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 halls of the castle of Dragonstone buzzed with whispers. Word of Nettles and her wild claim had already begun to leak beyond the stables and soldiers. Now, Princess Vellena Velaryon strode through the corridors with practiced, sharp-footed grace—her jaw tense, her eyes narrowed. At her side, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon led Nettles, whose eyes bounced around the vaulted ceilings and dragon-carved archways like she was inside a temple built by the gods themselves.
"Seven hells," Nettles muttered, head craning to look at the stained-glass windows. "This whole place looks like it shits gold."
Vellena rolled her eyes hard. "Please mind your tongue in front of our mother."
Nettles grinned. "I always mind it. Just not well."
They entered Queen Rhaenyra's solar, where the air hung heavy with parchment, fire, and tension. Rhaenyra looked up from her writing desk, her golden crown slightly tilted atop her silver hair. Her expression was guarded—regal—but her purple eyes sharpened as they locked onto the young peasant girl standing before her in blood-streaked leathers.
Jace gave a low, formal bow. "Mother. This is Nettles of Spicetown. Rider of Sheepstealer."
Nettles stepped forward, hands at her sides. "M'lady. I mean—Your Grace." She glanced at Rhaenyra, eyes trailing. "Hells, you're hot as—"
She froze.
Vellena's hand smacked her forehead. "Gods..."
Jacaerys covered his mouth with a cough that did a poor job of hiding his grin.
Rhaenyra raised one silver brow, the faintest twitch of amusement tugging at her mouth. "Excuse me?"
Nettles paled. "I—uh—meant to think that. Didn't mean to say it. My tongue's got a life of its own sometimes. I'm honored to be here, truly."
Rhaenyra stared a moment longer... then cleared her throat delicately. "Well, Miss Nettles, I congratulate you. Sheepstealer has never been ridden. You've done something remarkable."
Nettles straightened a little, surprised. "Thank you, Your Grace."
Rhaenyra gestured toward the door. "Elinda will see you to your chambers. Rest. You've earned it."
Nettles gave a final awkward bow before Elinda gently guided her out. Once the door closed, silence returned to the solar.
Then Rhaenyra stood and walked to her children. Her expression was one of quiet triumph. "You've done well. One wild dragon claimed, another potential sword in our arsenal. That makes two riders in one fortnight."
