The Gentle Wolf (Rhaegar Targaryen)

Chapter 12

9- Melantha

When the Queen walked into her chambers to see Melantha's fitting, the room quieted abruptly.

She had a serene look on her face, but even the best actor could not disguise the painful looking scratches that ran across the once soft skin. They looked more like claws than nails, running from her hairline down to her jaw. Melantha wondered how she hadn't lost her eyesight.

The Queen played the fool, pretending not to notice the stares of horror from the seamstress, her assistants and the servants. She walked up to Melantha, a big, warm smile on her face. She forced herself to smile back.

"Oh dear, you'll make the most beautiful bride!" She exhaled, taking one of Melantha's hands in both of hers.

Melantha dropped her head.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"I trust you've already been given a few new dresses. Did you like them?"

Melantha nodded, not wanting to confess that even for the southern weather, the fabrics felt too thick.

The dresses were beautiful though. Her favorite so far was of a deep red with black direwolves on the bodice and black fur around the cleavage.

"Thank you for the dresses, Your Grace. They're all exquisite."

"Do you think she's lying, Ashara?" The Queen asked, head turning to look directly at the other girl.

Lady Ashara, sitting next to a red-faced Lady Catelyn, seemed unfazed.

"I think she's being honest. And she did look beautiful in the other dresses too." She said, taking a sweet from the table to her left.

Melantha had invited her to the fittings after their dinner two nights prior, thinking she might offer more honest opinions from her. Lady Catelyn was kind, but she'd never dare tell the future princess if she looked ugly or if a certain color didn't agree with her complexion.

Ashara had walked into the room just in time to see Melantha step into the small pedestal that had been placed in the center of the room, took a long look at her, and suggested they leave the tail but shortened the dress slightly at least; she also had the idea to use some semblance of armor.

Melantha stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked beautiful, and she knew she'd be even more so on the day of her wedding, but as she ran her hands down the dark fabric of the dress and helped Miriam adjust the unfinished metallic piece, she couldn't help but compare herself to Maegor's black brides.

She shook her head, scolding herself for being so silly. Rhaegar would not torture her, nor would he have her and her family murdered. He might be a bit of a prick, but he was not cruel.

She thought back on the previous night, when he had walked in on her in the gardens. He had gone back to the knightly prince he had initially presented himself as, and although she played along for her sake, she remained unsure as to how to define his character.

Melantha was pulled from her thoughts as the queen walked up to her and moved her dark hair behind her shoulders.

"She's to be a princess, not a septa." She said, examining the cleavage.

The seamstress nodded and got one of her apprentices to work.

As they tugged and prodded at her like a rag doll, Melantha went very still. She liked new dresses, especially if they were pretty; what she didn't like was having so many hands upon her body, touching and feeling, pinching and moving.

"I hear your brother has arrived." Ashara had come to stand by her, and when Melantha looked at her companion, all she saw was a wide eyed, expectant face. She smiled, thankful for the question, endeared by the simple gesture.