So uh Ashara's been deleted for personal reasons, but please enjoy this as a replacement fic! I'm in love with Leila and I'm so excited for you to see her fic! Thank you Maddie Rose and Sunlitscrib for enabling me to death with this fic, i probably wouldn't have been able to get this out without y'all!

Enjoy and please leave a review if you enjoyed it so far!


CHAPTER ONE:

A VIPER IN THE DRAGON'S DEN

The salt of the sea latched onto the ebony braid settled across her shoulder and The Martell Princess inhaled deeply, the air of the narrow sea lingering in her lungs as she exhaled. She could feel the loose curls that had fallen free begin to frizz as the galleon surged through the deep blue waves, curling around Massey's Hook into Blackwater bay. The humidity was growing stronger as they moved into the bay and closer to King's Landing, a dark-haired girl of sixteen leaning over the edge of the deck to stare at the distant islands they passed.

Driftmark jutted out of the sea, the distant towers of Lord Corlys's castle dwarfed by the sheer size of Dragonstone behind it, even though it was several more leagues north.

A distant roar drew Leila's gaze upward, the ship engulfed in a black shadow that blocked the sun high above them.

The dragon wasn't as large as the skull that had once decorated Sunspear's throne room, but it's roar shook the sails and the wingspan was nearly as large as the galleon itself. Her father's men scattered to the different corners of The Sun Chaser, but Leila stayed standing, her gaze fixated on the beast above her, hoping that if she squinted hard enough maybe she'd catch sight of its rider.

"Princess!" One of the crew members, Mors Toland—one of father's bannermen, she recalled—rushed to her side, wrapping his arms around her biceps, "Are you alright?"

She nodded, still awestruck from the sight of the dragon, which was now headed toward a silhouette on the horizon, poking through the morning fog. She turned toward the bow of the ship, pulling herself from Ser Toland's grip as the younger son of Lady Toland followed her with a hand on his sword.

"Do you see that Ser Toland?" Leila spoke with a slight giggle, the sun back to beating down on her bare shoulders as she faced King's Landing.

Ser Toland stiffened beside her, but she paid no attention to it, "Yes, Princess. Quite a beast. With their dragons its no wonder House Targaryen was able to conquer most of the Seven Kingdoms."

Leila shook her head and curled her lips upward, "But not all of them," She mused, pride bursting in her chest at the reminder of her birthright. She never took her eyes off King's Landing, "My grandmother used to tell me stories of Meraxes. She used to tell me that its skull was larger than most men. That Princess Deria measured her own height using a knife to carve the marks into the bone," A giggle passed Leila's lips and she finally turned around to face her bannerman, "Can you believe that?"

Ser Toland didn't say a word, but Leila registered the fear in his eyes at the careless way she spoke of the dragon. The same careless way her grandmother had spoken when she'd arrived in King's Landing just over a decade ago to announce her unofficial support for Princess Rhaenys Targaryen to assume the Iron Throne before being spat at and thrown out by King Jaehaerys and his hand.

House Martell was no friend of the Targaryens, at least not until Leila decided it would be her first act as future ruler of Dorne to attempt peace between the two Houses like Nymor Martell and his daughter Deria before her. Her father had been wary but promised to give her time to attempt such a feat, half a year to be exact.

If no physical results had been reached at that time, Leila would be whisked back to Sunspear without so much as a word, for he would not have his heir in a den of dragons with no support.

And so they had agreed, which meant Leila was now on her own for the time being, in the hopes that she alone could change King Viserys's mind about her kingdom.

A hard enough feat during a time of peace, but while both kingdoms were still recovering after the end of the Fourth Dornish War?

She believed her father was being generous in giving her six months. With any luck they wouldn't toss her out after six hours.

The ports of Blackwater Bay were bustling and loud, filled with portly fishermen and bare-chested sailors, hairy and smelling of piss and shit as they entered. Several of them stopped to stare at her and Ser Mors.

Her bronze skin and his umber tones were out of place amidst the pale faces that greeted them, but Leila simply held her head up high, the gold circlet glimmering in the sunlight designating her status.

She was a Princess. A future Queen.

The opinions of a few pale faces were none of her concern.

The boarding ramp slammed onto the wooden dock, nearly splintering it. Ser Mors and Ser Quentyn stood on either side of her, swords and spears drawn at the ready as they began to descend.

Leila caught sight of the white cloaks before anything else, even the whispers of the small folk as they pointed and stared at her. Ser Mors placed her riding cloak around her shoulders and she hummed gratefully, pulling the sheer material closer to her as her retinue met the two Kingsguard that had been sent to greet them.

"Your Highness," One of them bowed, the other refusing to, "King Viserys is honored by your presence, especially with the imminent birth of his son so close to your visit." The older of the two gestured behind him to a wooden wheelhouse, sturdy but plain. Leila tilted her head in slight offense. "He has sent us to escort you to the Red Keep, if you would be so kind…"

She traded a silent look with her two guards, who both nodded but kept their eyes on the crowds that surrounded them.

She carefully picked up her crimson skirts and moved up the steps to the wheelhouse, drawing her hood around her head. Maybe that would stop the stares, she thought to herself, knowing it was foolish to think so.

Dornish women were rarely seen in these parts except as a commodity in a brothel, and with Leila's figure finally starting to settle in, she knew it would only be a matter of time before those less educated than her would see her as little more than a whore.

She was determined to ensure that would not happen.

It was frankly a miracle that her father hadn't sold her off to the highest bidder when she'd turned sixteen a moon ago, but he'd promised her that he'd give her the same choice Nymeria received when she landed on their shores.

A pick of the best men Dorne had to offer, and she would marry to keep the peace, not start a war.

The wheelhouse jostled and shook as they moved over the hills of King's Landing and Leila couldn't resist sneaking a look outside. The city wasn't like Shadow City, with it's decrepit stalls and labyrinths of hovels, stables, and whorehouses.

King's Landing wound in a similar fashion to the Shadow City, but unlike Dorne, all roads led directly to the Red Keep.

One could get lost in the city and find their way back by simply following the jutting towers of the rust-colored castle, even with the bustling citizens and merchants that seemed to crowd the streets to the point of never being able to go anywhere without running into one of them.

It was a far cry from the home she knew, filled with secrets begging to be uncovered, singing to her with the clanging of steel and the chatter of the small folk.

Her lips twisted upward into a smile and Leila Martell pulled the curtain of the wheelhouse back over the window, silently registering the positions of her guard.

Ser Quentyn Manwoody on one side, Ser Mors Toland on the other, and Ser Deryk Dayne pulling up the rear. There was one other that was missing, but Leila had caught sight of a black cloak in the crowds as the horses moved up the hills of King's Landing and smiled.

Leila sat back against the velvet cushion, the thin fabric hiding her features enough to ensure the small folk didn't jeer as she continued to stare out the window.

Most of the population of King's Landing looked nothing like the population of Dorne, only a few brown faces in a sea of white, and hardly any that resembled Ser Mors or Ser Deryk.

"Halt!"

The wheelhouse came to an abrupt stop at the unknown voice, followed by the strained sound of metal against metal.

It moved a few paces more before stopping again, and this time Leila gripped the small dagger strapped to her thigh, barely able to be seen even through the thin silk of her skirts.

"Your Majesty," She heard the deep voice of Ser Quentyn, the most senior of her knights, through the curtain she noticed that the knight did not bow.

Good, she thought. He knows where his loyalty lies.

Mors and Deryk refused to bow as well, and the smile on Leila's face grew wider.

"May I present Leila Nymeros Martell, Princess of Dorne and Heiress of Sunspear!"

The door creaked open and Ser Mors held out his hand with a warm look. Leila returned it with a bow of her head and let the knight help her down the steps of the wheelhouse, even though it wasn't needed.

But it was good to show off ones power now and again, Leila recalled from her grandmother's lessons, chin high as her sandals scraped the dust beneath her.

Her welcome party was small, and Leila's shoulders deflated slightly as she realized that it only seemed to consist of the King, the very pregnant Queen, his hand, and a brunette girl that was clearly not the Princess Rhaenyra.

A man with pale hair and eyes so dark she almost couldn't see the lilac lacing his pupils stepped forward, the gold of his crown gleaming in the sunlight alongside the silver hilt of his sword.

"Princess Leila," King Viserys's smile was strained and polite as he pressed forward, engulfing her hand in his before pressing his lips to the gold signet ring that adorned her right ring finger, "It is an honor to finally meet you, I have heard so many wonderful stories."

"And I of you, Your Majesty," Leila spoke in the sweet tongues she'd heard her mother use on her younger sister many times, "I am ever so delighted to finally meet you and your family, but I am afraid I do not count the Princess Rhaenyra nor the Prince Daemon among you, I hope they are not unwell?"

Her implication did not go unnoticed if the look Viserys and his hand shared was any indication.

"I must apologize, Your Highness," An unfamiliar voice pierced through the tension, and Queen Aemma waddled forward, her belly protruding out at an unnatural angle, "I am afraid my daughter and goodbrother can be quite careless, please do not take their absence as an indication of negotiations."

Leila narrowed her gaze, softening slightly as the Queen shifted her position and King Viserys's cheeks grew red at his wife's comment.

"Of course not, Your Grace," The title dripped like acid from her lips, "I only wished to meet the Princess I have heard so much about." Leila's saccharine smile nearly rotted her teeth as she straightened her shoulders and shared a silent look with Ser Quentyn.

Viserys let out a small sigh of relief, cocking an eyebrow at his wife before turning back to Leila with a bow of his head, "Please come, and I will have Lord Commander Redwyne show you to your quarters." The Kingsguard from earlier stepped forward stiffly with a bow, and Viserys nodded in affirmation, "I do hope you will participate in the tourney as well, I hear so much about the prowess of Dornish knights, I would be honored to witness it in person."

Leila smiled gratefully, ever the courtier her mother raised her to be, "I'm afraid Ser Quentyn isn't much for tourneys, but Ser Mors and Ser Deryk are quite well known in Dorne for their prowess in the melee and joust."

"Excellent!" Viserys clapped his hands together before gesturing toward the doors of the holdfast, "Shall we?"
Leila shared another silent look with Ser Quentyn and caught sight of a black coat on the edge of the castle walls before lifting up her skirts and taking the King's hand in her own.

It was wrinkled and calloused, and when she looked past the gloves on his hand, she was able to notice that his pinky finger wasn't moving at all.

The Queen and his hand followed alongside Ser Quentyn, the brunette girl behind them and guarded on either side by Ser Mors and Ser Deryk.

Leila stole one last look at the gate she'd come through, ignoring the glare from the Hand of the King and the pained look on the Queen's face.

Her chest twisted.

The doors slammed shut behind them.


Leila finally managed to run into Princess Rhaenyra only mere hours after her arrival. It was a chance meeting really, borne out of Leila's own manners and desire to thank Queen Aemma for her gracious arrival.

She'd changed out of her traveling clothes into a more suitable dress for evening dinner, not quite as sheer, although not nearly as modest as the fashions in Westeros either. The blood red fabric draped over her shoulders and hugged her waist, neckline dipping below what was widely considered the proper length for a lady of Westeros.

But Leila Martell was neither of Westeros nor a Lady.

She stopped outside the door of the Queen's solar, the door cracked open and voices loud enough to echo into the corridor.

"You missed the delegation from Dorne today," The Queen's voice was even, the barest hint of a mother's disapproval hidden in it.

"Yes, well…" Another voice, unfamiliar and with a slight edge, replied, "I had other matters to attend to."

"Such as dragon riding?"

There was no response from the other girl, who Leila could only assume was the Targaryen princess herself.

"Your father was counting on you today. It is the job of the royal family to meet with potential allies—"

"And Dorne is so set on becoming our ally that they sent their Princess instead of their ruling Prince?" The Princess's voice was hard and skeptical, and Leila curled her hand into a fist.

Another beat of silence passed between mother and daughter, and Leila pressed her ear further inward.

Queen Aemma sighed, "Princess Leila is no mere Princess. She is the future Queen of Dorne, even with a brother only a few years younger than her. We are honored to have her as our guest and your absence was seen as a great insult to the Kingdom."

"I do not know why we even have to court her!" Footsteps followed that statement and Leila spied through the crack, a silver haired girl pacing back and forth in front of the pregnant Queen, "Dorne should not even be independent. We have dragons, why can't we go after it now?"

"You're certainly welcome to try."

Queen Aemma straightened up on her chaise and the servants's eyes widened. The silver haired girl turned on her feet and pale violet met deep brown.

"Your Highness, I was unaware—"

"Please forgive my intrusion Queen Aemma," Leila ignored the Princess's attempt to backtrack and the lazy curtsey she'd given her, "I only wanted to thank you for greeting us with such grace. I am happy to hear that not all stories about the hospitality in King's Landing were lies." Her gaze shifted over to the Princess for a brief moment and she took in the younger girl's appearance.

"Princess Leila," Queen Aemma shifted once more in her seat, gripping her belly tightly as she did so, "I do not believe you have yet met my daughter. Rhaenyra…"

Rhaenyra curstied again, this time with a little more grace and Leila struggled not to scoff. The Princess herself smelled something foul, a black riding coat tossed over the back of a chair in the solar while the gold threads of her dress glittered in the sunlight.

Her pale hair hung lazily in a sheet around her shoulders, in comparison to Leila's now unbraided ebony curls that cascaded down her back.

Leila nodded and smoothed down her skirts, clasping her hands together, "Your Highness," She spoke stiffly, "Forgive me, I must take my leave of you both.", She nodded once more at the Queen before exiting the room as quickly as she'd arrived.

"Lady Leila, wait!"

Leila stopped in her tracks at the insulting moniker and turned to face the still foul-smelling Princess of Westeros. Princess Rhaenyra's steps were hurried, boots muddied as they dragged dirt through the halls of the Red Keep.

Leila's mother would have made her muck out the stables if she'd shown up to Sunspear in such a state, never mind attending court or greeting a fellow peer in such a way.

Something panged in Leila's chest as she probably realized that it was the work of King Viserys. Rumors abounded of how much the King adored his eldest daughter, especially with no other heirs to speak of.

He doted on her, the courts had said, and Leila could see that now.

Leila's own father had been busy not only ensuring his succession, but trying to repair the mess that his grandfather had left him after the Fourth Dornish War to pay much attention to Leila or her siblings unless it came to matters of state,

And so it fell upon their mother to raise them to the standard that was expected of them.

What must it be like? She thought bitterly as her gaze landed on Rhaenyra's muddy shoes again, To be doted on so much you believe you could get away with anything?

To believe that you could simply own any kingdom you pleased?

To never have to fight for anything in your life?

"I must apologize for my abhorrent behavior," Rhaenyra spoke the words like Leila's youngest sister reciting the prayers of the seven, "As well as my words about Dorne. In truth, Westeros is lucky to have the chance of achieving peace without conquest."

Leila's lips twisted themselves into a mirthless smile, arms crossed in front of her chest, "I suppose your mother threatened you if you did not apologize? What was it? No dragonriding for a month?"

Rhaenyra stumbled back, mouth open in protest, "My lady, I—"

"Your Highness." She corrected, a viper's bite lingering on her tongue, "Not Lady, Princess. Much like yourself, Lady Rhaenyra."

Something in the Targaryen's violet eyes shifted and the girl's lips hardened into a thin line in contrast to Leila's deep frown.

"I meant no offense—"

"But you caused it nonetheless," Leila shot back with the speed of the snakes her house was often compared to, "You refused to greet me as a member of the royal family, disparaged Dorne, my people, in private company, and have not called me by my proper title since." Shame fell over the Targaryen's face, but something else lingered in her eyes, something that burned. "I do not know why I expected better of a Dragon," Leila snarled, refusing to let up or stop her mouth, "After all, the only thing you know how to do is leave ashes in your wake."

A stunned silence met her words and Leila turned on her heel to leave.

A hand flew out and grasped her bicep, ivory fingers digging into the darker skin. Leila's mouth dropped open in shock and Rhaenyra had fully stopped her in her path.

"You will unhand me this instant," Leila's voice grew low and thick, almost resembling a growl, "Or I will call for my guards and we will return to Dorne with a true reason to declare war on Westeros."

That seemed to shock the Princess out of her stupor and Leila ripped her arm from Rhaenyra's grasp, letting out a scoff as she stormed down the hallway, her skirts rippling behind her.