A Crown of Winter Roses

Chapter 8

Rosie smiled at her dress, seeing it there in her room, hung up against the closet made her almost tear up. Even in candle light it glimmered and gleamed as though the rays of a thousand suns were catching it.

Oberyn had left an hour ago, choosing to fleet back to his room and get ready. She smiled at the memory, he was true to his word, he stayed all night, not leaving until she was awake. Her hand hovered over her bruised lips, touching them before shaking off her silliness.

The dressmaker, Doren, had entered just a few minutes ago; wishing her a good day before running off to find some handmaidens. He had placed the gown down before leaving, letting Rosie marvel over it once more.

The handmaidens ran in first, ushering Rosie into the steaming bath before scrubbing her skin, letting the oils rest over her skin; the distinctive smell of vanilla and orange tickling her nose. They yanked her out, before drying her hair and pulling it up into several intricate braids forming a large up-do with several pieces of hair framing her face and falling down her back.

Next came the make-up. Rosie had seen several of these products on the faces of the beautiful women of Volantis, and Braavos and Myr; some being whores, and others noble ladies. Their eyelashes were always dramatic, their lips a different shade than their own, and their skin powered and became shimmery. The handmaidens did just that to Rosie, before adding her jewellery.

They had rough and tumbled her so much she barely noticed the dress slip onto her body and be laced up at the back, squeezing tighter than what she though was possible. She gripped her waist, feeling the soft material beneath her fingertips. The familiar comfort setting over her before she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

Rosie looked like a true Dornish beauty, almost rivaling Ellaria, but instead of the dark eyes, hair, and olive skin; she was a Targaryen doing her duty. Her hand snaked across her body once more, turning and watching herself. She couldn't believe it.

A small knock came from the other side of the doors, her maidens moving to stand in a line behind her. The butterflies began to make their presence known as she fiddled with the sun ring on her finger, with a final intake of breath she spoke.

"Come in." The tension was thick in the room, thick enough to cut with a knife. Relief flooded over Rosie as she watched Daario enter, his usual messy curls pushed back away from his face, his armor replaced with a red tunic and dark breeches. Rosie smiled, spreading her arms before wrapping them around him.

"You look positively radiant, my Queen." He bowed, a small kiss placed on her hand. He, himself looked radiant, the Targaryen colours suiting him perfectly.

Rosie could barely believe they had gotten here, into Westeros and ready to form alliances. Within the space of the next few hours she would be married, and she would be Queen Rosaerys Targaryen-Martell, and Oberyn, dear sweet Oberyn, would be King Oberyn Martell. They would begin their lives together, ready to take back what was hers by birthright.

"Are you ready?" He asked, his hand now outstretched in front of her. There was meaning behind this, meaning that had stayed at the front of her mind. She couldn't back out of this once she married Oberyn Nymeros Martell, she would end up being a spoke on the wheel, a chess piece for the Great Game.

Rosie placed her hand in his, nodding slightly. "I'm ready." And it was true, she was. With all her heart was she ready. She wanted this, no, needed this; and gosh was she going to take it.