Targaryens are known to have queer costumes, an unusual tradition in which the brother and sister wed each other in order to secure the line of succession as pure as possible. Well, it is not always the Targaryens that have such habits, who says tha...
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~129 A.C~
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
(No silent readers. Also this story is based on book mostly so don't get mad it's not like the show🥲)
DRAGONSTONE The soft golden light of morning filtered through the tall windows of the chamber, casting warm glows upon the stone walls. Vellena stirred beneath her furs, blinking the sleep from her eyes before a small smile curled on her lips.
Curled beside her, nestled against each other in their little cradle, were her kittens — Mera, with orange amidst shades of black stripes, and Berion, with white stripes as snow alongside a dark-yellow dot on top of its head. They were sleeping still, little breaths rising and falling in perfect rhythm.
Vellena stretched lazily, then sat up, gently stroking both their small heads. "Sleep well, my fierce little kittens?" she whispered fondly.
The door creaked open, and Lyra, her handmaid and closest companion, stepped in with a cheerful face. "Good morning, princess," she greeted, her arms carrying a gown of rich blue, threaded subtly with silver, the colors glimmering like sky and starlight.
"You're early," Vellena said with a teasing arch of her brow.
"You always complain I take too long," Lyra smirked, setting the gown down. "Come, up. Let's dress you before the whole castle wakes and you're still dreaming of what books to read today... or about your bow."
Vellena let out a small laugh and stood, arms lifted as Lyra laced her into the gown, tugging at the ties and smoothing the fabric across her shoulders. Once dressed, Vellena walked over to the tall mirror and sat before it, reaching for her silver brush.
"I'll go to the kitchens," Lyra said, "get the milk for your little kitties."
"They're not only cats," Vellena called after her with a grin. "They're royalty."
Lyra disappeared with a chuckle.
Vellena sat down in her chair and ran the brush through her long silver hair, then separated the strands, fingers working deftly into a soft, elegant braid that framed her heart-shaped face and fell gracefully over one shoulder. She hummed a tune under her breath — an old lullaby her mother once sang — until the door opened again.
Lyra returned, holding a small tray with a clay bowl of warm milk. She walked over to the kittens' cradle and set it down. The scent roused them immediately — Mera yawned and stretched, while Berion mewled loudly.
