Bronze gates gleamed in the dark of night as their carriages drove through. The only comfort was the cover of darkness and the late hour which provided Claera time to clean up and refresh before she was to be presented before the Queen Alicent and the entirety of court.
Once helped out of the carriage, she had been whisked away by a female servant with a kind smile. She had been separated by her family immediately, her mother only giving her an encouraging nod before she followed her own servant. They were being directed towards their suite of rooms they would be staying in.
Due to the late house, the castle was bathed in darkness, only torches of light every couple of feet attached to the wall helped her to follow her guide.
Two guards stood outside her doors, they nodded to the servant who nodded back.
As Claera stepped into her appointed suite, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the luxurious surroundings. The room exuded an air of grandeur, from the towering four-poster bed adorned with dark green brocades to the plush velvet chaise positioned by the window.
Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the elegant bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes and the inviting warmth emanating from the fireplace. A small table set with a wine bottle, goblets, and a plate of fruit beckoned to her, promising a moment of respite after the long journey.
With a grateful nod to her guide, Claera moved further into the room, her fingers trailing along the smooth surface of the bookcases as she approached the window seat. The soft glow of torchlight danced across the walls, casting shadows that seemed to whisper tales of the castle's storied history.
Taking a deep breath, Claera allowed herself a moment to bask in the tranquility of her surroundings. Despite the anticipation of the coming presentation before Queen Alicent and the court, she found solace in the familiarity of books and the comforting warmth of the fire.
As she settled onto the velvet chaise, Claera couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement mingled with apprehension for what was to come.
A few woman dressed in red and white slipped into her room in a hurried flurry. An elder woman with dark hair that had started to gray, smiled at her.
"We have prepared a bath for you to clean up before you are presented before the Queen."
Claera submitted to the ministrations of the women, allowing herself to be led to the bathing area with a mixture of curiosity and resignation. A large brass tub sat in the center surrounded by shelves of fluffy dark green towels and bottles of different shapes, colors, and sizes. The warmth of the steam enveloped her as she stepped into the brass tub, the fragrant scent of white tea leaves and orchids mingling with the steam to create a soothing atmosphere.
With practiced efficiency, the women set to work, their skilled hands scrubbing away the dust and weariness of the journey. Claera closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax into the sensation of warm water and gentle massage.
As they worked, Claera's mind wandered, thoughts drifting to the impending presentation before Queen Alicent and the court. Despite her nerves, she felt a flicker of excitement at the prospect of stepping into the grand halls of the Red Keep, of being seen and acknowledged as a representative of her house.
The sound of water sloshing and the murmur of voices pulled Claera back to the present moment. She opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by the bustling activity of the women attending to her.
Finally, after what felt like both an eternity and a fleeting moment, the bathing ritual was complete. Claera emerged from the tub feeling refreshed and renewed, the weight of anticipation still heavy on her shoulders but tempered by a newfound sense of readiness.
With a grateful smile to the women who had tended to her, Claera allowed herself to be draped in a soft silk white robe before being led back to her suite.
Grunting, she bit at her bottom lip to keep from yelping as her new caretaker tugged at the ends of her corset. They painted her face with black liner, glitter eyelids, and pink painted lips.
"This is too tight! I cannot breathe!" Claera nearly glared at the woman in the mirror, who stood behind her, her strong hands tugging at the strings.
With each tug of the strings, Claera's sense of unease grew, a knot of anxiety forming in the pit of her stomach. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, her features adorned with makeup and her hair adorned with glittering diamond hairpieces, feeling as though she was being transformed into someone unrecognizable.
"Forgive me, my lady." Nyra's words were gentle, "I have been given specific instructions by your Mother and the Queen on how you needed to be prepared for your presentation."
Claera stifled a groan as the caretaker tightened the corset, her breath coming in shallow gasps as the fabric constricted around her waist. She bit her lip, fighting back the urge to protest, knowing that resistance would only prolong the discomfort.
After the final adjustments, Claera studied her reflection, adorned in the dark blue gown that sparkled with diamonds reminiscent of stars against the night sky. Despite the discomfort of the tightly laced corset and the weight of expectation, she felt a swell of pride in her appearance—a sense of readiness that fortified her resolve.
Her new caretaker, Nyra fastened the shimmering silver cloak around her neck, a welcome defense against the winter chill that seeped into the castle's corridors. Shivering slightly beneath its embrace, Claera followed her guards through the labyrinthine halls, her heart pounding with anticipation.
Outside the imposing doors, Claera's family stood, bathed in the flickering torchlight that cast shadows across their faces. Her mother's concerned gaze met hers first, but before she could voice her worries, her father intervened with a commanding presence.
"Leave her be, Kalissa," his deep baritone voice resonated, cutting off any further comments. He approached, a formidable figure dressed in rugged black leather, his pride evident in the way he regarded his daughter.
"To think my daughter of ten and four has grown into such a beautiful woman," he declared, his words filled with paternal warmth. Claera felt a surge of gratitude at his words, bolstering her resolve as she prepared to face what lay beyond the doors.
"Thank you for your kind words Father," Claera took a deep breath, ready to face what lay beyond the imposing large doors.
With her parents leading the way and her brothers lined up behind them, Claera took her place at the end of the procession, the youngest but no less determined to make her mark. As they entered the throne room, the assembled lords and ladies of court watched with keen interest, their murmurs barely audible over the pounding of Claera's heart.
One by one, her family was announced, drawing closer to the moment when Claera would stand before Queen Alicent, her son and daughter Aegon and Helaena. Her husband-to-be is nowhere to be found. With her head held high and a demure smile gracing her lips, Claera stepped forward, ignoring the whispers that surrounded her.
As Claera approached the Conqueror's throne, her heart pounded in her chest, the weight of expectation heavy upon her shoulders. Despite her nerves, she focused on projecting the confidence her brother believed her capable of.
With a deep breath, Claera kept her gaze fixed on the royal family as she approached, her movements graceful as she executed a practiced curtsy before them. For a moment, she feared she had faltered, her insecurities threatening to overwhelm her.
But then, to her relief, Queen Alicent smiled warmly, nodding her head in acknowledgment of Claera's gesture.
"Thank you all for coming to join us in celebrating the festivities," Queen Alicent's voice rang out, her dark green gown swishing with her movements. "Please join me in the gardens for breakfast."
Claera's heart soared at the queen's words, a wave of relief washing over her. With a grateful nod, she straightened, a sense of accomplishment swelling within her. As she followed the royal procession out of the throne room and into the gardens beyond, Claera couldn't help but feel a glimmer of pride at having successfully navigated her first encounter with the royal family.
The gardens of the royal family were a breathtaking sight, filled with vibrant flowers of various shades of red and white that adorned every column and pathway. Roses sprawled as far as the eye could see, their intoxicating fragrance filling the air.
Despite the gray skies and freezing air, the festivities continued outdoors, the guests mingling amidst the beauty of nature. Claera couldn't help but marvel at the scene, even as she shivered beneath her cloak, the chill seeping into her bones.
With a polite smile, she accepted a goblet filled with a dark red, sparkling liquid, its fruity sweetness offering a welcome reprieve from the cold. Glancing around, she noticed her brothers surrounded by a group of eager ladies, all vying for their attention. Suppressing a chuckle, she exchanged a knowing smile with her eldest brother before slipping away to find a moment of solitude.
Nestled behind a cluster of trees, Claera found a quiet spot to relax, pulling out her novel from the pocket of her cloak. Lost in the world of words, she was oblivious to her surroundings until a pair of black leather boots entered her line of sight.
Startled, she looked up to find herself face to face with a young man, his pale skin contrasting with his white hair and the black eye patch that covered his right eye. Dressed in black leathers, he exuded an air of mystery and intrigue that captured Claera's attention.
"My lady bride," he greeted with a bow, his voice carrying a hint of formality.
"We are to be wed, your highness," she replied, her voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her chest. "Please call me Claera."
"Claera," he repeated, the sound of her name rolling off his tongue in a way that sent a shiver down her spine. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Please do me the honor of a stroll with me," he requested, his voice a smooth melody that stirred something within Claera.
Without hesitation, she accepted his leather-gloved hand, feeling a jolt of electricity shoot up her arm at the touch. His cool touch left goosebumps in its wake, a stark contrast to the warmth that flooded her cheeks.
With effortless strength, he pulled her up from her sitting position, his movements graceful and fluid. Claera couldn't help but marvel at his strength, feeling a pang of uncertainty at the realization of how effortlessly he handled her.
As they stood there, hand in hand, Claera felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension swirling within her. Slipping her hand from his, she began to walk further away from the gardens. Prince Aemond came to her side, walking with his hands clasped behind his back once more. A reasonable distance between them as they walked through the gardens.
"Forgive me for not being easier to find, your grace," she began, her hands fidgeting nervously. "If I had known you were here, I would have stayed closer to the others of court."
"Forgive me, my lady," he interjected, his tone apologetic. "I got caught up in my other responsibilities."
Amused by his response, Claera couldn't suppress a smile. "You're quite forgiven."
Observing her amusement, Prince Aemond faced her directly. "You find amusement in my apologies?"
"I hadn't realized I already held such sway over my fiancé that he cares for my forgiveness," she retorted playfully, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
His mouth twitched, as though he tried to hide his own amusement. "You are my betrothed. I wish for you to be happy and live a life of leisure and comfort."
"Is that so?"
He leaned against the stone balcony, his head tilted to the side. "Anything you desire, it is yours."
"Allow me to see what lies under your eye patch, your grace."
Aemond was startled by her request; he wore an expression of surprise, as though he truly had not expected her to make such a bold ask.
"My lady, I don't think that is necessary," he replied, looking away from her, his jaw clenched.
"My grace," she started, her tone gentle yet determined. "I know nothing of you, have been absent from court for my entire life so far. I wish to know, at the very least, what my husband-to-be hides beneath the eye patch he wears."
His gloved hands hesitated as they reached for the eye patch he wore, a palpable tension hanging in the air. "For such a small woman, you are rather bold and confident," he remarked, his voice tinged with a hint of admiration.
"Yet, you are so quick to obey the commands of such a small woman. Sounds to me as though I have you wrapped around my finger, your grace," she teased, her words laced with playful mischief.
He chuckled, the deep, seductive sound sending a shiver down her spine. "Indeed you do."
As he removed the eye patch, revealing a deep red and jagged scar that ran across his left eyebrow and cheek, her eyes were drawn to the dark blue sapphire jewel that sat in place of his eye.
"I hope that this is satisfactory, my lady bride," he said, his voice soft with vulnerability.
"Beautiful," she murmured, forgetting herself as she reached out to touch his face.
With the eyepatch gone, she could finally see him clearly. His features were strong and defined—clear pale skin, a long sharp nose, high cheekbones, and a strong jawline, softened by full lips.
Prince Aemond closed his eyes as her hands cradled his face, his cheeks warming under her touch. She ran her thumb along the puckered skin of his scar, eliciting a shaky inhale from him.
"Have I hurt you?" she asked, her concern evident in her voice.
"N-no," he swallowed, his voice trembling slightly. "You have done no such thing," he assured her, catching her hand in his as she began to pull away.
He guided her palm back to his face, his own hands finding their place on her waist. As the seconds passed, he grew more comfortable with holding her, his palms resting on either side of her waist, his long fingers occasionally stroking the delicate silk gown she wore. In that moment, they were bound not just by betrothal but by a growing intimacy that transcended words, a silent promise of trust and acceptance between them.
The revelation left her face warm, a gentle flush coloring her cheeks as she smiled shyly at him. "Thank you for granting my wish, your grace." He seemed hesitant as he reached for the eyepatch, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he relinquished the small article from his leather-gloved hands. "Allow me, your grace," she offered softly.
Prince Aemond simply nodded in response, his demeanor reflecting a mixture of vulnerability and quiet appreciation.
"Perhaps you can tell me how you received such a wound?" she inquired gently, her curiosity piqued by the enigmatic scar that marred his otherwise handsome features.
"It was a small payment for a dragon in turn," he replied cryptically, his voice carrying a weight of solemnity. Yet, beneath his terse words, there lingered an unspoken story, hints of a deeper truth waiting to be uncovered.
"I have heard that you Targaryens are bonded with your dragons, as though you share a soul with them."
The change in topic seemed to give him relief as his shoulders seemed to drop. "In truth, I believe we do."
"Perhaps, one day, you might introduce me to yours?"
"Your wish is my command," he assured her, his hands lingering on her waist before he reluctantly released her. "Let us return, as I wish to not incur my Mother's wrath for not being present."
With a nod, she acquiesced, knowing that their time together was but a fleeting moment amidst the demands of courtly life. Yet, as they made their way back, she couldn't shake the feeling of closeness that had blossomed between them.