In order to bring your families together your sister and mother propose you marry the future king, the man you'd been taught to hate. The both of you struggle to make the marriage work, while dealing with your decaying family.
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Your mother and sister, and Lilith walked you to the rocks where the ceremony would be held. You could see Daemon and his step-son leading Jacaerys.
Already your siblings stood, Helaena smiling and your brothers grimacing. Each of them had a child in their arms, and beside them stood Baela and Rhaena holding the youngest of Rhaenyra's brood's hands. Beside them smiled Rhaenys and Corlys. Your mother and sister wished you luck and went to join your family, the boys across doing the same thing.
You met Jacaerys in the middle, where the Septon stood, where there were knives and cups. You forced a smile and he did the same. You found peace in knowing that his eyes were filled with fear as well.
You continued to look at him, and him you. Your smiles became less and less fake as you melted into the fact that this was happening. You were both dreading it. Both of you two were terrified, and in that you two found solace, ignoring the Septon's words of the marriage that was to come, of love and a pure bloodline, both laughable subjects. None of it truly mattered. This marriage was a sham, but you could find comfort knowing neither of you wanted it.
He stood in robes almost identical to yours. His belt was wider, it covered more of the robe. He wore no headpiece, and his face was bare of any makeup, though his hair was clearly styled, curls falling into his face slightly. You almost laughed at the idea of Daemon and Lucerys helping him with his hair.
He looked good like this. He looked like he could take the Iron Throne. Like this, he looked like a Targaryen. His eyes were brown, but as you looked you could see a sparkle of something more. His long face and nose were all Targaryen, his jaw and the way he clenched it when he was nervous, as he was doing now. He was Rhaenyra's son, and no one could question that. That is what mattered. Targaryen blood swam in his veins, bastard or not.
You came back to reality as the Septon drew to a close, leaving it to you and Jacaerys. Jacerys looked nervous as he was handed the blade. It was beautiful. It looked delicate, as if it would shatter when he cut you, but you knew better. You knew that it was forged by dragons and was stronger than steel, that it would slice you open without much pressure at all.
