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zeroinetoheroine · 1 month ago

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A Song of Swan and Dragons

I cannot believe I'm writing another fanfic (PoW will be finished I promise!) but here we are.

This fic is the result of @lacebvnny and me RP-ing, and everything about OC (Arianne) and the plot can be credited to both of us. She has a few snippets written on her blog so check it out.

The story is safe for now, but it will get progressively darker. The warnings will be updated.

A Song of Swan and Dragons ch.1

Following Princess Rhaenyra as one of her ladies-in-waiting, Arianne Swann was woefully unprepared upon arriving at the Red Keep.

No scroll or tome could have captured the astounding amount of gossip that thrived within the Targaryen court. For a mere lady like her, it felt as though she had made a catastrophic blunder before even having the chance to place her pieces on the board.

Yet, if she allowed her heart to guide her—especially toward the man it had chosen—Arianne believed she could endure anything and emerge triumphant. Prince Jacaerys Velaryon would one day be king, and though her father often said that hope was a fool’s errand, she dared to dream she might one day be his queen.

If only his boor of an uncle would stop tormenting her.

I. Mēre (ao3)

II. Vōs

(personally, I find ao3 better to read, but the chapter 1 is here under the cut as well)

129 AC, King's Landing.

A moon before the matter of Driftmark’s inheritance was to be settled, Crown Princess Rhaenyra returned to the Red Keep— Accompanied by her consort and children, she sought to solidify her position as heir apparent and rally support for her son, Lucerys Velaryon, as the next Lord of the Tides. Her ladies-in-waiting traveled with her; the youngest among them was Arianne Swann, the only daughter of Lord Swann.

Too young to serve as a true confidante, the princess had the girl be a companion of her stepdaughters and sons, as Arianne was of valyrian descent through her infamous grandmother, the exiled princess Saera.

I. Mere

(Arianne)

“There you are, my lady.” Miriam fussed as soon as her lady appeared in the doorway. Arianne was still clad in her woolen frock and dark overcoat she arrived in, her thick, long hair in disarray. The ardous day allowed her maple-hued ringlets to free themselves from the confines of the braids.

“There is but little time to dress you for the feast!” The older woman’s eyebrows knitted together and she pointed towards the several different fabrics that lay draped over the bed. Most of them in Arianne’s house colors – black and white, representing the dual swans.

“I had to help Lady Celtigar settle the young princes,” Arianne sighed, unbuckling her overcoat. Her chamber was arranged simply enough, but thankfully, the bed appeared large and comfortable. Princess Rhaenyra left Dragonstone in quite a rush, and so did all of her ladies and staff.

Arianne packed most of her dresses, a few thin books she was allowed to snatch from the library, and her prized possession—a cyvasse set with lapis lazuli squares, Aunt Johanna’s gift for her ninth name day.

“Mayhaps the black one with the feathers?” Her maid crossed her arms, scrutinizing the dress with mild interest. It was ornate, but more importantly, proper and sensible – which was the most adequate thing for a lady to wear according to her mother and septa.

"I don’t wish to wear black though," Arianne pouted as Miriam held up the ornate gown. Although the black swan had been her house symbol – contrasting the white one, they were also quite reminiscent of her aunt, the black swan of Lys. Johanna hadn’t really been her aunt since she was her father’s cousin, and Arianne wasn’t really allowed to keep correspondence with her.

Father had almost broken her game set when he realized from whom it came – no daughter of his would fraternize with whores and other unsavory women. He’d kept that hatred ever since his own mother abandoned him to chase the indulgences and liberties Volantis offered.

'This is where my grandmother grew up…and yet the Red Keep shunned her,' Arianne thought while noticing the diaphanous, pale sleeve of the gown she loved.

Finely made white fabric was hard and costly to come by - as opposed to the ones they used for chemises and undergarments. As it stood, even she owned only one pristinely pressed white gown. It flared into a soft bluebell-like skirt from the girdled waist. The bottom of it was embroidered with pale marble-colored feathers. It had been another gift her aunt Johanna sent wrapped in silken cloth, a secret one, shared between herself, her maid, and her mother Lady Swann. If her father knew she was draping herself in gifts from the lyseni courtesan...oh she wouldn’t dare think of the grim consequences!

“The white one,” She exclaimed secure in the knowledge that it was Princess Rhaenyra she answered to now – and the crown princess was much more lax with rigid rules the septas touted while forcing her to embroider.

Miriam was busy examining a dark blue gown Arianne had yet to wear.

"You’ve worn the white one already, my lady."

She did indeed, the memory of her dear home igniting a pleasant sort of warmth beneath her sternum. Arianne donned the gown for her last name day - mother had called her the loveliest pearl above the ocean and told her the gown was lovely and to keep quiet about who'd gifted it to her.

"But that was in Stonehelm..." Arianne concluded. Shortly after her last name day, she arrived at Dragonstone for Princess Rhaenyra had accepted her father's request that Arianne join her ladies in waiting.

Though she had spent more time with her children these last few months.

Her stay this time had been vastly different from the visit years ago when all of them were children. Her father, ever wary of his valyrian kin, was anxious to meet his cousin once removed and heir to the throne.

Thus, young Arianne accompanied him...and made friends with the oldest Velaryon boy. They were the same age, only moons apart and he was kind - and so courteous, like knights from her favorite tales, her own Ser Galladon - and did not tease her for wanting to read or for demolishing his side in cyvasse.

How magnificent the library at Dragonstone had been in her child’s eyes. Jace, as he’d insisted she referred to him, laughed and told her the one at the Red Keep was larger.

She even wanted to stay, as in Stonehelm her only companion was her older brother, who often teased her relentlessly – simply because he was older, and a boy.

Jace even promised her that one day, when his mother was queen, he would ask her to let Arianne try to claim a dragon - the most coveted companion that was denied to her grandmother for her behavior.

"No one actually saw me in it here, so they won't gossip about the poor Swann girl reusing her festive dresses."

The truth was that she didn't want to wear black, and the pride in her house wouldn't let her go with blue. Her friend Princess Rhaena would be wearing the black and red colors of House Targaryen, and so would Princess Baela when she arrived with her grandmother from Driftmark. As would many more, she supposed - for this was Targaryen court.

Arianne wanted to impress Jace.

Perhaps if other people noticed her, he would cease to be so respectful and finally kiss her. Rhaena had told her how Baela kissed someone moons ago and described it as ‘delightful’.

But Jace hadn't...yet...

It was as if he forgot they promised to marry when they were little. He had to have forgotten a silly, child's words - because if he hadn't then what was he waiting to kiss her for? She was seven and ten already!

She would have to marry soon and it was Jacaerys Velaryon she had hoped would become her lord husband.

Miriam sighed and gave up, gathering the ivory dress into her hands to secure it over Arianne.

The neckline was perhaps a bit daring, but it was far from anything that could be considered improper. The sleeves were long and flouncy and Arianne loved that she could hide her fidgety and sweaty hands there.

After Miriam had painstakingly made her hair appear less like a wild nest and more like a soft waves cascading down her back with two neatly folded braids around the crown of her head - a style loved by her Princess Rhaenyra - Arianne went to find the rest of the entourage who would be following the heir apparent.

She ruminated over her decision to wear white when she saw the other ladies-in-waiting.

Her bright visage stuck out like a sore thumb. How was she supposed to pretend she could dance when people would notice the one person who wasn't favoring those dark, gloomy colors? If she made a fool out of herself -

Rhaena wore a beautiful, crimson gown - but she was Rhaena Targaryen, the Rouge Prince's daughter, she could wear anything she wanted.

Jace turned around and greeted her, his large brown eyes widening slightly at her figure. Oh, he was so princely, the thought flitted through her upon noticing his dark, lustrous curls. They appeared perfectly tousled, and so impossibly soft that she gained a completely preposterous ache – to run her fingers through them.

"You look lovely, Arianne." He smiled softly.

"Do remember to ask her for a dance this time around!" Thankfully Rhaena hit his arm so no one noticed the way Arianne's breath lodged inside her throat.

The young lady Swann felt her cheeks burn and suddenly she envisioned herself with very, very red skin. The sizzling pinpricks rolled down her cheeks and neck. She realized Jace was glancing at her décolleté and found herself wondering if it was too daring after all.

She wasn't like Rhaenyra, or Rhaena, or Baela. Oh, they could do as they pleased, royalty all of them - but for a mere lady like her, reputation was more important than life.

She was already nervous about being here, at the feast for the first time. Why would they hold a feast the same day the princess arrived? The Queen gave them no time to prepare properly!

Oh, and the Mother above knew Arianne needed preparation.

This wasn't Stonehelm or Dragonstone, this was...King's Landing, the Red Keep, and if she tripped and fell here like an idiot then -

Who would ever consider her a worthy wife for the heir to the Iron throne?

Not to mention, her grandmother was banished from this very same court.

She barely remembered some of the corridors, the last and only time she stepped her foot into the capital was when she was but a girl.

Arianne recalled her mother being angry at her for losing the handkerchief she got as a present, but Arianne gave it to a crying boy whose face had been bandaged. It was more polite than offering one of her own, as her needlework left much to be desired.

In his last letter, her father had implied Princess Rhaenyra was considering the union between their houses. It could only mean her and Jace.

The thought sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.

‘Jace would be king one day, so his wife would be queen, would she not?’

The hall was splendidly lit, full of people who parted ways for them and Arianne was fascinated, walking behind the royal party - Rhaenya, Daemon, and their children. She knew in a month, Lord Vaemond Velaryon would arrive as well and there would be issues, but for now, everything appeared as she had imagined it.

The King was absent, due to his poor health, but the Queen Alicent was there. She would never admit it to a soul, due to the known animosity between the queen and her princess, but Arianne thought she looked perfectly regal and beautiful surrounded by her family.

She couldn't believe Queen Alicent had children older than her, for her figure was the epitome of elegance.

She didn't know any of them, but she knew their names - Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond and the queen had a daughter - Princess Helena. Prince Daeron was not present, and she had been told he was at Oldtown, with his great uncle Lord Hightower.

Arianne observed them from the cheerful crowd. She supposed the shorter one was Prince Aegon, as he had both eyes. His bearing wasn’t nearly as princely, at least compared to Jace, even if he possessed the light, silvery hair – a gift of his valyrian blood.

Prince Aegon was staring at his cup, swaying on his feet under the disapproving glare of his mother.

‘A prince and a dragonrider…yet he seems so sullen.’

The other one had to be Prince Aemond then - he was much more interesting to look at. He was taller and leaner than his older brother, dressed so impeccably in his Targaryen black leather - Arianne thought his countenance seemed quite regal.

She couldn't make out his face clearly from this distance, but she could discern the eyepatch and the long line down his right cheek. The story was very vivid in her mind ever since Jace had told it - filling her head with an image of a wicked, cruel boy who claimed Vhagar under the cover of the night.

' "He tried to kill me, so Luke -"

She gulped – her throat constricting tightly with fear.

The mere idea that this poised Targaryen prince tried to kill Jacaerys when they were boys was forcing the fine hairs on her arms upright.

Wasn't it pure luck that it wasn't Jacaerys who was hurt? Thankfully Prince Lucerys came to his defense and nothing happened to Jace, but his uncle had lost an eye. Aemond One-eye was how she’d heard his name in mentions during her stay on Dragonstone.

His hair, pale as moonlight, cascaded down his shoulders, long and silky and beautiful.

She had never seen a man with such hair. Prince Daemon wore it like that when he was young, or so the stories told.

"Are those your uncles, Jace?" She whispered when Jacaerys Velaryon abandoned his spot to offer her his arm. She touched the crook of his elbow a tad unsurely.

"The ones you told me about."

"They are," Jace shook his head before they were required to make their greetings. The air between the princess and the queen was as tense as a bowstring. Arianne realized the two factions in the dragon court were more than just gossip. This was a public contest, a competition of sorts to see who among the two most powerful women in the kingdoms had more clout.

She glanced towards the prince with the beautiful hair again and quicker than lightning regret flooded into her every bone, vein, and sinew -

because he was staring back at her.

Arianne wanted to hide behind Jace instantly. Prince Aemond saw her look at him and he was now looking at her and so..., so - sharply.

Like she'd done something wrong. As wrong as asking her septa about books other than The Seven-pointed star.

His sole eye was pale blue, a perfectly valyrian shade, and his skin was as smooth as porcelain.

And he appeared...disdainful.

She didn't know what possessed her to glance back at him briefly. Prince Aemond met her elusive eyes again and tilted his head, his countenance fixed into a glacier devoid of any warmth.

The young Swann girl had never met anyone who seemed to dislike her before she even said a word to them. She made sure to always be courteous and affable - to not give anyone the wrong idea that she carried a resemblance to her notorious grandmother.

Then he glanced at some point beneath her chin, trailing his gaze down her dress until it reached the floor where she stood—and Arianne felt a cold shiver of dread creep up her spine and surge through her palms.

She wiped them vehemently on the inside of her long sleeves.

Prince Aemond probably thought she was so rude for sticking out because he was again glaring at her.

She shouldn't have worn white - it drew too much attention, they will talk of her grandmother and she will embarrass her house and –

Mother, Mother above please be merciful to me.

Arianne couldn't even recall what it was that the queen and Princess Rhaenyra talked about but she was thankful to Mother, the Crone, and the Maiden when they returned to the other side of the great hall. She rarely prayed, often falling asleep while reading instead. Mayhaps, Prince Aemond could somehow discern that because his one eye could peer inside her head and he concluded she was a wicked, unruly girl.

Jace was whispering something about Balerion’s skull he wished to show to her but Arianne was too distracted cataloguing the variety of looks thrown their way.

One of the court ladies afforded her a disapproving frown and murmurs wrapped around her throat like vines. The more she moved, the tighter their hold.

"Princess Saera's granddaughter, no wonder she is wearing that -"

"She's a whor...you know, in Volantis."

Arianne glanced at Jace, wishing he would take her hand and let Vermax fly them away, just like he'd promised when they were children.

The night dragged on, long and tedious.

Although the tables were plied with succulent cuts of meat, fruits, cheeses, and stews, she could scarcely stomach a bite.

Jace rubbed the back of his neck after watching the various lords and ladies twirl around. " I should ask you for a dance, then."

Arianne paled.

"I would love to...but Jace, you know how I am...I'll trip."

‘And everyone will laugh...and deem me clumsy and unworthy of you...'

Her thoughts lingered on the frosty glare she'd somehow earned earlier from Jace's younger uncle.

She couldn't rationally conclude what possible reason a Targaryen prince had to dislike her so much, but she hadn't dared to even peep in the direction she thought Aemond One-Eye could be.

"I won't let you fall, my lady. Trust me?" Jace offered her his hand, his full lips curving into a reassuring smile.

(Aemond)

"And what -" Aegon slumped against his brother's shoulder, dark red liquid sloshing and spilling out of his cup. "Are you staring at the whole time? You're sober!"

Aemond shoved him away, wondering when was the last time the elder prince had a bath. To display himself so unseemly while their enemies were here.

His focus shifted back to the merry crowd, the muscle beneath his jaw ticking.

Aemond wasn't staring at anything. He was simply... observing their kin frolicking around, oblivious to the glaring, gaping wound growing each day: his father was dying, and someone would sit on the throne after him. But who?

And the kin he wouldn't want to be that someone seemed to have grown their household.

"Oh...." Aegon followed his look, ever so keen on morphing himself into Aemond’s personal nuisance when inebriated.

"A woman! Ser Criston-" He hiccuped.

"Pour me another one, my brother has remembered he has a cock!"

Aemond frowned, how grating his brother's voice sometimes was, especially when -

"Now we need to wonder if he remembers how to use a cock-"

"You shouldn't drink anymore, you look and sound a court's fool.” He sneered, irked that Aegon was not permitting him to think. His sole eye zeroed in on Jacaerys Strong and the woman on his arm, a comely figure adorned in ivory gown.

Aegon shrugged.

"Who is ah...that? She's fine I'd agree."

Aemond wasn't sure yet. But he found himself glancing at her ever so often. Her face was very lovely, with large eyes surrounded by lashes several shades darker than her hair. Her curls tumbled around her delicate shoulders like a river of molten mahogany – quite the task to follow them as they bounced and swayed with her movement.

He hadn't meant to look for so long but she was truly...inviting to look at.

Prince Aemond took a sip of his drink, and noted how his bastard nephew twirled her around - those white skirts flowing like flower petals.

What bothered him was that he had not known who she was and there she stood - in that disrespectful garment - with the bastard brood. Other ladies in waiting had stood behind, as they should, but she was next to the prince heir of bastards.

His mother would never have such blatant disregard for protocol.

Aemond was privy sometimes to what his grandsire and mother discussed - apparently Rhaenyra the whore was considering giving her eldest bastard's hand to a lady in stormlands. To ally herself there, as Lord Boros Baratheon wasn't as firmly on her side as she had thought.

"Lord Swann's only daughter." Criston Cole answered to Aegon and Aemond both.

"I do not remember her given name."

It finally dawned on Aemond and he scoffed. So she was pretty and mayhaps the future bastard's queen and also -

"She has valyrian blood." Aemond muttered more to himself than anything. She was the daughter of Saera Targaryen's only legitimate child. Fitting that a harlot like his sister would seek an alliance with a descendant of a most famous whore there was.

One-eyed prince found the idea disappointing for some elusive reason. How woeful that a woman possessing outwardly impeccable breeding – descending from Targaryen princess and the oldest family of the Marcher Lords, was truly the granddaughter of a Volantene madam poised to wed the bastard.

But at least he understood why her delicate face was so lovely — she was, at least partly, of the blood of the dragon. Yet, that riotous hair, as warm as caramelized chestnuts, cascaded down her back, the torrent of curls -

He thought of his mother's hair, frowning.

"Huh? Who cares about that you twat. Do you think our nephew has gotten there? He does look cunt-struck."

Aegon fell onto his chair laughing.

"If he hasn't, I cou-"

In a heartbeat, his perfectly spinning spectre of white garments and wild curls misstepped – graciously allowing Aemond to finally blink. She tripped into the bastard, or rather, collided with him. Lady Swann had found herself a breath away from falling onto the marble flooring.

How disgraceful.

"Oh seven take me-" Aegon continued to irritate his eardrums.

"Does she stumble into his bed like that too? Perhaps we ought to teach her, as a good kin does -"

Much to his chagrin, Jacaerys Velaryon prevented her from falling - Aemond would have relished that scene, the bastard and his inept little wife.

He observed how he gripped her sleeves, whispering something in her ear and smiling so stupidly while she seemed to extern considerable effort to remain calm.

The dismay suited her - wide eyes and slightly parted mouth - and Saera's granddaughter, if she was clumsy and simple as she seemed to be, ought to be dismayed. The Red Keep will consume her alive and grind her bones to dust.

Aemond could now focus on something else, undisturbed. Why did he waste that much time on that girl anyway? She was clearly as ill-suited as her grandmother was if she couldn't learn the steps to the easiest court dance.

He had never enjoyed dancing, but he knew all of them. It was required.

Not to mention, that dress - he could almost...practically see the tops of her breasts - the creamy, smooth skin between her shoulders. A vapid, stupid lady who wanted men's attention.

Why was he even looking at her?

He would no longer. She was wholly undeserving of it

(Arianne)

She tucked the strand of her hair behind her ear and twirled her earring. Her catapults advanced.

"I think your king is captured, my lord." Arianne placed her heavy horse between her dragon and the opposing tower and smiled. Their king was now stuck in a fork she'd created. A few murmurs surrounded their table but she tried her best to ignore the various timbres. She had almost cried twice already, so she wasn't going to risk it a third time.

Instead, Arianne focused on Jace, who stood near her with an indulgent smile on his face.

He seemed proud of her.

They had played countless times together on Dragonstone, and out of everyone she had won the most. Lady Elinda Massey told her she should let the prince win, for no man or boy liked it when a woman bested them. But Jace had never criticized her for it.

Quite the opposite - he joked that when he became a king she would plan his battle strategies. Arianne almost wanted to ask him if that meant he would wed her as they had promised but her insecurity kept her tongue safely behind her incisors.

"You play well, lady Swann." Lord Beesbury's cousin twice removed simply congratulated her and stood up. She wondered if Jace was trying to avoid playing Tyland Lannister when he offered her to play instead or was he trying to make her feel better after her disastrous dancing?

Arianne was exceptionally skilled at cyvasse. It pained her to admit she was plain awful at most dances, the rhythm eluded her, and the movement – oh she often wondered if a curse had been placed upon her legs sometime after her birth.

She had missed a step and nearly fell on her bottom.

If he hadn't caught her -

How mortifying!

Next, she played Lady Wylde - the current one, for Lord Wylde had already been married twice before. She wondered if Jace was bored just watching her play, but when she peered up at him he was observing the board deep in thought.

She had positioned her rabble on squares between two mountain tops, reinforced with her spearmen and an elephant. It was a much better tactical position than Lady Wylde’s dragon-led crossbowmen. The mountain tops prevented them from moving diagonally, while Arianne’s dragon was freed to advance into an attacking square.

"A very sound tactic, young lady." She smiled although her opponent wasn't that much older. Swann girl twirled her pearl earring before deciding just to kill the opposing king with her black dragon. Her own had been safe behind a catapult and heavy horse.

Arianne had won once more. She thought she was unusually lucky today - in cyvasse, at least – not so much with anything else.

"It is a shame men do not appreciate it when it comes from a woman's mind. "

Arianne glanced at her ebony dragon and repositioned the piece back at the start of the board. The lady had been kind to her and she was very thankful for it.

"Small-minded men," Jacaerys crossed his arms, his crimson red cape falling back.

" My mother will lead our armies when she's queen and I would let my wife one day do the same if she so wished."

Lady Wylde's mouth parted briefly before snapping shut again, and at the same time, a wave of pinpricks grazed down Arianne's neck.

'His wife? His future wife? What was Jace implying -'

She shot him a bewildered look as the murmurs slowly quieted. What would people think now? They weren't betrothed, but the way Jace had said it - everyone would think he meant her!

The encasing flush tickled her skin.

"Then we can hope Lady Arianne will be so lucky with her future husband." Her opponent squeezed her arm that rested near a board and departed - as if she understood her predicament.

"Is that his paramour?" Someone muttered just loud enough for Arianne to hear.

She froze.

Her eyes found Jace, and he had to have heard it too! But he merely frowned at the general direction from which the whispering came. Did they know? Who her grandmother was and now they thought she too was an ill-behaved woman. Seven -

Their ongoing competition had gathered quite a crowd. After Arianne defeated Lord Tyland everyone wanted to try their luck.

'Paramour? If people think that, then -'

Her reputation would be ruined and how would she explain that to her father? Brother? Mother?

They would be so disappointed. She suddenly felt suffocated by everyone surrounding them, even if they praised her skills in cyvasse she knew they were also not her friends, nor allies. Arianne was only now beginning to see how self-serving everyone at court was. If the tales of Saera's wanton granddaughter entertained them, they would tell them without any regard for decency or the girl's reputation.

Her palms perspirated awfully.

"The Red Keep got its new cyvasse champion! A very lovely one! A toast to your health, young lady!"

"You're brilliant, Arianne." Jace bent down to whisper in her ear.

"Did you have fun playing? We could go eat cakes."

Arianne nodded and took his offered arm. Her prince had been right to let her play – if only to distract her from ruminating on her misstep from earlier.

She had loved the game from the moment it was taught to her. Lord Swann would spend hours upon hours developing different positional play and when his son showed no interest, he contented himself to letting his daughter challenge him.

Truthfully, she had yet to win against her father but she had been besting most everyone else who casually enjoyed the game for a while now.

"Will the lady spare a few moments of her time to play against me?"

Arianne froze and turned her head.

It was him.

Jace's uncle, Aemond. The prince who had glared at her as if he wanted to strike her for offending all the seven gods.

Aemond emerged, the crowd parted for him and sat down, a ghost of a smirk etched upon his face. His cheekbones, his jaw, even his nose - Arianne had never seen someone look so sharp-edged before.

He was like a marble sculpture carefully cut.

Although the uncle wasn't as handsome as his nephew with a perfectly dashing face and curls - his visage had been marred by a large pink gash stretching from his forehead and down his cheek. Yet, he was imposing and so strangely alluring. Alarming. Like something dangerous and formidable and predatory.

His tone was serene - soft in a manner waves crash softly against the shore. The undercurrent dragging the unsuspecting below.

Her eyes flickered to Jace, hoping he would rescue her from this—she didn’t want to! The prince frightened her terribly!

"‘Hmmm,’ Aemond blinked a few times before, with a mocking grin, turning to Jacaerys.

'Does your—'”

He paused and young Swann girl had an inkling of the word he was about to use - paramour, or worse, a whore, or worse even than that, if such word existed -

But Aemond grinned even wider. " - lady, have permission to play one more game?"

At the same time, her prince hissed that Arianne did not need his permission, and she glowered. How could he all but say such a thing in the open court? Prince Aemond Targaryen didn't even know her.

"I will play." The words tumbled forth from her lips before she could ponder on them.

(Aemond)

How dared she draw all this attention?

Aemond tapped his fingers impatiently against the table, his irritation growing.

How did this clumsy granddaughter of a whore - a blight in his proud Targaryen ancestry - manage to be the talk of the evening? Was it that attire? Saera's notoriety? Being close to the future crown prince, should his whore-sister rule?

She was a good cyvasse player. He couldn't deny it much as he itched to.

After she demolished Lady Wylde's defences, Aemond loathed to admit he was intrigued.

When Aegon told him to come and see - his little wench - the younger prince was confused at first.

He didn't have a...wench.

Aemond was quite careful to avoid ladies at court. Most of them were frightened of his face and he had little interest in them anyway.

He knew he would marry soon and there was no point in forming a relationship that would only result in a court scandal.

He wasn't like Aegon; he was above such base stupidities. So he didn't have a paramour, a wench, a woman.

"You're good at cyvasse, aren’t you? Tyland was just telling me how outmaneuvered he was. He’s considering proposing to her—can you fucking imagine? Perhaps she wouldn’t die of boredom with you, unlike the others."

Aemond glanced at the little crowd playing cyvasse. He didn't know who his little wench was supposed to be, but there wasn't a lady at court he recalled being skilled enough to best Tyland.

He could see the top of Lady Wylde's hair and tried to remember which number wife she was.

" My mother will lead our armies when she's queen and I would let my wife one day do the same if she so wished." Rhaenyra's bastard's grating voice boomed. In his Keep.

Aemond would sooner plunge the realm into war than let that mongrel sit on the throne.

"Then we can hope Lady Arianne will be so lucky with her future husband."

Aemond halted.

Her.

It was her.

Arianne - he found out her name - had captured Lady Wylde's king and killed her jade-colored dragon.

Her hair fell in shiny waves down her back, framing that cosseted waist as she leaned forward above the board.

She smiled.

Something slashed the walls of his throat – like a rigged knife that hadn’t been properly sharpened.

"The Red Keep got its new cyvasse champion! A very lovely one! A toast to your health, young lady!"

Aemond was flabbergasted.

The court liked her. Her riotous hair and her overly daring attire and -

She was clearly at least somewhat intelligent to best Tyland at it. And others.

How many games in a row did she win?

Aemond couldn't accept it - there had to be some fatal flaw, something uncouth about her because bastards didn't deserve to have such beguiling paramours - something worse than just being clumsy – how could the bastard's whore be the court's darling? Were all these toads so simpleminded?

He thought for a moment how he should leave, what business this was of his? The bastards will be gone by the end of a month, one Driftmark seat short.

The one-eyed prince observed the lady - Arianne - place her black dragon and catapults into their starting positions.

One of her curls fell over her shoulder, and he followed it until it stopped just above her neckline.

He was the last man in this Keep to cast inappropriate glances at women's bosoms but he found himself wondering how hers looked like underneath that dress.

Round, firm, the perfect size for his palms -

He clenched his fingers.

This was unlike him. Lust was a weakness.

His ivory-clad wench offered her hand to Jacaerys Velaryon, and Aemond's eye twitched at the sight.

If she was indeed his nephew’s bedmate, surely she wouldn't mind satisfying the trueborn Targaryen prince.

Her harsh response - brows furrowing and her heart-shaped lips pressing into a tight line - ignited a flicker of doubt in Aemond about her alleged proclivities with the Strong whelp.

And he hated how his blood bloomed with contentment at the thought.

Her eyes were now on him and he realized they were so very green. Glittering with determination.

As green as his mother's beacon.

Almond-shaped and lovely, they stared back at him, firm with quiet resolve.

Green was, after all, his favorite color.

(Arianne)

Arianne was having fun.

Aemond made her think twice. She arranged her trebuchets adjacent to her rabble with her heavy horse defending. The catapult was her favorite piece so she placed it far back and let her dragon defend her king.

Jace hummed behind her, clearly agreeing with her defensive tactic.

It was sound, certainly, as she’d seen something similar in a scroll her father bought from a Volantene merchant.

Upon seeing the Prince’s pieces, her eyebrows drew together. Arianne pulled her spearmen back, deciding to see what he would do first.

The rest of the opponents she faced earlier followed a similarly structured play, which allowed her to outmaneuver them - she had spent hours upon hours playing her father and knew the middle-game well.

But not One-eyed Prince; he immediately attacked her rabble.

Aemond wasted no time.

She defended her left flank by placing an elephant diagonally across the trebuchet, humming thoughtfully.

Aemond curled his index finger, it hovered above his jade dragon.

She felt his gaze flicker to her face.

Arianne knew this was irksome for he clearly intended to remove her trebuchet from the board by blocking her with his dragon piece and attacking with the catapult.

However, his catapult was now pinned between the mountain and her elephant.

He could attack all he wanted, but she would keep avoiding battle until it angered him; then, she would have to use his mistakes.

Her orbs settled on him now that he was so near. Arianne observed the way his thin-pale eyebrow moved as he frowned.

Even with that deep gash splitting his right cheek in half, he was beautiful. Not like Jace, but differently, disconcertingly so. Like those valyrian dragonlords she read about.

He moved his heavy horse instead and then his sole eye zeroed in on her.

Aemond's gaze was so intense that Arianne thought he might be trying to kill her with it. How dare she meet him head-on? - It seemed to threaten her.

"Hmmm," His voice startled her.

It had a melodious tilt to it that was strangely pleasant.

"Will you just spend the entire game avoiding battle?"

She had to glance back up. Jace shifted on his feet.

"I haven't decided yet, Your Grace."

Well, it was the truth. Someone muttered something behind her and Arianne groaned inwardly.

Aemond moved his dragon again, trying to have one of her horses removed from the game. The sigh that escaped her lips as she accepted the exchange and discarded both their light horses from the board was barely audible.

"Will Your Grace just keep attacking?" She didn't know what possessed her to ask. He hadn't developed any of his defensive pieces. His jade king was simply placed behind the last mountain, as lonely as an island in the middle of the vast ocean.

"You do know how this game is won, lady -" The prince waited again. Arianne almost wanted to bristle and snort - he knew her name. He heard Jace say it! Was he pretending it was so unimportant or did he just want her to introduce herself again? Would she have to curtsy as well?

"Arianne."

"Arianne." The corner of Aemond's mouth quirked up. She hated how it sounded on his tongue, as if he was measuring each syllable for its worth, as if he was tasting whether her name was to his liking.

"I do know," Arianne muttered, avoiding his look and focusing on her figures. It wasn't like he was winning or pressing any advantage for now, he was just forcing them to destroy the pieces. The goal was to kill the enemy king, one could do that without wasting resources annihilating every opposing elephant, spearmen, and rabble.

"Perhaps you'd like to ask my nephew for help, lady Arianne. He is very strongly versed in tactics."

Before Jace could react, Arianne shook her head with a hint of reactive defiance in the motion.

"It wouldn't be fair. Besides," She dug her nails into her palms and forced her thundering pulse to slow.

She will not let him win because he frightened her.

"I am having fun."

Taking her trebuchet far back to bolster her king’s defense, Arianne smiled.

He didn’t know she could do this for literal hours.

(Aemond)

Aemond's expression darkened.

She was having fun?

'I pity any unfortunate wench forced to spend time with you as she'll throw herself from the Keep out of sheer boredom.'

'Boring, studious, exemplary Aemond.'

How Aegon had laughed at him, how they all did, bastards-

He couldn't remember ever having fun unless he was flying atop Vhagar.

Cyvasse was part of his studies, something he had to endure but never truly enjoyed. Even when he outmaneuvered his brother, his nephews, and even his teacher, they somehow still found ways to make jabs at his expense - You can only play with a dragon toy on a board, Aemond. I have a real one.

But he had to admit it was somewhat entertaining to chase her across the board.

Most of his opponents would sooner give up and engage.

"Will you say the same once you lose?" He had removed one of her crossbowmen from the game.

Arianne's laugh was making his fingers tingle - a cacophony of tiny, silver bells.

"Why wouldn't I? I do not always win," Her eyes held some sort of mirth - and Aemond wasn't sure if he wanted it to keep blossoming or quash it down.

"Contrary to the evidence from tonight."

Jacaerys Velaryon snorted.

Aemond pointedly ignored him.

"What about Your Grace?" Arianne lifted, her long curls spilling over her shoulder. Aemond decided he would not pay them any more attention because they distracted him.

"I do not play for fun," he remarked, not realizing how harsh his tone had become. "I play to win."

Her hand hesitated in placing her next piece.

"Do I bore you, Your Grace? I did win once because my opponent gave up." He peered at her and she seemed to be reminiscing.

"My brother got bored of trying to force my king to fight."

Aemond couldn't help but chuckle, despite himself

"Your brother lacked patience," He admonished.

"I do not."

Perhaps that wasn't the full truth for he harshly placed his catapult in front of the rabble closest to her king. Arianne simply moved her king away, opting to sacrifice her weakest pieces.

However, if he were to remove them she would have an opening to take his trebuchet, which was a far more valuable piece.

Aemond bit the inside of his cheek and relented, allowing her to escape unscathed.

How fucking infuriating that tilt of her mouth was, as if she was truly enjoying this childish hide and seek across the board. How fucking lovely - pillowy, pink, with a delicately shaped cupid's bow.

"For how long do you plan to do this?" Aemond forced out in his best attempt to hide impatience.

"Till' morning if I have to. Perhaps Your Grace would consider developing his side of the board so we could play nicely."

Aemond bristled.

"Perhaps the lady would consider trying to win instead of just avoiding defeat."

He forcefully showed his dragon in front of her elephant and removed it from the board.

Aemond noticed his mistake only when he’d already done it.

His heavy horse was now pinned, leaving him dangerously exposed!

If he moved it to safety, his king would be vulnerable to her black dragon—he could either lose the horse or, worse, compromise his king.

His fingers flexed.

He had to retreat his king to safety, sacrificing his heavy horse to the opposing dragon.

Her vibrant green eyes glittered with satisfaction.

Aemond felt the veins in his face throb, the fire licking at his temples. How dare this little descendant of a whore -

"Perhaps Your Grace would keep better watch over his horses?"

Was she mocking him?

The muscle in his jaw spasmed.

Oh the nerve -

"Your pieces will all be destroyed. I won't just kill your king," He snarled, as terrible wroth of embarrassment sloshed inside his stomach.

"My lady."

Her large, doe eyes widened.

"What has my kingdom done to earn such hatred from the Prince?"

Aemond glared at board then back at Arianne Swann.

He didn't know.

He hated how long her lashes were and how decisively she moved her game pieces, and how -

He wanted to win so badly. To have all her pieces toppled until she folded her king over herself and admitted he had been right.

Suddenly his mind was conjuring reveries where he was the most devastating opponent she ever had and would never be able to forget.

It wasn’t until his nephew cleared his throat that Aemond realized he wasn’t alone with her. Why would he even want to be alone with her, anyway?

But he was enjoying the game, and he would feel even better once he cracked that stupid tactic and won.

"Arianne, just engage his pieces." He noted the bastard putting his hand on her shoulder. A growing itch in his neck told him to cut his hand off.

"Don't you wish to go eat cake with me instead?"

"Oh," She glanced at the board before giving a small nod to Jace, clearly unfazed by Aemond's growing irritation.

No -

"You're right of course, Jace."

Why would she listen to the stupid fucking fool? She said she was having fun, just like he was.

Arianne moved her trebuchet against Aemond's jade dragon, shrugging, her neckline tempting his gaze despite his efforts to look away.

"Perhaps Your Grace will finally get what he's been hoping for."

The bastard nodded to himself, clearly pleased with her foolishly reckless move.

Why would she take his advice? His nephew had no clue about the game. He was atrocious at it.

Aemond could feel his blood boil.

(Arianne)

Arianne felt like she was in some sort of daze when Jace pulled her back from the brink.

Perhaps Prince Aemond wasn't that awful, at least not when he stubbornly tried to destroy her side of the board instead of simply killing her king.

His features didn't seem that frightening when he wasn't frowning.

She didn't want to engage all her catapults into attack positions but if she didn't this could last for hours. The moment her king moved forward, Aemond responded by placing his jade-dragon against it, blocking her move.

Arianne noticed he had beautiful hands. His long fingers easily enveloped the jade pieces.

"Fool's move," he hissed and she had to look up.

His fiery glare was set on her again.

Had she imagined he was civil towards her when they began to play? What had she done?

"But you are Saera's granddaughter," Aemond sneered, his nostrils flaring. "A fool if there ever was one. Banished from the King's Landing for..."

He left it hanging in the air, but everyone knew. And if anyone didn't know this about her, Aemond now made sure they did.

Arianne could practically feel the japes from around her.

"If Arianne is a fool what does that make the men that sit on the queen's council? She defeated quite a few of them." Jace bit back.

The Queen was Prince Aemond's mother.

It was an offense, no doubt.

"Ah," She sighed, rubbing her ear before quickly moving her dragon.

"The catapult, your grace." She indicated it was destroyed, hoping Aemond would return his hand to the board rather than where it now hovered - near a dagger at his waist.

Aemond bestowed his attention on her and seemed to observe her face for longer than it was considered appropriate. He blinked slowly, then a small, sardonic smile played at the corner of his mouth.

She hoped there wasn't something on her forehead.

His next move was predictable, so Arianne defended.

The game continued, and it seemed he countered every time she tried to retaliate. She placed her onyx dragon adjacent to her catapult, and the one-eyed prince moved as though he had already predicted it.

It was jarring.

Either he was a far better player than he let on or he was reading her thoughts!

Prince Aemond was terrifying enough...he couldn't be reading her thoughts, could he?

Arianne rubbed her pearl earring nervously and moved her black king to safety.

"Now you lost your most powerful piece." Aemond proclaimed coldly before kicking her dragon off the board.

How did he know what she -

"I happen to prefer my catapult." She hoped her pouting wasn't visible.

"Do not fret then, my lady. It will soon follow."

His visage morphed into one of complacent malice. Aemond leaned back in his chair, a truly sly grin playing on his lips as his fingers tapped the board lightly.

Arianne deflated, realizing her king was trapped. Unless he blundered, death in five moves would mean her defeat.

She moved her catapult but in vain, as somehow the Prince again realized she would try to go for his elephant. Four moves later it was over.

"Do not worry, Arianne. You played very well. Uncle Aemond is..." Jace squeezed her arm reassuringly.

"Obsessive in his studying."

She met his warm, dark eyes and smiled.

She did feel bad for losing. Perhaps she should write the game down and send a letter to her father, he’d know how to properly convert defense into open play.

It was a rather fun loss though, unlike her loss of balance – and she had tried so hard to grit her teeth and dance better, for Jace.

Arianne inspected the board once more - she had wasted half a night playing cyvasse already and she did want to try the sweets.

She attempted to smile politely at Prince Aemond, showing him she accepted the loss with all the grace a loser could muster. But she halted halfway—his mouth was set in a frightening glower, and his eye blazed with something malignant.

The twinge of apprehension coiled tightly around her ribs.

"I c-concede," she stammered, reaching to fold her king. But his hand was quicker, snatching it in his large palm.

The one-eyed prince slammed the figure against the board with unnecessary vehemence.

"A waste of my time," he hissed.

"Perhaps this teaches you it is bad manners for a woman to make such a spectacle of being slightly above average at play."

Her muscles locked.

A spectacle?

Bad mannered!?

Arianne blinked twice to dispel the itching in the corner of her eyes, but she was fairly certain he could notice. What a sore winner if she ever knew one. It was like he wanted to humiliate her and make her cry.

What could she have possibly done to him?

"I..." She peered down at her fallen king and her slain dragon.

"I was just..."

"Your manners are lacking, uncle." Jace helped her stand up.

Arianne was thankful his pace was brisk for she couldn't get soon enough from there. Now, everyone would think her not only clumsy and inept but presumptuous as well. How stupid she had been to imagine she could best a prince whom everyone praised for excelling at everything

(Aemond)

Aemond's mood was positively sour for the remainder of the night. The hour was growing late and various royal guests had begun to disperse.

He had won the cyvasse game.

All because she’d listened to the idiotic advice of her rumored paramour.

They could've still been playing if she stuck to her own gameplan and he wouldn't have to be forced to interact with various simple fools throughout the night.

Because she couldn't stop twirling her stupid earring.

Her stupid curls.

Her stupid, stupid, stupidly noticeable ivory dress. No matter where he looked, she seemed to command his attention, an unrelenting presence in the corner of his eye.

And yet when he had won and she -

Knocked over her king. For a fleeting moment, he thought she might cry—and to his surprise, the idea wasn’t as satisfying as he’d imagined

But how luminous and green her eyes were -

I concede -

To concede is to surrender, to yield.

He imagined her saying it to him in private, with no one else to hear.

His chambers, not hers – because he would have the door barred shut lest they get interrupted again.

She'd admit he won and sit on his bed and wait - wait for him, wait until he approached and took his spoils.

She'd be his paramour then.

Aemond groaned and downed his cup. He was on the verge of being drunk. He never allowed himself to indulge that much.

The realization struck him like a longsword—he wanted to take Arianne Swann to bed. And that was... a problem. More so if he was forced to interact with her for the next moon. If she was to stay with his half-sister's entourage.

Was she going to cry over losing? Would she cry if he took more from her?

Was she the bastard's lover?

What if she wasn't? What if she was untouched and waiting for him to take her?

Was she really going to cry from losing a stupid cyvasse game?

Unfortunately, Aemond wouldn't find out as she took his bastard nephew's hand and left.

She hadn't glanced in his direction once.

How dare she leave without his consent!? He had given no such permission.

Aemond tried to focus on remembering the lords who tried to speak to his mother and the ones who didn't -

He tried to keep an eye on Aegon.

Tried to focus on ladies he hadn't met, the sweetcakes and various fruits brought on golden platters - anything to keep his mind elsewhere.

Even tried to observe Daemon, the only real threat should the whore of Dragonstone insist on taking the crown his mother had clearly intended to put on Aegon’s head.

But his eye drifted back to Arianne Swann ever so often. His mind finally made the connection that had been eluding him. The black swan of Lys.��While brushing up on his knowledge of Kingdom of the Three Daughters, he was rather chagrined to learn that Lyseni let themselves be ruled by a courtesan they enslaved to a pleasure garden years prior.

Aemond gripped his goblet tightly, as his lips parted in silent realization.

The abducted Westerosi noblewoman - the barbaric act that finally prompted the crown to act against the Triarchy - wasn’t she the kin to Lord Swann, hence the moniker?

Lady Arianne covered her mouth with her hand and her body shook, her curls bouncing from whatever it was that entertained her. Did she even notice the throng of men trailing after her as if she were a piece of sweet meat? Was she truly oblivious to how her dress clung to the curve of her waist—how it managed to be so indecently enticing while revealing nothing at all?

The neckline dipped to frame the delicate lines of her collarbones, ending just before revealing her womanly attributes.

She’s wearing that on purpose, Aemond concluded tartly. Saera’s granddaughter, kin to another famed harlot—was there a single decent woman in her wretched family?

So that was why she was grating on his mind, he bit the inside of his cheek in vexation – because clearly there was something nefarious about the women of her line that drew men in. Not him though, he wasn’t weak-minded like all these toads.

He could see right through her.

Her very presence was an affront—to the court, to him, to everything dignified.

What an utter shame for there were very few of them – those with the blood of the dragon - and to have it wasted on a vapid tart who warmed his bastard nephew’s bed.

A vapid tart, yet one who’d somehow managed to best Tyland at cyvasse.

Aemond took a sip from his goblet again, wondering where they carted Aegon off to before his eye inevitably stuck to the object of his ire again.

How disconcertingly pretty she was.

And what, pray tell, was she laughing about with those fools?

(Arianne)

Arianne covered her mouth and laughed at herself. They were competing who could eat more lemon-flavored cakes and although Prince Lucerys was in the lead, she was trailing right behind.

Her stumble during the twirl long forgotten, she visibly relaxed while listening to the rapt stories of her dragon-riding friends.

"Don't you ever wish you had one?" Rhaena elbowed her.

Huh?

"Um...I suppose not?" Arianne hesitated, trying to be tactful. It would be a lie that she never ever wished for a dragon of her own, but coveting it would be unseemly.

"I am not a Targaryen like you. Besides...they are frightening."

"Even Vermax?"

"Vermax only behaves because Jace tells him to." Arianne shrugged.

Rhaena snorted and drank her wine.

“Still, it is odd. Vermax is so prickly!” Lucerys shrugged. How nice that both he and Rhaena already knew they would be wed – they liked each other and it was leagues preferable to marrying a stranger. A fate that could still await Arianne.

She tried her best not to dwell on it but often her nightmares included her being given away to an old, mean, ugly lord that scarcely washed.

It was so unfair!

The lemon turned sour upon her tongue.

It could be worse, she supposed, there was a lady that would have to suffer being Prince Aemond’s wife. He was meaner than a Stranger.

"I wish I had one. It isn't fair. Vhagar was supposed to be mine." Princess Rhaena glowered. Following her gaze, Arianne noticed the one-eyed Targaryen staring intently at his plate.

She had heard this story several times by now.

"I hate him." Rhaena's frown deepened. "Vhagar was my mother's dragon, I was supposed -"

Arianne didn't know what to say, from what she had read the dragons chose their riders but she wouldn't want to upset her friend. It was still Prince Aemond who attacked other princes and princesses. And even more, she didn't ever want to say anything in defense of that malcontented boor.

"Is he mean to everyone then?" She asked instead.

Sensing the questioning glance the Targaryen princess threw her way, she explained. "He defeated me in cyvasse earlier and...well, he insulted me."

"Oh, that stupid twat." Rhaena snapped.

Arianne snorted.

Aemond Targaryen was a boor and a twat indeed.

"I am going to fraternize," Jace approached them, "with my mother's liege lords. Gods be good."

"I am going to retire before another moronic Hightower asks me to dance." Rhaena crossed her arms and turned on her heels, inviting Prince Lucerys to escort her.

"I should too, then." Arianne sighed. She's had enough disasters for one night. The Red Keep hadn't been the idyllic court she imagined it to be. If she ever truly became Jace's queen she would rather make it nicer - with kind people and less gossip.

Jace's warm, brown eyes widened slightly.

"No, don't go yet. I just...I'll be done quickly and - I need to tell you something."

"Oh...alright." She acquiesced without putting up a fight.

But it wasn't alright, with Jace and Rhaena gone Arianne was left fidgeting with her sleeves. She tried to engage in a small talk with other stormlanders but the moment her grandmother was mentioned the murmurings pricked at her ability to do so.

Lady Broome was a cherry on top of her sour cake.

"If I had a daughter with certain...indecent predilections coming from her father's side, I would have whipped her within an inch of her life. You would be sewing and praying, not playing games. "

Arianne merely smiled and held her retort at bay. She gave up after that, deciding to leave and wait for Jace in the courtyard.

Swann girl walked around a few drunk knights that were lying on the stairs and sighed when she felt fresh air.

'I will not cry. I didn't do anything wrong.'

She had walked a little further away until she could see the sprawling town beneath the keep. How vast the settlement was, its lights spreading as far as she could see. Yet, Oldtown was even larger, though she had never been there.

Arianne leaned on a tree and observed the line of people carrying carts through the Keep's gates.

"What use is a daughter who does not know how to run a household and be a quiet wife to her lord husband?"

"Bringing unnecessary attention to yourself by playing games."

She gripped the sleeve so tightly that she almost tore it off. Princess Baela, from what Arianne had heard, had behaved ten times more scandalously than she, yet no one dared to mutter their discontent.

But she had a dragon and so did her father.

Arianne’s lungs filled with chilly air.

If she only had a dragon, a great, monstrous beast - like Balerion - she'd threaten them to stop or else.

Or else I'll have my dragon roast you. Not that she'd ever do it, though. She’d once seen Vermax devour a lamb, and the sight had made her both retch and cry.

What did those old witches even know about her? She wished to slap them and declare that Jace was no mere lord, and she would not be some lord’s quiet wife. Jace would be King and she would be Queen and sit on his council. Then they'd hold their tongues, for Jace had Vermax, and as her lord husband, he'd frighten them for her.

"It is not wise to walk around alone at night." The voice startled her into jumping from her skin.

Arianne's neck cramped from how quickly she turned, alarmed by the silent approach.

"For a lady." Aemond clasped his hands behind his back.

Several moments passed before she recovered from her shock.

What was he doing here? Why was he here? To shove her off the edge until she fell and broke her skull on the cobblestone below?

"Y-your Grace." She did a quick curtsy before glancing around for any sign of Jace to rescue her as he did after a cyvasse game.

Aemond hummed to himself before he stepped forward. He hadn't come closer than a few paces from her, his angular face trained on the town. An errant shiver rolled down her backbone, not from any chill in the air, but from fear.

She was frightened of Aemond.

‘ Well, who wouldn’t be?’

The prince glanced at her after some time, his gaze slowly traveling lower.

"Are you not cold in that little dress?"

Arianne's eyelids fluttered several times. 'Little dress?'

The heat blossomed through her cheeks.

"No," she answered with a note of confusion in her tone.

"I rather prefer the cold."

King's Landing, unlike her home, lacked any wind. She was used to far worse weather.

Something passed over the one-eyed prince's face.

"A fortune then," he chuckled. "Your...friend is no true fire and blood. Nor salt and sea for that matter."

She pressed her lips tightly together as she instantly had an idea who he was referring to. It would seem the entire court thought her loose with her morals, and the realization stung. Arianne knew she would have to dispel such misconceptions if she ever hoped to marry her gallant prince.

Was that what he had implied? That Jace was a bastard and she...?

Jace was Laenor Velaryon's son. He was Princess Rhaenyra's heir.

"I truly am fortunate, your grace." It was hard to make the acid in her tone undiscernible. Arianne returned her attention to the people below, but she could feel his stare on the side of her face.

She wondered if walking away would be rude. Would she even dare? Did she need his permission? Technically, he was her sovereign.

Maybe if she remained quiet, the boredom would usher him away.

They stood in relative silence, the cheers and music from the hall still permeating the air before Aemond spoke again.

"I was perhaps harsh earlier," he cleared his throat.

Arianne felt her sinews coil in apprehension. Was he trying to talk to her?

"You...play well."

Her breath hitched.

What?

Her pulse fluttered nervously through her arteries, rushing so relentlessly her ears rang.

"T-thank you," She muttered, peering up at his expression. Was he jesting with her? Or was he serious?

The trepidation overwhelmed her.

"It certainly is an honor to hear that," Arianne fiddled with her sleeve. "When Your Grace is clearly the better player."

The compliment seemed to soften the harshest of lines adorning his face, yet he made no comment on it.

Aemond blinked and pored over something near her temples.

"Well, at least when we came to the endgame, all my attacks were predictable," she had started to ramble because his stare was making her dig her fingernails into her palms and shift the weight from one foot to the other.

"It is because you have a tell," he interrupted her offhandedly.

Arianne halted, offering him a questioning pout.

Aemond moved his arms, bringing one to the pommel of his knife while raising the other to touch his earlobe

"Before you move a piece into attacking position," he explained in a voice as soft as a pillow.

"You touch your earring."

'I...what?'

'Wait what?'

Arianne had to blink numerous times before she could think this through. She wasn't doing that, was she? She'd never noticed - and neither had anyone else.

Her hand shot up to twirl her pearl earring, and she paled, realizing he was right.

She tended to do that.

"I...well...h-how did you...I never realized..."

Something was flooding her cheeks and forehead - it wasn't frustration that was brimming under her skin the entire night - it was an embarrassment

Aemond hummed, the corner of his lips curving.

"I watched you play Lord Rosby and Lady Wylde ..."

'He was watching her?'

Arianne didn't know how to answer that. Why was he watching her and not the board?

Perhaps Prince Aemond realized she was struggling to formulate the sentence because he spoke again.

"Why did you abandon your tactic in favor of my nephew’s?”

Her eyes shifted towards his collar. The black of House Targaryen made a stark contrast against his pale skin.

Arianne tilted her chin up to better see his face. Seven above, he was tall.

"Well, it was taking a long time and...I had wanted to eat cakes with him. We were supposed to...do that." She wondered why his marble-like face hardened as she spoke – his jaw locked and his mouth settled into a frown.

Aemond flexed his fingers.

"What fucking foolish reason!" He scolded, his eye blazing with indignation.

Arianne took a step back, surprised at both his vocabulary and vehemence.

"Well...why did your grace help me with," - She touched her earring, - "this, if he thinks me a fool?"

His nostrils flared.

"I took pity!" His answer dripped venom and Arianne realized he was only pretending to be civil and she had been right - he hated her.

"We are family after all." the prince added with a hint of amusement.

'Family? Sure, his father was her grandmother's nephew but that was too distant a relation to-'

"I suppose -"

"Dragons are so...ah, generous with their family aren't they?" Aemond snarled, regarding her naive expression. "We welcome everyone, traitors, bastards, bastard's mistresses..."

Arianne stiffened.

Even him? Was this what everyone thought?

That she was Jace's paramour...that she lost her honor before marriage?

What will her parents think?

Much as she tried, she couldn't stop the itching in her eyes.

Targaryen Prince simply stared at her – the blue of his eye as turbulent as the most voracious of oceans.

Arianne wiped her cheeks when she felt the droplets.

She was crying. Crying.

She couldn't cry in front of Prince Aemond. He would humiliate her even further.

"I...I a-am not...and I would...like to leave now." Her line of vision fell to her feet and she willed them to move. Unfortunately, his long legs moved as well, blocking her path.

"I do not give you permission to leave, lady Swann." Aemond spat, forcing his arms to rest at his sides. His sole eye moved to map and catalog the wet trails left on her cheekbones.

'W-what?'

What was wrong with him? She was crying! It was common decency to allow a lady her dignity! From the moment she arrived, there was gossip about the debauched Prince Aegon and the dutiful, impeccable Prince Aemond, whose only fault was his missing eye. But she realized the Keep was as full of horse dung as the dirtiest stable in the Seven Kingdoms

He was the most ill-mannered boor she had ever had the misfortune to meet! How did no one else realize this?

Arianne glared up at him through her damp eyelashes.

"Your words offend me so I... please move-"

"Offend you?" Aemond sucked his bottom lip in and narrowed his eye.

"So you are not a mistress then? Perhaps like your grandmother, he pays for your company in gold. How much of the crown's coins does he spend to share your bed? More than your famous grandmother? Is he the only one -"

Before she could think her foot flew and hit him in the shin.

Aemond hissed but he didn't stumble.

"I AM NOT SHARING ANYONE'S BED!" Arianne screamed.

She yanked off both of her earrings and threw them at his head.

"How dare you insult me so? I haven't done anything to you! Yet, you state all these awful things about me when I haven't even had my first kiss. You judgmental, prejudiced twat!"

Arianne didn't wait for him to strike her head off, she ran past him. She ran until she reached the stairs and then she ran in the other direction until she was looking for her room.

She couldn't stop crying.

Miriam was sleeping when Arianne opened the door.

The young lady Swann had no heart to wake her and she didn't want to be interrogated about the worst night in her life.

She simply hugged her pillow and cried. She was dead. Tomorrow they would come for her and lead her before the Queen and she would sentence her to hanging for insulting and hitting Prince Aemond.

Not even Jace will be able to save her.

She had forgotten Jace wanted to tell her something.

That awful uncle of his!

The sweet embrace of sleep eluded Arianne for hours as she indulged in fantasies of setting her own dragon on that evil man. If she only had one, she’d let it devour him in one bite and she wouldn’t cry or retch.

She’d laugh.

Miriam woke her with a scolding.

"My lady, you should've woken me to prepare you for bed! How did you sleep in that corset?"

Arianne had a splintering headache.

Last night happened.

Oh, the Seven!

"D-did the guards ask for me?" The fearful tilt of her tone made Miriam frown.

"No," she eyed her lady suspiciously. "Why would they?"

Arianne breathed a relief. For now.

‘I kicked a Prince…’

Groaning, she buried her face into her pillow. She didn’t want to die! It wasn’t fair!

"Please get up and eat. I need to do your hair, it's completely knotted!"

"I am not leaving my room today," Arianne pouted. Perhaps if she never showed her face again, Prince Aemond would forget she existed?

"Oh...what happened last night? Did Prince Jacaerys kiss you?"

She winced.

Absolutely not.

"It was awful. I hate this place." Arianne muttered, taking a sip of water. She ate while Miriam fussed over the state of her dress.

"My lady, where are your earrings?" The question caught her unprepared and Arianne blanched.

"I...lost them."

"Both of them?" Miriam blinked several times.

I tossed them at that awful, awful -

"Yes." She pursed her lips and realized her appetite was missing.

The morning was uneventful. She had a bath and she and Miriam shared a meal later. Lady Massey informed her yesterday that she was to ensure Princess Rhaenyra’s things were put in order as these servants cannot be trusted for they are employed by the Queen.

The Swann girl hoped she wouldn’t have to scold too many of them.

Also, the younger princes needed to be taken to their lessons.

Arianne was still pretty upset but she tried to think about what Jace wanted to talk about. Her daydreams imagined him professing she was dear to his heart and -

her worst scenarios had him solemnly telling her that she was mistaken and he could never accept her for a wife. Not next to Princess Baela, not when Lord Paramount of Stormlands had four unwed daughters.

Miriam stood up because she heard a knock.

'Oh no.' She turned rigid. They were here to put her in chains. To have her arrested for capital transgression against the prince.

Aemond would have her executed.

Or Queen Alicent would.

"My lady, this is for you." Miriam was holding a small box and turning it around in her palm.

"Do you think prince -" Her other hand flew to her mouth to stifle the giggles.

"Just give me that!" Arianne scowled. She wasn't going to get excited over Jace's gift only for it to be from some lesser lord trying to marry her for her nice dowry.

Her fingers trembled as she opened it.

Arianne descended into shock.

Her pearl earrings.

What?

Was this another cruelty from One-eyed Prince?

Arianne put the box on the table and pulled a small piece of paper.

When she had read it she got up, tossed herself onto her bedding, and screamed into the pillow.

' Much as I appreciated your gift, Lady Arianne, I have no use for earrings. When we play cyvasse again and you win, you might be entitled to my forgiveness for the epithets you gave me. Should you lose, know that you would owe me twice, and I will not forget to collect your debt. Mayhaps you'll think of something of more value than jewelry—something of firsts.

My leg is completely fine, in case your ladyship was worried. – Aemond Targaryen.'

Seven hells take him, he hadn't forgotten about her.

"Miriam," she wailed. "I am not leaving these chambers until we are to return home."

Her maid crossed her arms disapprovingly.

“Well, must I remind your ladyship that you are to take the young princes to the maester for their lessons?”

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