an understanding nod. Valarr returned it, his muscles tensing under his soft skin as the trumpets sounded and the great doors opened, every single head turning around to catch a glimpse of the bride.

She entered the immense hall holding her father's arm, and the light shining behind her made her look like a saint, a godsent gift. Valarr's breath hitched as his heart skipped a few beats, his entire being and soul bewitched by the sight of her. Rosalyn kept her gaze focused on the floor beneath her, not wanting to see everyone's eyes on her as she walked toward the altar. Her steps were slow but steady, contrary to Valarr's pulse, which was racing and threatening to give out on him at any moment.

When she reached him, she raised her eyes to his face, and the blush was immediate as their gazes locked. Gods, he looked so regal, the perfect image of a dragon. When he smiled, she could see his dimple, and the blush colored her cheeks once more as a shy smile played on her lips. He took in the image of her, confounded at how any being could possess such beauty. Her freckles mesmerized him, and he just had to count them again.

Thirty-two.

As the septon spoke, the two tried to hold eye contact but broke it several times, shy looks and nervous smiles getting in the way. For a moment, Valarr forgot his fear of being a husband, and Rosalyn forgot the sorrow of being a wife. For a moment, it was just them.

"Look upon one another and say the words." The septon instructed, and it was Valarr who spoke first.

"I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days." His voice was solemn, and Rosalyn noticed his eyes had become more serious. He was vowing it to her, not the Seven, not the septon. Her.

She gulped and took a deep breath before speaking her part.

"I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days." She whispered, her eyes finding his.

The septon raised a seven-sided crystal so rainbow light fell upon them, and declared:

"Here in the sight of gods and men, I do solemnly proclaim Valarr of House Targaryen and Rosalyn of House Tyrell to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them."

Valarr's heart raced as their hands remained locked and he realized what he ought to do next.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife." He spoke gently, and his head dipped lower to reach her lips.

Rosalyn panicked.

Her eyes widened and she almost took a step back, creating space between them. She had never been kissed. Seven hells, she had barely ever been touched at all, apart from her mother's loving embrace and her sister's admiring touch. She did not know how to do this; what if she did it the wrong way, somehow? What if she bit him?

Oh, dear Gods.

But when Valarr's full lips found refuge on her soft ones, she found it not terrifying, but strangely comforting. He was so gentle, his touch lighter than a feather, not daring to take more than what she would give freely. She closed her eyes and leaned into the touch for the first time in her life, and found herself trying to make the moment linger.

Cheers erupted across the Sept of Baelor as the newlyweds kissed, and a new royal marriage had been born that day. One that had joined two of the most powerful families in the Seven Kingdoms; the roses and the dragons, thorns and fire.

When Valarr leaned back slightly, they opened their eyes and immediately locked onto each other. His mismatched eyes shone with an intensity that he rarely ever felt in the constrictive routine that was his life, and hers sparkled with surprise and a newly found light.

Prince Valarr Targaryen and Lady Rosalyn Tyrell had just become husband and wife, for the rest of eternity.

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I'm going to keep it real with you guys, I did NOT proofread this shit lol. It's so long and I was so tired I just hope it is not a bunch of incoherent sentences.