KINSLAYER | aemond targaryen x oc
𝙆𝙄𝙉𝙎𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍 :
[Noun.] kinslayer (plural kinslayers) (rare, mostly in fantasy fiction) One who slays his or her own kin; a parricide
THE STORY WHERE A TARGARYEN PRINCE FALLS IN LOVE WITH A STARK GIRL, HIS SWOR...
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CHAPTER TWO
LYARRA STOOD ON THE STOOL AS THE handmaidens who had been assigned to her when she arrived, fidgeted with the lacing of her dress.
She had brought a number of gowns with her, her father telling her she must look presentable during their time in the palace, but the queen had insisted Lyarra wear a special gown, handpicked by her, for the feast that night.
The dark green fabric brushed against her pale skin as the handmaidens dressed her, the colour made her hair stand out even more than it already did, the deep auburn appeared more fiery when paired with the green gown.
"All done, M'Lady." One of the maidens said, stepping back to admire the gown Lyarra was wearing. The green material swayed at her feet as she stepped down off the stool. The dress was a dark shade of green, the same colour as the emeralds in the necklace which was strung around her neck, with golden embellishments and detailing snaking down along the bodice and skirt. The Queen had ensured that the neckline of the gown rested just below her collarbone, as it would have been seen as improper to have a low neckline, especially as an unwed woman attending court.
She ran her hand down the skirt, smoothing out any imaginary wrinkles which may have appeared, "Don't worry, M'Lady, you look beautiful." One girl said, a small, but genuine smile on her lips.
"Thank you, Lysa." The girl said, smiling to her helper.
She sat at her vanity table, as the girls brushed her long locks, twisting them into many intricate braids, and fixing them to her head in various different ways.
Lyarra's eyes scanned the room, various artworks cluttered the walls, each of them depicting men and women engaged in different sexual positions.
Some of the paintings stretched from floor to ceiling, demanding one's attention when they entered the room.
A large four poster bed sat in the middle of the room, red and black silk curtains draped loosley over the frame. The numerous pillows and sheets lay strewn over the surface, Lyarra having been too preoccupied to fix it when she awoke.
It was a comfortable room, which she didn't mind, as it made her time in the capital slightly easier to endure, although, she was hoping they wouldn't be there for long.
The girl dreamed of home, she missed the sound of the crisp white snow crunching below her feet as she wandered about the courtyard of Winterfell, the tiny white snowflakes getting tangled in her hair as they descended from the heavens.
She was snapped out of her daydream by a loud knock on the door, which startled the women working around her.
"Lady Stark? The Queen has requested that you be escorted to the Great Hall, in time for the feast." The voice spoke, causing butterflies to erupt in the pit of Lyarra's stomach. The thought of having to be civil with the greens sickened her, she knew that Alicent hadn't invited them here out of the kindness of her heart, she knew there was a more sinister reason lurking beneath the surface, waiting patiently to break loose.
