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~
·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·
DRAGONSTONE The library of Dragonstone was quiet save for the echo of Vellena's boots against the stone floor. Shelves towered around her and Jacaerys, the scent of old parchment and burning coals thick in the air. The painted table lay between them, scattered with scrolls, maps, and records of dragons long past and still living.
"Seasmoke knows me," Vellena said firmly, pacing around the table. "I rode with him when I was but a child, clinging to our father's back. He remembers. He'll remember me."
Jacaerys, dressed in his red and black riding gear, arms crossed over his chest, watched her intently. "Seasmoke has been riderless since father's death. He's grown wild. The dragonkeepers can handle him while we determine who's worthy to try claiming him. It's not safe for you."
"I'm not asking," Vellena said, stopping and facing him. "I am going."
They circled the table like two caged flames, neither willing to bend. But as she turned to walk past him again, Jacaerys reached out and caught her arm.
"Vellena," he said, low and serious.
She stopped. Slowly, she turned her head, locking her purple eyes with his deep brown ones. Neither spoke. The air between them was tight, charged.
She sighed, lifting her free hand to gently cup his cheek. Jace leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment.
"I'll be fine," she whispered. "You have to trust me."
He opened his eyes and met hers again. A slow nod. "I do."
She smiled faintly. "That's the first time you haven't threatened to lock me in my chambers or... punish me." Her tone was teasing, dry with mirth. "Progress. Since our... agreement."
Jacaerys' lips twitched into a crooked grin. "So you admit it was an agreement."
Vellena cursed under her breath in High Valyrian, turning to step away—but he caught her again. In one swift move, Jace lifted her and set her atop the table, scrolls and books clattering to the floor.
"Seven hells, Jace," she hissed, half-laughing.
He stood between her knees, hands braced on either side of her hips, his face inches from hers. "Don't tempt me," he murmured.
"You're already tempted," she whispered, fingers brushing the back of his neck.
