The Rogue Daughter (House of the Dragon - Aemond Targaryen Story)

Salt and Succession

RHAELLA

Rhae tried to pretend the sticky heat of King's Landing was getting to her as she wiped her sweaty palms on the fine fabric of her dress, but the servants fluttering about her were unconvinced. Not a single bead of sweat wetted any of their foreheads, but she had to keep dabbing a handkerchief to her hairline in order to preserve the curls they managed to put in her hair that were much tamer and bouncier than her natural style. Her nerves pricked harder than the metal pins securing the intricate braids they'd added to keep the curls from falling into her face.

Today would not be a day to hide behind a head of wild, dark hair or keep her eyes downcast to hide their violet hue.

"Careful, my lady," a twig of a girl said as she stared at the sweaty mark left behind on the front of Rhae's dress.

The satin dress had been dyed an eye-catching bronze, but it was susceptible to stains and utterly impractical. Her Aunt Myranda had taken great care in its creation by adding a corset bodice that laced down the front and puffed out sleeves that satisfied the need for modesty but were of a thinner material that let in a bit of much-needed air.

The dress made Rhae appear older, but also like an obvious outsider. The moment she stepped into the hall and joined the throngs of people making their way to the Great Hall, she realized it to be very different in style from what the ladies attending court wore. Many heads turned her way as Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk kept pace on either side of her, but based on the curious and confused looks, none she passed knew what to make of her.

They'd soon learn.

Rhae's white-cloaked escorts fell back when they reached the raised galley on the far-right side of the Great Hall. She'd been told beforehand by the queen that she was to view the other ladies who preferred to watch the proceedings from above and the position gave her a full view of the cavernous room. It was the place for those who thought themselves above the politics that ruled every aspect of their lives, but Rhae knew better. She'd drown in politics for the remainder of her life, but she'd watch from the surface for the moments she had left.

The open doors on the main level that people passed through were huge masterpieces of bronze and wood, and she had to hide her small smile at the unintentional representation of her house. Light flooded in from the enormous stained-glass windows that cast a colorful glow on the marble floor. From her vantage point, she took it all in, until her gaze fell on the same dais that everyone else stared at.

Stiffly sitting on the edge of the infamous Iron Throne amongst a sharp sea of half-melted swords was the Hand of the King. The queen was a vision in green to his right with her children at her side. Two of them at least. Helaena's wandering eyes didn't hide her disinterest and Aegon's fat, split lip and bandaged hand were evidence that she'd not imagined the prior night.

Her confusion at Aemond's tardiness was cut short by a whispered voice to her left. "Your father thinks to end this before it begins."

Rhae flinched, not at the mention of her father as the prince at her side might think, but at his unexpected closeness. She tilted her head just enough to shoot a glare his way without making it seem like they were familiar. "Did you enjoy your time with Vhagar last night?" she bit out under her breath as she watched his face for any sign that he might know what transpired between her and Aegon.

"Yes," he smoothly replied. He didn't even blink. "I assume you enjoyed your evening diversion as well?"

Her lips thinned. "Not particularly."

Aemond's pale brows furrowed, but she didn't elaborate. Instead, she returned her attention to the silver-haired man preemptively arguing at the base of the dais. She'd been trying not to look at him but her stubbornness was not absolute.