Visenya and Daemon had always been two halves of the same soul. Chaotic and brash, they only cared for those who shared the blood of the dragon. Rhaenyra had always been in awe of their bond, watching how neither needed to speak for the other to und...
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Light streamed through the windows of the Princess's chambers. The heavy velvet curtains had been pushed to the side so that the early morning sun lit up the room. Visenya stood on a pedestal in front of three different mirrors as servants bustled around her, dressing her in her wedding attire. She grimaced as the laces were pulled taunt, glaring at any servant who dared to near her with emerald jewelry.
"Behave yourself, Visenya." Jocelyn warned her daughter.
"You look lovely, Vis," Rhaenys called from the settee, a teasing grin pulling at her lips. "The very image of the maiden."
"Don't." She bit back, glaring at her elder sister in the mirror's reflection.
The silver-haired woman pushed herself onto her feet, pressing a hand on her swollen belly as she neared Visenya. "It's not so bad."
"That is easy for you to say. At least Corlys is near your age. Otto Hightower is closer to mother's than mine own."
"At least you will remain at the Red Keep," Rhaenys attempted to placate her sister. Her hand landed on Visenya's shoulder, brushing back inky dark tresses. "Storm's End is a three-day's flight, and Driftmark is less than two. You can visit as often as you wish and stay as long as you want."
Visenya sighed, leaning into her sister's touch. "Thank you." She whispered.
"Anything for you, Hāedar," Rhaenys murmured back. "Now you need to finish readying. You will be expected at the Sept soon." Younger Sister.
The bride groaned, her lips pursed into a pout as she returned to her reflection. Her dress was the same color as Rhaenys's hair. The silver fabric draped down her body, jutting out slightly at her waist and accentuating her hips. The fabric of the bodice had been folded in a way that looked as if it was made of scales and stitched with a glimmering gold thread.
"Very well," Visenya rolled her eyes. "But no green."
★・・・・・・★
The skirt of her dress trailed behind her as Visenya stepped out of the wheelhouse. Her lips pulled down into a scowl as she glared at the white stone building. Small folk watched from walkways and windows, staring at the Targaryen Princess as she entered the plaza. She turned away from the sept, peering around the wheelhouse and through the gaps of buildings, spotting the glint of bronze doors in the distance.
"It is time, Visenya." A voice to her left spoke, snapping the soon-to-be wife from her thoughts of escape.
"I could always disappear like Saera did." She offered, turning to face her mother.
Jocelyn chuckled lightly, though her smile did not reach her eyes. "If your father were here..."
"I know." Visenya reached for her mother, taking Jocelyn's hand in hers.
