TO LOVE A KING || Maegor II Targaryen [SLOW UPDATES]

089▪️WEDDING OF THE CENTURY

Two moons had passed since Maegor had cast Charlotte aside and chosen her younger sister. In that time, the palace had shifted. Rumors faded into silence. Old allegiances thinned, new ones thickened. And at the heart of it all stood Lady Alicent Hightower, the bride to be.

The morning of the royal wedding broke over King's Landing with warm gold. The city stirred early, a reverent hush broken only by the tolling of the seven bells.

From the Seven Gates to the Sept of Baelor, from the smoky slums of Flea Bottom to the banners flying high above Maegor's Holdfast, the capital vibrated with feverish joy.

But within the Queen's Tower, there was only stillness.

Alicent stood before her altar, lighting a candle. "Alyrie Florent," she whispered. The name of her late mother left her lips like a prayer.

She bowed her head before the Seven.

"Father, grant me wisdom to guide and endure. Mother, bless this womb and shield it from grief. Warrior, protect me from the venom of women. Smith, strengthen my hands for the building of peace. Maiden, forgive what I gave in the dark. Crone, give me foresight. Stranger... keep me far from your shadow."

When she finished, the flame hissed and died. A strange omen. But she didn't flinch.

Outside, the kingdom roared. The King would wed.

The High Septon himself had come from Oldtown. Seven days of feasts, tourneys, and song had led to this. Lords and ladies, banners and blades, all poured into the capital to witness the union. The Iron Throne would gain a Queen.

Even Otto Hightower, once stiff with disappointment, had settled. He and his daughter had made peace, a brittle one, but peace nonetheless. His pride now tied itself to her future. His apologies had come late, but with weight.

Charlotte, however, had no such mercy in her heart. The King's rejection had soured her spirit into something unrecognizable. She loathed her sister with a silent fury, watching every day as Alicent climbed closer to the seat she believed was hers.

Inside the Queen's Tower, the change was complete. Mellario's handmaidens now served Alicent. Dawn broke, and they rushed in like sunlight.

Steam fogged the bath chamber. The scent of honey and thyme rose with the vapors. Alicent sat silently as her body was scrubbed, her hair washed and combed into thick auburn waves, dried and then perfumed. Her skin, pale and smooth, was massaged with sweet oils of oud and rose.

After the bath, she was led to her divan and wrapped in a fresh shawl. Servants dabbed scent on her wrists, behind her ears, her knees, and inner thighs. A seamstress entered with Tayla, carrying the final masterpiece: the wedding gown.

Gasps filled the room.

The dress was a vision. Satin and lace blended like frost on moonlight, embroidered with pearl-white dragons. Tiny wings stitched over her shoulders formed a subtle V at her chest, drawing the eye downward to the bodice. The hem shimmered with hand-sewn pearls and subtle glints of silver.