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Foreign Queen

Chapter 10

"Take him," Myriah whispered and looked at the cradle where her newborn slept. Aerys was the best babe ever, much quieter than Baelor had been as a month old. He almost never cried. Now, his soft whimpers alerted her that he'd start wailing any minute now and rouse Baelor who had finally gone to sleep.

Daeron rose and leaned over to take the child. Snuggled up to his mother, Baelor stirred but didn't wake up. Myriah held him a moment longer with the distinct feeling of regret that she needed to let him go. For the last frantic month with the untimely arrival of the babe, she had had no time for Baelor – she was either suckling Aerys or holding him since, for a reason the maesters still couldn't explain, he was calmer when it was his mother holding him – not his wet-nurse and not anyone else. Just Myriah.

By now, her body had almost recovered – and today, so had her mind. Now she was grateful to Daeron for taking Aerys from her arms last night, despite her strong protests, and handing him to the wet-nurse. "He is much stronger now, Myriah," he had said. "Before, he needed to be with you all the time but it is no longer so. And you need a good rest, too. Look at yourself! You haven't slept for a week, you wake up at each whimper and to crown it all, you're afraid that you'll squeeze him in your sleep or now even worse – that I will. Just give it a try for tonight, right?"

Now, Myriah felt that there she was not done for. She had had a night of uninterrupted sleep and she was ready to face whatever life had in store for her. And Aerys did not look tortured, either. She felt that she was done with taking him to sleep in their bed. Reluctantly, she released Baelor to Daeron who carried him out as quietly as possible. The sight of Aerys in Myriah's arms never failed to lead to anger and tears so removing him before the babe woke up was the only option.

She just missed him. She had spent so much time with him before and now, she barely saw him. Well, now that the babe had started to adapt better, things would change.

She rose to take Aerys before he started crying for real and placed him at the breast. To her relief, he had finally managed to tackle sucking and was gaining. She rubbed her chin against his soft head lightly and smiled when she realized that the pain in her breasts was fainter than what she had felt at the last feeding.

The wet-nurse appeared to take the babe as soon as Myriah was over. Although not very skilful, the girl was anxious to please. She's afraid that we'll send her away now that my milk has finally come down, Myriah thought but she had already decided that she'd keep the young Amara in her household. The girl was far from stupid and despite her awkwardness that Myriah thought was due to the fact that she was a first time mother, she seemed to have a touch for dealing with children. Aerys would need a nursemaid soon.

"Take him," Myriah said. "I suppose he'll go to sleep as soon as you place him in the cradle."

"Yes, Your Grace," the girl said. "Such a good babe," she added. "He hardly ever cries."

"Yes," Myriah agreed. "But this way, you'll have more time for your own little one. Rufas, right?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Amara confirmed and blushed with delight that despite her own hardships, the Princess had bothered to remember.

As soon as she was alone, Myriah rose and undressed to go to the bathchamber. As always, she felt ridiculously happy that she could see her feet. She scrubbed her skin thoroughly and then washed her hair and tried not to notice how many hairs fell out. Lelia assured her that it was normal and would stop in a few months. Myriah couldn't wait.

She put on one of the gowns she had worn in the middle of her pregnancy and it fitted her; pleased that she looked as presentable as she could, she gave her son a last look and left her chambers, waving off Ilena's pleas to come with her. The set of her shoulders had alerted her lifelong friend that whatever she had planned, it couldn't be good.

The courtiers in the halls and hallways gave her looks of astonishment. Some even forgot to offer their obeisance. She was supposed to stay in her rooms until she "recovered" – and time-honoured custom dictated that her recovery would last for at least another turn of the moon.

But Myriah was young and healthy, her babe was healthy and thriving and it took no effort at all for her to cross the Red Keep to the buildings containing the administrative offices. Here, it looked like some of the people really didn't recognize her and she frowned. Now, she realized how much time she had spent inside, how she had barely left Maegor's Holdfast, too enraptured with Baelor and tired of her pregnancy to care.

"My lady?"

She was so deep in thought that she noticed the Dragonknight only when she almost bumped into him. He kept her upright and gave her a look of surprise. "My princess, what are you doing here?"

"I have a conversation to hold," she told him.

Once, a decade ago, Prince Aemon Targaryen had had the displeasure of getting well acquainted with Dornish hot tempers. And he suspected that he knew what it was that Myriah had set her heart upon. He didn't envy the poor bastard who would bear the brunt of her anger but really, what had happened to her attendants was truly vile. With a sigh, he decided that he couldn't leave her alone, although his watch with the King had just ended and he had a few hours before his next shift. "May I accompany you?" he asked.

"Yes, of course."

With time, Myriah had come to find his company and silence soothing. And she always enjoyed their conversations.

"You can take me to the Master of Coin's office," she added and smiled at the approval written on his face. Following the money was always a right course.

Lord Torkhel Green Crest was a small man who looked even smaller in the vast room filled with cabinets and registers. He bowed anxiously to Myriah, obviously unsure what to make of her unexpected visit. His bald head glinted like copper in the sunlight.

Myriah took a seat and came straight to the point. "My Dornish attendants have suffered deplorable privations," she said with deliberate harshness. "How could it have happened, my lord? Why didn't you use the money allotted for their maintenance?"

He blinked. "Me, Your Grace? Why me?"

He looked so genuinely puzzled that Myriah's anger grew. Was he mocking her? Who did he think he was? "Because you are the Master of Coin," she said severely. "And I distinctly remember I gave you the order. Unless His Grace has dismissed you without my being aware of it?"

His long fingers started tapping on the register in front of him. Myriah raised an eyebrow to show that she still expected answer. In the sunlight, tiny specks of dust were dancing between them. "No, my lady," he said.

"Then?" she insisted. "I gave the orders and papers to you in person. What am I to think, my lord? The purpose of my marriage to your prince was to forge a lasting peace between your people and mine. Should I assume that you were trying to sparkle a new war? His Grace will be very interested to hear it, I am sure."

The man went white. King Viserys' wrath was never as spectacular as Prince Aegon's outbursts but it was something no sane man in Westeros would want to attract. The King's cold, calculating mind would go for the most effective punishment, not the first one he could think of. And he wanted to preserve the peace. Besides, he was very fond of the young Dornishwoman.

Viserys was the king. There was no use of trembling in one's boots of the fear of the king in waiting if he brought upon himself the animosity of the king who was.

His decision made, the Master of Coins started flipping through the pages of the register. Myriah rose and approached. "See here: I submitted them for approval to Prince Aegon's treasurer. The Prince assured me that he'd take care of the overseeing of your attendants' arrangements since you were too faint in your delicate state to worry about such details."

Myriah barely contained her outrage. She was not surprised. Somehow, she had expected that her goodfather would have had a part in that. But the sheer audacity of this action stunned her. Such disrespect! Such disregard for her will!

But then, why shouldn't he? She had made his lie possible by containing herself within Maegor's Holdfast, too wrapped in her little domestic life while the storm had been raging all around. She should have been the one in charge of her household; she should have made sure that her orders had been followed. She should have. And she hadn't. For all she knew, her goodfather might have taken to reviewing her correspondence before she had the chance to. And she might have never found out. Myriah was furious at herself.

She slammed the register, almost taking the Master of Coin's fingers off. He looked at her and recoiled, as if he was seeing a madwoman who might strike him. Myriah drew a breath and composed herself enough to return to her seat and listen to his endless droning and explanations of money and expenditures. "This is all very interesting," she finally interrupted, "but right now, I only want to know how such a disaster could have occurred. All I wanted was a few rooms for my attendants – a few rooms in the Red Keep or a house in the city where they could have some rest and their needs met. I said this much to you. Instead, they almost died. I plan to address the matter immediately."

She rose and gave him an icy look. "I am Myriah of Dorne, my lord of Green Crest," she said. "Not Aegon Targaryen. And the only ones who attend to my affairs are my lord husband and myself. You'll do well to remember that."

She whirled around and left the room in a flurry of orange skirts. Prince Aemon followed suit. "I fear that you might be too impatient," he said as soon as they were alone. "I beg you, do not confront him now. You're too overwhelmed and may lose control."

She laughed angrily. "What does it matter?" she said bitterly. "He's made his disrespect for me abundantly clear. How I act will make no difference."

Aemon didn't say a word. The girl was right, of course. Aegon had been trying to isolate her from the people she had brought with her, to cut off her relations with her homeland, to make her more firmly Daeron's wife – as if there was anything that could make the relationship those two shared stronger! Aegon, of course, couldn't see it. Love was a feeling that he simply couldn't recognize.

"Come on," he said. If she was going to confront Aegon anyway, he might as well lead her through more deserted passages. Her anger was plain to see and he did not want to give the court more food for gossip.

Myriah accepted his hand and went down hallways, through suits of rooms that she had never been in, leading to the royal family's private apartments.

And then, both she and Aemon stopped dead in their tracks. She accidentally stepped on a section of a gown that had been discarded. A little further off in the deserted garden of herbs, a doublet could be seen.

The couple engaged in some… rigorous activity right against the wall could not be mistaken.

Aegon looked at them and leered.

The look Daena gave them showed quite clearly that the court faction against the Dornishwoman had just gained another member.