❝With one eye a Targaryen violet and the other silver as the moon, she watched all and knew more. All of which she immortalised in bleeding black ink to be studied by the naive people of tomorrow.❞
Princess Rhaella, daughter of King Viserys I and Qu...
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MELLOW TWEETING ROUSED Princess Rhaella from her serene slumber; regardless she lingered in her opulent, four-poster bed staring vacantly at the hanging, white translucent canopy, which floated in the gentle breeze that blew through into her chambers. Scarlet red sheets of heavy, rich velvet embroidered with gold thread in the shape of ornate vines and flowers rested atop her motionless body.
The festivities held in her honour endured well into the early hours. Dancing to pleasant music occurred; Rhaella first danced with Aemond, who good-heartedly offered his hand, but too soon switched partners to her eldest nephew, Prince Jacaerys, who welcomed her personally and reminisced on their younger years. A dance incorporating four individuals — two males and two females and best-loved by the youthful Princess — pivoting hand-in-hand allowed Aemond, partnered then with whimsical Helaena, to come back to Rhaella, much to his elation. In due course, she was able to slip away from the celebrations, which exhibited no signs of decelerating and track down her old bedchambers, where she now lay. Travelling, understandably, tired her so but she never wished to appear insolent.
Birds sang their exuberant tunes from the thin branches of a thriving tibouchina tree perched in the corner of Rhaella's balcony. Their vivid sapphire and emerald feathers could barely be made out through curtains draped from carved mahogany.
Too caught up in observing the winged creatures peck at ripening olives, Rhaella's head swivelled as her door, which was far from her vision, burst open. Materialising through a grey stone arch was a long-legged woman — feasibly of a similar age to her eldest brother, light brunette curls pulled tightly into a singular, lengthy braid, eyes of sage, askew smile, and freckle-covered skin kissed by the sun. "Princess," the woman stated, curtsying immaculately, one ankle pressed faintly behind the other as stable knees hinge. Peeling back the drapes, her face, angular and distinctive, became clear. It struck Rhaella as notable, one that could cling in the caverns of the mind. In her life, she had encountered this woman. The precise details were a mystery but Rhaella was convinced.
"May I ask who you might be?"
"I am Marla Sadlyn, your maid. It will be my privilege to serve you." The words albeit flowing readily felt rigid and rehearsed. Nevertheless, the Princess smiled and climbed out from the depths of her congenial bed to stretch her tender limbs. "I apologise for the inconvenience but The King has sent a request," observing the expression from the girl with a head of silver locks, Marla continued, "His Grace wishes for you to join him this morning for breakfast."
"Of course, thank you. Will you help me dress?" Rhaella responded, taking delicate steps to the sealed trunks of her belongings. "The weather seems agreeable so a lighter dress will be appropriate. I do believe I have a dress of yellow yet to be worn." A moment after her suggestion, Marla sprang into action, searching passed the other multitudes of fine clothing, extravagant jewellery and cumbersome books. Finally, the gown was procured. Its flamboyant yellow shade of satin equalled only the sun. Marla assisted in changing Princess Rhaella from her shapeless sleeping robes to the gown — which had a corseted, sheath-like bodice detailed with hemmed stitches across the rounded neckline, and free flowing skirt tickling the tepid floor. Silence ensued. Questions concerning Marla deluged Rhaella. Sadlyn, the name acquired from her family, held a significance, of this Rhaella was certain. However, she was unable to pinpoint why. Giving up on this mental quest, her musings veered to her father and his desire to break fast with his daughter. Viserys spent little time with his children that were not Rhaenyra, it was known. So what called for such a petition? Either way, Rhaella was in no position to ignore a King's request. Marla hesitantly took ringlets of silver and began pinning them up to form a crown of hair. "Thank you, Marla," Rhaella said whilst inspecting her hair in a stainless mirror, "you are quite talented in regards to hair."
