Chapter eleven - Alliance
Deanira
It had been seven days since the raven came.
Seven days since the message arrived in my father's hall: the Targaryens had accepted the marriage proposal. I still remember the relief on my mother's face. The grin that spread across Maegar's. And the ringing in my ears drowned out the rest of their voices.
I did not bother listening to what they said after that. The truth is, I had secretly prayed they would refuse the offer, that they would choose bloodshed, than perhaps it would feel easier.
But the raven had come.
And every day since then felt like walking toward something I could not escape. The only place where I felt safe was in the crypt, in front of my brother's tomb. I spoke to him as if he had never died. It was easier to pretend he was still alive than to accept the truth.
I stayed kneeling for a long time, watching the candle flicker and listening to the silence that had settled around me during these seven days. The crypt smelled of cold stone and old mold clinging to the walls.
A part of me wanted to scream. To throw the candle and shatter the shadows. To curse the world for moving on so quickly. For deciding my life without asking me. For believing that a marriage could ever give back what I had lost.
To curse him.
His name still lingered on my tongue, one I did not dare to whisper. The river where we had met. Sometimes I wished I could curse the day I had ever seen him.
But I did nothing.
I could do nothing.
"They think they can bind us with contracts and promises," I whispered, "as if blood can be traded like coin."
I pressed my forehead against the cold stone. Memories of my brother's laughter, his reckless courage, the warmth I had once taken for granted, closed in around me. Seven days had passed, and still the wound felt as raw as the moment it had opened.
My mother had tried to tell me the name of the man I was meant to marry. Perhaps she did. I had dismissed it without listening. It did not matter. To me, they were all the same.
Yet my thoughts drifted back to him.
Not by name. Not completely. Only the memory of a man whose path had crossed mine once, before everything had fallen apart. A name I had not known then, when I still believed life would remain simple.
Now his name followed me like a shadow.
My chest tightened, and I shook my head.
No. I would not think of him. Not now. Not ever.
And yet there was a spark - small, unwelcome - that I could not extinguish. The way he had carried himself, the quiet confidence in his movements... it had felt different.
Not only as a Targaryen. Different from every man I had ever known. With him, for a fleeting moment, I had felt something close to happiness. Even if that happiness had never been real.
I swallowed hard, forcing the thought back down. It did not matter. The man who would be my husband would not be him. It could not be. It would be Aerion. At least I thought he would be.
I stayed kneeling, my fingers tracing the cold stone of my brother's tomb, when the soft echo of footsteps reached me.
"Deanira?"
I looked up to see my mother standing in the shadows of the crypt. She did not step closer at first. Instead, she let her eyes rest on me for a long moment.
"I thought I would find you here," she said at last.
Her voice was calm, measured, but it carried that familiar weight that always made me retreat into myself.
She no longer wore mourning colors. Her dress had returned to dark blue, her hair carefully pinned in braided coils.
Like everyone else, she had chosen to move on. I wondered if I was the only one still standing at his grave.
I said nothing. I did not even look at her.
"You should not be angry with yourself," her voice echoed softly through the crypt. "Your brother is happy now. Your sister told me she found him... that he has found peace. She said you must move forward as well. That you must stop blaming yourself."
I closed my eyes.
For the first time, I wanted to believe that her words held some truth. That my brother had truly found peace in whatever world waited beyond this one.
For a while, neither of us spoke. The candle between the tombs flickered softly, throwing long shadows across the cold stone walls.
At last, my mother stepped closer.
"The Targaryens are already on their way," she said.
The words settled over the crypt like falling ash. My fingers tightened against the stone. "So soon?"
She hummed softly. "Your father wished to avoid unnecessary delay. They will be here any moment."
I kept my gaze on my brother's name carved into the tomb. Seven days since he had been buried, and already the world demanded that I stand, smile, and greet the family of the man who had taken him from me.
My mother's shoulder brushed against mine as she kneeled beside me. "You know," she said quietly, "when I first heard I would be married, I wanted to throw myself into the sea. My parents arranged it without telling me. I only found out from one of the maids who whispered in the corridors."
She struck a match and lit a candle. "I couldn't believe they would marry me to a legitimized bastard. Especially one so cruel." She paused, her eyes tracing the shadows. "I begged them not to, but I had no choice. They said it would bring peace... and that one day, I might be queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
I looked at her, her gaze still fixed on the stone in front of her.
"The only thing that marriage brought," she continued, her voice steadier now, "was years of endless bloodshed. But somehow, in all that blood, your father and I found happiness. It wasn't easy, and it still isn't, but at least we got you and your siblings. It brought us closer together, and I realized he needed my support - not because I was his wife, but because of our children."
"Why are you telling me this?" I whispered.
My mother watched me carefully.
"You must prepare yourself for that role," she said gently. "This marriage will bring peace. That is what your brother would have wanted. It will end this once and for all."
Her words cut deeper than she realized.
Peace.
The same word everyone kept repeating, as if saying it enough times would make it true.
Silence lingered between us before my mother finally spoke again.
"I prepared a dress for you," she said quietly. "Your maids are waiting."
I nodded faintly. I had no strength left to argue.
When I rose from my brother's tomb, my knees felt stiff, as if the stone floor had tried to claim me as well.
The corridors felt strangely bright after the darkness of the crypt.
My maids were already waiting in my chambers. They moved quickly and quietly, helping me out of my mourning clothes and into the dress my mother had chosen.
The fabric was a deep silver-blue, the color of the sea beneath a stormy sky. The sleeves were long and soft, leaving my arms bare while covering my shoulders. Fine embroidery ran along the edges, curling like waves with dragons flying above them.
Mother always chose dresses that made me look like her.
When they finished fastening the final clasp, one of the maids opened a wooden box filled with jewelry- my mother's jewelry, since I owned none of my own.
"Wait," I said softly. "Bring me my brother's necklace."
They hesitated only for a moment before one of them crossed the room and opened the drawer of my nightstand.
She returned holding the necklace.
It was simple, but heavy with meaning.
The pendant was shaped as a seahorse twisted together with the head of a dragon—a symbol of my parents' houses joining together.
My brother used to say it looked less like the creatures were embracing and more like they were fighting.
I took the necklace from the maid and let it rest in my palm for a moment.
Then I nodded.
"Put it on."
The cold metal settled against my skin.
For the first time that day, I felt as if my brother was standing beside me again.
I closed my eyes, letting the feeling settle over me.
Then the sound of hooves echoed from outside the window. One of the maids glanced toward it.
Her eyes snapped back to me. "They have arrived."
I thanked her quietly before turning toward the mirror. For a moment, I stared at my reflection. I barely recognized the girl looking back at me. She looked like someone else.
The maids hurried out one by one, rushing through the corridors to prepare the castle for our guests.
I followed more slowly.
The walls around me felt as if they had begun to shrink, pressing inward until the air in my chest felt thin. I stopped when the courtyard came into view through one of the corridor windows.
My family stood gathered below the great stairs as the Targaryens rode through the gate.
My heart began to pound. One of the men announced him loudly.
"Prince Baelor Targaryen. Prince of Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne, and Hand of the King."
I leaned slightly against the wall as I watched him dismount his horse.
The memory of the river returned so suddenly that it stole the breath from my lungs.
The sound of water. The warmth of the sun. The quiet ease I had felt in his presence before I knew who he was. Then the memory suddenly switched to another. I no longer remembered the river. Now images of him murdering my brother appeared, and I was once again reminded of the hatred I felt for him.
As Baelor handed the reins of his horse to one of the men, he paused for a moment.
His gaze lifted briefly toward the castle.
Toward the windows above the courtyard.
For a heartbeat, I thought his eyes had found mine. I stepped back from the window at once, my breath catching in my throat.
Behind him rode another man whom I assumed must be his brother, Maekar. He had the typical Targaryen features—silver hair and violet eyes.
Yet he looked nothing like Baelor, who inherited his Dornish mother's features.
My eyes searched the courtyard for Aerion, the man I believed would be my husband. But he was nowhere in sight. A cold understanding slowly began to settle in my chest.
No.
I pushed the thought away before it could take shape.
Prince Baelor was the Hand of the King. Of course, he would come to arrange the marriage himself. And Maekar was Aerion's father. That was all.
Nothing more.
I forced myself to move. The corridor seemed longer than before, every step echoing softly against the stone as I approached the courtyard. They were already greeting each other. I reached the top of the stairs and stopped for a moment.
From there, I could see everything.
My father stood at the center of the courtyard with my mother beside him. My brothers, Maegar and Rhaegal, stood slightly behind them. Maegar's arms were folded behind his back, watching the Targaryens with that same calculating expression he always wore. Rhaegal didn't look so stern. Perhaps the wine he took this morning softened the edge he felt.
Across from them stood Baelor and Maekar.
Even from a distance I could see Baelor clearly.
He stood straighter than the others, his posture calm and controlled, as if nothing in the world could unsettle him.
"Baelor," my father greeted first. "Prince Maekar." He didn't loook as my mother did. His face was like stone. I could tell he didn't enjoy this reunion; one of his hands held on to his sword just in case.
"Deamon." Baelor extended his hand and my father took it. Both of them shook hands longer than they should have. There was clear tension between them. Maekar stood just slightly behind. His hand was also resting on his sword.
"It's an honor seeing you again, my prince," my mother's voice came through. Soft and gentle. Baelor released my father's hand and stepped towards my mother.
"It is nice seeing you again after all those years, Luceria," Baelor said. My father stepped next to my mother. "Those are my sons, Rhaegal and Maegar," he announced as Rhaegal and Maegar stepped forward. Both of them greeted him and his brother, Maekar.
I could feel the tension in the air between my family and the Targaryens. I hope the night won't end up in blood afterall.
One of the guards found me standing at the top of the stairway, hiding behind the shadows. I took a deep breath and imerged from the shadows. My heart began to pound as I stepped forward.
The sound of my dress brushing against the stone seemed impossibly loud in the silence as I descended the stairs.
I kept my eyes on my family at first.
On my father.
On my mother.
Only when I reached the final steps did my gaze lift toward the Targaryens.
Maekar watched me with open curiosity.
But Baelor—
Baelor was already looking at me. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze did not waver.
I forced my face to remain calm, even as something hot and restless stirred inside my chest.
When I reached them at the center of the yard, my father stepped forward, taking my hand and introducing me in front of Baelor. "This is my daughter, Deanira."
Baelor took my hand from my hand. He wore black gloves, but somehow I still felt the same feeling I felt when his hands were on my back. That moment felt so long ago now.
"My lady," he said. His voice was calm, almost gentle.
"I have heard much of your beauty."
"You flatter me, my prince," I replied.
Our eyes met. For a moment neither of us spoke. There was no warmth in my gaze.
Only anger.
Only accusation.
His expression did not change, but something flickered behind his eyes—as if he understood exactly what my silence meant.
My fingers tightened slightly in his grasp before I pulled my hand away.
Maekar stepped forward then, placing himself between us.
"My prince," I greeted him, lowering my head politely.
"Princess Deanira," he replied with a brief nod.
Then I spoke the question that had been lingering in my mind since I had seen them arrive. "I thought your son would give us the honor of joining us today."
Maekar's brow furrowed slightly.
"There is no need for him to be here," he said.
The words struck me like cold water. I could not move. A quiet understanding spread through my chest, slow and heavy.
Aerion was not coming. He had never been meant to come.
My gaze shifted briefly toward Baelor whose eyes were focused on his brother. Then I lowered my eyes to the floor.
"My apologies," I said quietly.
Maekar only inclined his head, as if the matter required no further explanation.
My father gestured toward the stairs that lead inside towards the great hall.
"Please," he said. "Let us continue inside."
The men began to move toward the great hall.
I turned to follow them when a familiar presence appeared beside me.
Maegar. He leaned slightly closer, his voice barely more than a whisper against my ear.
"You should have listened when Father told you who the groom would be."
My jaw tightened. I shot him a sharp glare, but said nothing.
Ahead of us, Baelor slowed slightly. His gaze shifted briefly between Maegar and me.
His expression remained calm, but his eyes lingered on me a moment longer than necessary.
For a moment it seemed as though he wanted to say something. But he remained silent. Then he turned and continued into the hall.
The great hall felt colder than usual as we entered. A long table had already been prepared in the center of the room. Servants moved quietly along its sides, lighting candles and placing cups of wine before each seat.
My father walked to the head of the table and took his place. Prince Baelor seated himself at his right, his movements calm and deliberate, as if nothing about this day unsettled him.
Maekar took the seat beside his brother. The rest of the chairs remained empty for a moment.
Maegar stepped forward, pulling out the chair at my father's other side.
"Not there," my father said suddenly.
Maegar stopped. A brief silence settled over the room. "That seat is for Deanira."
My brother's expression hardened slightly, but he stepped aside.
I felt every eye turn toward me as I approached the table.
The seat my father had chosen was not beside the Targryens. It was directly across from Baelor.
I forced myself to keep walking and lowered myself into the chair. The wooden legs scraped softly against the stone floor. When I finally lifted my eyes again, Baelor was still watching me.
His expression remained unreadable.
Maegar moved to another seat further down the table, though the displeasure on his face was impossible to miss.
Silence came in the hall.
The candles flickered between us, their light casting long shadows across the table.
Then my father folded his hands together. "Let us begin."
Servants moved quietly around us, pouring wine and setting fresh parchment before the men.
My father began speaking first, outlining the terms of the alliance while Prince Maekar listened with careful attention. Baelor remained silent for most of it. At least, that was what it appeared to the others. But I felt his gaze drift toward me once. Briefly.
His eyes lingered on the necklace resting against my throat.
The pendant—my brother's seahorse twisted with a dragon's head—caught the torchlight before his gaze lifted back to my face. His expression did not change.
The negotiations continued.
Trade routes. Borders. Promises of peace.
Their voices blurred together into a dull murmur.
Then Baelor finally spoke.
"Princess Deanira will retain her own household after the marriage," he said calmly.
The room quieted slightly.
"She will have her own attendants and authority over them. No member of my household will interfere with her personal staff."
I turned my head slightly, surprised.
My father studied him for a moment before nodding slowly. "That is agreeable."
The conversation moved on again as if nothing unusual had been said.
But I could still feel Baelor's presence.
Quiet. Controlled.
Watching.
The negotiations continued for some time after that.
Promises were exchanged. Conditions written down. The future of two houses reduced to careful lines of ink across parchment.
I listened only half-heartedly.
Their voices blurred together until one sentence pulled me sharply back to the present.
"Princess Deanira will have personal guards assigned to her at all times," Baelor said calmly.
My head lifted immediately.
"That will not be necessary," I said.
The words left my mouth before I had fully decided to speak them.
The room fell silent. Every pair of eyes turned toward me. Baelor's gaze met mine, steady and unflinching.
"No disrespect, my prince," I continued, keeping my voice even. "But I do not trust your guards."
A faint tension rippled through the room.
"In their eyes I am the enemy," I said. "So tell me—who will guarantee my safety?"
My gaze moved briefly toward the Targaryen soldiers standing against the wall.
"Them?" I asked quietly. "Men who would gladly see my family fall?"
No one spoke. Even my father remained silent.
"I do not want your guards," I finished. "Ser Cristof Hightower will serve as my guard. He will be the only one."
Across the room, Ser Cristof straightened slightly, clearly surprised that his name had been spoken.
For a moment he looked toward my father. Then he gave a small nod.
Baelor studied me in silence.
"One guard is not enough," he said at last.
His voice was calm, but something sharper flickered in his eyes.
"I assure you," he continued, "no harm will come to you from my guards—or from any member of my family."
I held his gaze.
"I trust my horse more than most men," I said quietly. "Guards can be bought."
A pause. "But loyalty cannot."
The words hung in the air between us.
Neither of us spoke. The challenge was clear.
Baelor did not react outwardly, but something shifted behind his eyes.
Then he inclined his head slightly.
"If that is your wish," he said evenly, "then I will grant it."
The room grew still as my father leaned back in his chair, the finality of his words hanging in the air. "Then it is settled. Baelor Targaryon will marry my daughter, Deanira Blackfyre."
A murmur ran through the assembled lords, but I hardly noticed. My pulse thrummed in my ears, a mix of shock and disbelief.
I glanced at my future husband, whose expression was always the same. He never gave anything away. I caught him glancing at me before returning his attention to my father.
Before I could gather my thoughts, my mother's voice cut sharply across the hall. "A chaperone will be necessary," she said, eyes narrowing as they rested on me. "I will see that she is never alone with a man. Her honor must be protected at all times."
Baelor lifted his head slowly, his gaze sweeping over the room with measured calm. Then, without hesitation, he spoke: "There is no need." His voice was quiet, but it carried an unyielding certainty. "She knows what is required to protect her honor. And I have heard... she knows how to protect herself."
My eyes shot at him, and our eyes caught each other before looking away. His brother Maekar stared at me as if he knew the secrets that lay between Baelor and me. I expected him to say something, but he didn't.
Instead, the final conditions of the alliance were written down, each sentence carefully placed on the parchment as if the right arrangement of ink could guarantee peace.
At last the quill was set aside.
My father looked over the document one final time before nodding. "It is agreed, then."
A servant placed the parchment before us. My name was written at the bottom. I stared at it.
Princess Deanira.
Soon it would not be the same name anymore.
I reached for the quill.
The feather felt strangely light between my fingers as I signed the parchment. The ink had barely dried when Baelor stepped forward beside me.
I felt his presence before I even looked at him. He leaned slightly over the table, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him at my side.
When he reached for the quill, his hand brushed mine.
The contact was brief.
Accidental.
Yet it sent a strange tension through my chest. I swallowed and stepped back immediately, as if the distance might steady something inside me.
Baelor signed his name beneath mine. The letters were precise, steady.
Baelor Targaryen.
Just like that, the alliance was sealed.
My father rose from his chair.
"You honor our house with this agreement," he said. "The castle has prepared chambers for you. You are welcome to stay the night."
Prince Maekar glanced briefly toward Baelor.
But Baelor shook his head politely.
"You are generous, my lord," he said. "But we must return to King's Landing immediately."
His gaze shifted toward me then.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, princess."
I held his eyes and forced a smille "Likewise, my prince."
The meeting ended soon after the agreement was signed.
Servants began clearing the table while the men continued speaking in quieter tones. I slipped away before anyone could stop me.
The castle corridors felt strangely empty now.
Outside, the evening air was cool against my skin as I crossed the halls. Torches flickered along the walls, casting long shadows across the stone.
I slowed when I heard voices.
Two figures stood near the Targaryen horses.
Prince Maekar and Baelor.
The horses stamped softly against the cobblestones while the men spoke in low voices.
Maekar folded his arms, watching Baelor with a faint smile.
"She isn't her father's daughter, huh?" Maekar teased.
Baelor said nothing.
Maekar's smile widened slightly.
I stood by the window long after the gates had closed behind them. The courtyard was empty now. Only the fading sound of hooves remained somewhere beyond the castle walls. My fingers rested against the cold stone as I stared at the road where the Targaryens had disappeared.
"Looking at your lover, I see."
The voice behind me made me stiffen.
I turned slowly.
Maegar leaned against the doorway, watching me with that familiar, irritating smile.
"He's not my lover," I said sharply.
Maegar tilted his head slightly.
"Isn't he?"
His gaze drifted toward the window.
"I saw the way you looked at each other," he continued. "That wasn't the look of strangers who share no history. I saw the look on your face when you saw him. I almost missed it, actually. You thought you would be marrying Aerion. I was surprised as well when the raven first arrived that he would be the one to offer his hand and not his nephew. But you were so busy being wound up in grief that you didn't even hear it when Father told you."
My stomach tightened.
"You are imagining things," I said coldly. "There was nothing between us."
Maegar stepped closer. Before I could pull away, his hand closed around my wrist. The sudden grip made me flinch.
"If you think you can escape this marriage," he said quietly, his voice losing its playful tone, "you're wrong."
His fingers tightened slightly.
"Think of this as your punishment. You will marry the very man who murdered our brother. And all of it is because of you."
Maegar released my hand as abruptly as he had taken it. Then he turned and walked out of the room without another word.
I remained standing by the window, staring at the empty road beyond the gates as I tried to catch my breath. The necklace hung around my neck and it served as reminder of what will happen next.
