Falling For A Mad King

Chapter 1

Sitting upon the throne in the throne room, Joffrey Baratheon propped his hand beneath his chin. The throne room had been nauseatingly empty for the last couple of minutes, especially considering his mother had just spent the last five hours presenting him with different suitoresses for betrothal. He rejected them all. None of them had that fire he was looking for in a Queen. There was one girl left, one he had yet to see, and he could only hope and pray that she was something better than what had been presented to him so far. 

The throne room was huge as Katalina stepped in through the double doors, Kingsguard on either side of her. She almost felt like a prisoner, being led to her death. She kept her hands clasped in front of her, and as she neared the base of the stairs leaidng to the throne, her gaze became glued on the ice blue one staring down at her from the massive iron throne.

"Your Grace, may I present to you, Lady Katalina Stormborn. First born daughter of Daenerys Stormborn." The Kingsguard on her right introduced her calmly. Her nerves were high, her heart pounding in her chest. Would he turn her away like he had every other woman that had entered his throne room?

He looked at her, studying her carefully. She was pretty, no doubt about it. He couldn't help but note that her features looked vaguely familiar for whatever reason, but he brushed that aside for the moment. His gaze was glued on her as she climbed the steps, not once taking his eyes off of her.

"Lady Katalina," he gretted her, staring at her like he was waiting for her to curtsy. "You are the last, I take it?" He questioned, his voice laced with annoyance. 

She gave a calm nod and curtsied to the King. "Yes, Your Grace. I am the last."

His gaze traveled over the features of her body, and she almost felt like he was undressing her with his eyes. She swallowed and kept her composure, standing with her posture straightened before him.

He took her in carefully, his eyes traveling slowly from the top of her head to her feet. She was attractive, but was she the one? Was she enough? He couldn't help but find something slightly...familiar about her. When he finished looking her over, he decided to speak up once again.

"How old are you, girl?" He questioned, his voice stern and cold. While he waited for her to answer, his eyes kept wandering back up her body, focusing on her chest briefly before quickly returning to her face.

She noticed the way his eyes lingered on her chest for a moment, but she said nothing about it. She could not afford to mess this up. Her mother was counting on her to make this work. She would not disappoint her. "I am eighteen years of age, Your Grace," she answered respectfully.

His eyes returned to her face, and his gaze remained there. She was gorgeous, that much had been proven, but was there that fire in her as well? He hadn't seen it yet. Still, he was getting tired of this damned parade of woman they kept bringing to him, and he was already tempted to turn them all away. But perhaps he would let her speak before he did so.

"Eighteen, huh?" He questioned, his voice gaining a slightly more aggressive tone. "You do look younger than that."

"I have my mother's features, Your Grace," she explained kindly. "Us Targaryens have always looked younger than our age."

She hoped and prayed that he would take this into consideration and not turn her away. She needed this to work. She couldn't let her mother down, and if he turned her away, she would've failed her. She wasn't going to let that happen.

He gave a short, almost imperceptible, nod in acknowledgement of her statement. She wasn't wrong, that much he was willing to admit. Most Targaryens did tend to carry the trait of their Valyrian ancestors. He could have sworn he recognized something else about her, though, but he couldn't pinpoint it. All he knew was that there was something about her. Something that made him want to learn more.