green lies, black hearts

IX

a/n - thank you all for the love and support over here!!

~+~
Shaera

It started plainly. As plain and true as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.

First, it had been the story she wrote for her grandfather.

Shaera had been reading to Aegon the Younger and Viserys II—and by proxy, Rhaena, who was trying to fix a hole in one of her gowns—when a servant came in, bowing her head respectfully. Rhaenyra was seated across from her daughter, Daemon laying down with his head in his wife's lap with cheek pressed against her swelling belly as he sang quietly in Valyrian. The pair spared a glance at the young girl, curious because she was not of their retinue, and for the most part, only their household worked with them. The servants of the Red Keep seemingly wanted nothing to do with them.

"Apologies for the interruption," the girl squeaked out.

Rhaenyra dismissed the apology. "What is it?"

Shaera turned in her seat, earning an undignified grumble of discontent from her younger brothers—the other three, along with Baela, were riding their dragons in a fit of going stir crazy.

(Rhaenyra and Daemon knew well that they would need to return home soon. Dragons of Old Valyria were not fit for a place of the Faith of the Seven, and that's all that seemed to fill the Red Keep. But first, they would see Jace and Baela wed.)

"For the Princess Shaera, Your Highness," the girl told Rhaenyra.

Shaera's brows furrowed and she finally caught sight of what the servant was holding:

The story for her grandfather.

Eyes wide, Shaera nearly shoved her brothers from her, and she shot to her feet, quick to take the pages from the servant.

"Thank you," she rasped, clutching the papers to her chest.

"Who is that from?" Rhaenyra asked, fingers brushing absently through Daemon's hair. The prince glanced at his daughter, and seeing her small frown, he looked to Shaera, curious as to what Rhaena could be upset about. What Shaera could be secretive about.

"From the—"

Shaera spun around. "Grandfather asked that I find a story of a country lord and since there were none to be found in the library, I wrote one." She chewed her cheek. "I suppose I must have left this in the library." Any laughter that left her was strained and stilted.

Her mother seemed pleased with that and dismissed the servant girl, but Shaera couldn't grasp a read on her stepfather's emotions. He had never been an easy one to understand by facial expressions alone. And so, she gave up on that, hoping he would be sated just like his wife.

Shaera tucked away the papers, and resumed reading to her brothers, foot tapping with each word. Eyes darting to the stack with each page turned. Teeth bruising her lip with each yawn of young Aegon.

She had avoided Aemond as best she could, barely even seeing him since he...since he...Shaera shook her head and tried to focus. Tried to simply forget about it. But each night she went to bed, sleep was scarce. Sleep wished to taunt her by lulling her eyelids down until her lashes sealed shut, but when she thought dreams would drag her into a lovely rest, it was nightmares instead that kept her tossing and turning.

His hand around her throat. Poison from his lips. Malice in his eye.

She could still feel his breath on her face. His lashing words licking at her heart and mind. His warmth seeping through his leather doublet. The same warmth that morphed with her nightmares into something soft. Something that made her heart skip and twist uncomfortably. Something that ghosted over her wrist, wiping the ink from her ink. Something that curled into her back and knee, keeping her close and protected. That warmth filled her chest and she would wake out of breath, almost suffocating as she splayed out like a star. A star that had fizzled out as if doused by water, for she always woke in a cold sweat, but she was warm. So warm. Her cheeks. Her chest. Her stomach.