There are cowering whispers of a war that is soon to be waged on the realm, destroying castles, starving people, decimating armies. A war for the Iron Throne, and a war against it. A war to hide secrets and a war to betray them. For death is power...
Irida walked towards the royal stables , her black gown trailing behind her. Her obsidian hair was seductively left open with two braids from the sides of her temple tied together at the back of her head. The black gown left her shoulders bare and the arms too. She walked regally, a confident smile on her lips. The guards she passed turned their eyes to look at her form.
It was late in the morning when she entered the stables. The guard gave her a skeptical look, surprised to see a lady roaming there, before his eyes subtly shifted to her breasts. Irida kept looking straight ahead, and her confident smile melted into an innocent and wondering look. All the horses were lined up on both sides, their gleaming coats unnoticeable in the darkness. Rays of sunlight streamed in through the entryway. Hay and dung were hastily swept away, heaped in a corner.
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Irida brought out a small embroidered handkerchief and placed it above her nose. She walked over to a robust black stallion, his mane was smooth and straight. If the stables had been a kingdom, this stallion would've been the King. Irida could immediately notice that this stallion was recently bought, it seemed unfamiliar with its surroundings.
She slowly brought her hand to the horse and petted it gently on the side of it's head. Her eyes became full of wonder as she stared at the great horse.
Suddenly a man came bustling in, his stout figure hobbling with each step he took. Ser Barristan Selmy, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, was at his side.
"I want the biggest boar there is! The beast that I will slay would be served to every man in this castle. You better have the horse you promised me, Barristan or-" Robert Baratheon paused, spotting a fluttering Irida.
She gasped softly, a sweet gasp, and dropped into a curtsy.
"Your Grace." She stood up, her eyes innocent and...inviting.
Robert assessed her figure for a moment, her long black hair and her black dress which contrasted her fair skin. His eyes ran over her breasts, her legs, her neck. She smiled up at him, her eyes shining.
"Wait outside, Ser Barristan." Robert said, all enthusiasm dulled.
Ser Barristan Selmy was known as the one of the most renowned fighters in Westeros and one of the most honourable men. He withdrew, casting an uncomfortable look at the young girl his King was walking towards.
Irida clasped her hands nervously, waiting for Robert to walk up to her.
"You're a pretty little bastard, ha!" Robert said in his loud voice. "What are you doing here, girl?"
"My King, I was just strolling around and I came upon the stable. I've always loved horses. They're so strong and fast!" She chimed.
"Ha! You better see the horse from afar, girl. Horse riding is not for women." He whispered conspiratorially.
Irida looked shocked.
"Oh! But I always wanted to ride a horse. It must feel so good to feel it running beneath you." She said dreamily. "Why are you here, your Grace?" She asked, confusion clear in her features.
