More Than Pretty Words
Valora Velaryon has been called stubborn more times than she can count.
Unyielding. Particular. Difficult, when she chooses not to bend.
Choosing a lady-in-waiting proves no different.
After six carefully polished noble daughters give her the answers they think she wants to hear, Valora finds herself with a simple, growing frustration:
She does not want agreement. She wants sense.
And when one girl finally answers honestly instead of correctly, Valora does what she always does when she knows she is right.
She chooses her.
Because stubbornness, when paired with instinct, can look an awful lot like wisdom.
Valora had endured six noble daughters by the time she decided she disliked the entire process.
Her solar in the Red Keep had been made presentable for the occasion. Fresh rushes had been laid. A tray of lemon cakes and watered wine sat untouched near the window. The fire crackled softly despite the mildness of the day, and every chair had been arranged with deliberate care so that each meeting might feel equal, measured, proper.
It all felt terribly false.
At twelve, Princess Valora Velaryon already knew how court worked well enough to recognise when she was being managed.
Her mother had called it an important choice. Her grandfather had said it was good training. Even her father, with much more gentleness than the others, had told her that the lady she chose would one day stand beside her in rooms where every word mattered.
Valora had agreed.
She had meant to take it seriously.
That was precisely the problem.
The first girl had curtsied too low and smiled too quickly.
“Princess, it would be the greatest honour of my life to serve you.”
Valora had smiled politely. “And what would you do, if I were wrong about something?”
The daughter of some river lord blinked once, then recovered. “I would trust that you were not, Princess.”
That had been answer enough.
The second girl had been older and more poised, with pearls in her hair and the sort of composed expression that looked practised in a mirror.
When Valora asked what she thought of the crown’s handling of grain stores in Flea Bottom, the girl had hesitated only long enough to judge which answer would please her best.
“Whatever Your Highness believes is wisest, I am sure I would agree.”
Valora had nearly sighed aloud.
By the third meeting, she began to test them.
Not cruelly. Simply honestly.
“Do you think dragonkeepers should answer to the crown more directly?”
“Yes, Princess, if that is your view.”
“Even if it led to confusion in the chain of command?”
The girl had faltered, then smiled. “I trust you would prevent confusion.”
By the fourth, Valora was leaning back in her chair, fingers tapping once against the carved armrest as another noble daughter promised loyalty, admiration, devotion, and a complete absence of any independent thought.
The fifth was the worst.
She was lovely and elegant and so obviously terrified of making a misstep that she answered every question as though it were a trap hidden beneath silk.
“What books do you enjoy?” Valora asked, trying for something simple.
“Whichever books please you, Princess.”
Valora stared at her.
The girl flushed. “I mean… I am certain your taste is excellent.”
Of course you are, Valora thought.
By the sixth, she had stopped pretending not to be disappointed.
The daughter of a Reach lord sat opposite her with folded hands and a bright eager face.
“Would you ever disagree with me?” Valora asked plainly.
The girl laughed as if it were a charming jest. “Oh, never, Princess.”
Valora’s expression cooled. “Never?”
The girl’s smile weakened, but she clearly mistook the question for one of etiquette rather than substance.
“It would not be my place.”
That was the end of that.
When the chamber doors closed behind her latest visitor, Valora remained exactly where she was, staring at the fire.
Her sworn protector, Ser Cedric Caswell, stood near the door with the patient stillness he seemed to wear as naturally as his sword belt. He had been ordered to remain for the meetings, though he had wisely kept silent through all of them.
Now, after a moment, he said carefully, “You are frowning hard enough to frighten the furniture, Princess.”
Valora glanced at him.
At seventeen, Cedric had already mastered the dangerous art of sounding respectful while still speaking to her like a person rather than a title. It was one of the many reasons she liked him.
“They are all dreadful,” she declared.
Cedric’s mouth twitched. “Dreadful is a strong word.”
“It is the correct one.”
She pushed back from her chair and rose, beginning to pace.
“They do not answer questions. They listen for what I want and then hand it back to me wrapped in ribbons.” Her violet eyes flashed with frustration. “How am I meant to trust a girl who agrees with me before I have even finished speaking?”
Cedric watched her quietly. “Many would think agreement the safest thing to offer a future queen.”
“I am not asking for safety.” Valora turned sharply. “I am asking for sense.”
The words rang in the room.
Cedric said nothing to that, which was likely wise.
Valora resumed pacing. “If I choose wrongly one day, I want someone who will tell me so before the mistake is made. Not someone who smiles and lets me walk into it because she thinks obedience matters more than honesty.”
That, at least, made Cedric smile properly.
“Yes,” he said. “That does sound more useful.”
Valora huffed and crossed her arms. “Mother said a lady in waiting must be loyal.”
“I doubt Princess Rhaenyra meant witless.”
That won the faintest hint of a grin from her.
“If I wanted someone to agree with me I would talk to a mirror.” Valora groaned pulling a snigger from Cedric.
A knock came at the door.
One of the servants stepped inside and bowed. “Princess, the next young lady has arrived.”
Valora almost said send her away.
The words reached the tip of her tongue and stopped there. She had already endured six. She would endure one more. Then she would inform her mother that she preferred no lady at all to one who behaved like an embroidered echo.
“Fine,” she said. “Send her in.”
The servant bowed and withdrew.
A moment later, the girl entered.
She was perhaps a year older than Valora, dressed well but without the excess some of the others had worn. Dark hair framed a composed face, and her bearing was proper without feeling rehearsed to death. She curtsied low enough to be respectful, but not so low it felt theatrical.
“Princess Valora,” she said. “I am Marissa Royce.”
Valora studied her.
There was grief in the girl’s eyes. Not fresh enough to break through her composure, but old enough to have settled there. More than that, there was steadiness. The kind Valora had been searching for all afternoon.
“Sit,” Valora said.
Marissa obeyed.
There was no immediate flood of praise. No nervous babble. No declaration that being near Valora was the greatest privilege ever bestowed by gods or men.
Already, she was improving upon the others.
Valora folded her hands in her lap. “You know why you are here.”
“Yes, Princess.”
“And why do you wish to be my lady in waiting?”
Marissa considered the question for an actual moment.
At that, Valora’s interest sharpened.
“Because it is an honour, Princess,” Marissa said at last. “And because serving the future queen should mean more than standing prettily behind her chair.”
That earned the faintest twitch from Cedric near the door.
Valora did not smile, though the answer pleased her more than the others had. “Should it?”
Marissa met her gaze. “I think so.”
Valora leaned back slightly in her chair, studying her. “Very well.”
Her voice shifted, turning cooler, more measured.
“Let us say King’s Landing has a harsh winter. Flea Bottom suffers most. The crown cannot feed everyone at once, and the noble houses begin complaining that too much coin is being spent on people beneath them.” She paused. “I decide the complaints do not matter and order grain taken from storehouses meant for several lesser houses so it can be handed directly to the smallfolk of the city.”
That would have been enough to make the others nod eagerly and call her generous.
Marissa did not.
Instead, she frowned ever so slightly.
Valora noticed at once.
“Well?” the princess asked.
Marissa chose her words carefully. “I would say your heart was in the right place.”
Valora’s eyes narrowed. “And?”
“And that it may still be unwise.”
The room went still.
Cedric looked very studiously at the wall again.
Valora’s chin lifted. “Explain.”
Marissa folded her hands in her lap, though there was no fear in the gesture, only thought. “If the lesser houses lose stores meant to carry them through winter, then their own people may go hungry as well. Or their lords may turn resentful and refuse future aid when it is truly needed. You would save one part of the realm today by planting anger in another tomorrow.”
Valora said nothing.
Marissa continued, more certain now that she had begun.
“The smallfolk matter, Princess. They should always matter. But if aid is given in a way that humiliates those sworn to the crown or leaves them feeling plundered rather than called upon, then you may win gratitude in the streets and lose cooperation everywhere else.”
Cedric’s mouth twitched.
Valora noticed. She ignored him.
“And what would you do instead?” she asked.
Marissa answered more quickly this time. “I would make the houses part of the remedy.”
Valora’s gaze sharpened. “How?”
“Call for contributions rather than confiscation. Publicly, if needed.” Marissa tilted her head slightly. “Let the lords and ladies give grain in the crown’s name, but have their names recorded and thanked. If they are as prideful as most nobles tend to be, many will give simply to avoid being seen as less generous than their rivals.”
That, more than anything, nearly made Valora smile.
Because it was exactly the sort of answer she had wanted all day. Not cruelty. Not softness without thought. Not blind obedience.
Sense.
“You would turn charity into competition,” Valora said.
Marissa’s expression remained composed. “If it fed people through winter, yes.”
Cedric made a small sound that might have been approval.
Valora rose from her seat and began to pace again, though this time not in frustration.
“And if some still refused?”
Marissa watched her. “Then you would know precisely who values coin over duty, and you could act accordingly without punishing those who did not deserve it.”
Valora stopped.
For a moment she simply looked at the older girl.
The fire crackled softly between them. Outside, somewhere deeper in the Red Keep, voices drifted faintly through the corridor and disappeared again.
At last Valora asked, “Do you think many nobles care nothing for the smallfolk?”
Marissa did not rush to answer. “I think many care only when it is convenient. Others care more than they admit. But most have simply never had to think too long about hunger, or cold, or what it means when one poor harvest is the difference between enduring winter and burying children before spring.”
Something in Valora’s expression shifted then. Not softer, exactly. But deeper.
“And you have thought on it?”
Marissa’s face changed very slightly. That old grief Valora had noticed before moved nearer the surface.
“Yes, Princess,” she said quietly. “I have.”
Valora did not press. She did not need to. Whatever sat beneath those words was real enough without being dragged into the light.
Instead, she said, “The others all agreed with me.”
That finally seemed to catch Marissa off guard. “Even when you were wrong?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
Then, before she could seem to stop herself, Marissa said carefully, “That sounds dangerous.”
Cedric let out a short breath through his nose, suspiciously close to a laugh.
Valora turned away so they would not see the satisfaction threatening at the corners of her mouth.
When she faced Marissa again, her expression was composed.
“It is,” she said. “Very.”
Marissa inclined her head. “Then I am glad you asked better questions than they deserved.”
That one did make Valora smile, small and sudden.
“You are bold.”
Marissa lowered her eyes just enough to remain proper. “Only truthful, Princess.”
Valora crossed slowly back to her chair but did not sit. “If I choose you, I will expect more of the same.”
Marissa looked up at that.
Valora continued, “Not rudeness. Not insolence. But thought. I have no use for another girl who mistakes silence for loyalty.”
Marissa held her gaze. “Then I would do my best not to disappoint you.”
There it was again. Not a promise to oppose. Not some grand declaration of defiance. Only the quiet assurance that she would think before she spoke and speak when it mattered.
That, Valora thought, was worth far more.
She glanced once toward Cedric.
His face remained perfectly respectful, but there was a knowing look in his eyes that said he had already guessed the outcome.
Valora looked back to Marissa.
“I think,” she said slowly, “that you are the first girl today who answered the question I actually asked.”
Marissa blinked. Just once.
Then she rose and dropped into a curtsy, graceful and sincere. “That is kindly said, Princess.”
“It was not kindness.” Valora’s smile returned, sharper now, pleased. “It was observation.”
Marissa straightened, and though her expression remained proper, Valora caught the flicker of relief there.
Yes.
This one would do.
“Very well,” Valora said. “If my mother agrees, you shall remain.”
Cedric’s posture shifted slightly at the door, not surprise, only quiet approval.
Marissa bowed her head. “Thank you, Princess.”
Valora studied her for one final moment, then said, “One day I will sit in rooms full of men who think pity is enough for the poor and coin too precious to be spent on those without titles. When that day comes, I would rather have someone beside me with sense than someone who only knows how to nod.”
A stillness followed the words.
Marissa’s answer came softly, but without hesitation.
“Then I will make certain I am useful to you, Princess.”
Valora gave a single nod.
That was enough.
And when the door finally closed behind Marissa a little while later, Cedric looked at her and said, “So. Not dreadful, then?”
Valora sat back down at last, the first true ease she had felt all afternoon settling into her shoulders.
“No,” she said, glancing toward the door Marissa had just passed through. “Not dreadful.”
Then, after the briefest pause, she added,
“She thinks before she speaks, not on how I would take it but on the actual question she was asked. That alone puts her above half the court.” Valora smiled slightly.
