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126 AC ❝ the star of seas and skies ❞
"LADY SEED," THEY UTTERED BENEATH STILLED BREATHS.
Or if they had been feeling daring and tempted to rile the anger of the dragon king, they would call her a bastard born of blood and deception. Over the span of four years, the spread of poisonous words carried quickly on the blackened wings of ravens as they did across the expanse of shimmering seas. From Pentos, where unholy reckonings were forged, to Westeros where they would be embedded.
Daemon's false daughter. A dragon, yes, but born to another.
His dear aunt's handmaidens, the surgeons who tended to her in her birthing bed, even the little boy who announced the prince's arrival. Lips moved within blurred faces but steel supped on their life's blood all the same. Their deaths were necessary for his daughter to rise. Daemon did not waste a thought before Dark Sister's blade carved through each of them until the manse his daughter was born in became a grave.
When rumors were torn from the bedrock like weeds, something more treacherous would be edged closer to the surface. When the time came for Jacaera to feel the burn of such words, her face would grow red and she would feel pieces of her armor crisp away and the thorns threatened to pierce her flesh. It was blood they craved and steel would not save her this time.
Not even from her kin.
When Prince Aegon was feeling merciful, he would dub Jacaera the most gracious of her monikers: Lady Redface- for how hued her cheeks would grow when she was embarrassed or furious.
So, he had taken as many opportunities as he could in the art of torturing his younger kin to liken her face to a tomato skin. Once, the prince had covered himself in white flour to appear as a ghost, lured his brother and cousins through Traitor's Walk into the black cells, and attempted to scare them. Jacaerys and Jacaera had screamed and Aemond jumped back but Aegon was beside himself in laughter. He endured his mother pinching his ear with unbothered leisure.
Jacaera quickly decided that she disliked her cousin solely because she could. The years had not made her opinion of him any sweeter.
It was of no matter, really. Aegon's perception of her was worth less than the dirt beneath her slippers. Dragons were of hoards and hearts that burned with flame and she did not need to waste the mood on what he wanted. That fire burned fiercely and relentlessly in Lady Jacaera and those flames licked at Prince Aemond, who had begun to pick up on his Pentoshi cousin's array of polished talents. He had been swept away by the splendor that lived within her eyes, blind to the deceitful wit she honed and concealed like a cursed blade.
"The Star of the Seas," said Lord Corlys Velaryon when he presented his granddaughter to the court.
If Aemond read Maester Benifer's accounts of the Good Queen's political insight, Jacaera would memorize her policies and impress the king. If the silver prince were to ask his father for stories about his mount, Balerion, the dragon of the Conqueror, the dark lady would dazzle the king with how obediently Nymerax would follow her command.
