ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ - House of the Dragon

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Visenya walked in the Throne Room as if she owned it.

She was wearing a black gown with a v-shaped collar that didn't hide much of her collarbones and the valley of her breasts. Her skin glowed under the light of the full moon that filtered through the large windows, and her peculiar moles stood out among the old scars. She had a small purple mark on one of her breasts, which would only be noticeable if you paid special and shameless attention to it, but she didn't seem to care.

Much to Queen Alicent's despise, the gown ended right at her waist, with the dark corset hugging her curves and making her bust look more prominent that it already was. Then it opened, revealing the also black trousers she proudly wore, and fell to her feet. She was wearing her usual riding boots, and a silver dagger, standing out among the black, shone in her right thigh.

Someone, probably her lady-in-waiting, had brushed her hair, and her black and silver waves danced freely until her lower back. It was odd, to see her without her braids and ties, yet it was a view that made an one-eyed prince held his breath almost unconciously. She was wearing a crown made of blue flowers and brown stickes on the top of her head, and a sweet yet fake smile in her full pinky lips.

The whole room stood on their feet once she entered it, almost as if she was the Queen herself, and the people of the Realm clapped their hands and bowed their heads at the sight of Princess Visenya Velaryon, who was desperately trying to not roll her eyes. She had to bite her tongue, taking deep breaths and keeping her eyes in her mother's, who clapped her hands and smiled as well as everybody else. Rhaenyra delighted herself when she caught sight of her only birthed daughter, and her fingers found her husband's when she saw him holding back a grin. They both agreed, Visenya was beautiful. Delicately created by the gods themselves, if there were in fact any gods.

The Royal Family was at the end of the room, hiding the Iron Throne with a large platform whose only purpose was to make it easier for the rest of the people to get a proper look of the Targaryen/Velaryon family, as if they weren't trying not to stab each other right there. They were sitting as the other two meals they spent together, with the Blacks on one end of the table and the Greens on the other, and an empty chair separated Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra.

"Your Grace." Visenya said once she slowly and gracily scalated the three steps to the podium.

Even when she was raised by men to be a warrior, her mother had made sure Visenya knew how to properly behave in order to maintain her role as princess as long as she could. It didn't take long for the mother to surrender, and the daughter had happily welcomed the man's life unfer the insightful and mischievous vision of her stepfather. She still knew when and where to behave though, and her mother's smile and nod told her she had done exactly as it was expected.

"Princess, happy nameday." The Queen greeted her with bowed head and a smile as fake as her own. "The King deeply regrets he cannot be present tonight."

The King had been put to sleep in the milk of the poppy due to his inceseable pain, for what Daemon had shared with her right before her entrance. Even when she felt as if something stung on the back of her head, she thought it was for the best. Her grandsire had said he would enjoy to go to the feast, that it had been some time since he had fun. Yet he could barely sit without feeling any pain, and truly his health was not the best to deal with his family sending cold glares and silent threats to each other the entire night.

"That is alright, Your Grace. His health is above everything else." Visenya held her hands on her back, pinching on the nail of her thumb in an attempt to calm her sudden unease. "I will visit him in the morrow, if that is okay with Your Grace."

Using her title as queen was making Visenya feel physically ill. Of course, she had to, but she knew she would not recognize any woman other than her mother as her queen. And something in Otto Hightower's eyes told her he knew as well.