Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The rain poured down heavily, lashing against the glass panes that covered the windows of the room.

Darcelle loved watching how the storm trickled down the glass, distorting the landscape on the other side. Not even the startling lightning made her flinch; she merely shivered slightly, hugging a cushion tightly in her arms.

She rarely had the chance to truly enjoy storms. Her mother, strict with the manners a lady was expected to uphold, always kept her away from bad weather, worried about colds and decorum.

The sound of the rain soothed her. Without realizing it, she fell asleep by the seat near the window.

It wasn’t until a cold sensation on her neck jolted her awake.

Her brother, Kenric, was beside her, holding a huge, wet snail.

Darcelle let out a shriek full of disgust. She jumped off the armchair, knocking several cushions to the floor.

“Allow me to introduce Ser Robyn. He’s your new squire,” Kenric announced with a grin.

Darcelle kept hopping and squealing.

“Where did you even get that thing?!” she cried in horror.

“Found him on the wall. Thought he should meet your neck,” he replied, opening the window to place Ser Robyn on the sill. “Isn’t he lovel—”

Darcelle’s hands closed around her brother’s neck, throwing him off balance—though she also fell to the floor with him.

“You filthy animal!” she shouted, kicking him in the ribs. The kick didn’t do much damage—she was barefoot, as usual.

“You still owed me for the sour milk!” he protested, pushing her hands away and climbing on her back, holding her arms so she couldn’t strike him again.

Just then, Mila, one of the maids, came in to call them down for dinner. But upon seeing the scene, she paused, stepped back, and shut the door without a word. Without delay, she went to inform Lord Dunweld that his children were at it again.

Lord Aldric Dunweld, a man nearing sixty, was in his room reviewing the household accounts. He was tired, his eyesight failing, and the dim candlelight didn’t help. He had never managed to break the bad habit of working at night.

His large, curling handwriting filled the pages, forcing him to squint to focus.

Sometimes, Darcelle helped him write. On occasion, she even took over entirely.

But today, she had chosen rebellion and locked herself in her room.

Kenric, for his part, was a free spirit. A moth caught his attention more easily than any book. And yet, he was the heir to House Dunweld.

When he finally finished his task, Aldric let out a long sigh and dropped the quill without bothering to return it to the inkwell.

The satisfaction of having completed the month’s accounts vanished the moment the door opened and Mila entered with that familiar look.

“What now, Mila?”

“The young ones are fighting again...”

Aldric looked at her with a weary expression. He opened and closed his ink-stained left hand.

“Don’t you think they take advantage of my age, Mila? If I were twenty years younger, I’d be up there scolding them. I’d even make them clean out the horse stalls.”

Mila pursed her lips and nodded along, saying nothing.

After a few seconds, Aldric left his room and climbed the stairs at a steady pace.

He was negligent... but only a little.

He opened Darcelle’s door. There was Kenric, halfway out the window, and his sister holding onto him to keep him from getting back inside.

“Let go of your brother, Darcelle,” he ordered with his gravelly voice.

Startled, Darcelle released Kenric immediately and tried to fake a nervous smile, clasping her hands behind her back. Her brother got up, soaked; his gray tunic dripping, his hair stuck to his forehead.

“Moments like this make me understand your mother,” said Aldric, sitting in front of the vanity. “You’ll both finish the remaining household accounts. I won’t accept objections.”

“But he started it!”

“She made me drink sour milk! I still feel sick...”

Aldric listened for a few seconds, nodding slowly, and then interrupted:

“Gods, dinner!” he exclaimed, suddenly jumping up and leaving the room with a speed he hadn’t shown at the news of the fight.

---

“These stuffed potatoes are so delicious that I will lift your punishment and let you have one,” he said at the table.

The two siblings didn’t wait for confirmation. Each stabbed a potato with their fork and moved it to their plate.

“I hope you’ve reflected on your savage behavior. Be grateful your mother isn’t here.”

Both nodded. They knew their mother wouldn’t settle for assigning accounting books or depriving them of potatoes.

Darcelle could imagine her making her pray to the Seven longer than usual and sending Kenric to dust the library, which, for him, was true torture.

Thankfully, Vanora wasn’t around. She had left urgently after being summoned by Queen Alicent Hightower.

Rumors—faster than her mare, Polen—spoke of a serious incident that had happened weeks ago in Driftmark.

During Lady Laena Velaryon’s funeral, King Viserys Targaryen’s fourth son had lost an eye.

The cause: a fight with the Velaryon princes.

That was all her mother had said in front of her, and her father had cut her off before she could utter a word that Darcelle had only heard once:

“Bastards.”

Aldric had said there was no proof and that even if it were true, speaking of it was treason.

And above all, it wasn’t their business.

“So tell me, Kenric, what did you do today? Besides dueling your sister,” Aldric asked.

Kenric took a sip from his goblet before answering.

“I observed every snail in the garden. They’re fascinating creatures—don’t be fooled by their pace.”

Darcelle frowned, still disturbed by the memory of slime on her neck.

“I’m sure they’re amazing. Your grandfather used to cook them,” Aldric said, popping a piece of meat into his mouth.

Kenric chewed more slowly, staring at him in disgust.

“And you, my goat?”

“I was sleeping peacefully until some idiot woke me up with a snail on my neck.”

“Watch your words, Darcelle,” her father warned with a stern tone that lasted barely a second before softening again. “Back in my day, we woke up with the sunlight… We had a rooster named Oris. Only failed us the day he died.”

Kenric wanted to ask more about the rooster, but he was interrupted.

The dining room doors burst open.

Vanora Hightower, their mother, had returned from King’s Landing. Her green cloak looked so dark from the rain it seemed black.

Aldric stood immediately to hug her, and she received him warmly.

Darcelle and Kenric also rose and hugged her as soon as she pulled away from her husband.

“I hope you behaved,” she said as she embraced them.

“We were perfect,” Darcelle lied.

Vanora caught the lie but said nothing. She straightened and removed her cloak, walking to the hearth to leave it by the fire.

She stood there for a few seconds, watching the flames and fidgeting with her hands, before returning to her family.

“Children, I must speak with your father. Go to bed now.”

“But you just got back,” Kenric protested.

“We have plenty of time. Leave us alone now.”

“Obey, children. Off to bed,” Aldric said.

With no choice, they said goodnight. Darcelle kissed her father’s cheek, then her mother’s.

Vanora looked at her strangely, as if wanting to say something but holding back.

They left quietly. Their mother didn’t even give them her usual bedtime blessing.

They didn’t say out loud what they suspected about Vanora’s strange mood. But they knew—or at least imagined—it had something to do with Alicent Hightower and her son.

Darcelle joked about her brother’s damp, tangled hair. Kenric gave her a playful shove, and soon they split off when she reached her room.

Darcelle entered and closed the door behind her with her body’s weight.

Since she’d been stuck in the castle all day because of the rain, she no longer bothered to dress formally. She wore only a robe over her nightgown, so she didn’t need any help undressing. She left the robe on the bed and lay down.

She pulled the wool blanket over her and stared up at the ceiling.

Everything that had happened was, technically, normal.

Her mother often visited the queen. She would return by evening and eat with them.

Maybe, this time, she had simply been delayed.

But to Darcelle, that night… something had changed.

Chapter Text

The next day was calm.

The rain had passed, leaving behind only a feeling of freshness. Darcelle woke up with a pain similar to the one she’d feel after swimming for hours, except she hadn’t swum in months. The pain was tension. She didn’t know why she was tense; there was no reason.

After getting dressed and ready—motivated by her mother’s arrival—she went down to her father’s room, hoping to spend some time with him. Help with the accounting, check if there were any mistakes that could cost them money.

To her surprise, her father came out looking tense and still not wearing one of his gray robes. He refused her help, claiming he had already finished. He said nothing more. He sent her to have breakfast, saying they shouldn’t wait for him, as he wasn’t hungry.
His body showed more pain than his daughter’s. It could be age, but Darcelle had always considered her father to have the vitality of a man twenty years younger.

Even so, she nodded, receiving only a light kiss on the cheek.
She didn’t dare speak to her mother. Surely she’d be praying or doing acts in a world Darcelle had no interest in.

So, she went down to the dining room. Kenric was already there, poking at his walnut pancake before chewing it.

“Mom said she had a headache. Still seems tired from the trip,” he commented.

Darcelle wasn’t very convinced. It wasn’t the first time her mother had gone to King’s Landing to answer the call of a queen lacking in friendships, who often turned to a cousin that lived quite far.

And yet, her returns were never like this. She’d usually arrive, greet them, dine with them, and talk about distant royal relatives.
Yes, this visit had been more serious: one of the princes had lost an eye. But it wasn’t enough to explain her parents’ behavior.

“Do you know what they talked about last night?” she asked.

Kenric shook his head as he chewed another bite of cake.

“Whatever it was, it didn’t leave them very happy.”

Darcelle sighed and leaned back against the chair. She had barely tasted the pancake in front of her.
She stared at the wooden beams on the ceiling. There was nothing special about them; they had been there even before her father took his first breath.

“Do you remember them?” her brother began. She only turned her head slightly.

“Who?”

“The queen’s children…”

Then she sat up straighter, trying to buy some time and remember. She didn’t recall much about them. Maybe a blurry memory of Princess Helaena on the grass with the brother that followed her… but nothing else.

That encounter had been nine years ago, when she was only four. Two years may not seem like much, but they are for a child’s memory. Kenric probably remembered more.

“Not much. You?”

“A bit. They were very young. The eldest was just your age.”

Aegon.

She didn’t want to stretch the subject. They were their cousins. Surely they’d interact more in the future, but she didn’t want to think about that now.

“Well, we met royalty. That’s something to brag about to the Blackwoods.”

“I don’t like bragging. Besides, they’d just use it to feel superior to the Brackens.”

“We’re just relatives of princes, not betrothed to the heir.”

“They’d do anything to humiliate the Brackens, Darcelle. If they had the chance, they’d start a death match.”

“Whatever…” she changed the subject. “What are you doing today?”

“Speaking of my friends, I’m going to see the Blackwoods. The cows are wonderful. When Remi plays the lute, they all come over to listen.”

Darcelle nodded, feigning disinterest.

“And you?” he asked.

“Mm…” she turned her head, searching for something worthwhile to do. She could paint, but her father wasn’t in the mood to tell her she was awful; she could read poetry, but she was bored of it already; she could help Mila in the kitchen, but last time she ended up with a burnt hand.

She hadn’t known it was dangerous to stick her hand in a pot on the stove. Her mother had forbidden her from entering the kitchen again.

“You have nothing to do, do you?”

“Take me with you,” she asked, pouting and clasping her hands.

---

Getting permission wasn’t hard. Only because they asked their father—who had a close relationship with the Blackwoods—did he agree.
When their mother demanded an explanation before scolding them, they’d say they didn’t want to bother her during her headache.

They both got on their horses. Pollen, her mare, was so obedient that it only confirmed the problem was Darcelle herself.

As they rode through the forest, her body tilted to one side. She wasn’t very good at riding. She blamed the lack of practice.

At one point, Kenric offered to let her ride with him, but she refused.
She’d rather fall than arrive at Raventree Hall on her brother’s horse… and have Davos Blackwood see her.

He’d mock her. He already had two years ago, when she fell from a tree and he laughed for minutes instead of helping her.

Since then, she’d considered him a jerk. She even regretted going, but she was already too far along. She wasn’t a coward.

Somehow, she made it to Raventree Hall, clinging to Pollen. She tried to compose herself as best she could when she heard the Blackwoods approaching.

It was a relief to finally dismount. One more minute and she’d have ended up on the ground.

She looked at the young Blackwoods: several girls, several boys who came to see her brother. Suddenly, embarrassment fell over her. They were her brother’s friends, and she’d come like a leech with no dignity.

She stood behind Kenric while he greeted everyone. Then, he took her by the arm to introduce her.

“This is my sister, Darcelle. I’m sure you already know her. She fell from a tree two years ago and just recently recovered from the shame, so I brought her.”

At another time, she would have pushed him, but the tension eased when several laughed.

Mildred Blackwood—whom she definitely remembered—came over to her.

She’d do something nice for Kenric to thank him. Maybe double portions of potatoes for the next ten dinners.

“It’s good to see you again. You’ve grown so much,” Mildred greeted with a smile.

Darcelle smiled and nodded.

“It’s good to see you too. Sorry for the delay.”

Maybe she’d exaggerated by not coming for two years. Their neighbors, the Grells, weren’t fun, and the girl was too intense. She feared one day she’d be locked in her tower to keep playing.

Mildred caught her up on everything going on with the group of girls. Darcelle didn’t even want to overthink the fact that Mildred was telling all this to a near stranger who fell from a tree and disappeared for two years.

They talked about horses, dresses, and the rumor that one of them was dating a Bracken, something horribly outrageous, according to Mildred.

The conversation was going well, pleasant. It wasn’t until they heard that awful voice that both girls turned.

Davos stood in the middle of his group of friends, Kenric beside him. They seemed the closest, as they hadn’t separated since arriving.

“We’re playing hide and seek. The last one found gets to pick someone to sing a song.”

Darcelle deeply refused, inwardly. She didn’t know how to sing. Her voice was too hoarse for a lady; even more so for singing.

She turned her head, hoping Mildred felt the same dread and that they’d retreat to a corner and just watch… but to her misfortune, Mildred couldn’t have been happier.

So, she had no choice but to hide—even under the rocks if she had to.

A short Blackwood boy leaned against a tree and began counting slowly, taking his time to remember what number came next.

Everyone ran. Darcelle didn’t even notice Mildred’s arm was no longer linked with hers. She ran too, not knowing where. She didn’t know the area.

She thought about going into the stables, but that would be the first place they’d search, so she dismissed it.

She headed toward a barrel, but another child got there first and jumped in.

Seconds passed, and Darcelle felt like she needed a spell to make the earth swallow her whole.

Then she saw it: a huge tree. She wasn’t ten anymore. Surely she could climb it without her sweaty hands making her fall.

She ran as fast as she could, Davos Blackwood’s stupid laughter still in her ears. She was sure she’d be one of the last found, but even more certain she would not sing in front of them.

She grabbed the branches with both hands, pushed off with her feet and the small heels of her boots, and climbed the tree. As quickly as she could, she reached the thick clump of green leaves.

When she finally breathed in relief from not being in sight, a voice behind her almost made her repeat her fate from two years ago.

“No more trees around here, Dunweld?”

Darcelle turned her face with such fury that she nearly slipped. Davos was on the same branch, half-leaning against the trunk.

“Are you following me?” she whispered indignantly, lowering her voice so she wouldn’t be heard. But apparently, Davos didn’t care about being found, as he spoke as if making a royal announcement.

“I was here first. You followed me,” he replied with a mocking smile.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I wanted to see if you’d fall again. But you did well,” he shrugged, not taking his eyes off her. “You’ve got better balance than I remembered.”

“Would you lower your voice? They’ll find us.”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing your rusty cart voice singing.”

Darcelle kept looking at him with disdain, wishing her gaze alone could make him fall to the ground.

"Shut up..." she whispered, feeling the wind rustling the leaves, others searching for those hiding, and Davos's breathing.

"Next time you come back to Raventree Hall, you could let me know. I promise not to tell anyone if you fall again."

"I'm not coming back as long as you're here."

"You're lying."

Darcelle rolled her eyes and turned slightly—just enough not to put herself at risk.

"If I come back, it won't be because of you, Davos."

"You're lying."

Letting herself fall didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Maybe they'd take pity on her and not make her sing.

In the distance, it seemed they were the only ones left unfound. Someone had the brilliant idea to start searching the trees, and Darcelle's heart wanted to flee to Dragonstone.

Davos started whistling, and she began to resign herself to the fact that whoever climbed the tree would see her first—and then him. If she was lucky, they wouldn’t choose her, but luck was a cruel thing. They probably would.

The tree shook a little—someone was climbing it. She started regretting not wearing one of the green dresses her mother insisted on filling her closet with.

Before the head reached the branch, Davos was already in front of her.

“Boo!” he shouted, startling the redheaded girl who was climbing.

“Idiot! I found you! Help us find Darcelle.”

“Alright, come down. She probably jumped into the river. Loves to throw herself in.”

The girl climbed down, and Davos waited a bit, saying nothing. Then he started to descend, winking at Darcelle as he did.

“Hope you don’t choose me.”

Without saying a word, she watched as his black hair disappeared until he reached the ground next to the freckled girl, who grabbed his arm. The two of them ran off to keep looking, and that’s when Darcelle climbed down, ready to surrender.

“Did the earth swallow you?! Or what?” Davos yelled when she joined the group searching for her.

“Where were you, Elle?” Mildred asked.

“In a tree…”

Everyone went quiet. No one had expected her to be in a tree.

“Well, tell us—who do you want to sing?”

Darcelle hesitated for a moment. Not Davos—he had done her a big favor. Kenric was her brother and had behaved decently that day.

That only left the redhead who nearly discovered her—and hadn’t let go of Davos.

She would do. But Darcelle didn’t know her name.

“Well, I’ll give physical traits, and whoever matches will sing.” She covered her eyes as if she hadn’t already decided. “Red hair, long and straight.”

“It’s you, Alyne!”

“That’s not fair!”

“She won, Alyne. You have to sing,” said Kenric.

After several complaints, Alyne began to sing. She clearly had no idea what she was doing—her voice rose and fell in volume, a disaster that Darcelle was grateful to avoid. She even felt a bit guilty.

But the guilt disappeared when Kenric said it was late and they needed to head home.

This time, Darcelle didn’t care about Davos's opinion—at least not enough to ride alone again.

She climbed in front of Kenric, gripping Milo’s mane tightly.

“Come back soon!” Mildred shouted, and Darcelle responded with a wave and a smile.

Davos, meanwhile, stood beside the horse, saying goodbye to his friend. When he finished, he looked at Darcelle.

“If you need lessons, just ask. Riding sideways is dangerous. You could fall.”

Darcelle was grateful it was getting dark—her face had turned red. He had seen her ride off like a fool.

“Goodbye,” she said, not waiting for a response. She just took Pollen’s reins and led her home.

_______________________________

By the time they got home, both were sore. Kenric helped her down from the horse; they handed the reins over at the stables and entered the castle.

They were supposed to inform someone of their arrival, but Kenric refused, claiming that one more step and he’d collapse. Remembering her promise, Darcelle agreed to go and let their father know they were back.

They climbed the stairs leading to their parents’ chambers. She said goodbye to her brother as she watched him disappear down the hallway, then walked a few more steps before stopping to take off the shoes that had been torturing her feet. She felt a wave of relief when her soles touched the cold floor.

When she reached the door, the light glowing underneath told her he was still awake — but the voices, and the way they sounded, told her he wasn’t alone.

Her mother’s voice was the first she recognized.

“It’s what’s best for her! Don’t you understand?! He’s a prince, not some pauper!”

“You did this without asking her, Vanora! Without asking anyone! How can you even look her in the eyes?!”

“I didn’t condemn her to death, Aldric! I gave her a better future. She’ll understand. She’s a strong girl.”

“You’re going to regret this, Vanora... What you did—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s enough. Stop looking at me like I’m sending her to the gallows.”

“This is madness.”

“I made a promise, Aldric. There’s nothing else I can do.”

Darcelle stood frozen at the door, unsure what to do or think. She didn’t want to go in. She didn’t want to face them. She turned and walked away, climbing the stairs toward her room, her legs trembling until she collapsed to her knees near the top step.

A pair of hands caught her by the arms and helped her up. She didn’t know who it was until she looked up and saw Mila.

“Are you all right, child?”

She nodded, trying to appear calm, swallowing the knot in her throat.

“Please let my parents know we’re back, Mila,” she said softly, walking away and leaving the woman puzzled.

Uneasy, with a hollow pit growing in her stomach, Darcelle didn’t stop at her own room. She walked to her brother’s, opening the door and shutting it loudly, just like she used to when she was three.

Kenric was already asleep, so she simply moved him over and climbed into bed beside him.

She slid her trembling hands beneath her head. Her breathing was shaky, and she couldn’t find her voice when Kenric, half asleep, asked if she’d had a nightmare. She only nodded, and he pulled the blanket over her before turning his back to her.

How she wished he’d take her hand, like he used to when she was a child.

Who was she promised to? What prince were they talking about? When were they planning to tell her? When would they tear her away from her home and everything she knew?

Question after question swirled in her head, robbing her of sleep. It was only the exhaustion of the day that eventually forced her eyes shut, though she didn’t know how much time had passed.

Chapter Text

The first thing she felt upon waking was Kenric’s hand shaking her shoulder.

It took effort to open her eyes and adjust to the light already pouring through the window, but Kenric was insistent.

“Wake up, Darcelle. Mom doesn’t like it when we sleep in. Besides, you’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes.”

“She didn’t see me…” she mumbled lazily, turning her back to him.

“Your skirt’s missing a piece.”

“I’m not going out. Don’t worry…” she whispered, curling up under the sheets.

“I have to make my bed, woman. What’s wrong with you?”

Her head hurt. She’d probably slept clenching her jaw. Her hands ached from gripping the sheets so tightly, and there was a dull pressure in her neck.

“I’ll go to my room in a minute… Just give me a bit longer.”

If she spoke, if she said one more word, she’d fall apart. She would cry. Cry everything she had forbidden herself to feel. And she didn’t want to. She didn’t want them to know that she already knew. A childish decision, maybe, but it was all she had left. She could still beg for the engagement to be stopped, but her mother hadn’t listened to her father… she’d listen even less to her.

She wanted to see how far they would go without telling her. At what age did they think it was appropriate to throw the burden on her: that she was a woman now and had to marry.
How would they say it? What stupid speech would they give?

She only knew one thing: her father didn’t agree. He hadn’t sounded happy last night. Maybe he had tried to stop it. But to Darcelle, that wasn’t enough. He could do more than lock himself away in guilt. Even if it was just his anger speaking.

She didn’t know how long she had clung to the bed until a second voice joined Kenric’s. Septa Leah had come to get her, and she didn’t seem pleased to find her still in bed and with a wrinkled dress.

“Get up, Darcelle,” she ordered in a dry tone, ignoring Kenric’s excuses, who suggested she might be sick.

And he had reason to doubt. Darcelle never missed her lessons. She was never disobedient or rude. Still, the woman didn’t yield and kept insisting.

“I’ll get Mom…” Kenric murmured, turning toward the door.

If anyone was going to scold his sister, it would be their mother—not a bitter septa.

Darcelle sat up abruptly.

“Fine. I’m getting up.”

The septa curled her lips, as if the satisfaction of being right was more gratifying than compassion.

“You have twenty minutes to be ready,” she said before leaving and slamming the door.

“What a horrible woman…” Kenric came back to the bed and took his sister’s hand. “Come on. I’ll ask Mila to prepare a bath for you. You’re sweating like a roly-poly.”

Darcelle wanted to laugh at his comment, but only managed a weak grimace.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

She shook her head.

“Then something is wrong,” he declared—it wasn’t a question. “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it after your session with the witch and breakfast.”

Breakfast.

She would have to see the traitor who sold her off like cattle without saying a word.

Hopefully, the septa would punish her for being late to breakfast.

Darcelle didn’t respond, only nodded and headed to her room.

It wasn’t long before Mila arrived. Upon seeing her, she paused for a moment. Her dark circles were deep.

“You should sleep well, child. Your eyes are too pretty to be hidden by those shadows,” she said as she lathered her hair.

“They’re just plain brown, Mila…”

“Nonsense. They’re so light, they look golden.”

Darcelle gave a faint smile at the compliment.

“Look at your hands…” Mila examined the scrapes as she gently passed the sponge. “This was from the fall yesterday. You shouldn’t be out so long if you’re going to come back half-dead.”

“Mila…”

“Yes?”

“What do you know about marriage?”

Mila paused, surprised. She looked down at the injured hands.

“Not much. I never married, as you can tell.”

“Were you here when my parents got married?”

“Of course. I’ve been here since your father was a child.”

“Since before Aegon the Conqueror?” Darcelle joked with a giggle.

Mila resisted the urge to tug her ear.

“We’re not that old. What do you want to know?”

“What am I supposed to do when I get married?”

“Hasn’t your septa talked to you about that?”

“She’s only taught me to embroider and pray.”

“Foolishness. Though she’s right: you’re still a child. I’ve never heard of someone wanting to marry off a girl so young.”

But I have, Darcelle thought.

“But that day will come.”

“Well… marriage is the union of two people.”

“Even if they don’t love each other?”

“Sadly… yes,” she answered. Mila’s expression shifted, as if she were starting to connect the dots. “What do you know, Darcelle?”

“I think my head itches. Can you rinse me?”

Mila frowned but obeyed silently, rinsing the soap with care. Then she brought the towels and helped her dry off.

“What color today?”

“Lilac.”

“Lilac it is,” she repeated, dressing her carefully. She took longer than usual lacing up the bodice. She knew the twenty minutes had passed, but neither of them cared.

“Can I come to the kitchen with you, Mila?”

“You’re forbidden from entering, child.”

“Mother won’t scold you. Father won’t let her. And I won’t… neither will Kenric.”

“It’s an order, Darcelle.”

“I won’t touch anything,” she said, turning around as she felt Mila was done. “Please. I don’t want to be with the septa today.”

“You never skip…”

“But I feel bad.”

“What hurts you?”

“I don’t know… Does the soul hurt?”

Mila sighed.

“Alright. But how are we going to get rid of the septa?”

---

“I adore you, Darcelle, but this is too much. I’m not spending an hour pretending to be devout.”

“Please, Kenric…”

“No. I have to see the crickets today. One didn’t jump yesterday. Might be dying.”

“I’ll bake you a blackberry pie. The one Mom forbade because you tracked mud into the house.”

“Keep talking…”

“I’ll let your stupid snail eat my favorite plant.”

“I think that’s enough.”

---

Mila moved a chair to a corner of the kitchen.

“Stay here. Don’t touch anything. And remember: if it’s red, it burns.”

“I know, Mila.”

Mila and the other women bustled around between spices, pots, and ovens. They whisked, chopped, and boiled. Suddenly, Mila forgot the rule because suddenly she had Darcelle next to her.

“Don’t touch—” she started, then added automatically, “Separate the yolk from the white. We only need the whites.”

Darcelle nodded and spent the next forty minutes learning more than in fourteen years with Septa Leah.

To be honest, she had hurt her hands more while embroidering than by dipping them in boiling water.

“Can we make a blackberry tart? I promised Kenric.”

“He’s banned from eating that for two months.”

“Mom doesn’t have to know…”

“One of these days, I’m going to get fired.”

“I’ll go with you, Mila,” she said, puffing out her chest and placing her hands on her hips like a knight.

“Of course you will, Darcelle. Now go eat breakfast.”

---

The good mood the kitchen had left her in vanished when she saw her mother.

She was sitting, reading a letter. She wore a flawless green dress, her hair pulled into a tight bun, and silver earrings. Perfect.

Her father, beside her, stood up to hug Darcelle. She barely returned it.

“You’re late, Darcelle,” her mother said without looking up.

“I know,” she replied, dryly.

That was enough for her mother to lift her gaze. Darcelle didn’t make excuses. She didn’t apologize like always. But she said nothing more.

Kenric was already seated, plate empty. He gave her a small smile. The alibi had worked.

The maids arrived with the trays: mushroom cream, carrot pancakes, strawberries, fresh-baked bread, and blackberry jam.

“Let’s eat,” said her father, forgetting, as always, the prayer.

“Close your eyes and pray…”

“Right. Otherwise, the food turns to lava,” he joked sarcastically. “Close your eyes, children.”

Her mother closed hers. Her father did too, though he didn’t seem to pray. While she spoke, Darcelle turned to Kenric and whispered:

“How’d it go?”

“Last time I do it. She really thinks I got religious.”

They returned to their obedient pose once the prayer ended.

“Alright, now we eat.”

Darcelle reached out to serve herself a bowl of mushroom soup and fill her wine glass. She ate quickly; the sooner she finished, the sooner she could leave. The rest of the afternoon was hers, and with any luck, she'd make it back to the kitchen with Mila.

She didn’t want to see her mother for the next two weeks… or longer.

“A letter arrived from King’s Landing this morning,” Vanora announced.

“Are you leaving again?” Kenric asked.

“We are leaving. The Queen wants to see her nephews."

Chapter Text

The day had already become unbearable the moment Aegon opened his eyes.

His mother had woken him at an hour no one ever expected him to be awake. She slammed the door and flung open the curtains, letting the sunlight flood into the room like a relentless dagger across his eyelids.

“It’s incredible that you can’t even manage to be dressed,” she scolded. Aegon couldn’t see her expression yet; he was still adjusting to the glare, but he was certain her eyes held that same cold judgment, her lips drawn into a disapproving line. “Get up and get ready.”

Aegon sighed, shielding his face with his forearm.

“What do you need me for?”

“Gods... Your aunt and cousins are visiting. I won’t have you lying in bed past the morning like some beggar.” Her footsteps approached again, more deliberate this time, until she stood beside his bed. She yanked his arm firmly. “Up. Now.”

He rolled his eyes and sat at the edge of the bed with reluctance, wrapping the sheet around his waist.

“If you’re trying to show off your children, you’ve got two others,” he muttered, glancing toward the empty wine jug and goblet lying discarded near the bed. “Unless you’re also ashamed of a one-eyed son...”

The slap came suddenly, harsh and sharp.

Aegon felt the sting bloom across his cheek, spreading up toward his ear. He lowered his gaze—not out of guilt, but because it was the only thing he ever did when she hit him.

Alicent barely trembled. She rubbed her hands together, as if the slap had hurt her too.

“Even with one eye, your brother is already prepared. You could stand to learn from him,” she said sharply, her voice tight but laced with venom. “You still don’t understand that we are family. Aemond is your brother, and your mockery of him has long outlived its purpose.”

Aegon rose without a word, the sheet still knotted around his hips. He wandered over to the table. The second jug was empty too.

His head was pounding.

“Aemond hasn’t even noticed my presence these past weeks.”

“Of course he hasn’t. The wound on his face is still fresh. What will you do when it scars and you think it’s fair game again for your jokes?”

Aegon tilted his head and murmured bitterly,

“I don’t know, Mother. Maybe you should’ve birthed me without a tongue.”

Her footsteps returned, quick and furious. She didn’t strike him this time, but she grabbed his chin with cold, iron fingers.

“And you’d still find a way to make yourself unbearable!” she spat. Her gaze burned into his. “Listen to me. You’ve already seen what Rhaenyra and her bastards are capable of. You’re a man now. This is only the beginning, and your responsibilities will crush you if you keep treating them like a joke.”

Aegon jerked away, shoulders tight with fury.

“Is that all?”

Alicent inhaled sharply. Her fists clenched. Another slap hovered in the air but never landed.

“You will defend your claim. You’ll show yourself worthy. You’ll have legitimate heirs. Sooner or later, you will. Don’t let anyone believe that Rhaenyra’s false claim is stronger than yours.”

She stepped forward again, this time not to hurt him. She placed both hands on his shoulders with careful restraint.

“Please. And it must begin today.”

Aegon didn’t understand, and honestly, he didn’t care to after the way she’d handled him—both physically and verbally. Deep inside, he almost wished Viserys had heard her utter the word “bastards,” just to make him keep his promise and tear out her tongue. But he knew his father would never do it.

“Today, then...”

Alicent nodded. She just tucked her son's hair behind his shoulder.

“Do what is expected of you. And behave. There will be someone important among them.”