"Resentment" - Chapter 12 [AemondxRhaena]
Summary
He is the cause of her sufferings. He took her dragon, her betrothed, and her father. Now, he will also take away her future by having to marry him.
With so much history and bad blood between Rhaena and Aemond, their forced union has everything to fail, except that the proximity will make them discover that perhaps they have more in common than it seems.
AU - the Greens win the war.
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11
Masterlist of my other works.
Tags: enemies to lovers, romance, angst, drama, eventual smut, hurt/comfort
Please remember that english is not my first language, so I'm sorry for the mistakes...
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"It was during that darkness that the Others first appeared. They were cold things, dead things, who hated iron and fire and sunlight, and every creature with warm blood in their veins. They devastated villages, cities and kingdoms. They defeated heroes and armies. They were innumerable, always on the backs of white and dead horses, at the head of hosts of corpses. Not all the swords of men could stop their advance, nor did the maidens or the breast babies awaken their compassion. They hunted the girls through the frozen forests and fed the flesh of human children to their dead servants.”
The sudden sound of the door closing makes her gasp, and close the book. Heart pounding in her chest, Rhaena directs her gaze to the other end of the room.
“Rhaena! Why are you still in bed?” Marianne's voice is full of impatience. The lady frowns when she comes close to her friend, and observes her tired and haggard expression, “Are you feeling ill?”
“I was reading,” Rhaena shakes her head.
“Did you spend all night reading?” she asks astonished
“Not all night,” Rhaena blushes, “I slept for a few hours.”
Marianne sighs and closes her eyes for a few moments. “It is an important day, you should have gotten dressed by now.”
“Surely we still have a few hours before I have to…”
“No, no more reading for today,” Marianne walks around the bed until she reaches the book, quickly taking it in her hands as she guesses Rhaena’s intentions to continue with her favorite pastime, “Honestly, how interesting can this be? Boring fiction about the North”
“Not at all!” Rhaena is quick to say, “It is quite fascinating, actually, reading about the terrible winter that descended upon the entire continent. Did you know that the Others rode spiders the size of horses? They were death itself."
“Stop it, I have no desire for horror stories,” Marianne shudders.
“Oh no, Marianne, let me tell you about what I read, who else am I going to share all this new information with?”
“Prince Aemond, of course,” Marianne places the book on one of the tables, “Since he so kindly lent you the book, he might as well hear your opinions on it.”
Rhaena sighs and her gaze drifts once more to the worn cover of the book. Could it be that her cousin enjoyed the stories as much as she did? Was that the reason the book seemed so aged? Or was it just another copy already worn out by the passing of the years?
“Don't you want to know more about winter?”
“The only thing I know about winter is that it is cold, bad for crops and commerce. And, luckily it is not upon us yet,” Marianne approaches the bed, removes the covers from Rhaena's body and extends her hand towards her, “Otherwise the merchants of Lys would not have been able to bring this.”
The lady shows Rhaena a couple of small glass bottles.
"What are they?" she asks, curious, examining the content
“Face and lip powder,” she replies with a smile.
Rhaena's smile widens as well as she climbs out of bed. “You look beautiful today, by the way,” she says after really taking in the appearance of her friend, who is wearing a yellow, almost ocher dress, with delicate details of seashells, the emblem of her house, which accentuates her delicate figure. Her hair, loose in soft waves, falls to her back, framing her heart-shaped face. “Looking to impress someone?”
“You know who I'd like to impress isn't here,” Marianne responds in a discouraged voice, “But my uncle Tyland wants me to take the opportunity to meet future suitors.”
“Surely you already know all the courtiers who live here?” Rhaena takes off her nightgown and puts her hair in a high bun.
“Well…” Marianne interrupts her respond to give instructions to the maids who fill the bathtub, “Some of the guests to your wedding have already arrived at the Fortress and will attend the banquet.”
“Oh, I did not know that,” her stomach twists at the thought of the wedding. Rhaena steps into the tub, rejoicing in the hot water, which calms her immediately.
“Yes, maybe we will meet someone interesting today.”
"Maybe"
Rhaena quickly carves her body with the sponge while her friend prepares the dress, jewelry and shoes she will wear at the banquet with the help of the maids.
“You should have slept a little more, you look too tired,” Marianne says disapprovingly after Rhaena has already gotten out of the bathtub, inspecting the dark circles on her friend's face.
“Relax, Anne, I do not need to look especially put together today. I am already betrothed, remember?”
“Still,” the lady shrugs, “Come on, help Lady Rhaena get dressed,” she instructs the servants, who quickly place Rhaena inside the dress, their deft fingers buttoning the back buttons, “I would know it would fit you perfectly”
Rhaena walks to the bedroom mirror and observes her figure, “It is tighter than what I usually wear,” she comments as she moves from side to side.
“Nonsense, it looks perfect on you,” her friend repeats.
Rhaena offers her a smile, “Thank you, Marianne, I just hope it is discreet enough for the ceremony. The neckline is much more revealing than the ones I wore all week during the festival.”
“Right, I didn't particularly think about that,” Marianne observes her friend, “We could try putting down a muslin or…”
“No, no, it is too pretty a dress to add anything out of place,” Rhaena denies, taking in once again her slim figure accentuated by the cut of the dress. The color, subtle and feminine, looks wonderful on her skin tone.
"Sure?" When Rhaena nods, Marianne continues, “Well, you will need an appropriate necklace.”
“I'll use the one Aemond bought for me.”
“The butterfly one? But it is…”
"Simple?"
"Yes"
Rhaena takes the necklace from her dresser, “It will be a sign of goodwill, in my opinion, that I wear something he gave me since I will not be wearing one of the dresses he sent for me”
“I guess you are right,” Marianne agrees, “Your hair then…”
Her friend spends the next few minutes skillfully braiding her hair and applying the Lys powder, which gives a pinkish touch to her cheeks and lips. Pleased with the result, Rhaena applies her rose perfume and links arms with Marianne.
"Ready?"
“Excited,” Marianne nods, “You know how much I enjoy dancing.”
“As do I,” Rhaena giggles, “And I have a feeling we are going to have a pleasant time today.”
***
Aemond plays with the hem of his doublet as he watches Rhaena and her lady-in-waiting advance slowly, laughing carelessly and unaware of his presence waiting for them at the end of the corridor.
When they finally notice the prince, it is almost funny how their expressions and postures change.
“Good morning, my prince,” it is Rhaena's lady who greets him, bowing appropriately.
“Lady Westerling,” he replies, nodding.
His greeting seems to astonish the young woman, who stares at him for several seconds before exchanging a look with her lady. Aemond raises his eyebrows in her direction, not understanding the reaction.
“Cousin,” Rhaena offers him a kind smile, “I thought we'd meet at the party.”
“I figured the most appropriate thing would be to arrive together, after all and as you reminded me yesterday, we are the guests of honor.”
“I guess you are right,” she admits, her smile widening.
“I'll see you inside,” the Westerling girl says to Rhaena, who takes her hand and squeezes it goodbye. She bows to the prince again and strides toward the double doors at the entrance to the hall.
“Your lady-in-waiting seemed a little…” Aemond leaves the idea hanging.
“I think she was just amazed that you remembered her name.”
“I am able to remember the names of the members of the court,” he replies coldly. If he was honest, he didn't remember the girl's name, but the seashells embroidered on her dress had been enough of a clue for him to remember her house.
“I never said otherwise”
Their gazes meet and Aemond stares at the violet tone of her eyes for a few moments before looking away to her cousin's outfit.
“That's not one of the dresses I sent you,” he comments disapprovingly.
"No, it is not. This is a gift from Marianne, beautiful, don't you think?”
"Hmm"
Aemond thinks he sees the beginnings of a smile on Rhaena's face, but he just turns his back on her and starts walking towards the hall.
The guards bow to both of them and announce their arrival as they open the double doors. Rhaena's perfume invades him once again due to her closeness, and Aemond is tempted to glance at her out of the corner of his eye, but she has positioned herself to his left, so he finds nothing but darkness.
The hall, one of the many in the Red Keep, looks splendidly decorated. Emblems of the Faith, House Targaryen and House Blackwood hang from the high ceilings. An altar to the Mother, decorated with numerous natural flowers, stands out in the center of the place. There is also a small stage on the other side of the room with several chairs in front of it. Aemond frowns, but follows Rhaena to the high table, where the High Septon and old lady Blackwood are standing, but before they get there, Rhaena's hand on his forearm stops their progress.
"What is it?" He asks quietly turning to her.
“Be kind,” she responds in a whisper.
Their eyes meet once again. She looks apprehensive, as if she's afraid of what he might say or do in front of the hosts. He finds her concern annoying and even insulting, but when Rhaena presses her gentle touch on his forearm and takes a step toward him, her scent enveloping him once more, the impulse to respond with a sarcastic comment suddenly fades away.
“Please,” she insists in a tone so low that he practically has to read her lips.
His gaze stays on her lips for a few seconds, finding them small and soft-looking. Were they perhaps…? Aemond stops his train of thought and tilts his head, removing his arm from Rhaena's grasp.
“If you insist,” he finally answers after clearing his throat.
She seems content with his response and starts walking again.
“Lady Blackwood!” She greets with a bright smile, “High Septon,” Rhaena nods to both of them.
“Lady Rhaena, Prince Aemond”
The old woman's hard gaze lingers on him for a moment before she bows.
“My lady,” he responds with a solemn voice and nodding his head respectfully.
“I appreciate the presence of both of you on this special occasion,” says the woman, “It is my hope that you enjoy this small ceremony.”
Aemond purses his lips and suppresses a snort of annoyance. He detests false modesty. The woman had clearly gone to great lengths with the preparations of every detail.
“Everything looks magnificent,” Rhaena smiles, “I am sure you'll be a wonderful hostess today, if your tea parties are any indication.”
They both laugh and the High Septon laughs with them. Beside him, Rhaena subtly bumps her foot against Aemond's.
“It is an honor for us to be here, Lady Blackwood,” he says finally.
The old woman smiles, half pleased and half arrogant. Aemond restrains his desire to roll his good eye at her.
“Please, my prince, Lady Rhaena, join us at the table of honor.”
Aemond walks after his cousin and sits at the table, relieved to not be next to the old woman or the High Septon. He couldn't feign goodwill all morning towards the former and he'd had enough of the latter all week.
Beside him, Rhaena chats with Lady Blackwood, but he does not listen to the conversation, his eye examining the place in detail.
“My prince,” Tyland Lannister greets him and takes the seat next to him, “What a pleasant surprise to have you here.”
“Lord Lannister,” Aemond nods.
Tyland smirks. Aemond turns to him, “I did not know you enjoyed these kinds of events.”
“Certainly not as much as my brother did,” he admits, “But we all have our responsibilities, as you well know.”
"Indeed"
They both talk for a few minutes about the last meeting of the privy council until the High Septon, who is now standing next to the Mother's altar, breaks the conversation, beginning the last ritual of the Festival.
Silence hangs over the room, the music that was playing softly in the background stops and everyone seems attentive to the religious man's words. Aemond glances over the guests, recognizing most of them as members of the kingdom's most prominent houses. A group of dark-haired women sitting at the end of the table to his right catch his attention. Surely, they couldn't be...
The applause of the guests brings him out of his observation and Aemond notices Rhaena standing next to him, and looking at him briefly. He imitates her action and follows her until they reach the Mother's altar.
“And now,” the High Septon seems more excited than the prince has ever seen him in his life, “It is time to adorn the kind Mother in her best finery and take her to the Sept, from where she will continue to watch over us and bless us with her mercy, until it is turn to worship her again."
They stand on either side of the statue and Aemond watches a page-boy hold a crystal box from which Rhaena takes out a golden cloak, clearly exquisitely crafted.
The music is heard again, the court singing the main hymn of the Mother. Aemond sings inertly along with them, his voice barely above a whisper, his eye focused on Rhaena and her task. Noticing her small hands as they place the cloak on the stone back of the statue, delicately securing it with the gold clasp and skillfully arranging the folds. When it seems to be finished, her fingers caress the edge of the cloak from top to bottom, as if feeling the softness of the fabric and the embroidery. Aemond is unable to look away, enthralled with the almost mechanical gesture of Rhaena's hand, with her pleased expression and the soft smile on her face.
“It is your turn, my prince.”
The High Septon gives him an encouraging smile and Aemond begins to say the prayer to the Mother. The words are so engraved in his mind that he recites them without problems, his gaze still fixed on his betrothed, who looks away from the Mother and looks at him too, with a neutral expression that is difficult for him to read.
When Aemond finishes, the page-boy hands him a parchment with special requests which Aemond reads in his most solemn voice.
“What an honor for all of us that the Crown has participated in this ritual!” the High Septon finally says, “May the Mother be generous to Lady Rhaena and the prince and grant them prosperity in their union. Now, all united with Faith in the seven, we raise our prayers to the kind Mother, knowing that she listens to us and grants what we need.”
The High Septon invites all those present to approach the statue and bow before the end of the ceremony. As the attendants advance in an orderly line, the old man urges Rhaena and Aemond to touch the Mother's mantle and offer their petitions.
“Remember that she will listen to you with special attention for having dressed her,” he tells them with a fatherly smile.
Aemond does not respond, just looks at the statue and frowns, not believing the man's words. Perhaps there had been a time when he had believed in the gods, but the war had changed his perspective on many issues, including the Faith. He was not going to ask for anything because he knew he would not get an answer.
In front of him, Rhaena touches the hem of the cloak again, her gaze fixed on the statue, her expression half curious and half ironic. When her gaze drifts back to Aemond, she raises her eyebrow in his direction and gives him a small smile. Aemond can't help but remember her words from the previous afternoon.
Maybe I’ll ask to be a young widow.
Was she also thinking about that? Would she have dared to make such a request? The prince feels the sudden urge to ask her, but he only holds back a smile and looks away.
When the line of ladies and lords finally ends, servants of the faith dressed in brown robes appear to carry the Mother's altar on litters to the sept. The statue is bid farewell to the Fortress amid applause and songs.
And Aemond feels a weight lift from his shoulders. The damned Festival was finally over. He had fulfilled his duty and could consider his participation a resounding success. Surely his mother would be pleased with his performance all week.
Rhaena's sigh brings him back to the reality of the party. The music changes to a much livelier one, and Lady Blackwood takes the floor, thanking and inviting everyone to enjoy and dance.
“Rhaena!”
The Westerling girl approaches them and links her arm with his betrothed.
“Marianne, finally,” Rhaena's voice sounds relieved.
“You have no idea who is here,” the lady's voice cuts off as she notices Aemond's gaze, her face turning red.
Rhaena looks at her curiously before turning to him, “Cousin. I would tell you that it is our duty to dance since we are the guests of honor, but since you have made your position clear about dancing, I will not insist on it.”
“Am I supposed to thank you for that?”
She laughs and rolls her eyes, “If you'll excuse me, I'll go greet the other guests.”
Without waiting for him to give his approval, Rhaena takes the arm of her friend and they get lost among the guests who have already taken the dance floor.
With a growl of dissatisfaction Aemond returns to the table, where Tyland Lannister joins him a few moments later. The conversation flows between them and the prince enjoys a glass of wine while his good eye scans the crowd from time to time looking for his cousin. It is not difficult for him to find her, and every time he does, she is surrounded by ladies and lords with whom she converses animatedly.
“I am sorry if I am keeping you here, my prince,” says Lord Tyland, “Perhaps you would prefer to be with your betrothed.”
Aemond turns his gaze to the man, feeling irritated by the comment, “I am right where I want to be, Lord Tyland.”
Lannister nods thoughtfully, “Have you already come to terms with the idea that Lady Rhaena will be your wife?”
“Mmm,” he makes a noise. He knows that the man is in no way trying to mortify him. He has known Lord Lannister since he was a child and is one of his greatest allies. He was loyal to Aegon's cause during the war and much of the kingdom's treasure was saved thanks to him. Still, he finds himself tempted to tell him to remember his place because of his bold question.
“I am sorry if I overstepped with my words,” the man seems to have guessed the course of his thoughts, “I simply thought it appropriate to emphasize that Lady Rhaena can be an important ally of the Crown.”
“Yes, I've heard that,” he responds almost with a growl.
Lannister does not give up. “Look at her, my prince,” the man points with his glass to the center of the dance floor, where Rhaena is dancing with a knight of House Whent, “Everyone likes her, they seem to want to please her and seek her approval.”
Aemond doesn't respond, just watches his cousin take the knight's hand and walk around him, smile wide and face clearly rosy.
“Did you know that Lady Blackwood is a Tully by birth?”
"Was she?"
“Now you are here, at her party, and this could be the beginning of a path of more… friendly relations between the Crown and the Riverlands”
“My brother Daeron has already managed to reaffirm our authority with the Tullys”
“Perhaps, and I hope his intervention has a lasting effect, but it doesn't hurt to cultivate this new connection with such an influential lady.”
Aemond's irritation grows. Rhaena had told him practically the same thing, as had his mother. He was a prince, he didn't need anyone's approval, everyone should rather seek his. Of course, he holds regards for the most noble and important houses, but their representatives, with few exceptions, were so boring or idiotic that he gave up maintaining any relationship with them.
And not to mention the ladies. Most of them seemed to shy away from his presence as they found him too intimidating. Or that's what he preferred to think. Sometimes it was better to convince himself of such reasoning rather than to face their curious or pitiful looks when they noticed the patch and the scar.
Vhagar. He has Vhagar. And he doesn't need anyone else.
“Lady Rhaena can be very useful. Your great-grandmother, Queen Alysanne, understood well the importance of sweetening the ears of certain relevant people in the kingdom. She and the old king found the charisma they possessed very advantageous because they knew that they could not conquer everything with fire and blood."
“Thank you, Lord Tyland, I know the history of my house well,” he replies coldly.
Lannister sips from his wine glass and nods, “Take advantage of what Lady Rhaena can give you, my prince. More than just heirs, benefit from her popularity and use it to help the Crown further cement its power. It is the smartest thing you can do, after all, why are marriages if not beneficial?”
Aemond ponders his words as he drinks from his cup. He must admit that Lannister's last point is valid. Their future union, like all of the noble houses of the kingdom, is one of convenience. He might as well use Rhaena to his liking. Use the… what had she called it? Social influence? Entirely for his convenience.
As his gaze searches for Rhaena again, his eye falls upon the dark-haired women. This time, however, he manages to see their faces without problem. A lump forms in his throat as he recognizes them, “What are they doing here?”
Lannister follows the direction of his gaze, “They are invited to your wedding, my prince.”
Aemond snorts indignantly, “Did you think it was appropriate to invite my former betrothed and her sisters to my wedding?”
Tyland has the grace to look uncomfortable and shift in his chair, “They are the queen's sisters, their father is the lord of the Stormlands, it would have been rude not to.”
Aemond empties his wine glass, his gaze turning away from the women. Their presence in the Fortress is already beginning to make him uncomfortable. Seeing Floris Baratheon was surely going to bring up the issue of the broken betrothal again, the disgrace he had caused by breaking his word and starting a relationship with the witch of Harrenhall. His hands clench into fists. The rumors would certainly start again. If they had ever stopped.
“Perhaps it would be prudent to converse with the Lady Floris and offer your apology, my prince.”
Prudent. Yes of course. Aemond makes a disdainful little noise, but deep down he knows that Lannister is right. And he knows his mother will probably ask him to do the same.
“Maybe later,” he replies simply.
Lannister does not insist because the music stops and Lady Blackwood speaks again, inviting everyone present to offer their donations to the Faith.
Several of the guests, most of them men who are heads of their houses, instruct their servants to leave valuable-looking chests on a long table placed on the other side of the room.
“Lady Blackwood chose the right moment to stop the music,” says Rhaena, who has returned to the table and sits next to him, grimacing, “These shoes are not comfortable at all.”
“Was there a need to dance with half the attendees?” he asks coldly
His voice amazes her, but Rhaena shakes her head, “I like to dance,” she responds simply before picking up a glass of wine and taking a few sips.
Aemond watches her out of the corner of his eye. Her heated cheeks, her heavy breathing and the droplets of sweat beading her forehead. The prince suddenly wonders if his skin feels warmer than usual to the touch.
“You are a great dancer, Lady Rhaena,” Tyland says.
“Thank you, Lord Lannister,” she smiles kindly at him.
“Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go offer my contribution to the Faith.”
The Master of Coin leaves them and Aemond shifts in his chair, moving a little closer to Rhaena, “You did not mention this part when you told me about the party.”
“I guess I forgot,” she shrugs, but giggles and then shakes her head, as if to clear her mind.
Aemond can't help but ask, “What is it?”
Rhaena bites her lip for a moment, “I just remembered something Marianne's aunt told her and she repeated to me,” Aemond looks at her expectantly, “Basically that this is just a show for the court to clear their conscience by offering money to the Faith in exchange for forgiveness”
“If so, the court has many sins to atone for,” he responds, looking at the long line of gifts.
“Oh you have no idea,” she repeats with another giggle.
Aemond raises an eyebrow in her direction, and Rhaena bites her lip again, as if debating whether to continue or not. At last her resolve gives way, and she moves closer to her cousin, speaking softly, “Lady Rosby, for example.”
“What about her?”
“Her dress is much looser than the ones she usually wears, they say she hides a growing belly under it, and that is why she and Lord Manderly's son had to rush the wedding.”
"That would be…"
“And Lord Fossoway,” she doesn't let him finish, “The entire Court whispers about his shameful behavior and his fondness for the establishments on the Street of Silk. And there is also Lord Grafton's youngest son, who has been squandering his fortune on gambling and dog fighting.”
“How do you know all this?”
“People tell me these things,” she responds matter-of-factly with a shrug.
Aemond remembers Lord Tyland's words from a few minutes ago. Maybe it is a good idea to use his cousin and all the knowledge she is clearly accumulating.
“We should contribute too,” he says after a few seconds, pointing to the table full of presents.
“Yes, probably so,” she admits.
“Take care to find something appropriate to offer to the Faith. I will let you search the royal treasury for something worthy of our family.”
His words have the desired effect on Rhaena, who at first seems amazed, but then clearly pleased with the task he gives her. Aemond congratulates himself internally. Putting his cousin's skills to work, subtly directing them toward appropriate and convenient causes, would surely be simple.
“Will you really let me take care of such matter?”
“If it's a lot of work and you're not willing…”
“No, no, I'll be happy to do it,” she is quick to respond, “Thank you, cousin.”
Her smile widens and her violet eyes shine with contained emotion. Aemond feels his heart skip a beat when she gently squeezes his hand for just a few seconds.
Lady Blackwood interrupts the moment by announcing that the performance of some famous puppeteers is about to begin. The guests then disperse, some heading towards the stage Aemond had noticed upon entering the hall, and others remaining in small groups as they chat.
“We should go, the show will start soon,” Rhaena tells him.
“Not exactly my kind of fun.”
“You cannot sit here for the entire party, cousin, it doesn't reflect well on the guests of honor,” she responds, standing up, “Come, they come from the free cities, I assure you they are better than the ones they have here.”
Aemond ends up accepting. Besides, Tyland Lannister still hasn't returned and he doesn't feel like talking to anyone else.
***
A renewed round of laughter and applause echoes through the room.
Rhaena also joins in the cheers for the comedians. Beside her, Aemond remains almost stoic. She gets the impression that he hasn't enjoyed the show too much.
And why would you care if such is the case? She wonders as the men come out from backstage and greet the attendees.
It is been a splendid afternoon. She has danced and laughed as much as she hoped to since she found out about the party. She has met new lords of Westeros, new ladies who would perhaps become future friends, and has shared slightly snide comments with Marianne about potential suitors and various ladies' dress choices.
“We should go listen to the bard that Lady Blackwood hired,” proposes her friend, who walks beside her.
“Will you come with us, cousin?” she turns to Aemond. He grimaces in her direction and Rhaena smiles, “Yeah, I figured as much.”
Aemond simply nods in their direction and she watches him return to the table, where he joins the conversation with Tyland Lannister and Lord Hayford.
Rhaena links her arm with Marianne and they go in the direction of where a group, mostly women, has gathered to listen to the bard.
“Lady Rhaena”
The voice of a tall young woman with very black hair and deep blue eyes stops her. Rhaena offers her a kind smile as they walk towards her.
“Lady Baratheon,” she greets.
“It is an honor to finally meet you, cousin,” the young woman offers a sideways smile, “I hope I can call you that, considering we share ancestors.”
“Of course,” Rhaena nods and continues, “This is Marianne Westerling, my friend and lady-in-waiting.”
“My pleasure, Lady Westerling. I am Floris Baratheon.”
“Lady Floris,” Marianne greets, “I thought I saw your sisters here as well.”
“Indeed,” Floris steps away for a few moments and returns with two other young women with similar features, “These are Cassandra and Maris, my older sisters.”
After the usual pleasantries, Rhaena doesn't know what to say. She is usually very good in social situations, but something in the look of the Baratheon girls does not offer her much confidence, “Cousins, I would like…”
“I am sorry, Lady Rhaena, we should have started our conversation by congratulating you,” it is Floris who speaks again.
“Congratulating me?”
“For your wedding to Prince Aemond,” Maris responds.
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Rhaena nods, “Thank you.”
“I assume you are aware that he was betrothed to me at the beginning of the war,” Floris rests her blue eyes on Rhaena’s.
“I heard it, yes.”
“He made quite an impression when he arrived at Storm's End offering our father a betrothal.”
“I imagine so,” she responds, trying to sound curt. She doesn't know where this conversation is going.
“Of course, being four of us, he had a difficult choice before him,” Floris takes a step towards Rhaena, openly examining her figure from head to toe, “He kissed the four of us and choose me.”
"What?" Her question sounds like a gasp.
“Prince Aemond kissed the four of us on the lips,” Floris repeats, her eyes shining with malice, “My kiss clearly stood out above my sisters' because I was the chosen one.”
Rhaena does not know what to say. What is she supposed to answer? She is under the impression that the Baratheon girls are only seeking to torment her with their words. But she could not care less. What difference does it make if Aemond has kissed them all?
Despite saying that to herself, a bitter feeling runs through her body and her gaze wanders to the main table for a moment.
“You clearly didn't stand out too much if the prince ended up breaking the betrothal.”
It is Marianne who responds, squeezing Rhaena’s hand affectionately.
“That is not what happened!” Floris hisses.
“Cousins,” Rhaena cuts in, clearing her throat, “I am glad you could come in time for my wedding. “It will be a pleasure for the prince and for me to have you all here with us.” Her eyes land on Floris's.
“We came to see our sister,” Maris replies.
“But perhaps I will take the opportunity to reminisce about old times with the prince,” Floris smiles wryly, “After what I heard about him, I will surely be able to visit him tonight in his chambers and…”
“Enough, Floris,” Cassandra interrupts, “I am sorry, Lady Rhaena, excuse my sisters' impertinence.”
“Don't worry, Lady Cassandra, now, if you'll excuse me.”
Rhaena walks with Marianne until they make their way through the crowd and listens to the bard, although she cannot concentrate on the man's songs.
"Are you okay?" Her friend asks quietly, looking at her with concern.
“Yes, of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Her voice sounds squeaky, so she clears her throat.
“Those Baratheon girls were very rude,” Marianne snorts.
“They are just…”
Rhaena doesn't finish. She doesn't know what to say. What did Floris feel? Jealousy? Rage? Disappointment?
“I know, they shouldn't have talked to you like that anyway, they clearly don't know their place,” anger is clear in her friend's voice.
“It is okay, it does not matter,” she assures her, “Let's forget their words, they just said stupid things.”
But said is easier than done, and even though she tries to enjoy the bard's art, her mind keeps repeating the words of Floris Baratheon. Was it true that Aemond had kissed them? Contrary to her will, the image of the Baratheon sisters standing next to the prince, waiting to be kissed, appears in her mind. A shiver runs through her body and, angrily, Rhaena directs her gaze to the sisters, who are whispering across the room.
“Let’s just go, we should eat something,” Marianne tells her a while later.
Rhaena nods and they say goodbye near the high table. Sighing, she walks over to her seat and helps herself to pies and fruit dipped in honey, grateful that Aemond pays no attention to her and continues conversing with the other council members.
More harshly than she should, Rhaena spears a piece of fig and puts it in her mouth. Although it tastes good, she does not particularly enjoy the flavor, but instead eats mechanically until her appetite it’s settled.
"What is the matter?"
Aemond's voice takes her by surprise. Rhaena turns to him, who looks at her with a frown.
“Do not know what you mean”
“Did the bard perform so poorly that you are suddenly in a bad mood?”
Rhaena bites her tongue to avoid responding with a curse. And to avoid asking what she really wants to know. Was it true that he had kissed them all? Thinking about his kiss, her eyes drift helplessly to Aemond's lips. Long, thin lips, what would his lips taste like? The thought surprises her and she looks away from his face, drinking from her glass of wine and trying to push those thoughts from her mind.
Fucking Floris Baratheon, she thinks to herself.
Fortunately, the music resumes and Rhaena excuses herself to go dancing. It doesn't take long for her to find a dance partner, so she tries to focus only on the beat of the music, although she feels her cousin's gaze on her at times, watching her as is his habit.
The songs follow each other in a cheerful rhythm and she continues dancing and jumping, although her movements are rather mechanical, her good spirits from a while ago spoiled. Rhaena excuses herself and heads to the side of the dance floor, suddenly feeling dizzy and fanning herself with her hand, internally cursing her tight corset.
On the other side Marianne catches her attention and questions her with her gaze, so Rhaena makes an appeasing gesture with her hand, not wanting her friend to stop dancing with Ser Simon Dondarrion, the handsome knight who seems very fond of Marianne.
“May I, Lady Rhaena?”
The presence of Lord Tarly, who extends his hand toward her, is unexpected. Rhaena, still not having fully caught her breath, considers rejecting the man, but in the end gives up.
“With pleasure, my lord.”
The man smiles good-naturedly and guides her back to the dance floor, “What do you think of King's Landing so far, Lady Rhaena?”
“The city has a particular charm”
Lord Tarly widens his smile, “Yes, I agree, although the lands of the Reach are, in my opinion, the most beautiful in all of Westeros.”
Lord Tarly, who is not exactly an old man, but who does have a fairly prominent belly, moves slowly, so Rhaena keeps up with him and tries to calm herself while breathing slowly.
“I do not doubt it, my lord, although I could not say that I’ve been in that part of the realm.”
“You should visit us, my lady, it would be an honor to welcome you to Horn Hill.”
“Perhaps once my dragon is bigger, I will ride on her back and take upon your word, Lord Tarly.”
“You would do well, the Reach is your ally,” he replies, “You have many friends in our lands.” The man fixes his brown eyes on her and Rhaena has the impression that his words hide a greater meaning. “We loyal men do not forget that the iron throne belonged to Queen Rhaenyra and her offspring.”
A lump forms in Rhaena's throat, who just studies the man intently.
“Fear not, Lady Rhaena, as I told you, we are loyal to…”
“The crown belongs to my cousin,” she cuts him off, trying to measure her words, “Aegon is king and I am to marry Prince Aemond in a few days.”
“A true disgrace, if I may,” he replies, “Your father, Prince Daemon, would never have permitted such an affront to his daughter.”
“My father is dead, my lord. The war is over"
The man stares at her again before speaking, “As I told you, Lady Rhaena, the throne belongs to the offspring of Rhaenyra Targaryen.”
The girl wants to reply, she wants to tell him that such offspring does not exist, that her brothers are all dead... but she prefers to remain silent.
“Fear not,” Lord Tarly repeats, “Lady Jeyne is a good friend and ally. We are watching over you, don't forget it.”
Rhaena is grateful for the song to end and she gives a quick bow before turning her back on the man.
Her head begins to pound as hard as her heart as she makes her way through the guests. Her hands, suddenly drenched in cold sweat, are almost shaking. What had the man implied? What did he intend to achieve with his words? Was this perhaps a game played by the dowager queen to test her loyalty? Rhaena looks around her, but no one seems to pay her much attention. Not even Aemond, who continues conversing with Lord Lannister.
Her words sounded too much like Lady Jeyne's, a small voice inside her whispers.
She had not wanted to think more about her conversation with the Lady of the Vale before she left the Eyrie, Rhaena did not want to know more about wars or confrontations. She just wanted peace. She did not want…
“Cousin, wait, please.”
Cassandra Baratheon grabs her arm, stopping her.
“Lady Cassandra, please, I do not wish to continue our conversation from earlier,” her voice sounds harsher than she intended, but she does not care.
“Please allow me to apologize on behalf of my sisters,” insists the young woman, “The way they expressed themselves was embarrassing.”
“Even so, you let them expand as they pleased for a long time before shutting them up.”
“Excuse me, Lady Rhaena, I know I was wrong,” she admits.
Rhaena taps her foot on the floor, eager to get out of the conversation, “Very well, you need not say more, Lady Cassandra, I will forget your sisters' impertinence.”
“I would like to assure you that we have no intention of tormenting you, we came here not only for your wedding,” Cassandra seems not to notice Rhaena's unwillingness to continue talking, “But also to see our sister Ellyn. We have been very concerned about her health”
Her words manage to calm her down a little. She had not considered the young queen into the picture, “Of course, it is understandable. I hope that Queen Ellyn continues to improve, surely your presence here will speed up her recovery."
“This is what we hope for, Lady Rhaena.”
There is a moment of silence between the two. Rhaena nods and prepares to leave, when she speaks again.
“And furthermore, I assure you that I will keep a close eye on Floris. She won't dare visit the prince at all. My sister likes to talk, but she wouldn't dare disgrace our father's name in such a way."
Perfect, Rhaena thinks, just what she needed. Cassandra Baratheon reminding her of such an unpleasant comment.
“Or disgrace you, at the same time. It is punishment enough, I believe, having to marry the prince."
"I beg your pardon?" Rhaena can't believe her ears
“Don't get me wrong, cousin, I don't mean to offend you. I only verbalize what the majority in the kingdom think. Prince Aemond is hardly a good choice for a husband, a vow-breaker as well as a kinslayer.”
Rhaena knows that well, but at hearing the words from Cassandra Baratheon's mouth, it is not sympathy that is born inside her, rather suspicion and anger.
“You shouldn't say such things about the prince,” she replies.
She seems oblivious to her comment, “Plus there is the matter of his appearance. I know it wasn't her fault because he was just a child,” Cassandra smiles at her and Rhaena is able to notice the malice in her expression, “But that grotesque scar deforms his face. And that eyepatch is in such bad taste,” the girl shudders, “A shame that a beauty like you is wasted on Aemond Targaryen.”
For the second time that afternoon, Rhaena doesn't know what to say. She is not entirely convinced that she heard correctly the words that came out of her cousin's mouth.
“I see that you are as malicious as your sisters,” she finally says, her voice hard because of the displeasure she feels inside her, “Be careful, Lady Cassandra, control your tongue or you will end up facing the consequences.”
The Baratheon girl's expression falters for a few moments and Rhaena feels a hint of discomfort, but she simply glares at her before striding in the opposite direction.
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