258 A.C

Rhaella

It took all she had in her to not scream as her handmaidens slip the satin dress on her. Her hands trembled when she helped them pin the dark red cloak around her shoulders. No one commented on her hitched breaths, or the way she cringed at every sound that traveled out of the courtyard below and into the window of her room.

A room that would soon no longer be hers. No longer Rhaella's.

A cup was placed in her hands, dusk-colored hands encircling her pale ones. Rhaella looked up into Mirana's warm nrown eyes.

"Drink," the Dornish princess said softly, "It'll help."

Nothing can help me now, Rhaella thought desperately, but all she did was obediently take a sip from the cup. Hot, hot, hot dornish wine hit her tongue, immediately sending her into hacking coughs. She could feel a burn as the beverage slipped past her throat to settle as a buzzing candle in her gut. Mirana's loud laugh echoed through the room, and even a few handmaidens had to stiffle giggles as they continued with their task of preparing her.

"Some spice to settle that dragon I can hear rumbling within you!" The dark-haired woman declared and proceeded to swipe the cup from Rhaella's hands and finish it herself. "For the finest lass this side of Westeros!"

Rhaella's throat produced a hoarse but genuine laugh and for a moment she was overwhelmed with gratitude for these women, standing with her in what seemed to be the worst day of her life. Don't let me lose them, she prayed to any god that might be listening. Don't steal my friends away like you've done my freedom.

As the laughter died out, a male voice called from behind them, "How is my sister doing on this fine day?"

Rhaella whirled around, hand reaching up to grasp her throat, where she'd hastily stifled a scream. Her handmaidens had no such inhibitions; their gasps of surprise were drowned by Mirana's loud curse, "Warrior's balls, don't you know how to knock-", but nobody bothered telling the Princess of Dorne to curb her tongue in the presence of royalty.

Especially since the one who enabled her was standing by the door, leaning with crossed arms against one side. He looked dapper and handsome in his simple white tunic and dark breeches, black boots polished in the glint of the sun streaming through open windows.

"Daemetrys," Rhaella said amiably, voice soft to hide the slight hoarseness. His name was the first word to slip past her lips this morning. "We didn't hear you."

"That must be because I did not knock. The door was open." He smirked at Mirana, who shot him a playful glare. His eyes, a bright violet, flickered to her ladies in waiting and then back to her, awaiting. He didn't need to say anything else. He didn't need to.

"Ladies," she said, clasping her hands together, "Go make yourself ready for the day. I do want my friends to shine alongside me. The servants will take care of any other matters."

Most of them nodded and bowed, and started to leave her room in little groups, already whispering excitedly about the day's events and throwing expectant glances at the Prince, who did his best to appear aloof as he pushed himself off the doorsill and approached her.

Everyone left, except Mirana, who hesitated. "Rha- I mean, Princess Rhaella, are you certain?" Almond-shaped eyes narrowed at Daemetrys before scanning her for any sign of distress. "There's still so much to be done..."

Normally, the fierce Princess of Dorne wouldn't have bothered herself with trivial concerns like these. Getting ready for a wedding didn't need protecting, or any more attention or thought than a few congratulations after all. But Mirana Martell had lived through a wedding without female relatives to support her, and a brother who despised her, and had more than enough reason to be wary of men on wedding days. Never mind that she usually got along well enough with the second Prince.

If they have a cock, they're the enemy.Mirana had once told her conspiratorially, whispering in her ear during a feast while they both threw mocking glances at Prince Aerys, who'd been trying to woo his way into a noblewoman's skirts all evening long, and failing miserably.

The reminder of her husband-to-be's whoremongering ways left a crop of dread in her gut, but Rhaella managed to reassure her friend with a serene smile, "I will be fine. Thank you, Princess Mirana."

The Dornish princess was visibly holding back a protest but raised her skirts and bowed before heading out. She didm't miss the chance to glare at Daemetrys all the way to the door, which she closed with a bang.

Daemetrys turned back to Rhaella, eyebrow raised, "Your handmaidens are loyal, but Mirana is a delightfully frightful woman. I fear for my manhood everytime I catch her in one of her moods."

Rhaella wanted to laugh, but all that showed was a frown.

He brother took a few quick strides to stand before her and gently grabbed her hands, and she instinctively caressed the callouses in his. He was one thumb short of being her height, despite having a year on her, but his shoulders were wider, and his arms thicker in the way all growing boys who wield the sword daily are.

Daemetrys' eyes softened from hard jewels to wine, as hauntingly beautiful as ever. The small amount of kohl he applied to them, the latest trend in courtly men's fashion, only served to accentuate their vividness. It's not the first time she felt inferior to her older brother, but today, she felt the difference between them to be an insurmountable challenge. Funny how even clothed in the finest Myrish silks and wearing the most coveted jewels of the Realms, Rhaella could not help but see herself as this lanky, clumsy doe compared to her brother's eternal grace.

"Your dress is white, but I know you are bleeding," he said and she wanted to cry at the understanding in his voice. She wanted to break and be gathered in his arms. She wanted to ask him to take her away, to bright Essos, to beautiful Lys, to the peaceful Summer Isles.

She didn't.

Her pleas stayed stuck in her throat and she couldn't find her voice anymore. She didn't have to.

Her brother knew her best and he answered, "You know I can't."

Can not, as opposed to will not.

Daemetrys loved their family too much to betray them like this. Rhaella knew that if she pushed enough, he would swipe her right off her feet and cross the Sunset Sea with her, for her. It would tear him apart, but he'd do it and he'd never blame her, because if there was one thing her brother loved more than anything in the world, it was her.

Unfortunately, Rhaella loved him back just as fiercely. She would never forgive herself if she wounded him so.

Instead she nodded and, letting herself return to the memories of a little girl who sought her brother for safety during thunderstorms, whispered, "Do my hair, Daeme."

She turned and sat herself in front of her looking glass, back straight, with her hands in her lap. Don't cry, she told the girl looking back at her, You are the blood of the dragon. Dragons don't cry.

She tried to concentrate feel of her brother's hands gently running through her hair, braiding and twisting the strands of silver-blond, pinning them to her skull with spelds he found on the table in fron of them. She fixed her gaze on his face, serious and diligent in his task and found amusement in how it was the same face he had when thinking about affairs of the Realm, or his research and businesses.

A knock on the door broke the quiet peace between them. Despite herself, a quiet giggle escaped Rhaella at her brother's startled scowl. "What is it?" He snapped at the closed door, finishing pinning the last locks of her hair, baring her neck to the air.

"My Prince," sounded Ser Evon's voice, the Kingsguard assigned to follow Daemetrys today, "You need to prepare for the wedding. Your mother is looking for you. Better not keep her waiting, my Prince."

"Give us a moment," Daemetrys said, already turning to face her relfection in the looking glass. His hands drifted down and gripped her shoulders with firm gentleness.

Their eyes met in the mirror.

"You will be happy, Rhaella," he whispered, "Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not soon yet. It could take years before you feel true happiness again. But you will be. One day, you will be the happiest woman in Westeros. I will make sure of it."

And oh, Rhaella hated how it was not the determination in the set of his face, but the quiet rage hidden in the depths of his eyes, that convinced her to believe him.

Her eyes filled until the sight of him blurred.