After enduring a loveless marriage for many years, the Rogue Prince was believed to be incapable of fathering a child with his Bronze Bitch. However, a miraculous event shatters this notion with the birth of Vhaela Targaryen. Raised in the confines...
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Chapter One: The Prince
Vhaela Targaryen
Even at the small age of six summers, I can understand the somber mood that affects everyone. With tears streaking down the faces of the small group of people facing me, dressed in their solemn black attire, casting a darkness over the room.
Most of the people before me are some whom I have never even met. People who rather were friends or devoted subjects of my mother. They all gather, weeping around a closed box that holds her.
A box I have come to despise.
Even after begging one of my aunts to let me see inside the box, they were adamant to deny me. I hear faint whispers around me saying she fell off her horse and as a result, her skull was crushed in all bashed and gory. Perhaps I don't fully understand what their words all meant but I just wanted to see my mother.
I then make my way toward the box that contains her and slowly extend my hand toward it. Before anyone could reach me, I rest my head against the prickly wooden surface. However, instead of having someone try and pull me away, collective gasps bounce off the castle walls.
Swiftly I turn my head around and come face to face with a handsome man. He stands tall, approaching me as the crowd effortlessly parts for him. Heavy whispers grow at his entrance which only heightens my curiosity about this man.
He possesses silver-white hair, that is slick against his head, making him perhaps the only other person other than me who has hair that pure of white. As he approaches, his expression becomes one of curiosity. His dark purple eyes begin to analyze every inch of my face.
I stare at him with the same intensity that he bores into me. The sight prompts a faint smirk to curve on the edge of his lips. The man then slowly inches closer to me before crouching down to my level.
He opens his mouth to speak but before he could I cut him off, "Your hair looks like mine."
The man stays silent, so I add "But mine is much prettier."
He emits a soft chuckle, and the crowd in the room begins to disperse, leaving only a handful of individuals behind. Among them are a few distant family members who linger, carefully observing my interaction with the man before me.
"I would have to agree with you on that, my lady." The man responds to me.
I turn my head around towards the forbidden box and solemnly ask, "Did you know my mother?"
The man lets out a heavy sigh and mumbles something softly before he says, "Yes I was her husband."
I quickly turn to face the man, and my eyes brighten with glee as I intently stare at him. One of my aunts begins to approach me, accompanied by the few men in the room who surround my mother's husband—otherwise known as my father.
