Lord Husband

Chapter 3

It's been weeks since the betrothal and your mother hasn't stopped trying to get you to bond with Cregan, but it has been to no avail. She's only managed to get you into a room with him a handful of times since the surprise breakfast and you've become more cunning in your avoidance of her and your future lord husband. Though, one thing you can't avoid is a direct summons to the Queen's chambers. You decide to don her favourite jewels around your neck for the visit in hopes of quelling her, what is likely to be, pure rage.

"Your Grace." You say respectfully as you enter her solar. She looks at you and you can't read a single emotion on her face.

"You have a fortnight." She says simply.

"A fortnight until...?" You look at her, confused.

"A fortnight until you go to Winterfell." She replies and then takes a sip of her tea like the words weren't going to shatter your soul.

You look at her, appalled. "You jest." You say back to her. It isn't a question.

"I do not. You ought to begin packing your things."

"But we've hardly begun courting!" You try to justify in an attempt to prolong your stay in King's Landing.

"You've been courting near two months." Rhaenyra says. "And you'll spend at least a month on the road."

"On the road?" You ask in disbelief. "I cannot fly there?"

"I'm not sure how much I trust that you will reach the intended destination."

Silence.

"Why must I?" You ask softly. "I have no need to wed. You have five sons; that is plenty of heirs. What is it that one child stays unmarried?"

"Some traditions must be followed." She says, her eyes filled with sorrow for her only daughter.

"Then what use is it that you're the Queen?" You ask, a bite in your words.

"Things are different when you're a woman. Perhaps if I wasn't the first queen of Westeros, the rules could be bent a bit more but they cannot. Not with how things are right now." She speaks tenderly. You understand her meaning and there is an uncomfortable silence as you ponder her words. She walks over and grabs your hands so she can hold them in her own. You tug them away gently.

"Alright." Is all you can say, just enough for her to see that you understand, that you agree. You curtsey to her. "Your Grace." You say formally before swiftly walking out of the solar. You don't greet a single noble as you make your way to your chambers, keeping your head low. You don't care if they think you're impolite. You'll likely only see these people a handful of times after you're sent away in two weeks to be wedded bedded and bred.

Ser Steffon Darklyn, your protector, greets you when you get to your door. "Princess." He bows politely but you just push past him, surprising the man.

You hyperventilate a little bit when you enter the room and you clutch your stomach. You're upset and nervous but most of all, you're filled to the brim with boiling hot rage. Rage that you have to be married, rage that you have to move thousands of miles away and, at the pit of your stomach, fear towards the fact that your mother may not be as all powerful as you once thought she was.

You take a glance towards a very expensive looking ornate vase. You don't think twice as you hurl it across the room and watch it hit a wall before it shatters into a million pieces. Ser Steffon is in the room before you have a chance to blink and is grabbing your arms before you have a chance to destroy a very lovely portrait of Queen Rhaena. You're glad he stopped you; you adore that painting.

"Get out." You breathe out the words.

"But princess-"

"I said get out!" You shout at him and this time he obeys you, deciding that you aren't likely to destroy any more priceless artifacts.

You throw yourself onto your bed and unceremoniously scream into your pillow. You then curl yourself into a ball and begin to sob.

~~~

You spend 30 minutes crying and sulking
before you hear a knock at your door.

"I'm unavailable at the moment." You call out, hoping it is simply a servant with tea or something who will leave right away.

In walks Rhaena. You know at the very least her and Baela heard your meltdown, with their rooms being the closest to yours and all, and you wonder to yourself if they discussed who would be the one to come speak with you. Rhaena is much better at pep talks.

"I could have been dressing." You say to her.

"We used to swim naked together all the time on Dragonstone." She replies, a hint of a smile gracing her lips.

"That when then." You say wistfully.

"That was hardly two years ago." She says softly as she walks a little closer to you and sits on the edge of your bed. Your sister is seemingly waiting for you to speak up first.
You say nothing.

"It's good to talk about what ails you." She reaches out to rub your back. You know she's right.

"Jacaerys should be married first. He is the heir." You whisper out.

"I know."

"That's it?" You ask incredulously.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Say 'yes, sister, everything that is happening to you is completely unreasonable and we ought to fly away to Old Valyria and never return'." She giggles slightly.

"Are you so keen to find out what made Aerea go mad?"

"You know what I mean." The joking tone is gone from your voice.

"I understand how you're feeling and you have a right to be upset about it." Rhaena says softly. "But your situation cannot be changed."

"I don't want to be forced into coming to terms with it." You say sternly. "And you could never understand. You're marrying Lucerys, who you love, and you'll live out your days in your mother's ancestral home. I'm marrying an irritating man who I couldn't give a rat's ass about and i'll live out my days in a frozen wasteland while my dragon slowly deteriorates in the cold." Your sweet sister looks a bit put off by your words and slightly hurt by your tone but she doesn't take it personally.

"My only wish is for you to be happy." She retracts the comforting hand from you. "And you'll never be happy if you don't make an effort with your betrothed. Baela and I are lucky to be marrying Jace and Luke but you could also do plenty worse than Cregan Stark.  He is kind and dutiful and, i'd say, plenty handsome. Many girls end up a lot worse off than you."
She grabs your face in her hands. "He'll care for you." She wipes a few tears from your eyes and just looks at you for a moment before standing. "Sleep well." She says before leaving you to your thoughts. She always knows the right time to leave.

She is correct, you suppose. There are plenty worse men than your betrothed. Some would even call you ungrateful for not appreciating him. Those same people would call you dim for squandering your chance to select your own husband and you almost wish now that you could turn back time but it isn't your fault. You never would have expected that your mother would do to you what her father did to her. You aren't stupid for hoping she would understand. After all, she was once also just a teenage girl.