Chapter 60: Return of the Queen
Raising her hands, the maids quickly lifted Tyanna's dress and let it fall, sliding down her slim waist like a sheath. It was good to be Queen, she reflected with a little bit of smug enjoyment - before she'd have done this herself as but the daughter of a Pentoshi courtesan, but now had the beck and call of dozens of maids within the royal household. All loyal as a matter of fact, and most of them pretty.
Well… that was out of the question for the rest of her life, given her marriages to the beautiful Targaryens that truly brought joy to Tyanna, but still - it didn't hurt to look. And appreciate.
The roars of the dragons belied her rush. "Hold still, your Grace," one of the maids insisted, shimmying with the sleeve to the black dress so that Tyanna could stick her arm through. "If you struggle it'll only get more tangled."
"King Maegor and Queen Rhaena have returned from battle," she replied with a firm tone. "I wish them to land and be greeted by their wife."
"They may appreciate being greeted by a nude beauty, but I doubt they'd like the rest of King's Landing bearing witness," she bit back, smirking.
Tyanna blinked, then smirked too. "What's your name?"
"Liza, your Grace." She just finished setting the dress to rights.
Gazing in the silver mirror, Tyanna had to admit she looked beautiful. "Liza… I like you. I'll have you transferred to my personal staff." Eventually she would need ladies in waiting, but those came and went. Household staff lasted forever.
Curtseying, Liza dipped her head. "Thank you for this honor."
"Good, now please see that my bedchamber is put together for the arrival of the King and Queen." Liza nodded again with a little wink. Kessa, Tyanna had a rather special night planned for the returning conquerors.
As she began affixing her necklace back on her neck, a silver one with amber and rubies along the front - gifted to her from Rhaena upon their marriage - the only other woman in the chamber approached. "Do you wish for my silence on the matter, your Grace?"
Tyanna turned to the midwife. "Yes, please. I will inform his and her Grace myself."
The midwife nodded, reaching for and stroking her fingers along the Queen's belly. "You won't show for many moons as it is. For the best, I would say, considering the war still rages." Tyanna nodded, sighing. Victory had come, but not triumph.
Not yet, at least.
Waiting on the grassy field behind the Throne Hall and Holdfast was Brandon Snow. His white beard and weathered facade had been an omnipotent presence in the Targaryen court for nigh two decades, but since the loss of his grandson in the trial by seven he had seemingly aged a further two decades. He walked with a stoop and a cane, and the wrinkles on his face and neck near doubled. This was a man close to death, yet still clinging to life thanks to purpose.
Tyanna could only be impressed. "Waiting for Jorelle?"
"Aye." Jorelle, Tyanna's friend and the faithful companion to Rhaena, was alive and well. Decorated with glory from the Vale to the Reach - likely one of the few keeping Brandon alive as long as he was. "Did you finish your investigation?"
She looked around her, waiting for the appearance of the dragons and the twin roars to speak to him. In case of hidden ears. "There's a reason I chose to see the midwife."
"Hmmm… unfortunate." All he had to say on the subject. Same as Tyanna, not wishing to show her hand until all the pieces were in place.
Thoughts of such dark tidings were temporarily shoved to the side as Balerion and Dreamfyre circled into a shallow dive. Wingbeats kicking up plenty of air thankfully not in Tyanna's face - she never was that vain but found herself these days very eager to both look her part as Queen and look beautiful for her spouses. The ground rumbled as Balerion settled on it, shaking his back with a snort. As for Dreamfyre, she lowered her wing and allowed Jorelle and Jonquil to scramble off. The former raced for her grandfather and embraced him, crying. Tyanna thought she saw a single tear fall from the eye of the icy old man.
But she bid them their privacy and rushed forward herself, reaching Rhaena as she reached the ground. She stopped, putting on a mask of formality. "Your Grace."
Rhaena eyed her. "Your Grace." The facade broke, both grinning like idiots - Tyanna closed the distance, lips immediately planted on Rhaena's. Gods, it felt like she was home again. "Seven hells, you're beautiful," her wife mumbled against her lips.
Tyanna felt that twinge in her core, melding herself more flush against Rhaena. "Devour me, then." Violet eyes dilated as Rhaena kissed her harder, making Tyanna mewl into her mouth.
She then found herself squeezed and lifted off the ground, Rhaena included, squealing. "Whatever this is, I want some of it."
Giggling, Tyanna turned and was quickly kissed by Maegor. Domineering her just as Rhaena did, and she loved it. "Thank the gods you've both returned," she sighed, touching Maegor. Checking for wounds.
"Balerion didn't let me get to the fighting itself, spoiling the fun," Maegor chuckled. "Our love, however, dueled Lord Roxton himself."
"Truly?"
Rhaena nodded sheepishly, though there was pride behind it. "He cried like a bitch when I disarmed him, begging for mercy. I gave him none."
"Good."
Informal as their arrival to the Dragonpalace was, only a cursory discussion of the issues at hand were indicated before Tyanna shepherded her loves back to the royal quarters of the holdfast. Before they entered, however, she yelped as Maegor scooped her up. "The war is not over, but the battles are won. Let us enjoy our respite, however long it is."
"Mmmm…" Tyanna wrapped her arms around his neck, enjoying the ride. "You don't have to ask me twice." Oh, was she lucky. Maegor was a handsome man, with that Targaryen beauty proving a seamless transition for her from the lusts of feminine beauty to appreciating his masculine power. Mayhaps it was only his Valyrian blood that allowed Tyanna to fall in lust with this man, then to love him. Whatever the reason, she was glad for it.
Tossed on the bed with another yelp, soon it was her utterly beautiful dragon goddess that covered her, the lust mirrored in her eyes. "I'm going to devour you completely, then you will devour me," Rhaena breathed, sucking on her neck while trying desperately to pull down the bodice of Tyanna's dress.
Much as she yearned for that, a gentle push with her hands was enough to stop the progression. "Wait." Tyanna bit her lip. "There is something I need to share with the two of you." Both sat, Maegor at the edge of the bed, and Rhaena on her knees still straddling Tyanna.
Words failing the sorceress, she merely reached out for Rhaena's hand and placed it flat on her stomach.
Their eyes widened almost instantly. "Kessa?"
She nodded. "Kessa."
The kisses resumed, far more to be celebrated than simply survival.
"So what did Lord Tully do?" Rogar murmured, barely trying to hide his grin as he listened to the story.
A smile gracing the beautiful Valyrian matron's face, Dowager Queen - or perhaps Queen Mother - Alyssa Velaryon Targaryen walked right alongside him. The two immersed in a conversation that had lasted hours. "According to Ser Gargon, though I made sure to verify given his tendency for boasting, he fell to his knees and pissed his trousers. Begging for his life." She covered her mouth with her fingers, suppressing an undignified giggle. "My goodsister made him do it a few more times before she had her wildling guard decapitate him with an axe."
"Which wildling? The one Maegor fucked?"
The mere mention of Maegor brought a frown to Alyssa's face - exactly as he intended. "No, a different one." She shook her head. "I always thought the Starks hated wildlings, and now they're collecting them. One day they'll just let them south of the wall for good with Maegor's blessing."
"I doubt that happens, but I'll make sure your daughter is told what a horrible idea that is." The new commander of the southern Riverlands grouping, which thanks to the smashing victory at Tumbleton could be created from House Qoherys' bannermen and half the surviving southern army, Lord Rogar had arrived at Harrenhal two days ago. Just as Maegor left, which was just as well. Queen Alyssa had been… on edge. A mood he had quickly swooped in to crush and flip.
Even without Lord Lucas Harroway's urgings, though he very much did urge.
Regardless, he saw the Queen sigh. At noticing his raised brow, she shook her head. "Nothing."
"Alright." He'd pry later. "Thank the gods Harrenhal was relieved - the situation would've been far worse had it fallen… least of all the loss the realm would face had you been captured, my Queen."
Alyssa blushed a bit. "Mayhaps you would've come to our rescue. Given your role at Tumbleton."
Rogar smiled. "Yes, I would've marched here first thing." Coming here had found Alyssa on edge, both nervous and saddened in spite of the victories. Maegor's presence likely elicited that, and Rogar simply inserted himself into the role as the Queen Mother's protector. It had been innocent… until her glittering eyes at that moment gave him an opening.
Before she could reply, he leaned forward and kissed her. Not a chaste kiss, but a demanding one. Tongue pushing his way past her closed lips, arms wrapping around her waist and gripping her arsecheeks. Not seduction, but conquest.
He knew her before diving in, knew how she would react. Some powerful women were ones to dominate, to never give an inch. Others… going through their lives with power and influence, they preferred to be submissive in the bedchamber. To let go of their control with someone they trusted. The gods knew that Aenys of all people was no dominant type - probably preferred to be on his back to anything more victorious. Alyssa was a woman starved for a proper man.
It was why she had fallen for Maegor, Rogar knew. And why she moaned into the kiss of the Lord of Storm's End. Sighing and letting him devour her.
"Your Grace." Gently pushing open the door, a servant girl with dark black hair and a wry set of her lips - rather pretty in a way - poked her head in. "Are you in need…" she trailed off as she came across Alyssa's lips melded against Rogar's.
Sensing she hadn't departed immediately, Rogar broke the kiss and turned to her. Eyes blazing. "Get out!" The servant girl fled, door slamming behind her.
His shouting seemed to wake Alyssa from her lust-filled haze. Her eyes widened, gently pushing on his chest to urge him away. "We… we can't do this." Her lips were swollen and her body was flush with desire - she looked at him as if he was something well worth devouring, but there was frantic fear in her eyes. "It's not right. My husband…"
Rogar felt his ire rise and he almost grabbed her. Tossing her on the bed - he knew she wanted this and his body was already primed… but he restrained himself. This was no whore or smallfolk maiden he could just bed without incidence. She was a Queen. Well worth the price of not being a maiden. Therefore he broke the embrace, giving Alyssa room. "Apologies, my Queen," he spoke in the most gracious and respectful terms, bowing his head. "I do not know what came over me."
Her fear seemed to soften. "Lord Rogar…"
"No, I cannot dodge blame here. You are very beautiful and… I happen to desire you greatly, your Grace." He made sure to lay it on thick. It was all true, but the manipulation of the former Queen like a puppet dangling before him made Rogar harder than stone. Fuck, he would need a brothel after this. A whole brothel. "But you are right. It wouldn't be appropriate."
Attempting to leave, Rogar hid a smirk when Alyssa grabbed his arm. "Wait, my Lord."
He forced out a sigh. "No, your Grace. It's wrong for me to court the Widow of the King, my kin. Forgive me for being enchanted by your beauty."
Women ate it up, and the Queen Mother was no different - especially since Rogar knew she had a type. She can't have Maegor, and while I have dark hair I'm far stronger than that arse. They thought they were so good at covering their tracks, but they weren't that clever. Rogar knew. He was surprised most didn't notice.
Then again, few were as smart as him.
"Lord Rogar… your affections aren't unappreciated." She bit her lip. "I cannot say I expected this, or that on further reflection I wouldn't mind if we continue to… explore these feelings, but I am the Queen Mother. I cannot fall into bed with just anyone, regardless of my desires."
"You wouldn't be the woman I desire if you were that way." He took her hand and kissed it. "How about a walk along the battlements? As the sun sets, it makes the God's Eye look breathtaking."
Alyssa giggled. "I have realized that, though I haven't had anyone to properly enjoy it with." She wrapped her fingers around the loop in his arm. "Lead the way." Feeling her take… some liberties in pressing her side against his, ever so slightly running her side up his muscles, Rogar didn't hide his small smirk.
This was just too easy.
"See this, my brothers and sisters in the faith!" Leaning on the pulpit, Archsepton Boniface stared at each and every one of them. His eyes glowed with the fire of the warrior. "See this that the Holy Father and Holy Mother shall bring upon this earth not just the greatest of victories, but also the greatest of trials! Embrace it! Charge forth into it!" He slammed his fist upon the wooden surface. "Are we weak?! Fair weather friends for our gods and the life of the righteous?!"
"No!" cried the congregation, a packed reception in the Starry Sept of nobles, leading members of the mercantile class, and soldiers under arms - mostly Poor Fellows but a few Warrior's Sons and Hightower guardsmen as well. The undercurrent of faith hadn't been shattered just yet.
Boniface drank down the adulation and zeal. "All are but tests. Tests sent by the Father to judge our spirit, to judge our sincerity. To see whether we will stand strong behind them as they fight the heavenly battle against darkness for our souls as we fight for our lives and our freedom. So worry not, my brothers and sisters! Go forth and fight! With sword and spear and with word and deed! Fight! Fight!"
"Warrior protect us!" Morgen Hightower shouted, the magnificence of his armor as Captain of the Oldtown chapter of the Warrior's Sons only marred by the bandages wrapped around his face and shoulder. "Stranger take the dragonspawn!"
"Yes, Captain!" The Archsepton, having spoken nonstop since news of the defeat at Tumbleton had reached Oldtown, went wild. Flecks of spit shooting from his mouth as he whipped up into a spiritual frenzy. "Death to the dragons that seek the corruption of our souls. To build a kingdom of demons upon our holy soil. Death! Death! Death!"
Those attending, led on by the injured Morgen who chanted louder than anyone besides Boniface, roared their approval. Adopting a stoic silence, Hugor didn't. As the High Septon and both spiritual and temporal leader of the Holy Dominion, he was supposed to refrain from such… but that was a convenient excuse. Dread filled him, masked by his stoicism, and when gazing at Ser Morgen not a little disgust.
Retreating almost immediately after the service to his solar, as soon as the door slammed shut Hugor let out a massive scream. He raged, grabbing glass flagons and metal dishes and tossing them to and fro. Smashing furniture, beating on the walls, condemning himself to agony and the fools that served under him to the deepest of the seven hells for the precarious position they were in.
They can't march beyond Stonebridge and the God's Eye and yet it is we that are near collapse! The fools in the Starry Sept that morning didn't know the truth, fed daily with lies and propaganda. He did, briefed by Joffrey Doggett himself. The Targaryens only didn't finish them off because their own armies were strained logistically. One push from them and it would all be over - he had but one army left, and by the gods the odds were long.
"Morgen!" Hugor's fists clenched. "I should have you raped to death!" Extreme, but the High Septon's anger reached dragonfire thinking of the second son of Manfred Hightower. Queen Ceryse was their best bargaining chip. A real hostage, given Maegor's love for her, and Morgen's perversions had cost that.
They couldn't find her. They couldn't fucking find her, the glorious house Hightower. What a joke.
A joke that wasn't funny in the slightest.
Hugor finally collapsed into his chair, face falling onto the desk in resigned pain. What was he to do? What could he do?
"Your holiness!"
It was Barth, his most devoted servant. "Welcome Barth… see the failure decades in the making." He laughed, wishing he were drunk. Then it might actually be funny. "So many years of planning undone because of a few idiot generals and one highborn twit who wanted to fuck his sister." Alright, that was funny. "And he wasn't even a Targaryen." Hugor burst into hysterical laughter.
Barth didn't judge him, just waiting for it to finish. "The situation… isn't ideal."
"Come out and say it. We're fucked!"
Biting his lip, the Archsepton strode forward and helped guide Hugor back to his seat. "It is not lost, your holiness. I assure you, we can still win. We have an army ready to strike out of the Westerlands."
"Sure, to be enveloped on all sides by the dragons." A smile curled on Barth's face, the man silent in a pregnant pause. "Gods, just spit it out." Barth didn't, merely handing Hugor a dispatch. "From Harrenhal?" Hugor read, peering at the rather neat script.
Suddenly the future didn't look so bleak after all.
"Fuck yes!"
Gripping her hips, Victor couldn't speak more than muffled grunts from how hard his lover pulled him into her chests. Not that he minded, biting and sucking at the pillowy mounds he had become obsessed with. "Mmmm…" he husked, licking a honeyed nipple before working his way to another. Thrusting up just as he sucked in the tea-colored tip.
Nymeria screamed as she met his thrusts by riding him faster, her hips becoming a blur. Victor dug his hands harder into her hips, rocking her back and forth on his pistoning cock. "Fuck me, Victor!" she cried, an order he was happy to fulfill. Hitting her deep spots, splitting her cunt open in the most delicious of ways. "Yes, yes, YES!" She came undone and clenched around him so tightly it triggered his own climax. Cock pulsating as she milked him of his seed.
Victor held on tight, continuing to suck and thrust until they were both spent, collapsing atop each other. Well… her on him and him on the cheap tavern bed his coin purchased. He panted and felt his heart beating out of his chest, but feeling her nuzzle his chest made it worth it. "Nym…"
"Ahhhh…" she purred, kissing his chest. "You are the best male lover I've had, my sea snake."
He furrowed his brow. "That's not the sigil of my house."
"No, but it's my name for you," she giggled.
Victor laughed too. "Nym… I…"
She cut him off. "Don't say it." Her lips found his, quickly kissing him. "Don't spoil our last day. Just fuck me." Nymeria squeezed on his softening cock, beginning to arouse him again as she flipped them over - wrapping her legs around his hip. "Fuck me till I can't walk."
Who was he to refuse?
The door opening nudged Ser Victor Velaryon from his daytime musings. Happy musings that made his trousers… rather uncomfortable. Gods, he hoped no one noticed.
Nymeria Sand. She may have been in the middle of a war against House Targaryen and by extension his house, but Victor prayed she wasn't dead on the field of Tumbleton. Their night together over a year ago in Sunspear was one of the happiest times of his life - thinking about it so much, he was sure that if he allowed himself to, Victor would've fallen for that noble bastard of House Martell.
Was it destructive? Yes. Did that stop him? No… only distance and the war did.
Seeing the Dowager Queen step out of the conference chamber speaking with one of the Volentenes, Victor shoved it aside. He'd never see her again, and a woman that beautiful had probably forgotten about him as she tumbled with her new lovers, however good the coupling had been.
He caught the tail end of his Queen's conversation. "...And I should hope that we can count on your support, Lord Maegyr."
Catoyn Maegyr stroked his beard. "It is tempting, very tempting. I am surprised that your son and granddaughter would be willing to offer such a deal to us."
"We have no quarrel with you across the Narrow Sea. Westeros is our home now." Her brow arched. "As long as Braavos' neutrality is secured, and the Stepstones remain a buffer."
He smiled. "I wouldn't think of doing anything else. Braavos is too hard to secure, regardless." Maegyr nodded and departed, passing by Ser Victor.
"Ser Victor." He straightened when Visenya approached him. "Oh come now," she mused with a chuckle, though it didn't reach her fierce eyes. "We are kin, you need not be so on guard with me."
"Yes, your Grace," he replied stiffly, not knowing what to by blood though they were, this was literally one of the three Conquerors, and arguably the fiercest. She intimidated him, though more in the awed sort of way than the fearful - their familial connection wasn't close enough to breach that gap, not the way it was with his cousins by his aunt Alyssa, namely the current Queen of course.
Visenya rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't let your great-grandfather, my own cousin, live this down if he were alive." Amused a bit, she motioned for him to follow. "Regardless, come with me. I need an escort to meet with someone important."
His brow rose. "Someone important not at the previous parlay?" Victor bit his tongue. "Apologies, my Queen, that was impertinent…"
"What did I say, Victor? What did I say?" Her glare was not that of a Queen, but rather a scolding aunt, which he supposed she was in a way, her mother being his great-grandfather's aunt. With a sigh, he nodded. "Aye, this is someone important, but not of any neutral actor."
This surprised him. "You wish for a guard."
She smiled. "Aye, a discreet one." Hand drifting to the hilt of his sword, Victor made it clear he could be what she wished. "Good, follow me."
The palace of House Vhassar was built along the Rhoyne itself, and thus sported both an outer and inner dock connected to a cove on the river. Triarch Trianna had at her disposal a half-dozen riverine craft of substantial size, ranging from small skiffs to a large river yacht that could probably sail along the ocean coast as well. Those were moored at the outer dock, the inner one reserved for the smaller rowboats used to catch fresh fish… or sneak in guests preferring not to be seen.
Victor saw this guest was one of them, judging by her dark hood pulled over her hair. "Your Grace." She dipped her head respectfully, but did not bend the knee. Not Westerosi, clearly. "Ser Victor, it is a pleasure to see you again."
His brow raised. "Have we met?" He couldn't place her.
To his side, Visenya chuckled. "I'm surprised you didn't, considering your adventures in Dorne."
Victor's eyes widened. How does she know about that? Sure, he had accompanied the peace delegation, but where he shared his bed was not something he bragged about…
The woman pulled her hood back and Victor peered at her, needing a moment before he recognized her. "Lady Dayne?"
Clarisse Dayne smiled at him. A knowing smile, given the night they had shared - not as many nights as he had shared with Nymeria Sand, with whom had joined the two of them as well. Gods, it seemed the gods wouldn't ever let him escape those weeks of passion even if he wanted to. "Ser Victor, I requested her Grace bring you here, for we have much to discuss."
He looked to Visenya, whose eyes twinkled. "Winning through subterfuge what my siblings and I couldn't through dragonfire." Gods, he was confused.
Some time later, Victor was no longer.
"Oi! Watch it, mi'Lady."
Cloak draped over her head, Ceryse only narrowly missed the large beam being hauled up by rope and winch, builders and masons hard at work at a gutted building of wood and stone. "Thank you," she replied with a murmur, hoping they wouldn't pay her much attention.
Thankfully they didn't, and she could continue on her way.
King's Landing was teeming, once again restored to its population, finally recovered from the siege that only happened weeks before. Its population swelled with refugees from the surrounding towns and hamlets, blacksmiths hammering away at weapons of war drowned out by the oxcarts and chisels of stonemasons and carpenters constructing more and more buildings. Progress, even in the midst of war.
If it wasn't for the still smoldering ruins looming high on Rhaenys' Hill where the Sept of Remembrance was, Ceryse would've been fooled into thinking there was no war.
Good, I hope all inside suffered when Rhaena burned it. If she was upset at the bitter nature of her thoughts, she did not show it. Merely walking faster, a quiet urgency. Ahead was the Dragonpalace. Ahead being her husband, and finally safety.
Determination could only do so much, however. A highborn - the highest of highborns and then a Princess - Ceryse had never been to the common parts of King's Landing, or Oldtown for that matter. The sights and sounds since disembarking from the discrete trader her Aunt had found for her were alien. And provided a good distraction from the negative emotions lurking in the background of her mind.
So she walked around, occasionally taking the winding routes. Her eyes peeled somewhat at the great manses and public buildings for the first time not from the window of a wheelhouse. The vast marketplaces the same size as the grounds of the Hightower itself, teeming with peoples and goods from the known world and beyond. Burly porters hefting wares from the North, smooth-talking cloth merchants from Myr, staggering - often hung over - sailors from Braavos mingling with the local ladies of the evening outside the taverns and brothels, the air filled with the babble of a hundred different tongues and the smells of a hundred different lands.
As a girl she might have been frightened, thinking a cutthroat or worse around every corner. There might have been, but so did the halls of power lurk dangerously around her - Ceryse had experienced it herself. So the sight of it all made the Queen smile softly. There was a carefree innocence about the domain of the smallfolk, free of the pretentiousness and scheming of the court. If she was the Queen, wife of the King, then mayhaps learning how the people lived would help her.
If Maegor did reject her, then it was here she would come. If it wasn't with a dragon at her back, never again would Ceryse grace the halls of power again.
Speculation was useless though as she approached the Dragonpalace itself, seeing the guards surrounding it. While she planned for it, such eventualities were not what Ceryse wanted. What she wanted was her husband back. Thinking of him, his glorious strength and ferocity mixed with those rare, private occasions where she saw him laugh and smile at a jape she made in her mind's eye, still made her hurt. These were distant memories, though some as fresh as if they'd been yesterday, the pain raw and red.
She'd rejected him in favor of the Hightower and her family. Her blood kin that raped her and used her as a pawn, while the so-called abominations and dragonspawn loved her like their own.
Even if Ceryse would have to share him with Rhaena - she wanted him back in any manner possible.
Ceryse froze as she made it close to one of the side gates. She'd never approached the Dragonpalace this way before, always then in a wheelhouse gladly let in or on rare occasions on dragonback with Maegor. And yet here it was, the same symbol of her house by marriage… but herself approaching as a smallfolk girl.
A woman in disguise.
"Where're ye' goin, Lady?"
She looked up to see a man staring at her from a stall across the street from the walls. Ceryse offered a gentle smile. "It's nothing. I'm just a bit lost, that's all. First time here." In a sense it was. Steeling herself as the man turned back to his business, Ceryse turned and marched towards the guards at the gate. She was Ceryse Targaryen, wife of King Maegor, and she would act like it.
Cowl over her head still, she wasn't noticed by even the guards clearly on high alert - understandable given the recent memory of the siege. But eventually she was too close to the gate, drawing notice finally. "Halt, who goes there?" At her obvious feminine figure, the gesture of the guard wasn't too hostile. He still pointed his spear at Ceryse's chest before she could answer.
She halted, cocking her head. Peering at the older man. She knew him, he was one of the household guards that was assigned to protect her and Maegor whenever they made a journey out of the city. "Hello, Edd. How's Milly? Did she finally have the granddaughter she always wanted?"
Blinking, Edd stared at her. "Ow do ye' know that? R' ye' some spy?" At the commotion, a few other guards began to walk over, hands on the hilt of their swords.
Sighing, Ceryse's little venture as a common woman was clearly over. Without flourish she removed her cowl, pulling it back and revealing her lustrous brown hair. "I would like to speak to the King."
"The King? Ye' mad?" asked another guard, almost laughing at her.
Edd squinted though, then his eyes widened like saucers. He'd followed the then Prince and Princess all over the world, both in finery and in not. Wouldn't need prompting to know Ceryse's face without the cowl. Oblivious - or mayhaps he didn't care - of the flabbergasted stares he got - Edd fell to one knee. "Your Grace, we were not expecting you."
"What the fuck're ye' doin? Who is this?"
"This is Queen Ceryse, you idiot. Bend the knee." Confusion turned to horror, all the guards following suit.
Trying not to chuckle, Ceryse bid them to rise. "Take me to the King, or the Queen. I wish to speak to them."
"At once, at once. Open the gate!" As the doors groaned open, Ceryse bit her lip. Hoping against all hope that Maegor would deign to see her.