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CHAPTER EIGHT.
VICTIM
112 AC
VISENYA sat at the table for supper, attempting to not drown herself in wine.
She was failing miserably.
The woman was glaring at three people at the table on rotation. Her father, Alicent and the new pawn her father had put forth for her hand. Lord Blackwood's son Duncan was only older than her by a few years, six to be exact, and yet he was as large as a man in his fifties with a penchant for expensive ale.
The woman eyed him with disgust marring her face as he shovelled food into his mouth, taking gulps of wine between each bite. Even Rhaenyra, who sat beside her was disgusted.
Visenya's gaze shifted to Alicent, who stared at the man in a similar way. However, as their gazes met, the corners of the Hightower's lips lifted into a small smirk as she turned to Viserys and whispered to him quietly.
Visenya's eyes narrowed as anger practically radiated off of her.
"Visenya, don't you believe it's a wonderful match?" Alicent questioned, her eyes flicking between the outsider and the princess.
"I think I'd rather cut off my own foot than marry him," Visenya muttered, though loud enough for everyone to hear. The room quietened and Duncan looked up, his lips smeared with grease.
"I beg your pardon?" he questioned.
"You make me sick," Visenya scowled.
"Visenya," hissed her father, "Apologies Ser Duncan, my daughter's had a hard day."
Visenya rolled her eyes and picked up her own wine glass. It had been a hard day indeed. She was forced to endure the dress fittings for Alicent and the cake tastings. The wedding was to be in a month and yet the girl acted a though it were on the morrow. Rhaenyra was seemingly as exhausted from the situation as she had kept her mouth shut the entire time, much like her sister.
The two had sat in the same room for around four hours, listening to Alicent drone on and on about the dress she wanted and ripping apart the ideas the seamstress hard. She was an awful bride Visenya would say.
Either way, when it was done, the Targaryen sisters scrambled out of that room so fast you'd think the room was on fire.
Visenya poked around at the peas on her plate, not really feeling like eating. It was awkward as usual with the presence of the two people not of Targaryen blood.
Finally it came to a close and Visenya dallied until Duncan had left. She followed him to his chambers and smiled to herself as he dismissed the guards outside. No doubt he'd brought a whore with him and would take pleasure for the rest of the evening.
