Title: the stench of desperation
Synopsis: "When Otto Hightower's lady wife perishes in the birthing bed, taking their unborn daughter with her, the arrogant man is left with no vessel for his ambitions. With only three sons to him, he sets his sights on the young Realm's Delight."
Main relationships: Daemon/Rhaenyra, Viserys/Aemma and Daemon & Jeyne Arryn
Status: Complete (sixteen chapters)
Cousin Rowena had whispered that soon men from all over the realm would come to petition for Rhaenyra’s hand in marriage, for she was a princess and a dragonrider to boot. The great houses would love to tie her to them, she claimed.
Especially since the King had no son born to him.
While the King had told the Small Council that his brother would be the one to succeed him in due time, royal inheritance laws were fragile and Rhaenyra knew she and any children brought forth from her womb could be used as foils to her uncle.
Rhaenyra would not deny feeling a tad insulted that her father never even considered her to succeed him. She was his only child, after all. Why should she not be his successor?
But she also understood that the current traditions of the royal succession had been nigh set in stone during the great council.
Prince Daemon Targaryen—her uncle—would succeed her father as King. Of course, that is if he lived longer than King Viserys.
“Princess?” Lady Johanna prodded her.
“Oh,” Rhaenyra laughed breathily, “I was lost in thought, but I agree with Mylenda. Let us leave the tiara for another–
The young princess was interrupted by a knock on the door and her sworn shield entering, “Princess, the King would like to have a word.”
Her ladies jumped from their chaises and stood up straight—stiff as wooden boards.
Her father did not wait any longer and instead walked in—a box in hand, “Ladies,” he smiled, “Could I have a moment with my daughter? I am certain readying her for tonight’s feast can wait a bit longer, no?”
“Certainly, Your Grace,” Johanna bowed and ushered the rest of Rhaenyra’s ladies-in-waiting out of the door.
Her father put the wooden box he was carrying down on her vanity and then walked toward the mannequin and ran his fingers over her dress, “It is a very beautiful gown indeed,” he complimented, “Stunning colour. You and your mother chose well.”
“Thank you, Father,” Rhaenyra smiled, “Is something the matter?”
“No, no, no, darling,” he assured her, “I merely wished to see you before the feast.”
“A particular reason?” her father was a fine man and they spent a great deal of time together—riding horses, practising archery or even reading in the library—but rarely did so in her own chambers.
“Must I have a reason to come see my daughter?” he looked at her with a small smile.
“No, of course not. I meant–
“There is a reason, my darling girl,” the King interrupted her and pointed to the books on the vanity, “I brought something for you. You can open it if you want.”
Rhaenyra had always been a curious girl, so she swiftly lifted the wooden lid and found a silver circlet inlaid with small diamonds, “What is this?”
“My mother was not a grand lover of gold and so when she wed my father, she asked her father for a silver one instead.”
“This is grandmother Alyssa’s?”
“Yes,” her father smiled, “It belonged to your uncle after she died but he has granted me permission to give it to you to wear tonight.”
Rhaenyra was careful when she lifted it from the black velvet cushion, “Can you?”
“Certainly,” her father replied taking the coronet from her hands. He was careful when he laid it on her head, the silver circlet falling just in the middle of her forehead—perhaps a bit lower than intended but it still looked beautiful.
“How do I look?”
“Beautiful,” he kissed her crown as Rhaenyra’s face lit up.
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