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Chapter Text

“There is no honor in your decision, Viserys.” Alicent challenged sharply, her lips pursing with such distaste that Commander Westerling shifted uncomfortably in his stance. 

“One would think, you of all people, would be gladdened by the betrothal between Helaena and Aegon. Was this not what you wanted all along?” The confused King sighed heavily, slumping in his seat, head in hand. 

“Yes, but that was before our families reconciled.” The Queen replied as she rose from her seat, running a vexed hand through her hair as she paced their chambers. “I thought it was more than clear that Aegon would wed Visenya, Rhaenyra’s only daughter. That union alone would have satiated our son’s displeasure in losing any claim to the throne.” 

“My dear wife, don’t allow the gentle nature of your sex to influence your opinion on this choice.” Viserys muttered wearily. “Aegon will learn that duty comes before desire, as will Visenya. As for Aemond, well, his anger will need to be managed. His fondness for Helaena has always been bothersome.” 

The sound of doors bursting open interrupted their quarrel. 

It had not been sufficiently humiliating for the crown that both Aemond and Visenya had stormed out of Aegon and Helaena’s announcement dinner, now the irreverent one-eyed Targaryen intruded the King’s quarters.

Visenya followed closely behind, eyes bloodshot. No doubt from the never ending tears. 

“Aemond!” Viserys shouted, his jaw clenched at the princeling’s impetuousness. “What is the meaning of this?” 

“The meaning of this? What is the meaning of your madness, father?” Aemond gritted through his teeth.  “Is it your aim to plummet our dynasty into further turmoil?” 

“Aemond, you forget yourself. Your father is still your King.” Alicent warned in a soft, yet shaky, tone. 

“Was it the King or my grandsire that would condemn me to a life without the man I love?” Visenya shot back, knowingly out of line. 

“Duty comes before all.” Viserys replied calmly, rising from his seat to point a stern finger at his granddaughter. “You are meant to wed Royce Baratheon. Something you would never agree to had Aegon been available to you. And you…” he continued, turning his glaring hues towards Aemond, “....we shall find a suitable wife.” 

Both Aemond and Visenya were far within their bounds. How could they defy the word of the King? 

“You defied centuries of tradition to install my sister as heir, father. And now, you have caused a permanent rift in our family. I wonder, how will this embolden Aegon?” Aemond’s words were more than a stubborn jest. They were a warning. “Without Visenya, he owes Rhaenyra no loyalty. Remember that.” 

“And it would seem that you have lost our loyalty, too, Your Grace.” Visneya whispered as her hand wiped away the tears that fell silently. 

She vowed one thing that day. It would be the last tear she spilled over Aegon. If he had been complacent and accepted Helaena as his wife-to-be, she would make him regret choosing power over her. 

Chapter Text

For nearly two centuries, House Targaryen had sat the Iron Throne and had enjoyed the cusp of power in Westeros. Under the late reign of King Viserys, the House of the Dragon commanded fourteen dragons: Vhagar, Meleys, Caraxes, Vermithor, Seasmoke, Syrax, Sunfyre, Silverwing, Dreamfyre, Moondancer, Vermax, Arrax, Tessarion and Tyraxes. 

This frail stability relied solely on the amicable reconciliation between Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent, and a profound lack of ambition by Prince Aegon. 

Such had been the way of House Targaryen for a decade—until now.

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The cool breeze that circled Blackwater Bay served only as an escape for Princess Visenya. From atop Silverwing she soared the open skies. A smile adorned her visage, lilac eyes sparkling with joy despite the toiled nature of her riding attire. She had a fondness for flying through the clouds on gloomy days. The way the unspilled rain enveloped her was cathartic, if not the only method that cooled her hotheaded personality. 

“ Naejot, Silvering. Nopot! ” Visenya called out, tightening her grip on the reins. 

The glistening beast roared obediently, diving from the heights of birds down to the Dragonpit. Visenya’s eyes fluttered shut, allowing the rush of speed to course through her veins. 

The loud thud of Silverwing’s landing elicited a soft chuckle from her rider, patting her sides encouragingly. “ Gevī tala.” 

“Your flight made you miss dinner.” Prince Daemon exclaimed, an amused expression toying on his face. “I was weary.” 

“Daemon Targaryen, weary?” Visenya questioned, clicking her tongue teasingly as she slid off Silverwing’s back. “That doesn’t sound like you father.” 

“Despite what many believe, I have a heart.” Daemon shot back, holding back a smile as his arms spread to embrace his daughter, placing a kiss to her head. “Viserys is not pleased.”

“Is grandsire ever pleased with me?” She asked with a heavy sigh, pulling away from him. Her eyes flickered away from him and settled on the distant sight of the Red Keep. 

“It would help if you attended dinner more often.” Daemon suggested, his hands clasping behind his back, following his daughter’s steps observantly. 

“And risk causing a scene at the table?” Visenya scoffed, slipping off her riding gloves, slipping them into the pocket of her coat before climbing into the carriage that awaited her and Daemon. 

Daemon sighed, unsure of how to remedy her wounded pride. She was every bit of Rhaenyra—regal, beautiful and kind. Fiery and determined. But she was still his daughter. Reckless, explosive and hardheaded. He had never understood her affinity for Aegon, but most of all, his brother’s choice was beyond him. Helaena and Aegon—a marriage destined for failure and unhappiness, he thought. And while he despised the idea of Visenya wedding Aegon in the past, he loathed even more seeing her heartbroken. 

“Aegon is a drunken fool, You should consider yourself lucky to be spared.” Daemon retorted, rolling his eyes as he shut the door to the carriage and settled across Visenya. “Finer men exist in Westeros, or in Essos, should you choose to set your sights elsewhere.”

“Finer men, as you call them…” Visenya rolled her eyes, sliding down in her seat with a scowl. “...do not share my blood. Am I to be the only one amongst my sisters that is forced to wed outside of this family? Baela and Rhaena will have Jace and Luke, whilst I am forced to settle.” 

“Visenya, you are young.” Daemon commented with laughter, reaching for the vessel of wine, pouring a cup to quench his thirst. “Egg is your twin, but young Viserys won’t be a boy forever. You could always marry him. In fact, I would not even mind that insipid boy, Daeron. Though, I’d prefer it if you didn’t choose him.” He added with a pointed look.  Despite the peace amongst the families, Daemon still resented the children of Alicent. 

As they arrived at the gates of the Keep, Rhaenyra awaited at the steps of the fortress. Aemond stood next to her, the scowl that characterized him, deep set on his lips. 

With Daemon’s help, Visenya stepped out, smiling at her mother and Aemond. 

“Is His Grace so displeased that all of you are sent to fetch me?” Visenya commented, unbuttoning her coat, handing it off to one of the handmaidens that approached her. 

“Uncle.” Aemond grunted, eyeing Daemon with slight annoyance before turning his attention to Visenya. 

“Nephew. Always a pleasure.” Daemon replied, offering him an unamused wave. He flocked to his wife’s side, lacing her hand with his, bringing it to his lips. He peppered light kisses over her knuckles, eyeing her curiously. 

“Your presence certainly did not go unnoticed at dinner, Visenya.” Rhaenyra replied, raising a threatening brow at her daughter. “That is the third time this week.” 

“I will not be made to sit across those ... simple, feckless traitors.” Visenya bitterly spat out, pushing past her parents with a frown. “If grandsire so easily discarded my wishes for his own, then let him dine with his precious newlyweds.” 

“I’ll go.” Aemond muttered, striding after his niece with an unreadable expression. 

“Must it always be him?” Daemon grumbled, walking inside with Rhaenyra. 

“They share the same heartache. Let them be.” Rhaenyra replied, smiling absentminded. She wasn’t fond of the ties between Aemond and Visenya, either. But Aemond had lost Helaena to Aegon, as Visenya had lost Aegon to Helaena. If anyone understood her anger, it was him. 

The warm flickering of torches highlighted the silver ringlets that bounced delicately at Visenya’s shoulders. Aemond’s own slick locks swayed elegantly with every sway of his feet. 

From afar, King Viserys and Queen Alicent watched the pair in silence. It had been this way since Aegon and Helaena had wed. Every night was a ceaseless battle. Visenya would take to the skies on Silverwing, often followed by Aemond on Vaghar. 

But riding their beasts was never enough. Visenya’s anger and jealousy consumed the Keep, slamming doors and hurling silent insults at Aegon. Aemond, on the other hand, simply stalked the dark halls, hoping to catch a glimpse of his sweet Helaena. 

“If you walk any faster, you’ll outrun a dragon someday.” Aemond teased, leaning against the frame of the library’s entrance where Visenya often visited to drown her pain amongst stiff pages and centuries of histories. 

“You agree with them, now? Are my feelings unjustified?” Visenya sighed, carefully plucking a book from the shelves. A history of Princess Nymeria and her Rhoynar. Her fingertips delicately skimmed over the pages, sitting at one of the desks. 

A tenderness spread through Aemond. He couldn’t fault her anymore than he could conceal his own envy. A second son with nothing to inherit. The only thing he had ever yearned for was Helaena, and to even that, Aegon had laid claim. 

“What is done, cannot be remedied.” Aemond spoke, his voice soft. Yet, a chill ran through every syllable. “The question now is, what are we to do?” 

Without lifting her gaze from the book, Visenya shrugged. “Father says it is wise to wait. In a year or two, I can wed Viserys. As for you, I suppose you chart a difficult path.” 

“Not anymore.” Aemond replied, pursing his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Princess Aliandra Martell.” 

“What about her?” Visenya tilted her head curiously, eyes narrowing in his direction. Whatever idea spun in Aemond’s head could bring nothing but trouble, and for once, she was not in objection. 

A faint grin grazed Aemond’s lips, pushing himself off the doorway to join her. He clasped his hands over the desk, sitting next to her. The silence was tormenting Visenya’s impatience. 

“Oh, out with it!” The princess demanded, shaking the man by the shoulders. “You cannot mention a Martell and expect me to remain uninterested.” 

“When Baela and Jace traveled to Pentos, Prince Reggio might’ve made mention that Qoren Martell is seeking a match for his daughter.” Aemond replied, gripping her hands softly before setting them down onto her lap, smirking. “Hands to yourself, little beast.” 

“Yes, yes. You hate being touched.” Visenya muttered, huffing in annoyance. “So, what then? You plan to offer yourself to Princess Aliandra?” 

“I might.” Aemond looked away from her, gazing out the colored glass that adorned the windows of the library. As much as he coveted the sanctity of his Targaryen lineage, there had to be more to the world than this. Targaryen blood, Targaryen envy. 

“Are you mad?” Visenya blurted out, brows furrowing in his direction. “Aemond, Aliandra Martell is to inherit Dorne from her father. To marry her, especially without leave of the crown, would be treason. Not to mention, a direct conflict with Westeros.” 

“He married her to him, Visenya!” Aemond roared, letting his fist fall harshly onto the wooden surface of the desk. “My own father knew of my feelings for Helaena and married her to Aegon, tell me, who has betrayed who?” 

“You are not the only one who has been hurt by this.” Visenya rose from her seat, glaring at Aemond, her chest heaving with anger. “There is no decency in this family. I, too, made vows in the rampant rage of envy. But this? Aemond….” 

To be a Targaryen, was to forfeit the chance of paradise on this earth. Aemond knew that entrusting Visneya with his intentions was a risk, but he needed her support. Though empathic, he was far from selfless. Princess Aliandra’s hand could only be won, if Visenya accepted Prince Qyle as her husband. 

“I cannot do this without your approval, Vis.” Aemond whispered, reaching out to cup her hands in his palms. “You are the only one who understands why I must do this. Think not only of the emotional vengeance, but of the influence.” 

“But if you marry Aliandra, then you will be no better than Aegon and Helaena.” Visenya replied, a soft sigh escaping the pout on her lips. “However, I cannot blame you for it.” 

“Good. Because Princess Aliandra and her brother will land on Dragonstone in four days. I shall require a witness for my marriage.” Aemond announced, rising to his feet with a smile. 

“Wha— you failed to mention the haste in your decision.” Visenya scrambled after him, blocking the doorway, cocking a brow at him. 

“I’ve informed you now. You can’t take back your word.” Aemond patted her cheek with a stoic expression, swiftly moving her to the side before strutting off into the endless halls of the Keep. 

As nightfall came, Visenya’s mind remained clouded with guilt and worry. If a single untrusted soul found out about Aemond’s secret dealings with Dorne, they would both be labeled as traitors. Albeit what unsettled her more, was the thought of both Martell siblings traveling to Dragonstone. 

Why would Qyle Martell, of all people, make the journey? Surely, Aliandra’s witness could’ve easily been one of her ladies or Sand sisters. 

“What ails you?” The tender words of Lady Baela broke Visenya free from her thoughts. Despite the years that separated them, there was no other person in Westeros, save her personal lady, that Visenya confided in as much as she confided in her eldest sister. 

Baela quietly closed the door to Visenya’s chambers, the flickering flames of candles adding a golden touch to her rich skin. Visenya had always coveted the bronze warmth of her sisters, she found them to be beautiful—goddesses amongst men. 

“It is nothing.” Visenya replied, brushing her hair in gentle strokes. Each pass of the heavy brush added a shine that mimicked the luster of pearls. Still, the frown remained etched on her face as she sat at her vanity. 

“I know that face all too well, sister. Have we ever had secrets between us?” Baela insisted, lightly lifting her robes from the ground as she approached Visenya. Her hands took hold of the girl’s brush, smiling at her through the reflection of the mirror. 

“Here, allow me.” Baela hummed, mindlessly tending to the ends of her sister’s silver locks. 

Resistance was pointless for Visenya. If word of Princess Aliandra’s search for a husband came from Baela and Jace’s mouth, surely, she would understand what was now to be done. 

“It is Aemond.” Visenya uttered, brows furrowing as she formed the words. “He is to marry Princess Aliandra Martell.” 

Baela’s silence was not a lapse of judgement. Her eyes remained on her sister’s hair, every soothe of the comb was a second spent in deep thought. 

“Is it wise to assume that His Grace is unaware of this….match?” Baela asked, halting her actions to lock gazes with Visenya’s reflection. “Tell me.” 

“I— he was not consulted, no. And worst of all, Aemond has asked me to be his witness.” Visenya confessed, adjusting her posture, turning to face Baela with worry written in her eyes. “Baela, I want revenge just as much as Aemond does. But I cannot say I’m not concerned.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone marries without consent.” Baela reassured the younger Targaryen, shrugging as she cupped her chin. “Father and my mother fled, too, remember? As did he with your own mother. I think the King will be just fine.” 

“How can you be so certain?” Visenya asked, her expression contorting with incertitude.

“I can’t be. But what else is there? Will you halt Aemond of all people?” Baela chuckled, kissing her sister’s forehead before setting the brush on the vanity. “Stop worrying that pretty little head of yours. What is meant to happen, will happen. And besides, do you deny wanting to see the look on Aegon and Helaena’s face when Aemond returns with Aliandra?” 

Baela’s lips tugged into a playful smirk, crossing her arms over her chest. “From what I’m told, the Princess is almost as beautiful as her brother. He is not wed, and neither are you. Is that not an incentive to attend the wedding?” 

Visenya’s cheeks became adorned with a crimson blush, her eyes averting her sister’s gaze. “If I wanted to marry Qyle Martell, I would do so, Baela. But this is about Aemond, not me.”

“Hmm, very well.” Baela replied with a hum, making her way to the door. “But when you lie your head on your pillow tonight, and the sounds of Aegon laying with Helaena keep you awake, think about the proposition.” 

Before Visenya could reply, Baela slid out without so much as another word. A loud sigh escaped her lips as she leaned against the hall, guilt written across her face. 

“I hate manipulating her.” She whispered out, her eyes traveling up to meet Jacaerys. 

“I’m not fond of it, either, Baela.” Jace replied, wrapping his arms around his wife. “But if Aemond truly weds Aliandra, as we expect, Visenya’s union to Qyle will be needed. Aemond’s loyalty is nothing but a farce. If Aegon should become desirous of the throne, what’s to say he won’t call on Aemond and Dorne?” 

“Aliandra is to inherit command of Dorne, what is Qyle to do—” 

“Qyle’s mother is the most influential woman in Dorne, while Aliandra’s mother lays cold in her grave.” Jace interjected bluntly, his jaw clenching. “Lena Dayne has requested Visenya for Qyle in exchange for her influence. We must all make sacrifices for the throne. This is hers.” 

Chapter Text

The days leading up to the elopement of Prince Aemond and Princess Aliandra, were days that Visenya spent avoiding her family. The prying eyes of her mother, in particular. Rhaenyra knew her daughter all too well, and any glimpse of mischief in Visenya’s eyes would have given Aemond’s secret away. 

Dubious glances and inquiring silences were shared, but never lasted long enough for Visenya to divulge any details. At dinner, the King and Queen prompted talks of Royce Baratheon and Mareena Strong as suitable candidates for Aemond and Visenya. Albeit such futile attempts were obscured by the palpable tension across the table. 

“Princess, your brother requests your presence at the Godswood.” Alyce Tyrell, Visenya’s lady-in-waiting, pointed out as she set down newly arrived rolls of fabric from Norvos. Princess Visenya, much like her sister, Rhaena, was an avid fashionista and spent a small fortune acquiring the latest silks. 

Alyce herself was dressed in her mistress’ desired choice of style. A long flowy, toga-like, gown that flared at her feet. The maroon fabric, delicately embroidered with gold thread, was cinched at her waist, held in place by a bronze corset and elegantly displayed angel sleeves. 

“Did Jacaerys say what he wants?” Visenya questioned with a vexed tone. Her hands held up the newest addition to her jewelry collection—a pair of gold earrings. Drop pearls hung from an intricate formation of prongs that created a flower set with small diamonds. 

“Prince Jacaerys is away on Vermax. It is Prince Joffrey who seeks you out, princess.” Alyce corrected, walking over with a small mahogany box in hand, carefully taking the earrings from the young woman to safely put them away. 

“Joffrey?” Visenya frowned, her brows furrowing with confusion. It wasn’t odd to be summoned by her brothers, but Joffrey was the most distant from her. Where she chased gold and silks, Joffrey preferred the companionship of Tyraxes and clattering swords. He had no mind for politics, yet had been knighted at the age of sixteen. 

Alyce chuckled, amused by the princess’ reaction, which had been not much different than her own, initially. “Are you not the least bit curious?” 

“Very well. Let us see what my dear brother wants.” Visenya sarcastically replied with a sweet smile that turned into a cascade of laughter. 

The salt in the air was a refreshing reprieve for Prince Joffrey. The young Velaryon had never been fond of the intrigues of court, nor the ambition of his Targaryen blood. He defended his mother’s birthright, and would do so with his life if needed, but if it were up to him, he’d flee to Essos. Not for love of gold or women, but for the yearning of experience.

A year with the Second Sons’, another with the Golden Company. Perhaps, he’d observe the Unsullied in battle, or the marvel at the vicious nature of the Dothraki. The possibilities were endless. But it was all a far-fetched fantasy. Out of bounds, out of hands. 

Joffrey had grown handsome and proud. Though shorter than some Targaryen and Velaryon men, he towered at six-feet, two inches. The same as Prince Daemon. 

Dressed in navy blue, with his sword sheathed at his hip, the prince awaited his sister’s arrival. 

“Brother?” Visenya called out with a dulcet tone to her words. 

Silver locks were set into a maze of intricate braids and ringlets that fell past her shoulders. Her dress was similar to Alyce’s, but the princess’ gown held a deep set neckline that plunged dangerously low into her cleavage. Her neck was adorned by frail gold chains that dangled with pearls and rubies. 

“I admit, I was quite shocked at your summon.” With a chuckle, the young princess embraced her brother, placing a warm kiss to his cheek. “Alas, here I am.” 

Joffrey offered her a faint smile, rigidly hugging her. Her sweet scent inflicting upon his senses. “I hope your day has been good? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve been avoiding us all.”

Visenya’s head lowered timidly as she pulled away, concealing the smile that danced on her lips. 

“It is not on behalf of you, or anyone, really. I can assure you.” She replied, turning away from him, her gaze lingering on the sparkling horizon. The glistening waters of the Blackwater in the midday sun. 

“Not anyone? Not even Aegon?” Joffrey inquired, clasping his hands behind his back, taking a step towards her. 

“Not at all.” Visenya countered, blinking away the cloud of resentment that overpowered her. “In fact, ask me again in a few days and I might even look favorably upon Royce Baratheon’s offer of marriage.” She added with a feigned giggle. 

“Would you hold my own proposal in the same regard?” Joffrey asked after a few moments of silence. It felt as if the world around him waited anxiously, as did he. 

His bond with Visenya was far from extraordinary. He had always been closer to his Velaryon brothers, and on occasion, shared a fondness for Baela. She was like him, a warrior and a true dragonrider. Whereas, Rhaena and Visenya, were spoiled and pampered. Still, the idea of Aegon making a fool of his sister, and worse of all, seeing her married off to some Baratheon cunt, was enough to prompt interest. 

“Could such a thing ever be possible?” Visenya replied, unaware of the sincerity of his words. “Besides, you’re all but betrothed to Celina Frey.” 

Visenya spun on her heels to meet her brother’s gaze. Her smile soon faded, vulnerable eyes stared back at her, and in that moment, the realization set in. “You’re serious?” 

Joffrey would be lying if he denied his sister’s beauty. She was not short, nor too tall. Her pale lilac eyes were captivating, and beneath the lavish silks, he could only imagine her figure was a sight to behold. But lust was not a word he’d ever use to describe his thoughts of Visenya. 

“In truth, I do not love you.” He began, his gaze lowering, lines forming on his forehead as he settled deep in thought. “I do not desire you as a woman, not yet, at least. But I am a man, and you are a woman of great beauty. I have no doubts, in time, I will come to cherish you as you deserve.” 

“Joff—” Visenya attempted to interject, but was swiftly silenced by his anxious rambling

“The battlefield is all I know, war and freedom are what I covet.” Joffrey sighed, raising his dark eyes to meet her muddled expression. “Celina Frey is a fair girl, simple, but fair. But I am a Targaryen, and I’m certain that our children could have every possibility of inheriting your traits and my strength, should you accept me as your husband.” 

Joffrey had never crossed Visenya’s mind as a suitor. Not for lack of intent, he was handsome and praised for his battle skills, but he was reserved and mysterious. As children, he had no interest in entertaining his sisters, always trailing after Jace. Even now, Visenya couldn’t recall the last time he had sought her out for leisure instead of duty. 

“Is it pity you feel?” Visenya asked, inching closer to him, taking his hand into the warm grip of her own. Her eyes glistened with shame and sadness. 

“He has dishonored you, sister.” Joffrey replied, all too quickly. His calloused hands enveloped her own, bringing them to his lips to press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “Aegon publicly courted you, yet chose Helaena to gain favor with the King, and now, you are to be shipped off to Storm’s End? It is not pity that drives me, but a desire to shield you as I should have shielded you in the past.” 

“I won’t marry you to absolve your guilt, Joffrey.” Visenya shot back, pulling away from him. She chuckled bitterly, toying with the curled ends of her hair nervously, a single tear rolling down her visage. “In nearly twenty-years, not once have you shown a glimpse of interest, and suddenly you say this, why?” 

“I will not beg, nor will I force this decision on you, Vis.” Joffrey’s hands clenched at his sides. Frustration coursed through him. He had never been a poet, or a skilled writer, not a silver-tongued speaker like his brothers. 

The prince approached Visenya cautiously, standing at her side. His hand rose, delicately tracing her cheek with his knuckles. “Give it some thought. Grant me that, at least?” 

Joffrey’s touch was not repulsive, nor did Visenya shy away from it. But it felt wrong. As if their shared pity of the world brought them together. Visenya was no fool, she understood the benefits of a marriage with Joff, but she wanted more than political lust. 

“I will.” She replied, leaning into his touch with a warm smile. “I will journey to Dragonstone with Baela at the break of dawn. But we shall speak of this upon my return.” 

“Thank you.” Joffrey’s words were but a whisper, but they pulled him back into his shallow reality, abruptly pulling away from his sister. With a silent bow, he made his exodus, leaving behind a clouded-minded Visenya. 

The hushed voices of Baela, Jace and Aemond whistled in the mystifying solitude of the Dragonpit. Vermax watched with curious reptilian eyes, whilst Moondancer slumbered in the damp peace of the ground. 

Baela adjusted her leather gloves, vigilant of the pit's entrance. “I’ll stay behind and wait for Visenya, you two go ahead and prepare for our arrival. If she misses another motherly talk with Rhaenyra, she might just bind her to her bed for the entire year.” 

Jacaerys snorted, rolling his eyes amusedly. “Mother is overprotective of her. But for good reason—Visenya is no saint, despite what she may portray.” 

Aemond, on the other hand, remained silent. His eye twinkled with mischief, one lone hand adjusting his eye patch with a grunt. “You’re certain she’ll come?” 

“Of course, she will.” Baela interjected with a bored expression. “She aims to displease the family, just as much as you do.” 

“No. She aims, only, to displease Aegon.” Aemond corrected, striding towards the exit. “Come, Jace. The hour grows late, we’ll want to make for Dragonstone now.” 

“Careful.” Baela muttered, taking Jace’s hand as she placed a chaste kiss to his lips. 

“Always.” 

Dinner had never been Visenya’s favorite time of the day. She found it to be tiresome—she lied. She adored dinnertime, hearing the laughter from her mother’s lips and the dry-humored jokes that her father birthed. She ached for the encouraging words from her grandsire, and the rare compliment by the Queen. 

But nowadays, time seems to be influenced by chaos. Dinnetime was nothing more than a vacuum of unspoken phrases and tattered oaths. 

“.....do you agree, my girl?” King Viserys called out, a hopeful smile aching his frail jaw as he aimed his attention towards Visenya. 

“My apologies, Your Grace. I was ...absentminded.” Visenya replied, clearing her throat as she straightened her posture, taking a sip of her wine. Her hand fidgeted nervously with the necklace around her neck. 

“Royce Baratheon.” The King spoke once more, sighing wearily. “He has discarded any notion of a dowry in order to convince you of the purity of his intentions.” 

“How noble of him.” Visenya answered dryly. Her eyes flickered towards Aegon and Helaena. Aegon was silent, jaw tense. While Helaena sat with a small smile, poking at her food. 

“I’d rather pay him the sum of my dowry if he can discard the notion of marrying me.” Visenya snorted, stifling her laughter as she avoided her father’s amused gaze. Rhaenyra, on the other hand, wished for the earth to swallow her. 

“Father, she only jests.” Rhaenyra commented, offering a timid smile. “Lord Royce proposes a generous offer. It shall be considered.” 

“Of course….” Visenya muttered under her breath.

“Good.” Viserys replied curtly, disappointedly looking away from his granddaughter.  

Aegon’s foot extended under the table, the tip of his boot rising to brush against Visenya’s leg, but she was quick to kick him away. 

A sly expression settled over his visage, violet eyes trailing over his niece’s sitting silhouette. 

Visenya shifted visibly in her seat, but ultimately hid her discomfort with grace. In any other occasion, had Aegon behaved this way weeks ago, her response would have been favorable. 

What did he seek? To shame Helaena? To add injury to insult for Visenya? 

“Sister, are you well?” Young Egg whispered, sipping his own dark red. 

“I’m fine. Just….tired.” Visenya replied with pursed lips. “I should retire now.” 

Using the lively chatter and the drunkenness of the King to her advantage, Visenya rose from her seat, bowing to Alicent and her parents as she made her way out of the dining hall and into the dimly lit corridors of the Keep. 

Her mind was far from taskless. She hoped Alyce had arranged everything for their quick departure. 

“Ao flee hen issa, byka zaldrīzes?” (You would flee from me, little dragon?) Aegon called out, reaching out to wrap his hand around Visenya’s wrist. 

The princess was quick in her response. She struck his cheek swiftly with the back of her hand. 

“Renigon issa arlī se ao morghūljagon..” (Touch me again and you die.) Visenya pulled away from him harshly, but the prince was relentless in his pursuit. 

Aegon’s hands held onto Visenya’s forearms as he pressed her against the wall, dipping his head into the crook of her neck. “Shijetra issa.” (Forgive me.) 

“Shijetra ao? Nyke should ossēnagon ao.” (Forgive you? I should kill you.) 

“Ziry istan issa kepa's orders, visenya. Kostagon ao daor shifang bona? Kostagon ao daor ūndegon skorkydoso ziry pains issa, tolī?” (It was my father's orders, Visenya. Can you not understand that? Can you not see how it pains me, too?)

Visenya’s resolve was strong, but indefensible against the warmth of her beloved’s body. Her arms slid up to wrap around his neck, sobbing into his chest. 

“Ao istan ñuhon. Se ao iderēptan zȳhon!” (You were mine. And you chose her!) Visnya wept softly, digging her fingers into the back of his neck. 

Aegon said nothing. He tightly wrapped one arm around her waist, taking his free hand to brush through her locks gently. His lips only parting to hum softly into her ear. 

“My words are limited….but I would require a thousand languages to describe my guilt, Vis.” Aegon’s jaw clenched, an eager hand finding its way down the side of her body, raising the fabric of her gown. Tentative digits exploring the milky flesh of her outer thigh. 

“Stop it.” Visenya muttered, gazing up through soaked lashes. Her hands rested flat against his chest.  “Aegon….”

Despite the choice he had made, Visenya was the source of his desire. The emblem of his passion. To easily forget her, was to ask a rotten corpse to live. 

Aegon’s lips brushed against her own, teasing her morality before capturing her breath in an expressive kiss. Her thighs, though delectable, did little to satiate him. 

Wandering fingers slid between the valley of her breasts, pinching at her prodding nipples.

Visenya’s words were caught in her throat, unable to enjoy. Unable to protest. All she could muster was a strained whimper, shutting her eyes. 

“Oh, my sweet Visenya.” Aegon whispered, trailing kisses down her jaw. 

“I am not— Helaena…..” Visenya’s voice trailed off as sullen eyes bore into her lustful hues. She gasped, pushing Aegon off her. She had no excuse, but how could Helaena just stand there watching? No complaint, no reaction. 

“Are you not odd enough without voyeuristic tendencies?" Aegon sarcastically muttered, adjusting himself before turning to face his wife. 

“You will fly close to the sun if you pursue her.” Helaena replied, picking nervously at her bracelet. There was no jealousy in her eyes. Despite her ambitions, she did not see Visenya as her rival, but a mere obstacle. “You will be ash in her hands.” 

“Your dreams are sound, princess.” Visenya chimed in, smoothing out her gown. “Perhaps, he should heed your words.” 

Without another word, Visenya fled the scene. Her feet carrying her to her chambers with a rushed tempo. Step after step, her heart felt as if it would jump out of her chest. 

“Princess, is everything okay?” Alyce had concern written all over her face as she witnessed Visenya’s distressing entrance. 

“I’m fine. I just— we just need to get going. Baela will be waiting for us.” Visenya forced a smile onto her lips, wasting no time as she slipped off her gown and with Alyce’s help, dressed into her riding gear. 

Her words were of little comfort to Alyce, but the woman said nothing else. 

With haste, both women made their way through the tunnels of the Keep in order to flee the gates and reach the Dragonpit. 

“I thought you wouldn’t come.” Baela commented with a sigh of relief from atop Moondancer. 

“Of course, I will come. Never doubt me, sister.” With a playful smirk, Visenya patted Silverwing’s side, mounting her skillfully. “Are you ready, pretty girl?” 

A melodious string of roars came from the female dragons as they took off with their riders. Alyce Tyrell, situated safely behind Visenya’s saddle, could be heard from meters above King’s Landing, aiming curses at the sudden rush. 

“Oh, this better be worth it!” 

Chapter Text

The warm air of Sunspear danced over the sands of the Dornish desert, the salt of the sea brushing through the essence of its scent.. There was no aroma with such exquisite delight as the oils that covered the sunkissed flesh of the most rivaled royal siblings in the continent—Aliandra Martell and Qyle Martell. The royals of Dornish origins possessed virtues that made them prized jewels on the marriage market.

With bronze skin, hair that resembled wenge wood, and cinnamon eyes, just months before his twenty-third nameday, Qyle was selected as the binding factor to his sister’s treasonous wedding. Princess Aliandra, heir to Dorne, was to wed Prince Aemond Targaryen. Having turned down the hand of Drazenko Logare, the twenty-five year old princess forged her own path. 

Princess Aliandra’s beauty was rumored across the Narrow Sea and far North as far as the wall. She had olive skin, almond-shaped dark eyes, and deep chocolate locks that cascaded in waves past her waist. She was outspoken, brazen and bold. Unlike her brother, Qyle, who preferred the simplicity of his silence. Ever the calculated siblings, observant and witty.

The waves of the Blackwater welcomed her with open arms. For months, without rest, they sailed valiantly to Dragonstone, with promises of a life worthy of their status. Peace between Dorne and the Iron Throne had been a long fought battle, but Aliandra saw no reason why the crown could not prove itself to be an ally of Dorne, without the need of conquest. 

Her arrival on Westerosi territory was unannounced and undetected. Her union to Aemond had been one discussed through the secretive nature of ravens and burned letters, not distinguished ambassadors. And while Prince Aemond sought her out to avenge his broken heart, and elicit anger from his father, Aliandra had a request of her own. She would see her brother wed to the blood of the Dragon, too. Qyle did not protest, for he had long sworn obeisance to his sister as heir to the throne of Sunspear. But it came as a shock, when the girl chosen as a bride was no other than Rhaenyra’s only daughter, and twin to the radiant Prince Aegon the Younger, Princess Visenya Targaryen. 

“What plagues your mind?” Aliandra taunted with a flicker of amusement in her tone. Her steps carried her to rest against the guardrailings of their ships, next to her brother. 

“My mind has always been a paradox, why do you pry now?” Qyle replied with a faint smirk. His gaze lingering on the horizon. The pale darkness of Dragonstone now in sight from afar. 

“Perhaps, I wish to atone for my lack of interest.” She shot back, shrugging nonchalantly. The breeze dancing through her thick, dark tresses as she spoke. “We have been at sea for three months. Yet you’ve said nothing regarding your marriage.” 

“What is there left to say, Aliandra?” He answered flatly, hands tightening against the rails. “Ever since you were but a girl, you’ve mumbled and demanded a Targaryen for a husband. You have always been….enthralled by their dragonriding abilities.”

“It is not the man I desire, brother. But the dragon.” Aliandra replied rather playfully. She spun on her feet, resting her back against the railings, arms crossed. “To give Aemond a child, a son—secures a dragon egg, at the very least, for Dorne.”

Qyle’s eyes narrowed into a muddled gaze. “So, why then, if you’ve conjured such a perfect plan for yourself and for Dorne, did you arrange for me to wed Visenya Targaryen? Am I not free to love who I wish, the Dornish way?”

Alindra remained silent, unmoved by his frustrations. Still, she felt compelled to reassure his conflicted mind. “I may not always agree with her, but your mother is the most cunning woman I’ve ever met. It is no surprise that my father found such comfort between her legs, as he did her mind, after my mother’s death.” 

With a sigh, she settled one hand over his own. The sound of birds filling the silence that lingered. “But she is right—as things remain, Rhaenyra’s own dragon has brought forth clutch after clutch of eggs. And if gossip is certain, then it is in her nature to spoil her daughter. Surely, she would not deny her grandchildren, by Dorne or otherwise, their birthright. Is that not better than whores and paramours?”

“You seldom agree with my mother.” Qyle mumbled, clearing his throat. He peeled away from the railings of the ship, straightening his posture as his eyes cast down upon his sister’s visage. “Even now, I doubt your intentions, sister. Alas, I’m intrigued so I shall play along.”

“A wise man. Now, best be quick. We shall dock soon.” Aliandra pointed out, walking away to descend down into the quarters of the ship. 

Princess Visenya and Princess Baela, accompanied by Alyc Tyrell, had arrived on Dragonstone a mere moments away from sunrise. There was no proper welcome, only knights and servants that rushed to their aid. The smell of dragon, though a novelty to the Targaryens, was pungent on their riding attire. 

“I was afraid you’d been caught.” Jace called out as he descended the stairs into the great hall. His steps carried him eagerly towards Baela, draping his cloak over her shoulders. 

“We have more wit than you credit us with, my love.”  Baela replied with sweet laughter. The dim lighting of the painted table casting a faint glow over her tired expression. 

“Oh, I never doubted you and Visenya.” Jace chuckled, placing a gentle kiss on her brow as his gaze glanced over at his younger sister fighting with her riding gloves. Alyce Tyrell, on the other hand, rested against one of the guards, looking pale and ill. “Lady Tyrell, however, well, I had little confidence. No offense meant, my lady.” 

“I don’t think she has the energy to be insulted, brother.” Visenya huffed, walking over to Alyce to command the guard to help her to a guest room for now. “You need rest dear friend. The Dornish will not arrive till midday.” 

“You are more informed than I am, it seems.” Aemond interjected, his intrusive nature leading his steps. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, his hands behind his back as he made his way to them. 

“I am not. Baela is.” Visenya muttered, mischief twinkling in her eyes as she spoke. 

“You steered from your path?” Jace questioned with concern etching itself into the wrinkles on his brow. 

“Moondancer is fast, Jace. I simply….wanted to see if their ship was on course.” Baela explained, taking hold of his hand. “Now come, I need a bath and some rest. We will need to be presentable when they arrive.” 

Their exodus did little to sway the alert state of Prince Aemond and Princess Visenya. 

Visenya pursed her lips, removing her riding coat as she lingered her gaze on Aemond. “What happens now? How will this proceed?” 

“A priestess from Yunkai arrived prior to you.” He replied, humming as he paced around the painted table. His eye patch faintly moved with the twitch of his expressions. 

“Yunkai?” Visenya questioned, cocking her brow apprehensively. “Whatever for?”

“Princess Aliandra may be Dornish, but I will not be deprived of a Valyrian ceremony.” He filled in stoically. His attention remained on the intricate map before him. 

“The customs of our house are sacred.” Visenya argued, setting her hands harshly on the edge of the surface. “You would share that with Dorne?” 

“I have only asked for my birthright, Visenya. Nothing more.” Aemond lifted his gaze to meet her glare. His remaining eye hardened with every word. 

“Very well.” She hissed, peeling away from the painted table. “I’ll take my leave now. And if you’re wise, you’ll get some rest, too, before the ceremony.” 

No other words were spoken as the Princess made her way up to her quarters. Thankfully, Alyce had pulled herself together by then and awaited her with a hot bath. 

“Princess.” Alyce smiled wearily, her hands undoing the laces of Visenya’s corset before helping her step out of her dress. With caution, the redhead unraveled her silver braids, combing her fingers through her hair. “You seem distressed, Princess.”

Visenya’s expression was unreadable as she stepped into the steaming waters. Her pale flesh reddening at the sudden exposure to the heat, but she did not complain. The slight sting came as a welcomed distraction. 

“Something is amiss, Alyce.” She spoke, skimming her fingers over the surface of the oil-clouded bath. “Baela and Jace are terrifyingly calm about this. And Aemond has summoned a priestess from Yunkai—why?” 

“Perhaps, he desires for a glimpse of grandeur at his underwhelming ceremony.” Alyce replied playfully, giggling as she carefully soaked her mistress’ hair. “His marriage to Princess Aliandra will lack fanfare and feasts, Princess.” 

“Yes, it shall.” Visenya whispered, brows furrowing as her confusion was reinforced. “I feel unsettled. As if all of this was a folly. Or perhaps, a mirage of the truth.” 

“You’re weary from travel, that is all.” Alyce reassured her, lathering her hair in cleansing oils and lye before rinsing it out. There was a silence that remained as she washed the Princess’ body. Her hands gently scrubbed at her skin with a coarse sponge, rinsing and lathering, repeating the cycle over and over. 

Alyce’s delicate touch traveled down Visenya’s shoulders, cupping her breasts as she cleansed away the dirt and sweat of dragon riding. “This is a good thing, Visenya.” She whispered, pressing a gentle kiss below the woman’s ear. “With Aemond entertained with his new bride, and Aegon licking his wounds, is it not the perfect to think of your own desires?” 

A shiver ran down Visenya’s spine, her eyes fluttering shut as the warmth from Alyce’s breath fanned against her neck. Her hands rose above the water, gripping the edges of the tub. “You speak as if marriage would ever tear me away from you, Alyce.” 

“You loved Aegon, did you not? You would have done anything to be with him.” Alyce muttered with a hint of envy. Her kisses trailing down to settle on the sensitive flesh under Visenya’s jaw, one rogue hand sliding down the princess’ abdomen to cup her silver coated cunt. 

Visneya gasped, stirring against her lady’s touch. She turned her face to the side, eyes swirling with lust as they fell on Alyce’s vibrant green hues. “I loved him, yes. But not enough to be parted from you.” 

Her words echoed like a silent breeze between them. The crackling wood in the heart served only to muffle their whispers. And with a feminine breath, Visenya pressed her lips against her lady’s in a tender kiss. 

Alyce slid her middle digit between Visenya’s folds, lightly rubbing circles around her clit. Soft moans were birthed from the princess’ lips. The water around her splashing with her trashing movements of pleasure. But even as her ecstasy escalated, her mind remained sound. 

“Alyce….” She muttered against the Tyrell woman’s lips, panting weakly. 

“Yes, Princess?” The redhead replied, teasing Visenya’s entrance with her index finger. With every taunting ingress, Visenya’s moans became louder. Pale thighs struggling to stay open. Alyce’s lips did little to silence the Princess. Whimper after whimper, her desire only grew until it came to a hitched stop. Visneya trembled under her, warmth flowing from her cunt as she reached a pleasant climax. “Good girl, Princess….but I’m not done with you.” 

“N-no…” Visenya protested, breaking away from Alyce, her expression laced with conflicting lust and hunger.

“Have you lost your appetite?” Alyce mumbled teasingly. Her free hand brushing back Visneya’s wild curls. “Does my touch no longer soothe your mind?” 

“It does. Oh, Alyce, more than you can ever know.” Visenya argued, sitting up to cup Alyce’s hands, caring little for the water that fell on her lady’s gown. “I’m just….not myself.” 

Alyce sighed, smiling understandingly. The light that radiated from the candles cast a warm glow over Visenya’s face. How could she ever be upset at such beauty? Behind the veils of their sapphic desire, lay a strong friendship. She’d never do anything to put that at risk. 

“Let us put you to bed, Highness. You’ll need to be radiant when the Dornish arrive.” She insisted, helping the woman out of the tub, wrapping clean linens around her to dry her drenched body. 

The women giggled at their theories about Princess Aliandra and Prince Qyle. Are rumors of her beauty true? Is Qyle as handsome as they say? Visneya was marveled by their culture. Their acceptance of bastardy and paramours. It seemed like a distant paradise. And with that happiness, sleep enveloped her and Lady Alyce. 

The eagerness of the sun came rather quickly over the horizon of Dragonstone. Bright rays and warm winds entered the peaceful chambers of Prince Jacaerys. His dark locks were disheveled from the night before, Baela rested comfortably across his chest. Sprawled in whatever manner they had surrendered to after their lovemaking. 

“You must wake, my love.” Jacaerys whispered in a husky tone, caressing his hand up and down Baela’s back. “They will arrive soon. You’ll need to temper Visenya when they do.” 

Baela stirred between the sheets, groaning in protest of his request. Alas, she forced her eyes to peel open with a sleepy smile. “Must I? Our dear sister will protest any man presented before her, prince or otherwise.” 

Jace hummed in response, his brows furrowing as realization of his sister’s fiery nature was restored. “Qyle Martell is as good as any suitor she will have. And besides, she’s a woman scorned. Is displeasing Aegon not reward enough to tempt her?”

“I suppose, it is.” She replied, peeling herself off him, wrapping the sheets around her body as she climbed off the bed and made her way to the gown laid out by the servants. “Do you think she’ll think him handsome?” 

“I’ve never met him.” Jace mumbled, sitting up as his gaze lingered on the sensuality of his wife. “But in Pentos, we came across his mother, Lady Lena. She was beautiful, was she not?” 

“You think Lena Dayne, beautiful?” Baela taunted at his reflection in the mirror of their vanity. “She is, yes. For a woman of her age, she has grace and beauty. Oddly, the essence of her youth has not escaped her. One can imagine her son is the same.” 

Jace chuckled, rising from his bed with a playful smirk etched across his lips. King’s Landing could be a suffocating city. Constricting his every desire and want. But Dragonstone felt like home—it was, home. And even now, in the face of uncertainty with Dorne, he was happy with Baela by his side. 

“You are the only one I find beautiful enough to stir my heart.” His hands cupped Baela’s face, placing a soft kiss to her lips. His nose nudged her own in quirky jest. “Let’s get dressed. We have a wedding to attend.” 

Aemond had been the first amongst them to rise from his slumber, if he had managed any. There were nerves that settled in the pit of his stomach. For one so fearless, the thought of Aliandra Martell rattled him. They whispered of her beauty—her olive skin and her proud nature. He’d been raised at court, surrounded by liars, politicians and whores. 

Rhaenyra was brazen, as was Visenya, but if gossip was fact, then Aemond had not faced a woman such as Aliandra. And the thought of having such a wife was a feat he desired. 

He paced the foyer of the fortress, taking in the sight of Targaryen sigils and Valyrian sculptures. Aemond was dressed in black silks that made up the long doublet of his upper half, reaching a few centimeters above the knee. It was worked with gold embroidery and embellishments of House Targaryen. 

“Ah, there you are.” Aemond called out as Visenya made her way to him, Alyce in trail.

“Here I am.” She repeated with a smile. Visenya wore a gown of seafoam blue silk and gold trim. It was exquisitely embellished with gold thread, jewels and a white modesty lace that did little to avert one’s gaze to her chest. Her hair, normally worn in long ringlets, was tidy and kept. Having been neatly placed into a hair net made from gold thread, pearls and green thread. 

“You look marvelous, dear niece.” Aemond commented proudly. A smile almost formed across his lips, yet he remained stoic. “Truly, radiant. And of course, as do you, Lady Alyce.”

Alyce, on the other hand, wore a gown of green and gold silks. Plain in comparison to Visneya’s dress, but dazzling nonetheless. Her own auburn locks were loose, cascading past her waist, held back at the back of her head by gold ribbon. 

“We are all ready, then?” Visenya questioned. Jace and Baela’s absence did not go unnoticed. Thankfully, the couple descended into the foyer within moments. Both dressed in their infamous black and red to represent House Targaryen. 

Jacaerys wore his crown proudly, as did Aemond. While Baela and Visenya were styled in delicate coronets. 

“Well, uncle. It seems the day has arrived.” Baela said, smirking in his direction as the group simultaneously walked out to the gates of the castle. 

“And so it seems.” Aemond replied, nodding politely. 

The Targaryen hosts were joined by a platoon of knights, servants and the priestess from Yunkai who had awaited their arrival at the steps. 

From afar, the docked ships of the Martells could be appreciated from the heights of the Dragonstone castle. Bright yellow and orange sails painted with the sigils of Dorne and House Martell. 

But the beauty of their ships was fiercely rivaled by the beauty of Aliandra and Qyle. Though small, their retinue was grand in adornments and presence. 

Shirtless men with jewels and thick gold chains hanging from their necks, carried Princess Aliandra in a luxurious litter. Pearlescent curtains hung from its short ceiling. While Prince Qyle arrived in similar fashion, both male and female servants fanned them as they hovered closer to the gates. 

“I present, Her Highness, Princess Aliandra Martell of Dorne! Heir to the throne of Sunspear! Accompanied by her brother, Prince Qyle of House Martell!” 

One of many Dornish guards rushed towards the front of the retinue, calling out their arrival. 

Aemond stood tall and proud, though his anxious interior was a testament to his worry. 

Visenya, for one, appeared to be at peace. Albeit impressed by the splendor of the Martell siblings. Her curiosity itched at her throat, impatient to meet both Aliandra and Qyle. 

“We welcome you to Dragonstone!” Alyce called out, bowing politely to the covered siblings. “Allow me to present, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, heir apparent to the Iron Throne and his lady wife, Lady Baela Targaryen. Prince Aemond Targaryen, second born son of King Viserys of House Targaryen. And this is Princess Visenya Targaryen, the jewel of Dragonstone.” 

From behind the protection of chiffon curtains, Aliandra observed the Valyrian royals that stood before her. Jacaerys was handsome, yet did not resemble a Targaryen, she thought. Lady Baela, however, she found to be intriguing. With silver hair and dark skin, she was a beautiful woman. But most enthralling above all, was Aemond. He was striking, a regal kind of handsome. The Dornish woman had little to complain about. He was just as they described. 

“And what is your name?” Aliandra asked, her eyes trailing over to Qyle;s litter with a small smirk. 

“Alyce Tyrell of Highgarden, Princess.” She replied, holding her high as she spoke.

“Well, Alyce Tyrell of Highgarden, you’re a pretty thing. Such a shame I have no more brothers to spare.” Aliandra replied, motioning towards the servants to set them down. 

Qyle did the same to his own servants, peeling away the curtains to step out into the sunlight. His eyes instantly fell on Princess Visenya. She was not the kind of woman that was easily found on Sunspear, nor the type to be found is his bed. 

Yet, he did not deny the allure of her beauty. He was shameless in that sense. His mind wandered to the body beneath the silks. Alas, he politely bowed his head to her and the accompanying royals. 

“It is an honor to be here amongst you all. It is with a happy heart that I escort my sister.” Qyle proclaimed, offering his hand to Aliandra as she stepped out from her litter. 

Aemond’s heart nearly fell out from his chest at her sight. She was everything they promised and more. A true goddess, he thought. Even now, as she stood there without uttering a word, he found her to be sensual and striking. 

“Princess Aliandra, allow me to escort you.” Aemond suggested, stepping forward to take her hand into his own, motioning towards the steps of the castle. 

“Thank you, my prince.” She replied, graciously accepting, following him in. 

Jacaerys and Baela led the way, ordering Alyce to show the Dornish entourage where they could store their horses and litters. 

Visenya, however, was left to walk side by side with Qyle. She was silent, oddly quiet. She was known to be outspoken and proud, yet her words failed her. 

“You are as beautiful as they claim, Princess.” Qyle broke the silence, settling his hands behind his back as he walked. Each step inching him closer to her, enthralled by her scent. 

“Courtiers write that you are prettier than your sister, my prince. Though, I’m not certain I agree.” Visenya replied, biting back a smile. “You’re easy on the eyes, if you’re seeking a compliment.” 

“I was not.” He shot back, chuckling heatedly at her words. He turned to gaze upon her visage, observing her delicate features. He was a prince known for consorting with whores, exotic beauties and bastards. What need did he have of Visenya Targaryen? She was pleasant to look at, and his mind had imagined me naked many times in the minutes since his arrival, alone. But did she offer more than just a pretty face?

“And yet you don’t deny being prettier than your sister.” Visenya challenged, tilting her head with amusement. She had found Aliandra to be stunning in her yellow silks that left little to the imagination. 

“Perhaps, Princess, it is because I seek your unadulterated opinion of me.” He replied, stopping in his tracks as they entered the castle, taking in the sheer ornaments that hung from the walls, honoring the Targaryen’s Valyrian lineage. 

“My opinion matters little. And besides, I’d rather put my wit to better use.” Visenya mentioned, smoothing out her gown. Her eyes wrinkled as a faint smile graced her lips. 

“Your opinion could never matter little.” He stated, taking a step closer to her. His hand inching in direction of her own, brushing his thumb against her knuckles. 

“We’ve only met, Your Highness. You shouldn’t think too highly of me just yet.” She whispered against his chest, playing into his game before pulling away and making her way to join everyone else, leaving him to ponder his failed attempt.