TO LOVE A KING || Maegor II Targaryen [BEING REWRITTEN]

021▪️ PETALS FROM THE REACH

EIGHT MONTHS LATER.....

At the first light of dawn, the rooster’s crow echoed faintly through the dense trees. Gulls wheeled in the skies above, their cries sharp and wild. Songbirds flitted through the branches, chirping merrily in a patchwork of melody.

A gentle wind stirred the air, sending flurries of leaves cascading like golden snow across the forest floor.

The wheelhouse rumbled steadily through the winding paths of the Kingswood, flanked by guards and servants on horseback. The journey from Oldtown had been long, dusty, and draining.

With no direct road to the capital, they were forced to follow the uneven dirt paths that snaked between the roots of ancient trees and over treacherous slopes.

Inside the royal carriage, cushioned in velvet but swaying with every bump, Ser Gwayne Hightower sat upright, nose buried in a thick tome on Westerosi law.

The weight of duty sat upon his shoulders, his face calm but grim. He read not for pleasure, but for preparation of joining the royal army: King's Landing required vigilance, not leisure.

Across from him, his two auburn-haired sisters leaned by opposite windows, their expressions mirrors of each other in both beauty and tension.

Alicent Hightower, the younger of the two, pressed a gloved hand to the windowpane. Her emerald eyes sparkled with anticipation as the sun filtered through the forest, splashing gold across her face.

Every mile forward brought her closer to the father she had not seen in years, to the Red Keep, to a court she had only ever heard of in whispers and rumors.

She spoke without turning her head. “Do you suppose he’ll recognize us, Gwayne?”

Gwayne didn’t look up. “He’ll recognize you both, and he’ll be proud. Father always favored beauty, and you have mother’s face.”

Alicent smiled faintly at the compliment, though it quickly faded. “He favored Charlotte, if we’re being honest.”

In the opposite seat, Naiomi Hightower shifted restlessly, fidgeting with the laces of her bodice. Her stomach twisted with nervous energy. “Astounding,” she whispered under her breath, staring out at the thick green expanse of the Kingswood.

“To think… we’ll be among lords and ladies soon. No more Oldtown gossip. No more watching the stars from mother’s garden, “Or hear Aunt Lynesse nagging like a bloody civilian.”

Gwayne glanced up from his book, brows furrowed. “Language, Naomi.”

Naomi rolled her eyes. “My apologies, ser.” She turned to the window, her expression softening. “I’ll miss Ormund, though. I’m sure the next time we see him, he’ll be a gallant knight. Can’t say the same for Cousin Olivia. Let’s just hope her lord husband doesn’t go planting Flowers all across the Reach.”