𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 [ 𝘥𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯 ]

C H A P T E R, one

━━ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪɴɢʟɪɴɢ ᴏғ ɢʀᴇᴇɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴅ

     IT WAS A PURE HAPPENSTANCE, she avowed to the gods. How could she have ever possibly foreseen that strong chest and its belonging person rounding the corner like a scorching thunder meant to struck her out of her girlhood dreams and fairytales made of roses and love.

     Ceryse Hightower was never one to be late in time as it was one of her first lessons taught by her Septa.

     Ever since, it had been the one of the most sacred rules to always be punctual to any event. Her late lady mother was kind in that matter, but even so, Ceryse was often reprimanded if she appeared late without a proper excuse.

     And if she had an prodigious one, none of her family member believed her as she was a very poor liar.

     Ceryse was on her way to Princess Rhaenyra's apartments to whom she was a lady-in-waiting alongside her older sister, Alicent.

     She knew that the princess, her close friend and wigh whom she shared an even closer camaraderie, would never become angry at her for a ridiculous and unimportant things such as being late given the fact that she herself was never one to be on point on the ticking timeline and ─ especially ─ rather liked to forget about the many Small Council meetings of her father, King Viserys.

     Additionally, Ceryse was not only the most dutiful lady-in-waiting of Princess Rhaenyra but also her favorite one, so many would claim if asked. The bond between the princess and herself was one of trust, loyalty and love.

     As they were close in age, they shared the same tendencies such as being late or often forsake lessons given by their Septa ─ which made specifically Alicent furious and at the same time it coerced her into one or two laughing fits.

     Rhaenyra would simply wave her tardiness off with a loud chuckle and teasings to casually accompany them. But her strict sister would always add two words too much of warning which Ceryse ignored mostly and entirely. She was only dutiful if need be. She acted like it and she enjoyed to play them all.

     Especially her father, Lord Otto Hightower who was also the Hand of the King. Ceryse found delight in his assumption that he still thought her his small, sweet-babbling girl whom could never harm a soul. Oh, how wrong they were in their stupor of weaving dreams and flying compliments.

     For she was anything but.

     It was a peaceful and sunny morn Ceryse woke up to with her favorite handmaiden preparing a pretty fitting seafoam-colored dress with light green emeralds embroidered to the hem.