A Bond Between Dragons

under pressure [022]

tw: this chapter contains sexual harrassment and reminices of assult. if you are triggered by these please skip this chapter.

Vaella had always been acutely aware of the way whispers carried in the hallways of the Red Keep. No matter how softly spoken, rumors had a way of reaching her ears, fluttering like moths through the shadows. Today, the air seemed thick with them—hushed voices trailing behind every servant she passed, their tones too cautious, too knowing. She caught snippets of conversation that swirled around her like gusts of wind, never fully grasping the whole but understanding enough to make her uneasy.

"Lord Vaemond Velaryon's coming to the Keep," a maid whispered urgently to another, her voice a barely contained hiss. "He intends to challenge Lucerys for Driftmark. Can you believe it?"

The words were like ice against Vaella's skin. Vaemond Velaryon, her uncle by name but hardly family in her heart, daring to contest Luke's birthright. The very thought stirred something protective and fierce within her. Luke was supposed to be the next Lord of the Tides; there had never been a question about it in their home. Driftmark belonged to her brother—everyone knew that. Lucerys was Lord Corlys' chosen heir. How could Vaemond even begin to think otherwise?

"I heard Lord Beesbury say it's foolish, arguing over something that's been settled for years," another servant had chimed in, his voice low and filled with indignation. "Lord of the Tides, they said. It's Lucerys' by right."

Vaella liked Lord Beesbury for that. His sense of loyalty to her family felt like a small comfort in an otherwise uncertain world. And yet, even his words carried an edge of resignation. The game of thrones wasn't played by loyalty alone; power, ambition, and manipulation were always at the heart of it. She had learned that much in her young life.

She walked further down the halls, her mind still swirling with unease. It was here, as she passed beneath one of the towering archways, that she heard it again—the familiar, sharp-edged whispers of court gossip, the kind that lingered like smoke long after the fire had burned out.

"The princess's children..." one of them had said, glancing over her shoulder as if the walls had ears. "There are those who say they're... well... not true Velaryons."

"Bastards, you mean?" the other whispered, though the word itself seemed to hiss like a snake in the air, dangerous and venomous.

"Perhaps," the first had replied cautiously. "But they're still her children. That much can't be denied."

Vaella had clenched her teeth then, heat rising to her cheeks. Bastards. The word felt like a curse, a thorn in her side that no one seemed willing to pluck out. But she knew better than to confront them. Instead, she had forced herself to walk on, shoulders squared, head held high, but the seed of doubt had been planted in her mind nonetheless.

As dusk settled over the Red Keep, Vaella felt a knot of tension loosen from her shoulders, though her mind remained anything but at ease. The day's duties had blurred into a haze of whispered names and allegiances, her eyes and ears more attuned to the dynamics of the court than ever. The lords and ladies who had drifted in and out of the Great Hall were little more than pawns in the greater game, but each one represented a piece of the puzzle she needed to understand.

Most of her day had been spent learning which lords and ladies were at court, mentally cataloging their subtle gestures, the way they glanced at Alicent and her father, Otto. There was a shift in the air—a quiet tension that could easily go unnoticed by those not looking for it. Vaella, however, was looking. She saw the way House Hightower's power loomed over the court like a shadow, dark and foreboding, its presence undeniable. Lords who once stood neutral now hovered close to Alicent, their allegiances shifting like the tide. Vaella noted them, each name and sigil etched into her mind, a silent record of those who might side against her mother when the time came.