Year: 96 AC
Diana sighed as she fiddled with the sleeves of her dress, bored out of her whits while she and her family waited for the royal procession to arrive. Ever since the family had received word from Queen Alysanne a moon ago that the royal family was interested in visiting Runestone and arranging a possible match between the younger Prince Daemon and Rhea Royce, Heir to Runestone, the castle had been abustle with preparations.
Fighting the urge to fiddle with her hair, the many pins and flowers within its opulent styling making her scalp itch, she looked to her right, where Rhea stood proudly at her father's side in a vibrant bronze dress with black accents. If she didn't know her sister so well, she would have thought her the picture of tranquillity. But, unfortunately for Rhea, she did know her and saw the apprehension her older sister was trying to hide.
With every pick of her short nails against her nail bed, Rhea Royce was one minuscule step closer to losing her calm, collected facade, probably leading her to run screaming from the yard and into the woods to hide. No doubt followed by her close confident Beatrice Belmore, the younger sister of Jon Belmore, who served as her ladies' maid. Those two were always together, even when Rhea dragged the more fashion-sensible girl into the woods to kill squirrels for target practice.
Things between the sisters had not improved in the two years since their ill-fated hawking trip. If anything, they froze in place, a constant cycle of snide remarks followed by sullen ignorance of the other's existence. For two years, this continued as the girls aged and became of age, Rhea seven and ten, Diana six and ten. Both girls had grown into striking young women, if not for different reasons. Rhea was known as the Heart of Runestone, with her outgoing attitude and aptitude for leadership, while Diana's beauty didn't go unnoticed by her grandfather's many bannermen.
Diana knew that their father had been contemplating multiple marriage pacts for each of his daughters, which brought them to today when the royal family would show off the younger Prince Daemon as a possible suitor for Rhea's hand and future consort.
Diana was pulled from her thoughts when a loud, distant whistle-like shriek filled the air. Looking around, she watched in awe as all of the nearby animals began to panic; horses stomped their hooves and shrieked while the hounds in the kennel howled their discontent as a shadow fell over the keep.
Looking up, her eyes widened, and her mouth gaped as a red dragon flew over the keep so low that, for a moment, she feared it would hit one of the high towers. But, thankfully, its long, almost serpent-like frame was flexible and, aside from hitting a flagpole with its tail, sent a banner with her family's sigil on it flying.
Caraxes, a voice in her head supplied, no doubt remembering the famous dragon's name from her many hours reading Targaryen histories. He was first ridden by Prince Aemon Targaryen, now by Prince Daemon, son of Prince Baelon.
The sound of bugles blaring and the gates opening had her spinning back around, back straight, as the Royal Procession rode in. Armoured knights with white cloaks came first on massive steeds, followed by enormous wheelhouses with Targaryen banners painted black and red. However, what pulled her attention was the man in black armour with the dragon helm; his hair was so white it looked like gleaming silver from where she stood across the yard.
Her family stood tall in the face of such unapologetic wealth, in their finest garb, their keep well prepared for royal visitors. The mystery man, who she now belatedly realized must be the famous Prince Baelon, second son to King Jaehaerys, dismounted his horse as gracefully as possible in his ornate armour. The handsome man stepped forward, eyes warm and searching as he stared at the Royce family, one at a time.
When he didn't say anything, Diana was confused until one of the Kingsguard stepped towards the largest wheelhouse and opened it to assist a beautiful, older woman out of it. Her black and red dress sparkled slightly in the early afternoon sun, matching the many gems and jewels hanging from her neck and wrists.
Her silver hair gleamed in its beautifully coifed updo, a tiara nestled into its curls. Despite being 61 years old, Queen Alysanne was the most beautiful woman Diana had ever seen. Her age, well-managed figure, beautiful hair and sparkling lilac eyes made her a striking woman. It was no wonder the King's love for her was so famous; she looked like something from the romantic tales told to young girls at bedtime.
Once the Queen's slippered feet were firmly on the ground, she glided to where her son stood waiting at attention, eyes warm. Once she was next to him, he bowed his head to her, and she raised a hand to his cheek, patting it slightly with affection. Then she turned her smile, marginally colder, towards the Royce's.
Under her gaze, the family knelt, their eyes on the ground. Only when the Queen's feet came into view, and her melodic voice called, "Rise." Did they stand at attention.
"Your Grace," Yolden said, nodding his head respectfully, "We welcome you to Runestone. It is an honour."
The Queen smiled sweetly at his words before answering, "The royal family thanks you for your hospitality, My Lord, and hope that we may come to an advantageous agreement."
"Of course, Your Grace," Yolden said, smiling widely.
There was an awkward lull in the conversation, the Queen looking expectantly at him until Hera realizing her husband, in his excitement, had forgotten to introduce his family, stepped forward and said hastily, "Your Grace, it is an honour. May I introduce you to our daughters?"
The Queen's shoulders dropped slightly in relaxation, and she nodded, stepping towards Rhea. "You must be the beautiful Rhea I've been hearing so much about," she said, eyeing Rhea in her bronze and black dress speculatively, no doubt trying to see if she would be a good enough match for a Targaryen prince.
Despite her nerves, Rhea dropped into a perfect curtsey and smiled gently at the Queen. When the Queen nodded and moved on the Diana, Rhea let out a sigh of relief, leaning back on her heels.
Diana quickly fell into a curtsey and fought the urge to curse under her breath when her rise back up wasn't as smooth as it could have been, forcing her to lift her arms slightly to keep her balance. Thankfully, the Queen simply smiled, her eyes crinkling somewhat in amusement at her arms flapping like a bird.
"Your Grace," she breathed out, dropping her eyes, her nerves stealing her voice.
"And you must be Diana," Alysanne said, indigo eyes sparkling, "Your father tells me that you are an avid hunter and breeder of hounds?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Diana sputtered, surprised her father even mentioned her at all, Rhea being the heir and all, "Animals have always been a passion of mine. May go into horse breeding as well."
"Hmmm," the Queen cocked her head slightly before turning back to her father, "My grandson, Prince Daemon, insisted on bringing his mount Caraxes to Runestone. He'll be joining us for supper once he cleans up. In the meanwhile, perhaps my son Baelon and I could get a tour? It's been many years since I've walked Runestone's halls."
** Line Break**
The tour had gone well, and once the royals had been settled, a massive feast had been prepared in their honour, despite Daemon Targaryen's glaring absence.
The feast had been filled with idle small talk, with Baelon and Yolden bonding over past battles and raising troublesome children while Alysanne questioned Hera on her daughter's temperaments. It was too soon for a formal betrothal to go out, but anyone with a brain could see it coming.
Rhea had been a bottle of nerves the entire dinner, snapping at staff and, unfortunately, showing off her less-than-perfect levels of patience to the queen, while Diana simply wished she could sink through the floor and scurry out of the keep, away from the stress.
Which brought her to now, putting on a pair of worn trousers she used for hunting and a white cotton shirt that she hid under a dark cloak that she hoped would hide her feminine figure. Her dark curls had been tamed into a sight braid and were tucked under her shirt collar, and her feet were in solid brown boots that reached mid-calf.
With any luck, if she managed to escape the castle, she'd simply look like any other traveller on the road.
Taking a deep breath, she looked around one more time. Yelena had long since gone to bed, and the moon was full and high in the sky. Sir Viktor was no doubt standing outside her door on the watch, so… she'd need to be crafty to get out unseen.
Fortifying herself, she marched over to the window and opened the shutters, looking out and wincing at the long drop-down. But she'd done this before, so with practiced movements, she swung one leg over and placed her foot in between the crevices between the massive stone bricks that made up the tower her chambers resided in.
Having memorized the path down, she made quick work, scrambling down the side, clinging to the wall like one of those lemures she'd heard of in Essos. Once she was close enough to the bottom, she allowed herself to drop, wincing when the force made her knees twinge in protest.
Then she was off, taking off in a jog down the alleyway, climbing a stone wall, and out of sight of any passing servants or guards. The trek towards the hills she'd last seen the dragon head towards was long and arduous, with no path to follow and only the moonlight to guide her. She hadn't wanted to risk causing attention to herself by bringing a torch.
Huffing under her breath and cursing when she tripped over a root, Diana was relieved when she finally turned a corner and saw the light emanating from one of the many cave systems scattered throughout the mountain range near her home.
Content to watch from a distance, she wasn't looking to be roasted alive; she crept forward silently, hoping for another glimpse of the massive creature. Careful not to disturb the many loose pebbles or sticks darting her path, she made it about 20 meters from the entrance and stopped, crouching down and content to wait.
As time passed, she struggled to keep her eyes awake, calmed by the sound of crickets chirping and the occasional owl hooting. She'd been up since early that morning preparing for the Queen's arrival, so it really wasn't much of a surprise when she nestled into the tall grass near the cave entrance and found herself drifting off into a deep sleep.
** Line Break **
Diana was jarred awake by the feeling of someone kicking her booted foot hard. Jerking herself upright, she scrambled for the dagger she kept in her shirt sleeve at all times, squinting up into the early morning sun, holding back a curse.
She let out that curse when she saw who it was, standing over her arms crossed and indigo eyes gleaming with dark amusement. Then, with jerky, less-than-graceful movements, she pulled herself to her feet, glaring daggers at the silver-haired teen who stood above her, smirking, with his arms crossed. The prick didn't bother attempting to help her stand, comfortable being a spectator and laughing at her misfortune.
Once she was standing, she spat, "Your Grace, we missed you at the welcome feast."
Daemon Targaryen didn't even bother to try and look remorseful. Instead, he was too busy looking Diana and her strange outfit over. Once he'd had his fill of looking her up and down, making sure to stop briefly on her noticeable curves, he spoke, "What can I say? Caraxes seemed the better company."
Diana scoffed but could help but look over his shoulder briefly, trying to get another look at the beast. It wasn't every day a dragon came to Runestone, after all, and if she had to deal with this prick to see it again, she would. Frowning slightly, Daemon followed her eyes where they wandered. Then, realizing where they were gazing, he smirked and turned back to her.
"Would you like to see him? Caraxes?"
Diana struggled to hide her excitement at his words. She'd heard about the so-called 'Rogue Prince,' it was part of the reason he was here, to be married off and away from the capital, away from trouble. She wasn't so naive not to believe there wouldn't be a price to pay for his 'generosity.'
She frowned suspiciously at him, wavering before saying, "Yes, I would."
"Excellent," Daemon said, grinning widely. Then, before she could say anything else, the young prince had her by the hand and dragged her towards the cave. She was so shocked by his brazenness; no man or boy had ever touched her so casually, except for family, that Diana could find the words to rebuke him. So instead, she clung to him tightly as he towed her along, even intertwining their fingers as they struggled up some of the more challenging terrains.
"Keep up, Brāedāzma gevives," he called over his shoulder, smirking when she gave him a confused stare, her head cocking slightly in question. Instead of answering, though, he let out a small smile and tightened his hold on her, tugging her along, making sure she didn't stumble.
High on adrenaline and at breaking the rules, when Daemon looked back at her with a sly smile, Diana smiled back, holding back giggles as she struggled not to trip on the loose rocks beneath their feet. When they finally ascended to the ledge in front of the cage, she'd lost that fight and was panting and giggling, eyes wide and hopeful. For once, she didn't care that she was acting unladylike; she was too filled with joy.
When Daemon went to let go of her and step forward, on instinct, she clutched him tighter, apprehension filling her. She'd heard stories of what happened when people not of Old Valyrian blood approached dragons.
They burned… and if they were lucky, not devoured. Leaving something for their family to bury.
When she jerked on his arm, holding his hand tightly in hers, Daemon turned to look at her, eyebrow raised in question. His face softened when he saw the raw apprehension in her eyes, and giving a half smile, he clucked her under the chin and gently disentangled their hands.
As he stepped farther into the cavern, Diana gathered what remained of her courage and joy to stand tall. Taking long, deep breaths, she listened as a whistle-like shriek filled the darkness, and the sound of thundering footfalls echoed out toward her.
In front of her, with his arm outstretched, Daemon called out in Valyrian, "Māzigon Caraxes. Emi riña kesīr, qilōni jaelagon naejot rhaenagon ao."
Diana watched with wide eyes as, at first, there was only a pair of blazing yellow eyes in the darkness, the pupils thin like a cat, then a red snout, followed by a long, serpent-like body. Caraxes was massive; despite his slender frame compared to other dragons, he was over 30 years old and already battle-tested.
The dragon's eyes were fixed on her while he allowed Daemon to approach and began patting him on the neck. He alternated between sharp, whistle-like noises and deeper purrs, both protective of his rider and glad for the affection he was being given.
Once the dragon had been settled slightly, Diana doubted he was ever truly content around outsiders; the prince held out the hand not currently stroking Caraxes and called, "Give me your hand."
She hesitated slightly before her curiosity and eagerness took over, and she stepped forward, taking it slow and making sure not to use jerky movements. She knew a dragon wasn't a horse or a hound, liable to spook, but she wasn't about to take any more risks than she had to.
She allowed Daemon to take her hand in his and for him to guide her in front, between his firm chest and Caraxes' long, crimson neck. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she struggled to keep her composure. The feeling of his warm, firm body on her back, his deep, calm breaths on the nape of her neck and the excitement of meeting a dragon; were almost too much. She wanted to leap with both joy and with restlessness.
Instead, she blustered up her courage and leaned into the feeling, letting it fuel her. And as Daemon took her hand and laid it on Caraxes' almost burning hot neck, her hand encompassed by his, she wanted to weep with joy. Finally, she was doing it; she was touching a dragon.
She didn't realize how tense she had been until she took a deep breath and allowed herself to relax, jumping slightly when the motion sent her back into Daemon's unyielding chest. Instead of becoming upset with her impropriety, as her mother had taught her men would, he chuckled throatily and welcomed her closeness, grabbing her side with his free hand to steady her.
Meaning forward, he whispered into her ear, "Why did you sneak out tonight?"
"Who says I snuck out?" She muttered obstinate, trying to focus on the feel of dragon scale beneath her fingers and not on the warm body against her back, heating her flesh.
"The fact that there isn't a guard trying to gut me right now for 'defiling' their Lord's precious daughter."
At his crude words, her temper flared. How dare he?
"You aren't defiling me," Diana snapped, "And I wanted to see a dragon."
"You and I both know that the second we were alone together, they would have considered you 'damaged goods'" Daemon grunted and let out a choked laugh when she threw an elbow back into his gut, but he didn't let go. Instead, he wrapped his free arm entirely around her waist, keeping her close.
"And what about his rider, hmm? Did you want to see me?"
"Honestly," she whispered, her temper flaring, making her bold, "You didn't even factor into the decision. I guess you really aren't that memorable. Your Grace." The title was said in a sneer, but its sting was cut by how breathy her voice was from the strange heat pooling in her belly.
Of course, The Prince noticed and, before releasing her, made a show of dipping his nose into her thick, dark locks spilling out from her braid, breathing in deep. Then he stepped back and spoke as if the entire encounter didn't affect him at all.
Forgetting where she was, Diana whirled around on him, ready to ask more questions but was brought out of her rage when Caraxes let out a sharp whistle in protest to the lack of petting. She stiffened in an instant but refused to cower in front of Daemon, prince or not.
"Now what?" She asked, breathing heavily, eyes darting towards the exit, despite a dark part of her whispering for her to stay with the beautiful prince and his magnificent dragon. Honour be damned, she wanted the freedom they represented.
Instead of answering right away, the Targaryen Prince studied her quietly, cocking his head and looking at both her and Caraxes, who had settled his head on the ground, content to ignore their bickering.
"Now, Brāedāzma gevives," Daemon said, stepping to the side, giving her an escape route, "You go home, or…."
Diana frowned, taking a slight step towards the exit before her stubbornness kicked in, and she halted, glaring at him with her arms crossed, "Or what?"
The grin that spread across Daemon's face could lead someone to the Seven Hells, "Or… you can fly."