Ambers || Jacaerys Velaryon

3. Miara

The small council room was a place of subtle tension.

Rhaenyra brought Miara there to serve her and the king's closest advisors for her first day. Although Miara didn't fully understand who they were or what they were meant to discuss, she knew her role-- to pour their wine and grab any other asked for refreshment. 

It may not have been glamorous, but the princess had provided for her as she said she would, and Miara didn't want to seem rude and take that for granted. Rhaenyra even gifted Miara a few of her old dresses from when she was her age, that way she could look the part of someone meant to represent the princess even if she was only a cupbearer. The dress she wore now was a pale gold with short sleeves made of fine silk. It was far tighter than what Miara was used to or preferred, but she didn't mind. The dresses made her feel special as she wore them, as if she were just another lady in the capital.

Yet, despite her efforts to appear as a proper citizen here, Miara remained invisible to the lords who occupied the council room with the princess.

The men seated around the central table hadn't so much as glanced at Miara since their arrival. She felt like just another piece of aged wooden furniture in here, waiting in her corner for someone to ask for wine or offer a simple greeting. She'd take either at this point.

Her wish remains unfulfilled as the double doors of the room are pulled open, drawing everyone's attention to the man at the center of the entryway. He was older with balding hair and peeling skin. Miara also notices that one of the long sleeves of his doublet hangs limply at his side, nothing within. 

The lords rose as he limped past them, as did Rhaenyra. They followed their rise with a subtle bow, and Miara hurried to copy them, blending in as best she could. Harwin had given her as much advice as he could conceive of last night and Miara was keen to commit to as much as her memory dared to recall. 

Bow when everyone else does, even if you don't know who they are, he had said. They don't like it when you don't bow for them.

"Father," Rhaenyra greets the man, allowing Miara to realize she was in the presence of the king himself, not just any other lord.

At least he looked more like what she had pictured a ruler to be compared to the young queen. They were an odd pair, not one Miara would have ever pictured, but she didn't bother lingering on the customs of people so far beyond her standing. Her father told her before that many powerful men in the realm didn't care for the ages of their young brides, even though perhaps they should have.

The king reaches out, placing a shaky gloved hand over Rhaenyra's that cradled her rounded belly.

"How is the babe, my dear?" he asks tenderly. 

"Lively and kicking," Rhaenyra quips.

The king laughed at her words, a laugh that was sharp yet warm, much like his daughter's. Miara felt at ease hearing it, thinking that a man with such a kind laugh could hardly be a cruel king.

Her theory was tested when the king's eyes passed over to her.

"A new cupbearer? Lovely," he says, his smile growing.

Rhaenyra gave Miara a subtle nod, indicating that she needed to do more than simply stand there. Miara steps forward, doing her best to execute a sophisticated curtsey. Her legs, unused to the motion, felt awkward and gangly as she bent. It must have appeared as such too since a taunting snort of amusement came from someone in the room.

Miara looks up and sees a man with slicked-back blonde hair and a golden lion embroidered on his tunic smirking at her. His blue eyes held a judgmental glint, and she quickly looked away from it, embarrassed.