"I really do not understand why she wants me in these dresses," Samaya sighed, looking at her sister. Margaery was lounging on her bed, eating grapes and smirking at her older sister, who was getting fitted for a new gown.

"Because you look stunning, Sam. She has not given up hope of marrying you still," she answered, earning a stern look from Samaya.

"I wish she would just accept who I am," the older sister said, inhaling sharply as one of Margaery's handmaidens tightened the corset on her revealing gown. The fabric was smooth to the touch and dyed a lovely green colour. Another one of the servant girls had rubbed oil onto Sam's skin, making it glisten ever so seductively. The girl felt like she was being primed for an auction, like cattle or sheep.

"It does not matter who you think you are. You are a Tyrell, and that means following grandmamma's rules," Margaery replied, making Samaya sigh. Ever since her mother had told her about her true heritage had she longed to tell her siblings, but it would mean not only endangering herself, but them as well. And in the last few weeks alone, the number of people who knew had almost doubled. She had always suspected that Varys was in on her grandmother's plan, but did not know for sure until he confirmed it to her earlier. Still, she did not feel much like a Targaryen. In blood, she was a Hightower, but in heart, she was a Tyrell. It was all she had ever known.

"Oh, I do follow her rules. Always have been, always will," she answered vaguely and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Taking in the tall, slim girl in the expensive gown that was looking back at her, she hoped that the nightmare that was King's Landing would soon be over.

Cersei Lannister was standing on the balcony adjacent to her bedroom, looking out at this horrid city she had called a home for way too many years while taking slow sips of the wine in her goblet. A knock sounded on her door, but she did not bother answering, she knew who it must be. Her brother slid up to her quietly, standing silent sigil behind her slender frame.

"He likes the other Tyrell girl," he finally said after a few moments.

"Joffrey does not like anyone, not even me. He is merely intrigued by her. I think his intention is to bed her as well as that little whore Margaery," Cersei replied with venom in her voice.

"You have grown bitter, sweet sister," Jaimie stated and she turned around to face him. A hard line had settled on her once joyful mouth, and she stared him straight in the eyes.

"There is nothing to be happy or satisfied about as long as these leeches treat our palace like their home. They seem to grow by the day! First it was their father and brother, than that brown-haired minx, their insufferable grandmother soon followed and now – now there's the sister that looks nothing like her siblings and has an air about her that sends shivers down my spine!" Cersei exclaimed while walking over to her writing desk. Forcefully, she put down the goblet, so that a couple of drops spilled over the rim and landed on the papers spread over its surface.

"I want them gone, Jaimie! All of them! And trust me, I will find a way," she continued menacingly. Jaimie's brows furrowed in concern and he slowly walked over.

"Having the Tyrells as our allies makes us practically invincible, sister. And sooner or later, Joff has to marry… at least there is a lot of gold and grain involved with Margaery," he tried reasoning with her. She closed the distance between them in a few short steps and threw her hands upon his chest with vehemence.

"I could not care less about their gold or grain. We are Lannisters of Casterly Rock, Jaimie! We rule the Seven Kingdoms, and I will not let one ugly little rose come between me and my son! Something has to be done, we need to talk to father," Cersei said pleadingly. Now, so close to her face, Jaimie could see the veil in her eyes, and a terrible realisation dawned on him.

"My dear sister, it seems I was mistaken. You are not only bitter, but also drunk," he said and shoved her away from him. What did he ever see in her? Her beauty has faded, her smile has vanished, and her loveliness has been overshadowed by darker traits. He turned towards the door with strong strides, not willing to deal with another minute of this madness.

"Father does not care about your jealousy, Cersei. I suggest you hold your tongue and for once, do what you're told," he said over his shoulder, shortly before closing the door. The sight of her standing there alone, chest heaving, and fury in her eyes, gave his heart a sharp ache. He still loved her, but as he heard the loud thump of the wine goblet crashing against the closed door, he asked himself if this love had faded as much as her beauty.

A couple of hours later, the feast in Samaya's honour was in full swing, with couples whirring around to playful tunes, knights drinking and laughing, and one particularly attentive King next to her side.

"Here, sister, you have to try this. It is goose liver, one of my favourites," he said excitedly as he shoved another fork in her direction. Four goblets of wine ago, he had started feeding her, and two later, had taken a liking to calling her 'sister'. Samaya caught Margaery's eye over the outstretched fork and became furious at seeing her sibling's amused expression. Dutifully, she smiled and tasted the pasty substance.

"Delicious, your Grace," she managed to praise even though it tasted horrible to her. The cooks in King's Landing had nothing on those of Highgarden, a lesson she had quickly learned. Sam discretely wiped her mouth with her napkin, spitting half of its content into the cloth.

"I knew you would like it. Come on now, that's enough of food, I want to see you dance!" the King proclaimed seconds after she had dropped the napkin, and before she knew what was happening, he had grabbed for her and was dragging her onto the floor to join the other dancing pairs.

"Oh, dear… your Grace, I really have nothing of the grace and beauty of my sister when it comes to dancing, you might like to ask her in my stead," she pleaded with the back of his head, but he paid her no attention. Samaya felt more unnerved by every inch he was dragging her closer to the dancers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a figure shooting up from its place at the table, and she caught Oberyn's eye for a second. His brows furrowed in anger as he saw her expression.

But Joffrey had already twisted her around seconds later, pulled her skin-close to him and held her hands in a death grip. With every bit of effort she could muster, she planted a shy smile on her face. Her insides felt like someone was wrangling them with bare hands.

As the King had now joined the dancing, the musicians immediately picked up a joyful tune and he began to move with her still firmly in his grip. They were about the same height, and Samaya would have given everything not having to stare into his eyes. Their proximity made this impossible, and she felt more and more disgusted by the second. All the stories she had heard, and then there was that hardness to them. They were the same colour as hers, but whereas she could see vulnerability in the mirror, she only saw cruelty in his.

Sam was so concerned with thinking about his character traits that she did not pay any attention to her feet, and soon enough, she was just stumbling along, trying to keep up. The smile the King was wearing disappeared inch by inch, and soon, he seemed angry with her.

"What do they teach you in Highgarden? Certainly not how to dance!" he exclaimed as she stumbled once again.

"Apologies, your Grace. Like I said, my sister is a much better dancer than myself," she tried to explain, but a moment later, he had pushed her away. The music stopped, and all eyes were on them.

"Now I know why you are not married yet. They should stop calling you the Maid of Highgarden and replace it with 'Mammoth'," Joffrey exclaimed loudly and around them, people were roaring with laughter. Samaya felt anger rising, and her cheeks were heating up. How dare he humiliate her like that! Her hands were furled into tight fists by her sides, and she was tempted to lunge at the King.

He laughed with his crowd, edging them on before looking at her again. Slowly, he bowed forward and tilted up her chin with one of his hands.

"I'll find you a husband, sister. One that will teach you how to move, and not only on the dancing floor," he said loud enough for the people close to them to hear. "Though, I might partake in your education when he's thoroughly ridden you in," he added and Sam had enough. Vehemently, she tilted her head away and took a step back. She was beyond furious and ready to attack that little dimwit of a ruler when a hand grabbed her right shoulder from behind.

"I can assure you, your Grace, the Lady Samaya has other talents. You should see her with a bow or spear. I have witnessed it myself, and it is quite a sight to behold," Prince Oberyn exclaimed loudly. Sam did not pay him any attention, her stare was fixated on the King still, her chest heaving with angry breaths. However, she could not move. His grip on her shoulder was strong enough to keep her in place. If it was for her safety or the King's, she could not tell.

"Oh, really?" the King scoffed "Well, let me tell you one thing, Prince Oberyn: in bed, I like my women to know the dance, not the fight," he added suggestively, which made Sam even angrier. How dare he speak in this manner in front of the whole court!

"But see, your Grace, it is fun when they know a bit of both," Oberyn replied immediately and laughter rang around them again. The King enjoyed the Prince's witty remark, and while he was distracted, Oberyn quickly dragged Samaya away from the center of attention. With ease, he manoeuvered her through the crowd and they left the Great Hall through a semi-hidden door to the side.

They walked for what seemed a long, long time, until he stopped and held both her shoulders. Gently, he leaned her back against the cool wall. Samaya made a sharp intake of breath as the cold stone touched her bare skin. Her anger had subsided slightly, but now she felt ashamed, humiliated.

Focusing on the floor, she bowed her head low, but he put his hand around her neck. Slowly, he tilted up her head and found her gaze. A curious feeling started to spread through Samaya. He held her in such a manner that it looked as if he was choking her, but the pressure of his thumb against her blood vessels gave her comfort and excitement. She wanted to speak, but she got lost in his expressive eyes. They spoke of fury, lust and sympathy. Slowly, he leaned closer until his lips were covering her own, and he gave her a kiss that spoke volumes.

Samaya wanted to push him away, but her body betrayed her instead. She melted into his frame, bringing up her arms around his broad shoulders, and holding on for dear life. Tenderly, he opened her mouth with his lips, and even though it should have scared her to feel his tongue touch her own, she welcomed the sensation, and engaged in a passion dance with him.

He explored her mouth with his lips, her frame with his hands, all while keeping her pressed firmly against the cold wall. However, Samaya felt anything but cold. Her body was on fire, not unlike it had been when she was angry at the King; but still completely different. Where it was fury warming her before, it was now passion. Gone was the memory of what had just happened, and in its stead was a much nicer one, one in the making.

When he pulled away, she did not want to let him go, but as she opened her eyes again, she realised where she was and what she was doing. Quickly, she stepped back and flattened her dress, which had ridden up significantly.

"I will never let him do anything like that to you ever again, Sam. He is a monster, but he shall not have dominion over you," the Prince exclaimed. She held his gaze and furrowed her brows.

"That is very noble of you, Oberyn, but I do not think he will care. He is the King, he can do as he pleases," she said matter-of-factly, fastening her hair back into place. Her companion chuckled and ran a finger over the smooth skin on her arms.

"Oh no, he cannot. Not if you're mine," he said quietly. Sam stopped her fussing and sighed.

"We have discussed this before, I will not become one of your paramours," she stated. Oberyn stopped his caress and met her gaze again.

"I know. But you will become my wife."

Oh, I am so excited to see your reactions to this twist! Please leave me a comment/review to tell me what you think :)

Much love!