Daenora, though a Velaryon in name, was born from seeds so tainted that even the blood of the dragon could not fully cleanse them.
As the issue of the affair of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Criston Cole she is the heir of a twisted legacy - of everything...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER 23 - SHROUDED BY NIGHT -
128 AC
Daenora used to be a fearful child.
In the light of day, the young princess had displayed the brightest colours of joy. Her smiles had bared her heart, as though it had been trapped behind her teeth.
The moment night engulfed the world, however, reality would fade into her vibrant imagination. The shadows thrown by candlelight morphed into the monsters of her nightmares, their fangs ripping at her heartstrings.
When the candles were extinguished as well, the theatre torturing her mind only began.
It was not the darkness that scared her. It was the things cowering behind its veil.
As long as Dany did not hide beneath her mother's wings, she was obliged to fear a hound had crawled underneath her bed, waiting to quench its thirst by drinking her blood. Never would she be safe from any snake coiling around her neck to suffocate the life she had not yet lived.
After all these years, Daenora had imagined to have grown a skin so thick that the gnawing gloom could not hurt her anymore. Yet tonight, darkness turned her into a craven once again.
Her fingers itched with the urge to tear her ears from her body. Perhaps then she would be spared the endless torment. A thousand words echoed off the walls of Maegor's tunnels, all emerging from a single pair of lips. One of the few mouths she would have trusted blindly.
Why did her life have to be one of her cruellest nightmares?
Why did the gods smother any spark of happiness with their twisted tragedies?
What a foolish girl she was.
Daenora feasted on rotten fruits, and still she was surprised to find poison seeping into every fibre of her being. The truth, which had been denied her so blatantly, embedded itself in her bosom until the feeling of betrayal stained even the memories she held closest to her heart.
Her torch threatened to slip from her grasp as she rushed to the next exit she could find.
It was an instinct – to get carried into the last pair of arms that would not point a blade at her back while she melted into their embrace.
If only her trust was not placed in the wrong people.
Lady Elyana Graceford looked up from her painting, her brush trembling in her fingers. It was one thing for an insect to get caught in a web. It was another if a predator found its prey served on a silver platter. "Princess?"
Anxiety's grip tightened around the lady's neck with every step Daenora took. Mayhap she had finally uncovered the sword aimed at her abdomen – had followed the lack of an heir and her hard attempts, arriving at Elyana's delicate hands.
