The Sound of Storms ▻ House of the Dragon

CHAPTER ELEVEN

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Cw: a little bit steamy, and Discussions of an abusive relationship and sexual assault/rape toward the end of the chapter. Please read with caution and skip if needed.

There was a time when all Isidore had wanted was to be married, to wear a sparkling white dress, and to spout vows to a beloved spouse. She could remember, as a child, making her handmaiden dig out the nicest white gown she had and then tearing up when she pulled out a blush pink dress, the only one closest to the white she owned. Her father presented young Isidore with a custom-ordered ivory dress two days later and let his daughter walk him down the makeshift aisle she put together in the dining hall.

It all felt like a trap now. Isidore should have felt delighted at the notion of fulfilling one of her duties. Instead, her palms were sweaty, anxiety wringing her stomach into knots. The dress felt too heavy, the bodice too tight. As she paced in front of the mirror, the princess could not bring herself to look at her reflection.

There would be no knight in shining armor, no riding into a sky stained with the colors of a brilliant sunset. Her family promised her hand to the second son of the family with her own blood on their hands. Their hands were to be tied with ribbon, and blood washed away with wedding vows. This would have to be her fairytale wedding.

Aemond was not the worst bachelor to be married to; Isidore had to remind herself. She had grown fond of the prince far faster than she would have liked, though Isidore tried to keep Aemond at arm's length. The last time she fell too fast, she got hurt, and the bruises remained.

Kind Adus had given up trying to temper his daughter's worries. After the third time, she shook off a comforting hand; he found a seat in one of the chairs of the small council chambers, watching her tread back and forth in front of the door. The small silver button he had given her rolled between her palms.

He opened the door, making the soft music drifting into the chamber from the throne room louder. A serving girl in a red and white dipped into a curtsey.

"They are ready for you, your graces," she announced.

Isidore looked at her father, who stood from his chair and walked over to his daughter. He extended his arm for Isidore and led her out of the small council chambers. The door was closed with a thud, and Isidore repressed a flinch.

The throne room was only down the hall from the chamber they had just departed from, and Isidore noticed her mother's figure standing outside the doors. Queen Elmyra was regal in her shimmering gold and silver attire, her hair intricately entwined in the same braid as her daughters. When Isidore came into view, her lips, painted a striking red, curled into a thin smile.

"You look stunning, my dear," Isidore's mother dotted, smoothing out wrinkles in her daughter's dress. Isidore didn't have the guts to tell her mother she felt like she was suffocating, so she replied,

"Thank you,"

Her mother pulled the lace veil over Isidore's face, covering her from the rest of the world. Isidore was thankful she could still see through it for the most part, but she still clung to her father's arm for guidance. When the father and daughter arrived at the entrance, the doormen in their green and silver uniforms pulled open the double doors with a loud creak.

The throne room was split in two, and the air was thick with anticipation. Courtiers on both sides, dressed in their nicest silks. Near the base of the throne, Aemond stood with his back to the crowd, looking dashing in his ceremonial robes. Layers of heavy black and white robes with traces of green and red beading and embroidery represent the different houses. Aemond styled his blonde hair into a braid, though still in a similar style as he normally wore it.