Prologue
Innocence
"If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter. "
― Markus Zusak
Joanna of houses Baratheon and Lannister, first of her name, Princess of the Andals and the First Men was a woman of intrigue or at least she liked to believe she was. There was a time when she could've sworn on her father's crown nothing went on in the red keep without her knowing. Yet discovering that she had been so very wrong came at a steep cost.
With the benefit of hindsight, it was clear she had been arrogant. She was no Varys; no master of whispers. It had been a child's fantasy which had offered her what little comfort she could cling to in the pit of snakes that was Kingslanding. She had sashayed down the hallway of the red keep her confident air following her, emanating her mother's commanding presence as she went, blissful in her ignorance. Yet it was on her way to the library in-front of her mother's chambers, that she heard the sharp voice of Cersei Lannister and the indistinguishable rebuttal of her uncle Jamie.
She pushed through the door silent as she eavesdropped, they were in the antechamber of the living quarters, the door of said room was left ajar, so gaining entry was child's play. She smirked as she listened. Her mother would've been proud, had she not been the one being spied upon. The voices continued only louder now, they were engaged in a heated argument, yet about what, Joanna couldn't quite make out.
"You put the lives of the children at risk with your arrogance" Her mother roared, in a voice so uninhibited and so unlike her mother that Joanna was lost for words. No sound followed for a minute or so before a rhythmic pounding on the table began and a moan sounded out of the gap in the door.
Joanna gasped, she was young but she was well versed in the art of reproduction, she stepped back ready to flee the sin against the seven that was occurring in the room adjacent, in her hurry she knocked a vase of lavender from the side table which lurked near to the entrance. Time slowed down for her as her pale fingers reached for the falling glasswork, yet they were mere half-inches off.
The vase hit the floor.
The glass shattered and the purple flowers scattered upon the floor. The water followed the marbled stone grooves and the lavender lay there, motionless, inanimate; much like the princess. This was the day, at the age of ten and four, that Joanna Baratheon became an adult.